#and don't get me wrong they were all awful people but i at least felt a LITTLE bad for the rest of them in the moment

[rory-multifandom-mess]

MORE EXITOR AU COINY STUFF except this has more to it; A WRITTEN PORTION because I don't feel like drawing anymore (putting it under a cut because . yeah)

Pencil hesitated. She felt embarrassed. Coiny and Pin had always been her enemies, ever since that second season, and she hadn't let go of that opinion yet. At least not about Pin.

But looking at her now, the desperation in her eyes, the way her hands clasped together in a plead, her voice shaking ever so slightly. It was pathetic, really. But- Pencil couldn't say that to her face.

She shook her head and turned away from Pin, storming off so she wouldn't have to look into her forlorn eyes.

"It-it's none of your business, Pinhead!" Pencil responded, refusing to look back.

With every step, she fell deeper and deeper into her own mind. Her thoughts were swirling like a whirlpool, thinking about her time in the EXIT, her time spent with Coiny. She'd never payed much attention to him outside of being an extension of Pin. But those years spent in the classroom- UGH. Why did she care so much? It was frustrating at best!

Her mind went back to a conversation they'd had alone. The only conversation they ever got to have alone, really. Four had just stormed out of the classroom, so angry that the room had started to shake. They had zapped Coiny three times that day, all within the same two hours. His copper body was slightly charred around the edges. His right arm fell limp, no feeling in it whatsoever.

Pencil had dragged him out of the door they entered through, slamming it behind her.

......

"What is your problem, Coiny?!" She scolded the moment the door was closed, turning to him.

"Why do you keep putting yourself in danger?!" She asked, angry- but she didn't know why. Not at the time, at least. She began to pace around, gesturing her hands wildly.

"I get it, you're chaotic, but this is too much! We keep telling you to keep your head down or you'll get hurt- Which we were RIGHT, by the way! Look at yourself, you can't move your arm!"

He did, in fact, look down at his arm, limp by his side. He looked back at her, brows furrowed and teeth gritting. Why was he angry? Did he not like being told off? Because, oh boy, did she have a lot of words for him.

"Why can't you just follow the rules for once in your life?!"

"Because then he'd have no one else to talk about!" Coiny shouted back finally. His words stabbed through her like a dagger and she froze, a sinking feeling in her stomach. Her anger dissipated, as if it was sucked right out of her.

"...What?" She muttered, the air heavy.

Coiny inhaled deeply. "I annoyed him out of spite at first, but then I saw how scared he made you and the others. I pissed him off more and more so he would only focus on me and be more lenient with you guys. Yeah, it backfires at times, but- If I stopped, then there would be nothing else to protect you guys."

Pencil stared at him, questions running through her head. She'd never payed attention to him. To how he acted. She didn't care. It didn't concern her. All she cared about was how he was just an extension of Pin- but now she realized she was wrong.

"...Why?" She asked, "Hardly any of us get along with you. Why... why would you risk yourself for people who don't even like you?"

At this point, she realized she sounded more worried than she wanted to.

"Even if we don't get along," Coiny started, glancing at the ground, "we're still here. Together. We're going through this hellhole together. I think that's enough to form a strong bond with others."

Pencil stared at him.

It all started to make sense. The way he was with Pin in BFDIA made sense, sticking by her side even though they would be awful to each other sometimes. The way they made up, even after they had their falling out.

The way he'd always jump in when Four was about to discipline someone else and get their attention. She thought he was just being annoying-- but there was a purpose. A method to his madness.

Suddenly, she felt his hand wrap around hers.

"I see you as a friend, Pencil. You may hate me, but I don't hate you."

......

Those words echoed in Pencil's head for a moment, lingering in the ocean of thoughts like a boulder dropped in a calm ocean. She couldn't remember what happened after that. But those words struck her with a feeling of displacement and conflict. She wasn't sure how to feel about him to begin with-- but it was worse now. She groaned, placing her hands on her head. Great. She had a headache now.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Ok thanks bye

[nostalgiabearr]

life is so good

☆ pairing: stonerbf!hyunjin x reader

☆ genre: smut, fluff MDNI 18+

☆ word count: 1k

☆ synopsis: it's been a hard week at work and you really need your boyfriend and a smoke sesh

☆ warnings: weed, smoking weed, unprotected sex (don't!), creampie, nipple play, hyunjin drives a truck lmao??

☆ a/n: y'all cannot tell me this hyunjin wouldn't at least smoke weed. also first work on here omg!! pls pls pls don't hesitate to give feedback

as the end of the week approached, you were feeling exhausted. work felt like it had taken up all your time this week and you barely got to see your lover. thankfully, he was all sprawled out on the couch seemingly lost in his own world. you always admired how he could find the positive in everything.

“hey baby,” you said, kissing him on his cheek to pull him out of his daze, “could we go on a drive? i really need a break.” drive and break were usually code words for i really need my baby and i really need weed.

hyunjin smiled as he leaned in for a full kiss and pushed himself up to embrace you. “of course my love. to the overpass?”

“you know me so well,” you said as you helped him up to his feet. on the way out, hyunjin grabbed some joints, and you stole his long hooded cardigan from him. he couldn’t help but notice your dangerously cropped tank and short shorts that barely left anything to the imagination, and you didn’t make it better by draping his clothes over it.

hyunjin helped you climb into the passenger side of his truck and made his way over to the other side to get going. when you two first started seeing each other, you always thought how odd it was that he owned a truck since he was the complete opposite of the typical truck driver. your opinion, however, changed real fast that first night he laid you down on the truck bed to stargaze and later fuck you. now you shared many nights with him smoking, eating, laughing, and fucking in that truck that it could not be a more perfect vehicle for him to own. tonight would be another one of those perfect nights with your perfect boy.

after a quick drive, you two were situated under your favorite abandoned freeway. nestled into the corner of the truck bed, hyunjin took out a joint, pressing it between your lips and flicking the lighter to life. as you took a long drag, hyunjin rested his head in your lap and gazed lovingly up at you.

“tell me what’s wrong baby?” he said before stealing a hit of the joint himself. It was always so easy to open up to him regardless of his carefree nature. hyunjin knew how to be serious when you really needed it and you appreciated that so much. being with him rarely had its down days, but life outside your bubble was sure to not live up to your standards.

as you ranted about rude customers and how your manager somehow stuck the stick up his ass even deeper, hyunjin rubbed slow circles into your thighs. your thin shorts were practically exposing your pussy and hyunjin knew how needy a rough week and weed would leave you. gripping your thigh even tighter, hyunjin maneuvered you to straddle his lap and get even closer to him. 

“remember baby, the world and love are on our side. those people have nothing but karma on their side if they can be mean to my girl.” there was that famous catchphrase of his once again. hyunjin always reminded you that the world and love had you in good hands and everyone else was miserable because they didn’t understand that concept.

with a sigh, you shifted down even harder onto his lap, earning a groan from him. “thank you for listening baby,” you said grabbing the now withered joint from his hands. taking the last hit from it, you ushered him closer and blew the smoke into his mouth as you kissed him deeply. hyunjin’s arms snaked around to your waist as he inhaled the bits you blew into him.

he knew how needy you got, suspecting earlier when you walked in the door from work how this night would end. you were always so in awe of how in tune he was with your emotions, always open to listen, but knowing you had to come to him first before offering his open arms.

sex was pretty much the same, the two of you now moving in sync, grinding against each other as your kisses got sloppier. hyunjin’s hands wandered slowly against your form eventually shrugging his cardigan off your shoulders so he could get a better look at you. his lips fell from yours to stare for a moment before caressing his hands under your short tank top and moving the thin fabric away from your hardening nipples. his lips quickly attached to one while one hand moved from your hips to twist your nipple slowly.

eventually, you had enough and hastily undid his jeans to reveal his straining cock. with his help, you moved your shorts to the side and sunk slowly onto him. time always seemed to stop during sex with hyunjin, but it truly ceased to exist when high. it was like your bodies melted together like this, and with the stars above you, it seemed as if you two were the last people on earth.

as you started to ride him, hyunjin sat up to be able to whisper sweet nothings in your ear and hold you impossibly close.

“my baby is so so good for me, going dumb on my cock and making me see stars.”

soon your slow thrusts turned desperate ruts against each other, your orgasms both quickly approaching. hyunjin’s grip on your hips became bruising as he kissed you sloppily once again urging you to both release at the same time.

“so fucking good, hyune. Gonna cum.”

“me too baby. let all your worries go.” with that, you both let out high pitched moans and slowed your thrusts down as you came against each other. a little piece of each other coming together to fill each other with so much love.

neither of you could muster the energy to pull off each other, instead opting to stare at the stars once again. nothing could beat the feeling of being high on each other, the weed now pretty much out of your systems.

“better now baby?” hyunjin asked as he played with your hair.

“mhm. life is so good with you my love.”

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

self-doubt. l Harry Castillo

💔 a few ways to break your heart 💔

Summary:  he decided to show you your place

Warnings:  Self-doubt, complexes, imposter syndrome, gossiping, crying, breakups

A/N: I thought a lot of us struggle with this so I wrote this… will I fix it?

your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

a few ways to break a heart [masterlist]

"I really don't understand why Harry showed up with that thing. Have you seen her dress? It was in style last season."

A soft giggle echoed through the bathroom, mixing with the sound of running water and the clicking of heels. Your heart was pounding so hard in your chest that it was strange that the women fixing their makeup in front of the mirror hadn’t heard you in one of the stalls.

Finally, the voice of the second woman rang out. "I heard they met at a café."

"No kidding! She probably worked there, huh?" the first one snorted. "She looks like she works at a café because she couldn't make it anywhere else. Harry's too good for her."

"Mhm. She'll probably get pregnant soon and inherit his fortune."

Someone slammed their hand on the marble counter, and the owner's voice rose noticeably. "Spit it out, Susan! Harry should at least have a little more sense. If he wants to have fun, fine, but he should watch her hands more closely. I'm telling you, she only wants his money!"

"And she's not even pretty."

You couldn't move. When the women finally came out of the bathroom and you knew you were alone, you realized you had been holding your breath and welcomed the oxygen in your lungs. Your fingers were icy cold and when you looked down at your hands, you saw they were shaking.

They were talking about you. You were sure of it, you had seen them earlier, watching Harry and you at that stupid sponsors' party. The best of the best, beautiful people with lots of money. Champagne, oysters, and other expensive food you've never tried.

You felt like you didn't fit in there, but now you were sure of it.

These women weren't wrong, though. You met Harry Castillo at a coffee shop when he accidentally spilled coffee on you. Plain and simple. But no, you didn't work there. You went there regularly and sometimes you saw a tall man with broad shoulders and a prominent nose. Once or twice you exchanged friendly glances and smiles.

It was easy to fall in love with Harry Castillo. He was charming, sweet, sensitive, and really listened. You quickly fell in love with his brown eyes, and on the third date he told you that “you were more than that.”

You had your insecurities, and your self-confidence had been shaken for years. How could you blame yourself? Growing up in the age of social media, magazines, and the constant rush to be perfect took its toll on everyone. You were no exception.

And even though Harry did everything right, and you felt like the most beautiful woman in the world, in that moment, in that fucking toilet, at that awful party, it all came crashing down.

Only, miraculously, the tears that were gathering in your eyes hadn't ruined your makeup yet. You stepped out of the stall and saw your reflection in the mirror. Despite the tears glistening in your eyes and the slight shock on your face, you still looked the same as when you arrived at the party.

The dress you and Harry had chosen complimented your figure beautifully. The makeup highlighted your eyes, and you could still picture Harry's look in your mind when he saw you like that.

"I don't know, maybe we should stay home..." he said tenderly kissing your neck "But I want to show everyone how lucky I am."

But in that moment, in that fancy bathroom of that damn expensive hotel, you felt like someone you weren't. You didn't belong to this world, to these people. All your fears and insecurities had found an outlet, and no rational words could change that.

What if they were right? What if Harry was just playing with you? Would he be capable of that? No, Harry wasn't like that. The man had a heart of gold, and you were sure of it. But he would soon see for himself that you weren't on his level, that you were far below him. The imposter syndrome kicked in.

Harry would find out soon. He would soon discover that you weren't who he thought you were.

The approaching voices brought you back to earth. To avoid anyone noticing how bad your condition was, you headed for the door.

You noticed him immediately. Your eyes searched for Harry and easily found him in the crowd. Damn, he looked so good in that perfectly tailored suit, his shirt collar slightly loosened. For a moment you wanted to go to him, but then you saw the woman he was talking to. She was beautiful. Her hand lightly grabbed his arm as she let out a sweet laugh. You wanted to be her so badly...

The lump in your throat was becoming unbearable. You didn't dare go back to the party, instead you headed for the exit. Yes, you were a coward. You were one too when you called Harry from the taxi you caught.

"I'm sorry, Harry, but this is pointless."

"What? I'm sorry, darling, but I don't understand. Where are you? I'll be right there." he replied. Concern was barely noticeable in his voice.

"I'm not there anymore." The silence on the other end was terrifyingly loud. Finally, you heard Harry take a deep breath.

"Okay, so where are you, love? We'll talk."

“Harry…” You stopped for a moment, feeling the tears already streaming down your cheeks. “Please don’t come to me. I don’t think we should see each other for a while.”

"Darling..." Harry started, but you interrupted him again. In the background, you could clearly hear him moving around, probably trying to find his driver and car.

"Harry, please. Respect my decision." you said, trying to keep your voice calm. "I need...space. This is too much for me. I'm sorry, but it's over."

And before he could say anything, you hung up. You were a fucking coward. You didn't care about your makeup anymore, you let the tears flow.

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

[xoxoemynn]

I've been trying very hard not to talk about PCCP publicly, because frankly, I think there's very little new to be said and certainly not by me.

However, I have picked up on a rather gross way that some people have been discussing the situation and I'd like it to stop.

To be clear, I am not talking about POC in this fandom who are rightfully upset by how much harder PCCP's actions are going to make it to simply exist in this space. I'm not talking about his close friends who are wrestling with that utter mindfuck of discovering the person you loved didn't actually exist. I'm also not talking about people who've discovered that similarities between their works and PCCP's weren't just coincidence and were actually plagiarism. All these people have been directly impacted by PCCP's unconscionable behavior and are going to need time to process and should be afforded the space to do so.

What I am talking about are people who were not directly involved in any of this, but seem to be descending upon any new scrap of info, any new revelation, any new insight, with the same kind of morbid glee as a TMZ reporter who got a hot tip about a shocking celebrity death.

(This is getting long, so going to put the rest below a cut.)

I was part of the group that first discovered PCCP's lies. The initial discovery was entirely by chance, but then we dug deeper because, and I cannot emphasize this enough, we wanted to be wrong. We did more digging because we wanted to be wrong. And it felt gross, to be looking this closely at someone's real life identity and match it up to details they shared on tumblr/bsky. We hated it. It felt like a violation. But it was such a huge accusation to make against somebody, so we had to be 100000% certain we were right before we breathed a word to anybody else.

For more than a week we agonized about how to handle the situation in a way that would do the least amount of harm to everybody involved and to the fandom at large. There were a lot of tears and sleepless nights. There was a lot of rage that we were even in this position in the first place. And also there was the eternal mindfuck of watching PCCP continue to post about things that we now knew to be lies, while the rest of the fandom continue supporting him as normal.

My point is... none of this was fun. We didn't take any joy or pleasure in uncovering a popular figure in this fandom was a racist fraud. It wasn't some cute detective game. It was hard and it was awful and it was deeply stressful.

So to see some people talk about this like it's entertainment, or fodder for r/HobbyDrama, talk about digging up screenshots and connecting the dots or continuing to theorize... stop. It's done. We did those things because we were hoping to find proof our initial findings were wrong. They weren't. PCCP was racefaking, and it was a deliberate choice he made to mislead and manipulate the fandom for years. He has been exposed and at least somewhat confessed. We know he was a racist and a liar and a plagiarist, and he did irreparable harm to many people in this fandom. That's it. That's the story, and it's done. There are no more dots to connect. There's nothing left to uncover. And while we always knew bringing this forward would result in smug gloating from people who hate the show/the fandom and were happy to have yet another excuse to bash it, it is upsetting and unsettling to see the almost voyeuristic fun some people who do love the show seem to be having with this.

Real people have been hurt, and real people are struggling. We don't need a grand fandom exposé, we don't need to continue digging up the dreck, and we certainly don't need to put anybody in more danger of doxxing. What we need to do is support the people who've been hurt and/or traumatized by PCCP's actions, do some self-reflection on why we allowed him to become so popular in the first place despite so many people now coming out of the woodwork saying they felt "icky" about things he wrote, and move forward.

That said, I do like to focus on positive outcomes, so I'll also say how genuinely lovely it's been to see people supporting each other throughout all this. I've been enjoying the influx of @ofmdlovelyletters on my dash, sharing so much love for others in the fandom. I've been thrilled at all the old gifs and arts and meta posts being shared once more from people who seem to have organically gotten the message of "oh yeah, we're here because we love the show, let's get back to that." Personally, I've been DMing a lot more people just to chat, and it's been really nice turning some fandom acquaintances into fandom friends. And I'm excited about all the efforts of the people working on @inv-2025-pccp to make sure writers who had their works plagiarized receive proper acknowledgement. That's a great, tangible way to turn some poison into positivity, and if you're feeling like "oh I just wish there were something I could do," I'd encourage you to reach out to get involved.

I've said this multiple times in private conversations, but I think it bears repeating here: no matter how much he may have tried, PCCP did not define the OFMD fandom before, and he certainly doesn't get to now. My hope is that as devastating as this event was, we use it as an impetus to move forward and do better, to strengthen relationships and be there for the people who've been hurt the most.

[misasimagines]

good puppy / reader x Caleb (Love and Deepspace)

included characters: Caleb!

rating: NSFW! This is smut.

warnings: Caleb is a bit toxic, reader is scolding him for his bad behavior at the start. Um petplay-ish. Caleb is your dog. Top!Reader, NOT GN!, female reader. almost 5k words shhhhh its a doozy

kicks a rock on the ground demurely and timidly. does anyone wanna play "caleb is a pathetic mess" w/ me....

You were mad at him. It was, unfortunately, not an unusual occurrence. All of his positive qualities could, when taken to the extreme so often as they were, become incredibly negative qualities. Being protective quickly became overbearing. Being helpful became doing everything for you and treating you like a doll. And being reliable became needing to know everything about you at all times no matter what. 

When he was good, he was the perfect boyfriend. You had a million pictures of you two being stupidly cute on your phone, you knew he had your back in any conflict no matter how wrong you were, and you were so familiar and comfortable with him that he sometimes felt like he WAS your life, rather than just in it. But when he was bad… you wanted to strangle him. He would do things that he couldn't, or wouldn't, acknowledge as wrong and it drove you insane.

“It's not just about protecting me, Caleb, it's about trying to control me,” you tried to explain, voice tilting louder. You bit it down. You didn't want to yell at him. You had to remind yourself that he wasn't doing anything maliciously, he was just… Caleb.

“I'm not trying to control you, pips,” he implored, “I just… I don't want anyone to take advantage of you. I don't want you to get hurt.” His expression was that of a kicked puppy, all big lilac eyes and slouched posture.

You took a deep breath, “I get that. I get that you want to keep me safe. But you take it too far! You can't trust me to make my own judgments!” 

He had made himself a problem when you were out with friends. You told him when you'd be back, where you'd be, and who you'd be with, but he took it upon himself to be in the vicinity of your hang out “just in case.” When he saw a man in your group that hadn't been previously accounted for, he not so discreetly happened to be in the area and came by to see you. 

He then all but interrogated the guy under duress when the poor sap offered you his jacket when you said you were cold. The entire thing culminated in a moment where you were seriously scared that Caleb was going to hit the guy, and that guy was not built to withstand a punch from your boyfriend. Afterwards, everyone freaked out about the hostilities and you had to fight for your life to try to return peace to the group. 

It was embarrassing apologizing for your boyfriend when the group splintered into two, with half proclaiming Caleb to be out of line and the other half agreeing that he was just being a protective boyfriend. You were sure that at least a few of those people would not be inviting you out again, if only for the risk of Caleb showing up. It was an awful feeling, not so much to be rejected yourself, but to know he was being rejected and he couldn't even see why.

“He wasn't your friend, he was a freak who was looking at you like you were in his Playboy magazine or something! You're just too nice to see it! I had to step in,” He insisted.

“I'm not that naive!” You snapped. “I know he was hitting on me and I was perfectly capable of rejecting his advances on my own. And if he got too pushy, I have a purse FULL of pepper spray and a key chain weighed down by how many sharp things I have attached to it. Which you would know since you put them there.” You crossed your arms and glared at him.

He seemed to wither. He didn't want to offend you. He didn't want you to think he saw you as some weak little damsel. But…maybe he kind of did, no matter how hard he tried to convince himself that you weren't. In his eyes, you were impossibly fragile. If he wasn't constantly vigilant, something --or someone-- would break you and take you away from him. It was an all consuming fear that he couldn't rationalize himself out of. “I know… I'm sorry,” he confessed.

You thought an apology would dull your anger, but this time it wasn't enough. It still simmered under your temples, scorching and insistent. This event was one of too many. This argument was one of a million. You shook your head, “I don't think that you are. I don't believe that you won't do the same thing next time I go out.” 

“I won't, trust me, I hate making you upset. I'll … I'll back off,” he tried again.

You stared him down and he seemed to shrink even more under your gaze. Sometimes, it seemed like the only time you had the upper hand with him was when he was facing your anger towards him. It shouldn’t be like this. You shouldn't have to threaten him with rage whenever he did wrong. You huffed, “I don't trust that you know how to behave yourself,” you admitted.

Your words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating enough to make you both feel sick from the effect. It made you feel guilty to hurt him but didn't dull the sense of justification in your words. You were sick of it.

 On his end, he felt fear. Regret. Remorse. “What can I do to convince you? I need you to forgive me,” he nearly begged.

It was tiring, this back and forth. You sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, arms and legs crossed in an obvious show of reservation towards him. “Short of getting on your knees and begging for forgiveness?” You responded with a snort. “I don't know. I can't keep doing this, Caleb. I can't keep finding excuses for you.” You breathed out a tight breath and spoke quietly, hardly able to believe your own words, “I can't be with someone who doesn't trust me.”

In the next second, he was on his knees. “Please, I'm sorry. Please forgive me, you know I love you, right? You know I just want to take care of you and I know…I take it too far sometimes but it's just because I love you so much. I'm sorry, okay?” he stared up at you with such pathetic earnesty your heart stuttered in your chest. There was a frantic look in his eyes as if he were watching his life fall apart around him. “Please say you'll forgive me and you'll let me keep being with you.”

Caleb's 6’2 frame was barely even diminished by being on his knees, but still he felt infinitesimally smaller. Weaker. He was always above you, looking down and patting your head. Always making grandiose statements about being there for you. Always holding himself to some impossibly high standard and never letting you see him falter. Seeing him like this, on his knees and begging, well… You swallowed and unconsciously clenched your thighs together. 

When you didn't respond, his expression became more worried. Brow furrowed, he put his hands on the ground, “I'm so sorry, please forgive me. Tell me what to do and I'll do it, I swear. You know I'll do anything for you. It doesn't matter what you ask for, how impossible it is- I'll do anything you want. Just…please… I can't lose you.”

You exhaled, “It's not the first time you've done something like this.”

“I know.” His voice dropped. You could almost see tears welling in his eyes he was so scared of what you would decide. Those purple irises of his were glossy and blurred and the sight pulled at your heartstrings.

“You're like… a territorial dog.”

His gaze never wavered from your own and his eyes seemed to clear at that pronouncement. Uncertainty gave way to clarity, insistence, “Then I'm your dog. I'll be by your side and protect you with my life forever. I'll do whatever you ask so just tell me how I can do it the way you want.”

You shifted once more, the space between your thighs becoming uncomfortably hot and wet. Normally, Caleb did all the heavy lifting, so to speak, in your intimacy. He initiated, he took care of you, he held you down and plowed you into the mattress until you were drooling and could only remember his name, not your own. You loved it, you loved him, but…the idea of putting him in his place, especially when he was begging for it, made your head swim with possibilities.

Resolved and feeling a pang of anxiety in the pit of your stomach at your own boldness, you leaned forward, uncrossing your legs and resting your elbows on your knees. “You want forgiveness? Then come here, dog,” you demanded, keeping your eyes as steely and focused as possible.

His face flushed. Seemingly, even as he begged for you, he must not have expected such a response. Your heart hammered in your chest as you wondered if he'd back out, find a way to turn this back into your normal dynamic with him on top, with him in control. You wondered if you even wanted him to obey, if this wasn't too much responsibility, too different from what you were used to. Seconds passed and you doubted yourself, prepared to pull back with an apology and an excuse-

But with red filling his cheeks, he hung his head and crawled towards you, slowly and with the weight of his own humility on his back.

You could have moaned on the spot if you were any weaker. 

He stopped in front of you, head bowed right before your knees. 

You put your hand out towards him. He reached out with his own to hold it and you swatted it away without any verbal command. Truly, you weren't sure you had the strength. This was uncharted territory for the both of you.

He stared at you, eyes wide and completely aware of what you wanted. He put his hand back down on the ground and took a slow breath.

Caleb shut his eyes and pushed his head up against your hand like a dog. 

You gave his hair a ruffle, letting your nails rake gently across his scalp, “Good boy,” you praised, your voice breathy as you remembered how to breathe. His hair was soft under your fingers and the way his head fit against the palm of your hand felt natural.

The tips of his ears burned as red as his face. It obviously took a lot of effort for him to let himself be in such a position. But it was for you, and he promised he'd do anything for you no matter how humiliating. 

“Are you going to behave?” You asked him, letting your voice drop into an almost musical condescension. The question was a part of the act, but also the offer to let him back out. The last chance he had before you both accepted his role for the night.

He couldn't form words --he wasn't even sure if they were allowed as a dog-- so he nodded and prayed you'd accept it. There was no question in his mind whether he'd go through with this. He was yours, completely and without condition. If you wanted him to be a perfect boyfriend, he'd be your perfect boyfriend. If you wanted him to be strong and commanding, he’d be strong and command you. And if you wanted him to be a dog, he was your dog.

His agreement made your heart settle. You weren't forcing him, he wanted this. You decided to be kind to him, petting his hair, letting him be a silent and obedient pet for a moment. Unconsciously, he lulled into your touch, his eyes closed and the tension fading from his shoulders. You hummed praises towards him then let your fingers drift down to cup his cheek and raise his eyes towards yours. “How is my dog going to make it up to me?” You asked him, propping his chin up on your fingers and making him look up at you.

His eyes were dark, but not the way they were when he was upset. They were filled with adoration and devotion and something undeniably primal. “I'll do whatever you want. Always,” he promised, voice devoid of any of that embarrassment you'd have expected to be there. It was composed and serious and controlled. 

It took every ounce of control in you to not fold right there, to give him free reign over you the way you always did. The way you knew you liked it. You could already imagine him caging you in, his arms on either side of you as he plowed you into the mattress and growled about how well you were taking him. 

But you could have that any day. This was far more rare.

You pulled back your hand, ran it up over your thigh and pulled your skirt up higher. Letting your legs part, you looked down at him, “Make yourself useful on your knees, then.”

With your permission, he leaned forward, head between your legs, hands reaching up to grab your thighs and pull you closer to his face. You allowed him to hook your knees over his shoulders, allowed him to lean in and disappear under your skirt, allowed him to lick you over your underwear. He groaned shamelessly at the taste of you.

You bit down on your lip to muffle yourself, knowing your silence would drive him insane. He would have to work for every treat he could get.

Caleb pressed his tongue to your clothed cunt. One of his hands snaked around your thigh to hold you open enough to keep him fitted there. The other rubbed you over your panties, the cotton growing wetter and heavier from your slick and his saliva. 

You were too eager to feel his tongue against you to wait, “Just- just take them off,” you ordered.

He pulled away long enough to respond, “Yes, ma’am,” and then tugged your panties down your legs, letting you see his flushed face again as he did. His eyes never left your cunt, his hair was ruffled from your hands and skirt and thighs, and his lips were red and wet already. He was a gorgeous sight.

As soon as your underwear was thrown behind him, you grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled him back to work.

He didn't need any more permission and immediately licked from your entrance and up in one pointed move. He pressed his tongue flat against your clit as his finger rubbed through your folds to get it wet enough to slide in. As he pushed his finger into you, he kissed your clit with as much gentle, desperate reverence as the first time he kissed you on the lips.

You fell back on the bed, thighs suffocating him, hands anchoring him by the hair. 

Working a finger into you, he paid your clit more attention, enough to make your stomach tighten and your toes curl. It was too early to feel overstimulated, but he sucked and licked your little bud with such focus, you had to tug on his hair to get him to ease up. “Slowly, dog,” you moaned out. Whatever this was? You wanted to make it last.

He hesitated in his ministrations. Obviously, he wanted to eat you out like he always did: messy and moaning against your pussy like he was the one getting off. Taking it slow, denying himself the pleasure of your juices squirting onto his face? It wasn't his ideal. Still, he obeyed your orders and shifted below you, settling back slightly. His finger worked back and forth into you, curving and stroking you exactly the way you liked. And he did it all slowly, obediently, and with a tent in his pants that was already uncomfortably tight.

“Good boy,” you praised him again, petting his head as he went down on you. “You're my good boy, aren't you?” 

He whined in agreement at the praise and you promised yourself you'd commit that sound to memory.

His finger worked in and out of you slowly and eventually he pressed his cheek against your leg, gave a long kiss to your inner thigh, and looked up at you with eyes completely clouded with desire. “Can I give you more?” He asked.

He punctuated his request with a slow curl of his finger against your insides that made you drop your head back against the bed and moan. “Yes, yes- make me come,” you commanded breathlessly.

With your permission, he pushed another finger into your heat and sped up his motions. He pressed in close again to lick you until you felt your core tightening, your heart racing. “Caleb-” you whined out before you felt the tension snap in you and you coated his hands and lips with your juices.

Heart hammering in your chest, you took deep breaths, rolling your hips against his face as you rode out your orgasm. He stayed where he was, matching your rhythm effortlessly, keeping you at that peak as long as he could. As you came down from it, he kissed your thigh, and then sucked lightly, and then bit hard enough to leave a mark. 

A truly obedient dog would have asked before doing that, but the idea of him marking you made your cunt spasm around his fingers. 

He only pulled his fingers out when you weakly pushed his head away, and you had to push him the entire way out from under your skirt or you knew he would have stayed there, just waiting for permission to eat you out again. You raised yourself up on your elbows to look at him and bit down a whimper at the sight of his shiny, wet, swollen lips, his tousled and messy hair, and his blown out pupils. His normally soft purple eyes were completely clouded, completely dark, watching you like you were the only thing in the room- no, the only thing in the world. As you looked at him, he brought his fingers to his mouth and licked them clean, eyes never leaving yours. 

Truly a filthy dog.

“Good boy, Caleb,” you praised.

His eyes lit up at the praise and he tested your leniency by putting his hands back onto your thighs, “I can do it again,” he offered eagerly, “Let me keep making you feel good.”

“I think I want something else from you,” you teased. “Up, boy,” you sat up and patted the bed next to you.

He hesitated only a second as he tried to understand your words. Already, his brain was turning to pussy drunk mush and it made your heart stutter with adoration. Caleb climbed up onto the bed where you had indicated and looked over at you with the biggest and cutest puppy dog eyes you could imagine.

You couldn't hold back your smile. Your early frustration with him had completely subsided, aided of course by the lingering bliss of your recent orgasm. “Lay down,” you gestured.

You crawled over him slowly and straddled his legs as he laid back down against your pillows. “You're going to keep your hands to yourself for now, got it?” You told him sternly.

Caleb had already been reaching for your hips to pull you closer, to grind you down against him, and now his arms tensed as he considered whether to obey or not. One haughty, arrogant look from you broke his desire to rebel and he dug his fingers into the covers in submission.

His pants were tight around his bulge and you took your time rubbing your palm over the most raised part slowly, just barely giving him any friction. His jaw tensed. You pressed down a little harder and he sucked in a breath at the feeling. If he had been anyone else, you would have expected him to look away in embarrassment, to hide his face in the pillows or with his hands but no- this was Caleb and he wasn't going to let anything stop him from savoring every second of your expressions. He watched you as you stroked him over his jeans and you watched back, a smile light on your lips.

He looked so good when he was being submissive to you. His eyes looked so big and innocent, his lips parted slightly with each breath, his cheeks a pretty pink- Pity you hardly ever saw him like this.

“Is this enough?” You teased, letting your body rock back and forth slightly with your motions. 

The sheets were scrunched under his hands so tightly he might have put holes through them. He wanted to say no, but he knew better. He knew what you wanted. “If that's all you want to give me, yes,” he said, his voice somehow both husky and whiny at the same time, like he was holding back the last shreds of his dignity but the desperation was still leaking through.

Your cunt ached. “You would come for me like this?” You leaned down over him, peppering his jaw with kisses, pressing your chest against his and continuing to paw at him through his jeans.

He turned his head in the hope that you'd take pity on him and kiss him, but you just kissed the tip of his nose, the corner of his mouth, and smiled innocently at him. “Tell me and I will,” his voice came out more of a whine than anything.

“You don't think that's a waste?” You asked with an exaggerated pout. You pushed yourself back up to straddling him and worked the buttons and zipper of his jeans open. 

He groaned, head falling back as you let your hand drift down the waistband of his boxers, “You know I can last more than one round, pips.”

The use of your nickname made you giggle. Even when he was trying to be obedient, trying to be your dog, he had too much pride and ego to let you think he couldn't satisfy you. “I know, sweetie,” you assured him, pulling down the elastic until you could pull his cock out finally. “I know you're always good for me.” 

The tip was so red and wet with precum you almost felt sorry for him. Almost. If he didn't deserve this so much. “P-please,” his voice was strained as you trailed your fingers up and down his shaft as lightly as you could. Still, he stayed good, he kept his hands to himself.

You inched up on him, positioning yourself over his cock, rubbing it through your folds, letting the tip catch on your clit. The sensitivity nearly made you double over and you avoided it on the next pass just to keep your control. “Beg again,” you hissed.

“Please, please, please, please, need to be inside you, please-” he chanted, not a drop of shame or pride in his pathetic, desperate need for you. 

You couldn't deny either of you any longer and pressed his tip against your entrance, sinking down on him until he was fully sheathed in your cunt. This time, you did lose your composure, pressing your hands to his chest and nearly collapsing onto him as his cock filled you. Your legs shook slightly as you got used to it, as your pussy stretched to accommodate him.

“Let me do the rest,” he pleaded, and it sounded so tempting. Being a pillow princess was so easy and rewarding with him. “Let me take care of you.”

You pushed his shirt up to his mouth, your hands brushing against his abs and chest as you went. Holding the crumpled fabric at his lips, you gave him an order. “Hold this up but keep your hands down,” you tried to keep your voice level and stern, but it came out pitchy as his cock twitched and throbbed in you. 

He bit down on his shirt.

You ran your hands down his chest, pressed them to his abs, and started rocking and bouncing on him. It was stupid how good he felt, how hard it was to stay focused when his cock rubbed against you so perfectly. It really filled every inch of you up and then stretched you just a bit farther. You rolled your hips, let him stay deep, let yourself just use him for your own pleasure. 

“Sh-should I let you come inside?” You asked through your own pants and moans. 

He groaned out something you assumed was yes, but he obediently kept the fabric of his shirt in his mouth for you.

“Were you a good enough dog to deserve it?”

He bucked his hips up into you in response and your eyes nearly rolled back in your head. His arms were so tense, his muscles so strained from trying to keep his hands off of you. He looked so good like this. He looked so good having to hold back, having to be a patient, obedient, submissive dog for you. You whined when he thrust up into you again and your thighs clenched so tightly they hurt.

“Good boy, good dog,” you praised, “G-give it all to me-” your body tensed and your back arched as your orgasm hit you. Your nails dug into his chest as you held on to him, your pussy spasming around him.

It didn't take any longer for him to finish too, shooting a thick load into you that made you cry out his name at the feeling. Feeling boneless and spent, you collapsed onto his chest. He pressed his heels into the mattress to push up into you without being able to hold you, desperate to stay deep inside while he released everything he had.

Eyes shut, you stayed still, your body tensing and relaxing as you came down from your orgasm. Your cunt sporadically clenched around him and his hot come and you whined, deep in your throat, at the sensation. 

As satisfied as you were, there was something missing. You looked up at him and then tugged the shirt out of his mouth. “You can thank me, now,” you offered with a small, apologetic grin.

“Can I touch you?” He asked instead, words falling out of his mouth quickly as if they'd been there this entire time.

You nodded, eyes already fluttering shut.

Immediately you were wrapped in his arms, and you noted with a choked whimper, he kept his cock buried in you. “Thank you,” you heard him say softly, kissing the top of your head as he held you tightly. 

You stayed there for a moment until the ache of being oversensitive and overfull began to be too distracting. “Caleb- need a break.” 

He pressed you closer just one more time before easing up, slipping out of you, and letting you slump onto the bed next to him. “Do you forgive me now?” He turned on his side, hand splaying across your stomach and eyes boring into your own.

You reached up to brush a strand of hair out of his face. “Always,” you hummed and it was true. No matter how many times he fucked up, no matter how far his obsession took him, at his core you knew him. You knew his intentions were good and that there was just something in his brain, too deep and intrinsic to him to remove, that made him hold on too tightly. As frustrating as he could be, you loved him.

He smiled, so cutely endearing that it made your heart ache. “I love you, pips, and I'll do anything for you. Never forget it.” He cuddled up to you, nuzzling his face against your neck as he did.

You put your hand over top of his, “Love you too, puppy,” you teased.

[akirathedramaqueen]

Some thoughts on the Western Energy trainwreck

Soo, I've come across that post, and... it made me thinking.

Stolas spent there the whole time, not knowing Blitzø *did*, in fact, send help. He assumed he was all alone, although still had some resemblance of hope, a fragile straw he hang on to piss off Striker, allowing to tear up only when one didn't look at him.

And... hell, I used to see many comments about how Blitzø let him down there... But did he?

Oh course, some think he did, and he surely thinks he did, too. But, although the whole sequence with him and Loona trying to get that S.H.O.T. was a fucking circus and looked like a joke compared to suffers Stolas had to endure and barely survive...

To be honest, these scenes being put together on surface do, in fact, make it think that the whole Stolas being on the verge of death ordeal is a joke to Blitzø and he would rather spend time running around with big needles and stuff.

If to get back to the phone convo between them at the beginning of the episode, Blitzø mentions that it took him 5 years to book that appointment, and it means a lot for him to not miss it. Missing out on that shot meant to put Loona in potential danger, his daughter, and, although we don't know what kind of shots they were talking about, we know for sure what does missing out on a vaccine schedule could mean in the real world - we tend to forget how dangerous polio, for instance, is, as most of us have access to the vaccine and don't get to experience it not even themselves, but in close vicinity as well. For us, vaccines might seem to be some kind of stupid routine, something we got comfortable with in a privileged world, something which surely could be skipped for a day, right? But in Blitzø's one they are luxury.

Despite all of that, I also want to put your attention to the fact that he wasn't going to ignore it. He is speeding up, and I think (although it's not expressed explicitly, but not everything should be, right?), that he already made up his mind that Stolas is a priority.

You are not thinking it's about shots, right? He wasn't that reckless in driving before *that* call.

And! He wasn't even the initiator of Millie and Moxxie going instead of him. *M&M's* were.

And Blitzø trusts them, because why not? They are his employees, they are skilled and capable, and they are his friends as well, they know that shit is important to him (although he isn't willing to admit it himself).

We see also, how Stolas was admitted to the hospital immediately, which already gives a hint on how different their stance in the world is. I wonder sometimes how it would've turned out if Stolas proposed to Blitzø to use the royal influence to get another appointment shortly after Blitzø saves him, but we know he didn't get much time to even think about that. He wasn't even able to finish the sentence before Striker took his phone off him.

To be honest, I don't think the outcome itself would have been much different. I don't think Blitzø would've done a better job at saving Stolas, but, maybe, only maybe, he would've felt better because he was, at least, there for him.

Because you know that shit is going to haunt him till the day he dies. Because it only reassured him that he isn't capable of sticking around for his people.

Because, you know... happened once already.

No wonder he left Stolas's message on "read". Knowing all things before and after, it's not a surprise that he, tending to take all of responsibility for all the wrongs on himself more than he should to, couldn't face the consequence of what he thinks he failed in. He, speaking figuratively, left Fizz on "read" for 15 years, and he kinda sorted it out only because he couldn't run anymore and had to face the trauma as circumstances didn't give him a chance to chicken out.

I wonder what he was trying to tell Stolas. But I don't think we will ever get to learn that.

Aw, crap, I am done here, I am going to go and cry for a little bit. Thanks for coming to my ted talk, see ya in like 5 minutes to experience some Full Moon trauma again, because I can't get over these two. XD

[madwomansapologist]

Hello!!! I was wondering if you could write headcannons of the BG3 companions and a dragon bloodline sorcerer tav? Especially their reactions to their more dragon like tendencies like hoarding things or their wings when they level up (draconic sorcerers get wings at lvl 14 table top and 11 in bg3 ) that would be great ❤️

bg3 companions with a draconic sorcerer!tav

Navigation | More Weirdos | AO3

synopsis: How would they react to their leader as a draconic sorcerer?

warnings: austim be danmed my girl can study about dragons (lae'zel).

note: that made me want to play as a draconic in the future. thanks for your request, i hope you like it!

Lae'zel

You got her attention immediately. All other races are as alien to a githyanki as themselfs are for those across Faêrun, but she knew a lot about draconics still. A interest of hers that she wasn't able of shutting down, don't matter how efficient and practical she achieved to be.

She always had a soft spot for dragons. A gith can't waste its time dreaming, but who can control it? She wanted so bad to be a dragon rider. When she learned there were races of people who descended from dragons, it was only natural she would want to learn about them.

Upon meeting you, part of her brain was just trying to analize. To learn from what type of dragon you descended. Her interest on you was purely academic.

She wondered if you had noticed how possessive you are. Lae'zel knows you're one of the most selfless people she ever met, the amount of times you lose something so someone could be safe... and still, you are so possessive.

You would kill Cazador with your bare hands and bring Astarion his head, but would never let him use one of your necklaces. Once she heard you hissing because he touched your things.

Exploring Baldur's Gate, everyone got stronger. When your wings evolved, Lae'zel seemed allured by them. So intricate and strong. Beautiful. A sign of your effort and talent. You deserved them.

"Just another proof of your strenght, zhak vo'n'ash duj. Our enemies will tremble before you. I already do."

Shadowheart

Something about you felt... familiar. Like she already knew you. Maybe she did. Or perhaps it was someone familiar. Maybe it was just the highs from being saved from a nautiloid. Still, Shadowheart couldn't help but to take a liking to you.

She never had a draconid friend, not that she remember at least, so it took her a bit to get used to the differences. It's impossible not to bring attention upon your group with your height and wide body. The teeth were certainly something she was highly aware.

Shadowheart thought it was enduring how you would always ended with the party's gold on your pockets. You say you will deal with the finances, and you really do that and do it well, but she knows mostly it's because you need to have it near you.

When your wings were strong enough, she would always find an excuse to hug you. It was so warm to feel your wings around her body. Shadowheart feels so save between your arms. So at peace.

"Before you I thought I knew what true embrace felt like. I was wrong. Thank you, my sweetest lover. For opening my eyes."

Astarion

Your size was intimidating. You could be an awful obstacle for his safety, but gladly you were kinder than Astarion could expect. You were way more than Astarion could ever expect.

After a while, it was interesting to learn more about you. So wide, and still so delicate. So scary, and yet so good. So moral, and yet so capable of violence.

For a draconic, it was a bit cliche that your go-to spells were fire ones. And he made sure to tell you that.

Once Astarion saw your wings, for some reason Astarion felt... proud. It just felt right for you to be rewarded after everything you did to them. To him. And it also made you look even more alluring.

"Another fireball, darling? Really? In this tiny room? Alright. Whatever feels right to you."

Gale

It was incrible to have another magic bender in the party! There are a few differences in styles and in the path you both want to go down, but at the end you both share the same goal.

Either as a student or as a natural vessel, the weave conects you both. It feels lovely to have someone who can see how the entire world moves because of it. To have someone to go for when doubts about new spells pop up, or that understands that he can't spend a long time in the battle field. Someone that just understands.

Gale was so curious about the limits of your body. Merely academic curiosity! He meet a few draconics before, but never he spend such a long time beside one.

It was mesmerizing to see you sleep in a nest. Not really one, but basically a nest. Everything looks so comfortable. So you. The best blankets, your favorite jewels, some gold.

Gale Dekarios is a student before all. And you quickly became his favorite subject.

"Don't they make you trip, my love? Ah, I see, your body was made for those, dare I say, beautiful pair of wings. If you ever feel the need to rest while you get used to them, just say the word."

Wyll

You weren't the first draconic Wyll befriended. Your race may be not so common in some parts of Faêrun, but he is not one to be surprised by your needs and habilities. Wyll is always ready to help you, don't matter what.

You need more space at camp, every armor needs to be wide enough to fit your wings, swords can't be tiny so your handle turns weak. Wyll is just waiting for you to need him so he may act.

The hoarding turned into a problem so quickly. Every damn thing "could be necessary". Forks? Rotten watermelons? Half-eaten apples??? And don't you try to say those are culture differences. Those are problems.

Once someone aimed at your wings during a fight. You barely were able to see the energy rays before their body burned to ashes.

"The Blade stands at your side, dear one. My duty is with your safety."

Karlach

Our girl on fire saw more dangerous things than a dragon's bloodline. Still, it was good to see a good fighter. She has the muscles, and you the brains. A perfect duo, one could say.

She thought was sweet your tendencies. How you wrap your tail around your companions that are being threatened. Or how the glow of jewels can make you break your neck just for a glance.

Karlach loves the fact you are also build bigher, just like her. It's good to not have to look down at someone, or to not break her back in a attempt to be at the same high as you.

She got so scared when your wings evolved. She didn't knew it was something that could happen to draconics that turned really strong. For a whole minute, she thought you went through some sort of body horror kinda of shit. She knows a lot about it, so it was really good to hear your explanation.

"Fucking gods, soldier! You almost lost me there. Thought my heart would fucking explode."

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

GENERAL TAGLIST: @lovelyy-moonlight

BALDUR’S GATE 3 TAGLIST: @citrusbunnies

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

[incloudcity]

blue line | jw60

requests are open

summary: when Joseph abruptly cuts you off, you confront him in a storm of confusion and hurt, demanding answers.

You hadn’t expected forever. You just didn’t expect silence.

You stand outside his condo, fists clenched in the sleeves of your jacket. Toronto’s late spring wind doesn’t quite bite, but it carries enough chill to mirror the ache sitting in your chest.

It’s been twelve days since he last texted you.

Ten since you sent that dumb “hope the game went well” message.

And zero since he acknowledged any of it.

And maybe that would’ve been fine — if you two were strangers. If this was just hookups and post-game adrenaline and laughing under blankets until sunrise with no strings.

But there were strings.

At least, you thought there were.

Your knuckles rap against the door harder than you meant to.

When it swings open and you see him — messy hair, hoodie, surprise flickering behind tired eyes — it’s like everything inside you erupts.

“What the hell, Joseph?”

He blinks, startled. “I… what?”

“You don’t get to do this,” you snap. “You don’t get to just disappear. Not after everything—”

“I didn’t mean to disappear—”

“Really? Because it felt pretty fucking intentional.” Your voice cracks, and you hate it. You hate how hurt bleeds into anger like this, how it makes your chest feel tight and stupid and small.

He runs a hand through his hair and steps back, wordlessly letting you in. You hesitate, then storm past him into the apartment — familiar and now painfully unfamiliar all at once.

You spin on your heel to face him. “If this didn’t mean anything to you, just say it. I can take that. But don't pretend it wasn’t something.”

His jaw tightens. “It was something. That’s the problem.”

You freeze. “…What?”

He lets out a slow, breathless laugh — more bitter than amused. “It wasn’t supposed to be. That’s what we agreed on, right? No pressure. No feelings.”

You stare at him, heart thudding. “So what, you caught feelings and decided to ghost me instead?”

He flinches.

And that’s all the confirmation you need.

Your voice lowers, rough and trembling. “You could’ve just talked to me, Joseph.”

“I didn’t know how,” he says, a little too quickly. “God, I— I’ve never done this. I’m used to shutting people out before they matter, and you— you didn’t give me that chance. You just mattered. And it scared the shit out of me.”

The silence that follows is sharp.

You cross your arms tightly, more to hold yourself together than anything else. “So you ran.”

He nods once. “Yeah. I ran.”

And somehow that makes it worse — the fact that he’s not denying it. That he’s owning the damage like it's some awful truth he’d rather hold than let go of.

“I thought I did something wrong,” you whisper. “I thought I made it too serious or read into things that weren’t there.”

His face crumples like he’s trying not to break.

“No,” he says, voice thick. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I just didn’t know how to handle it when it got real.”

You swallow hard. “It was real for me the whole time.”

His eyes find yours, and for a second, all the walls between you both dissolve. You see everything in his gaze — the regret, the fear, the way he never stopped thinking about you even if he pretended to.

“I don’t want to keep running,” he says softly. “Not from you.”

You want to believe him. God, you want to. But this still hurts. It doesn’t just get patched over in one night.

Still…

“I’m not doing the casual thing again,” you say firmly.

He nods. “I don’t want casual. I want you. All of it. If you’ll give me another chance.”

You hesitate.

But then, slowly, you nod.

Because beneath the hurt is something softer. Something that says maybe, just maybe, he’s ready to stop hiding. And maybe you're ready to let him try.

[monstersandgenderqueers]

Little Gifts (Part Six)

You slowly uncover more of Loki's secrets, while trying not to make one of your own too obvious.

Pairing: Loki x neurodivergent!reader

Word count: 2854

A/N: What an awful week to have paid attention to the news. Anyway, if you're numb from the stress of it all like me, just uhm... think about Loki? It helps a little bit, I promise.

Divider credit @/saradika

Previous | Masterlist | Next

You wake up in a cold sweat, the sheets tangled around your legs. No, you didn't have a nightmare. Not one that you remember, anyway. By all accounts, it was a perfectly pleasant dream, involving you and a wildflower meadow and someone lying on their back beside you, listening to the sound of the wind.

What woke you up was the persistent feeling that something was wrong. Wake up, wake up, wake up!

Nothing looks wrong, at least, not at first glance.

You shouldn't be surprised that you're feeling this way, since it isn't the first time you've woken up feeling impending doom. Whenever you're left out of an assignment and peril looms in some remote corner of the Earth, you can never get rid of the horrible feeling that someone won't make it home.

The compound has been nearly empty for three days now, save for you and the essential personnel. Oh, and Loki, of course.

You were taken off the mission roster because of the flu, forcing you to stay in bed sick, which makes you even sicker with worry. You know that the people you care about are in grave peril, but there is absolutely nothing you can do from the compound.

Looking at your phone, you realize it's nearly three in the morning, several hours yet until sunrise. 

Well, there's no way I'm getting back to sleep now.

The worry makes you nauseated, as does the illness. You want to grab something to drink from the kitchen, and maybe something to eat, but the kitchen is so far away…

You stand and wrap a blanket around yourself and up over your head, with the blanket bunched in your fists to keep it from slipping off. With only your eyes visible, you leave your room and shuffle to Loki's.

The few paces to his door feel treacherous due to your dizziness. Nevertheless, you make it to his door and stick one hand out of your cocoon to knock.

It takes a few moments before you hear Loki's footsteps on the other side. When the door finally opens, you realize you might actually be intruding. The thought never occurred to you to not knock on Loki's door in the middle of the night.

She's glaring at you, with a black silk robe tied around her waist and her dark hair braided down one side. She looks simultaneously elegant and frazzled, which is a combination that does nothing to help you figure out if she's okay with this and she'll smile at you, or if you have to prepare yourself for an annoyed Loki.

With your blanket thankfully covering your heated face, you stammer, "Oh, uhm, sorry….."

She scowls as she raises a brow, "Are you aware of the time, little one?"

"Uhm… yes? Is that your actual question, or—"

"Why have you felt the need to wake me at this hour?"

"Oh, I uh… I thought you'd already be awake. You usually are… I mean, I assumed you're like Thor and that you need to sleep like once every week or something… but, I guess that was wrong, or maybe Thor was making a joke, or something, or…"

Her grip on the door tightens.

Oh no. I messed up really bad. It doesn't help that I can't say what I'm thinking without it getting all twisted up….

"Explain yourself," Loki huffs, a painted fingernail on the edge of the door.

Oh, those look nice! You try to keep certain thoughts from dominating over your other, more reasonable thoughts. "I… about what?"

"Explain why you're standing here in front of my door."

Oh. Duh.

"Oh. Uhm…" Now you feel really stupid, but since she's already awake, you feel that you might as well tell her. "I don't feel right."

"Yes, I'm sure illness will do that to you."

"No, I mean… well, yes, but I mean I'm worried and scared and I feel like something really bad has happened."

After a long, painfully silent moment, she opens her door wider and gestures for you to come in. You do, still keeping the blanket on. The room is just as bare as you remember, with the exception of several tall, black candles that provide the only light in the room. They must've been lit for a long time, because the wax is dripping and pooling on the side table, and it's still wet enough to reflect the flames.

She takes a seat on her bed, then pats the space beside her.

Feeling warm for unfortunately non-flu related reasons, you sit down.

"What is it that you're so afraid of, darling?" She asks, her earlier scowl erased and replaced with a look of concern, the lines between her brows seeming deeper from the dim candlelight. You've seen this look plenty of times on the others, and you are familiar enough with this expression to know what it is, it's simply surprising to see it on Loki.

You struggle to keep your thoughts in line, wondering how much you can tell her before she'll revert back towards annoyance and anger, "I think something bad happened on the mission."

"What do you mean? Have they contacted you?" Her face is still tight and tense, but not in the mean-Loki way.

"No, just… it's just a feeling. There's like a part of my brain that is absolutely certain that someone's been hurt badly."

She sighs, "I know you well enough to know that you know that your paranoia doesn't reflect real life."

"You're right. I do know that if something happened, the both of us would be well aware of it by now. But I can't stop feeling it no matter how hard I try, and a really big part of me is scared that this time my feelings will be right."

"I take it they've never been right?"

You nod, twisting your feet in little circles to mimic the spiralling of your thoughts.

"Perhaps your ill health is making it more difficult to get rid of these worries."

Sniffling unintentionally, you nod again, little tears budding in your eyes. Feeling silly and stupid, you barely notice the flash of green from the edges of your vision. Loki stands up, now wearing black pajamas. She extends her hand down to you and says, "Do I need to lift you, or can you walk down the hall with me?" It sounds like she's teasing, but sometimes her default tone is teasing.

"I can walk. I'm not that sick."

"Suit yourself." She motions for you to follow her, and you do.

When Loki crosses the threshold of his bedroom, he's back to his masculine form. Unable to stop yourself, you ask, "Why do you do that?"

"Hm?" He turns back to look at you.

"Transform like that. I mean… I didn't think gender fluidity was so… fast? No, I don't think that's what I'm trying to say…"

Ah! No! Why did I ask that? Ugh that's so rude! There's no backing out now…

He stares ahead as you follow him down the hall, mulling over your words. "It isn't completely because of identity, little one. Don't forget that I'm being watched." He looks directly at a camera as he passes, as if he's memorized the placement of each and every one.

"So you can only be one thing here in the compound, and you have to like… disguise yourself a bit when you go out? Did I get it totally wrong when I've asked about it before?"

"It's far more complex than that. All of Midgard is a prison to me, little one. The only freedom I have is picking and choosing which of my forms my jail keepers see."

Sadness swirls in your chest and makes it hard to breathe. Partly from empathy—Loki feels like he can't be himself in any form while he's here. The other part is that maybe Loki thinks you are one of his jail keepers. You could be nicer than anyone on this planet, but you're still of this planet. A human. The latter portion of sadness starts to take over the rest.

He really doesn't like me, then.

Is his kindness towards me just an act? Fawning?

The tears that had started budding a short while ago come back full force, but you're grateful that the part of the blanket still covering your face is absorbing the tears before they leave visible streaks.

Still, when Loki turns on the lights in the common room and faces you, he's concerned again. He sticks his hand beneath the part of the blanket that covers your forehead and holds his hand against your skin.

"You're terribly warm. Do you feel feverish?"

Maybe. You nod, not wanting him to think you're being foolishly emotional over anything that he's ever said and done.

Which you are not.

He asks, "When was the last time you had something to eat? Drink?"

You shrug, "Dinner last night, maybe?"

With a hand on your back, he guides you to the kitchen. "Tell me, where are the cures kept?"

"Cures?"

"Yes, for your illness."

"Uhm… we don't have any of those. Do you mean, like, medication?"

He sighs in exasperation. "No cures? Not even for the common ailments?"

"No? We don't have cures for anything like that…"

"Fine. We'll fix you the primitive way."

"You mean soup? Water? Flu medications?"

"Yes, yes, all of that." As you watch him fumble around the kitchen in a frazzled way that's very uncharacteristic, you feel your earlier misery melt into bubbly amusement. He pulls open drawers and messes everything up inside them to look for whatever it is he thinks will help.

Sighing, you open up one of the cabinets and pull out a can of soup. He simply stares at you with disgust.

"You are not eating out of a can."

"Well, there isn't any homemade soup, and I don't feel like cooking right now."

"Should I call for the chef?"

"She's at home, probably sleeping. The canned soup is fine, Loki. I have it all the time."

He doesn't bother hiding his disgust as the contents of the can fall into a bowl with a wet slurp. After the water is added and it's safely in the microwave, you turn to face him, rocking a little bit on your feet. "Is it really that gross?"

"Yes. I've disemboweled plenty of foes in my lifetime, and none compare to that… that sludge you're about to consume."

"Hm. I think you're being dramatic."

"Nonsense," he says, smirking.

You're about to take the bowl out of the microwave, but he does it for you.

"Careful, little one. It's hotter than the fires of Muspelheim."

"Muspelheim?"

"Yes. I'll tell you all about it while you eat."

You watch, mesmerized as the crown of the massive tree above you sways with the wind, the bright green leaves holding on for dear life as the same wind threatens to tear them from the branches. The coolness of the grass seeps in through your shirt, making you think for a split second that it might have been best to use a blanket to lie on the ground instead of just your clothes. But, you didn't think that far ahead when you ventured over. You saw the dappled sunlight on the lawn and the towering oaks and you thought it would be whimsical to bask in it.

It feels similar to some of the dreams you've been having lately. Only, there's a key thing missing. It would be perfect if—

The gentle touch of fabric against your cheek startles you. Turning your head to your right, you see Loki laying down a blanket before settling on his back. Once he's comfortable, with his arms crossed behind his neck, he tilts his head to look at you.

"Uhm… hi?" You mutter, sort of questioning why he's just plopped himself next to you.

"I couldn't find you at the party," he says, as if this explains all of the questions that were forming in your head. It doesn't, of course, and it only creates new ones.

"So…?"

"What I mean to say is that I was seeking your company and I couldn't find you. But I have now, clearly." He looks away from you when you fail to reply. "What is it that you're doing, exactly?"

"Crown-gazing."

"Crown-gazing?"

"Yes. The crown of the tree. You know, like a canopy of a forest but… singular?"

"Darling, I know what a crown is," he sighs and closes his eyes. When he opens them, he looks at you again. His eyes look clear in the dappled sunlight patches on his face. "What I meant was for you to explain why you are so called 'crown-gazing.'"

You shrug, the grass blades tickling your bare skin. "It's a nice activity for when I have had enough of the day."

"It's barely noon."

"I know." The sunlight reflects off the golden cuff Loki's forced to wear again. You sigh and ask, "Where's your security?"

He clenches his jaw, but then looks at you mischievously. "Well, little one… they still believe I am at the party."

You sigh and roll your eyes, making sure he sees your annoyance. "I don't want to get in trouble because you're breaking the rules. Besides, I thought you weren't able to do that kind of magic at all." You reach over and tap the bracelet on his wrist.

For a moment, you swear he looks hurt, but the expression washes away too fast for you to think about it for much longer. "I have no desire to remain at that 'cookout' any more than you do, apparently. I thought you didn't care for their rules, little one. Do you not trust me?"

"I do, it's just…" you keep your eyes trained on the leaves above. "If you get in trouble… Thor will take you back to Asgard, won't he?" You shift uncomfortably on the ground, the grass starting to bother you a bit more now that you're already irritated.

Loki's silent, gazing at the cuff on his wrist.

"Just how much magic are you able to use with that thing on, anyway?"

Loki sighs, "None at all."

"But—" He presses against two of the glowing runes and the whole thing pops open. He tosses it onto your belly, where you pick it up and inspect it. "I thought Thor fixed it so you couldn't take it off again…"

"My sweetheart, I've been able to take it off from the very moment it was put on." Loki holds eye contact with you, like he's begging you to understand what he's saying without words.

You splutter, trying to piece together what that could possibly imply, "But why are you here, then? Why aren't you literally anywhere else in the universe?" You get a little upset, the stress of your brief socializing at the party wore you down to the bone, and now your emotions are just leaking out with no chance of hiding them. "You say all the time that this place is your prison. If you hate it here so much then shouldn't you just go?"

He winces at the venom in your voice. You want to apologize, I didn't mean it that way, Loki, please don't be upset, don't leave, don't go, but you can't get rid of the anger fast enough. You feel like he's tricked you even though he hasn't done anything to upset you purposefully. And you know that, but it still feels like something he should have told you given all that you've told him. Especially since he's been using magic in front of you and Thor. This feels like something you should have been made aware of by at least one of the siblings.

Taking back the cuff and snapping it back on his wrist, he sits up with his back towards you and says, "I chose the least unbearable prison."

"But you can just run away—"

He whips his head around to face you, and for a moment it strikes you how pretty he looks with the sun highlighting his hair and his skin and his eyes and his—Loki interrupts your thoughts, "And go where?"

"You told me that you know where to hide from Odin, so—"

"Odin is not who terrifies me."

You stare at him, taking note of the tension in his face and how short his breaths seem.

"I'm sorry," you whisper, "I didn't mean…. I'm sorry."

"It's alright, my sweetheart. I believe we are both a little on edge today." He lies back down beside you, but then shuffles further away from you. You turn to look, a little offended, but that feeling goes away when he pats the blanket beside him, inviting you to lie on the blanket with him. You scoot closer, getting comfortable in your new crown-gazing position.

He takes your hand, then, rubbing the back of your thumb with his. Your heart leaps from your chest, and that warm fuzziness returns, and for a moment you feel like you might be glowing the way the leaves are from the sun.

Tag list:

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[captain-mj]

God I need a fic where Simon makes one of those offhand trauma comments before Johnny and gaz got used to them and they are just horrified

I was hoping I would get this ask! Obvious CW for talks of trauma, Ghost is nonchalant but others are horrified

Ghost sat down at one of the tables next to Soap and Gaz. He wasn't interested in eating at the moment, but if he sat in his room for another minute, he was pretty sure the walls would start talking to him. So he was in here instead.

Soap and Gaz waved at him and continued to talk. They usually did this and Ghost could just jump in whenever he felt like it. So far, he didn't find himself in a talkative mood so he just listened.

The current topic was their plans for the upcoming weekend. It wasn't technically a weekend, just three days they all had off due to two missions being scheduled a little further apart than expected. They planned to go down to the tracks for some reason to watch dogs race. Neither gambled to Ghost's knowledge and just watching them race seemed a little boring for such a convenient weekend time, but if that's what they wanted to do he supposed.

"You wanna join us Lt?" Soap smiled. "Maybe you can put some money down?"

"Last time someone around me gambled, I was gangraped. No thanks." Ghost flicked his eyes elsewhere to scan the room. He heard the clattering of silverware and turned towards them again. "Yes?"

Gaz looked... angry? "Lieutenant. It's really not right to joke about rape like that. Rape jokes are for victims and-"

"Who said I was joking?" Ghost stared at him. "And I believe if victims can joke about it, that means I'm allowed to."

Soap covered his mouth. "Oh, Simon I'm so sorry that's so terrible. I'm happy you were able to talk to us about it but..." He kept talking but Ghost just tuned him out.

"Ugh." Ghost eventually broke his silence to interrupt Soap and then leave. "Don't be such babies about it."

Gaz and Soap looked at each other and then tried to follow behind Ghost.

"Hold up. You can't just joke about that and then leave!"

"Just did. It wasn't hard."

Gaz quickly tapped Ghost's arm. "Sorry for assuming you were being insensitive."

Ghost shrugged, not really caring. "I'm a big guy. At least you guys believe me. Most people don't."

He wasn't sure what he said wrong but that seemed to make them more upset. “I thought you guys would appreciate that? Jesus.”

Soap looked so upset on Ghost’s behalf. “But that’s awful! You deserve support!”

Ghost stared at him, thinking about how he sometimes had panic attacks and could barely handle women touching him anymore. He had dealt with people hugging him, touching his back, trying so hard bring him back from that dark place. “Nah. Im good. Get fucked.”

[mmhcs]

Miguel O'Hara x Tall!Reader

A/N: (I haven't seen many fics covering this topic so I thought that I'd throw my hat in the ring today). This is dedicated to all the tall girls out there! Y'all are beautiful and amazing!

Warnings: Slightly suggestive, but mostly SFW focus on legs, reader is female(if you'd like to see a gender-neutral version, please let me know!), reader is described as having a curvier lower body (only at one point, though), Miguel is absolutely head-over-heels for reader (pun-intended!)

Okay, y'all. Look at this man. He is 6'9". Big. Very big. Often times, he's the biggest person in the room. Tall and intimidating. And while he likes that (he is the big, scary boss. Hear him roar!), there are times in which he wishes that there was somebody who could relate to him. Like, do you know how hard it is to find shoes at 6'9"?

Now, don't get him wrong, Miguel loves women of all shapes and sizes. Short, tall, average height, skinny, chubby - he doesn't care. But when he saw you? It was like he had a spiritual awakening. Seeing you walk down the hallways of the Spider Society, suit hugging your curves...It did something to him.

Especially when he saw the mold of your legs. For the first time in a long time, Miguel felt himself getting a little nervous. Never had he seen another Spider dominate the room like you did. During your first few days, people used to stare whenever you entered the room - not out of fear as they did with him - but out of awe. You were gorgeous but your height - it just took you over the top.

From your first day forward, all Miguel would hear about is you.

"Did you see the new Spider?" "Yeah, she's really tall! What do you think she does in her professional life? Model?" "Oh my gosh, look at her! She looks good in that suit!"

Whenever you and Miguel would have conversations, he found it hard to focus. First, you have a stunning face but those legs? Oh, he was a goner. Though he had only seen you with in your Spider-suit, Miguel couldn't help but take a liking to your legs. Your thighs, though comprised of muscle - jiggled when you walked, and your calves looked as firm as his demeanor on a bad morning. Miguel had never had a thing for legs before (or at least not to his knowledge) but now he found himself fascinated by your legs and their length and angles. He could spend days worshipping the curvature between your calves and thighs.

When Miguel finally does see you out of uniform? He needs to leave the room. Don't ask why, he just does.

When you two finally start dating, Miguel can't take his eyes off of you. All he can do is stare (mainly at your legs) and thank Padre Dios that he managed to pull you into his life.

But, while what initially made you stand out to Miguel was your height, it actually doesn't play that big of a role in your relationship. As time goes on and lust simmers into love, you and Miguel are just a regular couple.

Though he doesn't spend much time in his home (or didn't until you), Miguel's space is tailor-made for him. Meaning chairs, couches, tables, and shelves big and high enough to accommodate him and his height. While a small thing to note, he's glad that he finally has someone doesn't find issue with it all.

Miguel is aware of the of the stereotypes and jabs thrown at girls of your stature and so he does his best to constantly remind you that you are beautiful, attractive, feminine, etc.

If you're shorter than him (doesn't even matter if it's an inch), he likes to crack short jokes with you here and there.

"Bebita, come look at this!" Miguel yells from his in front of your bedroom's television. "What is it, Miguel?" you ask, peaking your head out of the bathroom. "They say it's going to be windy today," He juts his chin towards the TV screen before refocusing on tying his tie. "Take precaution." "Miguel," you scoff. "What? I don't want you getting swept up by the wind." "Okay, firstly, you know damn well-"

If you're taller than him, Miguel also has jokes for that.

"Bebita, could you please pass me that plate over there?" Miguel asks, pointing his chin at a cabinet shelf that is directly at eye level with him. "Miguel," you give him a pointed look. He shrugs at you, continuing to wash the dishes. "Hey, don't put things up so high if you don't want me to ask you to get them." (For the next week, you started putting all the dishes in the bottom drawer)

The jokes, however, are only reserved for him. If anyone else makes a joke about your height, Miguel gets upset. Just ask Hobie. One time, Hobie asked you how you couldn't tell him what the weather was like from up there (all in good fun) and Miguel, who had no context of the conversation and walked in at the wrong time almost crucified him.

Miguel secretly loves how you two look together. As the head of the Spider Society (again, he likes to be the big, scary boss man), he enjoys the presence that you two create together. Domineering, commanding. Whether you two are in uniform or formal clothing - when you two talk, people listen.

If you work out, Miguel loves to go to the gym with you. Not only because he likes to see you in workout gear (though trust him, that is a very, very, very big plus) but because he finally has somebody who understands the struggle of putting on (visible) muscle.

Miguel loves kisses with you. He's always been very big physical touch in relationships but never before has it been so easy to just steal a kiss. And so, it has been become his favorite pastime.

Miguel loves to see you in dresses and shorts and heels. Anything that accentuates your height. Sometimes when you come home, you see a dress or a new pair of shoes that you've been wanting. However, other times, you find an article of clothing or shoes from a brand that you didn't even know existed. But if it's jeans or a maxi dress, they always cover your legs, if it's a regular shirt, your stomach isn't exposed, and whatever it is always looks good on you.

Sometimes when cuddling, Miguel will just start tracing and/or kneading random parts of your body because there's just so much of you to love and he doesn't know where to start.

At the end of each and every day, no matter if you're taller or shorter than him, Miguel likes to make you feel safe and protected. He likes to play the role of protector/provider and makes you feel taken care of and comfortable.

Bonus: "Your children are going to be some stallions, ain't they?" Hobie says, looking between you and Miguel. You laugh but Miguel glares at him with a scowl that would make most start running for the hills. "Stallions, eh?" you repeat later that night, in bed with him. While not a fan of you slowly assimilating to Hobie's humor, Miguel chuckles dryly and pulls you closer to him. "Indeed," he says, placing a kiss to the top of your head.

[smiley-positivity-potato]

i have something to say, for all young transmascs or newly transitioning transmascs: just know the "womanhood" you had to endure will be used against you EMOTIONALLY as a trans masc. And not in the way many have spoken about. when you speak up on the abuse, trauma or experiences you went through growing up, people will make excuses of having thought you were just an "emotional teen girl", despite you trying to explain it to them- as an adult trans man. you try to tell them you just wanted help and presently want people to recognize their wrongs. like how they taught you as a child.

but instead they'll make excuses on how they each don't know how to take accountability, for the past or present. they'll say how you seemed like "your mother" at that age, so they thought it was a phase. so now they don't even want to hear or learn how they hurt you. they don't even want to know how to get help or therapy to communicate with you better. AND THEY DONT EVEN WANNA HEAR THEIR OTHER OPTIONS EITHER. they feel like you should just "let it go" when you bring up how it has effected you as a trans man growing up NOW , they dismiss you or blame your behavior on YOU INSTEAD. the reactions of a child, are labelled as an inconvenience, that you should take accountability for when you held no power. they did. so now that they don't, they don't even want to TRY to understand you-

all in all: they will use your past unchosen childhood to label you as an emotional "woman" who is hanging onto the past. when that is not it. it is NOW the accountability of the PRESENT. you want PRESENT ACCOUNTABILITY AND APOLOGIES. YOU WANT ACTUAL ACKNOWLEDGEMENT AND GENUINE EMOTIONAL REFLECTION. and every person in this world deserves that. do not fall for this lack of effort and communication- do not endure it to feel loved as a transmasc. the fact that you are younger AND have tried your best to understand EVERYONE around you all your life is enough. the fact that they won't even try to do it on their own FOR FIVE GENUINE MINUTES, says enough.

saying they don't know how to NOT say awful things to you- is a lack of effort alone. if they can watch you try to get help to understand them for YEARS, they should AT LEAST TRY to find a professional or group or ANYONE to learn how to mend the relationship they damaged or broke with YOU, if they are able. they should NOT use your past or present emotions AGAINST YOU- indirectly defining you as just an "emotional, hormonal, traumatized woman". but they will try. do not let THEM gaslight you or trick you into thinking they can't at least put SOME effort into respecting you as a MAN with FEELINGS FROM THE TRAUMA THEY MAY HAVE DIRECTLY OR INDIRECTLY CAUSED. they can AND they should put effort into rebuilding what they destroyed. because let me tell you something i've learned:

"If you stepped into a puddle and forgot to wipe your feet before you entered a loved one's house; then the tracks you left are still your's. No matter where you go in the house they will always be yours- and it's up to you to not keep leaving them."

whether they meant to or not, they still left filth on your floors- and we all know who's tracks they are. we all saw it, but the question is: will they return and do it again, with cheeky pride and their head held up high, or will they clean up the floor apologetically, and reflect on every time they left tracks accidentally, or purposely, in your house. will they think about how YOU felt; how they put you into a position of having to speak up for yourself to keep your "house" clean and respected? will they acknowledge all the other times they wouldn't listen or will they dismiss them? as said by ALL my medical professionals, the LGBTQIA community AND my chosen family, you have a RIGHT to cut these people permanently out of your life, and out of your emotional "home".

and if the next time you see them is at their funeral, that's ok. because you have a right as a TRANS MASC HUMAN BEING to put your safety, sanity, well being, respect and emotions FIRST. you have a right to PROTECT yourself from that negativity and pain. do NOT sacrifice yourself to PROVE ANYTHING to ANYONE. do not overexert yourself trying to get them to understand you when all it does is cause you to breakdowns- AND it hurts.

you KNOW who you are. and that is ENOUGH. KNOW IT WILL ALWAYS BE ENOUGH. for you are a transmasc who has EMOTIONS, A PAST AND PRESENT, PAIN AND TRAUMA. You are a VALUED, LOVABLE PERSON AND YOU DESERVE TO FEEL RESPECTED AND SEEN IN THIS WORLD REGARDLESS OF WHAT ANY "LOVED" ONE SAYS- and if your "family/loved" ones have too much pride to acknowledge that- LEAVE.

[danisbrainrot]

Teen nat comforting you when you're crying about something hcs?

natalie scatorccio x reader

a/n: we're so back! after the first two episodes of season three dropped I'm inspired by this ask. it's not head canons, sorry, I just liked the idea and wanted to write a little story about it.

sorry this must be at least six months late, but here it is! camp counsellor nat :)

spoilers ahead!! (technically? I think it's just season two spoilers though)

wiping the tears from your eyes, you sniffle into your lap, hunching over to take up as little space as possible. you just wanted to be out of everyone's way, not wanting to ruin the mood with your tears. everyone else was happy and celebrating surviving winter, while you felt stuck. frozen in time, still unable to move on from how much winter took from you girls.

first jackie. then crystal. then javi. . .

now springtime has rolled around, you can't help but feel the same dread you felt throughout winter—yes, it was lovely now and your team has cultivated a livable community. however, you couldn't help but wonder what happens next winter? When akilah's animals freeze to death, gen can't find game. . . when shauna goes crazy again.

you pause, wondering when was the last time shauna was sane. then, guilt creeps in as you realise that you had no right to judge her—not after everything she lost. her best friend. her baby.

"hey, are you okay?" nat asked, crouching down to your level.

you gasp in shock, wiping more tears from your eyes. your cheeks stung with embarrassment at getting caught—nat came out of nowhere, giving you no time to recuperate. "yeah, just. . . needed to let it out."

placing a comforting hand on your back, nat tried to offer you a reassuring smile. "hey, we all understand. it can feel daunting out here. if you ever need someone to talk, I'm here."

"oh I know, your majesty," you tease, eliciting a snort from nat—you could tell she hated the title. you sigh gently, signalling you were okay. nat pats your thigh, standing up when suddenly your hand flings out to grab hers. "do you think we're awful people? for eating javi? and jackie?"

nat pauses, her face dropping significantly. she bites her bottom lip, which you find insanely attractive, before shrugging. "we did what we had to. . . to survive."

"but if that's what it takes to survive, do we deserve to?" you question, clutching nat's hand firmly. the brunette looks down at you, her expression unreadable, before shaking her head.

"all I know is that it should have been me. javi. . . I still don't believe in lottie's bullshit about the forest, but I will never forget his sacrifice."

you nod, realising your questions were hurting natalie more than you'd meant for them to. you drop your hand, resting it in your lap and watch her walk away.

she swivels her head to look at you, words on the tip of her tongue, before she shakes the thought away and walks away.

late that night, you hear a rustle outside your makeshift hut. turning to your roommate, you find gen fast asleep, so you decide to investigate by yourself. you follow a sliver of light, someone's back to you as they watch the small flames dance.

"shouldn't you put that out? it's late," you ask, sitting next to nat on the campfire log. she glances at you, her face enchantingly illuminated by the flames, taking your breath away.

"just thinking," she mumbles.

"about our conversation before?" you ask, eliciting a nod in response. you stare at the fire, wondering if it was the heat from the dying flames that burnt your cheeks or the way nat looked.

"you didn't chase me. why?" she whispers, not daring to look you in the eyes.

"when we ate jackie, it felt different. . . she was already dead and we didn't cook her, the snow did. sure, it was cannibalism but it wasn't murder. . . if I had chased you—"

"you'd have actively tried to hunt me," she replies.

"it seemed wrong, even for us," you answer.

there was a beat of silence while you watch her gaze into the flames. you felt your heart race in your chest, working up the courage to tell her what you want to say, "it goes both ways," you promise. she looks up at you confused, "if you need someone to talk to, I'm here for you. . . and I'm sure it's not easy as the antler queen, especially with whatever shauna and mari have going on."

nat erupts into laughter, shaking her head. "don't get me started on those two," she replies, before her laugh fades to a small smile. she places her hand on your shoulder, "but I like the idea. we look out for each other."

"You'll be the queen and I'll be your—wait what is it called. . . the people royalty lean on for support. . . oh, concubines?" your face drops when you notice nat's face. her eyebrows are raised and tries to cover her mouth and stifle her laughter.

nat can no longer hold it in and burst into laughter again, "that doesn't mean what you think it does," she teases.

"oh, that's the sex one. isn't it?" you mutter, lowering your head to avoid her gaze. nat tucks her hair behind her ears, making you think about how she managed to rock the grown out look. she suited blonde, brunette and a combination of both.

nat notices you watching her intensely, "what? is there something in my hair?" she asks, raking her hands through it swiftly.

"no, no. just wondering if you miss the blonde?"

"well, it's still there, isn't it?"

you snort, "yeah, but the full blonde?"

nat shrugs, "more important things to worry about," she replies candidly.

you reach out to play with the blonde hair, twirling it around your finger. unknowingly, you'd accidentally brought her face closer to yours. she didn't seem to mind, but once you realise your cheeks burn and you shuffle away from her. "sorry," you mumble.

"come here," she replies, grabbing the back of your head and pulling you close.

your lips connected seamlessly, like your lips were made for each other. she kisses you softly, a reassurance that she was here for you, while her fingers tangle themselves in your—already tangled—hair.

after what felt like only a minute—but could have been longer—nat gently pulls away, a string of saliva all that connected you two. she runs her thumb over your bottom lip, cleaning away the evidence, and offers you a wonky smile. "I suppose every queen needs her concubine after all," she jokes.

"that was amazing," you whisper, still in awe. she laughs again, resting her forehead against yours.

[saythatuwill]

now playing: say that you will // sleep token ok gang let's be transparent... i wrote this because i was really going through it, and it was going to just be a bunch of shitty bad hurt no comfort thoughts/hcs that's it. i'm still going through it but this did help me a lot actually. still mainly sad stuff about our favorite fish boy though.

on the bright side, i did want to elaborate on siren!noah's backstory and other personality deets so we're getting that at least. i fear this is in fact canon. obviously this is not a fic, just one of my long rambles/thought posts, but... siren au lovers are on the phone... i answer the phone.

also because i feel like someone's gotta say it: WHOA, SHERRY SAYTHATUWILL USES THE SLEEP TOKEN SONG "SAY THAT YOU WILL" FOR A WORK THIS IS CRAAAAAAAZYYYYYY-

au: merfolk/sirens

content warnings: abuse, mentions of murder/eating people, self esteem issues, idk if this is a content warning but noah is HEAVILY bpd coded.

tags: @fadingangelwisp, @concretejunglefm, @chey-h, @xmads-omensx

noah knows he's fallen in love with you, and he is terrified.

on one hand, he's always so happy to see you, and he makes sure you know it. he'll splash around when he sees you, he'll bring you gifts, but he doesn't know what's actually going to happen when he has to address the feelings themselves.

because he's been here before. love is... awful. it hurts, it takes everything. love is pain, love is feeling like nothing unless that person is there.

he's seen nights where he's told to sing. and sing. and sing. his throat is hoarse but his lover told him that if he loved them, he'd keep singing.

he's seen nights where he felt nothing at all. staring blankly back at friends who kept asking what was wrong. he even watched some of them leave and never come back because of it.

or maybe, the nights where they just wouldn't give him anything. no words, no affection, not even a glance. sending him into a downward spiral, wondering what it was that he did wrong. convincing himself that everything he ever did was wrong. he was wrong.

before them, he used to be able to look at his reflection more often. sirens pride themselves in physical appearance, you know! he even carried a mirror with him. that was when he had long hair, it was beautiful.

but they said to cut it off, so he did. ever since you, he's thought about letting it grow out again. but noah can't bear the thought of not being liked by you if he did. he only looks at himself in the mirror if he feels he must. which isn't often. he's only just started to again, because you called him pretty one time.

he's afraid of what he is, too. because there's always the possibility that one night he'll mess it up. come out on a full moon, and all you would be is blood in the water. you would be nothing more than a meal to satiate his cravings for flesh.

then he would never see you, hold you, have you again. how would he go on after that? and yes, realistically he is careful. he's made sure of it, he never goes to your beach on full moons. but what if-

he gets caught up in the what ifs a lot, though. constantly, even. what if he kills you, what if you decide you don't like him anymore and never come back, and he wouldn't even know? what if something happens to you, and he's not there to help you?

he thinks that if you wanted, he would choose to be nothing, feel nothing, unless you were there. he'd be anything, anyone, if only for you. and it confuses him when you don't seem to ask anything of him.

you don't ask him to sing until he physically can't. you don't tell him you hate him, or that he's worthless. you don't hurt him, you're not even afraid of him anymore. he cannot fathom for the life of him why you're not giving him the treatment he deserves.

because he deserves it, right? that's what they used to tell him. he'd become grateful for the treatment even if it was painful, or upsetting, or left him feeling like a million shards of glass.

and if you knew what he did to that lover, you'd surely run away. it wasn't like he wanted to, he just got scared. he bites when he's nervous, like a bad dog. he was protecting himself, even if it meant killing them to keep himself safe.

however, he's a siren. and when sirens kill, they are bad, so he's bad. he's always bad. if anyone else did that though, like jolly, he wouldn't be bad, it would be justified. not for noah, though. he doesn't deserve that same grace and compassion, at least he doesn't think so.

he could never truly be enough for you, he believes that wholeheartedly. he's willing to burn for you, but for you to love him would be out of pity, wouldn't it?

... but.

tonight, you've brought along a few picture books. you're sitting there on the rocks, and you're as beautiful as ever. you're teaching him some new words, and at the end of the night you kiss his cheek before you go home.

it's not violent. it doesn't hurt. it's good, it's pure. and he doesn't know if he deserves that.

but when he lays in his grotto to sleep that night, he's smiling. he does that a lot when he's with you, he finds. you make him feel at home, like he belongs. like he is enough, just as he is. that he's worthy of love that doesn't hurt.

noah knows he's fallen in love with you, and he thinks he's willing to face his fear for you.

[creweemmaeec11]

Dark Horse Painted White Part 3

Pt 1 Pt 2

Hero couldn't help the feeling of guilt clawing at their throat. They were at such a loss! They'd tried so hard to be nice to civilian this morning, but it was as if the nicer they were, the more Civilian seemed to hate them! They didn't understand what they'd done so wrong!

Despite their loss of appetite, hero ate their omelette to avoid being rude, before doing the dishes like they'd promised. They wiped down the table, and even spotted a broom behind the fridge they used to sweep.

When their civilian host still wasn't back yet. Hero awkwardly lay back down on the couch, not daring to touch anything else they might get in trouble for. It was very rare they ever got the opportunity to sleep in like this, nevermind have free time. What should they do? It's not like they had time for any hobbies. What did normal people do with time off?

Hero continued staring at the ceiling. They'd checked their phone a half dozen times. No new assignments or instructions from their boss. They hadn't even gotten any paperwork passed off to them yet. They received nothing but radio silence, all their time meant to be dedicated to protecting the Civilian.

Finally, after what felt like hours of staring at the wall, hero heard the door at the end of the hall open and the clacking of claws approach. Immediately, they sat up to attention.

Civilian rounded the corner, holding a notebook and a pen but their eyes stayed trained on their phone as they typed with their other hand.

"Here," they said, tossing the two items onto the coffee table, "make a list of stuff you want picked up at the grocery store,"

"Wait, what?"

"Food, hero," civilian deadpanned, "unless you plan on eating all of mine while your here?"

"N-no, of course not! But-"

"Then get to writing," they quipped, before turning and heading to the kitchen.

Despite their confusion, hero did as they were told, writing down a list of things they could think of that didn't take much preparation.

Civilian came back a few minutes later, looking at the hero expectantly.

They stood up off the couch, handing the notepad back to their host, "Please let me pay, for all of my stuff at least-"

"Do you have cash?" Civilian asked as they started typing on their phone yet again.

"Only $20, but I can send you the rest-"

"The twenty is fine," they replied. They weren't giving the hero any sort of link to their accounts. Civilian's eyes finally left their phone screen to begin reading the list. Something in their face seemed to shift as they read the items.

"Is something wrong?" Hero asked nervously.

"We just have a much simmilar palette then I would have expected," they replied, tone a mix of begrudging and in awe.

Hero wanted to ask why, but they bit their tongue, "are we going to go pick this stuff up?"

"No, I'm having a... uhm, *friend* pick it up for me," Civilian replied, snapping a photo of the notepad before dropping it back down on the table.

"So, what are we going to do today then?" Hero questioned.

"Nothing," the other replied, tucking their phone back into their pocket.

"Nothing? What do you mean nothing?"

"As in we aren't doing anything..." Civilian explained in confusion, "I canceled my plans,"

"But..." hero hesitated,"what should I do then?"

The civilian bit back the comment of telling the hero they should leave, if not for it being a waste of breath, then for how genuinely confused the hero sounded, "Uhm... I don't know? Whatever you want? You didn't bring anything with you to keep you occupied?"

Hero looked a bit perplexed, "uhm... no? Should I have?"

"Well... I would have thought so... never mind. It doesn't matter. I'm sure you can find something on TV at least,"

"Oh, yeah okay, sure,"

"Queen," Civilian whistled, "remote,"

Hero watched in wonder as the large white dog ran to grab the remote, bringing it over to the Civilian.

"Good girl," they praised, taking the item from the dogs mouth, "Tell me your favourite channels and I'll find their numbers for you,"

There was a beat of silence. The lack of answer caused the Civilian to glance over at the hero with a mix of confusion and annoyance.

"I... I don't know.... I'm not familiar with any of the different channels. I haven't watched anything other then the news in years,"

Civilian's face simply shifted into even more confusion, "uhm.. okay... well you can get youtube on this TV too. Do you watch anything on that?"

"Uhm, no... I don't think so," hero shifted awkwardly, "Maybe you could reccomend something?"

"Uh..." Civilian stuttered, suddenly strangely flattered hero would trust their judgment and taste to make a suggestion.

They cleared their throat. Nothing coming from a hero was any sort of compliment.

There was no way they were going to be sharing their actual preferences with hero!

"Yeah, sure I guess," Civilian shrugged. They'd share shows they thought were okay, but not their favorites. "But what do you even do in your spare time?" They asked as they navigated through the channels on the TV.

"Uh, well," they chuckled dryly, scratching the back of their head, "I don't exactly have a lot of spare time. Evil never rests as they say, and that usually means neither do I,"

Civilian internally rolled their eyes. What a drama queen. There was no way hero wasn't exaggerating. Because sure, this city did have it's fair share of criminals, but there was no way a major crime took place nearly every day. Three times a week, max.

"Plus, if the city holds any big public events, I always need to be there in case a villain decides to show up. That mixed with all the press conferences, fan meet and greets, training, street watch, you know... and any time I have leftover gets used up by finishing all the paperwork the other officers don't get done," the hero gave a forced laugh again, "in fact, I think this morning was the first time I've gotten to sleep-in in..." they blinked, "I can't even remember..."

The hero glanced up, realizing they'd been rambling and were about to apologize but the look on the Civilian's face made them stop.

Civilian was looking at them with an incredulous, shocked expression.

"Of course it's all worth it!" Hero sputtered.

"Sounds like you need to put your foot down" Civilian scoffed, turning back to the tv. So what if they'd been wrong about hero's daily life? Just because they didn't live like royalty? If anything, heros probably deserved to be working so hard, for all the problems they caused, it served them right not to have any free time! If they wanted to throw their life away for some meaningless agency, what did villain care?!

"Maybe you're right, but.... I'm a bit of a people pleaser" hero chuckled again.

Civilian side-eyed them, "you don't say," they scoffed, before carelessly tossing the remote next to the hero on the couch, "Give this channel a try for now. If you don't like it, just change the channel till you find something,"

"W-wait!" Hero sputtered, quickly jumping to their feet.

Civilian's feet regrettably stuttered to a stop. They turned their head, glancing over their shoulder at their unwanted guest.

"What?" They snapped, failing to hide the annoyance in their tone.

"Where are you going?"

"To my room?"

"But... I'm supposed to keep an eye on you? I can't really do that if you're in the other end of the house with the door closed..."

Civilian grumbled. That had been the entire point.

"Fine, I'll work in the kitchen," they amended, before heading to their room to gather a few things.

----------------

The house had been quiet for the next few hours, the only sound being the soft murmur of the wTV in the other room, when suddenly there was a knock at the door.

Hero immediately jumped to their feet.

"Please, let me get it!" Hero asked quickly, coming up behind the Civilian who was about to open the door, "just in case,"

Civilian rolled their eyes, scoffing under their breath, but they didn't argue, stepping aside to let the hero grab the handle.

The door opened to reveal no one, only multiple grocery bags on the front step. The hero poked their head out further, looking around, but they couldn't see anyone.

"Uh..."

The Civilian didn't say anything, instead pushing past them to begin bringing the bags inside. Quickly, the hero scurried to help.

"Was that your friend?"

"No, my groceries just teleported onto my doorstep," Civilian replied sarcastically as they began taking things out and putting them onto the counter.

The hero chuckled humorously, "No, I mean, where did they go? Why did they run off so quickly?"

"Maybe supervillain got them,"

"What?!"

Civilian gave them an incredulous and unimpressed look, "they were *busy* hero," they explained, rolling their eyes.

"Oh, right," Hero replied, clearing their throat awkwardly, "Well, it sure was nice of them to pick up everything for you,"

*that's what they get paid for* civilian thought to themselves.

Once everything was put away, they let out a sigh.

"I need to take Nova and Queen out for a walk. Be ready to go in half an hour," Civilian stated matter-of-factly before disappearing down the hall and into their room.

[anonymityisfunwriter]

Midnight Rain

“I broke his heart because he was nice. He was Sunshine, I was Midnight Rain…”

Request from ao3- "ok but imagine a grumpy/sunshine fic with sam but the reader is the grumpy one 🤷" For one of my fave readers, @/badasswithafatass I hope you enjoy! 💛

Pairing - Sam Wilson x Reader Sam Wilson Masterlist | Inspired By Taylor Swift Masterlist Anon's 1K Celebration

“You know, for a smart guy, you’re pretty fucking dense," Bucky mutters, taking another swig of his beer.

“Aw… you think I’m smart?” Sam sarcastically awes from the bar stool beside Bucky.

Bucky rolls his eyes, shaking his head, “Do you honestly think she had any real interest in me?”

Bucky doesn't miss the tick in Sam's jaw at the mention of you. Months had passed since the last time Sam saw you, and he wasn’t too keen on remembering that dreaded last night. Just the memory of you leaning over the bar counter, hand resting on Bucky’s chest, whispering something in Bucky's ear, was enough to make Sam's stomach twist into a knot.

Even before that night, he could tell that you were pulling away from him, but there it was, that night, the final nail in the coffin. That was the last time he’d seen or heard from you. You walked out of his life without so much as a goodbye.

Sam rolls his shoulders back, his mouth twisting in distaste, “Sure seemed like it to me.”

“See? Dense,” Bucky declares, tipping his beer in Sam's direction.

“Alright, I’ll bite. How does any of that make me dense?”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Are you going to keep insulting me or are you going to actually explain?”

“Sam, she’s a spy, an assassin," Bucky explains like it should be obvious. "She knew you were standing there. She knew you were watching.”

"So maybe she wanted to make a point. It’s not like she was one for talking or communicating, maybe that was her way of letting me know how she actually felt. Trust me, I got the message loud and clear. That doesn’t make me dense."

"Sam..." Bucky takes a long breath. "We're a lot alike, me and her. And people like us, we cut and run, it's what we do. We don't wait for things to go bad, we live with the expectation that things will always go bad."

Sam tosses the rest of his whiskey back, flagging down the bartender for another one. "That's a depressing way to live."

“It keeps us alive.”

“We weren’t on a battlefield!" Sam spits through gritted teeth. "We were done with the fight, remember? We won, for Christ’s sake!”

“And where did that leave her, Sam? With a conditional pardon? People watching us 24/7?”

“With me!” Sam snaps, slamming his glass down on the bar. “It left her with me. We were good, Bucky! We were happy together. At least, I thought we were happy together. I even- I told her that after everything, that I would take her back home, meet my family, maybe settle down a little.”

"And while you're thinking about taking her home to meet your family, she's probably thinking how a family like yours is going to react to you bringing an actual assassin home."

"I... didn't think about it like that,” Sam confesses, faltering for a moment. He shakes his head. No. He refuses to accept that. It didn't excuse that he'd found you flirting with his best friend. It didn't change that you told him he meant nothing to you. “Because I don't think about her like that. And you know what? She could've talked to me, she could've told me she felt like that, Bucky, but she didn't."

"Sam, can I be honest?"

"Shoot."

"I don't think you two will ever work."

"That's a shitty thing to say to me," Sam spits.

"I don't," Bucky admits with a languid shrug. "Honest truth, I don't see it."

"You don't have to see it, I do,” Sam firmly states. “I see it working out."

Bucky claps a hand on Sam's shoulder with a tight lipped smile, "That's my point, Sam. That's the difference between you and us. You, you live for the hope of it all. She doesn't know how to do that. I don't know how to do that. We're broken, haunted people, Sam. We hurt people that get too close."

"You're wrong."

"Why else-"

"Because she was bored!" Sam angrily shouts, not caring at the stares his outburst brings. "She only wanted me because I was there."

“Do you honestly believe that?”

“Yes. I do believe that,” Sam hisses. “Unlike you guys, I believe the words that come out of people’s mouth. She was bored... She was bored and I was there.”

Bucky takes a long pull from his beer, rising from his seat with a defeated sigh. He turns to Sam to offer one last piece of insight, “All I’m saying is I wouldn’t go on the run with someone for two years because I was bored. Not unless I really gave a shit about them. Not unless I loved them, like really loved them.”

"Do you mean that?" Sam asks over his shoulder.

"Yeah, I mean that."

--

3 Years Earlier - Somewhere in Scotland

“Just let me do the talking, okay?”

Sam raises up his hands, “No arguments from me.”

The doorknob rattles for a moment, opening just enough for you to stand before them. You look at them and immediately try to snap the door shut, “No.”

Nat extends out her hand to stop the door from swinging shut. “Just hear us-“

“No.”

"You don't even know why we're here," Nat argues. “It’s important. Please.”

You relent, allowing the door to fling open. Standing tall in the doorway, your eyes rake over each of them, “Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanov or whatever name you’re going by now, and Sam Wilson, all in the flesh, all the most wanted fugitives on Earth. So I don’t care how important it is, my answer is no.”

Sam’s eyes comically widen, his voice taking a slightly bewildered, high pitched tone, “How did - Do you happen to know the names of all strangers that show up at your door?”

Your eyes dart over to Sam with a grimace, “Strangers that show up at my door end up dead. Consider yourself lucky.”

“I want you to know I’m choosing to take that as a compliment,” Sam quips, placing his hand over his heart. 

“Don’t worry, Sam," Natasha smirks over her shoulder. "She’s more bark than bite. And this is me calling in a favor.”

Your eyes narrow at Natasha, "Which favor?"

"Budapest."

Your mouth narrows into a thin line as you glare at her. You hated that favor.

You look back at the three of them. Even dressed in street clothes they all stuck out like sore thumbs. They’re all disheveled, clearly exhausted, and you did owe Natasha. You convince yourself that there is no good in this deed, it’s just a repayment. Even as your eyes linger back to Sam for a second too long. You tell yourself you don't care what happens to any of them. It's just paying a debt. “Fine. Just keep me out of it.”

Natasha nods, offering a small grateful smile, “Thank you.”

You turn on your heels without another word, striding down to your room. You slam your bedroom door shut, leaving the others on their own.

“It was nice meeting you,” Sam calls after you.

You don’t bother to reply.

After a few hours, the sun sets and your safe house returns back to its normal quiet state except for the soft snores of Steve Rogers in your spare bedroom. You’re certain that they’ve all gone off to get some rest. That is, everyone, except Sam Wilson.

“Have a good nap?” Sam greets you, sitting on the small couch in the middle of your living room.

Your eyes snap over to Sam, lightly scoffing, “Actually, I was avoiding you.”

Your brutal honestly doesn’t phase Sam. The corner of his mouth twitches up as he playfully tugs on the collar of his t-shirt, “I tend to have that effect on the ladies… That sounded better in my head.”

“For you and me both,” you quip.

“You know, you’re kind of a jackass.”

“I know. Thanks.” That's the only conversation you plan on having with Sam Wilson. You continue walking to the kitchen without saying anything else.

"So how long have you and Nat been friends?" Sam asks, trailing you as you walk to your kitchen, clearly not taking the hint that you don't want to talk to him.

You scoff over your shoulder, "Who said we were friends?"

"So you're not friends? Because the whole letting us hide out here, housing us, letting us eat your food, not turning us in, sorta gave me a different idea."

"We're not friends."

In truth, your relationship to Natasha was much more complex than that. At one point, you were like sisters. In the Red Room, she was all you had. Your only friend. Your confidante. And still, you could never quite live up to her, always second to her. You knew all her secrets, all the blood spilt, all the skeletons in her closet, and she knew all of yours.

The night before your graduation, you ran. As far away and as quickly as your legs could carry you.

You were never quite sure if it was irony or simply Dreykov’s own cruelty, but she was the one tasked to find you and collect you. You never stood much of a chance against the person that spent almost two decades besting you. She found you in Budapest. It would’ve taken a single shot. And still, it never came.

But you weren’t going to tell that to Sam.

"You're not friends?”

"No."

After that, your paths crossed only once in a blue moon. Once Natasha left Dreykov, she never sought you out. And you didn’t bother to either. You weren’t friends. You weren’t enemies. She was the sister that became little more than a stranger.

"Do you help all your not friends run from the law?"

"Natalia and I have an agreement of ... mutually assured destruction."

"Mutually assured destruction?" he dubiously repeats, quirking an eyebrow. "...So best friends."

In spite of your best efforts, your outwardly stoic expression gives way as a chuckle bubbles out of your mouth.

"Did anyone see that?” Sam proudly announces to the empty house. “I want it on the record that I made a Black Widow laugh!"

"Don't push it," you warn, though the hint of a smile that pulls at the corner of your mouth dampens the threatening undertone of your words.

"You've got a nice smile," Sam compliments.

You wipe the smile off your face, but there's nothing you can do to tame the slight blush creeping up your face, so you say the first thing that comes to mind, "Fuck off."

--

That's how it went between you and him. Push and pull.

Their time at your safe house in Scotland was short lived. No more than a few weeks. And even in those few short weeks, he saw it, saw the good that you desperately tried to keep hidden. Even then he knew, he knew you cared so much more than you would ever let on. Cooped up in your little cottage, he found that behind your barbed words and tough exterior, was a person that he really liked. You didn't let him see very much of it. Most of the time, it was in little slip ups, little cracks in your armor, but he saw it. He swore he did.

Sam ambles alone through the streets of New York, the pavement is still damp from the midnight rain, the noisy cityscape is the only thing keeping Sam from fixating on the endless loop of memories playing in his head.

He’d be lying if he said that he didn’t think about you anymore. He did. All the time.

He thinks about how good it used to be. How even on the run, constantly looking over your shoulder, it was good. He'd like to think you were as happy as he was.

In truth, he wasn't sure how or when it happened. You weren't very nice to him - to any of them really. You kept them at arm's length. He had to earn every glimpse of the person behind the armor. He had to earn every smile, every laugh, but he found each one was worth it. To him, you were worth it. You were worth all of it. 

And when that time came, when that safe house wasn't safe anymore, you stayed by his side, you became his home. 

--

You simply walked up to the breakfast table and announced that it wasn't safe to stay much longer. "You have to leave."

"What?"

"We've been here too long. People in town are beginning to talk."

Natasha didn't miss a beat. "How long?"

"Tonight."

Sam watches the interaction closely. You refuse to look at him. For a moment, Natasha's eyes look at you, imploring. She utters a quiet question in Russian.

You don't respond, only shaking your head once.

"I understand." She softly inhales, her shoulders slumping slightly, "Thank you."

You nod, turning on your heels and heading to your room. You didn't expect Sam to follow after you.

There's some part of you that's unsettled by how easily Sam fits into your life. You don't like how he speaks to you like you're friends. You don't like that there's a part of you that would love to know what being in Sam's life would feel like. And you most certainly don't like that Sam has no problem questioning you. Prying into your life. He won't like what he finds. He'll run the moment he sees the number of skeletons in your closet. No, you don't like that at all. 

And you definitely don't like that he feels comfortable enough to follow you back to your bedroom. He wedges himself into your doorway, leaning against the wall, "So what about you?"

You don't turn to look at him as you pack your duffle bag, "What about me?"

"Where you gonna go?"

"I have other places."

"By yourself?"

"Typically."

"Why don't you stay with us?"

You pretend like you're surprised by the offer. As though Natasha didn't offer the same thing two minutes ago. You just didn't expect Sam's kindness to extend past his need for your safe house. "What?"

He takes a step off the wall. Even turned away from him, you can practically hear the grin he wears in his words. "We could always use the help. You seem like kind of a pro at being a fugitive."

"I don't think your team would appreciate my presence."

"I would. I want you to come." Sam turns back at the doorframe. He pauses for a moment, looking back at you. "You should come with us."

--

You never told him why you ended up joining them. It was the one question he couldn't ever get a straight answer for.

He couldn't really remember how or when you ended up in his bed - or more accurately, when he ended up in your bed.

All he knew was that for two years, you were his sanctuary. Each and every night. He held you. Kissed away your fears. You allowed him to see parts of you that you buried long ago. 

It made the moment you walked away hurt even more. 

He doesn't know what the hell he's doing here. He's pacing through the streets of New York in the middle of the night. It won't bring you back. It won't change what happened. You still left him.

It was easier believing that you left him because you didn't love him. 

The other option hurts. It hurts too much. His heart almost shatters at the though of you leaving him because you didn't see it working out, because you thought you would hurt him. 

That's the worst part - he believes Bucky. He believes that no one, not even someone as prone to finding trouble as you are, would ever go on the run with someone for the hell of it. Not unless you cared. Not unless you loved him. 

He should've seen it. The panic in your eyes when he suggested going back to Louisiana. The pain when you lost Natasha, the last person you considered family. 

It eats at him. He didn't even try. Not really. Yeah, you walked away, but he could've gone after you. He could've believed in the love he knew you shared. 

He reaches for his phone, tucking into the crook of his neck as he hails a cab, and calls the one person that could possibly help him, "I need your help. Can you find someone for me?"

--

1 Year Earlier - Somewhere in Eastern Europe

“Stop watching me sleep.”

Sam kisses your bare shoulder, resting his chin on your arm, “It’s the only time you’re not frowning. Except when you’re with me, of course.”

You sleepily sigh, trying to suppress the smile that Sam so effortlessly puts on your face. You halfheartedly push him away, rolling further away from him, “I’m going back to sleep.”

Sam’s arms wrap around you, pulling you closer to him, “No, come back.”

“We’ve got a lot to do tomorrow, we should get the rest while we can.”

“I miss you,” Sam whines.

“I’m right here.”

“But we’re always talking about work, about the world ending, I just - I just want a minute, just me and you.”

You finally turn around to face him with a cheeky grin, “You had me to yourself all night, remember?”

“How could I forget?”

You settle against him, resting your head on his chest, “So why couldn’t you sleep?”

He smiles down at you, absentmindedly playing with your fingers, “I was thinking.”

“About?” you urge.

“What comes next. After the fight, after everything, about going home, finally seeing my family again. My sister would love you. I can't wait to introduce you."

Your smile slips from your face. "What?"

"I mean, I know we're on the run and everything, but I'm still holding onto hope," Sam confesses. "You'd love Louisiana."

A sinking feeling overtakes you. Those survival instincts you've spent your entire life cultivating bubble up. You could see Sam's family picture where he left it on the dresser. His picture perfect, shiny family.

That wasn't you. Not even in your wildest dreams could that be you. The closest thing you had to a family was the Black Widow sitting in the other room cleaning her knives. You weren't meant for domesticity. You weren't built for the happy ending that Sam deserved. The happy ending he wanted. 

Sure, he loved you now, but would he love you when his family looks at you with disdain? Would he love you when Sarah refuses to let you anywhere near his nephews? 

Or even worse, what if he did? What if he loved you through it all and you broke him in return? What if he loved you and he lost everything else because of it?

You could tell Sam. Right here and now. Tell him that you weren't built for that life. He would listen. He would hear you. Like all of your other scars and imperfections, Sam would take it in stride. You knew he would. 

But could you really do that to him? Doom him to a life tethered to someone so tainted.

He was perfect. In every conceivable way. He was Sunshine. And though you'd done unspeakable things, there would be nothing quite as vile as dragging him down to the dim, murky depths of the wasteland you called home.

He deserved more. More than you would ever be. 

--

6 Months Ago - A Bar in New York City

"You don't have to do this."

You bitterly chuckle. It was too late. You'd made up your mind. You gave yourself until the war against Thanos was won. You gave yourself that time to say your silent goodbyes, to memorize the one and only love you would ever allow yourself to have. You were selfish in that way.

Now was the time to save Sam while you still could, to finally set him free. Even if you had to break his heart to do it. You rest your hand on Bucky's chest, the furthest you could allow yourself to go without making your stomach turn. "Do what?"

Bucky's jaw ticks, "He's a good man."

"I know." It's the only time your voice reveals even an ounce of your pain. Your eyes flicker to over Bucky's shoulder. It's too late. Sam stands a few feet from you, watching you with anguish in his eyes. For good measure, you lean in closer, whispering in Bucky's ear, "But I never did well with sunshine."

"Can I talk to you outside?" Sam demands. 

You roll your eyes and snort, "If we have to."

"We do."

Sam doesn't waste a single moment. The second you step outside, he points back to the bar, "What the hell was that?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Are you kidding me? I saw you. You were all over him. He's my friend!"

"I was just having a little fun, Sam."

"A little fun?" Sam scoffs. "Are you kidding me?"

You don't allow a single ounce of remorse to show. You don't allow him to see the regret. Your face is purposely blank, cold and uncaring. You were good at this part. You were good at hurting people. It's exactly why you have to let him go. "I don't see what the big deal is, Sam."

"You don't see what the big deal is?" Sam's voice wavers. "You were just coming onto my friend! What about us?"

"What about us?" you scoff. "I was bored, Sam, we had our fun but it's done now. We're not on the run anymore. It's not a big deal."

"Just like that, we're just done?"

"You were there, Sam," you lie through your teeth. Acid churns in your stomach, rising up through your esophagus and coating your every word. "There's nothing more to it, nothing more to us."

You'd done a lot of bad things in your life, but nothing made you feel quite as wretched as watching Sam's heart shatter before you. It was better this way. He didn't know it, but it was for the best. You couldn't ruin his life anymore. You couldn't hurt him if you walked away right now. Those were the last words you ever said to him. 

--

He did it. He couldn't believe it. He'd found you. There you were, standing out on a rooftop, out in the pouring midnight rain. He almost laughs because of course you wouldn't even realize how theatrical this whole scene was. "Do you realize how dramatic it is to be standing out in the pouring rain all by yourself? And without an umbrella?"

"I'm working, Sam."

"Shooting your next romantic comedy? Is this the breakup scene?"

You don't even turn to look at him. “You shouldn’t be here, Sam.”

Sam scoffs, “That’s all you have to say? That I shouldn’t be here?”

“Go home, Sam," you demand. "I don’t want you here.”

“You’re such a jackass, you know that?”

It pisses him off that you still refuse to even look at him. If you were going to break his heart all over again, the least you could do was look him in the eye. You speak through clenched teeth, "I know."

He storms around, planting himself in front of you, forcing you to look at him. "No, I mean that, I really, truly, from the bottom of my heart, I mean that. You're such an asshole. You're one of the most difficult, abrasive, cold, and selfish people I've ever met."

You can't bring yourself to meet his gaze. You look just past him, mustering every ounce of your training to stay stone faced, "I know."

"Do you know how hard it was to find you?"

"I didn't ask you to come here," you spit at him. "I didn't want you to come looking for me. You knew that."

"And you're a liar!" Sam exclaims, a bitter laugh bubbling up from his chest. "A damned good one, too."

"I never lied to you about who or what I was."

"But you did lie, didn't you? You've lied to me before."

“Yes, I have," you softly admit. You catch yourself, reminding yourself of why you're being so harsh with Sam. You force yourself to speak with that venomous tone you know all too well, "Many times, so if you’re done insulting me, I have to go.”

"God, you're so selfish, and- and you're mean! You brood way too much. You're so fucking angsty all the time. You act like the tortured character in every shitty teen movie every made. You're inconsiderate. You don't listen. I swear, talking to you is like talking to a brick wall. And sometimes - sometimes, I want to hate you so much."

It takes everything in you to sound as unaffected as you do. You quirk an eyebrow at him, crossing your arms over your chest, "Is that why you came here? Because you're upset?"

"Upset?" Sam incredulously repeats, taking a step toward you. He's still several feet away from you, still far out of your reach, "No, I'm not upset. I was upset six months ago. Now, I'm angry. I'm pissed off - with you. I have never been so mad at another human being in my entire life."

"I didn't do anything to you. You knew who I was - who I am."

"You think that's why I'm pissed? I'm pissed because you made me like you. I'm pissed that you made me fall so hopelessly in love with you."

For the first time in six months, your eyes find his. His warm eyes, the ones that grounded you through storms of midnight rain. He'd never said he loved you before - there's no taking that back. You suck in a breath, "Sam."

"I'm pissed because I believed you when you said you were bored. But mostly, I'm pissed that I let you go, that I let you walk away without fighting for you."

You try to warn him, beg him to stop before he says something that'll make it too hard to walk away from him. "Sam."

"Because I'm in love with you."

Your voice wavers as you beg him, "Don't do this, Sam."

"I'm in love with you," Sam announces again to his audience of one. "And I know you don't think you're good for me. And I know that it won't be easy, but I am. I am in love with you. Every part of you. Especially the parts you don't like. I like that you're mean, I like that you're tougher than any other person I've ever met, I like that you're grumpy. I like that you don't see how dramatic it is to stand in the pouring rain all by yourself! I love you. I love all of you."

"Sam..." His name leaves your mouth in a whisper. It's too late. You're not strong enough to survive walking away from him. He's doomed himself.

He takes a step closer to you. "And maybe it wasn't real... but I think it was. I think you feel the same." And then another step. And yet another. Until you're face to face, close enough that you could reach out and touch him for the first time in months. The rain beats down on the two of you. The dampness on your cheeks has nothing to do with the rain. "Tell me that you don't love me and I'll leave. Tell me and I won't bother you again, I promise."

You can't. You can't bring yourself to say any of it. "Sam, it'll never work for us. You have to know that."

"We're not at war anymore." His hand skates across your cheek. "We don't have to hide. We don't have to run."

"I'm not - I'm not good, Sam." And you are, you want to say.

“No, no, you’re not good. You’re great. You’re amazing. And it’s a damn shame you haven’t stepped into the daylight long enough to see how incredible you are.”

You jerk your face away from his hand, “And what if I can’t give you what you want? What if I can’t be what you want?”

“What do you know about what I want?”

“You want a bride. You want someone to bring home to your family - that’s not me, Sam. I don’t think that’ll ever be me.”

“I want you." Sam takes your face in between both hands, begging you to see the sincerity in his eyes. "I want you in whatever way you’ll have me.”

“I’m not worth it," you softly exhale. "You have to know that I’m not worth the trouble and the heartache I’ll put you through.”

“Break my heart," Sam offers without hesitation. "Do it over and over again. Do it for the rest of our lives. It’s all yours. You’re worth it.”

“Sam…” You didn’t have any other defense. He’d broken down each and every argument you spent years cultivating. You didn’t know where to go from here.

“Do you love me?” Your lips press into a thin line, eyes squeezing shut to keep the tears welling in your eyes from falling. The rain slows to a halt. His thumb and pointer finger grip your chin, forcing you to meet his warm brown eyes. “Do you love me?”

“I love you.” You don't think you've ever said those words before. You don't think you've ever seen the daylight until you saw him. It'll take time for your eyes to adjust, but he's worth it. "I love you so much it hurts, so much that I let you go."

“You don't have to let me go anymore. We'll figure the rest out together."

Sam Wilson Masterlist AnonymityIsFun Masterlist Inspired By Taylor Swift Masterlist

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