#back on my multifandom shit again

[everwalldigan]

(Before his first exclusive dinner interview with Bruce)

Clark: *stress eating junk food on his desk*

Lois: What the hell are you doing? No, no you have a dinner tonight! Probably one of the biggest dinners of your career!

Clark: here’s the thing, I can’t eat duck. I had a duck, on the farm, it lived in the house

Lois: so order the steak…?

Clark: here’s the thing, I had a cow—

[hiodoshi-ao]

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[buckys-wintersoldier]

Light after Dark | Bucky Barnes

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 -> Boyfriend!Bucky Barnes x Girlfriend!Reader

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 -> You ex-boyfriend never treated you well but when Bucky steps into your life it changes and he shows you how much he loves you. Would the behaviour you had with your ex-boyfriend be there because Bucky looks distanced.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 -> 10.057 (it’s long but worth it, guess so)

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 -> (E) 18+, Minors DNI, angst, abusing ex-boyfriend, violence, slapping, shouting, wound/scars because of abuse, smut, non/dub-con, manipulation, blowjob, deep throating, nipple play, handjob (male!receiving), cum eating, fingering (fem!receiving), oral (fem!receiving), protected p in v, multiple orgasm, belly bulge, praises, fluff

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓 -> Hello hello! It's me, again. Got bit of an angsty idea. Let's say that reader has an abusive ex, and this dude was physically and emotionally draining. She never had a single nice thought about herself in three years. She always thought she had big thighs, or wide hips etc etc. And let's say that she does have some scars from her ex, whenever he used to beer bottles at her they'd crash and cut her. She always thought she was not worthy, because he used to cheat on her all the time. Now, presently, we're with Bucky. And nowadays Bucky has been a little irritated and distant. And you think the worse, and your defense mechanism come up. Back with your ex, you used to cook good food and make so much effort (but your asshole ex never bothered) Bucky is confused why there's whole royal course of a meal on the table when he comes home. You don't want to point out the obvious and say it's for nothing, but it's really because you don't want him to leave. Bucky knows something is up, but how does he approach the situation???🤭🤭🤭This was pretty long lol (Again you don't have to write this if you’re uncomfy😌😌) Okie BYE!! @amathslutsguidetofandom

𝐀/𝐍 -> Thank you so much for the request. I absolutely love it and I hope you like what I made with that. Also wanna thank my best friend @imtryingbuck for listening to me, and helping me with some parts during writing.

𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 -> Multifandom-Flash Bingo | 1008 | 1.1 | Cut his heart out with a spoon | @multifandom-flash | Fandom-Free Bingo: Valentines Edition | Row One-Two | Tracing Scars | @fandom-free-bingo

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐁𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐘 𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

“Come one, can’t you get your shit together? It’s not that hard,” he shouted at you, throwing his hands up while he looked at you.

His expression was disgusted, and he was disappointed — because of you, like he always was. You just asked him to help you with the plates, but he was annoyed, mad that you couldn’t do it without annoying him. You didn’t want to annoy him; it was never your intention, but you’re tired — working hard in the household every day, sleeping only half of the night — and he never appreciates what you did. He wanted to have a meal — a proper meal — but you presented him with something he didn’t want to eat that day. How could you dare to cook soup when he wants meat?

“Take your plate and sit on the floor,” he told you, pointing next to him on the ground.

“P—please. I’m sorry,” you whimpered.

He rolled his eyes, and not even now have you done what he told you. Alex placed his hand on your shoulder, pushing you down until you were sitting next to him on the floor. He used his hand under your chin to tilt your head up, forcing you to lock in with him. Alex let go of your chin, smirking at you before his hand met your cheek painfully. You hissed, tears building in your eyes, but you swallowed harshly and looked down on your plate, which was lying in front of you.

“Shut your mouth. I don’t wanna hear a fucking word."

Your body started to tremble, but you stayed quiet. Alex laughed, turning to the plate in front of him and sliding the spoon through it a few times. He hadn’t tried the soup you cooked; he stared at the plate. That’s nothing a person like him would eat; Alex deserved better than soup. He deserved to be treated well. He turned his face, seeing you sitting in the same position since he smacked your face. You weren’t saying a word; your hands were shaking, and you tried to hide your tears. He took the plate in one of his hands, holding it above you. With a sadistic expression, he let the soup fall down on you.

“Oh— sorry. I forgot you’re not the trash,” he said.

You whimpered, feeling the hot liquid covering your body and burning your skin. Alex watched you and the way the soup soaked your clothes. He then stood up and pushed you to the side; you were curled up in yourself, crying silently while he just kicked you. Alex walked out of the kitchen, leaving you a whimpering and crying mess lying on the ground. Alex just left the house when you started crying more.

Almost half of the night you were lying on the ground, your body trembling, and you cried until there was no tear left anymore. You loved that man; you feel in love with him because he was caring; he made you feel good and appreciated you. But you feel like you were the reason for him being the way he is now. Maybe you were too fat, maybe your food wasn’t good, maybe you didn’t do things like you should do then? You often thought about it already — sleepless nights while Alex was sleeping next to you, smelling like a bottle of alcohol itself while he wrapped his arm around your waist.

Somewhere in the night, you heard the keys in the door. Your body tensed immediately while you pretend to be sleeping on the couch. Alex knew you weren't, and even when he would wake you up, he was drunk and frustrated.

“Babe, come here now. You little bitch,” he shouted through the house, and you sat up. “I won’t repeat myself, slut.”

You slowly walked toward him, holding your arms tightly around your body to cover yourself a bit. He grinned when he saw you walking closer to him; you look so small, while he felt so good looking at your scared form in front of him. Alex was holding a bottle of beer in his hand, and he took a sip, groaning when he noticed that the bottle was empty.

“Alex, y—you should go to bed,” you mumbled, and he raised his eyebrow.

You dared to say something, telling him what he had to do. He didn’t think twice when he lifted the bottle and smashed it against your head. The glass broke and left a bloody wound on your head. You whimpered and tried to hide the tears from rolling down your cheeks, but he saw it, and it made him chuckle even more. Now you knew that you shouldn’t tell him what to do, or else Alex would show you that you were his own little toy to treat and fuck you however he wanted.

“Get on your knees.”

“P—please. C—can I just clean the wound?”

“Get on your knees, or I will give you more than just this one to clean. Fucking little bitch,” he hissed, grabbing your chin harshly.

You whined, trying to turn your face away, but he was too strong for you. So you needed to look directly into his eyes while he leaned closer, and you smelled his breath — which smelled like nothing but alcohol. You pushed the urge to look disgusted away, but when he leaned even closer and captured your lips with his, you tried to pull away from him. His tongue slid over your lips, and when you weren’t parting your lips, he just smacked your cheek to make you hiss in pain. Then you opened your mouth, and he was able to guide his tongue into it. You felt disgusted, but you loved him, and when it was what he wanted, you wouldn’t deny it; otherwise, he would still do it. He has control over your relationship, as he showed you. Alex pulled away from you, leaving you panting while he smirked and pushed you down on your knees.

“Suck my fucking dick. Other girls would beg me to suck it, so why are you complaining about my dick, huh? Thinking you’re pretty? You’re not; have you seen your ugly, fat thighs? I would be ashamed to show them someone,” he said, and you nodded.

You didn’t stop the tears from rolling down your cheeks; you felt so ashamed and embarrassed for looking the way you do. With shaking hands, you gasped his belt and unbuckled it. Opening his pants before you shoved them down his legs. You saw the outline of his dick in his pants, but he wasn’t hard. When you looked at his dick a moment too long for his liking, he cleared his throat, grasped your hair, and pushed you closer.

“Do you really think I will be turned on when I see you? You’re just a little ugly slut,” he said, laughing about the tears in your eyes.

You knew you weren't the most beautiful person, but even when you heard that for three years now, it was still hurtful. Alex always told you that he could have everyone, that everyone wanted to be with him, but he was together with you, even when it’s just because you couldn’t be without him — that’s what he was always saying.

You pushed his boxers down as well, revealing his soft cock. Alex took his shaft in his hand, stroking himself a few times before he pulled you closer and tapped his dick against your lips. You opened your mouth slightly, and when he managed to push into you, he immediately rammed his dick down your throat. He never paid attention to how you felt when you had sex; he didn’t care. You gagged around his length, trying to get used to it, but he had already started to thrust into you. His cock always slid down your throat, and his balls slapped against your chin. His hand in your hair guided you over his cock, and he slapped your cheeks a few times, causing more tears in your eyes.

“You’re such a fucking little slut, aren’t you? That’s the only thing you can do. Sucking my cock."

Your nails were digging into your tights, trying to ground you while he held you on his cock. He was deep in your mouth and throat, and you tried not to panic, but when he didn’t let you pull back, you wiggled softly, trying to move away from his length. But he didn’t let you move away; he was holding you with his cock in your mouth in place. When he was finally letting go of you, you pulled away and breathed deeply, crying quietly, while he grabbed your chin once again. His eyes darkened as he looked into yours. And you knew you shouldn’t have tried to pull away from him.

“Do you wanna kidding me? Making a scene like that?” He asked, looking disappointed at you.

He didn’t wait for an answer before he pushed his dick back inside your mouth. His hips thrusted forward, he groaned, and you felt his dick twitch in your mouth just before he came in your mouth. His cum was sliding down your throat, and he pulled away, smacking your face again before he pointed toward the couch.

“A—Alex.”

“Can’t you just keep your mouth shut? You annoy me. You’re my girlfriend, and your boyfriend wants to fuck you now.”

When you woke up next to your boyfriend, your pussy was aching. He fucked you rough, never minding if it would hurt you or if you enjoyed this sex too. You were slowly getting up, and you felt disgusted with the mixture of sweat and cum on your body. So you walked to the bathroom, trying to be as quiet as possible to not wake him. You really needed a hot shower, so you did exactly that. A hot, relaxing shower was perfect for your arching pussy and your tensed muscles, but when you heard Alex shouting that the breakfast wasn’t ready, you panicked again. You should have done the breakfast first and then thought about a shower. He swung the door of your shared bathroom open, narrowing his eyebrows.

“Do you think you could take a shower before making breakfast for me?” He asked, and you shook your head.

“I’m sorry—“

He walked closer, towering over you and pulling the towel away, leaving you naked in front of him. Alex looked your body up and down, slapping your breast and causing you to gasp.

“Have you looked into the mirror? Look how ugly you are, and your pussy, only great because she is still tight,” he said, turning around to took a shower as well.

You wrapped your arms around your body, trying to cover it. He is right; you’re ugly, and you can’t even look at yourself in the mirror. Your body is covered with scars — scars he caused with beer bottles or when he just hit you hard enough. You bent down to lift your towel, wrapping it around you, and got out of the bathroom to change into leggings and a t-shirt. Then you made your way to the kitchen, preparing some breakfast for the two of you.

It didn’t take long until Alex walked into the kitchen. He smirked at you when you looked so small compared to him since you tried to make yourself small around him. And especially because he can see the respect or more fear you have in your eyes when you look at him. You placed the plates on the table, both of you taking a seat, and you ate in silence; you didn’t want to annoy him. When he was finished, he looked at you, shoving his plate closer to you.

"You already made better food. I want you to clean until I come home from the meeting,” he told you.

“Oke,” you said, taking the plates to put them in the other dishes to clean them later.

Alex went to work, and you needed to clean. You weren’t really motivated to do so, but you didn’t want him to be angry at you again. So you started in the kitchen and then went to the living room. When you were almost finished, you heard Alex coming back home, and your muscles were immediately tensed.

“Lunch?”

“I cleaned and haven’t-“

“I don’t mind. You have to bring lunch to the table, and you didn’t once again,” he said.

“Thought I told you that when you’re not doing what I said, I will break up. You want that? No? But you did it, no. Lazy ass didn’t do what she was told.”

You whimpered, but he shook his head, pointing to the door of the apartment. And grasped your arm to pull you closer to the door. It was raining outside, and you knew he didn’t mind; he would let you wait outside until he allowed you to come back into the apartment. Alex went back inside and left you in front of the door. Your clothes were immediately soaked because of the rain, and you felt the cold all over your body. You were freezing, but he wouldn't let you into the apartment until he wasn't mad anymore. So you sat on the ground, your back against the wall, and your legs were pulled against you while you wrapped your arms around them. You cried quietly, trying to warm yourself up a bit while the cold rain was wetting your whole body.

"Hi, are you oke? Aren't you freezing?" A soft voice asked, and you looked at the man in front of you.

He was kneeling, offering you his hand, but you just smiled at him. He saw that it wasn't a real one, but he didn't want to pressure you. His brown hair was as wet as you were, but he didn't mind. He also didn't mind taking off his jacket and placing it over your shoulders.

"Thank you," you mumbled.

"I'm Bucky, and you?" He asked softly, his hand resting on your knees.

The warmth of his body warmed you a bit as well, and his steel blue eyes and the smile on his lips warmed your heart. You admired his blue eyes; he looked soft and beautiful.

"I'm Y/N"

"And what is a pretty girl like you doing outside in the rain?"

You blushed and turned your face away. Bucky smirked, looking at you, while he tried to find out why you were sitting there with a bruise on your pretty face. He hadn't seen that one before, but when he did, he reached out to slide his fingers over your face to turn it toward him. You hissed, trying to escape his fingers even when his touch was way softer than Alex's. Bucky removed his hand and waited until you were ready to face him again.

"I'm sorry; I didn't know I would scare you. I don't want to hurt you, but where are the bruises from?" He asked, and you shook your head.

"Nothing, really. I just- I just walked against the counter yesterday. I was stupid and ignored the open door of the counter. And I'm sitting here because I forgot my keys," you tell him.

Bucky nodded. He didn't really believe you, but he didn't want to push you either. When he noticed someone opening the door behind you, he got up to face the person behind you.

"You little slut, didn't I tell you to get pizza?" Alex asked, ignoring Bucky, who furrowed his eyebrows.

"Alex, you didn't say that you wanted pizza," you said quietly, looking at your hands.

"Don't dare to talk back, or you can spend the rest of the night here as well," he shouted at you, and you flinched.

Bucky's jaw was clenching when he saw the way Alex treated you, and when you got up from where you were sitting, Bucky reached out to grab your shoulder and pushed you behind him. Alex was laughing about it; his eyes were piercing into Bucky's.

"Do you think someone like him would treat you better? You're nothing but slut, a dumb little bitch," he said to you even when he was looking at Bucky.

You whimpered softly, but before you were able to say something, you saw Bucky's arm flying forward, and a moment later, your boyfriend was walking backwards, his hand covering his nose while he hissed in pain. Bucky just broke his nose with one punch, and you saw the blood slowly running down his chin, and Alex's hand was covered in it as well. You weren't sure if you felt scared or thankful that Bucky protected you for your boyfriend.

"Fucking slut. I'm gonna break up with you; fuck your new lover; he won't love you the way I loved you," he said, shutting the door and leaving you with Bucky in front of it.

Bucky turned around, seeing you crying, and, with widening eyes, looking at him broke his heart. He didn't want to scare you more, but he was just too angry at Alex for treating you the way he did. Bucky smiled nicely, opening his arms for you to decide if you wanted him to hug you or not. You hesitated a moment, but his warmth and the way he protected you made you crave more. So you walked closer toward him and let him wrap his arms around your shoulders, pulling you as close as possible. You placed your hand on his chest, inhaling his sweet-mint scent, and closed your eyes for a moment.

For the first time in years, you felt saved and loved. Someone could really like you the way you are. Bucky didn't know you, but he gave you the warmth you never got from your ex-boyfriend. His touches were soft, and you enjoyed the warmth and softness of them.

"You will come home with me. You can sleep in my bed then; I prefer the floor in the living room," Bucky said.

You were freezing, and when Bucky already offered you his bed and maybe a warm shower, you would definitely say yes. So you nodded softly, and Bucky lifted you up, his hands resting under your thighs, and you wrapped your legs around his waist while you placed your hands around his neck. You looked at him with a smirk, and Bucky grinned just as much as you did. Only then did you realise his beautiful blue eyes, which light up when he smiles, like he did.

"Can I take a shower then as well? And Bucky, I think I'm too heavy for you to carry me home," you say quietly.

"You can also take a long, warm bath if you want to. And don't worry, you're not too heavy for me," he chuckled and gave you some butterflies in your stomach, causing you to giggle softly.

"I'm home, doll," Bucky shouts through the apartment you both live in now.

Bucky takes off his jacket and shoes and makes his way into the kitchen. He inhales the smell of the food deeply, smiling when he sees the plates filled with his favourite food on the table. He walks around the table, wrapping his arms around your waist, and pulls you flat against his broad chest. Bucky places his chin on your shoulder and looks at you while you're cooking.

When Bucky picked you up that day, you met him for the first time. He brought you to his home, and like he said, you were allowed to take a long, warm bath, and you slept in his bed. It was the first time in forever that you felt safe. Bucky made breakfast in the morning — a lot of breakfast because he wasn't sure what you liked to eat, so he made pancakes and French toast, and he offered you cereal. When you finished the dinner, he asked you to look over your wounds, and when you allowed him to do so, he picked you up to carry you into the bathroom and placed you on the edge of the bathtub. Bucky slowly moved his fingers over your thighs, and when you looked away because you were ashamed, he told you how beautiful you are.

Bucky took off your shirt, revealing a lot of scars and wounds all over your body. The hiss that left his lips made you flinch, but he assured you that he was just shocked that such a beautiful person like you has an ex-boyfriend like Alex. Bucky cleaned all your wounds; he didn't say that you were ugly. His words surprised you every time because he always admired your body, and he still does. The two of you came closer when Bucky offered you to stay with him, so you both would have someone, and you said yes, but your behaviour with your ex-boyfriend needed time to slowly fade away.

Bucky was really confused when you were always up before him when you made the meals and always studied his expression to see if it was good or not. With time, Bucky learned to tell you that the food is good, that he would like to cook with you together, and that he is going to help you with the dishes. Bucky took care to always tell you when he got home and to tell you what he would like to eat, or he told you to decide. When you were unsure, Bucky helped you decide, but he never pressured you. His only intention was to make you happy because he could never get enough of your beautiful smile.

Whenever you were looking into the mirror and a disgusted expression was on your face while a few tears fell down your cheeks — you wanted to be at least a bit handsome — Bucky smirked and was standing next to you, and he wiped your tears away with his thumbs. He took off his shirt and showed you the scars on his own body. The bunch of scars around his metal arm, but also the others. He showed you a side of himself that was also just a broken man, and you fell in love with that side just as much as you fell in love with the strong Bucky who would punch everyone to protect you.

When you suddenly got woken up by a scream and you were scared your ex-boyfriend was shouting at you, you needed a moment to remember that you were with Bucky. It confused you at first why you heard a scream, but when you heard another and then a noise that sounded like a punch, you got up to find Bucky sleeping on the floor in the living room. It wasn't new to you to see him lying there, but when you saw the tears rolling down his cheeks and the sweat on his forehead, you walked closer to place your hand on his shoulder. He woke up immediately and tried to wipe the tears away, but everything in his body told you that he had a really bad nightmare. You sat in his lap; your arms were around his neck, and you were sliding your fingers through his soft brown hair. Bucky had his face hidden in the crock of your neck. You being close to him is just as helpful for him as his being close to you to feel safe and comfortable.

You never judge him for having nightmares, for not being comfortable around too many people, or for struggling with his scars and mental health sometimes. And he gives you the same; he never dares to judge you. Bucky tries to show you how beautiful you are, that you're worth it, and that you are and can be more than you think. And he loves you the way you are, just like you love him the way he is.

Slowly, you get used to being good the way you are, and Bucky will never shout at you or hurt you. But for a while, he has looked irritated and distant. He comes home late, and even when he says it's nothing, you feel like you have done something that makes him mad or that he loves you less. So you try to be better, clean the apartment more often, cook what he loves, and try not to be too clingy around him.

"It smells beautiful," he says, kissing your neck softly.

You lean into his touch, smiling, while you finish the dinner. His hands are trailing up and down your sides, and you feel the goosebumps erupting all over your body. You love his soft, warm touches, his kiss all over your neck, and the way his breath hits your soft skin.

"There is something in the oven," you say, and Bucky takes a step back to walk to the oven. "You can just take a seat; dinner is almost done."

Bucky looks slightly confused. Usually, you wouldn't mind his help, but for a few days, you don't ask or let him help you with food and dishes anymore. You cook a lot of what he loves, and the meals are almost royalty meals. He doesn't mind eating your food because he loves what you do, but he wonders why you suddenly act like you did when he first met you. He walks around the table and takes his seat. He looks at you with a soft smile, but he still doesn't understand why you put so much effort into cleaning and cooking.

"How come you cook such royal meals?" He asks softly but sees you flinch.

You constantly feel like you have done something wrong; maybe that's not what Bucky likes? Maybe you shouldn't have cooked that? Bucky wants, probably, a pizza. You feel the tears building in your eyes, and when you turn around, you see Bucky's smile fading away. He looks with a worried expression at you while he gets up and walks closer to you. You shake your head, walking backwards and crashing into the kitchen counter behind you.

"Doll, can I please come closer? I can stand here when you feel comfortable, but please let me come closer," he says, and you hesitate a moment.

Bucky stands a few meters away from you, waiting for you to allow him to come closer. When you nod slightly, Bucky steps closer and wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you as close as possible against him. Your head rests against his broad chest, and your tears are soaking his t-shirt while he holds you tightly.

"B—Bucky I'm sorry. I didn't want to make the wrong food. I cleaned the house today; please don't be mad for not cleaning enough," you say quietly.

"Shhh. Doll, you didn't do anything wrong; why do you think that?"

"B—Because you look so distant. Don't you love me anymore? Am I too ugly or too fat? I—I can do a diet."

Bucky's eyes widen, and he slides his hands down to your thighs and picks you up. He shoves the pots away from the cooker. He then turns around and carries you to the bedroom of the two of you. Your arms are wrapped around his neck, and you try to wipe the tears away when he places you on the bed. Bucky stands in front of you and smirks softly, then he gets on his knees in front of you. His hands slide up and down your thighs until he reaches the hem of your shirt.

"I love you. I love you so much. And the missions with Sam were really exhausting, especially because John is always trying to tell us what we have to do. But I love you so much, and you are beautiful exactly the way you are. You're not fat or ugly; you're perfect the way you are," Bucky tells you. He then pushes you down and towers over you with a wide smile on his lips.

Bucky captures your lips with his soft and plumb ones, his hands sliding along your sides, and you sigh softly into the kiss. Bucky deepens the kiss, his tongue slipping through your barely parted lips, and he groans when you place your hands in his soft hair and tug at them softly.

You've never had sex with Bucky; he didn't pressure you since you were uncomfortable with it because of your ex-boyfriend. But right now, it feels perfect — the way Bucky has his lips on yours and his hands all over your body. You feel a heat in your lower stomach, which makes its way between your legs, and you can't help but moan about the feeling. When Bucky pulls slightly away, your eyes widen but are filled with lust, the pleasure written on in your expression, and Bucky smiles about it. He kisses down your jawline and to your neck, biting softly and licking over your soft skin.

"Bucky, please," you whimper.

He smirks, kissing your lips once again, before he plays with the hem of your shirt and pushes it up. You sit up, letting him remove the fabric from your body, and he groans about the way you look underneath him with lust in your eyes. Bucky kisses your collarbone, down to your breasts, and unclasps your bra so you can take it off as well. His big hands capture your breasts, palming them softly, and he earns soft moans from you. Bucky licks a strap down to one of your nipples; he kisses it softly before he takes it into his mouth, his tongue twirling around your nipple. You arch your back, pressing yourself more against your boyfriend, who chuckles.

"You're beautiful, doll," he mumbles, nibbling at the soft skin of your breast.

You blush and hide your face with your hands, giggling softly. Bucky looks at you, grasping your hands and pulling them away from your face. He leans closer to kiss your lips softly.

"Don't hide that pretty face of yours. You’re so beautiful; I wanna see you, please," Bucky says, pouting, and you smirk.

You lean closer and peck at his lips, just as softly as he did. Bucky moves his lips down your collarbone and to your other breast, kissing around your nipple before he takes it in his mouth as well. Suckling softly and scratching his teeth over the sensitive skin. You moan, tugging at his hair and pulling him even closer. Bucky slides his hands from your breasts down your stomach, kissing the way down and giving every inch of your soft skin attention.

“Do you want it? If not, we can wait until you’re ready to have sex with me,” Bucky says, his fingers playing with the waistband of your pants.

“I want it, please, Bucky. I need you,” you mumble, blushing once again.

“You’re cute when you blush,” he chuckles.

Bucky opens your pants, trailing his fingers along your skin while he pushes your pants down. He then kisses the way back to your belly and smirks when you wiggle in anticipation. He pushes himself up, removing his shirt as well as his pants, before he leans over you again. You can see his growing bulge in his boxers, and the outline of his cock is visible. A little wet spot forms where his tip is, and you reach out your hand to touch his cock.

“Wanna touch it, babydoll?” He asks, and you nod, your eyes focused on his covered cock.

Bucky grins, getting up the bed once again, and pushes his boxers down. His cock springs free and slaps against his stomach; the red tip is leaking with pre-cum, and you see the vein running along the underside of his shaft. Bucky gets on the bed next to you. You sit up, looking directly into his eyes, while he smiles at you. You slide your fingers over his abs and to the base of his cock. Bucky looks at your fingers, his hand wrapping around yours, and he brings both of your hands to his shaft.

“It’s oke, doll. I won’t do anything unless you want me to,” he says, leaning closer to kiss you before he wraps your hand around his shaft.

You smile when you feel the softness of his length. He is huge, but with Bucky, you feel safe, and you know he wouldn’t do anything when you say you don’t want him to do so. His hand lets go of yours.

For a moment, you just look at his cock in your hand and the way his pre-cum is leaking down his tip. It’s glistening softly, and you swipe your thumb over his slit, smearing the cum all over his tip. Bucky groans softly, smiling when you slowly move your hand up and down his shaft.

“Do you like that?”

“It feels wonderful, babydoll.”

You giggle, swiping your thumb a few more times about his tip until Bucky can’t hold back and thrusts forward into your hand. His eyes widen, and he looks at you, but there is no discomfort, so he relaxes and lets you continue to massage his dick.

“C—Can I touch your balls?” You ask, cheeks heating up.

Bucky nods, and you look at his balls before you use your other hand to bring it to his balls, taking them into your hand. They are soft, and you roll them in your palm, causing Bucky to groan.

“Babydoll, you’re doing so well for me. But when you continue, I won’t last long,” Bucky says.

You grin, moving your hand faster and wrapping it tighter around his shaft. Your other hand is massaging his balls, and when you swipe your thumb once again over his tip, Bucky grasps the sheets and thrusts his hips forward.

“Doll,” he says, looking deeply into your eyes.

The blue lights up when he smirks; they are slightly darkened because of the lust, but they show you nothing but love. When you stroke his cock a few more times, Bucky throws his head back and comes into your hand. He breathes heavily, and sweat is covering his forehead. His seeds are covering his tip and your hand, and for a moment he is worried that you could feel uncomfortable with it. But you just stroke him until he comes down from his high, and then you look at your hand, his cum slowly dropping from it, and you move it to your mouth, so you lick a bit of it away, moaning softly at its salty taste.

“It tastes good,” you smirk, tapping his cock again, and Bucky moans.

When Bucky catches his breath, he pushes you back down so you lay next to him. He spreads your thighs and slides his fingers up and down your thighs further until he reaches your panties. Your face is turned toward him, and he’s focused on your expression, making sure you’re oke. When you nod softly, Bucky guides his hand over your panties and caresses your fold through the fabric. You moan softly; he knows how to touch a woman to make her feel good; he immediately hits your clit and you buck your hips. He then slides his fingers further down, feeling your panties damp, and he smirks.

“Can I take your panties off?” He asks, and you nod, but place your hands on his cheek and press your lips on his.

Bucky moves his lips perfectly against yours; he’s deepening the kiss before he kisses your neck and collarbone before his focus is back on your panties. His fingers circle your clit through the fabric, and you moan quietly, arching your back. Bucky takes the waistband of your panties between his fingers and pulls them down, revealing your pussy. He rolls himself on top of you before he pushes you further down in the bed by your hips. He is then lying between your thighs and smirking at you.

“You’re so wet and so beautiful,” he says, placing a kiss on your pussy.

Bucky’s eyes are focused on your pussy, his fingers trialing through your folds, and he parts them slightly. Using his tongue to lick along them to your clit. Circling around your sensitive spot before he sucks at it softly, making you gasp. You have never felt so much pleasure during sex, and Bucky hasn’t really touched you yet. His fingers trail back down to your soaked entrance. He pushes his digit against it, smirking at the way you push yourself more against his finger.

“You’re cute when you’re desperate for more, doll,” he says, placing his lips once again on your clit.

One of your hands finds its way to his hair, tugging at it and pulling Bucky closer to your cunt. He chuckles against your pussy, causing vibration, and you whine. He slowly pushes one of his fingers into you while his other hand holds you down by your hips. You only then know that he used his metal hand to push inside of you. The sudden cold of his finger feels great compared to the heat in your pussy. Bucky thrusts his finger in and out of you, smirking about the way your pussy is clenching around his digit and sucking him inside. His mouth doesn’t let go of your clit while he does so, enjoying the sounds that are leaving your lips. They are like music, and he could listen to your soft moans all day.

“Bucky— please. It feels so good.”

“You’re tasting so sweet, doll. Can’t get enough of your pussy.”

You smirk, throwing your head back when he adds another finger and pushes them as much as he can into your tight hole. You’re soaking his fingers, and when he curls them, he finds your sweet spot. The moan that leaves your lips is erotic, and you look at him with shock in your eyes about that sound.

“Don’t worry, doll. Just found your sweet spot,” Bucky chuckles, licking down your folds to your entrance.

His tongue joins your fingers, and his lapping at your entrance swallows all your juice. His fingers curl inside of you, hitting always your sweet spot, and you feel the knot in your stomach growing. You haven’t felt a pleasure like that in years, but Bucky is so soft with you; he never says anything bad about you or your body. Bucky loves you; he loves your body; and he shows you that, every day, he makes sure you know how much you’re loved by him and that you’re the most beautiful woman for him.

“I feel soy squeezing my fingers; if you wanna come, then do it. Come all over my fingers, doll,” he says, placing his mouth back at your entrance.

His words, the way his tongue is working over your folds, and the way his fingers are always hitting your sweet spot make you come. Your cum is floating out of you, but Bucky doesn’t dare to miss a bit of it and takes it all. Eating you out like it’s the most delicious meal he's ever had. And he fucks you with his fingers and his tongue through your orgasm; your breath hitches whenever his tongue slides over your folds. Your pussy feels so sensitive, but Bucky is so soft. He earns more soft moans until he pulls his fingers out of you and kisses your clit once more before he places his chin on your lower stomach and smirks at you.

“How are you feeling, pretty girl?”

“Great, thank you. And you?”

Bucky chuckles, you’re always so nice. Even when it’s all about you, you always make sure that he is fine too. That both of you feel comfortable.

“I’m good too. Do you want to have my dick now?” He asks, grinning.

You nod, running your fingers through his soft hair. Bucky kisses your stomach, pushing his elf up until he kneels between your legs. His big hands are caressing your thighs. Bucky’s cock is hard again, and the tip is touching your pussy when he moves closer to you.

“Could you give me a condom? It’s in the drawer from the bedside table.”

You turn yourself a bit around, reaching for the drawer, and open it. You grab a condom and give it to Bucky, then you close the drawer and lay down more comfortably again. Bucky opens the package of the condom, taking it out and throwing the package away. Your boyfriend grasps the base of his cock and pulls the condom over his dick.

You’re spreading your legs further apart when Bucky settles himself between them, his cock still in his hand, and he taps the tip a few times against your clit. He smirks at you, sliding his dick through your folds, and covers his cock with your arousal. You moan softly when he reaches your entrance, pushing his tip softly against it. You whimper softly when Bucky slides his cock once more through your folds. He loves the way you look through your lashes at him; your lips are slightly parted, so desperate for his cock.

"Bucky, please," you say quietly, pushing your hips toward him.

Bucky lines himself up with your entrance and pushes slowly inside of you; his cock is huge, and he stretches you like no one has before. He gives you a moment to adjust to his size before he pushes further into you. Your back arches, but he doesn't hurt you; the pleasure is breathtaking, and you grasp the sheets. Bucky chuckles, pushing balls deep into you; he then leans closer and captures your lips with his. His cock is filling you perfectly, and you clench around him, causing him to groan into your mouth.

"You're so tight, warming my cock so perfectly," he groans.

"You're so deep," you moan when he pulls slightly out to push back into you.

You both chuckle, and Bucky takes one of your hands, brings it to your stomach, and places it on your lower abdomen. He then thrusts his cock into you, letting you feel him through your skin and causing you to moan even louder. Feeling his cock that way turns you on beyond belief. He moves his cock in a slow but steady rhythmus inside of you. Your walls are squeezing him, sucking him deeper into the warmth of your pussy.

Bucky's balls hit your ass whenever he pushes his dick balls deep into you. His dick is glistening with your arousal, and Bucky looks the whole time into your eyes.

You're beautiful when you lay underneath him like that. Your other hand makes its way to his back, and you try to ground yourself while Bucky holds your other hand, still pressed on your stomach. With every thrust you feel him against your hand, he cock is hitting all the right spots, and he smirks when he hits your sweet spot harder than before.

"That's what you like?" He asks.

"Scared that I will break when you're thrusting harder into me?"

He shakes his head, laughing while he speeds up his thrusts. Your mouth drops open when he causes a pleasure inside of you that you have never felt before. It grows in your stomach and makes its way down to your pussy. Your eyes widen while you breathe heavily, but you still push your hips more against Bucky to show him to fuck you harder. And he does; he pulls almost completely out of you to thrust back inside of you. His breath hitches, and he closes his eyes when you squeeze him harder.

"I won't last long when you squeeze me like that, doll," he says, pressing his lips to yours.

You smirk, clenching your walls on purpose to make him groan against your lips. His tongue slips into your mouth, and his thrusts become harder and faster while you're not far away from the edge anymore. The pleasure in your stomach is growing, and Bucky growls. When he hits your sweet spot a few more times, he feels your orgasm just as close as his own, speeding his thrusts up. Bucky doesn't want to come before you do — or at least when you do.

"B—Bucky, I'm so close."

"I know, me too. Come with me, doll," he mumbles softly.

He pushes his cock into you; you feel every inch of him inside of you; his lips are slightly parted like yours; and his breath hits your soft skin. The feeling of him feeling you completely inside of you causes you to come all over his cock. You moan his name and its music to his ears, hearing you moan his name while he is buried balls deep into your pussy. You're squirting all over his cock, and Bucky grins while he comes as well. He comes in the condom, still thrusting into you while you both calm down from your high. Bucky lets go of your hand, sliding it over your stomach and your sides, caressing your skin. He places kisses all over your neck while you catch your breath and run your fingers through his soft hair.

"Are you oke?" He asks, his blue eyes slightly worried that he could have been too rough.

"I'm— it was perfect."

His expression softens, and he pulls slowly out of you. You hiss about the sudden emptiness and grasp his muscular arms to pull him back. Bucky chuckles, placing his fingers at your pussy and strokes your folds softly. You're clenching around nothing, while Bucky admires the way your cum is dripping out of you.

He then sits up and helps you sit up as well. Bucky removes the condom and gets up from the bed, making his way to the bathroom to throw the condom away. You're looking at him, smirking. He is adorable, sweet, and caring. He never tells you that you're ugly because of your scars; he just kisses them when you struggle because of them and tells you how beautiful you are. And you're doing the same; whenever he has nightmares or suffers from his past or scars, you know exactly how to cheer him up. A lot of kisses and cuddles always help that soft, big man, and with the way his eyes are shining, his lips curl up to the softest and most adorable smile.

You rest your back against the headboard of the bed, waiting for Bucky. He throws the condom away and runs warm water into the bath; he buts your favourite bubble bath into it as well, before he makes his way back to you. He smirks, picking you up with no effort and getting back into the bathroom. Before you can say something, you're sitting in the bathtub, surrounded by a lot of bubbles and your favourite scent. You squirm softly when you feel the warm water on your sensitive pussy. Bucky gets into the bathtub behind you, wraps his arms around your waist, and pulls you as close as possible.

"I love you," he mumbles, taking some of the foam and putting it on your hair.

You giggle when it rolls down your hair and tickles your skin softly. Bucky rubs his hands softly over your stomach, drawing small circles on it while you lean back, resting your head against his broad chest. Bucky plays with the foam, placing them everywhere on your body, and chuckles then.

"You did so well for me, babydoll. Your pussy's feeling so good around my cock," Bucky says, kissing your neck softly. "Made for my cock."

You chuckle, sliding your hands over his legs. But he is right; it was perfect, and he was so soft that you weren't scared when he pushed in; you felt safe, and you knew he wouldn't do it when you didn't want it.

"My pretty doll, I'm so in love with you. How about I prepare some popcorn and pizza after the bath while you decide which movie we're going to watch?"

"Sounds like a good idea," you say, turning around to kiss him.

Bucky washes your hair, trying to avoid letting shampoo come into your eyes, and he manages to do so. When you turn your whole body around, you're washing his hair. When you put the shampoo in his soft brown hair, you give him some fresh hair styles. Laughing about the way he is pouting when you giggle about his hair. You kiss his pout away, causing him to pout again to get more kisses.

When the both of you are finished, you get out of the bathtub, and Bucky holds a towel to wrap around you, kissing your forehead softly when he walks to the bedroom and dresses himself, giving you panties and a t-shirt of his. You smirk, dress yourself, and comb your hair. Bucky makes his way to the kitchen, preparing the popcorn and the pizza. When you're finished in the bathroom, you walk into the living room, placing all the pillows and blankets on the couch and letting yourself fall into them. When Bucky came with the food and drinks into the living room, he burst out laughing. Only your arms and legs are visible from underneath the pillows. He places the food and drinks on the small table and lifts the pillow on top of you, smirking.

"Does the pillow eat you?" He asks, and you chuckle.

"No, I just like to cuddle."

You sit up, moving a bit to make some space for Bucky. He lets himself fall down next to you and wraps his arm around you, then he takes the popcorn and hands it to you before he places the pizza in his lap. With a smirk, you look at the pizza and then into his blue eyes.

"Needy boy," you mumble into his ear.

You slide your hand over his chest to his stomach until you almost reach his cock, but then you take a slice of pizza and bite into it with a grin. You turn on a movie, Bucky, and you like that your head rests on his shoulder while he has his hand around your waist and pulls you as close as possible.

"Just as needy as I'm," he says, making both of you chuckle.

Bucky takes some popcorn from the bowl, which is standing between your legs, so he has to grasp between your legs like you do when you take a slice of pizza from him.

"Bucky?"

"Mhm?" He asks, half asleep, and pulls you even closer against him.

You smile softly and run your fingers through his soft hair. You move some strands out of his face and lean closer to kiss him. Bucky growls and makes you lie on top of him, his arms holding you tightly pressed against him. His fingers draw small circles on your soft skin, and he hides his face in the crock of your neck.

"Y-You know about my things, which are still at Alex's house, right?" You ask carefully; you don't want to upset Bucky.

He hums in response and looks at you, his blue eyes as soft as always. He leans closer and captures your lips for a passionate kiss, showing you that you don't have to worry about telling him about your ex-boyfriend. Bucky knows you love him just as much as he loves you. And he understands that you want to get your personal stuff from your ex-boyfriend.

"A—And I wanted to ask if— could you maybe come with me to him?"

Bucky immediately nods, rolling both of you over so you're underneath him, and he smirks at you. His soft lips grace over yours and along your jawline to your neck, where he bits softly into your skin. His hands move smoothly over your sides, caressing your skin and causing goosebumps all over your body. You sigh softly and enjoy the warmth and softness of Bucky's touches. He is always so soft and careful with you, like you could break into his hands when he doesn't pay attention. But you don't complain; Bucky is everything for you — the love of your life and your best friend.

After a lot of kisses, cuddles, and a good breakfast, you're ready to go to your ex-boyfriend and get your personal stuff. Your hands are sweating, and you dry them on your pants. Your body is slightly shaking. Bucky recognises that; he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you flat against his broad chest. Your head rests on his chest, and you listen to his heartbeat.

"He won't hurt you again, babydoll. I'm taking care of you; I'll protect you, and he won't do anything when you don't want it." Bucky mumbles and pushes you softly away.

He presses his lips against your forehead, which helps calm down your nerves. Bucky opens the door for you, holding your hands tight in his while you two walk along the street to the apartment you used to live in a few months ago. When you see the entrance of it already, you panic, stay still, and inhale deeply. Bucky turns toward you and places his hand on your cheek, sliding his thumb over it.

"Doll, you're stronger than you ever were. This man never broke you, and he never will. He can't harm you; I love you, and I won't let him touch you again," Bucky says softly.

He knows how hard it can be to accept a trauma you're carrying in your soul. Wounds that turn into scars, but it needs more time as a cut on the skin. Bucky knows how much you suffered because of your ex-boyfriend, but he also sees the strong woman behind all that pain. He loves you for the person you are, not for the person he wants you to be. When you nod, he leads you further to Alex's apartment. He knocks with a strength you're not used to at the door, and then the door is opened by a man you feel like you don't know.

Alex has messy hair; his beard isn't shaved like he used to, and he has dark shadows underneath his red eyes. He looks like he hasn't slept for a while, but when he sees you, he smiles. A smile you had only seen on his lips when you first met. The one you fell in love with. But when Alex sees Bucky standing next to you and holding your hand in his, his smile drops.

"Hi, I—I would like to get my stuff, please," you mumble.

Surprisingly, Alex nods and takes a step to the side, letting you and Bucky walk into the apartment. When you look around, everything looks similar to the day he threw you out of the apartment. The only difference is that there are clothes and trash on the ground. Bucky lets go of your hand, staying next to you to make sure Alex isn't doing anything. You're walking through the apartment and picking up your things, putting them in a bag you brought.

"Can we talk, please?" He asks when you walk back to the floor, where he is still standing.

You nod carefully, and Bucky kisses your cheek before he walks a step to the side to let the two of you talk. Alex runs his fingers through his hair and his hands over his face, and then he inhales deeply.

"I'm sorry, I—I Baby—“

"Alex, please. We're not together anymore."

"I never wanted to hurt you. I love you. I haven't had a girl since you moved out. Please, I love you. Give me one more chance to show you that I love you. I will be a better boyfriend this time," he says, and you see the tears falling down your cheeks.

You shake your head. And his eyes widen. Realism hits him when he sees that you don't feel the same for him anymore. He sees in your eyes that you moved on, not only in your eyes; you look in general different from the time you were together with him.

"I'm sorry, but I moved on, and you should do the same," you say with such strength in your voice. You never thought you would talk to him like that without fear.

"Please, you— I love you."

"You were strong, and I was not. And you used it — you used it against me. When all is done, there is nothing to say. You have gone, and so effortlessly, you have won. You can go ahead and tell them. You can tell your friends now what you want; you can tell the girls you fuck now how shitty I am and how bad I'm in bed. I never did what you wanted or the way you wanted. Tell them all; I know now that you fucked them all without feeling ashamed to cheat on the girl you have at home, the one who loved you and expected to be treated like you did. To be abused by her boyfriend while still loving him. Shout it from the rooftops; write it on the skyline; all we had is gone now. Tell them I was happy even though my heart was broken. All my scars were open, but I found someone who doesn't mind them and helps to heal them, someone who loves all the scars you caused."

Bucky smirks when he hears your words, and his eyes light up when he hears you tell your ex-boyfriend what was inside of you for so long. And you were finally able to tell him how you felt and how you now feel.

"I know I made mistakes. But I love you."

"Everyone does, but you betrayed me. And falling out of love is hard, but falling for betrayal is worse. And you betrayed me so often. Broken trust and broken hearts — you broke both our hearts; you broke mine when we were together, and yours broke because I moved on. And thinking all you need is there, building faith on love and words, only empty promises will wear. Alex, I loved you, but I moved on, and you should do the same," you say and nod before you walk to Bucky.

He smiles widely at you, his eyes shining in the most beautiful way you have ever seen. You place your hand in his, and he takes the bag before you two make your way to the door and get out of the apartment. When you close the door behind you, you breathe shakily, and you feel like all the pain and fear are fading away. You walk a few steps, but Bucky just can't hold back anymore and stays still, turning around and wrapping his arms around your waist.

"I'm so proud of you, doll. I love you so much. I would tell the whole world; I just do it. I will tell the world how much I love you," Bucky says with a grin, and twirling the two of you around, he then leans closer. "I love you so much, and I'm proud of you. I don't even have words for that; you're the most beautiful woman, and you belong to me; you're mine just as much as I'm yours," he whispers into your ear.

"Thank you. I love you too, Bucky," you giggle, then you smirk playfully. "So, where do you want to go to tell the world that you love me?"

"I already did. When I whispered in your ear that I love you. Because you're my world, my perfect world," Bucky says, kissing you softly.

You feel some tears of joy rolling down your face when you realise his words. No one ever said more meaningful words than Bucky does. He is definitely everything for you, and you are grateful to have such a wonderful and loving man as your boyfriend. One who sees you as the only and most wonderful woman, someone who doesn't even look at other women, and one who tries to make you laugh as often as he can. Bucky is the love of your life, and you're grateful that destiny brought the two of you together and that the two of you discover every day another thing you love about one another.

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @kandis-mom @sergeantbarnessdoll @identity2212 @km-ffluv @lunaalovesyouu @blackhawkfanatic @armystay89 @suz7days @randomawesomeperson102 @rogersbarber @sebastianstanisahotmf @bucky-barnes-lover @felicitylemon @cjand10 @bookishtheaterlover7 @casa-boiardi @futurequeen2018-blog @flstrawberry @capsbestgirl77 @nervouseden @vicmc624 @kpopgirlbtssvt @ordelixx @angelbabyyy99 @mostlymarvelgirl @somegirlfromasgard @buck-buck-buckaroo @lov3lys1ns @etherealdisneyvillainness @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @jiyascepter @princesscore-angel

[iisasarcasticlittleshite]

Breaking the bed pt. 2

@leviachaaaaan @skylar-multifandom

I couldn't resist a part 2. Enjoy ;) Smut below the cut, heavily implied thr33some in Belphie and Beel's part. Solomon's a little shit, as always. NSFW

Pt.1

Belphegor & Beelzebub

Belphie, motivate himself enough to actually break his favourite place in the Devildom?

MC would need to do a great deal of goading and teasing for Belphegor to voluntarily get strenuous with their activities. Don't get me wrong, he loves MC and he wants to make them feel good, but if he can get that done while lying on his back, why wouldn't he?

However...there's one sure way to get this demon going.

Sharing MC with Beel has Belphie truly shining as an evil mastermind. He's clever, deceptively so. And Beel's only too eager to serve, to make MC come apart between the two of them.

Beel's normal gentleness also tends to slip a little if he's sharing MC with his twin. He'll still never hurt them, unless they like it. But he follows Belphie's lead and that strength of his...

The bed rarely survives the three of them playing together, and the moment that frame starts cracking, Belphie paints MC's neck in lovebites, and sweet Beel leaves finger-shaped bruises on their hips.

MC's half convinced Belphie manipulates sex to cause collateral damage on purpose, just so he can see the look on Lucifer's face.

Diavolo

It was 100% an accident...mostly.

In his defence, he and MC rarely ever actually get as far as the bed. More often it's his desk, the shower, against the wall in the hallway with their hand over his mouth.

Having the space, and time and freedom to actually take MC in a real bed felt...liberating, and the prince got a little carried away.

The moment he heard the resounding crack, Diavolo froze, realising they were now at an angle, and MC, the little menace, started laughing.

Diavolo let out a good natured chuckle and swiftly scoops them up off the wrecked mattress. "Well then, my desk, or the shower?"

Barbatos

Break something? Sweetheart, the only thing this demon's going to break is you.

He's far too neat and proper to cause collateral damage during sex.

Solomon

In this case, one might say that MC is the one who broke the bed, after this menace of a tease drove them mad enough for them to want to fuck him into shutting the hell up.

He loves seeing them mildly frustrated, that little knot between their brow as they stare at him like they're going to sort his shit out, and oh he knows they will.

He ignores the bedframe cracking, whining as MC pulled away from him to leave him at the edge all over again.

"You'd better break me next, little one."

[just-some-random-blogger]

Clearly Not Me

The second prince of Dorne is famously a punk-ass rat. He's never had someone put him in his place before, let alone a bartender that was serving him.

Oberyn Martell x Reader | 1k+ | cw: gender neutral!reader, modern au, bartender!reader, crack fic, dummy!Oberyn 'Bobby' Martell, typos, etc.

A/N: @sloanexx likes feeding my fic demons

Tagging: @multifandom-fangirl4 @pinksirensong @aralezinspace

"What can I get you?"

A man in a sits down in front of me. And though I was busy wiping the bar top, I could see he was wearing a bright yellow shirt.

"You're new here," he speaks as I arrange a few glasses and bottles.

I put some away in the back station and the cabinet beneath the bar, "not really." I straighten up with a sigh and lock eyes with him. I lean on the bar and repeat, "what can I get you?"

The man with dark hair and an exposed sternum raises a thick brow at me. He props his elbows on the surface between us. It was apparent to me that his top was not really a shirt, with how open it was, or yellow, but a mix of gold, browns, oranges, and like hues. It had intricate patterns that would've made him look tacky had it not been as apparently expensive as it looked. What a pompous asshole.

But then again, everyone in this fucking place was. I mean I was just serving a Lannister two seconds ago, and not the self aware one.

"I would know you if you weren't new," he says, resting his right fist down, "and you would know my order."

Ahh, gotta love asshole hour.

I lean forward, making sure not to let my annoyance seep through my sweet smile, "should I guess or will you just tell me what I can get you?"

The man chuckles. His smirk is lopsided. He licks his teeth and leans in until we're less than a foot apart, "a dry Manhattan with some olives on the side."

I nod and pull back, "dry Manhattan and olives."

I begin to work on his order.

I can feel him watching my every move, but I could honestly not care less.

"When did you start working here?" he shifts on his bar stool to watch me as I walk across the bar. I smile back at a regular who waves me goodbye. Prince Viserys gives me one of his greasy smirks and I return it with a polite one. I walk back to the man I was serving.

The said man eyes the Targaryen. He turns back when I reply, "about a month."

He purses his lips in thought, "makes sense. I was in Dorne at the time." He straightens up and clears his throat after saying this. He waits for me to react to his words, looks like he's half dreading it, but what he fails to realize is that he's acting far too guilty with someone who doesn't give a fuck.

I begin to mix his drink. He relaxes slightly at my missing reaction.

"You made friends with Viserys Targaryen within a month?"

I raise a brow at his words and set my shaker down, "are you my friend?"

He chuckles, shifting his weight on his elbows, "well, we've just met my dear."

"Then why would I be friends with Prince Viserys?"

I pour his drink.

He chuckles again, "he's not really a prince who says goodbye to people though."

"Well," I place an olive on his Manhattan and hand it to him, "maybe he liked my drinks."

I hand him his extra side of olives as he takes his drink. He raises his Manhattan with a brow, "maybe."

I watch him take a sip. He licks his lips after and turns to his margarita glass. He nods and smiles, "it's good."

I tilt and raise my hands at that.

I walk off to attend the back station. I realize that this man must really love hearing himself talk when he starts talking again even though my back is turned to him and I'm carrying a shit ton of glasses.

"He tips well?"

I scoff out a chuckle and look at him to see if he was being serious.

With the way his lips purse beneath his stupid mustache and how he clarifies, "Viserys, I mean," he's clearly pretty damn serious.

"With all due respect, none of you tip well," I retort as I put away the washed glasses into the cabinet.

He narrows his eyes and pushes his shoulders back, "I find that offensive."

"You know, save for maybe Tyrion Lannister," I add.

He scoffs and mutters under his breath, "you place me beneath a Lannister."

I pretend I don't hear it.

"Well, you'll know me well enough after tonight."

I do not withhold the face his words illicit because I was turned back to him again. I finish tidying the glasses with a sigh and turn back to him, "alright, Mr. Yellow Shirt."

"Excuse me?" Mr. Yellow Shirt pulls his head back in offence and furrows his brows, "this is not a shirt."

I raise a brow and walk over to him.

"It's a robe," he words sternly.

I make it a point not to apparently react to his words. Leave it to rich people to wear the most ridiculous things outside. I mean a robe? Really? My mother would have smacked me if I did that.

I lean over the bar and examine his clothes. He eagerly stands and flaunts it.

I mean it is a pretty good robe-- the man grins from ear to ear and stretches his arms out --but still.

I raise my brows at him and nod, "and so it is."

He chuckles and sits back down. He moves his drink aside and pops an olive in his mouth, "only three like it in the world, and all of them belong to me now."

Gosh, I better shut this down before he goes off and thinks I actually want to talk about it.

"Good for you, Mr. Yellow Robe."

The smile on his lips flattens. I fix the tools behind the bar.

I feel the man try to burn me with his gaze but I don't give him the satisfaction of looking back at him.

I cave when he gets eerily quiet.

He's immediately on the defensive, "my name is not Mr. Yellow Robe, and this is not any yellow," he motions to himself, "it's mustard yellow. #e1ad01," he leans on his elbows again, "I would know."

I cannot contain my expression. I'm honestly surprised he knew something like that. It both makes me gain respect for him while simultaneously thinking he's a bit looney.

"Alright the-"

"Oberyn Martell," he cuts me off and sits up straight.

Ah.

There it is. That's why he's such a prissy princess, because he is one.

I decide to do what I always do when people here introduce themselves to prove a point, I smile and introduce myself back. It normally gives me a chance to take hold of the conversation since these big names don't expect a nobody to match their energy.

True enough, Oberyn stills in his seat.

I wipe a glass, "you got a nickname, Oberyn Martell?"

He pulls his head back, "what?"

I watch a line form between his brows. I hold back a chuckle. Didn't the folks who write the gossip spreads call him Prince of the People because this man is for the streets?

I shrug, "what kind of nicknames does a kid named Oberyn grow up with?"

He furrows his brows.

I raise mine when I think of something, "Bobby!"

His ghost leaves his body, "what?"

"Like for Robert!" I place the glass bow, "Bobby! Or Bob," I tilt my head, "Bob suits you well, I think."

Bob's jaw drops as he scoffs, "I am not a Bob."

"Bobby then," I smile, "Bobby's cute. Bobby's sweet. Bobby's an approachable baby boy who buys you bubblegum cotton candy."

He looks like he's actually about to turn a shade of red. Mustard and Ketchup.

He takes his glass and mutters before drinking, "do I look like someone who buys bubblegum cotton candy?"

I chuckle as he downs his entire drink, "only to people who call you Bobby."

He lets out a breath as places his empty glass down.

"You know," I decide to further fuel his flame, "you and the prince of Dorne are actually both Bobbys."

I mask my chuckle at his mortified look with a smile when I turn greet a woman who calls for me from across the bar. I walk up to her, chuckling under my breath as I take her order.

I walk back to my station near Bobby to make her drink.

Bobby watches me and stretches his neck, "I'm not the prince of Dorne, if that's what you're getting at."

I stop in my tracks and knit my brows as I look at him. Oh, so we're playing this game? I shake my head, "of course you're not." I look back at my drink.

Bobby takes a moment to register my words. He quips back, "what?"

I ignore him in lieu of finishing making my drink. He does not enjoy this one bit and raps on the table to catch my attention. I usually don't entertain rude interactions like this, but I couldn't help myself.

I look back at him, nearly gagging in laughter over his sour expression. I finish the order before deciding watch to reply. I match his expression, "the prince of Dorne would never wear something so garish, Bobby boy."

I smirk as I walk away with my finished drink, pleased with myself over the choke-like sound he makes at my words.

"Garish?!" he barks then calls out my name.

I hand the woman her order and smile at her when she thanks me, pays, and gets up to leave. I take her cash payment and smile, "now that's how you tip."

[milla984]

And in the Beginning...

Summary: after spending a day at D.C.’s most renowned multifandom convention Spencer and Garcia stop for a coffee. Spoiler alert - our fave Resident Genius dumps their order on Reader.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x gn!reader (Reader is a sci-fi buff)

Category: fluff

TW/CW: swearing, mentions of food, some Star Wars-related talk

Word Count: 2k

Once again, a ginormous THANK YOU to @drgenius-reid for taking the time to beta-read the first draft (aka witnessing the horror)!

The following work is my entry for @imagining-in-the-margins' CM Meet Cute (or not) Challenge and is also part of the series Spencer Reid, my beloved

“Highlight of the day?! Jamie Hewlett signing my copy of The Cream of Tank Girl! In you face, Mr. 'Superman Can Fly'...!”

The woman carrying a Chinese paper umbrella rummaged through her purse to retrieve a wallet and pay at the coffee truck parked outside the convention center; stylish two-tone glasses matched the army green jumpsuit with a teddy bear patch on her right leg and the blue mandarin collar button-down shirt she was wearing, and her blond hair was tied up in a pair of small side buns.

The tall man beside her chuckled as he picked up two cups. “I don’t know if I should be more impressed or worried.”

“Why?! We made a deal and it’s perfect: he can have Sci-Fi-Gate, I’m keeping WashCon.”

“Sci-Fi-Gate has amazing Star Trek guests, though…”

A long and colorful scarf was wrapped around his neck and a deep red cravat necktie peeked out of the hem of a plaid design vest, combined with a single-breasted brown coat and a pair of grey pants. 

“I can't believe you would really choose the Captains of the Enterprise panel over my emotional stability,” she frowned, paying zero attention to the cosplayer in a trenchcoat with a pair of black wings attached to their back she was about to brush past.

When the feathers smacked her cheek she pulled back, the tips of her umbrella almost poking the tall guy dressed as Doctor Who in the eye; the sudden movement startled the cosplayer and a rapid swing of their dark wings created a commotion in the crowd of people waiting for their turn to order. In the confusion that followed, a random shoulder bumped into yours and pushed you out of the line and off the sidewalk, right in front of the Fourth Doctor - who was struggling to maintain his Fedora in place and watch where he was going at the same time.

Needless to say, he ended up failing at both.

“Oh my God, are you okay?” the blond woman asked. 

“I’m so sorry, SO SO SORRY—” the tall guy apologized simultaneously and she cut him off, rushing to your side.

“Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

The frantic exchange prompted your brain to whoosh into light speed mode to elaborate and discharge the ‘Ah, shit!!’ and ‘wait… is this iced macchiato?!?!’ inputs in favor of a more suitable reaction at the sight of the considerable amount of caffeine soaking your hoodie.

“... I think I’m okay.”  

“First-aid manuals suggest removing all clothes or jewelry near the affected area within moments after the spillage of a hot liquid,” the tall guy said, and the woman gasped in shock. 

“Please tell me you didn’t get burned! Once I got this non-fat steamed white chocolate vani—”

“I’m fine,” you growled a bit. 

Someone behind you was snickering and, despite the relief of not having sustained serious injuries, the attention was already making you feel uncomfortable.

“Scalds are caused by sources of humid heat and certain types of fibers retain the water, which can be responsible for additional damage to the skin,” the tall guy explained again, speaking faster than anyone you had ever heard.

You tucked your shirt in your jeans and raised an eyebrow in his direction. “Let me guess: you’re a doctor.” 

“Well… uhm, yes, this is my…” he faltered, unable to tell if you were referencing his costume as a pun or not. “I am, actually.”

“Not that kind of doctor,” the woman added.

She sighed as soon as she realized you were standing there speechless, drenched in coffee, your gaze wandering back and forth between them. “I’m so sorry…”

“They should be more careful with the lids. I think I got lucky,” you muttered through gritted teeth as you pulled the zip down.

Thanks to the decision to splurge some money on yourself, earlier on, you had something to replace your soiled hoodie with. The Fourth Doctor looked away and focused his attention on the cups he was still holding in his hands; before he threw them in the nearest trashcan he inspected their content, confirming he’d fortunately spilled on you a combination of 98% half-caf iced caramel macchiato and just 2% regular hot americano.

The woman was still clasping the handle of her umbrella. “Listen, we were about to check out this itsy-bitsy lovely Indian place ‘round the corner, maybe you should come with us. You know… to try and get cleaned up a little.” 

You dug into the shopping bag at your feet, taking a sealed package out to rip the plastic film wrapped around a brown sweatshirt with a stylized front print of the panoramic view of the desert, Jabba the Hutt’s palace and twin suns on Tatooine, and put it on. 

“No offense, but my parents taught me to never follow strangers.” 

“None taken,” the tall guy replied, “they were absolutely right. According to the National Missing and Unidentified Persons System, about 90,000 individuals are reported missing in the U.S. every year and the National Institute of Justice estimates that approximately 4,400 unidentified bodies are recovered annually.”  

For the second time in less than five minutes, you considered the possibility he could truly be from Gallifrey. You also wondered if he was aware of his perfect facial structure: everything about his demeanor indicated he wasn’t too skilled in the art of charming people using his sculpted jawline and lean figure. 

“... do you always quote statistics about murders and kidnappings like it’s a casual topic of conversation?”  

His eyes got even bigger, showing a hint of gold on the inside. “It was merely an observation—”

“Yeah, he… does that,” the woman came to his rescue, “and even if it sounds bad, trust me it’s- it's part of his job. Our job. Except, I don’t deal with the scary, disturbing, yucky stuff.”

Your question wasn’t meant to come out in such a sarcastic tone. “You’re cops?!”

“FBI. Tech Analyst and Behavioral Analysis Unit,” she explained, and the tall guy waved a silent greeting at you. 

Even though the chance of running into the Bureau personnel stationed in D.C., at some point, wasn’t unreasonable, ‘two FBI agents walk into a multifandom convention dressed as characters from sci-fi TV shows’ could have easily been the beginning of a bad joke. 

Plus, it was hard to picture the Fourth Doctor as a G-Man. “What’s your Ph.D. in, exactly?”

“I have a Ph.D. in Mathematics. And Chemistry, and Engineering. And I hold BAs in Psychology, Sociology and Philosophy.”

“Google him. Spencer Reid, B-A-U,” the woman suggested after a short pause, in response to your skeptical expression.

Judging by her tone she was daring you to, as if the situation wasn’t already giving off major The Twilight Zone vibes… and yet, instead of bidding them an unenthusiastic farewell, you pulled out your phone to type his name. 

A plethora of results popped on the screen seconds later, so you first clicked on the link titled BAU’s newest member. 

“With three doctorate degrees from Caltech already, and a staggering IQ of 187 as well as an eidetic memory there is no psychological exam or test the FBI could put in front of him he could not ace,” the piece said about newly-recruited Spencer Reid.

“When I ask why he chose Caltech over MIT and Stanford, he quickly runs down a list of Professors he had a desire to study with. He makes no mention of the weather or girls,” an older article reported.

You skipped through at least a dozen mentions of SSA Reid’s outstanding performances in the field, then a PDF document, property of the California Institute of Technology, caught your interest and you read the title aloud. 

“Identifying non-obvious relationship—” 

“Non-obvious relationship factors using cluster-weighted modeling and geographic regression,” he recited by heart, “that's my Engineering dissertation.”

He was too prepared on the subject and too adorably peculiar to be an impostor posing as a genius FBI agent for kicks, during the weekend; you picked his Fedora off the ground as a peace offering. 

“Seems like you’re a wunderkind, Doctor Reid.”

Spencer lowered his chin so he could mask the rush of blood to his cheeks and his friend giggled, gently linking arms with you. 

“Now, there’s something relevant we need to discuss, pronto… how do you feel about veg biryani?”

An hour and a half proved to be all the time you needed to form a solid conviction that Spencer Reid going on a spiel about the original blueprints of a fictional space station was the best thing since sliced bread.

“It’s part of the iconic imagery Lucas wanted to establish, there’s no health and safety. And don’t forget it was originally designed by the Geonosians.”

You snorted at the mention of the classic ‘designed by a flying alien species’ argument. “That’s not an excuse! Even if the Geonosians designed it, they knew it was meant to be used by humanoid creatures.”

After leaving the restaurant, where you had insisted on paying for your share - much to Garcia's dismay, you’d walked back to the convention center’s parking lot and now you were waiting by your car for Penelope to get hers. As you had recently discovered, she loved mugs, old Italian movies and playing the ukulele; Spencer wasn’t as outgoing and chatty, especially about his private life, but Star Wars was for sure one of his numerous areas of expertise.

“TIE fighters don’t have a proper defense system and the original prototype even lacked structural integrity to support atmospheric flight. The Empire doesn't care about casualties, it’s safe to think they never bothered to install a guardrail or other appropriate safety measures because to them the Death Star technicians are expendable.”

“Okay… solid theory,” you admitted, making him smile as he wiped his forehead to get rid of a lock of curly hair.

“Thank you. It’s nice to have a discussion with someone who knows about the Geonosians. Or the Death Star. It only happened twice but I’ve had people asking me what that was.”

When the convertible Cadillac with a plastic Hawaiian lei tied to the rear-view mirror stopped inches from you, Garcia - behind the steering wheel - proudly gestured at the extension of her eccentric personality.

“Meet Esther. Isn’t she fab?”

You wolf whistled your appreciation, gliding your fingertips over the leather upholstery and orange body paint. “Quick question: how much do you think I’d get if I sued two FBI agents for… damages, let’s say?!”

Penelope produced a fluffy pen out of the glove compartment and scribbled something on the back of a PetMAC receipt she handed it to you. 

“Sweet pea, if I were you I'd settle for a lifetime of free IT support.”

“I’ll take it,” you said, “I’m kind of tired of being bullied by my own laptop.”

She stared at you for a moment before her face lit up, like a girl on a trip to a four-story candy shop. “... have you ever been to Baltimore ComicCon?!” she asked out of the blue while Spencer plopped himself down on the passenger seat.

You shook your head. “Do you guys—”

“We should totally go together!!” Garcia proposed. Or rather, declared.

In all honesty, the prospect of attending another convention on your own was depressing and you’d given up on the one in Maryland for that specific reason; you turned to Spencer for his approval, too, and he nodded, maybe because he knew there was no way of stopping Garcia if she had her mind set on a specific goal.  

“Baltimore it is, then…?!”

Penelope shot you a smug grin. “Keep in touch. We still owe you a nice dinner and ComicCon’s not up until September, I’d hate to run a background check on your license plate to find you.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the idea and saluted them goodbye as they drove off, Esther’s taillights shining bright red.

What a weird Saturday. Meeting a real life genius and the quirkiest FBI agent ever came with a price, and one of your favorite hoodies was most likely beyond salvaging. You needed to know if Spencer Reid was well worth it.

Garcia’s words then echoed in your ears, so you sat in your car and unlocked your phone, scrolling through the most recent Google searches: you had a lot of reading to do. 

@matthew-gray-gubler-lover, @thisiscalmanditsdoctorreid, @pretty-boys-book-club, @spookydrreid, @f-me-reid, @foxy-eva, @scorpiofangirl1109, @a-potato-wearing-plaid, @cynbx, @reidsbookclub, @nagemasstuff, @hotchsdharma, @reidmainbitch, @lizzylynch1, @will-grahams-eyes, @padawancat97

»»»— read pinned post for taglist info —«««

[narcosfandomdiscord]

Narcovember Prompt Roulette List

Saalud a mi gente! We in the Narcos Fandom Forever discord server are excited to bring another 30-day challenge: a multifandom event that we’re nevertheless calling Narcovember. Despite its name, this is open to ALL FANDOMS, NOT JUST NARCOS. Creators are encouraged to submit fanworks (fic, art, gifs, vids, op-eds) for any fandom your heart desires!

This event's format is a bit unconventional. Instead of a prompt for each day of the month, there's a Prompt Roulette Wheel and a Prompt Index (☟ below) featuring numbered items with three prompts each. Every day you'll spin the wheel. The number that comes up on the spin corresponds to a number on the index where you can then pick one of the three prompts.

So for example, say on day one, I spin the wheel and get number 8. I’d go to 8 on the index (titled These Damn Restraints). Of those three prompts, I like Yikes best so that's my day one prompt. Next day, I spin and get 14. I find 14 on the index (Decisions, Decisions, Decisions) and pick one of those for day two's prompt. And so on. Note: If, on Day 2, instead of 14 I got 8 again, I’d spin the wheel again to get a new number. If, for whatever reason, you don’t want to spin twice, you can choose another prompt from that "Book of" that you haven't used (e.g. Day 1, I chose Yikes. So Day 2, I’d go for, "Now you know why I never say anything.") Ideally, we think it’s more fun to not repeat index items, but ultimately it’s dealer’s choice. Aka we're not about to get real fascist policing, aint nobody got time for that.

Here's -> the roulette wheel. Or you can make your own! (Just make sure it has 30 slices.)

Use the hashtag #narcovember or tag us to submit your entries so we can reblog them! A note on the masterlist - bc of the Tumblr-imposed link limit, for now we'll only link the fic. BUT at the end of the month, there will be a comprehensive list with all the contributors’ blogs so ppl can find your other work easily. 

Happy spinning, everybody!

❖ Prompt Index ❖

1 — Book of Genesis

Fanwork inspired by someone else’s fanwork (be sure to tag the creator of the OG work!) 

“The fun begins here.” 

Ghosts

2 — Book of Fuck-ups

Righteous indignation glo-up aka fanwork that corrects a plot misstep or writing blunder that bugs the shit outta you 

“It’s not the what-ifs that fuck you up, so much as the what-might-have-beens.” 

Bite

>>>>>>>>>> more prompts below the cut <<<<<<<<<<<<

3 - Book of Stuff That Goes in the Junk Drawer

Fanwork inspired by a song and include why the song sparked the idea (was it the lyrics, genre? something you thought a character would like? etc) 

“It’s never too late to make history.”

Juice

4 — Book of the Uno-Card-Reverse

Fanwork based on your fav reverse/inverse trope**

“Evil isn’t always forever.” 

Mirrors 

5 — Book of Negative Spaces

Fanwork using a line from a diff show/movie as a prompt (e.g. line from Mad Men, “I don’t think of you at all” in a Narcos fic, line from Band of Brothers, “The only hope you have is to accept the fact that you’re already dead,” in a Hannibal fic, etc etc) 

“We gain more from our mistakes than our success, you know that?”

Pitch

6 — Book of (un)Consciousness

Fanwork inspired by a dream you’ve had (include 1-2 sentence summary of the dream at the beginning of the post) 

“Just dream with me.”

Technicolor 

7 — Book of Time-travel

Fanwork inspired by ancient mythology (Greek, Norse, aztec, celtic, etc. Bible counts as mythology, fuck it) 

“It’s only a matter of time.”

Constellation

8 — Book of These Damn Restraints

Fanwork that ends with 2(+) characters trapped in a phone booth with no way out 

“Now you know why I never say anything.”

Yikes

9 — Book of Fateful Conversations

Fanwork where the plot takes place entirely in the back of a cab OR where one character is the cab driver and the other is the passenger 

“You'd be surprised what you can live with.” 

Cursed

10 — Book of Nepo-baby Levels of Incompetence

Fanwork where character is in a profession they have no business being in with no prior training, so they fake knowing what they’re doing – like imposter syndrome except they’re just actually a fraud (e.g. Rust Cohle is a grief counselor, Richie Jerimovich is a hedge fund manager, Roman Roy is a beat cop) 

“And who hasn’t believed a flattering lie?” 

Evergreen 

11 — Book of Pit Stops

Fanwork that starts with a character hitchhiking and getting picked up by another character(s) 

“Tell me to stop, and I’ll stop.” 

Rush

12 — Book of Balancing In Between

Fanwork whose setting is a liminal space (e.g. empty swimming pool, bar or arcade after hours, airport terminal, church confessional, empty elevator, Twin Peaks black lodge, John Wick continental bar, etc) 

“Good things come in threes.” 

Wire

13 — Book of in Urgent Need of Assistance

Fanwork where a character wakes up on an empty submarine, 300ft underwater, thinking they’re the only person aboard until they run into another character(s) 

“One day I’ll wake up and it won’t hurt so much.” 

Desperate

14 - Book of Decisions, Decisions, Decisions

Crossover for 2(+) fandoms you have used before but 2(+) characters you’ve never used or vice versa 

“All we have are our choices.” 

Crossroads 

15 — Book of How tf Did We Get Here

Fanwork that starts off with 2(+) characters waiting in line at the DMV and ends in a completely different, totally unpredictable, why-and-how-tf-did-we-get-here place 

“There’s a moon a mile from here and nobody home.” 

Ambition

16 — Book of Locally Sourced

Fanwork that mimics a bottle episode, so the entirety of it takes place in a relatively mundane setting (e.g. the stockroom of a store, interrogation room, a hotel lobby, waiting room of a doctor’s office, etc etc) 

“Make yourself comfortable while you can."

Notebook

17 — Book of Inception

Fanwork that provides an origin story for a character that doesn’t have one in canon 

“It (he/she/they) made me who I am.”

Improvement

18 — Book of Mysteries

Fanwork where 2(+) characters have to escape a panic room. Depending on fandom, this can be like the innocent party version that you take your friends to for someone’s bday, or can be an actual doomsday shelter 

“I thought they were with you!?"

Endurance

19 — Book of Near Misses

Fanwork with 2(+) characters from the same movie/show/book who’ve never met 

“Looks like we missed our window.” 

Rattled

20 — Book of Sleight of Hand

Fanwork of partners (romantic, profesh, or both) running into each other unexpectedly while both are doing something criminal/something they know they aren’t supposed to do (e.g. burying a body, carrying out a heist, meeting someone they shouldn’t)

“You can't ask the truth from someone who trades in lies.” 

Brace

21— Book of Nerves of Steel

Fanwork where 2(+) characters do a B&E, but get stuck when the owner unexpectedly comes home, and they whisper-yell argue over how to get out

“You won't believe the day I just had.”

Cortisol

22 — Book of Identity Theft

Fanwork where 2(+) characters meet accidentally bc one has accidentally dialed the wrong number (e.g. Syd [The Bear] tries to call Carm to yell at him for Something Dumb He Did but ends up calling Cousin Greg [Succession] instead) 

“I'm not the one.”

Brand

23 — Book of Just Chaos™️™️™️

Cracked crossover/ship with 2(+) characters from very diff genres (e.g. Dwight Schrute [The Office] & Tommy Shelby [Peaky Blinders], Frenchie [The Boys] x Penelope [Bridgerton], etc) 

“You’re my idiot, forever.” 

Untouchable

24 — Book of Revelation

Fanwork where 2(+) characters are stranded in the desert and in a sick twist, must decide which one of them to leave behind in order for the other(s) to be saved

“I like that I don't have to worry about you.”

Rapture

25 — Book of Reciprocity

Fanwork where 2(+) characters play poker (or any card game that has betting) but the chips are magic and the winner gets extra years of life instead of money (e.g. say, in poker, green chips = $500, blue chips = $1k, red chips = $2k, black chips = $5k. In this scenario, green chips = 6mos, blue chips = 1yr, red chips = 2yrs, black chips = 5yrs, etc) 

“Fine, I'll do it myself.”

Quid-Pro-Quo

26 — Book of Abduction

Fanwork where 2(+) characters get kidnapped by a kooky cult, are thrown into the trunk of a car together and have to figure out how to escape

“Somebody has to be paying attention.” 

Spiral

27 — Book of Caretaking

Fanwork where a character accidentally shoots/stabs/otherwise maims another character and has to perform first responder, triage levels of first aid to save them (dealer’s choice as to whether it's successful bc yolo) 

“Don't make me take care of you.” 

 Ritual

28 — Book of Weaponized Passive Aggression

Fanwork where 2(+) characters attend a dinner party and witness that moment when a couple starts passive-aggressively arguing but not outright fighting in front of the whole table and it’s even more painfully awkward than if they just straight up fought OR the 2(+) characters are the ones arguing making everyone else uncomfortable asf

“I wish you the best and I hope you find it far from me.”

Attitude

29 — Book of the (un)Dead

Fanwork where a character dies and another character shepherds them to the afterlife like their own personal grim reaper

“We bury our dead alive.” 

Siesta

30 — Book of There's No Place Like ...

Back from the dead: a character came back wrong or right, but either way, no one else knows how to handle it

“Even if you make it, you’ll never really go home.” 

Homesick

**There will be a reverse trope list in another post for examples.

[dbmars]

Full disclosure, this is my first foray into writing Duncan or Jack even though I love them so much. I'm actually really disappointed that there haven't been any comments or anything on Ao3 or social media. Maybe I should stay in my lane! (Hannigram) or maybe I'm HORMONAL! (also true) And y'know what I'm really proud of my little photo manip job up there too.

Excerpt from this chapter nobody's read:

Jack stood and turned to Duncan. “I know what you’re thinking. We needed to get inside the house. We didn’t know Jacob was home for the break, and I should have just let those guys kick his ass and leave him in a ditch, because then we could have just walked in, no problem.” 

Duncan grunted. Jack glowered at him, bottom lip sneaking out. “Catch more flies with honey than vinegar. And… y’know what, I’m not sorry I kicked a bunch of bigots’ asses. I know we’re not supposed to beat up on humans but I don’t give a shit.” 

“Supposed to be quiet.” Duncan opened up his inner coat pocket and slipped out a pack of cigarettes. “Not draw attention.”

Jack scoffed dismissively, and opened his mouth to say something, but Vizla suddenly had him by the arms, and pushed him back swiftly into the wall with a soft thud. A curio cabinet rattled dangerously as the Black Kaiser easily forced Jack’s wrists against the wallpaper at shoulder height. They’d both gotten the same serum initially, but the extra doses needed for the eye surgery, coupled with Duncan outweighing him by fifty, sixty pounds, maybe more, made it no contest. 

“Vizla—!” His name was a sharp exhale as the breath was forced out of his lungs. “What the fuck?” He tried to wiggle free, push back. His wrists came away from the wall an inch, trembling with exertion, before Duncan forced them back down. The Black Kaiser was granite-strong, as always. What was more alarming was the warmth that spread up from Jack's groin and the shiver that snaked through his body.  

“Taking a page out of Will Graham’s book?” Duncan rasped, close to his face, his breath smoky and dangerous.

“What?” Jack’s mouth felt numb and stupid. 

“Fucking everything in sight to get close to the target. That’s his MO.”

Anger flared, unfurling in his gut like a flag in the breeze, snapping in the wind. “I’m nothing like Will Graham,” he snarled. 

“Maybe he’s taking a page out of yours.” Duncan released him suddenly and stepped back. It always threw Jack for a loop, how fast he could move despite his size, his coat rippling in the breeze of his movements. 

Jack stepped unsteadily away from the wall, rubbing his wrists. “What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

Vizla finally lit the cigarette behind his ear he’d somehow tucked there. Smoke curled up from the ceiling and the cherry glowed like a tiny piece of hell stoked by his breath. He didn’t answer. 

“Are you talking about Paris?”

Again, Vizla didn’t respond, just raised the cigarette to his lips between two long, scarred fingers, the smoke tickling his mustache. His stupid fucking mustache, Jack thought. “You are talking about Paris,” he answered for himself. “You’re talking about Sarah.”

“Your sugar mommy.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Jack demanded, his body taut from head to toe. He was trembling with fury and hated that it was no doubt visible to the Kaiser’s trained eyes, both human and vampire. “I was supposed to get us into the house, and I got us into the house. The only evidence we were ever here is a posse of good ol’ boys with broken noses who’ll probably be too ashamed to tell anyone they got their asses kicked by one guy. Things are fine as of right now, anyway, because the longer we’re fucking standing here–”

Vizla closed the space between them in a preternatural blink that left Jack disoriented, the assassin wrapping a hand around the collar of his shirt. Jack instinctively gripped his wrist, then glared up at him. There was a thorny silence that ended when Duncan said,“Your bag’s by the front door. Get back on schedule.” 

With that, he released Jack’s shirt. Jack, fuming, retrieved the large black duffle bag from the foyer and slipped it over his shoulder.

[desos-records]

Magic's not allowed in Gotham, but Jason's never been one to follow rules. // Jason Todd helps out the local exorcist.

Jason Todd/Reader

Chapters: First

Word Count: 1,866

Warnings: blood, some mild violence, demonic possession

-

Jason helped you through the window of his apartment, then slid the blackout curtains shut and flicked on a lamp. The warm gold light pushed the darkness gently away. He heard you laugh softly before he turned around.

"Do you ever use a door?" You smiled crooked at him. 

You'd walked into the kitchen, turned on the lights, and now stood there with your coat dripping thick black liquid over the tile. It pooled around your boots like crude oil. One of the kitchen ceiling lights shone just behind your head, giving you a halo.

"Can't you literally teleport?" he asked, slipping his helmet off and setting it on the coffee table.

You shook your head, eyes briefly flashing, and gestured at his domino mask. "Still don't trust me, I see."

"You're standing in my apartment. Not a safe house. My apartment. Where I live."

You opened your mouth to retaliate, then stopped, frowned, and pressed a hand to your head, swaying on your feet. He jolted into motion, catching you and holding you steady, trying to ignore the warm buzz of magic under his hands.

"Easy, sweetheart. I got you."

"Sorry," you mumbled, eyes squeezed shut and hands braced tight against his arms.

"Don't be. Your adrenaline probably just crashed."

"I'm tracking demon's blood everywhere."

"Explains the smell."

When he got you to laugh, however slightly, he felt briefly invincible, unconquerable. You opened your eyes as you smiled up at him and something settled in his chest, like a bird flying home.

"I always smell like death or hadn't you noticed?" you said, standing so close that it was starting to get unbearable—and you were right, it was the smell of war-time trenches and pyre smoke—but he could see the details in your eyes, illuminated from within like old spell books, and that made up for anything else.

"Too busy getting lost in your eyes." His tone made it a joke, his own magic trick of hiding the truth by showing it off.

"I bet you say that to all the exorcists," you said, matching the teasing bent in his voice. Then you groaned as you swayed on your feet again, resting your head against his shoulder.

"Come on," he said, wrapping an arm around you to help you stand. "Think you can make it to the bathroom?"

You grumbled something unintelligible, but followed when he started walking. Once in the bathroom, you sat down on the edge of the tub, hands braced against it like talons. Under the bright fluorescents—he noticed when they made you wince and close your eyes—he could see what had hidden in your shadows.

Jason knelt down beside you, brushing strands of grimy hair out of your face. Something had scratched your cheek up, bruises bloomed over your jaw, and dried blood crusted around a cut in your temple. "Jesus Christ, kid," he said softly. "How long were you in Hell?"

"I'm older than you, jackass." You opened your eyes long enough to glare at him. "Time doesn't exist there, but it spat me out six months after I went in."

"And how old is this?" He gently pulled back your coat and pointed to the blood seeping into your shirt.

"How old is what?" You looked down and flinched with surprise. "Shit."

Three long claw marks cut along your ribcage, the skin around them turning black even as he watched.

"I have a first aid—"

"No." You shook your head and winced from it. "Won't work. That's necrosis. That..." You took a deep breath and it tore at your lungs. When you met his eyes, he felt his heart free fall into his stomach. You were afraid. You fought demons for a living and you were afraid. "Did you keep my emergency kit?" you asked.

A familiar protective instinct pulled at him, like a cord attached to his heart, a need to keep you safe and keep the panic at bay. Before he stood up, he brushed his thumb along your uninjured cheek and planted a kiss to your temple.

"Of course I did."

He took out his knife and pried up one of the floor tiles, revealing the hidden storage compartment where you'd stashed a duffel bag of extra supplies—holy water, candles, lighters, boxes of chalk, locked books, and a black onyx mirror in a case. He set it on the floor beside you.

"You've cauterized a wound before, right?" you asked as you slid off your coat with a sound like stripping paint.

"Yeah."

"Same principle. Take one of the lighters in there and the holy water."

He unzipped the bag and dug through it, pulling out a heavy golden lighter and a glass bottle.

"And take this." You handed him a knife, long and narrow, symbols carved along the blade. "Heat the knife with the lighter, hold it to the wound, and when it's closed, pour the holy water over it."

As he flicked on the lighter, sparks flashing in his hand, you pulled your shirt off and laid down on your side, leaving the claw marks exposed. The tattoos etched around them were hard to ignore. What was it with exorcists and tattoos? You usually kept them covered, but you had dozens—words and symbols and diagrams—until little space remained unmarked. Scars weaved through them, mostly claw and knife wounds, a couple round bullet holes, and a large burn over one shoulder blade.

A little part of him ached to know you'd be earning three more.

"I might pass out," you said, voice wavering but still entirely too calm. "But you'll know it's working when the necrosis fades."

"Do you want something to hold on to?" he asked, already taking off his jacket and handing it to you.

"Thanks." You held tight, fingers digging into the leather, and closed your eyes.

The knife started to glow red in his hands, so Jason snapped the lighter shut and took a deep breath, laying a hand on your shoulder. Your skin burned against him.

"Ready?"

"Just get it over with. You don't have to—"

He pressed the flat of the knife to the first gash. He expected you to scream, but you only gasped and clutched his jacket tighter, eyes briefly snapping open again. A short crack echoed through the room and off the tiles as the mirror fractured. The lights flickered. You kept your eyes firmly closed as he worked, the rest of you tense as a bridge cable. Once the wounds had all been burnt shut, he uncorked the holy water and poured it over. The loud hissing sound surprised him, following a smell like burning hair.

Slowly, the necrosis stopped spreading, then faded altogether. You sighed in relief as if you could feel the life returning to you. He set down the knife and the glass bottle.

"Still with me?" he asked, touching your shoulder again.

"You aren't rid of me yet, Red." Your voice sounded like it had burned away too.

Jason put his arm around you to help steady you when you tried and failed to sit up. He could feel you shaking down to your bones, betraying the pain you'd refused to show. He brushed hair out of your face, letting his hand linger as long as he dared.

It's okay, he wanted to say. If you're hurting, then hurt. I'll be here. But it sounded stupid even in his head, so he didn't. Instead, he draped his jacket over your shoulders and hoped that would say it for him.

A smile curved gently over your face as you leaned against the tub. For a moment, you just looked at each other, as if making sure you were both still here. The tattoos caught his attention again. He'd known about them for ages, as long as he'd known you, but they surprised him every time. Maybe because you always managed to make him feel human, almost normal, he always forgot that you were just as strange as him.

Jason cleared his throat and stood up, then held a hand out. You stared up at him. A chill ran up his spine when he couldn't read your expression, but you reached out and took his hand, letting him help you to your feet.

The space between you both seemed to hum with energy—the aligned atoms between magnets, the burning ozone just before a lightning strike, the weight of a loaded gun. He wanted so badly to pull the trigger, close the gap, tilt his head and kiss you until he couldn't think straight.

But he could feel you shaking still and see the shadows under your eyes and it didn't seem right.

"If you want to take a shower, I can get you a change of clothes," he said.

"You don't have to do that," you said, giving a sad smile. "I should probably... I should get out of your hair."

His hand still tangled loosely with yours, but now he held on a little tighter. "I still owe you dinner."

"Another time then. When I'm not bleeding on your floor," you said, but you didn't move away. You couldn't meet his eyes either, instead staring at your abandoned coat and its trails of black liquid spreading over the tiles like tentacles.

Jason didn't know what could've possibly possessed him, but he reached out and placed the side of one knuckle under your chin. You looked up.

"Dangerous waters, Red," you whispered, but you still didn't push him away.

"Why don't you stay just this once? Let someone look after you."

"It's not your job."

He let his forehead rest against yours, feeling your breath crash into him. "What if I want it to be?"

"Hm. You never did have a sense of self-preservation." Your other hand drifted up to settle on his chest, the three points of contact burning like stars—hand, head, heart.

Somehow, he could tell this would be his last chance to convince you. He raised his head enough to meet your eyes again, then pulled off the domino mask and set it on the bathroom counter. Your expression stayed fixed, or it tried to. Your eyes flashed wide, but your voice was calm, if low with exhaustion.

"Now, what would you do that for, Red?"

"Jason," he said. "My name is Jason."

You took a hard breath and something glimmered at the edges of your eyes. Tears, he realized. You blinked furiously, trying not to cry. He waited for some signal, a direction to move in. When you swayed forward ever so slightly, he took the cue, cradling your jaw with both hands and brushing silent tears from your cheeks.

"It's okay, sweetheart," he said softly. "I'm here. You're safe."

Your short laugh came out strangled, but you leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close, but careful not to disturb your wounds. You exhaled all the tension out of your muscles and little sparks—like the lighter, like a match head about to burn, like the golden flash of your magic—burst inside him.

"Stay this time," he murmured, curling around you protectively, gently placing his head over yours. "Please."

[miryum]

Foundling Villa- Chapter 14

Royal!Charles Leclerc x Reader. Princess Y/n is arranged to marry Prince Charles. There will be many ups and downs that the author hasn’t planned out yet, but read along to find out more! (Yes, I know that sounds super cheesy) Warnings per chapter. Hope you guys enjoy!

Tag list: @notleclerc @sunsumonner @saturnsrinqs @livster @chonkybonky @eau-rougee @champomiel @justyouraverageeverydaysimp @multifandom-loser

Warnings: Swearing, uhhhh talk of war and..... FLUFF (aka kissing and YAY we’re finally getting somewhere!!!!)

ao3 link  next chapter>>

A loud banging awoke you suddenly. You bolted upright, breaths coming irregularly. “What’s happening?!” Your covers tangled around your feet and you kicked them away.

“My lady!” Sara burst into the room. “Lord Jules is requesting your presence right away!” 

The clanging continued and you wanted to cover your ears. “What is that?”

“Warning bells.” Sara helped you pull on your robe. “They’re sounding from every village.”

“Why?”

“Princess, I’m not at liberty to disclose that. Lord Jules will explain everything. Please, you need to go downstairs!” Sara practically pushed you down the hall and towards the steps. 

It had been three weeks since you first arrived at Schumacher Estate. You had spent your time writing letters to Charles and Prince Verstappen and conversing with Jules and Pierre. As it turns out, Jules had hilarious stories about Charles as a child and all the antics he had gotten up to. Jules also had insights into the tensions between Redull and Enza and you spent many a meal grilling him on all he knew. Jules laughed at your concerns and assured you everything would be alright. He had turned into a much needed calming presence in your life. 

When you weren’t arguing with Pierre, sharing tea with Jules, or writing to your husband, you were put riding with Lando. It helped take your mind off anxieties that plagued your mind and Lando commented on your quick learning.

“Steward Jules,” you bent at the waist, quickly righting yourself. “I was told- Charles?!” Across the room, there stood your husband. His clothes were in tatters and his hair was ruffled, dirt smeared on his face. Blood speckled his clothing and a gash tore through his bicep.

A look of shock crossed his face as you barrelled into him, clutching him tightly. After a moment, he carefully wrapped his arms around you. Charles felt you nestle into him. He paused for a moment, waiting for you to break away. But you didn’t. He took the opportunity to hug you back, burying his face in the crook of your neck.  He didn’t know when he'd have the chance to hug you like this again. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yes. I was worried about you. And I missed you.” You stepped back, becoming aware of the other people in the room. Jules hid his smile. “What are you doing here? And why do you look so… dishevelled?” You wiped some of the dirt from his forehead. Charles made a face and jokingly pushed your hand away.

Pierre laughed. “That’s a nice way of saying you look like a piece of shit.”

“Pierre,” Jules reprimanded him. It was then that the men remembered what they gathered for. The tension grew insurmountably and tense looks were thrown around. “Now is not the time. Charles, please continue.” It was then you realised that Charles had demanded you to be in the room before his announcement.

“Enza is at war.” 

It seemed as if all faded away as Charles explained how Redull troops had stormed the Enza palace and taken Lorenzo prisoner. He explained how he had barely escaped, having to fight off half a dozen men just to get to the stables and find a horse. He explained how he saw his friends and subjects fall in a haze of blood. 

He explained how Williams forces fought alongside Redull. 

“Y/n? Cherié?” Charles stepped towards you, cupping a hand along your cheek. “What’s wrong?” 

“I- I can fix this, I promise! If I can just talk to my parents they’ll have to see- I mean they can’t just- but what of our alliance?” You shook your head and extracted yourself from Charles’ embrace. 

Jules gripped Pierre’s forearm and whispered something to him. Pierre nodded, stoic for once, and followed Jules out of the room. You barely registered their exchange. 

“Y/n,” Charles sighed and hung his head. “We- Enza doesn’t have an alliance with Williams anymore. I’m sorry to tell you.”

“What?” You felt your world slipping out from under you. Charles led you to a couch where your legs folded under you and you collapsed. “But how could they…? They promised. They signed a treaty, Charles!” 

“I know,” Charles sat down next to you. He had his hands clutched in his lap and you desperately wanted them to be holding you- comforting you. 

“Don’t they know the consequences?” 

“They don’t care, Y/n. They have Redull to back them up. I… I don’t know if we have the resources to fight them.” 

“But Enza is one of the most powerful kingdoms.” You felt your love for your home kingdom slipping away. Instead, it was replaced by love for your husband’s home. Enza, and its people, had welcomed you with open arms and only wanted to see you happy and comfortable. Williams had done none of those things.  

“But how can we be powerful without the people?” Charles’ voice started to grow. He stood up and started pacing. Mindlessly, he ripped off his sleeve and wound it around his hurt arm. “Y/n, if you’d seen what I’d seen, you wouldn’t think a simple conversation with your parents could solve anything. I- I don’t know if my mother is alive or where they’re taking my brothers.” His voice cracked. “Helpless and innocent servants were slaughtered just trying to protect me. This cannot be settled over a cup of tea. Enza must fight back, but with what?” It was like he was having a conversation with himself. “They rampaged the villages before the castle. If they haven’t killed the knights by now, they will soon. It’ll take days before reinforcements and allies can come to our aid, and by then, Enza will be split between Redull and Williams. How they managed to get through Wolff and Haas without conflict is beyond me. I’ll have Jules send word to our allies and demand they meet here. It’s the only safe house we have left. Laren and Tauri are on our side, and hopefully Wolff and Haas. But without Williams…” he trailed off, glancing at you. 

You were curled into yourself, still in your nightclothes. Your breathing was erratic and shallow. Your gaze was fixed on the opposite wall. And betrayal was written on your face. While Charles studied you, you slowly looked up to meet his eye. “Charles, what does this mean for us?” 

It was not the question he was expecting. 

“What do you mean, cherié?”

“We were the ones holding the treaty together. But now, with it null and void, what does that mean for us? For our marriage?” Charles hated the uncertainty in your voice, but he hated the sadness even more. The desperation.

“Y/n, I didn’t want to tell you, but because the alliance is broken, so could our marriage be. If you wish, you could return to Williams and be free of my name.” Charles couldn’t look you in the eye. 

“You knew about this?” Your lips parted in shock as you stood to meet his stance.

“Yes,” he admitted. “I’ve known for three weeks.” His breath hitched, yet his voice continued to rise. “But I couldn’t bring myself to tell you-”

“Why?” You demanded, “Charles, this decides our future and I would think I should be a part of that! Why couldn’t you tell me?!”

“Because I love you!” Charles cried. “Because I love you and I couldn’t lose you.”

Oh.

Oh.

“Charlie…” At the same time, it was as if your heart broke, yet filled with love. The hopelessness that rang out through Charles’ words was quickly masked by their meaning. “You love me?”

“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” Charles chuckled awkwardly. He looked up to find you in front of him, hand hovering over his cheek. He wanted nothing more for you to close the distance and touch him. If you did, Charles was content staying in your touch as the rest of the world burned around him. He just needed you. 

“I think it was when you showed up at the Foundling Villa for the first time?” You shrugged, looking embarrassed. “Or maybe during our carriage rides? I’m not sure.”

“What are you talking about?” Charles frowned, a loose smile on his lips. You decided that you liked the soft curve of his lips and the brown flecks in his green eyes.

“I’m trying to figure out when I fell in love with you.” You shrugged, finally letting your hand settle into his face. Your thumb brushed along his cheekbone. 

Charles’ eyes fluttered shut and his breath was shaky, but his smile grew. “I like that. Wait, you… you love me too?” You nodded. “I- I never thought you would love me.”

“Neither did I,” you confessed.

Charles chuckled. “You called me Charlie. I like that.”

A deep aching filled your chest and you finally had a name for it: love that was so strong you could feel it in your bones. Little did you know, Charles was feeling the same way. “Can I kiss you?” you couldn’t help but ask.

“You don’t have to ask, cherié.” Charles smirked and you didn’t realise he could get even more attractive. 

The kiss was chaste at first, but when Charles placed a hand on your waist, pulling you against him, it deepened. You wrapped your arms around Charles’ neck, desperate to feel more of him. With a laugh, he pulled away, pressing kisses along your neck. You joined him in quiet laughter as he started gently nibbling along your collarbone. You tried to hold back a moan when he ran his tongue over a mark that was sure to show in the morning. “Don’t hold back on me, cherié,” Charles’ chuckles rumbled through his chest. Heat flushed through your body.

“Wha- what of the war?” you asked. Your eyes closed as Charles started sucking on a new spot.

“Jules will- hmm, send out the letters. There is little we can do until then.”

“I guess you’re right,” you conceded. 

Charles raised a brow. “Would you like to continue the wedding night?”

Your heart started beating a little quicker. “Lead the way.”

😁 😘 You’ll have to wait until the next chapter! 

[froguemorgue]

writing again now that i'm mostly done with moving stuff. ummmmm check out this amrev hamilton/laurens time travel (inter-dimensional travel, really?) thing ive been writing and actually updating weekly (wow) on ao3 in which we genuinely go from "cogito ergo sum. How could one deny that these hands and that my whole body exist?" to "Alex my man what's up you look like shit lmao" ummm excerpt of chapter 1 below the cut:

1782

Sweating and tired of pacing, Alexander dug out his clothes from the luggage. He inspected the uniform with a sigh. He didn't fully understand how this worked and it had been a while since he found himself in his version of America. He had three vials of the doses of herbs, he had his military coat, and he had his map. He was as prepared as he could be.

The dressing process was more of a chore than he remembered. Shirt, socks, britches, cravat, boots, waistcoat, belt, sword, revolver, coat, cloak. He'd discovered that it was much less time consuming to wear jeans, boots, a shirt, a belt, and jacket, all without those pesky buttons, irritating queue in his hair, the powdering process, so on and so forth. When he finished, he grabbed the bitters from the bedside table. He downed a dose, held his breath and backed up against the motel bed, felt himself become dizzier until he passed out.

He never knew how much time had passed when he awoke. The air was sticky, hot. He wasn't sure of his surroundings - he was outside. Like a madman he wandered until he found where he was supposed to be.

Well, until he found a horse.

Then he was on his way. In the twentieth century, he'd traveled as close as he could to the battlefield where Laurens met his death. Apparently the motel he was staying in was merely woods about two hundred years prior. No matter; the navigation, a more difficult task, was now completed. He had made a map for himself before departure on his journey to Combahee River.

????

Alexander had awoken by himself in an unfamiliar room and it took nearly a week of solving that mystery before he accepted the change. He remembered what had happened to him before he came to in this world, but the details were murky. He had been meeting one of his spies in enemy territory. The contact had slipped him a vial with a paper pasted on, and in handwriting so small they had to use a glass lens to magnify it: "Tempus Edax Rerum | A taste to Me | a Halt to Cruelty | Pro Permutavi." He had found it in the coat of a British captain, stating he had no clue what it was and joked that they each dab their fingers then dose their tongues. Alexander called him stupid and confiscated the vial. He'd take it to camp, see if any of the doctors or herbalists might recognize the bitter scent. Likely poison, he'd chided his spy. Don't be foolish.

He asked for more information and about whether a murder plot might have to do with the corked glass, but his informant knew nothing.

That night, he drank a little more to warm himself on his brisk ride back to camp. Snow had begun to fall lightly at night but so far they'd been lucky enough to avoid a storm. The ground was frozen and in the midday it'd be slick with cold mud, but nothing his horse couldn't handle.

Alexander kept that poison as a souvenir when McHenry and Laurens couldn't identify it. A month later, his spy indicated in an encrypted letter that the Captain from whom he'd lifted the poison searched ardently for it, but quietly. It was unsure whether it was poison, medicine, or some recreational bitter. It didn't appear to be opium, McHenry had said, but perhaps something akin to it. Regardless, they wouldn't put it to the test, not even on an animal. Any meat they could get a hold of as winter came upon their heads should not risk contamination.

Alexander had married Elizabeth a year prior, losing Laurens in the process, as far as he could tell. He wondered on occasion whether that mysterious vial could cure him better than marrying a woman. It had a pull to it. It had a strong, indescribable power. He tried to ignore it. He even considered dumping it the river or shattering it upon a rock. It seemed to control him, enticing him every time his hand moved through the leather bag he kept it in.

He had gotten to the point he'd written down the script about a hundred times: Time eats all. A taste is a halt to cruelty. For change.

He'd take it out on occasion and let its scent waft into his nose. He had Eliza, but Laurens was gone so often he worried for his safety. He had his son, but that bundle of joy couldn't yet speak.

And then Laurens died. The joy left his body in a sudden cold rush and he couldn't stand it. He wasn't a coward, did not intend to die now for he had a child he wanted to see grow up. He wouldn't be like Laurens, who left behind his own kin. He would do what he had to in order to let the love and the loss pass through him as he always did. A night of alcohol, a week of work, a weekend with his family, a week of work, another night, another day, over and over as the bottle he'd stashed in the trunk made his ears ring and his vision go blurry. It was the silence, maybe. The hours of staring at paper by candlelight. The sleepless nights. Maybe it was the letters he couldn't seem to bring himself to burn. Maybe it was the scent of Laurens on them, intangible and faded but could have been true once.

Maybe it was the devil in that liquid he should have smashed to pieces over a year ago when his spy slipped it to him, or the alcohol sluggishly pulling him from his work and instead to his knees in front of the fireplace, clutching his own uniform, pulling the jacket on as if he could relish, for a second more, being the boy who'd once worn it. He'd beg for more time. He reread the label of that bottle too many times for it to make sense now, but he didn't care whether it did. Alexander felt the urge to drink it regardless.

He'd awake early the next morning, disappointed by its lack of effect on his worried mind but pleased he was blessed to live another day. He'd collect his papers, stash the letters, hang up his uniform, and for once, snuff the candles that had burnt down to the table and lay beside his wife and son before the morning broke, not caring that he no longer had the mystery vial and forgetting about it to the extent that if he was reminded, he might have laughed and said he tossed it ages ago, or that drinking it had been a dream.

Well, somebody would feel glad enough to do that, anyway. Somebody would sleep next to Betsey and carry the weight of his lost love for the next twenty-two years. Alexander, the one who remembered the details of that night, the one who still clutched the bottle, would awake changed in a place time had not yet devoured him.

Alexander would then spend the next two years wasting the second chance he'd been so blessed to have. The first mystery he intended to solve when he awoke was whose room he was in.

1977

The brick felt familiar, the large eight-paned glass was not unlike his time. This room was eerily like the one he'd lived in back in college, shared with Troup, but arranged completely differently. There were machines he was unfamiliar with, two rooms more than he recalled. He aimlessly searched everything. The brain fog was surreal. The sink had a faucet, something he was not yet acquainted with. He messed with it until water spouted and he stuck his head under, stripping the military coat first. He drank so much it forced a coughing fit. With the faucet off but still too hot despite the season, he loosened his cravat and pressed his face to the window that was as tall as he. It was a relief. There was snow and no fireplace, yet he was sweltering. He pressed his hands to the cool glass, breathing heavily, then his mind caught up with what he saw below him. How he vaguely recalled and correctly identified the machines on the street as cars, he didn't know. Alexander unlatched the window and pushed it above his head to get a better look.

Cars. What the fuck are cars? It was so strange and wonderful that he was captivated for much longer than any normal person should be captivated by cars. He watched the people below in their strange outfits, leashed dogs of many different breeds, the honking, the yelling. Skinny trees lined the pavement but they were startlingly scarce. He looked up at the sky as it began to snow lightly, much like the night he had acquired the vial.

Pro permutavi. Was it he who had been altered or was it the world around him?

Alexander slammed the window shut and turned from it feverishly. He began to search through his bedroom - was it his? It must be, there were pictures of himself on the dresser. He recognized the people in them clear as day, far better than painted portraits. In one, he found his face among classmates he recognized, Troup included. In another, his mother. He grabbed it and his hand squeezed the frame. So many years had passed since she went that he hardly remembered what she looked like, but that was her. If this was his room, it was unlike him to have displayed her, to recall the pain every time he was forced to see it.

The clothes he donned now did not fit the world around him. Though he couldn’t articulate why, he undressed, folded them up, stuffed them in the bottom drawer, and searched for something new. Underwear as this world knew it did not exist in his world, yet he knew to pull them onto his body before he found socks thicker and shorter than he was used to, the material more pliant and fitted. There were slacks in his dresser that were pleated in the front and were cut at his ankles. He found a loose linen shirt, tucked it in, and searched the room until he could find a belt and shoes to match. His hair was shorter in these photos, shorter at the top and the sides, curly and unkempt. His own was still long, he observed of himself in the mirror. He wandered through the apartment again until he found the bathroom.

The bath looked different from how he thought it would. There was a pipe that ran to the top and an overhead spout. The tub was covered by a curtain. When he drew it back, he saw it was full of water that was cool to the touch. Beside it on the floor was a small bottle on its side with white pills spilled and a tall cylinder glass with traces of brown liquor sticking in the bottom. Not understanding the implication, Alexander stared uncomfortably before leaving the bathroom.

Then began the speaking aloud to himself. That part wasn’t out of character, he’d always done that to memorize or rehearse, on occasion to comb through his thoughts with an animal that couldn’t respond. “I am Alexander.”

He searched the apartment as his muttering turned to conversation volume. He opened cabinet after cabinet. “Who am I? What am I doing here? I am Alexander.” He touched his chest, shoulders, then crossed his hands over his body to hold his upper arms. “Cogito, ergo sum. ‘Perhaps the senses deceive us when it is a question of very small and distant things. Still, there are many other matters which one certainly cannot doubt, though they derive from the very same senses: that I am…’ standing here before this window,” he spoke, looking again at the people below as he forced the window open again and propped it with a short block of wood on the sill, “…wearing my… trousers and shirt… that I feel this…” he scooped a small and unsatisfying piece of snow from the outside, “ice in my hands, and so on. ‘How could one deny that these hands and that my whole body exist? Unless, perhaps, I should compare myself to insane people…’”

Alexander dropped the snow and watched it plop below, narrowly missing a person with a great big coat. She glanced upwards but only assumed the ice must have slipped itself.

He began to whisper again. “‘Right now I am certainly gazing upon this street with my eyes wide awake. I extend this hand consciously and deliberately and I feel it. And yet… I have been deceived by similar thoughts on other occasions in my dreams. That said, perhaps there are not definite signs to distinguish being awake from being asleep. This astonishment almost convinces me that I am sleeping.’ Am I asleep?” He pinched his own arm as hard as he could until the pain was unbearable. “I think I would have awoken from that. And… ‘things seen in sleep are like painted images which could have only been produced in the likeness of things, which therefore cannot be imaginary things.’ And I don’t think I could have dreamed this, then, unless I’ve seen it before, and I don’t remember seeing it before. Therefore I must be awake. I am awake.” He left the window again and the steam he’d left on the pane from his hurried speech. “Damn it, Descartes, help me out here.

Just then, a knock came upon the door. He startled and panicked for a moment. Alexander imagined something evil on the other side, a new creature unimagined by him before but evidently real in this realm. His hands trembled as they reached for the door, but when he yanked it open, the chain up top stopped it. He had to mess with it for a good twenty seconds before he figured out how to free it from its sliding lock.

No creature but Robert Troup stood at the door, wearing clothes that fit him better than the ones Alexander was used to seeing him in, with colors more bright and a coat better suited for the weather than the green cloak he’d always worn.

“Alex, man, what’s up?” he said as he entered without invitation. Alexander couldn’t help but glance upwards before he realized it must be a rhetorical question, a greeting. “Seriously, you don’t look good. Probably because it’s so drafty in here.” Rob crossed the room to close the window. “You good to go?”

“Where are we going?” asked Alexander.

“I know, I know, it’s still early, but I promised you coffee. Why are all the cabinets open?” he asked distractedly as he began to close them all. “I told you I wasn’t leaving any of my food for you. Get your coat. And a sweater. I can see your nips, the hell. I have to use the bathroom if you don’t mind. Where’s it at?” he joked. Alexander pointed. Rob made a face. “Uh-huh. Get dressed, I’ll be out in a sec.”

Alexander turned dumbly to his room to find something to put over his clothes. Sweater. Sweater. He searched until he found a brown one hanging up in a closet no deeper than his forearms. He found a coat slung over a desk chair and pulled that on, too.

When Alexander emerged, Rob was done in the bathroom and had an uneasy air about him.

first three chapters published!

[teamdilf]

Rook adopts a new strategy in her efforts to encourage Solas to speak to Iris about his feelings: flirting with the Dread Wolf's girlfriend.

“What the shit was Solas thinking when he decorated this place?” Iris mutters. “You have seen the torment he’s inflicted on the plants hanging from the ceiling? He told me he gave them all the same amount of water! Half of them are desert plants and half are tropical! That man…” Plant cruelty is hardly the worst of his crimes but she doubts Iris is keen on that reminder. “I’m doing what I can to get the poor, neglected plants well again.”

“You like plants?” she says this as she bats her eyelashes suggestively at Iris.

“I did as much of the work in the Skyhold garden as I could get away with, given all my other duties. Solas used to sit on a bench and either read or sketch while I worked - he learned not to offer his help because I would accept it and then he’d get in trouble when he inevitably bungled it.” Iris grins at this, and she can’t help but grin back.

“Why did I ensure you two met?” Solas mutters in her head. She ignores him, because if he’s annoyed that she knows his girlfriend teases him for being terrible at caring for plants, he’s about to throw a fit when she begins flirting in earnest.

[annabelle-creart]

“Do you want a normal way!? I'm sorry for you to never know how much I cared about you...! And I want you to stay.”

“...what?”

“I want my brother back, even if it's just one, because... I missed you a lot.” There was a deadly and heavy silence, none of them said a thing and probably Soundwave never thought to say a thing. “What do you say?”

It was hard for the team to think such a big bot, who passed through death and evil would reply in agreement, but for their surprised, it got accompanied with, probably involuntary, movement of the mask to behind his head, most soldiers masks and faceplates worked like that, and It impressed more to Heatwave to see someone like Soundwave with such a mechanism like that, and it impressed more the team when a deep violet stared at Heatwave´s glinting eyes  “I missed a feeling spark in my chest that wasn't mine.” Soundwave replied for the last time, receiving in exchange a big and not surprising hug, Heatwave attempted to not to touch the recently closed wound, forgetting that his helmet was on his head, falling when he put Soundwave closer, hugging him tighter like not wanting to let go never again. Soundwave also rested their head on Heatwave´s, surrounding him with their arms too.

“Primus, I missed so too much.”

“I almost forgot you existed.”

“You´re shitting, right?”

“Yes. I´m glad you still got upset easily.”

“You really like to frag with me.”

“Like the old times.”

“I… still can´t get accomplished to not having him.”

“Me neither…”

Heatwave and Soundwave didn´t saw each other in a long time, it´s time to turn back and enjoy some moments

Distant past, New memories Part 3 is available on Ao3

[spaceyflowers]

hi!! im still alive!! + updates on this blog

first: i would like to apologize for disappearing without a word for like. nearly a year. im terribly sorry for any worry i've caused T_T;;

honestly i have no good excuse for disappearing like i did especially without reason (not that im obligated to let everyone know my business but i did have a "i wont randomly disappear!" sentiment and yet... here i am) but in a nutshell, its basically: fandom shifts, college, and guilt.

if you want to know about the future of this blog fandom wise;

still going to be a lookism/viral hit blog (havent caught up yet) but most likely wont be as active in the fandom anymore;;; thinking of sticking as a lookism blog until that series ends but who knows when it will so i might eventually just change fandoms 😭

please dont feel bad about unfollowing or anything!! curate what u wanna see with who u follow, i take no personal offense, even if we've been long time mutuals!! ><

fandom shifts will probably be more common; i have this weird thing where i cant focus on multiple interests or i get stressed;; so i get obsessed with one thing for months/years but then once i lose interest and move on, its likely i wont return to it unless something triggers it. thats why i dont think "multifandom" fits me, i'll always be fandom focused, its just the fandom focus changes 😭

p.s. sorry if im being dramatic about this (i feel like a youtuber who got canceled writing an apology 😭😭) i just feel like i owe yall an explanation </3

if you're curious about me, i've left that under the cut;

got into a new interest which made me stop looking at lookism/viral hit stuff -> knowing my blogs are lookism focused, i decided to take a "break"

couldnt get myself back into lookism after my "break" ended -> couldnt get myself back on tumblr

started to feel guilty because i havent been active in a long while

senior year ending, school takes my priorities -> summer break comes, i swear i'll apologize on tumblr but guilt eats away at me and then i have to do college stuff

become a little active on tiktok, start feeling more guilty because im active there but not on tumblr

college begins, get busy with college stuff -> during breaks, swear i'll apologize on tumblr pt 2 but the guilt has piled up so much it feels like the equivalent of when a person cant get themself to reopen their animal crossing new leaf game because they havent touched it in a long time

first college semester ends, winter break starts -> finally convince myself to get over it and start typing all this up

once again im really sorry T_T i was not made for the content creator life bc i cant stay active for shit + i feel so bad gaining followers for one thing but once i move on from that one thing, it feels like im disappointing a lot of ppl even tho i know i dont owe strangers on the internet anything- im just repeating myself now but yknow

oh and for anyone curious: my current fandom is dmc <3

[holdmytesseract]

Loki & “I’m gonna show you love all of the time / Gonna be your breath when you’re out of life” (New Love Cassette, Angel Olsen)

a/n: Thank you for requesting @cheekyscamp ! 🥰 I absolutely loved that line. It's so beautiful. 🥰 I really hope you like what I wrote! ☺️

Warnings: mentions of injuries, swear words, fluff, Loki being the savior he is ;)

Word Count: 1141

Tagging: @lokisgoodgirl @lovingchoices14 @evelyn-kingsley @acefeather2002 @jennyggggrrr @lulubelle814 @vbecker10 @theaudacitytowrite @lady-rose-moon @fictive-sl0th @aagn360 @mostclevermiss @linaax @peaches1958 @simping-for-marvel @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @stupidthoughtsinwriting @eleniblue @loki-laufeyson-1054 @multifandom-worlds @coldnique

Lyric-Drabble-Mania Masterlist

Based on this song:

Guardian Angel

Just as you were unpacking your gear at the bottom of the mountain you were about to climb; your smart watch told you that Loki - your boyfriend was calling you. With a smile, you adjusted the AirPod in your ear and accepted the call. "Hi baby." "Hello, darling. I am not disturbing you, am I?" You giggled, shaking your head to yourself, as you checked the ropes and karabiner for security. Climbing was your big passion. You loved the adrenaline rush of climbing up a mountain and the feeling of happiness and freedom, whenever you reached the top. Sure, it was a dangerous hobby as well. Every step had to be the right one. But this never ever frightened you or held you back, oh no... You were an expert; having learned this back when you were a child. Your father was a climber as well, so... He taught you, of course, sharing your passion.

"Nah, you never disturb, Lokes. Though, I'm about to climb now, so... But we can just continue to talk." You couldn't see Loki's frowning, but you were certain he was. "Are you sure, my love? You have to concentrate. I don't want to distract you." "You won't," you said with a small huff, climbing the first foot. "I wouldn't say I'm used to this, since we never talked before while climbing, but I'm an expert. I can handle this." That's what you thought. Well, you were going to eat your words a few minutes later…

Everything seemed to work just fine - until exactly that happened, what Loki had been 'afraid' of. Distraction, causing you to lose quite a bit of your focus and concentration - and that in return, caused you to make a fatal mistake...

"Aww, I miss you, too, baby. Feels like we haven't seen each other in years." Loki chuckled. "Decades, my love, decades. My heart is aching for you and my body is aflame with passionate fire. Only a thirst you are able to quench." Your heart skipped a beat at his words; heat began to crawl up in your veins. "Is that so?" "Mhm," Loki hummed, sounding way too sexual and seductive for your own good. "Tonight, when you're finally back in my arms, I'm going to show you thoroughly how much I am yearning for you." You giggled again, like as schoolgirl, "I beg you to- Oh shit." and took the wrong step. You felt your foot slipping. You lost your grip - and fell. Usually, that wasn't such a big problem, because the rope was keeping you from hitting the ground. Today, though, it wasn't. Being lost in the conversation you had with your boyfriend, you missed to check if the most important rope, in order to keep you from falling. It wasn't where it should be. But in the moment, you realised, it was too late, of course. With a scream and a thud, your body hit the hard ground, causing immediately everything to fade into darkness around you.

"Y/N? Darling? Can you hear me? Is everything alright?" Loki had the very bad feeling that actually nothing was alright. He heard your cursing, your scream and the thud, which shot anxiety through his heart and body. "Y/N?!" No answer. Without even hesitating, Loki hung up and stormed towards the door of his apartment in the Avengers compound.

He stayed with you the whole time, of course, until the ambulance rolled in. He told the paramedics as much as he knew and witnessed, how they loaded you up into the vehicle, driving you to the hospital.

To his sheer luck and relief, the god knew exactly where you were and could get to you as fast as possible... Teleportation.

The moment his eyes saw the beautiful landscape of the Breakneck Ridge mountain and Hudson River, he began to look around frantically. "Y/N?!" Loki found you, at the bottom of the mountain, unconscious. "Y/N!" He couldn't see any blood, but that didn't mean you were less hurt... The god stormed over to you and fell to his knees beside you; "Y/N!" heart hammering wildly against his ribcage. "Darling, wake up, please?!" He tried to get to you, but it was no use. You were out like a light. His eyes roamed your body, checking you for injuries. He wasn't a doctor and didn't see how you fell or landed, so it was hard to tell. Afraid of hurting you even more when he'd pick you up, he decided to just call an ambulance. He had to; having no other choice. How could he heal you, when he didn't even know where you were injured?

You woke up to a bright light, shining down on you and the constant sound of a consistently beep sound. You blinked, trying to adjust your eyes to the light. Wanting to turn your head in order to look around, a stinging pain shoot through your entire skull, causing you to groan softly. What had happened? The soft groan caught Loki's attention, who sat beside your bed, holding your hand in his bigger ones. His eyes snapped up to your face. "Darling?" The god spoke softly. "Are you awake?" You wetted your lips, swallowing. "Loki?" "Yes, it's me, my love, I'm here." Slowly, you turned your head (despite the stinging, throbbing pain) and gazed directly into the handsome, softly smiling face of your boyfriend. "Hey." He breathed out, raising a hand to gently cup your face and stroking your cheek with his thumb. "What... What happened? I... I remember speaking with you on the phone a-and... Then everything went black." Loki looked at you compassionate. "You had an accident, love. Apparently, one of your ropes wasn't tied strong enough and when you slipped and fell, it didn't catch you. I was there within minutes, when you didn't answer me on the phone anymore. I found you and immediately called an ambulance." You nodded, swallowing hard. "My head hurts." "Reasonable, darling. You have a mild concussion - without your helmet it would've been much worse, and a very bruised back. Luckily, nothing is broken. You didn't seem to fall that far, luckily." "Shit..." You cursed, grimacing. "Thank you for, uh, 'rescuing' me, baby." Loki smiled, causing your heart to skip a beat. "No need to thank me, Y/N. I love you. It goes without saying. Besides, do you remember what I told you in the beginning of our relationship? I'm gonna show you love all of the time; gonna be your breath when you're out of life - which definitely includes saving you after an accident." You couldn't help but smile as well. "Yeah, of course I remember. I love you, too - and who knows... Perhaps it was destiny, that you called me exactly in that moment..." "Oh, I'm certain it was, my love."

[yippee777]

:3

HI HELLO ITS MEEE

IM BACK, and i changed my account

so yeah um

anyways i gotta do this all over again so lemme cut it short

Call me Christa, Cat, or just wtvr u want

I like vacuum cleaners, cars, cats, birds, cute things

my style and aesthetic all depend on my mood

My fav foods are fried chicken, chicken nuggets, McDonalds chicken nugget sandwiches, bean stew/soup, etc

I have a lot of shit on my hands, (i mean I'm busy) but dont be shocked if I'm online at 4am or anything

this is not my main account its just a replacement for my old one

i dont think ill write any fanfics here but im not sure, maybe i will

multifandom ya :3