#but like. i just. resist. until they're older.

[dilf-docs]

X Si Volvemos

ex older bf!logan x younger fem!reader

summary: there are many things you and logan disagree in; but not when it comes to things in bed.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap (phew), smut, ex!logan, exes to ????, p in v, creampie, reader's in her early to middle twenties so her frontal lobe hasn't developed yet; don't expect any reasonable thinking on her side, logan is on his middle to late 40s, angst (duh), this happens in an AU where mutants don't exist bc i don't wanna complicate myself with timelines lol hence time isn't really important but it's contemporary, the vibes i bring to the function are more sad than horny and i'm sorry, toxic too! may build a series around it?

word count: 1,925 words

side note: the incredible @bpmiranda's got me with a very bad case of ex!logan fever :( plus after listening to karol G's album mañana será bonito and seeing i may or may not be obssesed with romeo santos, i got the song in the title on loop: as you can see, it's all very fitting ++ don't forget to check out her stories, they're so good istg!!!!

You shouldn't call.

"Logan" you speak. His name burns in the tip of your tongue, like a secret you're not supposed to tell.

He shouldn't answer.

It's quiet at first on the other line, until a rough voice says I'm here, appearing to be distant, but who is he trying to fool? As soon as he saw the number pop on the screen, his fingers moved with a learned urgency.

You shouldn't keep calling.

"I need you" three words to cover those you actually mean; hanging in the spaces between the silence.

I miss you. I love you.

Your hear a heavy sigh on the other end.

He shouldn't keep answering.

"Princess..." Logan pleads, "don't do this"

You know better than that, he wants to say, but keeps his mouth shut. Just to hear your voice, just to-

"Please, Lo" you whine out. Logan grabs his jeans with force, the fabric strained under his white-knuckled grip. It takes him a lot not to run to you right there and now.

"Don't" but his voice cracks as much as his resistance.

"I've got the house" you whisper the prayer; a routine so sacred none of you seem to break it, "just for us"

"Y/n" even saying your name is painful; like the most addicting and damaging drug to ever exist, "stop"

Logan loved your stubborn heart, but there are times where he wishes you weren't like this.

"I'm sorry" and then he hangs up.

I'm sorry for not being who you needed. I'm sorry I pushed you away. I'm sorry I keep on coming back after I said I would leave you alone. I'm sorry I can't keep my promises.

You feel it around your neck―bruises in the vocals your voice has failed to scream; it chokes you with rage.

"Are you stupid?" you ask yourself in the mirror.

What are you doing? Why are you doing this to yourself? Do you love him more than you love you?

You dial again, but this time, it's a girl who picks up.

"Yeah?"

"Hi. Wanna go out?"

Logan feels so out of place, but this used to be your favorite bar, and he's desperate for a drink.

Listening to your voice has always made him weak, but after you broke up, it drives him crazy.

He empties another glass, feeling pathetic. This is how bad it's gotten: you've got him scouring the places you used to go, chasing your ghost, trying to get a glimpse of your silhouette or a whiff of the phantom of your scent, the lavender haunting him; getting under his skin.

A song beggins playing, and it's the same vinyl set from two years ago. The night he met you: a pretty young thing so out of place in an old bar like that, playing hard to get, only to end the night moaning over him, fogging his car's windows, saying his name in a way no one else had before. He still remembers the way your legs trembled but he held you, beads of sweat confusing themselves with the glitter on your skin. Logan doesn't know what that is, but he's marveled, so in awe of you, everything of you: young, new, exciting.

But every new thing wears out, and the gap he swore wouldn't matter came crashing in years that built a distance between him and you.

So he did what he did best: ruin it. Deny the feelings bubbling inside; let them consume his reasoning, pushing you like he had done with everyone who cared about him before.

When he broke your heart, he took a part with him. So you keep coming back, looking for it; trying to piece yourself together. And he let's you: because God knows you have a part of himself too.

He's so drunk he probably imagines the hint of lavender in the whiskey tinted air. He's so desperate to see you again, he's seeing your face among the crowd. He's definitely gone insane: hearing that laugh he misses every day.

"Y/n..."

The music pauses: all you can hear is your name being said in that way like it belongs to him.

"...Logan"

He walks in autopilot over to the table you and a group of girls are sitting. They're all beautiful―beautiful people attract beautiful people, but he's only got eyes for you.

"What are you doing here?"

He raises a glass he didn't know he was carrying, "having a drink".

Your lips purse, and Logan doesn't know if it's because you're laughing at him or sad.

"I see" but you divert your gaze, looking at your shirt's neck. The outfit you chose: a black dress that pushes your tits on top. They are on display, and Logan feels played by you―his eyes trained on the strained fabric, tongue watering like it did when he would lick your sensitive nipples.

"I see too" he says in automatic, and one of your friends laughs. He looks away, thanking the low lights, or you'd see the red embarrassment on his face.

You stand up and walk over to him, and your friends sense it's time to leave the two of you alone.

"Why did you hang up?" you throw the question so casually; the nerve you have.

"What do you mean?" it's the only thing that comes to his mind. Very stupid, indeed.

You scoff, "delete my number, then"

"You keep on calling" he bites back.

"And you keep answering"

You never shut up. He hates that.

"I may have to stop"

You get closer, way too closer. So much, your hot breathe clouds his judgment.

"Try to" you dare.

And he tries, he really tries. But not today.

Not today when he takes you home, finally looking complete with you in it again. You had moved out after your last discussion, saying you'll never be back.

"You haven't changed a thing" you murmur in between kisses, and he can sense a bit of melodrama in his voice that makes him roll his eyes despite the dull ache on his chest.

He picks up your body swiftly, carrying you up to the bedroom.

"Why would I?" he asks, voice so low and small you almost miss it.

"Because you hate me" you avoid his eyes, even if your faces are too close, loosing all that corageous character of yours, "said you would get rid of it; of everything that reminded you of me"

But when he drops you softly on the matress, there's still that lamp you got him in the night table.

"I couldn't" he confesses.

I couldn't, he means, because I couldn't let you go.

But you both know it won't work out, something you knew right from the start: because toxic loves only fulfill basic needs. This isn't healthy, but he forgets it all as soon as you're moaning his name. Still, he promises himself he will say goodbye to you this time, even if it's inside of you.

"Shut up and kiss me, then" you're always pushing him around, making him do the things he desires to but doesn't want to do.

So he obliges, leaning in, the lavender so strong all over your sweet skin, poisoning his mouth on every kiss he leaves. He feels you squirm under him, goosebumps along your skin, prickling against his, so visible he can see and feel it even in the dim lit room.

"Take it" Logan doesn't look at you, but when he does, you feel him stare deep into your soul, "I know you want it"

He's sliding his dick inside you as soon as the sentence is over, the permission to take you and use you implicit. He robs a drawn-out groan out of you.

"So tight for me" he murmurs against your shoulder, sharp breaths and soft groans flooding your ears. His cock hits deep within you, hard thrust no one has ever been able to replicate, making you gasp for air, burying your face in the plush pillows now drenched in your sweat.

"You're so deep" you hiss, hot and overwhelmed, waves of pleasure hitting like water against cliffside rocks. "So big, Lo" you whine, dizzy at the way your pussy stretches for him.

"Just for you" he grunts out, and it's the truth. No matter how dark the room is or how many faces he avoids, he always looks into the eyes of the other women he fucks, his heart sinking when he can no longer pretend it's you, "fuck, squeeze a bit more".

Hearing his deep voice, rough when you fuck, always making you soak, coating his dick in your juices. You grip tight, as tight as the nails that hold onto his shoulders, making him moan at the pain.

"Like that, princess. Good girl" you moan at the praise, "I know you could take me, all of me"

He grunts and pants, holding you tighter as his cock pumps faster, in sync with your now closer to happening orgasm.

Before it, he slows down his thrusts, "where do you want me to cum, princess?"

He wants to, inside of you, but he can't do so, not when he promised he wouldn't ruin your life. But making you his, marking you as only his, makes his dick inside you twitch. Fuck, he's so balls deep inside you all he can think is filling you up silly.

"Inside me, Lo" like you read his thoughts, and it always amazes and scares him; how deep inside his mind you are. Never happened, not in his four decades of life. And that's part of the problem: he's closer to death than you are but it's only with you, young―blossoming with life, that he feels truly alive.

So how can he say no, when you plead and beg with those pretty doe eyes of yours? Who could imagine such a sweet thing to be so needy. He feels like you could ask for his heart, and he'd carved a whole in his body for you―bleeding out of love; dying with a smile.

"Such a greedy little thing, princess" he mocks, but his tone betrays him―dripping in adoration, "want me to fill you up all nice?"

A broken wail is what he takes as your answer, your mind in blank.

He finds himself letting go, way faster than he should; he just misses you and your needy dripping pussy that much. You can't hold back longer either, rush flowing through your veins, much more satisfying than the alcohol you had drank an hour ago.

Logan paints your insides with layers of his hot cum, mumbling a soft:

"Anything for my princess" he keeps going, panting as he's milked entirely dry, "anything you want, my girl"

Your vision is still spotty, mind fogged: you're sure that's the reason the hurt hasn't settled in your heart yet.

Then the silence comes, like it always does now.

"Y/n" you always love when he calls you by your name, but you hate the way he's saying it now. Like a goodbye.

"Don't-" you plead, begging he shuts up. But he pulls out, and says:

"It's for the best"

You don't want what's best. You want him.

"Can't believe you wore this dress" he traces the pattern of the tight clothes, damped in sweat, "you know it's my favorite. Why?"

You fail to supress a smile, even if it's tired and almost sad, "I knew you couldn't say no".

The truth is, you know many things: like how this is never going to stop until it's destroyed you both.

[sovaharbor]

havent updated origin or ts4 in literal months and at this point im too afraid to

[mccromy]

The Shen Jiu & Shen Yuan dynamic I need to see more of is Shen Jiu coming to see Shen Yuan as a father figure, perhaps even a mother figure. And not in the way you think.

We are always talking about Shen Yuan's wife beam, but we don't talk about his mommy beam. I think Shen Jiu could resist the wife beam if subjected to it, but I don't believe he has any defense against the mommy beam. Now, I'm not talking about Shen Yuan transmigrating earlier than canon, meeting a child Shen Jiu and adopting him.

I'm talking about Shen Yuan transmigrating after Shen Jiu has already taken over Qing Jin peak. I'm talking about 21 year old Shen Yuan transmigrating into the body of a nameless rogue cultivator, meeting fully grown man already in his thirties Peak Lord Shen Qingqiu, and hitting him with his mommy/daddy-issuesinator and causing him a life threatening Qi deviation.

Shen Qingqiu can't help but trust him, and eventually looks up to him, sees him as a wise elder he seeks out for advice. He fucking hates it but he can't help himself. This homeless man he met in the forest is the closest thing he's ever had to a father. Also. He sort of wants Shen Yuan to breastfeed him in a, and he means this, non sexual way and he can't cope with that. He would just feel so safe!!

Shen Yuan, 21 years old, rogue cultivator, first time transmigrator and the father who stepped up, thinks he befriended the scum villain, and maybe? He can be a good influence on him? Be a good friend and guide him towards a fully limbed future. He's practically raising him but nobody tell him that.

Shen Jiu lost his childhood to slavery and his teenage years to violent madmen. and now he's behaving in ways he doesn't understand. He once lost sight of Shen Yuan in the town's market, ran towards a man who looked exactly like Shen Yuan from behind, and almost had a panic attack when the man turned out to be a stranger. It's all good because Shen Yuan found him before he started swinging Xiu Ya ("Have you seen my friend? He's this tall, clearly traumatized, but we haven't had the talk")

People think they're lovers at some point because Shen Jiu is quite possessive of Shen Yuan's attention, but everybody realizes that there's something way more innocent, and also weirder, and worse, going on between them when Shen Yuan drags Shen Qingqiu by the hand to apologize to the sect leader for being so rude when poor A-Yue is trying his best, and stands there with arms crossed, eyebrows raised, until Shen Qingqiu mumbles an apology, glances at Shen Yuan, and runs away.

"I'm sorry about that, Sect Leader Yue, he's had a bad day. I'm sure he didn't mean it."

Yue Qingyuan, someone who did actually sort of raise Shen Qingqiu, who's stood in Shen Yuan's shoes before, extracting reluctant apologies from a sullen Shen Jiu, to authority figures so he wouldn't get in trouble, is overcome by an intense, never before experienced wave of jealousy, so sudden it makes him spit vinegar flavored blood.

Then, a panicked Shen Yuan accidentally hits him with the mommy beam by accidentally adopting him (trying to befriend this guy who clearly needs a friend he can confide in!). And now he's placed himself in the young step-mom role who's desperately trying to bond with her new husband's teenage children but they're wired to not like her! (He used those exact words when explaining to Shang Qinghua where that new tension he has with the Sect Leader came from)

Liu Qingge is afraid of him. Maybe. He runs away when their eyes meet but he keeps leaving dead things at his feet so like, he's probably threatening him? He feels intimidated by him? Or something?

(Liu Qingge thinks Shen Qingqiu's older brother is so cool and really wants to hang out with him, but if Shen Yuan calls him Didi one more time Liu Qingge's barely held back "Yes, Gege?" Is going to jump out of his mouth and he WILL Qi deviate and EXPLODE)

When Binghe enters the equation shit gets a lot weirder.

First, he believes Shen Yuan to be Shen Qingqiu's neglected spouse (Shizun keeps leaving his poor wife alone when he goes out on night hunts and to visit brothels! Shen Yuan has needs!! He should be with someone who cherished him!! Someone who would treat him as he deserves to be treated, someone who'd wait hand and foot on him!!!) needless to say, Luo Binghe's teenage fantasies take on an even more illicit turn than in canon (it goes from "STERN TEACHER POUNDED BY STUDENT AT BAIZHAN TRAINING GROUNDS" to "NEGLECTED WIFE CHEATS WITH STUDENT ON HUSBAND'S BED!! IMPREGNATED WHILE HUSBAND IS AWAY")

Luo Binghe, of course, does his best to seduce him, but ends up being coddled and cuddled.

"it's like I'm his handmaiden, his shadow, the only witness to my lady's heartbreak at her husband's cold regard and indiscretions. Shizun won't spare him a moment if not to discuss cultivation or business! He won't allow Shen Yuan more than a head pat! and move away from any other touch! How ungrateful! They don't even share a bed! I brush his hair, I dress him every morning, I pour him tea and he lets me rest my weary head on his lap. The intimacy we share is not sexual, but Ning-Shijie, I wish it was! I saw the outline of his dick yesterday and I need it!"

"A-Luo please stop talking."

Then, he realizes he misunderstood. Shen Yuan is a cultivator so of course he looks so young! Shen Yuan is clearly Shen Qingqiu's father. He's constantly worried for his un-filial son and remains by his side!! That explains everything!!!(LONELY DILF RIDES YOUNG MAN ON QING JING'S LIBRARY!! HE WISHES YOUNG MAN WAS HIS SON!!!!)

He goes from trying to steal Shen Qingqiu's wife to steal his father. He could be Shen Yuan's friend, lover, and son. His student. His confidant. His silly rabbit.

Shen Qingqiu KNOWS this. But nobody will fucking believe him!! The jiejies at the pavilion giggle and tell him he must be exaggerating, and when he went to Yue Qingyuan so he could intervene and fix it, Yue Qi just looked at him dead eyed and said to "Let him." !!! Let him what?? Deflower our father Qi-Ge??? Shame on you!! That beast is trying to break this family apart!!

But wait!!! look!!! a crack opened in the fabric of space and reality, leading directly to hell. Wouldn't it be a shame if someone were to, accidentally, drop kick this homewrecker inside it?

Luo Binghe is gone when Shen Qingqiu realizes oh wait, that was a demon mark on his forehead wasn't it. Oh good, now he has an excuse. Baba will understand.

(Baba doesn't understand. Baba acts as if he's lost his soul and won't look him in the eye. He's also growing mushrooms bodies in the garden, and added a drop of Shen Qingqiu's blood in the seeds before planting? Which is odd. but at least if he's gardening then he's not staring at that swordmound for hours on end)

I don't even know where I'm going with this

[theostrophywife]

brother's bsf! mattheo who you've had a crush on for years.

but he's only ever seen you as theo's little sister (or so he says).

it doesn't matter that you and theo are only a year apart. your older brother is extremely protective of you and so are the rest of his friends �� especially mattheo.

you grew up around the boys, which was a blessing and a curse in and of itself. on one hand, you grew super close to mattheo, but on the other hand, he's seen you through your awkward braces and pigtails phase.

lately though, brother's bsf! mattheo starts to notice you. really notice you.

suddenly, you didn't seem so little to him anymore.

but over the years, your infatuation with your brother's best friend calmed to attraction instead. you've come to accept that while mattheo would always be your first crush, that's all it would really ever amount to. a harmless little childhood crush.

thanks to theo, you hadn't gotten much of a chance to date when you were younger, but now that you were starting uni with the rest of the boys, you were determined to push those silly little feelings for mattheo away and start putting yourself out there.

granted, you had a lot to learn given your sheltered upbringing.

boys had taken a liking to you. why wouldn't they? you're pretty, you're smart, and you're the perfect combination of sweet and sassy, but you were also extremely naïve.

brother's bsf! mattheo had to protect you.

it was his responsibility.

theo trusted him to keep an eye on you. so he did.

・❥・ brother's bsf! mattheo glares at any boy that dares to look at you.

・❥・ brother's bsf! mattheo revs his motorcycle and comes in hot when he sees anyone talking to you, handing you the pink helmet he keeps on him at all times without a single word.

・❥・ brother's bsf! mattheo gives you rides to your dorm and takes you out for ice cream after a particularly hard exam.

it's clear that mattheo has a soft spot for you. no matter how vehemently he denies it.

until the night that everything changed.

it was a chilly friday evening when you happily skipped out of your dorm building, eager to attend your first frat party.

the cute boy in your history class asked you to come with him and you immediately said yes despite not knowing what to expect. it seemed fun and exciting and a little bit dangerous.

as luck would have it, you ran into none other than mattheo on your way out. his sleek black motorcycle was parked on the curb, smoke wafting from his lips as he took a lazy drag of his cigarette. leaning against his bike, mattheo raised a brow as you strutted onto the sidewalk.

"where do you think you're going, nott?"

"to a party, matty."

"with who?"

"a friend."

mattheo narrows his eyes at you. "I know all your friends and they're busy tonight. so which friend is it?"

you sigh in frustration. "just a friend from class. god, you sound like theo right now."

"you're not going anywhere wearing that."

"what's wrong with my dress?"

you smoothed down the front of your red minidress self-consciously, shying away from mattheo's intense gaze. his chocolate brown eyes scanned your body, the heat of his stare dragging along your skin.

"for starters, that dress barely covers anything and knowing you, you'll be cold within the first few minutes."

"I'll be fine, mattheo. I'm a big girl, I can take care of myself."

mattheo crosses his arms, huffing at your statement. "so you told theo where you're headed off to tonight?"

you shrugged. "what my brother doesn't know won't hurt him."

"yes, but he might hurt anyone stupid enough to ogle you in that dress. as will I. maybe I should tell him what his baby sister is up to. better yet, maybe I should come with you to this party, hm?"

"no please," you pleaded. "I just want one night where I'm not being treated like a little kid. can you give me that, matty? please?"

you flashed your best puppy dog eyes at him, knowing that he couldn't possibly resist when you asked so nicely.

mattheo considers it for a moment before sighing in defeat. "fine, princess. but text me when you get there and call me when you're home. don't even think about turning your location off or else I'll send a brigade after you."

"yes sir."

"good girl."

before brother's bsf! mattheo could think better of it, you kiss his cheek and promise to call him later that night.

brother's bsf! mattheo watches you strut away in your tight little dress with a soft smile on his face, fully knowing that you had him wrapped around your finger.

by the time you arrive at the party, it's in full swing. music is blaring, drinks are flowing, and the frat house is packed to the brim with people.

you send a quick text to mattheo to let him know you've arrived before spotting aiden.

clearly, your date was already a few drinks in. he greets you with a lingering hug before handing you a red cup. "cheers, y/n."

"cheers," you respond, clinking your cup against his and taking a generous swig. the liquor burns your throat and aiden chuckles as you try to hide your wincing.

still, it does the job.

you loosen up after a few sips. aiden introduces you to his friends and you smile politely, trying not to squirm out of his hold as he pulls you in by the waist.

it's fine, he's just keeping you close in such a packed crowd. he doesn't mean any harm by it.

at least that's what you told yourself.

until aiden tries to make a move on you in the middle of the dance floor. you already told him that you didn't want to dance, but he insisted.

you could smell the liquor on his breath as he grabbed your hips, moving them along to the rhythm of the song. you tried to put some distance between you, but aiden didn't seem deterred by it. in fact, his wandering hands slide down to your lower back until they're planted firmly on your ass. you attempted to pry them away, but he slurred "relax" into your ear before giving your ass a squeeze.

that was the tipping point for you.

with all your strength, you shoved aiden off while he cursed after you. the lights were blinding as you made your way through the crowd, fleeing to the bathroom.

you had brother's bsf! mattheo's number dialed before you even closed the door.

surprisingly, he picks up on the first ring.

"hi matty, are you — are you busy right now?"

"I'm with the boys. how'd the party go, princess?"

"um, I'm still here and I just really want to go home."

you hear shuffling on the other end. presumably mattheo finding somewhere more private to speak with you. "I thought your friend was your ride home?"

"well, aiden's drunk and he's been getting a little handsy the whole night so I don't really feel safe going home with him."

"what?" mattheo hisses. "you didn't tell me you were with a guy. I never would've let you go off alone with some random prick."

"please don't be mad, matty. I just wanted to have fun without worring about my brother hovering over my shoulder. don't tell theo, please. I'll — I'll figure it out. I'll find another ride."

"like hell you are! drop your location. the boys and I are coming."

"no, please. I don't want this to be a whole thing. if theo finds out, he'll never let me out of his sight again."

you could feel mattheo grappling with the situation. part of him wanted to tell his best mate, but all he truly cared about was getting to you as quickly as he could. after a few moments, he sighs. "fine, I won't tell your brother, but I'm still coming to get you. stay where you are, princess and don't hang up the phone. I'm on my way, okay?"

"you really don't have to —"

the argument dies in your throat when you hear the sound of mattheo's motorcycle starting up. he wasn't going to let you talk him out of this. mattheo was coming, whether you wanted him to or not.

"too late. be a good girl and stay on the line with me, sweetheart. I'm coming for you."

brother's bsf! mattheo pays no mind to the boys as they joke about him meeting up with a booty call.

the only thing that matters to him is getting to you.

brother's bsf! mattheo weaves through campus, revving and racing his motorcycle as fast as it can possibly go.

it's too noisy to talk while he rides, but he stays on the line anyways, listening through one earphone as you quietly hum to help calm yourself. mattheo smiles to himself. it's one of his favorite quirk of yours. half of the time, you don't even notice you're doing it. but he does. he notices everything about you.

mere minutes have passed since you first called him, but it feels like an eternity to mattheo when he finally pulls up to the decrepit frat house at the edge of campus.

mattheo parks his motorcycle on the curb, glaring at the prying eyes trained on him. it's not every day that the mattheo riddle, resident bad boy pulls up to a party looking like he's absolutely ready to kill someone with his bare hands.

he has half a mind to burst into the bloody house and pummel that stupid prick for daring to touch you, but the sight of you approaching stops him cold.

you look flustered and fearful, lower lip trembling as you spill out into the sidewalk. mattheo instantly sees red. he vows to make that motherfucker pay for this.

"where is he?"

"mattheo —"

"where. the. fuck. is. he?"

"probably somewhere inside drunk off his arse. I don't know and I don't care. can we please just go?"

despite his anger, you don't balk from him. in fact, you've got both hands pressed firmly against his chest to hold him back.

brother's bsf! mattheo grips your hips, your noses pressing together as he carefully inspects you. making sure you were alright is the only thing keeping him from committing violence.

"tell me where he is."

though mattheo's words are tinged with fury, his tone remains soft and sweet. his voice is nothing but a whisper because even at his angriest, mattheo would never raise his voice at you.

“give me a name, sweetheart. just give me his name."

"it's fine, matty. he's not worth the trouble."

“he left you alone, at a party where you don’t know anyone, got too drunk even though he knows he’s your ride home and got handsy with you even though you weren’t into it. give me one good reason why I shouldn’t fuck him up right now?”

“I can handle him later. can we please just go home? I'm tired and I just want to be in bed now.”

the cold air makes you shiver as you mentally curse yourself for picking such a skimpy outfit when hours ago you felt foolishly confident in your dress.

brother's bsf! mattheo softens when he sees you trembling. without a word, he takes off his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders. the scent of amber and cinnamon envelopes you all at once, lulling you into a calmer state.

"okay, princess. let me take you home."

once mattheo secures the baby pink helmet over your head, he tells you to hang on tight before taking off.

you hug his midsection, resting your chin on his shoulder as mattheo drives slow through the sprawling campus. the streets are empty, but he drags out the ride, wanting to spend as much time with you as possible.

at the strike of midnight, the two of you finally reach your dorm.

although you insist that you're fine, brother's bsf! mattheo walks you all the way up to your door.

the fluorescent lights flicker overhead as you shift your weight form one foot to the other, suddenly feeling shy.

"thanks for picking me up, matty."

"of course, y/n. you know I'd do anything if you're the one asking."

you smile, trying your hardest to hide the blush on your cheeks. "I hope I didn't ruin your night."

mattheo shrugs. "not at all. before you called, I was watching berkshire stuff marshmallows down his throat while the boys cheered him on. trust me, you weren't interrupting anything important."

"still. I appreciate you coming to my rescue and not ratting me out to my brother."

mattheo smiles. "it's our little secret, princess."

the double meaning of the words causes tension between you and the pull that you've always felt towards mattheo feels stronger than ever, tugging you closer.

maybe tonight is the night that you finally feel brave enough to fall.

"goodnight, matty."

brother's bsf! mattheo watches as you get on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek like you always do. except this time, you lean in for a proper kiss.

as soon as mattheo's lips touch yours, you feel your entire body erupt like fireworks. it's everything you imagined it to be and more. his lips are soft against yours, supple and inviting. the kiss takes him by surprise, but once he realizes what's happening, he groans into your mouth, the sound of it filled with need.

dazed and confused, you look up as mattheo pulls away, his big brown eyes scanning your face. "we shouldn't do this, princess."

despite his words, mattheo's hand rests itself on your hip, his thumb brushing gentle circles against your exposed skin. you gulp as he stares at you, your lips brushing, your bodies gravitating towards each other no matter how hard you try to fight the pull.

"is it because of my brother?"

"no," mattheo growls. "we shouldn't do this because I don't know if I'll be able to stop once we start."

"I don't want you to stop, mattheo."

as soon as the words leave your lips, mattheo is kissing you again, and this time, he isn't holding back. you cling onto his shirt as he kisses you hard, the force of it hitting you all at once. his fingers dig into your hips as you bend at the waist, desperately kissing back.

his head is reeling and his heart is pounding. mattheo is drowning in your taste, your touch, your smell. you're every drug rolled into one; seductive and sinful. he's addicted and he can't get enough.

brother's bsf! mattheo doesn't want to pull away. he wants to stay here and live in this moment forever, but he knows that if he does, he'll end up taking everything.

foreheads pressed together, mattheo leans in for one last kiss. this one is sweet and gentle, enough to satiate him for the moment.

"sleep tight, princess. I'll see you in the morning."

"see you in the morning, matty."

brother's bsf! mattheo can't help but take one last look at you, a soft smile on his face when he sees your flushed cheeks and kiss bitten lips.

in that moment, he knows he's fucked. you're his best mate's little sister. he shouldn't have kissed you. he shouldn't feel this way for you. he should've stopped before it was too late, but you were both way past that now.

now that he's had you, he won't want anything else. it's you he'll always crave. it's you he'll always long for. and he doesn't give a fuck what it takes to get you.

brother's bsf! mattheo won't stop until you're his and his alone. *✧･ﾟ:*

[matchingbatbites]

Eddie is weird.

It's something that Steve knew long before he actually knew Eddie, the older boy's oddities and eccentricities on display for anyone to see. Past Steve used to roll his eyes whenever Eddie would push against the flow of normal, but present Steve enjoys it, Eddie's brand of different. 

That's really the reason why he pretends not to notice when Eddie takes things.

Nothing crazy, nothing valuable, and that's honestly the real reason he hasn't said anything about it. He watches Eddie pocket bottle caps from the kids' sodas and paper clips from the Family Video counter, even the little tables from the pizza boxes when they have a movie night.

Steve doesn't understand why Eddie collects these little odds and ends, just sees it as another one of his quirks. Until he finally sees where everything is going.

They're walking to the corner store that's fairly close to the trailer park, the sun on its way to setting but not quite there yet. The conversation that flows between them is easy, easier than Steve ever thought it could be, and it makes something in him want to curl up and purr like a contented cat. 

He's telling Eddie about something that happened at the grocery store today, when the older boy makes a soft noise of delight before crouching and grabbing something from the pavement. Steve barely gets a look at the penny, but he can tell from just a glimpse that it's seen better days and has more than likely been run over by a few cars, if the scratches on it are anything to go by. 

Eddie makes another happy noise as he stands once more and tucks the coin into his jacket pocket, and Steve picks his story back up like nothing happened. It doesn't get mentioned at all, but Steve can see the extra pep in Eddie's step, like he's so excited over something so simple, yet trying to contain it.

His silent joy is contagious, and by the time they get back to the trailer, they're practically plastered together at their sides and giggling like children. Steve nearly forgets about the penny, until Eddie drops his bag of snacks onto the little kitchen table and beelines to his room. So, so curious, Steve leaves his own bag next to Eddie's before following.

The older boy is crouched on the floor by the bed, and Steve watches as he pulls out what appears to be a shoebox, possibly for a pair of work boots, and sets it on the bed. Steve gets a brief look at the lid and the chicken-scratch Crow Box written on the top before Eddie opens it, and a few things quickly make sense.

The box is full of little things, even more than what Steve has seen Eddie take and pocket, a clear sign that that has been ongoing for years. Little plastic dinosaurs and incredibly smooth or shiny rocks, a chain of colored paper clips and a plastic cup full of acorn hats. There's even an old pencil box that appears to house a small hoard of bottle caps, all different colors, tucked in neatly next to a handful of the pizza tables. 

The whole collection is actually well organized, and Steve watches as Eddie takes the new penny from his pocket and drops it into a tin can full of other scratched and beaten coins.

"That's quite a collection," Steve says without even thinking, and Eddie looks up with wide eyes, like he wasn't expecting Steve to follow. Steve just crouches down next to him, resisting the urge to reach out and pick up one of the acorn hats, or one of the dinosaurs. "Any reason behind it?"

Eddie just shrugs and looks down at the box. He takes one of the shiny rocks and offers it to Steve, who gladly takes it and rolls it in his fingers. "They're weird, or actually, they're things that are so normal, they're invisible. Things people usually don't think about, or throw out, or walk right by. They're… different. But I like them."

God, Steve has never related to a feeling more. Seeing something that other people just brush off or ignore and wanting to be the one to cherish it. 

"I can get that," he says as he drops the rock back into the cup with its siblings. "I mean, you're different, and I like you, so." His heart in his throat, Steve leans in and presses a kiss to Eddie's cheek before standing, and he again finds himself caught in Eddie's wide-eyed surprise.

"Steve-"

"C'mon, crow boy. We've got a movie to watch."

[sorrelchestnut]

I've seen a fair number of posts both here and on reddit that question why Tav (or the Dark Urge) would end up as a group leader for any other reason that "game mechanics say so." There's the requisite "okay, well if you play a high charisma character I guess it makes sense," or on the other end of the spectrum, "if you're playing Durge and murder someone right off the bat everyone would be too scared to tell you no." And I get where people are going with this! I really do. But it also fundamentally misunderstands a facet of human nature, which is that the vast majority of people do not actually want to be in charge, because that means being held responsible for the outcome. Accordingly, most people will dither when a group consensus is needed: have none of you ever tried to get a group of friends to agree where to go for dinner? Yeah, it's like that, but waaaay worse.

A lot of times "leadership" is just the willingness to say, "fuck it, y'all do what you want, but I'm doing this." I see it all the time in a corporate environment, where people will go back and forth on group meetings without anyone making a decision until finally one brave soul goes "in my opinion the clear answer is x" and then everyone gratefully goes along with it. Because now it's not their responsibility when something goes wrong! They're just following along with someone else's suggestion, and maybe it works or maybe it doesn't, but at the end of the day they don't have to worry about the consequences unless they're personally affected. In which case they might step up and argue back, and then they're stuck being a leader, too. Welcome to adulthood!

Lae'zel is the only one who ever even tries to exert some kind of control, when she tells you to follow her lead on the ship, or calls you her subordinate in the Grove. But, crucially, she doesn't ever make any serious attempt to take control: you can just tell her, "lol, no," and she sort of confusedly gives way, because she doesn't know how to handle this scenario. In her world there are commanders and subordinates, and everyone knows where they stand and falls in line. She's never actually had to take control of a situation and so at the first sign of resistance she falls back on the dynamic that's familiar to her, which is executing the commands of someone older and more experienced. She goes through a lot of growth over the game, to the point that she can take over as a resistance leader in her own right by the end, but at the beginning she's a wet-behind-her-ears private with some decent combat chops and it shows.

Otherwise, your party consists of:

Shadowheart, who's trained in infiltration and assassination and does NOT want a lot of attention brought to her or her mission for a variety of reasons;

Astarion, who has literally been a slave for two centuries and canonically takes a while to realize that he can exert an opinion beyond complaining about it;

Gale, whose only friend is his cat and couldn't project-manage his way out of a wet paper bag;

Wyll, who was probably trained for command at one point but has been doing the lone-hero thing for a decade and has a very large secret that he's trying to conceal; and,

Karlach, who's only ever been a bodyguard and a soldier and is genuinely just happy to be here.

Honestly, it would be more a surprise if Tav/Durge didn't end up as their unofficial leader, given the general power dynamics at play. The first time Tav/Durge says something like, "fuck it, we need to do something instead of stand around arguing about it, let's go check out those ruins over there," it's a done deal. They're The Captain Now! As long as they don't make decisions that fundamentally oppose something dear and important to the other group members, they're not even going to get any argument. Because at the end of the day, not one of these walking disasters has enough trust in themselves and their decision-making skills to feel any kind of certainty that they can choose the right path forward. If someone else is going to take that decision out of their hands? They're going to follow, no questions asked, right up until the moment they can't.

[peppermintquartz]

Internet hug because this kind of sucks! If you would like:

Buck doesn't let Tommy just break up with him without a fight and they have an actual discussion about why Tommy can't be Buck's first And his last.

Buck remains frozen in his chair until the door clicks shut, at which he leaps up and yanks it open.

The force which he uses must have surprised Tommy, who is just a few steps away in the corridor.

"Don't you dare leave," Buck snaps out and grabs the older man's wrist. His vehemence catches Tommy off guard too, it seems, because Tommy lets him drag them back inside the loft without any resistance.

Once they're inside, Buck shuts and leans his back against the front door.

"Buck-"

"Evan! I am Evan to you," Buck corrects. His voice is frantic, nearly angry. Good. He is caught between fury and desperation anyway. "And you don't get to tell me how I may feel in the future. Like I can't tell you how you may feel in the future." He gulps. "We're first responders, Tommy. We may die on our next shifts. Can you predict that? Or maybe, maybe you get in your truck, and the next thing you know, some idiot SUV crashes into you. Or this building collapses."

Tommy makes an abortive motion to move forward but stops. "Buck-"

"Call me that again and I will hit you, I swear to God," Buck snarls. He's fighting back tears. "You know why I let you call me Evan."

"Because that's how you introduced yourself to me," Tommy said quietly.

Buck takes three strides forward and grabs Tommy by his shirt to pull him close. "Because I love you!"

It's the first time he's said it.

It feels right. It feels like fire and it feels like comfort and it feels like home.

"I, Evan Buckley, love you, Tommy Kinard, and I want this relationship with you to be my forever," he declares, staring right into Tommy's storm-blue eyes. When Tommy averts his gaze, Buck cups his cheek and makes direct eye contact again. "What are you really afraid of, Tommy? Because I know that your breaking up with me isn't because you're afraid of breaking your heart." He swallows, his throat already in pain. "Because your heart is breaking right now, and mine as well."

Tears are racing down both their faces. Tommy licks his lips and shudders as he bows his head. "I'm sorry. It's just... I told myself, I was moving at your pace, and I really thought I was ready, but now, it's so fast, and I'm not sure I can be what you want, Evan. I don't know if I can be what you want, and I don't want to fall short and be told I'm not good enough, not again-"

Buck kisses Tommy quiet. It feels exactly as it should. Like this is what their lips are made for.

"Thomas Kinard," Buck whispers, "you silly, stupid, self-sabotaging man."

"Evan..."

Leaning his forehead against Tommy's, Buck continues, "You worry you're not enough? I worry I'm too much. Don't you see? We're meant for each other. We complement each other, Tommy, in our strengths and our flaws, and you're enough for me, okay? You're who I want. You are who I need. You are. You take care of me the way I need to be, you let me be who I am, late night research and curses and eulogies to a dead dude and everything, and I honestly forgot where I was going with that, except that I don't want you to walk out of my life just because some voice in your head tells you a lie."

He stops talking. He's still cupping Tommy's face, still breathing his air.

Tommy nudges his nose against Buck's. "You really want me?" His voice is small, nervous.

"Yes, you idiot. Which part of 'I love you' are you not hearing? I love you, I am in love with you."

Another tremble shake through Tommy's frame, and he places his hands on Buck's waist. "I love you, Evan. I'm in love with you." He sniffles, and then chuckles damply. "God. We're both so snotty and gross right now."

"And whose fault is that?" Buck teases, his voice nasal and his throat sore. He slides his hands down, face to jaw to neck to broad shoulders. "You don't have to move in. But stay, okay? I need you to stay. To choose me. Not the lying liar in your brain."

"I'll stay. I'll stay until-"

"There is no until." Buck is adamant. "It's you, Tommy."

Tommy nods, smiling, and then huffs a short laugh. "Actually, you should move in with me. I have way more space than you, and a car lift and a Muay Thai setup. Eddie will kill me if I give all that up for this place."

"Can't have Eddie killing the man I love now." Buck brushes his nose along the side of Tommy's. "Okay. I'll move in with you."

Tommy kisses him, this time lingering, an unspoken question. Buck smiles into the kiss, and leads Tommy up the stairs to the bed.

[covetyou]

nothing left to prove

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader, Joel Miller x Tess Servopoulos, Joel x Tess x f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: voyeurism (consensual and not), cuckolding/cuckquean, unprotected PIV, oral sex (m recieving), masturbation, praise kink, brief spit kink, little bit of choking (as a treat), bisexual reader, asshole Joel, no use of y/n word count: 5.8k summary: Some risks are worth taking.

A/N: this is the last in my planned oneshots for SWAT this month! if you have any uh... 👀 questions, comments or concerns, my ask box is open. I love you all, and thank you so much for welcoming SWAT back with open arms.

title from movement by hozier.

divider by @saradika-graphics

follow @covetedfics and turn notifications on for updates on future fics

Like most things where Joel was concerned, you're not entirely sure what made you do it.

One minute you were walking down the street - the bustling midday crowd rushing from one job to another, stopping by street vendors if they were lucky enough to have the cards to trade - and the next, you were mindlessly heading in the opposite direction.

It's not like you didn't know not to follow him. He'd warned you before - men in his line of work were always the target of something, and following after him, even acknowledging him in public, made you a target too. It was dangerous, and it was stupid.

Still, you did it anyway.

Without thinking, you had turned and followed, hands tucked into your pockets and collar drawn up over your face in an effort to keep back the bitter chill of wind. There was something too enticing about seeing Joel swagger down the street with someplace he clearly had to be. Something so enticing you couldn't resist. Even from the distance he was rapidly putting between you, you could tell it was him. Your eyes were locked onto his broad frame as it parted the stream of footfall, and his long, heavy strides carried him further and further away from you.

It was a fight, walking upstream through a throng of people going the direction you should've been, but you made it out of the other side and hurried down the sidewalk after him, barely a few minutes behind if your shorter strides were anything to go by.

Out of nowhere, he slinked down an alley, stealthy despite his size. You stalled on the corner of the block once you reached it. In any version of reality you'd been taught to keep away from places like this if you knew what was good for you. Things lurked in the shadows that you didn't want to encounter, and yet, here you were, embodying stupid as you contemplate throwing yourself down a dark alley after a man who was nothing but trouble.

You're still going to do it, of course. Nothing could stop you now, even as you waited with impatient jitters in your hands for an older couple to shuffle past.

Then, the way is clear and you can finally slink down the same alley Joel had turned down not five minutes before. He could have been long gone, of course. That probably would have been for the best.

But he wasn't.

A familiar Texan drawl tells you as much. There's no tinge of threat to it, just casual chat from what you can piece together, so you slip further down the alley and into the shadows. You make careful steps, trying to be silent as you step over rubble, until you reach the mouth of another alley and tuck yourself tight against the wall.

You hear him clearer from here. Whatever he's saying in the darkness sounds positively encouraging, and then you hear the other voice. Softer. More delicate. More breathless too.

Unable to hold yourself back anymore, you finally turn and peek down the alley to see the tall sillhouette of Joel pushing up against the much smaller one of someone else as they're pressed against the wall. He presses forward, and the gasp you hear tells you all you need to know. The rattle of his belt confirms it. Then, with a slow grind of his hips, he keeps on a steady pace as he fucks her right in the alleyway where anyone could watch - you're watching after all.

And you can't tear your eyes away.

The snap of his hips gets quicker, shallower, the longer you stare. His hand had long disappeared around her front, probably to rub tight circles over her clit as you peak around the corner of the alleyway. Her arms move, fists balling tight by her head, opening and flexing, gripping the worn brick as Joel works himself in and out of her from behind.

He's whispering too. No doubt talking filth in her ear, spurring them both on as he thrusts in and out of her wet heat. You're entranced by the muffled sounds of it all - the heavy rustle of his jeans, the soft whimpers, moans, and groans - and soon your core is clenching as you watch with debauched curiousity.

You stand there against the wall, watching, as minute after minute ticks by. And then, the biting wind comes back, this time carrying a high pitched moan towards you, and you try to focus on the shape of her in the darkness as she shakes against the wall, barely keeping herself upright as she comes around Joel's cock.

But, instead of plowing onwards, fucking her until she walks away with him dribbling down her leg, he delicately pulls out. You hear praise mumbled into her hair, where he kisses her, before he turns in your direction to tuck his still-hard cock back into his pants.

Your heart is pounding, you realize, when you throw yourself around the corner to hide from him. He hadn't seen you. Neither of them had. You were sure of it. Then when you hear the murmured sounds of thanks followed by footsteps, you peer back down the alley.

Only to watch as Joel's eyes flick up to yours in the darkness just as his fly zips, and you scurry away knowing you'll pay for whatever this was later.

The note had come through your door before you'd even got home that day. You knew it was from Joel before you even opened it, and when you finally did in the darkness of your room after stuffing it into your pocket so your dad wouldn't see, your heart had practically jumped out of your mouth.

my place. friday. hour before curfew. don't be late.

J.

So, here you were, a little before an hour before curfew in an apartment block across town from yours. Being here was risky - who knows how long you'd be inside - but it was a risk worth taking as far as you were concerned. You didn't even have to knock as you approached his familiar door - it opens as soon as your feet step outside of it to reveal a stern looking Joel Miller.

"Get your ass in."

He doesn't wait for you, doesn't usher you inside or pull at your clothes. He simply moves inside and stands there, back turned, arms across his chest, waiting for you to close yourself into his space.

Whatever you'd expected when you held that note, even going as far as touching yourself thinking about what was to come, the silent treatment never came to mind. Joel didn't do silent - not with you, anyway. He always had something to say and was always ready to make sure you knew it. Now, he was stood there, silent and stoic as ever. You watch the rise and fall of his shoulders for a moment, before an anxious ripple pulls its way through you and you're speaking to the back of his head.

"I'm sorry, I -"

"Y'ain't," Joel says, turning to look at you with a scowl on his face. "Knew exactly what you were doin' - you ain't fuckin' dumb, sweetheart. Or maybe you are, given how fuckin' stupid it is to pull that shit with me."

He steps toward you then, closing the vast distance between you in just a few strides.

"You've been gettin' bold. Bold means stupid, and stupid gets you killed. Now, I don't give a shit how you are with me in here. Out there you don't know me, you don't even look at me, and you sure as fuck don't follow me."

"Am I not allowed to -"

"No," he says simply, and you snap your mouth shut just as Joel pulls open your jacket and peels it off your shoulders, daring you to stop him as he stares daggers into your eyes.

"I didn't mean to -"

"Get caught?" he finishes, raising an eyebrow at you as he tosses your jacket to the side and kicks lightly at your feet to prompt you to take off your boots.

For once, Joel is wrong. Massively, glaringly, wrong. You did mean to get caught. You realized as much the second the smile spread across your face after reading his note. You realized too that you liked more than just the promise of Joel's threat to you when your fantasies of his stern words and rough hands had turned into watching that scene in the alleyway all over again.

And maybe he knows all of that too, because one second you're standing sheepishly in his living room and the next he's pulling you toward him and growling in your ear.

"Couldn't help yourself, could you?"

You shake your head, breathing him in now that he's so close you're practically chest to chest.

"If you wanna watch so fuckin' bad..." he starts as he tugs you further forward, pulling you into him as he steps back and back until you find yourself in his lamplit bedroom.

It's different. Not noticeably, at first, but then you see it.

In the corner is a chair, dragged in from its usual place at Joel's the dining table. There's barely room to walk around it, but Joel hauls you over to it anyway and pushes down on your shoulders.

"You're gonna sit your ass there and watch," he says as your knees buckle and your ass collides with the chair. "Got it?"

Dumbstruck, you blink up at him. You don't know what's happening. You don't know what you're going to be watching, here in this room with no one but you and Joel. There's something very big, and maybe very obvious, that you're missing, but before you can search your brain for the answer, he's pinching your chin and forcing you into an exaggerated nod. 

"I said, got it?"

You continue to nod and trail your eyes after Joel as he strolls back out of the room, leaving you perched there on the edge of the seat. You're in half a mind to follow him, but then a knock on the door startles you and you listen out as voices carry through the open doorway. 

It's Tess. You're sure of it. You'd only met her twice, but she wasn't exactly a person you forgot easily, and your late-night fantasies certainly wouldn't let it happen either. They spend a few minutes talking while your mind runs away with itself, their soft voices too light for you to hear where you sit, forgotten, in Joel's bedroom.

Their hushed conversation turns to something else as you listen, and the heavy sound of clothing hitting the floor reaches your ears and it's all you can do to keep yourself rooted to the spot. You said you'd sit, sure, but from here you can't watch anything, you can just wait in anticipation as the sounds of groaning and clothing being stripped off gets louder and louder.

You see Joel first. It's impossible not to as he's pushed backwards into the room by Tess, shirtless and belt hangling loose around his waist. And then you see her, clothes seemingly intact and her lips attached to his, hands grappling with his shoulders and scraping red trails down his bare chest until the gasp you were trying to contain slips out from your mouth.

She looks to you, lips swollen and hand steadily trailing back up Joel's chest until it clasps softly around his neck.

"Didn't tell me I'd be sharing," she says, and you watch as she grips the thick column of his throat beneath her deceptively strong fingers.

He swallows, hard, just about stifling a groan. "You ain't. She's stayin' right there. Ain't you?"

With wide eyes, you snap your mouth shut and nod.

"That right? You like watching, pretty girl?" Tess says, her eyebrows high as she leans into Joel, his thick fingers finding her waist.

You nod again, taking them in as they press into each other, and try to bite down the pang of jealousy that creeps through you. It's not that you want them to stop. Not at all. You do want to watch. You've never been more certain of anything. You want to see them, you want to be here as they come apart. You'd give anything to trade places with either of them, too, you think, but mostly, what you want is to slot yourself right between both of them.

Instead, you're stuck here on this fucking chair, uncomfortable and antsy as their hands roam and she tugs down Joel's jeans.

"Likes doin' as she's told, too," he groans, as Tess's hand makes it way down to the front of his boxers and squeezes the lump you'd been desperately trying to avoid looking at.

"Sounds like someone I know."

She laughs. She laughs, and it's all you can do to keep yourself on that fucking chair, not throwing yourself on the floor at their feet and begging that they let you join in. They might even let you, you consider. But you also knew there wouldn't be the same satisfacation in that. You wouldn't be able to savor and hold onto every sound and movement, keeping it locked away in your mind until later, if you were too fucked out and silly with it to know which way was up and which was down. And fuck did you want to watch Joel do all the things to her you wished he'd do to you, the things you wish you could do to her too.

So, you were going to do as you were told. You were going to be good. And you were going to watch.

When you nod again, Tess rewards you by pressing a kiss to Joel's mouth, and you can feel as you almost chase it with your own lips.

"You're gonna sit there," she says, pressing another kiss to his mouth, "and you're gonna keep watching, pretty girl. And keep those hands right where I can see 'em."

Planting your hands on your thighs, you watch Joel kick off his pants, standing now in nothing but boxers. Tess presses him back, pushing until he stumbles into his bed and lets himself collpase down onto it and shift back until he's resting on his elbows. Your eyes dart between them. She's practically eating him alive, hooking her own fingers into her jeans and pulling them down as Joel palms himself over his boxers. Then, in one elegant move, she flicks her pants off and climbs over the bed onto him, spreading her legs wide as she settles herself down onto his stiff cock.

Joel bites his cheek, keeping his hands soft on her creamy thighs as she rolls her hips over and over his, grinding her cunt against his length. He doesn't move. Doesn't pull her shirt off or force her down harder with a bruising grip to her thighs. He simply lets her use him until she's panting on top of him, his toes twitching and curling as he stifles his own moans.

Falling forward, her hair briefly shields them from you. You can hear it though. The wet, appreciative sounds of their mouths working against each other, tongues lapping against one another while Tess rocks back and forth across his length where it's trapped between them.

"You're gonna fuck me, Texas," she growls into his mouth, flicking her hair to her other shoulder so now you can see the flush that's rising up Joel's neck. "And make it good."

He flips her with a grunt, rolling her over easily and slotting himself between her spread thighs. You're breathing heavy as you watch on with hazy eyes, imagining the feel of him between your own thighs, or her hair over your shoulder as she kisses you, making biting kisses into your neck.

And then, when your eyes focus on the room once more, his boxers are gone and you're staring at the back of Joel, completely nude, and it has you suddenly sitting up straighter. Even with his hand pressed somewhere between her thighs, drawing out soft moans from her, all you can focus on is his back.

You're not unfamiliar with it, of course. You've seen him nude before. But you've never seen him like this, splayed out over the top of someone with one leg hitched up as he slowly rolls his hips and grinds his bare cock over a clothed pussy. You've never seen the way his back ripples and his ass flexes with each rock forward, or the way he keeps his toes curled as he moves. You've never seen that silvery scar to his side either, visible only by the angle he's in in the lamplight.

You've never seen him with thighs wrapped around his waist either, pinning him down to another body while soft hands snake around his back. It could be you. But it's not. It's her, and that's somehow better and worse all at once.

Tess groans and tilts her head back, letting her grip around his shoulders slip to slide her own hand down between them, replacing his.

His own fingers are glistening when he pulls them away from her core. If you could move you'd lick them clean, taste her off of them, but you're stuck here watching, balling impatient fists on your thighs. And then, he's shifting into position, letting Tess tilt her hips until he's right there, and he presses forward, slipping into her wet hole with a groan.

"Fuck, that's it, make me come."

It's hot in here. You're listening to Tess say the filthy things Joel usually says to you, and it is so fucking hot in here.

So hot, you realize, that your cheeks are burning and your hands are sweating where they fidget on your thighs, and when Joel thrusts home, deep, and Tess cries out, you moan with them, and it's like they've just remembered you're there.

They turn and look at you, Tess's eyes catching yours first, but Joel soon following. But then she's dragging his focus back to her.

"She's being so good, Joel," she says as he tucks his head into her neck to press soft kisses there. "Thought she'd be rubbing her cunt by now but look at her, she's doing so good."

"So fuckin' good."

You groan when he says it. You can't stop it, or the way your hands flex and want to reach out for either of them.

"She likes that. She likes being a good girl."

And you do. Even as you spread your legs wide and try not to rock into the seam of your jeans and make yourself come.

Then, as if you had never made a noise at all, Joel is pulling out and pushing in deep all over again, drawing out moan after moan from Tess.

Just like that, you're back to being the dirty voyeur in the corner. Ignored and desperate, and one second away from pleading with them to let you have a taste of something, anything. You don't. By this point, as Joel's ass flexes into the space between Tess's thighs, you don't even need to. You can almost feel every movement, every inch, right from where you're sat, fully clothed over the other side of the room. You can feel the slow stroke of his hips between yours, feel her heavy breaths tickle your cheek, the hard grind against your clit. You almost gasp when she does, and you catch yourself rocking your hips to each roll of theirs.

"Fuck, that's it, Texas," she says, as he kisses her neck again.

It's not hard to see he's different with Tess. 

He's softer, less rough, but just as hard. He's as silent as you've ever heard him, that filthy mouth stalled in his head, but also as loud as you've ever heard him be. He's grunting and groaning and panting as he fucks into her, huffing in quick breaths and goading himself on with stacatto nods of his head, desperate not to stop, to keep going, to make her come, until he's groaning frantically, pushing through the pain and ache in his muscles.

And then it hits you that maybe he is like this with you.

Maybe Joel Miller is just as fucked out and loud now as he is with you. How were you to really know - you were usually too deafened by your own screams and focussed on the feeling of him inside you, to really notice much to anything else.

He shifts her, maybe the most he's dared lay his hands on her, until you're no longer watching from somewhere behind and instead looking from the side as Joel pounds down and down into Tess's cunt, her head thrown to the side, stealing glances at you as you worry your lip with your teeth. You're breathing so hard you're almost whining, nodding whenever Tess makes a particularly deep moan that you can feel push through your own chest, until Joel looks up at you and smirks.

"Fuckin' likin' this, huh?" he groans. "That's it, sweetheart, you wanted to watch. Fuck. Fuck. Keep watchin'."

You whine then. You can't stop it, and you don't care. You're ready to sob, could probably come untouched right here if you thought about it hard enough, but you don't. You don't want that. You want to focus on the way he fucks her, and the way she sounds as she meets every thrust, because you know it's all going to be over soon.

You know, because Tess is grabbing his hand, forcing it between her legs and threading her hand through his hair and pulling a moment later.

"There. There. Ohh -"

His arm flexes and moves between them, rubbing over her clit as he slips and slides inside her. You're leaning forward in your seat now, hands gripping the edge, ready to move whenever - if ever - they give the word.

And then, with an open mouthed silent scream, she tenses beneath him, the pulsating grip of her cunt making him stutter his thrusts but never the movement of his fingers, until she falls limp, delivering a swift punch to his arm to make him stop a moment later.

So, Joel stops.

Completely.

For the second time this week, you watch as Joel doesn't come inside someone else.

He holds himself deep in her as she floats down from whatever cloud he'd just launched her to, panting and wiping sweat from his forehead. And then, when she opens her eyes, he kisses her, and you're floating right along side them in the ether, entranced by the way she pulls herself out from underneath him, and pulls her clothes back on while he watches after her, cock stiff and neglected, covered in his own precum and her slick.

You expect her to turn to Joel, but instead she rounds on you the moment she's dressed, and cups your heated cheek in her palm.

"Maybe next time I'll let him come in me and you can clean me up, pretty girl."

And with a pat to your cheek and a nod to Joel, she leaves, shouting out behind her.

"Twenty minutes, Texas. Don't be late."

"Not gonna take twenty minutes," he growls, standing and rolling his shoulders while you still sit on the chair he'd pushed you into.

He's wild eyed, staring at you as you practically drool down your own chin at the sight of him. His thick cock hangs heavy between his legs, twitching as his muscles flex and contract. His fists ball tight by his sides, eyes dark as he looks down at you, sitting still and obedient and good right where he left you. You can smell the sweat on him, smell how much he smells like Tess, and you want nothing more than to roll yourself in the sheets they'd just made a mess off.

"Bring that mouth over here," he grunts, beckoning you over with two fingers that had been buried in Tess not long ago.

You let out a desperate sigh of relief as you slip to your knees right from the chair and make an upright crawl the short distance to Joel and his weeping cock. He smells just like you remembered she tasted like. Sweet, tangy, musky. And then, he nods down at you, and you take your first tentative lick of his slick coated length, and you're groaning, holding on to his thighs to steady yourself.

His hand finds the back of your head, stroking briefly at your neck, sending prickles across your heated skin. Despite the sweat, his hands somehow feel cooler than you, and the sensation of them on your skin somehow grounds you, holds you back from falling into a heap and sobbing, begging, screaming in frustration. You're so pent up, that all you can do is make strangled groans as you look up at him with teary eyes as you lick over and over his cock with a broad, flat strokes of your tongue.

"That's it, that taste good?"

It does. It tastes better than it ever has. Him and her, all together. You liked how you tasted off of him, but this was something else entirely, and all the while that soft promise of next time runs rampant through your mind, stalling your moan of agreement right as it pulls out of your throat.

"Shit," he curses as you gently lick a drop of cum weeping from his tip. "Good fuckin' girl. Like that too, don't you? Can't get enough."

With a groan, he's suddenly pulled away from you, and you whine at the loss, before he's crouching in front of you, grabbing you roughly by the face and kissing you, plundering your mouth with his tongue.

"Mm!"

"So fuckin' good."

You don't know if he's talking about you, or the taste in your mouth, but you preen anyway, eyes brightening when he stands up, gripping his cock firmly in one large hand. "She creamed all over my balls too, sweetheart. Don't want to miss a drop now do you?"

Eagerly, you lap at the soft skin of his balls, swirling your tongue and groaning as you clean the taste of her off of his sack. He's slowly pumping his cock, squeezing the tip, cursing, as you work your tongue over his delicate balls, massaging them with your tongue before sucking each one into your warm, wet, mouth.

You can't help but slip a hand between your own legs as you work your tongue back and forth over him. The taste of him and her together on your tongue is sending your eyes practically rolling in your head, making you groan as you lick from his balls up the length of him and attempt to suck him down and lick every drop of her you can from his skin. Over your jeans isn't enough though, the sensations too muted by the thick fabric, so with a pop you pull yourself from Joel, look him in the eye, and tug your jeans open. Fuck, if you haven't earned at least a little bit of relief, and you stare at him, daring him to stop you as your fingers slide down and find your sopping wet cunt inside your ruined panties.

He groans when your eyes lose focus, your finger sliding over the twitching bundle of nerves that had lay neglected by not one, but three people.

"That's it. Touch that pussy while you suck me, sweetheart."

You do, swiping your finger in slow soft circles as he guides the tip of his dick back into your waiting lips. "Can still taste her, huh?" he says, when you groan at the taste of him again.

"Mhm."

"Can't get enough of it can you. Fuck you're so fuckin' desperate. Look at you. Rubbin' that little thing with my cock in your mouth."

You suck and bob your head, twirling your tongue around to taste every inch you can reach of him. You're aching, panting, grinding into your own hand as you suck him. The heat in your core is searing you, making you sweat beneath your clothes. If you had a hand to spare you'd be tearing them off of you, but you need your hand between your legs right now, and without the other to steady you, you'll be falling flat on your ass in no time.

"Finish me first," he says, noticing your desperation and the way your hips buck into your own hand. "That's it. You can come after. Fuck, that's it. So close. You wanted that pussy so bad, didn't you?"

You groan around his cock, the many ways you wanted her pussy flashing through your mind as you slide Joel's cock between your lips, until he's yanking you back, making you gasp and your fingers stop the steady circles you were making over your cunt.

"You want this too, don't you?"

"Yes," you moan, watching as he starts to jerk his cock in his fist. You don't even think as you open your mouth wide, tongue out and waiting for him to make a mess of you.

"Good fuckin' girl."

He jerks his cock faster, your saliva and Tess's cum slicking up the movement of his fist as he brings himself closer and closer. He steadies one hand at the back of your neck again, suddenly spitting down into your waiting mouth, making you groan as his spit hits your tongue and slides into your mouth.

"Keep that there. Keep that right fuckin' there."

He pants, chest heaving above you as you look between his dark eyes and the dripping head of his cock. He's so close. You can see as his muscles tense and twitch, one hand resting on his twitching thigh, the other holding off, slowly jerking your clit, until you slip your hand underneath him, cradling his balls, and gently squeeze -

Milky white spurts shoot into your mouth, his tip pressing down onto your tongue so you can taste every drop as he milks it from himself, your own hand massaging and tugging lightly on his balls until he's empty, tapping the tip on your tongue and wiping away the last remnants of the release you hold in your mouth.

"That's it. Swallow it all sweetheart."

The bitter salt of him coats your mouth as you swallow, not a drop wasted.

"You still want it?" he asks then, nodding down to your open jeans. Your own hand has stilled between your legs, fingers that were moving steadily are still now, hooked into you while you waited as promised until after you made him come. Now, the after was here, and with swollen lips and glassy eyes you nod up at him.

"Go on," he says softly, and you pull your dripping fingers from your cunt to coat your throbbing clit. "That's it. Wanna see you rub that fuckin' thing. Who you gonna come thinkin' about? Me or her?"

"Both," you gasp, pressing your face into his bare thigh, your fingers steadily building up and up the pace. "Both of you. Looked - fu - so good."

His hand strokes your hair, holding you to him while you work your fingers between your legs.

"Yeah? You liked that? Just like watchin' so fuckin' much don't you."

"Ye-eah. But," you whine. "Wantedtojoinin."

He laughs then, soft and gently above you. You don't see it. Your eyes are pressed shut and you're breathing in nothing but the smell of his skin right where his thigh meets his groin. You're ready to lose yourself in it all now. You don't care what you look like or if he's looking at you. You just care that you're pressed to him with your fingers between your legs, finally getting closer and closer to relief you'd been aching for since you saw him in that alleyway.

"Know what this proves though, don't you?" he asks, and with a harsh yank of your hair he pulls your head so you're looking directly up at him, fingers working swiftly over your clit as you gasp. "You know how to be a good girl and do what you're fuckin' told after all."

You nod, letting the drop of your head tug your own hair even more. "Yes," you say desperately. "Yes, I'll be good, I'll be good."

"Then show me. Gotta show me how good you come thinkin' about my cock in that cunt."

"Uh-huh," you nod again, and suddenly the jerk of your fingers over your clit and the thought of watching Joel's cock slide up and down Tess's slit, tasting his cum as it drips out of her hole has you exploding against your palm.

You barely hold yourself upright as you come, eyes pinched shut and jaw slack, Joel's hand in your hair probably the only thing keeping you from collapsing. And then, when the last of your orgasm has run through you, your fluttering cunt finally ceasing its twitching, Joel gently releases you, and you slump down on your knees, falling to the side until you're curled on the floor, propped up by the end of his bed.

You rest your head on his mattress and sex rumpled sheets, blissful and floating as Joel finds his clothes around you. Then, he nudges you up, murmuring encouragement as you stand and shake the fuzzy feeling out of your head.

Joel spots your look of surprise at the darkness outside. Curfew is rapidly approaching now, and if you're not careful you won't be home in time before you're free game for any FEDRA asshole that you come across.

"Still got time," he says, passing your jacket as you stuff your feet into your boots and ushering you out into the dim corridor.

To your surprise, he follows you out, throwing a bag over his shoulder before noticing your curious look.

"Won't be around for a few weeks," he explains. "Got some stuff to do."

He doesn't elaborate, and you don't ask. You don't move either, locked to the spot in front of the door as he locks it, and tucks his key away inside an inner pocket.

"And, just so we're clear, sweetheart. I don't expect to be sharin' you with anyone while I'm gone."

"You really need me to tell you I'm not gonna fuck anyone else?"

His raised eyebrow says it all, and you roll your eyes. You both know you won't, wouldn't, don't even want to, but to stroke his ego you say as much anyway, and he gives a satisfied nod.

You kiss him then, right out in the hallway before he can turn and leave, or push you away. Only, he doesn't. He never does. Never has. Probably never will. And, even out in the hallway where anyone could see, you think Joel Miller is quite a nice man to be kissing here, in an old apartment block at the end of all things.

"Keep yourself out of trouble," he murmurs into your mouth, and, before you know it, he's stalking away down the hall and, in a blink, he's gone.

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[7s3ven]

Hear me out guys… retired soldiers now bodyguards! task force 141 x spoiled heiress! reader

( just an idea )

You’re like, a nutcase. Your father adores you but sometimes you can go out of control. Like for instance, the time you jumped off a cliff into the ocean below to impress a boy.

Yeah, your father wasn’t very impressed with your behaviour.

On top of your recklessness, your father has enemies who always seem to target you. You’re his obvious weakness and he can’t spend another moment of anxiously wondering if you’re okay while he’s working.

So, he hires the best bodyguards he can find. And they turn out to be retired soldiers from an elite unit known as Task Force 141. Perfect.

You don’t take kindly to being continuously followed by four large men who don’t even try to be subtle. It’s not like taking care of you is easy either. You’re a troublemaker, you always have been since your mother left you for another family (your reckless tendencies tend to stem from the fact that you’re causing trouble to get her to notice you again).

Task Force 141 has had enough when you attempt to sneak out of the house to a party on a Friday night. But it seems apart from shopping and acting like a brat, you aren’t good at anything else.

They hear a crash and someone swearing loudly before you roll off the roof, landing in the bushes right outside the window where the four men have a perfect view of you. They were watching a football came until you interrupted.

Jonny bursts into laughter, slapping Gaz out of amusement, while Price fetches you and forces you back inside.

“You know, your house has a back door for a reason.” Simon utters as he cleans your scratches but there’s a mocking indication to his tone.

“Yeah but like, going out the window felt more cool.” You argue back, furrowing your eyebrows.

“Was it cool when you face planted into the ground?”

You can only pout in annoyance.

From then on, they don’t leave you alone, especially not on Friday nights. You have to deal with being squished between Price and Simon as they watch a boring documentary on… fish? Jonny definitely chose that one.

But hey, you aren’t exactly complaining. Being stuck between the two men means being able to feel their muscles and smell their strong cologne. You tolerate the four men more after they cleaned your scratches from landing in a bush and carried you to your bed.

And so what if you catch feelings? Anybody else in your position would have done the same.

“We can’t date ya, lovie. We’re too old and we work for your dad.”

Do you care? Not really.

“My dad literally hired you because I was a troublemaker. Ya think I give a shit? ‘Sides, the older the better.”

Jonny jabs a thumb in Price’s direction, “Even the captain? You should’ve seen ‘im in his prime. Way better looking.” He hands you a picture that he just happens to have of Price.

You glance at it then lift your head to look at Price. Your lips curve into a teasing smile. “Yeah, you’re right. What happened, Captain?” You joke.

INCORRECT QUOTES FOR THE LAUGHS:

Kidnapper, negotiating with TF 141: We have the annoying heiress. Give us ten thousand dollars and they will be returned to you unharmed

Y/N: Whoa, whoa, wait, you think I’m only worth ten thousand dollars. MAKE IT ONE MILLION–

Price: Y/N, STOP

Simon: Can I be frank with you guys?

Jonny: Sure, but I don’t see how changing your name is gonna help.

Gaz: Can I still be Gaz?

Y/N: Shh, let Frank speak.

Gaz: In your opinion, what’s the height of stupidity?

Simon: *turning to Y/N* How tall are you?

Price: Where's Simon, Gaz, and Y/N?

Jonny: They're playing hide and seek.

Price: Where?

Jonny: I don't think you get how this game works.

Y/N: You really put aside everything and came all this way for me? How did you even get here so fast?

Simon: Several traffic violations.

Gaz: Three counts of resisting arrest.

Jonny: Roughly thirteen cans of energy drinks.

Price: Also, that’s not our car.

[ofloveandstardust]

A/N: I saw that Cain and Abel aren't like present in the show and I know they're technically Adam and Eve's kids, but let me have this please— I just wanna gush about this since it's been invading my mind.

cw: fem!reader (no pronouns, but reader is called wife/mama/mommy/mother)

Imagine: Being Adam's wife and having two sons with him.

I can definitely see him being excited over having sons. Like, hell yeah! But but but also— I have this feeling in my gut that he'd be okay with being a girl dad, sooo after having your sons he's just like "Wifey, Sugartits, Babycakes—" Any nickname under the sun until you finally ask him what he wants and he just says he wants a daughter.

You can't tell me he didn't name Abel— and 💀 It's even funnier since Abel does have a little more resemblance of his father than Cain does. Cain was named by you and looks more like you. However, you can say his attitude is similar to Adam's. I can see them both having Adam's eyes when thinking up of how they'd look, but I'm leaving things up in the air. Just for this, because I think it'd be neat, the boys are twins. Cain is the older twin while Abel is the younger one.

Cain is kind of a menace...but still a good kid. He always pulls that "Because I'm the oldest" card with Abel and if he ever whacked his brother and he started crying, Cain immediately does that thing where the sibling just panics and stops them from crying or else he's getting in trouble with mama and papa. He teases his younger brother, but will get upset if anyone tries to bully Abel. Oh, but the biggest menace he is towards? Adam. Cain doesn't hate his dad at all. No, he just prefers you more and lowkey is a mama's boy. Adam can have Mr. Perfect (Abel), but he at least has mama.

Then Adam just straight up has beef with his own son 💀 Because Cain takes up your time and he swears the little shit is taunting him when you're not looking. Cain comes up when you and Adam are kissing or anything like that, holding his hands up like, "I want Mama's kisses too... 🥺" You can't resist because that's your baby and he's so adorable. There's this stare down between Adam and Cain...meanwhile Abel, being the good bean that he is, waddles towards you all and goes, "Mama! Papa! Look what I drew! :D" and it's just a sweet little drawing of him, his brother, you and Adam.

Speaking of Abel, he's a good boi. Cain calls him Mr. Perfect sometimes because Abel has some natural talent. He's especially good with music, much to Adam's delight. Still, he looks up to his brother and despite Cain's jealousy, they do get along nicely. They have this little game where they're building their own city and decide over several elements of it. Abel somehow always brings sheep into the mix, but his brother isn't complaining.

Abel doesn't play favorites and says he loves you and Adam equally. He always wants to make sure the two of you are present at the same time when showing his accomplishments or what he's found. Speaking of which, he has special interests that last for a while until he moves on to another one or some just last a very long time. An example would be sheep, as mentioned before. He even has a lamb plushie (I can see him watching Lamb Chop's Play Along and loving the show). Cain knows how precious this little lamb is to Abel and will raise chaos if it ever gets lost or stolen (he calls the plush "The Chosen").

Here's a funny little thing: the boys not recognizing Adam in the mask he wears. From the day they were born, they always saw their father without his mask and have grown used to seeing his actual face. One day, they ask you where he was and you tell them it's work related but he'll be back to teach them some new songs. Just imagine Adam coming back, calling out that he's home, which cause the boys to rush up to him. Then they just stop because... "Mama, who's this stranger in our house!?" Abel literally starts crying— saying this isn't papa. Meanwhile Cain's mind immediately says violence is the answer (thanks, Adam). You have to calm both boys down and explain to them about the mask.

Flight lessons are stressful. It all started when Cain began jumping off of the furniture and escalated to him jumping off the bunk bed (because it'd be adorable for them to have bunk beds). So, it seems like it was time to show the boys how to use their wings. It's harder than it looks. Abel isn't okay with jumping off from anywhere unless Cain is going to jump with him. Fine with his brother because he enjoys doing this. Eventually, they're able to fly and it's a joy! They can fly around Heaven with you and Adam and it's absolutely adorable.

Cain and Abel have different ways to refer to you and Adam. Cain calls Adam 'dad' or 'papa' but does call him 'father' when he's upset or serious. Meanwhile, he calls you 'mama', 'mommy', or 'mom' (mom is more frequent when around others or strangers) and it's rare when he calls you mother. Abel just calls you two mama and papa. He'll only use mother and father if he's around people he doesn't know or meeting for the first time.

I have more thoughts about these little beans such as how they are around Lute (#1 and only Babysitter), Emily (Abel affectionately calls her Auntie Em), Sera and possibly Lucifer and Charlie (because you can't tell me Adam would not brag about having kids 💀). Like, I can see Cain being brutally honest when he first sees Lucifer because he's that type of kid. Will 100% make a comment about the man's height. There's also the fact that both boys are into music like their father. Abel once asked, "So if that's Queen, then who's the King?" when Adam tells them about Queen. Also, I can very much see Cain getting into gardening. If you want more of these then let me know!

[koolades-world]

Hellooo! I've been thinking about this for so long. Can you write the demon bros with a little sister reader ( around the teenage year maybe)? She's the 8th of the family. I think it would be really cute since she's the only girl in the family. Everyone will be protective of her and love her so much that Lucifer will have a soft spot for her even though she likes to annoy him. And what if she and Mammon are so close that they would together annoy Lucifer? Then Satan would be her tutor and Asmo would do a self-care routine with her. Okay, I think I'm babbling too much but that's it.

hello! yes haha this is such a cute idea. i have so many ideas!!

i did say sister in the title since it was requested, but it could also be read as gn or male!

enjoy <3

Demons brothers with a younger sister reader

you are lucifer's unspoken favorite! he'll invite you to eat lunch with himself, diavolo and barbatos from time to time, and the way he glows when you're around is so obvious to the other two, almost so that they feel like they're intruding on your moment

anytime you basically waltz into his room while he's working for whatever reason, he won't mind

you're the baby of the family, and he'd do anything for you, and you both know it

oh i just know mammon would SPOILLL you

i can already imagine all of the shopping days together simply because he wanted to treat you

he really really enjoys being your older brother and just loves you in general. he melts when you turn to him for everything, big and small, and he knows even the biggest of fights would never keep you apart

you can count on levi buying you any game you'd ever wished for, and of course he's going to either play them with you or be by your side while you do

don't worry, he'll always be there to back you up and if there's ever anyone bothering you in game, he'll steamroll them for you <3

he knows how hard talking about things can be, so if you ever need, his room is open if you need to catch your breath and relax

for anything school related, satan is the brother you can go to, and he hopes it's very clear

whether it's homework help or there's some pushy demons on your back for whatever reason, he's got your back

he's always looking out for you, even in the most unlikely of places. if you ever find that pencil you thought you lost last week on your desk, or a snack you were seriously craving is sitting on your bed when you get back from RAD, you might find satan in the background somewhere with a small smile <3

asmo is your number one fan! anytime, anywhere, he’ll be there to support and cheer you on

fashion emergency? no worries! he's got you covered no matter what. he's always carrying everything he things you might need and if he doesn't for whatever reason, he will find a way to get it for you

omg self care nights together <33 i can totally picture the two of you sitting on his bed together with face masks on and animatedly talking about your love lives together haha

if you thought lucifer was protective, wait until you see beel. he's not one to jump to conclusions, but if he even thinks someone is bothering you, he will bring it up with you and make sure you're alright

lots of late night snack runs together! he knows your favorite snacks at your favorite stores, so if you're too tired to go, he'll go and get it for you

when he gets back, the two of you secretly munch away together, occasionally joined by belphie

belphie might still act like he’s the youngest, but he’s fiercely protective of you just like his twin

so many sibling squabbles haha. the ones where you’re screaming at each other and then ten minutes later, you’re best friends again are the most common

together, you often team up to plead with lucifer for whatever you might want that day. he can’t resist two sets of puppy dog eyes at the same time haha

[fandomfluffandfuck]

Does anyone else remember that older textpost (that maybe I'm misremembering or making up, lmao) where a woman told a story about being hit on at her gym by a guy that basically looked like Thor, but once she turned him down on account of being a lesbian, he easily shrugged it off and set her up with his sister instead?

Okay, hear me out, that but with a stucky twist because *gestures broadly at the content of my blog* yeah.

Can you imagine Steve at his regular gym--lean and ripped as ever, looking absolutely unreal, an Adonis in sweats and dri-fit shirts--taking notice of a woman, Becca Barnes, and tentatively approaching her?

He's aware of his size, and he knows they're in a gym, and it's not exactly appropriate to flirt when people are just trying to get through their workouts in peace, but... she's very pretty, and the few times she's brought a friend to workout alongside her, her laugh is great. He would like to get to know her, hear that laugh more. So, he gently approaches her.

When she turns him down, telling him she's not just not interested in him but not interested in men at all, he's disappointed but already backing off until--

The woman (she gives him her name, Becca) cracks a joke about how today's actually his lucky day because this is rejection without rejection. Steve is confused until she tells him she's a twin. He's actually still confused then, so she has to keep explaining... and, as it turns out, the queerness is strong within the Barnes' twins because her brother, Bucky, is gay.

Gay and Steve is, apparently, totally his type.

Becca muses out loud to Steve that she's been trying to drag him out to the gym with her for a few months, but so far, he's resisted. Her lips quirk into a funny grin, buuuut she's pretty sure she's close to convincing him. Really, he'll probably come the next time she does, say, on Wednesday around 6:45pm after she gets off work..?

Steve just blinks at her, not understanding until she winks at him, then, it hits him like a frying pan.

Oh.

He's being set up.

He's not being called a creep like he was afraid of for taking notice of someone at the gym while they get sweaty and buff and are clothed in tight athletic wear, instead he's, he's being set up. Rewarded, even.

"Did I break your brain there, bud?" Becca chuckles politely at him. She frowns after a minute, "or, uh, it's okay, if you're not into, y'know, that. Guys. Whatever, I didn't think about that because I'm--"

"N-no, I," Steve stutters, "I..." he trails off, thinking about Becca's blue eyes and cleft chin and shiny hair and how pretty she is and how pretty men are, too, and, "I'll be here then," he promises hoarsely.

"Good," Becca grins like she knows exactly what he's thinking.

And actually, now that they're standing toe-to-toe, she really reminds him of Natasha. That smile, sharp and gorgeous. Maybe... maybe he should bring a gym buddy on Wednesday, too, then? It's only fair, right?

[heliads]

because I'm in the mood for Pain could i request a nikolai fanfic with a grisha reader. they were childhood friends, but then one day reader was captured by fjerda and after they find the cure for parem they come back to ravka and don't think they're good enough for nikolai because they were too weak to resist the drug. i hope you're having a lovely day!

'only in my dreams ' - nikolai lantsov

masterlist

There’s an old saying, one that’s been tossed around by generations of practitioners of the Small Science and otkazat’sya alike, one that you’ve heard since you were small and keep hearing as you get older. There’s no good place to be a Grisha. It’s been used as a weapon and an assurance at times, a claim that you don’t belong and a reminder that life doesn’t really get better, so you might as well enjoy who you are wherever you are.

Right now, though, it just feels all too real. When you were a child growing up in the middle of nowhere in the Ravkan countryside, no one trusted a Grisha. When you were brought to Os Alta to train in the Little Palace, the glimmering city didn’t feel like a home either, just a place where you would be brought up to fight in someone else’s wars. You could go anywhere you want, but it would never quite be enough. You find your home in people you trust, but no place will ever want a witch.

And, rotting in a Fjerdan cell, you think it’s especially true now. You pity the Grisha who were born in Fjerda, and wonder how they would have managed to grow up in a country whose own army was dedicated to the cause of hunting them down. It wasn’t all that great to grow up empowered in Ravka, either, but at least there was somewhere for you to go once you were discovered, and that was the Little Palace. In Fjerda, the only place that newly discovered Grisha go is the grave.

That, or the cells, and right now you’re wishing that you were six feet under instead of here right now. Other than wanting them dead, the Fjerdan government seems fascinated by just how Grisha work. They’ve managed to get their hands on jurda parem, and you’re a part of their latest batch of test subjects.

You last received the drug a few days ago, and already the debilitating ache of withdrawal is starting to press against your bones, tearing against your sinews and skin until all you can think of is when you last had it and where you could get some more. The Fjerdan scientists are single-minded in their approach to treating Grisha with parem; exact doses are carefully measured out and only delivered in the precise windows of time that they desire. Once medicated, the captive Grisha will have their hands unchained for slim opportunities to practice their gift, most likely to build or destroy or torture other captives as directed by the Fjerdan guards.

Eventually, the parem will wear off, and then you’ll be back to where you are right now:  curled into a corner of your freezing cell, desperate for warmth or parem or anything more than this heavy, never-ending horror.

You used to be more than this, you know. You used to be a proper Grisha, one who could never imagine themselves as you are now, exhausted and starving and addicted to a drug no one even knew existed until just a short time ago. You had been brought to Os Alta when you were quite young, so for the most part, the Little Palace was the only life you had ever really known.

And what a life it had been; your mind drained by the constant tests of parem, you slip into a dreamy half-sleep, letting the memories cloud your consciousness so you don’t have to think about whatever horrors await you.

Os Alta had been beautiful. Ravka has been a struggling country for quite some time, and will likely go on eking out its days one by one for quite some time, but the royal family spared no expense on its capital city. Even the Little Palace, the smaller and humbler variant of the Grand Palace, was intricate and masterful, a testament to the artistic prowess of the Ravkan people when its creators went long enough without hunger pangs to focus on their craft.

You can almost imagine you’re there if you close your eyes. The sensations come back to you as if in a dream:  the rustle of your kefta as you walk, the smooth edges of the cobblestones where they’d been worn down by hundreds of feet, the sharp voices of your tutors, the thrill in your veins as you used your powers. You can still remember when it had been a joyous thing to use your powers uncorrupted by parem. Now, every tug to the making at the heart of the world feels like a betrayal of your own people, a sick and terrible thing that should not be practiced by any living thing.

You turn your mind away from that harsh reality, opting instead to remember the good days, the golden memories when the worst thing you could imagine was doing badly in one of Botkin’s training sessions. Since you’d been at the Little Palace since you were small, you had plenty of friends across the branches of the Small Science, plus one extra boy whose eyes used to shine like sunlight off of the True Sea. He wasn’t a Grisha though. He was–

He was a prince.

Nikolai Lantsov wasn’t supposed to visit the Little Palace. Truth be told, he wasn’t supposed to leave the Grand Palace at all except when instructed by the king and queen or one of his tutors. However, the young prince didn’t seem to care for rules, and rare was the day when he wasn’t sneaking off to pass days by his own volition. More often than not, his errant path brought Nikolai to you.

The two of you had been friends for years. Never mind the fact that a friendship between a Grisha and a prince would be strictly forbidden, no one ever caught on and the two of you were quite obliged to keep it that way. Nikolai was brilliant in mind and spirit. When you think about the happiest you’d ever been, the days you wished could stretch on forever, it’s the time you spent with Nikolai that was the best of all. Sometimes, you snuck him an extra kefta and the two of you would explore the Little Palace, or you’d run around the countryside surrounding Os Alta. You’d swap stories and little trinkets or gifts, and you’d smile like everything was alright, because when you were with Nikolai, it was.

Then he got older, and you did too. Nikolai stopped being able to visit you as often. You grew through the ranks of the Grisha, and were sent on missions with increasing frequency. Sometimes, you’d be away from Os Alta for months at a time, and only come back to find out that Nikolai had just left on a similar errand. Your paths started diverging, and even though every time you saw him, it was like the days hadn’t passed at all, both of you had growing up to do, and unfortunately, that didn’t involve each other.

You still held out hope that maybe he would become king and find a way to loop you back into his busy days. Just recently, he had returned from his years at school (and, as the rumor has it, at sea), and you had hoped that maybe you’d be able to spend more time together. All you had was one more mission, then you’d be back in Ravka for many months. Surely you could use that time.

The Fates didn’t seem keen on that happy of an ending for you, however. Your mission went awry. Fjerdans intercepted your group. You distracted the enemy soldiers long enough for the rest of your party to get away, but you were captured and brought back to Fjerda. You had assumed you’d be killed, but instead, you were sent to their experimental division and given your first dose of parem.

So the angels fall. Now, the idea that you could be remotely close to a prince’s best friend is laughable. If you could see him now, you have no doubt that he would still be the same golden, glorious boy he had always been, now imbued with the confidence of years wearing the crown. By contrast, you are huddled in a cell, your powers harshly amplified by the corrupting influence of jurda parem.

No, Nikolai Lantsov certainly wouldn’t want you now. The only way you can have him still is in your dreams, those beautiful fragments of imagination in which both of you are still young and blameless. He hasn’t fled Os Alta for a false name and a life at sea. You haven’t been captured and forced to undergo cruel tests. Both of you are happy and whole, and nothing bad has ever happened to either of you. What a dream indeed. 

A dream, but dreams are all you have. The dream of being back with Nikolai is a good one. So, too, is the dream that someone will come to take you out of this place. You’ve had this one many times before, and it slips over you like sleep. It would happen quickly, the break-out. The Fjerdan guards would shout in surprise, then be quickly silenced. You’d hear the rattle of fast footsteps, and the door to your cell would fly open. All doors would be open, and all Grisha would live. You’d run far away, to a place that would finally want you again. All would be well.

You’re comfortable with it, not bothering to open your eyes lest you lose track of the dream. Only– maybe the parem is still lingering in your system, because you swear the faux sounds of fighters are louder than they usually are in the dreams. It’s not real, but the shouts do seem real, don’t they?

It’s not real. After all, parem has a way of messing with your mind. Many times during your captivity, you’ve thought you’d seen someone from home only to realize differently during the cloudiness of withdrawal. This is the same as that.

However, when the door to your cell clangs open, you feel the reverberations through your skin and bones, something that never happens when the Fjerdans come to get you. Your eyelids fly open and you scramble back against the wall, watching with terrified eyes as soldiers hurry to you. One’s in Ravkan fatigues, but the other is a Healer in a red kefta.

“You’re not real,” you grit out, teeth pressed together.

She shakes her head sympathetically. “I am, my friend. We’ve broken you out at last. Here, I have the cure.”

She holds out a syringe pre-loaded with some sort of substance. You snap back when you see it, too familiar with Fjerdan tricks of trying to inject you with different medicines. “Don’t you dare get that near me. I know what you do.”

The Healer jerks her chin towards you. “Hold her,” she says to the soldier.

You scream, a high, drawn-out sound, and do your best to fight, but your captivity has left you frail, and he’s able to subdue you after minor effort. The Healer pushes the needle into your veins, and you wait for something terrible to happen, another grievous experiment to begin in your body, but the strangest thing happens:  you feel better.

You stare up at the Healer. Your mind feels clearer than it has in days, and, impossibly, you can feel your strength returning. “What is that?”

“A cure to jurda parem,” the Healer tells you. “Sincerest apologies that it’s taken this long to get to you.”

You’re guided out into the corridor, where you join the former occupants of the surrounding cells. All of you regard your rescuers and each other with the same incredulity and faint excitement. Is this really it? Are you finally out?

The ride back to Ravka should be long, but it feels as if it’s over in the blink of an eye. Several times, the rescue party stops at safe houses along the way, giving all of you opportunities to wash up, get new, warm clothes, and eat and drink to fix the gnaw of hunger that clings to all of you. By the time the gates of Os Alta swing wide to admit you, you’re almost feeling normal again.

Almost.

The torment of your time in the Fjerdan cells will stick with you forever, and the awful memories of what it had been like to be under the influence of jurda parem. However, the Healer’s cure worked well. When you try to use your abilities, they work the same as they had before the awful drug was first administered to you. By all accounts, you’re back to normal, even if your mind doesn’t entirely feel that way.

The driver calls to your group that you’ll be arriving outside the Little Palace shortly. “King Nikolai will be there to greet you,” he announces over his shoulder.

Excited whispers surround this, and you can’t help but listen in intently. “Nikolai Lantsov will be there?” One girl giggles by your side.

Another smiles in encouragement. “They say he’s been observing each coach that brings back rescued Grisha from Fjerda. It’s like he’s looking for someone. Maybe an old friend?”

You feel your stomach chill, the warm delight of rescue starting to cool off again. You have no doubt that you’re the one Nikolai is looking for; he had told you many times that you were his favorite Grisha by far, even when he was briefly engaged to the Sun Summoner for purely political reasons, but you find yourself hoping he doesn’t find you when you get out of your coach.

It’s not that you don’t want to see him, you do– the idea of being with Nikolai again had sustained you through your time in the Fjerdan cells better even than food or drink, but the fact remains that you are no longer as you were in your memories. You are no longer someone that a king would care to see. More so than just your weakened frame, your disorganized mind– you were captured on a mission, and you succumbed to jurda parem. In the back of your mind, a cruel voice whispers, pathetic. Nikolai will be spending his time with the finest diplomats, the noblest princes and princesses. He will not want a Grisha who could not hold out against a drug.

You gather your borrowed cloak about you, pulling the hood down over your face. It’s a size or two too large for you, by virtue of it belonging to someone else, and right now you’re glad for the extra fabric to disguise you. Nikolai is looking for a ghost, and probably out of necessity. He’ll likely be relieved that he won’t have to handle you like a difficult situation.

The coach pulls to a stop. Many rescued Grisha are crammed inside, so you blend into the crowd as you all pour out. Other Grisha from the Fjerdan prison are there already. It’s easy to slip amongst their ranks, keeping your head down. Nikolai is there in front of you as promised. His head is tilted up slightly, his gaze sweeping row after row of visitors. Maybe he isn’t even looking for you at all.

Then, his eyes catch yours briefly. Immediately, you look away, and start backing through the crowds again, trying to lose his gaze. When you feel it’s safe to look again, you breathe out quiet relief when you notice that he’s still scanning the crowd where you had been. Lost him. It’s a victory, but it’s an awful pain nonetheless.

Once everyone has arrived, Nikolai says a few kind words about how he’s glad everyone has returned home and how apologetic he is about the time it took to get you all back. No one seems to hold it against him, though, and how could you? He rescued you in the end, and managed to get you the cure to jurda parem to boot. It’s a fine success if you’ve ever seen one.

Nikolai releases you to the Little Palace to rest. Grisha stream past Nikolai, but he doesn’t stop to talk to any of them, looking again for someone. For you, maybe. You pull the hood down low again. If you move quickly, maybe he’ll miss you. You give him a wide berth, keeping your eyes low. You’ve almost made it to the edge of the courtyard when you feel a hand rest on your arm, carefully pulling you to a stop.

You don’t look up, not at first. You don’t have to look to know who it is. You’ve known Nikolai for years. You would know how he walks, the precise pattern of his boots against the cobblestones. You would know how the breath hitches in his throat when you’re reunited after too long a separation. You would know how his hand feels on you. You’ve dreamed of it a thousand times, but this isn’t a dream anymore, this is real.

“Excuse me, moi tsar,” you whisper. Maybe he doesn’t know it’s you yet. Maybe you can still escape with your dignity intact.

Any hope you had of avoiding recognition vanishes in an instant when Nikolai murmurs, “Y/N,” in such a desperate voice that you feel you could hardly move if you tried.

You stand still. A strong wind could blow you over, maybe. You watch the ground as Nikolai’s boots cross the ground to stand in front of you. His other hand rises to brush your hood back from your face. A gasp is ripped from his lungs as he takes in the sight of you.

“I look that bad, then, do I?” You can’t help but laugh quietly. It’s a bitter sound. You used to sound happier when you laughed with him, you think. A lot has changed.

Nikolai’s hand leaves your hood, drifting to your face. He raises your chin with a soft finger until you’re looking him in the eyes again. “Not to me,” he says, voice hardly louder than a whisper. “I’ve always thought you were beautiful.”

A quiet scoff escapes you. “I have been a prisoner of Fjerda for months, moi tsar. I doubt that was conducive to beauty.”

“You’d be surprised,” he tells you. Then, a bit more insistent, “You don’t need to refer to me with a title, Y/N. You didn’t when we were little.”

“I didn’t know better,” you say. It’s not quite true, and he knows it.

“Don’t say that,” Nikolai pleads. “We were friends, excellent friends. Now we’re older and you’re avoiding me. Why?”

You look away again. “Don’t ask me that,” you say with a laugh. You meant it to be a joke, but it comes out as a plea.

“I will,” he insists. “I have always been stubborn, you know that about me. Stubborn enough to search every single Fjerdan prison my spies could find when you went missing. Stubborn enough to stand here and wait in the cold until I could find you. And certainly stubborn enough to wait here with you until you tell me why I’m no longer good enough for you.”

This, at last, is enough to make your eyes fly to him. “That’s not true,” you insist hotly. “Quite the opposite, in fact. You’re a king and I’m a Grisha. And a Grisha that couldn’t even withstand jurda parem, to be specific. Saints, you win wars and I lost the first one that ever came to me. If there is anyone that has ever been insufficient, it would be me.”

The hand on your arm slips down to your fingers, and Nikolai squeezes once, twice. A heartbeat. A prayer. “You have never been insufficient to me,” he tells you. You make some sound of disagreement and he repeats it, insistent as ever. “No, you listen. You aren’t. Jurda parem is notorious for the pain it causes. You think you lost the war? The fact that you’re still alive in front of me tells me that you won it. Every day since you went missing, I woke up and went to bed terrified that you were dead and I would never know. I need you, sweetheart, and I need you to stop punishing yourself for something that wasn’t your fault.”

You stay quiet for a while, letting the words turn over in your mind, then, impulsively, you ask, “Sweetheart?”

He grins, easy as always. “It fits you. Don’t argue with me, I’ve had plenty of arguments prepared to convince you otherwise.”

You laugh, and this time, it’s real. “I wouldn’t dare, then. I just would have thought that you’d have plenty of princesses who would have won that nickname for real by now.”

Unable to stop yourself, you cast a glance towards his left hand. No ring. When you look back up at Nikolai, he’s beaming. “No queen for me, I’m afraid. I was waiting for mine to return from captivity.”

You roll your eyes. “Still haven’t given up on that, have you? I seem to remember you trying and failing to convince me to marry you since we were six.”

Nikolai grins, slipping your arm inside his so he can guide you back to the Little Palace. “I will never give up. Not until you say yes.”

You laugh again, shaking your head in mock disbelief. It’s been a while since you saw him. It’s been a while since he asked. If he were to do it again, you think you might have a different answer than when you were both so small. 

Nikolai turns to look at you, his eyes shining. He’s always had a gift for knowing what’s on your mind, and judging by the light in his smile, you think he’s predicted your thoughts yet again. He’s got some time before he attempts another proposal. This time, though, he’ll have a better outcome than before.

grishaverse tag list: @rogueanschel, @deadreaderssociety, @cameronsails, @mxltifxnd0m, @story-scribbler, @retvenkos, @mayfieldss, @eclliipsed, @gods-fools-heroes, @bl606dy, @auggie2000, @baju69, @crazyhearttragedy, @aoi-targaryen, @budugu

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[gophergal]

Y'all know I can't resist r63 so behold! Women (and Pyro)

Bonus doodles (including femHeavyMedic and some commentary) under the cut!

Solly has a mullet, here's a better view of that without her headband

Obligatory HeavyMedic, feat oblivious sapphic Heavy and gremlin lesbian Medic

Demowoman taking a snooze

Notes:

Medic looks kinda like Miss Pauling and I didn't realize that until the HeavyMedic doodle. Damn. Oh well I'm not changing the design she's just going to look like an older evil Miss P

Pyro is the same as always, the only difference that they're obsessed with Dinosaurs and the team started out defaulting to "she/her" for them

Scout's necklace is a locket with a single, blurry, worn photo of her mom in it. She would never be able to identify Spy using it, but it means a lot to her

In the specific AU(s) I have in my brain, the only characters who've been swapped are the Mercs and anyone who would need to be swapped for the sake of keeping the logic consistent. So, Scout's Ma is her dad here and Heavy is the oldest of four sisters. However, Miss Pauling is still a woman. I have a specific reason that boils down to "it's funnier"

[browneyesandhair]

Non-Exhaustive List of Soulmate Fics: Klaroline Pt 1

Okay, I'm bored so I'm compiling my favorite soulmate fics. Here's the Klaroline edition:

Runaway by Cupcakemolotov

Summary:

Caroline has been running from her soul mate since she found him standing over her father’s corpse.

Hunt You Slow by Cupcakemolotov

Summary:

Discovering that the scourge of the supernatural was her soulmate would be enough to send any girl running.

At Horizon's Edge by Cupcakemolotov

Summary:

Sometimes when a girl goes on a shopping trip to pick up a new pair of boots at the local, and somewhat hostile, human space station, she accidentally aids and abets a prison break instead. What happens in the black really doesn't stay in the black.

The Howling by Cupcakemolotov

Summary:

Caroline's day goes from bad to worse to insane in a matter of moments.

Written On Your Skin by LaLainaJ

Summary:

It's a rather boring day, at the flower shop Caroline owns. And then The Original Hybrid walks in, and changes her life by uttering a few small words. They're words Caroline knows, words she sees on her skin, every day in the mirror. She's thought about her soulmate, who wouldn't have? But he's the last thing she ever would have expected, and the last person she should want. But she can't quite bring herself to deny their connection.

The Air We Breathe by slstmaraudersjple

Summary:

When Caroline learns that her soulmate is the thousand year old Original Hybrid, she cries, because she knows her world is ending. When Klaus learns that his soulmate is a baby vampire, he is intrigued, because he has waited his entire life for her. Soulmates AU.

Even When We're Ghosts by LaLainaJ

Summary:

He'd just been planning to collect his doppelganger, hadn't anticipated such strong resistance. Now, trapped in his wolf form, until he meets his soulmate, Klaus seeks alternative solutions. He doesn't believe in soulmates. Until Caroline Forbes crosses his path. Caroline thinks she's hallucinating (note to self, don't accept moonshine from old ladies) until her life starts getting... weird. The Mikaelsons aren't great at subtle.

the fate makes for a lousy poet. by for_darkness_shows_the_stars

Summary:

It is not unheard of. Soulmates born too far apart to ever meet. Caroline did her research thoroughly. It’s just rare. And for all that she’d known her entire life that her fated other half was dead long, long before she was even a gleam in her mother’s eye … it’s unfair. . Everyone is born with a soulmate. It just so happens that a millennium divides Caroline from hers.

I Wish I Was (I Wish I Was) by dressedupasmyself

Summary:

“I think that even if you find your soulmate, there’s some measure of choice involved. Maybe some people just make the wrong choices.” “Good,” Caroline said. “What if my soulmate is, like, the worst? I wouldn’t want to be stuck with him forever. I want some kind of choice.” “But that’s the beauty of it,” Elena sounded wistful, “Your soulmate might be awful to everyone else, but they’re the best for you.” Caroline scoffed. “Okay, whatever.”

Passing Notes in Secrecy by perfectpro

Summary:

Caroline doesn’t remember not having a soulmate. Her mom says that the drawings started when she was small, just a baby. So he’s clearly older than her. She doesn’t mind, thinks that it will probably be nice to be with someone who has a little more life experience. She thinks she's one of the lucky ones.

The Raven Hunter by LynyrdLionheart

Summary:

There is a killer hunting frat boys on campus. The Raven Hunter is a terrible name... not that Caroline has a reason to care or anything.

a part of something that’s bigger (than me) by Issay

Summary:

In the beginning she's a plaything, the mean girl brought low, made and unmade by decisions of others and Caroline never receives apologies for most of it. Elena fights for her happy ending and through all of her losses and dark despair she is never alone. Bonnie wins her freedom, powerful in her own right. Caroline is left with uncertainty and obligations. No, the story isn't kind to Caroline. So let's change the story.

oh there you are (i've been looking for you) by breakfasttako

Summary:

Caroline was born a fated one, which means two things: 1) She has a soulmate 2) She's going to die tragically young

What's a Little Ink? by Writerwithagoal

Summary:

What would you get as a tattoo if you knew it would appear on your soulmate?

Hallowed Ground by KiryTheStitchWitch

Summary:

Caroline's trip to Ireland was not going the way it was supposed to. She was expecting stories and myths, and instead finds that some legends are a lot more real than she could have imagined. And hot. Really hot.

Inadvisable by MissNMikaelsonSummary:Everyone has soul words. The first thing your soulmate will ever say etched somewhere on your body. Caroline always dreaded meeting hers. She had never imagined this though; she had never imagined him. He had all but given up. Just a one shot for one of my favorite pairings.

Midnattsol by BelleMorte180

Summary:

The man laying before her was her soulmate, someone who should have died a thousand years ago. Written for AU-Season week three

Ship of Bones by Cupcakemolotov

Summary:

When humanity struggles to maintain its racial identity in the cold reaches of space, Caroline Forbes has hidden the gifts her alien mother left her. But secrets aren't secrets forever.

Familiar Taste of Poison by Cupcakemolotov

Summary:

A great love isn't always a blessing.

Holding Out for a Hero by slstmaraudersjple

Summary:

Klaus would totally be able to focus on his plans for world domination… if only his soulmate would stop singing that thrice-damned song. But then there's silence, and Klaus grows worried. Soulmate AU where songs that one’s soulmate sings gets stuck in one’s head. CW/TW: descriptions of Caroline being abused by Damon but nothing graphic/explicit.

[whathorselegs]

Between my recent skk emotional hurt/comfort fic and my older one, its got me thinking about the differences and similarities in how I depict Dazai and Chuuya's depressive episodes.

The similarities would be that, they both try to hide it and are both quiet when struggling with their mental health. They don't reach out for help. Chuuya doesn't because he views it as a sign of weakness, he can't afford to show within the mafia, he's an Exec, he has to be strong. He'll tell himself he needs to toughen up and push through it. Dazai doesn't because he convinces himself through his self-destructive tendencies and self-loathing that he doesn't deserve help. He allows himself to spiral because he can't bare the shame of being a burden to someone else.

And the differences are how they react physically to their depressive episodes.

In a way Dazai deflates. He's so exhausted because he starts to deny himself the things he needs to function and engaging in more self destructive behaviours, until it leaves him at the point where he can't get back up. He lays down and just goes numb. Dazai experiences almost a conscious coma where his mind his still running, telling him awful things, but he just can not move his body and if he's left like that he'll just keep getting worse. I think in the beginning stages, it often gets mistaken for him being lazy, but he's not, Dazai's genuinely exhausted and can't perform simple tasks when his mind gets that bad.

As for Chuuya he goes tense. Literally, he'll be on edge and agitated, because he'll refuse to give in to how tired his body feels. His depressive episodes, to me, constantly fire his flight or fight responses until he gets so wound up he's scared relaxing will break him apart completely. In both fics I wrote Chuuya getting to the point where he's literally curled up a fetal position completely tense because he can't let his body relax. He's got nothing to fight, nowhere to run, so he goes defensive and makes himself as small as possible to avoid the threat. But the threat's himself, so he can't escape it.

It also effects how I write them helping each other through their depressive episodes too. Dazai gives Chuuya the space to safely fall apart and Chuuya helps pull Dazai back together again.

They're both gentle, yet forceful about it, because they know their partner will resist the help before giving in, but they know what each other needs to get back on track. Or they do when they're older anyways, they stumbled through it when they were younger because they'd both think, "Well, what would I want in this situation? To be left alone." and that's not an option they are comfortable with, so until they learned what each other needed, they clumsily tried to help each other with little tact.

However, eventually Dazai recognizes Chuuya needs someone to tell him "It's okay, whatever it is, you can let go now." he needs that reliability, someone to be the protector, the stable one, so he can safely fall apart for a while. Whereas Chuuya knows Dazai needs some one to literally (and figuratively) pick him up off the floor and help him with preforming the basic acts of self-care so he can start to feel more like himself again.