#don't ask how many hours the bottles alone took

[malereadermaniac]

Boyfriend Experience - Rodrick x Male reader

Long-form(ish) headcannons for dating Rodrick; from the start of it to the smut of it Top!Rodrick x Bottom!Reader word count: 1k Nsfw / MDNI ~ amab m!reader / FDNI

The first time he really paid you any mind was at his party. As more and more people left, everyone kinda chilled out and decided on playing a big game of spin the bottle with a dare twist. As the only openly gay guy out of the many players, of course your dare had something to do with a guy; drunk young adults are constantly horny, so makes sense. Rodrick really took notice of you when you were made to sit on his lap for the (long) remainder of the game; and as to avoid any awkwardness, you two made quite a bit of conversation as other people kept doing dares. And after only really talking for half an hour, when the bottle landed on Rodrick, the two of you were dared to kiss - which you did do. And you both enjoyed it.

Rodrick started to crush on you after that party, he'd already debated whether or not he was straight, that experience with you just confirmed it for him really. You also started to crush on the man, who wouldn't though? He's a pretty hot guy and in a band as the drummer! Smash. However, a problem that arose very quickly into the talking stage was that Rodrick did NOT KNOW HOW TO FLIRT. It's not exactly that he didn't have the confidence to try, Rodrick was more than happy to to make many moves on you, they were all just a little awkward or corny - but you couldn't help but find that shit cute. The rocker would always walk you to classes and act as if your class was on his way, even though he wasn't even in your building. And when you'd ask him about it, Rodrick would take the opportunity to more blatantly flirt, but whatever words would come out of his mouth would always make you laugh rather than blush... "I go outta my way for ya 'cause a face like that is worth a thousand words~" "Haha... that doesn't even make sense" Rodrick's flirting did seriously improve after the two of you started dating; or maybe you're just seeing it through rose-coloured glasses. The man's flirts are still dorky or stupid but they tend to make more sense now; plus, Rodrick prefers to show his affection via physical touch anyways. You two will be at a party and your emo-of-a-boyfriend will already be hugging onto your waist and pulling you onto his lap; his arms snug around your waist, with either his head resting on your shoulder or your arms around his neck 'for balance'.

Rodrick's ego get's a ridiculous boost whenever you come over and watch his band practice, getting very excited on the inside but never letting it show (or at least he thinks he isn't letting it show...). But you don't complain, you have to admit that watching your boyfriend go ham on some drums while looking all cool and hot wasn't something you hated. It also makes your heart skip a beat when the drummer glimpses up at you as he beats the shit out of his drums, sneaking in a wink and a smirk, then going back to whatever loud ass song he was playing.

Contrary to popular belief, Rodrick is not some sex-god! Bro was a virgin before you! Sure, his confidence did fool quite a few people (you included), but confidence alone doesn't necessarily mean you pull... In fact, your boyfriend was such a virgin, that he had to wikihow tips on sex in the lead up to asking you to fuck! That being said though, after the first couple of nights together, where you mostly had to teach your boyfriend the ropes and be patient, Rodrick really got the hang of it! Like, really well, too well! His love for physical touch crosses over into intimate moments between you two, so expect many kisses along your body, fingers gliding over your skin, soft bites, a tight hold on your waist or hips or thigh. Oh and once Rodrick really gained some confidence when having sex with you? That's when your boyfriend became a fucking man, talking you through it like a pro; praising you, holding your leg up onto his built shoulder as he slowly thrusts into you, lowly singing you praises and chanting your name through his panting - holy shit this man knows how to get you off!

It's quite funny that Rodrick's mum really likes you. She finds that you're his only friend that's a good influence, meaning that Rodrick can do whatever he wants as long as he mentions you being there! You're also the only friend allowed to sleep round his; that being hilarious, because you're the only friend which Rodrick is fucking every other night. You're boyfriend's mum is blissfully unaware of you and her son doing ungodly things under her roof, and it's kind of a turn on for the both of you... Rodrick will be fingering you whilst shouting a 'goodnight' to his parents like it's nothing! Turning back around to you and giving you a small smirk and a 'shush', 'cause you wouldn't want his parents to hear you? Would you? You wouldn't want them to know how loose Rodrick gets you, you wouldn't want them to hear your hole making phallic sound of squelching, or to hear your pants and moans of their son's name. But that goes both ways! Rodrick would die if his parents heard his moaning and groaning of your name, if they saw his disheveled look as his fingers curled into your hair whilst you sucked his dick ever so nicely.

Cute little bonus: Rodrick gets suuuuuper jealous but doesn't know how to really express that... Which usually just leads to the man being a little emo in public and trying to show off! Emphasising the tiny height difference between you two by resting his head on your shoulder, wrapping his arms around your waist, and even flexing his muscles; Rodrick pulls out all the stops in order to show off, in aims to get any small compliment from you so that he'll feel less jealous and inferior. In private though, his jealousy does come out a little more, your boyfriend becoming a soppy mess about some guy flirting with you; but don't worry, Rodrick's jealousy turns into horniness real quick!

[ckret2]

Chapter 48 of human Bill Cipher slowly dying inside for 24 hours straight with no signs of stopping anytime soon:

The Eclipse: Part 6

Over a month since his death and after nearly 50 chapters, at long last, the moment you've all been waiting for:

Bill has a complete physical and mental breakdown.

Unfortunately there's only one person available to deal with it.

They landed near where they'd camped last night. While the Pines climbed out, Bill stared at the sharp gray rocks beneath the cliff. The blood was gone. It took him a moment to process that Ford was speaking: "We can pack our tents, return Tate's boat, and borrow a phone to call Stanley for a ride."

Bill numbly climbed onto land.

Their tents were in disarray, but more or less where they'd left them the night before. While Ford and Dipper dealt with the largest tent and cleaned up the campsite, Bill methodically attempted to fold up the tent he'd slept in.

He couldn't make sense of it. There were too many plastic rods with too many little joints and too many fabric flaps, he couldn't parse the geometry of it. This should be easy, he'd watched Dipper assemble the tent last night, how hard could it be to do the same in reverse?

But it wasn't working. His hands were shaking. The joints were bending wrong, the joints were bending in directions that shouldn't exist, in impossible dimensions, shrinking and expanding perversely as they twisted in alien foreshortening—

Bill let out a gasp so loud and sharp that Ford and Dipper immediately whipped around to face him. Ford asked, "What is it?"

Bill couldn't speak. He just stared down at his awful human legs.

"Bill?"

Voice very far away—but impressively calm and flat—Bill said, "I have to sit down."

"Why? What happened?"

"My legs aren't working. I can't feel them."

His knees buckled. He tried to grip them to keep them straight, but found only one arm responded. "And—my left arm." He dropped to his knees in the mud.

And suddenly he was the center of attention, two humans moving around him in a dizzying flurry, all grotesque limbs and fabric: "Hey, are you okay?" "What happened? Are you injured?" "Think we should get help?" "Maybe he needs food—"

Too much. He closed his eyes, but there were still fingers on his arm and shoulders and back. He swatted at them with his functioning hand. "Don't touch me don't touch me DON'T TOUCH ME!" His shriek startled the birds from a nearby tree. He attempted to bite somebody, he wasn't sure who—this was what he'd been reduced to, no legs, no strength, no power, he couldn't even protect himself from being touched, all he had left was his teeth—but he misjudged the distance and bit only air. But it was enough to make the humans back off, shrinking into the distance.

"Don't touch me. Stop trying to move me. Don't ask me why I can't move. I don't know. This—this—" he gestured frantically at his body. He was moving too fast, talking too fast. "This—corpse—human body—is stupid. It's just being stupid! I need to sit. Leave me alone, I need to sit. I need to sit, and—look at nothing, and breathe." He was talking far too fast, breathing too fast. "I need it so much. Go away."

No matter how hard Bill tried to imagine the humans spontaneously ceasing to exist, they did not go away. Ford knelt in front of him, studying his face. "Try to smile."

Bill forced a smile. "Good. Good, good. Positive thinking."

"No. I'm trying to see if you're having a stroke." He sat back. "Your face muscles are still working symmetrical."

Bill decided to keep smiling anyway. He thought it might help. Happy happy happy.

"You say your can't feel your legs."

"Yes."

"Or your left arm."

"Yes."

"Did you feel any pain beforehand? Tingling in the limbs, or...?"

"No—no, no. They were working fine and then they were gone. They just—disappeared." Bill laughed. The laugh went on too long and sounded too high and too nervous. 

Ford nodded. "Okay. Drink this."

A water bottle materialized in Bill's field of vision. It took a couple of tries for Bill to manipulate his hand through three-dimensional space to grasp it. He shakily drank as much as he could. It tasted like drowning.

"Dipper, run to the bait shop and call for an... The nearest hospital is at least twenty miles outside Gravity Falls' weirdness barrier, Bill can't get there. Call for a doctor and I'll stay here to—"

"No," Bill snapped, "no no no, don't call a doctor. I don't want—" He didn't want to be seen like this. He didn't want somebody picking him up and helping him into an ambulance like he was too weak to move himself. He didn't want Mabel to know. Bad enough Ford and the brat did. "I don't need it. I'm fine."

"Fine?!" Ford gestured at him in disbelief. "Three fourths of your limbs aren't functioning—!"

"I'm fine, I'm fine. Something's wrong with the body. It's got nothing to do with me. I'm fine, I'm just in it." He shut his eyes and tried to breathe. "Just—just let me sit."

"Let you sit and then do what?"

"Give me time. It'll come back. Don't tell anyone and—stop looking at me."

There was silence. Bill didn't want to open his eyes. He heard Ford stand and walk away.

####

"Do you think he's faking?" Dipper murmured.

Ford hated that that always had to be the first question. "I can't imagine what he'd stand to benefit from pretending he can't walk." Bill had been desperate to get back inside the last two days. If he'd now decided to—what? maybe take advantage of his freedom to try to escape?—then why hadn't he done that when they got separated in the lake, or in the caves where Bill could see in the dark and Ford hadn't known how to call the geodites? If he was trying to separate Ford and Dipper from each other so he could kill them one by one—why hadn't he just let them die?

It was hard not to think about how he really had saved them for no clear reason.

"He's spent two very stressful days hardly eating, sleeping poorly, and hiking through half the mountain. I'd say he needs food and rest. And probably more water." He'd gulped down two thirds of Ford's water bottle.

"Seriously? He can't feel his legs, is—is that normal for like a day without food and sleep?" Dipper asked. "People can go longer than that, right? You've gone longer."

"It's not a 'normal' symptom of exhaustion, hunger, or dehydration. But I think he'll fight us if we try to get medical help. Let's deal with the immediate problems first and—see where we are then. Even if it doesn't help, at least then he won't be paralyzed and starving."

Dipper nodded uncertainly. "What do we do if he's dying?"

The boy catastrophized at the drop of a hat. In a way, Ford supposed it was a good thing—having been through his fair share of catastrophes, he knew it helped to be prepared—but Dipper was so young. "Get him to a doctor as soon as we can; and, if that isn't enough... hope we're lucky." In other words: hope Bill stayed dead.

Dipper nodded again. "What's our strategy if Weirdmageddon restarts? Maybe... I wonder if that's what the Axolotl was trying to warn me—"

"Lunch first," Ford said. "Then we can plan for the apocalypse."

####

Bill knew they were going to make him move. They hated him. They would parade him through the streets to make a mockery of him, look at the alien loser in a malfunctioning corpse, washed-up puppeteer who can't even control a meat marionette, he's already dead and you can make his corpse in the forest a tourist destination—

"Okay," Ford said. "We'll give it an hour. Dipper's heading to town to get some proper food and call the shack."

The shack. Like a prison cell with an open door and a black hole inside trying to suck him back in. "Don't tell them—"

Dipper said, "I won't, I'm just letting them know we're not dead. And that we'll call again in a couple of hours."

No doubt so that Bill couldn't kill them without the shack knowing something was wrong. "Right."

"Do you... want any specific food?"

"Not hungry."

There was a pause. "Right. I'll just... grab something."

Bill didn't care what he did. As Dipper left the sound of each footstep was like a knife in Bill's ears. He just needed to breathe, needed to breathe and be normal and feel normal and happy—

Something soft landed on his head.

Bill opened his eyes.

There was an unzipped, slightly moist sleeping bag draped over his head and around his shoulders; and Ford standing several feet away, hands awkwardly clasped behind his back, looking somewhat embarrassed with himself.

Bill said, "What."

Ford cleared his throat. "It. Helped when you were, ah... had a hair cut. I thought—it can't hurt."

It took Bill a moment to figure out what he meant. "Oh." The towel. Ford had seen him hide under a towel. Right. 

Ford winced and muttered, "Maybe it can hurt."

Bill croaked, "What."

It wasn't until he tried to speak that Bill realized he was crying so hard he couldn't breathe. His vision swam, his shoulders shook, his breath came in sharp hitches—no no no no, that wasn't okay, not in front of— Stop, stop, stop.

He covered his eyes with his hand. The water bottle slid off his thighs and spilled on the ground. Between gasping breaths, Bill forced out, "This's—this is—good. Good."

"How is it...?"

"It's a—hint. This—it's—prob... probably... ps-psycho—som—ss—" 

"Psychosomatic?"

"Mm. Mhmm." He tried to get in a deeper breath and failed. "'Sgreat. Means—no inj—injuries. Flesh is—fine."

"So you're..." Ford's footsteps came closer, "saying it's psychological—?"

"No!" Bill let out a hysterical laugh. "I'm FINE! 'M happy. It's the body. It's—some hormone—hunger—exhaustion—just... s-synapses—and neurotrans—transmm—tr—"

"Easy. You can barely talk." He heard Ford sit next to him, felt the sleeping bag shift as he brushed against it. "Try to focus on breathing—"

"WHAT do you THINK I'm TRYING to—" Bill ineffectively pummeled Ford through the sleeping bag. "Move! Move, move, move! Don't t—touch—" He let out a frustrated scream that morphed into a humiliating sob, and had to clap his functioning hand over his mouth to smother the sound. He was not this body; he was a separate thing locked inside the body. This body was a prison, this body was a punishment. The legs didn't work, because the body was doing something to him. These weren't his tears, his grief, his fear. They were the body's. Which hormone was at fault? What could he blame other than himself?

He felt Ford's weight shift away from his side. "Okay, okay," Ford said. "Just... take it easy."

Bill socked him again. "Don't t-talk to me like a horse." He covered his eyes.

He didn't mean to risk his life for Ford.

Former friend, false worshiper, useless pawn, now enemy. Bill had just seen him floating out there and he'd done it—and he'd forgotten he could die.

In the Nightmare Realm he had saved his friends from peril billions of times before, because it was so easy for him, powers like a god, to see someone he was fond of and casually pluck them out of harm's way. It had been billions upon billions of years since Bill had been vulnerable to physical harm. He'd seen Ford in danger and he'd done what he always did and he'd forgotten he could have died.

He could have died. Eternally, permanently, last chance—he could have died.

And it would have been for nothing.

Bill was selfish. He had effortlessly saved friends billions of times but he'd also casually let them die just as many—assuming he didn't kill them himself. He saved friends because he liked them; but he didn't put himself out for ex-friends. Ford hadn't had one nice thing to say to Bill in years. Bill would never lure Ford back under his sway. Ford's survival endangered Bill's. But Bill had saved him anyway. He hadn't even stopped to think.

He didn't know. He didn't want to know. He didn't want to think about saving the human hellbent on killing him, he didn't want to think about almost dying, he didn't want to think about how peaceful it had been floating under the water, how easy it would have been to open his mouth and breathe in—he didn't want to think. He wanted to stop thinking. He wanted to empty his mind. He couldn't meditate through his hitching breaths and the way his stomach ached from struggling to keep his sobs silent, and his legs and left arm were gone.

He was fine. He was happy. He'd always been happy. Happy happy happy.

His entire body shook with sobs. He was dizzy—gasping between sobs for air he couldn't get. He was so lightheaded and crying so hard he couldn't stay upright. The edges of his vision went dark.

Ford wrapped an arm around Bill's shoulders and tugged him against his side. He held him up until Bill was too exhausted to cry anymore.

####

There was zipper noise, then a sound like shifting vinyl. Bill cracked his fingers apart to peer through them. Ford had unrolled the portable chessboard and was setting it up. "What?"

"It looks like we'll be here a while," Ford said, addressing his statement to the chessboard rather than to Bill. "It's... something else to focus on."

Bill wasn't sure what the emotion clawing its way through the grief-stricken haze in his mind was, but it felt very similar to relief. He nodded. "S—smart. I'm already—getting bored." His cheeks itched, his eyes burned, and his head was throbbing. As Ford set up the board, Bill closed his eyes and tried again to force himself to breathe more evenly. He was still dizzy from hyperventilating. Embarrassing—even a comatose human can breathe, and Bill couldn't even get that right. "Black?"

"I know."

Of course he knew. Bill always chose black. "First?"

"Fine." And Ford also knew, despite white traditionally getting the first move, Bill always moved first.

Bill waited in numb silence for Ford to finish setting up the board and sit on the other side. Moving almost automatically, Bill picked up a queen, hopped it over his line of pawns—

"Play it properly," Ford said irritably. "I put up with your cheating and lying for years, I'm not putting up with any more."

Bill gave Ford a look that he intended to be deeply offended, but immediately realized was probably just wet and pathetic. "Really? Now?"

Ford at least had the good sense to look a tad embarrassed, but he said, "I didn't set up the board to watch you move random pieces around like an untrained kindergartener."

"Three of my limbs don't work, Stanford."

"Are you suggesting your right arm doesn't remember the proper rules of chess?"

He wondered what Ford would say if he said yes. "I have a headache."

"You're probably dehydrated." Ford rummaged around in his backpack and offered over another bottle of water.

Bill reluctantly accepted it. He probably was dehydrated. "You owe me your life."

Ford fixed him with an unimpressed look. "You're trying to cash in a life debt... so you can cheat at chess?"

Bill opened his mouth; paused as he slowly thought that over; and dissolved into broken, hysterical giggles. "I don't know w-what I'm trying to do." He covered his mouth, squeezed his eyes shut, and tried to steady his breathing again.

Ford sighed. He waited until Bill had regained some control over himself; and then he said, "You can make up one new rule."

Bill considered the offer. "Total, or per game?"

"Per game."

Deep breath. "Fine. But I'm not telling you what it is. You have to guess it."

Ford considered it. "Three conditions."

"Mm?"

"One: you have to share what the rule was at the end of the game. If any of your illegal moves didn't conform to that rule, you automatically lose."

"Mm."

"Two: any rule you come up with has to apply to both sides of the board equally. Nothing that only advantages you or disadvantages me," Ford said. "Three: if I can figure out what your new rule is before the game's over, I can use it too. Obviously, you lose if I ask you about the rule and you lie."

Bill mulled over Ford's terms. His head was so foggy, he'd already forgotten the first one. "Deal."

"Deal."

####

Bill lost every game.

Badly.

He was clobbered. He was creamed. He was a faint red smear upon the pavement.

Back in Ford's dreams, Bill had won a good four-fifths of their games. Ford had heard during his travels that Bill was a mediocre player, but he didn't think he was so bad that all of those games had been won due to cheating. Even when he wasn't cheating, Bill had sometimes taken Ford by surprise.

But now, Bill was squinting at the board like he was struggling to see where the pieces were. Occasionally his fingers pinched down on thin air like he was trying to grab a non-existent piece. So Ford assumed the catastrophic losses were more a reflection of Bill's mental state than his skill level.

The option to make up rules didn't save Bill, but it at least made the games more interesting—and unlike the rest of Bill's abysmal playing, the new rules gave Ford a glimpse of the devious mind still buried somewhere in the traumatized human body.

The first round, Bill decided that the queen could leapfrog over pieces like a knight, and when Ford pointed out that would mean whoever had the first move could put the opposing king in checkmate in one move, Bill grudgingly amended the rule: the queen could leapfrog to an empty square, but could only take pieces in a straight line in the conventional manner. Ford had to maintain a phalanx of pieces jealously clinging to his king to guard against Bill teleporting his queen to the king's side. Bill managed to check him twice before Ford won.

One round, Bill decreed that rooks could only land on pieces the same color as they were sitting on, then smugly nestled his king on a white square next to Ford's rook on a black square; and then promptly lost the game when Ford pointed out both of Bill's rooks were currently on white squares, meaning he'd broken his own rule before he'd revealed it.

One round he decided that kings could move like queens, which Ford only discovered when he thought he'd checkmated him and then Bill zoomed his king across the board to take Ford's bishop; and then Bill lost a few moves later when Ford used his own king's newly revealed power to properly corner Bill.

One round Bill decided that once any back row piece was captured, it reincarnated in the body of the corresponding front row pawn. Ford genuinely liked the new rule—it meant you had to capture and checkmate both the king and the king's pawn before the game was over, and you had to be more cautious about what pieces you took since it could inadvertently set up a previously harmless enemy pawn to devastate your side of the board. But by the time Bill revealed that rule by jumping a pawn like a knight, Ford had already taken Bill's king's pawn and seen a way to checkmate him in two moves. It was a sore disappointment to end the game before getting to experiment with the new rule.

A few games were so short that Ford won without ever seeing Bill pull a nonstandard move. Round seven was one such game. Ford cornered Bill with a knight and a bishop. That had been the quickest match yet. Game over. "Checkmate."

"Checkmate," Bill said. 

Ford paused, looking over the board, thinking moving his bishop must have given one of Bill's pieces line of sight to his king; but no, his king was perfectly safe. "What?"

"Checkmate."

"You can't mate me, I just mated you."

"I know. Checkmate."

Frowning, Ford said, "Explain."

"The extra rule this game is that both kings are wearing suicide vests." He tapped his king, "He's wired up with enough explosives to wipe out the whole board." There was a look of steely exhaustion on his face. He looked like the kind of desperate, hopeless man who would put on a suicide vest. "If I'm going down, you're coming with me."

Ford laughed so hard his stomach hurt.

It was petty revenge for losing seven games in a row. A frustrated child flipping the chessboard, but making a self-deprecating joke out of it: as long as we both know I'm going to lose anyway...

When Ford had recovered himself enough to look at Bill again, Bill was giving him a faint, grim smile that didn't quite make it to his one open eye. Still—he looked a little less miserable than he had for the past hour. Or the past couple days.

Ford said, "We'll call that one a stalemate."

"I'll take it."

####

After trying all morning and half the afternoon, Dipper had remembered part of what the Axolotl had told him. Just one phrase: sixty degrees that come in threes. He could hear the rhythm and rhyme of whatever the Axolotl said next, something something something -eez—it rhymed, he was sure of that—but the rest...?

It took Dipper over an hour and a half to get back to the campsite; he'd gotten lost in his thoughts, and consequently, gotten lost in the forest. He returned with a plastic bag of the kind of junk food they regularly saw Bill consuming in the shack, a few slices of gas station pizza, and a clear takeout container of nachos. Bill immediately went for the nachos.

While Bill was inspecting the circle-shaped tortilla chips with obvious disappointment, Dipper rummaged around in the plastic bag until he found a small jar of rainbow sprinkles and offered them to Bill. Bill took it without acknowledging Dipper, awkwardly untwisted the lid with one hand and ripped off the seal with his teeth, and liberally drowned his nachos.

"The gas station looks like an earthquake hit it," Dipper reported. "And most of the cars had popped tires. I guess they must've floated up and then crashed back down." He took a cheese pizza slice and offered the box to Ford. "Nobody I asked saw the Axolotl."

Ford glanced at Bill, expecting him to have some kind of comment on that; but Bill just grunted "Mm," focused on the chess game like he thought he'd be killed if he glanced away.

Dipper pointed out when Bill pulled an illegal move, Ford explained the new rules they were playing by, and Dipper settled down to watch. He tried to razz Bill the next time he lost; but Bill made such a pathetic figure that he couldn't even enjoy making fun of him and quickly gave up.

During the next game, Bill unexpectedly slid a pawn backward diagonally to take out Ford's queen. While Ford was silently fuming over the loss of his most powerful piece, Dipper hazarded, "Can pawns capture both forward and backward?" That would have been Ford's guess too.

But Bill simply said, "No."

Dipper mumbled, "Huh," lost focus on the game, and stared off into the distance, murmuring something under his breath. He kept getting lost in his thoughts today. Ford supposed nobody in this hiking party was in the best mental state.

Maybe pawns could move like bishops? But when Ford tried to slide one diagonally across the board, Bill said, "That's illegal," and Ford returned it to its original spot. There was some hidden condition he was missing. Maybe which color square the pawn was on? Or maybe it was like en passant, you could only capture an enemy piece backwards if that was the first time the enemy piece moved?

When the game was over—Ford won, but Bill had held out longer than usual—Ford asked, "All right, what was the new rule?"

"Pawns can capture forward and backward." While Ford and Dipper stared at him in mute outrage, Bill ignored them to casually shift his posture from kneeling—his knees had gotten sore—to lotus position, and said, "Next game?" as though he couldn't even be bothered to notice the humans' fury.

"But that's exactly what we said!" Ford snapped. "You lied to me!"

"No," Bill said, "I lied to the kid. I'm not playing against the kid. Why are you paying attention to what I tell him?"

Dipper demanded, "How is that fair? Anyone listening would think—"

But he fell silent when Ford laughed. "Of course," Ford said. "I should have expected that. Any loophole you can find. That's part of the game to you, isn't it."

Bill gave Ford an unsettlingly knowing look; and Ford supposed it was part of the game to him, too.

(Somewhere in the back of Bill's foggy mind, he kept count: three times. Before today, Bill wasn't sure he'd heard Ford laugh once this summer. What changed? What was Bill doing differently? Maybe Ford only liked him when he was completely broken.)

It took until halfway through the next game for Ford to realize Bill had moved his legs.

####

Over Ford's protests that they should wait until his strength was back, Bill insisted they get moving immediately. He'd rather be locked in the shack again than spend one more minute sitting by the lake.

"I hate being surrounded by trees. Why do humans like nature so much. This is miserable." Caked in mud, still wearing a towel like a skirt, teetering with exhaustion, Bill certainly looked like the most miserable camper to ever exist. "I cannot begin to tell you how sick I am of looking at pines."

Ford wondered whether the pun was intentional.

Bill's limbs were weak and uncoordinated. He could twitch his left fingers when asked, but his grip strength was nonexistent and the arm hung limply at his side when he wasn't actively trying to use it. His legs moved, but when he tried to get to his feet he collapsed back into the mud. But he thought he could probably stand with support. He ignored the hand Ford offered and crawled to the nearest tree to lean on as he got to his feet. Ford could see Bill's knees tremble.

"I don't need your help," Bill grumbled. "I can stand fine on my own."

Ford wouldn't argue with Bill's definition of fine. "But can you walk?"

"I could." He couldn't even make the lie convincing.

"Then be my guest."

"I'm saving my strength."

It would almost be funny if he wasn't being such an inconvenience. "Well, you're here and the boat is over there." Ford gestured. The shore was much further away than it had been yesterday. "If you can't walk, then you're either crawling or you're getting help. Which you'd prefer is between you and your dignity."

Bill's face reddened. "Don't talk to me about my dignity, like you've ever cared about my dignity..." He twisted around to inspect the tree behind him, tired gaze looking over the branches—maybe he was planning to break off a walking stick? He attempted to grab a thin branch that wouldn't serve as a walking stick for a toddler. He wasn't strong enough to break it off. He kept trying.

They were never getting to the boat. "Please let me help."

"Go jump in a lake. Again."

How did Ford handle this without prodding at Bill's bruised ego? "Consider it my thanks for—ah..." Ford cleared his throat. "For actually telling the truth about the eclipse. In spite of... what was no doubt immense temptation to lie like a cheap rug. Since we didn't believe you anyway." He had averted his gaze in embarrassment; he forced himself to face Bill like a man. Bill was actually looking at him again. "And for not chucking my gnephew's body off the cliff when you had the opportunity." The bar was so low it was on the ground, and yet it was still impressive that Bill hadn't found a way to dig under it. "And... for saving my life."

Bill set his jaw tight, as if he didn't like being reminded of his moment of decency; but he said, "Fine, get over here." He held out his good arm. "Help your hero and savior limp triumphantly off the field of battle."

When Ford offered his hand, Bill ignored it, and practically snarled when Ford tried to wrap it around his waist for support. Rather than putting his arm over Ford's shoulders, Bill seized a wad of fabric near the collar of Ford's t-shirt as a handhold to hang his weight from. Ford felt less like he was supporting Bill, and more like he'd just gotten in trouble and his father was marching him into the living room by his collar to give him a stern talking-to.

"First time you've ever thanked me for anything I've done for you," Bill muttered. Ford told himself he could drop Bill once they were on the boat.

Dipper was completely zoned out, waiting on the boat staring off in the direction the Axolotl had flown. He didn't react as Bill sat next to him, and Bill didn't acknowledge he existed. Ford started the motor, and they crossed the lake toward Tate & Backle's Bait & Tackle.

####

(You can't imagine how long I've been waiting to post this chapter. Hope you enjoyed, I'd love to hear what you think, and I hope those of y'all who have been waiting for Bill to cry like a baby are satisfied.)

[lets-try-some-writing]

i love it when people apply the whole “humans are space orcs” idea to transformer humans.

jack, miko and raf just doing regular, average day things that make the bots both extremely worried and unsettled gives me so much brainrot.

I got you here. I love this kind of lore/reaction ask.

Each of the children have a particular habit that bothers the team more than anything else. Can it be explained? Not really. All humans do the things they do. But for the bots, it is strange and out of sorts all the same.

Miko always carries around a bottle of sparkling water. She adores the stuff. The team, despite knowing it is not what the name implies, are still horrified with her drinking habits. Not to mention, they can't help but wonder where all the liquid goes. She drinks up to three whole bottles of water a day. In her own words "Hydrate or die." That in it of itself is concerning since the team, while well aware that humans need water, do not know how much they need exactly. The team are down right terrified of her ability to down water like a dry sponge. How can such a small fleshy even consume that much? They aren't entirely sure. Not only that, but if she drinks that much, then are Jack and Rafael getting enough? They can't be.

Not only does Miko down water like a bone dry houseplant, she also drinks just about anything else too. The team have seen her chug sodas which contain Primus knows how many strange chemicals and compounds. They've observed her willingly drink things that no other would on bets, including food that has been blended and watered down just because Jack wanted to see if it was possible for her to down hotdog cafeteria milk cheeto apple slurry.

Yes the team are terrified of humans and their ability to put anything inside themselves and walk it off. But more than any other, they fear Miko. Who knows what she's consumed.

All the kids do it, but Jack is the most notable since when he needs to go to the restroom, he makes it loud and clear mainly so that someone knows to keep an eye on Miko. The team are aware that organics have a need to manually handle removing waste since their systems are rather inefficient, however there is a certain level of mysteriousness surrounding the restrooms. The bots don't want to watch or even know HOW the humans get rid of waste, but they do know that THINGS happen in the restroom that seem to either be painful, emotional, refreshing, or aggravating. No one can really be sure what reaction will follow those who enter the space. Sometimes Jack or one of the other kids will go in there seemingly to just be alone.

It is a strange and almost sacred location where strange happenings occur. Miko went in once with bloody clothes and emerged with a fresh set before Ratchet could figure out what was wrong in the first place. Jack went in once and came out an hour later looking like he'd gone to war after he convinced Arcee to let him stop and get takeout the night before. Rafael took his charger and computer in there and hogged the space for a while to get away from the others once. The team does not know what happens in there, but it is mildly concerning since it either repairs or breaks a person.

Bulkhead theorizes that its a pocket dimension like the shadow zone. Ratchet refuses to think about it. Optimus will say nothing about whatever he knows. Arcee and Bee assume its a safe haven or sorts and Wheeljack is almost certain they keep weapons in there. Ultra Magnus and Smokescreen both agree that the restroom is simply a quiet space where a human can deal with personal issues in peace.

No bot is willing to try and confirm anything since humans flip out at any attempts to view the supposedly sacred ground.

Rafael is generally pretty good about flying under the radar most of the time, but he has a habit that has caught the team's attention. Humans have been noted doing what they can to clean themselves on their own. Its rather ineffective to clean one's own venting openings with digits considering the sheer amount of germs involved, but it is not out of the question to do so when a cleaning cloth is not available. Rafael occasionally and quietly trying to clean his nose is not what bothers the team.

No what horrifies them is the goop that he pulls out after his attempt at cleaning. What Ratchet has studied states that the goop is referred to by a number names, but is commonly called snot. Its the natural germ catcher humans have, but it still unsettles the team whenever Rafael quietly blows a few or when one of the others grabs a tissue and makes a rather disgusting sound as they try to clear their airways.

The goop reminds the team of any number of horrible things. But the sheer amount of GROSS within a small amount of the stuff has left the team all gagging whenever they find the stuff around base. Rafael is usually good about being clean, but sometimes he gets lazy and will use his chair to hide his cleaning attempts. Bumblebee has almost purged a few times seeing the marks on the chair from where Rafael may or may not have wiped his fingers.

Is he twelve? Yes. Is he fully mature? No. That much is evident just by looking at his chair.

[hearts4skywalker]

why don't you bring your girlfriend? // robby keene

materlist!!

summary: robby keene had always been cobra kai's top fighter. when kyler decides to throw a party, kenny and the others all bombard robby on why he doesn't bring his girlfriend to the party.

pairings: you and robby!!

warnings: pet names (baby), you're literally such cutie, fem prns, probably cringe, takes place end season 3 (except it doesn't really make timeline sense but for the sake of the one-shot bear with me), hawk and devon being cobra kai, it didn't not come out the way i wanted to so i might make another robby one-shot idk 🤷‍♀️

w/c: 1100

robby had been punching the dummy for what felt like hours. his knuckles hurt and had blisters all over them. nothing cobra kai's top fighter couldn't deal with, however. next to the brunette was tory. she had just finished nis sparing with kyler when she sat down to take a drink.

seeing everyone grabbing water, robby followed. he twisted the cap off of a plastic water bottle, flicking it into a corner to never be found again. robby wasn't one to chat during practice. he found it disrupting and the last thing he would want to do is upset silver or kreese. truth be told, the boy was terrified of his senseis.

"party at mine tonight. be there by 7 or i'll open the kegs without you guys." robby didn't have to look up from staring at his bloody knuckles to know who's voice it was. kyler's voice annoyed robby to no end. robby listened to the people who said they'd be there. tory spoke up. "keene, you going?"

robby shook his head. "can't make it." kyler's face went from being full of pride to slightly offended. "why not? you too good for your friends now?" kyler rolled his eyes. robby cocked an eyebrow, standing up and walking over to the group. "sorry man i told my girlfriend i'd come over after practice." tory looked surprised.

kenny's eyes widened. "wait, robby, you have a girlfriend? since when?" this was news to everyone. even though robby and y/n had been dating since before he was on the run last year, the two never told anyone. partly because they were both very private people and partly because y/n was scared of samantha larusso. "uh about a year and a half now." robby looked around the room, realizing his mistake.

"why don't you bring your girlfriend?" tory interrogated. it was a pretty solid idea. robby just didn't know if y/n was all that of a party person. it couldn't hurt to ask he supposed. "i'll ask her. but no promises we'll show." and with that, robby left to head over to his girlfriends.

robby softly knocked on y/n's front door, knowing she was home alone and he didn't want to scare her. y/n quickly opened the door. her face lit up when she saw that it was robby. she threw her arms around his neck, giving him the biggest hug she could.

"hey, baby, i have a huge question to ask." robby started. the two had been laying in y/n's bed for quite some time now. it was around 6, an hour before the party started. y/n hummed in response. robby sat up, subconsciously scooting y/n up so she was still laying on his legs. robby took a deep breath. "kylershavingapartytonightandimayhaveaccidentallyletitslipthatwe'vebeendatingforayearandnowtheywantmetobringyousoyoucanmeetthem." (kylers having a party tonight and i kinda let it slip that we've been dating for a year and now they want me to bring you so you can meet them)

y/n was taken back by how quickly he attempted to get that out. "sure, seems fun." y/n patted robby's leg reassuringly. "wait really?" robby pushed his hair back, a sign of relief escaping his legs. "really. it's been a year and i think it's time for me to meet them." y/n sat up, shrugging. "you're actually the best." robby smiled, planting a soft kiss on her lips.

an hour later the two had arrived at kyler's house, already hearing the music blasting from a few houses down. there weren't many people there, just the cobras. tory described it as a "inner circle only" kind of thing. robby opened y/n's car door, offering his hand for her to grab. of course she couldn't pass on that offer. she took robby's hand. robby slammed the door shut with his free hand.

the two didn't know whether to knock or to just walk in. judging by how loud the music was, the two just walked in. the chatter stopped when the couple came into sight. "holy shit." kenny whispered to kyler, pointing at robby. "yo, keene, your girl was real?" kyler raised an eyebrow. y/n flipped him off. "this is y/n. y/n these guys are kyler, kenny, hawk, tory, devon, and....stingray?" robby pointed at each person, pausing at stingray.

y/n nodded towards everyone. her and robby went to go sit on the couch. "so, y/n, how did you and robby meet?" tory questioned, trying to help y/n ease into the group. (we love a polite queen) "oh.. uhh.. i think the first time we met he was working at larusso's car shop and i was picking up my car. right?" y/n held robby's hand a little tighter. she looked up at him for confirmation.

"pretty sure that's what happened." robby nodded. tory smiled at y/n. "c'mon, y/n. me, you, and devon can just talk while they do... whatever the fuck they're doing." tory had a weird tone in her voice when she said the last part. kyler had been trying to get stingray to chug a beer without spilling drop. "be back, baby." y/n kissed robby's cheek before taking tory's hand and running outside with her and devon.

devon took a breath of fresh air. "those people piss me off so much." devon laughed. tory nodded with her. the three girls sat in the grass, staring up at the stars. "you look good with robby. he's been a lot happier." tory reassured y/n. not like she needed the reassurance, but it was still nice to hear.

the girls talked about themselves, as well as cobra kai as a whole, for a good hour and a half before people started leaving the party. robby came outside, car keys in hand. "you ready?" he asked. y/n nodded, brushing the grass off her knees. she held her hands out for tory and devon to grab. she pulled them up within seconds. "it was so nice meeting you guys." y/n smiled at the two. the girls smiled back at her.

robby opened the car door for y/n, then closing it when she was fully in the car. he got into the driver's side, starting the car. "so, how'd you like them?" robby reached a hand over the gear stick to hold her hand. he rubbed his fingers over he knuckles. "it was good. they're sweet girls. especially tory." robby snickered.

y/n looker over at him confused. "it's nothing, baby. just never heard the words 'tory' and 'nice' in the same sentence."

[alexthetrashyracoon]

Fantasy au nobody asked for but I give you anyway.

Tags: Flowerfairy Reader, traveling mercenary Ghost, a bit of cursing, momentarily character death but we stay above the ground don't worry, a bit angsty but it gets a happy ending, I promise <3 (if that flops I'll cry)

Word count: 1350

"We shouldn't go this way." They flatly said and fluttered next to Ghost's face, brows in a pinch with their hands pressed against their rips. "It's dangerous."

Ghost grunted and swatted at them, not hard enough to hurt them or cause them to crash to the ground, but to get them out of his face. "You've been traveling with me long enough. You should know by now I don't care how dangerous it is as long as it gets me to the place I need to get." He says and leaves the cobbled path to take the short cut through the woods.

They huff and flutter after him. "I warned you."

It's been three months since Ghost met the little flower fairy, caught in some bandits' bottle. Ghost was hunting the group of bandits down, a big fat reward waiting for him when he brought back the leader, dead or alive it didn't matter.

So when he cleaned the camp, he found the bottle that had rolled under a sack and at first, Ghost had discarded it as trash, not looking twice at it but then he heard the little banging sound on glass and checked the bottle again, finding the little thing inside.

At first Ghost wasn't sure if he could believe his eyes. It wasn't everyday after all that someone came across a fairy, tiny human with wings on their back, but they pinched Ghost hard enough for him to believe it.

Ever since then Ghost allowed the fairy to graciously follow him, if they promised to keep their mouth shut, which they never truly did. They were talking all the time, chatting about whatever was on their mind. And Ghost, he would never admit that out loud, actually enjoyed the company for once. He was used to traveling alone, never bonding with others or keeping friendships alive for long. But something about the fairy was different.

At the end of the shortcut, Ghost finds himself standing in an opening that looks quite peaceful, not enough for him to drop his guard but the scenery is nice for a change.

He turns around to face the fairy who sits on his shoulder like usually when their wings get tired. They barely weigh anything more than a feather, even if he teases them all the time that if they keep eating so many cookies that he won't be able to keep walking with them on his shoulder. They always pout in return and don't talk to him for exactly ten minutes before chatting about some flower they have passed on their way.

"See. No danger around." Ghost grunts and decides it's time for a break, to replenish his strength and energy while enjoying a bit of nature's beauty. He puts down his backpack and sits down next to it. "Wake me in an hour."

The wake-up call never comes, or at least, not an hour later, but several hours, considering that the sun is going down right now and Ghost finds himself in a cage with his arms bound behind his back with rough rope. "The fuck is going on?" He asks, his tongue heavy as he speaks, eyes needing a few moments to focus again, ears still ringing, making hearing hard. Someone must have knocked him out cold when he took a nap, how embarrassing for someone like him to get caught off-guard by some amateur bandits.

Something... Someone, steps in front of the cage. "Look at that. The shithead who killed my brother is awake." That someone kicks the bars of the cage, making Ghost flinch at the rattling sound that comes with it.

He quickly gathers himself again, checking the guy outside the cage but not recognizing the person. "I killed many brothers... So, who the fuck are you?" Ghost asks, sounding overly confident, as always, even in situations where he should show a bit of restraint. Especially in situations like this.

The person grabs onto the bars of the cage and rattles them, baring his teeth like an animal. "You dick. I'll make you remember before... Hey! What the fuck! What is that?!" The bandit jumps and swats at something in the air but can't quite catch it.

Ghost's eyes widen, his fairy is back, he has been asking himself where they have gotten lost while he was in that cage. But he can't let their distraction be for nothing, he uses the chance to break the binding and steal the key from the bandits' leather belt to get out of the cage.

"Shit!" The bandit curses as he turns to look between Ghost and whatever is attacking him but decides to ultimately pay attention to Ghost, the bigger threat. Ghost's fairy uses the chance to get away to safety, leaving Ghost to fight without worrying about getting them into more danger.

It's clear as day that Ghost is no amateur and that there was no way in hell that the bandit would ever win. But somehow he managed to get away, right where Ghost's little fairy waited for him.

Ghost isn't fast enough to save them, he watches as the now bleeding bandit grabs the little fluttering thing and squeezes his hand shut until the noises stop and the forest completely falls silent.

He makes quick work of the bandit, he doesn't even look at his face as he cuts off his head. All he cares for is the little fairy in the bandits hand that's laying there, like a little doll, unmoving.

"Come now. Don't play with me, little fairy." Ghost says and picks their body up with shaking hands.

He never felt like this before, so damn helpless and clueless. What is he supposed to do? How can he turn back time to get his fairy back. The little chattering fairy that he learned to care for.

"I know you warned me it's dangerous... I should have listened." He says, not crying. He can't. He won't. Ghost never cries. Even if he wants to. "It's my fault you're dead. I'm sorry."

He remembers the promise they made a few weeks ago.

"Let's see the world together. You and I." They have happily announced back then and Ghost couldn't say now to their happy, smiling face. "Let's see the world together. You and I."

He would give his own life just for one more chance with them.

A single tear rolls down Ghost's cheek. It's more than he ever allowed himself before. It lands on their tiny body, staining their clothes.

Ghost searches for a spot to bury them, he knows they love flowers, so why not bury them in a field of them.

Just as he's finished with the hole in the ground, the air picks up, the breeze becomes warmer with flower petals and leaves flying through the air, surrounding him.

"That hole is way too small for someone as big as me."

Ghost knows that voice, he looks down only to find the body missing. Instead he sees naked feet, human feet standing in front of him, he looks up, following the long legs.

"How?" He asks, ignoring their nakedness and standing up, touching them, their humanly sized body. "I saw your dead body. He squeezed..."

"I don't know, Ghost. In my last moment I just remembered that we promised to travel the world together and when I opened my eyes again, I saw you on your knees, digging that hole." They explain with a smile, gratefully taking the woolen cloak from Ghost's hands and wrapping it around their shoulders. "I think Lady Fate is still not done with our story, Ghost."

At first it was a big change, gone was the tiny fairy fluttering around his head all the time, but Ghost quickly got used to seeing the other human next to him every night and day. Ghost had to teach them how to be human at first but he was sure that this was a challenge they would master too. One step at a time. And this time, Ghost would listen to his fairy turned human more often.

[caramelcleopatraa]

CAUGHT IN 4K

word count: 3.3k

x: finals are coming up, so i'm gonna be very busy, but i'm still writing y'all (this is the most consistent i've been lol) (excuse any errors of course) Hope you guys enjoyyy! leave comments... please. I love your comments.

content: Imani has a crush on Roman. Their friend group goes on live and her secret comes to the light. She thought that she was going to be rejected and move on, but things never go the way people expect. Roman Reigns x Imani, 18+ MDNI, oral (m recieving), cowg!rl, creamp!e

Imani loved weekend kickbacks. Time to chillax with her favorite people, and get her mind off of things. It was moments like these she waited for. Drinks and joints in rotation, and endless fun for hours to come. Jimmy, Jey, Roman, Trinity Talia, and Imani. She wishes that she was only thinking about the good vibes that circulated in the atmosphere, but she was focused on something else. It wasn’t like she was necessarily trying to focus on Roman, but it was inevitable when she could see him so clearly from the kitchen. She knew that having a crush on him could possibly mess up the bond that the group has, but he was so gravitating, He was perfect in her eyes. She basically textbook described him when Trinity and Talia asked her to describe her dream man: Tall, muscular, sweet, absurdly attractive, charismatic, humorous, dedicated. God, she could go on to name every single one of his attributes that she loved. She tried to brush it off as a mistake at first, but there was no part about this that was a mistake. He had a tight grip on her, and he wasn't even aware. She wonders what would happen if he felt the same way. If those pretty brown eyes she daydreamed about would reciprocate the love she was anxiously waiting to give him. She could only imagine all of the things she could do for him, to him, and provide him. If she had him all to herself, how they would spend their nights alone. How it would feel to be wrapped in his embrace. How it would feel to get lost in him between the sheets for hours, and repeat it again the next day. If she had him all to herself.

“WE GETTIN TURNT!” Talia raised her glass in the air and yelled out to her viewers, watching her through the small rectangular frame. Jimmy came around the corner with uno cards in his hands as the six of us gathered around the table. Roman, Trinity, or Jey would pop into the frame to answer a couple of questions while Jimmy shuffles the cards and Imani gathers multiple bottles to bring to the table. “Mani! They have some questions for you!” Imani joins her party, sitting the bottles on the table and scanning through the comments.

‘Do you get to go backstage with the bloodline?’

“Yes! It's amazing, I'm not gonna lie.”

‘Please do a makeup tutorial!’

“Maybe, I don't have a youtube channel.”

‘Seen any guys that have caught your eye?’

“A couple, but they ain’t nothin’ important.”

“Oh word?” Talia and Trinity both look at her with curious faces, but Imani just giggles and goes back to answering questions. 

“Ooh this is a good one. Kiss, marry, fuck: Jason Momoa, Michael B. Jordan, and Roman Reigns,” Talia reads out loud. That question got everyone’s attention. Jimmy stopped fidgeting with the cards and Roman and Jey both put their phones down impatient for her answer. “Well?” Talia was definitely setting her up, and she could feel it. Thank god for her brown skin that covered her fastly spreading blush. “Do I have to answer this?” “Yes, you do. I'm intrigued now,” Trinity says, as Imani quickly takes a double take at the entire table to see them all staring at her. She sighs before surrendering and thinking hard about the question.

“I’ll… kiss… Michael B. Jordan, fuck Jason Momoa, and marry Roman Reigns.” She instantly regretted answering the question before Trinity pried at Imani to get out more information that everyone was itching to know. “Hmm, why marry Roman?” She quickly swiped her drink off of the table and took a long sip, hiding her face. In all honesty, she wanted to say that it was the easiest choice, but that would only make her sound suspicious. And that was not a conversation that she wanted to have in front of quite literally everyone. “I'm not interested in the other guys like that.” “So you’re interested in Roman?” ‘Wait- wait! Noo that's not what I meant!’

“No, I just wouldn't marry the other two men. It’s not that deep Trin,” Imani says, a failed attempt at dismissing the conversation. “You’ve never gotten this defensive before… don’t tell me that you in your feelings.” She could see Talia smirking at the corner of her eyes. She knew she had to stop this fast. “You’re reaching Talia,” Imani says, laughing to herself. “Oooooh Imani wants the Tribal Chief, huh?” Never in her life had she ever been more embarrassed. “Jimmy, for the love of god, please start dealing the cards,” Imani says, covering her face, her words muffled by her hands. Everyone laughs, finding amusement in her nervousness. She anxiously waited for Jimmy to start dealing the cards so this moment could pass.

11:27 pm

Several rounds of uno and spades passed, and the guests were slowly starting to make their way out. She noticed Talia, Trinity, Jey, and Jimmy momentarily texting throughout the night, which would probably explain why the four of them were explaining the consequence of Imani losing a couple of rounds. “Sooooo we thought of something. Don’t be mad! It’s just a punishment for losing so much,” Talia says, sticking out her tongue. “Your punishment is that you have to ask Roman to fuck you.” ‘ASK ROMAN TO WHATT!?!?’

Her surprised face told them everything they needed to know. “You'll be fine. Uce will probably be down to fuck either way,” Jey says. Imani gave Talia a death glare, making Talia laugh. “You’re trippin’ girl. Just approach him with the right energy and make him want to stay with you. I guess this answers the question of if you have a crush on him or not.” Before she could defend herself, Roman walks in from the restroom and the four of them are gone in the blink of an eye. ‘These trifling’ heifers’

“Guess they all left. I should be on my way out then. Thank you for the food and dr-” She steps in front of him, stopping him from exiting out the front door. He looks at her with confusion. “You okay?” Her heart was beating fast. She didn't fully think out what she was going to do after she stepped in front of him, but it was now or never. 

“Fuck me.”

“...what?”

“F-fuck me.” She couldn't look him in the eye the second time. The pressure weighing on her shoulders was too much. But the thing that was racking her brain the most was how close they were. She felt like this was a disaster taking place in real time. She hears a soft chuckle, looking up to see him lightly smiling at her. “Was this your punishment for losing?” She nods, and his smile stays fixed on his face. “Do you want me to?” 

‘...did he say what I think he just said?’

Her mind is searching for an answer, a reason to say no. But she can't find any. As embarrassing and confusing this was, she had daydreamed about this moment. Maybe he was just being nice and would give her a quick fuck to fulfill the punishment. That idea became her leading thought. “You don’t have to if you’re uncomf-” “Do you want me to fuck you Imani?”

‘Shit he’s not joking.’

She slowly nods, which prompts him to lock the front door behind you. Her head was spinning, trying her hardest to maintain her composure. “Ask me again.”

“Fuck me, please,” She says nervously, eyes returning her shiny tile floors. “I don’t believe you sweetheart. Ask me again.” His hand gently grabs at her chin, making Imani look at him. Once they made eye contact, she knew that she was done for. She was already feeling weak from just looking at him. She took a deep breath before finally saying, “Please fuck me Roman.”

He wasted no time pulling her into a heated kiss. Not that she minded. This felt like a wonderful dream that she didn't want to wake up from. Only this wasn't a dream, it was real life. She finally got to feel the body that she had been drooling over. Right now, he was hers, and she was going to make the most of it. 

Her curious hands creeped along his captivating body while they explored each other’s mouths, dragging her hands up his torso from underneath his shirt. He pulled away from her soft lips to trail wet kisses from her cheek to her neck. “Not shy anymore huh?” She couldn't be shy. Her desire for him had completely taken over. “I really need you right now Roman,” She pants out. 

“Bedroom?” She nods and takes his hand in hers, leading the way to her bedroom. The sway of her hips only made Roman more aroused, as he silently admired her body from behind.

They enter her bedroom and she doesn't get a chance to close the door before being pulled into his arms again, temporarily hoisting her in the air to lay her on the spacious bed. He pulls her into another messy kiss, setting his focus on getting rid of their bothersome clothes. He quickly tore his shirt from his body and she did the same with hers. Their lips connected again, moving in harmony. He started to make his way down her body, but she squeezed his shoulders, signaling him to stop. “I wanna make you feel good first.” Roman was surprised to say the least. He kissed her tummy and replied, “Are you sure?” She gives him a confident nod, with those big doe eyes and her beautiful smile. “Alright, what do you want me to do?” “Let’s switch places.”

She scooted to the side, giving him room to lay down on the bed. She crawled down to his waist, tugging both his sweatpants and boxers down. His dick springs out of his pants, finally free from cloth restraints. Her eyes locked with his before lowering down to lick the underside of him; from his balls to his mushroom tip. A wad of spit drips from her mouth and lands on his length, using her hand to lather him up. His soft hums let her know that he was feeling good, and she was determined to make him feel a whole lot better. 

Her juicy lips start at his tip, giving small kitten licks before taking the tip in her mouth. Her warm mouth felt so good on his dick. He didn't know that Imani was this nasty. She gives him kisses up and down his shaft before taking him in her mouth again. 

She didn’t waste any time trying to tease him. He was big, and filled mer mouth well, but it’s nothing she's never handled before. Before she continued, the warmth of her mouth left him once again. “Can you record this?” Just when he thought she couldn't get more nasty. 

“Record?” She nodded her head. “Only if you’re comfortable.” “I’m more than comfortable,” Roman says, while reaching into his sweatpants pocket. He grabs his phone and opens the camera app, pressing record. “It’s recording, baby.” 

She smiles at the camera, curling her fingers around the base of his dick and tapping him against her tongue. She takes him in her mouth again for the final time, keeping her hand put at the base. She bobs her head slowly, swiveling her head from left to right. 

She keeps moving slowly, making sure to fit all she can in her mouth. Her hand that stayed curled around his base, moved in juxtaposition, stroking the rest of him that her mouth couldn't get to. “Goddamn baby, that mouth feels so good. I need that mouth around my dick all the time.” She moans in response, giving him vibrations that made him feel oh so good. She had him moaning and groaning. She didn't mind that at all. She got a big ego boost that he was so vocal from her mouth working its magic. She took note of every moan, every twitch, and any reaction he made. Right now, she was focused on his pleasure. 

His grip on his phone tightened, trying his best to keep his composure. She moved her head faster, still bobbing up and down, and using her hand to stroke his remaining inches. “Ahh s-shit mama, you keep sucking my dick like that and imma cum in your mouth.” She looks at him, already staring at her every move while she’s giving him euphoria like pleasure. She moans around his dick again, feeling her panties dampen. Her other hand massaged his balls lightly. Her slurping sounds made him close to coming. 

He couldn't take his eyes off of her. Those innocent eyes staring into him as he recorded her doing such lewd things. He tried his best not to tangle his hands in her hair and fuck her mouth full of him. But her mouth felt so good, and he wanted nothing more than to cum in her mouth. He couldn’t help himself when his hands disappeared into her hair, planting his feet on the bed and fucking up into her mouth. She put her hands behind her back, letting him use her as he pleased. His thrusts were quick, but soft, his balls slapping against her chin. “Oh fuck! I’m coming mama, ooh I'm comin’.” He kept her head steady while coming deep in her throat, and she accepted with jubilation. 

She bobbed her head a few more times, trying her best to overstimulate him the most she can, until his hand grabs her chin, lifting her up. “Slow down princess,” He says, ending the recording. She crawls up to meet him, giving him a quick passionate kiss. “See how good you taste?” Roman chuckles at her boldness. “Your turn. Lie down,” He says, trying to sit up, but fails due to her pushing him back down on the bed. “I need that dick right now daddy.”

“You don’t want me to eat that pussy?” She runs her hand through her messy hair. “God yes I do, but I need you to fuck me right now.” Her eyes did more pleading than her words. 

“I wanna record this too,” she says, looking down at his chest, tracing the intricate tattoo. He feels around the bed, finally grabbing the phone and reopening the camera app. “Can you prop it up somewhere? I want you to be able to touch me.” “Already on it baby.” He climbed back further on your bed, propping the phone up against the lamp on the nightstand. While he did that, she slid off her shorts and panties, throwing them behind her. He pressed record again, and instructed her to adjust herself so the camera could capture everything. 

His hands landed on her ass as they both observed themself. His hands felt so good kneading her ass, and she saw his eyes drinking in every part of her body. He couldn't keep his hands off of her curvaceous body, and he didn't want to. “You like it?” Her soft hands massaged his shoulders, making him groan softly. “I love it baby, love this ass.” An unexpected slap to her ass made her jump. “You sound so good, daddy.” His hands move her hips along his dick, grinding her body against his. 

“How long have you been thinking about this?” She shies away from his gaze, a sudden flash of embarrassment runs through her body. She had forgotten about all of her feelings of distress and nervousness and realized that she was running on arousal and adrenaline. “A-a couple of months.” He lifts her hips and grabs his length, rubbing the tip along her slit. A few rubs up and down her slickness before impaling her on his dick. They moan simultaneously, relishing in the mind numbing pleasure. “You been thinking about taking this dick baby?” She gives him small head nods, still captured by the feeling of him inside of her. His hands cupped her chin, turning her head to the direction of the phone, steadily recording them. His hands were full of her ass, moving her up and down his shaft slowly. His unsteady breaths and her elongated moans were harmonious. “Go ‘head then. Bounce that ass on my dick.”

Her eyes focused on him as she steadied herself, her hands placed on either side of his head. She throws her ass back, his thighs catching it every time. His eyes were still glued to the phone, watching her beautiful body on top of him. But it wouldn’t be long until he faced her again, her soft titties hanging in front of his face. She had daydreamed about fucking Roman, and she was finally doing it. It gave her confidence knowing that he couldn't keep his hands off of her body. Her facial expression told her exactly how she was feeling. It was almost overwhelming how sexy she was. Beautiful smile, sexy body, paired with addicting moans that made him want to fuck her all night long. 

“Mmm~ look at you taking daddy’s dick. You’re doing so good,” Roman pants, grabbing at her breasts. His gentle praises and gruff voice was enough to make her cum. His dominating presence, his words, his touch. This man had her mind running laps. Even though he wasn’t putting in any effort, he was hitting all the right spots.

Her words were slurred, eyes rolled back, mouth wide open spewing salacious moans. Her hips slowed down, the constant rhythm created by her ass and his thighs meeting no longer lasted while she hid in the crook of his neck. Her body was decorated with a sheet of sweat that didn’t take away from her golden hue. “Look at me.” She rested on her elbows, locking her eyes onto his. Their faces were laced with lust, an unsatisfied want for each other. 

His strong arms caged her in, preventing her from squirming or escaping. She was still catching her breath while Roman planted his feet on the bed again. He places a tender kiss on her cheek before fucking up into her. She grabbed on to any part of his body that could, her eyes fluttering shut. A harsh slap to her ass makes her scream in pleasure. “I said look at me,” Roman says, demanding her full attention.

“Ohhh- my god! You feel so fucking g-good!” Roman loved watching her unravel. How she screamed for glory while he fucked her. God, he could make this his favorite hobby. Making her cum over and over again. “Mhm- fuckk- keep talking to me baby.” Her mind was foggy. She could only focus on one thing right now, how good he was dicking her down. Roman was making her feel so good. She looked at his phone propped up on the nightstand again to see their reflection. Her ass rippled from his hard strokes. That sight alone had her ready to cum. “Shhit! I’m finna cum on that big ass dick!” “Yeah? You finna cum?”

Her nails dug into his broad shoulders, feeling a knot build up in her stomach. “Cum with me Imani, let me feel you cum around my dick.”

Her eyes shut as she came, her orgasm hitting like a dam breaking, sending waves of pleasure throughout her body. His hips slowed down, but still gave her deep strokes, coming deep inside her. High pitched moans and deep grunts filled the room. His hands lazily grab her hips, allowing her to move again. She reached to grab the phone and ended the video, dropping the phone somewhere as she laid limp against his chest. His thumbs worked small circles as they both caught their breath. “I’m gonna take a shower when I get up, wanna join me?” Imani hears him chuckle, still working small circles into her hips. “Nah, we’re not done. I gotta eat that pussy, Imani.”

If these were the punishments she got for losing in spades, maybe losing wasn't so bad after all.

🏷️ tags :) @reignsboy19 @2-muchsauce @theninthwonder @harmshake @alichesmi @thesamoanqueen @alyyaanna @empressdede @badbitchcentralinc @christinabae @fame-ass-ers @southerngirl41 @cyberdejos2

[onebourbon-oneshot-onetear]

Lilla Solen- Eric Northman x witch!reader

Just another Eric oneshot. This could be a sequel to Familiar, but you don't have to read it. Although I'd be happy if you did...

I'm just now starting season 4 so if this isn't accurate to the show's timeline then I'll get there eventually :)

It had taken me weeks and weeks of trying, and failed spells, and damn near blowing my house up before I had even caught a glimpse of success. But a few weeks ago my plans had just started to come together and since then I’ve been working night and day until I’ve finally got it right. 

A few months ago I had been dragged into another one of Sookie Stackhouse’s overly complicated situations. Typically I liked to stay neutral in these things, but after Eric had asked, if not begged, for my help, I could hardly say no. It wasn’t until Eric and a so-called vampire king started drinking from Sookie and stepping outside that I actually realized just how much shit I was about to be dragged into. 

I’ve never had a heart attack, but the way my heart was pounding out of my chest as I watched Eric on the security cameras stepping into the sun for the first time in a thousand years, I really thought I was in the middle of one. Pam and I were both glued to the screen and we couldn’t take our eyes off the screen. Her because she thought her Maker was dying, and me because I couldn’t stop looking at the serene look on his face as he closed his eyes and faced the sun. Until he started burning, then I thought he was dying. 

The events following that day were, well hectic would be an understatement, and for the weeks that followed, the thing that stuck out to me the most was Eric’s face. I couldn’t imagine not being in the sun for a week let alone a thousand years. So, I made the inane decision to try and bottle up the sun. Well, not the actual sun, but a close enough replica. I wasn’t even sure I was a powerful enough witch to make this happen, but after hundreds of hours of pouring over spell books and journals, I had the basis to create the spell. 

It took another hundred hours until I got a breakthrough. Then another dozen before I almost set my kitchen on fire. Then a couple more dozen until I had finally gotten it, and was able to replicate it safely.  

The whole process was a killer, especially keeping it away from Eric. After he had been burned by the sun, I had given him some of my blood to help heal him. Now that we had a blood connection, he could sense every bit of panic that I was feeling, which often led to numerous nights where he sprinted over here just as I extinguished some flames. While he demanded answers, I just had to tell him that I was working on some witch stuff. Which wasn’t a lie. Now I just tell him beforehand when I’m working on some tricky spells so he doesn’t panic. 

I was finally at a point where I felt comfortable showing him my work. I texted him around noon telling him I had something to show him, and was just waiting for him to wake up and make his way over. The sun was about to set as I made some last minute adjustments to the kitchen, cleaning up little things here and there. I had always fiddled with things when I was nervous, so this was making me go into overdrive. Usually I wasn’t a self conscious person, but this was making me worried. Such a gift seemed almost intimate, and while there were feelings on my end towards Eric, we had never labeled it. I didn’t even know if he felt the same. 

I had known for a while that my feelings towards Eric weren’t just platonic. He was a good friend, and we had spent many nights in this kitchen or at Fangtasia just talking and reminiscing about our long lives. But Eric was a very closed off vampire, and never showed too much emotion. The closest I had ever gotten to knowing what Eric was thinking was when Pam made a small throwaway comment about how I was Eric’s “favorite little witch”. Granted, the woman loved drama so who knows if she was being serious or just stirring a pot. 

The familiar woosh of air at my back door and the associated knocking pattern told me Eric was here. Despite him being allowed inside whenever, he was usually a gentleman and knocked first. The few times he just barged in he had made me drop quite a few mugs and glasses. He felt bad enough that he started routinely knocking. 

I walked across the kitchen and opened the back door. He turned and threw me a dashing smile, his eyes looking me up and down slowly. “Hey,” he said. 

“Hi,” I answered, opening the door enough for him to come in. Eric always seemed to relax when he was here. He mentioned before the low light and herbs reminded him of home, and it always warmed my heart that I could give him that level of comfort. 

“You said you had something to show me?” He asked, tugging off his jacket and rolling up the sleeves of his long sleeve shirt. 

My eyes trailed up his arms as I watched him roll his sleeves before shaking myself from the not-so-wholesome thoughts that had started to form in my head, mainly involving his hands and where he could put them. 

“Yes, please, come sit down,” I said, gesturing to the living room. Much like my kitchen, the living room was small and quaint. Outfitted in older furniture, warm colors, too many candles, and just as many drying flowers, it looked more like a room out of a storybook. Which, to be fair, was the vibe I was going for. “I’m sorry if I pulled you from something important.”

Eric sat down on my couch, folding his hands on his lap. “No, nothing is more important than you.” He grinned as the blush spread across my cheeks. Sometimes I couldn’t tell if he just liked seeing me blush, or if he actually meant what he said. 

“So, over the last couple of months I’ve been thinking,” I said, sitting on the floor opposite of Eric so I could use the coffee table. “When you drank from Sookie, and you stepped outside, you looked so peaceful, and so comfortable being able to see daylight. So I made you something.” 

I pulled out the enchanted jar and placed it in the middle of the coffee table. The jar was empty except for a few sparkles glimmering in the candlelight. Eric’s eyes crinkled in confusion as he looked between me and the jar. 

“You got me a mason jar?” He asked. 

I rolled my eyes, “No, Eric. Just watch.” I closed my eyes and lightly touched the glass of the jar. I whispered the incantation, the latin rolling off of my tongue. Behind my closed eyes I could see the orange glow from the jar, and my fingertips felt the jar getting warmer. 

I opened my eyes, the little ball of light inside the jar glowing as bright as a sun, giving off a beautiful light. I looked at Eric, who at first seemed tense, like he was expecting to burn, but after a few moments he closed his eyes and sank into the couch and the light. He had the same look on his face as he did that day outside of Fangtasia. 

I couldn’t fight the grin on my face even if I wanted to. The hours of burning my fingertips and frustration were worth it just to see the serenity on his face. I slid the jar to the side of the table so we weren’t blinded. At the sound of the glass sliding on the wood Eric opened his eyes and stared at me in awe. 

I stood from the floor and sat next to him on the couch, his blue eyes, brighter in the sunlight, never left my face. 

“How?” was all he could ask. 

I shrugged, “I created the spell. I used some different variations of magic, made sure the jar wouldn’t break, temperature control…It’s simple in theory but harder in practice.” I said. Eric’s staring was only broken by him glancing at the jar every few seconds. “It only lasts for about an hour before I have to say the incantation again, and only I can activate it, but other than that it’s all yours. It follows the cycle of the sun, so when it’s close to going out, it deepens into a sunset.” I finished, twisting my fingers together nervously. 

We sat in silence, him staring at the jar as I watched him. I just took a mental snapshot of the look on his face. He was a fairly hard man to read but I knew him well enough to see where his mind was going. He was figuring out how hard it was to do this, the time and effort it took for me to do this, and then the reason why I would do this. See, that’s where he got confused. That’s what he couldn’t understand. Why I would care enough to go through all the trouble. 

“Eric?” I quietly asked. He had reached out to the jar, running his finger up and down the warm glass. His eyes reflected the light coming off of it, drinking it in. 

“I don’t really know what to say,” He mumbled, dragging his eyes from the jar back to me. “Thank you, for starters.” 

I shrugged, “It’s not that big of a deal.” 

Eric moved closer to me, our knees now touching. “You have no idea how much it means to me,” he said. His mouth moved but no words came out until he finally mumbled, “I’m actually speechless.” 

Now my blush had overtaken my neck, cheeks, and ears. “You don’t have to say anything. Honestly, I just wanted you to be happy. This is well worth it,” I mumbled. 

Eric grinned, leaning forward and cupping my cheek. “Y/n, I honestly don’t know how to thank you. This means so much to me, you have no idea.” Eric glanced down at my lips and my blush only deepened. “What do you call it?” 

“Lilla Solen. It’s swedish, for-” 

“Little sun,” Eric finished. I nodded. 

“Yeah, I thought it was fitting.” 

“Y/n”, Eric whispered, running his thumb on my cheek. Eric had slowly started to lean forward until we were only a breath apart. 

“Eric,” I whispered back. My eyes closed as he gently pressed his lips to mine in a chaste kiss. He pulled away and I opened my eyes, a grin stretching across my face. I grabbed his collar and pulled him back in for another longer kiss. 

“It’s about time,” I whispered when we broke apart again a few minutes later. Eric chuckled, swiping his finger over my slightly swollen lips. 

“I’d say. Pam said if I didn’t kiss you soon she’d lock me in the basement,” He said, rolling his eyes. 

I laughed, knowing the woman was serious about that. “That reminds me,” I said, pulling a smaller jar out of my pocket, “I made one for her too. It just isn’t as powerful.” 

“I’m sure she’ll appreciate it,” Eric said, taking the jar and putting it next to his. Eric wrapped his arms around me and pulled me towards him until we were both leaning back on the couch, facing the jar. 

I was tense for a moment before I relaxed into his hold, snuggling into his chest. Eric ran his hands up and down my back tracing little shapes. This was all very new behavior that I could very much get used to. 

“I didn’t know you spoke Swedish,” Eric said. 

“I don’t, but I just looked up the translation. I figured if I’m creating something new, the name should be enjoyed by the person I’m making it for.” I answered. 

“How long have you felt this way,” He asked, quietly. 

I took a moment to think about the answer. “Quite a while now. I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to make things awkward between us. And I never knew how you felt.” 

“I should have told you sooner,” Eric said. 

“It’s alright. At least we know now.” 

Eric was silent for a moment, “You know, this really does give me an excuse to keep you around. To light this thing every night,” He said. I could hear the grin in his voice. I looked up and he was giving me his classic Eric smirk. 

“Did you really need an excuse to keep me around?” I asked. 

Eric’s grin got wider and he leaned forward and planted a kiss on my forehead. “No, I was gonna keep you around anyway,” He mumbled. 

I laughed and lay my head back down on his chest, basking in the glow of the jar, and in Eric’s embrace. Yeah, this was definitely worth it. 

[a3risbaby]

strong opinions, stronger arms

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 stardew valley : alex x reader (vagina, fem!pronouns)

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 Perhaps Alex's reign as the town's resident neutral guy is over because he realizes that he has pretty strong opinions about three things: gridball, salmon dinner, and you.

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 smut (minors dni), fluff, established relationship (marriage), porn what plot, ok maybe porn with some feelings and an iota of plot, reader is farmer, reader is shorter, vaginal fingering, making out, couch sex, cross-posted on ao3 | 4.0k words

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 despite having ideas for so many alex fics, I have never done his route! I really want to, though. he seems like a sweet guy who has a lot of room to grow...and I'm discovering how much I like athletes. hope you enjoy this! and reblog if you liked :)

One year, Alex was voted the least picky person in Pelican Town, though he wasn't sure if it mattered much when the only voters were Haley and Emily after a late night at the Saloon. Still, when Emily knocked on his door the next day and presented him with an embroidered ribbon, something she had whipped up in a few hours, he accepted it graciously and offered to hang it on his wall.

"Who was the competition?" he asked as he rummaged through the closet for a spare frame.

"Everyone, I guess," replied Emily, hands clasped behind her back as she took in the photos on the hallway walls. She hadn't been in George and Evelyn's house since she was a kid, back when she and her sister found themselves alone and unsure of how to take care of themselves.

Haley had been eliminated quickly. She admitted that she had a long list of dislikes and wasn't afraid of making her disgust known. On the opposite end of the spectrum was someone like Linus who didn't hate anything. The town's doctor had landed somewhere in the middle.

"Dr. Harvey has a clear sense of what he likes and dislikes," explained Emily, interrupting her words to give a satisfied clap when Alex found a perfect sized frame. They headed back to his room. "You're his opposite. You're so neutral about everything."

He gave a short laugh. "Sounds like Linus should've gotten the award."

"Yes, but I have work today and the mountains are far." She patted him on the shoulder once he mounted the frame. "Congratulations again, Alex!"

.

.

.

Several seasons have passed since that day, but whenever Alex sees Emily's ribbon between his athletic awards, her words come back to him. You're so neutral about everything. He never thought about it like that, though he does consider himself an easygoing person. It's probably due to the fact that he doesn't have strong opinions, but when someone spend their entire childhood tiptoeing the line and trying to stay in people's good graces, that meekness is hard to undo.

It took years for Evelyn to coax him out of it, finally hitting the jackpot when she cooked a salmon dinner and watched his eyes light up at the first bite. Most inquiries of What do you think about this? got a halfhearted shrug, a small attempt at a smile, and a quick scan of the asker's expression—what should Alex think about it? Desperate to know the right answer, he always looked outwards, not in. It's not the greatest habit, but he tries—

"Hey, man, don't think too hard about it." Shane elbows him, knocking him out of his thoughts. "It was a dumb question. You want a drink?"

Over their shared box of pretzels, Shane offers Alex an unlabelled, uncorked bottle. Alex glances down at it, hesitant.

"Thanks, but sorry, I don't...I don't drink."

"It's just sparkling apple cider," Shane says with an even tone.

Belatedly, Alex remembers the changes that Shane's trying to make in life and mentally kicks himself for jumping to conclusions.

"Pierre was having a sale, and the kids love these. You don't like cider or something?"

"I'm okay with it." Neutral, he realizes again. He takes the bottle. "I mean, I like it. Thanks."

If someone told Alex a year ago that he'd be here—sitting in Cindersap Forest near midnight, making small talk with one of the town's resident grouches, dangling his legs off the pond's dock as he sipped from a giant bottle—he would have laughed in their face and asked if they took a gridball to the head. But it's happening, and Alex finds himself enjoying the company.

He savors the carbonated taste on his tongue and takes in a lungful of the crisp night air, thinking back to when he first came to the valley. Back then, he used to sneak out of his grandparents' house, unsettled by Evelyn's hovering and George's night-time snoring. He would hang out by Dusty's pen or on the nearby bridge, leaning as far as he could over the edge. Something about staring at his reflection, accompanied by the steady sound of crickets and cicadas, cleared his mind. It still does.

"Sorry," Shane says after a bit of silence. "It was an unfair question."

"It's cool, man."

"You two dated for a while, but you did just get married, so I guess I can't really ask if you're a tits or an ass kind of guy—"

Alex makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat, face flushing once again.

"—because you'll probably say something sappy, like I like everything about her. You seem like that kind of person."

"W-well, that's not really something people think about. Do you have an opinion?"

"Of course. I'm an ass guy," replies Shane without missing a beat. "Duh. Why do you think I almost went pro in gridball?"

"Wait, what?"

Shane takes another swig from his own bottle to empty it, clears his throat, and slaps his hands on his lap like he didn't just drop two bombshells on Alex's psyche. Then he makes a comment about how it's getting late. He needs to go to bed—there's always an early morning when you live on a ranch, after all—and Alex's girlfriend...no, wife is likely wondering where he is. By the time Alex scrambles to his feet, Shane is already back on land and waving. He pauses before calling out.

"Mullner! This was, uh, this was nice. Now that we're neighbors, maybe we can do this more often. You're not too bad."

"Yeah, of course," Alex replies, still dazed. "Get home safe."

"Yeah, you too."

With all the confidence of someone who's spent nearly a decade on this side of town, Shane walks away and disappears into the dark path, hands stuffed into the pockets of his navy hoodie, a plastic bag swinging from his wrist. Alex still doesn't know what to make of the guy, previously known to him as the bitter JojaMart employee who swears every time he passes George and Evelyn's house off-shift, but you're friends with the guy and any friend of yours can be a friend of Alex's, he supposes.

Alex slips on the glow ring you gave him and squints as the area around him suddenly illuminates.

The trek home doesn't take too long. During his morning jogs, he likes to do a lap around Cindersap Forest, both to get used to the area and to help you with foraging, and it's paid off: he no longer struggles to find the signpost that points between your farm and Marnie's ranch. The first time he got lost, he had to knock on Leah's door, cracking an awkward joke while she blinked the sleep out of her eyes. She walked him home in her pajamas. With a smile at the time, yes, but she did tell him to either carry a map or stop the night-time wanderings.

You must've gone to bed early. He slips off his sneakers at the door and gives your dog a good night ear scratch. Other than the porch light and the crackling fireplace, the house is dark, and he stumbles through his night routine before slipping under the covers with you. You stir once he loops an arm around your waist.

"Just me, babe," he murmurs. "Go back to sleep."

But you turn around to face him, nestling one hand under your cheek, the other on his chest. "How was hanging out with Shane?" you ask, voice sluggish.

"Good." He pauses. "Really good, actually. He gave me some advice about making the chickens more comfortable. Some tricks to keep hay through the winter, too. Oh! I heard he did sports before, but did you know he was a gridball player?"

You hum your confirmation. "Varsity starter and nearly got signed until, y'know, life happened."

Alex whistles lowly. "Wow. Do you think he'll want to try coaching some time?"

"Maybe. Things are looking up for him now, but he might want to focus on his family for the time being."

You cut yourself off with a yawn, and he smiles, leaning over to kiss your forehead.

"G'night," he whispers, squeezing you once. You only grunt, too tired to reply.

.

.

.

As usual, you're already out of bed by the time Alex wakes up. Both of you are early birds, but you like to rise at the hellish hour of six, when the sun is just peeking over the horizon, while he gets up at the much more reasonable hour of seven. Seven-thirty, if he's feeling particularly worn out. This difference is better for him anyway—he'd rather you not find out about his morning issue and the embarrassing state he often finds himself in these days.

Groaning, he rolls over onto his stomach and wills his little friend to settle down because he hears you rummaging in the kitchen, probably waiting on him for breakfast. But bad idea—now his face is buried in your pillow, and your smell makes his stomach tighten.

This should be a good sign. It means that he's a healthy young man and madly in love with his wife—and who doesn't want that? But damn, if it isn't inconvenient. You’ve slept together before, of course. Plenty of times. He just doesn’t want you to worry about his high libido; you’re a busy person, and he’s perfectly capable of taking care of himself. He pushes off the bed and shuffles to the bathroom, clutching a towel and change of clothes over his problem.

"You can eat without me!" he calls down the stairs. "I'm going to take a shower."

In the bathroom that's filled with more of your scent—another bright idea. He yanks the temperature handle all the way to the right, and the water that spurts from the shower head is absolutely glacial, leaving his teeth chattering and his body shivering, but at least the flush beneath his skin is gone. He can think straight again.

When he steps out of the shower and roughly dries himself, refreshed, there's a knock at the door.

"Your food's on the table," you tell him. "I'm going to change and head out to pick salmonberries. Totally forgot that they're in season, so I already missed a day."

"Do you want me to come help?"

"Mhm, it's alright. Sandy asked for a fire crystal, so I might spend the day in the desert and get more iridium ore. I also saw your schedule on the fridge; today's arm day for you." There's a smile in your voice as you remind him, "That's your favorite."

You disappear into the bedroom to change, and he enters the kitchen to find a partially complete breakfast waiting for him: a stack of fresh pancakes, two fried eggs, a tall glass of milk. In the toaster oven, two hashbrowns are crisping. It's all perfect for a day of working out, and as he sits down to wait for the hashbrowns, Alex thinks not for the first time how he has the best partner in the entire valley.

Just as the toaster oven dings, he hears you skipping down the stairs, humming a catchy tune from the Saloon's new jukebox. When you round the corner of the living room, a wide wicker basket swinging from your elbow, he sees what you're wearing and chokes on air. He reaches for the milk to clear it. He can't lift his slackened jaw, and you're blissfully unaware.

And when you bend down to re-tie your sneakers? Game over.

"Fuck, your ass looks great," slips out before he can stop it.

You pause, then straighten. "You think so?" you ask, doing a little spin in the front hall.

You think it's a regular compliment. He's struggling to breathe with how fast he popped a boner. You look down at your outfit, clearly not seeing what he's seeing. Or rather, not seeing things the way he's seeing them.

"The leggings are from Em! She’s testing a new design, and I'm helping with feedback." You twist in front of the hallway mirror, admiring your legs. "I love the feel of them."

He's loving a lot more than the supposed feel of them.

Note to self, Alex thinks, faintly registering the scrape of his chair against kitchen tiles as he rushes to his feet, thank Emily later. He crosses the distance in quick, long strides and sidles up to you in the mirror, hands landing on your hips. If he were to look at his reflection over your shoulder, he'd see the gentleness of his gaze and how a soft smile grows on your face in return, but at the moment, he's having a hard time focusing on something other than the curves of your body.

"Well, you’ve answered a question for me this morning."

"Oh? What question?"

"Last night, Shane asked me if I'm a tits or an ass kind of guy," he says, not missing your sharp intake of realization. "I can tell him that I have my answer now."

Instead of getting shy as you might have a year ago, you grin, plant your ass on his straining cock, and grind slow circles that have him grasping at fraying self-control. He's flushed down to his chest, and yeah, he definitely has the best partner in the valley. His fingers dig into your skin, stilling you.

"So are you going to kiss me yet," you ask, raising your eyebrows, "or do I have to earn it?"

Cheeky. But he loves you all the more for it. He dips his head down to yours, and despite the blood pounding in his ears, his kiss is soft. Slow. Still riding the high of newlywed bliss, he likes to savor the sensation of cherishing you, likes to remind you of his vows through his touch.

But then you open your mouth, tongue prodding at the seam of his lips, and he groans, tilting to let you in. He turns you in his arms to press you up against the front door, careful to avoid the handle. You drag your hands along his arms and up his chest before twisting your fingers into his hair, tugging exactly how he likes it. His own hands wander down, kneading your ass, and when he pinches it, your surprised yelp morphs into a moan as he wedges a thigh between yours.

“You drive me insane,” he murmurs, pulling back to catch his breath. You look fantastic like this: pupils blown wide, lips swollen, gaze thoroughly captivated by him. He can’t help teasing, “I thought you were planning to pick salmonberries.”

“I already missed one day,” you reply, raising your chin. “What’s one more?”

He laughs—because even with his addled brain, he can’t get over how cute you are. Your playful expression will melt away soon enough, though.

Your top comes off with his help, falling to the floor alongside his own shirt, and though he normally likes taking his time working you up, he trails his knuckles up your spine and unclasps your bra right after, the motion smooth. It hangs loose off your chest, simply a suggestion of modesty.

The leggings are harder to remove. That’s already a point off in his books. He crouches to peel them from your legs with patience—a frustrating amount of patience, judging by your displeased huffs—but he appeases you by kissing down your exposed thighs and burying his face between them once the leggings are kicked away.

You let out a flutter of a sigh when he leaves a lingering kiss against the waistband of your underwear.

“You really are so beautiful,” he says, resting his cheek against your skin. He looks up at you through his lashes. Puppy dog eyes, you once called them. The most convincing in the valley. He doesn’t fight when you pull him back up, voice reverent as he repeats, “So, so beautiful.”

“Alex—”

“I’m serious.”

He takes your hand and flattens your palm over his heart so you can feel how fast it’s beating, threatening to burst out of his ribs. “You make me the luckiest person in the world.”

He watches as your gaze softens with adoration, certain that his did the same. This is the kind of love he’s been waiting his whole life for: unconditional, passionate, fulfilling. You give a small hum of contentment before kissing his sternum, and he almost feels sorry for how hard he’s about to take you.

But first.

His knuckles ghost across your chest. Only the lightest touch, and they’re already pebbling, waiting for more. His nose traces down the side of your face, along the column of your neck, and stops at your shoulder where he inhales your familiar scent. His kisses are light, fleeting, as he relishes the whimpers of his name on your lips. One hand rolls your nipples between his fingers with the occasional tug, and the other rubs circles into the small of your back, urging your hips into his. He makes sure that you feel the way his cock strains against his sweatpants. Then he subtly rolls his hips, and you can’t help the shudder that runs down your spine.

“Ah, damn,” you breathe out next to his ear, then angle your head for a messy, open-mouthed kiss.

Damn, indeed.

You clasp your hands around his neck, keeping him to you, and honestly, if Alex had to pass out from lack of oxygen, this wasn’t a bad way to go.

He moves his hand from your back to your front, sliding past the waistband of your underwear. He gathers your arousal on his finger and, without warning, sinks it into your core. Your body gives in easily, but your hips still buck at the feeling.

“Fuck, fuck.” You throw your head back, bumping it against the front door.

“I will in a second,” he promises, smiling. “Be patient.”

You’ve never been very good at that. He helps you turn around, and once you brace your forearms on the entryway cabinet, he sets out in earnest, pumping his finger in and out with ease.

“One more,” you grit out, laying your forehead on crossed arms.

He doesn’t say anything, just bites back a moan as he adds another finger and watches as your cunt takes him to the knuckle. He wishes he could see the expression on your face as you grind down on his hand, setting your own stuttering pace. He loops an arm around your waist and catches you when he suddenly adds a third finger between your folds, your knees buckling with a cry.

“You’re taking them so well,” Alex reassures you.

Once you find your footing again, he flattens his palm on your sternum and pushes you against his chest. Your shuddering breaths hitch at the change in angle; his fingers are on the thicker side, and you feel every inch of the stretch.

“You used to be so tight, crying about how big I am, but look at you now,” he murmurs, tracing the shell of your ear with his tongue. “Asking for two fingers and already taking a third. You can’t be satisfied with just this, right?”

“N-no, ahh, still want you to fill me up—”

“I thought so. This isn’t enough for you. You like to be dicked down so good you can’t remember your name, hmm?” he coos. “You’re lucky you live far from town. Doing this by the front door—what if someone hears you?”

You clench at the suggestion, and he files that reaction away for later because your hands clamp down on his wrist.

“I’m s’close, please, Alex, please—”

“Since you asked so nicely,” he hums. Kissing down the column of your throat, he pistons his fingers until he feels the telltale signs of your building orgasm, the convulsing of your walls, and when you release with a gasp, he slows, letting you ride it out until you melt away from his hold. Even though his cock is painfully hard and straining against his sweats, he still sweeps your hair from your face, asking, “Do you want to take a minute? I can get you some water.”

“It’s okay.”

Smiling, you take his hand and raise it to your mouth. You start with kitten licks before you fully suck on his fingers, eyes fluttering up to meet his darkened gaze, and when he kisses you after, tasting you on your own tongue has him counting his lucky stars again.

With a grunt, he grips the back of your thighs and lifts you, nudging your legs around his waist. You scramble for purchase on his shoulders, nails digging into flexed muscles.

“Is this what you had in mind for arm day?” you laugh as he walks over to the couch.

“No, but this is better.”

He bends you over the side of the couch, offering a throw pillow that you hug to your chest with an amused expression. You glance back at him, impishly wiggling your ass as if your position wasn't enough of an invitation.

"What a temptress," he mutters.

He kneads your bottom with one hand, giving it a quick pinch that has you giggling into the cushions, before easing his cock out of his sweatpants. The fabric does nothing to hide the shape of his erection—he's caught you looking meaningfully at it more than once whenever he wears them—but they've never felt as erotic as now.

If he had the patience, he'd tease you with it. Slap his shaft against your wet folds, drag his length along your arousal, rub the tip against your exposed clit. But he has all the time in the world because you're married now. He can do all of that another day.

He slides his head along your opening before pushing in inch by inch, moaning unabashedly as he splits you in half. You bury your face into the pillow, whimpering. It's always a bit of a tight fit, even when he makes sure to prep you.

"Let me know when I can move," he manages. You trail your foot up his leg, and that's enough for him to start pounding into you.

It's mesmerizing to see how your ass bounces against his hips. He can't believe he didn't do this sooner. Gripping at your waist, he sets the pace, driving into you until you're panting, muffling your sounds with the couch. It doesn't take long for him to make you snap again.

.

.

.

You don’t remember how many orgasms he’s coaxed from your body at this point. Once by the door, at least twice on the couch, a few more in bed—you remember slipping in and out of a sleepy haze at the tail end of it. You pull the blanket up to your chin with a content giggle.

In the other room, you hear the shower run.

(“You should get cleaned up,” Alex insisted, rubbing your ankles. “I’ll help you bathe.”

“I have a feeling that if I go with you into that bathroom, I’ll need another shower once you’re done with me.”

He shot you a lopsided grin. “Fair. I’ll clean up first and then run a bath for you?” He glanced out the window. “The sprinklers and automatic feeders should’ve taken care of the farm today, but I’ll check just in case.”

“Mhm.”

“And I’ll make...er, lunch. Take a nap if you want to.” He kissed the top of your head. He'd already wiped you down with a warm cloth. “I’ll be back.”)

Leaning over to the phone on your bedside, you quickly dial your partner-in-crime. The phone rings twice before her familiar sing-song Hello? come through. You don’t even need to waste time on formalities.

“I owe you big time,” you say, already making mental plans to mine a complete gem set. You always knew that Alex was holding back, but even with your subtle hints, he was too much a gentleman to really take you.

Until today.

“You were right, Em—getting Shane to help was the right move.”

[vaztori]

be my americano

SUMMARY; san already had enough of americano and he needed something else to keep him up all night- which was you, his wonderful wife.

FEATURING; san x afab!reader

GENRE; fluff, established relationship, marriage au, husband!san x wife afab!reader, non-idol au, smut (MINORS DNI)

WARNINGS; voyeurism, use of pet names, a lot of praises, fingering, nipple play, oral (f receiving), grinding

WORD COUNT; 2.4 k

NOTES FROM KALA; made this for my lovely san stan bestiee choy ! (@chokchokk) it took me a little bit too long to post this (i'm sorry about this), hope you enjoy this shitty smutty short fic of san sjsjsj

jeonride's masterlist / join the taglist here !

The scent of americano greets your sense when you walked into the dining room. It is already 09.00 pm now, and you can find your husband— Choi san, with his black hair disheveled, sipping a cup of americano while his eyes focus to stare at the laptop screen. You suggest that he is checking emails right now before finally he can sleep peacefully. It always bothers him whenever he finds unread emails, sometimes makes him anxious and you don't ask much, already knew about his behavior.

You rest your hand on his shoulder, squeeze the surface gently and you can sense how the corners of his lips create such a sweet smile at your action. He turns his head to look at you, then his dark eyes flickering down, staring at your lips. Then he leans closer, and kisses the bottom of your lip lightly— as if he was just trying to tell you how your presence makes him feel less alone while replying to emails from his colleagues.

"Can't sleep?" his fingers playing with your hair, while asking you with his eyebrows furrowed. Gets worried because at this hour, you are usually asleep.

The bitterness of americano he drinks linger in your sense. His left hand reaches out to embrace your waist, pulling you closer to him so he can lean his head to the side of your body. Your body always feels warm next to him. The warmth of your body and the soft beats of your heart near his ear can calm him down.

You stroke his hair with your fingers. His black hair still feels damp because he just showered. You do not care much about it, you love the scent of his shampoo too much, so you plant a kiss on top of his head. And San, can't hold the urge to smile wider because of it.

"I see. You like my shampoo aren't you?"

You giggle. "Way too much, i think?"

"No wonder i came home with my shampoo bottle empty." his eyes roll, acting as if he is annoyed but the fact you use his shampoo because you love his scent, melts his heart away, though.

He pinches your tummy and it makes you wriggle from him while giggling until your eyes look exactly like the crescent moon on the night sky. However, San's face beams at the sight of it. Your cute giggle and your smile look enthralling for him, like you are the most precious thing he has and he would protect you at all cost just so you can show that captivating smile of yours.

You always look so beautiful in his eyes, and he will always mention you in every beautiful thing he has ever seen in his life. It is the way you smile at him, he can't explain how you can always steal his breath with just a smile, even though he has seen it too many times, but the effect will never fade. You always give him butterflies.

And, oh! the way your silk nightgown hugged your body perfectly, you are breath-taking to him. San is 100% sure he would love to spend all of his nights with the view of you like this, even though he always can't keep his hands to himself and would rip that nightgown off of your body. It is always fascinating to him whenever his big hand can drop your nightgown to the floor gracefully.

Oh, he loves your nightgown.

But he loves it more when the nightgown comes off to reveal your perfect curves to his eyes.

Also, the yellowish lighting from the kitchen lamp makes your soft skin look glowing to San's eyes, like pearls glowing in the reflection of the sunlight. Oh, how badly he wants to cradle your luscious body right now.

"How pretty," he murmurs. Doesn't realize if his thoughts formed into words that slip away from his mouth. He is gazing up and down, can't even control his eyes.

"Oh, Sannie." you laugh it off. "You should say it to yourself." you give a few pats on his head, and his eyes close while humming in approval. Love the way you spoil him like a kitten. "I'm gonna make tea, you want some?"

He shakes his head, hinting "No, there's no need" through his gaze at you. You nod, before walking back to the kitchen counter to make some tea. You like drinking tea before bed, for some reason. It's been a habit since college and San has memorized it.

However, San seems like he can't look away from your body, as if you would turn into ash if he doesn't keep his eyes on your figure. You can feel as if his gaze can strip you naked even though you can't see his expression. You know, what you're wearing now is his favorite nightgown, with his favorite color that always manages to make him crazy over you. You do this on purpose, though. Let's see how long San can last.

His eyes locked to stare into your thighs, the bounces of your ass when you try to grab sugar on the corner of the kitchen counter, and how you tie your hair with the rubber that wrapped around the wrist of your hand before— giving him a full shot of your beautiful neck. Oh, if he stares carefully, he can see your thin panties, and your pussy lips peeking out at him because the nightgown is just too short to cover your body.

San gulped forcefully, trying to think clearly by looking back at the series of emails he hasn't replied to. Then he takes another sip of americano, hoping that the bitter liquid will neutralize the way he breathes even though his grip on the americano cup is too tight, as if he is desperate to pull your nightgown off your body so that he can see all the curves of your beautiful body with clarity.

You cleared your throat, "Sannie, i see that you've been drinking too many americanos lately."

"I- yeah. Got a lot to do so i think americano will be the best choice to keep me up all night." at this moment, San doesn't know why he is stuttering and his body tenses up, all nervous when you turned your head to look at him. Well, guess it is because he worries that you might find the lust in his dark eyes.

Don't ask him why, because San can be embarrassed too, sometimes! He might dominate you in bed, does the brat-taming with the fucking stern behavior of his, but on casual moments like this, he is a bit shy to be the first one to initiate a make-out session.

"Don't drink too much caffeine, Sannie. You make me worried when i saw the bin full of americano cups," you said, while your hand stirred the tea so that the sugar melts together with the warm drink.

"Not only americano can keep you up all night, baby." the tone in your voice becomes soften. Meanwhile, San started to stand up from his seat, already unable to resist the urge to approach and hug you from behind. Your lips carve a triumphant smile as his two sturdy arms wrap around your waist. But a second later, you gulp as you feel San's hardening down there.

"And what is that, baby?" he's mimicking the way you call him "baby", you know that. Now he starts to tease, and you realize that his hips are moving to rub his hardened cock against your ass. You bite your lower lip, trying your best to not let out any sound.

"I— uh, i think—"

"Oh, baby. I don't think tea can make your way of speaking stutter," he whispers.

Your body is completely tense now. how could it not be? san starts rubbing his knee against your clothed cunt, but right against your clit. His movements feel like electric shocks, activating something inside you. Slowly, you can feel your cheeks heating up as San stimulates the most sensitive area of your body.

His hands that were previously on your lower body slowly traveled up, finding their own way to gently squeeze your breasts, then his fingers formed a circular pattern on your nipples. He smiles deviously when you let out a moan that sounds sultry, then starts to lick your earlobe while whispering, "Let it out, baby. I want to hear your pretty sounds."

"S-sannie," you're whimpering, body leans to his chest as your hand grip the wrist of his hands— nails digging into his skin.

"Yes, baby? I'm here. Need something?"

How his knee keeps working to rub your clit and his two big hands squeeze your breasts while pinching your nipples, successfully making you lose your mind. Your breath is caught in your throat, unable to articulate what you want to say clearly. Instead, the only thing you do is spread your legs for him, so that he can be more flexible in providing stimulants.

"Sannie, fuck— it feels so—" your breath hitches.

"Good?" he smirks, while keeps licking your earlobe in the most sensual way. "Say it, baby. Or have your brain clouded so you can't speak properly?"

"I, fuck— need your tongue." your voice gets shaky, whimpering under his touch— signaling that you need more of him.

San chuckles, squeezing your breasts harshly. "That's not how i taught you to ask. You forgot something."

You turn your body around, facing San with big eyes that look pleading, trying to soften San's heart. "Please?" you beg. A beg that sounds so desperate and needy of your husband's touch, and San really can't control himself now, as he feels his cock twitching in his pants, getting painfully hard.

He cradles your cheek, kissing your lips softly even as he feels the lust building up, he is trying not to be rough tonight. Because he knows, it seems that tonight you are looking for his attention and just want to be served by your husband who has been too busy to pay attention to you lately. He realizes he has neglected to pay attention to you because he has been too busy. So, tonight is about your pleasure. His wonderful wife's pleasure.

San's other hand travels back to your clit, still covered by your panties, rubbing it gently and then pinching it. You're already wet, and you can feel your slick slide down onto your panties.

"Oh, baby." he coos. "My baby is all worked up for me."

He breaks the kiss, only to stare at your blushing face. He wants to see how you are giving up all power to your husband, despite the fact that you looked like you were flirting with him in the first place while wearing his favorite nightgown.

You turn your face away, unconsciously biting the bottom of your lip. The low laugh that escapes San's mouth makes your whole body feel goosebumps. Then your husband's forefinger grabs your chin, forcing you to look back at him. "Eyes on me," he says with a dominance that feels so intense. Suddenly you feel the temperature in the kitchen rise a few degrees because indeed, San's figure makes your body feel like it's on fire.

Your face is turning towards him, but your eyes still can't focus on looking into San's eyes. That action makes San grin, "Are you feeling shy?"

You nod weakly, then move closer to him and hide your face in the crook of San's neck. He can feel how the surface of your cheek feels so hot against his skin. Your husband laughs again, a sincere laugh that escapes because his chest feels warm. For San, your behavior now is adorable, making his heart melt like ice cream in summer. You succeeded in making him always fall in love with everything about you.

"Come on, baby. I want to see your beautiful face," he said. "Let's talk about things that can make me up all night besides the americano."

Fuck about americano, San speaks to himself. He knows that you're signaling that you're the one who can keep him up all night, but he wants to hear it from your mouth. Wanted to hear filthy things escape your mouth, with your voice that always sounds so innocent to San's ears.

"I— i think, i can replace the americano. You know, in regards to keeping you up all night..."

So with that, San lifts you up, sitting you on the kitchen counter, his warm palms rubbing your thighs, then slowly spreading your legs. Your body stiffens under his touch and he soothes you with his soft tone of voice, "Relax for me, baby."

And how can you relax when San looks at you as if he's a man starving for you? As if he can greedily devour all of you, as if he wants to touch every inch of your body that has been completely his since five years ago? You really feel weak and helpless if San has behave like this, as if you are the prey of a predator.

When you open your legs perfectly for San, your husband quickly lowers your panties down to your calves, takes them off gently, his face comes closer, then he blows his warm breath on your cunt. Making your cunt clenching for nothing, and he smiles triumphantly at the sight of it.

"Want my fingers, or my mouth?"

You don't even think, reply to his question quickly, "Both."

Without saying much, San goes back to playing with your clit, smiling a little when he sees your cheeks blush. He licks your lower lip, only to make you moan under his touch. Then his mouth slowly makes its way to your cunt, his tongue licking your clit, replacing the role of his fingers. His digits start teasing your entrance, which is already wet because you feel the need for his touch.

"Sannie..." you moan. "Put it in." you plea, your voice sounding hoarse from the heat. And San just smiles back down there, and you can feel that his pretty lips are smiling derisively at your plea.

"Don't worry, I've decided to stay up all night for you, wife." his deep voice becomes soften, eyes full of adoration toward you.

Oh, now San is sure that he will stay up all night.

This time, not because of the americano.

© jeonride 2023. Please do not copy, translate, plagiarize, or repost any of my writing anywhere! All rights reserved. Pics to @holyseonghwa, pretty divider by @benkeibear! <333

[heartfullofleeches]

i just thought of the most weirdest yan ever.

A goldfish yan

A yan that is literally so aloof, dumb, quiet, wide eyed and says 'huh?' a lot

They still love reader a lot of course theyre just seeing shapes ans colors behind their eyelids for the first time

"Why won't this fish do anything?"

Big crowd today. Noisy - too. They don't like it. Too many flashing lights, and people trying to force food in their mouth when they aren't hungry at all. They don't like it - not at all, but they can't go home. Too big to fit in their old bowl, or even pass the front door. They miss home.

"Ripley!"

A loud voice parts the crowd as a figure pushes through; light returning to the goldfish's dull eyes as the human marches up to their tank and hooks their arms around their scaly neck. In the past their human could pick them up with one arm. Now, they struggling just to get their arms over their broad shoulders. Ripley rests their chin atop your head as one of their webbed hands reaches around you.

"I warned them not to wake you up until I got here. You gonna be a good guppy for me like always?"

The goldfish blinks. "Kay."

Who would've thought that little fish you took in all those years ago would grow up to become three times your size. All the love you gave, and every treats you snuck them likely played a role in their growth. Unable to house them, you made a deal with a local aquarium that would be able to provide them with everything they needed. It tore you both up inside to part, but with your new job you could see them whenever you pleased. It was the only way to get them to eat, or do much of anything besides blankly staring at visitors.

A hand grips your shoulder; brass rings cutting into your skin through your shirt. You wince from the weight behind it as your spun on your heels to face a red-faced visitor. Ripley's attention shifts to them. Their head cocks awkwardly to one side.

"Huh?"

"Finally. I've been waiting all morning for this thing to do something and all its done is stare at me. I'm on a time sensitive schedule here.

You force a smile and their hand from your shoulder. "I'm sorry - Riptide is just a little shy when I'm not around. If you, all of you, can give us about a half hour - I'm sure they'll be ready."

Majority of the crowd disburses at your ask. You look back at Ripley. "I'm going to go get your ball, and change into my wetsuit - then we can play, okay?"

The goldfish blinks again, lips posed in a small smile. "Kay!"

You walk off, leaving the disgruntled guest behind. They stand alone in front of Ripley's unlocked tank.

"Mean to Y/n....."

They look up at the large fish. "Oh, you can talk now?"

"Mean to Y/n...." The fish repeats. "I'll show you a fun trick. Here."

-

As you walk out of the staff lounge, a visitor comes up and taps you on your unbruised shoulder. You turn to face them. "Hello, how can I help you today?"

"I was just wondering. I've seen a few sources online referring to that goldfish you call Ripley as Ripper. May I ask why that is?"

"oh....well, Ripley doesn't take too kindly to people that pick on me. They got that nickname after they nearly drowned another guest because they threw a glass bottle at me, but due to them starting it - it mostly went under the radar. If you'll excuse me, I need to get back over to them."

Walking back to their tank, Ripley swims circles around the perimeter as you climb up and jump in. They let go of whatever was in their hands to scoop you up in both arms - a single brass ring floating to the bottom of the tank.

They knock their large head against yours. "Good guppy... Me."

[justmeinadaze]

Not Alone Part 2 (Medication)(Eddie X You)

A/N: This is what I mentioned writing the other night and is a part to this ask here.

I want to say that I have had so many experiences with medications since I was diagnosed with my mental health issues in 2016. I had watched it help people like myself after so many trials and errors and I've watched it hurt people to their core. I've been physically hurt to the point where I was vomiting and curled up on the bathroom floor. I've had pills that messed with my brain chemistry to the point a friend found me sobbing on the floor terrified I was going to die. All that fun stuff and to be honest the worst part was no feeling heard.

I would tell doctors how much pain I was in and they would tell me it was normal. After a couple of days I would tell them something wasn't right and I was told to give it more time. It wasn't until 2019 I finally found a doctor who worked with me and realized that my brain and stomach are extremely sensitive to meds and we have to start on the lowest doses first before moving up. Ive been on my current set of pills since then and it's changed my life.

Of course, mental health meds don't fix everything and I was suggested a vitamin that help with calming your mind. Yesterday, I took and what the reader feels about her quiet mind is how I felt. I didn't know what to do with myself. Honestly, I just wanted to be held and told everything is ok.

But yeah, my advise to you is trust your gut. If you want to take medication and notice somethings off voice your concern. If you don't like what a drug does or how it affects you, say something. DO NOT let a doctor walk all over you. If I've learned anything over the last few years, it's that all doctors are human and like humans...they make mistakes and can be assholes.

Warnings: Mentions of mental health concerns, details on medication symptoms (tummy ache, vomiting, change in personality, quiet mind), feels of "being a bother" More then anything this is Eddie taking care of you and him making sure you're ok. Mr. White Knight <3.

Word Count: 1579

“Ok and what should we be on the lookout for?”, Eddie asks as his hand remains intertwined with yours. 

The doctor you had just met at the insistence of your family heavily exhaled as your boyfriend asked him another question that seemed to annoy him. 

“Look, Mr. Munson, she’s going to be fine. This medication helps so many people to be relaxed and quiet their mind. At most, she’ll be so relaxed that you both will get a good night’s sleep. Now, I do have other patients waiting.”

As he begins to walk the door, the metalhead starts to follow before you grab his elbow and pull him back. 

“Stop it, freak.”, you tease as he tosses you a smile back. 

“Hey, I just want to know that you’re safe. I don’t like seeing you in pain or anything. I know your depression tells you no one cares but I do.”

Beaming up at him, you pull his lips to yours as he wraps his arms around you to hug you to his chest. 

***

“Y/N? How are you feeling so far, baby?”

It had been about an hour since you took the antidepressant the doctor recommended and Eddie noticed within 5 minutes of taking it your entire body language changed. You seemed…heavier…as if there was a weight baring down on you and folding your frame. 

His careful eyes followed you around the trailer as you silently grabbed a water bottle and sat cross legged on the couch to watch tv. The thing was…he could tell in your eyes that you weren’t really paying attention. You seemed to be looking through the tv instead of comprehending anything going on. 

“I’m…I’m ok.”

“Can you give me more than that, please?”, Eddie asked as he sat down beside you.

“I’m…calm. I don’t feel anything really. Like…I’m relaxed but…I kind of just want to curl up into a ball.”, you mumble raising another red flag in his brain. 

“Why is that do you think?”

“It’s going to sound dumb.”, you sigh as you hang your head. 

“Hey.”, he coos as his fingers lift your chin. “Nothing you say is dumb to me. I’m a freak remember?”

Eddie smirks at the sound of your laugh but even that sounds out of place. This particular metalhead was never a fan of medication. He believed it worked and helped people but in his experience it made things worse. His uncle once tried to put him on ADHD medication when he was a boy and promptly took him off it when he noticed his nephew’s personality completely change. In later years, weed helped calm him down along with his music and creating a campaign for Hellfire. 

You had told him once, you struggled with finding your purpose. Your family made you believe that paying bills and working a desk job is normal. It’s the only thing in realty that was attainable.

With him, he showed you a new world that you absolutely loved and encouraged you to try new things like writing or learning an instrument for yourself. Since you had started seeing him, you felt like someone cared and put you first, constantly making you feel wanted and seen. 

Throughout your time together, he watched a personality unfold that made him fall more in love with you every day and truth be told he was terrified that medication would strip that away but if it could help you be happy and achieve your dreams than he was open to the idea.  

“My mind…has never been quiet. As far as I can remember something’s been…buzzing around in there, you know? This…this scares me…I don’t know…what to do with the silence.”

Eddie’s heart cracks listening to your explanation as he pets your head and kisses your temple. 

“Well, sweetheart, things will never be silent with me as your boyfriend.”

Giggling, you crawl into his lap and melt into his embrace as he softly plays with your hair.

***

Three hours later the energy changed as you felt a pain in your stomach you had never felt before. Rushing to the bathroom, you threw up over and over again as Eddie held your hair back. 

“Everything’s ok, baby.”, he whispered before turning his attention to the phone next to his ear. “No, I don’t fucking care that he’s not there! Then give me another fucking doctor to talk to. My girlfriend hasn’t stopped throwing up in the last thirty minutes. I refuse to believe that’s fucking normal!”

“Look, sir, there’s nothing we can do about it over the phone and like I said with mental health medication, it is common for it to cause the symptoms she’s experiencing. After a while, they will go away.”

“What is ‘a while’?”

“Usually after 2 weeks, your body gets used to the—”

“Oh, hell no! You’re saying she’s going to be in this much pain for that long?! What about her job, her life, her fucking sanity!? Aren’t these pills supposed to help with the depression!? How does that help!?”

“Eddie…”, you cry as you try to reach for his arm to calm him down. 

“Listen, we have an opening for you to see her doctor tomorrow morning. Bring her in and we can take a look.”

“Yeah we’ll do that.”, he sasses before hanging up the phone. “Here, sweetheart. Drink some of this water and then we’ll go lay down ok?”

“I’m sorry.”, you sob causing him to grab a tissue to wipe your eyes. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for—”

“I’m causing problems. I’m making things difficult for you—”

“No, baby, No. Listen to me, Y/N. The only thing that’s difficult for me is watching you hurt like this. I knew that fucker wasn’t taking you seriously. I swear to God when we get in there tomorrow—”

“Please…I just wanna lay down.”

Nodding, Eddie careful lifts you and lays you in his bed, bringing the covers up over your frame. After placing a trashcan by the bed and the water on his nightstand, he crawls in behind you and pulls you into his arms, gently kissing your shoulder as he listens to your breath. 

***

“Alright, Miss Y/L/N, now I heard you were having some symptoms in regard to the medication and—”

“She’s not taking that bullshit anymore. Check her over and make sure she’s not dehydrated or needs a hospital and then you can fuck off.”, Eddie growled from his place in front of you like the protector he was. 

“Listen there’s no need for—”

“There’s a huge fucking need. She came to you for help and you just toss any drug at her without really speaking to her about her history?! You didn’t properly warn her about the side effects. Trust me, the most that happened wasn’t ‘a good night’s sleep’. She threw up half the fucking night and sobbed in arms. Do you know what that’s like?! Having someone you love being in pain and feel so fucking helpless?!”

The doctor cleared his throat as he sighed. 

“She said it calmed her mind but to an extent she didn’t know how to handle. You don’t just thrust someone into that. You have to ease them in so they don’t get overwhelmed. You should know that…or did years in medical school strip you have your humanity and common fucking sense?”

“Let, um, let me look her over here.”

Eddie’s intense eyes watched the doctor as he checked you out and you confirmed you felt better since you didn’t take the pill again for day 2. 

“She seems fine and one day on the drug won’t hurt her mentally. I recommend a day to rest and then she’ll be as she was.”

The metalhead, seemingly satisfied with his answer, took you in his arms and gently placed you on the tile. 

“I’m not trying to be a dick, doctor. She’s been through so much already and all by herself. Lord knows I’m not perfect but if I can help her I will. You dropped the ball here, sir, and I hope you don’t again.”

***

“Thank you.”, you murmur as your arms wrap tighter around him while you both lay in bed listening to the music and the rain outside. “For standing up for me. My family and doctors always treat me like I’m being overdramatic.”

“No, baby, you’re not. You deserve to be heard. My mom’s medication used to make her sick all the time and she would brush it off saying it was part of the process. I know they helped her with her pain but…”

“Will you help me look into maybe some alternatives? Something that can help me without changing or hurting me? Or maybe we can find a doctor that will work with me…”

“Of course, sweetheart.”, he coos as he kisses your forehead. “You’re not an inconvenience or a problem by the way. You say that a lot when you’re low. I really do like helping you and or taking care of you. You’ve always been there for me and I see how you are with other people including some that don’t deserve your kindness. You deserve to have someone help you take the reins from time to time.”

“What did I do to deserve you, Eddie Munson?”, you smile up at him. 

His chest vibrates as he laughs and grins down at you. 

“I don’t know. Probably some voodoo chant or dance or something.” 

##########

Eddie Asks

[ledesaid]

Someone once told me ╚-.╚-.╚-.╚-.

..............................................

"Don't trust strangers..."

I think I had no choice when I met him.

The lights of the trains passing through my station were new, this section of the route was closed, but they pass so quickly that they barely illuminate the entire station.

But that station felt smaller than I usually remember.

It felt so lonely.

I felt trapped.

There was only one way out. I knew it, the echo resonating through the tunnels invited me every hour without fail to get on that train. I've lost count of how many times it has stopped and started again.

I may not know about equations, but I know that something entered the station and did something.

But I couldn't ask and was tied up, literally trapped.

The exit of the station had disappeared and an invisible force pushed me away from the train tracks.

I would be desperate, I really was, but I couldn't ask for help... I thought that if they were my last moments, they would be fine, always and whenever they stopped.

The train stopped every six hours, waited five minutes, and then left again.

Maybe I could have watched this for weeks, but I felt so tired that I knew I could only withstand one more cycle of the train, there was only one bottle of water and two granola bars left.

It was unfair that I had no choice...

But at least, as a mark of my passage through the world, I took a can of paint that someone had left and began to write on the station floor:

"Hello, my name is Billy Batson. I am nine years old and I'm going to get on an unknown train."

"This sucks, please call Superman for me."

For my tired self, I couldn't think of anything better at the moment, I had no friends, parents, or anyone close... That still hurts even now.

When the doors opened for the last time, I knew it was over... I knew it was time and I just took what little I had with me. A stuffed animal, a blanket, and half my bottle of water.

The train didn't take long to move forward as it usually did, I realized it was a trap, but I didn't try to get off and just sat and waited.

The windows only illuminated the stations very quickly like flashes and, after a few minutes, there was only a blinding light that disoriented me.

I tasted fear in my throat, held on to the only thing I had... a small tiger stuffed animal, and begged for it to end soon.

At some point, I fell asleep, but when I opened my eyes, the doors were open and I believed I was alone again...

I decided to get off. I had no other choice.

Billy: "Come on Batson, you can do it..." I tried not to cower before the unknown.

To my surprise, there was no station to welcome me, only a dark cave in its place.

***: "Welcome William, I have been waiting for you for a long time..."

Billy: "Who are you? Why am I here?"

***: "I am the wizard Shazam and you have been chosen as the champion of magic."

Billy: "I want to leave."

Shazam: "You have no choice. The Olympians have chosen you and you just answered the call."

Billy: "You forced me to get on the train."

Shazam: "It's an honor to be chosen, William, and you only need to say my name 'Shazam' and you will be able to walk among mortals carrying my power with you to protect magic. The end of my era has come, good luck Captain Marvel, you will need it..."

I still have nightmares about a giant rock crushing the wizard I had just met.

Two days later I couldn't take it anymore and invoked the wizard's name... One week later I saved Fawcett, six months later they offered me to join the league and now, two years later, I'm telling you my story... I really, really didn't expect to tell this to anyone... I'm glad you're just an AI, Sanctuary.

Billy: "I must go now, thanks for just listening..."

Sanctuary: "Thank you for your service Captain Marvel, even if it was imposed on you, you have saved many lives. Thank you for getting on the train."

Billy: "You're welcome, I suppose... I had no choice and really, even now, I don't feel like I have one."

[spookyjuicefiction]

Violets & Plums: Astarion/Tav, Part 1

Got an idea for an Astarion fic that I just need to start working through and here is as good a place as any. Part 1 of ?

_______________________________________

He had been wrong about her. And he hated being wrong.

He had seen her on the nautiloid, stuffed into a pod and infected with a tadpole just as he had been. He recognized her when he spotted her trudging up the path toward him away from the crash site. He himself had just clawed his way out of the wreckage and was getting his bearings when she and the she-elf emerged from the smoke. An easy target, he thought, quickly preparing a ruse to trap her. She fell right into it, and he was ready to kill her - that is, until their parasites connected.

When he agreed to team up with her and Shadowheart, it was because he planned to use them as human shields should he meet any attackers. Sure, they had the common goal of finding a healer to remove the parasite, but they certainly had no value as serious allies as far as he could tell. Even only being a vampire spawn, they were slow and weak compared to him. Not to mention stupid. He was the obvious choice to lead the pack.

Then why was it that he was standing at the edge of the campsite alone, scowling to himself as the rest of his merry band of companions passed around a bottle of wine and enjoyed each others' company? And why was she the one in the middle, with every adoring eye on her?

Yes, he had certainly underestimated her. Within hours she had every one of them wrapped around her magical fingers, and within a few days they had all deferred to her as their de-facto leader when decisions needed to be made. She seemed to have a gift for reading people, knowing exactly how to charm and persuade them. Her skills of deception even rivaled his own, though he was loathe to admit to his admiration of them.

His pointed ear pricked toward the campfire as new sounds arose; she - Tav - had started plucking a tune on her lute and leading the group in song. He rolled his eyes. Of course she sings, too. How irritating.

It was truly annoying how easily she gained the others' favors. Wasn't he supposed to be the one so well-versed in flattery and charisma? Yet she deigned to engage with them in ways that made his skin crawl, like listening to Wyll's obviously dramatized renditions of his escapades as The Blade of Frontiers. Or allowing Gale to ramble on about his cat - his tressym, as the obnoxious wizard was so fond of correcting them. Shadowheart seemed to like her just because Tav left her alone and didn't ask her too many questions, but chuckled along at all of her jokes at the others' expense. She had even gained Lae'zel's trust after asking her for fighting tips and electing her as the group battlemaster in case of combat. And Karlach took nothing at all - the two have been practically joined at the hip (from a fire-safe distance, of course) since the tiefling joined their camp. She must be hiding something, he thought. No one can be that good at gaining peoples' trust without good reason. He would know.

She tried to read him, too. She made little jokes and comments under her breath only for him to hear, trying to be conspiratorial. She complemented him often, trying to appeal to his vanity. But most obnoxiously, she went toe to toe with him in battles of wit. Any time he threw loaded grenade of snark and vitriol at one of their companions to entertain himself, she threw it right back. It was infuriating, being undermined and bested at his favorite game. That was probably why the others' liked her so much, because she was fond of shutting him up and making him seethe quietly in the back of the line. Nobody else liked him.

Good, he thought. Best to go it alone anyway. Never needed a friend before, don't need one now. As soon as I get this bastard out of my eye, I'll be gone faster than a rat in Cazador's dungeon.

The thought of rats unpleasantly reminded him of his thirst. Typically, he waited until the others were asleep to go off and hunt so they wouldn't suspect the truth about his condition. But seeing as they were all singing (except Lae'zel, of course), he guessed no one would notice if he stalked off.

He took no joy in his kill tonight, feeling grumpy as he continued to brood over his distaste for Tav. Two hundred years thinking of nothing but Cazador and he was finally free, only to spend every moment bemoaning his luck at being stuck with the spellcaster. He drained the boar of its blood and left it carelessly on the side of the path, electing to wander around for the remaining nighttime hours rather than returning to camp. He was too restless to trance anyway. And she was there. She probably conjures butterflies in her sleep and dreams rainbows, the foul beast.

"The hells is that?" asked Karlach, squinting at a large lump on the side of the path.

"Looks like a boar," said Wyll, going over to toe it with his boot, Tav close behind. "It looks... it looks like it's been drained of blood. There's no stain around it. I can't even see a wound."

"That's odd," remarked Shadowheart, quirking an eyebrow. Astarion shifted on his feet, agitated. Shit. He should have taken more care to cover his kill last night. Looking around, he started as he realized Tav was staring right at him.

"Oh, who cares, it's only a boar," he said impatiently, looking quickly away from her, unnerved. "Surely there are more interesting things to investigate. Look, I see goblins mounting an ambush through the gate up ahead. Let's go and kill something." He stalked off, not waiting for a reply and removing his daggers from their sheaths.

"Something on your mind?"

FUCK. Astarion couldn't remember the last time someone had snuck up on him. He had been pacing in a clearing just outside the camp, wondering if Tav somehow knew his secret. He was debating with himself whether he should abandon the group and set out on his own when her voice - the last voice he wanted to hear - startled him. Rounding on her with daggers drawn and his hair standing on end, he fixed her with his most murderous expression.

"Do you make a habit on intruding on people's private contemplations?" he hissed angrily.

"You know better than anyone the advantage of catching someone off-guard," she replied coolly, folding her arms and shifting her weight.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?" he asked, voice dripping with sarcasm as he lowered his weapons. He loathed her completely in that moment.

"Only wondering where you were. Looted some good food for supper from those goblins, if you're hungry." She tilted her head. "Or perhaps you've already eaten today."

They regarded each other cautiously as her words hung in the air. He was certain that she knew. Was she afraid he would hurt her, or the others? She could tell them his secret, and they would all turn on him. So what did she want in exchange for her silence? Was she shaking him down?

"I'm not hungry," he replied slowly. Slowly, he raised his empty hands, daggers now sheathed. A gesture of surrender. "I'm happy to keep watch while you all eat. I will ensure no harm comes to anyone."

She narrowed her eyes, seeming to understand the duality of his words. He was promising not to drink from them. After a beat, she replied with a stiff nod. He allowed his tense shoulders to drop. She was promising not to tell them. For now.

Satisfied at their new agreement, Astarion spent the next 2 days coming up with a new plan to manipulate Tav. With her being the the leader of their group, it seemed prudent to ensure that she would protect him should the others begin to turn on him. Much as he despised her, he conceded that she was his best chance to finding a cure for the parasite, and thus his best chance for true freedom from Cazador. If she was already willing to hide his condition from the others, it would not take too much more effort on his part to get her to play completely into his hand. All he had to do was try a little seduction. Even she couldn't best him at that game.

But even has his plan took shape, he could feel his thirst, an ever-present beast clawing up his throat, undermining him. It made him irritable, weak, and unfocused. Instead of charming her, he more often found himself arguing with her, stabbing her with vicious insults about her sorcery, her class, and even her looks. He didn't really even mean them; she had proven herself an adept spellcaster in both battle and everyday application, she seemed to come from a fine, middle-class family in Baldur's Gate, and her looks were perfectly adequate to the average person. Not beautiful enough to tempt Cazador, maybe, but enough that Astarion caught Gale's eyes lingering a little too long a little too often. For some reason, Astarion found that infuriating.

He had lobbed a particularly nasty mockery at her earlier in the day after she had insisted that they all run in to a burning building to rescue some helpless fool, so he was quite surprised to find her clearing her throat outside of his tent that evening.

"Come to shoot a firebolt at me since you didn't quite singe all of my eyebrows off this afternoon?" he inquired bitterly.

She rolled her eyes. "Can I come in?"

This was unusual. No one had ever asked to enter his tent before.

"I suppose," he replied cautiously, and she shouldered past him through the flap. He followed her back inside and she turned to face him, crossing her arms defensively.

"You've been a real arse these last days." She said it with a finality that left no room for argument. He poked at her anyway.

"Well, thank you," he broke into a smile and a shallow bow. "You should see me when I don't have a parasite in my head."

"I've had enough," she continued, as though he hadn't interrupted. "This ends now."

"What are you going to do?" he hissed, joking manner aside as he closed the distance between them threateningly. She was going to tell the others. "You'll be dead before you reach the door."

But as usual, the moment he had the upper hand, she pulled the rug out from under him. "I'd rather you not drink so much as to kill me, since I'm offering it out of the kindness of my heart."

He never could quite get his footing with her.

"Excuse me?"

"If you drink some of my blood, will you stop being such a devil's shite?"

It took considerable effort for Astarion to clamp his jaw shut and rearrange his features to mask his shock.

"You want me to drink your blood?"

"Want is a strong word. But I'm willing to make a small sacrifice for the good of the group if it'll shut you up long enough for us to find this Halsin without your moaning and whining."

"I do not moan and whine," he protested petulantly. "And I absolutely do not promise to shut up. But it will almost certainly improve my mood drastically." He licked his lips at the thought of it, eyeing her pulse point.

"Very well then. I suppose I'd better lay down in case I pass out."

Astarion watched motionlessly as she lowered herself onto his bedroll and swept her hair off her neck. His body seemed unable to move, yet his every instinct told him to tear her open right then and there. At the same time, the sight of her on his bedroll made him feel slightly nauseous - not because of her, but something akin to shame stirred in his abdomen. Just another victim for him to ruin. It was almost too easy. So why the sudden... guilt?

"Can we get on with it? I don't much fancy falling asleep in your bedroll."

Composing himself, Astarion dropped to his knees with a flourish and bent his body over hers. It was horribly intimate, and he could sense her discomfort. He lavished in it.

"Comfortable, darling?" he smirked at her and winked, and she rolled her eyes.

"If you accidentally kill me, you know that Karlach will make sure you burn alive. So, not a drop more than you need."

"Of course, my sweet. No need to worry. Only a teensy little sip and I'll be out of your hair."

She looked like she didn't believe a word, but she turned her head with a sigh, exposing her neck to him.

"It'll only hurt a pinch," he breathed as he lowered himself to her pulse point. He was struck for a moment by her scent - violet and plums and something smoky - before he bared his teeth. He felt her take a breath, and then he sunk his fangs in.

They moaned almost in unison, her in pain, and him in pleasure, as he began to drink. Gods, it was perfect, even better than he had ever imagined it could be. He could've sworn that her blood tasted like violet and plums as it splashed over his tongue. She was clutching his arms for support, and he felt his hand clamp down on her hip to hold her in place. But she didn't try to get up, laying stiffly beneath him as he suckled her lifeblood.

He could kill her. It would be so easy. She would feel like she was falling asleep, and he could drink her as dry as the boar on the side of the road. The image of it rose in his mind; her, pallid, bloodless, slack-jawed. No more stupid singing. No more butterfly dreams.

He retracted his fangs from her quickly, as though she had burned him suddenly. Her grip on his arms had weakened significantly, and her head seemed to loll on her neck.

"Oh dear. Don't pass out, darling."

He scooped his hand under her cheek and turned her face toward him. Her eyes were placid and unfocused, but she was blinking like she was trying to maintain consciousness. Already she looked pale. He bit back the resurgence of the guilty nausea and pulled a pillow under her head.

"Just a moment, love. We'll get you all sorted." His tone was light and airy as he rummaged in his pack for a healing potion, but he was more unnerved than he would've liked to admit.

"There we are." He uncorked the stopper and held her head up, tipping the potion down her throat slowly so as not to choke her. After a few deep breaths, she brought her hand up to her forehead and rubbed her temple.

"I said 'not too much', you arsewipe," her voice was weak, but clearly irritable.

"I can't help that you're so delicious," he cooed, relieved that the potion seemed to recover her somewhat. He noticed that her fingers were trembling, and a shiver wreaked through her whole body. Sighing, he pulled a thick blanket up around her. Her eyes on him were daggers, but she didn't push it off. "Just relax here for a bit. I won't be sleeping anytime soon, after that. It was quite... invigorating."

She eyed him curiously. "You say it like you've never done it before."

Sharp as ever. How did she always know?

"I... haven't. You're my first. My first... thinking creature, that is." He smirked at her, wiggling his eyebrows. "I bet you didn't guess I was a virgin."

She didn't take the bait. "So what did you eat?" Her fingers had stilled against her temple; he had her full attention now. He didn't like how her scrutiny made him feel. Somehow, even though she was so weak she couldn't raise her own head, he was the one feeling vulnerable.

"Oh, rats, flies, roaches, whatever one could find on hand 'round Cazador's dungeons," he said with forced nonchalance, examining his fingernails. "Cazador is - was - my master. I am his vampire spawn." He couldn't bear to look at her, sure he would see pity in her eyes that would make him want to claw his skin off. "How did you know about my condition, by the way?"

"You aren't as subtle as you think you are." His head snapped up at that, insulted. "And I've spent some time studying the condition. One of the guildmasters was hoping to imbibe a potion with some of the properties of vampire blood."

"To what end?" Astarion asked, curiosity piqued.

This time it was she who smirked. "The official story was that the research was focused on creating a more potent healing potion, since vampires are known to have such rapid regeneration. However," she pushed herself up gently on the pillows, "I always suspected they were hoping to create a potion of immortality."

"Well, that would be something," Astarion mused. "However did they get a vampire's blood to experiment with?"

"They didn't. It was all theoretical. I was trained to learn to recognize a vampire if I spotted one, with the hope of obtaining its blood for the research. With permission, or... by force." She looked as though the idea left a bad taste in her mouth. His face must have given his thoughts away as well, since she looked at him and chuckled. "Don't worry, I'm not going to steal your blood. I doubt it would have worked anyway."

"What makes you say that?"

"Well," she sat up further, the color beginning to return to her cheeks, "for one, I don't believe vampirism works in the way most mages think it does. It's not some kind of magical curse imbued with some mysterious arcane properties. I think it's... more like an illness. Like a plague, that can only be passed one way."

"Well, it certainly feels like a curse," Astarion intoned bitterly. "And if it's an illness, I've never heard of a cure."

She shrugged. "It's only a guess. But it is a little exciting to meet one up close, after all my research." She was smiling at him earnestly now, again making him feel uncomfortable.

"You're a strange creature. I just drank your blood and you're excited. One might think you have... odd predilections." He grinned wickedly at her.

She chuckled. "How are you feeling now? Less cranky?"

Astarion took stock of his body as he climbed to his feet. "I feel strong. I feel..." he trailed off a moment, searching for the right word. "Happy."

Tav clamored to her feet as well, with far less grace. She wove unsteadily for a moment, and he caught her waist to ensure she didn't pull his tent down in a fall. They were standing quite close again, and he felt his guard drop for a moment.

"Thank you," he said quietly, "for trusting me. I... this is a gift, you know. I won't forget it."

"I suspect neither will I," she murmured, smiling at him once more. "Well, good night then."

"Sweet dreams."

He watched her walk slowly and tiredly back to her tent on the other side of the clearing, head reeling with everything that had just happened. She had offered herself to him, but not in the way he was used to. She had offered her blood, and she had trusted him to take it. But why? What is there for her to gain?

She wanted him placated, clearly. Perhaps she was as annoyed by him as he was by her and really did just want to shut him up. Maybe she was mounting her own manipulation plan, forcing him to be dependent on her blood to do her bidding. He hated knowing that if she offered again, he would greedily accept. But what reason did she have to trust him so easily not to kill her, when all he had done since they met was insult her? What was she reading about him that he didn't even know himself? The questions plagued him as he hunted that night, wishing every sip of animal blood was hers. He had a taste for it now, and it ruined him. If he had thought about her constantly before, he was doomed now.

As he lay down in his bedroll to trance, he raked his hand over his face. Then, he began to laugh bitterly. All around him, the only thing he could sense was aroma of violet and plums.

Part 2

[typingatlightspeed]

TF2 Fanfic - Like A Fox Chapter 1

Some vignettes on the subject of Spy's natural form: that being a three-tailed red fox, starting Scout finally getting to see what his newest boyfriend Really looks like, and how concerned Spy is about showing him.

Ao3 Link! Part of Monstrous Intent!

Dedicated to @beepiesheepie for being a bro and shooting the shit with me so much about fox Spy, and thus inspiring me to actually write more with him! :D

---------

The door to the smoking room clicked shut softly, making Scout's eyes crack open. Spy had come back, a pair of water bottles in his hands and a fond smile on his lips as he looked over to where Scout lay on the couch, still naked and splayed out. He must have conked out, since he definitely didn't remember anything past when Spy had cleaned him up after they'd had a late afternoon frot there.

"Ah, you're awake," Spy chuckled, striding over and handing him a water. "I'd thought I might have killed you, the way you passed out post-coitus." He urged Scout to tuck his legs up and took a seat, cracking his own bottle and taking a sip.

"Field was real muddy today, so the fight wiped me. Hooves sink in way easier than feet," the faun chuckled, tugging himself up to sit and cracking his own bottle. He took a deep swig and settled back against the arm, taking a moment to just observe Spy.

The kitsune perched on the edge of the couch, having not fully committed to settling in. He'd put his shirt, trousers, mask, and shoes back on, but his tie, waistcoat, and jacket still remained thrown over his desk chair from earlier. His tails were out, as they usually were during off-hours these days. There was no reason to put in the extra effort to hide them around the team, and Spy had mentioned once or twice that his tails were the hardest part to change, like they didn't like to be hidden. Every other part of his form was second nature to take, but he actually had to pay at least a little attention to keeping his tails out of sight.

It was a well-known trait of kitsune, he'd explained. Many a folktale of his kind ended with a kitsune's disguise failing because their tails had refused to stay hidden, and outed them. Scout had found it funny that the same thing had happened to Spy, in the end. Though when asked, Spy had denied having ever heard any folktale about a kitsune failing to hide his tails specifically because he was getting the best rimjob of his life.

A smile crept across Scout's lips as he silently observed the man, the way his eyes fell closed as he drank, the bobbing of his adam's apple as he swallowed, the way one pinkie finger seemed to refuse to make contact with any vessel he carried, seemingly more by habit than decorum. He could never wrap his head around the idea that this man, so proper and put-together and elegant, was really a small woodland creature. A magical, supernatural one sure, but a fluffy little fox all the same.

"Hey Ren?"

Spy lowered the water from his lips, an eyebrow lifting in reply. He had yet to remark on his paramour's seeming need to shorten the already rather short names of his partners, but there was something about his chosen name being given a loving diminutive that made his chest feel light, so he chose not to interrogate any of it, instead.

"How 'come you don't hang out in your natural form? Like, we all know what you are."

A soft scoff left his nose. "For much the same reason I don't walk around on base without my mask. My identity and privacy are my own." After a moment, he added, "And as you know, this," he gestured to himself, "is my preferred form." His tails curled around his legs, protective. Scout knew the motion well now. He'd hit a little too close to something vulnerable, and had to tread carefully lest Spy get snippy and shut him out.

Being in love with him made him no less of a prickly fucker sometimes.

"You don't do it when you're alone?"

Spy's lips drew up into a line. "Sometimes. Every so often even I have to relax fully."

That brought a grin to Scout's face. Spy was so uptight all the time, he almost didn't believe that statement. "Bet takin' a nap like that's gotta be comfy as hell."

"There is something about being able to curl up into a ball—something a human body can't quite do—that is deeply restful, I'll admit."

There. The tension was beginning to drain away. Scout felt his footing in the conversation grow stronger. "Snipes told me once that he's seen it. Your natural form, I mean."

"Twice," Spy admitted. "Once because I was a mixture of exasperated and exhausted, and was simply fed up with controlling myself. It was after the incident where Engineer discovered my true nature. The other... well I'll be honest it was an entirely petty method to get my way. But when pet play is involved, the man with more experience being an animal is tempted to... flex that fact, a bit."

Scout made a note to ask Sniper about that sometime. "Man, that ain't fair."

"Demoman said the same, but he took it in stride, I assure you," Spy chuckled.

More questions to ask Sniper sometime. "No, man, I mean it ain't fair that Snipes gets to see that twice. I wanna see what you really look like."

Spy regarded Scout for a long moment, his expression unreadable, his eyes studying his face for a long moment. "I wonder if that's wise."

"Whaddaya mean? Ren, you're my boyfriend! Why does a guy you're fuckin' get to see the real you but not the guy you're in love with?"

That made Spy wince just the slightest bit. It was true, and he'd admitted as much out loud on multiple occasions, but it still didn't make someone else—even the object of his affections—telling him how he felt feel like a violation, like something presumptuous and insulting. His lips drew into a pout, partly frustrated with his own knee-jerk. This was Scout. This was Jeremy. This was the first person he'd earnestly confessed his love for since practically the turn of the damned century. He deserved better. He'd earned better.

"Sniper's used to sexual congress with all manner of monsters. Humanoid shape isn't a requirement for him. Merely sapience and consent. It's... simpler for him to reconcile my natural shape to the nature of our interactions."

Scout frowned. "You're usin' big words because you don't wanna answer the question."

Spy frowned in turn. Scout was getting too good at reading him. "It's easier for a man who fucks monsters as a hobby to deal with the fact that a man he's had sex with looks just like a normal animal in his natural form," he said plainly, a bit of distaste colouring his tone. "It's one thing to know it, but it's another to actually see it, and have to confront it."

Scout sat up, his shoulders hunching forward. "So what, you think I'm gonna get all freaked out if I see you as a fox 'cause then it'll hit home that I been fuckin' a fox, an' it'll make things weird?"

"In essence," Spy sighed, averting his eyes. He elected not to voice his worry that it could sour the relationship in its entirety.

Shaking his head, Scout scooted down the couch to sit beside Spy, wrapping his arms around him. He pressed a kiss to his shoulder, a warm smile crossing his lips. "After all the effort I put into gettin' you in my life? Come on. Plus I'd be a hell of a hypocrite if that weirded me out after my ass went into rut, an' all that shit with Engie."

A soft laugh puffed out of Spy's nose at that. "Fair enough, I suppose."

Scout slouched low, peeking up at Spy from behind his shoulder, his eyes sparkling hopefully.

Spy couldn't help but laugh. The bastard was entirely too cute for either of their own good. "Fine. But if—"

"Ren if it changes a damn thing you deserve to drag me outta respawn range an' put two in my skull," Scout interrupted, giving him a squeeze.

"I was going to say that if you pick me up without my permission I'll bite you, but I appreciate that," Spy chuckled, standing. He walked slowly to his desk, unbuttoning his shirt. Shedding the garment, he draped it over the chair with the rest of his clothing, kicking off his shoes and socks as well. He couldn't help but notice Scout's eyes upon him with rapt attention as he stripped, amused at the scent of pheromones. The faun was incorrigible. Once his trousers and underwear were off, he stood before Scout nude, tugging his mask free and running a hand through his hair to fix it. "You're sure you're prepared?" he asked, tails lashing nervously.

"Babe if you don't transform I'm just gonna tackle you and bend you over that desk; standin' in front 'a me naked an' hot like that. So it's probably a good idea you do it now before I get all riled up."

Spy snickered. "You were riled up from the moment I began unbuttoning my shirt."

"Well yeah, you're hot."

"So good of you to notice," Spy teased. He took a deep breath, pushing down his own anxiety as he let go of all of his control.

Fur erupted all across his body in an instant as he shrank, his skull elongating, his ears shifting upward, his arms growing, legs shrinking, feet lengthening in a flurry of changes as the human shape of a man became the vulpine shape of a fox. Unlike Demoman's transformation it wasn't gradual, it wasn't in stages, and it didn't last long enough to fully observe in detail. Merely two blinks of the eye passed in the time it took the kitsune's body to completely reorganize itself, and before Scout could gasp in surprise, a fluffy orange fox with three tails stood on the floor in front of the desk on four dainty black paws.

Spy sat down on his haunches, his three tails resting on the carpet behind himself, and looked up at Scout, supernatural intelligence hiding in his narrow, orange eyes. "Ore da," he said simply, with a mouth that should not have been able to form the words. "This is me."

Scout's mouth fell open as he took in the sight with wide eyes. He was a fox. With bright orange fur, a white muzzle, chest, and belly, black ears, and black legs. His tail ended in a ring of black with a fluff of bright white at its tip. His nose was black, twitching as he sniffed the air, and black fur rimmed his eyes and winged out at the corners, like dramatic eyeliner. His whiskers twitched as he waited for a response, ears slowly falling, pressing down with concern the longer the silence stretched.

This was a mistake. This was a mistake. This was a mistake this was a mistake this was a mistak—

"You're adorable."

Spy's head tilted to the side, ears immediately pricking up. "What?"

Scout threw his hands out to gesture to the fox before him. "You're freakin' adorable! Look at you! You're so fuzzy!"

Spy blinked, his whiskers twitching. "You're not... repulsed?"

"Holy shit Ren why would I be? You're the cutest thing I ever laid eyes on, an' that includes the time Snipes knit a little sweater an' put it on Archimedes!"

A soft huff of relief left Spy in the shape of a laugh. "Far be it for me to not take a compliment, I suppose."

"I dunno what you were worried about, man. It ain't like I fuck you when you look like this. I fuck you when you look like a real hot guy with three tails. Don't mean you can't work both looks," Scout chuckled. He pat the couch next to him. "I know you ain't a fan 'a hooves on your furniture, but I'm assumin' that don't go for your own claws. C'mere."

With a rueful shake of his head, Spy trotted over and leapt up onto the couch, trying not to begin regretting everything as he heard Scout bite back a girlish squeal. He'd never seen the man so taken by cuteness in all the time he'd known him, and it was remarkably funny, even if he worried this would inspire him to take him less seriously. "Of course not, they are my claws on my furniture. And I have hundreds of years of experience with them, as opposed to your approximate year."

Scout pouted a moment. "Yeah okay jeez. But man, look at you." He couldn't resist a grin. "I never seen a fox this close before. Only in pictures, or at the zoo. You don't see 'em in the city 'n all."

"Well, now you have seen one up close. As much as I qualify, being a supernatural creature."

"You're more of a fox than I am a deer."

"Touché."

Scout gripped his thighs, digging his nails into his fur to resist the urge to touch Spy, to pick him up and cuddle him and pet him and play with his little black paws. He wanted to poke his sharp little teeth and tease at the fluff sticking out of his ears. Instead, he studied him, taking in every little detail with wonder.

Spy could practically feel him vibrating next to him, and with a roll of his eyes, offered, "You can pet me."

"I can?"

"Scout, you're my boyfriend. You're allowed to touch me unless I say otherwise. I've already given you that permission."

Scout shrugged one shoulder. "I didn't know if that applied to every shape, or just the human ones."

A little smile tugged at Spy's muzzle, one with more muscles for expressions than any natural fox's would allow. The amount of respect Scout had gained for his boundaries never ceased to surprise him. Or touch his heart. "Thank you." He nodded, sitting up and fully facing the faun. "But yes, you're allowed."

With a grin, Scout finally reached out a hand to touch him, starting with a gentle caress of his head, fingers sifting into his fur and scritching between his ears. A soft little sound, a quiet vulpine sigh, left Spy as he leaned into the touch, relishing the nails against his scalp.

"You like that?"

"But of course. Getting your head scratched is a universal pleasure."

"Yeah, that's fair," Scout conceded, giving a final scritch before moving down, petting down the back of his neck where the fur grew thicker, denser, before smoothing out along his shoulder blades and down his back. Like a cat, Spy stood, lifting his haunches and turning to encourage Scout's fingers to the base of his tails, where he dug in for a good scratch. A vulpine whine left Spy's throat, and he arched into the touch.

"You're so soft," Scout marveled, his hand traveling down one of Spy's tails and closing as it slipped off the tip.

"And this is merely my summer coat," Spy bragged with a smug little tilt of his head as he circled around to face Scout again. "When the weather is cold again I will be much fluffier."

Scout grinned at the thought of a chunky-looking fluffy winter coat on Spy. "That's so freakin' cute. I'm gonna wear you like a scarf. Just wrap you around my shoulders."

"I supposed that's a more ethical way to get oneself a fox stole," Spy chuckled. He tapped Scout on the knee with one paw. "Would you be so kind as to cross your legs?"

Scout tucked his legs under himself, cris-cross. "Like this?"

"Merci," Spy hummed, and climbed into Scout's lap. He spun himself in a circle and laid down, curling up with his paws tucked under himself and his face buried in his tails. A smirk pulled at his muzzle as he heard a soft squeak leave Scout's throat.

"Oh my God."

"You stopped petting me," Spy grumbled, letting one tail flick out in annoyance before returning it to the others.

A wobbly smile crossed Scout's lips as he set back to work, scratching into the fluff at the back of his neck, behind one ear. "You takin' a nap on me?"

"You got to take a nap. It seems only fair I get my turn."

"I didn't get pets when I was nappin'."

"Perhaps you should have asked."

[magnifythesun]

Absolutely loved ur latest prompt about Anthony picking Ian up and how you stick true to their characters it feels too realistic. On that note, since I'm an avid fan of protective worried Anthony, would you pls write something with Ian passing out while filming and Anthony hyperventilating over it.

aaaa this prompt has had my mind spinning since I first read it I'm so hyped to write it! and thank you soooo much, I tried really hard to keep their voices realistic in that one and I'm honestly very happy with the way it turned out! I'm so glad you enjoyed!! :D

(post-writing note: this turned out way more comfort than hurt lol, but it was just too cute to resist!)

It was a rager of a hot day in southern California. They were filming their latest sketch, which was unfortunately entirely outside, and were eager to just get the thing done.

"Should we take a break?" Anthony asked, "It's been a few hours out here, and this heat's really killing me."

"Let's just finish up this scene," Ian said wearily, his face slightly red from the sun.

Anthony nodded in agreement and turned to tell the crew to set the cameras at another angle.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ian suddenly drop like a sack of potatoes, one second standing, then not. It was almost like a bit. It would have been funny, except that the way he ragdolled to the floor sent a horrid chill through Anthony. That was not the way someone fell on purpose, for comedy or otherwise. Anthony turned.

"Ian?" He said, distantly.

Erin was already running toward him, holding her huge water bottle. "Someone bring a sheet!" She called over to the crew, who, behind the sudden haze in Anthony's vision, were little blobs scurrying to and fro, some toward Ian, others running toward the house.

Anthony stumbled over. "What happened?" Erin glanced up at him. "Is he all right?" Her eyes widened at the way he was swaying on his feet.

"Don't you pass out too!" Erin snapped, voice tight with worry. "Go sit down." She waved toward the shade by the house.

"But, Ian," Anthony started. He swept his eyes over his friend, who was starting to stir. Ian's eyelids flickered, then opened as he started to wake up.

"Ow," He groaned, raising a hand up to clutch at his forehead. "Oh wow, my head hurts really bad."

"Like you hit it?" Erin asked sharply, then looked back up at Anthony. "Anthony. Go sit down."

Anthony took an involuntary step backward from the command in her tone alone, then kept backing up until his back hit the side of the house. Tears jumped to his eyes, and he knew in that moment he needed to get out of sight. He went inside the house, ignoring the way different members of the crew were reaching out to him, worry in their voices, and headed straight to the bathroom. Closing the door, he sank to the ground immediately, trying to breathe.

His breath was tight in his throat, like a great beast had a hold on his neck and was squeezing him. The sensation traveled down to his chest, causing him to gasp quick, shallow breaths as he tried to wipe away his tears.

Was Ian alright out there? His mind was spiraling as he desperately sucked in little gasps of air. He had just left him there, too wrapped up in his own frightened reaction to comfort his friend. A pang of guilt burned bright in his chest. He had to get this under control and he had to get back out there.

Anthony focused and started his yoga breathing routine that he used every time he exercised. Slowly, slowly, he controlled his breathing. He stood up shakily, and glanced in the mirror, making sure to wipe the tears from his eyes. There was nothing he could do about how pale he looked, or how red-rimmed his eyes were.

He took one more deep breath and pulled open the door to the bathroom. Walking out, he could hear many voices in the kitchen, which was out of sight. Sounded like most of the crew had taken shelter from the sun in there.

Anthony turned toward the living room and startled. Ian was sitting there, a wet rag on his head and Erin's big bright blue bottle of water clutched in his hands. Anthony felt his breath catch in his chest again.

Anthony walked over to him. "Hey, man. You feeling okay?"

Ian smiled guiltily up at him. "Well, better now," He glanced up at Anthony towering above him and patted the couch cushion next to him. Anthony sat. "I should have called a break sooner. I could tell it was getting to me."

"You don't need to push yourself that hard," Anthony said quietly.

"True," Ian's mouth quirked. "Plus the crew deserved a break too." Ian stared off in the direction of the kitchen for a moment. "Are you alright?" He asked quietly, fingers shifting on the pastel surface of the bottle.

Anthony grimaced. "Yeah, I'm good."

Ian turned to look at him, a sharp look in his eye. "Uh-huh."

Anthony intently examined the table in front of the couch. "You saw?"

Ian took a big gulp of water. "I may have just woken up from the consequences of my own hubris, but I, I caught a glimpse."

"Sorry," Anthony said quietly, "I really don't know what came over me."

Ian didn't say anything for a moment, just slurped another sip of water. Anthony couldn't look at him. Then, Anthony felt Ian's hand, cold from the surface of the bottle, rest on top of his own hand and squeeze slightly.

"Always good to know you care." Ian said lightly, the veneer of a joke over his words, but the slight drag of his thumb over the back of Anthony's hand emphasized his words.

Relief and affection rushed through him, and Anthony glanced at Ian. "Your head okay though?"

"When is my head ever okay?" Ian laughed, "But yeah, I didn't hit it. Water?" He lifted the bottle and offered it.

"God, yeah." Anthony took it with the hand that wasn't still covered by Ian's and took a long, refreshing drink. "I can't believe we still have to go back out in that to finish filming."

"Ugh, don't even remind me," Ian groaned.

Right then, Erin's voice called from the kitchen, "Alright, back out there to shoot in ten minutes!"

Various shouts of "Heard!" echoed around the house, accompanied by several grumbles.

"I gotta lay my poor heat-stricken head down for a few minutes before we head back out there," Ian said.

"Oh okay," Anthony said, preparing to get up to let him lay down, when Ian just tilted his head slightly to rest it on Anthony's shoulder. Anthony stilled, his breath catching for the nth time today.

"I'm gonna try to visualize myself in the Arctic," Ian mumbled, "Quiet on set."

Anthony tried to not shake his shoulders as he laughed. "Alright, alright. Make sure to get back from your polar expedition in ten."

Anthony let himself rest his eyes too, the warmth of Ian's hand and head soothing the last of his rattled nerves.

[hesbuckcompton-baby]

Better Off - Bernard DeMarco x OFC - Chapter 5

Masterlist | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 |-| Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13

AO3

Summary: A nearby air raid forces Susie to confront the past

Warnings: Drinking, alcohol, death/description of dead body, angst again yayyyy

Word Count: 4.1k

Tags: @xxluckystrike @latibvles @footprintsinthesxnd @mads-weasley @joyfulbookreviewmarvelspy

The band was in full swing, the sound of Egan's terrible singing almost drowned out by the overlapping din of music and conversation that filled the officers' club, the flight crews toasting another successful mission. Susie couldn't recall what the mission had been about - she wasn't even sure anyone had told her in the first place. She'd gotten used to taking Meatball without question and going about her day - what the pilots did never affected her, save for the faint sense of anxiety that had begun to permeate her during the hours they were away. It was unnerving.

"Oh, you have got to be shitting me," Maeve huffed, eliciting a proud laugh from Charlotte as she forked over another fistful of the peanuts they'd acquired from the bar to act as poker chips.

"Call it a punishment for being so young and sprightly," Charlotte shrugged, a smug grin curling her lip as she took her share. They had acquired a table in the back corner of the club, far from the dancing but comfortably close to the alcohol, Charlotte's huge engagement ring and Susie's resting-bitch-face a foolproof deterrent to protect them from any unwanted attention.

"She's just jealous, Maeve - her freedom's running out, and she's taking it out on us," Susie smirked, reaching for the bottle of wine in the middle of the table to refill their glasses. It was a recurring joke among the women - that Charlotte's engagement had only been dragged out as far as it had because she secretly dreaded being 'tied down', dreaded losing her individuality and becoming one of those stereotypical housewives, like the girls Susie had never gotten along with growing up. It was all in jest. Her sisters were married, and most were decently happy. But it had never been a future Susie had been able to picture for herself, and maybe that was why she felt the need to poke fun.

"Ha-ha," Charlotte drawled sarcastically, and Maeve let out another sigh of despair as she turned over another card. "You'll be the only ones showing up to the wedding alone with that attitude - two old spinsters in the back."

The sound of whimpering distracted the group from their petty bickering as Meatball padded over, resting his head dramatically in Susie's lap, ear twitching against her thigh. As she reached for a couple of the peanut-poker-chips, tossing them into the dog's waiting mouth, the other two let out cries of annoyance, and Maeve hunched over the table, beginning to try and count how many remained.

"Ladies," From behind her, DeMarco approached, drink in hand as he surveyed the state of their table - peanuts scattered all over the place, interspersed with an almost-empty bottle of wine and several glasses, their playing cards tattered and stained. The game was a mess, entirely indecipherable to anyone except the three of them.

"Your dog's eating our poker chips," Charlotte stated dryly.

"Susie's fault!" Maeve added, reaching over to scratch behind Meatball's ear.

"Oh, I'm sure," He nodded, smirking faintly as he lifted his glass to his lips. His other hand rested on the back of Susie's chair, fingers occasionally brushing against her back when she moved.

Susie stared down at her hand of cards. Her gaze had not shifted to look at him since the moment he arrived. "Thought you usually dance at these things. Why don't you go ask... Gwen, or someone. She'd probably say yes."

"I don't wanna dance with Gwen," Benny shrugged. "I came over here to see if you'd dance with me."

Maeve's brow raised, shooting Susie a pointed look, but she didn't notice, playing her turn. "Can't. Busy."

He peered over her shoulder at the cards in her hand. She was losing. Badly, in fact. "... I can see that."

Charlotte stared across at him, noticing the way his brow furrowed, frown deepening slightly as he noticed Susie's hand. "DeMarco has a terrible poker face."

"Oh, dammit!" Susie huffed, turning sideways in her chair to whack him across the arm with her cards. With a stubborn frown, she tossed her cards down onto the table, and Maeve let out a sigh of relief at the game's sudden ending. "Enjoy your peanuts, Charlotte. I hope your wedding sucks."

Standing up from her seat, she came face to face with DeMarco, who appeared slightly appalled at her last remark. "Jesus, sore loser much?"

"Wouldn't have lost if you could keep a straight face."

"I don't think anything could've saved you there, sweetheart," He admitted as she reached for her wine, pouring the last of the red liquid down her throat. It clearly wasn't her first glass - the slight flush in her cheeks could attest to that - but she was holding it well, her aggression no more irrational than usual.

"So?" DeMarco prodded.

"So... what."

He put his empty glass down on the nearest table, holding out his hand for her to dance. Susie hesitated for a moment before letting out a scoff, rolling her eyes as she took his hand in hers, letting him lead her towards the dancefloor.

"You know I hate dancing," She pointed out somewhat bitterly.

"You hate most things. And you're a nice dancer."

"God, I don't like you."

"See, that’s just not true," DeMarco grinned. "Hurtful. But not true."

Susie couldn't stop herself from smiling, looking down at her feet as they moved in time with the music. "There she is," She could hear the smirk in his voice and tilted her head back up to face him, biting her lip to stop a chuckle as she refused to meet his eye. He was staring. She could feel it, resisting the urge to squirm.

"Stop it," She shook her head, pushing against the palm that held hers.

"Stop what?"

"Staring."

That boyish grin never wiped itself from his expression as he tilted his head sideways to get a better look at her. Susie couldn't reciprocate his gaze, not when he looked at her like that, turning away as a nervous chuckle escaped her throat. DeMarco felt her grip on his hand slip, and was about to speak again when a sudden interruption sounded.

"Come on everybody! Bike race in the mess hall! Who's in?"

The very moment the invitation was issued, the crowds began to disperse, couples fleeing the dance floor in a dash to the door, their ranks thinning by the second. Susie pulled away, hands dropping to her sides as she took a step back. "That sounds like your cue, DeMarco."

His hand was still raised where it had been when she'd held it, and as she turned away to find her friends, he let out a long sigh. "...Damn it all."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

She found Charlotte and Maeve halfway along the path to the mess hall, a new bottle of wine in Charlotte's hand as they passed it between themselves, sipping straight from the neck. Susie stepped in seamlessly, announcing her arrival by tugging it from Maeve's grip, the tart liquid running smoothly down her throat.

"Thought you were off with your pilot," Charlotte teased, stealing the bottle as soon as she was done.

"He's racing. I'm babysitting again," She raised Meatball's leash, and Maeve let out a slight gasp of delight as she noticed the dog trailing along beside them, tail wagging in satisfaction.

DeMarco dragged his bike into position beneath the mess hall lights, shouldering for space among the crowd of pilots, pressed together so tightly he barely had room to pedal. Buck and Bucky had pushed their way to the front, exchanging grins with him as they passed, and all around the edges of the room spectators pressed themselves up against the wall, waiting anxiously for the race to begin.

His gaze searched the crowds distractedly, not quite attuned to the announcer's instructions as he searched for Susie among them. When he spotted her, he couldn't help but let out a laugh, drawing the confused stares of the men beside him. She was stood in the far corner with her friends, cradling Meatball in her arms like a giant baby so that he wouldn't get underfoot and trip any of the cyclists in all of the excitement. Her head was turned away from him, talking to Charlotte, but every now and then one of the other women would raise the wine bottle they were sharing up to her lips, a red droplet running down her chin where it missed.

Maeve must have told a joke, for Susie suddenly began to laugh, nose scrunched, eyes screwed tightly shut. The sight made him smile, and the sudden bang! of the starting pistol startled him, pushing off with a clumsy start and almost knocking over the man beside him as the race began.

Her expression contorted into momentary horror as DeMarco seemed to almost crash before even crossing the starting line, but he quickly found his footing, and her friends let out cheers of encouragement as the men zipped past, navigating the twists and turns with reckless abandon. Meatball let out a howl, mimicking the whooping of the crowd, and she laughed, the wine beginning to go to her head.

All three of them had begun to go red in the face, everything seemingly far funnier than it had been an hour ago. And as Cleven and Egan screwed it up on their final corner, their bikes taking a tumble, knocking down the cyclists behind them in turn, it suddenly seemed one of the funniest things they'd ever seen, tears brewing in Susie's eyes as she let out a cackle of laughter.

DeMarco had just managed to avoid the crash, wheeling to a stop and a long, sobering siren split the air. The energy in the room didn't seem to dissipate for a moment, realisation about what was happening encroaching slowly, but the sound had ripped Susie out of her somewhat-drunken haze instantly, a sudden nausea bubbling in her stomach.

Her gaze darted wildly across the room, waiting for the rest of them to notice, to get up and move. It wasn't until Charlotte shot her an unnerved glance that she realised her breathing had quickened, coming sharp and ragged, panic clearly visible in her expression.

"It's ok, we're good," She assured her, a hand on her arm as she put Meatball down, his claws skittering against the linoleum. "Let's go, yeah?"

Susie nodded firmly, making a beeline for the door just as the situation seemed to become apparent to the rest of the room, the cyclists collecting their bikes and calmly departing for the air raid shelters. Leaving the warmth of the mess hall and stepping out into the cool night air seemed to make it easier to breathe, panic beginning to subside as she took in their surroundings - the squat Nissen huts, the rolling countryside in the distance.

This wasn't the city. This wasn't home. No one was out to get her here.

But then she reached the top of the stairs to the shelter. Staring down at the dark doorway, she couldn't take that next step, couldn't descend below ground level to wait it out.

"You take Meatball and go down," Susie turned to Maeve, pressing his leash into her hand. "I'll come in a minute."

"Okay," Her friend nodded, looking up at her with concern as she took the dog down the steps, disappearing into the shelter with the others. People flooded past as she pushed against the tide, pulling away from the crowd and stepping back into the grass.

The sky lit up with dozens of colours, explosions of flame and flak smoke like blots of watercolour against the clouds. The hum of engines and the rattle of anti-aircraft guns were far from unfamiliar sounds to Susie's ears as she sat down on the lawn, pressing her hands into the grass, tethering herself to the knowledge that it was different here - that they weren't the target.

She'd been awoken by these sirens so many times before, listening to the rustle of bedsheets beside her as Ellie scrambled awake, shaking her shoulders until she got up. Susie couldn't even remember why Ellie hadn't been home the night they'd killed her. All she remembered was sitting in the shelter with her mother, and the blinding daylight as they reemerged the next morning.

"Hey," A voice broke her train of thought, tugging her gaze from the planes that circled above like moths to a flame. The woman standing above her was dressed in a WAAF uniform, frizzy brown hair falling to her shoulders, an unlit cigarette between her lips. She recognised her, but she couldn't quite pinpoint who she was.

"Hi," Susie nodded, brow furrowing slightly as the woman sat down beside her. She stared at her for a long moment, watching the way flickers of orange light flashed across her face as the fighting continued above.

"... You're the mechanic, right?"

The woman smiled, holding out a hand to her. "Frankie."

She accepted, shaking it gingerly. "Susie."

Frankie nodded, and Susie accepted a cigarette as she held the box out to her. "Not many people 'round here with an accent like yours."

"Manchester."

"...Ah," She let out a long sigh, clearly piecing things together immediately. "I got friends in Coventry."

"Everything's a shitshow," Susie huffed, lighting her cigarette, and Frankie let out a low hum of agreement, leaning back on her elbows.

"We're okay out here, though."

"My sister... Got a sister in London. One of the plotters. She'll be all over this."

"My friend George takes their telegrams."

They sat in silence for a long moment, and Susie suddenly realised she was still carrying the half-empty bottle of wine, too consumed by panic at the mess hall to have bothered putting it down.

"... You want some?" She offered, holding it out to Frankie.

"Oh, thanks," She smiled, tipping it by the neck and taking a long sip. Susie couldn't stomach the idea of drinking anymore. She didn't reach for it back, and Frankie didn't pass it.

Sucking in a long, tight breath, Susie lay back, feeling the damp grass against her scalp. 'My sister...' She'd almost told her. A complete, utter stranger, and she'd almost let it slip. She almost told everyone these days. Ellie's body had been dragged out from the rubble, pale and battered and limp, but it hadn't been her. Not truly. Her body was an empty vessel - whatever had truly been her had slipped away the moment her head caved in. It seemed as if every room she entered now, she brought with her a silent cry of ‘Have you seen my sister?’, a quiet search for her soul in the eyes of others.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It lasted just less than an hour. As soon as the planes had arrived, they were gone again, the sky falling flat and black, the buzzing silenced. Frankie had said something to her before she left, but Susie hadn't been listening. When she looked up, the mechanic was gone. So was the wine.

Her watch had just ticked past midnight by the time she sat up, smoothing down her damp hair with one hand as she rose to her feet. Something bubbled within her, something caught in her throat that made her feel all at once about to vomit and about to weep. She took a deep breath, watching as people began to clamber out of the shelter across the lawn. DeMarco was with them, a part of the dispersing crowd of spectators, and even through the darkness, he caught her gaze, a frown creasing his brow. They drifted towards each other as they walked, meeting halfway.

"Where were you?" He asked. "You were supposed to be in the shelter."

"So were you," She huffed. He could tell something was bothering her. She reached up to scratch her nose every other second, an incessant, phantom itch that she couldn't conquer. "D'you have a phone?"

"... Are you ok?"

"Fine. Just need to call someone."

DeMarco frowned, watching her expression keenly. "There's one in the officers' club. I'll walk you over."

She was surprised the place was still open, the door hanging slightly ajar, left open as its inhabitants had hurried to find shelter. The bulbs buzzed as he flicked the lights on, showing her over to the bar where a phone waited on its hook. He hesitated for a moment, watching her hand twitch as she tried to remember the number, the dial rattling as she turned it. Susie looked up at him, and he took it as his cue to leave, the door closing behind him with a click as she was left alone, glancing around at the half-finished drinks and still-smoking cigarette butts that littered the room as she waited for the other person to pick up.

An irritated groan sounded on the other end of the line, and she could hear the rustling of sheets as she waited to speak.

"Hello? What is it?" Beatrice huffed, sleep lining her voice.

"Hey. It's me."

"Susie? What do you want?"

Her sister always had such a way with pleasantries. "Just watched a raid over... Norwich, I think. I was wondering if... if you knew anything?"

"Wasn't my shift," She replied curtly. Susie could picture her now, half sitting up in bed, rollers in her hair as she leant against the headboard, scowling.

"Oh, right," She paused, mentally scrambling for something to say before Beatrice hung up. "Is your husband there?"

"No. Staying in his flat, probably with his girlfriend."

"... Ah."

It was quiet for a moment, before she heard her sister let out an irritated huff. "What do you actually want, Suze? I know you don't care about bloody Norwich."

Beatrice's accent had changed since she'd left Manchester - she'd married rich, and she'd made sure she had something to show for it. But whenever she got annoyed, that familiar northern drawl seeped back through.

"I was just... I dunno, I needed to talk to someone."

"You were thinking about Ellie, weren't you?" Beatrice asked. The silence stretched out between them, and it was all the answer she needed, letting out a sigh. "You've gotta get unstuck, Suze. You can't live like this forever."

"I'm not stuck," She replied indignantly, brow furrowed.

"Yes. You are. None of us ever saw you cry after it happened - you never felt it like the rest of us, you never let yourself move on."

Susie bristled, suddenly defensive. "I'm just not like you - I was always braver than the rest of you."

"No, that's the opposite of what you are," Beatrice thundered. "You're a coward, Susie - you don't ever move on with your life because to do that you've gotta feel something other than fucking angry. You were there when they found Ellie and I know the rest of us weren't, I know it's different. But stop making that everyone else's fucking problem and just deal with it."

"She was my-"

"She was my little sister too! But so are you! I'm sick of listening to you make excuses for why you just wallow in it - it's been years since I've seen you not miserable, and it's your own fault. You know I love you. And I'm only being like this because everyone else in our family is much too bloody nice. But get over it, Susie."

She'd been gnawing at the inside of her lip the entire time she'd been listening to Beatrice speak. With a hiss, Susie realised she'd broken the skin, a droplet of blood pooling in her mouth, coating her tongue with a sour, metallic flavour.

She wanted to snap - a thousand cruel words poised on her tongue, a hundred things to hurl back at Beatrice. But not one would have made her point any less true. Tears were forming in her eyes, blotting out her vision until she could barely see an inch in front of her face. Susie squeezed her eyes tightly shut, feeling them roll down her cheeks, leaving warm, wet trails in their wake.

"Susie?" Beatrice's voice came tentatively, and she realised it had been a few minutes since she'd uttered a sound.

"Goodnight, Beatrice," Her voice came firm, hanging up before her sister could reply.

Suddenly the silence in the officers' club was too much to bear. She felt as if she were about to explode, the hot sting of tears in her eyes, the sudden, painfully breathlessness in her throat all too foreign, too frightening. Susie opened her mouth to suck in a breath, a hoarse, choking sound ripping through her, the air getting stuck before it could reach her lungs. She felt her expression contort in anguish, and the first, involuntary sob broke free. Once the floodgates opened, they couldn't close, tears streaming down her cheeks as she fought to catch a breath, fumbling blindly as she crossed the room to the door, desperate to be anywhere else.

The door to the officer's club swung open easily, and Susie stormed out into the night, chest heaving up and down over and over as she sobbed, hands trembling. She turned her head, caught off guard just long enough for a sob to catch in her throat, coming out as a hiccup as she spotted DeMarco, throwing up her hands in frustration. He'd been leaning up against the wall as she came out. He had waited for her.

"Susie? Hey," DeMarco hurried forward, expression twisted in worry. He reached for her hands, thumbs rubbing against the backs of her palms. His voice was so incredibly gentle, more than she'd ever heard it. "Hey, c'mon."

Susie's lip trembled, and she let out a croak as she fought to catch her breath, heart beating too fast for her body. He sighed, letting go of her hands to wrap his arms around her, pulling her forwards against his chest. It was too close. For a split second, she wanted to push him away, to peel his touch away from her body.

But it was so warm here. Her head turned to the side, her ear pressed up against his ribcage, she could hear his heartbeat, soft and steady. In the cage of his arms, for the first time in a long time, she felt tethered to something. She had balled her hands into fists. Slowly, they unfurled, and she wrapped her arms around him, hands resting against his spine.

"My sister didn't die. She was killed." She whispered, voice muffled against his jacket, just loud enough to hear. "They bombed her factory. I was there when they pulled her out."

Everything suddenly came into alarming clarity. DeMarco nodded, releasing a long sigh. He brought a hand up to the back of her head, her curls snaking around his fingertips as he gently stroked her hair.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," He uttered, tilting his head downwards, his nose pressed against her forehead.

"I want to. You waited."

"I thought you looked a little spaced out earlier. After the raid. So that was because-?"

"Yeah."

"Jesus. I'm sorry, Suze."

"It was a few years ago, now."

"That doesn't make it okay, though. Does it?"

She looked up at him then. In the darkness, her eyes looked like bottomless pools, the brown turned black in the starlight.

"... No. It doesn't."

A few strands of hair had stuck to her cheek where her tears had begun to dry. He lifted a hand to brush them away, the warmth of her skin against his fingertip so wonderfully soft. Susie sniffed, and it was as if some trace had broken, her arms tugging away from him, the squeeze against his back suddenly gone as she stepped back. Exhaustion tugged down at her face, dark circles forming beneath her eyes. She looked so helpless it almost broke his heart.

"God," She sighed, running a hand across her brow. "I don't-... I don't know, I don't think I wanna go back to my hut. Too many questions."

"Ok," DeMarco nodded. "That's ok. I know a place. C'mon."

Susie had no idea where he would take her. Perhaps if she'd been in any better state she would've refused. But she wasn't. She was tired, and he was kind. Her mind was clouded over, thoughts barely half-formed.

But she trusted him. She'd gotten him out of the middle of nowhere when their truck broke, and now he was getting her out when she did.

"... Alright."