#drop in anchor punch

[yeyinde]

Fuck please tell me captain price gets to go first! After all, he's the leader, and he has more experience? Gotta teach her right her first time, yea? The others get to watch, maybe get to touch...if the captain lets them..

Fuck I'm foaming at the mouth.

as captain, i think he def gets to go first. if only just to get that outta the way so the others can show you what you've been missing out on.

he doesn't put a lot of weight on first times, but he's a generous Captain and is willing to let Soap and Gaz both have at you, prepare you for him. them. he holds both by the scruff of their necks, too. in full control. always.

and with your legs thrown around Gaz's shoulders, he makes you hold his cigar (don't drop it now, love, or there'll be hell to pay) in your trembling hand for him, keeping it close to his mouth to take a puff whenever the urge strikes.

his are busy, after all—

—busy pushing Gaz's face into your cunt first, letting him feast as Soap palms his bloody hand over your body, punching your nipples. whining for a taste. cock dripping all over the place. like a sloppy, drooling dog.

takes his turn when you're buzzing after being denied so long. poor pussy forced to endure both Gaz and Soap eating you out, sucking on your clit, slipping their fingers inside. but never allowed to cum. they're always ripped back the moment he thinks you might be there, on the edge. you're only allowed to cum on his cock, sweetheart. (and maybe, maybe, if you've been good, he'll let you sit on his face after.)

when he does fuck you for the first time, he makes you feel every inch going inside of you. has Gaz hold your fingers against your rim, feeling for yourself how wide he stretches you, how deep he goes. makes you whine and beg for all sorts of lewd things—his cock deeper in your pussy, Soap's tongue on your clit, Gaz's cock in your mouth, Ghost's hands around your throat.

you're worn out before he even finishes. a shame, too, because Soap barely waits until Price has pulled out before he's shoving his fingers inside of you, cooing in your ear about how messy you are. how badly you must want his cock next. hungry little thing, aren't ye?

Price will probably go last, too. but it's not even really about sex this time when he sits you on his lap, humming at the whimpers you make, overstimulated and sore, as his cock slips inside again. warmed. soaked. you're all messy with each of them, and he rubs it into your skin, makes you suck it off his fingers. with your back flushed to his broad chest, damp curls sticking to your skin, matted from sweat, he holds you like this. big arms anchored around your front, over your belly, holding you there. and just lets you feel the rumble in his chest when he purrs in your ear about how good you've been for them, taking them all, satiating them. how pretty you look all fucked out and sloppy like this.

(and really, love. you belong like this, don't you? the perfect place for you has always been sat, balls deep, on their cocks, taking them. it's about time you learned that, mm?)

[psychohoneywhiskey]

What about Wade going to a different timelime requested by the TVA years after the Time Ripper. They told him the X-men and the anchor being of that universe were in danger and he needed to make sure they survived and he got rid of the problem for good.

So Wade goes alone to avoid his babygirl having to face the alternative versions of his dead team. He gets to the X mansion and explains them the situation, tells them he is Deadpool, a mercenary sent by a time organization to save them all and they believe him.

Everything was going surprisingly well until, well, it wasn't. And how could he have not thought to ask who the anchor being of that universe was? How could he not notice the absence of a very important person there? He is still surprised (after years of not seeing that amount of rage directed at him from his Logan) to see a younger Logan get to the mansion baring his teeth at him, unseathing his claws and preparing to pounce, seeing him as a threat.

And when he does he tries everything in his power not to hurt him, evading the punches, claws, and 300 pounds of feral Wolverine and not attacking him even once. Eventually, Logan stops confused about the man's playful attitude and the voices of the X-men asking him to calm down. When he asks Wade suspiciously 'why didn't you fight back bub?', Wade just laughs and answers in a tone so soft and sweet and foreign to him 'Well, if this had happened years ago I would have indulged in some fun, I always loved taming a feral Wolvie but I can't bear to hurt an alternative version of my husband now'.

Everything got so quiet he could have heard a pin drop but Wade was solely focused on Logan, watching the similarities to the love of his life who now had some more wrinkles around his eyes and cheeks, a soft healthy body, hair almost fully gray and a sweet smile almost all of the time around him, Laura, their friends, their family. Compared to this Logan who still looked so tense, wary, ready to run.

He stays with them for weeks waiting for the attackers to get there while spending time with this version of Logan. And as the time passes the man understands why other version of him would be head over heels for the mercenary, yeah the man is so damn weird and loud and fucking annoying at times but he has never found someone who could understand him and make him feel the way he does. He starts yearning, for a person, a place he will never have cause it already belongs to someone else and he dreads the moment Wade will leave and not come back ever again. And the X-men notice it, bewildered by Logan's behavior around Deadpool, how he seems to follow his lead as naturally as breathing, how they seem to get what the other is thinking or feeling just by seeing each other and they realize Logan has never been fully theirs cause he is just waiting for someone else to bring him home.

Inevitably when the time comes, and Deadpool saves them, he doesn't even have time to react and say goodbye to the merc cause a weird orange portal opens in the middle of the war field and a blue and yellow suited hand appears through it yanking Wade away, and Logan recognizes a voice so similar to his saying 'you've taken too long Mouth, our daughter's birthday is next week, and we all miss you at home'.

Logan knows all his life he's just been a stray longing for a place to settle but at least now he can hope there is a loud mouth, sarcastic, pretty, and soft mercenary with no filter waiting for him somewhere in his world to take him home.

I apologize for any mistake, I'm not a writer and English is not my first language but I just can't get enough of these men and any of their versions being soft with each other.

[etheraltides]

BITTER SWEET ᥫ᭡࿔

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x kook!thornton!Reader

Summary: Rafe Cameron, a rising name in the business world, desperately needs a date for the wedding of the year. With a major investment deal on the line and his image at stake, he finds himself reluctantly turning to the last person he ever expected for help: Topper’s little sister, a girl he’s bickered with since he could remember.

Warning(s): SMUT – p in v penetration (wrap it before you tap it), dirty talk, jealousy. Substance use. +18 only! Minors do not interact.

A/N: Every feedback is welcome <3

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊ Chapter five: Last Day in Paradise ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊

The first thing you noticed was warmth. Not the kind of fleeting comfort you got from a blanket on a chilly night, but something deeper, more solid, more alive. It anchored you, a steady rhythm beneath your cheek. Slowly, as your senses returned, you realized it was Rafe

You were lying on his chest, your bare legs tangled with his, his arm wrapped around your waist like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go. The sheets were tangled at your hips, barely covering the evidence of last night.

The memories came rushing back in waves, each one more vivid than the last. His lips against yours on the balcony, the heat of his touch, the way he had looked at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered. Your cheeks burned as the details sharpened — his voice murmuring your name, the press of his body against yours, the way you had whispered yes without hesitation.

You shifted slightly, your fingers brushing against his chest, the faint scratches of your nails from the night before still visible against his tanned skin. His breathing changed, growing heavier, and you froze as his voice broke the stillness.

“Morning, trouble.”

You swallowed, your heart skipping a beat. His tone was low and gravelly, softened by sleep but carrying the teasing edge that was so unmistakably him.

“Morning,” you murmured back, not daring to lift your head just yet.

“Still hiding?” he asked, amusement lacing his voice.

Your fingers tightened slightly against his chest as you cursed yourself for being so obvious. “I’m not hiding.”

His chuckle rumbled beneath you. “You sure about that? ‘Cause you’ve got your face buried in my chest like you’re trying to disappear.”

You groaned softly, the heat in your cheeks intensifying. “I just… need a second.”

“To what? Process how lucky you are?” His hand shifted on your waist, his fingers brushing against your bare skin, and the smugness in his tone made you want to punch him — and maybe kiss him again.

Finally, you lifted your head, your hair tumbling over your shoulders as you looked up at him. His blue eyes met yours, sharper now as the haze of sleep faded, and his smirk deepened at the sight of your flushed face.

“You’re insufferable,” you muttered, pushing against his chest in an attempt to sit up.

He caught your wrist before you could go far, his grip firm but gentle. “And you’re blushing,” he pointed out, his voice dropping slightly as his eyes roamed your face.

You tried to tug your hand free, but he didn’t let go, his thumb brushing over the inside of your wrist. “If you keep talking, I’ll—”

“What? Leave?” He raised a brow, his smirk widening. “We both know you’re not going anywhere.”

You glared at him, but there was no real heat behind it. “You’re so annoying.”

“Yeah? That’s not what you were screaming last night” he shot back, his voice softening just enough as he whispered in his ear, waking goosebumps all over your body.

You huffed, leaning down until your forehead rested against his neck. “I hate you.”

“I think were a bit past that now, don’t you?”

The laugh you let out was involuntary, the sound muffled against his skin, and his hand slid up your back, his fingers trailing along your spine in a way that made you shiver.

…

When you stepped out of the bathroom, the quiet confidence you’d mustered faltered the second Rafe’s gaze locked on you. He was leaning back against the headboard, legs stretched out and arms crossed, his expression unreadable—until he saw you.

His posture shifted immediately, his eyes dragging over you slowly, deliberately, like he was studying you for weakness. Or maybe for something else entirely. His jaw tightened, and his lips pressed into a faint smirk, though his gaze lingered far too long on the way the bikini hugged your body.

You froze for a second, your fingers tightening around the ties to your bikini top. “What?”

Rafe’s smirk widened slightly, his eyes darkening as he pushed himself off the bed. He didn’t answer right away, his steps unhurried as he closed the space between you. Finally, when he stopped just a little too close, he tilted his head, his voice low and edged with something sharp.

“Do you even realize what you’re doing to me right now?”

Your breath hitched, and you tried not to let it show. “It’s just a bikini, Rafe.”

He let out a quiet scoff, his hand coming up to rest against the wall beside your head, boxing you in. “You chose the tiniest one just to taunt me, didn’t you?”

Your cheeks burned under his scrutiny, but you forced yourself to meet his gaze. “Are you done?”

“Not even close.” He leaned in, the heat of his body radiating against yours as he flicked his eyes to the untied strings in your hand. “Turn around.”

Your brows furrowed. “Why?”

He raised a brow and held up a hand, gesturing to the ties. “Unless you plan on walking out there like that, you’re gonna need to tie this.”

Reluctantly, you turned, crossing your arms over your chest and staring at the wall as you felt his fingers brush against your bare back. His movements were slow — too slow. He wasn’t just tying the strings, he was deliberately letting his knuckles graze your skin, his fingertips tracing patterns that made your breath catch.

“You’re taking your time,” you muttered, trying to keep the fluster out of your voice.

“What can I say?” His voice dipped lower, teasing. “I’m a perfectionist.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but the words evaporated when he leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear.

“This thing’s barely holding together,” he murmured, his voice like a smirk given form. “One wave, and it’s over.”

You spun around to face him, your eyes wide as you slapped his chest. “Rafe!”

He caught your wrist easily, his grip firm but playful, his smirk stretching into a full grin. “Relax. I’m just trying to help. A friendly heads up, that’s all.”

“Help less,” you snapped, though your voice betrayed you with its shaky edge, your cheeks burning as you stared at him.

“Noted,” he said, releasing your wrist but not stepping back. His eyes flicked over you once more before he finally moved away, hands in his pockets. “But if you end up needing me to retie it…” He paused, his smirk turning wicked. “You know where to find me.”

You shook your head, biting back a smile as you grabbed your bag and headed for the door. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re still blushing,” he called after you, his smug tone chasing you all the way out of the room.

The sun was high in the sky, warming your skin as you lay on the beach chair, your arms stretched out lazily. The soft crash of the waves against the shore blended with the distant hum of conversations and laughter from other beachgoers. You could feel the sun’s rays starting to prick at your shoulders, so you sat up slightly, reaching for the bottle of sunscreen

“Hey.” you said, turning your head toward Rafe, who was sprawled in the chair next to you, sunglasses shielding his eyes but doing nothing to hide the smug, lazy smirk tugging at his lips. “Can you do my back?”

His head tilted, the smirk growing. “You sure you trust me with that?”

You gave him a pointed look, shaking the bottle at him. “Just don’t take forever. My skin is boiling here.”

Rafe chuckled, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the chair. “No promises.” He grabbed the bottle from you, popping the cap open as you turned onto your stomach, propping yourself up on your forearms.

The first touch of the cool lotion against your skin made you shiver, and Rafe’s low chuckle drifted down to you. “Cold?”

“Just get on with it,” you muttered, trying to ignore the heat crawling up your neck.

But Rafe wasn’t in any rush. His hands moved slowly, spreading the lotion across your shoulders with deliberate precision. His fingers pressed firmly into your skin, massaging the lotion in circles that felt far more intentional than necessary.

“Relax,” he drawled, his voice low and teasing. “I’ve got you.”

You let out a soft sigh, though you couldn’t ignore the way his hands lingered, his thumbs pressing into the dip of your lower back, dangerously close to your bikini bottoms.

“Rafe…” you warned, your voice muffled against your arms.

“What?” he asked innocently, his hands pausing for a fraction of a second before continuing lower. “I’m just making sure you’re covered.”

His hands slid down to your thighs, his touch firm as he worked the lotion into your skin. When his fingers brushed the curve of your ass, you shot him a glare over your shoulder.

“Are you serious right now?”

“Completely.” he said with a smirk, his hands unapologetically smoothing lotion over the exposed skin. “You wouldn’t want to burn, would you?”

Your jaw dropped, and before you could think of a response, his palm landed on your ass with a slap that made you squeal.

“Rafe!”

He laughed, leaning back on his heels as he admired his work. “What? That’s prime territory for sunburn. Just doing my part.”

“You’re unbelievable,” you muttered, sitting up and snatching the bottle out of his hand.

“And yet,” he said, leaning in close, his voice dropping to a low murmur as he pushed his sunglasses up into his hair, “you keep asking for my help.”

His eyes held yours, a challenge sparking in their depths, and you swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way your heart raced under his gaze.

“I won’t anymore.” you shot back, though the bite in your words was undercut by the way you couldn’t quite look away.

Rafe leaned back with a smug grin, clearly pleased with himself as he sprawled back on his chair. “Whatever you say, princess.”

As you turned away, you could still feel his gaze on you, and you couldn’t help but wonder if he was enjoying himself a little too much. But the truth was, so were you.

The sun dipped lower in the sky, painting the horizon in streaks of gold and crimson. The ocean glittered under its touch, the waves rolling in gentle, rhythmic crashes against the shore. You’d spent the day alternating between the warmth of the sun and the cool embrace of the sea, trading teasing remarks with Rafe and stealing moments of quiet that neither of you dared break.

Now, as the heat softened into a more forgiving warmth, Rafe was tugging you toward the water again, his grip firm but not forceful. “Come on,” he said, his lips twitching into that cocky, teasing smirk. “You’ve spent the last hour avoiding it.”

You pulled against his hand, dragging your feet through the sand. “It’s freezing, Rafe!”

“Stop being dramatic!” he scoffed, but there was laughter in his tone. He paused, turning to face you, his blue eyes bright with mischief. “What, you scared of a little cold water?”

“I just don’t enjoy the sensation of becoming an icicle.” you shot back, crossing your arms.

“Fine.” He shrugged, his smirk turning into a full grin. “Guess I’ll just have to carry you.”

“Don’t you—Rafe!”

Before you could react, he scooped you up effortlessly, your legs dangling as you flailed against his chest.

“Put me down!” you squealed, but your protests were drowned out by your laughter as he strode toward the waves, the water lapping at his ankles, then his knees.

“See?” he said, grinning down at you. “Not so bad.”

The next thing you knew, you were both in the water, the cool shock of it stealing your breath as he let you go just enough to let the waves pull at you. You shrieked, splashing him in retaliation, and he laughed, his grin boyish and carefree in a way that felt rare.

The playfulness between you ebbed as the moments stretched, replaced by something quieter. The laughter faded, and you found yourself drawn closer to him, his arms instinctively wrapping around you to steady you against the gentle pull of the tide.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The ocean stretched out around you, vast and endless, and the only sound was the rhythmic crash of waves and the distant murmur of the beach behind you.

Rafe’s hands settled on your waist, his grip firm but gentle. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer than you’d ever heard it. “Thanks.”

You blinked, tilting your head up to look at him. His face was unreadable, his eyes fixed on the horizon. “For what?”

He hesitated, his jaw tightening like he was fighting with himself. When he finally met your gaze, his expression had shifted — gone was the smirk, the cocky bravado. What you saw instead took your breath away.

Rafe looked… lost. Vulnerable in a way he rarely let show. His brows drew together slightly, as if the words he was about to say were hard for him to admit.

“For putting up with me this weekend.” he said, his voice barely audible over the waves. “For… helping me when you didn’t have to”

You stared at him, startled by the weight of his words. “Rafe…”

“It’s not just this weekend,” he continued, cutting you off, his grip tightening on your waist as if grounding himself. “It’s… everything. The way you…” He broke off, shaking his head like he was frustrated with himself.

“The way I what?” you asked softly, your hand brushing against his chest, trying to coax the words out of him without you even noticing.

His eyes flicked to yours, and for a moment, the walls he always kept up cracked just enough for you to see through. “The way you didn’t leave when I wasn’t exactly making it easy.” he said finally, his voice low, raw. “Even when I’m a mess. Even when I’m… me.”

Your chest tightened at the way he said it, like he truly believed he wasn’t worth sticking around for. The bravado, the arrogance — it all felt like a mask now, one he wore to hide just how deeply his loneliness ran.

“Rafe,” you murmured, your hand sliding up to cup his cheek. He flinched slightly at the touch, as if he wasn’t used to being touched so gently, but he didn’t pull away. “You’ve been through a lot and—”

He huffed out a bitter laugh, his eyes dropping to the water between you. “That’s generous.”

“I mean it,” you insisted, your thumb brushing against his cheekbone. “You’re not perfect, Rafe. But nobody is. And the way you see yourself? That’s not permanent. You can… That’s not all I see - not anymore.”

His eyes flicked back up to yours, something vulnerable and searching in them. “How do you see me?”

You hesitated, your heart pounding at the intensity of his gaze. “I see someone who’s trying,” you said finally, your voice steady. “Even if you don’t think you are. I see someone who cares more than he lets on.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything, his jaw working as he processed your words. Then, his forehead dropped to rest against yours, his eyes slipping shut.

He let out a shaky breath, and when he pulled back just enough to look at you again, there was something softer in his expression. “You’re dangerous, you know that?”

“What do you mean?” you asked, your lips curving into a faint smile despite the heaviness of the moment.

“You make me think…” He paused, searching for the right words. “You make me think maybe I’m not as screwed up as I feel.”

“Aren’t we all?” you said simply, a smile dangling on your lips.

His lips twitched into something close to a smile, though his eyes still held that flicker of vulnerability. “You’re stubborn as hell, you know that?”

“Someone’s gotta keep you in check,” you teased gently.

He laughed softly, the sound almost disbelieving, and for the first time in a long time, it felt real.

The waves lapped at your sides as he pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you in a way that felt less possessive and more like he was trying to hold himself together.

“Thank you.” he said again, his voice steadier now, his eyes searching yours.

“Always.” you replied, your fingers brushing against his chest as you held his gaze.

The moment stretched, the weight of it lingering even as the tide pulled at you both. For the first time, it felt like Rafe wasn’t just letting you in — he was trying to keep you in.

Back at the hotel, the charged energy that had simmered between you all day seemed to follow you like a shadow, growing heavier with every passing glance, every fleeting touch. By the time you both found yourselves in the bathroom, it was like the air itself was crackling with electricity.

You were standing at the sink, brushing your damp hair out of your face to apply some pre-poo after a long day in the sun, when Rafe stepped inside. His shirt was gone, the tan he’d picked up over the weekend emphasizing the sharp lines of his chest and the faint dusting of freckles across his shoulders. He moved past you, his arm brushing yours as he reached for a towel hanging near the shower.

It should have been a simple movement, nothing out of the ordinary. But the second his skin grazed yours, the tension that had coiled tight between you all day snapped.

You turned your head, and he was already looking at you, his blue eyes dark and intent, like he’d been waiting for you to crack first.

Neither of you said a word. You didn’t need to.

It happened all at once — his hand reaching for your wrist, your breath catching as he pulled you toward him. His other hand slid to the small of your back, tugging you closer until there wasn’t even an inch of space between you. Then his lips were on yours, hot and insistent, stealing the breath from your lungs.

You gasped against him, your hands flying up to grip his shoulders as he backed you up against the sink. His kiss was urgent, consuming, like he couldn’t get enough of you. And God, you couldn’t get enough of him either.

The towel he’d been holding fell to the floor as his hands roamed your body, one sliding to your waist and the other tangling in your hair. His fingers tightened slightly, tilting your head back to deepen the kiss, and you let out a soft, involuntary moan that seemed to undo him completely.

“Shower.” he muttered against your lips, his voice low and rough, and before you could even process the word, he was guiding you backward toward the glass enclosure.

The cool tile of the shower wall met your back just as the spray of hot water burst to life, cascading over both of you. The contrast of sensations made you shiver, but Rafe’s hands were already on you again, grounding you, igniting a heat that burned hotter than the steam enveloping you both.

He pressed you back against the wall, his body flush against yours, and you couldn’t hold back the soft gasp that escaped when you felt the full strength of him. His lips moved to your neck, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your skin, each one lingering like he was memorizing the way you felt beneath him.

“Rafe…” You barely recognized your own voice, breathless and shaky as your nails dug into his shoulders.

“Say it again.” he murmured against your neck, his voice dark and laced with a possessive edge that sent a shiver down your spine. “Shit, call for me again.”

“Rafe.” you repeated, and his name came out like a plea, breaking apart as his teeth grazed the sensitive spot just below your ear.

His hands slid lower, gripping your hips before traveling down to the backs of your thighs. Without a word, he lifted you effortlessly, pinning you higher against the wall. Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, your hands tangling in his damp hair as you brought his lips back to yours.

The kiss was slower this time, but no less intense. His tongue swept against yours, his grip on your thighs tightening as he pulled you closer, holding you like he never wanted to let go. The water cascaded over both of you, but it did little to cool the fire raging between you.

Rafe pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours as his chest heaved, both of you catching your breath. His eyes found yours, and the raw intensity in them made your heart skip a beat.

“You drive me insane, you know that?” he said, his voice rough and low, his lips brushing against yours with every word.

Your hands slid down to his jaw, your thumbs brushing against his cheekbones as you smiled faintly. “Good.”

A low growl rumbled in his chest, and before you could say anything else, he kissed you again, harder this time, with a desperation that stole whatever restraint you had left.

The steam swirled around you, the water pouring down like it was trying to drown the fire between you — but it was hopeless. Whatever this was, whatever had built between you over the years, it wasn’t something that could be extinguished. Not now. Not anymore.

Rafe’s grip on your thighs tightened as he set you down gently, the cool tile sending a jolt through your body as he stepped back just enough to let you stand on your own two trembling legs. His eyes never left yours as he reached for the strings of your bikini top, his fingers deftly untying them.

“I’ve wanted to do this all day,” he murmured, his voice thick with need, and you felt your cheeks flush as the material fell away, exposing your bare breasts to the steamy air.

He took a moment to just look at you, his eyes darkening as they roamed over your body, lingering on your hardened nipples and the droplets of water that clung to your skin. Then, as if he couldn’t wait another second, he reached out and cupped one in his hand, his thumb brushing over the sensitive peak. A bolt of pleasure shot straight to your core, making your knees wobble.

You leaned into his touch, arching your back slightly, and that was all the invitation he needed. His mouth was on you, suckling your nipple into his warm, wet mouth, his tongue flicking against it as you let out a gasp that was quickly muffled by his groan. Your hands found the back of his neck, holding it tightly as his other hand moved to your other breast, giving it the same attention.

But as much as you enjoyed the feeling of his mouth on your breasts, there was something else you craved. Something more. You reached down and tugged at the waistband of his shorts, your eyes never leaving his.

The material slid down his hips, revealing his arousal, thick and heavy, standing proudly against his stomach. Your heart raced as you took him in your hand, his cock hot and velvety-soft, yet so firm. You felt the weight of him, the way he twitched at your touch, and you knew he wanted this as much as you did.

“You like that?” You whispered, a hint of mischief in your voice, watching as his eyes fluttered closed and his head fell back with a groan.

“Fuck yes,” he hissed, his hand coming to cover yours, guiding your strokes. His hips jerked slightly, and you felt his cock throb in your grasp.

The power you had over him was intoxicating, and you reveled in it, stroking him slowly, watching the way his body responded to every touch. You leaned in, your breath warm against his neck as you whispered, “You’re so big.”

Rafe’s eyes snapped open, his gaze locking onto yours, and there was something in it that made your stomach flip — something dark and hungry that mirrored the ache between your legs.

He spins you around, pressing your breasts against the cool glass as he kisses your neck, his hand sliding down to tease your clit while you watch your reflection in the steamy mirror.

The sensation is maddening, and you can't help but arch into his touch, your hips rolling against his palm. The water streams down your back, creating rivulets that trace the curves of your body, and the slickness between your legs only makes your need for him more intense.

"Tell me what you want," Rafe whispers, his breath hot on your skin, his fingers expertly circling your clit. His other hand slides down to your ass, squeezing it gently as he continues to explore your body.

"I want you," you murmur, the words barely audible over the rush of the shower. Your voice is thick with desire, and it sends a jolt of need through him. He groans, his cock pulsing against your bottom.

Rafe’s hand slides from your clit, his fingers slipping into your folds, testing your readiness. You're soaking wet, both from the water and your own arousal, and you push back into his hand, silently begging for more. He teases you, sliding one finger in and out, watching your eyes glaze over in pleasure.

“Do you want me to fuck you, sweetheart?” His voice is a low growl in your ear, and you shiver with excitement. His words added a new dimension to the fire between you, turning your desire up to a fever pitch.

You nod, unable to form coherent words as his fingers delve deeper, filling you. “Yes.” you manage to breathe out, the word little more than a gasp.

“Say it,” he demands, his hand moving faster, his thumb pressing against your clit with just the right amount of pressure. “Tell me you want my cock inside you.”

Your cheeks flush, but you don’t hesitate. “I want your cock inside me, Rafe. Now.” The words feel decadent on your tongue, and you revel in the power of them, the way his eyes darken and his breath hitches.

With a smoldering smile, Rafe turns you around to face him, the water still raining down on both of you. He takes your face in his hands, tilting it up to meet his gaze. His eyes are blazing with lust, but there’s something else in there too — something that makes your heart race faster than the pulsing ache between your legs.

“Look at me,” he says, his voice a command that you can’t resist. You stare up into his eyes as he guides the tip of his cock to your entrance. You gasp as he slides inside you, filling you up with one slow, deliberate stroke. It’s a sensation you’ve never felt before, like he’s claiming you, marking you as his own.

He pins you against the wall, lifts one of your legs, and enters you standing, the water rushing over both of you, heightening every sensation.

The feel of him inside you is overwhelming, his thickness stretching you as he starts to move, his hips pistoning in and out, the water sluicing over your bodies, turning your skin slick and your cries of pleasure muffled by the pounding of the shower. His hand wraps around the back of your thigh, holding your leg up as he takes you, his other hand on your hip to balance you as he drives deeper with every thrust.

“Oh, fuck. Rafe!” you moan, your voice a mix of pleasure and surprise at how good it feels. He groans in response, his eyes locked onto yours, his pupils blown wide with lust.

“That’s it, sweetheart.” he murmurs, his voice a dark, velvet rumble that sends a shiver down your spine. “Take it all. Take every inch of me.”

You can’t help the whimper that escapes as he hits that perfect spot, the one that sends sparks of pleasure shooting through your body. Your eyes flutter closed, but he gently taps your cheek with the pad of his thumb, urging you to look at him.

“Keep those eyes on me.” he says, his voice a gruff command that makes your core tighten. You force your lids up and watch him as he continues to pump into you, his movements powerful and deliberate. “Let me see you come for me, baby.”

His hand slides down to your clit, his thumb circling the sensitive bud as he picks up his pace. You feel yourself building closer and closer to the edge, your muscles tightening around him, trying to pull him deeper. “I bet that stupid fucking tourist didn’t get you moaning like this, huh?” he says, his voice thick with arrogance.

You’re surprised at the sudden mention of the guy who had dropped you off at your place two days ago, the one who had barely managed to get your number. But as Rafe’s thumb applies more pressure and his cock hits that spot deep inside you, the memory of the touron fades away, replaced by the reality of the man who’s been under your skin for years.

“So you were jealous, huh?” You ask, your voice teasing despite the way your body is trembling with need. You can’t resist scratching your nails down his back, feeling the tension in his muscles as he fucks you harder against the shower wall.

“Shut up.” Rafe says, a playful smirk curling his lips. But the way his eyes bore into yours says he’s not joking. He wants you to be silent, to only focus on him, on the way he’s claiming you with every stroke.

You lean in closer, your breath a hot whisper in his ear. “Make me, then.” you challenge him, your voice dripping with need and mischief. You bite his earlobe, making him growl before you pull away again, your eyes sparkling with defiance.

Rafe’s smirk widens, the challenge accepted. His strokes become more urgent, his grip on your thigh tightening as he fucks you with a new vigor that has your teeth sinking into your bottom lip. The pleasure builds, coiling in your belly like a tight spring, ready to snap at any moment.

You can feel him thicken inside you, his hips slapping against your ass as he takes you harder. Your nails rake down his back, leaving trails of red against his tanned skin, and he grunts with every thrust, his eyes never leaving yours. The sound of your bodies colliding echoes off the shower walls, mingling with the steady patter of the water.

Then it happens — the orgasm hits you like a wave, crashing over you with an intensity that steals the breath from your lungs. You cry out, your muscles tightening around him, and he groans in response, his grip on your thigh and hip almost painful. He pulls out at the last moment, the tip of his cock teasing your clit as he comes, painting your stomach with ropes of hot cum. The sight of him, his head thrown back and his muscles taut with release, sends another shiver of pleasure through you.

You stand there for a moment, panting and trembling, your legs threatening to give out. But Rafe’s arms are around you, holding you up, keeping you close. His chest is heaving, his heart pounding against yours as he presses his forehead to yours.

The bathroom is quiet except for the sound of the shower and your occasional shared laughter as you both rinse off the remnants of your earlier entanglement. The water slides over Rafe’s broad shoulders, droplets tracing the ridges of his muscles as he smirks at you from beneath the spray.

“You’re hogging all the hot water, Cameron.” you tease, nudging him with your elbow.

He tilts his head, pretending to consider it. “Or maybe you’re just too slow. Pick up the pace, princess.”

“Maybe I wouldn’t be so slow if someone didn’t ruin my ability to walk properly.” you shoot back, trying to sound exasperated but failing miserably as your lips twitch into a grin.

Rafe’s low chuckle reverberates in the steam-filled room. “You’re so welcome.” he murmurs, his voice thick with amusement and satisfaction.

Your chest tightens at the sound, and you glance away, a shy smile pulling at your lips. It’s maddening, how effortlessly he can unravel you with a single look or a simple quip.

By the time you step out of the shower, the mirror is fogged over, and the bathroom feels stifling. You grab a towel, wrapping it tightly around yourself, already feeling a tug of laziness weighing you down.

Rafe was already drying himself, shaking his wet hair like a dog and laughing when you glare at him. “Relax, princess. You’re already wet.”

“That’s disgusting, Rafe.” But you can’t help the small laugh that escapes you.

Your eyes flick to Rafe’s t-shirt lying casually on the counter while he puts his sweatpants on. Without a second thought, you snag it, pulling it over your head. The fabric hangs loosely, brushing your thighs.

When Rafe notices, his brows lift. “Seriously? My shirt?”

“It was right there.” you reply nonchalantly, smoothing the material as if to make your point. “And I’m too lazy to grab my pajamas. Deal with it.”

He crosses his arms over his chest, his eyes dragging over you. Something flashes there — something warm, possessive — but it’s gone before you can place it. “Really?”

“What?” you say innocently, running a hand over the shirt. “It was right there and it’s your fault I can’t walk to my suitcase anyway.”

He narrows his eyes at you but doesn’t argue, a faint smirk playing at his lips. “Fine. Keep it. But don’t act surprised when I start charging you rent.”

You scoff, brushing past him as you head toward the bed. “You’re so generous.”

Once you’re under the covers, the soft glow of your phones illuminates the space between you. The easy comfort of scrolling and sharing random videos fills the room. Rafe shows you a clip of some guy trying to skateboard off a roof and failing miserably. You laugh so hard your chest aches, and the sound of Rafe’s deep chuckle beside you makes your heart feel unbearably light.

But as the laughter fades, a familiar weight creeps back into your chest. Tomorrow. The word lingers, flashing in your mind like a warning light. You’ll go back to the Outer Banks, to the suffocating expectations of your mother and family. Rafe will go back to being just Rafe — your brother’s best friend.

“We’re back tomorrow.” you murmur softly, your voice breaking the silence.

Rafe doesn’t respond immediately, but you feel his gaze shift to you. “Yeah.” he says after a moment.

You bite your lip, hesitating. “Back to… normal, I guess.”

His jaw tightens at your words, and for a moment, the room feels heavier. His silence stretches, his expression unreadable as he stares at the ceiling.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” you add quickly, setting your phone aside.

“Didn’t you?” he asks, his tone calm but edged with something heavier.

You swallow, guilt and frustration knotting in your chest. “I just mean…” You pause, your voice trembling. “You’ll go back to being you, and I’ll go back to…”

“Pretending this never happened?” he finishes, his voice low and rough. He didn’t even know why he was frustrated.

You flinch, shaking your head. “No. It’s not like that.” You take a breath, struggling to explain. “It’s just… you know what it’s like with my mom. With my family. Everything has to be perfect. And me…” You trail off, lowering your gaze. “I’m not allowed to just… be myself.”

Rafe shifts beside you, his eyes softening as they lock onto yours. He doesn’t say anything, but his hand reaches out, his fingers brushing over yours. The simple gesture makes your heart clench.

“But we still have tonight.” you add, your voice barely above a whisper.

Something shifts in his expression — less frustration, more heat. A slow smirk tugs at his lips, and he leans closer, his voice dropping low. “Yeah. We do.”

His lips find yours, and the world falls away. It’s not rushed, not frantic, but slow and consuming, like he’s trying to memorize every inch of you. His hand cups the side of your face, his thumb brushing along your jaw as his mouth moves against yours. You melt into him, your fingers sliding into his hair as you press closer, closer, like you can’t get enough.

When his tongue brushes against yours, you gasp softly, your heart racing. Heat coils low in your stomach, spreading through your body as his hands slide down to your thighs, pulling you into his lap. You can feel him everywhere — his touch, his warmth, his breath — and it makes your head spin.

When he finally pulls back, you’re both breathless. His forehead presses against yours, and the crooked grin he gives you sends a thrill through your chest.

When he finally pulls back, his lips curve into a grin. “Alright, one last thing before you’re back to being Little Miss Perfect: wanna smoke?”

You laugh softly, still catching your breath. “I don’t think I’m as perfect as you think.”

“Could’ve fooled me” he says, already grabbing the joint from the metal box on the bedside table.

At some point, you end up on the balcony — the spot you’d jokingly called your “weed place” earlier in the week. The night air feels cool against your skin, and you curl up beside him, your legs draped over his lap as he lights the joint. The first drag is sharp, making your lungs burn, but it quickly fades into a pleasant haze. After a few hits, the haze feels light, freeing.

“Okay, fine,” you say, laughing. “But then… what if fish get bored of swimming all the time? Like, what if they’re just floating there, looking up at the surface and thinking, ‘Wow, I wish I could walk. Or fly.’”

“Fish don’t think that,” Rafe says, grinning. “Fish don’t think at all.”

You gasp, your hand flying to your chest. “Rude. Fish probably have, like, the deepest thoughts. What if they’re out there philosophizing about life? Like, ‘What even is water?’”

That sends you into another fit of giggles, your head falling back against the chair as you clutch your stomach. You don’t even realize Rafe is watching you until you catch the way his smirk softens, his blue eyes warm as they trace over your face.

“You’re ridiculous,” he murmurs, his voice low.

“Yeah, well…” You shrug, still smiling. “At least I can say whatever stupid thing pops into my head with you. That’s nice. I don’t have to, like, filter myself.”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just reaches out to brush a piece of hair from your face. “Good,” he says softly. “You should always be yourself.”

The joint burns out eventually, but the ease you feel doesn’t fade. When Rafe pulls out his phone and snaps a picture of you mid-laugh, you groan, reaching for it.

“Let me see!”

“Not a chance,” he says, holding it out of reach, grinning.

Fine, you think, grabbing your own phone. “Two can play this game.” You snap a photo of him in the middle of a laugh, his head tilted back.

“Oh, come on.” He groans, reaching for your phone. “That’s terrible!”

“That’s the point,” you say, giggling as you dodge him.

The photo war escalates quickly, and you’re back in his lap before you even realize it, both of you laughing uncontrollably.

The flash goes off.

You pull back, your breath catching as you see the phone in his hand. “Did you just take a picture of that?”

Rafe smirks, his eyes half-lidded. “Maybe.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”

His hands trail lazily down your thighs, his smirk darkening. “Maybe I’ll take one more,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough.

“Yeah?” you ask, your voice a little breathy as your heart pounds in your chest.

He nods, his fingers curling under the hem of his shirt — your shirt — where it brushes your thighs. “You know, for the road.”

A rush of heat spreads through you as you give him a playful smirk, your inhibitions completely gone. Slowly, you grab the hem of the shirt and lift it just enough to flash him.

His eyes darken, his phone already in hand. “Hold that.” he murmurs, his voice rasping, and before you can even think, the flash goes off again.

You laugh, tugging the shirt back down, your cheeks burning. “You’re insane,” you say softly, giggling, the smile lingering.

He grins, setting the phone aside as his hands slide to your waist. “Maybe,” he replies, his lips brushing yours. “But at least now I’ve got a proper party favor from this wedding shit.”

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

TAGLIST: @megiiite @melsunshine @maybankslover @wearemadeofstardust0 @lilithblackkk @slutforoldermen @louxmcl @peter-parkers-gf @yootvi @v4mp1rr3 @evermorx89

[deerspherestudios]

I hope you have a wonderful break! I really enjoyed the new update of the game and I can't wait for more aaa !! <33

And I agree about Mychael having different sides to him, the story feels more authentic and especially combined with the action/motion scenes, the game feels so immersive! I really, really love your work on it! The writing, the coding, the visuals, everything!! Even the bad endings is so heartwrenching </3 (ending 4 is my top fav bad ending hehe)

I also wanna ask how you did the moving scenes with the sprites? Like with Mychael falling off the bed because MC punched him (my fav scene, its so funny) and the one with him snatching MC's wrist to avoid touching the mushrooms. Was it hard to figure it out how to do it?

Aaa sorry for the ramble! >< I really love the game :'D and Mychael! Heres a tight hug for him🫂 <33

I've explained the snatching MC's hand animation here!

As for the punch and some other motions, that's actually Ren'Py's transformations.

Ren'Py Ramblings below:

I'm gonna be 100% honest, a lot of these I took from the Lemma Soft and Reddit forums of people providing codes for various movements. It's incredibly helpful and I'm lucky to have found these and being able to implement them into my game!

I can credit them if people ask me to, but I usually google "hit animation renpy/ drop animation renpy/ tremble animation renpy" and got these!

For the 'slap' at the start of Day 3:

transform drop: zoom 6 xalign 0.5 yalign 0.2 ease 0.2 zoom 1 xalign 0.5 yalign .45 easein .175 yoffset -30 easeout .175 yoffset 0 easeout_cubic 1 yoffset 1200

For the 'slap' in Ending 4:

transform slap: zoom 6 xalign 0.4 yalign 0.5 pause.1 ease 0.2 zoom 1 xalign 0.5 yalign .45 easein .175 yoffset -30 easeout .175 yoffset 0

For the 'trembling' in Ending 4:

transform shake: linear 0.090 xoffset -2 linear 0.090 xoffset +0 linear 0.090 yoffset -2 linear 0.090 yoffset +0 repeat

Afterwards I adjust them to my liking. For example, drop and slap are the exact same, with changes in the position and slight timing, since in drop the beginning anchor point is the center of Mychael's face in the sprite image:

And then implement them afterwards as usual:

show [sprite] at [drop/slap/shake]

Hope that helps!

[aventurineswife]

Can I ask for aventurine with an s/o who looks really giddy and excited except they're actually really nervous and depressive inside to the point they randomly stop acting happy one day and tell Aventurine that he can break up with them anytime he wants since they don't feel sufficient for him? Like they don't think they can compete with the pretty ladies he must see at the casino?-

“You're Everything”

Summary: Aventurine has always been able to read people, but the one person he can't quite figure out is you, his partner. Though outwardly cheerful, you've been hiding insecurities beneath your bright demeanor. One evening, during a quiet moment at home, your walls finally come down as you confess your self-doubt, feeling unworthy of Aventurine’s affection. This revelation shatters the illusion that everything is fine, and Aventurine takes the opportunity to reassure you of your worth.

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Romance, Emotional Support, Insecurity, Reassurance, Vulnerability, Tender Moments, Established Relationship, Confessions, Trust.

Warnings: Mild emotional distress, Insecurity/confidence issues, Mild mentions of self-doubt.

A/N: shit why does that sound like me...? 😕💔

Aventurine had always been able to read people, to sense when something wasn’t quite right, when the masks people wore didn’t match the truth lurking beneath. But there was something about you—about how you always wore that giddy, almost dizzying smile—that kept him second-guessing himself. You never seemed to show your hand, always too busy hiding your true feelings behind that infectious energy.

It had taken time, but over the months of your relationship, he’d come to know you better, catching the subtle hints when your laughter wasn’t quite as bright or your movements just a little too stiff. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t worry—his strategic mind always assumed something was amiss, but you had become his anchor. He’d convinced himself that he didn’t need to dig deeper, that everything was fine as long as you looked happy. But deep down, that little seed of doubt always lingered, nestled in the back of his mind.

And that day... that day it all came crashing down.

It started with a quiet evening at home. The two of you had shared a meal, laughed about something trivial, and as always, you had worn that bubbly, almost too-exuberant smile. But there was a shift, a subtle drop in the energy that only someone who had spent so much time with you would notice. The tension in your shoulders, the way your eyes darted away when he met your gaze—it was like a veil had dropped, leaving a raw vulnerability behind.

You didn’t say anything at first, as if waiting for him to notice, to say something. But then, just as he was about to speak, you broke the silence.

"I don't think I'm good enough for you." you muttered, voice strained. Your hands trembled slightly, though you tried to keep them hidden in your lap.

Aventurine’s heart twisted. The moment you said those words, the mask shattered, and the heavy truth hit him. You hadn’t been your usual self—hadn't been genuinely happy—and he knew it was time to uncover the secret you’d been holding in.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, studying you carefully. “What do you mean by that?” His tone was soft, but there was a depth of concern behind it.

You swallowed, trying to compose yourself, but the words kept slipping out in a rush. "I—I don’t know, I just feel... like you could do so much better. I see how you are at the casino, surrounded by all those beautiful, confident women, and I... I can’t compete with them. I don’t even feel like I’m enough for you. You can... break up with me anytime you want. I wouldn't blame you."

The words hit Aventurine like a sucker punch. He froze for a moment, his usually steady hand twitching as he fought the urge to reach out and pull you into his arms. But instead, he stayed where he was, keeping his distance, allowing the weight of your words to settle between the two of you.

His gaze softened, his eyes fixing on you with an intensity that left no room for doubt. “You think I’m with you because of how you compare to others?” he asked, his voice a little more stern than usual. But underneath it was something deeper—something fragile, as if he was trying to keep his own composure intact.

Your head hung low, and you nodded, unable to meet his eyes. “I don’t know… It just feels like... I’m not enough for someone like you. You deserve someone who can make you happy without all this baggage."

Aventurine let out a small sigh, shaking his head slightly, as if processing the sheer weight of your words. His lips twitched upward into a soft, bittersweet smile, the kind that spoke of knowing something far deeper than surface-level impressions. He stood and walked over to you slowly, his movements calculated, but not with the usual sharpness of someone managing a deal. No, this was different. His steps were careful, as if afraid of shattering the delicate balance between the two of you.

Reaching out, he cupped your chin gently with one hand, lifting your face so you would meet his gaze. "You really think I care about comparing you to other people?" His voice, though steady, held a quiet intensity that resonated through you. "Look at me. Look at me, and understand something."

You blinked up at him, your heart thundering in your chest.

Aventurine exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “What matters to me, what’s always mattered to me, is you. Not the ‘pretty ladies,’ not the ones who look perfect on the outside. I’ve never cared about that. Not when it’s you who can make me laugh when the world feels like it’s closing in. Not when it’s you who makes me feel... human, not just the strategist, not just the Stoneheart. I don’t need anyone else."

You felt a pang in your chest at his words, but it only deepened when he continued.

“You think you're not enough, but you're everything. The fact that you’re here, sharing this with me, means more than you can imagine. You want to know why I chose you?” His voice was softer now, coaxing, as if breaking through a dam that had held so much back. "Because you're you. You don't have to pretend to be someone you're not. You never have to compete with anyone else, not when I’ve already chosen you."

Tears welled in your eyes, but you didn’t wipe them away. His words felt like a balm to wounds you hadn't realized were so deep.

Aventurine gave you a small, sincere smile, his gaze unwavering. “I’m not going anywhere. And if you ever doubt it again, I’ll remind you. But I’m asking you now, don’t doubt yourself. Not for a second. You’re exactly what I need, exactly what I want.”

The weight that had been crushing your chest seemed to lift, and for the first time in a long while, you breathed a little easier. You couldn’t help but let out a shaky laugh, your lips curving upward despite the wetness still on your cheeks.

Aventurine laughed with you, the sound warm and full of tenderness. “There’s that smile again. I’m never letting go of it.” He wiped a stray tear from your cheek with his thumb, his eyes glimmering with something you couldn’t quite put into words.

In that moment, you understood. You weren’t just his partner. You were his, completely and irrevocably, no matter what the world outside thought or how you felt inside.

And with that, you finally let the real smile break free, one that didn’t feel forced, one that was only for him.

[revelboo]

HIIII! i just wanted to say I have been devouring your writing; you have such a lovely talent for conjuring whole worlds with such brevity.

Hope the sudden spam of likes/reblogs was okay >u<''

Thanks! I’ve gotten a bit used to short form and needing to pack a punch in brief snippets from Twitter’s vss365 writing prompts.

Everything is Alright Pt 26

Starscream x Reader

• This isn’t right. Isn’t what he wanted. You’re supposed to be happy. Thankful. And that black rage washes higher threatening to drown him as his servos curl under into fists with the need to lash out, because it’s all wrong. Then you’re looking up at him, those big eyes afraid, fingers tightening on that stuffed animal. Afraid of him? Afraid for humans you likely don’t even know because deep down you think he’s a monster?

• And he’s yanking his chair back from his desk, the legs screeching on the floor before he slings it against the wall. It’s not enough to bank that fury crackling through him. Not nearly enough. Because he understands that fear on your face. Knows too well the feeling of saying what must be said even though you know there will be repercussions. For a moment, he’s paralyzed, venting raggedly as a memory claws its way out of the dark corners of his processor. Of pain and fear so visceral and inescapable. Megatron in a fury, big hands curling into fists.

• You’d backed away when he’d slung the chair, now you’re staring as he shakes, shoulders hunched, wings trembling and hands curled into claws, servos flexing like he wants to tear something apart. This isn’t just temper, there’s something else going on that you don’t understand. Something that hurts you to watch. “This isn’t right,” he snarls, head dropping as those tremors run wild through his frame. “Why isn’t it right?”

• His rasping voice is cracking with something more than just anger, there’s pain there that lances through you as you clutch the stuffed bear tighter to yourself. You’re terrified of him like this, all too aware that one careless swipe of his hand can break you. “I’m sorry,” you call out, despite the very real fear of pulling his attention back to you. Those red optics are bloody and wild as his helm swings your way and you start trembling. “You’re always taking care of me,” you forge on wanting nothing more than to hide from that stare. He’s going to hurt you this time. You’re sure of it.

• He can’t stop shaking, torn between memories he doesn’t want and the soft sound of your voice. Apologizing even as it wavers in fear. That breaks through the confused rage, his hand slamming against the edge of the desk as he lunges toward that sound. Needing it to anchor him in the sea of pain and hate and self loathing. You stagger back, little frame tense. Scared of him. Moving slowly, he lays his helm down on the desk, unable to stand you looking at him like that. Like how he stares at Megatron in a rage. The feel of your soft, little hand on his cheek almost breaks him. You’re trying to comfort him? Shuttering his optics, he just savors the feel of your gentle touch and your voice, your words. Thanking him and apologizing even as you break. “No one was home,” he growls, because he understands. Wants to reach for you, hook a servo around you and tug you against him. But doesn’t dare. Not yet.

Previous Next

[captainjamster]

Hey if you're comfortable with it, do you think you write about how 141 would react to finding out you're ticklish? Preferably nsfw. Maybe they just tease you with it or maybe they have a session with you after a while and enjoy how it drives you crazy. It could be poly141 or just a drabble with each members reaction.

I love your writing sm

I'm sorry this took a while anon, thank you so much for your request!! This is the first time I've written about tickling, so I hope it came out alright. I loved researching this lmfao it's so cute

Pairing(s): 141 x reader (separately, not poly or sharing this time sorry! :p) Warnings: Bondage and restraint, tickling, tickling during sex Wordcount: 1.2k Summary: How each of the boys enjoy tickling you :p AO3 Link: Right here! <3

Full drabbles under cut <3

Price loves your laugh; just the sound can get him hard. Maybe you should’ve seen it coming from the first date. It was the first thing he complimented you on in the small bakery – heart eyes over the brim of his coffee cup that had your cheeks red, already breathless at the story between a cheeky sounding sergeant and someone’s poor dog. He stores every terrible joke exchanged amongst his boys, bringing them home just to fill your ears with them, to get anything from that exasperated little giggle to a shocked cackle at some of Ghost’s darker ones – the first time he hears you belly laugh, he writes the beginning of his wedding vowels.

For him, there’s a privilege in being allowed to bring you to such a vulnerable state, dazed and breathless, whether it’s scrabbling against the material of his shirt as you’re bent over in hysterics, hiding behind your hands, gasping for air at the comedy he’s been nagging you to watch, or between his thighs against the mattress, straining with hiccupped shrieks and pleads at his weight as he tortures your overstimulated skin. The only thing he uses is his fingers, and he’s stubborn about it, possessive of the tactile connection between his fingertips against your skin. The furthest he goes is a plug in your pussy, with a command to try and keep it there at the threat of a good spanking (though you both know you’re going to fail).

He challenges himself to make you come with just tickling – he neglects your needy pussy, wet and fluttering with arousal, until the delicate dragging of his nails down the plush insides of your thigh has you spasming around nothing.

-

Gaz, poor Gaz. Gaz, with blood under his nails he just can’t scrub, who sees someone’s face with every punch he throws at the bag. He’s heard the way his peers talk all throughout his service – spank their ass, slap their face, tight grip to the throat, till they ache.

There was only one part that ever stuck with him – till they ache.

The only time he raises a hand against you is to watch you squeal in anticipation before it flies down to your stomach, skittering up and down the soft skin as you twist and writhe against the sheets. It’s everything he needs – he can make you cry, beg, scream, with the whisp of a few touches, the softest of caresses. Tracing the marks that scatter your skin, only love bites and the imprints of restraint. On some nights, Gaz loves tying you up and tickling you, watching you squirm and contort against his ropes in an attempt to escape. The knots dip into your flesh, keeping your arms straight and pointed to the metal hook that meets the rope stemming from your wrists, legs spread wide with the thick bar anchoring your feet flat to the ground. His fingers dance over every inch of skin bare to him, honing to the areas you try to pull away from, watching you sway this and that way in peals of laughter as he switches between sides on your ribs.

Unlike Price, he doesn’t care for games – he’ll give you what you want. A toy, his fingers, his cock. Slow and steady, letting the rope drop a little to bend you at the waist, rocking back and forward into him, clenching down those slick and warm walls in sync with each ragged laugh. He doesn’t mind wielding a tickle wand, dragging the feathers up and down your thighs, your armpits, behind your knees. It’s not over until your eyes are puffy, cheeks tear stained as you sag under your own weight, kept suspended by the rope as your knees shake.

-

Soap becomes aware of your ticklish nature very quickly, being such a tactile partner. He’s always touching you – whether it’s an arm around your waist, foot rubbing against your calf, pinkies linked together – and it isn’t long before he unintentionally makes you squeal, accidentally brushing up against one of your most sensitive areas. The noise makes him jump, worried he’s hurt you, but when he sees the red of your cheeks and the shy smile on your face? Oh, it’s over for you.

“Y’ticklish, bonnie?”

He’s all a-grin every time, hands raising menacingly with wiggling fingers.

For a while it stays non-sexual, but poor Johnny can’t help himself. The tickle fights start to linger way past what’s appropriate, making home in his mind – how you get so panicked and squirmy, trying to get away from his fingers, your breathless laugh and gasps as his name whines so desperately from your lips. Your squeals rings through his ears during overdue paperwork in his late nights, so clear that he swears your lips brush across the tips of his ears, and Price avoids looking at him too closely as he turns in the files before leaving.

Sly, smart Johnny starts off slow. When the mood is playful during sex, he purposely rubs his hair and beard up against your neck, your back, feeling you pulse erratically around him with each giggle. He introduces it in increments, a foot in the door as you warm to the idea. Things really get going when he confesses, head buried in the crook of your neck as he groans how the way you flutter around his cock with each giggle brings him so close, and you can't help but laugh at that too. Poor Johnny comes harder than he ever has, and you can't help but want to indulge the glassy, lovestruck expression on his handsome face.

Unlike Gaz, he’d never restrain you - Johnny loves fighting you to stay still, caging you in or dragging you back by the ankle into his reach.

-

For Ghost, he loves the chase and anticipation beforehand, and his favourite way of being a pest – catch him brushing against just the right spot to make you jump and squeal as his arms slip around you, or his chin nuzzles into your neck.

But it starts with a morning of productivity, taken with your own domestic chores in a quiet co-existence. He’s finished a spot-tidy, bringing some discarded rubbish and checking on you in the kitchen. You’re unsuspecting, caught up in your respective daily activities, fixated on the job in front of you – and something hits him. The way you bob along happily to the music in your head, scrubbing at the dishes with a sway in your hips, caught up in your own world. Your happiness is magnetic, beckoning him and basking him in the same warm rush of dopamine. A light bubbles up through his body, something that forces its way from the depths of his chest more often when you’re around, and his feet are moving towards the kitchen before he thinks twice.

“Hey love?”

You hum questioningly, putting elbow grease into a particularly stuck blemish from the morning’s dishes.

“Got somethin’ for you.”

You finally turn around, soapy hands in the air as droplets cascade from them. Simon gives you a second to stare quizzically, watching your expression morph into a pleading grin as his hands creep up from his sides, fingers curling over into a leering grab.

“No! I’m washing dishes, please!”

His grin widens, fingers wiggling threateningly. “Then dry your hands.”

Your hands fall to your shirt, squeezing the material as you ready yourself to bolt. He squares up, arms outstretched, but he doesn’t close them as you swoop by close enough, out the kitchen in a mad dash. Though the chase is superficial, it doesn’t stop the thrill that jolts him with each impending step, following you through to the loungeroom. The sofa keeps him at bay, circling each other in a practiced synchronisation around the furniture as you feint left and right, keeping him guessing which way you’ll take off.

You bluff right to distract him from your plan to run the other way, but Simon lunges left anyway. He’s faster than you can think, reading the tensing of your muscles, and unable to rectify your charade as you scramble, his arms clamp around you in a swooping grab.

And as you gasp and giggle underneath him, something stirs to life.

dividers by cafekitsune

[rillils]

There were times, back then, when Steve was sure he wasn’t going to pull through.

When the fever had consumed him for days, and the breath burned thick in the back of his throat, and Steve felt himself slip too close to the dark place that lived behind his eyelids, across the threshold of his consciousness.

Death, he thought: hovering like a loving mother at his side.

He could feel it, like a cold whisper gusting against his skin, chilling him with words of warning. Soon, it said; and Steve was too weak to do anything but lie there and listen.

He tried to tell Bucky once, drifting out of a delirious sleep.

“If… if death came tomorrow...”

“You’d punch him in the face,” Bucky shushed him softly, carding his fingers through Steve’s hair. The healthy warmth of his hand felt nearly cool against the fevered heat of Steve’s skin, and Steve leaned blindly into the soothing touch, sighing his relief as Bucky’s knuckles stroked his cheek.

Bucky. The world seemed to be fading at the edges, like a sheet of paper burning from the outside in, curling ash-black and falling away piece by piece; but Bucky was still there.

Bucky was made of gentleness and sound, sweet like the sweet nothings he poured in Steve’s ear when Steve slept fitfully, swept into his feverish haze and lost to the world for hours on end.

Bucky was touch: an anchor. Bucky was color, familiar and dependable, like the blue of the sky, the yellow heart of daisies, the stain-black of charcoal.

Steve glimpsed the downturned corners of his mouth, his lovely lovely mouth, red like ripe apples. Steve had dreamed of kissing it once. Twice. Every other night.

Bucky’s cheeks were so pale. His eyes looked so tired, circled by the bruise-like purple of his skin.

He hadn’t been sleeping, Steve knew. Steve had been sleeping, though – he’d stolen Bucky’s share of it while his body burned up from the inside.

“Buck,” Steve rasped, his voice thin and crusty, like plaster peeling off the wall. “If... if I go...”

Bucky shook his head, one curl coming loose from the once careful sweep of his hair. His pretty lips quirked up, a slip of a smile found so easily like he’d rehearsed it a dozen times before.

“Nah. You’re not going anywhere,” he said, collecting Steve’s hand to cradle it in both of his.

Steve’s head lolled sleepily on his pillow, lured by the sound of Bucky’s trembling voice.

“Buck.”

“Shh. You’re staying right here, where I– where I can keep an eye on ya.”

Silence spilled in the room, just for a moment – the space of a sniffle, of a soft, shivery exhale.

“Gotta make sure you don’t get into trouble, don’t I?”

One of Bucky’s hands left him briefly, and when it enveloped him again, there was a wetness there; one little drop trickling from the bridge of his finger, to land cool on Steve’s skin.

“Just. Just like I promised.”

And Steve knew then.

If Death did come; if it seized his wrist with its bone-thin fingers and bade him to follow, Now, child, it is time, Steve would say: No. He’s not ready.

He would think of the apple-red mouth he had never kissed yet, save for in his dreams; of the love he hadn’t quite begun to shape into words. He’d think of the life he’d only just caught a glimpse of, stretched far on the road ahead of him, twined with Bucky’s own as they reached into the future, together. Simply. Always.

No, Steve would tell Death. He’s not ready.

And neither am I.

[stxrrnightjxr]

Barty Crouch Jr.

He’s just made a joke. Some stupid joke, about betting on who’d get the last chocolate frog when they returned home. But now Evan was on the ground.

Why was Evan on the ground? This wasn’t time for pranks, they were fighting.

Barty paused his onslaught of spells at the offending aurors, letting the other death eaters go ahead.

“Evan? Come on man, get up.”

Evan didn’t get up. Didn’t move, didn’t even flinch when Barty kicked his foot.

That’s when Barty saw the tear in Evan’s shirt, and the green light that was slowly fading into the shape of a splatter- an ugly splotch on his rose’s chest, right in the center of his sternum, tendrils of magic spreading like roots- though instead of growth, this was infection. This was hurt. This was death.

Barty didn’t understand for a second. Why did he look like that? Why was his Evan growing pale? Why didn’t his crystal blue eyes blink?

Why was he jumping up and punching Barty’s shoulder, laughing about how he’d ‘got him!’?

Barty simply stood there. Looking down at Evan, Evan’s body, like it were some curious thing to behold. This wasn’t real, he couldn’t believe this.

“Crouch! Get over here!”

Barty faintly heard what he thought was Dolohov’s voice, but he couldn’t move his feet. He was anchored to the spot.

He dropped to his knees beside Evan. Evan’s body, Evan’s corpse. A corpse. It wasn’t Evan any longer. Wasn’t his Evan, wasn’t his rose, not his Rosie-

No, not his Rosie. Barty gathered Evan up in his arms. He was pale, and already too stiff. Not his rose. Barty couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t even cry, when he wished to scream. He tucked Evan’s face close to his chest, holding him tight, though his hands shook. Barty buried his face in Evan’s hair, held him like a child.

He supposed he’d be getting that chocolate frog when he returned home.

[thenyoumightaswellwrestleangels]

This may be my grief (but it's you who's made a mess of it)

love is not designed for the cynical - series masterlist here

pairing: jason todd x reader (gender neutral)

length: 1.7k

genre: hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending

warnings: reader has a panic attack, there's a lot of blood but it's the clean-up part, Jason is riddled with self-hatred and guilt but he's making progress

a/n: ok enjoy kiss kiss <3

Your heart lurches as you stare at the television, your hands clutching the couch cushions on either side of you as you listen to the presenter on the news station that you'd idly turned on for background noise. He's talking about a current fight, some scuffle between some vigilantes and Two-Face downtown. He mentions Redhood - mentions that he was seen going down during the fight and wasn't seen getting back up again.

Suddenly, the walls of your apartment feel small - too small, closing in on you as the air leaves your lungs in a punched-out gasp. He's not getting up. He's not getting up and he's gone again. You stand abruptly, knocking the TV remote off your lap and letting it clatter to the floor as you begin to pace back and forth in front of your couch, trying desperately to keep listening to the news anchor and what he's saying about the current situation.

Maybe he's wrong, you think desperately. Maybe he's alright and no one really knows what they're seeing. Maybe he's… dead. Maybe he's dead again. Maybe you'll never ever see him again. Maybe you'll have to bury him again.

You drop into a sitting position on the floor ungracefully, leaning against the couch as you reach blindly for the remote, suddenly needing desperately for the news anchor to stop updating you on the situation. You fumble with it once you have it, your hands cold and numb as you turn the television off.

The silence, you realize immediately, is worse

The thought of having to mourn him a second time, you realize, might be more than you can handle.

The city moves outside, cars honking and pedestrians shouting - the normal turmoil of Gotham. You fit right in, you suppose, amongst the panic and the pain and the death that permeates this city. You almost, almost wish you'd left all those years ago when Jason became Robin - when you told him it was a choice that would kill him and you threatened to walk out.

And now, in the dull silence of your apartment, your gaze level with your coffee table that has two empty mugs, you wish that you really had left all those years ago… and you wish that you had never come back.

The thought punches out whatever air is left in your lungs as guilt, cold and heavy and choking, settles in your gut. You bring your hands to your face, digging the heels of your palms into your closed eyes as you try to get a hold of your rattling breathing. You had, at times, considered what your life would be like if you'd never met Jason, or if you moved on and gotten over him after his death - his first death. The thought makes nausea roll through your stomach. Of course, you'd thought about it. But you'd always come to the same conclusion - you were lucky to have met him and to have known him as you did. Even if it meant carrying his ghost with you for the rest of your life, you were blessed to have been loved by him.

Now, though, it doesn't feel like a blessing. Now, it feels like a rotten, undead curse, something dragged up from some unholy pit to pull him away from you again, and again, and again. There is nothing lucky in this life and there is nothing lucky in this love.

A clattering on your balcony rips you from your spiralling thought as your head snaps around to see Redhood heave himself up over the railing, stumbling with fatigue and obvious injury. You lurch to your feet, desperate to get to him, desperate to know he's alive, desperate to stop him from seeing you on the floor of your home, grief-stricken and terrified because of him. 

No, you think. He doesn't need to know about that. And fortunately, he's dazed enough from whatever god-awful fight he was in that he doesn't seem to really notice anything beyond the way you rip the door open and pull him inside, your hands flitting over his armour to gauge his injuries. Not at first, anyway. He lets you sit him on the couch, lets you shush his worries about staining the fabric with his blood. He doesn't consider the fact that your soul is already stained from him. Not yet, at least. 

It's not until his armour is off, sitting in the bathtub and dripping crimson blood onto the white porcelain. It's not until you've checked him over, the large gash along his side cleaned and the blood flow staunched. It's when you begin stitching him up, your hands trembling ever so slightly in a way that sends concern shooting up his spine. It's not concern for himself - he's had you do this countless times, and he's done it to himself with much less finesse even more times. But something wrong - something must be wrong for you to be unsteady, for your shoulders to be tense and your eyes to avoid his. The pain from his side is nearly blinding, but there's nothing that sobers him and centres him as resolutely as you on your knees in front of him and afraid. 

"Baby?" his voice is quiet, the breath leaving his lips in a tired sort of sigh that he can't help.

"Don't distract me," is your only response.

"Talk to me," he pushes in that gentle, guiding way of his.

But you say nothing. The silence drips between the two of you as you tie the last stitch, cutting the thread and rubbing your hands with a towel. Jason makes a mental note to buy you new ones as he watches the white fabric blooming red as you try to scrub the blood off your hands. 

But your skin doesn't come clean. There are places where the blood - his blood has dried around your fingers and you rub the towel on your palms until he reaches out, worried. Then, and only then, does it hit Jason, and he's not sure if it's blood loss or fear and guilt that makes him feel lightheaded.

It's his blood on your hands. And they're not coming clean.

He takes the towel from you gently, tossing it onto the other end of the couch before he grips your hands in his own. He's not sure who's trembling more between the two of you. He's not sure who's more blood-soaked. 

"I saw it on the news," you say quietly as you rub your thumb over the knuckles of Jason's hand. "They said - they said you were dead." Your breath hitches. Jason huffs, tightening his hold on your hands.

"Those reporters don't know what the fuck they're talking about most of the time - you know that, baby. They always get it wrong." He soothes, his voice low as he looks down at you. He's still sitting on the couch while you kneel before him, like an altar of violence that you pray to.

"I know, Jason. I just -" You take a deep, shuttering breath.

"What, baby?"

"I thought I'd lost you… again. I just - I couldn't take it. I couldn't bear it." You laugh, then - a humourless, hysterical sort of thing. "All this time you've spent trying to protect me and you're the thing that ended up hurting me the most and… no, I - Jason, I didn't mean that. I'm sorry, I didn't mean that, I was just scared."

But Jason's already lurched away from you, letting go of your hands as if you've burned him and pulling back in a way that stretches his stitches and makes him wince. You, on the floor in front of him, made the infamous Redhood flinch, made him recoil in fear and self-hatred and pain.

"I didn't mean that, Jason," you say again, a firmness in your voice as you surge up onto your knees. Your hands aren't trembling now, he notices distantly, as you lean forward to take his face in your palms and press your forehead against his.

"I hurt you," he says numbly.

"No," you respond instantly. "Life hurt me… life hurt us both. That's not your fault. It's never been your fault."

Jason sighs wearily, letting his head fall forward so that his forehead is resting on your shoulder as his eyes slip closed. There's a dull, throbbing pain in his head and his side aches and he's choking on too much hatred to stop you when you press kisses to his palms and his knuckles and the side of his head that you can reach. 

There is too much weariness in him to stop you from loving him.

"Let's… go to bed," you say quietly, feeling the way he slumps against you as the fatigue begins to take its toll on him. "Come on," you coax. He lets you stand, takes your outstretched hand willingly as you guide him to bed. He lets himself sit on the edge of the mattress heavily, slouched over himself as you sit in front of him, a damp towel in your hands. 

Jason thinks of the irony of it all as he watches you take his hands in yours, wiping the blood from them that you left on him. Granted, it's still his blood, but you're the one who made a mess of it. He thinks of that as you finish cleaning him up, listens to the sounds of you scrubbing your own hands in the bathroom sink as he falls sideways into bed, haphazardly tugging the covers up around him.

When you finally slip into bed next to him, reaching out so that you can cling to him like a lifeline, he wonders if maybe the blood on his hands isn't such a big deal, after all. Maybe it's the blood loss talking, maybe it's the post-fight dizziness muddling his judgement. Or maybe there is something to be said for the two of you cleaning the blood off each other's hands… again and again and again.

[thedeviltohisangel]

For A Fortnight There We Were (One Shot): It Fit Too Right

a/n: welcome to my all the things i did metaverse. please meet evelyn, a hollywood a-lister who falls in love with her co-star callum turner while filming masters of the air. this will most likely be a request based series so send them all in! would also love to flush out this relationship more with you guys through asks and chats. let me know what you think!!

He stood in the doorway of their hotel suite with a smile as he watched one person tug the corset of her gown tighter, another brush powder across her cheeks and a third place her hair over her shoulder in a meticulous manner. 

“I promise we’re almost done, baby.” 

“Don’t rush perfection on my account,” he said with a smile as he took a few steps into the room. “Let me help, love.” Callum grabbed the pair of heels from her stylist and dropped to one knee, Evelyn steadying herself on his shoulder as he slipped on one shoe and then the other. He kissed up her leg for good measure as she giggled, standing with a matching smile as she pulled him in for a kiss.

“People might get the wrong idea. You being on one knee like that.” In reality, he was just waiting for her to say she was ready and he’d be on one knee with a ring in hand in an instant. 

“The right idea you mean.” Evelyn blushed as her team began to filter out of the room. There was always a moment before every event that the two of them wanted time to themselves. They had gotten used to picking up the tempo for when it was arriving. “One day,” he followed up with a whisper. 

“One day. Soon.” He felt something blossom in his chest at her words. “Help me with my necklace?” The gold chain held a dainty C charm and fit perfectly snug around her neck as he clasped it securely.

“Gave you this necklace almost two years ago. So much has changed since then.” Yet so much had also stayed the same. They were still in each other’s orbit, circling the sun together and happy to live in this pattern for the rest of eternity. 

“And we finally get to show the world our love story.” Callum wrapped his arms around her from behind and they swayed gently to the song playing in his head. “Tracy told me there’s already stories lined up about the timeline of it all. About the overlap of still being legally married and filming the show and meeting you.” Her publicist warned her as soon as the premiere was scheduled that all the questions were going to get dragged up again. The accusations and the whispers of infidelity.

“I know the truth and you know the truth, Ev. That’s all that fucking matters.” The truth was that her marriage was a disaster the entire last year. The fights about his job and her job and fertility issues and the occasional bump of coke all mixing into a toxic sludge she was still working her way through years later.

“You’ll punch anyone who asks on the carpet or on the press tour?” She looked at him over her shoulder. 

“With a smile on my face,” Callum answered with a pucker of his lips. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Begrudgingly, she untangled herself from his arms and interlocked their fingers together in its place. He squeezed tight as they took the elevator down to the lobby with their security, her other hand wrapping around his wrist for two anchor points at the sight of the paparazzi waiting for them on the sidewalk. 

“Evelyn! Callum! Look to the left!

“To the right, guys, come on a little smile please!”

“Callum, how about a kiss?”

His hand landed on the small of her back as he helped her into the waiting SUV before sliding in next to her. Evelyn collapsed as the door shut. “Fucking brutal,” she muttered.

“I’m hoping they get what they want at the carpet and they can leave us alone when we get back tonight.” He reached for her hand and held it in his lap. “What are my lanes in the road for touching you tonight?” 

“Are you feeling particularly handsy tonight, Mr. Turner?” she asked with a smirk as he brought her hand to his lips and kissed across each knuckle. 

“That dress is an inspiration.” She leaned in with a giggle and kissed him square on the mouth. 

“Then make sure everyone there tonight knows that.” His eyebrows raised on their own accord. 

“Yeah? You mean that?” Normally, she was much more reserved. Making him settle for longing stares and soft, hidden smiles and subtle allusions to each other. She hid from all the attention and let her work speak for itself. 

“Maybe…maybe the part of me that always wants to hide should work on healing herself tonight.” It also had been a piece of homework from her therapist this week. 

“Okay. Okay, yeah, we’ll work on it tonight. Together.” 

“Together,” she reiterated as he kissed her hand again and then her lips. 

“You make me so happy. No matter what.” 

“You make me happiest,” she laughed as he buried his face in the crook of her neck and left a few kisses there. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

----

The ride was over all too quickly, the SUV idling at the start of the carpet and the sounds of muffled screaming and yelling reaching their ears instantly. Ever since their relationship had been made public, there had been attention on them like neither had ever experienced. 

She had been called a cheater, he had been called a social climber. Accusations of adultery and a months-long affair behind her husband’s back and questions on how valid Callum’s feelings could be as a less well-known star than her. Hell, Howard Stern had straight up asked her on his radio show how it felt to have power over the person she was in a relationship with when she had been so powerless previously. Callum certainly hadn’t taken kindly to the implication. 

Quarantine had been the perfect bubble for their love to take root and flourish. Had insulated them from the outside world as long as possible and allowed her walls to come down. They were built up so high after her failed marriage. Reinforced as her mind worked through the mental fuckery of falling in love with your co-star. Evelyn hadn’t known where she began and the character ended for the longest time but she knew in her heart she wanted to figure it out with him. 

The roar reached a fever pitch as Callum stepped out of the car, buttoned his jacket and waved to a group of fans on the side. He waited for her, watched her take a deep breath and square her shoulders before she took his outstretched hand and stepped out of the vehicle. 

Her movie star smiled flitted across her face easily as their fingers interlocked and her own hand raised in a wave before letting her boyfriend slot his lips against hers to the delight of the camera flashes. 

“Let’s do a couple autographs before interviews.” Her publicist gently pressed on the small of her back to guide in the direction of glossy photographs and posters and an endless sea of markers.

Evelyn smiled warmly as she let go of his hand and began to scrawl her name across various posters of her in Targaryen garb or an old military uniform or the occasional photo she had taken with a fan previously that they were now adding her penmanship to.

“Can I get a selfie?”

“Yeah of course!” She smiled with as many fans as she could and let them take a few photos to choose from before she was getting the signal it was time to keep it moving. “Thanks for coming!” Evelyn blew a few kisses to the crowd before Callum had her hand right back in his for the ensuing carpet walk. 

“Ev, you want to go first?” Tracy asked as she was beginning to urge her to the first photomark. She hit the X and did her best to look at the cameras like she wanted to fuck them. Those were normally the only shots that kept their hunger sated and kept from yelling too explicitly at her the rest of the night. 

She looked over her shoulder and watched Callum smile and show off his suit like it was second nature and she would be lying if she said she wasn’t excited to look at the photos later to see just how in love she was in this moment. He took her extended hand with a mischievous smile, falling in love all over again with this side of her that he knew well but she kept hidden from the outside world. 

“Let me get the two of you looking to the right!”

“Put your hands on her, mate!” “Look right at the camera with a smile, Evelyn!”

Callum furrowed his brow and wrapped his arm around her waist a little tighter as they kept fighting for a piece of them. They had both worked so hard to keep this one corner of their lives sacred and private but they couldn’t stay that way forever. Especially when they were trying to promote the show that brought them together in the first place. 

“You good?” he asked, leaning in to whisper in her ear.

“Hold my hand the rest of the carpet?”

“Of course, love.” Their eyes stayed locked together as he kissed the back of her hand and they made their way towards the first interviewer. 

“It’s so good to see you guys again!”

“It’s good to see you too! It’s been a minute,” Evelyn replied.

“Last time I saw you, Callum, you were with George Clooney which is a hard interview companion to top-”

“Oh, I’ve done it. This one’s my companion for life.” She couldn’t help but blush at his forwardness. “This show brought so many beautiful people to my life and introduced me to this incredible story of these men and the sacrifices they made for us but I’ll never be able to articulate what meeting this woman and falling in love with her has done for me and the honor that has truly been.” 

“This is why my team is always trying to keep us separate in front of a microphone because we always get a little in our feels about each other.” Evelyn rested her cheek against his chest.

“Tell me about that. You guys film this show and feel some vibes and then the premiere gets delayed for two years. Does this add to the nervousness or does it add to the excitement?”

“Definitely both,” Evelyn teases, “the characters are real people, real heroes, so there is such a desire to make sure the story is told in the most accurate, thankful way. Part of making sure that happened was fully devoting ourselves to the relationship between these two and to discover something real in the process was a really happy accident.” Her hand rested on his cheek and he kissed her palm, looking at her like she was the only girl in the entire world. For him she was.

“We had the opportunity to meet their children and grandchildren which was such a blessing because on paper I was skeptical, it seemed written for the movies, but they had letters and pictures and stories that really showed these two loved each other in a magical way their entire lives.”

“And what’s next for you two? I hear rumors we may see you, Ms. Shaw, in a movie about sand and worms…” Evelyn laughed. 

“I hear Austin Butler loves worms so you should ask him. I know nothing about a movie with those themes.” She mimed sealing her lips and throwing away the key. The interviewer looked to Callum for help.

“Hey, I know even less than you do. This one’s a steel trap.” 

“Alright, I’m getting the signal that the most in demand people on this carpet tonight are needing to move along. Have the best night ever you two!” They both offered their thanks before a team of security and assistants collapsed ranks around them as they moved down the carpet. 

“How’d we do, Trace?” Callum asked as he swung their interlocked hands back and forth. 

“You were on your best behavior. Thank you.” Evelyn was a typical client for a publicist. Did good work and got high profile projects, never caused controversy in an interview but had some skeletons in her closet. Evelyn always did exactly as she asked and took her advice as gospel. Her boyfriend on the other hand was all boisterous and laughed and sang and had not a care in the world. He wanted to hold her and kiss and let the whole world know he was in love with her and scream it from the rooftops. 

“I see Mr. Butler!” Evelyn pointed directly ahead to the tall blonde man taking photos with Barry. “Oh, and Barry! I haven’t seen him recently enough to ask about bathwater.”

“Look who it is! My first and second wheel!” Austin lifted her up and spun her around before greeting Callum. “You two walking together?” While he was very familiar with their PDA behind closed doors, it was rare to see it out in the open. 

“This is as close to her accepting a proposal as I’m gonna get, mate.” Ev rolled her eyes and turned to get in between them for the row of photographers currently screaming at them. She is safe in between the two of them. Had needed every ounce of it when she had arrived on set all those years ago. 

She knew Callum had a ring tucked away somewhere safe. Knew he was dying with every passing day to make things between them official forever. She meant soon when she had said it earlier. 

Evelyn looked up at him as the camera continued to blind her and she tuned them out. She smiled and he smiled right back. “I love you,” he whispered so it existed just between the two of them. 

“I love you, too. So much.” 

Yes. Soon indeed.

[torturedreid]

Wordless

word count: 2171

uhhh i don't know how to categorise this so...enjoy??

Also happy new years ♡

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

The low hum of the jet as it finally stops, the stillness making the exhaustion in the cabin feel even more palpable. You’re leaning against the leather seat, staring out of the window at the cold wet night, barely noticing the jet stop. Across from you, Spencer Reid rubs at his eyes from under his glasses, his long fingers moving slowly like even the most minuscule movements require effort he doesn’t have.

The team quietly files off of the jet- Morgan gently clapping Spencer on the shoulder in a bro-style goodbye. JJ offers a soft tired smile and Hotch, as usual, barely says a word. You and Spencer share a look, you have a silent agreement that you always wait for each other. Whether the case is good, tough, or one like this that hits like a gut punch- there’s an unspoken comfort in being the last to leave.

“Hey,” you try to say, coming out as more like a whisper after not speaking for almost the entire flight. Your voice feels out of place, too warm for the cold serenity of the cabin. Spencer looks up at you, his posture rumpled, like he hadn’t slept in days and in all honesty- you knew you looked the same.

“Shall we go?” he asks, his voice gravelly.

“I don’t want to,” you admit with a slight smile. “But I don’t think the jet works as a cab, it won’t take me home on its own.”

He huffs out a soft laugh- small but real. “If it could, that would change the world of aviation as we know it.”

You roll your eyes a little but are too tired to fight the tug of a grin. Even now, after the darkness of the past few days of the case, he was still undeniably him. Still the same Spencer.

“We could grab coffee?” You blurt out. Even though you were exhausted, this case filled you with a sense of unease and you weren’t quite ready to be by yourself. “Or tea? I just-” You falter slightly, “I don’t want to be alone.”

He stills for a second, his hands no longer picking at the loose strands of his sweater, he tilts his head like he's processing your words through the tired fog. Then, with that trademark shy smile, he nods. “I’d like that. I’ll never say no to coffee.”

You gather your go-bag, feeling a little lighter now that you don’t have to face the suffocating loneliness at home. As you step off the jet and into the cool night air- the moonlight reflecting off the tarmac still wet from the rain- Spencer falls into step beside you, close enough that his shoulder brushes yours. It’s an unconscious gesture, but it grounds you, like an anchor keeping you steady.

It’s the kind of touch that friends might pass off as nothing, but tonight it feels like something more. And you think, maybe he feels it too.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

The air outside is crisp, carrying the occasional drop of rain. Your footsteps echo the almost empty streets in tandem with Spencer’s, the world feeling like it’s at an unusual standstill. The street lamps cast pools of warm light over the sidewalk, framing Spencer in an almost angelic glow, and you find yourself throwing occasional glances at him.

His hands fidget with his satchel strap, clearly restless. It’s something you’ve come to recognize in his behavior, it’s his tell, showing that he’s thinking. A lot.

“You’re quiet for once.” You tease, nudging his arm with your own, “Penny for your thoughts?”

Spencer hesitates, lips parting like he’s about to go into a long-winded speech, before he reverts his gaze to his shoes, shaking his head. “It’s nothing…it’s just that case. It was tough, to say the least.”

It was a general answer, true but definitely not what he was thinking about. You can tell he’s trying to shield you- or maybe himself. You don’t press him, and you let him fall back into his silence. You both keep walking until you find your favorite all-night cafe. It’s neon Open sign brightly shining like a savior in the night.

The bell jingles as you step inside and the smell of freshly ground coffee washes over you, and you let out a content sigh. The cafe is almost empty, save for a friendly barista behind the counter and an older couple chatting in a corner booth. Spencer lets you order first, his gaze falling over the various shelves lined with books and board games. He orders a black coffee, of course, and you can’t help but smile at how predictable he is.

You sit at a booth next to a window, the type with cracked vinyl seats and a table that can’t even be rescued with varnish anymore, but it feels inviting. Spencer sits across from you, his slender fingers wrapped around the coffee mug as if the heat will chase away the cold of the night- and the case.

For a while, you both sit in silence. It’s not necessarily uncomfortable, but it feels like a thread waiting to be pulled. Finally, you decide to bite the bullet.

“You know…you don’t always have to carry things alone. The cases, I mean.” You say, tracing a finger around the rim of your mug.

He looks into his drink, his eyes widening slightly like he hadn’t expected you to realize his inward struggle. “I don’t–”

“You do, you always do.” You interrupt, “And I get it. We all have different ways of coping but this…isn’t coping. It’s repressing your emotions and it’s not healthy. Plus you’re quieter than usual.”

Spencer exhales, his shoulder’s slumping and his fingers tighten around the mug. For a moment you think you might brush you off again, but then he begins to speak.

“It’s just…” He pauses, searching for the right words. “Sometimes I wonder if we’re making a difference. I know that we save lives, and make marginal difference to some people. But no matter how much effort we put into solving one case, another one takes it’s place immediately. There’s always more monsters waiting in the shadows.” He takes a shaky breath before continuing a little quieter now, “At times I feel like I’m not strong enough to face them.”

The vulnerability in his words hits you like a semi. You rest your elbows on the table and lean forward. “Spence,” You begin. “You’re one of the strongest people I know. You’ve been through more in your short life than what most people do in their lifetimes…hell, than what multiple people do in their lifetimes. You’re strong, not because you never feel afraid or overwhelmed but because you never let it stop you. You put everyone else above yourself and it’s damn honourable.”

He looks up, his expression unreadable for a split second, and then he smiles– a small hesitant smile that feels more real than anything you’ve seen all night.

“Thank you,” he mutters, almost unnoticeably. “I needed that.”

The tenderness in his voice wraps around you, and for just a moment the entire world fades away. Just the two of you, sitting across from each other, sharing something unspoken.

You tear your eyes away from him, feeling a slight blush creep over your cheeks. You glance down at your mug, “That’s what friends are for, right?”

“Right,” he echoes, but there’s a slight lilt in his tone– something soft but yet so heavy- that makes your chest tighten.

He definitely feels it too.

— — — — — — — — — —

The night stretches on, the occasional loud grinding of the espresso beans and the clinking of mugs cutting through the silence. Spencer’s coffee had long since gone lukewarm, but he didn’t seem to notice, his fingers absently picking back at the loose strands of his sweater like he usually does when he’s overthinking. You’ve been talking about lighter things- books you’ve read, random facts he shares- but there’s something new about the way he looks at you like he's studying you in the same way he does with his textbooks.

You try not to look into it too much, but your heart betrays you, fluttering a little faster every time his gaze lingers for a second too long. He’s still the same Spencer- awkward, genius, shy, and unremittingly kind- but you’re not the same. Something about the way he licks his lips before he speaks, how he leans forward with every fact he shares, the way his fingers twitch as he looks at the books on shelves like he's itching to flip through the pages.

“Do you ever think about what you’d be doing if you weren’t here?” He asks suddenly, breaking through your thoughts.

You blink at him, a little off guard. “You mean…if I wasn't in the BAU?”

He nods, his eyes flickering down to his hands. “Yeah, if life had gone differently.”

His question lingers in the air, feeling heavier than it should, like there’s something hidden behind it. You take a long moment to consider it before you speak again.

“Honestly, I don’t know. Something quieter, maybe? Something less dangerous, but I’d definitely still want to be helping people. Making a difference.”

“What about you?” You ask back, “What would you be doing if you weren’t Boy Genius, profiler to the stars?”

He huffs a soft laugh, leaning back in his seat. “Probably teaching, or maybe working in a library somewhere. Surrounded by books sounds like heaven.” The image makes you smile- Spencer in a library, amidst stacks of books and lost in his own world. It suits him, but there’s a pang in your chest at the idea of him being anywhere but here, with you, living a life where you might never have crossed paths.

“I could see that,” you nod. “But for what its worth, I’m glad you’re here. Even if the job is hard sometimes…I don’t think I could do it without you.” The words slip out without even thinking about it, and the weight of them hangs between the two of you. Spencer’s eyes widen slightly, and you feel the embarrassment roll through you.

“I mean the whole team…not just you.” You add quickly, trying to backtrack.

“You don’t need to explain,” he interrupts, his voice delicate. There’s a look in his eyes now, something tender and unreadable that makes your heart skip. “I know the feeling.”

— — — — — — — — — — —

By the time you leave the cafe, the world is cloaked in quiet, the sound of cars is the only thing in the streets and even those are sparse. The cold biting at your cheeks, but you barely notice, too caught up in your own train of thought. Your mind still turning over the conversation from earlier. Spencer walks close enough that occasionally his arm brushes yours, pulling you from your overanalyzing, sending your stomach twisting with a feeling you’re choosing to ignore.

The walk back to the BAU car lot feels slower than the walk to the cafe, like neither one of you really wants the night to end.

“You know,” You say after a while, your breath visible in the cold air. “You’re not what expected when i first joined the team.”

Spencer glimpses at you, his brow furrowing like he’s worried it’s a bad thing. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know exactly. You’re just different.” You see the worry in his face, “In a good way. You surprise me, I guess.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It is,” You say quickly, meeting his eyes. For a moment, the world becomes motionless, the city fading into the background. A nearby streetlight radiates a lustre over him and it feels like you’re truly seeing him for the first time- or maybe noticing what’s been under the surface all along.

The realization settles over you, like the first rays of sunlight over the long night.

You’re in love with him.

And the thought terrifies you.

— — — — — — — — — — —

When you finally reach your car, the night feels over too abruptly. Spencer hesitates beside you, his converse shuffling on the floor.

“Thanks…for tonight.” You say, leaning against the car door. “I really needed it.”

His breath catches, an unknown intensity in his eyes. “Me too.” For a second it feels like he might say more but then he takes a small step back, the distance between you feeling harsh.

“Goodnight,” He mutters, barely above a whisper.

You nod, heart aching as you watch him turn and walk away. You sigh and move to unlock your car door, hand finding the handle…and then you hear his footsteps stop.

“Hey,” he calls, his voice slicing through the tension. You look up at him.

“I’m glad you’re here too.” He says, his voice laced with fondness.

You smile, his words filling you with comfort, finally sure of how he feels towards you.

As he disappears into the night, you climb into your car, your heart feeling like it might burst. Neither of you said it- not out loud- but maybe that wasn’t necessary.

Sometimes love doesn’t need words

[lostsyren]

Love love LOVED what you did with the request of Sofia overhearing Rafe, could we get a part two of a groveling really desperate Rafe who does everything in his power to show her how much she means to him and begging for it not to be over

⊹₊ ✰ ⋆standards part two ⋆⭒˚｡⋆

{a/n: thank you for the request lovely and thank you for the sweet words about part 1! i hope you like it! I’m getting through the requests slowly but surely, bear with me!! feedback is much appreciated <3}

{summary: rafe goes and tries to make things right after finding out sofia overheard what he said at the club}

{part 1 here} {part 3 here}

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Sofia wasn’t answering any of his calls. Rafe paced back and forth across the cold floors of his house, biting at his thumb. His phone screen was in the other hand, the harsh blue light shining up at him saying the same damn thing: no new notifications.

He half expected her to come back to the house– that’s what she usually did. Then the words he said to Topper and Ruthie regurgitated in his brain yet again.

I’m not living with a pogue.

He’d really fucked things up this time.

Rafe knew she wasn’t at the club– she didn’t work on Saturdays. Than must’ve meant she was at home.

Despite knowing she didn’t want to see him, talk to him or even just reply to a text, Rafe grabbed his car keys and exited the house, the sound of the door slamming shut behind him echoing across the the empty, lonesome halls.

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“Me voy a dormir,” Sofia called out to her mom, heading outside to go into her bedroom. It was late, nearing midnight. All her siblings were asleep and her parents were in the living room watching TV.

Usually she’d be with Rafe. She was always with Rafe. Like a stupid little lapdog. The realisation hit like a punch in the face– all that time…it was nothing to him. Her heart began to feel heavy again, like an anchor was dragging it down far, far into her chest. So she sat down in bed, sighing deeply. Enough tears had been shed, her eyes red and bloodshot.

Her parents had looked at her as if they already knew what happened. Sofia’s mom bundled her up into a hug, pressing a kiss on her cheek, whilst her father had a knowing look in his eye– as if he’d been waiting for this to happen.

Sofia wasn’t stupid. She didn’t start messing around with Rafe with the prospect of a future. He was the one who led her on, he was the one who’d been so loving, he was the one who convinced her he was different.

But at the end of the day he was a kook and she was a pogue. Not that she cared; she thought he didn’t either.

Sofia sniffed away another bout of tears, slipping out of her blouse and skirt, realising she’d left her pyjamas as his house. So she grabbed a random shirt from off her chair, about to throw it on, before she realised it was his shirt– that she’d accidentally taken home with her ages ago and didn’t return. Sofia’s heart lurched with sadness, as she wore it regardless, the faint smell of him making her delirious with despair.

Collapsing back in bed, she picked her phone up, skimming through the wave of messages Rafe had sent. Sofia quickly swiped them away.

Instead she squeezed her eyes shut, willing for sleep to find her. Maybe then she could forget how much he hurt her and deal with all this shit tomorrow.

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Rafe had a rough idea of where Sofia lived, from dropping her off home and picking her up to drive her to work. But he still checked her location to find the right house.

He hated driving down to The Cut, with its dingy buildings and barely functioning street lights. Whenever he used to go down to see Barry, he felt the same, and now he was back again, in the thick of the night, sneaking into her house.

He parked his car down the street, so her parents wouldn’t hear the engine or see the headlights, before he snuck around past the gate and into the back garden.

Creaking cicadas and distant wails of car alarms hid the sound of his footsteps crunching across the gravel.

Rafe spotted her bedroom. Well if you could call it that– a tiny corner of the house, with peeling paint and overgrown weeds surrounding it.

There was no light spilling out the window. What if she wasn’t there? Getting closer to the glass, Rafe peered through, spotting Sofia lying in bed, her back turned to him. He let out a sigh of relief before the realisation of how creepy this was dawned upon him.

What the fuck was he doing?

He had time to turn back and go home. Respecting her wishes was the least he could do after all the shit he said. But she was right there.

He could explain. Apologise. Make things okay again. The prospect of redemption was too tempting– so he tapped on the glass.

Rafe watched as she turned around in bed, facing the door. She probably couldn’t see who it was in the dark, so Rafe decided to just let himself in.

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Sleep was futile, bringing only a gaping void in which she picked and prodded at her and Rafe’s ‘relationship’.

Sofia thought about when she first met him working at the bar. She was quickly enamoured by his beauty, her silent adoration only spiking when he spoke to her, his charm and humour winning her over in an instant.

He never seem perturbed by her status as a pogue. But she should’ve known from the little throwaway comments and his strange disdain for the Cut. But Sofia would brush these things away because despite it all, he’d still treat her wondrously.

She initially thought it was just sex, Rafe using her as a carnal distraction. But when he’d let her see his vulnerability, when he’d confide to her in the late hours, when he’d cling to her as if she was the only solid thing in his life, she felt special, she felt adored. So in turn, she adored him back.

A sharp tapping sound cut through her whorling thoughts and painful reminiscing. Twisting around in bed, she saw a tall, dark figure hover outside her door. What was her dad doing at this time of night?

Sofia sat up as the door creaked open, for her to see it wasn’t her dad– but Rafe Cameron.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Sofia half shouted, half whispered, aware that her parents were a room away.

Rafe stood in the doorway, his hands held up in surrender as he watched her with unblinking eyes.

“I just want to talk ok?” His words were wary and calculated.

“Come in and shut the door,” she hissed switching her lamp on.

Rafe complied, hovering awkwardly as he took in her bedroom. Discomfort prickled across Sofia’s skin. She hated to admit it, but she was embarrassed that Rafe had to see her tiny room.

“Nice shirt,” he finally said, a shadow of a grin on his face.

“Shut up,” she groused, grabbing a cardigan to cover herself and her bare legs.

“Look, Sofia I really am sorry that I hurt you–“

“You’re sorry that you hurt me or you’re sorry for what you said?”

Rafe blinked in confusion, “both?”

Sofia scoffed, wrapping her arms around herself, “what standards do I fail to live up to huh? Is it my job? Is it my house? Can you even stand to be in the Cut for this long?”

“I didn’t even know what I was saying– it was Ruthie, you know how she is, always stirring.”

“Yes I know Ruthie, I have to put up with her whenever we hang out, cause that’s all we ever do– hang out with your friends.”

“I’m sorry–“

“I’m not finished,” Sofia snapped, “and I don’t care what she says or what she does, I care about you Rafe, and instead of defending me, you just threw me under the bus.”

“I know I know, I just– I wanna make it better. Tell me what I can do to make it better.” Rafe had neared her now, his eyes resembling the ocean at night, churning and ink like, as he looked down at her.

Sofia honestly didn’t know. One part of her wanted to say fuck it and just kiss him and make it all better again, whilst the other part compelled her to make him feel as terrible as he made her feel.

“I need some space.” She said in the end, taking a step back from him.

“No,” Rafe took a step forward, “no you don’t. Let me make it better, let me show you how much I care.”

He placed two hands on either side of her as Sofia stumbled back, nearly toppling into her bed.

She motionlessly watched him, as he got lower and lower, his eyes perpetually locked with her own.

He was on his knees, his hands sliding down her body, his fingers slipping under the cardigan to ghost the skin of her thighs.

“You look so good in my shirt,” he murmured, voice low and gruff. Sofia’s stomach somersaulted at the image of Rafe on his knees in front of her, so torturously close.

“Rafe,” she began warily, unsure what to do. He took that as a sign to continue. Rafe’s grip on her thighs tightened, dragging her closer to him. He dipped his head low, to press a chaste kiss on her hot skin.

“Please Sofia,” he whispered against her, his grip on her desperate and painful.

Her brain was cloudy, a millions thoughts swirling about in a dizzying cyclone. She was on the precipice of surrender, about to just let him have her, ready to put the shit he said in the past, when her dad’s voice called out from outside.

“Sofia why’s your light on? ¿Está todo bien?”

“Shit,” she gasped, stepping away from Rafe’s lips on her thighs, using her hands to push off his fingers from her legs.

“Sí, I’m ok!” She called out. But the sound of her dad’s footsteps on the porch indicated he was coming in.

Rafe whipped his head around, still on his knees, looking up at Sofia with a panic stricken expression.

“Get up! Hide in there,” she instructed, shoving him into her closet, his long and sprawling limbs barely fitting.

Not even a moment later, the sound of her dad knocking on the door cut through her and Rafe’s little moment.

Creaking open the door, her dad half entered the room.

“Hey dad,” she said trying to level her palpitating heartbeat.

“I thought you were asleep?”

“Yeah I tried but I couldn’t.”

“Oh ok.” He eyed the room, Sofia’s heart beating rapidly when his gaze hovered over the closet.

“You alright Sofia?” Her dad asked her.

“Yeah I’m fine.” Her smile felt strained and unnatural.

Her dad looked at her with a profundity that pierced through her, as if she was under a magnifying glass. “You’re worth more than all those pendejos at the club, don’t you forget that.”

Though he didn’t mention Rafe explicitly, she knew who he was talking about.

“I won’t dad.”

“Good. Now get some sleep ok? It’s late,” He said, leaving with a small smile.

Sofia let her shoulders drop once the door was closed, sighing deeply.

Rafe clambered out the closet a second after.

“You should go Rafe.” Sofia said, taking a seat on the edge of her bed.

“What? But I thought you– I thought we–“

“I changed my mind.”

She could tell he wanted to say something, from the way his his jaw strained and his eyes hardened. But instead, he simply just nodded. Perhaps he figured out what her dad was talking about…she was worth more than that.

If Rafe had standards, well then, so did she.

“Ok I’ll head out then,” his tone was defeated, pathetic. It almost made her want to backtrack. But she didn’t.

Rafe was about to leave, loitering by the door, his back to her before he turned to face her one more time, “I’ll wait for you, yeah?”

Sofia just nodded, not knowing what he meant.

“My door is always open for you, come back soon.”

And with that he left, leaving Sofia with the memory of his lips on her thighs, and his apology lingering like mist after a storm.

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[aventurineswife]

Stages of Shadows:

R O U N D 6

[Special thanks to Natto for graciously allowing me to use their incredible artworks. Please support their amazing work by following them on Instagram: @yattapan. Thank you, Natto (if you're reading this, lol), for once again allowing me to use your artworks with full credit given to you! I hope you enjoy this!]

The stage was dimly lit, the harsh spotlight casting long shadows across the stage. The crowd’s noise had faded into a low hum, like a distant storm that threatened to break at any moment. The atmosphere was thick with anticipation, but Aventurine was numb to it all. His usual flamboyance, his mischievous grin, and the gleam in his eyes—those were gone. The man standing on the stage now was a shell of what he had been, his once vibrant persona buried under the weight of exhaustion and sorrow.

Aventurine stood center stage, his posture slumped, a stark contrast to the usual calculated, confident air he used to project. His hand gripped the microphone, but his fingers were tight around it, as if it were the only thing keeping him anchored to reality. He was clad in black clothing, an ensemble that matched the dark emptiness swirling inside him. His eyes, once sharp and calculating, were now hollow, distant, staring at nothing in particular.

‘Where are you, [Name]?’ He thought, the weight of their absence like a heavy stone pressing down on his chest. ‘Why did you have to leave me?’

The music began to swell, but it didn’t stir him the way it once did. His voice, when it finally came, was quiet at first—a murmur lost in the sea of noise. But as the lyrics flowed from his lips, they carried an emotional depth that seemed to shake even the hardened audience.

“Allow me, to the tips of your fingers

Allow me, to the ends of your feet

Dissolve me in your gaze

I don’t want to let you go”

Each note was a whisper of his heart’s agony. There was no passion, no fire behind the words anymore—just the emptiness of a man who had lost everything. The song was no longer a performance; it was a cry. His voice cracked once, but he pushed through, forcing the words out even though they felt like daggers scraping the inside of his throat.

The lights above him flickered, casting shifting shadows across the stage. But the audience—those cruel, apathetic spectators—didn’t care. They watched with eager, unblinking eyes, but Aventurine saw nothing but their hollow faces, staring like vultures at something already dead. He was dying inside. His soul was withering.

Aventurine’s voice faltered as the lyrics continued to pour out of him, desperate, raw, as though he was trying to will himself to feel something—anything.

“Please, leave me scars

Please, hurt me so that

Not a single drop of me remains

Let me drown in you”

His voice trembled on the final note, but he didn’t stop. Instead, it grew more intense, a plea laced with anguish, his throat raw from the pain of each word. The crowd’s cheers seemed distant, unimportant. As the words left his mouth, his mind spiraled, and everything around him began to blur.

The sounds of the audience faded, and Aventurine found himself no longer on the stage, but in a cold, sterile room—distant, isolating, suffocating. The memory hit him like a punch to the gut.

He was standing in front of a long table, a group of faceless figures dressed in dark suits sitting behind it. Their expressions were unreadable, but the weight of their gaze was heavy. They were the ###—the ones who had brought him into this sick game. They were the ones holding his life by a string, dictating the terms of his survival. The same ones who had made him promise everything—his soul, his loyalty—if he won.

Aventurine’s hands were shackled to the chair in front of him, his body tense, awaiting whatever came next. His heart raced as they pushed him, trying to force an answer from him about the deal—questions he didn’t have answers to. His mind was scattered, chaotic, filled with one burning question: Where is [Name]?

One of the figures slammed a file onto the table in front of him. It was a newspaper clipping, and at the top in bold letters, the word “ＭＩＳＳＩＮＧ” was stamped across [Name]’s profile. His heart dropped, and his stomach twisted into knots.

His pulse pounded In his ears as he stared at the image. There they were, the one person he had trusted, the only one who had shown him true kindness, now lost.

Aventurine’s vision blurred. He had no idea where they were. Had they died? Had they left him behind, abandoned him so easily after everything they had been through? The questions gnawed at him, but none of them brought any answers. Only emptiness.

‘Did I mean nothing to them?’

The words felt like chains, tighter with every thought, as though the walls around him were closing in, suffocating him. He couldn’t breathe. His mind raced to try to piece together the puzzle, but the more he thought, the more frantic he became.

Suddenly, one of the figures—too close, too invasive—grabbed the back of his head, forcing him down toward the table. His face scraped the cold surface as the pressure of the hands on his hair grew.

Aventurine’s heart skipped a beat as he saw the newspaper clipping slide closer to his face. He couldn’t get away from it. He couldn’t escape the sight of [Name]’s profile—lost, missing, slipping through his fingers like sand.

The world felt too small. He felt too small.

A flash of white-hot fury ignited within him. His heart pounded in his chest like a drumbeat, loud and unyielding. His body moved before his mind could catch up, his fist crashing into the face of the man who had pushed him down. The force of the punch sent the person sprawling backward, momentarily stunned. The clatter of a chair hitting the ground rang in his ears, and the smell of blood filled the air.

The memory shattered, and Aventurine gasped, back on the stage, the spotlight burning his skin. His breath came in short, sharp gasps, his pulse erratic, heart racing as if it would burst from his chest. His fist was still raised in the air, knuckles white, as if he had never stopped fighting.

“Until these falling stars

Are buried in the blur of time

On your icy lips

Read my soul

Yes, my soul”

Aventurine continued, his voice trembling with something more than just sorrow—rage, desperation, confusion, all woven together in the melody. His voice cracked again, the strain too much, but he pushed on, clinging to the song as though it were the only thing keeping him tethered to his fragile reality.

The audience was silent, watching, waiting for him to fall apart completely, but the man they saw on stage was not the same one who had entered. The flamboyant, carefree strategist was gone. In his place stood someone raw, exposed, and vulnerable—someone who had given too much and lost too much to ever smile again.

Aventurine continued singing, lost in the rhythm of the melody, completely unaware of the storm of emotions unfolding beside him. His voice rang out into the air, each note a desperate plea, but he was distant, trapped in his own thoughts, disconnected from everything around him.

The spotlight shifted, Ratio stepped onto the stage, his presence shifting the air like a cold breeze. He moved with deliberate grace, his white suit gleaming under the stage lights. It was almost too pristine, as if he were stepping into a wedding, an unspoken irony in the starkness of his attire amidst the chaotic tension of the contest. He grabbed the microphone, his fingers brushing it lightly as his gaze drifted toward Aventurine.

Aventurine stood motionless, the hollow look in his eyes betraying the storm within him. He appeared to have given up—like a man who had lost everything, as if the very air around him was a reminder of someone who was gone. His emotions were shut off, the vulnerability once so raw now replaced by an empty stillness.

Ratio took a deep breath before he began to sing, his voice smooth and controlled, though the weight of the lyrics cut through him like a blade. His eyes never left Aventurine, watching as the other man stood frozen in place, his thoughts clearly lost in the past, in someone who was no longer there.

“Even if your cold words

Carve scars beneath my eyes

May they linger on your tongue

You can break me apart”

The haunting melody filled the space, but Ratio couldn’t focus on the performance itself. His thoughts were elsewhere, taking him back to memories of the moments they had shared—moments that now seemed as distant as the stars.

The world of the contest, the games that had driven them all to the edge of madness, was one of cruelty and manipulation. But there were moments, fleeting and fragile, where there was kindness—moments where Ratio and Aventurine had found each other amidst the chaos.

Ratio remembered the time just before the show began, when they had shared a quiet conversation backstage. Aventurine had been quiet, more so than usual, as if the weight of the competition had finally broken him. Ratio had tried to reach out to him, to find some way to keep him grounded.

“Notice my pain

And mend me right now

To quiet my fears

I’ll drown in you”

But even then, Aventurine’s thoughts were clouded with something else—someone else. [Name]. The one who had stolen his heart, the one who had always been there to pull him from the edge when he faltered. Ratio could see it now, that deep ache in Aventurine’s eyes, the unspoken question that had plagued him since the moment they were torn apart.

It was the same unspoken question that Ratio had tried to answer himself when he had found a way out—an escape from this cursed contest. They had nearly made it, nearly freed themselves from the grip of the game, but at the last moment, Aventurine had faltered. He had chosen to leave Ratio behind in the pursuit of [Name], to go back to a place where he could never leave things undone, even if it meant abandoning his only ally.

Under the moonlight, near a secret passage where other contestants had found their way out, Ratio stood watching Aventurine. He could see the resolve in his eyes, but it was torn. He was a man caught between two impossible choices: the friend who had stood by him and the person he couldn’t leave behind, even if it meant his own freedom.

Aventurine had walked back, taking those last few steps toward the uncertainty of the contest, leaving Ratio standing there with a bittersweet smile, knowing that his friend would never truly be free until he could reunite with [Name]. The sting of that moment lingered, the taste of abandonment still fresh, even now.

“Sick of these nights to come

To be engulfed in silence

In your gaze where I’m seen

Consume me

Yes, me, oh oh”

Ratio’s voice cracked slightly on the final line, a hint of emotion breaking through his otherwise controlled façade. He couldn’t help but feel the weight of their shared history, the sacrifices they had made for each other, and yet the unbearable truth that some wounds would never heal.

He had seen the toll this contest had taken on his friend, and he knew the battle wasn’t over yet. But in that moment, Ratio understood. Aventurine couldn’t leave [Name] behind, not now, not after everything they had been through together.

Aventurine continued singing, lost in the rhythm of the melody, completely unaware of the storm of emotions unfolding beside him. His voice rang out into the air, each note a desperate plea, but he was distant, trapped in his own thoughts, disconnected from everything around him.

“To this everlasting melody”

Meanwhile, Ratio’s voice blended with his, but his attention was no longer on the performance. His eyes drifted toward Aventurine, watching him with a depth of feeling that he couldn’t articulate. He saw his friend’s weariness, the faintest hints of defeat in his posture, and his heart ached for him.

“Face to face we dance”

But then, Ratio’s attention snapped back to the stage as he realized something. Aventurine had stopped singing.

The silence in the air was sharp, thick with tension. He could hear the low hum of the audience, the murmur of uncertainty spreading as Aventurine stood frozen. The rules were clear: failure to continue meant disqualification. The moment was slipping away from him.

“With our story

Lost in forever’s embrace

Until these falling stars

Are buried in the blur of time.”

Ratio’s mind raced, his thoughts tumbling over one another. This was the moment—the moment he had to make a decision. A doctor of truth, he knew the consequences of his actions, but right now, his only concern was the gambler in front of him. Aventurine would never forgive himself if he failed here, and Ratio couldn’t let him face that.

Without another thought, Ratio dropped his mic onto the stage, the clatter of it fading into the silence. He stepped toward Aventurine, whose eyes were glazed over, unaware of the imminent danger. The weight of his decision pressed on Ratio’s chest, but there was no turning back now.

The rain began to fall, soft at first, then heavier, as if the world itself mourned the coming sacrifice. The droplets cascaded around them, a curtain of water, but all Ratio could see was his friend.

Aventurine lifted his gaze slowly, meeting Ratio’s eyes with an expression that was too tired, too distant, to fully comprehend why Ratio was standing so close now.

Ratio’s steps were steady as he reached Aventurine, his hand moving to gently cup his friend’s neck. He leaned in close, his voice barely a whisper against the damp air.

“Take care of yourself, Gambler. Do stay alive. I wish you the best of luck.”

Before Aventurine could react, before he could even respond, Ratio’s grip tightened. His fingers dug into Aventurine’s neck—not with the intent to choke him, but to send him into unconsciousness. To ensure he wouldn’t see what Ratio was about to do, the sacrifice he was making.

But to the audience, it was a different story.

The moment Ratio’s hands moved, the security team took action, weapons raised. They had been watching, ready to intervene. Violence was strictly prohibited, and it was clear that Ratio had broken the rules. He would be executed for this.

Still, Ratio didn’t flinch. He didn’t fight. The shots came fast, the sound of gunfire cutting through the tense silence. His body jerked with each bullet that struck him, but it wasn’t until the fatal shot, aimed at a vital artery, that he stumbled, blood pouring from his mouth. His vision blurred, but he managed to glance up at the screen.

Aventurine’s scores were climbing. The crowd roared, oblivious to the price Ratio had paid for it.

His eyes locked with Aventurine’s one final time, and Ratio smiled—bitter, resigned, but sincere. The world seemed to slow as he released his hold on Aventurine’s neck, letting his friend slip from his grasp.

Ratio crumpled to the ground, lifeless, blood staining the stage beneath him. His body became a dark pool of crimson, the contrast to Aventurine’s still form standing in disbelief.

The music beat dropped, filling the space, but it felt like the entire world had stilled, as if the stage itself was mourning the loss.

Aventurine stood frozen, staring down at Ratio’s body, his fingers pressing against his neck in disbelief. His mind couldn’t process it—their shared history, the bond they had formed, had been shattered in a moment. Ratio was gone.

The black-and-white contrast between them was undeniable. Ratio’s pure white suit now stained with the blood that had once belonged to him. Aventurine’s own darkness, his own guilt and despair, a stark reflection of the sacrifice Ratio had made for him.

The stage, the contest, the audience—they all blurred away in that moment. There was nothing left but the realization that everything had changed.

But little did anyone know, amidst the chaos and the tragedy that had unfolded on that stage, [Name] was still alive and was back now.

They had made it, against all odds, and now they stood just outside the chaotic scene, their eyes fixed on the aftermath of the deadly contest. The silence hung in the air, but [Name] could feel the weight of the moment—the deaths, the sacrifices, the choices made in the name of survival.

They were here to rescue their friends, to end this madness once and for all. But unlike before, [Name] wasn’t alone this time. They had a new group with them, a new force, even if it came with complications. The Stellaron Hunters—each one with their own agenda, their own reasons for standing in the shadows—were now part of their cause.

With the Stellaron Hunters behind them, and their newfound strength, [Name] stepped forward into the fray. The world ahead of them was uncertain, but they would make sure it was their future, not the one dictated by fate or fear.

It was time to rewrite the story.

(@thijikoy on X/Twitter)

Thank you, Natto (if you're reading this, lol), for once again allowing me to use your artworks with full credit given to you!

[Navigation]

[longwuzhere]

Here are some cool Easter eggs that I found the newest My Adventures with Superman episode, “Let’s Go to Ivo Tower, You Say”. Links to the easter eggs post:

Episode 1 is here

Episode 2 is here

Episode 3 is here

Episode 5 is here

Episode 6 is here

Episode 7 is here and here

Episode 8 is here

Episode 9 is here

Episode 10 is here

My Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman comic issue 1 post is here

My Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman comic issue 2 post is here

My Easter eggs and references for My Adventures with Superman comic issue 3 post is here

SPOILERS if you have not seen the episode of course:

Perry assigns our intern trio to go get interviews about Anthony Ivo. I previously mentioned Ivo's deal in the comics in this post, but we'll talk more about this version of Ivo later.

Shout out to Lois' hanbok! As a kid in the 90s my first exposure to the DC was through the DC Animated Universe. Because of the way some of the characters like Lois, Clark, Bruce, Dick, Tim, and Terry, were designed, as a kid, I thought they were Asian. Very cool to see this version of Lois be Korean.

Before Lois shows up for their black tie event at Ivo Tower, Jimmy knocks down a stack of papers and magazine and Clark goes to pick it up and stumbles upon the Metropolis Star with a cover that shows him as a kid flying 15 years ago.

The Metropolis star is a rival newspaper to the Daily Planet in the comics. The publisher makes its first appearance in Superman #9 (1987) (W&P: John Byrne, I: Karl Kesel, C: Tony Ziuko, L: John Costanza).

When our intern trio makes it to Ivo Tower, Lois spots some very interesting powerful and political figures of Metropolis, the CEO of Galaxy Communications and Mayor Fleming.

Galaxy Communications makes its first appearance in Superman's Pal Jimmy Olsen #133 (1970) where it was headed by Morgan Edge, the then leader of Intergang. In the comics Clark and Lois does work for Galaxy communications thanks to it buying out the Daily Planet forcing Clark to be the evening news anchor. The Galaxy Communications panels here are from Swamp Thing #68 (1988) (W&P: Rick Veitch, I: Alfredo Alcala, C: Tajana Wood, L: John Costanza).

Mayor Fleming makes her first appearance in Action Comics #894 (2010) (W: Nick Spencer, P: R.B. Silva, I: Denis Freitas, C: Dave McCaig, L: Rob Leigh) where she appoints Jimmy Olsen and Sebastien Mallory as a welcoming committee for Dalwythians aliens. Like her MAwS counterpart she is obviously the Mayor of Metropolis.

Later, Lois goes and questions Senator Sackett at the party/event.

In the comics Sackett was a councilman not a senator who makes his first appearance in Superman #130 (1997) (W: Dan Jurgens, P: Norm Breyfogle, I: Joe Rubenstein, C: Glenn Whitmore and Digital Chameleon, L: John Costanza) depicted here in the issue's panel wearing a Superman costume. Sackett in the comics is in Luthor's pocket.

I am like 99.99% sure this is Lex Luthor like who else in Metropolis is named Alex, has red hair (if this is Lex Luthor and he shows up again, I'll talk about him and what I mean by this in another post.), and works in the science and tech field.

We finally meet Ivo and he is as I was hoping he'd be a major techbro tool. The way he acts in his introduction and his meeting with Clark is very much like Lex and Clark's meeting in Batman v Superman. Both Ivo and Lex upon meeting Clark know how strong he is. In MAwS Ivo punches his chest and it hurts him and in BvS you heard an audible thud when Lex knocks on Clark's chest. Very similar vibes between both scenes.

Clark confronts Ivo about one of his deals and name drops one of Metropolis' mob families.

Bobby Gazzo, head of the Gazzo crime family in Metropolis, makes his first appearance in Batman: Dark Victory #1 (W: Jeph Loeb, P&I: Tim Sale, C: Gregory Wright and Heroic Age, L: Richard Starkings). Fantastic sequel to Long Halloween, highly recommend reading both books.

After Clark gets thrown out and Lois offers to repair his jacket, we see Lois mentioning her dad, Sam Lane a military general and if the person at the end of the second part of the first episode is Sam Lane...

...and he shows up again in the show I'll talk more about it in another post. For now this is all just speculation.

Might be reading into this but maybe a subtle nod to how the words "Superman" and "pal" are often used together. Both have been used as a comic book title, "Superman's Pal Jimmy Olsen" as I've mentioned in these posts a few times.

The show here did a very clever thing with Ivo. Normally any other media pertaining to Ivo would give the audience his power and weakness stealing robot Amazo, but here the MAwS team was able to combine both Ivo and another villain in Superman's rogues gallery, Parasite.

The first Parasite, Raymond Jensen, makes his first appearance in Action Comics #340 (1966) (Cover Art by Curt Swan, George Klein, and Ira Schnapp). All iterations of Parasite have the ability to temporarily steal away anyone's energy, strength, and their knowledge. As I've said there have been other Parasites that Superman fought, the second and most recurring Parasite is Rudy Jones, the Parasite I'm more familiar with, who makes his first appearance in Firestorm #58 (1987).

Cover Art by Joe Brozowski, Bruce Peterson, and Tom Ziuko Alex and Alexandra Allston the third and fourth Parasite (green Parasite and purple Parasite respectively) first appeared in the Adventures of Superman #633 (2004).

Cover art by Gene Ha and Art Lyon

The latest Parasite, Joshua Allen, makes his first appearance in Superman #23.4 (2013).

Cover art by Aaron Kuder and Dan Brown So yeah there are similarities between the Amazo robot and Parasite and it was smart of the MAwS team to just combine Ivo with Parasite to avoid redundancies. Besides the Amazo robot is more of a Justice League villain anyways.

Near the end of the episode, after the Parasite suit wrecks Ivo's body, he begins to look more like his recent iterations in the comics now. The panel here is from Justice League of America #4 (2013) (W: Geoff Johns, P: Brett Booth, I: Norm Rapmund, C: Andrew Dalhouse, L: Rob Leigh). Hope you all had a wonderful time checking this post out. Like I said at the beginning my other MAwS easter egg posts are:

Episode 1 is here

Episode 2 is here

Episode 3 is here

Episode 5 is here

Episode 6 is here

Episode 7 is here and here

Episode 8 is here

Episode 9 is here

Episode 10 is here

My Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman comic issue 1 post is here

My Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman comic issue 2 post is here

My Easter eggs and references for My Adventures with Superman comic issue 3 post is here

[reasonsweweresinging]

Dean couldn't believe he was doing this. But it was impossible to resist his kid when his kid was crying, and Chase had been crying for twenty minutes. Chase’s favorite doll, an alien-bird-human hybrid thing drawn up by some kid in another country and created by IKEA that Chase had lost his mind over at the store, was desperately ill according to him and Dean didn't have the credentials to fix it. 

"We have to see Dr. Cas!" Chase cried, beseeching his father to help him get whatever was wrong with Wallace fixed. Dean had no idea where the name Wallace came from, but Chase was insistent that was the damn thing's name. 

It was almost 9 pm on a Sunday night and Dean doubted his pediatrician neighbor two doors down needed an unexpected visit to cure a...Wallace. "Bud, maybe Dr. Cas can't even help fix Wallace. He's not fully human."

"Dr. Cas sweared to me he could fix anything! I know he can fix Wallace, we have to go see him!" Chase’s big hazel eyes, courtesy of his mother and still somehow so similar to Dean's brother, swam with tears that rolled down his cheeks in fat drops. "Please, Dad!"

Dean couldn't resist. He couldn't deny his son. Maybe because he was a pediatrician, Dr. Cas would at least be patient enough to turn them away kindly. His neighbor hating him was a risk Dean was willing to take for his son. So Dean helped Chase bundle Wallace in a blanket, got both he and Chase into their coats, and walked them to Dr. Cas's door two houses over. The front porch light was still on, and through the rectangular frosted glass panel alongside the door, Dean could see other lights were on in the home. Maybe it wasn't too late. While Chase hugged Wallace tightly to his chest, Dean rang the doorbell and hoped once more his neighbor wouldn’t be a jerk for being disturbed so late. 

The lights blurring together behind the glass panel brightened, as if a light near the door turned on. A moment later, the locks on the door turned and Dean took a deep breath. But it was punched out of him the minute Dr. Cas appeared in the doorway. Dean had only caught glimpses of the man in the few months since he'd moved in, but never seen him fully and up close. Chase had talked to him when his mother was dropping him off one evening, as Dr. Cas was returning from a run. Seeing Dr. Cas now, Dean was certain it was because his ex-wife was trying to stop Dr. Cas to hit on him. Dean could not blame her. The dark, wild hair, the bright blue eyes, the full, soft pink lips set against warm skin and dark stubble. He was gorgeous. He was damn near perfect. And he was saying something and Dean was just staring at him.

Dean snapped out of it, just in time to hear the tail end of Dr. Cas asking his son what was wrong in a voice that was too gentle to be so deep and worn. Was Dr. Cas even real?

"Wallace is sick!" Chase cried, shoving the doll in the face of Dr. Cas. "You can fix him, right?"

Dr. Cas looked at the doll, understandably perplexed, then set those incredible blue eyes on Dean. He started to say something but stopped short, staring back at Dean for a long, unnerving moment. Dean felt himself getting lost in those eyes, but Chase crying again beside him kept him anchored to the moment. He cleared his throat, which snapped Dr. Cas back into the present as well. 

"Sorry, Doc," Dean started, "Chase insisted we come see you so you could help cure Wallace." He gave Dr. Cas a small, apologetic smile, ready for Dr. Cas to turn them away with some excuse; it was late and he had any number of things to do, he had a family to tend to, he didn't have whatever tools he needed to help Wallace and they could try again later. Something like that. 

Instead, Dr. Cas gave a small smile and looked back at Chase, taking a gentle hold of the doll. "Well, Chase, you did the right thing. I can help Wallace, but you're going to have to be my nurse, is that okay?"

Chase looked up in awe at Dr. Cas and gave an eager nod. "I can help! I'm a good helper!"

Dr. Cas smiled wide, his gums showing, nose wrinkling, and Dean felt his heart stutter. "I'll bet you are. With your help, I'm sure we'll make Wallace all better. Why don't you do me a favor and take Wallace inside. If you go straight back, you can wait with him on the couch." 

Dr. Cas gingerly handed back Wallace to Chase, and with a loud "Thank you!,” Chase ran into the house and, as Dean noted, peeking around Cas to watch him go, followed the directions and ran straight back. 

"I'm Castiel Novak," Dr. Cas said, extending hand with a little smile. 

Dean took it and gave it a firm shake. "Uh, Dean. Winchester. That's my boy Chase. Sorry to just interrupt your night like this. Please apologize to your wife for me "

Dr. Cas tilted his head to the side, that soft smile still on his face, curious. "No, no wife," he said with a shrug. "Or husband."

Enlightenment dawned on Dean's features and that last little statement had his brain running a mile a minute. "Oh. Sorry, didn't mean to assume."

"It's fine," Dr. Cas assured him. "Please, come in. I'm sure Chase is growing antsy. Has he told you any of Wallace's symptoms?"

Dean, stepping inside, paused at the question, at the genuine way Dr. Cas was regarding him, waiting for a response. He wasn't just humoring Chase, he seemed to be genuinely trying to help fix a weird, stuffed doll. Dean couldn't decide if that made the guy a weirdo or an angel masquerading as a doctor. 

Fully inside, Dean waited for Dr. Cas to close the door and began to follow him back towards Chase. "He said something about Wallace having fireskin and a knotty belly."

"I see, that does sound serious. But I'm sure with Chase's help, we'll get Wallace fixed right up." Though his tone was genuine, there was still a curl of a smile on Dr. Cas's lips. "Does Chase have an active imagination?"

"Crazy active," Dean said with a hint of mirth. Chase was always battling some evil or winning some championship or saving some planet from destruction; usually Dean was the evil, the loser, the destructor that needed defeating, but every now and again he got to be his kid's sidekick, and those were the best times. 

"That should come in very handy," Dr. Cas said as they neared the living room where Chase waited. Seated on the couch, as asked, his doll held close to his chest, Chase watched them both enter, looking earnestly at Dr. Cas as if waiting for a miracle. Dr. Cas approached the couch and knelt down in front of Chase. "Are you ready to assist me?" he asked. "It's going to be hard work, but I know you can do it."

Chase nodded, the bangs of his sandy blonde hair falling over his eyes. He brushed them haphazardly off his forehead and Dean could only shake his head. "I just wanna help Wallace." 

It was decided Dean had to wait in the waiting room (the living room) while Chase and Dr. Cas used the operating room (the kitchen), just to Dean’s left and a few feet above. Dr. Cas helped Chase prepare by cleaning the counter with him and washing their hands, while gently and easily explaining the need for cleanliness, not just in surgery, but in life. They laid Wallace out on the kitchen counter and Chase was just tall enough to help without needing something to boost him up.

Dean did his best to play up his worry, especially when Chase looked over at him. But he was mostly watching Dr. Cas, mesmerized. While he was in control of the happenings, every choice they made was made by Chase through a series of related questions from Dr. Cas. That night, Chase wasn't saving a planet or scoring the final points to win it all, but he was still a hero. 

When it was all said and done, when Wallace's fireskin had been cooled and his knotty belly untangled, both Chase and Dr. Cas came to share the results with Dean. Dean hammed it up a little in his relief, but his effusive praise of his son's ingenuity and quick-thinking was genuine. And he noticed Dr. Cas seemed to be watching him now, much the way he'd been doing with the pediatrician earlier. 

With Wallace bundled back up tightly in his blanket and feeling much better, Chase was in a hurry to leave so they could read a book and get all the rest that Dr. Cas said Wallace would need to help him recover. Dean got both he and his son back into their coats and Chase led the way to the door, Dr. Cas following them all. 

"Thank you," Dean said quietly, so that maybe only Dr. Cas could hear him. "I hope we didn't ruin your night."

Dr. Cas just gave him a smile and shook his head. "On the contrary, you livened it up quite a bit."

Reaching the door, Chase turned and threw his arms around Dr. Cas's waist. "Thank you for helping Wallace."

Though surprised at first, Dr. Cas's face melted into something softer, and he ran a hand over the back of Chase's head. "I could only help because you were such a great nurse. I hope you and Wallace have many happy days together."

"We will!"

With a chuckle, Dr. Cas reached for the door handle and opened the door, and Dean realized very suddenly that even though he had barged in on his poor unsuspecting neighbor with a crying child and a weird doll, he was disappointed they were leaving. 

Following Chase out the door and echoing the same quiet good night Dr. Cas gave them, Dean paused. He turned, looking back at Dr. Cas who had not yet started to close the door. "Is uh, there any way I could maybe take you out for a drink one night? You know, to say thanks." 

The smile that curled onto Dr. Cas's face was slow and maybe even a little shy, but his features were alight, as though maybe he was glowing. "How about you just take me out for a drink, no thanks necessary?"

Dean grinned, nodding. "It's a date."