#either way i do think blood sharing is such a big thing with him

[natdeviantrat]

we still haven't seen armand drink on screen, right? (aside from that one reciprocal moment with lestat) there was the cheers with louis but then it cut away and his glass still looked full afterwards. what could they be hiding? i mean surely he does need blood and they told us he hunts for it but?

something something armand always offering his blood never taking, a metaphor for his relationships but also something more? (honestly we saw louis drink from him soo many times like between that and his bloodline no wonder that mofo is powerful enough to challenge a hoard of vampires)

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

Am I the asshole for getting my best friend killed?

I swear to God, it was an accident.

My (27) BF (34) has a reputation for getting himself out of any jam you can imagine; and at first it was just a fun little thing the friend group noticed: there goes Oily J wiggling his way out of trouble again. but as the meme evolved in the group, it got to the point where we'd loykey started getting him into situations just to see how he'd get out of 'em, and he akept getting out of em. He was having fun with it too same as us. "Oh you guys," he'd say, "getting me into situations again," before laughing it off and getting out of it, so it was enrichment for our shared enclosures, and as time went on, the situations got more intense.

The trouble is, it turns out that putting a man in too many situations eventually gets the police interested. And not local hobsknockers cops either; they was like, proper three-letter FEDs. They put out a bounty on any information pertaining to his capture and everything. It was good money too so I thought, hey why don't I put J in another situation he can wiggle out of like always (and he'd wiggled outta worse before, so I thought this one'd be relatively mild), and at the next boardgame night (cause it was too late to do anything special for this one) we can buy some extra strong booze and get absolutely blitzed while having a giggle about the situation.

Boardgame night, and we were playing some social deduction nonsense or another and he says: "One of you is gonna betray me tonight." and I can't help but think, looking back on it, that he knew. It's stupid, I know he was talking about the game, but the way he said it, it was like he knew. We all felt it, and we had a big round robin round the table taking turns promising that we'd never betray him. And I said it so easily cause I thought it was true. Sure, I was gonna talk to the feds about a bounty; but, I fully expected my big beautiful oily boy to wiggle his way out of the trouble I was 'bout to cause, and that's not a betrayal. I wasn't lying. I didn't think I was lying.

My big beautiful oily boy didn't manage to wiggle his way out of it. They killed him and I got my blood money. He's gone.

He's gone and I'm devastated, crying, mourning. I loved him so much. We all did. And I can't stop thinking that it's my fault: that I'm the reason he's gone. and it is. and the guilt is eating me up inside. and I just need to talk to someone about it. So, I tell the rest of the group what happened in the group chat, hoping they'd understand that I didn't want this. I didn't want the government's blood money. It was supposed the be a prank. some joint enclosure enrichment. He was supposed to wiggle out of it like he always does... did, i mean.

They call me, among worse things, the asshole and kick me from the group chat. And, I know it's my fault he's dead: I know that. If I didn't do what I did, he wouldn't be dead right now. But, I didn't mean it for it to end up this way. He was supposed to be okay, damn it. I loved him. AITA?

What are these acronyms?

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 9

in which we find out how the morning after went for fem!reader. you finally share with spencer after unanticipated anxieties come up. you're continually shocked by his affection for you.

series masterlist

this series is 18+ (angst, fluff) warnings/tags: (preface none of the bad stuff is done by spencer) sexual harassment, slut shaming, non consensual voyeurism of sorts, blood + pain from losing virginity, talk of rape (nothing like that actually happens), implied nonspecific age gap (someone says he looks slightly older than you) non sexual nudity, showering together, intimacy, ewww being in love is embarrassing a/n: I honestly was not gonna post this today but I decided to bc it's just Tumblr its not that deep also you can probably tell I am just creating problems bc I don't wanna let go of them...... ik this is supposed to be a smutty series btw and trust good things come to those who wait!!!but anyways idk what I'm doing and I kinda hate this!! lolol!!!

Friday morning

The air is thick when you wake up—the angle of the sun through the window is lower than usual, and the binding weight of your limbs as you struggle to stretch in place all suggest that you’ve slept in. 

But you don’t check the time quite yet—for a moment, you simply lie there, studying the pattern on your ceiling, downloading the events of the previous night. 

Flashes of skin on skin, lips, breaths, whispers, promises. Phantom sensations. 

Was it even real?

Your apartment is deafeningly silent, you realize. And you have that sinking sense, which you can’t quite explain but know to be true—that you are alone. Spencer is gone. You can’t feel him like you’d be able to if he were simply on the couch or in the kitchen. He’s definitely not in bed with you, and the sheets have long gone cold. 

The truth of it renders about as slowly as your sluggish consciousness does, and you frown, not quite sure what to do with that information. Should you be angry? Should you cry?

Mostly you’re confused. 

As soon as you sit up, sore thighs and abs and a strange ache between your legs confirm that last night was not a dream nor a figment of your imagination. You’ll figure out what to do about your twinging body in a moment—for now you rub your eyes and blindly reach for the bedside table, knocking several things to the ground in your quest for your phone. 

It’s not there, you realize, once you actually try to use your eyes. It’s not in bed with you either as you pat the sheets, and it doesn’t materialize as you sit on your knees and shake out the comforter. 

From this venture, however, you learn two things. First, Spencer must’ve taken it upon himself to get you dressed last night, which you have no recollection of, but you doubt you sleepwalked your way into underwear and a big t-shirt; and second—you bled. 

It wasn’t something you were thinking about in the moment, but now, faced with all the evidence and none of the pleasure of last night’s activities, it’s jarring. A stark, unforgiving archipelago of red on a pristine sea of white. 

People say, at its best, sex brings couples closer. Spencer once told you it could facilitate feelings of deeper connection. But here you are, no longer a virgin, and what do you have to show for it? A stronger bond with your boyfriend? He’s not even here. 

All you have is this glaring red stain marring perfectly good sheets. It mocks you, like something you’ve dropped and can’t pick back up. You can’t think looking at it, and you need to think, and so in a fit of frustration you’re pulling the comforter onto the floor, leaning over your mattress and yanking the fitted sheet free. You ball it up in your hands, breathing heavily—and realize you bled through to the mattress. 

Wonderful. 

Spencer’s just at work, you tell yourself, grabbing the first pair of shorts you see and pulling them on before gathering the ruined sheet once more and stomping on aching legs through your apartment to the hallway, not even bothering with shoes. He can’t just play hooky because his clingy girlfriend lost her virginity and needs to be comforted like some previously celibate high school cheerleader.

But you miss him so much it’s making you angry, so much your eyes are stinging and welling with tears of frustration as you shove your bed linens down the trash chute at the end of your floor’s hallway. You’re supposed to be independent. That’s how you’ve always been. Since when does it bother you to wake up alone? It’s just sex. It’s not as big a deal for him as it is for you. Or for anyone. You’re the one overreacting, you’re the one who expects too much. He works for the FBI, for god’s sake. There are people dying, and here you are—

“What’chya got there?”

The gruff voice makes you jump, and you turn around just as the bundle is disappearing down into the hole in the wall. It’s your neighbor, Jerry—the one in the unit right next to you. You’re not happy to see him, especially like this. He’s got a blue 5 o’clock shadow despite the hour, and is clad in ill-fitting gray sweats and a pair of ratty slippers. His distended belly strains at the confines of an oil-stained white shirt, tied with a dingy checkered robe. You barely meet his drooping eyes before looking longingly back at your cracked door down the hall. 

“Just… garbage.” You shift your weight, hiding a wince as you try to find a comfortable position to stand in. Jerry notices this, and you wish his eyes wouldn’t linger on your bare legs like that. 

“Huh. Looks like someone had a late night.”

“Sorry?”

“It’s just noon and you’re still in your PJ’s.”

Disgusting. And who the fuck is he to judge? At least your pajamas are clean. 

You shrug. “Yeah.”

He scratches his bald head. 

“So that boy tired you out pretty good, huh?”

Your stomach drops. Your brain freezes. 

When you don’t reply, he takes the liberty of continuing on. 

“Saw him sneaking out of your apartment in the middle of the night. He looked a little older ’n you. You like ’em older?” His laugh is a cruel bark. “Yeah… He’s a lucky man. You know, it’s natural for a man to like a younger girl. Fresh meat, ’n all.” You try to speak and can only swallow a gag. Jerry adjusts his stance, hands in pockets like he’s telling you a local news story. “Heard some of it. Sounded like you were putting on quite the show. And sure, a young pretty thing like you? Hell, I would if I could. But I’ll tell you right now, you don’t wanna end up like my daughter. She wasn’t as pretty as you, but still—three kids with three men by the time she was 24. She should'a kept her damn legs closed. You know, she loved to cry rape, but you gotta ask yourself, if your legs are open all the damn time, what do you expect? Back in the day we all knew girls like that—” he bats the air dismissively. “Guess you can’t call ’em sluts anymore—they get what they’re asking for one way or another. See, I think everyone still knows it and they’re just too afraid to say it. So my advice: don’t let yourself get used up, you hear me? Not by men who are gonna ride you hard and put you away wet. So to speak. Men can smell a girl like that from a mile away, and they’ll take it as an open invitation. It’s just human nature.”

When he finally stops talking, the hallway fills with a vacuous silence. It makes your ears ring. Several moments pass, but you’re frozen. Your whole body feels intolerably hot but your blood is freezing. How are you supposed to react? 

“Hello?” He says, voice loud enough to hurt your ears as it echoes. 

Get out of here, your more rational self says to the rest of you, and you mumble something, you don’t even know what, excusing yourself to hurry on stiff legs back down the hall to your door. 

Once inside, you do up every lock on your door, and face your apartment, shoulders tensed practically to your ears and fists clenched so tight your arms are trembling. On autopilot you look around for something to do, but there’s nothing. More importantly, nobody.

I’ll call Spencer. He’ll know what to do. 

No, you won’t, your higher self reminds you. You lost your phone. And besides, it’s clearly not like he wanted to stick around last night. Maybe he doesn’t even like you anymore. 

So you’re stuck here. Stranded. Sharks can smell blood. 

Processing that information, you walk back to your bedroom and close the door behind you—before promptly sinking to the ground and burying your face in the duvet with a deep, silent sob.  

That goes on for a few minutes until you realize you’re too achy and you can’t breathe and you’re forced onto your side, curling up in your blanket on the floor like it’s a nest and not a burial plot. 

You shouldn’t get ahead of yourself. A relationship can’t implode twice in 24 hours.  You don’t have your phone. Maybe he’s texted you. 

But is that really all you’re worth? A text sent after the fact? He couldn’t sacrifice a few hours to sleep by your side? Couldn’t even wake you up to say goodbye? You think about the sweet things he’d said afterward—the way he held you, fingers dancing down your spine. Promises he made when you were half asleep in his arms, so sure he’d be there when you woke up. 

Even fucking Jerry the neighbor—who you think might have just sexually harassed you in the hallway—said Spencer should’ve stuck around. 

Fuck. 

No, don’t think about that. It doesn’t even matter. They were just words. 

Heard some of it. Sounded like you put on quite the show. 

Your skin crawls and your stomach turns as you hold yourself tighter. Something that was supposed to be private and special—and some random man not only had a front row seat to your deflowering but felt comfortable talking about it with you. It feels like a violation. Like he crashed a really important party. If you had known you had an audience last night, you never would’ve done it. 

The way he looked at you, tracing your legs with his eyes like he was touching you—

You scramble up from the floor and walk heavily on your knees to the dresser, digging up a pair of pajama pants and a hoodie. You should be showering, but you don’t want to deal with your body right now. You just want to hide. 

Friday evening—present

After your conversation, Spencer seems eager to make sure the car ride to his apartment is not reminiscent of the car ride to yours last night—he holds your hand, resting in your lap, bringing your knuckles to his lips at a red light. Every few moments he glances over at you, maybe to appreciate the view (though you doubt it’s especially scenic at the moment) or perhaps to gauge your mood. The further away you get from your apartment building the better you feel, and you try to focus on that. Sure—maybe you had a shit day, but Spencer’s here now, and he didn’t leave you after all. In fact, since finding your phone, you’ve seen the series of very sweet and highly concerned messages he sent over the course of a few hours. They almost make your stomach hurt. It would’ve been really nice to have those earlier. 

He doesn’t ask you any more of the hard questions, but you sense an inquisition in the works and getting closer with every curious glance he gives you. It’s like he’s unwrapping you, layer by layer, using his impressive cognitive faculties to drill through your skull into your brain and deeper still into your soul. 

Back in his apartment you sit awkwardly on the bed. Last time you’d been here, things hadn’t gone so well for you. 

The shower starts in the adjoined bathroom, and Spencer comes out a moment later, warm light seeping into the darkened bedroom. Purple and dark blue mixing with yellow, like a bruise. 

“Hey. Water’s warm.”

You hum, smoothing the material of his neatly made bed with your palm and watching the way it flattens. That had been your doing. You may have thought he was on the verge of breaking up with you last time you slept here, but you didn’t want to leave his home a mess. Didn’t want to leave any evidence of your having been here. 

A moment passes. You thumb at a thread and don’t look up. 

Spencer crosses the space without a word and crouches in front of you, hands coming up to cup the back of your legs, running knee to ankle and up again. 

“Can you tell me what’s going on? Please?” He asks softly. His voice wrings your heart out. Now that you’re in a completely different space, and you’re not so alone anymore, you’re struggling to sort out your feelings. It should be fine. You’re with Spencer. Presumably he still loves you. 

And you still feel terrible. 

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” you whisper. 

“I know,” he says, just as quietly. 

Spencer doesn’t say anything else. I know you don’t want to—and yet. Your lips twist to the side. He’s persistent. Even in his kindness. It’s not the kind of care that falters or buckles when you try turning it away. 

“My neighbor said he c—” 

You’re forced to stop, frowning by how overcome you are. It shouldn’t be such a big deal. Worse things have happened to you. 

“He said he could hear us. Last night.”

Spencer’s hands stop on your legs. You can’t meet his eyes. You’re afraid whatever you find there won’t be the right thing. 

“He’s in the unit next to you?”

You nod. “We share a wall.”

There’s a moment’s hesitation and your stomach sinks. He doesn’t understand. 

“What did he say?”

“Just… dumb shit,” you scoff, fiercely wiping away a stray tear. “He said he listened and it sounded like I was putting on quite the show. And then he—and then he told me not to let you… use me up, whatever that means. He called me fresh meat, and said I shouldn’t let you ride me hard and put me away wet, and bad things happen to sluts who can’t keep their legs closed.”

You finish with a sharp inhale, briefly leaning down and covering your face with your hands when you realize how upset you really are. You want to hide it. 

A fraught moment passes. Spencer reaches for your hands, no doubt to try and pull them away from your face. You spare him the trouble, sitting up with a cavalier sniff before he can touch you and brushing your hair behind your ears.  

His voice is uncomfortably quiet. You can’t look at him. “Baby…”

“Don’t. It’s fine. I only told you because you asked.”

It’s not his fault, but you’re mad at him anyway, and so you avoid eye-contact like it’s the plague. Maybe it’s just safe to be mad at him. Maybe he knows that. 

Regardless, you’re not in the mood for coddling. It’s borderline repulsive—like trying to mix oil and water. Anything good slides right off of you because maybe you’re not designed to be able to absorb good things.

Nothing changes for a minute—and then he’s standing, offering you a moment alone as he goes to crank the shower off. 

As soon as he’s gone all the air is vacuumed from your lungs and you crumple, heaving it back in silently as your head spins and your heart races. It’s like your mind is split in two—half is primal, overwhelming panic, and the other a cold observatory eye, full of disdain and scorn for what it deems a severe overreaction to a few nasty comments made hours ago. You’re so tangled up as you curl in on yourself on your side that you can’t even cry. You’re just trying to remember how to breathe, ignoring the crawling feeling up your spine and the tingling heat at the back of your neck. The shower stops on the downbeat of your staggered breath, and then it’s silent. He’ll come back at any minute and see what a mess you’ve become. 

You’ve ruined everything. If only you could’ve kept it to yourself. 

When Spencer reappears in the doorway, and sees you collapsed and curling like paper burnt at the edges, he’s quick to return to you. 

“I’m sorry,” you manage, trying and failing to brush away hair from your cheek, which is wet—so you were crying—and Spencer shushes you, pushing it away for you as he kneels. 

“Why are you apologizing?”

“I’m being dramatic, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Of course, at the end of that declaration, a sob wrenches its way from the depths of you, so bright and cleaving you half expect the smell of ozone to follow. You follow it with a blisteringly self-deprecating laugh.

“Don’t—don’t do that. Don’t minimize it.”

His hand is warm where it rests over your cheek, affectionate, but he sounds frustrated. You frown and sniffle. 

“What am I supposed to do?”

“Tell me his name.” 

It’s a quiet request, made as gently as his hand cards through the hair at your temple like it’s woven with fragile threads of gold.

“No, Spencer,” you beg, anxiety pooling in your gut and rising in your throat, “please, I don’t want to make it a thing, I don’t want you to talk to him. You’ll just make it worse, it’s fine.”

You look at him imploringly, eyes wide and still welling, hoping to god the gravity of your plead will sink in. His are a bed of coals—somewhere between furious and sympathetic, and you try to appeal to the sympathy. 

“It is not fine. Saying sluts get what’s coming to them is not fine, that is a threat, and I’m not going to talk to him. I’m going to have him fucking arrested.”

You scoff. 

“For talking to me? Yeah, good luck with that. Cops are really known for being helpful when it comes to sexual harassment.”

“Baby. Men who are comfortable violating your boundaries like that are exponentially more likely to commit an actual violent crime. That is not a safe person for you to be around.”

“He’s not gonna rape me, Spencer! He’s just a gross old man! This is why I didn’t want to tell you, because I knew you’d make it a bigger deal than it is! You did it last night and you’re doing it now—you think everyone is out to get me!”

To his credit, he doesn’t so much as raise his voice. 

“Of course it’s a big deal. You’re upset.”

“Yeah, well, it’s my own fault.”

Maybe it’s the wrong thing to say. Spencer goes silent for a moment. 

“It’s your fault?”

“Yes. It’s my fault because… because now everyone knows that I’m…”

His voice goes impossibly soft again. “Knows that you’re what?”

“I mean, what did I expect?” You sniffle. “It’s an apartment. If I didn’t want to deal with the consequences, I shouldn’t’ve done it.”

He says your name like it’s a ring he twists around his finger as he tries to think—to gather the right words. 

“The consequences for having sex do not involve punishment or sexual harassment.”

“It’s the result of my actions, so—”

“No, it’s the result of your neighbor being disgusting. I don’t care what he heard, he doesn’t get to talk to you like that.”

“He—”

“If you heard something you weren’t supposed to hear would you bring it up to the person the next day?”

“Stop interrupting me,” you plead. Spencer looks like he has something to say to that, too, but he swallows it. You close your eyes and take a deep breath. “I… understand that he shouldn’t have said those things to me. But that doesn’t change the fact that he did, and it was really, really uncomfortable and I don’t wanna—I don’t wanna go back now. Maybe that’s dramatic, but…”

You trail off, studying the ceiling as a fresh wash of tears dampen your cheeks. Spencer’s hand slides down your waist as you wipe your face. “I don’t regret the fact that we slept together. I just regret everything that’s happened since, and if I didn’t do it last night, none of this would’ve happened. I feel like he ruined everything.”

The words end on another cry and you put your hand over your eyes like you could stop it all from coming out. You sniffle. Spencer is quiet for a moment. 

“I’m sorry,” he eventually whispers, his own voice threaded with emotion. “I…”

He sighs. You push your hair back and look at him. 

“What?”

He studies you, chewing on his lip like a nervous tick you’ve never seen before. You sit up again, feet balanced on the edge of the bed frame. Spencer’s eyes remain stuck on you. Again, you ask, “What?”

“I didn’t think about it until you brought it up earlier, but—I did see someone. Him, I think, when I went out to my car to get my bag. He was smoking when I came out, and when I got back into the lobby he was waiting for the elevator. We took it up together, he—he said something to me, so I know he saw me going back to you. I don’t know why he made it sound like I left.”

You frown. “What did he say?”

Spencer hesitates. 

“He asked if I had a long night. He was obviously commenting on the fact that I was basically half-dressed and getting an overnight bag from my car at one in the morning, so he could probably gather from context what was going on, but… my point is, he knew I came back and it seems like he was almost trying to make you think I didn’t. So for whatever reason, maybe he was lying about being able to hear you, too. Maybe he just wanted to make you uncomfortable.”

“That’s a long shot, Spencer.”

“I know, but… it’s not that long. He obviously gets off on it—and besides, he said you were putting on a show, but you weren’t… you weren’t loud, last night.”

Heats blossoms in your cheeks and you look down at your lap. “Thin walls.”

“Have you ever heard your neighbors before?”

You have to seriously think about it. 

“I’ve heard them yelling…”

“Nothing else?”

Again, you consider it. The answer comes as a surprise. 

“No.”

“Okay, so… does that maybe help a little bit? I really, really don’t want you to feel like last night was a mistake in any way, or let anyone ruin it for you.”

You breathe deeply. “I know. It… it kinda helps, yeah.”

His hands come to the top of your legs. There’s so much genuine care and concern in his eyes. “Yeah?”

Only when you nod does he relax some. His hands skim your thighs, and you set yours on top of his own. For a few breaths, it’s quiet. And then you laugh. 

“What?” Spencer asks, a tentative smile curling his own lips like he doesn’t know if he should be concerned or participate in your mirth. 

“I—I don’t know how to say it without being cheesy,” you admit, sniffling the last of your tears away and smiling softly down at him. 

“I think you should say it.”

You link your fingers with his on your lap, watching the way they twine like it’s what they were meant to do. 

“I was just thinking about how I had, like, the worst day ever. And how much worse it would’ve gotten if you didn’t show up when you did—I would’ve completely spiraled. But you did show up. And how easy it is to kind of compartmentalize, because I have you, and when I’m with you… nothing feels as hard. You make the bad things feel smaller, I guess.”

By the end, it got a lot more real than you’d intended, and your face feels warm, and your stomach is sort of floaty—but you don’t look away from Spencer. You hold his gaze, though it makes you a little nervous, because you want him to know you mean it. 

He inhales, like he’s going to say something, but he doesn’t—only looks at you, like you’re beautiful and impossible and a defiance of everything he thought he knew, which was almost everything. To him, you’re expansive. A gorgeous anomaly.

And then he stands, holding his hands out for you. Without question you take them, and he pulls you to your feet, absorbing the momentum that threatens to topple you, and he wraps his arms around you tightly. So tight you have to laugh. 

“I love you,” he says against your shoulder, one hand coming to cradle the back of your head. 

Your humor softens, but doesn’t become inflexible—still tinges your words with the perfect amount of euphoria and relief. “I love you.”

“Thanks,” he mumbles, and your laughter flares again. 

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“But I’m grateful. I… I feel lucky.”

Always so earnest, so vulnerable, when you’re least expecting it—which should be always, you’re learning. You pull back to look up at him. You don’t want that concession to go unrewarded. 

“Me too,” you say softly. He’s doing that fond thing with his eyes, where they’re all soft and it’s like he’s trying to take in every millimeter of your face. This time when he goes to touch your hair, you have the wherewithal to dodge it. 

“You’re really brave for trying to touch my hair right now.”

“Why?” He asks, utterly bewildered, and the softness of the moment falls away easily, but not without leaving everything smudged and fuzzy around the edges. Everything is still okay. It’s still good. 

“Because it’s dirty,” you laugh, dodging him again and eventually ducking from the circle of his arms entirely. 

“Oh, your hair is dirty? Should we breakup?”

“Hm. I don’t really like when you take on that tone with me.” You’re still half-laughing, dipping and weaving past him toward the bathroom as he tries to get you in his arms again. And then you stop, toes just short of the tile. 

“What is it?” He asks after another moment. You blink, looking at the shower head as it drips. 

“Um—would it be okay if I had a five minute headstart in the shower?”

“Sure. Is everything okay?”

“It’s fine. I just… I need a minute.”

His hand skims your waist as he passes by you through the open door. “Okay. Why don’t you grab your stuff and I’ll get the water going again?”

Soon enough, you’re remembering how much better his water pressure is than yours as you stand under the torrent, eyes closed as if in prayer. You definitely could’ve stood to shower earlier in the day. But you had other concerns, earlier, and besides—you were afraid of what you might find. 

And you were right to be. The sex was nice. The aftermath isn’t quite as pretty. 

When Spencer taps on the bathroom door, you’re nervous. 

“You can come in,” you call. 

“You sure? If you want it all to yourself, that’s okay too.”

“No, no. It’s fine.”

The door creaks open, and gently clicks into place again, and fabric rustles as he undresses, and soon the shower curtain is sliding aside and he’s stepping in. Unsurprisingly, the space feels smaller with him in it—but not small in a bad way. It feels warmer. Again you’re awash in that safe feeling, which you didn’t realize you’d been missing so much today. 

“Hi,” he smiles, a teasing sliver of what you know to be the most brilliant light in the world, and stunning like the rest of him as you watch the water begin to darken his hair. 

“Hello.”

His smile flickers briefly wider like you’re his favorite thing and he just can’t contain his joy, and then it’s easing again, giving you a moment to catch your breath. 

“Is it okay if I touch you?”

In this alien context the idea has your heart pounding—you don’t really understand the concept of casual nudity yet, but you know he’ll respect your earlier wishes to keep it chaste and so you nod. 

Spencer doesn’t take you immediately in his arms like you’d expected—instead his hands find a rest at your collarbones and carefully push your wet hair back over your shoulders—but his eyes aren’t cast quite low enough to be indecent. They connect dots over your chest and neck, and he thumbs at one just over your pulse point. 

“Oh, man,” he laughs, and you think you detect a hint of self-deprecation. “That’s… wow, I didn’t realize I… sorry. They don’t hurt, do they?”

It’s your turn to smile as he’s suddenly over-concerned. 

“No, they don’t hurt.”

“Good.” He looks relieved, but it doesn’t last as his eyes trace lower—though you don’t sense any hunger in it. He’s just taking you in. “How about everywhere else?”

“Um… it’s not bad. Kind of, like… I don’t know. Sore. But it’s not bad.”

“Still?” He frowns, clearly unfazed by your evident embarrassment on the subject. You shrug and avert your eyes. 

“It’s fine. it was worse earlier, so.”

That does not have the calming effect you’d intended. 

“Worse? 1-10, how—”

“Spencer, it’s fine, I promise. It’s only when I—when I move certain ways, I notice. Honestly the… blood… was way more disconcerting to me.”

“Yeah, I saw your bed… sorry for ruining your sheets. I’ll buy you new ones.”

You shrug, watching the water run in rivulets down your arm and branch off into tributaries and waterfalls from your fingers. “You don’t have to do that. It was a collaborative effort.”

Normally this conversation would have you melting into an embarrassed puddle, but something about the tile cocoon of the shower, the humid fog, the proximity, feels safe. The white noise of water on porcelain, the warmth. You go to him at the same time as he comes to you—his arms around your waist, yours slung over his shoulders. Your eyes flutter shut. Falling asleep standing up has never seemed so plausible until now. 

He presses a kiss to your head. You sigh. 

“Ugh. I don’t want to deal with washing my hair.”

“I can do it,” Spencer immediately offers. You frown. 

“I was—you don’t have to. I didn’t mean to make it sound like I was asking.”

“I know you didn’t.”

“It’s a process.”

“I understand.”

“You would have to do it exactly how I say.”

“I am willing to learn. I like taking care of you.”

You’re glad for the hot water, then, and as he washes your hair. You’re not sure if you’re crying at the tenderness of his touch, or the way he loves you like you’re easy to love. You’re too tired to explain it. 

He doesn’t push you, because he never pushes you. 

He just washes your hair. 

[fangisms]

Hi would u be able to do a Theo not x fem reader where they are enemies and the reader is a cat animagus and he finds us somewhere in our cat form and takes us with him and is like cuddling the cat and everyone knows it’s us and finds it funny

cat and mouse

A/N: thinking about this DEEPLY giggling and kicking my feet WITH DETERMINATION. (gif creds: @thickdickgrayson)

Pairings: Theodore Nott x Fem!Animagus!Reader

Summary: Theo finds a stray cat in the library. Turns out that stray cat is his sworn enemy.

Warnings: fluff, enemies to lovers, cat animagus, cursing, banter, pet names (kitten, micina, kittycat)

Meow?

Theo whips his head around at the noise. And there he sees a cat sat poised and proper at the center of the potions aisle of the library. Why is there a cat sat at the center of the potions aisle of the library. The cat tilts its head.

“Shh... We’re in a library,” he huffs, flipping through the first few pages of a book with a deep blue cover. He turns on his heel and heads for the small desk pushed up against the wall. The cat slinks after him, leaping from the floor to the chair to the desk.

“Pest,” Theo says. “You know, if you’re choosing to sit there, you’ll have to share with my books.”

The cat sits.

“Have it your way.”

Theo tries not to pay any more mind to the stray as he studies the reactivity of unicorn blood. Luckily, the cat doesn’t move much so it’s not very hard for him to stay focused. It only sinks into itself as it settles, lying on the table. He rolls his eyes and gives in to the cat’s wicked tactics, drawing the tips of his fingers between the little thing’s ears. It begins to purr.

“You’re not so bad. In fact, I’ve had much worse study partners. I’d take you over Matty any day.”

Deciding the cat has foiled his every attempt at retaining information, Theo packs up, reshelves the book, and heads for the library doors.

Meow.

“No, little pest, I can’t take you with me. I’ve already got enough vermin to take care of.”

But her big, dumb eyes twinkle up at him and suddenly he can’t refuse.

“Oh, whatever,” as he holds the door open for her to happily trot through.

She follows him coyly into the great hall, hopping up into the space he usually occupies at mealtime. He stares incredulously at the cat who responds with a jeer: meow. So that’s how it’s going to be. Give an inch and these damn things take a mile.

Pansy leans into Mattheo’s side, whispering, “Isn’t that—?”

“Yes, dear Pansy. Yes, it is,” he chuckles while bringing his cup to his lips. Theo grumbles, trying his best to shoo his new pet out of his spot before finally, begrudgingly, opting to share. What he doesn’t expect is when she curls into his lap after he sits beside her.

He sighs then, scratching its back and fixing himself a plate. He’s a little puzzled as to why the seat directly across from him is vacant, though. That’s usually where you taunt him from every meal. But lately, you’ve been absent.

“Have either of you seen—”

“Nope!” Pansy chuffs through a grin, “not since the last time you asked. Anyway, aren’t you two sworn to be mortal enemies or something?”

Mattheo clears his throat, eyes flicking from the cat in Theo’s lap to its adoring new owner. “Pansy’s right, Theo. You mention her an awful lot for someone who claims to hate her with the fire of a million suns,” he teases, suddenly turning his attention and cocking a brow, “Ohhh, I get it; you love her.”

“No,” Theo huffs petulantly, “She’s my potions partner, and I seem to be doing all the work on our group project.”

“Oh,” Matty rolls his eyes, “your potions partner. Right.”

“Shut up.”

Theo spends the rest of the night up in the dormitories. His cat friend had refused to climb the stairs, and Theo found the kindness in his heart to carry her up the stairs. He has to admit he melted a little when she started purring against his chest halfway to the door.

She finds herself a comfortable spot on his bed, settling contentedly in a ball beside his books and papers.

“Some study partner you are,” he says. He can’t help but amuse her, occasionally taking study breaks to scratch her chin and wonder how long she’d stick around for.

Except, in the morning, he’s a little confused to find a human girl in his bed. In fact, she’s the one human girl he’s known to dislike more than any other. What kind of cruel trick is this. Had Matty really put all that effort into sneaking his enemy into his bed. Matty doesn’t even show up for class half the time.

You stir and stretch your arms above your head, eyes flicking open to an unfamiliar setting. This surely isn’t the girl’s dormitory. So where are you.

“You?” a voice accuses from just above you. Theo sits up, and you startle, teetering off the edge of the bed with a thud.

“Fuck,” you huff, scrambling to your feet and straightening your robes with a frightened look on your face. “Right. I’ll see you… around!”

You’re out the door before he can call after you. Would he even call after you? You’re not sure, but you’re also not going to stick around and find out.

Theo’s heart races in his chest. He’s about to call after you, but he’s too flustered to get the words out so he hurls himself backward on the bed with a sigh.

…

A week trudges by without a sign of you. Honestly, he’s more worried you haven’t been attending meals. And he no longer sees you on weekend group outings. He almost misses your targetted quips. And your laugh. Even if it was at him.

He knows you’re alive, though. A packet had slipped underneath the door as he was getting ready for bed one night. The worksheet had both your names on it; it detailed the instructions to the potions assignment. In your handwriting. But it was worthless without you here to help him in person. He thinks himself crazy, catching glimpses of cat tails around corners or paws pouncing between tree branches.

But he thinks, he can’t be crazy staring at the cat perched still beneath one of the benches in the quad. So he sits and bends down to nudge your cat cheek with the pad of his finger.

“Here, kitty kitty,” he hums. Your eyes blink open, staring at him blankly before pacing out from under the bench and hopping up next to him with a determined stretch. He doesn’t believe his eyes when the docile cat he’s been hunting for the last week transforms into you.

You shrug, not daring to look in his eyes for fear of admitting defeat. “You found me.”

“I’ve missed you, micina,” he teases. Though, maybe there’s a grain of truth in his taunt. But you only roll your eyes.

“Don’t be weird, Nott.”

He scoffs. “Okay, you don’t like me, but you laid on my lap, cuddle with me, spent hours just hanging around me… It’s very confusing.”

“Yeah. So?” You cross your arms over your chest.

“Yeah. So… why?”

You sigh, “just because I think you’re obnoxious doesn’t mean… I don’t like you—”

“Oh, no?”

“Shh, I’m trying to explain!” But it’s hard when you’re both on the verge of laughing at your shared hypocrisy. “We’re… I mean I didn’t think you liked me either! What’s your excuse?”

“You’re changing the subject, kittycat.”

You groan, now turning to face him with all the determination of a militia.

“We’re meant to be rivals, you know. We’re the same blood status, the same house, we have the same damned friend group, and no matter how hard I try, you still manage to get slightly higher marks than me!”

“I know,” he teases.

“So… I wanted to see what you were doing differently.”

“So you slept in my bed?”

“I had a change of plans!” you squeak, shrugging when he chuckles under his breath.

“Which was?”

“Well…” You shake your head, realzing it sounds a little silly under his scrutiny like this. “Maybe if I distracted you, you’d do poorly on your OWLs.”

He snickers.

“But we got the same score so…” you groan, “we cuddled for nothing.” He sets his hand gently on your knee, and for once, you can’t tell if he’s messing with you or not.

“Nothing? Really?”

He leans in closer, and now you’re sure he’s trying to distract you. You press your hand to his chest and he watches your eyes widen with amusement.

“No! No, it’s your turn. I’d like you to hear your reason since you’ve already proven yourself to be better than me and any reason you give is going to be a load of bull—”

“You talk too much.” He says it with a smug expression, looking down on you while leaning back into his palms.

“That’s not”—you squint at him, just knowing he’s taking the piss—“I barely talk to you at all. In fact, I only do so when I’m forced!”

“No, you misunderstand me,” he hums, expression softening as his voice lowers, suddenly becoming a much more private conversation, “You talk too much to everyone but me.”

Your jaw goes slack, and he smiles a little, knowing the way both of your hearts race when you look in his eyes.

“Oh.”

“Yes, oh,” he teases, nudging your arm and shifting closer, “Come on, micina mia, you didn’t really think I hated you. It’s all talk. I mean, you can be annoyingly pretty at times, and I hate it when you ignore me, but I could never hate you. Not now that I know your little secret… kitten.”

He’s surprised when you laugh, grabbing his arm to steady yourself.

“Theo, I think everyone knows my little secret but you,” you say, grinning at him in pure delight at his disbelief.

“You’re joking!”

“No!”

“Those bastards,” he huffs, thinking of Matty and Pansy whispering and giggling in the great hall. You stand and brush off your robe, and he follows hurriedly, hovering next to you.

“More cuddling?” he teases, and you turn to him with a smile.

“Got a thing for cats, Nott?”

“No, no,”—He matches your grin and leans in to gently peck your cheek—“Just a thing for you.”

masterlist

[purple-babygirl]

in the far corner of the forest III

Pairing: Orc!Bucky Barnes x human!f!reader

Word Count: 6,540

Summary: For the longest time, the kingdom has used Bucky as their number one fighter, forcing him to win their wars for them. The only thing he asked for in return after he was done was that they give him a wife, and they did. They handed him the orphan he picked on a silver platter; it wasn't like anyone would miss her. It would've been perfect if she actually wanted to be there though.

Warnings: hand injury, mentions of blood, wound sutures/stitches, angry behaviour, jealousy, fighting, crying, racism against orcs. I think that's all.

A/N: this is the longest part yet because it might take me a while with part 4 depending on how the very important interview i have on the 17th goes. please send me good wishes on the stars if possible i would really appreciate it. And please enjoy this one and let me know what you thought if you can xx💜💜

~

“I got you something, little human,” Bucky said, his tone softer than it was that same afternoon as he scratched the back of his head.

He was new to courting, and it wasn’t exactly normal that he was courting his already-wife. Still, he was doing everything possible.

Bucky’s life has all been about fighting and wars. He didn’t do love or courtship. He didn’t do coddling or romancing. But there was a first time for everything and he was trying his best.

“Thank you,” she replied without looking up, pretending to be focused on folding laundry.

She was ignoring him.

Bucky had let his voice get loud a couple of hours ago after he had found her lost in the forest again. Only this time her foot was already messed up and she needed the rest, but she wouldn’t listen.

It hurt him how much pain she was willing to go through if it meant she could get away from him, but he wouldn’t let it show.

Instead, he yelled in frustration as he brought her back to their cottage.

She seemed like she wouldn’t quit, and so he wasn’t going to quit either.

Despite her constant rejection, Bucky refused to give up, his determination fueled by a newfound sense of purpose. He was willing to endure anything, face anything, if it meant earning even a glimmer of acceptance, or even affection, from her.

“You didn’t even see what I got you,” Bucky tried again, hoping she would at least look at him.

When she did, he gave a tiny smile and walked to the cottage door, bringing something inside.

“Here.” He dragged in a shiny wooden chair and placed it before his on their small dining table.

“You bought me a chair,” she said, pretending to be uninterested to hide the warmth that just spread throughout her heart.

“I made you a chair,” Bucky corrected, proudly palming the smooth wood, swiping his tongue over his tusks.

Bucky knew gifts were an essential part of courting and he didn’t like how she had to eat on the bed while he ate alone on the dining table because he only owned one chair.

He knew his days as a loner were long gone and it made his heart swell that he had her to share his house and life with now.

So he got to work and decided to make her her own chair out of an old oak tree. Being a lumberjack who had a woodworking shop had its perks after all.

It was going to be a weekend surprise, but he thought now was better timing after the fight they just had.

“You— you made this? From scratch?” She stood up in surprise, laundry forgotten for now.

“Yes.”

“For me?” She asked, not able to hide her emotions at the kind gesture anymore.

“Yeah,” Bucky chuckled, taking a step back so she could examine the chair.

She sat down and a big smile found its way on her lips when she looked up at Bucky. The chair was comfy and new and hers.

No one has ever gotten her anything, let alone made her something so beautiful. It was so special and a flood of emotions washed over her at the idea that someone had actually thought of her enough to make her a chair. That Bucky had made her a chair.

“Thank you,” she whispered, breaking eye contact so that she wouldn’t tear up.

Bucky only nodded in reply, internally celebrating the win with his heart doing backflips. She liked the chair.

She stood up and closed the small distance between her and the orc, getting on her tiptoes to press a quick kiss to his cheek, “welcome home.”

She quickly put the clean laundry in its place in the closet and went to the kitchen to start dinner, leaving Bucky with the most idiotic smile on his face as he shifted back and forth on his feet like a teenager.

She was punishing him for yelling at her by not making dinner, but that chair and the effort behind it deserved a good meal.

~

She was cleaning up after dinner later that night when she heard Bucky moving stuff outside. She didn’t pay it much mind; it was his house after all.

“Come outside, little human,” his voice called for her and she tentatively stepped out of the kitchen.

Bucky was standing by the open cottage door, a hopeful smile on his face as he encouragingly nodded for her to come over to him.

She didn’t know what to think, but any chance not to stay cooped up inside the cottage was going to receive a yes from her.

It wasn’t like she was ungrateful. She was certainly thankful she had a roof over her head and warm walls that she could hide inside from the rain and the cold.

But again, her situation wasn’t the most ideal either. If it was up to her, she would have stayed at the orphanage with the rest of the girls because if her fate was drawn for her to be an isolated orc’s wife, she didn’t want to be married.

When she stepped outside, however, marriage and Bucky didn’t seem that bad for a second.

“I thought we could watch the stars now that the sky was clear,” Bucky explained, internally nervous that she might call him ridiculous and refuse to sit with him.

He had waited for a day without rain and laid out a thick blanket on the ground before their cottage, the way lit for her feet by a close by lantern he had put out.

She was enthralled, mouth open and breath stolen. Tears welled up in her eyes, a mixture of joy and disbelief engulfing her.

Bucky has even went as far as bringing out the shawl he had gotten her just in case she felt cold.

It was just like… a date.

Her heart raced and she smiled shyly at the orc, making him smile too as he watched her sit down on the blanket, holding her knees to her as she glanced up at the night sky nervously.

She has never been on a date before in her life, the town’s boys always picking other girls from the orphanage to fool around with, but never her. She was never really anyone’s type.

She slightly shook her head to shut down her insecure thoughts, knowing that none of those player town boys could have ever brought her on a date like this.

“Is the ground too cold?” Bucky asked as he draped her shawl over her shoulders.

She hugged the soft material around her body, smiling gratefully at the orc as she shook her head.

She was too shy to even speak at this point, her mind barely registering the amazingly romantic end to her day that Bucky had brought into existence.

Bucky then laid down on his back, wordlessly urging her to do the same.

She got on her back, eyes mesmerized by the sight of the stars. She has never seen so many before, her view from her room’s window at the orphanage was very limited.

It was different here in the middle of the woods because there were no town lights to take the view away from the sky and it was gorgeous.

“So beautiful,” she whispered with a smile, observing how the stars sparkled above them.

“Yes, the most beautiful,” Bucky whispered back, watching her as she watched the sky.

He wished she could one day look at him the same way she was looking at those stars; the same way he was looking at her.

In his eyes, there was a mix of determination and yearning, reflecting his unwavering commitment to win her heart despite her initial reluctance. Bucky’s gaze lingered on her, drinking in every detail as if he couldn’t believe she was really here, right next to him.

She turned her eyes to him, her shy smile widening, “thank you for this, Bucky.”

Gods, the way she said his name was something else.

“You’re welcome, sweet thing.” Bucky smiled back, turning his eyes back to the sky as to not make her uncomfortable under his stare.

As they silently continued stargazing, she felt her heart become lighter. She felt so serene, so content, and she had suddenly forgiven Bucky for raising his voice at her just hours ago, wanting nothing but for this peacefulness to last for as long as possible.

Was it imaginable for marriage to be this good? Could her life finally be turning around?

She couldn’t help but want to see Bucky in a different light in this very moment.

She knew that he was harsh sometimes, but she also knew that she wasn’t making it easy for him either.

Maybe she didn’t choose him and didn’t choose this marriage, but Bucky was trying with real effort and she wasn’t blind to it.

Bucky cared for her when she was sick. He provided for her. He brought her gifts, filled up her half of the closet for her with anything and everything she could need. And he, most importantly, apologized when he was in the wrong, which wasn’t something common for the human males of this kingdom. He also respected her boundaries and hadn’t tried touching her after their first night together.

Could this all be preparation for the purpose of bedding?

No, it couldn’t be. Bucky didn’t need to do this to get her in his bed. He had already had her there and he had willingly let her go. He could have his way with her anytime if he really wanted to.

She wanted to believe that this moment was real so bad. She wanted to believe that Bucky was trying to win her heart.

So she did.

And if Bucky was trying, she was going to start trying too.

She knew just the thing to do actually.

She was going to make Bucky strawberry jam tomorrow to show him how grateful she was.

She might have not much to offer, but she knew she made the most delicious fruit jams and marmalades. It was her specialty at the orphanage. All the other girls always managed to ruin the jams, adding too much or too little sugar, applying too much heat or not enough, eventually producing something inedible. But not her. No, that was one thing she knew with her whole heart that she was good at.

She might’ve not been the prettiest of the girls, but she deserved a good life and she was now determined to build one. With Bucky.

She wasn’t in love with him, she knew that, but she didn’t need love to have a good marriage. Respect and effort were going to be enough.

This marriage could be her chance at building a life worth living.

“Could you bring home some strawberries tomorrow?”

~

“Oh my gods, this is amazing!” Bucky exclaimed, sliding another spoonful of strawberry jam in his mouth.

“I’m happy you like it,” she replied proudly, a smile plastered on her timid features as she brought a basket of sliced bread to the table.

It felt so good to have someone other than the orphanage girls taste her hand’s making. Receiving Bucky’s praise felt so much different than all the compliments she’s ever received before.

It felt… way better.

“It’s really good, little human.” Bucky was too busy adding jam on the piece of bread in his hand, groaning as he slipped it into his mouth and chewed, “how much of this did you make?”

She laughed, “well, I wanted to start with a small pot because I didn’t know if you liked jam and I didn’t wanna throw out any of it, but we have enough if you finish this and want more!”

“None of this is getting thrown out, little human,” Bucky told her seriously, “I asked because I wanted to take some to Sarah. She has a sweet tooth and she would love this.”

A frown quickly replaced her smile at the mention of another female’s name. She suddenly felt like wanting to take the bowl of jam away from the orc. Hell, she felt like she wanted to get back the jam he had already ate and swallowed.

“Who’s Sarah?” She asked, trying to act nonchalant as she greased her bread with some jam.

“She’s Sam’s sister,” Bucky answered innocently, oblivious to the way she hummed with her jaw clenched.

“And who’s Sam?”

“Oh, right, you don’t know Sam. He’s my best friend; and my partner in the shop. Great guy,” Bucky told her, more interested in the jam than her reaction.

At least Sam was a male.

So just to be clear, Bucky wanted to take the jam she made to his best friend’s sister so she could have a taste and satisfy her sweet tooth? Yeah, she didn’t like that very much.

“Is she, like, married?” She wondered, trying hard not to show her anger.

“Who?” Bucky asked, chewing the bite in his mouth, the foreign question finally gaining his attention.

“Sweet tooth Sarah,” she answered with a somewhat bitter tone that Bucky has never heard before, her thumb swiping under his plump lips before she could stop herself as she harshly wiped away jam from the orc’s face.

The realization as to why her mood had suddenly turned sour made Bucky smile as he hurriedly swallowed his food, “little human,”

She looked up at him with a silent glare.

Despite her efforts to appear unaffected, there was a vulnerability in her eyes, a hint of insecurity betraying her true feelings

“Are you… jealous?”

Bucky’s amused smile made her even angrier as she watched his lips literally twitching.

Jealous? Pfft, of course not! Why would she be jealous!

“No!” She replied aloud defensively, “it was just a question.” She stood up, collecting the plates from the table without asking if Bucky was done eating.

“Hey, that’s mine!” Bucky laughed, holding onto the small bowl of jam.

“Try to save some for your Sarah,” she snapped, snatching her hand from the orc’s as she let him have the bowl.

Bucky raised an eyebrow at her surprising reaction, his widening smile still glued to his face.

She frustratingly sped to the kitchen, violently twisting the water tab open as she rolled her sleeves up and started washing the things in the sink.

She had went through all this trouble and used all of these bowls that she now had to wash just for him to want to take her jam to another female to eat.

Who did he think he was?

It was her fault for trying to do something nice in the first place.

He didn’t even answer her question, and that Sarah was probably unmarried. She was probably an orc too. Yeah, it made sense that Bucky would be attracted to someone similar to him. Those two ‘friends’ were probably part of his clan.

The clan he never introduced her to.

How naive was she to think this marriage could actually work?

Bucky was outside still smiling to himself like a fool as he finished the rest of her sweet jam.

She was jealous. She was jealous over him.

He didn’t want to upset her though, so he didn’t say anything, letting her calm down first.

He took the empty bowl to her, setting it in the sink as she avoided looking at him.

She heard him chuckle as he left the kitchen and it made her punch the sponge in her hand inside the bowl, pounding it angrily as she ‘washed’ it clean.

When she was done cleaning the kitchen and brushing her teeth, she stomped out to the bed, getting in and covering herself from head to toe as she gave Bucky her back.

Bucky walked to the lanterns and dimmed their lights before joining her in bed.

He laid on his back, innocently waiting for his good night’s kiss.

A minute passed. 2 minutes. 5 minutes. The kiss didn’t come.

“Hey,” Bucky whispered as not to startle her in the dark, “we had a deal. Where’s my kiss?” He put a hopeful hand on her shoulder, trying to twist her to face him.

“Have Sarah give you your kiss,” she replied with a deadpan tone, masking her fury as she pushed her pillow over her head, shrugging Bucky’s touch off her body.

Bucky stared at the back turned to him with an open mouth as he took his hand away and laid back, disappointment replacing his surprise and filling him up.

It was the first time since she had started feeling well again that she has refused to give him any of his kisses. Yet, respectful of her feelings, Bucky let her.

Maybe making her jealous wasn’t all that fun after all. But he didn’t even mean to make her jealous, he was just talking!

Bucky sighed, turning on his side as well as he fell asleep staring at the hidden back of her head.

~

The next morning as she put his breakfast on the table, she didn’t sit or eat with him, preferring to scrub the kitchen sink while Bucky ate even though she had just washed it the night before.

She didn’t give him his good morning kiss either; didn’t even speak to him.

She was still mad at him. This was serious for her, he realized.

Bucky might have found it fun last night, but today as she deliberately ignored his existence, he wanted nothing but to make her understand that what was in her head was nothing like the truth.

“Here, I packed jam for your sweet tooth Sarah,” she said harshly as she set a small jar of strawberry jam on the table before him.

“She’s not my—”

“Hope she likes it,” she cut him off, disappearing into the kitchen again.

Bucky sighed aloud, running a hand over his face as he stood up. Grabbing the jam, he took one look at the kitchen entrance before leaving the house for work with a clenched jaw.

She peeked outside when she heard the door shut to see the table empty. Bucky had taken the jar to Sarah.

Oh, that was it.

She could take being given to an orc against her will. She could take never having been chosen or given the chance to choose. She could take not being loved.

But she couldn’t and wouldn’t take being cheated on.

Was that why Bucky had decided to relieve her off her wifely duties in bed? Because he had another female? Was it because he had someone else to keep him warm and wet where he needed to be?

She couldn’t even think about the idea without feeling herself gag.

Why would he ruin her life by bringing her here when he already had that Sarah?!

How could she be so dumb, trying to meet him in the middle like that? Starting a peaceful life with this orc was never going to work!

She tried to pick the lock on the door like she usually would, but the new lock Bucky had put in wouldn’t budge.

She groaned in frustration before hauling herself up and out of the cottage window, running off to gods know where, hoping that luck would be her friend for once and maybe lead her somewhere out of these woods for good this time.

This marriage ends today.

~

Back at the shop, Bucky was as exasperated as they come as he used his chisel to shape the rough piece of wood in his hand.

After everything he was doing, how could she think that he had someone else? What was he doing wrong? What was missing?

Bucky had only ever wanted her. He thought he was the luckiest orc just because he got to fall asleep next to her every night.

How could he make her see that?

As his mind ran with thoughts and before Bucky could stop it, the chisel slipped and sharply cut the inside of his palm.

“Gods, fuck!” He shouted in pain as blood started flowing from the fresh wound.

Bucky tried to get the chisel from the floor so that no one would step on it, but his hand hurt more when he tried to squeeze his fist around the item. He grabbed it with his metal hand instead, rushing to the supply closet to find a clean towel to wrap around his cut.

He couldn’t continue working like that; couldn’t do anything with his hand.

Sam insisted on sending for his sister after seeing the amount of blood staining the cloth around Bucky’s hand.

Sarah tried to be efficient while messily stitching the wound as best as she could, wrapping it up carefully with gauze before advising Bucky to take a few days off work until his hand was healed. She was no doctor but she did her best for her friend.

Bucky thanked both siblings, giving Sarah the jam jar before leaving to go back home as his friends insisted.

He thought that his day couldn’t get any worse, but then he opened the cottage door to find the place empty and he could all but forget about his injury as he slammed his fist against the wall, crying out in anger. If his wound had started bleeding again, Bucky didn’t care.

~

“What the hell did you think you were doing out there again?!”

Bucky was enraged. He had found her wandering around the forest, as lost and as stubborn as ever.

“Getting as far away from you as possible.” She crossed her arms, her stare upset and unbending.

“And going where exactly!” He shouted, the idea of her spending the night inside a cold cave clawing at his back.

“Anywhere but here!” She yelled back, her face so hot she could feel sweat forming on her hairline in the middle of winter.

“It’s going to snow soon! Do you wanna get sick again?” Bucky held her by the arm, not too roughly as he didn’t really want to cause any real damage.

Neither of them noticed his blood staining her clothes.

She was too infuriated to notice Bucky’s hand wrapped in gauze. She saw nothing but red.

“I don’t care. I just don’t wanna be with you!” She retorted, snatching her arm out of his hold and pushing at his chest.

Though he didn’t move, her touch too weak to do anything to his colossal body, Bucky was hurt.

“Are you doing all of this just because of a little jealousy? Gods, human females are just—” Bucky shook his head in frustration.

“Jealousy? Hah! You think I’m jealous?” She faked a laugh, “this is not even a real marriage! What’s there for me to be jealous over?!” She continued raising her voice, the mention of her jealousy provoking her further.

Her words hurt Bucky more, the real gash now slashed across his heart.

Not even a real marriage.

Despite everything he was doing and trying, she still didn’t consider their marriage a real marriage.

“Well, do you wanna make it real, little human?” Bucky growled lowly, bringing her closer to his heaving chest by her arm, painting the sleeve of her dress in more of his blood.

Her heart thrummed in her ears at the proximity, her breath trembling as she imagined what the orc could do to her if he only wanted to.

“Let go of me,” she whispered as tears clouded her vision, hoping he wouldn’t be able to hear how scared she was in her voice.

Bucky complied, hating how nervous she got in the span of a second.

She ran to the kitchen at once, a hand on her chest as she felt her heart trying to escape her ribcage.

What an audacious orc! He was already with someone else and he dared threaten her with taking her to bed?! Damn, she was so stupid to think they could make something good out of this marriage. So stupid.

Bucky took a seat on the bed, face in his metal hand as he tried to gather his thoughts.

He had almost lost her for the millionth time today.

Was it going to be like this forever? What could he do to make it stop? How could he show her that this life with her was all he ever wanted? That he never wanted anybody else?

“You’re not gonna eat with me?” He asked when he saw her slam one bowl of rice on the table.

“I’m not hungry,” she replied curtly, her eyes on the ground and her jaw tense as she waited for him to get off the bed.

Bucky moved away understandably, taking a seat on the dining table instead as she climbed in bed, burying herself under the covers and hiding away from him.

Bucky knew she wasn’t asleep and he needed to talk to her; or at least see her face.

How was he supposed to have an appetite to eat if she wasn’t on the table with him, her beautiful eyes facing him and her shy smile greeting him every time he would moan over the taste of her delicious food?

“Hey.”

She felt the bed dip next to her as it took on Bucky’s body, his warm hand on her shoulder just like last night.

“Let your sweet tooth Sarah give you a kiss,” she spoke before he could say anything.

“This is not about the kiss. And She’s not my Sarah,” Bucky told her, turning her on her back so she could see his sincere face and hopefully believe him, “she’s not my anything. She’s just a good friend.”

She snorted, not buying it as she turned back to face the wall.

Bucky brought her back to him again, “she’s not married. She’s a widow, who is loyal to the memory of her husband, with two kids that are her whole world.” Bucky answered her earlier question, not wanting to hide anything from her.

“That’s none of my business.” She pretended to be uninterested, giving him the cold shoulder for the third time as she turned away, covering her head with the blanket.

Deep inside, she knew she was relieved to know that Sarah wasn’t interested though.

“It is your business,” Bucky sighed, taking the blanket away from her hands, making her look at him again, “it is your business when you think I’m involved with her.”

“You can do whatever you want.” She shrugged, acting indifferent, making Bucky more frustrated.

He released a loud exhale, “you’re what I want, little human.”

She remained silent, not expecting the orc’s patience or this admittance.

He had told her he wanted her before, but that was on their ‘wedding night’ when he had forced her to get completely naked for him.

This one was different. It sounded different and felt different.

“You don’t have to say all these things. We both know how this marriage came to be a thing.” She tried her best to hold her tears in.

“How did it come to be a thing?” Bucky wanted to see inside her head.

“How?” She sat up, her voice loud yet wobbly with emotions, “they gave you an orphaned girl you didn’t get to see or pick beforehand to make up for making you go to war for them, that’s how!” She felt bad for him, but even more for herself.

So she had read the contracts.

“Who told you I didn’t get to see or pick you?” Bucky swallowed.

“What do you mean?!”

“I’ve seen you before, little human. More than once. And I asked for you to be my wife instead of the noble man’s daughter I was originally offered.” Bucky came clean about the truth behind their arranged marriage.

“You what?!” She became even angrier.

He did this? She was here now because of him?!

“I willingly picked you, little human.”

“Why! Why me! Did you ever stop to think that I might not want this? Or you?!” She practically screamed in anger.

Who was he to decide her future for her? Why didn’t he just take the nobleman’s daughter!

“I did. But you were the only human female who has ever caught my attention. I couldn’t take my eyes off you every time I won a glimpse.” Bucky confessed, his light grey skin gaining a tint at the cheeks as he bared his heart to her, “I knew I couldn’t continue if I didn’t have you, little human.”

Won a glimpse

Couldn’t continue if I didn’t have you

No one has ever used such words to describe an act so normal as looking at her. No one had ever wanted or needed her. Why was her heartbeat speeding up? What was that orc doing to her?

“The minute you entered my cottage, you became my one and only. I don’t want anyone but you.” He promised, squeezing her smaller hand in his, “I will live and die loyal to you, little human.”

She knew he was telling the truth because she had heard the stories. Loyalty was very important to orcs and their mates were for life.

She just stared at Bucky, words stolen from her throat by the way he was looking at her.

No one has ever looked at her like that. Like she was the most beautiful thing they could see. Like she was the only girl in the world. Like she was the only one with any sort of control over this orc’s mind and heart.

“When I suggested gifting Sarah some jam, I was only thinking of doing something nice for a friend.”

She listened with a frown, a little angry again at the mention of the other female’s name.

“If it wasn’t for Sam and Sarah and the boys, I wouldn’t have survived a lot of things. They are my only friends and the only ones I can share nice things with.”

“The only ones?” She pouted, turning her face to the dining table in discontent.

“That’s not what I meant! I just— I’m not used to saying such things, but—” Bucky took a deep breath, squeezing her smaller hand closer, “I was so proud of you being my wife and knowing how to make such delicious things that I wanted the important ones in my life to share it with me…”

Bucky didn’t have to know, but those words were everything to her because when she thought about it, no one has ever been proud to know or have her. No one has ever been proud of her for anything.

But Bucky was, and he wanted to show her off.

When she looked back at the orc, he was staring at the blanket covering her thighs, doubtful to meet her gaze.

Bucky looked… nervous, if you will.

She smiled, eyes tearing up despite herself as she waited for him to look back at her.

When he did, Bucky was instantly smiling back at the sight of her grin. That smile was the whole world for him; it sent him up on cloud nine.

“Have dinner with me?” He asked, his metal thumb wiping away a stray tear from the corner of her eye.

She nodded, her smile bigger as she got up and walked to the kitchen to make herself a plate, her heart going a hundred miles per minute as she couldn’t make her smile leave her face.

She wanted to be angrier over the fact that he got to choose and she didn’t, but then again, if she was being honest with herself, she probably could have never dreamt up a husband as good as Bucky was to her if she tried.

She believed that everything happened for a reason and she was too dreamy not to imagine that this whole marriage had to happen exactly the way it did just for her to meet this orc, and maybe, against all odds, have her happy ending with him.

Taking the lid off of the rice pot, she finally saw it: her palm covered in fresh blood.

“Oh gods!” She quickly washed her hand under the water, seeing and feeling no injuries, the realization that it must be Bucky’s blood sent a pang to her chest.

“Bucky?” Tears blurred her vision as she found the orc in the bathroom, trying and failing to remove the wrapping around his right palm with his left one.

She had been forced into this marriage, a union she never agreed to, but as she watched him struggle to tend to his wound, something inside her softened.

How did she not notice that he had come home with a covered up hand?

“Are you okay?!” Bucky asked, troubled to see her crying even when he was the one bleeding above his bathroom sink.

Her heart clenched at the sight; at the care in his cerulean eyes, “what happened to you?”

She sped up to get the first-aid box from him, getting out everything she was going to need as she looked at his bloody palm.

“It’s nothing, sweet thing,” Bucky told her softly, hating the look of anxiety on her precious face even if it was for him; even if it was making him feel all sorts of things, “just a scratch, really. Nothing I can’t handle”.

She tenderly finished unwrapping his hand, gasping as she saw the bleeding gash across it, “this doesn’t look like nothing!” She cried, more tears streaming down her face, “how did you get this?”

“I just hurt myself while working…” Bucky’s metal hand hesitantly pat her shoulder.

“Bucky.” She looked up at him, not believing that that was the only reason because the wound seemed to be loosely stitched and it was obvious that something had happened to make the wound bleed after it had been stitched.

“And I might have punched the wall when I came home and didn’t find you,” Bucky mumbled lowly, not wanting to make her feel bad.

It was just a silly scrape compared to what he had to endure back when he was still fighting wars, really.

“I’m so sorry,” she sobbed into the back of her hand, feeling terrible for all the things she has been putting him through ever since she came here.

“Hey, I’m okay.” Bucky’s metal hand cupped her cheek, his smooth thumb sliding across to wipe her tears.

“No, you’re not.” She shook her head in deep regret, not believing that he was still the one reassuring her in such a state.

“I am, I swear on our marriage.” Bucky wiped under her eyes patiently, caring about nothing but her heart carrying no burdens.

She was speechless because did Bucky just use their marriage to swear? Was it really that important to him that he would swear on it?

She didn’t care that this was an arranged marriage in possibly the most twisted of ways, a woman knew love when she encountered it and that orc’s eyes were showing nothing but pure love.

In the middle of her heart’s longing for a person to care about her, she couldn’t bring herself to step on Bucky’s. Trying to calm her down when he was the one injured and dripping blood? Yeah, that was an orc worth trying, caring and staying for.

“I’m— I’m gonna need to redo the stitches, is that okay?” She sniffled, relaxing herself as she wordlessly promised those concerned blue eyes to give them and this marriage her all.

“Yes.” Bucky smiled when he saw her wipe her tears away and the smile she gave him back made his heart soar.

“It might hurt a little, but just for a short bit, okay?”

Bucky nodded, not believing how delicately she was handling his huge hand with her smaller ones.

He was glad she never had to witness him back then or the actually deadly injuries he had had inflicted on him during wars. He wouldn’t have been able to take that look of fear in her eyes after every fight.

“Who did those sloppy stitches anyway?” She wondered in dissatisfaction with the work and Bucky swallowed hard.

She looked at him knowingly when he remained silent, “it was sweet tooth Sarah, wasn’t it?” She asked with half a smile as she started cautiously taking out the old stitches with the tweezers.

“Yes.” Bucky nodded sheepishly, “but Sam only called for her help because they don’t offer me help in the kingdom’s infirmaries.”

“What?!” Her head snapped up angrily.

They don’t offer him service at the infirmaries?! After all that he had done for this kingdom?

“I’m no longer a soldier of their own so…” Bucky shrugged with a sad smile.

Her expression went from angry to devastated to angry again in less than a second, “this is gonna sting a little.” She warned as she disposed of the old sutures in the bin.

“Don’t be upset, little human.”

She looked up, not knowing what to say or how to apologize to the orc about the terrible treatment of this kingdom’s people, but his smile told her that everything was going to be all right. She couldn’t help but smile back.

Her eyes swayed between his palm and his face as she started disinfecting the wound with the piece of sterilized cotton in her hand.

Bucky hissed and winced, making her stop at once.

“I’m sorry! I’m so so—”

“Ha, fooled ya! It’s not that bad,” Bucky laughed, amused at her reaction, instantly earning himself a slap on his shoulder with the back of her hand.

“Hey, you can’t do that to the injured!” Bucky whined playfully.

“Can’t I?” She teased, biting her smile back.

He smiled wider because she could.

Oh, she could do anything to him and he would take it with a smile and thank her for it.

For a heartbeat, the world around Bucky seemed to blur as he focused solely on her, engraving every detail of her smile into his memory. It was a sight he never wanted to forget, a ray of light in the darkness that had clouded his years for so long.

Everything was going to be okay, Bucky thought as he brought her to his chest with his metal arm, praying to the gods she wouldn’t pull away.

“I’m— I’m almost done,” she muttered coyly, trying to make him let her go so she could finish tending to his injury.

But then she felt it: her husband’s tusks were pressing gently on her scalp as Bucky kissed her hair.

Her breath caught in her throat, a mixture of surprise and tenderness washing over her as she felt herself wanting to stay longer inside his embrace.

“Thank you, little human,” he whispered lovingly.

As she tilted her head slightly to meet Bucky’s captivating eyes, she found herself lost in the depths of their oceans, catching a vulnerability she hadn't noticed before.

She looked deeper and she realized that beneath his rugged exterior lied a heart capable of great tenderness, a heart that might just beat for her and her alone.

She beamed again as she softly replied, “you’re welcome, Bucky.”

Yeah, they were going to be okay.

Part IV

~

Tag List:

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[jasminumdew]

Rafayel (merman x siren reader)

Notes: This was written based on Rafayel’s rut which was presented in the Ebb and Flow card

Summary: You went out hunting to feed your sick merman lover, but he doesn’t seem to be hungry, at least not in that way.

Event host: this fic was written for Monster Mash Event, hosted by lovely @nanamiscocksleeve

Warnings: MDNI, gore, manslaughter, merman goes into rut, public sex

W/c: 1.2k

“Captain, we’re very close to that area now”

“Prepare the spears, net, every crew member gets to the harpoon gun now. We only get one chance, either we catch it or it’s the last day for all of us”

With the captain’s order, everyone quickly rushes to the ship's sides. All eyes were focused on the sudden movement of the waves, so no one paid attention to the piercing eyes locking on their backs. It’s not until the first note sang out that they realized their mistake. 

“Everyone, plug your ears. NOW!!” The captain's screams couldn’t reach their ears anymore, since it was filled with the most heavenly voice they’d ever heard. Can this be considered a peaceful death - when your heart was fluttering, mind clouded and blurry by a symphony? You wouldn’t say that, because only 10 seconds after hearing your song, the hallucination starts. One by one, the crew members collapsed onto the floor, some jumped and fed themselves to the hungry monster under the deep sea. Their hands reach to the nearest weapons, frantic red eyes looking like it’s gonna be popped out by how irritated the blood vessels got, having to witness their own death caused by their own hands. 

You don’t feel any grief for being that cruel to them. Humans share many similar features with sirens, even more than they have with mermaids. But they are all so weak, no really, they don’t have a pair of wings behind their backs or feathers on their thighs to protect them from the harsh weather like your kind do, nor do they have tails to move fast underwater like mermaids. That’s why they are only lower species who are destined to be feasted on. You keep rambling while tearing their breast out with your sharp claws, their constant begging falls on deaf ears. You’re not familiar with skinning humans so some organs were mixed with meat and fat, normally there’s another one that would deal with this task and you just gonna let them feed you the best bits. You couldn’t help grinning from ear to ear, thinking how proud of you he’s gonna be when you bring him this fresh heart that’s still beating slowly on your bloody palm. 

As you fly back home, you find his silhouette resting on the entrance, where the waves can reach his merman’s tail. 

“Babyyy I’m back. Look what I got!”

He huffs, narrowing his eyes.

“Couldn’t you tell me already? Gosh, the smell is awful. Human meat?”

You’re taken aback by his cold and sarcastic demeanor but quickly brush it off, considering he’s not in his best condition. 

“It’s a human heart. I hope it can cheer you up or at least make you less grumpy”

You reach out to pat his hair, it always does a great job to calm him down. Before you even touched his blue strand, your wrist was grabbed firmly by his hand. 

“You went hunting alone? Do you know how dangerous it is? They have weapons that can kill us in a heartbeat. Why didn’t you tell me first?” 

The heat spreading from his palm feels like it can burn your delicate skin, you try to struggle out of his hold but to no avail. 

“But you needed to rest. I’m fully capable of killing them alone, there weren’t even a scratch”

“You’re covered in blood. Next time don’t do unnecessary things like this. You smell like dead people.” He continues his nagging, there’s no point in getting hurt over his words, you know he would never say things like this in the right headspace. You put the bloody heart aside and clean all the nasty blood on your feathers, it seems to be clear that he doesn’t want any snack right now. 

As you finish cleaning up, you take a seat on his big tail, careful not to scratch him accidentally with your sharp claws. His body stiffens when you sit on his lap, grunting in his throat as your hand touches his forehead to check his body heat.

“Raf? This body temperature is not normal at all! What’s wrong?”

“I’m fine” his hands gripping on your waist to stop you from squirming on his lap, “It happens once a year. I just sleep it off” 

Once a year? Suddenly everything clicks in your mind.

“You’re in a rut, aren’t you?” Every signal is checked: abnormal body heat, labored breathing, dilated pupils, unexplainable mood swings…He doesn’t reply but his eyes shift to his lower abdomen. Your gaze follows him to find his thin fabric was drenched in precum. Blood rushes to your cheek and your heart beats with excitement when you pull it down, revealing his enormous erection. Merman’s manhood in general is way bigger than that of sirens, but it’s especially huge today, the heavy red tip rests on his belly, waiting to pump his seed all over your fertile flower. 

Your heavy wings spread out, covering your bodies from the outside world to get some privacy. 

“Don’t” 

“What?” your eyes looking up all confused.

“Don’t spread your wings. I want everyone to see that you’re mine to claim.”

You do just as you were told to, not without looking around to check for anyone around first. You don’t dare to confess, but the thought of someone watching you being such a slut for your lover caused waves of arousal inside you. Just from the smirk on his lips, you can tell he knows it already. 

He nearly choked on his breath when you ran your hand down his erected shaft, his tail splashes the waves impatiently. You kiss your way down his abdomen, licking and biting on his skin. Your mouth can only take half of his length, the rest have your hands do the work. Within minutes of you sucking his sensitive tip, he pushes your head away. His cock twitches angrily, begging for friction. 

“I need to feel you, please. I’ll make up for you later, but I really have to cum inside you”

With a nod from you, he aligns his tip clumsily and thrusts all the way in, reaching your womb. It doesn’t go any softer after he finishes, but the semen acts as an aphrodisiac to you. Your inside burns with the slow thrusts and lazy strokes on your bundle of nerves, so much that you sob into his chest, begging him to pick up the pace. At night, when your womb has no space for his cum anymore, that’s when he comes back to normal and peppers you with kisses. You’re sure that your eggs are all fertilized now, and he’ll need to find a bigger cave for your crowded family tomorrow. 

There’s so many things to prepare, but now, you just sleep in each other’s embrace without any care and leave it for tomorrow. Such an odd thing that two species who have nothing in common fell in love with each other. It’s truly beautiful, how you two can find out a whole new world that you’ve never known of, he’s the deep dangerous sea that you craved for one time to dive in, and you’re the cloud, the moon, the sun he couldn’t reach. Everything just feels right being with the right person, no matter the differences.

[scintie]

a spark of black

Pairing: Gambit/Remy LeBeau x female reader. Summary: Ever since you appeared at the resistance hideout along with Wade and Logan, tension between you and a certain Cajun card slinger has been steadily growing. One fateful night you finally get the chance to relieve some of it. Tags: smut (male receiving), blowjob, mild dominant undertones. Notes: be gentle, this is the first piece of writing that I've uploaded in yeeeeears. :')

You watched Remy’s mouth move, his lips forming words that you just couldn’t decipher. He was obviously speaking to you, it was just the two of you sat in the main room of the hideout.

Earlier in the evening everyone had been gathered, sharing stories and drinks. The others had all turned in for the night an hour or so ago, leaving you and the Cajun to continue on without them. Wade had made his exit by saying something predictably crude about not being too loud while fucking each others brains out. Remy had waved him off while you did nothing but blush.

The past hour had been torture. Listening to Remy's smooth, deep voice talk about their recent escapades in the Void had driven you crazy with desire. You'd developed a stupid crush on him as soon as you'd arrived. Who wouldn't though right? With his tall, broad stature and handsome face, he'd be hard for anyone to resist. But as the days had passed things went from bad to worse and your stupid crush deepened into a genuine desire.

That's why the blood was thumping so loud in your ears that you couldn’t understand him.

“Wh-what? Sorry, I er, I didn’t quite catch that.” You stammered, feeling your cheeks grow hotter by the second. You dreaded to think how flustered you looked to him right now. Like a deer in the headlights of a truck. A big, sexy truck wearing a brown leather coat.

“Oh, tu es mignon,” Remy chuckled under his breath. He rose from his chair and stepped a little closer, as if the distance between the two of you was the issue. “Remy see da way you been lookin’ at him cher, when ya' think he no be noticin’, ah?”

You were speechless. You didn't know how to react to his bluntness. How were you supposed to react to that?

Remy smirked and closed the gap between you completely and leaned over you, placing his hands on the back of your chair, one either side of your head. He was so close, you could barely breathe.

"You wan' me? All a pretty lil' thing like you would hav' to do is ask, ma douce." He kept his voice low, not wanting to alert the others.

Your mind raced, thoughts bouncing around for what felt like an eternity before at last, you nodded your head. You didn't even realise you were doing it but you weren't about to argue against it either.

"Atta girl, une si bonne fille." Remy praised, standing up straight. His hands went to the fastenings of his pants, all the while maintaining eye contact with you. "Ya trust Remy, don'cha cher?" He asked, slowly pushing his pants and underwear down off of his hips.

Your gaze left his then, moving down his otherwise fully clothed body until you were greeted with the sight of his half hard cock slipping from it's confines. Your eyes went wide. He was certainly much bigger than anyone you'd ever been with before.

You realised Remy was still watching you, slowly stroking himself now, waiting for an answer. You didn't know where to look, it was hard to tear your eyes away from the sight of his cock swelling to it's full, impressive size.

Finally, you found your words, "Y-yeah, I trust you."

"Perfect." Remy smirked and took up his position right in front of you, his hands on the back of the chair again. You gulped, head swimming with anticipation. "Then open up dat pretty mouth for me."

You drew in a long breath before slowly parting your lips, wider and wider until he nodded his approval. Remy seemed to realise that he had forgotten something, taking your hands from your lap and guiding them to his bare thighs. "Da's for yer own peace of mind, don' wan' you thinkin' you gon' fall."

You braced your hands on his muscular legs and soon realised why as he pulled on the back of your chair, slowly tilting you forward. The movement causing your mouth to lower onto his cock. It was definitely a different experience to anything you were used to, he had almost complete control over your movement.

Remy moaned quietly, taking in the tantalisingly debauched sight of your luscious lips wrapped around him. He took in every detail and sensation, observing you as if you were creating a beautiful piece of artwork right in front of him.

You looked up at him with hooded eyes, slowly working your tongue around him with what little space you had left to use.

Remy moaned again, deeper this time before just as slowly tipping the chair back down, his cock sliding almost all of the way out of your mouth.

"Y'okay, cher?" He asked, his chest rising and falling quickly. You could tell he was holding himself back a little, but he needed to make sure you were still on board with this.

You nodded slowly, running your hands slowly up and down his thighs, squeezing the muscles lying taught beneath his smooth skin.

Remy nodded back and steadied his stance. He moved the chair forward and backward again in quicker succession this time, watching your face for any sign of discomfort. He relaxed when all he saw was lust and wanton desire on your features.

You kept your hands braced on his legs, giving yourself a firm and steady anchor point to rely on. You moaned around his dick as he moved you again, a little deeper this time but still manageable.

He gradually built up a good rhythm. Not fast enough to be overwhelming for you but definitely enough to have him moaning freely, loving the soft warmth of your mouth as he moved you back and forth.

"Dat hot lil' mouth feelin' so good on me, cher." He whispered huskily, just loud enough for you to hear. You still had to be quiet, you couldn't imagine how mortifying it would be if one of the others walked in on you two right now.

Remy's words of encouragement shot a tingle through your body that ended up right between your legs. You pressed your thighs together hard and whimpered, tears prickling your eyes as your arousal started to get the better of you.

Remy noticed the change in your demeanour and slowly lowered the chair completely back down to the floor, his cock slipping free from your mouth for the first time since he'd started. A mixture of saliva and precum followed after him, coating your lips and chin.

You loved how completely blissed out you were feeling, high on the endorphins and serotonin surging through your body. Without really thinking about it you slid from the chair and onto your knees between Remy's feet. You were going on instinct, being driven by the almighty lust that you felt for this man.

"Y'kay down dere, angel?" Remy enquired, cocking an eyebrow and sliding a reassuring hand onto your shoulder as he watched you with intrigue.

You nodded slowly, grazing your teeth over your bottom lip. "Uhuh, just wanna make you come that's all..." Your words came out so soft and breathy that it was his turn to barely hear you, but he soon got the idea when you reached up and started to stroke him back to full hardness.

He moaned just a little louder than he'd liked to, caught a little off guard by the sudden sensation of your soft hands. "Well cher, Remy ain't gon' be arguin' widdat." He chuckled when he'd regained composure, jutting his hips forward for you. As soon as he was rigid again you wasted no time in taking his cock back into your mouth. You set a relatively fast pace, bobbing your head quickly, taking as much as would while working him with your tongue. Your hands went to his hips, pulling him forward and back gently in time with your bobbing. "Merde..." He hissed, looking down at you as he snaked his hand into the hair at the back of your head. "Jus' like dat, belle. Remy be comin' in no time if you be doin' dat..."

Spurred on by his words you forced yourself to take him just a little deeper, feeling him throb against your tongue in response, followed by the salty taste of precum.

You moaned softly as Remy's fingers tightened in your hair, gripping the strands at the very root. His hips stuttered a little, a tell tale sign that he getting close.

One of your hands left his hip and made it's way between his legs to massage his balls, lifting them with your palm and rolling them in their sack slowly.

The sound that came out of the Cajun's mouth was like music to your ears. Along guttural moan peppered with some indistinguishable French curse words. Apparently he didn't seem to care if anyone heard anymore.

A couple more minutes went by of you greedily sucking him and playing with his balls before Remy suddenly pulled back, his cock popping from your mouth wetly.

He wrapped his hand around his dick as he quickly guided you to sit back in the discarded chair from earlier. You complied, scrabbling up onto the wooden seat.

Remy stood over you, straddling your legs a she began jerking himself off quickly. "M' gonna come all over dat pretty face, cher... ya' ready?"

You nodded, heat rushing to your cheeks in anticipation. His hand made it's way to the back of your head again, holding you in place as he chased his orgasm.

The visual of such a devastatingly gorgeous man masturbating over you was intoxicating, it made your head spin just watching him. An odd swell of pride hit you as you noticed your saliva still coating his cock as he stroked himself, sliding his length between the makeshift sheath of his palm and thick fingers.

"Beg me, cher. Beg Remy for his cum." He panted.

You could tell he was right there, right on the precipice, he just needed to hear you.

"Please Remy, fuck... please cum all over me..." You whined, your breathing almost as shallow as his by now.

That did the trick. Almost as soon as the last words left passed your lips Remy let out a long, loud moan as his cock started to twitch. He pulled you closer just as thick, white ropes of cum started to shoot from his slit.

You opened your mouth just in time as you felt some of the hot, salty fluid paint your tongue. The rest splashed across your face in haphazard directions, marking you as his. Remy's fist slowed and his breathing steadied as the pleasure subsided. It was at that moment that you locked eyes with him. It was then that he fully saw the mess he'd made of you. The sight of you covered in his seed seemed to stun him for a small moment before his trademark cockiness returned.

"Lookin' good dere, beautiful. Dat look really suit you, ah?" He quipped, winking as he turned to find a washcloth.

You took it from him with a shy smile, your hormone fuelled confidence ebbing away slightly in the aftermath. But you smiled to yourself as you wiped your face clean because you had a feeling that he was right. It did suit you.

[rivendell-poet]

Hello! If it’s not too much to ask, can I request platonic headcanons for the Fellowship with a female reader that’s a human teenager? She’s not as good as fighting as them, and at first glance she seems approachable and easygoing, but she’s clever and can oftentimes outwit her opponents with creative combat moves. She’s also sort of a little sister to them, albeit a quite reckless and charming one.

I just love platonic LOTR because I feel like they would all be such great friends in their own way :’) Please take your time with this request, and I wish you a lovely day/night ❤️

Hey anon, so sorry it took me this long to answer but I hope you enjoy! I'm absolutely a sucker for platonic Lord of the Rings fiction, all of the characters are so sibling-coded! You have a lovely day/night too, and thanks so much for requesting!

*･༓˚✧❝𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠❞‧͙⁺˚༓˚✧ « headcanons »

○ Aragorn ○ Legolas ○ Gimli ○ Boromir ○ Pippin ○ Merry ○ Frodo ○ Sam ○

GN!Reader | No TWs | Wordcount : 2.1k

𝐀𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐫𝐧

✧ Years of putting up with being the younger brother of the twins has finally paid off.

✧ Never truly got the appeal of younger siblings until you came around.

✧ (Understands better than most that family is not just blood, but is based on who you choose and who you want to be around. Genuinely hopes he falls under that for you.)

✧ Worries about you but tries not to make it obvious, checking up on you in a more casual way like slowing his walking speed so he can be in time with you then ask about your day.

✧ Understands that your skills mean you should be in this fellowship - but did you have to give him a heart-attack after almost not parrying the cave troll? Poor man is already trying to keep up with the hobbits, and now you.

✧ Does admire the creativity you use in your attacks and is quick to praise it, occasionally shares anecdotes of his less-than-ordinary ‘weapons’ and how he used them.

✧ Subtly tries to get you to pick up more combat skills by offering to spar with you when Boromir spars with the hobbits.

✧ Is a very patient teacher, willing to go over things multiple times and demonstrates what to do very well.

✧ Does not appreciate the recklessness either; you have made him realise just how much he needs to apologise to Elrond and the twins for his youth. Tries to stop you from doing it under the guise that you’re ‘encouraging the hobbits’.

✧ You realise this is a ruse when he tells you it at Helm’s Deep, with precisely no hobbits to be found. Aragorn does not apologise for this.

✧ Notices you actively being charming and takes you under his wing in that regard, teaching you about diplomacy.

𝐋𝐞𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐬

✧ Legolas doesn’t understand just how young you are until the topic of the Fellowship’s ages comes up and you’re the youngest by a decade. Doesn’t think this is a big deal until he sees Boromir do a slight double-take.

✧ Talks with you after and realises the age, you try and reassure him with the ‘I’m mature for my age’ and he doesn’t accept it.

✧ Firmly next to you for the first few days after it, although he doesn’t baby you - he’s just overprotective.

✧ Feels bad about not realising previously.

✧ Is a single child, to a single father, so doesn’t really realise how closely he regards you as family until he starts teaching you elvish words and family comes up. How the first words he thinks of, that he believes you should know, are ‘brother’ and ‘little sibling’.

✧ Does one of his odd elven stares at you with this realisation. You ask him and he blinks before apologising, stating it’s an elf thing.

✧ You don’t believe it and ask Aragorn. The ranger looks from you to Legolas, sees the worry in Legolas’ eyes, and decides on mercy by backing it up.

✧ Insists on teaching you archery. Isn’t sure whether to be impressed or offended when you stab an orc with an arrow instead of shooting it. It works… he supposes.

✧ Never slips up until he’s introducing you to his father in Elvish, and accidentally calls you his younger sibling instead of his friend.

✧ You know just enough elvish to realise what he’s said (combined with the look on Thranduil’s face) and smile. Then ask him later if he could have given you that realisation anywhere except in front of his father.

𝐆𝐢𝐦𝐥𝐢

✧ Immediately loves you for your charm, and the fact you engage in deep conversation with him instead of assuming all dwarves only speak basically and are incapable of eloquence.

✧ Certainly teaches you a lot when it comes to charm and wit, and by the end of your journey your speaking with a few too many dwarf idioms for a human teenager.

✧ Would totally be willing to teach you Khuzdul if you wanted to. Refuses to tell you what the terms of endearment he calls you are (‘little treasure’, ‘spark’, and sometimes ‘younger sibling’)

✧ Is very grateful none of the rest of the Fellowship know enough about dwarven culture to call him out on the little things he does for you, like making sure your weapons are polished to an immaculate degree or keeping your food warm for you using rocks.

✧ Offers to braid your hair for you before Helm’s Deep, both grateful you don’t understand dwarf customs and not.

✧ (He’d be much too embarrassed to offer you his familial braid if you knew what it meant).

✧ When you ask to braid his hair he helps you create a unique braid, with dwarvish meaning. That’s how you figure out what the braid he gave you means.

✧ As long as you’re winning your fights he doesn’t care how you’re using a weapon - he still admires good tactics.

✧ Complains that teenagers are too busy growing awkwardly to use the proper dwarven techniques of fighting.

✧ Laughs a bit too much when he tries to teach you his style and you fall over while trying to swing his hammer in a circle.

𝐁𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐫

✧ Literally an older sibling. Adopts Merry and Pippin in all but law, and will do exactly the same to you as well. You have little choice in this manner.

✧ Shows his affection to you mainly by spending time with you and listening to you because that’s what he’s always done with Faramir. However he’s fairly observant, and if he can tell you’d rather be doing something else (like whittling or scouting) he’ll happily do that.

✧ Cares more about the fact he’s spending time with you than what he’s doing with that time.

✧ Also has a minor heart attack when he realises how old you are. Knows he’s had recruits the same age as you, but this is different. He’s not actively trying to lead those recruits with him to Mordor.

✧ Very good combat teacher, as it was his job for a while. Best with a sword and shield but will adapt to your weapon of choice, he can use pretty much all of them.

✧ After he witnesses you mess up a sword-thrust and almost gets impaled he gives you his shield. You protest, and he says you can give it back to him once you’ll be able to protect yourself without him.

✧ Highly complimentary of your wit in battle, is aware of how often people overlook wisdom in combat compared to brute force (*cough, cough* Denethor) and makes sure you’re praised enough for your actions.

✧ Often speaks about introducing you to Faramir and how he hopes you’ll like each often, shares a lot of anecdotes from when the two were younger. (Has very occasionally called you his brother’s name by accident.)

✧ Tries to make sure you spend time on your journey exploring the world, like Rivendell, so that you can keep your sense of wonder. Hopes you’ll retain it even after everything.

𝐏𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧

✧ Closest in age to you, which he very much appreciates. Hobbits generally aren’t considered adults until their thirty (and he’s only twenty-nine) so jokes about the two of you being so much better than all the old corpses over here.

✧ Tries to convince you to make fun of Boromir and Aragorn’s age with him. One of his ways to cheer you up is to point at the ranger and simply say ‘old’.

✧ Did that once to Gandalf, and then never again to Gandalf. (Also tries to get you to help him with Gandalf.)

✧ In an odd way, you not being especially skilled in combat is quite comforting to him - it’s nice to know there are folk outside the Shire who sometimes struggle with this as well.

✧ Complains in a joking manner when he sees you use skill to fend off goblins and that you lied to him.

✧ “You told me you weren’t that good at combat, not that you’re a tactical genius!”

✧ Wants to offer you pipeweed but isn’t sure if you should be able to have it. Boromir and Aragorn disagree. Goes with whatever you decide (although also would never pressure you into smoking if you don’t want to).

✧ Is genuinely disappointed when he doesn’t become taller than you after the ent draft. Insists life is unfair, and that you should be down on his level.

✧ Asks if you’ll help him and Merry finally bring down Boromir honourably. (Fails to see that you coming up behind the warrior would not be considered honourable.)

𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲

✧ Treats you a lot like he does Pippin, in that he’s very open with you, one of his main goals is to make you laugh, and he constantly looks out for you.

✧ Also nicknames, tries so many nicknames. Even if your name can’t be shortened he still gives you one, it’s just more nonsensical. Will see you’ve got slightly more radish in your soup than everyone else and call you ‘rad’ for the next day. Sees nothing wrong with what he is doing.

✧ Very excited to discover the Shire love for mischief and pranks is present in humans as well - or at least in you.

✧ Pippin tries to persuade you to play pranks on Merry with him, but you always side with the latter.

✧ Will not allow you to criticise your combat skills - even if it’s constructive and not self-deprecating. (“No, the orc literally almost took my arm off Merry.” “Well, with that attitude it certainly almost did!”)

✧ Tries to initiate sparring matches between you and Boromir by seeing you standing next to each other and shouting ‘fight’.

✧ This fails to work because two hobbits shouting at you isn’t intimidating, and there aren’t enough of them to circle you. He did once manage to convince Legolas to join in the chanting, however.

✧ Spends a lot of time climbing the scenery to get elevation so he can hug you without you bending down.

✧ Tells Éowyn everything about you, and is very complimentary.

𝐒𝐚𝐦

✧ Takes care of you in much the same way he takes care of Frodo. Gandalf may not have made him swear to protect you, but he’s certainly going to anyway.

✧ Often asking if he can mend any clothing that’s gotten torn, and when you get it back you’ll find a small piece of embroidery next to where he’s repaired the garment for you.

✧ It’s generally whatever you’ve been talking about and has made you smile the most in your conversations.

✧ Sometimes feels a little awkward trying to protect you, seeing how he’s only a hobbit and you’re a big folk - but he does his best.

✧ Tries to get you and Frodo to stay together so he can protect both of his friends at the same time.

✧ When he sees you fall behind in combat, he’ll sometimes offer to spar. He knows it’s not much but it puts a smile on your face and that’s what matters.

✧ Cheers you on if you spar with Boromir.

✧ Always makes sure you and Frodo have the best bits of the food. Vehemently denies this if confronted by either of you.

✧ Worries about you being on the journey, seeing how young you are, but if Frodo has put his faith in him then Sam will certainly put his faith in you.

✧ Also very complimentary of your creative thinking in combat, you can sometimes hear him talking to the other hobbits about it (absolutely with a tone of reverence/awe).

𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐨

✧ Probably the most grateful that you’ve come of anyone, and the second most understanding family doesn’t have to be blood.

✧ Even though Bilbo is technically just his uncle he knows they behave much closer. And when he meets you he realises that family truly isn’t about blood at all.

✧ Most used to you being human, he’s spent time with Gandalf, so he knows how to talk to you and is the quickest of the hobbits to warm up to you.

✧ He’s also the first to acknowledge he sees you as a sibling, while talking about you visiting the Shire.

✧ Instantly stops and pauses to see if you’re alright with what he just said before continuing, slightly more embarrassed but still enthusiastic.

✧ After discovering Sting he’s very willing to try sparring you, and the two of you try and learn together.

✧ He’s similar in that he tries to rely on smarter moves to beat the goblins, but often talks about yours with good-natured envy.

✧ The two of you share tricks after each battle, or at least tricks that are applicable.

✧ Often likes to sit with you and Sam when the ring is particularly bad, because you help centre him. Help remind him what he’s fighting for.

A/N : Thanks for reading, and thanks again for the request! I do love platonic lotr, so feel free to keep requesting that! Also, I now have a taglist - so that's fun. If you wish to join, feel free - and no pressure if not. Really like the idea of a reader who struggles with sword-work but is creative, so honestly might expand on that as well.

thank you for reading *･༓˚✧ wish to be tagged?

[icaruspendragon]

excerpts from a eulogy for a complicated father

"I think something people don’t always think about when it comes to funerals is that this isn’t for him, it’s for us. For us to find comfort in words and in one another as we say goodbye. The words I have written are to honor my father, but they are also a way to remind us that mourning, that grief, is born from love.

And the bravest thing we can do is love. Because to love someone is to disarm yourself, to put your heart in their hands and say, “I know you will wrench me in half, but my love is stronger than my fear of the agony lurking in the shadows.” To take that inevitable agony and say, “I’m okay with my chest aching for the rest of my days because that ache will prove that you existed and I got to love you.” To look loss and agony and the aching hunger of emptiness in the face and proudly proclaim, “In every universe my heart will be placed in your hands because I will always love you all-consumingly, but I long to prove I could have loved you better.” 

Everyone here is mourning him, but we’re all mourning a different man. 

As I look around the room, I see the faces of people mourning a friend, a coworker, a brother, a son, a mentor, a husband, a member of your family regardless of if you share blood or not. A man achingly human and important to so many. 

But I stand before you all, my fellow mourners, as someone unfortunately unique. 

I am the only person in this room who is a daughter mourning her father. So I hope you’ll both forgive and understand me speaking from the perspective of a newly fatherless child. 

My dad wasn’t perfect. And I spent a lot of time wondering why he did things the way he did. I spent a lot of time being angry at him because I didn’t understand. And there are some things I still don’t understand, but now that I’m older I can see that was his way of trying. 

And now that he’s gone I wish I would have told him I understand a little better. That now I know he was cursed by his father. And that his father was cursed by his. I want to tell him now I know pain is just something we inherit from our fathers. And that I know anger is just another thing we get from them. 

Because I am angry. 

I’m angry at him for being stubborn. I’m angry that I have to suffer the consequences of his actions. I’m angry he never unlearned what his father taught him. He never learned he doesn’t have to endure pain. That he could ask for help when he was hurting. Because he had been hurting. He’d been hurting for days and on his final night claimed, “I’ll go to the doctor if I’m not feeling better tomorrow.” And then tomorrow arrived without him. 

So yes. I’m angry. I’m angry at him. 

But I’m more angry at myself for not telling him that he hurt me but I’d forgiven him a long time ago. And though the hurt he caused was big, my love was bigger. And that the hurt had faded, but my love never did. 

I’m angry at him because I can’t remember the last time he said “I love you.” 

And I’m angry at myself because I can’t remember the last time I said those words to him, either."

[mashiraostail]

Plleeassee 'you can sit on my lap' with Halsin PLEASEEE

ur wish is my command I did SFW bc it felt right but lemme no if u want different :3

It was always the same, which was sort of what annoyed you. It's not that your day to day fights had been particularly hard it was just the constant bumps and scrapes and bruises that weighed you down. Never enough damage to justify wasting healing magic, but just enough that you were uncomfortable in your day to day. You left some wounds to heal even once you're back at camp, preferring to let the others get fixed up before you. Today you could feel the itchy irritation of a cut healing over, right across the bridge of your nose. It was a constant bother, like a bug flying around your face, a tickle that would not subside no matter which way you scrunched your nose up.

"This city air isn't doing anything for me either." You feel Halsin's hand come down on your shoulder, heavy and warm. For a moment you were confused, you'd not complained at all since setting off for the day, then you realized your discomfort may be less subtle than you thought.

"Oh..." You wave, "who am I to complain?" You did enjoy Halsin, well perhaps more than enjoy.... given your late night trysts. Though he was still unfamiliar to you in some ways, and lacking a formal name for what the two of you shared often left you uncertain in your day to day with him.

"Please, I think this city would benefit from some complaining." He looks down at you, "I thought I was the only one."

"No..no.." You resist the urge to peel the scab over the bridge of your nose away, you were certain you'd start gushing blood all over, which given your current location made no sense at all. It had actually been a rather tame day so far, and it was already almost over.

"I think even the most dedicated Baldurians have it in them to complain about the smell from time to time." You give in, and start to chip away at the corner of the scab closest to your tear duct.

Halsin just laughs, "I see, well I suppose it's good to know I'm not alone..." He removes his hand from your shoulder and looks around a bit as you walk, though he stays close to you.

You can't help but hiss at the feeling of your skin peeling back, beyond the first wound, you supposed that was karma for picking it.

"Are you alright?" Halsin turns over his shoulder at you, "I heard you-" He looks down at your hand by your nose, "leave that alone." He bats your hand away, "you should have let me clean it up days ago, see now? You've made it worse."

"It's itchy." You rub the bridge of your nose for emphasis, "and I can't help it. I've always picked at my scabs, where do you think all these cool scars came from?"

"I can't say I doubt that. But still, this city is dirty, it's best to not bare an open wound to this kind of air." He procures a small cloth and dabs at the blood as it appears, "it's good you didn't peel open this whole thing, and it's a wonder you've not complained till now."

You can't help but flush at the attention, if anyone with you notices they spare you, "I'm alright, I've dealt with much worse."

"I'm sure you have, but there's no need with me around.... To tell you the truth," He dabs the small cloth with his tongue and wipes the dirt and grime away from the edges of the newly opened flesh, "I enjoy doting on you."

You look down at your boots to avoid looking at him, you can feel your ears burning.

"It's hard to see the damage out here, do you think you can hold out till we set up camp for the day?"

"Of course-" You swallow your embarrassment, "I'm okay like this, I'll live."

"Oh I hope so." Halsin is smiling at you, "who knows what I would do otherwise." He hands you the cloth, "keep this, incase it bleeds anymore."

"Thank you." You look up at him, "you've been a big help."

"Don't thank me, just.." He guides your hand holding the cloth up to your nose, and uses it to cover the wound, "keep it clean until we settle in for the night." You can only nod up at him.

True to your word you do keep your wound covered in the cloth for the rest of your journey that day. It was a long one, boring too. As much as the little battles left you irate, a boring day of gathering information and talking to every no name on the street was equally irksome.

When you get back to camp Halsin seems busy with Gale, who despite his best efforts is always the most banged up by the end of the day. You almost feel bad for him, until you see him bright and pristine every morning. So you sit by the fire, content on sharpening a stick into some sort of miniature spear, humming to yourself.

When Halsin finds you all of the dark bark has been scraped off the stick leaving it white and brittle looking.

"You hide in plain sight you know?" He offers you a hand and you take it, allowing him to hoist you up to your feet.

"It's one of my many talents." You toss the sharpened stick down, "how's Gale?"

"He's fine, I apologize, I should have come to you first."

"No," You laugh, "I'm sure he needed it more than me. You're here now."

"I am." He smiles at that, wider than you'd ever previously given yourself credit for, "come, let me see." He waves you closer and leans down toward you.

Once you've closed most of the gap you feel his eyes wander beyond the gash over your nose, down to your neck and collarbones, all to way to your wrists.

"Now that we're close like this...when was the last time you've been healed? Has Jaheria been taking up the job in my stead?" He seems almost offended at the thought.

"No-" You shake your head, "No, I've been mostly alright."

"Alright? You're practically covered in cuts and bruises- let's go someplace more private, you should have a once over." He guides you with a hand sprawled out between your shoulder blades, not leaving room for protest.

"You should have come to me sooner." He breaks the silence once you're away from camp, surrounded by trees and brush.

"You're always helping the others, I'm used to this, I'd rather they get what they need." You insist, gesturing vaguely to yourself.

"You can all have what you need." Halsin seems perplexed, "there's more than enough healing magic to go around, you don't have to worry about that."

"well it must be exhausting, constantly casting spells, you're always taking care of the others, what about you?"

"What about me?" Halsin tilts his head at you quizzically, "I'm alright too."

"Well who takes care of you?"

"When you live as long as I have," He starts tending to some of the smaller cuts on your arms, "you learn to take care of yourself. It comes with time."

"That's not fair." You frown, "everyone relies on you. It must be a heavy weight, especially with no one to lean on, or to rely on to care for you."

"You." Halsin sits on an old stump, "I have you. We care for each other....unless I'm mistaken."

"You're not." You allow him to turn you around, inspect you every which way for any major damage left untended.

"Good. Come here." He waves you into him but you stand, flushed and confused before him.

"Here." He gestures again, "you can sit in my lap."

Nervously you do, slotting yourself against him. It hadn't been many times but you'd sought his company before, and the feeling of his large hand cupped around you thigh was welcome, almost calming. It doesn't take very much magic at all to get you right again, and you're glad to accept it, at this point the constant discomfort was bordering on pain.

"You must be exhausted, they were small injuries but they were plenty, it must have worn on you." His hand spreads over the small of your back, "I meant what I said before." On his lap it's much easier for him to rest his head against your chest, you feel his hair tickling the side of your neck as he does.

"I enjoy caring for you, perhaps it's self serving, but please allow me the pleasure of it more often."

"I wasn't sure-" You flush at the sudden tenderness, it wasn't brand new, nor was it unwelcome, but it was still fresh, still took getting used to. "I didn't want to burden you."

"Be sure now." He picks his head up, "you're more than asset to hinder or help me me.... and certainly more than a friend." He spares a glance down to your hand, where it has wrapped around his bicep. "Don't be modest, when you ask for me, I'm happy to go to you. If I can bring you any comfort on the road ahead, then I'd be honored to."

"Thank you, Halsin." You rest your hand on the side of his neck and he hums at the feeling, glancing between your bodies then back to your face.

"You don't need to thank me," His hand slides along the divot of your spine, a soft touch made firm by the rough skin of his palms, "just come to me, whenever you need, even when you don't need to, but only want to. I do miss you after our nights together. I'd take comfort in knowing you feel the same."

"I do.." You nod, "I just hate to steal you away when the others-"

"Steal me away all you like," He laughs, "Gods, that sounds heavenly. I'm sure the others can manage a few hours." He kisses you for the first time that day. Which wasn't unusual, often he waited for more private moments to voice and show his affections, it was welcome and warm and you were glad to be on the receiving end of his affections.

"And knowing you feel the same is all the better." He wraps his arms around you in a bear hug perfectly fitting of the man giving it.

"I'm grateful to have spent this time enjoying you." He takes a deep breath, like he's trying to get as much of your scent as possible.

"Can we stay for a bit? Like this?" You pull back and pin away a stray strand of his hair, his chest huffs with a light airy chuckle as he nods.

"Of course, but you'll have to tear me away when you're done. I fear I won't want to go anywhere once I've settled down with you on me like this."

He resumes his bear hugging and despite the tightness of the hug, and the closeness of your bodies you don't feel cramped at all.

[xo-cod]

https://www.tumblr.com/xo-cod/729110250731520000/you-know-what-i-think-would-be-cute-if-one-of-the?source=share

will u expand on this pls?? esp w simon i love it it's SO CUTE🥰

thank you so much babe :") <33 i just did simon but i can def do the others if you'd like 🤍

continuation from here

cw: abusive past + fluff

"look daddy! that's like you and mum!" her soft laugh of happiness fills his ears and for a minute he just watches her, the shock plastered on his face and then he takes a glance at the tv again. the toys he was placing away in its rightful place was forgotten as he straightened his back, watching the disney characters. they seemed so happy, so in love.

he stood still for a minute, wondering if she was being genuine as he looks back to the little girl who was giggling at him. he didn't have a healthy childhood at home and even as he entered his adult life, nothing but blood, guns and wars surrounded him.

it took him by surprised that lieutenant ghost, the man who knew little to nothing about love and happiness and peace now had a wife and a baby who was growing up in the homes he always wished he could live in as a child.

the only romantic love he could see around him was the abuse his father put his mother through, watching the light dim from her eyes everyday was a sight simon didn't think he could ever forget.

there were some scars that were seared so deep, even after time had run its course the pain was still fresh as ever. he didn't think he would ever heal from the shackles that wrapped themselves so deeply around him, burdens that he had to carry day in and day out in his life all the time. even though being with you had significantly lessened them, there were still moments that made him question everything he ever knew.

so being a father was scary but so exciting. the nerves were bundled up deep inside him, utterly worried that he wouldn't be able to love the child like they deserved. he remembered the night he paced your hospital floor while you were sleeping, full of the medications they were giving. all he could do was helplessly look at you, his heart pounding at the bundle of joy soon to be arriving. could he love them? or did the trauma from his father run incredibly deep that he'd cower away and hide? they were irrational fears, he knew that much. but it didn't help either way, he wanted to be the possible father ever. but how could he do that when he was do broken from his own?

and then his baby was born and he almost gave out, trembling when he held her tiny tiny body in one arm as the hand of the other ever so gently caressed her head. he looked at you with shock, his big brown eyes tearing as he chuckles softly. that was a sight you'd never forget. a sight he could never either

"me an' mama huh?" he spoke softly, his gaze going from the tv to back to his daughter who nods eagerly at him. she's so happy, its enough to make him emotional. because of him, she was safe and loved. because of him, a man who thought he was too damaged beyond repair, had a child who completely adored him and was living happily

she would never know a life full of abuse and suffering, he would make sure of that

he would kill for her, die for her and everything in between yet even so the small niggling voice of doubt filled his head every damn day wondering if he was cut out to be a father. would he change tomorrow, become the abusive intoxicated asshole like the man raised him was? he grew up in a world full of pain and torture and guns, happy things were far and few between.

"you little munchkin, c'mere" he teased softly, holding her in his massive arms as they both cuddle close together. she shrieks in delight when he blows soft raspberries on her cheeks and kissing her forehead. and he only looks at his baby with a look of pure unconditional love, his smile widening at every happy sound she made. even if he never got the love he deserved as a child, the love he received from you and the baby you both created was enough for him.

it was times like this, moments that he cherished so close to his heart <33

[yeyinde]

ik it’s been awhile since u started talking about it but imagine butcher simon with a vegan/veggie girl 🧎🏻 all he knows is meat and blood and now the one person in his life he cares for wants no part. he offers sandwiches, nice cuts of meat for dinner, even free samples but she always declines and waves him off with a smile.

maybe she comes in to pick up orders (either working in a restaurant or shopping for others idk) and always leaves him a nice tip, smiling and using manners on simon!! i think he’d need the validation of her reciprocation ykwim? just the concept of him not being able to share the biggest part of his life with her in that way would frustrate him beyond belief.

i think it would come down to him making her special dishes that he says fit her diet but secretly grinding in different cuts of meat. he’d never tell her obviously, but the fact that she enjoys the things he makes her regardless makes his head spin.

idk just smth about big man who doesn’t understand feelings but wants to imprint and permanently claim his little lady in a way only he’ll ever know about

ooof. the claiming part has me a lil dizzy, ngl.

but he's been incarcerated longer than he's been free, and since he spent so long with nothing, he resource-guards with the biggest thing undoubtedly being food. but the one time he decides to share, you deny him? that's really the only thing he can provide. food, protection, a massive dick and you turn it down? he'd crack, i think.

maybe it's the urge to protect what he sees as considerably weaker than himself that's just too strong to ignore. or a little bit of the feline instinct to the feed the thing that obviously can't hunt for itself. but instead of leaving a mouse for you, he gives you pieces of his catches because you need to eat. in his head, this is only known truth of the universe (which is easy to understand when all he's ever known was hunger anger and pain).

and if you won't take it willingly, then he'll just sneak it in. problem solved. and seeing you eat the things he butchered with his own hand would probs go straight to his head. even more so if you have no idea you're actually eating it. claiming you subtly. a modicum of control. he's not good at dealing with emotions but hunger is something he understands. satiating that in you is probably the only way he can express himself. and he'd rather chop his own arm off than watch you starve.

the hunter, butcher, provider thing has me in a chokehold tbh. all he expects from you is a big appetite and warm place he can rest his head. so stop worrying about everything else and just let him do his job.

[valhalla-calls]

Relativity Falls headcanons- My Version Pt.3

Making a part three because apparently, I wasn't done.

My Au isn't exactly one for one in terms who replaces who and what events happen. However, there are close to it.

Kind of off track, but Canon! Stan would cry if he saw any Relativity Falls AUs. The thought that any of the Pine twins going through at least half of what he did while he was homeless would destroy him. Doesn't matter if it's Dipper or Mabel, it would destroy him.

Back on track, I can see Mabel's scams sometimes consisted of match making and fake love potions. She got a lot of angry customers when the match wasn't good or the love potion surprisingly didn't work. It caused a few injuries along the way. A few times, she was stabbed and didn't have money to go to the doctor to get it stitched up. Good thing she knows how to sew thanks to her making sweaters.

After a particularly bad run in with some people she owed money to, Mabel had to rewrite a letter to Dipper, because blood smudges kept appearing on the letter. Eventually, after the hundredth time, she just covered those spots with glue and glitter. No, Dipper doesn't know that bit until probably much later.

Mabel does have the scar on the back of her shoulder like Stan did! How it happened was a little different, she had a stab wound she stitched up on her upper arm when Dipper sent a post card for her to come. In the middle of their "Concerned for each other" scuffle, he grabbed it by accident, Dipper let go when she screamed, which caused her to fall onto sigil.

Dipper's had his fair share of hurt here too. He had the whole bleeding eye issue that Ford did in canon. I imagine if he was possessed by the Axolotl, it would take a toll on his body too. A big entity like that, I don't think a human body could handle well. Then, there's the whole doing things to Dipper while being possessed thing. He has a few scars from those moments too.

Speaking of Axolotl, I feel like it would take Dipper a while to warm up to being friendly. Not that he wouldn't be fascinated and tricked at all. Because, we saw what happened with Bill doing the Sock Opera episode, he would. However, I think at first, he'd proceed with caution. He was only started to be mystified by the Axolotl when the Axolotl began to feed into his loneliness.

I'm cool with either Candy or Pacifica taking Fiddleford's place. It makes sense for either. If it's Pacifica, she could fund it and if's Candy, she could build it.

Mabel kept making the fake love potions to sell in the Mystery Shack. One of them fell on Stanley and it caused him to have a misunderstood panic attack when he saw Fiddleford and nothing happened. Not because he was worried he didn't like Fiddleford. No. He was told at one point, probably by his mom, that if a love potion didn't have any effect after seeing another person, it meant he was already in love with the person. After, what Stan thought were failed attempts to woo Fiddleford (Because, you know, he honestly believed the potion worked so, got commit to the bit.), Mabel cleared up the misunderstanding. Which she found hilarious.

Since Bill is in Pacifica's place, Stan, not only has a rivalry with Gideon, but he has a rivalry with Bill.

I can see Dipper and Mabel picking on the fact that Stanley is being abused by Filbrick at home. There are many routes like when it comes to this AU that people take with that issue. My favorites though are where they find out and don't let the boys go home at all and teach Stanley that Filbrick doesn't love him. Also, Ford finally understanding some things and is completely on board. They would not care who Filbrick is to them. They would risk it.

[motelsnleatherseats]

Sam's always been possessive of Dean, from the way a child is possessive of their parent. It made sense, considering his big brother was always his constant, always the one to take care of him and save him from the heartache of parent abandonment. He never liked when Dean would take too long talking to someone, or when his trips to the store always ran over time, but Dean thinks it's normal cause Sammy's always been a little clingy.

Things start to change once Dean's showing more interest in girls, and Sam is no longer pouting from a distance, but starting to interject, sometimes physically. It starts with him gluing himself to Dean's side, making his presence and annoyance known with little huffs of impatience. Then he starts to pull at his sleeve or bump into his side, trying to coerce him to get out of whatever company he has so he doesn't have to share.

It completely catches Dean off guard when Sam comes back from the bathroom and suddenly sits on his lap as he's chatting up the waitress. The look of surprise is evident between them both and Dean attempts to scoot back to push Sam off of him but he doesn't budge, and he doesn't stop staring down the waitress either until she walks away, and it's only then that Sam takes his spot across from Dean without another word, refusing to respond to brother's 'what the hell?'

There are nights when Dean tries to take advantage of when Sam's extra tired, knowing that he'll sleep through pretty much anything or at least be dazed enough to blur the edges of his reality. He risks bringing a girl into the motel room and having a make-out session on the couch while Sam's in the far end of the room in bed, but he feels uneasy, and with a glance back towards his little brother, he swears he can see his eyes even in the dark.

Sam says nothing about it the following day, but he watches Dean like a hawk and is quick to stand whenever he looks like he's getting ready to go somewhere. It's only when Sam literally backs himself up against the door to keep him from leaving that he calls him out on it.

"Sammy, what the hell, man. You're actin' like a yorkie with separation anxiety," he sighed, not with frustration, more so concern. Sam's been acting more out of pocket lately than usual, but he hasn't been talking about it. Then again, Dean hasn't been asking either.

"Why do you need to go and see girls?" Sam asked not even a beat afterward, straight to the point. Dean inwardly groaned. It wasn't like his little brother was a kid anymore, he was 15 and had surely gotten the sex ed thing from school at some point. Plus it's not like he wasn't a good lookin' guy. Sure, he was a little gangly, maybe a little too nerdy for some, but girls sometimes liked the bookish ones.

"Because a man has needs, little bro. Between my libido and your puberty, there's a little too much testosterone in here for my liking."

Sam doesn't appear phased but his eyes are intense, like he's looking for a sign to act. Dean's caught off guard by that look, and his expression reflects his confusion with a small tilt of his head and a furrow of his brows.

"I can take care of your needs."

"What? Sam, no. You're not getting it--"

"You want to get your dick wet, I get it. I can do that."

Dean's face drained of blood, the rest of it rushing through his body like a cold chill. Sam's suggestion, let alone choice of words, had him caught like a deer in headlights.

"I see the way you look at me sometimes, Dean. Like the way you look at girls. When you think I don't notice," Sam continued on, and Dean gave a nervous laugh, his brain scrambling to come up with some kind of rebuttal. A denial. Anything. He took a step back when Sam moved towards him, feeling like it was some kind of a trap. It had to be.

"S-Sam, you don't know what you're talking about. I don't look at you like that, you're my brother." His feet are moving back on their own accord as Sam matched his pace, like he's cornering his prey. His heart pounds, making his entire chest feel like it's vibrating.

"It's okay, Dean. I like it when you look at me like that," Sam replied, reaching a hand out towards his big brother that Dean tries to avoid, but the backs of his knees make contact with the bed and all the sudden Sam is right up against him. "It makes me feel good. I can make you feel good too."

Sam pushed Dean back to sit on the bed as the last word left his lips and he's quick to climb onto his lap, causing his brother to try and lean back and away from it, hands anchored into the sheets, white knuckling them to prevent them from doing anything stupid. Shit, shit, shit. This is really happening.

"Sam, don't--"

"Don't you want to feel good, Dean?" Sam asked with a voice all too sweet and pleading, straddling him as he moved to run a hand over his chest and Dean can swear that Sam can feel the heavy thumps of his heart against his palm. His breath is so shallow, he can't even really tell if he's breathing at all. "Don't you want to touch me?"

Dean swallowed hard, his lips parted and feeling dry all the sudden as he stared as his little brother with disbelief in his eyes. Did he? Would he admit it? All questions vanished as he felt Sam curl his fingers around the amulet he gifted him, giving it a little tug as if to tempt him further, to lure him in, and he reached up to take Sam's hand in a silent request to stop.

"Sammy, we can't, we're--"

"Brothers, I know. I don't care," he interrupted, shifting his fingers to curl around Dean's hand to prevent him from pulling away. "I want you to touch me, Dean. Please." He pulled out the big guns, his features softening; that damned puppy-dog eyed expression worked wonders on his brother. "Touch me."

Dean closed his eyes and gave a small squeeze to his little brother's hand, exhaling a defeated sigh through his nose.

"You can't ask this of me."

"I'm not asking, I'm telling," Sam replied, moving his free hand to the back of Dean's neck, leaning forward to push their chests together, doubling down on his efforts as he nuzzled against his cheek, corners of their mouth mere millimeters from each other. "Dean," he whispered and Dean tensed, his resolve a pendulum, swinging heavy in the direction of his little brother.

Much to Sam's delight, Dean caved and curled his arm around his waist, pressing their lips together in a kiss that had them surging together, any and all resistance to their sordid feelings disappeared in a millisecond. Sam gave a mix between a whimper and a moan against his brother's lips and Dean's back went rigid, nearly gasping at the sound. With things now set in motion, it was full steam ahead, and Dean twisted their forms to lay Sammy down on the bed, positioning himself above him as their lips and tongues eagerly explored new sensations until their lungs ached for air.

Dean leaned up after breaking the kiss, gazing down at his little brother with flushed cheeks and kiss-swollen lips, glossy with saliva and decorated with a smile. A genuine smile. Something Dean hadn't seen in a long time and it made his chest tighten. He watched as Sam moved his hands down to grip the hem of his shirt, lifting it off of his form to expose his slender torso, newly forming muscles under soft, unscarred skin that was just begging to be touched. Dean followed suit and remained hovering above him, the amulet swinging between them until Sam angled his chin forward to let his lips catch the adornment.

Dean shuddered. He literally felt his limbs go weak at the action, his cock suddenly throbbing as his body pulsed with heat. He leaned down to capture his lips again, letting his hands finally do as requested, touching over Sam's torso with reverence. Everything happened so quickly, yet it felt like time had suspended around them, their every sense flooded with each other.

The wet sounds of their kiss were decorated with moans and whimpers, their hands touching and exploring before buttons were being undone and the rest of their clothes were being dropped on the floor. Dean slotted between Sam's thighs and pressed their hips together, undulating and grinding, earning the prettiest sounds from his brother's mouth that rivaled even the most desperate of girls.

"Dean.. De~" Sam whined between kisses that were growing a little sloppy, his cock leaking messily against his abdomen, the rutting becoming even more slick as Dean gave heated grunts and breathy sounds. He wasn't going to last much longer, not with the way Sam was coming undone underneath him.

"Sammy, fuck, gonna cum.." Dean spoke, his voice broken, barely able to get the words out before he was shooting a hot, thick load across his little brother's tummy, Sam right behind him. His pretty pink lips fell agape, labored breaths and whimpers dripping from them like warm honey as his eyes unfocused and his lashes fluttered, his smaller form trembling as he came while panting his brother's name like a mantra or prayer.

They remained pressed together in the aftermath of their orgasms, catching their breath and letting the waves of pleasure slowly come to a dull tingle throughout their bodies. Sam enjoyed the weight of his brother pressed down on him, and Dean enjoyed the way Sam's arms stayed around him to keep him there, basking in his warmth and the scent of sweat and cum.

"Don't go out tonight," Sam requested, and Dean gave a breathless chuckle, reassuring him with a hand through his hair that those plans had long since been abandoned.

"I'm not going anywhere, Sammy. Just wanna stay right here with you."

[vexwerewolf]

Felicitations, comrade! We had our session 0 for the IGF campaign im running, and one of my players wants to be a moonlighter pirate "infiltrating" Hell's Gate militia. He was initially thinking of being affiliated with the Hell Hounds, which for obvious reasons would present some challenges. Do you have any advice for making this happen, what with the very first mission putting him up against his true boss? I dont know that he'd have enough time to have truly built up camraderie with the rest of the SRT to truly make his character have conflicted loyalties.

I mean, he'd have to have been with the militia a while to build up enough trust to be seriously considered for the SRT.

But moreover, let me tell you what being a Hell Hound is like.

CW: psychological and physical abuse

So one thing I want to make it clear that the Hell Hounds are basically an incel cult without the weird gender-sexual overtones. I imagine there ARE women and enbies who join it but in essence Andros Capella is a creepy weirdo who preys on disaffected, primarily male youth with no prospects and indoctrinates them into his worldview of nihilistic violence.

Andros doesn't really have a philosophy, or at least not one that he could describe in words (and even if he could, he wouldn't), but it could be summed up as "the weak exist solely to create things for the strong to take." You are worthy of having things if you are strong enough to take them, but only so long as you're strong enough to keep them.

The closest political ideology I could ascribe to him would be "stateless fascism." Andros is certainly sadistic, devoid of empathy and believes himself to be supreme, but he's too intellectually lazy to bother engaging in justifying why he's supreme. He makes the most basic of naturalistic arguments (i.e. "this is just the way the world works") but feels it's beneath him to actually justify or provide evidence for his claims.

He hates the minutiae of day-to-day life, and derives no joy from anything that doesn't involve someone else's discomfort or pain. He will steal your food for the sheer thrill of having taken something that you wanted to eat, but he won't enjoy eating it because he despises the physical sensations of chewing and swallowing.

And if you are a Hell Hound who, god forbid, enjoys something, he will bully the shit out of you. He will verbally and physically abuse you until you learn to hate the thing you liked just to make the pain stop.

Lemme tell you what the average night on Fort Cerberus looks like when you're not on a raid: you and a couple hundred other sick fucks lurk around the corridors drinking and gambling but you sure as hell better not actually look like you're having fun because you're all desperately trying to avoid becoming the bossman's next chew toy.

Some poor fuck catches Andros' eye. You're not sure what for, but from the sounds of things he might've been counting his poker winnings too loud. He gets a hand on his shoulder from the big man, who tells him that he's being too selfish - gotta learn to share a bit more, yeah? Now, way Andros sees it, guy's got ten fingernails that he's keeping all to himself, so here's a set of pliers - redistribute.

You jeer along with the rest of the room, loud enough to drown out his screams, because you're so very, very relieved that it isn't you. But you fuck up. You look a little bit too enthusiastic, perhaps, or maybe it's the opposite, maybe you weren't forcing it enough. Either way, the bossman's eyes land on you and your blood turns to ice in your veins.

"You," he says. "C'mere."

The room is dead silent all of a sudden, quiet enough that the pitiful whimpering of the first guy, (currently on his second thumbnail) is the only sound you can hear. You walk over, as a prisoner does to the place of execution.

He takes your hands, inspecting your fingernails, and then your hands, then your arms. "No ink yet? You not pulling your weight? Am I payin' to feed a fuckin' leech?"

You say you're not a leech.

"Those pricks over at the Gate are gettin' too clever. Learning too quick. Gettin' the jump on us too many times. I want someone over there learnin' what they know. You 'avin' no ink makes you a good choice. They'd sniff out any of these boys in a second, they would, but not you. You look soft. Don't he look soft, boys?"

The room jeers at you just as you jeered at the first guy (he's on his ninth nail, now, and his throat is so hoarse he can't make sounds anymore). You try your best to remain composed.

"Normally soft'd be fuckin' worthless. But soft'll let you blend right in with the Gaters."

So, to avoid whatever horrific torture he's currently ideating, you agree. The next time they go out on a raid, they pick a ship full of people who don't know each other and slip you in with the passengers when nobody's looking. You don't go to Hell's Gate directly - you do a couple of hops through the Thousand Habs, just to throw off suspicion.

You sue for residency on the station as a refugee from a failed habitat. They give you your own cabin, and they make sure you're fed and clothed. You smirk to yourself - they really are as soft as Andros said they'd be; they have food and water and clothes and they're just giving them away!

You don't have all that many marketable skills, so after a few rotations scrubbing air filters, you apply to take the militia aptitude test. You try to play it down so they don't get suspicious, but if nothing else you're a damn good pilot, so you get fast-tracked. These fucking idiots just give you a mech! God, it's gonna be so easy to tear them apart from the inside.

They put you in a team. You train together, building up hours in the simulators. Then something weird happens. They... trust you? They want to... spend time with you, outside the simulators. They want to drink with you, play games with you, hear about your life. Well, is it more suspicious if you say no? You have to maintain your cover.

You don't always fit in well. Sometimes you crack jokes that are... a little unpleasant, a little off, a little worrying, and you learn to bite those down because it's bad for your cover. You also have this odd air about you, like you're constantly on guard, like you're waiting for the other shoe to drop (like somebody's gonna make you rip your fingernails out if you're too happy). People figure you must've gone through some trauma and are kind stupid enough not to pry.

You feed information about the militia back to Andros - carefully, so as not to blow your cover. Some members of your team get hurt - nobody dies, but they get hurt. You feel... bad. Why do you feel bad? They're soft, they're weak, they don't mean anything. They're not your real friends. You don't have any friends.

Months pass. Jerry says he wants to tap your team for a long-standing project he's working on. This is your chance. Sabotaging this will prove to Andros that you're strong, that you're not weak, that you're not a leech, that you can pull your weight.

Sure, a bunch of your team will have to die. The only people who've ever put their trust in you, the only people who've ever believed in you. But that's fine, right? They don't mean anything, they're not real people, right? They're idiots for trusting you, right? They deserve it, right?

Right?

... right?

[wonfilms]

━⁠☆ﾟ｡ﾟTXT WHEN THEY CALL YOU "CLINGY"

includes : bf! ot5 x gn! reader.

warnings : a lot of tears, hurt / comfort , a tiny bit of swearing

soobin only registered the words slipping from his lips after he'd said them, he immediately regretted it when he saw how your eyes glossed up as you shrunk into yourself.

"oh god, babe i didn't mean that i'm so sorry." he almost jumped up to engulf you into his arms. when he felt you sniffle in his embrace he felt his own tears prick in the corners of his eyes, he'd been so stressed lately with his tight schedule, he'd never meant to lash out on you.

that was the last thing he wanted to do.

he couldn't ask you to forgive him right away. he deserved your silence, " 'm so so sorry" he whispered into your hair. he hoped that if he would say it enough times you'd believe it

beomgyu spat the words out in such a flurry of emotions.

he was angry, not at you but himself. he'd let the deadlines get too close and he stressed himself out which amounted to him showing all of his pent up frustration on you.

"you're so clingy you don't know when to stop, do you?

he watched the way your expression turned sour as you scoffed, "oh fuck you beomgyu."

he felt the aftermath of his words like the silence of your usually happy and noisy shared apartment.

he knew you wouldn't talk to him, and he knew he deserved it though even you, deep down, knew that he didn't mean any of it at all.

beomgyu often spoke his mind, even if his heart said something entirely different.

"god you're so clingy, do you ever think about that??" hyuka mumbled quietly under his breath, the room was so quiet that it was loud enough for you to hear.

"do you want to say that louder kai?" you spat out with a scoff. though you regretted provoking him further, you felt your blood boil in your veins at his words, "i said, you're so clingy " he spoke louder this time.

his voice rang out slicing through the tension in the room like a knife. "i can't believe you" you mumbled before heading out the room.

he couldn't believe it either, he couldn't believe he'd just said that to you.

yeonjun groaned when you asked him to come and eat dinner, you felt your heart drop as he mumbled something incoherent under his breath, all you caught from his sentence was the word clingy.

you immediately backed away from the door closing it, though he tried to stop you through the door you refused to give in, you didn't want to get your feelings hurt more.

it was safe to say that yeonjun regretted it, he often found himself in situations where he realised how much you meant to him after he'd lost you for a while.

he wouldn't ask for your forgiveness straight away, you wouldn't accept it but even he knew that he deserved what was coming.

taehyun would've crumbled when he saw the tears in your eyes, somehow the anger that had bubbled up and overflowed earlier disappeared when he saw you.

he's messed up big time.

"god, i'm so sorry-" there was almost a sense of desperation in his voice. he pulled you close , kissing your forehead through his own tears. though you knew he didn't mean it, he couldn't forgive himself for lahsing out on you like that.

a/n : whoopsie i'm sorry about this one, i just felt like hurting everyone and my self