#fic: re-wired

[thepayloadisgay]

re-wired

Shimadacest / Genzo

M (so far)

Ch 1/??

Tags (so far): canon divergence, angst and feels, omnics, implied alcoholism, masturbation

Hanzo's found himself in Budapest, one of the few places in the world where omnics and humans co-exist in something like normality. And maybe it's like a home now. Worth seeping off these bones as he tries to form the word exist, to live. Dodging, picking off assassins, deafening himself to the news of his clan. Maybe ignorance is bliss. Different names smother Hanzo, numbers his age. But he still knows what he sees when he looks in the mirror. You're not here. Rumblings in the world of omnics start to break the seams of not just Budapest, but Europe, the world. New faces, new names. And then for Hanzo, he can't quite shift this shadow he's sure is an assassin. Why is he taking so long? Why won't he just take the hit and kill him? Maybe it's a fantasy, and he's dreaming demise again. Maybe.

Read below the cut, or on AO3 here. Enjoy!!

He’d been here too long, it was almost home.

But home was nothing, now.

A hollow word in passing, part of a goodbye when leaving behind another face Hanzo will never see again, won’t remember. For those he will, home isn’t a word for them. Even if it’s false.

Strangers are the comfort, familiarity not.

Had anything ever really changed?

The Danube flows beneath. A mirror of colour. Rippling neons, stars almost lost. Forgotten. The colours mush as a tour boat splits the water two, music and laughter pounding the surface, echoing under the bridge where Hanzo stands, forearms bare. Cold on stone, still and sore.

It was sunset when he stopped here, bag of groceries tucked between feet, sparse with too many things he’d forgotten, denied.

It’s night now as he watches the Danube, the burst of people along its banks, tourists spilling onto boats, into restaurants, out of Buda and back into Pest, the roads rumbling as the bars open wide, the clubs dialled to ten.

He moved between the sides of the Danube, never staying with the same four walls too long. From the cobbled streets, high hills near the castle in a cramped room, barely space to stretch; the old communist blocks by the blistered edges, structured, rigid, peace. To the noise, vibrant colliding culture of the centre at the crown of the Andrássy Avenue, woken at dawn by the bells of the basilica.

Just another place bruised in his penance, a witness to his shame.

One day there won’t be anywhere left that won’t know.

Where will he go then?

His watch buzzes midnight, a reminder of routine. To ground. But right now, all it reminds him is that he can’t feel his arms, numb and cold, still stuck to stone as he listens to the water, wondering what it feels like below.

——

The longest he’d been in one place for months. A hostel off of Múzeum körút. Behind a heavy wrought iron gate between a second hand bookstore, and another. Down an alley, path uneven, pages of an old book torn, scattered, its spine split in the gutter.

Hanzo inputs the code, eyes away, long hair a mask from the cameras above, behind, probably below. Ritual more than anything. His face is already all over this city, continent, to those that cared.

Through a doorway painted blue, carvings dying gold. Top floor, but (nearly) always the stairs. Winding and wide. Patterned stone, wrought iron rails in beauty shaped like the tails of his dragons, the arc of his bow.

First two floors the bookstore. The rest are homes, rooms and flats for the hostel, a hotel he knows is half something else. Some of the flats are empty. One abandoned part-way through refurbishment. One destroyed, boarded off (panels placed back carefully every time by each visitor. He’s not the only one). There’s another that one of the residents simply said “nem” when she first saw Hanzo look at its locked door, scratched symbols, words, too many unintelligible in several languages.

So he listened.

As always at this time, she was leaning out of one of the windows on floor four, throwing seed to the pigeons below, the courtyard a cacophony of their coos.

“Late,” she says, heavy accent. Fall of brown hair braided, striped grey. One green eye, the other blind.

Hanzo pulls out a bag of seed, one of two, and hands it to her outstretched palm. “Took a walk,” he says back in slow Hungarian. Everytime he attempts the language, he can see her smile something. He doesn’t know if it's mockery, amusement, or appreciation.

“Take a walk after, next time.”

“Hm.”

He watches her sit back on the stool at the window, cross her legs and scatter a handful of seeds to below.

“Not much.” Hanzo listens, Hanzo watches. “Maria took the kids for the weekend. Jan is leaving for holiday in the morning. Six days. Stephan’s working an extra shift tonight. Looked like he hadn’t slept since the last. Two new guests at the hostel. One’s an omnic.”

“Short term?”

She shrugs. “Omnic five days. The other just a night. But wants to keep it open if needed.”

Hanzo writes to memory everything she says, hearing the gears, wheels of the lift click into motion as it descends down to ground.

“Hotel is come and go as always.”

“How many?”

“Lots. You want a tally? That’s extra.”

Hanzo frowns, a look near lost beneath the heavy fall of his hair.

“Anyone look-”

“Suspicious? Yes. Out of place? No.”

The lift stops, opening at ground.

“Anything else?” he asks, picking his bag from between his feet.

“I left some cabbage rolls in your fridge.”

The lift starts to ascend, and Hanzo tightens the grip on his bag. “Thank you,” he stutters, taking the last flights of steps two at a time.

——

Two old keys unlock the old heavy door. Hanzo pays extra to service the small flat himself, but Mariann owns the hostel, and does what she does after the trust of bird seed and her alarm at the contents of his grocery shopping.

It’s split into kitchen and room with a divider. Old, ornate, teakwood. Some of the design weathered from touch, time. But she never ventures past the three cabinets that make the kitchen. Rarely the fridge.

Shoes off, he sets the bag on the counter. Bare. Empties it quick, pushing the bag of seed to the side for later. Bread, away. Eggs. Fruit. More lentils. Alcohol. Chocolate.

He opens the fridge, the only light in the room. Some condiments. Expired milk replaced with fresh. And a note, stuck to the top of the tupperware of cabbage rolls. Mariann’s scrawl.

Tilly’s got another job for you. 10am. Nehru part.

He closes the door. Darkness, again.

Tapping his watch (1:33am), he sets the reminder alongside his regular alarm for dawn, sheds his coat, takes a banana, slice of bread, bottle of alcohol to bed and nothing.

(but there’s always a pause before the small wooden sparrow he’d carved in Bali, years, years ago. always perched beside a blunted shard of sword, something green. sometimes he reaches out to touch the sparrow

but he can’t

can’t)

——

“Again!”

Genji taps his arm, excited, as he begs Hanzo to show him the trick with the sword, the coin, Hanzo’s patience wearing thin as his younger brother tugs on his sleeve, clambering for attention-

“Here again?”

Genji slides a glass over wood, the bartop sticky, a mosaic of his brother’s prints, wondering how many others overlap, smudging away Hanzo’s, gnawing at the Genji he knows, becoming the Genji they do-

“Again?”

Desperation, Hanzo’s hand slams to the wall beside his brother’s head, hair shorter, greener. Smells sweet and he inhales. Anticipation in Genji’s eyes as he looks up-

“Again-”

A beg, as he pulls Hanzo’s blade further to his chest. Another to his gut. Spread and wept and a maw of no return. Hanzo wants to look up. He hears a smile, but he’d see nothing but desecration. Hears beauty, loves pain. Licks blood, kisses the grave-

——

Hanzo snaps awake, a fist of sheets in his palm, dented with his nails, near torn. Back damp with sweat, hair awry, stuck to skin and sheets, lining the wave of his dragon.

He runs a hand through his hair, staring at the other side of the bed expecting blood and brutal. (maybe a desperation that it might be you there, whole and love, just for me) Two pillows. Untouched. Empty.

Checks his hands.

Reaches out to make sure.

It’s slow as he hauls himself up, finding the hair tie he’d forgotten. But it’s abandoned again when he sees the slither of the curtain move by the window, ajar.

There’s no open windows here unless he’s awake, a guard. It’s small. Barely enough for a hand, the curtain moving in dance as the breeze weaves into the stuffy room, creeping over Hanzo’s sticky skin.

For too long he just stares, a lock of hair tickling against his lips, uncaring.

Impossible. He’s so careful, so-

The curtains flick, light licking the glass on his bedside table, smudged with fingers, lips; the half empty bottle, obscuring the empty one behind.

Adrenaline wanes. Gut sinks. Head rings.

A swallow, and he unsticks from bed, body lead. Two fingers push close the window, keeping to shadow, curtain exhaling, and stop.

He smooths the fabric, touch lingering as if he’s trying to find something, feel something.

Nothing.

He rolls a shoulder, and peels off his shirt, draping it over the back of the chair. When he notices the small wooden sparrow on its side, beak touching the shard of his sword.

There’s no hesitation this time when Hanzo reaches out, picks it up to right the wrong, sitting it back in ceremony.

5:16 am

The basilica will ring soon at six. As will his alarm. There’s no point in bed anymore. All that’s left is sheets that need washed, dreams given, taken, and an empty space you won’t fill.

He checks the window again. Runs his hand over the locks on the door. Touches the two tiles beside the fridge and then steps into the bathroom, avoiding the mirror as he sheds the rest of his clothes, turning the shower to max.

The light from the room is enough as he steps inside, a shaky inhale as the water burns his skin, the steam clouding vision, muggy air.

Palm to wet wall (Hanzo’s hand slams to the wall beside his brother’s head) he breathes deep, long (Smells sweet and he inhales) forehead smudging tiles, hand smearing chest (Anticipation in Genji’s eyes as he looks up-) and Hanzo looks down, sliding his wet hand over wet cock-

(Licks blood, kisses the grave-)

-wondering if he’ll suffocate or burn, first.

——

Too early.

Hanzo wanders the quiet streets near the park, window shopping mindlessly. Catching his reflection more than wanted. He’s dressed well today. He always is.

But over the months, years, he’s been slipping. Living as a nomad from room to face to place, he was sure a part of him had shed everywhere he’d left behind. Something in him wearing thin he didn’t want to know. Just felt.

He stares a little longer at a shop window selling leather goods, stretching his fingers against his own gloves, old and worn and a shape of his own.

Hair pulled back in a bun, he runs a hand along one side, his undercut growing out too long, pinched grey. The other side he’d let grow long ago, the shorter lengths long enough to catch in his ponytail now. Usually.

He keeps the beard. Sometimes shaving when moving cities, countries, to hide. It’s mostly too much of a comfort, now. Too bare without.

Too long he’s looked, and turns away.

09:37 and he has a coffee. Black. Three sugars.

09:49 and he’s sitting on a bench in Nehru Part, close to the edge of the Danube. And he waits.

Watches the way the wind rustles the leaves on the trees above, hushing the city’s sound to their own, shedding the first leaves before the yawn of Autumn, side to side in a dance, before falling at Hanzo’s feet.

Feels the breeze on his skin. Nothing like earlier in his room. An alarm, unexpected. This might be something like comfort, pulling the shorter strands of hair from his bun, picking up the leaves at his feet, pulling the scent of pastries at his back, the scatter of voices ahead. No words, just noise.

He takes a drink of his coffee, counting another day.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Hanzo takes another drink of his coffee as he ignores Tilly. As she takes a seat at his side, always a little too close. It’s just a bit of fun for her, exploring the intricacies of human’s social bounds, their affection, fun. And with Hanzo, if he has any of the above.

Hanzo just recrosses his legs, foot pointing in the opposite direction.

“What’s the job?”

“I hear cucumbers help for those dark eyebags,” she says, casual. Two of her forehead LEDs are broken, the lilac, sometimes turquoise, brighter on her left side. Which Hanzo also notices that she uses more, moves more, than her right.

“Any other top ten magazine quips for me this morning?”

Tilly laughs, the two elongated sides of her head plate that remind Hanzo of wings, lighting up with the trill of her voice. “As many as you want.”

Hanzo inhales slow. Steady. “Oh, good.” Takes another sip.

“Got you another observe and report at Blood and Chrome tonight. Maybe protect if shit goes down. They liked you last time.” Tilly sits chin on palm as she waits for Hanzo’s reply, knowing his answer already. Money good. Low risk. Trusted.

“Bartend again?”

“Yup.”

A last, long drink of his coffee. Hanzo stares at the university of technology and economics across the river, sunlight picking out the details on stone, the pillars, the gold and mosaic on its red roof. Age and beauty, stories worn, time crumbled. He wants to sketch it every time he sees it, despite never having drawn a single thing before. He’s gotten as far as purchasing a sketch book, pencils. Next time.

“Send me the details.”

“Thanks, Han.”

“Thanks, Han.” Genji always talked with touch as well as tongue. Hands busy forming the words, contact, their meaning. It became a second language in public. A third, in private.

“Hanzo.” He doesn’t look at her. A voice firm, but not unkind. A way she’s heard many times before, and will hear many times again.

“Wish I could stay, but I got more messages to deliver,” she says, climbing over the back of the bench. “Get some sleep Han.” A quiet ‘Hmph’ “ Eat Mar’s stuffed cabbages at least.”

“Goodbye, Tilly.”

“Szia.”

He sits for a while, coffee cup empty, fingers cold. The trees stretch, the Danube sighs. Sun quiets behind clouds.

And from the small bag in his coat pocket, Hanzo throws a handful of bird seed to the ground, watching pigeons, great tits, a sparrow swoop down, and dance at his feet.

——

It had taken months. Trial and error with several prototypes, but Hanzo had managed (with some help) to have his own collapsible bow, without compromising performance or integrity. A labour of love.

Compact enough to fit in a bag. The arrows were the problem. One couldn’t simply split them in two, assemble and fire like he could his bow with a touch, flick, done.

Luckily few people cared what others carried here. Pistols on hip. Rifles on back. Swords in sheaths. As long as you had your permit, of course.

“Just a bow, arrows?” asks the omnic. Mariann had said her name was Tilly. Seven LEDs on her forehead. Three eye slits, not two. It looked like the third she’d carved herself. “No sword? You look like a sword guy.”

“Bow, and arrows.” “Alright alright. I’ll get one done.” “I’ll need a few, with different names.” “That’ll cost ya.” Hanzo sets down a stack of Euros, sinking back against the metal dresser, the bass of the club below stuck in his throat. “Help yourself.”

A city of humans, omnics, side by tentative side. Many still walked on tiptoes, ready to flee. Some settled to heels, shoulders dropped, calling Budapest home.

A city now almost its own state, rolling its own laws, walls, declaring stability for omnics (safety was arguable), work, if they proved themselves (we don’t talk about what happened if they didn’t).

Fast becoming a multicultural epicentre like London, it was expanding out, and up. But also, down.

And down, was where Hanzo walked. Lived. Worked.

Crime thrived here. A congregation of humans and omnics brushing side by side, co-existing but wanting to live, bred a rich, vibrant underworld that lived seen, unseen. World, within world. And even if it felt like the city was holding its breath, it seemed to work.

It wasn’t lost on Hanzo that he’d turned his back on his family, their legacy, ways-

-only to fall right back in, just a different shade, name.

At least here, he felt like he was helping people (didn’t you try back home too?), useful and giving back (funny what memories we pick and choose).

Mostly, though, he was doing it to survive. What money he’d taken from his family dwindling, and it was a reliable way to keep an ear to the ground, connected. Safe, within harm.

And Hanzo knew the world. How to move. Talk. When to run, when to bleed.

Tonight, he was back at Blood and Chrome, one of the less mainstream mixed clubs for humans and omnics (there were segregated clubs, of course. The omnics only clubs never staying in one place too long, rotating locations, word of mouth, last minute). Fewer tourists, less desirable location away from the Danube, tucked underground - but it mattered in almost every other way in the world he walked.

Here you find people you want, people you don’t. People you won’t anywhere else. Money changes hands more than some banks. Names change when you walk through the door. Faces forgotten when you walk back out.

The drinks are good, the music a mix of rock, metal, EDM depending on room, night, with places to dance, talk, and doors to close for things you don’t want anyone to see. All tucked underground in an old metro station, decommissioned and reclaimed.

The club is built around its exposed bones, dented with years of nights like this. Graffiti immortalising Budapest’s metamorphosis to today. LEDs lining floors, walls, hanging from exposed beams and concrete, under tables, part of chairs. Murals spread over walls, some on ceilings. There’s colour everywhere, and it changes when you’re not looking. When you forget, and are dragged back weeks later for a job you don’t want.

It stinks of alcohol. Sweat. Metal. Oil.

It tastes of whatever you want.

And it sounds busy, voices indistinguishable between the music as Hanzo slips in through the back, the omnic bouncer stepping aside, expecting him. It’s a Friday, so not unusual. He’s working the room they call The Boiler. Downstairs again and one of the bigger rooms, sometimes closed off for exclusivity. Sometimes for a dead body.

The first time he came here, it felt like a community more than a club. More rooms unfolding after each door. Stairs leading to more floors he wondered how far down it really went. Owned by an omnic and human couple, there was always a buzz when they were spotted at their club, tucked in a corner, private.

There was a buzz tonight, but it felt different. As if something new had cracked open. Bristling hairs on skin, sparking exposed wires, the seams of the city picked.

Hanzo hangs his coat, and a last glance at the mirror in the bar staff room, tucking his hair back into a bun. The shorter strands of his outgrown undercut already falling free.

He tucks his small pack at the back of his waist with his bow, arrows already long stashed underneath the bar from his last few jobs here. And pushes the swing doors open for work.

All Blood and Chrome’s employees were like Hanzo. Well. All those down in The Boiler floor and below, anyway. Criminals; former, current, no-choice in the matter. Everyone vetted heavily by the owners, recommended from all the way down from Mariann and even Tilly, he was sure (“hey I’m just your messenger and forgery bot”).

“Oh hey-” she stops, trying to pick his name from memory.

“Morio.”

“Oh, that’s right. Mo.”

A short, sharp sigh. “What is it with people and nicknames, here.”

Hanzo tucks a cloth into his belt, dressed in black jeans, purple long sleeve t-shirt (tattoo always covered, here), half hanging off his right shoulder. Some nights there was a dress code. Usually, it was whatever the hell you wanted. Hanzo tried to dress unassuming. Like anyone who might walk through these doors.

He missed his hair ribbon.

Sometimes he still caught himself reaching up to touch, run his fingers along the silk.

“Easier to say,” she says tapping something into her phone. Hanzo’s burner beeps (everyone has a burner just for work. Sometimes two). “Remember mine?”

“Adrienne.”

A smirk. “Not nickname but, accent’s getting better,” she says with a wink under her mane of red curls. “Anyway. You’re assigned to the veranda tonight.”

(Excerpt from mixed nightlife spots of Budapest for the traveller: …The Veranda: despite being underground, this section of The Boiler Room looks a lot like a veranda might. Or not. Aglow in faux nature, bloom changing weekly, wood fused with metal and the lights, it’s become a favourite corner of those that matter around here…)

“Who?”

Adrienne nods to his burner and she turns back to the bar, asking for the customer’s request, flicking two glasses onto the bar with flair.

Hanzo unlocks the file with thumbprint, a secondary code following.

Rav[REDACTED] Approx 20 active years [REDACTED]tor. Tall. Smooth voice, apparently. Controlled and calm. Purple colourings. You’ll know him when you see him. Rumblings of him through the omnics like livewire right now. Heard he’d rather skewer a human than sit next to one, but when you're desperate, right? Think he’s here for connections, money, help, fucking anything for his cause. I need to know. You have ears like a bat and some weirdo intuition. You ain’t failed me yet, Katniss.

Hanzo glances at The Veranda. Two humans. Omnic. Some vacant tables. Empty glasses litter their table. He takes a tray, and walks, weaving through bodies, blaring music, faces he knows, doesn’t.

None of them know him as Hanzo. He wonders when he’ll lose his name, too.

The music muted as he steps into The Veranda, the words and whispers of every face he plucks to memory all that matters now.

His mark isn’t here yet, so he waits. Watches. Works.

——

He sits in a corner, arm over a woman he’s known for an hour. Couples less inconspicuous than alone. He hasn’t talked to her since walking in the door. Neither has she, her face pin lit from her phone.

Eyes follow his mark. Back. Forth. Cybernetic eyes building on what he already knows.

Not tonight, they said, he’s here. City’s a livewire. Guest of honour.

So he waits. Watches. Works.

[lanavecorona]

happy 15th anniversary to THE +anima fic ever

[daughterofhecata]

Weil ich gerade eine alte Fanfiktion mal wieder gelesen habe, die so ziemlich alles für mich ist: Wäre es langweilig, dasselbe Konzept einer Fic (fünf Kapitel, jeweils eins pro Sinn - sehen, hören, riechen, schmecken, fühlen) für mehrere Ships zu benutzen oder ist der Unterschied in den Ships genug um es trotzdem interessant zu machen? 🤔

[fanaticsnail]

Body Worship: Franky

Birthday Celebration Masterlist

Word Count: 3,100+

Themes: Franky x gn!reader, angst, self worth, Franky has a little bit of dysmorphia, affirmation, fluff, smut, thigh riding, confession, body worship, praise, love, porn with feelings, mdni, NSFW, smut, 18+, non descript smut, grinding.

Notes: Massive shoutout to @thenotsofantasticlifestory for listening to my thoughts and aiding me with my time on this fic. I love this man, and I adore you. First time writing for Franky.

Cogs, wires, fizzes, and snaps of electrical circuits rang and shuddered within the chambers crafted by Franky’s own hands. There was never a silence to be held within him, not a calm moment where his body was not ticking like a clock wound by a coiled winch. He was constantly on, always on.

There was not a moment where man and machine were no longer merged as one, and Franky usually had no issue with being a self-made man in more ways than simple determination and gumption. But today, he just felt unnatural. He felt those cogs, wires, fizzes and snaps of electrical circuits overtake the humanity he so desperately attempted to preserve within himself.

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t speak. He didn’t see the body he crafted as a work of mastery, but something foreign and tainted. He couldn’t look at himself without seeing the parts of his flesh, bone, and muscle he replaced, rendered, soldered, and attached. He was no longer himself, but just those parts he forged to keep himself alive.

A pile of scrap made into the shape of a man. Flesh from his prior life stretched over a frame of humanity pushed to its extremities.

Unsure as to when the first tear fell, or whether they were tears at all, his rounded eyes swelled and poured heavy drops down his cheeks and onto his chest within his workshop. Usually when he cried, he had the sensation of an almost sting in his nose: nostrils flaring and a saltiness within his nasal cavity. The lack of this feeling within his steel nose now only made him feel more like a machine and less of a man.

A soft knock at his workshop door was barely audible over the mechanical symphony rattling within his mind and skull. He scrunched his eyes shut and focussed finding a single sound to focus on within himself to no avail. It was just too much. Too noisy. Too intense. Too overwhelming. Too-.

“-Franky?” your voice shocks him out of his spiral, truly unaware of the opening and closing of the door to his workshop. He jolted back, beginning to panic a little while his body caught up to the way his mind was spiraling.

Keeping a safe distance away from the cyborg, you took him in. Noticing how his shoulders and hands were beginning to shake, you tilted your head and furrowed your brows while assessing him further. Franky’s eyes met with yours, a soft quiver of his lip atop his tri-pointed chin matching the forlorn expression blooming over his face.

As ships’ counselor, it was your job to advise and flesh out plans for your captain. It was also within your job title to unweave the troubled thoughts and matters of the head and heart for your crew.

Franky was a friend to you, and you adored the large cyborg wholeheartedly. If he ever gave you an opportunity to see him as more than just a friend or crewmate, you would take it before your heart could skip a beat.

There was no favorites on the Straw-Hat crew, but if there was, Franky would be it for you. You truly loved him for all that he was: man, machine, or otherwise.

It did not take much more than a soft sniffle from the larger man to usher you towards the larger man, opening your arms and taking him within your embrace. Pressing his head against your chest, you cradled his face within your hands and slowed your breathing for him to join with his own. His shoulders slouched, a single hand wrapping around your back and feeling the warmth your body had to offer him in the sensors within his palm and fingers.

Gently carding through his blue hair, you felt him relax into your touch while his ear pressed up against your heartbeat. His broad hands began to clutch at you and tug you into his lap, each thigh placed atop his own at the side while he pressed more of himself into you.

“Want to talk about it, big guy?” you asked softer than a murmur, but louder than a whisper, “I’m always here to talk with you when you need it, just like you are with me. Open door, honesty policy, remember?”

Franky sniffed before a raspy chuckle rattled in his throat. Tugging you nearer to him and releasing a sigh, he moved his chin to rest on your chest while peering up into your face. Gazing down at him, you offered him a softness in your smile while peering into his unshrouded eyes.

“Just-...” he began, waiting for the words to find themselves in his throat, “...It's just… I can't quite put it to words, now you mention it.” His chuckle was more in a bid to rise one of your own, teetering off the more he drank in your smile.

Darting his dark eyes between your own, glancing briefly down at your lips, he drank in your appearance the closer he drew to your face. You and he were nothing more than exceptionally close friends, but the cogs churning in his stomach and heart desperately desired there be a moment. He leaned in just a touch more, his eyes rounded just a touch more while his jaw grew softly slack.

“Franky?” Your voice soothed him, a smile found in each syllable, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re wanting to kiss me.”

Franky’s eyes darted down to your lips, angling his tri-pointed chin up just a small shift more. His eyelids grew heavy, lashes heavy as his pupils focussed on the way your lips curved in your smile.

“Do you?” he whispered, his voice heavy and husky within his throat. His hands desperately clasped the small of your back, his receptors tingling in indicating your body heat growing warmer.

“Do I ‘what’, Franky?” you queeried, not shying away from his touch. You were curious to see how far he would take this action, enjoying the attention he was giving you and feeling secure within his embrace.

Franky’s outer hand slid down to your thigh, his other moving you closer to press yourself into his chest. The blue-haired cyborg moved his lips in a tone just above a whisper, his breath tingling against your mouth as he ascended them towards yours.

“Know any better.”

His lips immediately claimed your own, focussing his own existentialism on claiming your lips against his own. His skin felt your warmth as you opened yourself up to him. Each roll of his lips mouthing at yours was reciprocated with eager enthusiasm, and Franky began to feel just that little bit calmer.

Until he wondered if it was truly his skin touching your own, not what receptors told him it was. Was it his lips touching you, or the cogs behind him sending sparks to his mind and alerting his brain that it was truly you giving into him.

Did you even like him?

Were you attracted to the man that he made himself to be?

Did you even see him as a man, not just a creation marred with the injury of battle and reforged by his own mind?

You sensed his enthusiasm dwindle against your lips, prompting you to close off the embrace with a soft peck. As you pulled away your lips from his, you peered down at him with your eyes half-lidded and holding nothing but a slight amount of teasing pulled in a soft smirk.

“Franky?”

When you met his gaze once more, your smirk immediately fled your features.

His eyes were glassy, his expression the polar opposite of the manner he usually presented himself as. There was nothing of the boisterous, uplifting, passionate, and optimistic cyborg you had come to adore, and it's absence held you hostage.

“Franky,” you sighed, gently reaching up and cupping his cheek. “Please. There's something going on, and as your counselor, I need to know. I could leave the job at the door and just be-.”

“-What am I?” he answered suddenly, his lips toppling hurriedly over the words, “I need to know.”

Taken aback by his hasty questions, you furrow your brows at him and check him over. Darting your eyes over his face, noticing his posture becoming slightly slouched and his hands holding you in heaped fistfuls, you inhale a soft and steady breath before exhaling.

Your breathing inadvertently has him so the same, both inhaling and exhaling slowly and steadily. After a moment of you both dwelling in the silence, you answer him with a non-rehearsed speech from the heart.

“You are Franky,” you whisper, rolling the pad of your thumb against the apple of his cheek, “Shipwright to the Straw Hat Pirates, senior officer shepherding the Straw Hat Grand Fleet. Creator and master constructor of the Thousand Sunny. Former gang leader, who convinced those joining to switch from beer to cola, and-...”

Franky nodded you on, convincing you to continue to affirm him with your words. You could see it was not entirely the answer he was seeking, which spurred you on to change to how deeply remarkable you found him.

“...-You are so kind. An exceptionally intelligent person with your heart beating for others,” you nod to him, catching the hitch in his throat and paying it no mind. “The way your mind can see the mastery in machines, crafting it with your hands, and forging it into the best version of itself is a gift.” You draw your other hand up to his bare chest, feeling a fizz and beat beneath the skin while you speak.

“You don't just do this with your skilled labor, Franky.” You reassure him, glancing down to your knuckles on the back of your hand in his chest. “You see the potential in others, and coax them skillfully to bring it to the light.” A small laugh fled from your lips, prompting you to shake your head and whisper, “A remarkable skill, and I envy you for it.”

The dampness felt beneath the fingers on his cheek had you moving your eyes slowly back up to meet his own.

“You are, and will forever be, Franky: man, machine, both married as one and inseparable from the other,” you concluded, drawing your hand up on his cheek to slowly caress away his tears. “You are all of this, and you are so much more.”

Franky felt his chest soar, whichever fluid, whether cola or blood, pumped his heart and had him desperate to know more. Considering the fact you didn't pull away from the offerance of a kiss earlier, he drew his hand over your back and rested it on your hip while leaning in.

“What am I to you?”

Without skipping a beat, you spoke truthfully and from the chamber's within your own beating heart.

“And you are beautiful to me.”

Franky scoffed, rolling his eyes and almost pouting at your response. You sigh out with your brow arched high, gently perching your hands against his broad shoulders and grasping his muscles firmly.

“I mean it, Franky,” you reaffirm enthusiastically, “Everything about you is beautiful. Your heart, your soul, your mind, fuck,” you gasp, feeling the firmness of his shoulders beneath his hands.

A warm flush crept up your neck and swelled your cheeks with a vibrant fluster. Franky searched your eyes, darting down to your parted lips and back up to meet your gaze.

“What was that?” he chuckled, picking up your vocal inflection and teasing you with his smile.

“I just,” you halt yourself, slowly molding the joints beneath your palms and squeeze his muscles. “I usually… I usually focus on the mind and heart, but you're-...” Your fingers move down to his scarred pectorals, gently caressing a trail of timidity down towards his nipples.

“...-You're really attractive. Physically attractive,” you admit, pressing a little firmer against his muscles before dipping the pads of your index fingers over his pebbled buds. “Whether it was the kiss from a little earlier, confessing how I see your mind, my position currently on your lap, or the fact that there's a lot of tension between us right now…”

“Oh?” He taunts you a little more tilting his head to the side with a cheeky grin drawing up over his lips. Leaning forward, he pressed more of his pectorals against your hands and whispered coyly against the shell of your ear, “Tell me?”

“Shit,” you stutter past your lips. Eyes rolling a little, you suck your lips into your mouth to halt a moan from fleeing as you feel the tension only swell to a greater intensity.

Franky chuckles, his hands still running circles against your hips and gently ushering you in closer.

“Better yet,” he drew one hand away from your middle and drew it up to collect your chin in his grip. “Show me?”

Your breath hitched as you slowly drew your hand around in circles against his flesh. His skin felt warm to the touch, smooth and soft with coiled ringlets of cerulean fuzz shimmering against his pectorals. Moving your hands up and down his chest, your lips parted in surprise at feeling the buzz of circuitry beneath the stretch of flesh.

“Every nook you've notched into yourself is a work of art, Franky,” you exhale, rolling the pads of your thumbs against his abs and raking them towards his belly. “Each alteration and modification has just made you more you, you know?”

Franky felt his throat hitch at the admission parting from your lips. His body that he saw moments ago as a trap for his spirit, now being worshiped and praised for its mastery. As your hands ran over his skin, his receptors and skin both felt need and desire course through his circuits and veins.

Without any more prompting at your touch, he maneuvered you to straddle one of his thighs and held your pelvis flush against his own. Your hands automatically fled back up to the shoulders that held you captive as he pressed you firmly against himself.

“You like my body much?” The rasp in his voice tangibly reverberated within your chest and shot straight to your crotch, igniting it with need.

“Franky…” you gasp, his hands holding you against his thigh pressed harder, slowly rocking you over the hard muscle lurking beneath. “If you'd give me an opportunity, I'd drop to my knees and worship you like a devotee at an altar.”

Franky chuckles at the comment, using his large, metal hand gripping your waist to slowly rock you back and forward over his thigh. Your stomach bound in knots, your needs only growing higher and more incessant the more he puppetted you against his body and gazed into your eyes.

“No need for all that. I don't need it,” he laughed once more, moving forward and brushing his metal nose gently against yours, “But I do need this.”

His larger hand completely trapped your waist within his grip, knocking your knee against the bulge in his pants and grinding his clothed cock against your own body.

Manhandling you against his leg, bouncing you up to brush more of yourself against his cock, you felt trapped against him as he bore you fully against his body while holding your face gently. His metal thumb stroked your lip as you parted them to release a groan.

Soft whimpers and mewls left your throat as he held your gaze, his own gasps growing in need the longer he rocked you against himself. Your desire began to seep through your pants the longer he held you firmly and guided your motions.

“Show me,” he whispered, peering down his steel nose through half-hooded lashes. “Show me everything.” He worked you harder, his own cock leaking it's head and staining his red briefs with soft dewdrops of precum.

His abdomen tensed, feeling the need rise further in his stomach while his cogs, wires, flesh and bone felt more unified as one than ever. Humanity overtook his senses the longer his primal urge to feel more of you against himself.

You were no different, feeling your own release clench in the pit of your stomach and sizzle your eyes with the first sparks of euphoria. The need fogging your mind spurred you on to bare yourself down against him and begin rutting against him harder. As you found yourself falling over that edge, you clenched your eyes shut, earning you an immediate reprimand from the cyborg cariotting your bliss.

“Eyes on me,” he ordered firmly, “I said ‘show me’. I want to see you. Just you, baby. Gonna cum on my lap?” He rocked you harder, pinching your chin and giving it a soft shake to draw back your gaze on his own.

“Cum for me, baby.”

“Franky-!” you cried, feeling your eyes spring open as your vision blurred as your focus was marred by ecstasy. Your body flooded with endorphins, spurring within your chest and releasing the heavy knots in your belly. The damp patch below you deepened in intensity as your release seeped into his thighs.

Franky’s lips quivered as he darted his eyes between yours, finding in you that tether binding him to the mortal realm. With you anchored against him, he used your body rutting against his own to buck up his clothed cock and roll his hips against your thigh.

With a rough bark of your name, his cock began flooding his briefs with his own release. His eyes never left your face as he rode through his high while you came down from yours.

Two breaths, two hearts, two souls, two people: both enjoying their bodies while clinging to one another. That is where you found yourself, truly just intending to find his office to inform him your crew were about to make port in an island in two hours according to Nami.

As your body slouched against his chest, he cradled you in the same manner you did moments ago while reassuring him of his own body. He had never felt so secure as he did just now with his own body.

“Franky?” you whispered softly, turning your head and pressing your forehead against the crook of his neck.

“Yeah, baby?” He nuzzled against the crown of your head, “What's up?”

“We'll be making port in about forty-five minutes,” you gasp against his skin, pressing a shy kiss against his neck before hiding your gaze in his shoulder to cringe away your giddiness. Franky chuckles, reaching down and collecting your chin in his grip and turning you back to meet his eyes once more.

“Stay with me until then?” he asked softly, blinking slowly and and almost unsure of himself as you seemed to be. You found yourself drowning in his eyes, raw emotion swelling between you as you feel the chemistry fizzing up to a ruptuous tumble.

“After all that?” you scoff playfully, your smile painted over your lips and causing him to mirror it himself, “I'll remain by your side always.”

“Always?”

“Always.”

Tag list: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @since-im-already-here @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @the-light-of-star @empirenowmp3 @racfoam @sunflowersatori @carrotsunshine @skullfacedlady @jintaka-hane @thenotsofantasticlifestory @jadeddangel @ane5e

🎶 Happy Birthday to Me🎶

If you would like to celebrate by indulging my caffeine and bubble tea addiction, my Kofi link is here.

[sebscore]

MEET CUTE WITH THE GUY ON THE BUS | MICK S. 

pairing: mick schumacher x fem!reader

warnings: just fluff + i still dont know how to write endings so until i have figured that out, you are gonna have to deal with it :) 

author's note: based on this tiktok !! thought it was such a cute idea for a fic and mickolas was the perfect person for this- such a mama's boy!! 

masterlist

• • • • • • •

Sending telepathic messages to cute guys on the bus wasn't her usual routine, often staring out the large windows and observing the busy streets of the large city, but here she was.  

She took the bus regularly enough to know that the broad shouldered blond, who was showing his mother something on his phone, wasn't someone that took the public transport vehicle as much as she did.  

Y/N had been eyeing him the moment he stepped on, holding what she assumed was his mother's rather big and heavy handbag. 

Unfortunately for her, the young man wasn't glancing back at her. It wasn't a huge deal, she wasn't expecting him to get up from his seat and declare his undying love for her, but some sort of acknowledgement from the guy would have fed her delusions that would have her dreaming about him for at least a week. 

Her stop was getting nearby so she stationed herself closer to the exit doors, strongly grabbing onto the metal pole for stabilisation. The young woman increased the volume of her phone, the voice of Lana Del Rey blasting through her earphones. 

Y/N was deep into 'Cinnamon Girl', imagining herself to be in a music video, when a gentle tap on her shoulder made her turn around with force- flinching due to the sudden touch. Big blue orbs stared into her own eyes that had widened as a result of the surprising disturbance. 

It was the cute guy she had been shamelessly checking out from the moment he hopped on. 

''Uhm, can- oh.'' She had started speaking, but interrupted herself once she noticed him holding his phone out to her, his notes app displayed on the screen. 

You are beautiful. 

The mystery man had written out, a blush forming on his cheeks and ears as she read it, mouthing the words. Her eyes flickered from his phone back to him. ''Me?'' She took out her wired earphones, pausing her music. 

''Yes.'' He giggled, closing his phone and placing it back in his pocket. 

''Oh my- I thought you were so beautiful.'' Y/N replied back, getting a small squeal out of his mother who stood behind him. 

Her response had him grow shy, unable to form a processed answer back for her. However, the bus stopped and the doors opened. There was this tense air for a second that quickly disappeared once they realised they were getting off on the same stop. 

The three of them walked out of the bus, his mother staying a little behind her son- giving the flustered pair their space. 

The blond seemed too shy to tell her anything so Y/N took the first step. ''It was, uh, nice to meet you.'' In her head, this would be the end of their ''meet cute''. This is the part where they split and never see each other again- becoming a ''what if'' scenario. 

''Yeah, you too.'' He stuttered out. 

''Bye, have a nice day.'' She bid them goodbye, walking towards the direction of her home. The slightly disappointed woman put on her earphones again, re-starting her song- while texting her best friend about the interaction that just happened. 

Corinna bumped her shoulder with her son's. ''What are you doing, Mick? Go after her.'' She exclaimed, surprised he just stood still in his place. 

''I don't know, Mama.'' Mick doubted himself despite the obvious mutual infatuation with the young woman he had met. 

She grabbed her handbag from him and gave him a small, but effective push towards the girl. ''Go get her name and phone number! You're going to regret it otherwise.'' She hyped him up, knowing it would be a missed opportunity. 

Mick got a rush of adrenaline through his body as his mother gassed him up, chasing the woman down the street. He stopped in front of her, halting Y/N in her tracks and started speaking before the realisation of what he was doing caught up with him. ''Sorry, I just- can I have your name and maybe your phone number?'' He breathed out. 

The woman in front of him chuckled at his out-of-breath state. ''Yeah, I'm Y/N.'' She smiled, making him even more flustered. 

''I'm Mick.'' He introduced himself, shyly looking down at the ground. 

''So Mick, you want my number as well?'' His red face gave her a bit more confidence, asking the question with a grin on her face. 

He nodded, pulling his phone from his pocket. ''Only if you want to, of course.'' He added quickly, not wanting to come across as demanding. 

''I do.'' With her consent, Mick opened his contacts app and handed his phone over to her. She typed in her number, dubbing herself as 'Girl on the bus' on the display name. 

''Thank you,'' Mick dreamily looked at her contact details, ''I, uh, hope to see you again.'' He admitted. 

''Yeah, me too.'' Y/N beamed. She couldn't help but keep glancing at his face, his blue eyes practically asking to be admired. 

Corinna eventually caught up with them, giving her son a teasing look. ''It's very nice to meet you and hopefully, I'll see you soon.'' The older woman told Y/N, Mick's face turning even more red as his mother embarrassed him. 

''It's very nice to meet you too.'' 

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Hidden Treasure 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: your quiet life is interrupted by a tempestuous man. (reader is Blair from Follow You Anywhere)

Characters: Thor

Note: I just did it, okay?

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You lay out the hand-sewn coin purses along the left side of the table, completing the array of your hand-made and repurposed goods. It’s a good day to sell, sunny but not too hot, the early days of spring when people are eager to get out. At least it should be. Despite your selection, you’re not the most personable vendor along the square. 

The last detail is the hand-painted wood sign. You did it yourself; an antique frame you added a gold hue to and filled with a thin sheet of board. It isn’t much but it tells people what they’re looking at; handmade and renewed goods. 

You fold your hands and hover behind your table. You’re a one-person operation. It’s your own table, your own money, your own everything. It brings in enough for you to live. Just you and your cluttered apartment. 

The coin purses and the sleepers you sew by hand are the more popular sellers. Anything for children goes first, you notice. Everyone seems to be having them. The older crowd radiate towards the old candlesticks you polished to a shine or the glass-shaded lamps you tediously re-wired. Most try to haggle but your prices are fair enough. 

You peer around at the produce stands, the soap and candle makers, and the crocheted stuffies of your fellow sellers. You do a bit of window shopping but never follow through on your wandering eyes. You don’t need to waste the money on the pretty new things, you have lots of lovely old things. 

The traffic picks up and you busy yourself with the browsers. A woman with a stroller buys several of the infant dresses and headband, a group of older ladies peruse the aged hardcovers and pick out a few, while a couple comments on the brass-based lamp with the dangling chain. You do your best to smile through the transactions. 

The rises higher in the sky towards its apex. The steady flow keeps you busy, with some time in-between to work on fixing the binding of one of the old editions. You like to keep yourself distracted, thinking can be dangerous. With how much time you spend alone, it’s hard to avoid. 

As you lock up the cash box and tuck it back under the table, a shadow passes over, large than any other. For a moment, you think a cloud’s passing over the sun. You look up at the sky as a broad figure stands across from you.  

You don’t know how you didn’t see the man’s approach. He’s huge. Tall and wide. He doesn’t seem the type to be interested in your selection. Still, he leans in to eye the embroidered coin purses and gives a rumbling hum that sounds like distant thunder. 

He picks up one with primroses sewn into it. His thick thumb brushes the threaded design and his large hand makes the coin purse look even smaller. You tap your fingers on the table as his eyes flick up and meet yours. 

“Hi, uh, how can I help you?” You whittle out of your tight throat. It’s not often a lone man finds interest in your things. You cater to a more femme audience. 

“This is nice,” he remarks, “do you make these?” 

“Uh, yes, I do,” you give a tight-lipped smile, “I just embroider old used purses.” 

“Just? That’s splendid work,” he brings it closer to his face and looks down his nose at the little flowers and leaves, “my mother would love this... mother’s day is coming, eh?” 

“Oh, um, yes, I suppose,” you agree. “It’s five dollars. Cash only.” 

“Mm,” he traces his thumb over the metal clasp as he taps his back pocket with his other hand, “don’t think I’ve any on me. Could you hold this for me?” He offers the coin purse, “I’ll find the ATM.” 

“Sure, I could do that.” 

You take the coin purse, fingers brushing his rough skin, and you set it aside. 

“Thank you,” he smiles broadly, blue eyes twinkling as lines creases around them and across his forehead. 

He reluctantly trails away and you watch him go. His golden hair is longer than most, twisted into a low bun behind his hand as a few strands dangle freely around his face. He wears a denim jacket over dark red tee and grey jeans, along with a pair of scuffed brown boots. He stands out even in his casual attire. 

You shrug off the encounter and turn to your next customers. More baby clothes. The women chat about a baby show and you point them to the newborn sizes, telling them about the fabrics you use for each. They buy a few bibs along with the sleepers and diaper covers. 

You back up and sit in the folding chair, drinking deeply from your bottle of water. You don’t know if it’s the interactions or the sun making you dizzy. It’s close to noon. You always start to feel it around this time.  

The hours surrounded by strange faces and buzzing voices are clustering in your head and chest. Only a little longer; the market only runs until two. If the world didn’t require money to survive, you might never leave your apartment. Yet your table is the only means you have to keep walls around you. 

You sit a bit longer and get up again. You’re okay. You should’ve eaten before you left the apartment. How silly of you to forget the overnight oats you had put in the fridge just the night before. You do forget quite a few things. 

The market thrums with the late morning rush and you brace yourself for the final stretch. If you can clear off half the table, you might not have to come back next weekend. You’d be all too content to stay in your own little world, the one beyond is too loud and too bright. 

🕰️

You fold your table up and push the hook around the peg to keep it shut. You fold up the chair as well and lean both with your boxes. As the market clears out, you pull up your small two-door and load your wares into the back hatch. 

You peer over at the other vendors and their vans and trucks. Crews of half a dozen or more pack away goods and chatter just as loud as the previous crowds. It’s an isolating moment. You don’t mind going unnoticed but sometimes you feel so small. 

As you put a box in the back of the car, your keys slip off your finger. You bend and feel around the tire to retrieve them and sense a shadow above you. You clasp your hand around the keyring and stand-up suddenly, turning to face the figure behind you. There’s no one there. 

You peer around but find nothing out of the ordinary. You return to your task and pause. You don’t remember putting that box away yet... 

You shake your head. You’re just tired and forgetful. Your cardinal vices. Your mind wanders too much to rest, too much to keep order. 

You put the last box away and close the hatch. You get in the driver’s seat and turn the engine. It putters softly but it runs well enough. The old car has gotten you through the years just fine. There was a time that tiny thing was your home. 

You pull away down the lane parallel to the edge of the market square and pull out into traffic. You drive without seeing, led by habit as you stop at signs along the way, turning around corners mindlessly. You stop and wait to pull into your building’s lot and notice the large storm grey jeep behind you. It strikes you as peculiar; you enter from a back street to avoid the rush. 

You steer into the lot and the jeep continues down the street past the building. You forget it as quickly as it rolls beyond the faded brick. You find your spot, parking pass dangling from the mirror, and shut off the engine. You linger and take a breath. You're hungry and tired. 

You leave your things in the car and go upstairs. You slow as you pass your neighbour’s door. You saw her yesterday, she was in trouble about something. The police came as she hid from her boyfriend in your apartment. You didn’t even know she had one. You tried not to be nosy but she seemed real upset. 

Your cheeks tinge as you stare at the numbers on her door. She’s the only person who’s ever been inside your apartment. You don’t welcome people in, not into your home or your life. You hadn’t meant to let her in but you were so tired and confused, you couldn’t stop her. 

You cringe and continue down to your door with one last glance over your shoulder. You put the key in the slot and turn with a grind. You scurry inside and quickly lock the door, afraid she might once more emerge and follow you inside. Or that man, the big one with the beard. 

You twist the latch back into place and put your keys in the tray on the cramped shelf. The apartment is dark, the windows shrouded in black fabric, and you flip on the overhead light to guide you down the hallway. The walls are made tighter as their lined with endless shelves and tables, all filled with your collection of curiosities. 

You go to the fridge and take out the mason jar of steeped oats. You sit and eat the soft, pasty oats and the berries. You didn’t add enough cinnamon. It doesn’t matter, your stomach greedily mulches it. You put the kettle on and wait for it to steam. 

As you pace around, you hear a loud rumble. An engine. You don’t think much of it but you go to the window to peek out around the dark fabric. A woman walks a large dog past a grey jeep parked along the curb. Is it the same one you saw before? 

The question doesn’t pique your mind much. That’s the way of the world, you find. It’s a lot smaller than it seems, yet to you, it’s inexorably vast. It’s too fast, too unpredictable. You retreat as the kettle whistles. 

Your apartment is small and warm and safe. The world can’t follow you back here. Not if you don’t let it in and you won’t be doing that again. 

-🕰️

You decide, against your better instincts, to go to market. The weather is nice and it wouldn’t be so bad add a few extra bucks to your nest egg. You never know what might come up, or what you might find! Too many times you stumbled upon an antique you just couldn’t afford. 

You go through your usual ritual. You set up the table and the chair, and arrange your things in the same way around the wooden sign. As you put your boxes to the side, you hear a rattle at the bottom of one. You look into the crate and notice the silver ring. How’d that get in there? You didn’t bring any jewelry. 

You put down the box and reach inside. You take out the ring and turn it. You’ve never seen it before. There’s a strange stick symbol on the flat face. Maybe another language or a run of some type. You turn it in your hand and tuck it in your pocket. You’ll have to give a closer look at home. 

It’s early and a few stragglers trickle in, but they all walk by your table without pause. 

You sit and take out the jar of oats. You remembered today. You’d woken up with a hunger so deep, you almost ate before you left. You know better than to eat too early. Instead, you had your tea and got yourself moving. 

You stir the blueberries in and eat slowly, trying to measure your bites so you don’t feel sick after. You watch the other vendors, some still setting up, and lazily swallow down the thick oatmeal. It feels like it might rain after all, there’s a touch of damp in the air. 

You finish up and put the jar away. As you wipe your mouth with your sleeve, a woman’s voice trills and pricks your ears. Silver hair with a few wisps of gold peak out from her silk headscarf. The teal fabric matches the pattern of her blouse, tucking into a finely pressed skirt. She’s not alone, she has her arm hooked through another. 

Her companion is younger than her. His golden hair is pulled half up at the crown of his head as he towers over her lithe frame. You squint, they might be related. As they approach, you get a whiff of deja vu. 

“Yes, it was this one, mother,” the man’s voice is deep. 

“How lovely, look at all these treasures,” she slips her arm free as she approaches, “hello, dear, is this all yours?” 

“Mhmm, yes,” you stand up, “are you looking for something in particular?” 

“I think we’re just browsing,” she smiles brightly, her lips painted a gentle shade of rose. 

“A coin purse,” the man says, “with prim rose? Do you recall?” 

You look at him. Faces aren’t easy for you but his voice strikes something in your mind, and his size. You haven’t seen a lot of men that big, only the one in your neighbour’s apartment. You think you remember holding something but the customer never came back. 

“This one,” you point to the coin purse, set back in the row. 

“Yes, that was me,” he chimes, “mother,” he pulls the primrose purse to the top. She takes it and he looks back to you, “I apologise that I didn’t return, there was an emergency and I had to be off.” 

“It’s okay,” you shrug, folding your hands together. 

The woman is looking at you. There’s something in her gaze that makes you squirm. Her eyes linger just a bit longer before she aims them at the purse, admiring the embroidery as she feels it beneath her thumb. 

“Yes, I do like this one,” she says. 

“I brought cash this time,” the man booms and reaches into his pocket, “five, I believe you said.” 

“Yes,” you accept the bill from him, his skin rough as his fingertips touch yours, “thanks. Erm, did you need a bag?” 

“For this? No,” she wiggles the purse playfully and reaches for the man, her son, with other hand. She caresses his knuckles as she faces him, “you were right. Very beautiful.” 

He smiles broadly, proudly almost. It’s just a purse. You hide your discomfort as you grip your arm at your elbow. 

“Thank you,” the woman chirps back at you, sending another grin in your direction, “you might see us again.” 

She hooks her arm once more through her son’s and leads him to the next booth. You peer after them as her attention clings to the purse as she continues to feel it between her fingers. She leans into his arm as she speaks to him quietly. They seem close, it’s sweet. Your own mother had never been so affectionate. 

You look away before the scene can pluck in your chest. It doesn’t matter. You’re grown up now. That’s all behind you. 

[ofmdrecaps]

12/11-12/2024 Daily OFMD Recap

TLDR; David Jenkins; Rhys Darby; Taika Waititi; Samson Kayo; Zayre Ferrer; Damien Gerard; Dominic Burgess; Lindsey Cantrell; Articles; Fan Spotlight: OFMD Advent Calendar: Love Notes; Daily Darby/Today's Taika;

= David Jenkins =

Our dear Pirate Nana (amladydragonfly on bsky) had a bit of a spill at Galaxy Con Columbus, and it left her with some intense bruises! She posted updates on BsKY about them and Chaos Dad, David Jenkins sent her some love--and an invitation to join the crew! You really are badass and beautiful Nana! Just FYI, Nana also wanted me to tell you all that she is doing much better, and is ok after the whole incident-- but wouldn't have been if it weren't for all the kindness of this fandom! She says she's never felt so loved-- so thank you so much crew for taking care of her and spreading so much love and joy her way! You truly are the best crew ever!

Source: David Jenkins bsky = Rhys Darby =

Anyone gotten a chance to watch This Christmas yet? I got to this weekend and it really was adorable. I love Rhys' character, and not just because it's Rhys, because he's a goofy adorable dude. Interested in some fun behind the scenes with the characters? Here's a fun vid below!

Source: Youtube

In regards to more of Rhys' animated works -- "Curse" was nominated for an emmy! Check the article out here!

Source: Instagram

- Darby Daily Doodles -

Only a few more daily doodles for this year!

Source: Darby's Free Substack / 2

- Darby Family Kittens -

Caesar has been getting into some mischief at the Darby Household. Thank you Rosie for the continued cat content!

Source: Rosie's Instagram

= Taika Waititi =

Taika got to work with some fantastic folks at Disney to help make The Boy and The Octopus happen and a lot of folks are praising the ad!

Source: Paige Bonanno

Lots of cool BTS from The Boy and the Octopus as well!

Source: PRConcierge_ Instagram

= Samson Kayo =

Samson has been very busy with the F1 movie in Abu Dhabi (and chilling with a Simone Ashley)!

Source: Samson Kayo's Instagram Stories

= Zayre Ferrer =

One of our talented writers, Zayre Ferrer has been continuing their imaginary Spin Off Series on Bsky! There are so many I'd really love to see actually-- if you'd like to follow along with all their new stuff, check out their bsky!

15: Cuna de Lobos: A New Den

16: The Wire: The Re-Up

17: Cheers: Last Call

18: The Ricardo Radio Hour

Source: Zayre Ferrer's Bsky

= Damien Gerard =

Hey! Father Teach's Black Ops 6 was nominated for a bunch of BAFTA's and he's putting up some autograph signings on his site! Interested? Check it out here!

Source: Damien's. Bsky

And as always, Damien is keeping us all up to to date on his kitties.

Source: Damien's Bsky

= Dominic Burgess =

Dominic shared another picture of his character, Beef, on the new Star Wars: Skeleton Crew show!

Source: Dominic's BlueSky

= Lindsey Cantrell =

Lindsey has been getting all those Tiny Boat certificates signed!

Source: OFMD buys Boats Instagram

== Articles ==

Thank you again to @adoptourcrew for keeping us appraised of all the articles coming out! There sure is a lot this time of year-- it makes me feel like honking!

Source: AdoptOurCrew Bsky

== Fan Spotlight ==

= OFMD Advent Calendar =

The OFMD Advent Calendar has been going strong for many days now lots of new awesome works by many of our fandom folks being released each day! It's currently going on bsky here, and hosted and Door Artwork done by TillyChMo! (You don't need a bsky login!) The first day's fic is here by kentern.bsky.social! but if you'd like to follow them on bsky they'll have new ones every day (and there are currently 17 days up!)

The 2nd Door features @tresdem.bsky.social!

The 3rd Door features @ghostalservice.bsky.social fic PLUS @kninjaknitter.bsky.social podfic!

The 4th Door features @dracothelizard.bsky.social!

Source: OFMD Advent Calendar Bsky

== Love Notes ==

Hey there lovelies! I'm trying very hard to catch up right now, hopefully it'll happen over the next couple days as home and work slows down.

Today I'd like to send out a gentle reminder to take some time for yourself this week! This is the time of year when a lot of folks are busy taking care of others, getting things ready for family or friends, and honestly, a lot of times we forget to take care of ourselves. Take a break-- take a day off work that's just for you if you have the capacity. Buy yourself a little treat, or do something on the list of chores that YOU want to get done and not that other people need you to get done.

Some of you may have TOO MUCH time for yourself and want time with others-- so be sure to reach out if you do! People get busy during the holidays and they can forget to check on folks because their minds are occupied, but I can guarantee you they think about you often, and want you to be okay. Holidays can be such a mixed bag, and not one person will have the same experiences with them, so do what you need to do for YOU. I hope you have a restful week and nothing too crazy goes on. Rest up, drink some water, and know we <3 ya. Night crew!

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Laura Jones (@laurajaneillustrations)

== Daily Darby / Today's Taika ==

It's been a bit since I've had room for these so more gifs tonight! tonight's theme is laugh scrunches. Thank you so much to these beautiful gif creators @gottagobackintime and @ourflagmeanssara!

[mswyrr]

I really like Rachel Zegler's headcanon: Lucy Gray was long gone (why would she stick around?) and everything we see at the end is a hallucination. In the book he asks the doctor on base why the snake bite made him so ill, if it wasn't poisonous, and the doctor says extreme stress can do that:

The quote is on page 508. "Couldn't think straight" is massively understating it, given how disconnected from reality his pov prose becomes in the forest. I think it fits as one of several supportable readings in both film and book texts. And it has the benefit of meaning that Lucy Gray lives! ❤️

It's certainly not a required reading, though. There's multiple ways to interpret it that are all plausible; it's meant to be a mystery. But the idea that she ran and didn't stop seems very in character to me. She trusts her read on people and she gets the hell out when things go weird and he'd just clearly (a) lied to her, violating trust which is the most important thing to her, and (b) he was acting super weird/creepy.

It also makes sense to me that--after two incredibly stressful & traumatic months--Coriolanus had a full on breakdown in that forest, complete with visual/auditory hallucinations. On my first read-through of the book, I was frustrated with the ableism of people calling him "crazy"/ "sociopath" and therefore "born evil" (that is NOT how neurodivergence works!), so I pushed back on that and wrote pointing out all the ways his brain wiring seems pretty normal and he works as an example of an "ordinary" person acculturated in this dystopia - but as i've re-read and thought over it... it's kind of difficult to see the forest as anything but a breakdown to me.

Literally anyone--including otherwise neurotypical people--can have breakdowns if they experience enough trauma and stress in a short period of time, so one can still interpret him as having pretty standard brain wiring in that case. Or not! My real objection, at base, is to the idea that different wiring = inevitably evil.

[Big thank you to @kpchrs for pointing this panel interview out a couple days ago! I had no idea that Rachel liked this interpretation of the scene and it makes me really happy because that interp. also inspired my fic]

[myillicitaffair]

One of your girls part two | Carlos Sainz Jr

Summary: after a fateful outcome, Carlos wants to fix what he unintentionally broke.

Warnings: english not being my mother tongue, angst, alcohol consumption, dirty dancing, small description of throwing up, cheating, mentions of sex, messed up dynamics, slight swearing.

Notes: second part of this fic. i also wanted to say i’m currently taking request, to anyone who might be interested xx.

Credits: the gif used belongs to @neymarhamilton ‘s tumblr account, so all credits belong to them. this part, just like the one before, is inspired by the song “one of your girls” by Troye Sivan.

1.8k

SIX MONTHS AGO:

A chilly night welcomes my friend group as we make our way through a prestigious and crowded restaurant situated in the heart of Madrid.

Being born and raised in Spain´s capital city, the girls now walking into the facilities have been by my side my whole life; faith brought us together our first day of school, just three frightened little kids trying to survive elementary.

I like to believe that we complement each other, even if we hadn´t met all those years ago, life would have found a way to connect us.

A girl’s night out is a rare occurrence between us; always being on the shy side, we very much prefer staying in, drowning ourselves in sweet treats while marathoning our comfort romcoms.

The reason why we´re summoned tonight is quite simple… my very first broken heart.

You see, in an attempt to lighten the mood, my friends brought us to an extremely exclusive eatery, one where we clearly didn´t fit in. The difference was quite notorious, surrounded by leggy models and their handsome companions, I quite frankly begin to wonder why I ever agreed.

With a deep breath, I straighten my back and let the hostess remove my coat. “In for a penny, in for a pound” I think with a resigned shrug of the shoulders.

As we´re carried to our spot, I try and take the essence of the place in. I start noticing its eccentric décor, dim lights brightening the burgundy walls, leather booths scattered all over the classy tile floor.

What makes an ordinary dinner such a big success? Its bizarre modality.

Our table is filled with strangers, completely engulfed in their different conversations. The main reason for my friends to take us to this unconventional location was exactly this; the inexorable need to engage in conversations with foreign people.

The first round of dirty martinis arrives as the last costumers take their places next to me, with a lousy cheer I pour the drink down my throat, feeling its pleasant burning down my body, warming me up, making me forget.

“Easy there tiger”- the man sited by my side chuckles, gesturing towards my empty glass.

I take a moment to wander across his features. Thick eyebrows, big brown eyes, plump lips. Definitely attractive, exactly what I need.

A smile creeps up my face, the wires in my brain getting to work.

I notice an elegantly worn designer shirt hugging his chest, his forearms resting against the wooden surface, his attentive stare trying to read my thoughts.

“And you are?”- I condescendingly tease him.

“Carlos”- his hand travels to mine, embracing me with his warm- “Carlos Sainz.”

The subtle body hair covering his fist tickling my naked skin, igniting a fire deep inside me.

And in that moment, I simply knew there was no getting out, not anybody else as long as he kept staring at me like this, eating me raw with his gaze.

That was the first night I ever came back home with him.

————

FOUR MONTHS AGO:

Carlos is away for the weekend, oceans separating us, palpable distance every time he races through my mind.

I try convincing myself It’s the sex I miss, the obvious physical attraction, the invisible force that pulls us towards the other, the feeling of his warm skin being impossibly closer to mine.

Truth being told, I’m sitting immovable on my bed, nervously waiting for a call.

I can’t help but recall his soft locks intertwined with my fingers, his tongue inching towards my neck, how he never fails to make my blood boil with a simple grin.

My phone brings me out of my daydreams, screaming for attention as a call enters it. His name glistening on the screen, filling me with pure bliss and forcing me to hold my giggles.

Acting like a schoolgirl with a crush while being a full-grown adult… how pathetic!

Two rings go by before i pick up, bitting my bottom lip to keep my voice calm as if I wasn’t desperately clinging to it seconds ago.

“Gorgeous, you got a minute to spare?”- he asks, clear amusement in his tone, abusing the charm he knows he has.

“That depends, Carlos, who’s asking?”

I’m gobsmacked at how composed I sound, nowhere near how I actually feel.

My knuckles turn white from grasping my sheets.

“Don’t be like that, princess, I know you miss me”- his smile visible through his speech.

My heart skips a beat, can his words be revealing my true feelings?

“Oh honey, keep lying to yourself if it helps you sleep at night…”

I’m met with his scandalous laugh filling the line, raising my pulse until it’s beating on my ears.

Everything stops, everything keeps going.

I close my eyes in acknowledgement, being forced to admit what i’ve been denying ever since I met him.

Oh, how screwed I am!

———

TWO MONTHS AGO:

The music rumbles at the disco, throbbing on my skin with its intensity.

Being dragged to a hip party, my friends and I are bundled up in the comfort of our own group, dancing between ourselves.

As I rock my body to meet the pulsating rhythm, I embrace Carlos’s presence behind me, tightly grabbing my waggling hips.

He presses himself into me and I rub against his growing erection, purposely torturing him. His kisses start straying while sucking visible red marks into my neck.

His penetrating cologne invades my nostrils, clinging into my bare skin like a golden tattoo.

The mix of the alcohol I insisted on chugging and his hands shaping my whole body becoming intoxicating.

A foreign touch on my shoulder makes me open my eyes, leaving me to face my friend staring at me like i’ve grown a second head.

“You’re coming with me”- she pronounces as she drags me away from Carlos, who snorts in disbelief.

“What? Why?”- I ask as i’m forced to take a seat at the bar.

“Have you gone mad? You two were literally dry humping each other in the middle of the crowd!”- She hisses worriedly, forcing me to drink the water bottle she bought for me.

As she sits next to me, I prepare myself for the lecture she’s about to impart me, letting my eyes wonder across the dance floor.

I catch a glimpse of Carlos standing against a wall, hemmed by complete darkness, sometimes interrupted by one of the dj's lights.

When the spotlight lands on him, I start noticing the delicate hands hugging his broad shoulders, the almost nonexistent distance between him and the blonde caressing his cheeks.

Bile climbs up my throat, threatening to be ejected thanks to the scene before me.

Her lips all over his neck, staining the collar of his white shirt with lipstick.

Realizing i’m not paying an iota of attention to her, my friends follows my gaze stumbling across the sequence.

Effortlessly, she yanks me away from the enclosed space and into the garden.

Without being able to stop myself, I empty the contents of my stomach into the ground, constantly replaying the flashbacks of their sensual dance.

“Everything’s okay now, love”- My friend states while caressing my tangled up hair. Her fingertips come into contact with my cheeks, brushing my tears away.

Sobs are quick to scape my lungs, becoming more and more erratic as I imagine the second by second unfolding inside the disco.

———

PRESENT:

After running away from Carlos’s house, in the middle of a Madrilenian night, I’m fast to hide into the loneliness of my apartment.

I can’t even find comfort in blaming him as I was the one to agree with our “no exclusivity policy”, believing I could make it work.

How stupid of me to think I would be capable of not being trapped into his nets.

Clearly the only solution I can possibly come up with is crying it out, and that’s how I found myself in this situation; puffy eyes, completely ruined mascara, quivering eyes from shedding way too many tears.

Could I have been more stupid? I can’t even resonate one good reason why I would ever accept what he’s willing to offer me while wanting him in his entirety.

My determination is easily devastated as desperate fists bang against my door.

“Please, open up”- A too familiar voice implores from outside the apartment.

“I don’t ever wanna see you again”- I manage to scream through whimpers.

“I beg of you, please let me in! I swear I can explain.”

Standing right on the other side of the door, I feel my hand toying with the doorknob, trying to determinate whether or not to listen to his pleas.

“There’s nothing to explain, Carlos!”- I say, above a whisper, my voice to fragile for anything else.

“There’s been a while since i’ve been with anyone else, alright? Not since all I could think about was you!”

An unbreakable silence fills the hallways of the building, only the sound of his pantings and heavy breathing interrupting the stillness.

Without much hesitation, I open the hinges separating us.

Clearly, I was nowhere near prepared for the view before me; his full brown eyes now shimmering with unshed orbs, accumulated in his tear ducts.

“How about the girl from the voicemail?”- I ask, almost scared to find out this is all a product of my imagination.

“I know what that seemed like, but I promise you it’s not what you think!”- he says, piercing me with his gaze- “That was my ex girlfriend. She has a hard time letting go of me, even though there’s been more than a year since we’ve last been together. I never answer her calls and that’s why she’s getting more and more desesperate.”

Everything around me stops just to listen to his next words, my heart betting so out of control he might even hear it.

“Back at my apartment you told me you were enamored by me, well, there’s no use in trying to deny i’m in love with you”- he whispers, just loud enough for me to hear- “so much it’s physically painful, it’s all I can think about.”

My brain turned into mush as his confession sinks in. I almost want to laugh at how ridiculous the idea seems to me; the man I love, probably the only one i’ll ever love, stating that my feelings are reciprocate.

A sigh leaves my parted lips as a quiet tear runs down my face.

“I know i’ve made my mistakes and believe me when I say i’ll regret them every minute i’m on this earth, but I promise you, that if you give me the chance, i’ll make it up to you until my dying breath”- his voice sounds shaky, as if he couldn’t believe the words coming out of him.

I don’t think I ever reacted as fast as now, jumping into his embrace, wrapping my arms around his neck and my legs around his torso. Little giggles leave both of our mouths at the ridiculous situation.

“I love you”- He murmurs, muffled by the kisses he’s pressing against my checks.

“I love you too”- I answer back, with our bodies still entwined.

[thepayloadisgay]

Posted the next chapter of my Shimadacest longfic <3 enjoy!

----

Chapters: 2/? Fandom: Overwatch (Video Game) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Genji Shimada/Hanzo Shimada Characters: Hanzo Shimada, Genji Shimada, Ramattra (Overwatch), Original Omnic Character(s) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Longing, Angst and Feels, Hanzo is on the run and undercover, Budapest, Omnics (Overwatch), Post-Omnic Crisis (Overwatch), Masturbation in Shower, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Recreational Drug Use

Ch2 - under my skin

Hanzo shoulders the door of the staff toilet open and throws his shirt off, staring at the scratch marks he’s already raised on his skin through his shirt.

Running the tap cold, he splashes water over his arm, looking twice when he’s so sure he sees the scales of his tattoo burn the blue of his dragon.

He touches, drawing a finger in rhythm, in ask.

----

Where deep into his job at Blood and Chrome, Hanzo can't shake a feeling he hasn't had since Genji lived. But then his mark turns up, and he feels like this might be the start of something someone's bitten off more than they can chew.

[yanderemommabean]

I was re reading your bull hybrid fics of andy, and I really like them, and I was wondering how he would react to another farmer flirting with the reader?

I hope you're taking care of yourself and have a splendid day.

The bull just huffs, blowing air through his nose as he paces back and forth in his pen as he watches that no good Agust flirt with you and take your sunhat, holding it above your head and offering it back only if you give him a kiss. 

Andy doesn’t like August. He doesn’t like how he flirts, how he keeps his hands on you a bit too long, how he makes you laugh and acts like He can take you away from Andy himself, like the bull wouldn’t send him through three barns with just one angry kick. 

Thankfully you tell August that you aren’t going to kiss him, but then it’s followed by you flirting back, and his hairs stand on end when you say “We have to be classy, take me to the fair first”. 

No. No way in hell, as you’ve said before. What? It’s a cute saying! He likes it! What he doesn’t like is you forgetting that he’s claimed you as his, no matter how much you brush it off and act like it's some cute platonic joke. 

He kicks his hooves before easily galloping to jump over the barbed wire fence, sweeping you up as you yelp and push August out of the way. He gives warning chuffs, saying nothing as he backs away with you as you squirm and tell August “Don't worry! It’s fine! I swear! J-just give us a minute! He gets protective is all hun” 

Protective? Well, he’s a bit more than that, really, jealousy definitely has a part in his actions too. He holds you tightly in one arm as he ignores your scolding about hopping the fence yet again. Usually your scolding was cute and made him amused, with how he knew your cheeks would heat up and how you’d go on small rants that he just found adorable to the core. 

He takes you to the apple trees and just squeezes you tighter in a hug, chest rumbling in growls and dare he say- whimpers. Your worried hand comes up to try and pet his face, worried but also having a feeling this was more than about scaring away the farm help. You’ve noticed he tries to scare away August more than anyone else, even if he just waves hello some mornings. “Andy…Deep breaths. We’ve talked about how getting worked up isn’t good for you, remember?”

The hybrid just chuffs in acknowledgement, but still couldn’t help with how his instincts told him to stay on guard and keep that filthy excuse for a suitor away. “What’s this about? August was just being playful, he wasn’t bullying me none” “You agreed to meet him though. You agreed to be taken to a fair. That means you see him as a potential mate and I can't have him take you away”. His hands come to gently pet your hair, more to comfort himself than anything but you found it nice as you let the creature explain himself. You found it sweet he was so worried, but you needed to try and put some sort of boundaries down. Big sweet eyes or not, Andy can’t keep doing this. 

“Andy…You’re very sweet. You know me and you are close, and that I care about you very much but-” “But you found a human mate. As much as I’d like to understand that, I know that he won’t be good to you. Wont court you right, won’t make you smile and laugh or give you a companion when that sadness in the pit of your stomach grows too big”. “Andy-” You begin to protest, but you’re lifted up again and you're easily cradled in his large arms as he shakes his head, not letting you continue. “I care for you deeply too. I love you deeper than you seem to know. So, because I love you, I might have to do something that hurts you if you keep seeing that man”.  Your blood runs cold hearing that, and you begin to squirm again but it's no use with something so much bigger and bulkier than you. “Hurt me how?! You aren’t laying a hand on me!”

“Why would I lay my hands on you? It’s that ugly cowboy wanna be I’m going to maul, as much as you like him, I won’t allow that toxic and venomous snake around you. Whether you continue to like me or not, I’ll do what it takes to keep you close to me and taken care of, especially if that means I have to kill”.  ((I hope you enjoyed bean! Feel free to comment even if its just emoji spams lol -Mommabean))

[whovianofmidgard]

Summary: Finrod and Maedhros talk about their experiences with Sauron. Not of the torture and pain he inflicted on them, but instead of how much of a preening, narcissistic peackock he was, always going on about how beautiful he was. Celebrimbor and Maeglin join in on the gossip.

Inspired by this post by @inthehouseoffinwe

Snippet:

The Gardens are a place of healing and tranquillity, a transition for the newly re-embodied between Death and Life. There is quiet, but not the lack of all sound that forces a fëa to fill it with thoughts of contemplation like in the Halls. It is the quiet of nature, where the breeze gently rustles the canopy of leaves, where the slow flowing stream trickles along the bend, where the bees buzz about the pastel petalled flowers. A quiet filled with life, a quiet that is peaceful.     

"So..." Finrod, a visitor to the Gardens, one re-embodied long ago and in no urgent need of healing, breaks the silence.   

"So..." Maedhros, newly released from the Halls and still reacquainting himself with his new hröa, rumbles back in answer.   

A short pause, where they allow a red robin to say his piece as he flitters by, and the two elves size each other up. Finrod is bright eyed, his golden hair shimmering in the scattered beams of sunlight filtering through the leaves. He is a riot of colours, of expensive fabrics and jewels, smiling comfortably and perfectly settled in his skin, a paragon of joviality, just as Maedhros remembers him from his youth. There is the silver outline of a large lupine bite mark across his exposed throat.   

Maedhros' eyes are no longer dark and haunted, though neither light with innocence like in his youth. His hair is neither sparkling copper wire, nor a fountain of red blood, but the in-between that turns out to be the fluffy orange coat of a fox. He is getting used to his soul being clothed in flesh again, the breeze lightly caressing his unmarred skin, the smooth stump of his still missing right hand absently running through the soft grass he sits on.   

"Sauron, right?" Maedhros dips his toes into the murky waters of what some would consider a fraught topic of conversation.   

Finrod raises a curious brow but grins nonetheless. "Sauron, indeed."   

Maedhros sagely nods, and in a grave tone he declares, "What a pompous ass."   

"Eru Ever-loving! I know right?!" Finrod throws his head back as he cries out. "He was such an insufferable peacock!"   

"Always strutting about the dingy dungeon corridors like he was on the latest Vanyar fashion exhibit," Maedhros complains.   

"Yes!" Finrod exclaims. "Like every time he came down to our prison cell, he was wearing something different. Flowing robes, black silk dresses, giant fur coats, a full set of armour..."   

"Jewel encrusted layered skirts, gold embroidered mantle with a ten feet train behind him, lace tunic that left so little to the imagination he might as well have walked around completely bare chested..." Maedhros lists off.   

Finrod leans in, an almost manic glint in his eye, and regardless of their perfectly secluded spot in the Gardens, he drops his voice to a whisper like all the old Tirion gossips do at dinner parties.   

"Once he passed the cell I shared with Beren twice in less than an hour, and he was wearing two entirely different outfits both times."   

"Nooo," the eldest son of Fëanor gasps in mock disbelief, barely containing the delighted toothy grin that wants to break out across his face.   

"Yes, he did!" Finrod cries. Then continues, "I will never forget the loud echoing sound of his clip-clopping steps as he marched down the stairs in his..."   

"...stupid twelve-inch high heeled steel boots," they both say at the same time before dissolving into tittering laughter like a pair of old mortal ladies. 

Read the rest on Ao3

[magpiepills]

Got It Wrong

Rating: EXPLICIT 18+ MDNI

Pairing: Joel Miller x you x Tess

Word count: 3.9k

Summary: you meet two kind strangers when you get to the Boston QZ.

Warnings: SMUT! Alcohol, oral m and f receiving, PIV, fingering, FFM, mention of pant violence/murder, dub con due to alcohol, uncertain reader, reader is in her 20s, no physical description, probably more.

A word from the author: This is a repost! This was my second fic ever and I intended for there to be a second part. It’s mostly finished and just chilling in my docs because it got kinda dark and I wasn’t really sure what to do with it. I may still finish it one day. Y’all can tell me what you think.

The Boston QZ is a hellscape. You’ve always put on a brave face, stoic and bold in the face of everything that has fallen down around you. It’s been a lot, but your resolve has been firm. If you let yourself break even a little, you knew you wouldn’t make it. You had to stay alert here. Maybe the infected weren’t a threat inside the high fences and barbed wire that surrounded the city, but danger remained. People here are desperate and desperate people don’t show any mercy. You didn’t blame them, necessarily, that’s just the way of the world now.

For a long time, living with your family way out in the woods upstate had been something close to normalcy. You had a cabin and a garden and a creek. You had your dad, your sister, a woman your mom had worked with before the outbreak. You had a routine. You let yourself imagine the future here. You were happy.

You were in the woods foraging, filling a basket with mushrooms, berries, and edible leaves. Lost in the plans for a salad at dinner that night, you didn’t see the raiders slipping up to the house. You didn’t see them take away everything in an instant. You only heard a scream and shouting from voices you didn’t recognize. You froze, unable to run to the cabin to try to fend off the raiders. They’d have just killed you, too. You don’t know how long they were there, taking all they could carry before creeping back the same way they’d came. You couldn’t make yourself go back to the cabin. You didn’t want to see what they’d done to your family. You stayed in the woods all night, awake and crying and rocking yourself.

Now you were left alone in the world and with no choice but to go to the Boston QZ. You made your way there carefully, slowly, quietly. You raised your hands and let them test you, spending two full days in isolation before being spoken to like a human.

You had almost everything that you had stolen the first night in the shelter, and you had seen the leering eyes of the men you’d passed on the street, you heard fighting and crying, saw faces come and go. The labor was back breaking and soul-crushing. You’d have given anything for a moment of relief from the constant misery and fear.

After a few weeks in the shelter without serious incident, you let your guard down a little. There was a routine here, something you could focus on and ignore everything else. You’d found an abandoned paperback and read it in your spare time. You read and re-read it three times now, taking comfort in knowing what would happen at the end.

On Saturdays tables were set up in the dining room, and you could get some basic supplies. Some kind of charity, you’d guessed. You approached the table where bags of soap and deodorant and tampons were being distributed and were pleased to see a woman with a kind face and a warm smile standing before you. She was pretty, with long, sandy red hair, streaked with grey, pulled away from her face. She was maybe in her mid forties, roughly twice your age. Her name tag read “Tess.”

“How long have you been here, sweetheart?” She spoke to you in such a warm way, you dropped your guard a little further. Tess had an endearing way of asking about your health, asking if you had what you needed, giving you tips for getting placed in FEDRA housing, always asking how things were progressing. Tess was there every week, and you looked forward to seeing her. This week, as she was packing up to go, she asked you for a hand getting the boxes and card table back to her apartment. “It’s not far, and I’d owe you big time.” After how kind she’s been to you, you were happy to oblige.

The walk was short, about 5 blocks, down an alley and up two flights of stairs to a dimly lit but cozy apartment.

“I think we earned a drink!” Tess shot you a grin and held up a bottle of amber liquid.

You sat at her kitchen table while she poured the liquid into pretty etched glasses and reveled in what felt like friendship for the first time in ages. Maybe the QZ would be ok. Maybe you’d have your own little apartment and couch and pretty glasses to drink from before long.

The alcohol was making your head swim just a little and your little daydream didn’t let you hear as the door opened and closed again. You didn’t notice the man standing behind you, leaning on the doorway and looking at Tess with unspoken words on his lips. When you finally noticed Tess looking over your shoulder, eyebrow raised ever so slightly.

You turned slowly, and smiled at the man. He was tall and must have been about Tess’s age. He was good looking, tall and broad and strong, with salt and pepper hair and a scruffy beard. His eyes were dark and serious.

“Oh, hi! Sorry, I’m probably in the way of your dinner, I should get going.” You felt suddenly that you were intruding. This must be Tess’s boyfriend or husband or something. Tess turned back to you, and put a hand on your shoulder as you started to stand.

“No! Please stay a while. Don’t pay Joel any mind.” She introduced him as her partner and didn’t specify if this was a business partner or an intimate one, and you didn’t ask. Tess looked at Joel again, smiling.

“Don’t leave on account of me, sugar. Maybe I’ll join you ladies. That alright?” He took the chair across from you at the small table, and Tess sat another glass on the table in front of Joel and poured his drink before refilling your glass. “Tess tells me you’re new to the QZ, staying over in the shelter. That’s a dangerous place for a young girl. ‘Specially one on her own.”

“It hasn’t been too bad so far” you spoke, pushing down the nerves that had started to stir in your belly. “I think it’s all starting to work out.” You smiled at Joel and then at Tess. “Tess has been a lot of help.”

Joel smiled back, and his knee bumped yours under the table. Your face and chest felt warm, either from the alcohol or from the way Joel hadn’t taken his eyes off you since he sat down. His gaze began to feel heavy, it made you feel like you should keep talking, even though he was silent now. You were grateful when you felt Tess’s hand back on your shoulder, heavier this time.

“Are you feeling ok, sweetheart? Drinks catching up with you?” She chuckled “Maybe you should take the couch for the night, I’m not sure we can take you back to the shelter like this.”

She was probably right. The alcohol had made you feel hot and floaty and disoriented. It had been a long time since you drank like this and on a mostly empty stomach. You probably shouldn’t have accepted that third drink, but it felt so good to just hang out with a friend.

“I don’t want to be a bother…”

“No bother, sugar.” Joel spoke. “Sleep on the couch and Tess can walk you back in the morning. I’m sure she’ll get you to help her carry supplies while she’s at it. This is a win for her.” Joel sounded reasonable and his confidence was disarming you.

“Might as well have another drink since you’re staying!” Tess chirped as she topped up all of your glasses. You smiled into your glass and never noticed the look that passed between Joel and Tess.

Joel picked up the three glasses and moved them to the coffee table in front of the shabby couch so you could all sit more comfortably. You didn’t even remember walking to the living room. You were all talking, laughing, smiling. You head was spinning, but you liked feeling so relaxed.

The next thing you remember is feeling Tess sliding closer to you on the couch and putting her hand on your thigh while she leaned in to place a light kiss at the corner of your mouth. Her lips were soft and warm, and you didn’t want her to stop. You felt another hand on your thigh and looked down to see Joel’s wide, paddle-like hand gripping you. Your eyes followed his arm up to his neck and his jaw and his lips. They were close to yours and in an instant they were pressed to yours. His kiss was harder than Tess’s. More insistent.

You felt uneasy again, but once more pushed your feelings aside, deciding to just go with it. You’ve got new friends now and they like to drink and kiss. Maybe that’s how it is in the QZ; maybe you liked drinking and kissing too. You kissed him back and felt him hum approvingly.

Tess was still beside you. “You know, Joel can help you. He helped me out when I came to the QZ.” She spoke softly into your ear, and moved her hand from your thigh to the buttons of your shirt, her other hand wrapping around you to meet it and she nimbly undid a button, playing with the fabric of your shirt and running her fingertips lightly over your newly exposed skin before moving to the next button. Her mouth went to your neck as she worked, kissing your soft skin.

You swallowed thickly and your chest heaved. Is this really happening? Joel leaned back and watched Tess making quick work of your clothes, and when he spoke his voice sounded lower and slower.

“I know it’s hard around here for pretty young girls. Know it’s not safe. Maybe y’need someone to look out for you.” Had you noticed his accent before? It was southern and you found it really alluring, the way some of his words melted together. “It’s good to stick t’gether in a place like this. Have somebody on your side.”

You couldn’t form words. Tess had made her way to your bra and was running her fingers under the band, your nipples hardening at her touch. Joel’s eyes were trained on your tits, and his hand gripped your thigh higher, his thumb pushing between your thighs, dangerously close to your now soaked and throbbing pussy. He kissed you again, tilting his chin to meet your lips and kissing deeply. Your lips parted and you felt his tongue in your mouth.

Your heart was pounding. You licked at his tongue gently, and he swallowed your soft moans. Tess had one hand on your stomach and one hand cupping your breast now. She whispered sweetly, “Why don’t you bring your stuff back here tomorrow? You can help us and we can help you.”

It sounded perfectly reasonable. You nodded, eyes closed, leaning your head back to kiss her again, letting your lips linger, soaking up her sweetness before tipping back into Joel’s kiss. His hands were on your hips, squeezing gently, and Tess was popping the button on your jeans, easing the zipper down.

You wished you could reach her to return her touches in kind, but Joel had a firm grip on you now, so you just unbuttoned his shirt, hoping it was ok with Tess, you still weren’t clear on what kind of partnership they had and you didn’t want to misstep.

“He’s handsome, isn’t he?” She whispered. “I think he likes you.” That sounded like permission.

Joel’s thumbs hooked under your waistband and tugged your jeans down, pushing you back into Tess’s chest as he slid them down your thighs, pulling your panties with them.

He sat back on the couch, palming his stiffening cock, and marveling at the sight before him. “Look at our girl, Tess. Real pretty.”

Tess hummed in agreement and squeezed your tits together, her own naked chest pressing into your back.

You’d never had a threesome, but this was the hottest thing you’d ever done. You loved feeling like their play thing. Whatever was between them, you didn’t care. You had never been so turned on.

“You feel good, sugar? Gonna let me touch you the way you need?” “

“Yes, Joel, want to feel you.”

He chuckled and groaned at your enthusiasm. “Lean back, baby.”

You were laying on the couch between them now, your head in Tess’s naked lap, one hand holding hers, the other running through Joel’s thick wavy hair as he pressed his tongue against your wet seam.

Tess’s hand moved between your tits, massaging gently and running her thumb over your peaks. She lowered her mouth to yours, kissing you softly and slowly, your tongues mingling, your senses overwhelmed at their combined touches. Joel was working away at your wet cunt, alternating between long slow licks and quick firm flicks of his tongue over your swollen clit. The sounds of sucking, smacking, and soft wet sounds filled the air, it was pornographic and you wished you could see what you all must look like.

You were already panting when Joel pushed a thick callused finger into your willing entrance, and the sudden fullness forcing a low moan from deep in your throat.

You felt that lovely tightening in your belly, sending sparks down your hips, and building to a crescendo. Just as you approached the edge, your vision becoming dark around the corners, he slipped a second finger in, pulling you tight and working them in deeply, and sucked hard on your bundle of nerves.

You were a goner. You bucked and gasped, your head falling back into Tess’s lap.

“Good girl, baby. Good fuckin’ girl.” Joel slid his fingers out but gently brushed his slick fingers over your swollen lips, making you suck them clean as you rode out your orgasm. “You picked a good one this time, Tess. Let’s see if she can handle a cock now.”

He was so lewd! You’d blush if you weren’t still spinning out from your climax.

Tess slid off the couch and sat beside it, scooting down so that her head was near your hips.

“I knew you’d love her, Joel. She’s gorgeous. Just your type, and so sweet.”

Joel paused to smile at Tess, and leaned down to kiss her. It was a tender kiss, the first time you saw them touching each other, you realized. It made you feel a little awkward to be laying on the couch totally nude next to them. It was over as quickly as it began, though and Joel turned his attention back to you. He leaned down on one elbow to support his weight while the other hand cradled your jaw as he kissed you, letting you taste yourself on his lips and tongue.

He groaned and let his hips drop against your core, and you let your knees fall open to accommodate him. He was still dressed, you never got further than unbottoning a few buttons of his denim shirt. You could feel his length pressing against your core, you slipped your hand down to palm him.

He felt big. Big, big. Too big, you worried. He must have sensed your hesitation.

“Want to see it, baby? See if you think you can handle my big cock?”

Tess was behind him now and wrapped her arms around his waist to unbuckle his belt and release him from his jeans.

“You’re in for a treat, sweetheart. Joel knows what he’s doing. Might be sore tomorrow though.” She smiled at the last part and reached down to grip his cock. Joel turned to kiss her once more, then she returned to her spot beside the couch.

Joel planted open mouthed kisses along your chin and neck, trailed down your chest, his movements unhurried, like he was just taking you in. Your skin cooled under each kiss when he moved to the next and underscored your arousal. He made his way to your breasts and sucked your nipple into his mouth as he squeezed and pressed the other, he sucked firmly, and nibbled down the side of your breast before turning the same attention to the next. Joel drove you mad with desire, you lifted your hips, wanting to feel his turgid member against your aching pussy.

“You can’t wait to get fucked, can you baby girl? You gonna beg for it, sweet thing?”

“Please, Joel!”

“Please what, baby?”

You groaned into his shoulder. “Please, Joel. Fuck me please. I need to feel your cock. Want it so bad, Joel.”

You were breathless and wanton, Joel hummed approvingly.

“You sure ask nicely. I just might give it to you.”

You whimpered and drove your hips up again, this time you felt his hot, thick length slide over your folds. You could come just from that alone, but you were desperate to feel full of him. You couldn’t stay quiet and Joel seemed to feed off of your noise. Moaning, panting, crying out his name, it drove him wild. He loved hearing what he did to you, loved that he had the power to turn you into a needy mess.

He reached down to slap his cock against your seeping and sensitive folds, paying special attention to your clit, making you cry out once more.

When he couldn’t wait any longer, he pressed the smooth, thick head to your entrance.

“Fuck yourself on my cock, sugar. Go ahead. You want it, you take it.”

Tess giggled at that. She had been quiet, watching and lazily rubbing her own naked sex, enjoying her front row seat to you and Joel’s erotic coupling. She slid her fingers down to gather the pooling slick, and spread it over her clit. She would make herself come when you did. You lifted your hips and tried in vain to push him inside you. You couldn’t get enough leverage, you were just driving yourself crazy, he was right there but you couldn’t get him inside, no matter how your wiggled. You broke.

“Please, Joel!” You were desperate now, out of your head.

Joel kissed your neck once more. “Alright, baby. But remember, I warned you.”

He pushed slowly and firmly, working the head just past your entrance and you were frozen beneath him. The sting of him stretching you was unlike anything you’d ever felt before, and you knew you couldn’t take him all.

Joel was still, knowing you’d need time to get accustomed to his size. When he felt you move against him again, he continued, pushing further now, and backing out just slightly before going deeper. Two steps forward, one step back.

“So goddamn tight, sugar. Ain’t you ever been fucked by a big cock before?”

You couldn’t answer, but the work “gigantic” came to mind, along with memories of your first boyfriend, who came in his pants before you could have sex, and the guy after him who had fucked you, but who was so interested in his own joy that he never made you cum.

You felt far away from everything that was happening. Eyes closed, mouth open, eyebrows furrowed, the only thing in the universe now was you and Joel. Everything else fell away and was swallowed by darkness.

You snapped back when you felt Tess reach between you and Joel, seeking your clit to rub gentle circles, distracting you from the stinging further down. Her touch was just what you needed. You relaxed your hips and felt them open a little, giving Joel more room to work. He quickened his pace, his own climax gathering in his belly, he was less gentle now and you were panting hard, no coherent words forming. With one more thrust, he was all the way seated, and you could feel him at your cervix.

He felt pride at how he had you so fucked out. He looked down at you, cheeks and chest flushed, sweat beading on your forehead, lips swollen and puffy. He swung his hips back and fucked into you again and again. You were close. Tess had turned her attention to your swollen, sensitive clit again, and was kissing the side of your face, your neck, your ear and whispering praise to you.

“You’re taking him so well, baby. Look how you take that cock. You’re so fucking beautiful like this. I want you to come for us, babe. Come while he’s got that huge cock buried deep in your pussy.”

Her words and her touch and his heavy strokes were too much. Your body jerked, and your orgasm took control. Your legs locked around him and kept him inside you. When the crashing wave subsided, Joel resumed his thrusts, faster now, getting sloppy and out of rhythm. He was close.

“Where you want me sugar? Don’t say inside.”

You answered him with a moan and he pulled out fast, rubbing out his orgasm against your hip with a deep, throaty groan.

“You’re perfect, baby girl. Absolutely perfect.”

Joel and Tess leaned close and you shared kisses before Tess disappeared and returned quickly with a wet towel for each of you and a few glasses of water. Joel cleaned himself, then you. His touch was gentle and caring. You sipped your water in a daze, unsure what to do or say. You’d just fucked Tess’s boyfriend or husband or something with her blessing, and you’re not sure what to do now.

You excused yourself to the bathroom and grabbed your shirt and panties. Neither of them were getting dressed, so you just slipped on your shirt without buttoning it, and put your panties back on. You already felt your hips and inner thighs aching, and you were feeling sleepy. When you returned to the living room, Joel had taken up the middle seat on the couch, and Tess was tucked under his right arm, nuzzling his chest. You sat on his left, and he pulled you onto his chest as well. He was serene as you and Tess laced your fingers together.

You must have fallen asleep. When you woke up, you were still on the couch, a pillow under your head and a blanket tucked around you. Your head was pounding and you felt sticky, sore, and like you needed a shower.

The memory of the night before flooded back, and you felt something like embarrassment, but not quite. You didn’t regret it, at least what you remembered. You wondered if they’d meant what they said about helping them and them helping you. You wondered if that was just referring to the sex. It seemed like they meant something more, but you didn’t want to bring it up and make things weird. You weren’t even sure how you could help them, but you decided to think about that later.

You yawned and stretched and when Tess saw you moving, she brought you more water.

“Hey sweetie. You feel ok?” There she was. The kind Tess you knew. It was reassuring to hear her talk so sweetly to you. “Joel went out to find breakfast for us, then he’s going to go with you to the shelter to get the rest of your things. We talked it over and decided you should stay here. Until FEDRA finds you a place, you’d be safer and more comfortable with us.” How could you argue with that?

“Really, Tess. The shelter is fine. I’m sure it won’t be long and—“

“You’re not going to convince Joel of any of that, so you might as well just get your stuff and bring it here.”

You didn’t have a response.

[danaclese]

Clark wishes Lex would be his friend for some of the exact same reasons Lex hates Clark

Lex is one of the only people in Clark's life who doesn't want to push him into a human box.

We know that Clark isn't able to authentically live his culture. He can only speak kryptonese to the automatons at the fortress out of desire to feel "authentically kryptonian" but that's all he can get. It hurts so much to watch your ancestors language die, most readers will never be able to fathom it.

Dick asking him for advice as an alien is refreshing to him, because he is for that moment permitted to live fully in his truth and say, "yeah I think you guys are weird sometimes, I like you but I'm not one of you"

Superman is the MOST neurodivergent, he literally has an alien brain. he mimics human behaviour but he is wired differently, his brain has different pathways that he uses to make decisions. Now consider Lex Luthor's inability to see him as human, the constant hyper awareness that this guy is super different and from somewhere else. Luthor is reacting out of fear to Clark's being an alien, the exact reaction to the exact thing that Clark is so afraid of happening that he acts more like a human to fit in. The same act that Sets Off Luthor's hyper-vigilant alarm bells.

All reactions are a choice between hope and fear, and that given the same information a fear focused person and a hope focused person will end up working in opposition to achieve the same goal of security. @violent138 Made a lovely post about Children treating Clark like an alien, I replied on my side blog at the time but I'm re-using it here since i have been trying to write this post for over a month and this makes it work. I think that Clark would love kids treating him like an alien. He is never able to live his truth and be authentically alien in public without the fear of causing fear in humans, fear he can't ignore because he smells it. Questions like "do aliens like ice cream?" probably make Clark's day as he is given permission to "safely" express in his non-humanness.

P.S. WP for SuperBat fic writers: the first time Bruce spoke kryptonese to Clark, he broke down and cried.

This was supposed to go to drafts not post. oh well.

[bucky-barnes-lover]

Kinktober day 15: Kinks listed below

Fic: Sebastian Stan

Daddy turned Father:

Dad to be!Sebastian Stan x Wife!reader

Warnings: Slight pregnancy kink, Cursing, SMUT 18+, Pregnancy talk, Going to the Doctor's (Does that even count?)

W.C: 1305

I figure this didn't turn out great but I've had a busy week and I'm tired so, if u like it please re blog. Thanks

I'm sick. Really sick. Every Morning for the past 2 weeks I've been waking up with a horrible stomach ache and the need to vomit. I haven't told Sebastian though since he's been away filming for the past couple weeks. But, doing the logical thing I went to the doctor.

"So y/n, I think we'll do an ultrosound just to make sure you don't have a stomach bug or something anymore serious. You did however pass all the blood, heart and senses tests with flying colours so it cannot be anything got to do with your brain." Said the doctor.

"Thank goodness! I love my brain." I replied sarcastically.

"I'm sure most of us do y/n"

Dr. Mayladd led me over to the ultrasound room as she handed me a blue papery hospital gown. Addressing me to remove my shirt and put the gown on instead.

"Gosh that's scratchy" I complained making my way over to the examination chair, leaning back as far as the chair would go.

"You'll only have to wear it for a couple minutes, I'm sure you can handle that"

"Of course doctor" I moaned playfully, causing a small laugh to escape the Dr's perfect red lips.

"I'm going to spread some jelly on your stomach okay, it'll be a little bit cold but it won't be for long okay"

"Sure" I answered, boredom creeping into my voice.

"Oh y/n. You sound like an annoyed teenager, brighten up a bit. You could either get home to your husband knowing you have bowel cancer or are expecting a baby." She told me, sounding a little bit too enthusiastic talking about cancer.

"Yeah, thanks but I'd rather not have either"

"You don't want children?" The Dr asked me, sounding a little less excited.

I let out a loud sigh before explaining to the Dr exactly what I was thinking.

"Yes, I do. I do want children. It's just that Sebastian has been away filming for a good while and we never really discussed when we would want to start a family. So I'm not sure if this is the right time."

Dr. Mayland rubbed some cold blue jelly over my stomach, through the hole that was cut in a circle right over the tummy. Then she connected a couple wires to an ultrasound remote, which kind of took the shape of a jade roller, just thicker and electronic. She started rolling the remote across my stomach spreading the jelly with it.

Eyes focused on the computer machine as the remote scanned my skin. Suddenly a small shape, about the size of a blueberry came into view.

It was undeniably a baby.

"Well, you are pregnant and it looks as if you're about 7 weeks along. Would you like me to print off the photos?"

Said Dr. Mayladd as she continued scanning over my stomach.

"Yes please." I responded, overwhelmed at the fact that I am carrying a child.

"OK. Give me a second to do that."

The Dr. responded, a few seconds later I heard a faint buzzing sound and then she turned around to face me. A roll of what looked like Polaroids in her hand. Putting them in a small box, along with a card before she handed it to me. With a note of congratulations, I left the Dr's office.

The drive home was stressful. The radio was playing 'Starlight' by Taylor Swift. One of my favorite songs, but I couldn't pay attention to it. Crazy thoughts running through my brain. What if Seb doesn't want kids right now, What if the pregnancy goes wrong. What if, what if, was all I could think of right now.

As I arrived home, I almost drove away, seeing my husband's car in the driveway. Shit. How do I tell him?

Leaving all my thoughts in the backseat of the car, I unlocked the front door. Immediately greeted by soft kisses escalating down my neck.

"Hi baby." "How are you?" I asked him as he pecked my lips.

"I'm good. You?" He questioned, pointing towards the doctor's receipt in my hand.

"Oh, Well." I hesitated, struggling to find the words to say to him. Not knowing if I should even tell him right now.

"Well, I'm pregnant."

Sebastian stared at me for a couple seconds, clearly starstruck by the news that he's going to be a father.

"Y/n. Are you serious?"

"Yes. That's why I went to the doctor today. I've been sick almost every morning since you were away, which is ironic now that I think about it. Considering we had a pretty fun night a couple days before you went off for shooting."

"But yeah, I'm 7 weeks along." I uttered anxiously.

"Shit y/n. We're gonna be parents."

Sebastian yelled, happiness clear in his tone and visible in his full smile.

"That is if you want to keep it." He added on, seeing my scared expression.

"Yes, baby, I want to keep it, I'm just scared. We haven't really discussed this much, since you've been away a lot." I expressed.

"Doll, there is nobody else I would rather have children with than you. I love you with all my heart, please acknowledge that." He reasoned.

"Now. We have to celebrate" Sebastian continued.

Picking me up and carrying me up the stairs to our shared bedroom.

Running to the bed, I undress into my bra and panties, my husband doing the same.

"Babydoll, I'm gonna fuck you so good you'll have another baby in you soon enough" He chuckled as he unclipped my bra. Grabbing my breasts in his hands, kneading them as he trailed kisses up and down my neck.

Sweet moans escaped my lips all the while Sebastian sucked on the sensitive skin along my neck. I reached down to his groin and palmed him through his boxers, earning a desperate moan from him. Dropping to his knees, towering over me he grabbed my underwear, tugging as I lifted up my hips letting them slide down. Feeling Sebastian's rough fingers slide along my slit, into my wet hole.

"Damn Mama. You're so wet already. Wonder how well you could take my cock" He muttered, adding a second finger into my entrance. Pumping in and out. My moans grew more desperate as he pumped faster inside of me, rubbing my clit with his thumb. I knew he could feel I was close, because he stopped just as I was on the verge of cumming.

"Ahh. Seb, what was that for" I moaned out, annoyed at his act.

"Not so fast mama. Don't you think I would let you cum that easily without you cumming all over my cock." He growled.

Removing his boxers, he lined himself up with my entrance before thrusting his hips slowly. I groaned, feeling myself stretch as he worked his thick cock through me.

"Oh Seb" I moaned as he thrusted into me harder and harder. Hitting the right spot each and every time.

"Fuck Mama, you're so tight for me." He moaned. Bucking his hips against my own as his thrusts became much, much harder. Digging even deeper into me. Causing me to scream out his name. "Fuck Sebastian!!" I screamed, the pleasure almost too much. I felt Sebastian's fingers trace over my sensitive clit. Rubbing it in a soft circular motion.

My pussy clenched around his cock. So tight and so close. Sebastian's finger grazed my clit one more time, sending me over the edge. A couple moments later, after one last deep thrust, Sebastian came inside me.

"Fuck babydoll. You feel so good" He moaned, still working his cock inside me. I only moaned in response. The pleasure was overwhelming.

If this was what pregnancy would be like, I don't know why I'd be so scared, becoming a mum.

[writingfromasgard]

[Masterlist]

Starting second Price fic bc everything in my drafts just need to be edited..

A lot of times I see Price with amorphous blob reader so.. maybe I'll write one that's a bit off. She isn't insane but occasionally something slips that makes people look at her side ways.

The boys are around for a meal pre-op like always, hushedly speaking about the target when she pops her head in, eyes wide with excitement as she rattles off a little too much information on how she read about how easy it is to re-wire a fingerprint scanner, detailing how to do it before popping back in the kitchen to finish plating dinner.

They boys just look to Price who shrugs, "She watches a lot of documentaries."