#getting asks spaced out over days is probable

[midnightsnyx]

come back home - jack hughes

pairing: jack hughes x reader warnings: angst with a hint of fluff word count: 879 requested: yes / no author note: i have like a million other projects i need to write but i just need to get my sad feelings out so yeah, sorry lol masterlist requests are open

It’s quiet when you step in to the apartment you and Jack shared which wasn’t unusual in the past few months. Quiet was how the two of you lived lately. Tip toeing around each other as if you were walking on egg shells.

Part of you was tired of it and asked yourself if it was really worth it. But the other part of you wasn’t sure if you knew how to live without him anymore and that thought alone scared you. It made you realize how much you had grown to depend on him.

You hear his voice before you see him.

“You’re home.”

His voice is hoarse and you know that he just woke up from a nap. His ruffled appearance confirms it when he meets you in the living room.

“Yeah,” you whisper, staring at the floorboards. You hadn’t been home for days - not since the fight the two of you had. Your best friend let you crash at her house after you told him you needed space which explains his next question.

“Why?”

Truthfully, you aren’t sure what made you decide to come home. Your friend had told you that you were welcome to stay as long as you needed and had even put her two cents in on the whole situation.

Her words stuck with you since you broke down and told her everything that had been going on.

“He may love you. He probably does… or at least he maybe thinks he does. But that’s not what matters, sweetie. What matters is what he is doing to show you that he does and right now… he isn’t doing anything.” She squeezed your hand and smiled gently. “You deserve someone who goes out of their way to show you how much they care about you.”

The worst part was that she was right. When was the last time he had went out of his way to do something for you? It made you think back to the beginning of your relationship when he treated you like you were the most important thing in his life. But you suppose that all new relationships begin like that.

You realize that he’s still staring at you intently and you try to come up with some reason you came back rather than the truth, which was that you were too dependant on him and you felt like you needed him as much as you needed air to breathe.

“Can you at least tell me one thing?” he asks after you’ve been silent for so long and all you can do is nod.

“Why did you leave?”

You don’t have to think about the answer to this question because it was something that had been haunting you for quite some time.

“I guess I started to feel like I needed you more than you needed me,” you tell him quietly, wrapping your arms around yourself tightly.

“Look at me,” he says and you let your eyes meet his. “I love you.”

You want to believe him but your friends words keep coming back to haunt you. Did he love you or was he drunk on the idea of it? Something your mom told you a long time ago was that there is a distinct difference between loving someone and being in love with them. It’s easy to lie to yourself about loving someone but you can’t lie to yourself about being in love with them.

“How are you so sure?” you ask him.

“How could I not?” he says and you’re about to tell him that his answer isn’t good enough but he doesn’t stop there. “Baby, you’re the first person I think of when I wake up and the last person I think of when I’m falling asleep at night.” He slowly walks over to you and reaches out with one hand, letting his thumb run across your cheek. “I think about your smile and your laugh and about how you are the only person I want to come home to.” You watch as he looks away from you and stares at a picture of the two of you. It’s from a trip the two of you took last summer during break. 

“I don’t know what to do,” you admit. You’re scared that if you let things go back to how they were before, you’ll end up back here in this exact situation. “I’m afraid that this will become a cycle and I can’t do it, Jack. I physically can’t handle that.”

He doesn’t say anything for a minute, he just looks at you as if you’re the only thing in the world, his world, that matters. It makes you weak in the knees and this is the Jack you fell in love with. 

“Just come home,” he whispers. “We can figure everything out. Together.”

It’s a risk, deciding to give everything another shot. To put your heart on the line. But you remember something else your mom told you once.

“The right people are worth staying for”, she had told you.

You take a deep breath and nod, hoping that you’re making the right decision.

“All right,” you tell him and he grins, kissing you for the first time in months and it feels like coming home.

[hahnslove]

LUSTFUL LESSONS [+18] ⋆˚࿔

CONTAINS : agatha!professor, femreader!agathaharkness, age gap, wlw smut

You are Agatha’s student, and she asks you to come see her in her office because of some concerns…

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .*:☆ﾟ. ───

You’re sitting in class, surrounded by your fellow classmates, on just another normal day of listening to Professor Harkness’s lecture. She is utterly mesmerizing, and you can’t help but be drawn to her; sometimes, it even seems like she’s equally captivated by you, as if there’s a mutual attraction between the two of you. But that’s obviously ridiculous; you are her student, after all.

Professor Harkness clears her throat. “Miss y/ln, are you still with us?” Your soul has left your body. “Yes. Sorry professor.” You sink into your seat out of embarrassment. The rest of the class painfully drags on. Finally, you’re packing your things as the rest of the students file out of the room. “Y/n, will you please see me in my office after your last class today?” You are taken aback ever so slightly. “Yes, of course, professor. Is everything alright?” you respond. “Everything is fine, dear; there are just a few things I would like to go over with you.” The sound of her using that nickname almost brings you to your knees. “Okay then. I’ll see you later.” With that, you practically bolt out of the room. You are slightly terrified at what she could possibly want to talk to you about. Alone. In her office.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .*:☆ﾟ. ───

Now that your last class has finished, it’s time to visit Professor Harkness. As you walk to her office, you wonder how you’ll manage to keep your composure, especially since she’s wearing an incredibly sexy pantsuit. Whoa. You snap out of your thoughts. You can’t think of her in that way; she’s your professor, and it’s inappropriate. But, it sure is fun to imagine.

You finally reach her office door, and after taking a deep breath to calm your nerves, you hesitate for just a moment before knocking. You hear shuffling behind the door after you knock. “Come in,” Professor Harkness says. “Please have a seat.” You take in the space, looking around. “It’s very cozy here; I like it,” you say softly. “Thank you,” she smiles, “I like it too.” She says warmly. “Well, you are probably wondering why I asked you to come see me.” You stay still. “I’ve noticed how distracted you have been in class, and I wanted to make sure you are doing okay.” You definitely weren’t expecting that. “Oh, I mean, I’ve been doing fine,” you respond. “Are you sure, dear? It sometimes seems as if you are in a trance in class.” She leans forward in her chair, her eyes intently fixed on yours. “I-I mean, maybe I have been a little distracted recently.” You say quietly, avoiding eye contact. “Is there any reason for that, Miss y/n?” She observes. “It’s probably just stress or something.” You brush it off. “I think I can help with that.” Professor Harkness gets up from her chair and is now directly behind the seat you are in. “Is this okay?” She puts her hands on both of your shoulders. You nearly gasp at the contact. “Yes, Professor.” You respond. “Alright, love, just close your eyes and relax. I got you.” You exhale and close your eyes. Professor Harkness gets to work and starts massaging your shoulders.

Soon after she begins the massage, you let out a small moan, and then gasp slightly, your eyes widening in embarrassment as you realize what you’ve just inadvertently done in front of your Professor. “I am so, so sorry, Professor,” you stammer, feeling utterly humiliated and embarrassed by your mistake. She turns your chair around, her hands still on your shoulders. “No,” she says sharply. “I liked it,” she then says. You are frozen in place. “And I think I want to hear it again.” You are completely at a loss for words; your mouth opens but no words come out. She then takes a step back. “Oh my God. I am so sorry y/n. That was completely unprofessional of me. I shouldn’t have said that.” That’s when you finally realize that your connection wasn’t just in your head; she felt it too. You stand up and reach for her hand. “You want to know the real reason why I’m always distracted in your class?” you say in a soft playful tone. Her gaze pierces through your soul. “It’s you,” you state. She pulls you in a little bit closer; you can feel her breath on your face. “I get so lost in my thoughts because of you.” You say “Daydreaming…fantasizing.” Your voice is barely above a whisper. You start to lean in and suddenly Professor Harkness pulls back. “Wha-.” You begin to say. “I need to hear you say it.” She interrupts. You already know what she means. You take a deep breath. “I want you, Professor Harkness.”

With those words, your professor pulls you in, and your lips crash together in a heated, passionate kiss. You have fantasized about this for such a long time that you can’t believe it’s actually happening right now. You deepen the kiss, prompting a soft groan from your professor, who wraps her arms tightly around your waist and, in one swift, fluid motion, clears her desk by sweeping all the paper off, then gently sets you down, her eyes locked intensely on yours. Whoa, that was undoubtedly the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen. You pull her back into a kiss with equal passion and intensity, and then you start to tug on her blazer; she quickly catches on and slips it off. After she gets her blazer off, she gives you a kiss on the lips and makes her way down to your neck. She sucks just the right spot on your neck, which makes you gasp. You tug on her hair while she starts to unbutton your sweater, the fabric slowly parting to reveal your bra underneath. Your professor’s pupils are blown wide, filled with want and lust. “I’ve wanted to see you like this for so long,” she says. You simply let out a moan in response, without saying anything else. She attempts to undo your bra clasp, but you quickly intervene and stop her.“Not until this is off,” you say breathlessly, gesturing to her blouse. “I think we can make that happen.” You stop her as she goes to pull on the hem of her blouse. “No. Let me,” you say. Your hands slide up from her hips and lift it over; your hands graze over her smooth skin. You roughly grab her breasts over the remaining fabric. “Fuck, y/n.” She moans. She slides her hands up your back, undoes the clasp on your bra, and throws it onto the floor, which sends a shiver down your spine.

You are still sitting on the desk in Professor Harkness’ arms, and then you push her into the chair and straddle her. She hikes up your skirt, which makes you gasp. You pull her back into a passionate kiss while she rips your tights. “God, I need you so badly,” you practically whine. You press into her even more, and your professor stifles a moan. She slowly moves her hand down your body until she reaches the spot where you need her most. “Christ,” she breathes out. “I haven’t even properly touched you yet, and you’re already soaked.” She chuckles. You can’t even respond because she finally pulls your underwear to the side; she starts by sliding a digit through your folds. You’re certain that your arousal is already dripping down her hand, and you’ve never been more turned on in your life. “You’re so hot, hon,” she says in a raspy tone; you moan in response as she finally enters you, her fingers curling and hitting the spot that drives you wild. She gently rubs your clit with her thumb. As you ride her fingers, you’re practically screaming with pleasure, your thighs trembling uncontrollably. “Fuck, I’m going to come,” you breathe out. “Come for me, y/n,” she says against your ear. Your stomach cramps as your orgasm washes over you; your screams are muffled by her mouth on yours, leaving you in a state of euphoria. As you come down from the high, you’re still slightly rocking in her lap. Your professor pulls away from you, brings her hand to her mouth, and savors your taste, letting out a pleasurable moan. “You taste so good, darling,” she hums. You capture her lips in another kiss.

After roughly kissing each other for about a minute, you begin to shuffle out of her lap. Your professor whines in disapproval. “Don’t worry, baby, I’m just returning the favor,” you grin as you sink to your knees and pull down the zipper on her pants. “You are so sexy, Professor Harkness,” you say, looking up at her. “You can just call me Agatha.” Oh, this is going to be fun.

[no-144444]

telling- o.piastri

summary: your first season as an f1 driver doesn't start the best, and you quickly realise McLaren doesn't like women very much. On top of that, your race engineer is as smug as the rest of them, and you have to deal with him all the time.

pairing: race engineer! oscar piastri x f1driver! fem! reader

warnings: lots of misogyny, lando is an asshole in this, illusions to ed behaviour, reader is not in a good head space, all of mclaren is super sexist, mentions of crashes and injuries

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part nine | part ten | more to come...

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

“You alright?” he mused, his hand squeezing yours. You nodded softly, smiling at him. 

“Fine,” you nodded. “I’m just… worried, I guess.” 

He shook his head. “Nothing to be worried about, they love you already.” 

You followed just a step behind him as he led you to the dining room. You’d been dating Oscar Piastri for 2 whole days. The sun set over Melbourne and the wonderful colours poured in from their large windows, as everyone sat down to dinner. Oscar had ‘stolen’ you away from Mae and Nicole for the day, opting to take you to meet some of his old friends and show you around his home town a bit, and you’d really enjoyed yourself. Australia was beautiful, the kind of place you’d like to live once F1 was over. The weather was warm, the sea was blue, and the people were kind. And Oscar was there. You liked it a lot. 

“What did you two get up to today?” Nicole asked over dinner. 

Oscar shrugged. “Not much, just took her to meet some of my old mates and showed her around a bit. She’s never been to Australia.” 

“She can speak y’know,” Mae sassed at her older brother, who rolled his eyes and shut up. 

You chuckled. “It was cool. Melbourne’s really nice. I usually only see it from the cockpit of the car.”

“What’s it like driving so fast?” Tim asked, still fascinated by it. 

“It’s kind of… unnoticeable unless something has gone really wrong,” you chuckled. “It’s cool though, everything just kind of whips past you.” 

“Fascinating,” he nodded. “Different from my line of work anyway,” he laughed. 

“Oh yeah, what about your parents? What do they do?” Nicole asked. Oscar stiffened beside you, watching carefully at how the question would play out. He knew about you and your parents' estranged relationship. He knew it was a sensitive subject. 

“They’re doctors, I think,” you shrugged. “One of them was a psychologist, and the other was a general practitioner.” 

Nicole’s face fell, a pit growing in her stomach as she feared the worst. “Are they passed?” She placed a comforting hand on your forearm. 

“No,” you shook your head. It was awkward to explain, but who cared? They’d probably find out anyway, just like everyone else did. It got leaked to the press in the middle of your 2nd season in F3 that you were estranged from your very famous, very powerful folks, and moreover, that they had a new family. It used to bother you. Sometimes, it still did. But Nicole wasn’t a nosy reporter, and you weren’t 17 anymore. “They just kind of… shipped me off to boarding school when I was 8 and cut me off when I was 17. We just weren’t close and it was clear they didn’t want kids at that time.”

“I’m sorry,” she squeezed your arm and you offered a soft smile. 

“Thank you,” you nodded. “Sorry for bringing the mood down.”

Hattie shook her head. “You didn’t, and anyway, their loss is our gain.” 

You smiled appreciatively at them. “Well, I did want to thank you all again for having me.”

“Any time,” Nicole smiled. “Always.”

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

Oscar smiled as he pulled off your top and pressed your head against his chest. You wrapped your arms around his middle, relaxing into his touch. 

“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice low. 

You hummed against his skin. The both of you were lit by only candles (Oscar’s favourite thing ever), his bedroom looking increasingly cosy under the light. The soft breeze coming in from the window gave you goosebumps, but he was warm enough for the both of you. “Yeah, you?”

“I’m good,” he nodded, his hands wrapping around your legs and hoisting you up so that your legs were around his waist, and your arms were around his neck. You squealed and he dropped you onto his bed with a chuckle, pressed a kiss to your cheek, then walked to his bathroom to shower and brush his teeth. He loved kissing you. It was addicting, you were addicting. He had never pinned himself as a physical touch sort of guy, but there basically hadn't been a moment where he hadn't been touching you since you'd made it official, and you didn't seem to mind.

You cuddled up in bed, enjoying the soft pillows and lingering scent of Oscar. As you heard the shower turn on, your eyes fixated on the view outside the window. The ocean flowing gently just outside, the beach in front of you, the moon reflecting off small shells embedded in the sand, it was so beautiful. 

You heard the shower stop, and your attention turned back to you and Oscar. You two were official and it felt insane to be able to say he was your boyfriend, but you enjoyed it all the same. “Osc?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled, the sound warped by the toothbrush in his mouth. 

“Do you want to tell your family about us?” you questioned, playing with the hem of one of the pillows. “No pressure, of course.” 

He poked his head out from the bathroom, the towel around his bottom half dangerously low. You let your eyes wander all over him, his wet hair, his build physique, his goofy smile. “You mean it?” 

You nodded. “I mean… yeah? I feel weird being here and them not knowing,” you shrugged. “I don’t want to keep it from them, or really anyone, but especially them, right?” 

He nodded. “I agree,” he grinned. “We’ll tell them this week.” 

You smiled. “Cool,” then turned to your side and grabbed your book. 

“Are you going to act like that wasn’t a milestone?” he mused, joining you in bed, shorts on and towel-dried hair. 

“What?” you questioned, not looking up from your book. 

“You want to tell my parents about us,” he smiled. “That’s big.” 

You shrugged, unconvinced. “Is it though?” 

He nodded and pressed a kiss to your neck. “Yeah, it is,” he lay there for a moment, just watching you read. “You look beautiful,” he smiled. 

You turned to him and laughed. “You’re such a sop.” 

He rolled his eyes but smiled all the same. “Uh-huh,” he nodded and kissed you again. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

“Do you want to come with us to Sydney?” Hattie offered as you two ate breakfast together. “We’re just going for like a few days, but we’d love to have you.” 

“Plus Mae will be like, miserable without you,” Eddie chuckled. You smiled. 

You shrugged. “I’d love to come.” 

“Where are we going?” Oscar asked as he grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. 

“Y/n, Eddie, Mae, Mom, and I are all going to go on a trip to Sydney,” Hattie explained. 

Oscar nodded. “Can I come?” 

“Sure-” Eddie shrugged. 

“Mum wants it to be a girls trip,” Mae reminded them. 

“Come on, Y/n is my-”

“She’s our friend too,” Mae argued. 

“Yeah, and arguably, you could let Y/n out of your sight for more than three seconds,” Hattie chuckled. “She doesn’t constantly need you looking out for her. She can have a week away with her mates if she wants.” 

They were both quiet. 

“Hattie, what the fuck?” he scoffed. “If you’d let me finish, I could tell you that Y/n is my girlfriend, and I’d very much like to spend my break with her.” 

Hattie, Eddie, Mae, Nicole, and Tim’s eyes all looked to you for confirmation. You swallowed the bite of food in your mouth and turned to Oscar. 

“It’s only like 4 days,” you shrugged, and he stared back at you. “And then I’ll be back. Or I don’t have to go.” 

“Oh, I thought it was the month trip mum had planned-”

“You’re dating?!” Nicole cheered, rushing over to hug the both of you. “That’s great news!” 

“How’s he done that?” Eddie whispered to Hattie, who just laughed. 

You graciously accepted the hug, then turned back to the conversation. “I don’t mind.” 

“You go, I thought it was the month-long thing my mum wanted to do,” he explained, and kissed the top of your head. “When are you leaving?” 

“Tomorrow,” Hattie interjected. 

“Cool,” he smiled. 

“Cool,” you mirrored. 

It wasn’t exactly how either of you were planning on telling them, but it worked all the same.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

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[k4lenz]

big guy ✮ jschlatt x fem!reader hcs

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

a/n: what up! i wrote this for my gorgeous loml best friend @plantring who definitely wasn’t holding me at gunpoint, and i’ve been meaning to write a schlatt fic for ages! so, here you go. big guy. maybe charlie next 👀 also the song was just the song i’ve been repeating and had in mind while i wrote this fic ! i hope you guys like it :)

notes: jambo, other unnamed cat referred to as ‘burnt soup’, swearing, cuddles, nicknames, twitch, wii games series, tucker keane & Ted nivison, chuckle sandwich mention, romantic, drinking, hobbies, singing, SFW, NSFW UNDER THE CUT!! , grabby schlatt /pos

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

sfw hcs ˚⟡˖ ࣪

☼ toots. he calls you toots, all the time, every day. it’s either a cheesy nickname, sweets, toots, baby, sweetheart, or sugar. he’s new yorkian yk.

☾ he’ll call you them before you even start dating, just to watch your cheeks flush pink and lips fall agape. the image ingrained in his mind permanently.

☼ such a flirt, before you start dating. he’ll make a wild joke to nobody in particular when you’re with friends, noticing how everybody will laugh but yours is hoarse. watching you squirm in your seat as he lets out a little chuckle, is how he gathers you like him.

☾ you’re the flirtiest friends, and everyone can see it but you two.

☼ maybe your mutual point of realisation is at his house, when he complains about shaving and you offer to shave his chops. “y’better not fuck this up, lady. these are the money bags.” he’d tease, making you laugh. you sit on his lap, claiming it’s for ‘better access’ as you clean up his face.

☾ like i said with ted, schlatt’s also a romantic. maybe a little more old school, but definitely romantic. he’d ask you out on a date first, with pretty flowers and that charming fucking smile. then ask you to be his girlfriend. what? he isn’t a pussy.

☼ if you two don’t live together, he likes seeing you in his space more. he can’t quite describe why, maybe it’s just waking up with you tangled in his sheets in his bed in his room with his cats cuddling up next to you like you’ve been there forever.

☾ speaking of the cats, they’ve picked you over him. if you both call their names at the same time, both the cats will come running to you as if schlatt isn’t even there.

☼ “what the fuck?” he mutters, picking up jambo. “i pay for your food, house you, give you love and attention. and this is how you repay me, shithead? huh? by picking her over me? fuck you!” he frowns, holding jambo up as the orange cat simply meows in response. jambo’s paw finds his nose, and schlatt’s eyes glance at you. seeing you giggling as you cuddled burnt soup like a baby. “you too, you fuckin’ traitor.” he proclaims, pointing at the purring black cat in your hands who’s giving him the cutest stare ever.

☾ huh, kind of reminds him of you.

☼ if you have a pet too, even better.

☾ got a cat? he’ll try and make your cat love him more then you. it doesn’t work, but if you comment he’ll say it’s a work in progress. insists on feeding it every time he’s at your house, probably figures out some sort of nickname for your kitty. cuddles it every chance he gets.

☼ got a dog? he’ll pretend he doesn’t like it, call it dopey since he’s always proclaiming he doesn’t like dogs. but you catch him babying and cuddling your dog when he thinks you’re not around too often to believe him.

☾ best believe jambo and burnt soup will get mad at him when he comes home with another animal’s smell on him, but never get mad at you. he’s such a softie for pets.

☼ schlatt was quite the private man, not a very big fan of making things public on the internet. he knew how people could be. he wouldn’t want to expose you to that, at least not until he was sure you’d be okay with it and you’d been in a relationship for a while.

☾ didn’t mean he couldn’t leave a few subtle messages for his chat, though. maybe a pair of pink slippers on his floor or some jewellery. when chat would notice and spam, he’d smirk.

☼ “what, chat? th’re obviously mine.” he chuckled. gaslighting his twitch as much as he could. if you asked, he’d say it was an accident and he didn’t notice. he’s a good liar to everyone but you.

☾ after a while, he’d open the idea up to you. whether it be a stream, or a youtube video where he can blur your face. but he has one rule.

☼ wii games. he wants to bring back wii games.

☾ and of course since you’re both equally competitive fucks, it turns into a laughing, yelling and tackling match as you both play every wii game imaginable. spewing insults at each other when the other misses in wii tennis, bickering like an elderly couple, screaming and cheering in victory. him claiming he let you win.

☼ “if you win anythin’, that is.” he’d murmur with that dumb grin.

☾ which you reply to with a string of curses and insults

☼ he couldn’t imagine anything more hilarious. plus click bait.

☾ he brings you to chuckle week (RIP CHUCKLE FOREVER IN OUR HEARTS </3) and you all decide to play some of the board games that look like they’re collecting dust in the airBNB you all are staying in.

☼ scrabble? you and schlatt team, ted and tucker team, and you practically knock them off the fucking board. guess who? they’re cooked. uno? reverse. chess? checkmate. you’re winning every time, together for once, and giggling about it too.

☾ “connect 4!” schlatt bellowed, as you two won at yet another game. you sat at the dining table of the airbnb, sitting opposite each other in pairs playing another dusty game. “what the fuck? you two are cheating or some shit.” ted huffs and tucker shakes his head and laughs, with you and schlatt cuddled up with your manic grins and wins in every game under your belt.

☼ turns out putting two competitive (crazy, as tucker calls you) people on a team works.

☾ let’s just say no matter who you’re playing with, you two always win game night.

☼ schlatt will pretend that he doesn’t like whatever hobby you have, playfully rolling his eyes, but if you catch him marvelling at you doing said hobby? no you didn’t.

☾ he’ll let you drag him wherever, but not without complaints. he’ll hold your hand wherever, never let you pay whenever you go out.

☼ “that’s silly.” he’d argue, pushing your card away. “christ, woman. ’m gonna have to fuckin’ confiscate your card ‘n replace it with my own soon.”

☾ he’ll hold you whenever, especially if you like it. whether it be his arm around your shoulders, on your waist, or maybe even a hand in your back pocket

☼ especially in crowds, he’s got you close so you can get through it to where you need to go. he’d hate to lose you in a crowd, not a chance.

☾ he’d get drunk, you’d try and kiss him and he’d be like “fuck off. i have a loving girlfriend.”

☼ and you’d be like “j i’m ur girlfriend.”

☾ “oh! hi girlfriend :)” and then kisses you.

☼ tries to act tough but he’s such a big softie at heart.

☾ he also gets jealous if he catches anyone simply just glancing at you, big 6”4 boy just gives them a simple look

☼ “achlatt! that guy was literally just doing his job.” “don’t give a fuck, y’re my girlfriend. no need for him t’be so cheery to ya.” but he’d also be annoyed if they weren’t nice to you.

☾ sometimes, you’ll catch him cooking and singing to himself as he plays music on a speaker. some glen campbell, maybe arctic monkeys. but he gets embarrassed, despite literally having a christmas album and a real good voice.

☼ “i don’t sing, sugar.” schlatt would argue, food cooking and arms wrapped around your waist as you two gently swayed to the music playing in his kitchen.

☾ a lie that was, you called bullshit

☼ and you’d both sing to whatever was on the speaker, laughing and just holding each other close as you two danced properly. spinning you, dipping you. his hair messy, a look of admiration on his face. no matter how uncoordinated you two were, it was right in your eyes.

☾ same thing i said about ted goes, big broad tall man mmmmm

☼ gives the best cuddles

☾ got plushies in your room? he’ll buy you more, and have fake beef with them. rolling his eyes if you argue that they’re your children.

☼ deep down he knows he loves them

☾ and you

☼ mostly you

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

nsfw hcs ˚⟡˖ ࣪

☼ he’s such a sweetheart in bed

☾ bitey bitey man. he can’t sit still for long

☼ as long as you’re in the privacy of your own home, whatever you’re doing, bet that his lips will be finding your neck.

☾ “can’t help it. taste too good.” he’d complain if you’d whine, that stupid shit eating grin on his gorgeous face. his hands on your hips, and his mouth leaving pinks, purples and reds that he knew you’d have to cover up tomorrow for work.

☼ he’s whipped. absolutely fucking whipped. pussy whipped.

☾ he’d do anything you asked, especially if you were promising to let him fuck you the minute you got through the door of either of your houses.

☼ horny motherfucker.

☾ in terms of oral, he loves giving and receiving equally

☼ watching you tremble underneath him as he hooks your thighs onto his shoulders and messily eats your pussy, sucking on your clit like it’s his last meal and he’s a starving man. his hands squeezing said thighs as you writhe, eyes watching your every reaction. impossibly harder at your every noise.

☾ and then also, “i didn’t say hover, sweetheart, i said sit.” making you sit on his face, pulling your hips down with his arms tucked under your thighs. devouring you and your perfect fucking cunt.

☼ pulling away later, lips and chops covered in your cum. licking his lips. “light as a fuckin’ feather, baby. don’t know what’cha talkin about.” if you were to ask if you were too heavy.

☾ but then also

☼ running his fingers through your hair as he looked down at you, on your knees so prettily for him. soft groans and sighs coming from his lips, eyes lidded, as you sucked his cock and looked up at him with lust. watching you wrap your lips around it inbetween his legs. tracing your tongue along the veins. pulling your hair, but never too hard: god, he was absolutely feral.

☾ he’s definitely dominant, but he isn’t harsh. he couldn’t stand seeing you hurt. like i said, he’s a softie.

☼ prefers to be face to face, but i feel like he’d really like back shots. simply to grab at your ass, watch the curve of your back arch as he fucked you good. leaving bites along your back as well, leaning over and leaving some on your shoulder.

☾ classic missionary, or you on his lap, are also his favourites. but he’s open to try other things with you, most definitely.

☼ he loves his woman, he really does. and he’d do anything to make sure you’re happy, always give you good loving. he’d hate to ever leave you without.

☾ him getting tipsy makes him even more desperate to please. even more desperate for you. but even sober, he always is

☼ rutting his hips into you, a little drunk as you combed your fingers through his hair “mmm. mine, sweets. god.” he’d grunt, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck as he fucked you perfectly. “need y’so f’ckin bad.”

☾ you flash him during an argument? it’s over as quick as it started. you were right, obviously. he’s following you like a dumb puppy again.

☼ would definitely turn around your plushies during sex. and also lock out the cats.

☾ when you two would unlock the door and come back out to the cats whining, your legs a bit wobbly, or maybe even unable to walk on your own at all, he’d pat the cats and smirk.

☼ “sorry, little shits. y’r mom needed some lovin instead.” he’d coo as you playfully shove him. a chuckle coming from his lips.

☾ he’s a very touchy grabby guy, whether it be your tits, thighs, your ass. he loves it.

☼ he’d get needy, and make it clear. it would never take him long to tell you if he was feeling needy, or he’d show it simply by picking you up or being close to you. it wasn’t hard to tell, and you’d be fucking within minutes.

☾ and if you’re needy? god, he relishes in it. teasing you, maybe even leaving you on the edge of orgasm over and over until your eventually sweet release. depends on how cruel he’s feeling. or maybe touching you, but not enough, just enough to make your hips jerk but not enough to build up anything. he loved the sound of your whiny frustration.

☼ yeah. he wants you. so bad. all the time.

[evilminji]

Had another Si-Oc thought >.>

My standard "you know what Would Be Cool?" Musings...

Getting reborn, as you do, ending up Force Sensitive, as can only be the case. Because really... how ELSE would you soul end up there? CHANCE? Force ghosts are a PROVEN thing! We KNOW that the Force sometimes just... deals in souls.

Ffs, it MADE A BABY.

Yes, there was Sith interference there. But that doesn't chance the fact that it went? "Eh, good enough. I'll take the chance and run with it. Thanks~☆ Mine Now~~☆ Bye~~~☆" And Chosen One'd that baby. Because ultimately? Before the plans of gods and men? The Force Laughs.

So like? Yeah. If there WAS to be a Reincarnator?

Probably the Force.

Congrats on the new, third (or second, depends on your species. Might be another number entirely, honestly. But we are averaging here so MOVE ON), Parent! They are very, very happy to see you! Love you as only a Primordial, Extradimensional, Timeless, Formless, All Pervasive, Orange-Blue Morality havin', Not-A-God Super-God CAN. Their Benevolence? Could be called another God's cruelty.

They don't MEAN too. They are just.... really, really Big. Infinite. Not organic or mortal. It's like trying to comprehend the limitations of an ant, living on a planet, circling a sun, in a GALAXY the size of a DUST MOTE. The fact that the Force can even come CLOSE? Is literally miraculous.

But of course... OC? Not the Chosen One. The favorite, special, "I have Important Things For You" child. Which.... turns out to actually? Be kinda great. The realize that quickly. Which of course, is followed by the logical follow up.

Anikin? Fuckin SCREWED. Because he IS the Favorite Child.

Oh... oh No. Oh Fuck, that is a CHILD.

How easy it is, to cast blame, to judge, when you can't FEEL the Force in your EVERYTHING. All the time. Every moment of every day. Beautiful but cacophonous, like a symphony of screaming. Like staring at the sun and never going blind. It still hurts. But it's so... so bright. So Beautiful.

Connection. To the universe itself. Soul deep and transcendent. You can feel that the universe loves you. That there is good in people. That Life itself is worth protecting. But at the same time? It is... it is so much.

Because you can FEEL the ugly too.

The greed. The hate. The suffering. Lights snuffed out, in dark places of despair. Selfish actions and deep cruelties, like barbed wire against the soul. Thorns that hook and drag. And... and you're supposed to use your words. Just... just ASK them to stop? And, What? Hope that they WILL?

It HURTS!

But pain only begets more pain. Cruelty, more cruelties still. And only the Sith, believe they can use FORCE, in any sense of the word, to change a persons nature. The Jedi build. Grow. They work together, with those who are willing, towards something better. Defend, those who can not protect themselves.

Balance and growth. Not fire and chains.

And Oc is pretty sure Anikin will agree. No one should ever be in chains. Dead maybe. Or in jail. But never, ever, in chains. (And no one ever said they were pacifists. Just not war mongers. Sometimes the only answer IS to kill your opponent. To respect their choice, but honor your commitments. Protect those you swore to protect.)

Of course... OC? Going through Jedi training. It's Pre-Anikin days. Both she and Obi-Wan are fuckin Smol. She's not even in his Creche clan. She's over here in the "wanders off, lost in their own thoughts" Chill AF Creche Clan. Not Mr. "May you Live In Interesting Times And Have Padawans JUST LIKE YOOOOOOOU" and Co., over in the... "Energetic" Creche Clan.

None of HER Creche-mates BIT people, Obi-Wan.

WE keep our fuckin teeth to ourselves, Kenobi!

So, obviously, THEY don't have a lifetime ban on the "look, don't touch" fragile plants meditation garden. Very Rich in the Force. Good for focusing. Peaceful, really. And Oc? Has the time and space? To Consider™ things. Experiment. Ponder Fandom theories. Long "lost" Cannon techniques. Maybe have one-sided chats with the Force.

.....finally get CURIOUS™.

And wonder... if? Since, you know, through the Force, she can encourage and discourage plants to grow? And somewhat control animals. Why not... micro-organisms? Say, Midi-chlorians? Force healing is all ready a thing! So the Force all ready CAN interact with the body. Effect it. Change it. What is this, but more?

Really, all she'd have to do is find them, within herself, right? They're already a part of her! Yet... not. Do they consider themselves a part of her? Or is it symbiosis? Yeah, everyone says it can't be done. Perhaps shouldn't be done. But, frankly? They said the same about a LOT of Force techniques over the years. Big leaps in progress scare the SHIT out of folks. Cause if you miss? A LOT of people can die gorey.

So she sits. Mediates. Looks. Smaller... and smaller.... and smaller....

Until she finds whispers. Humming. Chatter.

As though each and every blood cell in her body had a teeny, tiny, whispery little voice. All chattering together, talking and arguing and discussing. One great hive of progress and industry. Complaining about a lack of potassium... huh. She goes and gets some fruit. Eats it. Then settles back into meditation.

They are JOYOUS! Potassium! Yaaaaay! ᐠ( ᐛ )ᐟᐠ( ᐛ )ᐟᐠ( ᐛ )ᐟᐠ( ᐛ )ᐟᐠ( ᐛ )ᐟ

Well... what'd ya know... huh. Hello there? She tries. Only to get a whispery and very alarmed ( ˶°ㅁ°) !! BODY CAN TALKヽ(°〇°)ﾉ ‽‽‽ Y-Yeah... she can. (How are they doing that?) The conversation? Only gets more surreal from there. Filled with... a surprising number of kaomojis.

But! She DOES figure out? How to increase her Midi-chlorians count. (By asking. Supplying needed resources for the expansion.) And WITH it? He awareness blooms.

The headache is... awful. The little guys(genderless) are WAY to enthusiastic. Working way too fast. If she didn't check the next morning? They might have continued to increase, indefinitely, until her veins were SOLID midi-chlorian. They just want to HELP, you see. And if you want More? Then surely FAR TOO MUCH is better, right?

(She may have fucked up. Oh god. Ow. Fuck. OW.)

Eventually she figure it out. Only gives her healer in training Creche mate a... few near heart attacks. He'll TOTALLY forgive her! (He will not. What the FUCK OC. Experimental medical procedures?! On YOURSELF!? You're not even HEALER TRACK!!!)

So NOW? She can reliably do it to OTHERS.

Need a bit more Midi-chlorians? Nearly Jedi quality but juuuuust under that cut off? She can fix that. Come. Be a jedi. Everyone should be a jedi. In FACT~! Whoops! Oh hey. Looks like all these Midi-chlorian counters are fuckin broken! (They look perfect fi-)(Broken! :] Do Not question me) So when you find that Orohan Child in desperate need of love and care? Just bring um on back!

They're TOTALLY Force sensitive. You can just tell. It's the vibes. Look at their lil face. Vibes, man. Just hand um here. For... reasons. You go get the paperwork. A working tester. And~? Oh would you look at THAT! Perfectly within acceptance range! Neat. Called it again, didn't you, Master Koon? You really do have an eye for these things. Anyway~ off to get this little one settled~~☆ *adoring cooing noises at the baby*

Weird, huh, how there suddenly just... SO MANY random orphan babies that are force sensitive? How 'bout that >.> strangest thing.

Of course, it's a god damned open secret. Everyone KNOWS. How could they not? But? Like with most things? If they don't Officially Know™? They don't have to stop it. And it DOES help both the Force AND those kids. Can be reversed if they don't like it, later. (They asked. All hypothetical of course.) So OC is basically Temple bound, so she can receive any new kiddos. To... you know... Check Their Health, on the way to ACTUAL healers.

But she's ALSO waiting. And as her skill increases? She can FEEL midi-chlorians, easier and easier. Until it gets to the point? Where if she's bored and zoning out? Not even ture meditation anymore? She accidentally tunes into Midi-chlorian Live~☆ the talk show. (What's the latest gossip from bodies nearest to her? Oh? Your second spleen is acting funny? Better remember to tell him to get that chec-)

Palpatine can't hide SHIT. It's literally in his blood.

And MAD at him.

This is NOT what they're FOR. He's taking TERRIBLE care of his body! Fuck you! Fuck you, fuck you, FUCK YOOOOOOU! You want power? Choke on it, you-!!!!!

Holy shit. So THATS what Sith Midi-chlorians feel like. Oh my god. They... they are SO MAD. Like tiny wasps. That have been violently shaken in a jar. She's never used the word "seething" in reference to someone before... but like...? If they COULD stab him? Man would be a thick paste at this point.

She's not sure what facial expression she makes. But it sure is obvious. As is the blatant, horrified staring. And refusal to get near him. HE doesn't notice, being to busy with the powerful. But the Jedi sure as fuck do. Because THEY sent her? Out with a Shadow. You know... just in case.

Cause she literally can not be replaced.

She not High Ranked... she's just priceless. Equal sort of significance, but in a very quiet, Soft Power sort of way. She is, after all, single handedly? Reversing centuries of slow population decline. Her entire Line promises to be the next Yoda's line. Priceless and with far reaching significance. So obviously, they're making sure that shit stays locked down.

No one is to so much as BREATHE about this.

Not until her great-great-GREAT Grand Padawan has passed their Knight Trials so HELP US. We LEARN from our mistakes! Need we bring out the records? Times we got cocky? Sith and political fuckery!? No. Oc stays INVISIBLE. There is no war in Ba Sing Se! Move along!

So like? Why is Miss Midi-chlorian Sensor and Future of the Jedi... making that face? She's literally NEVER made that face. What sort of monster do you have to BE? Huh? Shadow asks, casual as fuck, like he's not a plotting plotter who's planing terrible things, what's up?

She tells him. Palpatine has RANCID vibes. His midi-chlorians fucking DISPISE him. She's literally never seen that before. In anyone. Didn't even know that was an option. They would gleefully kill him if they could.

.....senator Palpatine is Force Sensitive?

Yes.

.......Interesting™(Ominous Intent)

Says local Shadow, who is perhaps putting together some dots. May not be getting the correct picture. But is getting the Vibe. And boy howdy, he does NOT like the vibe. Has got himself some questions. Cause Mr "uwu I'm harmless" lil mask? Only holds up? If you're willing to believe him.

Shadows don't buy that shit. Shadows? Need receipts. Full character statements and an audit on the fucking hospital you were BORN AT. Every credit you picked up off the side walk, why, and where you spent it.

Give them your Secrets. Or they'll keep digging until they find them.

uwu Their ASS. Gonna tear this bitch APART.

......huh. So THIS is why you guys keep accidentally getting married to Mandalorians on missions. (We agreed not to mention that.) (Fucker, I agreed to nothing. Shouldn't have eaten my special Me Day pudding if you didn't want me to gossip.) Man, her friends are... a trip. Uh... have fun? Happy hunting? I guess? *feral Jedi noises*

She? Continues to wait. Palpatine? Begins to have a VERY bad time. (Ha! Get fucked!)

Unfortunately, it's not fast enough to stop his dumbass plans. He just gets desperate. Figures more power is the answer. Because of course he does. So here comes the "oh nooooo~ my planets under attack~ better manipulate a child and make me president of the galaxy!" Plan. Fucker. Bastard.

She can't stop that.

But what she CAN do? Is be there. Waiting. For HIM.

Her little brother. Her son. Her center of the universe. The most important man to ever live... and also? A scared little boy. Far, far from home. The only other person who understands just how BIG the Force is. How much it weighs. How even as it crushs you... you can't bear to put it down. Not even for a moment. Because it loves you. And it hurts, that it does.

And... oh. Oh.

He is so very small.

Dirty, tired, in lovingly mended clothes that are barely beyond scrap. With bright, bright eyes like hope and starlight. He sings inside. Like freedom. Like hope. Daring to ask "why CAN'T you be kinder?", "why CAN'T we be free?". A storm of change. Bright and beautiful.

A child. Great and small, all at once.

Oc can't help but smile. Because, oh. Oh how long, she has waited to meet him, Anikin Skywalker. Welcome. Are you hungry? Cold? Let's get cleaned up. See the healers first. The council can wait.

Chips are removed and food is shared. Warm clothes, soft and new. And she can not help but smile, smile, smile. Even as her face begins to hurt. For years she has gathered. Planned. Studied and trained. As though some part of her knew. As though all for this moment. Taking one of those small hands in hers. Looking right in his eyes.

"It's going to be okay."

Because it IS. Because regardless of what they decide? OC will be with him. Regardless, she's going to go and make sure his mother is free. Not bought, not sold. Free. She has friends who can help. Will learn how to remove the chip herself if she must.

And? He IS going to be a Jedi. Even if he never become a Coruscant Jedi. Even if he decides he doesn't agree with how they do things or they decide the disagree with how HE does things. The Jedi have changed before, they will change again. Living things are meant to grow. Meant to change. And people can be both wrong and right at the same time. It's messy.

But what's important? Is Anikin is not alone anymore. And Oc is gonna help teach him. And someday? HE'S gonna break chains. So many chains. Gonna help people heal. If he wants to. (He does) But for right now? A quick talk with some old people. Maybe a nap. And we either get settled or arrange a trip back to Tatooine. To pick up your mom. In the meantime! You can figure out what classes she might wanna take. Where seems like a good place to settle. *chatting as they walk off, hand in hand*

Just? Sometimes a Padawan-ship is you, your Teacher, your OTHER Teacher, and her body guards that teach you Cool Knife Tricks and how to gamble, behind Obi-Wan's back! :D

@legitimatesatanspawn @mayfay @leftnotright @babbling-babull @hdgnj @spidori @the-witchhunter @lolottes

[syrma-sensei]

→ Godless.

Pairing: William “Billy” Butcher x Fem!reader.

Summary: In his godless world, he yearns for something divine.

Rating: Mature.

Setting: Season 4.

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: Angst, angst, unhealthy coping mechanisms, emotional agnst.

The night shift at Starlight House is supposed to be quiet. Kids are already asleep, the halls dimly lit, and the only sounds are the occasional creak of the old floorboards. You are just finishing up—shutting off lights, making sure everything is locked up—when a familiar knock echoed through the front doors. Hard. Impatient.

You already know who it is before you open it.

Billy Butcher stands there, looking every bit the man who doesn't belong in a place like this. He smells like whiskey and gunpowder, his knuckles bruised, his jaw clenched tight like he’d just come from a fight. And, as always, Terror is right beside him, wagging his tail.

You crossed your arms. “Jesus, Butcher. You could’ve just texted.”

“Ain’t got the patience for that.” His eyes flicked over you, taking in the soft Starlight House sweatshirt you wore over your tank top, the hint of warmth and comfort he probably can't stand. “Terror needed a walk. Figured I’d let ‘im see his favorite bird.”

You roll your eyes but reach down to scratch behind the dog’s ears anyway. “You mean I’m your free dog sitter.”

Butcher smirks, stepping inside without asking. “That too.”

You shake your head with a small smile.

You've known Billy for almost five months now. You met him at the Filtatron Building when you had to drop by to give Annie some paperwork for the shelter’s funding. He was standing off to the side, arms crossed, looking about five seconds away from bashing someone's head. You hadn’t thought much of him at first. Just another gruff asshole with a chip on his shoulder. But you're nothing if not curious. So, you asked Annie who the hell he was when she visited the House the other day, and she told you his miserable story.

You still get sick in the stomach when you your mind puts you in his shoes.

You sigh. “You wanna tell me why you’re really here?”

You know why he is here.

Butcher gives you a look—half amusement, half something else you couldn’t quite place. “What, a bloke can’t drop by for a friendly visit?”

You snort. “You don’t do friendly visits. Are you here to help?”

Terror woofs at you, demanding more headpats which you give him. Butcher, meanwhile, scans the quiet, dimly lit space from his spot.

“Still reckon this place is a waste of time,” he mutters.

You roll your eyes, already used to his shit. “Because helping kids is such a terrible thing?”

He does answer right away. Just shrugs, stepping closer. “World’s fucked, luv. You can’t save ‘em all.”

“Maybe not,” you shoot back. “But I can damn well try.” Like how you're trying to save Ryan. You think but you bite your tongue. You learnt to. It gets ugly when someone reminds him that his wife's son prefers Homelander over him. The boy is oblivious to his father's true nature, and Billy wasn't really kind to him the last two times he saw him. The first he told him to fuck off for killing Becca, and the second he literally was going to kill his fucking dad in front of his eyes. Which didn't settle well with the kid.

“Be that as it may…” Billy clicks his tongue, “Can we skip to the part where we fuck eachother’s brains out, luv?”

In another time, his crass words would've made you flinch. But not anymore. You’ve grown accustomed to his rough edges, even found a strange comfort in them. There’s something about the way he says it, something in his voice that makes your pulse pick up, makes your skin tingle with that mixture of irritation and desire you can never quite shake when he’s around.

So, you comply. You check on everything before you're off with him to your place.

Sex with Billy Butcher is never sweet. He fucks you with raw, desperate, almost angry need. When he manhandles you, his touch is rough and bruising and demanding like he's taking it out on you as if you're the one who killed his wife.

Why do we do this if you love her so much? You want to ask him, but you never do. Because you know that would screw it up on you.

Afterwards, Billy lays on his back, one arm tucked behind his head, staring at the ceiling like it had all the answers to the shitstorm in his head. You can still feel his heartbeat slowing beneath your palm, his skin warm from the afterglow.

For once, he isn't in a hurry to leave. He doesn't usually stay after sex. But you won't complain.

Billy keeps his gaze on the ceiling, his mind drifting away from the intimacy of the moment though he grows to love it.

God, the fucking cunt. Did He really place you in his way to discourage him from pursuing his path of vengeance any further?

He scoffs, well He’s doing a shitty job of it. Because he doesn't, by any chance, harbour any ounce of emotions for you. Aside from your sex appeal, he has nothing to do with you.

Then why do you keep wanting to see her?

A voice akin to Becca's taunts him.

Well, I'm fucking dying anyway. He tries to justify. Might as well fuckin’ enjoy the hell road.

But a knife of guilt stabs his chest. He uses you for pleasure but he knows you're more than that. He finds serenity within his soul when he's with you. For brief, fleeting moments, the searing fire in his heart that urges him for a revenge smoulders away when you beam at him and he hates you for that.

He gazes down at you while you trace lazy circles over his chest.

Such a sweet little thing, he thinks. But sweet things break easily in this world. Like it did his brother. Like it did his wife. Like it did him.

He doesn't deserve you. He isn't worthy of an angel, a goddess like you.

Then why am I here? He asks himself.

“Do you ever think the big cunt is somewhere up there?” He mutters absentmindedly.

You chuckle, looking up at him, “I don't know…”

He snickers, “You don't believe in the invisible cunt, I take it?”

You snort, “I don't really care if He or She or They exist.”

“Then why do you have a kind heart and do what you do?”

You prop yourself up on your arm, “I do it because I believe it is the right thing to do, not because some bearded old daddy in the sky says what I should do.”

He raises a brow, “Well, here's what I think, luv—”

You silence him with a finger on his lips, “I know that the world is cruel and meaningless, but it is also…” You smile, eyes holding his, “A beautiful place…”

Mine was beautiful when I had Becca. He muses, and an inner voice adds, Is beautiful when I have you.

He shakes his head.

“Might as well you enjoy the ride, Billy.” You pat his chest gently.

Before he can push the subject, a wet, sloppy sound fills the air, followed by a familiar snuffling noise.

You both turn your heads toward the bedroom door—where Terror is sitting, watching you with his big, dumb dog grin, happily licking his own balls.

Butcher groaned. “Christ, mate, bit of fuckin’ privacy?”

Terror, completely unbothered, lets out a contented huff and plops onto the floor, still going at it.

You bit your lip, trying to hold back a laugh. "You sure know how to ruin a moment, huh?"

Butcher grumbles something under his breath, shoving a pillow over his face. "Next time, we’re locking the bloody door."

Unable to withhold it, a roaring chortle bursts out of your lungs. Your lilt sound caresses Billy’s ear like a feather.

You sigh against his chest, your body warm and relaxed, but he feels anything but.

He should leave. Should throw on his clothes, mutter some half-assed excuse, and get the fuck out before this turns into something it shouldn’t.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he lets his fingers trail absentmindedly down your back, feeling the slow rise and fall of your breath.

“You always this cuddly after sex?” you murmur, voice teasing but laced with genuine curiosity.

Butcher snorts. “Yeah, ‘m a real softie.”

You hum, tracing lazy patterns over his chest. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Silence settles between you, heavy with unspoken things. He can feel you watching him, waiting for something he can’t give.

So he does what he does best. He deflects.

“Reckon Terror’s traumatized now,” he grumbles, jerking his chin toward the dog, who has finally abandoned his self-care and curled up on the floor.

You chuckle, shaking your head. “You think this is the worst thing he’s seen? He lives with you.”

He smirks, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

You notice. Of course, you do. You always fucking notice.

“Billy…” you start, voice softer now, like you’re stepping carefully around whatever mess is inside his head. “Why do you keep coming back?”

He stiffens.

Because it’s easy? Because you’re good at what you do? Because he likes the way you feel, warm and alive beneath him?

All bullshit.

The real answer sits heavy on his tongue, bitter and unspoken.

Because when he’s with you, the fire in his gut—the one that’s been burning ever since Becca died—dims just enough for him to breathe.

And that scares the fuck out of him.

You let the silence stretch between you, waiting, hoping he’ll say something. But he doesn’t.

Instead, he pulls you closer, his breath warm against your temple, his arms a little too tight, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he loosens his grip.

Your fingers skim lightly over his side. “You never answer the hard questions, do you?”

Butcher huffs, the sound caught somewhere between amusement and exasperation. “Don’t see the point, luv. Ain’t gonna change a damn thing.”

You pull back just enough to look at him, your chin resting on his chest. “You sure about that?”

His jaw clenches. He hates when you do this—when you peel back the layers he’s spent years building, exposing the raw, ugly things underneath. But he can’t bring himself to push you away.

Instead, he sighs, his fingers trailing up your spine, slow and deliberate. “What d’you want me to say, huh? That I like this?” His voice drops, something dangerous curling at the edges. “That I like you?”

Your breath catches. You weren’t expecting him to say it, not out loud, not like this.

And for a second, you see it—the truth he’s been trying so hard to bury.

But just as quickly as it appears, it’s gone. His expression shutters, that familiar guardedness slipping back into place.

He shakes his head, scoffing at himself. “Don’t mean a bloody thing.”

You exhale sharply, rolling onto your back beside him, staring at the ceiling. “If it doesn’t mean anything, then why are you still here?”

Because you're a good fuck and I'm much of an arsehole to take advantage of it. He wants to crudely tell you, to convince you, to convince himself that you're nothing but that.

But the words don’t come out.

Instead, Billy lies there, jaw tight, staring at the ceiling as if it holds all the answers he doesn’t have. He wants to say it—wants to be cruel, to shut this down before it turns into something he can’t control. But when he glances at you, at the way your brows pinch together, at the soft rise and fall of your breath, something in his chest pulls tight.

He swallows hard, lets out a low, bitter chuckle. “Fuck if I know.”

You huff out a laugh, but it’s humorless. “Bullshit.”

His lips twitch, almost like he wants to smirk, but the weight in his chest is too heavy. He shifts onto his side, propping himself up on an elbow, watching you. “You really wanna have this chat right now?”

Your eyes flick toward him, searching, challenging. “I just wanna know why you keep coming back.”

Billy looks at you for a long moment, like he’s trying to piece together an answer that won’t make him feel like a fucking idiot. He could lie. He should lie. But something about the way you’re looking at him makes it impossible.

Finally, he sighs, running a rough hand over his face. “You make me forget.” His voice is quieter now, like he hates admitting it. “For a little while, anyway.”

You hold his gaze. “Forget what?”

His throat bobs, his expression unreadable. And then, finally, he mutters, “Everything.”

The weight of that single word settles between you like a heavy fog. You should say something, maybe press him for more, but you don’t. Because you get it. Maybe more than he realizes.

So instead, you shift closer, resting a hand against his chest. His heart beats strong beneath your palm, steady but guarded, just like him.

“You don’t have to forget,” you say softly. “You just have to stop running.”

Billy scoffs, shaking his head. “Yeah? And what happens when I stop?”

You give him a small, sad smile. “Maybe you finally start living.”

He exhales sharply, his hand coming up to wrap around your wrist, holding you there against him. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t need to. The way he looks at you, the way his fingers tighten just slightly—it says enough.

He’s not ready. Maybe he never will be. But for now, he stays.

By morning, the world outside is just as godless and fucked as ever. And yet, you both step back into it, knowing full well that Billy will find his way back to you—sooner rather than later.

Read more:

⚜ Main Masterlist

⚜ The Boys Masterlist

→ Read on A03

[airandyeah]

Animals (Alpha!Sukuna X Alpha!Toji X Omega!Reader) Pt.3

My Masterlist Series Masterlist Warnings: Obvious A/B/O dynamics, suggestive comments or actions, just generally Minors DNI-just in case. This will be similar to Pink Pony Club and Sins, where I just mark every chapter as 18+ This also has the general warning of Toji and Sukuna both honestly being menaces.

The store was small—just a handful of aisles, stocked with the essentials, but clean and well-kept. The kind of place where everyone probably knew each other’s business, which meant you were already regretting coming here with them.

You had barely grabbed a basket when a sweet-looking old woman shuffled up beside you, her warm eyes crinkling as she peered up at you.

“Oh my, you must be new in town,” she said, voice kind and familiar. “And here I thought these two hooligans didn’t like sharing their space.”

You opened your mouth to correct whatever assumption she was making, but before you could, Toji slung an arm around your shoulders, grinning.

“What can I say, ma’am?” he drawled, tone smug. “She’s special.”

Your entire body tensed. “I—”

“Oh, she’s more than special,” Sukuna added, stepping up on your other side. “She’s ours.”

Your jaw dropped.

The old lady beamed. “Oh, well, isn’t that just wonderful?” She patted your arm, eyes twinkling. “These two may look like trouble, dear, but they’re good boys at heart. You keep ‘em in line now, you hear?”

You made a strangled sound, desperately shoving Toji’s arm off you. “I—we—that’s not—”

“Oh, don’t be shy,” Toji teased, giving you a wink. “No need to be modest in front of sweet Mrs. Takada.”

“Modest!?” you hissed. “You two—you—”

Sukuna leaned down, voice dripping with amusement. “Something wrong, sweetheart?”

You swore you were going to kill them.

Mrs. Takada just chuckled. “Oh, young love. You three have a wonderful day now.”

She shuffled off, leaving you fuming in the middle of the store.

Slowly, you turned to face them. “You two are the worst.”

Toji grinned. “Nah, you just make it too easy.”

Sukuna smirked. “Come on, Omega. Let’s get your groceries before people start asking when the wedding is.”

You hated them.

The basket wasn’t that heavy. You could handle it just fine. But apparently, Toji had other ideas.

One second, you were shifting the weight in your grip, and the next, it was gone—plucked effortlessly from your hands as Toji slung it over his arm like it weighed nothing.

Your brows twitched. “Give it back.”

He raised a brow, smirking. “You’re struggling.”

“I was not.” You crossed your arms, glaring. “I can carry my own damn groceries.”

Sukuna snorted from beside you, casually tossing a bag of chips into the basket. “Yeah? And yet, here we are.”

You bristled. “I didn’t ask for your help.”

“Didn’t need to.” Toji adjusted the basket in his grip like he wasn’t even holding anything, then shot you a lazy grin. “It’s cute when you get all worked up, though.”

Your fists clenched at your sides. Alphas. Always acting like they needed to step in, like they had to take over. You were perfectly capable of handling yourself—you’d been doing it your whole life.

“Seriously, give it back,” you snapped.

“Nope.” Toji popped the p with infuriating ease.

You turned to Sukuna, fuming. “You gonna let him act like this?”

Sukuna smirked. “You think I’m any better?”

You let out a frustrated noise, snatching a can of soup off the shelf with a little more force than necessary. “You two are insufferable.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Toji chuckled, moving ahead of you toward the register. “Come on, stubborn. Let’s get you checked out before you throw a tantrum.”

You gritted your teeth, following after him.

If the whole basket fiasco hadn’t grated your nerves enough, Toji pulling out his wallet at the register nearly made you see red.

Your groceries—your food, that you picked out—rang up one by one, and before you could even reach for your own wallet, Toji had already handed over a couple of bills like it was nothing.

Your jaw clenched. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Paying,” he said casually, shoving his wallet back into his pocket.

You shot a glare at Sukuna, hoping for backup, but he just leaned on the counter, smirking. “What? Gonna cry about it?”

Your eye twitched. “I can buy my own damn groceries.”

Toji just grinned. “Yeah, but this is more fun.”

You hated him. You hated them both. Your hands balled into fists at your sides. “Give me your damn Venmo—”

“Don’t got one.” He grabbed the bags, stepping back with zero shame.

You turned on Sukuna. “You, then—”

He chuckled, clearly enjoying himself. “Mm… nah.”

You let out a sharp breath, trying to keep your temper in check. Alphas. Always thinking they had the right to take control, to step in uninvited. Like you couldn’t take care of yourself.

Toji slung one of the bags over his shoulder, then nudged you toward the door. “C’mon, stubborn. We’re taking you home.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” His smirk was nothing but cocky.

You stormed out of the store, practically vibrating with frustration.

The worst part? You didn’t take the bags back from him. ~~~ The car ride back to your cabin was excruciating.

Toji and Sukuna had spent the whole drive making smug comments, throwing you amused glances, and generally basking in their absolute audacity. Every time you grumbled under your breath, they just seemed more entertained.

By the time they pulled up to your cabin, you were barely holding onto your patience.

The truck rumbled to a stop, and before either of them could say a word, you snatched the grocery bags from Toji’s grip and shoved the door open.

“Thanks for the ride,” you said, tone as flat as possible. You stepped out, desperate for space—for a moment without their presence weighing down on you.

“Anytime, sweetheart,” Sukuna called lazily.

You turned just in time to see the smug bastard leaning back in his seat, watching you with amusement. Toji, still behind the wheel, gave you a lazy two-fingered wave.

You bit back a growl, spinning on your heel and storming toward the cabin.

The sound of their truck lingering on the gravel sent a sharp pulse of irritation through you, but finally—finally—the engine rumbled back to life.

And then, blessedly, they were gone.

You exhaled slowly, stepping inside and shutting the door behind you.

Peace.

Finally, you could think. Finally, you could breathe without those two pressing in on you from all sides.

You set the groceries down with a little too much force, your mind racing despite yourself.

Because, no matter how much you wanted to ignore it—

Their scent still clung to you. Alphas. Alphas. FUCKING ALPHAS! You paced the length of your cabin, hands clenched at your sides, frustration bubbling under your skin.

It wasn’t fair.

Your body—your damn biology—was betraying you.

The lingering scent of them clung to your clothes, wrapped around you like a taunt. It was strong, invasive, and worse—your Omega instincts weren’t fighting it.

No, they liked it.

Your stomach twisted at the realization. Your body craved something you had no intention of giving in to.

You weren’t some weak-willed Omega, waiting around to be claimed. You had spent your whole life proving that you didn’t need an Alpha to take care of you. You were independent. You made your own choices.

And yet…

Your body didn’t seem to give a damn about your principles.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of your shirt as if you could shake off their scent by force. This is just instinct. It doesn’t mean anything.

Still, you hated the way your skin felt hot thinking about the way Toji’s muscles flexed pushing your car into the shop. The way Sukuna had smirked at you like he already knew what you were feeling before you did.

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. No.

You weren’t going to be pulled in by them.

They could be as smug as they wanted. They could tease and push and act like they owned the damn town. But they didn't own you. ~~~ The truck rumbled down the dirt road, leaving behind a stubborn little Omega who had no idea what she was in for.

Sukuna leaned back in the passenger seat, arms crossed over his chest, lips curled into a knowing smirk. “She’s a tough one.”

Toji snorted, keeping his eyes on the road. “Stubborn as hell.”

Sukuna turned his head, watching the cabin disappear behind them. “You like that, don’t you?”

Toji’s grin was slow, deliberate. “Oh, love it.”

That little fire in you, the way you bristled every time they got too close—yeah, it was gonna be fun breaking that down.

“She’s already reacting to us,” Sukuna said, tapping his fingers against his knee. “Even if she doesn’t want to admit it.”

Toji hummed in agreement. “Doesn’t matter if she fights it. She’ll lose.”

And she would. Omega instincts didn’t lie. No matter how much you tried to shove them down, no matter how many glares you threw their way, your body was already betraying you. They could smell it. That sharp little spike of frustration, the way your scent wavered just slightly whenever they got close.

“You think she even realizes yet?” Sukuna mused.

Toji chuckled. “Nah. She’s too busy bein’ pissed off.”

Sukuna exhaled a laugh, his smirk deepening. “Good. I like a fight.”

Toji pulled into town, throwing his best friend a sidelong glance. “So? You in?”

Sukuna gave him a look like he was stupid. “Obviously.”

They didn’t need to talk about it much—hadn’t needed to for years. They worked in sync, had been since high school. If they wanted something, they went for it.

And you?

You were theirs. You just didn’t know it yet.

So they’d push. They’d chase. They’d win.

And by the time you realized you’d lost—

You’d never want to escape.

People had always assumed.

The way they moved together, the way they knew what the other was thinking without a single word—hell, the way they always stuck together.

Sukuna and Toji had heard the rumors for years.

But they had never been that way.

Sure, they had each other’s backs, knew each other better than anyone else, but it was never romantic. Never that kind of intimate.

But this? You?

That was different. They both wanted you.

And they weren’t going to fight over you—not when they knew how to share.

Sukuna chuckled darkly. “Cute how she thinks she’s got control.”

Toji’s grin widened. “Yeah. Real cute.”

They had all the time in the world to break you down.

To push you, tease you, drive you so far up the damn wall that by the time you realized what was happening, you’d already be theirs.

Like a toy between two hounds. One way or another, you were going to break.

And when you did? You’d never want to put yourself back together. ~~~ You stared at your phone for a good five minutes before finally caving.

You did not want to text them.

The very idea of willingly reaching out to those smug bastards made your skin prickle with irritation. But you needed your damn car back, and avoiding them forever wasn’t exactly an option.

With a sigh, you begrudgingly typed out the message:

You: Did you order the part yet?

You hit send, immediately regretting it.

Not even a minute later, your phone buzzed. You had changed their contacts to their actual names at this point.

Sukuna: Miss us already?

You groaned, flopping back on your couch. Of course that was his response.

Before you could ignore him, another text came through.

Toji: Yeah, it’s ordered. Gonna take a few days.

Simple. Direct. See? That wasn’t so hard. If only Sukuna could do the same instead of being insufferable.

But then, another text.

Sukuna: You should come keep us company while you wait.

Your grip tightened around your phone. You could practically see his cocky smirk.

You: Pass.

A moment of silence. Then—

Toji: You gotta leave the house at some point, sweetheart.

Your jaw clenched. Assholes. Both of them.

You tossed your phone onto the table, crossing your arms. No way in hell were you letting them get to you. You’d wait. You’d be patient.

You would not go running to them.

Even if the thought of their rough hands and sharp grins made your Omega instincts shiver in something dangerously close to anticipation.

You weren’t like other Omegas. You never had been.

Growing up in a house full of Alphas had made sure of that. Your mother was one—strong, sharp, a force of nature. Your brothers, every single one of them, followed in her footsteps. Loud. Overbearing. Built to dominate a room.

The only other Omega in the house had been your father, but most days, he barely felt like one. He had raised your brothers with a firm hand, standing his ground in a way that never once felt soft or yielding.

So where did that leave you? The answer had always been painfully clear—nowhere.

You never fit. Never wanted to fit.

While other Omegas dreamt of warmth and safety, of being cared for and protected, you wanted none of it. The very idea of submission made your skin crawl. You had fought your whole life to stand apart from the expectation that came with being an Omega—to prove you could be more.

Yet now, stuck in this tiny town, with two massive Alphas sniffing around you like you were something meant for them…

Your body was betraying you.

Your instincts. Your biology. That stupid ingrained part of you that curled in on itself whenever Toji or Sukuna so much as looked at you a certain way.

You hated it.

Hated them.

Hated the way you could still feel Toji’s warmth at your side when he had taken the grocery basket from you. Or how Sukuna’s voice sent something shivering down your spine, no matter how much you fought it.

You would not let them win.

You had fought too hard to be your own person—to be more than what nature decided for you.

And you would not let two cocky, insufferable Alphas be the ones to unravel it all.

Taglist is always open for anyone! Just comment, send an ask, or a DM and I'll add you! Taglist: @tojislongshlong , @jaxawinchester , @ectomotive Perma Tags: @thenightperson

[keyaho]

summary > Blaire is sick and Terry takes care of her. chapter warnings > fluff, mentions of pregnancy,

'Meet The Richmonds' takes place in between A Different World & Melanin Prep. It's a small series detailing the first 7 years of their marriage and what actually happened in Rebel Ridge.

Terry stepped into the house and toed off his boots by the door. His keys were tossed in the little bowl on the table by the door. The house was warmer than he had left it and that meant one thing. Coupled with Aaron calling him about Blaire passing out during their class field trip, he hauled ass to get off work and home. Noah was in the hands of his grandmother and Angela told him he'd watch him for a few days. They all knew Blaire didn't just get sick. Sighing, Terry rounded the corner into the living room and into the kitchen. Her appetite was probably shit, so he placed an order for takeout and asked Aaron to swing by and pick it up. He could drop it off and just leave it in the kitchen. 

He entered their bedroom and walked to the side of the bed. Blaire was buried beneath the sheets, her hair wild, curled into a ball. Pulling out his phone, he snapped a photo. 

"Dushi,' Terry whispered, sitting on the edge while peeling back the damp layers of sheets. 

He touched her forehead and pulled back, very concerned. She was burning hot. He knew how she felt about hospitals and opted to try and break her fever himself. Terry left her side for a moment, turning on the shower in their bathroom and closed the door so it could build steam. He found her some warm clothes to change into after running her a bath. 

When he came back to the bed, she was sitting up. 

"How's my baby doing,' he asked softly, pushing her hair out of the way so he could see her face. 

"Tired,' she cried in a rush as if she was using the very last of her breath to speak. "My baby,' she suddenly tried getting up. 

Terry realized she remembered what time it was and he grabbed her as she almost fell off the bed. 

"Angela is going to watch him for a few days, baby. Noah is fine. You're not." 

Blaire leaned into Terry, her head falling to his chest. "I don't feel good." She croaked, throat burning as she tried to speak. He reached between them and unbuttoned the silk shirt she was wearing. His hand flattened against her stomach and she placed her hand on top of his. 

"Your morning sickness is getting worse,' he murmured. 

Carrying their second, they hadn't told anyone yet, had Blaire struggling to keep the secret, especially when she was sick, but she had done a good job until now. As soon as Blaire's doctor confirmed her pregnancy, Terry had been all over her and overbearing. He had done the same when she was pregnant with Noah, but this time because she was sicker, Terry was all in her space. 

“It’s time we tell everyone.” He said. 

There was a gleam in his eye. He was more excited for their new addition than Blaire. He already started transforming one of the guest rooms into a nursery. Each time he talked about the baby or did something for the baby, he had the biggest grin on his face. Out of the two of them he was the one that wanted children the most and he wanted a lot of them. So when Blaire gave him he greenlight on baby number two, he put in overtime. No ovulation period went unfucked over the past three months. 

"Tomorrow. I can make soup." She sniffled, sneezed, and let out a tired breath. 

Wrapping his arms around her, Terry lifted her into his arms and carried her towards the bathroom. He sat her on the sink and opened the medicine cabinet. He noticed none of the medicine had been opened. 

"I will make you soup and we will do a video call." He bends his knees so he can look her in the eyes. "Okay?" 

Blaire knew it wasn't safe for everyone to pile in the house while she was sick. She much rather see their faces in person, but conceded. 

"Okay." 

Helping her out of the silk pajamas, he guided her into the tub. He pulled her hair up into a bun so it didn't get wet. He'd seen her wash day routine and knew she was in no condition to do it herself. He'd do it tomorrow because there was no way she was making it to work until the end of the week at least. The studio had already been informed and her assistants would be taking over her classes. 

The water felt soothing on her skin and the added eucalyptus and lavender oils began to clear her mind and ease some pressure she was feeling. She looked up at her husband as he leaned against the sink. His thick arms folded across his chest and she furrowed her brow. 

"What is wrong, Terrence?" 

"Nothing, baby, nothing." He smiled. "You just look so miserable." 

She didn't have the energy to go back and forth with him in light banter. She instead shrugged. 

"Can you come get in the tub with me?" 

"I haven't showered from work." 

"We will shower after." 

Terry rubbed a hand over the back of his head. She was more clingy when she was sick. She leaned into letting him take care of her like he had promised years ago. He knew she loved to teach dance but all he wanted was her home at a reasonable time and her attention on taking care of their children. He'd give his wife whatever she wanted. So Terry nodded and began undressing, watching a smile come to her tired face. Blaire leaned forward as he got in the tub behind her. She instantly made herself comfortable in his arms. He wrapped them around her body and kissed the side of her neck. 

Able to see her small rounding belly, Terry placed on hand on it and rubbed back and forth gently. 

"How's my son doing," he asked, a coy smile on his lips. 

It was faint, but Blaire kissed her teeth. "You made a girl." She corrected. "And she is doing fine." 

They didn't know the gender of the baby and planned to keep it that way until birth. This time Blaire was sure it was a girl, while Terry made sure to tell her he only made boys. Blaire placed her hand on top of his and relaxed as she closed her eyes. 

"Thank you." He said suddenly. 

"What did I do?" She asked. 

"For giving me another child." 

Blaire turned her head and looked up at him. "You wanted a lot of children." 

"But I told you that it's up to you when and how many." He rubs her stomach and rests his hands just under it. "So thank you for this one and Noah." 

They could have stopped at Noah and he would be thankful. He knew Blaire considered his son, Terrence Jr. her son as well, but it was a little different being his wife but having his second child. Her therapist had helped her through that during her pregnancy. It wasn’t a case of infidelity. It was before Blaire made it to Hillman to even reconnect with Terrence. Their sporadic run ins didn’t make them a couple. 

“You are welcome.” 

Taglist: @nayaesworld @peachbuttetfly @heauxvibez @avoidthings @mymindisneverhere @eilujion @heytaewrites  @insidefeelingofanadult @captainwithoutmakingitlove  @kindofaintrovert @jimmybutlrr @beenathembo  @virgomess  @theereina @randomhood @ash-ketchumzzz @megamindsecretlair 

@wabi-sabi1090 @iterum-incipi @liquorlaughslove @eilujion @taureanstargirl @mzv11@Disc0fair @prettyfilmz @simplyzeeka @heytaewrites vivaalenaa theogbadbitch @zillasvilla @nahimjustfeelingit-writes

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[egrets-not-regrets]

Broken Knitting Needles

Phaethorn (chaos Emperor's Children) was sad due to broken knitting needles and visits his favourite yarn shop.

Author's Notes: I thought of this character when I went to a yarn shop. Since Slaanesh is the god of excess, there's no say as to what the excess can be. So this Emperor's Children chaos marine indulges in comfort and colour discovered knitting, crocheting, and yarn, and yarn shops. He's a yarn hoarder.

Tagged: @shadowfirecat , @kit-williams , @bleedingichorhearts , @barn-anon , @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan

@sleepyfan-blog , @bispecsual , @c-u-c-koo-4-40k , @ms--lobotomy

@gra93fruit-blog , @i-am-a-dragon34 , @felinisnoctis, @thevoidscreams, @yurihasurunbara

“Hello, Phaethorn!” Margaret called out, seeing the spiky shape of the Emperor’s Children space marine at the door. He walked in, his movement a little sluggish and his shoulders slumped, a contrast to his normally proud and energetic self, and not even a replied greeting this time. The storekeeper walked over to the chaos marine, looking concerned, “What’s got you so glum? You normally flit around to squish the yarn by now.”

She was then surprised by/shown/greeted by/presented with the most forlorn look that she had ever seen on an Astartis. It does look a little strange with Phaethorn being a chaos marine, but somehow his doleful sad eyes made him look like a sad puppy, as much as a chaos space marine could look like a sad puppy. 

The Emperor’s Children marine lifted his hands and showed her the source of his angst, “My knitting needles broke.” He pouted. 

“You poor dear!” He let Margaret take his hands in hers to examine. Phaethorn normally knits using his long fingernails when he joins in on their knitting circle meetings. It seemed a little strange, but no one was brave enough to ask the chaos marine. How tragic, having those nails broken must be quite upsetting, “How did you break your nails?” she asked. 

“Training.” Phaethorn grumbled, he knew better, and his brother-cousins told him that his long nails were an inconvenience, but he was so proud of his nails as they were both decoration and his natural weaponry. And also his knitting needles. It was so infuriating when his stupid brother-cousin broke his nails during sparring. He probably did it to prove his point, Phaethorn thought petulantly. It would take him three weeks for his nails to grow that long again. 

Margaret patted his hand sympathetically, “That’s quite unfortunate, but I know something might perk you up. We have the colour lot of yarn that you ordered and… it’s restocking day!” 

Phaethorn brightened when she mentioned his order arriving and restocking the store. He wondered what colours and texture that the new yarn products would be, Hopefully not that shiny metallic novelty yarn though. They come in a wide variety of colours but the texture is too scratchy, making it irritating to work with. Nothing like the soft buttery texture of the alpaca yarn. 

The Emperor’s Children marine followed Margaret to the boxes at the back of the shop. As they opened the boxes of new stock, Phaethorn’s mood lightened. Inside the boxes were a rainbow of the alpaca blend yarn from Titmouse Nest Fibre Mill, which was one of his favourite yarn companies. His hands dug into the packages and pulled out the colourful yarn to squish happily. Those are the most comfortable yarn to sleep on and knit with, mostly to sleep on though. He pursed his lips as he put the yarn he wanted aside. His bed (and room) was getting rather full with yarn, he’ll have to knit some of that yarn up and so he can replace the yarn with the squishier ones on his bed. But his nails are broken… 

Margaret watched the chaos marine. She was rather fond of him, Phaethorn reminded her of newbies who just joined the hobby, all excitable, looking forward to working with different yarn, coming up with different things to make, and happily browsing all the yarn in the store. She had a few Astartes customers, but none who visited as often as Phaethorn did. At first, he just bought yarn from the store, but then he joined their knitting/crocheting circle meetings occasionally, wanting to learn how to knit. His appearance took some time for their group to get used to, but he soon endeared himself to them; with even some of the elder folks treating him like their grandchild.

She then patted his arm, “Phaethorn, how about you help me shelf these yarns and I’ll show you how to use knitting needles, we have Astartes sized knitting needles that would work better for you. And you can take a few pairs and some of the yarn home for free.”

Phaethorn grinned and quickly picked up a few boxes of yarn, “Ok.” He wasn’t going to turn down free knitting needles and squishy yarn. 

[mercurygray]

Advice for a Long Fic

Someone asked me recently for advice about writing a long fic, and I started making a list before realizing this was probably a post rather than a message.

I know I've said most of this before, and none of it is new advice. As with any advice, take what you think will serve you and leave what you think will not. Everyone's process is different.

-*-

Start a new folder in the place where you save your things. This is your new big project folder. You are going to save all the things here.

Decide whether you are going to write the whole thing and then post it, or post it as you go. There are benefits to both of these approaches. I am a post it as you go person, and I have friends who think this is the dumbest approach imaginable. It is whatever works for you and causes less anxiety.

I have a spreadsheet for all of my characters. While I didn't reference it too often while I was writing, the act of making the document helped solidify people in my mind a little. It was also nice to have in case you felt like doing an askbox game on a slow day.

Come up with a naming convention for the things in the big project folder. When your chapter is 'done' it should be switched to the naming convention. Mine was Darkening Sky - Working Chapter Title (for things that were still in progress) and Darkening Sky - 35 - Chapter Title for things that I'd finished. This helped me find things later after I'd been working for three years and would not have remembered what was in a document.

I personally like the model of doing a separate document for each chapter. This allows me to move these episodes around at will without the danger of possibly deleting a large chunk of text. This does not work for everyone! If you like one big document, use one big document.

The other reason I liked lots of little documents is that it gave me the opportunity to slot in other things that I didn't think were originally going to be chapters. When I first started working on TDS, I had a lot of flashes of ideas for different things throughout the whole story, and I wanted to get them down all at once. Some of those made it into the final story. Some did not. Some of them were written for one part of the story but got recycled into a different part. But they are all in the big document folder in case I needed them.

I also did something for TDS that I've never done for a story before - I wrote down all the different story beats and show beats on notecards and I laid them out on my floor underneath cards that had the show episodes on them. (You may have seen pictures of this.) By putting the plot points on notecards, rather than a list, I had maximum flexibility to move them throughout the story and could visualize over a larger space where the story was going. This also allowed the story and the characters to go places I did not think they would go.

Give yourself grace and time. It will not all happen overnight. It does not need to all happen overnight. The people who are expecting it to all happen overnight are not the people you need in your life.

Having said that, a schedule can be a wonderful and valuable thing. I was trying to post a chapter every two weeks during the pandemic, and then when work picked up again I scaled that back to once a month. The schedule was not for the readers. The schedule was for me. Having something to keep myself accountable was helpful to me to prevent burnout (a chapter a day, no thank you) but keep myself moving forward.

I am going to say something provocative here: There is Writing the Fic, and there is Doing Fandom On The Fic. Doing Fandom On The Fic is the "New chapter coming soon!!!" sorts of things. I would be very cautious about feeling like you need to do the second thing. Work on it first. When it is done, it will promote itself. (If you have already created the Doing Fandom thing as a part of your creative process - great! share that! But don't go out of your way to Make Something Just To Have Something.) There is a time and place for the second thing, and it fills a specific need, but there is a different and I would argue more effective way to do that, which is -

Find a Pit Crew. This is an endurance race, not a sprint, which means at some point you are going to look at what you have on the page and you're going to want someone to tell you that you are doing a good job. You're going to need someone to change your tires and change your oil and talk to you at ten o'clock at night when you want to rip everything up. This is not a big public server - this is one or two trusted friends who will listen to your bonkers AUs and what your characters ate for breakfast. Create a server for you and those two people and go have fun. If no one else shows up to this party, you and those two people are still having a great time, and that is what counts.

[apomaro-mellow]

it may be unpopular to say but if i get 3 messages in a row for my inbox im gonna go out on a limb and say there's something fishy afoot here

[puppppppppy]

for like 3 weeks i was wondering why i was sleeping so much and felt listless. and just now I managed to email 3 people and responded to a month old message in the span of an hour because I got back to TAKING MY FUCKIN MEDS..........

[rosicheeks]

I hope your days aren't as heavy and dark, I am sending all the positive thoughts your way. You deserve the best, fairy princess. <3

😭

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[eowynstwin]

Price x Reader. Age gap. Divorced Price. Older BF Price. Vaguely smutty. Follow-up to this.

Price realizes you’ve never had a reliable man in your life exactly the second time he discovers you looking up DIY home maintenance for very simple projects.

It missed him the first time because he was deployed. You’d mentioned offhand how you were figuring out how to rebalance a ceiling fan, and he’d just automatically assumed that you were doing it yourself because he wasn’t there, so he simply praised you for your resourcefulness and lived for the next three weeks off of the way you’d absolutely glowed at his words.

But then he gets home, and one evening on the couch he catches you googling “how to fix a leaky sink.”

“What’s that?” he asks you, tamping down on the sudden feeling of masculine inadequacy that reared up almost immediately at the discovery.

“Faucet handle’s leaking all over my counter when I turn it on,” you say, not looking up from your phone. “Landlord’s out of town and can’t fix it.”

“I’m in town, ain’t I?”

You look up at him then, brows raised. You hadn’t even considered asking him, then.

“Oh—I didn’t want to bother you, John, you only just got back, and you’re tired…”

You trail off at the droll expression on his face.

Price has learned a lot of lessons from his previous marriage. The foundational one: just because he hasn’t been asked to help doesn’t mean he is believed to be unreliable. Adding that lesson to his knowledge base about you—young, modern, independent—calculates out an obvious answer that curtails any sour mood that might have sprouted up over the issue.

He puts his hand over your phone screen and lowers it down to your lap. “I’m fixin’ the sink,” he says simply.

He enjoys the way your eyes dilate at the assertion.

The next day, he shows up at your flat wearing old work clothes and carrying his heavy toolbox in his hand.

(You don’t live together yet—something he’s keen to rectify—but he has a toothbrush in your bathroom and permanent space in your bedroom drawers. He can be content for now.)

And you—you answer the door in the filmiest of sundresses, the ribbon tie on one shoulder hanging at a loose angle.

“Heard you need some plumbing done,” he says in the gruffest of voices, already understanding the game.

“Oh, thank goodness you’re here,” you say, barely able to hide your giggle, “I’ve been so worried.”

He steps in close to you, close enough to feel the heat of your body radiating off of your bare skin. He has half a mind to put the charade aside and lift your skirt here and now, but another lesson helpfully springs to mind: anticipation of the act makes the finale all the sweeter.

“I’ll show you to the kitchen,” you murmur, looking up at him with warm, dreamy eyes.

When he gets under the sink, he finds the problem easy enough to fix—the cold water supply line simple isn’t screwed in tight enough, and when he wiggles the whole contraption by the valves he finds that nothing has been tightened up to standard. A couple of years knocking the thing around had probably loosened up the locknut.

He elects to fix the whole problem in one go, while in the meantime you stand off to the side, watching him. He feels your eyes on his legs, trailing up to the hair on his belly exposed by his shirt riding up.

“Sir, I’m sorry, I should’ve said before,” you simper, “but I’m not really sure how I’m gonna pay for this.”

His cock jumps in his jeans, and he feels your gaze move to it as if it’s a physical touch.

He levers himself out a little and meets your eyes, keeping a stern expression on his face.

“I’m sure you’re gonna figure it out,” he says. Looking down at his groin and then back up at your face might be a touch unsubtle, but clear communication had been the most important lesson of all.

He slides himself back under, and pretends he doesn’t feel you approach, or lower to your knees between his spread legs. He ignores your gentle hands falling on the closure of his jeans, the pop of the button coming undone, the parting of the zipper as you pull it down.

“Of course, sir,” you say, “I’m sure I will.”

The softness of your hand meets his growing erection, caressing the head of his cock with your thumb—followed very close behind by the wet, liquid heat of your mouth.

next

[kateschi]

midnight check-in

synopsis: in the middle of the night, you are woken up by a call from your husband.

pairing: timeskip!bakugou katsuki x f!reader

the phone buzzes on the nightstand, dragging you from the edge of sleep. squinting at the glowing screen, you see katsuki’s name flashing across it.

it’s late—past the time he should have been home, but not unusual given the unpredictability of hero work. swiping the call open, you press the phone to your ear, voice still heavy with sleep.

“did I wake you?”

his voice is rough, but familiar, crackling through the line like static.

there’s no apology in his tone, but you can hear the subtle hint of concern buried underneath, like he’s weighing whether he should’ve waited until morning to call.

“no,” you lie, sitting up and adjusting to the quiet darkness of the room. “it’s fine. what’s up? are you coming home soon?”

there’s a brief pause on the other end. you hear the faint shuffle of his gear, like he’s shifting in his seat, maybe still in the office or the agency car. “yeah, I’ll be home in a bit. just… wanted to check in.”

check in? katsuki doesn’t just check in. the man’s explosive, stubborn, and blunt to a fault—never the type to dance around what’s on his mind. so, when he calls you this late just to ‘check in,’ something feels off.

“everything okay?” you ask softly, leaning back against the headboard. your fingers toy with the edge of the blanket, tracing small patterns over the fabric.

“yeah, just a long-ass day,” he grumbles, his voice a little lower now. he’s tired, you can tell, but there’s something else lurking in the background of his words.

“didn’t mean to be out so late. I know I said I’d be back before—”

“katsuki,” you cut him off gently. “you don’t have to apologize for doing your job. I know how it is.”

he lets out a frustrated huff, and you can almost picture him running a hand through his hair, the way he does when he’s feeling restless.

“still,” he mutters. “I said I’d be there, and I’m not. doesn’t sit right with me.”

your heart softens at that. even though his words are gruff, katsuki has always had a way of showing he cares—usually in his own roundabout, katsuki-style way.

“you’re here now,” you say, your voice a little warmer. “that’s what matters. I’m just glad you called.”

another pause, this one heavier. there’s a slight crackle from his end, like he’s shifting again, probably leaning back in whatever chair he’s stuck in, the tension still clinging to him.

“yeah, well… I didn’t wanna wake up and find out you’re pissed I didn’t get home.” there’s a touch of humor in his voice, and you can practically hear the smirk on his lips. “figured I’d save myself the trouble.”

you chuckle softly, shaking your head. “you’re not getting out of trouble that easily, katsuki.”

“darn,” he clicks his tongue, but the familiar grumble in his tone makes you smile. it’s his way of saying he missed you, without actually saying it.

for a moment, there’s just comfortable silence between you.

the sound of his steady breathing on the other end of the line makes your chest ache a little—wanting him here, not just on the other side of a phone.

“you almost home?” you ask quietly, the warmth of the blankets doing little to fill the empty space beside you.

“yeah.” his voice softens, dropping just enough that you can tell he’s not as guarded anymore. “should be there in about ten.”

“good,” you murmur, stifling a yawn as you sink further into the bed, imagining him walking through the door any minute now. “I’ll wait for you.”

there’s a beat, a moment where his breathing catches ever so slightly, before he grumbles again, but softer this time. “you don’t have to stay up for me, y/n.”

“I want to.”

the silence that follows feels different—warmer, like he’s smiling, even if you can’t see it. and maybe it’s the exhaustion in your voice, or the way you said it so matter-of-factly, but something in him shifts.

you hear him let out a quiet breath, the kind he only ever lets out when he’s alone with you.

“...you’re such a damn idiot,” he mutters, but there’s no bite to it. just warmth.

you smile into the phone, eyes already half-closed. “takes one to know one.”

he snorts at that, a rare sound of amusement that you love catching him off-guard with. “whatever. just keep your ass in bed. I’ll be there soon.”

“mhm,” you hum, already feeling the drowsiness tugging at you again, but there’s something in the comfort of his voice that keeps you tethered.

you shift slightly, hugging the blanket closer, waiting for the familiar click of the front door. before you drift off entirely, you murmur, “love you, katsuki.”

there’s a pause, and for a moment, you think he’s hung up. but then, quietly, with all the weight of a promise, he replies.

“yeah. love you too.”

the call ends with a soft click, but even after, the warmth of his voice lingers in the quiet room. you smile to yourself, feeling the space beside you growing less empty by the minute.

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