#god i might die if this fic falls flat

[luv-again]

wondering whether i shld just jump back into my cryptic castle fic now that i've left it for almost a good couple weeks

[hellfirenacht]

Anomaly Chapter 5

Fic Summary: You can talk to anyone in school with no problem. At least, anyone who’s not named Eddie Munson.

Chapter Summary: You and Eddie make some calls and get to know each other a little more.

Tags: Eddie Munson x Reader, one-sided enemies to lovers, one-sided pining, miscommunication trope, anxious-ish!Reader, fem!Reader, Reader is not described, no use of y/n

Word Count: 2.4k

Master List

No beta, you all should know better by now.

“You’re old enough to buy your own now, you know. I’m only gonna up-charge you.” 

“What? Can’t a girl just buy some smokes from her friend?” 

“Right. Friends.”

“Fine, then I’m supporting a local business.” 

“What do you actually want, Stacy?”

“I’m just making sure that you two are going to play nice.”

“What the Hell? Shouldn’t you be telling her that?”

“She’s always nice.”

“Right, and I’m the queen of Sheba.”

“Well then, your majesty, just give me my smokes and I’ll be on my way.”

Bev wasn’t too happy that Eddie was going to be coming in an hour and a half later than expected on his Wednesday shift but she waved it off. The Hideout survived without him for god knows how long, the small dive could handle losing a busboy for a few hours on a weekday night. 

He sauntered into Ms. Benson’s classroom a fashionable ten minutes late, and a few dollars richer. You were already sitting at a desk chatting with Ms. Benson about who-knows-what before taking his own seat on top of the desk. 

If Eddie had to be here, he might as well rebel in his own way. He really would rather be bussing tables and trying to convince Bev to give him extra time on stage than do school services with someone who hated him. 

“Nice of you to join us, Mr. Munson.” Ms. Benson said, ignoring the fact that he was on his desk. She pulled out a thick binder and a rolodex that looked like it would fall apart if she didn’t hold it just so. “In here, you’ll find the budget for Spring Day and all of the different vendors and events that we’ve used over the past ten years.” 

Being the smart woman that she was, she placed the rolodex in front of you and dropped the binder on Eddie’s lap. He raised an eyebrow and flipped through it casually, as if looking through the Spring Day binder would provide him with secrets to the school that he could use to force Higgins to let him graduate this year. 

“There’s a phone in the teachers lounge you can use.” She continued, grabbing her own purse. “Let me know what you come up with on Monday.” 

“Wait- are you leaving?” You asked, jaw dropped as Ms. Benson started out of the room. “You’re not gonna help?”

“There’s only one phone. Just get some quotes for vendors. All of the information is in the binder. Just close the door tight when you leave.”  

Your mouth was still agape as Ms. Benson left, which was very amusing to Eddie. It was dead silent before Eddie burst out in a maniacal cackle that echoed through the classroom and made you jump. That also amused Eddie. 

“Well well, it looks like it’s just us in charge of Spring Day.” He got off the desk and dropped the binder down where he had just been sitting. Eddie leaned over the binder and flipped through it. “I’m thinking evil clowns, adding balloon popping back but with knives, and a petting zoo with snakes and goats.” Eddie turned and grinned wide at you. 

“What, no fortune teller to tell you how you’re gonna die a gruesome death?” Your voice was flat, but Eddie could pick up the hint of amusement in your voice which made his grin widen. 

“I’m sure we can dress you up in something covered in stars. I’ll sit under the table and shake it. We’ll make a killing!” Eddie laughed. 

“A killing? Really?” You shook your head at the terrible joke and flipped through the rolodex with a sour look on your face. Eddie hadn’t meant to make a pun, but if it annoyed you he’d keep it up. 

Play nice.

As if Stacy had any say over what happened between the two of you. He barely knew either of you.

“I don’t think we’re supposed to charge for anything, anyway.” you continued, flipping through the cards almost as fast as Doug flipped through long boxes at the comic shop. 

“What doesn’t kill Higgens won’t hurt us.” Eddie pressed, not even fully invested in the idea himself. Something about his talk with Stacy just got under his skin, and the only way he could shake it was by getting under yours now. 

“I don’t think half of these businesses even exist anymore.” you said to yourself as you kept flipping through the rolodex with your good hand. Eddie sighed and figured you were ignoring him until you continued. “This laundromat shut down last year. I heard it was a front for some mafia and there was a shootout.”

Eddie perked up a little, had that been an attempt at playing along? It wasn’t completely in line, but everyone in town knew that the laundromat had just been flooded from the inside when a pipe burst. 

“There’s no mafia in Hawkins.” Eddie said, looking over your shoulder at the rolodex. “Only cults that sacrifice people to the dark forces.” 

You stopped messing with the rolodex, and Eddie wasn’t sure if he’d said something wrong. You had apologized before, maybe it was too soon to joke about it? 

Eddie was usually good at reading people, but you were harder to understand. 

“So, what’s the budget that we’re supposed to be working with?” You asked, changing the subject. 

“Three pennies and an expired coupon for Benny’s.” Eddie replied, flipping back to the first page. 

“Yeah, that sounds right. I guess there’s no room in the budget when the basketball team needs new jerseys or the cheerleaders need pom-poms.” you rolled your eyes, done messing with the rolodex. 

Eddie was a little surprised at the dig towards the cheerleaders, considering your best friend was one. Had been one. Why the hell had she wanted to buy smokes from him today?

The two of you finally got up and made your way to the teacher’s lounge. Ms. Teedee, the art teacher, gave him a half hearted wave as she finished washing her coffee cup. Eddie liked Ms. Teedee, she didn’t give a shit about his reputation. Art and shop were the only classes he had ever done consistently well in, so when he was saddled with a third senior year he decided to re-take art as an easy A. 

The two of you spent the rest of the afternoon calling places and taking down numbers. You did most of the talking, but Eddie took charge when you got up to use the bathroom. 

Eddie was surprised when you came back, well that you came back. He wouldn’t have been surprised if you had run for the hills and left him alone. But you did come back, two bags of chips in hand. One of them was offered to him. 

“Thanks...?” Eddie didn’t mean for that to come out as a question, but it did anyway. How was it that one minute you hated him, but another you were apologizing? You were scandalized to be left alone with him to work on this, and yet came back with food. 

He shouldn’t trust it, but he also wasn’t too good for free snacks. 

“So, what’s your deal?” Eddie asked, timing his question with you shoving a few large chips in your mouth. 

“Huh?” was your graceful reply as you covered your mouth with your hand. He could see that his timing was not appreciated, which made him feel better. 

“Your deal. Which of these fine cliques here at Hawkins Hell do you belong to?” Eddie elaborated, spreading his arms as if gesturing to a crowd when in reality he was gesturing to the table the phone was sitting on. 

You took a moment to finish chewing, giving him a glare as you finally got the chips down. Okay, maybe Eddie felt a little bad for that, as you had been nice enough to get him a snack. 

Play nice.

He was a dungeon master, he wasn’t known for playing nice. He could at least play fair though. 

“I don’t belong to anyone.” you said finally, flipping through the binder and not looking at him. “I got in late, made friends with Stacy and... I don’t know. This late in the game, cliques aren’t exactly taking new applicants. Not this close to graduation when everyone has known each other since elementary school.” 

Eddie looked at your broken wrist again, looking at all the different signatures. For someone who didn’t belong to any group, you sure were on everyone’s good side. 

Everyone had some group they belonged to. That’s how high school worked. The Freaks sat with him, the Jocks sat with their teams, the Science Nerds sat with the science nerds... that’s how high school- no, that’s how the world worked, according to Eddie. 

Your response would normally have you tucked away as “new kid” or “freshman” but neither of those fit you. You knew too many people. You hung out with an ex-cheerleader, but you weren’t exactly jumping around with excitement at the last pep-rally. Stacy still dressed like a cheerleader, and was just as nosy as one but you didn’t look popular. 

Not that there was anything wrong with the way you looked to Eddie, you just didn’t look or dress like the popular crowd. He could tell you apart from the near identical wave of perms and ponytails. 

What was your deal?

When Eddie didn’t respond in an appropriate amount of time for you, you responded with the same question. 

“What’s your deal, Eddie?” His name sounded foreign coming from your mouth. 

“Huh?” he asked, shoving a chip into his own mouth, mimicking you. You rubbed your face and let out a laugh, to his surprise. 

“What’s your deal? Or, I guess what’s Hellfire’s deal?” You clarified. 

“Well, you see, it’s a fantasy game-” 

“Not a cult?” 

“I can neither confirm nor deny that.” 

“Go on.”

You didn’t interrupt him again as he started explaining the bare basics of the game, figuring that you were just looking for an excuse to stop calling people for a moment. That was fine with Eddie, he’d happily sit here and rant about his favorite game in the teachers lounge, tainting the warden’s space with the game that they tried to hide away from the rest of the inmates. 

What he didn’t expect was for you to be listening so intently. You were looking at him, really really looking at him. If Eddie didn’t know any better, and he liked to think that he did, you seemed to be actually interested in the world he was opening up up to you. 

His eyes glanced down at your cast, and the curly signature of Chrissy Cunningham shimmered slightly on the underside of your cast. Eddie could barely make out her last name, but he could assume that the glitter gel pen signature belonged to the cheerleader. 

That reminded Eddie that, popular or not, you were still in a completely different world than him. One where people actually liked you and didn’t sneer at you for bullshit reasons. 

But then why were you looking at him so intensely? 

“So you’re playing make believe with dice and if you roll high you can do things and if you roll low you eat shit.” You said, crumpling up your bag of chips. 

It was a grossly simplified explanation of the game that Eddie had poured hundreds of hours into. 

“Yeah, basically.” At least that had killed a good fifteen minutes. 

“And you’re god.” You added, which Eddie did appreciate. 

“No, I’m Satan, remember?” He flashed you his most charming smile and you just laughed again. 

“You aren’t that bad.” You sounded like you meant that. 

“Tell that to my players, they say I’m worse than Satan.” He said with pride. 

Your conversation was interrupted by the bell, announcing that any clubs needed to pack up and leave. Eddie took that as your cue that you were done. 

You closed the binder and the notes that you two had taken over the past hour and took a deep breath. 

“Wait, shit, Mrs. Benson left. What do we do with this?” You asked, motioning to the binder and rolodex. “Do we just leave it here?”

Eddie wouldn’t have thought twice about just dumping it on one of the tables and leaving. He still had his shift to get to, but... 

“Come on, we’ll drop it on her desk.” he said, and walked out of the lounge before you could protest. 

You caught up to him a moment later, glaring at him for ditching you and leaving you to scramble with your things. Eddie wasn’t sure if he liked you more when you looked like you were hanging on his every word or looking at him with annoyance. Maybe Eddie just wasn’t sure if he liked you. He sure couldn’t tell if you like him at all. 

“It’s locked.” you said. 

“Barely. Make sure no one’s coming.” Eddie squatted down and pulled out a thin strip of plastic from his coat. He could feel his eyes on him and he looked up at you as you gaped. “Not me, look out for anyone else.” he clarified. 

Once you had looked away and down the hall, it didn’t take more than a few seconds for Eddie to jimmy the lock open. He grabbed the rolodex and the binder from you before you knew what was happening. 

Eddie had broken into the classroom, dropped the items off the desk, and slipped back out into the hallway in less than a minute. 

“How’d you learn to do that?” you asked, following him out towards the parking lot. 

Eddie just shrugged. “I’m a man of many talents.”

It was cool outside, the winter weather seemed to finally be on its way out. A small beep signaled you to the sleek car that Stacy drove and you waved at her. Being the good friend that she was, Stacy had offered to drive you home that night. 

“I guess, I’ll see you next week.” you said to Eddie. 

“Same bullshit time, same bullshit place.” he agreed, watching you hop into the car before heading off towards his own van and drive off. 

“Sooooo, how was your date?”

“It wasn’t a date, it was school.”

“Did you make out in the teachers lounge?” 

“No, I gave him a hand job in the janitor's closet.”

“The one by the gym, or the one by the science lab.”

“The gym. Smelled worse but at least there weren’t any dangerous chemicals.” 

“No, really, tell me what happened.”

“We called different places to get quotes for Spring Day. He also talked about Dungeons and Dragons for fifteen minutes.”

“And then you made out?”

“No.”

“But you wanted to.” 

“....Stacy, I’ve never wanted to blow someone more in my entire life.”

Author Notes: Sorry this took so long, I got so brain dead writing this. I really need to visit more of the source material. I love Eddie, but he just hasn't been talking to me much lately. Hopefully when Rise of Hellfire comes out it'll help lol

Tag List: 

 @eddiemunsonfuxks @kirsteng42 @strangereads @pedroschka @generoustrashpeach

@sheneedsrocknroll92 @cyanfairywren @crocworkships @tomtomslongdong @aphrogeneias

@ghcstpyre @totheforestandtheocean @stevekeeryswife @dreamyyy222222 @ajnerdess

@sp1dyb0y1008 @projectcampbell @emxxblog @thebadbatchfan

@transparentenemypenguin @ghoulsgraveyard @spread-the-hope @exploding-bonbon @paleidiot

@2spock @c14r3v1b3srs @yujyujj @saramelaniemoon @morganlolitta

@veemoon @mrsrdlw @eddieheart @bambibiest @mylovelycrazyworld

@sassidykassidy @cultish-corner @thedoubleexposurephotography @bambibiest @wheels-of-despair

@amieinghigh @hazydespair @princesssunderworld

[spiritmadeofstars]

Something to live for, someone to die for (Lokixfem!Reader) CH 1 [on-going]

Summary: Loki is looking for a powerful artifact. When he’s just in reach, one silly little Midgardian decides to fuck up his plans.

(female reader, nondescript appearance, non-specific timeline, tags will be added)

Pairing: Loki x Female Reader

NO use of Y/N, instead "you" and using a nickname

Words: 4,309

Warnings: violence, blood, adult themes in later chapters, 18+ (warnings and tags to be added)

Chapter 1 - A bird in a cage, of course (originally posted on my AO3)

chapter 2

Hey guys, so I am a sucker for enemies to lovers, but often find myself unhappy with the ratio being like 5% enemies - 95% lovers, so I decided to give it a try myself. You know what the French say “soo la voo or whatever”.

This is very loose in terms of the movies, I usually do not care much about sticking to the plot/timeline and this is my first Marvel fic, so I’m gonna do this free form. The reader is female, a part of the Avengers, appearance not really described (if I slip up I apologize in advance, I hope you can imagine yourself in there).

You were pressed against Loki’s chest and his dagger was pressed against your throat. Too bad your hands were tied and secured to your waist, otherwise you would have punched him right in his stupid smirk. In this situation, being tied up and all, blood trickling from your forehead and down your cheek, you managed to struggle a little against him, only causing the dagger to knick you.

  “If I knew you were so eager to throw yourself on a blade I would have spared you the beating.” Loki said next to your ear, his warm breath tickling your skin, it made you want to vomit. Either that or your concussion.

  “If it’s a certain death and being this close to you the choice is obvious.” You managed to get out, though your speech was slurry.

  “You wound me, woman. I am the best company you could ever dream of.” He turned the knife so the flat side of the blade pressed against your skin. Then he turned you around and pressed you against a wall, the point of the blade under your jaw. You could feel the sharp sting of yet another wound. “Tell me where you hid the artifact and I might consider granting your wish of escaping.”

  “The artifact.” You said, confused. “What artifact?” Looking up, you focused on Loki’s face. A little blurry, but you could see the fury and blood thirst, his eyes filled with madness. You tried to think, but the thoughts kept slipping away like fish in a river.

  “You don’t want to play this game with me.” He almost shouted, his left hand pressed against the base of your throat. Holding you steady rather than trying to choke you.

  “This is awkward, but I don’t remember having anything of yours in my possession.” You said in a daze.

  The feeling of his wet, sweaty palm pressed against your skin was too much, his closeness was too much. You were going to vomit if he did not let go of you soon. It was a relief when he did pull his hand away, along with the blade. You breathed out slowly, only to be struck by him, causing you to lose your balance and fall to the ground. Alas, you finally vomited, the spin of the fall sealing the deal. At least you did not get vomit on yourself. When you finished and managed to look up at Loki, you noticed the blood dripping from his left hand and a thought occurred to you. Maybe his palm wasn’t sweaty at all.

  “You are the God of Lies, can’t you tell I’m not lying?” You whispered sarcastically, slightly offended that he was not clever enough to realise it on his own. His frustrated “fuck” let you know, that he, in fact, did know you were telling the truth. Content, you lowered your head to the floor. It felt like it was about to explode, and the cold touch of stone made it a little more bearable.

  “Fuck!” Loki screamed and something shattered. “Fuck. Fuck you and your stupid weak little Midgardian head.” You closed your eyes, feeling at peace now that the man from your nightmares left your personal space. “No matter.” You heard a bit too close for your liking. You were being pulled up again, your feet struggling to find ground.

  You were being dragged by the collar of your suit, two cold fingers found their way underneath the fabric, and though you tried your hardest, the back of your neck could not escape the touch. You were not sure if you were glad that the zipper on the front was slightly undone. If it wasn’t, maybe you would have been strangled before Loki brought you on his ship and took you with him.

  ….

4 hours earlier

….

  “Can you hear me, Birdie?”

  “Tony, this isn’t funny.” You whispered into your intercom.

  “Oh, come on, kid. It’s not my fault Peter chose you a new superhero name.”

  “In my defence, I called her Robin.” Peter said quickly.

  “Eh, a bird is a bird.”

  You shook your head, annoyed and offended. You did not care for superhero names. Thought your name would be enough, but apparently no. Just because you could fly and your uniform happened to be brownish with red details, did not mean you looked like a robin in the slightest. That was low even for Peter. At least he did not call you a bird-woman.

  “At least Birdie is cute.” You said more to yourself, but the mic picked your voice.

  “Hah, knew it!” Tony said triumphantly and Peter grumbled something you did not quite catch. You were trying to focus on the scene before you. The reason you were actually hiding up in the tree, (like a fucking bird!) in the first place. You have nothing against birds, actually, but the topic of your superhero name has been too popular for your liking today.

  You blocked the intercom out and watched the men standing around near a space craft. Your Stark(TM) goggles adjusted the image for you and you could see the cargo hold was empty – you came in time. Just did not know in time for what exactly – is it just a robbery? There has been some stirring, happenings, around Earth but also on other planets, and it made everyone paranoid. There were countless theories, and that only made things worse, because everything was regarded as if it could lead to another event.

  So almost every day, majority of Avengers were running around, patrolling. Today, you were called to a newer museum that opened in Prague, they acquired some previously personal pieces a.k.a. stolen and displayed in someone’s mansion. Looks like some families felt like they could share. All the items were already inside the building for at least a week, so it was suspicious that a disguised space ship showed up in the backyard.

  It felt funny to you, that some space pirates came to rob a museum on Earth. But you’ve been watching them for the past 10 minutes and nothing was loaded into the cargo. Just 4 men, standing around, though you guessed someone already entered the museum before you came. It was all a little fishy, so you waited and observed. The deal with these patrols was – give it a moment and see. You started getting restless, so you slipped from the tree and made your way inside the museum.

  Sticking to the high ceilings, you made your way to the hushed voices and found them in a storage area. Boxes with priceless artifacts and art opened and made into a mess on the ground. So they weren’t really robbing the place. They were looking for something specific. The five men were quick in their work, but actually did not break anything. Weird. Maybe they were enthusiasts and just looking for a souvenir to take home.

  You were too curious about what they were searching for, so you decided to wait a little longer and see. The storage space, which was actually just another two story room with empty display cases and full of wooden boxes, allowed you to stay above them on the upper balcony floor. You noticed some boxes near you, unopened – they would probably come to check upstairs, too. You wondered why they left so many men outside, when they could have used the hands.

  Suddenly there were steps that sounded like they were going upstairs, so you flew across the room and hid behind a case.

  “It’s here, I can feel it.” A muffled voice said. “Find it.” It commanded.

  You were lucky that they only had headlamps and hand held lights, but you did not have where to go, really. Oh well, time to call backup and – just as you were about to type a message on your Stark (TM) watch, something caught your eye.

  In front of you, a box just like the others was open, filled to the brim with protective packaging material. Without thinking, you pushed your goggle up onto your forehead, so you could see it with your own eyes. A beautiful gold necklace with an ornate pendant just happened to catch some moonlight. Suddenly it was in your palm, the chain coiling itself around your fingers and hand like a snake, and a light shone straight at you. You sprung up to your feet and ran.

  “Catch her! She has it!” The voice commanded again, and just like that, all lights were on you. You thought to yourself – Almost as if I was a displayed piece behind glass.

___

  At least the glass walls of your little cage were cold. Freezing, actually, but your breath did not seem to fog it at all. You were on a ship, a space ship, with a small crew and their leader – Loki. They were all preoccupied.

  “Tony.” You whispered. “Tony, I am in space, Loki is -”

  “Right here.” Loki was right next to you, holding something in his palm. Your eyes took a moment to focus and then you realized he was holding your intercom, all bloody, and your watch, completely broken. “It’s not the first time I met one of you, you know.” He said, offended. You scoffed.

  “Oh, I know.”

  “Good, then you know what to expect unless you give me what I want.” He threw your Stark gear into the air where it vanished. You took a deep breath, knowing you still had the tracker behind your ear. You just hoped Tony had figured out the long distance tracking. Very long.

  “Then please tell me what’s gonna happen if I do give you what you want.” You challenged.

  “I’ll kill you, of course.” You rolled your eyes and Loki chuckled. “Was I supposed to say I’m going to return the lost puppy and ask for a reward?”

  “That would have actually made me feel a little bit better, but now you ruined it.” You tsked.

  “If you won’t cooperate I’ll have to torture it out of you. Works for me.” He shrugged and leaned back against the wall. You turned yourself a little, wanting to keep an eye on him. Your hands were still tied tightly and secured to your waist, but now your feet were tied, too. They probably did not know how your flying worked and wanted to be sure you weren’t going anywhere. Your started looking around when Loki suddenly leaned forward and looked straight at you.

  “Oh, I almost forgot. You lost this.” He held up his hand again, and between his thumb and pointer finger was your tracker. You gulped. “We’re stopping in a moment and I just wanted you to know I’m going to toss it somewhere, just so your friends can go on a little trip. What do you think?”

  You banged your head back against the glass. “Fuck you. Did you just rip it out of me?!” Loki smiled brightly.

  “I am quite skilled with a knife, actually.” He walked away from you. You closed your eyes and tried to remember what actually happened. The last thing you remember was lights and running, flying, and then you were suddenly tied up, and beaten, and held by Loki. He mentioned an artifact… yes, you were at the museum surrounded by boxes. There were probably many valuable things around you, but you did not remember taking anything. You were fucked.

[themculibrary]

Brooklyn Masterlist

Adventures of the Christmas Cat (ao3) - SMDarling steve/bucky G, 4k

Summary: It's cold in Brooklyn when Steve Rogers rescues a very special cat from a tree.

The cat decides to return his kindness by finding the only thing Steve wants for Christmas - Bucky Barnes.

Chypre of a Bygone Era (ao3) - thatgaywizard steve/bucky E, 10k

Summary: Bucky looked down- looked honest to God embarrassed even, which made Steve’s pulse flutter. “Sorry I’m- ” Bucky said, and almost with disbelief in his voice, “I’m drunk.” As though he was impressed by this fact which he’d just remembered.

“It’s not the first time.”

“Sure ain’t.”

“It’s not the first time I’ve wanted to…”

Bucky realized Steve’s tone didn’t mean what he’d thought as he stared into his eyes. “...To what?”

“To kiss you.”

{A story in which Thor tries to get everyone drunk and Steve and Bucky stage an Irish Goodbye at an Avenger's shindig and elope into the New York evening together}

down in the brooklyn toil (ao3) - arabellagaleotti steve/bucky G, 1k

Summary: A story of what could have been.

If the Jacket Fits (ao3) - betheflame steve/tony M, 3k

Summary: Steve finds a stranger in a park having a panic attack and gives him his jacket to keep warm as he calms down.

Tony falls for the stranger who gave him his coat during a panic attack, but finding "Steve from Brooklyn" isn't exactly easy.

Good thing Tony is a stubborn weirdo.

Maple and Rose (ao3) - gogglor steve/tony G, 3k

Summary: Steve and Tony run into each other at the Brooklyn Botanic Gardens, and that's not the only coincidence: both of them are there to commemorate their mothers.

Coming there they'd both intended to grieve alone, but maybe some company wouldn't be so bad after all.

Mine is the Shining Future (ao3) - brideofquiet steve/bucky E, 48k

Summary: He could have a life here, but what would it be? He could be a grocer; he could marry a girl who remembers hearing his name on the prayer list nearly every Sunday mass. He could fill sketchbooks in his spare time and stuff them into a trunk under his bed when he’s exhausted their pages, never to be seen again. He could live and die on Friary Street.

It would be a fine life, if a simple one. Something similar was enough for his mother. It should be enough for him, too. Is it?

In late summer of 1937, Steve Rogers immigrates to America.

new york is a hell of a town (and i'm brooklyn down) (ao3) - meiduisteve/tony T, 1k

Summary: Steve takes Tony home to meet Sarah and Joseph on a bright sultry weekend in August, the half-pint neighbourhood tucked away in eastern Brooklyn that Tony has heard stories about for five months now.

Oasis (ao3) - paperstorm steve/bucky E, 4k

Summary: “Is there a point to this conversation?”

“We should go, is the point.”

“To a queer bar,” Bucky says, flatly. The look on his face says he isn’t planning on giving it a second thought before turning Steve down.

One Year Later (ao3) - AugustEdelweiss steve/bucky G, 1k

Summary: Steve (and Bucky) grieving the loss of Sarah Rogers.

On The A Line (ao3) - wasureneba G, 1k

Summary: He goes to Brooklyn after. He knows it’s supposed to be an important place to him; he read that in the exhibit. Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes, two scrappy boys from Brooklyn.

He is no longer a scrappy boy from the streets of New York, that much he knows without having to read it.

Right Hook (ao3) - synony4life steve/bucky E, 25k

Summary: “I’m taking you down to Ivan’s Gym on Saturday,” Bucky says. He lifts his hand to shut Steve up as soon as he notices Steve is about to interrupt. “I’m not taking no for an answer here, Steve. You might be the stubborn one out of the pair of us, but I ain’t backing down on this. If you’re gonna fight, you’re at least gonna learn how to punch properly.”

“I can punch,” Steve counters.

Bucky levels him with a flat stare. He doesn’t need words to say; if you knew how to punch you wouldn’t be looking like that.

A 1940s fic wherein Bucky decides it's high time for Steve to learn how to throw a proper punch so he takes him to a boxing gym. Feelings ensue!

subways and soup kitchens (ao3) - crazywineaunt steve/bucky G, 1k

Summary: Steve sleeps past the last stop on the subway.

The Only Guy Steve Knows Who Lives In Brooklyn (ao3) - Beans (provetheworst) clint/natasha, minor steve/bucky T, 27k

Summary: Clint’s the only guy Steve knows who lives in Brooklyn, which is probably why the Winter Soldier starts hanging around his apartment. Clint has had worse houseguests, but even that doesn’t explain how he ends up on a thirty three hour flight to Madripoor trying to save the guy Captain America’s probably in love with from mad scientists.

The Steadfast Soldier (ao3) - danielosbourne steve/bucky E, 12k

Summary: Bucky returns to Brooklyn to help his sister navigate a family crisis.

The Sunday Paper (ao3) - runicsecret sam/bucky E, 1k

Summary: Sam has been developing some farsightedness with all the visor usage. What happens when he forgets to order contacts one time before a few week stay at his and Bucky's place in Brooklyn?

Thinking on the Bridge (ao3) - woamx G, 1k

Summary: Sometimes, Peter likes to swing about the city to clear his head. Other times, he likes to sit on the Brooklyn Bridge and think about life. Both of these things give Tony Stark a heart attack.

Two Seat Sofa, Hensta Light Brown (ao3) - Ilyone, whatthefoucault steve/bucky T, 6k

Summary: "So..." Steve hesitated to finish the question, "are we dating?"

(In which Steve and Bucky come home.)

We Could Make This Place Beautiful (ao3) - Paint_Stained_Heart steve/bucky G, 7k

Summary: No one knows what to do with these rising political tides, much less a testy one-armed veteran and a nervous returned Peace Corps Volunteer, lost in the thralls of Brooklyn, NY.

What Lies Within (ao3) - Steggy steve/peggy G, 7k

Summary: It's Christmas. Brooklyn is blanketed in snow, and as the brunette agent peers out the window, tea in hand, she ponders the day to come, the surprises in store, and most of all, the soldier asleep in her bed.

Winter in Brooklyn (ao3) - SuperSpookyAlienInvaders steve/bucky T, 1k

Summary: Winter in Brooklyn is cold, but blankets, tea, and full hearts are there to make sure the chill doesn't take root.

[hisch13r86]

for the spotify fic ask - nicojack + 99 (13+86 eheh)

[#99] Florida!!! (feat. Florence + the machine) by Taylor Swift

And this city reeks of driving myself crazy

I need to forget, so take me to Florida

I’ve got some regrets, I’ll bury them in Florida

Set: February, 2024 post- All-Star Day 1

Jack blows out a breath and sinks further into his seat, first class but so terribly commercial. He isn’t famous enough to think that anyone’s really going to stop to notice him on a flight to Florida instead of Jersey—where he’s supposed to be going—but then again, all it takes is one person tweeting it out and the entire world will know.

Not actually the entire world, Nico would remind him if he were here and not already out on some rental boat working on his tan and pretending he gives a shit about fishing. But a sizable handful of people would suddenly become aware that he’d lied about returning to Jersey to rehab just so he could get out of having a camera pointed straight at him for two hours.

He’s been in the league four and a half years now, and it still makes his skin itch sometimes, remembering that there might be a camera on him. That there probably is a camera on him, even if it’s not the one being shown on the Jumbotron or the broadcast. It never seems to bother the other guys as much as it bothers Jack.

It certainly doesn’t bother Nico, and no matter how sympathetic he might be about the whole thing, he’ll never get it. Never feel it the way Jack does. Jack wishes he could be a little bit more like Nico in that sense. He wishes he could be a little bit more like Nico on flights, too. He never ceases to envy the way Nico can knock out in five seconds flat the second he’s settled on the team plane.

Maybe Jack would be able to do that too, if he could just get settled. But he can’t, not even when Nico’s got his arm wrapped snuggly around Jack’s waist, his mouth slightly agape as he drools onto Jack’s shoulder.

He has managed to fall asleep a handful of times, after particularly grueling games when they have to fly out to the next city immediately, but only ever if he’s got Nico to curl up against, and even then it’s once in a blue moon.

So, Jack spends the entire flight with his hood tugged up high over his curls, trying his hardest not to fidget and piss off the middle aged man in the seat beside him.

It’s like a breath of fresh air once he’s off the airplane. Which, like, obviously it’s the first actually fresh air he’s sucked into his lungs in hours, not stale like the air had grown to be throughout the flight. But also, Jack fucking loves Florida. He thinks it might be in part because this is where he was born, something deep in the marrow of his bones singing every time he comes back here even though this state has never quite felt like home. He loves the daytime sunshine and persistent warmth and evening rain, the smell of saltwater thick in the air this near to the coast.

And it’s like, no one’s ever really given a fuck about hockey in Florida, not outside of Sunrise and Tampa, at least. He can walk down the streets completely anonymous in a way he can never quite manage in Hoboken.

Nico’s there, standing beside his rental car in the pickup line, wearing abhorrent board shorts and a threadbare t-shirt stretched taut over his biceps, a backwards cap and slides. His dimples crease his cheeks as he catches sight of Jack and raises an arm, giving a wave that’s equal parts goofy and endearing. God, Jack is so obsessed with him.

The air is different here, Jack knows it is. Just as well as he knows that he needs to be crushed in one of Nico’s bear hugs right now or he might actually die.

He takes a step and then another and there’s less time between his AirForces hitting the pavement with every stride and before he knows it he’s flying down the line, hitting Nico’s chest with a torn out little oof. Nico’s hands come up to splay across his shoulder blades and Jack buries his face against the crook of his neck, unable to tamp down on the little whine before it slips out. He muffles the sound against Nico’s skin, a little damp with the sweat of Florida’s perpetual heat, so fucking warm that Jack wants to drown himself in it.

Some airport attendant tasked with ensuring nobody’s loitering around the pickup line is sure to come berate them at any second, but Jack can’t be bothered to care, clinging to Nico just as hard as Nico’s clinging to him.

“Schatz,” Nico says, quiet. Concerned. His voice reverberated over all of the places where they’re touching, from Nico’s chest straight to Jack’s. He’s asking a question. Without actually asking it. He knows Jack has a harder time lying to him when he asks outright.

“I’m fine,” he says hastily. And he isn’t, still paranoid and twitchy from the flight, from Toronto, from his fucked up shoulder, from Jersey— which he loves but will never cease to make him feel just a little bit crazy. But he’s in Florida now, with the sea breeze kicking through his curls and Nico’s arms wrapped around him and he thinks that once he has a couple of days of sunshine and boating under his belt he could get there.

Nico hums. “There’s still some daylight left,” he says, his breath ghosting over the shell of Jack’s ear. Florida is the only place where Jack doesn’t feel cold when Nico pulls away. “We could catch the sunset on the water if we hurry.”

“Yeah,” Jack breathes. That sounds— it sounds pretty damn good, actually.

[narcolini]

the other man, pt. 2

moisés (sky rojo) x gn!reader, 3406 words

warnings for blood, gunshot wounds, DIY medical treatment

for day 17 of whumpril: cry for help | self treatment | ‘i can’t do this.’

a/n: the way this poor guy has no (?) fics on here at all, and im already maiming him. my god

tagging: @cositapreciosa @drabbles-mc​

part one here

You left him there. You left him there, and it’s been hours, sun sinking beneath the horizon, warmth slipping into cold. He hasn’t rang you. Not even a text. He’s probably dead, right? You probably left him to die. Shirt splattered with red, arm stretched across the concrete. Gun just out of reach.

You groan, turning to push your face into the pillow. It doesn’t help to imagine it. Even if he’s alive, you might never see him again. What if’s won’t do anything but torment you, if there’s never any closure, no evidence of the alternative.

The last you saw of him, he was alive. In control. Not scared in the slightest, as far as you could tell, so that’s what you’ll remember. What you’ll cement as fact. Alive, uninjured. Unrecognisable to the man you thought you knew, but not dead, at least.

Go away with me, he said. He knew they were coming. He tried to get out, you with him, hand in hand, before they got there. That meant something, right? The Moisés you knew was holding out still, before the gunfire. Putting you and him in the sun.

‘Fuck,’ you sigh, and flop back over to stare at the ceiling. A lifetime of wondering, then. That’s what you’ve been cursed with. You won’t sleep all night, wondering if he’s alive, wondering if it was a mistake to try and know him, and then in the morning, you’ll dress. Open the shop. Sell string bags and sunglasses to tourists, then go home and wonder again.

You almost resent him suddenly, hot and striking across your chest—he could’ve told you. Could’ve given you some warning that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t the type of guy to go on coffee dates with. To give your address to, to let brush his fingertips over you. You were half a breath away from falling for him. And the whole time, he was entwined in something dangerous enough to put you at risk. Real, true harm, only a car crash away.

It was cowardice, really, keeping it from you for his own sake. It made him a coward. Or stupid. Head so far in the clouds, he thought you’d never see the ground.

The buzzer to your flat goes, sharp and rattling through the box by the door.

You sit upright, out of the covers, to follow the sound before the first press is even complete. Then you’re in the hallway, heart thumping, when it goes again. Prolonged, this time, because whoever’s pressing it, down on street level, isn’t relenting. They’re just holding it and holding it, and it’s echoing off the walls either side of you, so loud it’s making you cringe. Wince.

You reach the door, click the camera icon on the intercom. It takes a second to warm up, grey and black fuzzing into shapes, into features. It’s him. God, it’s him. His forehead’s against the wall by the camera, but you recognise the nose, the jaw, the swinging earring.

He doesn’t lift his finger from the bell until you say his name, desperate and questioning.

‘Cariño,’ he replies, tinny through the box. It sounds like he’s panting, hissing the words out. It could be the connection. You can’t remember how it sounded before now, how people besides him, right now, spoke through it. ‘Let me in.’

Your hands are sweating, slipping from the button you press to speak back at him. ‘What happened? Are you okay?’

His head drops momentarily, before lifting again, gaze flitting about to find the eye of the camera. ‘I need your help. Please.’ He cuts himself off, panting a noise out like he’s in pain. A sound you’ve never heard him make.

You’re swinging from the door before he can ask again. Leave it open, to save time when you come back. It’s late enough in the night that you don’t have to worry about neighbours, and you’re only on the first floor, only one communal stairwell away from him.

Your feet slap against the stone as you descend, cold chilling up your bare legs. The t-shirt and gym shorts you’re wearing were never meant to leave the home, were never meant to be seen, by him of all people, riddled with moth holes and paint. It doesn’t matter. He needs you.

The latch on door at the bottom sticks, for a moment. You rattle it free, desperate, then lug the huge timber open to get at him.

‘Moi.’ It comes out like a breath.

He’s standing at half the height he usually is, his chin down to his chest, one arm stretched to prop him against the brick. You pull him forward like you’re starving, hook a hand around his shoulder to get him in from the night.

It doesn’t matter, now, that he kept things from you. That he thought he could. He’s alive, standing in front of you, and alive. You can’t wait until the door’s shut again, you have to hug him, have to feel his heartbeat against your own. You tug at him—

He holds you off, firmly, heel of his palm pressing into your collarbone. ‘Don’t,’ he bites, harder than you’d expect from him.

For a split second, you’re offended, anger flitting between your ears, but then you look down. You see why he’s stopped you.

‘Shit, Moi. Fuck.’

He’s bleeding, and a lot. So much, that you must be stupid, or blind, to have even missed it. Too caught up in the relief of seeing him, that you hadn’t really seen him at all. It’s dark down his thigh, staining one leg of his jeans, and splattered up his forearm. He’s got one palm pushed to the source of it, more red than the usual tan of his skin, tight to his stomach. The ring on his pinky looks like it’s carrying a ruby, gold hidden beneath.

‘Get me upstairs,’ he says, through the grit of his teeth.

‘What? No, we’re going to the hospital.’

He pushes a shaky breath, taking a half-step into the entry way. ‘Please.’ His cleaner hand shifts from your collar, to sit on your shoulder for support. ‘Upstairs, cariño.’

It had done you well to trust him the last time he asked something of you. You can only hope he’s making the right decision again, choosing you over the medical staff he so obviously needs.

You pull his wrist until his arm is sitting over your shoulders properly, taking as much of his weight as you can manage. Kick your foot out to shut the door behind you. It’s clumsy, messy. He’s heavier than you expected, all limp, tired muscle, that fights you with every step. If you didn’t have to, life or death, you wouldn’t manage it. You couldn’t lift him.

He’s wincing by you ear each time you go up, hissing it through the set of his jaw, but you can’t help that. This is the only way there is.

‘Sorry.’ You stagger as you reach the mid-way landing, pulling him and his heavy steps around the corner. ‘Last bit.’

He nods. His hand is still planted to the wound by his navel, but it hasn’t stopped the blood from spreading. It’s on the stairs behind you, on the second leg of his jeans, on you. It’s on you, smeared up your side somehow, and on the collar of your shirt, left from the hand he’s hanging over it. You don’t look at it. Don’t think about it. Your door is in sight, wide open and ready for you.

‘There.’ You’re breathing heavy like you’d ran, as you put him against the wall in the hallway. ‘Hold on.’

You lock the door behind, thread the chain in the latch, like that extra piece of metal will stop anyone who might’ve followed him. There’s fingerprints of red, everywhere you touch. It doesn’t matter. It’s okay. Just more paint stains to scrub out, right?

When you turn back, he’s not slumped against the wall still, but is making his way to the kitchen. Rigid, stiff with pain. He looks like he’s limping, but his legs are good, you’re sure they are, it’s the flex of his stomach that he’s trying to avoid, trying to overcompensate for.

‘Moisés, wait.’ You follow after him.

‘Do you have a sewing kit?’

‘What?’

‘Needle, thread.’ He looks over his shoulder. There’s blood on his chin, streaking down his neck. Everything he touches is marked with it.

You don’t make him ask again, disappearing into the second room you use as an office. There’s one in the drawers there, a gift from your grandma that you’ve used once and never again. You know what comes next, you can work it out, he’s going to want to use it. On himself, he’s going to stitch himself shut. Drip blood on the tiles while he threads it through his skin.

‘Here.’ You try to pass it to him now you’re back, but he just nods, and continues to manoeuvre himself around the kitchen. You put it on the side, offering a hand for support when he lifts himself onto the breakfast stool. ‘What happened?’ you ask, though you already know.

He laughs, breathy and barely amused. ‘What d’you think?’ He peels the hand away. ‘I got shot.’

‘Fuck.’

You feel the heat drain from your face, feel the room spinning slightly. There’s a hole in his stomach, staring back at you, leaking blood that’s almost black.

‘I need you to get it out,’ he pants, looking up through his lashes, ‘the bullet.’

‘What?’

‘It’s,’ he winces, repositioning himself, ‘it’s gotta come out.’

‘No.’ Your head shakes. ‘No, I can’t, I don’t know how.’

He tries to smile, nodding. ‘It’s easy, okay? I’ll talk you through it.’

But you can’t even stand straight. You’re swaying, sweating though you’re cold, goosebumps running up your arms.

‘Wash your hands,’ he says, doing his best to sound like it’s easy. Like he isn’t wasting breath and energy on instructions. ‘You have a lighter? Get a lighter, a knife, put it through the flame—’

‘Fuck, wait.’

He’s still going and you’re only at the hand washing part, scrubbing desperately. No matter how thorough you are, it still won’t work, you still won’t be clean enough to root about in his stomach.

‘Tranquilo,’ he sighs. ‘Tenemos tiempo.’

‘Do we?’ you bark back at him, flicking water as you shut off the tap. ‘You look like you’re fucking dying, Moisés.’

‘I know, I know.’ He’s pushing his hand over the wound again, feet slipping from the bar of the stool as he tries to stay on the seat. ‘If it was going to kill me, it would have.’

You don’t have to be medically trained to know that that’s bullshit. It could have damaged him elsewhere, somewhere deeper than surface level. He could drop dead in a day, or a week, regardless of how well you manage things right now.

‘Okay,’ you mutter, ‘okay, lighter, knife.’

You find them both in the same drawer and bring them back to him, like he needs to supervise the next step. As if he isn’t taking longer, slower blinks, and deeper swallows of air. He doesn’t look at you directly once you’re there, wet thumb slipping from the wheel, again and again, before you finally catch the spark.

‘Like this?’ You put the flame under the blade, waiting.

He nods. ‘Lo est—esteriliza.’ He winces, looking up after you’ve torched the metal to the point of changing colour. ‘Ta bien.’

You toss the lighter onto the counter. Now you’re standing in front of him, hands shaking slightly, with the knife poised in mid-air like you’re about to fence him, not dig a bullet from his stomach. ‘I don’t know how to…’

He lifts his hand again, wet with fresh blood, though you can’t tell how much. The bleeding has slowed slightly, maybe. You hope. He nods, groaning as he pushes his hips forward. He’s trying to flatten himself as much as the stool will allow, pulling his torn shirt away from the site.

The room swings, tilting around you. ‘I can’t do this,’ you whisper. The knife feels hot to the touch, even from the handle, it feels like gripping a scalding poker meant for cattle. ‘I can’t.’

‘You can,’ he counters, you have to, he means. ‘It’s okay.’

‘No, no, I really can’t, Moi.’ You swallow, pushing back against the rising bile. ‘You—you.’

He takes the knife from you clumsily, though his hands are far from clean, and bends to see the wound himself. You didn’t mean for him to do it, did you? You were going to say something else, you were going to—

‘Shit,’ he hisses, slipping in his seat again. The knife is wobbling in his hold, because he’s shaking more than you are. Red fingers unable to grip the thing tight enough to start.

It’s not going to work. He won’t be able to do it himself.

‘Damelo.’ You pluck it from him without waiting for an answer. ‘What do I do?’

His chest heaves, breath staggering out of him. ‘Try and feel for it,’ he says, panting between each word, ‘use the knife to lever it out.’

You don’t have time to doubt your ability anymore. He’s lagging, shaking from the pain now the adrenaline’s wearing off, and you have to do it for him. There’s no-one else he can go to, clearly. He wouldn’t be here if there was, so it’s you, or nothing.

You step between his knees, one hand on his stomach to steady you. You can’t see the bullet, obviously, just black and red, and slick wetness that you really don’t want to touch. There’s no going back now.

You put the tip of the blade into the opening and he growls, clenching his teeth around the noise. His stomach tenses beneath you, his thighs pincer around your hips—it’s all impulse, subconscious reactions that he can’t stop. The body trying to protect itself from the intruder.

‘I think I feel it.’ Hard where everywhere else is soft, it catches against the end of the knife.

‘Fuck.’ He’s huffing air from his nose, steaming like a bull. ‘Get it out.’

‘I’m trying.’

You’re cutting the edges of him, splitting the skin where it wasn’t split before, but eventually, you think you have it. The end beneath the bullet. You press down without warning, because it wouldn’t have helped anyway, and force it out. Right back the way it had come.

It doesn’t clatter to the ground, but instead rolls down his stomach, slow and wonky, to sit in his lap. It’s smaller than you expected. That, caused all this?

He says your name once. You’d been staring at it, knife away from him and in the air again, eyes on the bloodied metal on his jeans. Right, yeah. Close the wound.

The intrusion has caused more bleeding, but there’s so much already that it doesn’t make you pause. You’re the one riding on adrenaline now, reaching for the sewing kit, finding thread, a needle, while he hums in pain beside you. He’s got his lips pressed together, a whimper following each exhale he forces through his nose.

You’re beyond words now, the both of you. He doesn’t need to guide you through it. Can’t, really. And you don’t need to lie to him that it’ll only be a little longer, only be a little pinch. It’s just time to get it over with. Sew the skin together as best you can, hope the damage isn’t enough to kill him. Toes over the edge, and jump.

*

He had slept for a bit, afterwards, and you sat at the end of the bed watching him. You’d stitched the wound as best you could, but it won’t hold. It won’t do him any good in the long run.

He hadn’t wanted to wash himself once you’d finished, like you thought he should. So you’d helped him into the bedroom and cleaned what you could from his skin with a facecloth. It didn’t get it all, and he wouldn’t let you wipe too close to the site, but his hands are clean at least. His face isn’t streaked with blood anymore.

You put him in the biggest t-shirt you own, bought to be oversized anyway, and he looks like a child in it. Besides where the sleeves stretch tight over his arms, it drowns him. He slept not long after. Propped against your pillows, with the sheet up to his waist. It’d been a relief; he looked peaceful. You didn’t mind missing out on your own sleep just to watch him.

Now, though, he’s coming to. You know, because his brows are pinching slightly, twitching together as the pain returns to him. He takes a bigger breath than he should, chest lifting, stitches straining, then hisses and opens his eye.

He looks afraid for a second, shoulders tensing. Then it drops, and he sees you, and he blows a breath too forced to be real, genuine relief.

You smile limply. It’s three o’clock, the birds aren’t up yet. The room is dim still, lit with the in-between blue of night and sunrise. ‘Morning, Moi.’

The apple in his throat bobs as he swallows. Then his hand goes up, pointing, and you’re on you feet before he even has to ask. You pass him the glass from the bedside, which he takes with both hands, drinking like he’s been denied it for weeks.

‘Thank-you,’ he says afterwards, handing it back to you.

You nod and leave it on the edge of the cabinet, so that he might be able to get it himself next time. ‘Thought you might not wake up,’ you admit, returning to your post on the end of the bed. Just a hand’s distance from his covered feet. ‘So, thank-you, for not doing that. Don’t think I could explain a dead man in my bed.’

He smiles, just with his lips, because it doesn’t reach his eyes yet. ‘I wouldn’t have come,’ he says, leaving you to fill in the rest as he takes another shallow breath.

He wouldn’t have come, he means, if he thought he would die. But what would he have done instead? Crawled off into the bush like animals do, found somewhere quiet to die on his own?

You might not know him as you thought you did, but you care for him still, of course you do. You don’t want to think of him going like that, alone and in pain. The time you've spent together hasn’t been a complete waste—it can’t be, you won’t let it be. There’s something about him, about you. Something you shared over pastries in the mornings by the beach.

‘I feel like I’m sitting with a stranger,’ you admit, putting it to him quietly, like any louder and it’ll hurt him, press into the swelling beside his navel. ‘I don’t understand.’

You thought you had more to the say, but that covers it all. You don’t understand. You don’t understand why he was attacked, why he had a gun, why he kept half of his life hidden from you.

‘You have a lot of questions,’ he says, voice low and thick with sleep. Or hoarse from grunting in pain.

You nod, shy to meet his gaze.

‘Ask them.’ He shrugs, a minuscule gesture, more led by his expression than anything else. ‘I don’t want anymore secrets.’

He’s tired, you can tell, not only from the day before, the injuries, but from the combination of it all. From the weight on his back, the cost of folding mystery over his life. He wants out. Wants the truth between you, no matter the consequence.

‘If you want me to leave, after you…’ He swallows, jaw clenching as he nods, like he’s trying to convince himself of it, before putting forth the idea. ‘I’ll go. You won’t see me again.’

The knee jerk reaction is to tell him that you don’t want that, that you would’t send him away in this state—or any, really—just because of who he is. What he does. But you know that’s a self-laid trap, waiting to be stepped in. He could say anything. He could be anyone.

‘Okay,’ you reply, accepting his deal. ‘Let’s start at the beginning.’

[maybesamikins]

his heaven - s.w

sam winchester x female!reader

genre: smut warnings: NSWF , 18⁺ , explicitly sexual content , mention of readers death , spoilers? wc: 2.6k

summary: when sam faces death, he wakes up in heaven and is forced to relive one of his happiest memories with his late girlfriend who tragically passed away six years ago.

a/n: this idea literally came to me in the middle of the night… i’ve never written smut before nor have i ever actually posted a fan fiction, please be nice or i think i might die. and please ignore any typos and grammatical errors i don’t feel like proofreading.. ENJOYYY!! <3

ꔫ 𝐝𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐬: @cafekitsune !!

ꔫ » takes place during 5x16 “the dark side of the moon”

» recent fic: braided hair - sam winchester x reader

the two men standing before sam exchanged looks, nodding at one another. sam’s heart was pounding so hard he swore it was about to burst out of his chest. sam clinched his eyes shut so he no longer had to stare down the barrel of a shotgun. the sound of the trigger clicking echoed through his ears, then all he remembered was the bright flash that followed. he felt his body growing cold as the world fell quiet.

“sam, c’mon we gotta leave!”

his eyes fluttered open, in a confused daze he began checking out the very familiar surroundings. his dorm. and was that her voice?

“sam? you dressed yet, babe?” after hearing your voice for the second time sam came to the conclusion that this was the light at the end of the tunnel before eternal hell.

your sweet voice came from behind the door of his room. a smile instinctively grew onto his face. the small sound of the door knob twisting followed by the larger sound of the door opening grabbed his attention, he turned to face the now open door. his eyes instantly met your face. the familiar glow of your face and the welcoming smile that had stuck with him over the years made him feel like he had just fallen in love all over again. god how he’s missed you. he had only seen your face as an image in his head for the past six years. and to see you now, so vividly, it felt so real– it made his cheeks hurt from smiling so hard.

“what’s got you so smiley?” you giggled at his goofy smile as you walked further into his room. he remembered now, this had happened before. a full year before you died, the night of some halloween party, which explained the angel costume, coincidentally enough. he remembered how you had wanted to go with the witch costume, which sam had talked you out of— he hated witches.

“just happy to see you.” he found himself stuttering over his words trying to gather the right things to say. sam couldn’t wipe the smile off of his face even if he tried his hardest. he walked over to you and gently placed his hands on your waist that was covered with a sheer white fabric. leaning down, not once letting his eyes fall away from you, slowly connecting his lips to yours with anticipation. it was just as he remembered, your lips still soft and sweet. the distinctive taste of the chapstick you always wore he had been dreaming of for years.

your arms flat against his chest to playfully push him off.

“alright, loverboy. where's your costume?” you stood with your arms crossed waiting for an answer. he could only smile, this all felt so surreal. to feel your lips plush against his for the first time in forever, to taste the reminisce of your sweetness lingering on his own lips. he was so happy to see your face again, this time your eyes filled with light instead of terror. for years the scared expression you had before you died had haunted him.

“you know halloween isn’t my thing.” he finally spoke.

“yeah yeah, whatever,” you rolled her eyes in a toying manner. “you ready to go then?” you gestured to his current outfit. he had on what he had every time this memory would repeat in his dreams, the button up shirt that had the sleeves pushed up a little past his forearms and his jeans that hung the slightest bit low.

sam looked at you for a moment, his eyes falling over each and every one of your features before his gaze finally met your eyes again,

“mm’ not yet.” he hummed to himself with a low mumble.

he pulled you in by the waist once again, this time with more grip in his touch. one hand falling on the small of your back guiding you closer to his body. your hands glide up his toned chest and land on the back of his neck, you pull him down to you connecting your lips with his. the hand that laid on your back moved to the warmth of your cheek only pulling you further into the passionate kiss that was growing sloppy. your hands now in his soft brunette hair, playing with it gently in your fingers— including an occasional tug. his tongue slowly grazes over your plump lips, slightly parting your lips allowing him to slip his tongue into your mouth ravenously. his hand slid onto your back as you arched closer into his needy touch, he kissed slowly along the soft skin of your neck. you tilted your head giving him additional access to more of your tender skin. taking your swollen bottom lip in between your teeth clenching your eyes shut at small tickling feeling of sam kissing up your neck.

he couldn’t help but tease the skin of your neck, abusing the sensitive bits of your skin that would make your breath hitch and your heart speed up a beat. sam was like a starved man in front of a perfectly plated meal, and he just couldn’t get enough. his hands wandered over your clothed body feeling more of your warm skin. reluctantly removing his lips from your skin, he gently tossed you onto the bed with a sense of urgency. immediately climbing on top of you, your hips slotted together perfectly. he left small kisses on your body occasionally sucking harshly on your skin. leaving a trail of small pecks as he made his way back up to your lips. his arm on the side of your head caging you in propped him up over your body, while his free hand rested beneath your back. his knee between your legs supported the rest of his larger body that covered yours entirely. the hand beneath your back now grazing over the fabric of your costume. he began slowly slipping the material over your shoulder as he kissed further down your neck and along your collarbone taking note of the spots that made you let out those cute little noises. his free hand pushing more of the costume material down your body, leaving your upper half in just that white lacy bra that he could never forget. he slowly slipped the straps from your shoulders, still kissing along your skin.

“this okay, pretty girl?”

he looked up at you with those beautiful hazel eyes. begging for your permission to go any further. he already knew what your answer was, he had relieved this moment time and time again in his head and his dreams, but he just needed to hear you say it— to listen to your sweet voice telling him to continue.

nodding frantically, you answered. “mhm, please keep going, sam.”

and that’s all he needed.

the underlying hints of sultry and desire in your voice made his mind foggy. his thoughts being taken over by the pure feeling of lust. your lips link together once again, like two magnets being pulled together. warmth coursed through his core as he deepened the kiss, his body ached for more. his fingers fumbled with the clasps of the white lacy bra that had been committed to his memory by now, he was quick to discard of it by tossing it to the floor. you simultaneously run your hands beneath his shirt against his toned torso urging him to lose the layer— which he happily did. quickly unbuttoning the buttons that lined his shirt then throwing it to wherever your bra had ended up. he pulled away to take in the image of you laying beneath him; your bare chest rising and falling at a quick pace, lips parted sucking in the cold air of the room. his legs now straddled over your frame, soaking in the moment with a growing smirk on his face. his coarse hands ran up and down your body appreciating every curve, the same hands that could be so violent, but were always gentle when it came to you.

lowering his head he began leaving small kisses against your chest all while taking your exposed breast into his big hand and massaging your tender skin. he hummed against your smooth skin as you played gently with his hair, urging you to continue combing your fingers through his hair. he ran his hands down your figure, pushing the material of your costume fully off your body and discarding it to the growing pile on the floor. you now laid beneath him, almost completely bare. the only thing that was covering you was the matching lacy panties that were decorated with a small bow on the hem.

you watched his own eyes trace the outline of your body, his eyes full of lust and desire. you return his gaze with a sense of anticipation in your eyes. his hands glide up your soft legs slowly parting them to make room for himself in the middle of them. he gently rests his hand on your knee as his other hand slides over your slit that was still clothed.

he notices the way your body shudders as he teased your sensitive core, and with no rush he slowly pushed your damp panties to the side. he then ran his two of his fingers between the slick of your folds. he watched you take your bottom lip in your mouth in an attempt to suppress the small whimpers that were on the tip of your tongue. slowly slipping his index finger into you with ease, he studied your reaction before he slipped his middle finger in along with the first one. your eyes fluttered open and closed as you felt this sudden feeling of pleasure. he leaned down connecting his lips to yours as his fingers continued to work inside of you.

he’d slowly pull his fingers out, then he’d quickly push them deeper in. repeating this process over and over, pumping deeper into you with more pace each time. his lips suppressing the moans that were dying to spill from your lips. your hands run up his bare back feeling his muscles flex as he pleasured you. his free hand connected with the small of your back as you arched further off the bed trying to get closer to the pleasure sam was giving you. he watched your eyes squint shut while you threw your head back letting out a few small whimpers that sent heat coursing through sam’s body. your hands fall down to the waist band of sam’s jeans that have failed to come off. your hands fumbling with the belt on his pants, your progress reset each time he’d push his fingers deeper into you. finally unbuckling his belt, you yanked the belt from the loops of his jeans and tossed it to the floor.

“sam, please..” you whimper his name, your voice hoarse. you begged him to take it further, you needed to feel him against you. and he’d do anything you asked for.

“please what, sweet girl?” he whispered close to your ear as he began teasing at your sensitive clit. he knew what you wanted, he just desperately wanted to hear you say it. to hear you beg to feel him deeper inside of you.

your hands gripped onto his flexed biceps in an attempt to pull yourself back down from this high. “need to feel you inside me.” your words came out broken and breathy from the pleasure he was not letting up on. your thoughts were scattered, barely able to finish one thought before you’d get distracted from the satisfaction you were feeling.

“yeah? i can do that for you, baby.”

he peppered kisses down your neck while he spoke to you, a tone of sultry in his voice. he once again leaned over your body and kissed your swollen lips, this kiss being more aggressive and hungry. the proximity made you feel how hard he was against your bare pussy. you squirmed beneath him as he slowly grinded against you. he finally sat up and began to unbutton his jeans, you eagerly watching as he pushed the waistband of his jeans and boxers down at the same time, then discarding them to the floor just like every other layer of clothing that had been shed. you bit down on your bottom lip, your gaze focused on his finally completely bare body. your eyes traced over his v-line, noticing each and every vein. he took his hard dick into his hand and guided over your wet slit, coating this tip of his cock in your slick. he slowly pushed himself into you, watching your face twist as he pushed further in.

“shit, you feel so good.. so tight.” he slurred against the crook of your neck.

you were boxed in beneath him, his forearm on the other side of your head keeping himself propped up above you while he left sloppy kisses down your jawline. when he finally bottomed out in you, he found your eyes with his own looking for approval to start moving. you nodded, looking at him through your lashes. he took a moment to take in the look on your face, committing the way you looked at him to memory. the way your eyes had been lit up pretty much the whole night, and how your lips looked so soft and plush.

“my beautiful girl.” he whispered to you, his voice low and almost hurt.

he had finally started to move inside you, pulling out just enough to push further in. repeating this movement over and over picking up pace with each thrust. your hands gripping on to his back, digging your nails into his toned back as you felt him push further into you. he went back to leaving sloppy wet kisses over your body as he continued to push deeper into you. your legs now wrapped around his waist trying to get even closer against him. the sound of skin slapping synchronized with the moans and breaths you’d let out.

as you felt yourself getting closer you felt a knot growing in your stomach, your eyes closing shut as a small tear fell down your cheek. sam’s thrusts grow increasingly more sloppy as your walls squeezed tight around his cock.

“s’close..” you moaned against his neck, your words were slurred and broken. he began to whisper strings of praise against the cuff of your ear. going on about how good you were taking him, trying to get you closer and closer to the edge. his thrusts not showing any signs of mercy as he continued to plunge deep into you.

“c’mon, cum f‘me pretty girl.”

you finally felt the pure bless of your release, letting out a loud breathy moans as a few tears stream down your face. at your release sam pulls himself out, and with his hand he strokes his cock over your body. within seconds he came, spurting out a stream of hot liquid onto your body, groaning as he squeezed the last few drops out.

his tired body falls next to yours after he had fetched a towel and cleaned you up. his back flat against the bed. the two of you laying next to each other sweaty and out of breath, now both of you under the covers of his bed. you cuddled up next to sam, tracing small circles over his chest as he looked up at the ceiling with his arm under his head.

seconds later the moment of peace was interrupted by the door flinging open, dean falling through. sam shooting up from his side of the bed. meeting eyes with dean, who immediately went to cover his eyes.

“jeez, you dirty dog.”

[iriswave]

Yisssssss!!!

G1 is SO 80s. I love how much it shows through whether it being Soundwaves alt being a tape player or the gorgeous 80s cars or the episode where they’re in a quintessential 80s dance club! It’s so classic.

Season two is incredible and has some iconic episodes!

The animation is chock full of errors but honestly it’s funny seeing two Starscream’s or Optimus turning blue for no reason like just learn to laugh, people! And yeah I remember reading something about the time constraints being unrealistic but they got the episodes out anyway.

The animation of the 1986 movie is BEAUTIFUL. Oh my god I need to see that movie again and the music is ROCKIN!!! Ahhhhhhhh it’s SO GOOD!!!!!

Seasons 3 and 4 are very different from the rest of the show (no spoilers!) but I still really like them. I think se 2 is the golden age of G1 but that’s just my opinion.

And yeah the voice actors are so good! Peter and Frank are some of the greatest of all time and there’s some other greats in there. Casey Kasem is in it (you might know him as Shaggy from Scooby Doo) and Scatman Crothers (you might know him as Scat Cat from the Aristocats). Chris Latta voices Starscream and Wheeljack. He’s freakin awesome. I think he voiced cobra commander in the gi joe series?

But gahhhhhh they’re all so cool!!!

Yesssss Peter Cullen and Frank Welker have been besties for like 40 years!! I recommend any Comic-Con Q&A panel with them. They’re absolutely hilarious. I have been lucky enough to be present at a few of these and can confirm they are absolute chaos besties. They’re also some of the nicest people I’ve ever met.

Transformers does not feel right without them. The only show I’ve seen without them that I liked was Transformers Animated but it has a very different style to it and it works. But Peter and Frank make transformers what it is and I’ll die on this hill. (Granted they have a competent director. Bayverse doesn’t count. Kitchen utensils pffffffftt)

Transformers One hasn’t done it for me. Their cast is a joke (no offense to those actors. They’re very good in live action but voice acting is a different industry with its own big names and none of those names are present.) and yeah the animation isn’t doing much for me. I’m really picky with 3D animation and this one just falls flat for me. I’m not a fan of the designs. Granted I was absolutely spoiled by the gorgeous 3D work in Transformers Prime. I don’t think any 3D animation can top that tbh. So it’s all kind meh for me. But I won’t shit on it too much. I haven’t seen it and it may well have fantastic writing. I won’t know lol cause I won’t see it.

Honestly I’m more concerned about running into ooc characters in the canon shows than in fanfic XD XD

The majority of the fic I’ve read revolved around Soundwave and was on Wattpad cause that’s what I was using in 2017. I haven’t read too much on AO3 yet but if I run across some good ones I’ll definitely send them your way! I’d recommend Gen fics or OC fics if you don’t like the pairings. Yeah 99.9999999 percent of our ships are slash because 99.9999999 percent of the characters are male (or male as far as transformers logic goes.) I think the majority of fic covers Prime and the IDW comic series (if you’re into comics and like to suffer I HIGHLY recommend MTMTE!!!!! It is addicting.) but G1 has a very sizable chunk of fic all to itself. And there’s going to be some excellent stuff in there!

I’m going to go poke around the filters real quick. I’ll be back!

I still cannot get over the fact that G1 Optimus Prime and Knight Rider's KARR have the same voice actor

[ssareids-coffee]

part two to this fic about eddie convincing innocent reader that anal isn’t cheating!

(i know it’s been a while, i hope this fic makes up for it)

“you sure about this princess? just tell me one more time, how much do you want this?”

“please eddie, i want you to make me feel full again” you whined, grabbing his t-shirt and wiping his cum off you ass before rolling over so you are looking up at him. eddie is looking down at you with flushed cheeks, blown pupils and hair sticking to his forehead with sweat not just from how he was fucking you but from how desperately he was trying to hold back.

“jesus christ, im going to absolutely ruin you” he muttered under his breath, capturing your lips in a heated kiss. he quickly slipped his tongue into your mouth, deepening the kiss and making you moan into his mouth in a way that made him feel like he was in heaven. he slowly starts kissing down your neck, getting closer to your bare chest.

“eddie, what are you- oh” his mouth wrapped around your stiff peak making you cry out- any doubt in your mind about what he was doing melting away. he continues down your stomach until he has sunk to his knees so he is faced with your bare cunt. he runs his hand through your puffy folds, pulling a shaky moan from you.

“you ever touched yourself sweetheart?” he asked sweetly, smirking at the way your cheeks blushed red at the question. you shook your head slowly, propping yourself up on your elbows so you could see him between your thighs.

“i’m gonna make you feel good, gonna use my fingers then my mouth- gotta make sure your all stretched out. don’t wanna use all that lube like i did for your pretty little ass, want to feel you dripping around me” you blush harder at his words, noticing how quickly the heat rushes to your cunt. eddie puts one of his fingers in your mouth, you suck it slowly making him moan before he slowly pulls it out with a pop.

“gonna ease this finger inside princess, it might hurt a bit at first but i promise it’ll feel so good” you nod quickly, not taking your eyes of him as he slowly puts a finger inside you.

“eddie, god that feels so-“ his finger curling up to find your g-spot knocked the air out of your lungs, elbows giving way so you were now laying flat on your back. already wet from your last (and first) orgasm, eddie decides to add another finger. you cry out at the feeling making him stop, worried it was out of pain.

“please don’t stop, that feels so good, getting that fluttery feeling again” he’s so hard he is sure he’s going to die, despite having recently cum on your ass, but seeing you like this, getting ready for his cock which would be the first to enter your sweet pussy? it was enough to make him feel feral. he starts moving his fingers again, curling them up and relishing in the way his name falls from your mouth along with such pretty moans. legs pushed open, your pussy puffy and stretched on his fingers as he continues to fuck into you. you clench around his fingers, moaning loudly as you squirt over his hand.

“ed’s, oh god, did i just pee?” you whimper.

“fuck baby no, you just squirted on me” he pants, eyes fixated on your puffy pussy covered in your own juices, his fingers still inside you.

“you liked it?” he pulled his fingers out making you whine, slipping them into his mouth and moaning around them.

“i fucking loved it” he groans “i am gonna taste your pretty pussy now okay princess?” you nod quickly, watching as he lowers his face until it is level with your soaking cunt. he licks a stripe through your folds making you cry out loudly, legs still shaking from your last two orgasms. he begins eating you like he was a starving man (and he felt like one), relishing in every whimper, every moan and little sound that fell from your lips.

“eddie- oh god, im getting that fluttery feeling again” you cry, legs clamping around his head. this only spurs him on, grabbing your hips tightly and pulling your pussy further onto his tongue. you came quickly and hard, shaking so much that he had to hold you in place so that you could ride out your orgasm. reluctantly he pulls away from your pussy, wanting to savour every taste of you but he’s so hard he thinks he might die. wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, he pulls you in for a sloppy kiss, your both panting into each others mouths and your desperately grabbing every part of him that you can reach.

“can i fuck your pussy now baby?”

“please daddy-“ you freeze, the honourific slipping from your mouth and making you blush. eddie almost whimpers hearing that fall from your pretty mouth.

“daddy? my good girl is so dirty” his words making you blush harder “say it again”

“daddy” he slides into you slowly, his cock covered in your juices making it much smoother. you cry out, pushing yourself further down onto him despite his best efforts to take it slow for your first time. eddies cock was fully inside you now and any ounce of self restraint he had melted away as he felt you stretching around him. he starts fucking into you slowly, gaging your reactions as this was your first time and he didn’t want to hurt you. your moaning loudly, which gave him all the signal he needed to pick up his pace. eddie was now relentlessly ducking into you, your leg thrown over his shoulder as he claimed you as his own.

“please your filling me up so well, I want to be full of you” you moaned, nails digging into his biceps as you tried to hold yourself up, desperate to look at him.

“my girls got a breeding kink huh?” he replied “you want me to fill you up with my cum? get you full and pregnant so everyone knows you are a slut for the town freak?”

“god, yes eddie, the fluttery feeling is back” you cry out, pussy clenching around him as you cum hard. watching you cum undone on his cock finished him off, he empties his load in you with a shout. he slowly pulls out of you, watching his cum leak from your pussy making his dick pulse despite his recent orgasm. tearing his eyes away, he lays down beside you.

“you okay princess?” he asks, brushing hair away from your face and looking into your eyes.

“i’m amazing, i can’t believe we haven’t been doing that this whole time” you giggle.

“me neither honestly”

“i really gotta make a phone call” you sigh, pushing yourself up off the bed on shaky legs, his cum dripping down your thighs.

“right now? come on baby your killing me” he groans, trying to pull you back down with him.

“i need to dump jake” you laugh, squeezing his hand “i want to be with you, if you’ll have me”

“make that call princess, im all yours”

[lunathebee]

Pairing: Marc Spector x fem!reader

Warning: angst, sad stuff, no happy ending, my poor writing skills

A/n: this is my first time writing something in English, its not my native language so it might be pretty bad and confusing ==", this fic is inspired by a chat with @helloimtina <3

Summary: Marc refused to let you go, even if that meant he would destroy himself.

"Y/n.. you can't keep doing this to me." Marc can't even look at you. No...he refused to look at you. He knew he would just cry if he did so, he hated being weak, especially in front of you.

"It is you again right? Marc Spector" A soft, almost nagging voice calls out, not a random voice, it is YOUR voice. Oh how he loved it so much in the past, but right now, it just makes his heart ache. Marc chugs down a cheap bottle of alcohol, one hand still holding his phone. He appears to have been drinking for hours, days, who knows, Marc has stopped counting since the third bottle.

"Yea, hi bae." He smirked and laughed at the phone, trying his best to sound like his usual self, he might be too drunk to care at this point. Marc licks his lips, slowly getting up to find himself a cigarette while your voice echoes through the whole flat. "Of course, why would I even ask? I promise I'll be back soon okay?"

Marc stares at the phone, "be back soon"? When then?

"GODDAMN IT, WHEN THEN Y/N? " Marc yelled out of anger and threw his phone with all his strength. He couldn't deal with it anymore. This is too much for him, for his heart. But the sound of glass breaking made him freeze and he rushed to the floor, where a photo with a broken frame was lying.

"No no no no, Y/n I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. Please forgive me, please Y/n I swear..." Marc cried out, slowly putting each piece of glass together, not caring that his hand was bleeding badly. God, how careless must he be? He really ruined everything he had about you, didn't he? All he ever did was ruin other people's lives.

After awhile of fixing the picture frame, Marc gave up and decided taking the photo from it would be better. It was a picture of you smiling, looking pretty as always, the only difference is that instead of feeling joy, now all Marc feels is sadness from it. After carefully washing away the blood from his hand and clumsily wrapping a few bandages around it, Marc put your picture on the table, near a vase of flowers, and went to look for his phone.

"... where the hell is it... fuck..." He holds up his phone, now with a broken screen due to the crash earlier. Marc hopes the phone can still work, It is his only way of hearing your voice again and Marc would die without it. He can't let that happen.

Luckily, a familiar voice called out from his phone again.

"It is you again right? Marc Spector"

"I love you Y/n, I love you so much... I love you bae" Marc can't stop the tears falling from his eyes just from hearing your voice.

"Of course, why would I even ask? I promise I will be back soon, okay?"

Marc's eyes wandered to the flower vase on the table. It seems like all the flowers are wilted, sad and losing all hope, just like him.

But once again, the sentence he has hear a thousand time play again.

"It is you again right? Marc Spector".

[writeshite]

Light Of My Life

Summary:

“You might not see me shine again if you keep this up,” you lament. “Then, I’d have tasted the heavens and been touched by an angel.”

Pairings:

Billy Butcher x Male!Reader

Tags:

Demigod Billy Butcher | Deity Reader | Sort Of Inspired By The Heavenly Rock Cave Myth Of Amaterasu | Also Sort Of Inspired By The Myth Of Perseus Defeating Medusa | Fluff | Angst

Words: 2148

Author's Note:

Here we are first fic for the Bestiary, hope you guys enjoy this.

Series Masterlist

Fuck the pantheon.

Billy has stood by one principle throughout his life, the gods, or rather the majority of the pantheon, don’t care about anything unless it directly affects them. Case in point, the absent sun - the godchild, in his madness, rode to the skies and stole it. He stole you right out of the sky, and none of them did a damn thing to stop him. The world didn’t immediately fall into darkness, the first few weeks were cloudy, nothing to panic about, but animals slept, the greens faded, and the world grew dull; even the night lacked its usual shine. Vought threw lambs to the slaughter, desperate for answers.

“You will traverse the wilds, climb the mountains and descend into the underworld,” Maeve spoke, sitting high on her chair among the other gods, “there, you will find the sun.”

“He has a name, you know,” Billy hisses. For whatever reason, the other gods referred to you, Starlight, and many others in the celestial plane as nothing less than instruments - tools to keep the world spinning. 

“Watch your tone, mortal,” the Deep bites back, his voice carries in the breeze, cutting against Billy where he stood, never kneeling to the pantheon, “We’ve been generous tolerating how you taint him with your presence.”

“Jealous,” he grins, ignoring how the others around step back. If he inherited anything from his godly parentage, it most definitely was his audacity.

The helmet he’d been given was strapped to one side of his waist; Maeve’s sword occupied the other, and on his back, a shield of pure starlight. He really hoped that would hold up against the godchild’s fury because death by fire didn’t sound like a pleasant way to die. The summit was mostly flat with only a cave; runes lit up by fading sunlight marked the way into the underworld. A staircase or rock spiraled into a bright light; Billy donned the helmet before he proceeded; drawing the sword and shield, he trekked carefully; the staircase became warmer and grew hot as he progressed. The temperature around him followed suit; he wiped the sweat from his brow.

At the bottom was an open gate with a breeze blowing; the light continued there - he grumbled as he followed through. The underworld was dark and dreary, much so than the darkened world; it was also unnervingly silent, each step he took echoed in his ears, and the stares of the undead followed him as he traversed towards the light. He came up to the castle - shaped like a skull, with fog bellowing from it - he crouched beside a column, watching as the godchild spoke to the king of death. The godchild - a demigod, he wore a star-clad cape, eagle heads sat atop his shoulders, golden in color and reflecting the light that shone beside him - in his hand was a golden chain, holding you by his side. The death king was surrounded by shadow, his expression stoic and hair graying on the side; he treated the godchild as nothing better than the dirt beneath his boot.

Billy turned his gaze to the sun; with the helmet’s assistance, he could make out the vague figure beneath the light; the feature remained a mystery, and staring too long caused his eyes to sting. So he turned back to the other two; the godchild spoke fast, impatient, and demanding, “I want the throne of the gods!” 

The death god scoffed, “Why would I give you that manchild?”

“I am not —”

“Your mother was human, your father a discarded god, the term godchild….” the death king pondered, “....is inadequate.” There was a laugh, “Though I see you’ve inherited far too much human ineptitude.”

The godchild grimaced, “How dare you —”

A cruel laugh filled the air, ”How dare I? How dare you? Polluting my domain with you and a quarter-god of all things.”

Billy felt like smacking his head when the death king pointed to his hiding space; the column he hid behind vanished. The godchild turned, eyes wide, when he saw him; he rushed forward, hand at Billy’s neck; he held the man in the air as his eyes became red, fire bursting from them. The helmet’s metal bounced the fire back, and Billy dropped as the godchild held his eyes in pain, screaming; rage and crimson surrounded them when he glanced back up. The death king chuckled, returning to his seat. Billy dropped low as fire shot out from his eyes again; he braced himself when the godchild charged, the shield separating him from the demigod’s anger. 

He drove his sword forward, plunging it into the godchild’s torso; there was a howl of pain, and Billy rolled away from his reach, charging ahead - the demigod fell back - and from the throne, the death god clapped, laugh echoing. Billy knows he’s not allowed to kill him - the gods and their politics wouldn’t allow it - so he aims to injure, however difficult that may be. He ducks as the sword is dislodged and thrown at him, groaning when the tackle and punches follow, he moves his head aside, but that becomes futile. Hands hold his head steady, the helmet grows hot, fire from the godchild’s eyes emerges, and Billy can feel the singe along his skin. He blindly reaches out, clawing at the other man’s face until he’s released; he steps back and takes off the helmet. There are burn marks across his nose, cheeks, and forehead, his eyes tear up from the pain, and he wipes at them, vision blurry, the tears turn to blood, and he curses. Vision impaired, he continues to rub at his eyes, and his body falls back again with another tackle; bodies roll and objects crash to the ground.

The blood-mixed tears have stopped, and Billy can sort of see, but things blur in and out of view. The shape of the godchild is a good distance, his sword is just behind him, and his shield is by the death god’s throne; the light has been dimming and flaring up with every moment as the sun watches the fight. He slides when the demigod jumps at him, sword reclaimed, he swings back, there's a pained choke, and then the drop of a body, red oozes from the cut across the godchild’s neck, his eyes glare up at Billy - the healing process will be fast, best to leave before it’s complete. 

The sun shines bright at his victory. “Thank you.” Your voice is almost song-like, relief in it as you speak.

“The sun will burn you, Butcher.”

“It’s nothing new.”

The chains fall easy, and he happily bids the death god farewell - apologizing for the mess and blood-soaked floors - he treks back up the stairs and out from the underworld. The world is far darker when he emerges, an inky abyss with very little visible; the helmet is cool against his skin, he sneaks a glimpse of you, and the light pours out, reaching towards the heavens.

“It’s a long way down from here, your radiance,” he tells you. You chuckle, and Billy nearly shrieks when his feet leave the ground; there’s a loud whoosh as the air rushes past him, then he can feel the falling, well, not so much falling, more softly descending. In seconds, you’re at the bottom of the mountain, releasing him gently to the ground. He’s amazed and possibly dazed; his lack of response must come across as bad because you panic.

“Oh my, I didn’t even ask,” you worry.

“It’s alright, sunshine,” he assures you; the familiar nickname brings out another chuckle from you.

Billy reluctantly removes himself from your hold; he doesn’t know how you’ll get back to the sky, all he knows is he’s meant to accompany you back to the main temple, and from there, he’d either be rewarded or cursed - hopefully his previous commentary was forgiven by now. You lit the path ahead; the shadows parted as nature perked up slowly; Billy remained close though - out of nothing more than necessity and not because he liked having the warmth of the sun by him. Not because of that. He paced either way carefully; he’d run through the forest the first time round, eager to get this over and done with; he’d been lucky not to fall and break his neck. This time around, he was not so lucky; the branches breathed new life and so moved, a few of the animals followed suit, scurrying past him towards you; after nearly falling for who knows what time, you reached out, taking his hand and taking the lead. Billy stared dumbfounded; your hand was warm, like the warmth on a summer’s day. 

To touch a god’s skin? Unheard of. To hold one’s hand? Blasphemous. But Billy didn’t care; he’d already had the pleasure of having you buried inside him more than once.

You walked until you came up to a river, the water clear, and the surrounding vegetation green once more. He propped off the helmet, turning his face over to inspect the scars, they appeared somewhat healed, but a dull pain still radiated from them. They would close soon enough, disappearing as if never there; until then, he’d have to ensure the helmet didn’t chafe against the wounded skin. You sat beside him, watching him as he did all this, you reached out, finger grazing his cheek, and it spun itself anew, power traveling to the other wounds; he turned to thank you, squinting at the brightness. You placed a hand over his eyes, “It’s the least I could do.”

Curiosity was never one of Billy’s positive qualities, the warnings had been clear, but he needed to put a face to the angelic voice. “You can’t,” you warned.

“I’ve gazed longingly at you for decades,” he lowers your hand, and the other comes up to replace it.

“This is different,” you tell him, “this is me; at my near truest form, you might not recover this time.” He’s always been reckless, gaze high as you traveled through the sky, he could barely see past the clouds, let alone the full might of the sun in the skies, but he did it anyway. 

“You can’t keep doing this,” you tell him, holding his face in your hands. He just stares, eyes vacant, unfocused, but healing. “Billy, please, your eyes —”

“What of them?” he asks, hands reaching out, and you bring them to your face. “I’d rather they never recover than never see you shine again.”

“You might not see me shine again if you keep this up,” you lament.

“Then, I’d have tasted the heavens and been touched by an angel.”

You huff, head resting against his, his eyes slowly recovered; when they were like this, he liked to pretend he was looking right at you - nothing in between. “A poet, now are we?”

“Only for you, sunshine.”

“Come on, love, let me have a peek,” he pleads, “you’ve already seen the worst of me; let me see the best of the heavens.”

“I don’t think there’s anything bad about you, Billy.” Your caress his face, and he leans into your touch, nuzzling at the warmth; your other hand remains over his eyes. They’re closed, but he’d tugging at your hand, craving a full glimpse at you. He managed to pull your hand away, but your quick to place your golden cape over his head, “Please, my love,” you beg, “I couldn’t bare it if I caused you misery.”

He pulled the cape, it fell away, and he held your head high, your eyes locked, “It would be worth the pain.” You’re more than anything he could have imagined; everything around him fades away in the glow; your expression is sad, a small smile on your face as he takes in the sight of you. A halo of light surrounds you; light lays over your skin like cloth, reflecting everything and nothing; he feels the sharp pain in the corner of his eyes, dull pain burning to the center, you see it and go to cover them, but he brushes you aside. “Don’t cry for me, sunshine,” he wiped your tears.

Things are becoming blurrier, he blinks, and you take that moment to settle the cape back over his head; fresh tears run over his hands as you rest your head against his. “Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid….” you mutter. “....why did I let you do that?”

He leans forward to peck you; he sees flashes of light, dots swimming in his vision; the healing isn’t doing as well as it does; everything blurs in and out of focus. “Hey now,” he coos, your sniffling, shaking your head, as you curse him and yourself out, “I told you not to cry for me. I’ll be alright.”

“You don’t know that,” you cry.

“I’ve got the light of my life; there’s nothing more that I need.”

End Note:

See, a part of me feels bad for just leaving it there, but another part of me is just cackling 💀. Stay Hydrated.

[jankwritten]

love needs sacrifice (but it's sure worth the prize)

so we accidentally hijacked a post yesterday about Jason putting makeup on Nico and then @phthalomars drew this art and I couldn't resist the urge to write about it. I'll post the fic both below the cut and over on AO3 so you can read it wherever you'd like (if you'd like hehe).

It's about 1.8k, rated general, ship is Jasico but they're not actually together yet. Nothing triggering (though if you ask me to I will put a warning!) aside from a very brief mention to accidental injury while shaving. Hope you enjoy!

“And you’re sure it’s not going to stain?” 

Nico has to physically fight down an eyeroll at Jason’s insistence. You’d think he’d never seen lipstick before, gods, the nerves on this boy. “Even if it does, it’ll be fine. Just don’t get it on yourself, if you’re that worried about it.” 

“I-I just, you know, I don’t want you to be stuck with it. If- If I screw it up.” 

“You won’t screw it up.” It’s a simple fact. Jason has a steady hand, made so by the years of swordcraft - warcraft, really - that he’s endured. Nico would trust Jason to hold a blade over his throat and leave him without a knick, if he’s being honest. 

He shifts a bit, remembering the last time he accidentally cut himself when he shaved what little beard he ever manages to grow. Maybe he should do that, actually, ask Jason to help him not make a bloody mess out of his face every week. But- that is a question for later, since something so impermanent as lipstick already has Jason chewing on his mouth like Nico’s asked him to drink poison again. There’s a lot of trust between them, but it’s not trust Jason has in himself, yet. 

“If you’re really sure,” Jason finally sighs, and presses his hand against Nico’s cheek. He fixes his glasses with the back of his other hand, the wand of the lipstick held pen-like between his fingers. It’s endearing. Nico’s sure he’ll adjust to a more comfortable grip once he gets started. 

He lets his mouth fall slightly open, like Will always tells him to whenever he’s tapped to help with this. Nico tries not to tense up, keeping his face relaxed even as Jason’s chilly fingers glide over a sensitive part just under his jaw, tilting his head up. It’s easier than it would’ve been two years ago. He’s trusted Jason with much more than his face before. 

There was a quest, not too many months ago, wherein Jason dangled him over a cliff’s edge, to trick their enemy into believing he’d turned his back on Nico, that he’d let him fall to his death in order to save his own skin. Nico remembers hovering just out of sight, Jason’s currents keeping him tucked neatly against the stone mountain face, clutching himself in tight, desperately not thinking about how unpleasant it would be to die if Jason’s concentration slipped. He remembers holding his own heart, desperately, when it tried to climb out of his throat, listening to Jason monologue about never being good enough, about never being accepted, until the moment was right that he yanked Nico back up and ambushed their enemy. 

They had a lot to talk about on their trek back to camp after that one. 

Their spoils of war had been a beautiful bronze shield, which Jason had originally held up between them like the physical barrier might keep Nico from asking him if he’d really believed any of that stuff he said, their first night after the fight. Jason was the one who told Nico that as long as he loved himself, it didn’t matter if the people at camp thought he was good enough or accepted him, after all. The monologue had felt real. Jason was also the one who taught him that talking about his feelings was important. 

That was what cracked him open, actually - Nico relaying everything Jason had painstakingly taught him since he was fourteen years old, until the hypocrisy of it had Jason laying the shield flat before the fire and hugging himself, instead. 

It was a good conversation, even if Nico felt like it came a year or two too late. He’s just happy that it happened at all. 

The first brush of cool liquid on his lips startles him back out of the warm fuzzy memory, his shoulders tensing up uncomfortably fast. 

It’s always odd when he doesn’t expect it, when the makeup applicator isn’t guided by his own clumsy hand - it’s always like a knee-jerk reaction to twitch away from the initial slimy feeling. Jason’s palm keeps him steady, though, tightening like he can feel Nico’s attempted recoil. 

“Sorry,” Jason murmurs, though it’s obvious his concentration is turned to max - he sounds distant, low and soft like it’s more of an afterthought to apologize than his first instinct. Nico doesn’t respond. He doesn’t want to move his mouth now that Jason’s in the zone. 

The rest of the makeup Jason’s helped him with has today been flawless: his eyeliner is perfect and precise, equal on both sides in a way that Will didn’t even get on his first try, his eyebrows masterfully arched in the way that he’s loved every since Drew put it on him at the campfire however many years ago, his face covered in blush so heavy it almost looks like sunburn (a style that he actually really loves, even though it drags attention to his cheeks and his nose. It makes him feel cute, and that’s the whole point). Jason even drew a dainty little heart, right on the tip of his nose, with a liquid highlighter in shimmery white-blue, two confident, swift strokes that they laughed about not even ten minutes ago.  

He’s honestly not sure why the lips are what got into Jason’s head. He’s trying not to think about why, actually. Actively pushing it out of his mind. 

Jason swipes the wand across the left half of Nico’s lower lip. His hair tickles against Nico’s browbone. 

Nico hadn’t even noticed Jason getting that close, though now that he has it’s- hard to tune out Jason’s mouth is set into a firm line, his eyes battlefield-intense on his handiwork like if he even so much as blinks, he’ll ruin it. His glasses are slipping back down his nose. It doesn’t seem like he notices. 

Nico tries to distract himself from staring, trying to zone out on the fine hairs of Jason’s eyebrows (Piper plucks them for him) or the pores on his forehead, but his gaze inevitably sinks to Jason’s eyes, again and again. It’s hard not to be drawn into the cliche electricity of them, what can he say. They glow, not unlike Percy’s when he’s standing on the beach, like there’s some kind of backlit nature to them, like there’s something not quite human trying to beat against the supposed window to his soul.

 Blue feels too simplistic of a color for it, when Jason’s all intense like this - cerulean, maybe. Aegean. Spruce. Maybe it’s all three at once, even, shifting in the same way the clouds do, the way the sky does when it fades from evening to the golden time, blue time, to dusk. 

Jason’s eyes flicker, darting as they chart the path of Nico’s lips. 

He tries not to shift, but he’s overly warm all of a sudden, wearing a borrowed Camp Jupiter hoodie and jeans and socks with Jason’s warm palm against his pulse. They’re so close Nico half worries Jason can smell his breath or something. He definitely can. He can’t really close his mouth, though, or else he’ll ruin Jason’s work and concentration, and that feels like too much of a betrayal even though his tongue is suddenly dry and he can’t quite swallow. 

The delicate swab of the lipstick brushes over the final quadrant of his mouth, painstakingly dipping against the inner corner of his lip, gently touching up the peaks that form his Cupid’s bow, going over details and crevices with that same fucking perfectionists touch that Jason goes over his temple dioramas, or a plan of action to propose to the senate of New Rome. Jason tilts Nico’s head back down, his palm shifting ever so slightly, eyes narrowing. 

Nico holds his breath as Jason leans in closer. His eyes widen. What is he doing? 

“There,” Jason whispers after he brushes one of his fingernails, adorned with powder blue polish, against what must’ve been the tiniest flaw on Nico’s bottom lip. He doesn’t move backward. “I think you’re good.” 

Nico still can’t quite catch his breath, even as he closes his lips and presses them together, adjusting to the newly tacky feeling that will dry down in a minute. He watches Jason watch him. He watches Jason blink. He watches Jason meet his eyes. 

That damn cliche gets him again; he feels like he’s being electrocuted, like his body is stuck frozen holding on to something that’s killing him, unable to let go because every muscle is locked up tense with a thousand volts coursing everywhere all at once. Jason doesn’t fix his glasses even as they fall right onto the tip of his nose, barely holding on. His mouth falls slightly open, this time. 

Nico loves him so much it’s frying him alive. 

“Thank you,” he makes himself say in a voice ten times steadier than he feels. Jason tilts backward all of a sudden and fixes his glasses and puts the lipstick away, freeing Nico from the livewire. He averts his eyes over to the only window in the cabin, on the wall opposite the door, staring out at the garden he keeps for Persephone out back because it’s so much easier to look at right now. He gulps a couple of times, trying to wash moisture back into his tongue. Gods. “Where’d the mirror go?” He needs to look at himself instead of Jason, needs to reverse the intensity of whatever he’s just admitted to himself. Of course he loves Jason, Jason is his best friend, he loves him in the same way he loves Annabeth, the same way he loves Reyna, or Leo. Of course he feels it all in the exact same, pit-deep, knee-jerk, spine-snapping way. Duh. It’s all the same. It has to be. 

Jason hands him the skull-shaped handheld mirror Piper got him for his seventeenth birthday. Nico stares into it without really seeing himself, only his bright cherry flush underneath the inauthentic pink Jason painstakingly color matched to look soft on his skin, the too-wide set of his eyes. The width of his pupils. 

“It looks great, Jason,” he compliments without once glancing down at his own lips. He lowers the mirror and understands why Jason kept the shield between them on that quest. He pulls his knees all the way up to his chest and hugs them, ignoring the way the hole in the knee of his jeans pulls painfully on his skin. He can only meet Jason’s eyes for half-second increments. He can still see his own face reflected there. 

Jason exhales like he meant to laugh but forgot the muscles for it. His shoulders sink. “You’re welcome, Nico,” he says. His voice is soft, not at all the one he uses when they’re around other people, the one that leads armies and wins wars. This one is a follower. “I’m always happy to help.” 

A sick little ache in his chest convinces Nico that that tone sounds like I love you too. 

But he’s got his own shield between them still. 

For now, it’s just the makeup. 

[wisteriashouse]

Can you write hcs for Gyomei and Sanemi with a fem reader if they had a family.

characters: himejima gyomei, shinazugawa sanemi

genre: fluff, family;

a/n: the idea of sanemi having a kid makes me cry i apologise because his was so long i’m lowkey tempted to turn it into a fic

himejima gyomei

big gentle giant would be the perfect dad

he’s had experience taking care at the kids at the orphanage when he was younger, so he has a soft, tender spot for young children

*except kaigaku fuck that kid*

when he found out that you were pregnant with his child, he cries (of course), but in a different way

it’s not just the usual tears streaming down his face, his huge chest heaves quietly with emotion and you tear up yourself at the sight, wrapping your arms around him

as a pillar of the demon slayer corps, gyomei has lived life knowing that he might not make it to the next day

so the fact that you’re building a family together with him makes him think about the future, and it’s this fact that really hits him - that muzan has truly been defeated, and that he can finally live in peace now

would be extremely cautious the first time he holds his child in his arms, asking you to help place his fingertips on the baby’s cheeks so that he can feel their features without hurting their delicate eyes

it’s like he’s holding porcelain - he’s so cautious

so small. so delicate. it’s like he’s holding a treasure in his hands, he thinks. 

cries again (of course)

“he/she looks like you, gyomei,” you whisper, and gyomei’s breath catches in his chest, emotion stifling his words in his throat

“is that so?” he whispers back, as if afraid that he will disturb the baby if he’s too loud. his huge hand gently clasps the baby’s tiny hand in his own

probably wants a large family - about five kids or more

helps a lot with housework and general child rearing

insane dad reflexes/paternal instincts

petty squabble ongoing? gyomei knows. temari ball in the lake? gyomei’s already rising to his feet to get it. baby trying to eat a lizard? gyomei’s reaching for it before you can scream at the sight.

his kids love his amazing strength - it’s not uncommon to see them clambering over him and hanging from his arms like he’s a tree in the backyard

his children become excellent climbers

generally a gentle, soft spoken but stern father, his voice carries authority even though he never raises it

dedicated to instilling moral values, being compassionate and kind in every one of his children

he’s an amazing role model for his kids

a shoulder that they can cry and rely on

shinazugawa sanemi

desperately wants a family of his own

for so many years, sanemi has fought tooth and claw to bury this quiet desire in his chest with the excuse that he has no time to think about starting a family, not when demons run amok killing innocents, not when he might die any day, any second

but after the war, when seasons gradually pass and fresh wisteria begin to bloom at the ubuyashiki estate once more, covering the ashes from the explosion on the night of the final battle, sanemi can’t help but begin to think about the future

with you, he dares to hope for happiness

he doesn’t actively try for a child, part of him is still reluctant in so many ways. most of the time he beds you, sanemi tries not to think too much about it

so he’s shocked when he finds out that you’re with his child

when he hears the news, sanemi doesn’t know quite how to feel - all he knows is that his hands are trembling and cold sweat dots his brow - he hasn’t felt this afraid in a long, long time

he has a child. it’s his child, his flesh and blood, a gift from the heavens from your union

and he’s terrified

what if something happens during the pregnancy stage? what if something happens to the child? what if something happens to you? sanemi has already lost so many people - he cannot lose you and this unborn child of his that he hasn’t even seen with his own eyes

it would destroy him

this man has a severe case of emotional constipation so he tries to keep mum about it after a while, but you notice, of course

you work out what’s going on after a bit and have a serious talk with him about it, telling his to believe in your future together

extremely protective over you during the pregnancy, flat out refusing that you do anything strenuous during this critical period - you have to fight to get the broom back from him so that you can actually do something around the house

will throw hands with someone who so much as breathes wrong in your direction

sanemi pls calm down

during the actual childbirth, he’s forced to wait outside while you birth the child

tomioka - tomioka, of all people - is the one who sits by his side without a word, and for once, sanemi appreciates his presence

he prays desperately to any god out there, please, let your childbirth be a safe one, please, let your child come out alright, please-

it goes fine

when sanemi holds the baby in his scarred arms for the first time, he’s completely wordless, tracing his fingers delicately over the baby’s little forehead, brow, nose, lips

you’re a little worried if you broke something in him, but when the newborn grasps sanemi’s finger in their hand tightly, you see sanemi’s back shudder

five second later he’s trembling with the force of his sobs, fighting to keep them down but fat tears are falling down his cheeks as emotion washes and crashes over him

you laugh tiredly in the bed at the sight, and all sanemi manages to choke out is “... they’re ugly as fuck...”

“they look like you, that’s why”

after the childbirth sanemi relaxes significantly, but he’s still very worried about you and the child

contrary to what he says sanemi doesn’t think he’s seen a more beautiful sight

a strict dad, but would have very soft spots for daughters

10/10 overprotective dad

would encourage his kids to throw hands with whichever asshole dares to mess with them, teaches them to throw hands since the day they’re toddlers

“sanemi they can barely walk!!”

“hah? if they can walk they can swing-”

sneaks them treats when he thinks you’re not watching

his kids grow up a little rough, but with a strong sense of justice they get from watching their father

god he’s such a grumpy man but they see the way he treats the weak, elderly and children, with awkward gentleness and fierce protectiveness

they definitely get a family dog!! maybe a shiba inu or a golden retriever

when they’re younger, sanemi finds it a little difficult to connect with them due to his crude tongue, which can lead to conflict and arguments about him seeming unsympathetic

in this aspect, you’ll have to step in to bridge the gap

his children love him dearly, because no matter how barbed his tongue or how rough his personality, it’s difficult to deny just how much he cares about them, even if they want to

his kids love teasing him once they’re a little more grown up, trying to make him admit how soft he actually is

he loves them to bits and would do anything for them

the one thing he hates about them though is how much they like their uncle tomioka too

[elektrantchios]

That fic on Colin Bridgerton was everything!!! Please do an Benedict x reader where he paints you in secret but the reader finds out and Benedict confesses his love <333

work of art | b.b

   MAIN MASTERLIST | REQUEST OPEN

title: work of art  pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x reader summary: you and Benedict bond over art and fall in love, though it takes you time to realise   warning: swearing, angst, fluff and not much else word count: 2.5 k A/N: thank you so much for the request! i really enjoyed writing this and hope you like it!

Even though you had your own flat next to Benedict’s you preferred sitting in his while you worked. You would sit on the pile of cushions on the floor with you note pad across your lap to draw but, in the end, you’d give and watch Benedict while he worked.

His work was better than yours anyway. And when he’d paint or drew, he got this look on this face, a look that made you fall more in love with art, more in love with him.

“you have your own work, I believe” he grinned.

You smiled at him looking away, “I rather watch you. You know I struggle to draw without a live model” you groaned closing you pad.

He smiled at you nodding before returning to his work.

You really did love him, the kind of love that made your gut hurt. The love you felt was inconvenient at most times, you’d be drawing a live model and when it came to the eyes you would draw his eyes. Then you’d stare at the drawing, at those eyes.  After the sixth time you gave up on portraits and stuck with landscapes or ones where the face couldn’t be seen.

Before you met Benedict, art was just something that made you stand out among your four older brothers and two older sisters. You did enjoy to paint and draw and going to all the galleries and the art shows but they never really sparked joy until the day Benedict came into your life.

You remember it clearly. You were stood studying the painting ‘Venus with a Mirror’, the roman goddess of love and beauty. It was a masterpiece something you could never dream of doing yourself.

“quite the painter, wasn’t he?” someone said behind you.

“he was” you agreed.

Then you turned around and saw Benedict and all the art in the room was forgotten.

“Benedict Bridgerton” he bowed his head.

You smiled feeling dizzy, “y/n  y/l/n”.

“it’s a pleasure to meet you m y/ln. Always a pleasure to meet a titan fan” he move to stand next to you.

“I don’t think they’re too hard to find” you laughed looking at the painting too.

He laughed along and you swear it sounded like music.

You carried on meeting him once a week, at first it was just art shows and museums but then it turn into showing each other your art then just having dinner together. And now you had neighbouring flats.

“oh hell” you jumped up collecting your things, “my brother will be here soon to take me home for dinner. I need to get back to my flat before he comes”.

“and why can’t he just pick you up here?” Benedict asked looking away from his work. Paint was covering his hands and had splattered on his shirt.

“oh yes” you clapped your hands together. “Brother, I know papa pays for my flat to do my art but I don’t actually use it, instead I sit in my friends flat and watch him do art instead. What? you think something is going on? You think we’re having an illicit affair?! Where did you get that idea?” you exclaimed acting the conversation out.

You swore Benedict blushed but you couldn’t be sure. “well that doesn’t happen” he coughed.

“thank you for clarifying our relationship for me, Benedict” you chuckled. You opened the door then paused when he called your name.  

He cleaned his hands with a cloth close by, “will I see you at the Astin’s party tonight?”.

You sighed. “unfortunately. Mother is convinced this is the year I marry” you rolled your eyes.

That struck his heart, you marrying someone was painful enough knowing it could be soon was worst.

“you better not leave me hanging” you smiled bring his attention back to you.

“I wouldn’t dream of it”.

“I’m taking that as a promised Benedict Bridgerton”.

You smiled at him one last time before leaving.

Benedict watched the door shut behind you. He was truly fucked. How he manged to actually get work done while you sat there was a mystery, he could hear your soft breaths feel your e/c eyes on him.

As long as you were a part of his life then he would be happy, content. Of course he knew a day would come where you’d fall in love with someone else and marry them. And it might just break his heart. He thought of what you said, how your mother thought this was the year for you. knowing he would lose you was pain enough being there to see it would feel like death.

Once Benedict was sure you weren’t coming back, he pulled out his secret project he had hidden behind some old paintings, it was proving to be impossible to finish because you were always by his side. He would spend the night at the flat but that would equal questions from his mother.

But here he was alone.

This was his heart drew bare. You. the day he met you actually, he still remembered it clearly. The sun light had pooled in through the sky light and made you look like an angel. He had spent many sleepless nights reliving the moment in his mind. The moment you met his eyes and smiled. Remembering the memory again and again felt like his own personal drug.

He knew you didn’t and would never love him back so he agreed to love you in silence. He poured all his love into this, every brush stroke was a piece of his love, his soul.

 You sat in front of the mirror the mirror looking at yourself. Your hair was done. You had your best outfit on. everything was perfect but something, something was missing. What if you did meet the person you would marry. two of your brothers and one sister were married already, why wouldn’t it be your turn. But it wasn’t the life you wanted.

A married life being the perfect partner doing whatever is asked of you. you wanted a life full of colour and art with Benedict by your side. Benedict. A smile took over your face, you loved him so much. He was so close to your reach but so far away at the same time.

You met your own eyes. “I love you Benedict. I always have and I will for the rest of my life” you whispered to yourself. The thought of losing him had become too much, you battled with yourself the whole way home and the whole times as you dressed. If you were going to lose him let it be because you told him the truth. Not when he fell for another.

Maybe just maybe the feels the same.

You had only been at the party for an hour and you had already met three suitors your mother had picked out all who were closer to her age than yours, but like  she said you couldn’t afford to be picky. You smiled and nodded as whatever their name was spoke, over their shoulder you spotted Benedict stood in the shadows with a bottle of wine in his hands. He pointed to the room behind him.

“I’m sorry” you cut them off mid-sentence, “if you would excuse me” you smiled walking away.

When you walked into the room you found Benedict sat on the floor in the dark. “come sit here don’t want to risk being caught” he waved you over.

You sat next to him reaching out of the bottle. “hope you got the good stuff. I need it”.

“not found your perfect match yet?” he laughed.

You nearly chocked on the drink. “god no. they were all old” you laughed. You took another swig and sighed. “she wants me to be the perfect child but I can’t be” you lent your head against the wall.

“we could run away to France” he said so seriously it shocked you.

You looked at him feeling breathless. You opened your mouth to speak, this could be the moment to tell him. tell him and run away to France and never look back. Your nerves ran out last minute. “I feel like dancing will you dance with me?”.

You jumped to your feet mentally kicking yourself for saying something so dumb. Benedict felt the last bit of hope he had die when you changed the subject so fast. He joined you standing in the middle of the room. If this is the only way he could be close to you he would take it.

You stood in front of each other, looking into his eyes.

Silently you both got into the right place. You could faintly hear the music playing from the main room. He put his hand against your back, you supressed a shiver. No one said anything while you danced.

Your eyes met his and it that moment you were breathless.

You were so close now. After a shaky breath you noticed you had stopped moving and were looking at each other now. His eyes fell down to your lips for a second before they met your eyes again.

You took a wobbly step back and exhaled. “my mama will be looking for me”.

“y/n” he stepped forward.

“she’ll go mad too, I left whatever their name was standing there” you laughed moving even more away from him. You left the room as fast as you could.

He was to shocked to follow after you. Just a few moments ago he was so close to you, touching you. He wanted to kiss, god how he wanted to kiss you and he thought maybe you wanted to kiss him as well but you walked away.

He wanted to paint. Every time he was hit with reality, he pained you, imagining you did love him back. It was a dream but he was all tied up in it. He was tied up in you.

He took a deep breath, he left the room, he left the whole building, not looking at anyone as he did. He wanted nothing more than to see you again but you would probably be with someone else, maybe evening falling in love.

It hurt to leave Benedict alone. But you were reading to much into things. He didn’t want to kiss you, why would he. You had just made him uncomfortable. You were battling with yourself when you saw Benedict walked through the main room to the doors.

The rest of the room seemed to disappear. You could only see him walking away from where you left him. Had you made him that uncomfortable he had to leave, he didn’t even say goodbye. You wanted to run after him and admit everything, give him your hand, heart, give him anything he asked. He just had to ask you.

“stay here” you mother hissed down your neck.

“I need to go” you muttered eyes locked with the door Benedict had walked through.

“No. you need to stay here and get a match” she snapped spinning you around so you were facing her. “Do you think you can just keep doing what you’re doing? Spend your day and night doing your ridiculous painting like that will get you anywhere”.

You were speechless. You knew no one took your art seriously but it hadn’t been said to your face. you had spent years with your back to a door keeping the truth out. “I don’t care” you started walking away.

“y/n” you didn’t listen as your mother called your name.

You didn’t care that people were looking from her to you.  

You only cared about Benedict.

Benedict knew he was in for it when the got home and his mother saw his dress shirt was covered in paint, but right now he felt calm. You were in front of him, well the painting version of you was. He was almost done and soon this version of you would be gone too.

Apart of him hoped that his feelings would go too. It would make things easier if they did but who would he be if he didn’t love you. He had loved you for so long it was buried into his bones.

You knew Benedict like you knew yourself, you were so like sometimes it felt like your souls were one but they had be halved to make two people.

He would be in this flat painting you hoped he was waiting for you. you had enough of being scared and keeping everything locked up, you would tell him how you felt and face whatever followed. Once you reached the building you ran up the stairs as fast as you could, hating past you and Benedict for getting rooms on the top floor.

You nearly tripped up multiple times catching yourself last minute every time. You were gasping for breath once you reached the top. When you could breathe again you ran down the hall, all the rooms you passed were filled with laugher and music. How you wished you were apart it.

You stopped in front of his door. You put your hand against the wood and listened. You could hear him muttering under his breath, a brush quietly working away. You smiled at the picture in your head, maybe you’d paint it one day of all the things you could pictured this one was the clearest.

“Benedict I shouldn’t-“ you started as soon as you entered the room but stopped when you saw him.

You were right, he was painting you just didn’t think he would be painting, you.

Benedict dropped the paint brush to the floor. He looked from you to you, mouth open wide. “I can explain”.

You still stood in the doorway holding the  door open. Mouth wide open. He came closer guiding you into the room so he could shut the door. “I don’t understand” you murmured. You looked to his worried face. “why are you painting me?”.

He helped you sit in your usual spot.

He took a deep breath reaching for your hand, you let him take it. relief washed through him. “its simple” he said looking into your eyes.

“is it” you breathed.

“I love you”

You mouth fell open again as you goggled at him. “you love me?”.

“I do and I understand if-“ he looked away from you so he wouldn’t have to face your rejection. But he was interrupted when you wrapped your arms around his neck. You both fell to the floor in a heap.

You kissed him hard on the lips, putting all your hopes into one kiss. You pulled back and looked down at him. “I love you too” you smiled feeling so much joy.

He didn’t say anything only kiss you again. his hands travelled up your back to your neck. You stayed there kissing him until it felt like your lungs were burning. You gasped, “you wouldn’t believe how long I wanted to do that” he laughed.

You traced his cheek bone, “probably as long I have”.

He smiled and it felt like the sun was risen. “will you ever stopped wanting too?”

“never” you whisper before you kissed him again and again and again, and you would until time stopped.

[seiyasabi]

Deception

(This is a Yandere L x Cute Blushy Female Reader story :)) Just a warning; I’m trying my best to make my fics as inclusive as possible, so this may not be as detailed as possible. I hope you understand. 

TW: Stalking!, breaking and entering, stolen items, spy cameras!, unknown voyeurism!, mutual masturbation!, etc.. 

Sorry if this seems OOC!) 

With slightly shaking hands, you place a piece of chocolate cake in front of the dark haired detective, “I’m sorry, Lawliet, it’s just-” You fiddle with the hem of your jumper, a dark blush covering your cheeks, “Thu-they, uhm, they stole my… undergarments. I’m missing five panties that were in my dirty clothes, and, uhm, that means that they were inside my flat. I’m really scared! What if they hurt me?” 

Your companion flinches at your words. Hurt you?! He would never hurt you! Not that you know that, of course. L has only put up spy cameras and stolen small items, he isn’t planning on doing anything harmful. 

Luckily for him, you haven’t found the spy cameras, allowing him to watch over you. 

But, that’s beside the point. Right now, your cute self needs consolation, “I see. It seems that they’ve escalated from peeping outside your window, to breaking in. Did you ever install those security cameras I told you about?”

You nod your head vehemently, holding clasped hands over your chest, “Yes! I installed them the day you told me about them! But, somehow, they were able to turn off the live feed!” Small scared tears bead your eyes, causing the aloof man to bring you into a hug. He holds you to his chest as you cry, glaring at your closing staff that look in your direction. 

One of his hands rubs circles on your lilac clad sweater, your matching skirt rubs against his other arm. Your cute outfit is to die for, and he can’t wait to see you out of it later tonight. 

“You’ll be alright. I’ll find the person soon, and they’ll be locked up far, far away from you,” You look up at him with watery, hopeful eyes, causing him to continue, “I found a few finger prints, and I think if I scan them into the system, I could find a match.”

A bright smile overtakes your features, as you pull him into an even tighter embrace, “Really? I’m so happy! Thank you so much!”

He chuckles wryly, smoothing a hand down your side, “Don’t worry your pretty head about it,” He can see you flush at his indirect compliment, “But, don’t celebrate too early. I haven’t caught them yet.”

Blushing even darker, you release him to fiddle with your skirt, “Well, I-I know that, but, a lot of police don’t believe me whenever I report a break in. They brush me off because they don’t leave any evidence behind, and you’re the first one to ever help me. I really appreciate you! From now on, you can have an entire cake for free!” 

He pinches one of your cheeks, enjoying the feeling of your blush between his fingertips, “You don’t need to do that. A slice of your delicious cake is more than enough.”

Gaping at him in shock, you shake your head in disbelief, “Whaaat? Where’s Lawliet, and what did you do to him?! He would never say no to cake!” Releasing your cheek, he pats your head affectionately. 

“You let me have multiple slices of cake while I’m here, that is more than enough.” 

Huffing with a pout, you nod your head in understanding, “Fine, no full cake for you.”

One of your workers calls your name, causing you to perk up, and immediately hurry over to them. Zoning out of your conversation, L finishes off his cake, watching your excitable form help the others clock out. His eyes rake over your body, mouth salivating at the image of you. He can’t wait to frame your ex-con neighbour. Once he does that, you’ll surely fall into his arms, allowing a beautiful romance to blossom. 

Seeing you skippin back over to him, he looks back at his now empty plate, “Okie dokie! Am I able to take your plate? I don’t want to keep you waiting to walk me home,” He nods, and you grab his plate and cutlery, hurrying towards your kitchen. 

After your workers leave and he can hear the sink in the back, he allows an uncharacteristic smile to stretch across his face. 

Everything is going according to plan. 

-

“-Thank you for walking me home! I really appreciate all that you’ve done for me!” You wave at the crazy haired man, a cute blush and shy smile on your pretty face. 

He nods in acknowledgement, watching you go inside, before waiting a few moments. Once he hears you lock the doors, he hauls ass to his flat. 

People automatically move out of his way, allowing him to get home in a record time. Once inside, he hurries to his computer chair, and boots up his computer. 

Pulling up the live feed in your home, he watches you intently. L loves watching you cook, clean, pee, shower-everything. Everything about you is perfectly and adorably done, pulling at his heartstrings exponentially. 

He spends a good three hours watching you do mundane tasks, before his favourite part of your day begins; shower time. 

Watching your perfect body be on display for him is enough to get him hard, but you lathering yourself with a thick, white liquid is enough to make him bust at the implications. You truly have him whipped-wait, what are you doing? 

His dark eyes watch as you open what he assumed was a sewing box, only to pull out a portable hitachi wand. L’s mouth falls open in shock, he’s never seen you masturbate, and he’s watched you for a little over a year! Hell, he didn’t even know you had a sex toy! 

You continue on, completely unaware of his prying eyes. Picking out a large t-shirt and panties, you continue to your bathroom. Once inside, you set down the clothes and vibrator on your counter, before stripping yourself of your outfit. 

Your body now on full display, you grab your vibrator, and bring yourself to your tub. Stepping inside it, you sit down with ease, before parting your legs, leaving your pretty cunny on full display. Thank God L put a camera in your shower head. 

Pulling the shower head feed up on full display, he quickly pulls his hardening cock out of his joggers. 

Lawliet watches as you start to rub up your body, pinching your nipples lightly, and teasingly touching your slit but neglecting your clit. Seeing this, he starts to rub his tip with his thumb, spreading his bead of precum all over his head. 

This goes on for a few moments, your small moans making his hair stand on end. You have no idea what you do to him. 

Feeling that you’re not ready, you grab your vibrator, flicking it on with your nimble thumb. The loud noise can be heard echoing throughout your bathroom and through his speakers, setting him on edge on what is about to happen. 

Placing the silicone tip to your pretty clit, a loud keen escapes your lips. L groans at the sound, eyes trained on your glistening core. His hand starts to stroke his throbbing cock, trying to go in sync with the low vibrating. 

Your moans and whines almost make him bust right there, but he holds it in with all his might. He needs to cum with you, which seems to be approaching soon. 

Flicking the switch once more, you allow the vibrations to increase tenfold. Your moans are now at full volume, your hips bucking into the hitachi. Slick drips from your cunny into a pool underneath your plush ass, causing grunts to fall freely from Lawliet’s mouth. 

“Fuck, you look-shit-” He murmers to himself, watching as you suddenly gush in orgasm. Your squirt comes out in a giant gush, soaking your cunny and making your legs shake in euphoria. Small keens fall from your lips, as L distractedly cums all over himself with a deep gasp. 

Lawliet doesn’t bother to clean himself up, only watching in awe, as he watches you stand to your unsteady feet. You then set the vibrator aside, and turn on the shower, warming water raining down on your tired body. 

Yeah, things are falling into place quite well. 

He’s sure to have you very soon. 

[rikalovesrice]

My Thoughts on Trollhunters : Rise of the Titans

WARNING : ALL THE SPOILERS IN THIS REVIEW

.

.

.

Mmmmm. Okay. So I just finished the movie. I’m fatigued as always so this’ll be a bit of a mess lol. Gotta spew the thoughts while they’re still fresh, y’all know how it is.

Right out the gate, I definitely want to talk about the things I loved.

The animation was, of course, phenomenal and gorgeous!

Voice acting was incredible as always

MUSIC SLAPPED

Douxie. I just loved seeing Douxie again and honestly kept my eyes trained on him for most the of movie lol

OK DOUXIE AND NARI SWITCHING?? BODIES??? Definitely didn’t see that coming and I legit started screaming lol

Nari in Douxie’s body is the most precious, chaotic, and wholesome thing like holy cow that was so adorable LOOKIT DOUXIE CROUCHING AND CRAWLING AROUND ON ALL FOURS WITH THOSE NOODLE LIMBS OF HIS I CAN’T --

We called Nari’s mind control and Douxie trying to reason with her!

In the very few scenes they were together, Douxie’s love and affection for Nari really came through. You could really feel how much he cared about her. ALSO THAT TENDER HUG AND NARI’S LITTLE HAPPY SQUEAK MY HEART NO--

Loved Barbara. Always love Barbara.

Walter and Barbara getting engaged

Nomura back in action

Claire being the powerful sorceress she’s become

Loved seeing Aja, Krel, and Varvatos all together again.

NARI VS SKRAEL WAS ALL SORTS OF EPIC AND CRUSHING EMOTIONS.

The way Douxie yelled Nari’s name and ran to her after she died and the remnants of her magic falling all around him, like she was saying goodbye, just *UGLY CRYING*

It was so cool to see Charlie out of his den and flying about like the mighty dragon he is

Loved the Guardians of Arcadia pulling Excaliber out together.

All the gang all going after Bellroc together

YES JIM MY BOOOOOOY

BLINKY DIDN’T DIE

Aarrgh I love you so much

Stuart, what a bro!

We saw a hint of mercy in Bellroc towards the end.

Toby’s death... That was a huge curveball. Jim might as well have cut my heart out with Excaliber as he sobbed over his best friend.

Uh.....um....and.....Er...what else........ .___.

..........Alright so.......It’s about to get a bit brutal from here on out as I talk about the things I didn’t like at all. And the really sad thing is, at least to me, the cons far outweigh the pros in this movie. Because I’m actually having difficulty picking out things I enjoyed, they were so few and far between...which really sucks.

So here we go.

Gosh, where to begin... I guess I’ll go ahead and say this : I’m really disappointed. 

Like as I’m here typing this, I’m just thinking, “...That was it? That was the movie?? The big finale???”

So much of this movie just felt....unnecessary. I hate to say almost like filler. The entire intro re-caping the series really wasn’t needed. And then Toby went and restated it all again when he was being interrogated. The pacing, oh my gosh...Guys, the pacing in this movie was not good. The action started and it never seemed to stop. There wasn’t a single moment of rest, of levity, of our characters just being themselves, getting to know each other, being friends outside of the battle. No Reckless Club Segment. No fun, just... I mean Claire and Aja didn’t speak to each other at all. Douxie and Toby hardly interacted. Steve was turned into a gross male pregnancy joke. Jim and Krel barely spoke. Douxie and Aja had nothing to say to each other. Even Aja and Krel didn’t have any moments together. The list goes on. The whole movie was just go, go, go. And it’s so frustrating because there was time for it but it was poorly executed.

Like was the whole break-in to the Chinese Trollmarket really necessary?? Guys, I really found myself not caring. I didn’t care to see this random side quest involving an insignificant new troll character and a Trollmarket that had little to no bearing on the plot. Did I love seeing Charlie, Archie, Blinky, and Claire? Of course! But these scenes were so pointless. So needless. They could’ve written other ways for all our heroes to go after the chronosphere (Maybe we could’ve had Zoe for crying out loud). But instead this vital artifact was the hands of a character we don’t know and don’t care about in a place that turned out to have basically nothing to do with anything.

Deaths. The deaths in this movie. Because of the pacing in this movie, there wasn’t nearly enough time for the emotional impacts to sink in. Nomura? Gone and the only ones mourning her are Aaarrgh and Douxie, who barely knew her. Walter’s death was handled better since we got to see Jim and Barbara actually having a moment to mourn him. The weight of Nari’s death was singlehandedly carried by Douxie, but even that was over before it started. The immense gravity of Toby’s death, which really got to me, was also short-lived to make way for an ending that...I don’t know. 

ALSO DOUXIE JUST??? BEING OKAY WITH HIS FAMILIAR, THE ONE WHO RAISED HIM AND WENT THROUGH SO MUCH WITH HIM FOR CENTURIES, LEAVING HIM FOREVER TO BE TRAPPED IN THAT DUMB TROLLMARKET WITH CHARLIE LIKE???

“I hope he’s happy.”

WHAT. THE. EVERLASTING. FRICK. 

Douxie’s reaction objectively doesn’t make a shred of sense. Geez, it’s almost like Douxie was expecting Archie to up and leave him someday to be with Charlegmane. Just...what???

What also frustrates me so much is how this movie undid so much characterization and development that happened in Wizards. Or more like all that development didn’t even matter.

What was the point of Steve’s arc in Wizards if he was just going to be reduced to...this?

I was so excited to see Douxie really being a Master Wizard. To see him lead the Guardians of Arcadia alongside Jim. To see him in action as Successor to Merlin and Protector of this Realm.

But no.

Douxie, who had such an incredible arc in Wizards and a character who’s come to mean so much to me in my life, was nerfed and sidelined.

And then time restarts and I can’t help but wonder why any of this mattered at all. What the heck was the freaking point of the suffering, the loss, the pain, the growth, enduring and overcoming so much, the friendships and family spanning across three shows... All gone. Starting all over. Undoing everything, except what Jim went through. As much as I love Jim, I didn’t think he’d be the only character I’d be getting closure for at the grand finale of this entire franchise. But that’s what happened and I really hate it.

Just...all in all, this movie wasn’t satisfying. Not to me. It had its good moments. But not nearly enough. The comedy was misplaced and fell flat. The climax was sorely anticlimactic and didn’t hold a candle to Eternal Knight. The writing, the direction, characterization...For some reason it was all lost and confused and none of it felt right and so much didn’t make sense.

I’m not at all upset with the writers, though, because they still pulled through and did what they could. When the movie did something right, it was beautiful. The things I loved about it I truly adored. No, I’m not upset in the least bit with any of the creative team.

I’m upset with Netflix. I’m upset that Wizards was robbed of the seasons it should’ve had. I’m upset with big cooperations stifling creators. I’m upset that this’ll be it. This is the ending we got and nothing can be done about it.

Aaron did say there’s every possibility for the franchise to continue in some capacity, and I’m hoping for that someday. Because so much, too much, has been left unanswered. So much left to be explored that couldn’t. But until then....I guess this is it. This is what we get.

Now, I want to remind everyone that this is my own personal experience with the movie. These are all my opinions. If you enjoyed every second the movie, that’s wonderful! And who knows how my thoughts will change upon another viewing. But in the meantime, Rise of the Titans really missed the mark for me. I wanted found family badassery and fluff. But nope. Just fighting and heaviness and no payoff. It’s such a letdown...a real shame. 

But yeah...Thanks to any and everyone who read to the end of this haha

I still love Tales of Arcadia. It’s a series that has blessed and inspired me so much as an artist, writer, and as a person in general. I do want to keep making ToA content for a while. Cause this movie isn’t the end. Not my ending, at least.

I’ll continue to hope for more Tales of Arcadia in the future (a Douxie spin-off series please Lord pleaaase). We shall see. Until then, fics and fanart fixing this mess galore haha

Until next time everyone! God bless!