#god. their devotion to each other makes me scream inside my brain

[twelverriver]

god the DEVOTION between gene and alex is making me go insane. the way he said to her "i don't care what keats thinks, i only care what you think. and if you don't believe in me, what's the bloody point?" in 3x07 and in 3x08, that's literally proven as fact. Alex is the only one who still believes in him and stands by his side in the office scene when keats is showing them the stars, but it immediately goes back to being a ceiling once alex said "i'm not leaving him, i will not let you make him a liar." the way she stays with him when he's on the floor, both literally and metaphorically, and knows exactly what she has to do to get him back up to being himself. keats has clocked them as being insanely down bad forever, at a soul-connection level, and comments on it for the whole season !!! he keeps saying things like " the chemistry between you two. it's obvious." or "he doesn't want you to go. he wants you to stay with him." he constantly calls out their (blind) devotion to each other as something bad, when in reality, it's the thing making them both better and improving each other not only as detectives, but also as human beings. it's explained that keats could only be there and do the damage he did because gene and alex's relationship and trust in each other was frayed and not unbreakable any more, otherwise he'd never be able to get a foot in. they make me INSANE.

[teddursa]

where the sick ‘n twisted go.. .ᐟ — 🦇 ( 제이크)

PREC .ᐟ S : being dirt poor in a small village means not having the privilege to study where only the elite go, only when your mom married mr.park did the doors open for you.

𝓅 arings. vampire/cultist!jake x helpless!reader

⛪️ .ᐟ 𝓌 arnings — mention of god/religion. mention of sexual acts between step!siblings. noncon.fingering.oral sex. public sex (?). dirty dirty talk. pls lmk if i should add more !

☥🦇 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪ - authors note : hii! it’s hana ♡ this is my first fic & it’s based off of a dream i kept having & i was like this would be a bomb fic. i’m nervous abt sharing my writing since i mostly just read on here so pls be nice ㅠㅠ this will also be a multiple story series since IM NAWT done, my brain is full of things for this series. this is based in the salem witch trial era.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ FIC UNDER MORE ⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

CHAPTER 1. JAKE SIM.

ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🦇་༘࿐

you stepped into the school. your brown plaided skirt falling before your knees. your white button down was perfect with no wrinkles on it. the sweater you wore was new, a gift from mr.park. it had now been a month since your mother and mr.parked married making you one of the new members of the rich and powerful of salem. your black mary janes clicked softly on the tiles. the school was huge, so similar to a church.

sunghoon walked behind you, staring at your plush ass as you walked. the skirt being so tight and short on you was not something he expected. but it was the only size the school had left. he chuckled to himself as he looked at your legs, they looked so soft and delicate. rubbing against each other as you walked.

suddenly, a old lady appeared. “you must be y/n. i’m mrs.malen.” you stared with a soft smile, “yes madam. it’s so lovely to meet you” you were so soft spoken that she had to move closer to hear you. “well here’s your schedule and i’m sure sunghoon here can show you to your classes.“ as you turned to sunghoon, he had the same expression, he held out his hand as you handed him your schedule. “we have all the same classes. how annoying.” his voice was deep and cold. “follow me.”

when you walked into the classroom, there were 2 clerestory windows plastered on the wall. the desks were dark and almost looked like pews. as you sat down. you looked over at your seat mate, it was guy. he had blonde hair and the prettiest features. he was sleeping. but the way you admired him had awoken him. his eyes fluttered open, he took a glance at you, “what are you doing sitting here? are you new?” you nodded, he chuckled. “ohh , well i hope you enjoy being my seat mate bc i know i will.” your innocent voice spoke “what do you mean?”

“im jake.” “y/n” he only chuckled as the teacher finally started the lesson.

later on into the lesson, you felt the need to use the bathroom . you raised your hand and was granted permission to go, you slowly walked to the bathroom using the signs plastered to find your way into the bathroom. as you walked inside you felt like there was something following you. you turned around only to find jake. “what are you doing here? this is the girls bathroom!” you shrieked as he ran towards you. pushing you into one of the stalls. closing the door behind him. “god i knew as soon as i opened my eyes, i just had to get a taste of you.” you struggled against him as he ran his hands all over your body. “stop! t-this isn’t right, god would punish us both… s-stop jake!” he only chuckled, your devotion only made him harder. “god bless your innocent soul” he said as his hand snaked their way under your tight skirt.

his fingers rubbing your tight virgin pussy. you screamed for help but jake slapped you “shut the fuck up before i make this worse for you. no one’s gonna hear you baby deer.” he grabbed your face, shoving his tongue into your mouth. still rubbing your pussy from the outside of your panties. “god, i can’t wait to fuck you.” you shook your head violently, “p-please, i can’t..” he suddenly forced a finger inside. you screamed, the pain like nothing you’ve experienced before. he slapped you with all his force. “keep quiet you fucking slut. it’s like you want someone to walk in and see you get fucked like a whore” you cried as he started to finger you.

your nails digging into him as he fucked your tight pussy with his long slender fingers. “you seem so innocent, but no innocent girl would let me finger fuck them so well in the school bathroom.” you whined as the pain started to turn into pleasure. “fuck your dripping wet…” the squelching sound of your pussy sounded like a dream to jake. forcing him to only go faster. “f-fuck jake” you moaned out, his fingers fucking your pussy harder.

“ i knew you were a good little girl. come on let me make you feel good.” you whine and you lay your head on his shoulder. you arms gripping him so you won’t fall onto the cold tile floor. he kissed you on the neck as he pulled his hands away from your pussy. you whined. “no worries my baby deer i just want to feel your tight mouth.” suddenly he pushed you on the ground, making you fall into a corner, your hand gripping onto the toilet as he pulled out his cock, fucking his hand. you looked in shock as precum fell onto your skirt.

“fuck you look so beautiful. i can’t wait to fuck your innocent face.” he chuckled as you made a confused expression, pushing his cock into your mouth. “god bless this tight mouth.” your eyes teared up as he forced himself inside your mouth. “fucking whore, take it, take my cock...just like you were made for..." your small hands grabbing onto the toilet, your head banging against the tile wall. you looked up at jake. you tried to beg him to stop but his huge cock filling your mouth stopped you.

he groaned. “t-this is why no girls sit next to me, they all know what i do to innocent girls like you….i fuck them until their brain dead.” your eyes widened as you tried to push him off. your tiny hands grabbing onto his thighs in an attempt to push him off. he only laughed as his huge hands grabbed onto your hair pushing your nose closer to his v-line.

the choking sounds were becoming to much for jake as he felt himself get closer to his high. “g-god i don’t know how sunghoon hasn’t fucked you yet. w-when he told me about you, i thought his sick self would’ve been fucking you already—“ suddenly he stopped talking and he sped up. his cock hitting the back of your throat. your choking sounds were becoming more intense, as the spit started to flow down onto your school uniform. your tiny hands grabbing onto his thighs harder and harder as he finally reached his high cumming into your mouth with no shame.

his hand let go of your head, you started to choke on the cum. Jake leaned forward and took your chin in between 2 of his fingers. “swallow.” he whispered. you shook your head desperately. “i said swallow slut.” he said coldly as he forcefully shut your mouth. you swallowed his salty cum, how will god ever forgive you for the way you had sinned. jake’s cold voice talked again. “show me baby” you opened your mouth, hanging your tongue out. he chuckled. “good deer.” he got up slowly. taking in the way you looked.

you were sitting down on to the ground, in between the wall and the toilet. your hands grabbing onto the toilet. spit all over your face as your delicate features were covered by your runny makeup and spit. Jake buttoned up his pants, and fixed his shirt. you just sat there on the floor, crying suddenly what had happened hit you. “oh baby deer, don’t cry. you’ll see more of me later i promise… i still haven’t even fucked your tight virgin pussy..” he chuckled as he walked out of the stall.

leaving you crying on the floor, you heard the girls bathroom door open and shut. what a beautiful way of starting your first day of your dream school. how will god ever forgive you for the way you have sinned.

☥🦇 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪ - authors finishing note : i hope you guys enjoyed! i’m sorry for the bad grammar or writing. like i said it’s my first fic so pls be nice but feedback is always appreciated ♡

[miguelswifey04]

May I request Miguel “The wilderness must be explored” O’Hara insisting on eating the reader out even though the reader hasn’t had time to go get their usual waxing done?

oh god yes! i love your brain 🧠 <3

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

“relax, i don’t care if you’ve waxed or not.” miguel rolled his eyes in a playful manner as he gripped onto your plush thighs. his fingers were digging into the edges of your thighs as they dipped into the pillowy areas—leaving finger marks. you slightly closed your legs on his face as you felt your cheeks warm up at his comment.

“but—miguel, i really haven’t waxed wouldn’t that make you feel—” miguel cut you off as his grip loosened a bit and went up to meet your face as he gave you a soft kiss against your lips, “i promise you, i don’t care whether you have shaved or not. please let me taste you, sweetheart.” he reassured you multiple times as he promised you he didn’t mind at all. you simply nodded while you felt yourself get wetter as miguel traced hot hungry kisses on your breasts for more reassurance. he did so to ease your nervousness. he tore your bra off in one swift motion and he massaged your small perky breasts, bringing his face up close. he always praised for how beautiful and perfect you were in his eyes no matter what. he then took one breast in his hand while he latched his lips onto your other hardened peak. he suckled gently and harshly earning moans from your pretty mouth. he took his time with you as his main focused was to play and caresses your nipples. he loved how wet you’d get every time he’d give attention to your perky breasts, and with that miguel teasingly brought his hand down to your damp panties. he could feel how swollen your clit was as he gently circled your clit with your fingers in a teasing manner. your body trembled and jolted from the immense pleasure…it was pretty stimulating since you were always so sensitive.

“ah, sensitive as always, don’t worry you’ll be screaming my name when i eat you out.” miguel’s lips left your hardened peaks with a pop as he lowered himself down to your wet panties. god he could smell just how wet you were which made his cock harden and slightly twitch within the confines of his boxers. “you smell so good…”

with one hook of his fingers miguel brought your panties to the side seeing a few strings of your wetness connected to your panties. you were a mess and to say you were also nervous was an understatement. this was your first time miguel was going to eat you out where you haven’t shaved at all. miguel looks up at you with hungry and lust in his eyes. all you could do was nod giving him your permission to eat you out. so, miguel grabbed the back of your thighs angling your knees to meet your chest so he could have the perfect view of your hairy pussy. he couldn’t lie to himself the view of your hairy pussy made him harder than other times where you’ve shaved. his warm breath ghosting against your most intimate of areas. he could see the way your pussy and the tight hole of your ass clench around over nothing.

without hesitation, his tongue darts out to swipe along your folds, eliciting a gasp of pleasure from your lips. his movements are purposeful, his tongue skillfully exploring every sensitive spot, flicking and teasing with precision. “you taste so fucking good, muñeca.”

the sensation is electrifying, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. miguel’s devotion to your pleasure is evident in his fervent efforts, each lick and caress driving you closer to the edge. his hands wander, exploring your curves and guiding you towards the peak of ecstasy. while miguel laps up the excess juices that spilled out from your pussy, he brought his other hand where his thumb rubbed small gentle circles on your other hole. he would casually dip his thumb inside the tight hole of your ass as you moaned out his name. “mmm-mmiguel mmmmm, deeper-” he always liked to give you the upmost pleasure and he loved seeing you so weak under his control. he fingered your ass with his thumb while focusing on making out with your pretty hairy pussy.

moans of delight escape your lips as his skilled tongue brings you to the brink of release, the intensity building within you. the power and control you exert over miguel, even in this role reversal, fuels your desire further, heightening the pleasure coursing through your veins. he would dip a couple fingers inside your soaking pussy that was coated with his saliva as he continued to suck and circle his tongue against your clit. your thighs squeeze his face as he grunts over on your swollen clit.

as you reach your climax, you whole body convulses as you feel the warm rush of your essence coating miguel’s face. he continues to lap up your essence with unyielding dedication, his own desire evident in the way he devours every drop. he slightly let’s go of your legs as you meet his gaze. his chin is wet from your essence and he licks his fingers all clean right in front of you. “you always taste so good…but i’m not done with you wet.” your face contorts in a confused look as miguel brings you closer to the edge of the bed as he stands up right in front of you. “get ready because i can go for a couple rounds.”

———

a/n: good god 😩

[bl00dgutsgl0ry]

Since your requests are open i shall throw my brain rot at you <3

Slightly mean(bc he is a tease and is having the time of his life bc of the current scene in front of him) Kaeya that watches his virgin s/o try to fit him inside but she fails ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

And finally after some time he agrees to help out.

(uh also if u are accepting anons, may i be the ⚠️ anon?)

Pairing - Kaeya x Fem!Reader

Warnings - Degradation kink, praise kink?, very slight dollification

Word count - 1.7k

Other comments - Dude your Kaeya brainrot is always welcome here I love him. You’re so smart, mean kaeya is next level. And of course everyone welcome ⚠️ anon! Also this one is a little shorter, i just wasnt in the mood to write the build up i just wanted s e x

Your body was hypersensitive with nerves. It was your first time so of course you would be anxious about this whole situation. What wasn’t helping was your boyfriend's relentless teasing. It was aggravating and embarrassing, but part of your body was getting off to it as well; your body getting even more sensitive as time passed.

Right now, you were trying desperately to ride Kaeya, but he was just way too big and you didn’t know what you were doing so nothing was going well on your end. Kaeya on the other hand was having the time of his life watching you struggle.

“God if you hadn’t told me you were a virgin, I’d have never known seeing as how you're whining like a little slut right now cause you can’t ride me.” You shot your boyfriend a glare. God you just wanted to shut him up.

“Watching you struggle like this is quite amusing my dear… Maybe I’ll just sit here and force you to keep trying. You're destined to get it right at some point hm?” You heard him chuckle as you groaned out. There was a feeling that was beginning to bloom deep within you. You couldn’t quite name the feeling but all you knew was that you needed Kaeya’s help and you needed it now.

“Please Kaeya. This is driving me crazy. I need you Kaeya.” There was a needy rasp in your voice that made his only exposed pupil blow wide. There was a low rumble in his chest that only made this feeling intensify. You didn’t know what you had done, but you knew you weren’t going to regret it.

In less than a second there was a punishing grip on your hips, Kaeya’s long slender fingers holding so much strength in the iron grasp he had on you. Effortlessly Kaeya had you hovering over his pulsing cock. You whimpered in anticipation.

“Such a pathetic useless slut, always in need of my assistance. Hold yourself up like this so I can line myself up. You’re competent to be able to do as simple of a task as that right?” You nodded quickly, biting your lower lip instinctively out of mild anxiety. Once again, despite it all, this is still your first time. Your position did not waiver when Kaeya pulled away one of his hands. You could still feel the imprint of where it was on your hip.

“You’re okay right (y/n)? We’ll take this first part slow so as to not hurt you too much. This isn’t going to be amazing at first but just trust me it’ll get better. Then we can get back to having real fun.” The change in Kaeya’s whole tone and demeanor gave you whiplash; a stark contrast to the dark look he held only moments ago when degrading you. Instead he held a warm, almost concerned and genuine look on his face.

You took this moment to really admire him. The way his dark blue hair fell over him, shining in the pale light of your lamps next to the bed. Your breath never ceased to be taken away when you looked at him like this, cherishing the way his tanned skin contrasted the shining pale blue eye he had exposed. You guessed you had been staring at him for a little too long, with the way his expression started leaning more towards concern than anything.

“I always trust you Kaeya, this time is no different than the others.” A gentle smile formed on both of your faces. There were no words for how much you guys trusted each other, having this unexplainable bond. Somehow you both knew more about each other than yourselves.

Kaeya nodded before he nudged the hand that was still on your hip down, signaling for you to start lowering yourself. There was still an unease in the pit of your stomach, but it was much less noticeable now. You jumped slightly when you felt the tip of Kaeya’s dick intrude, causing him to chuckle quietly and begin rubbing comforting circles into your hip. You continued down, wincing as you felt yourself begin the stretch around him. It ached, and Kaeya was right, this certainly did not feel amazing, but you trusted him. After a few more painstakingly long moments of lowering yourself, you were fully seated on his lap. You could feel every pulse and twitch of his cock, and slowly the pain began to fade; leaving a burned need to feel more in its wake.

You squirmed on his lap, not trusting yourself to talk at the moment, in fear of saying or making some abhorrent noise. Kaeya’s punishing grip returned, holding you still on his lap.

“That didn’t take very long. Are you sure this is your first time? You’re really acting like a slut now.” The antagonizing tone returned to Kaeya’s voice, and it was really affecting you now. You desperately needed him to move. You let out a whimper as you futilely tried wiggling around in his grasp. A dark smirk graced his face as he tightened his grip even more.

“What was that my slut? What do you need? How am I possibly to know what you need if you don’t tell me. I’m not a mind reader darling.” You groaned, your face lighting up red with embarrassment with the knowledge that you were indeed going to have to beg this man to move.

“Kaeya…. I need you….to move please. I need to feel you in me. Please Kaeya help me.” You saw that familiar darkening on Kaeya’s face that made you melt, and an ache began deep within you.

“Your wish is my command, my beloved.” Before anything else could be exchanged, Kaeya hoisted you up until only the tip was still inside you then almost dropped you back down. You repeated this motion over and over and you let out loud moans and cries.

“That’s right. You’re my whore. I’m the only one that ever gets to see you this way or make you this way. Let everyone know who you belong to. Who exactly is making you whine like a bitch.” You cried out at a particularly hard and direct thrust into that one special spot that made you see stars.

“Say my name you little whore, say it out loud so we can all know whos fucking you this well.” You cried out once again, your moans being interrupted with the loud gasps of his name on your lips. You chanted his name like a prayer to the Archons above. In this moment, he was your archon, your divine being who you followed with unwavering devotion. What else were you to think when he was bringing you such pleasure.

“That’s it my darling. Even though your only use is being my fucktoy you are such a good one. You just keep sucking me in so well, this feeling is addicting.” You moaned out louder at the words he was throwing at you. Only moments later your legs began getting very tired from the constant up and down. You placed your hands on his toned chest as you began slumping over, not being lifted up quite as easily.

Suddenly you felt yourself being tipped over before Kaeya quickly pulled out, rolled you onto your back and caged you in with his strong arms on either side of your head. Without warning he thrusted himself in again, much easier this time.

“We haven’t even been doing this for very long and you already seemed so fucked out. Of course I shouldn’t be very surprised seeing how pathetic you are.” You could feel tears beginning to fall from your eyes from the pleasure that was wracking through your body. The tears only egged Kaeya on, as his thrusts became even harder. You could sense how sore you were going to be, you might have to stay home tomorrow. Kaeya began to let out strained grunts and groans, gritting his teeth in pleasure. He could feel the way you were squeezing him, and how you were about to fall over the edge any second now. He needed to ruin you.

The tears began to fall faster the closer you got to the end, a huge knot threatening to break in your core. After only two more targeted thrusted your back arched off the bed, smashing into Kaeya’s torso above you as you screamed out his name along with a few other profanities. Your vision flashed white as the feeling of your orgasm crashed over you like unrelenting waves in the sea.

Your cries quieted down as you slumped down onto the bed trembling, tears staining your deep crimson cheeks. Kaeya had grown much louder over those few moments and before long we was shoving his throbbing cock as far as he could get it and cumming. His orgasm took him by storm, nothing ever feeling that incredible before. The noise he made as his body shook above you and his sweaty forehead fell into the crook of your neck only made you tremble more. Before too long Kaeya gently pulled his softening dick out of you and slumped down onto the bed next to you. You were immediately pulled into him as he wrapped his arms tightly around you. This skin to skin contact filled you with the fuzziest feeling in the world as you snuggled as deep as you could into him.

You guys stayed in silence, the only sound being the rhythmic breathing of the two of you. You were both tangled in each other’s bodies before you quietly heard Kaeya mumble a soft ‘I love you’. You smiled and kissed his chest, not having the energy or willpower to speak. Not long after the two of you were lulled into the deepest, most peaceful sleep of your lives.

[e-jaegerenthusiast]

how mikasa uses the red scarf on eren

nsfw eremika drabble <3 (part 2)

part 1 here

warnings/tw; smut, unprotected sex, teasing, edging, overstimulation, choking, slight bondage?, some fluff

•••••••••••••••••••••••

eren jaeger was always in control. almost.

mikasa had great strength, she always stood up for herself. never listening to others, she didn’t need anyone. except for eren.

she had devoted herself completely to him. mind, body, and soul. she loved him to bits and pieces. she would do anything for him, die for him, kill for him, live for him.

she would devote all of herself to him whenever he wanted. letting him fuck her until she was shaking, thighs sore and stomach slightly aching from where eren had been deep inside her.

it’s not like she wouldn’t like it. she loved the kind of pain eren inflicted on her. she knew he would never hurt her, could never bring himself to.

however, sometimes eren could be a bitch.

he would tease and edge her for hours.

abusing her so-called ackerman strength and patience.

mikasa knew he could go on for hours, even if she tried to touch him, he wouldn’t let her.

sometimes he wouldn’t tie her up, he would love looking down on her as she struggles to keep her hands above her head like he had instructed her to. would love to see her be at war with herself as she absentmindedly tries to decide between her never ending devotion to eren or her own pleasure.

he secretly wanted her to snap, wanted her to just growl and pounce on him. he wouldn’t ask, eren jaeger never asked for anything. he never asked her to pleasure him. she already knew all his desires, all his weak spots and all his breaking points.

well one time her patience did snap, it was when he was away from her for a week. a week was a lot for two people who can’t stop fucking every other night. he came back after a week of being away from her, and mikasa almost screamed when he demanded she don’t touch him.

he didn’t even let her hug him when he walked through the door. her brows furrowed and her eyes started tearing up. he merely had a small smirk on his face, standing infront of her and telling her it’ll be worth it, that he will pleasure her to no avail later on.

well eren was an asshole. he had prolonged all his activities in the day, taking too long to shower, eat, and just fucking about really.

only when mikasa stopped following him around the house like a lost puppy, sitting on their shared bed, arms crossed with a scowl on her features. only then, he started to move towards her. bastard didn’t even have a shirt on the whole day as he tried to hide his smirk when mikasa practically drooled over him.

he walked towards the bed, sweatpants hanging low on his waistline, hair in a messy bun with multiple strands fanning around his neck and his forhead. he looked godly.

he sat on the bed next to her, putting his large palm on her cheek. she shivered beneath his touch. she close her eyes, took a deep breath, and leaned into his palm. she thought he would finally give her what she wants. finally touch her, let her have him after a whole week and a day of not being able to touch him, to feel his touch.

she was wrong, he continued the torture, just this time on their bed, as he spread her legs wide open, demanding she keep her hands above her head. she squirmed and writhed beneath him, whining and begging. hiding her red cheeks in her scarf.

eren would chuckle menacingly. “look at you, love.”

he would lightly glide his fingers down her stomach, making her arch her back towards him. “got you so desperate, yeah?” she would whine at his deep voice, looking up at his lust-filled eyes, attempting a puppy-eyed look as eren had an amused expression on his face, “‘ren, please, please, let me touch you. I’ve missed you. I wanna touch you!” she would kick her legs like a child, as if she was deprived from sweet candy. she wanted him. she wanted him so bad it hurt, it hurt her insides. her hands hurt, aching to touch him. her lips and tongue hurt, wanting to be on his. her cunt hurt, clenching around nothing as eren’s hand would stop right above her clit.

but most of all, her head hurt. it ached. it was deafening. it was numbing all her other aches, everything fading away except eren’s teal eyes.

she looked up at him, his eyes filled with lust, as if a flick was switched in her, she grunted and pounced on him. pushing him into the bed, she straddled his lap, her wetness spreading on his own already-damp sweatpants as her legs were on either side of him.

he looked up at her with a shit-eating grin, he wanted this. he would let her control him, do anything she wants. it was turning him on more and more by the second. the feral look in the ackerman’s eyes alone could make him cum undone, her eyes glowing with determination. determined to pleasure herself.

she started unwrapping her scarf around herself, throwing it around eren’s neck, god he looked good in it. it had been years since she saw the red fabric around his slender neck.

she tugged on both ends, bringing eren’s face impossibly closer, making him clench his jaw and grunt as she looked down at him, the tip of their noses touching, his teal eyes switching between glancing at her eyes and her lips.

she planted a slow lick on his lips, with that, he groaned and smashed his lips against hers. mikasa’s grip on the scarf around his neck tightening as they swallowed eachother whole. their tongues sloppily playing with eachother, eren biting mikasa’s lower lip as she moans into his mouth.

mikasa held both ends of the scarf with one hand, her other hand going to tangle with the loose hairs around his neck as she started grinding on him. eren started meeting her thrusts, both of them dry humping eachother like some high school kids.

when they both ran out of breath and parted their lips from eachother, a string of saliva connecting them. mikasa’s hand in eren’s hair went to tug at the waistband of his grey sweatpants, his breaths coming out his swollen lips as pants.

she managed to bring down his sweats, now pooling around his knees, his cock finally being freed, smacking against his abs, too red and glistening with precum, begging to be touched as eren never would. eren sighed loudly, slightly thrusting upwards as mikasa’s folds glided against the side of his length.

they were both panting messes, at this point just teasing themselves. mikasa grabbed a hold of his shoulders as she buried her head into the scarf around his neck, lifting her hips, waiting for him to finally fill her up.

eren chuckled lowly, one hand around mikasa’s waist as the other grabbed a hold of his own cock, so hard he could swear he would explode. yet the bastard still went on about his teasing, hitting the tip of his dick on her cunt one, two, three times before she whined, he brought his other hand down to her ass, giving it a sharp slap. she moaned loudly into his neck, trying to calm herself with his smell.

eren’s patience ran thin, finally shoving his thick cock into her hole with a groan as he held her waist with both hands. mikasa moaned, eren’s cock wasn’t even halfway in, her wet cunt tightened around his tip, screaming as her legs shook, her head forced back as she came around his tip.

eren looked up at her, amused look on his face as he held himself back from cumming, being too good at that by now. as mikasa opened her eyes, she was met with eren smirking hazily, “you just came around my head, baby?” he questioned in a teasing tone, already knowing the answer.

mikasa furrowed her brows, grabbing both ends of the scarf as she lowered herself onto him in a flash, all of his length buried inside her to a hilt, his tip hitting her cervix, threatening to rip up her insides. she held back a wince, tears welling around her eyes but she swallowed the lump in her throat, she was determined. determined to wipe that shit-eating grin off his handsome face.

eren’s face scrunched up, his eyes shutting without his will, lips parted as he threw his head back with a growl. mikasa could feel thick, white ropes fill her up. her thighs slightly shaking around him from the overstimulating texture of his cum deep inside of her.

eren was a moaning mess beneath her, still cumming, he opened his eyes lazily, feeling mikasa wrap other end of the scarf around his neck and tug at the ends, the scarf cutting eren’s blood flow in the now prominent vein in his neck.

he gasped, holding a tight grip on mikasa’s waist as his slender fingers would most probably leave purple marks there for the next few days. he held her waist as he started thrusting up into her, cock still hard even though he just came.

his breaths came out ragged, turning into moans and groans halfway as mikasa had her mouth open, no noise leaving her mouth as she had a deathly grip on the scarf around his neck. eren’s previous cum was oozing out of her with each of his brain-damaging thrusts, leaking back down onto his dick and his thighs. it was messy, sloppy, hard. just like eren likes it.

eren groaned as mikasa kept clenching around his cock, more cum sliding in and out of her, his thrusts hard and bruising, “harder,” he choked out. mikasa has a confused look on her face as she looked down at him, “choke me,” he said between pants, mikasa clenching around him with his words, “choke me, mikasa. harder.”

he was demanding something from her. for once, asking her to do it, she moaned as she tightened her grip around the scarf, adding one of her hands into the mix as she pressed her fingers around his neck and onto his popping veins.

he whined. eren jaeger fucking whined.

it was too much, mikasa clenched harder around his cock if that was even possible, her thighs shaking and her holds on his neck and the scarf tightening involuntarily.

he grunted and moaned, throwing his had back as he kept thrusting in her, “fuck— fuck— m-mikasa, i love you, i love you, love yo-“ cumming inside her with a loud groan, as she panted his name like a prayer.

they stilled, both of them spent as they had each came twice, mikasa could feel another patch of cum oozing out of her and onto eren’s still-hard dick.

they both opened their eyes at the same time, looking at eachother as mikasa’s grip on the scarf loosened, eren smiled, turning into a chuckle as mikasa snorted.

both of them breaking down into laughs as they were high on eachother.

••••••••••••••••••••••

there we go! as i promised, the other one got 30 likes so :p

hope you guys enjoyed oml- this was a whole ass ride. literally.

i absolutely wanted to write sum where eren is a teasing mf, laughing at mikasa for coming too soon- but mikasa being the badass she is— shows him he ain’t shit either 🥴

not me tearing up at the end tho-

© all content belongs to e-jaegerenthusiast, do not repost or copy any of my work

[lotti-lyric]

Hi! You’re blog is super cool lol, I really love your aesthetic. I was wondering if I could request a BNHA matchup? I’m fine with whichever characters, like pro hero, villain or student.

So, I’m 5’3 (short gang represent), I’m nonbinary, I’m an INFJ, and I’m a Taurus. I’m very introverted and a bit shy, but once I get to know anyone and get comfortable around them, I have zero filter lol. Like I will call you in the middle of the night and either infodump or vent to you about the smallest stuff lol. I’m also the type of person that’s down for anything Like, you wanna go out exploring at 3am? Sure. You wanna stay in and rewatch an entire series? Let’s go. But most the time I prefer to stay in lol

Speaking of which, if I end up getting comfortable with someone and end up being friends, I will be extremely loyal. You need a ride? I got you, no need for gas money. You want to call me while I’m doing something and vent? I’m absolutely down to drop everything I’m doing and listen. I will be that person in the friend group that will joke around with you and mess with you, but if someone else literally comes to try and insult you? I will absolutely beat that other persons ass, like the whole “no one gets to make fun of you except me” concept lol. But I’m also very honest and will call out on peoples bs, no matter who that person is.

I have hyperfixations like no other lol, like rn I am currently obsessed with Bo Burnhams Inside Outtakes. And once I have those hyperfixation, it will be all that I talk about for a while until my brain is tired of it lol

What I look for in a partner, is honestly like a best friend that I can cuddle with sometimes lol. Just someone I can be able to rely on and be able to help me out on the tough stuff, as well as someone that can help me be a better version of myself, and I would do the same for them. And of course, someone that can do the silly stuff with me lol and put up with my own crazy bullshit

That’s pretty much it, I hope you’re doing well. Take your time and have a great day :)

charlotte’s interlude 💗- hi!! sorry for the delay, exam prep is praying for my downfall and succeeding 💀 but regardless, i hope you enjoy!! have an incredible day, tysm for the ask!!

warnings; mandela effect, swearing

i match you with…

Hizashi Yamada! (aka Present Mic)

- this for you both ^^^^

- hes so outgoing so in public, y’all seem like total opposites but TOGETHER, THE CHAOS

- he def is always there to help you just detox or recharge after a long day!! he knows how draining it can be!!

- 2am phone calls screaming together because curious george never had a god damn tail-

- he’s totally good with getting cozy and staying in but always looks forward to the little adventures you have together!!

- finds your devotion and loyalty sO ATTRACTIVE HOLY MOLY OH MY GOD

- he also appreciates your honesty since he loves it when people are real with him

- he’ll make sure to educate himself on whatever your hyperfixation is at the moment so he can talk to you about it!! if you’d rather rant about it, he’s totally cool with that too, even if he already knows!! he’s SO GOOD at engaging conversation it’s incredible!!

- watching the bo burnham outtakes together and randomly quoting them💀

- you truly bring out the best, most genuine parts of each other!! it honestly feels so surreal 💗

[ephemerlskies]

constant craving | jjk

⇢ pairing: jungkook x reader

⇢ genre: drabble series, angst, unrequited love, idiot!jungkook, idiot!oc, basically everyone's an idiot

⇢ word count: 1.7k

⇢ warnings: unreciprocated pining, explicit language, themes of hopeless romanticism (!!), (slightly) unedited

⇢ summary: your best friend decided to confide in his best friend on how to win his girlfriend back after a fight. you tell him exactly what to say to her, however he is unaware that what you were saying was a sincere delivery of your once undeclared love.

♪ playlist: constant craving - k.d. lang, bad religion - frank ocean, misunderstood - lucky daye, neu roses - daniel caesar ♪

╰ series index: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 (final)

a/n: hello my little loves!! this was definitely ;) not ;) an impulse write and release ;) ;) sorry for being so inactive lately. i've been focusing on myself (i know how cliche that sounds but it's true). anyway, enjoy this incredibly angsts fic i wrote at 2 am for absolutely no reason at all other than i'm an emotional sadist and a masochist. love u!!!! <3

part one: control

He was coming over for the third time this week. Third time. Three times is two more times than he'd gone over his girlfriend's house, but you did everything in your power to convince your inconvincible heart that it meant nothing. Friends see each other more than their girlfriends, right?

It was making a racket in your chest, that muscle that strained much harder for a man who had his pumping for the girl of his dreams.

But, he was coming over for the third time this week.

The first time he said this visit ranked, in his words, 'out of the question' on the degree of necessary that he come over and show you Star Wars. You played a good game of reluctance when asking if it was the entire series or just one movie, and in your head, you hoped to God it was the entire series. For him, you'd watch the series four times over if it meant you sat through this outrageously nerdy movie next to the even more outrageously nerdy love of your life.

The second time was particularly funny to you. He called while you were cooking dinner, almost as if he was in stride with you in a way that was an ounce too synchronized to be platonic, and asked if you were whipping up a delicious meal that he could mooch off of. Knowing he was a terrible cook, plus the fact that when he begged so politely you felt your posture unbind into to a puddle, you more than happily obliged.

This time, the circumstances made it harder to say yes, but not yet impossible. And it was a second or two before you heard that knock on the front door that had your once pounding heart come to a complete halt. It was still, waiting for you to make a decision.

Since it was Jungkook, of course, you'd say yes. And your heart would continue beating. Beating, as in sending sharp jabs that stained the inside of your chest with bruises. Beating, as in when the time came, the final blow of your constantly craving heart would devastate your entire being.

"Thank you so much, ___. God, I'm such an idiot." He walked in with all the confidence of someone who was a bit too familiar with your company. Jungkook's feet reintroducing themselves to your floors in the same manner as he would the night before, and the night before that, and the countless nights you kept secured in your collection of memories. As if he belonged there; as if he was coming home.

"An idiot with a great friend." That last word nearly withdrew the bile you had been ever so gracefully holding in.

"Yeah yeah." And he was comfortable with that same word, 'friend', that deepened your bruises into scars. He had absolutely no clue. Idiot. "I can't believe I broke up with her. I was so angry and acted on that instead of logic. Fuck, why would I do that to myself? I love her."

"Well, you never know. Maybe..." You hated yourself for not resisting the selfish temptation that was about to fall from your lips. The words you've been internally screaming to him to leave her and fall in love with you instead were diluted to something much more tame when your tongue formed them into sound.

"Maybe it was for the best. Maybe you guys are better off apart? To, um, grow or whatever."

"No." He said that with too much certainty and too little hesitance and just enough conviction to sink another wound in the organ exhausting itself in your chest. "She's the one. I know it"

"Jungkook."

He looked at you with all the earnestness of a man who carved his utmost and unchanging dedication to her. A look that any love-induced sap would kill for. A look he would never direct towards you.

Your eyes weren't under your control as of now. The glue that held them to his eyes, his lips, his hair, and every other part of him you dreamed of was more than a marathoned yearning. It was an adhesive twelve years in the making, not showing the slightest sign of wearing away.

"The way you love is something to die for..." And then he smiled at you, but still not for you.

You were utterly crushed.

"She'll take you back in a heartbeat. I mean, she has a brain, so of course, she will. Anyone would."

I would.

"I hope you're right." The couch was four feet wide at most, but there was an impressively vast space between you and the man who was sitting next to you. "Can you tell me what to say? You know I suck with words."

"Uh... Yeah. Of course. Anything."

If breaking hearts were a crime, then Jungkook would have much to atone for. You'd be convicted as a willing accomplice for holding on this long. Up until this point, you've let every small glance, every shy smile he sent your way, every eyebrow twitch conveying a meaning only you knew well enough to retrieve him from whatever awkward situation he needed rescuing from, every accidentally brush of his hand against yours, every purposeful embrace that lasted so long your tears stained his right shoulder string you into a knot of miserable, unrequited love.

And up until this point, you had hope he would choose you.

Each ring of his phone worked in tandem to reduce your undying devotion to Jungkook into a compressed seed of denial.

I don't love him. He's just my best friend.

Your pulse pronounced itself loudly in your ears, as a not-so-gentle reminder of how much you hated him for loving him. Somehow, your heart beat faster. Then again, anything was possible when it came to him. Anything except the miraculous event of him hanging up, declaring his love for you, and living in the land of happily ever after that only existed in your deluded imagination.

"Hey Irene! I'm so fucking glad you picked up."

He gave you that look. With the arched eyebrow, his widened doe eyes, and the slightly hung jaw, you read each feature better than words and nodded to signal you knew exactly what he needed.

"I'm sorry about what happened." You said, in a whisper, though the deflated volume of your words carried no implication of the unbridled sincerity sealed in them.

"I'm sorry about what happened." He repeated, laying down that same Irene-contrived smile on you that fostered a smile of your own, knowing fully it surfaced as a reflex from hearing her voice.

"It might be crazy to try this, because I don't know how you feel."

If the thing people say about your life flashing before your eyes during encounters with death, then you were sure your heart was about to consume its last pulse of blood. The scenes of you and Jungkook spending your Friday nights when you were a ripe city dweller in your shoebox apartment doing everything and nothing at all had convinced you that you were certainly about to go into cardiac arrest.

"It might be crazy to say this, because I don't know how you feel." Jungkook was so many things, however emotionally perceptive was not one of them.

"But I love you. I have loved you since the moment I met you." Those words tasted sweet despite fermenting in a chamber of your heart you kept preserved since, as you said, the very moment you met him.

"But I love you. I have loved you since the moment I met you."

"No matter what, I'd choose you. It doesn't matter how mad I am or how annoyed I am, I will choose you because if I know anything in this damn, cruel, punishing world, then I know that I'd rather be angry, annoyed, or anything else with you than without you."

He repeated your words, but dehydrated all of your sentiment from them. You were left with the remnants of the feelings, and none of the words from him you were so desperately starved of. He took them right from your throat, along with the very breath that seemed to keep returning because of Jungkook, molded them into his own, into a sequence of sounds that were meant for Irene. You were left hungry, breathless, and forever wanting.

"No matter what, I'd choose you. It doesn't matter how mad I am or how annoyed I am, I will choose you because if I know anything in this damn, cruel, punishing world, then I know that I'd rather be angry, annoyed, or anything else with you than without you."

Irene must have been smiling right about now. Who wouldn't smile hearing those things from someone like Jungkook?

"Because with you, I'm complete. My story can't end if I'm incomplete. Please, choose me back. Complete me. That's all I ask."

Then, you began to ask yourself another question.

If you make me complete, Jungkook, will my story ever end?

You knew the answer to that. You swore your heart beat in a morse code that told you everything you needed to know.

"Because with you, I'm complete. My story can't end if I'm incomplete. Please, choose me back. Complete me. That's all I ask."

Jungkook looked to you, before Irene could form the proper response, and smiled. It was the third time he smiled at you today because of course, you were keeping track. You knew it was his own physically linguistic version of a 'thank you' or a 'you're a life saver' but somehow, to you, it translated to something similar to a 'goodbye'.

Your legs miraculously rose and carried you to the back porch. The sun was just beginning to dip in the horizon, proliferating a warm orange that was about to subside to an indistinguishable and unpredictable dusk. Whatever color came after the sunset, you were ready to accept it, to memorize how it reflected against a world without the possibility of him. And even though the night will always embody undertones of orange, it was time to focus on the colors around it.

It was time to let go.

a/n: i might make this into a drabble series!!! if anyone would be interested in that please let me know :)) thank you for readinggggg <3

[sibsteria]

all the angels [cast & angels & chuck]

prompts: ''run away with me''

summary: [bare with me, this is a long summary and concept] throughout the decades, y/n and the angels lived in harmony, her being the only being with powers on par with chuck. an immortal life with your angels sounds good, doesn't it? something goes wrong and y/n gets projected into the world of the spn actors. she had never met god, despite being made for the angels because of him. the thing is, she doesn't remember anything of her life with the angels and this messes with reality. the world of reality, along with y/n, are all magically convinced she has always been in their universe as a fellow cast mate. what happens when most of her favourite angels and a certain hellish man team up to collect her in the middle of a con?

characters: Rob Benedict, Richard Speight Jr, Mark Pellegrino, Misha Collins, Mark Sheppard, Sebastian Roche, Chuck Shurley, Gabriel, Castiel, Lucifer, Balthazar, Crowley

warnings: I dreamt something along the lines of this and it's just pure crack, I apologise, fluff, angst, everyone is single because it gets weird. I wrote this at 4am :/

---

''So let's talk about Y/n's character! She hasn't been explained too much but we know her backstory.'' Wow, thank you, Mark Sheppard.

''Well, I'm pretty sure the fans already know.'' I shrug, but a glare from the man before me makes me roll my eyes.

''Come on, don't leave them in the dust, also sharing a name with your character is weird right?'' He teases me, I resist the urge to walk over and playfully slap him.

''Fine. She was created by God to please the angels in whatever way they needed, with her consent obviously. She creates a connection with Gabriel and their connection become the focus of her life, until she meets Crowley-'' I look over at Sheppard and paint a fake scowl on my face, sending the audience into light laughter. ''-who is also vying for her attention, but as you all know, she had been killed off at the end of the last season. Y'all didn't see that blinding golden light and her disappearing act?'' I raise my eyebrow at the crowd. They murmur amongst themselves.

''Are you sure she was killed off?'' Richard snickers from next to me. ''What if her dear Gabe just snapped her away for some-'' He wags his eyebrows to out fans. ''-angel on paragon action.''

''It's literally in the script shut up- or you know, believe this idiot.'' I smile, showing I meant no offense

''Scripts change! You know that!'' Misha reasons, aggressively.

''I suppose so.'' Leaving audiences in an unsolved mystery is the fun of cons.

---

Sitting in the green room, it's sweaty and warm after the panel. We are instantly greeted by our colleagues awaiting their next instructions such as Mark Pellegrino, Sebastian Roche and Rob Benedict.

''Welcome back, you little bastards.'' Sebastian's voice rings throughout the room, I groan, faceplanting onto the couch where Rob sat, fiddling with an acoustic guitar.

We sat, talked, ate, I napped, yknow the usual.

---

''So, do you think they will bring you back for the next season?'' Misha asks, I bite my lip and answer him.

''I have no idea, no one has said anything so maybe not. I'll be joining our widdle Kings of Con if not.'' I give a baby voice when talking about the couple that is R2.

''Hey!'' Rob's voice wavers in his distinct little way.

''Rude of you to call me little.'' Richard winks and I shoot gag at him, he feigns a frown.

''In other news-'' Mark Pellegrino's cut-in is interrupted by a blinding golden light, surrounding the room. I grip onto Rob's arm as the ground begins to shake, burring my head into his chest, I cover my eyes from the light. He holds me back just as tight, hiding in the comfort of my shoulder. One of many weird, intimate moments with him that makes people believe we are together.

A loud, pitched, sound rattles around us. A few of us scream in pain but I just whimper and move closer into Rob.

Suddenly, everything stops and stills.

I can't force myself to move.

''What the fuck?!'' I hear Misha, making me not want to move even more.

''Ha! Look, she's cuddling you. Awe.'' I hear Richard's voice, but it wasn't him, it didn't sound like him. I pull myself away from Rob's chest and look at the scene unfolding.

'What the fuck?'' I whisper, repeating Collins' earlier comment. Stood here, a few feet in front of us are Gabriel, Balthazar, Castiel, Crowley, Lucifer and Chuck. Did I miss something?

''Not happy to see us, darlin'?'' Gabriel smirks, a foot of his approaches me, I look at them in confusion and shock.

''W-What's going on?'' That is the first time I have ever heard Pellegrino stutter.

''We should probably talk...'' Chuck wavers his hands to us all, motioning us to listen to him.

''So, uh, Y/n here? She's our Y/n, from our reality and we kinda want her back.'' Gabriel shuffles his weight between each of his feet, I'm in too much terror to even speak, so is everyone else.

''You hear him, dickbags? We want her back.'' Lucifer crosses his arms, staring dead into Pellegrino's soul, presumably to make him uncomfortable.

''I don't understand-'' I stop myself, leaving it at that.

''Wait, do you not remember?'' Gabriel looks at me, broken eyes reflect his inside pain.

''Of course she doesn't, you bollock! Can't you see the look on her face?'' Crowley rolls his eyes but for some reason I can sense his true sadness.

''I will explain, better.'' Castiel takes a step towards me. ''You are Y/n Divine, our Divine, your the celestial from our existence. Your our...?'' He struggles to find the words, Balthazar answers for him. Not the lot of explaining I need there, Cas.

''Our collective soulmate, so to speak.'' He nods.

''Yeah, that's who I am in Supernatural but- this isn't the show, this is reality. I gotta be dreaming, oh my God-'' Chuck interferes (doesn't he always).

''That's me.'' The nervous laugh from the bearded almighty almost makes me laugh, almost, but the situation was too real for it. ''Would it help if I...showed you?'' He says, unsure of his choice of words.

For some reason, I pour my trust into him, and walk towards the clone of my almost boyfriend, I wished.

''Mind if I show all of you?'' Chuck asks, before ignoring some of the 'no's in the room and he snaps, bringing us into a dream state.

Scenes flow through our brains, ones that weren't in the show

---

Dressed in a white kaftan with golden afflictions, there was Y/n, lay in the greenest of grass. And next to her? Gabriel the Archangel. Almost in a Bella-Edward meadow position, the two looked into each other, reading one another's soul.

''Run away with me.'' Gabriel whispers, lighter than air.

''What?'' She snaps out of her dreamy daze.

''Let's leave, you don't need any other angel that isn't me.'' This breaks her heart, although Gabriel was her favourite and the one she had a special connection with, she had a duty to remain near the other angels.

''I want to-'' Gabe's heart lifts but sank soon after. ''-but you know I can't. I wasn't created to defy my purpose, I would cease to exist if I did.'' A tear rolls down her cheek, the light from the fading sun rested gracefully on her skin.

''I know. Oh, what was I thinking? My father will come after us and- I would rather now think about what he would do to us, to you.'' He looks away from her to relish in his pain.

''Don't be like that, my little Aurelian enchanter-'' She mentions the colour of his golden wings, which lay across the ground behind him, a beautiful sight. ''-the time will come where no angel needs me, then I can devote myself to you, only you.'' She mumbles, pressing a sure kiss to the peak of his nose. He huffs in a peaceful array of emotion.

''At least you don't kiss any other of my brothers or estranged family.'' He nudges back at her, nose to nose.

---

''That was sickening to watch.'' Pellegrino chuckles into the dark abyss of our voices, unable to see each other but still recognising each other within the blindness.

''Shall I show you another one?'' A rhetorical question from the Lord from above, as he whisks us into another memory.

---

She sat on a bench, clad in elegancy, the world was still new and beaming. New angels were being created, not all of them needed a divine celestial to aid them, so she spent her days watching the creations live. The bees harvesting pollen from the flowers was one of her favourite sights.

She felt an angelic presence appear next to her, but a new one, an unknown one.

''Who might you be?'' She asks, not tearing her eyes away from the fuzz of a creature.

''I am Castiel.'' Short and stat, seems like the kind of being he was, without a vessel he could be read more easily.

''No vessel yet, I assume?'' She looks towards the beam of light beside her.

''No, not yet. I hardly think there's a need for such a thing.'' His voice was the most beautiful she had heard, of all the angels, no vessel and no front made him so much more enticing.

''Well, nice to meet you. You're wings...they're black? Pretty though, new as well.'' She smiled at Castiel, his aura positively increased, the interaction helping them both. Just a simple amount of time in company can help an angel.

''Thank you.''

---

''So that's Castiel?'' Misha seems uneasy.

''Would you like to see the encounter between her and his vessel?''

---

She sat, with Balthazar, just grooming his beautiful wings. An act she did for her most favourite angels.

''Have you seen Castiel's vessel?'' He smiles up at her, in his own vessel.

''Not yet but I am excited though, from the comments I'm hearing, he is a most handsome fellow.'' She brushes past a certain spot, making Bal shiver in delight, not in a sexual manner.

''Ugh, like you don't find yourself infatuated with my golden winged brother already, don't go falling for another one.'' He groans in disgust, she laughs, melodically.

''I can promise you, I won't.'' That was a future lie.

''Hello, Y/n.'' A new voice from behind her, sensing the energy, she knew it was Cas.

A wide grin stretches across her features, ''Castiel!'' She shouts, whipping round to face the angel in his new restrictions. ''My, my, good choice, my angel.'' A nickname specifically reserved for the defying being.

''I would say 'thank you', but it would be a most similar and repetitive interaction.'' She sighs in relaxation, reliving her first encounter with Castiel.

''You are always welcome, you're one of my favourites.'' She boops his nose, squeaking 'boop' at the same time, Cas cocks his head in confusion.

''Boop?'' He questions her, she shrugs her shoulders.

''You're cute, so I booped you.'' She giggles, Castiel couldn't refuse the stutter in his 'emotions' as she spoke.

''Okay.''

---

I heard Mark Sheppard's voice throughout the void, ''YoU'rE cUtE, sO i BoOpEd YoU!'' His badgering voice pointing fun at me.

''Shut up.'' I mumble.

---

It was beautiful, the winding waterfall gushing down the rocks, watching it flow. She sat, in deep thought, things between Lucifer and Michael were getting tense, she was scared for the future.

''You don't need to worry about us, my little cherub.'' Lucifer's voice mixed eloquently with the sound of the waves slowly connecting the lake below.

''It's part of my job, I couldn't help it if I tried.'' She shrugged, she stared at the water, taking in the fresh air.

''I know that things aren't simple, they never will be, just know you will always have me. I have never spoken to anyone in such a tone before, you should be honoured, little one.'' This made her accumulate, she leaned back into hold, he was a median temperature. It was nice.

''My Lucifer.'' She grinned in thought. ''You always have been the most intriguing, I will never give up on you, I promise you that.'' She craned her neck to look at the blonde, before pressing the smallest of kisses to his jaw. She had never seen him so vulnerable, so honest with himself, and she wouldn't again for some time.

---

''My dear, this is too dangerous. You are not a warrior, you are a healer and an abettor. I can't let you, I'm sorry.'' Crowley's gruff rumble soaked the thin air, she wanted to fight for her angels- with her angels. She held the power, but not the will.

''I was made for this moment, this is my purpose, I have to do something.'' She pleads, tears stinging her eyes.

''Listen to me, darling, they need you alive more than you're help. Listen to what I'm saying, although I am nonpartisan, I can't remain unbiased. I fear that my little, fascination with you is what keeps you safe. The angels may not love it, but it keeps you safe whilst they handle their own. They want you safe, so that is what I will do.'' His short monologue seemed to flip something within Y/n, she stayed silent for a moment, reeling in thought. Hearing his repetition of the word safe just made her wish the same for her angels.

''I-I guess you're right. I don't want anything to happen to them, you remember last time, when it all-'' She couldn't bring herself to continue, relishing in the agony of remembering when Lucifer was cast.

''Yes, my dear, and you nearly got caught in the crossfire. It can't happen again, there is no other being like you and there never will be. The stories are that God nearly killed himself trying to create you, you are everything he wanted humanity to be.'' She smiled at this, he was trying to cheer her up with a bit of complimenting. ''Even if you are stubborn.'' She slapped his chest, as a farce and let out a small cachinnate.

---

Everyone was silent, things started to get heavy on thought and reason. No one could think of a word to say.

''One more for good measure, then we will asses you, Y/n.'' Uh, what does that mean?

---

The quiet air that surrounded the two was comforting and safe, content and peaceful. Y/n and Gabriel sat opposite one another, his wings lay in her lap as she did what she does best. Her hands traced up the outer lining of his wings, from top to bottom, before moving in the the inner feathers. She rolled a collection of feathers between her fingers each time she moving a few inches down, softly and gently. Working out the stress and the tightness that wound itself within them, he holds onto her knee, using it as a gripping post every once in a while. It wasn't a pain thing though, it was quite the opposite, the gratification and the bliss he was receiving from such a special moment was intense.

''I don't know why, I think your wings are my favourite.'' She hums out, brushing out the feathers she had been fixing in a swoop from the height of his wing and downwards, before moving on to the next section.

''Oh, really?'' Gabriel couldn't resist the playful tone residing in his comment, but that was what Y/n loved, he wasn't afraid to tease her.

''Without a doubt, they're mesmerising. Such a beautiful colour, and shape. They suit you so well.'' Slowly, she leans forward to kiss the corner of his mouth, before gently pulling herself back.

''Come on, sweetheart! You can do better than that-'' His voice is cut off by a staggering gasp as she unwinds a knot in his feather,  gripping her knee tight, he swoons.

She doesn't say a word, yet she picks up her head again, craning towards the angel's face. While continuing to brush out his ailerons of flight, she kisses him again, direct and strong. She moves against his lips with such care but much passion, Gabriel couldn't resist the slip of his tongue to her, she wasn't in any way complaining.

---

''Okay, that was upsetting to watch.'' Richard grumbles, we find ourselves back inside the green room, standing in front of us remain Chuck and Gabriel.

''You're telling me.'' I let a slanted expression reach my face.

''You mean you still don't remember?'' Gabriel's frown tugs at my heart, I feel something for him, but not as immense as what we have been watching.

''I have something that might work, but it might...do something?'' Chuck gives out a nervous chuckle, small and barely there.

''Do it, I need her back, I don't care about the consequences unless it hurts her.'' The strain and torment in his intonation is dismal.

''It won't hurt her, but it might- never mind, if it happens then it happens, if it doesn't then you will be happy you didn't know.'' Chuck walks towards me with purpose and I cower back slightly, a stern alarm on my face.

''W-Woah there, what are you doing?'' I reach out my hands in a 'stop' motion, he grabs hold of them.

''Bringing back your memory, I need you to focus on the moments you just watched, think about how you felt during them.'' I thought back, I felt as if I was the girl in the grass, and in heaven and the girl who loved the angels. I revelled in the select memories, the beautiful memories. ''Good, carry on thinking about them and how you felt.''

I felt a warmth surge through my hands, as they remained connected to Chuck's.

''It's working.'' I peek open my eyes and look down at our hands. Mine are white and hold a holy glow, my eyes widen as I look at the magic.

''This is you?'' I ask, Chuck shakes his head.

''It's you, well, it's us. You have your own powers, but this kind can only be used when I am touching you. You know you have angelic advantages, from the show?'' He explains in a way I understand, I nod. ''D-Do you want to remember this world? Along with your true one?'' I bit my lip before answering.

''I would, some people I can't let go.'' I look towards Rob, who stood off towards the side, the group of my colleagues still in shock of the situation, some whispering to each other.

''I see. Are you ready?'' The heat is getting more intense in my hands, a burning hot white light shines from then.

''I think so.''

''I need to warn you, you may not like what could happen next.'' He unclasps our hands before reaching up to sandwich my head between them. It wasn't painful, it was peculiar, my body went numb. This took around a minute before he took his hands of me.

My mind and his instantly travelled to a secluded world. It was barren and empty, but beautiful, Red sand and burnt skies surrounded me, small oasis' patched around. The sun was in a constant set, never going up nor down.

''Where are we?'' I asked Chuck, he was dressed in a white pant and shirt, I looked down towards myself. I was enclosed by a gorgeous lengthy white garment, a golden sash across my waist.

''We're in your head. How are you feeling?'' I smile.

''Like myself, thanks Chuck, nice to meet you by the way- can't believe I haven't said that yet, after all Gabe has told me.''

''Um, okay, this is going to be awkward to ask. What do you feel? When you look at me, that is.''

''Hm...'' I look into his soft eyes. I felt as if I belonged there, like it was home. My whole existence within his soul.

''That's- not good.'' He must have read me, because I didn't say that out loud. I widen my eyes, starting to panic. ''I-I mean, it could be? It depends how you feel on the matter.'' He tries to soothe me.

''Explain.'' Was all I said.

''We- well. I've linked us, not on purpose. You're life's fulfilment is with me now, along with the angels. I'm not your creator anymore, I'm your equal. Yet you are not light nor dark, your the meld of both, a mediator if you will. The love for the angels, can be found within myself now. I'm sorry, I never thought it would actually happen.'' I'm guessing this is the first time he has ever apologised, I don't know how but- I feel like I know everything about him. The almost humanitarian way he dabbles jn his powers is confronting.

''Yes, that's another edge you have, you know everything about me now, you know who I am and what I've done.'' He looks ashamed and off to the side.

''You may not be proud of who you are, but I am-'' I hold his hand and turn his head with my other. ''You're the creator, just because you have done bad things, does not mean you're a bad person.'' I feel like I've known him my whole life, I technically have. He remains silent.

''We will have our time, go seem them. If you ever need to see me and I'm not around, think of this place and I'll meet you here, no matter how far apart we are.'' He extracts us from the sanctuary.

I'm back in my own body, looking around at the awkward faces of my peers. We must have been stood, staring into space for some time.

''Hey-''I turn to Gabe as he speaks, walking towards him before I stop dead in my tracks. I swiftly run back to Chuck, slamming my lips against his, I feel my heart stutter in the shock of my own actions. He kisses me back with much more passion, before I pull away. I look at Rob, his mouth his hung open, using my power I look into his head.

He's shocked and- jealous. He thinks it's invigorating to see a version of himself kiss you. Realising he could've admitted his feelings to you, perhaps you wouldn't have gone back to them.

''Well- okay, that's new.'' Gabriel mutters, his voice cracks in the middle of his speech.

I turn and run towards Gabe.

''Don't worry, you're still my favourite.'' He yanks me into a hug, pulling me into a compact hug, I wrap my legs around his waist.

He whispers some enochian into my ear, I bite my lip and smile. Along the lines of 'should I book the hotel now or later?'.

''You know full well we don't need to do that.'' I couldn't help but tease him back, he sighs in content, happy to have us back.

''I'm- confused, what the fuck is going on?'' Sebastian calls.

''If you want, you can make them forget, Y/n.'' Chuck announces, a valley of yelling and protests wash over me from the Supernatural cast.

''Can I? It could be for the best...'' I trail off, the cast look at me with hurt in their eyes, I decide to communicate with Rob through his head.

'Rob' He looks around, alarmed. 'I'm in your mind, don't panic'

'How could you? I know you aren't meant to be here but please don't make me forget you' I could hear the pain within him.

'I won't completely, you'll know me, but not as who I am. You will know me as your colleague and friend, I'll visit you'

'I love you, I'm sorry I never said it' I heard his heart shatter.

'I love you too, maybe we can develop something in the future' Maybe I was asking too much of myself, maybe not.

''You ready to go back?'' Chuck waltzes toward me and Gabriel. ''Other angels want to see you, I can hear them, it's rather annoying.'' I smile at the thought of seeing them all again, this time knowing who they are to me.

''I think so.'' I turn back to say my goodbyes.

''Misha, you are one of the most genuine and kind people this Earth can offer, I'm so happy I met you.'' I move forward to hug him, channelling my power, as soon as I leave this plane it will activate- leaving them in the state they were before.

''Mr. Sheppard, you smarmy bastard, never change. The world couldn't take it. I'll see you soon.'' I step forward to hug him.

''My, my, Pellegrino, a tear? Not going soft on me, are you?'' He shakes his head, rolling his eyes at me. ''I'll miss you and your karaoke.'' I hug him, he holds on a little longer, refusing to let me go. I look at him with sad eyes, before turning to Sebastian.

''You and your attitude Roche, you're such a light person, you'll see me again and I promise you that. Keep up the humour, you're not yourself without it.'' I hug him, ejecting a powerful wave.

''Richard, I will admit you are my best friend, even when you're trying to sleep with everything that walks. Take care of Robbie for me, I won't be too long before my next visit, so hold on.'' I grip him in my arms, pulling gently on his beard as we part, before getting mockingly swatted away.

I couldn't sat goodbye to Rob, looking at his disheartened face. ''R-Robbie-'' I tried not to cry, saying goodbye to so many friends is breaking me.

''I can't explain how much you mean to me, I love you, in every way you can imagine. I love you all.'' I hug Rob, not wanting to let go.

''Please don't go.'' His whimper makes me finally let out tears.

''I need to. I promise I'll return.'' I think about my next action, before deciding on it.

'Pull away if you don't want this.' I say to him, his head is swimming with agony.

Kissing him, very lightly, I feel tears mix on my lips. I pull away before I get too attached.

''Gonna miss you, so much.'' He whispers to me, clutching my shirt in his hands.

''I have to go, bye Benedict, till we meet again.'' I try to spin a comedic affect into my words, stepping away from my best friends.

Chuck holds out his hands, Gabriel and I connect to them. I shut my eyes, I can't face what I'm leaving behind. I feel a golden illumination against my shut eyelids.

It's not forever, but I will miss them.

[aerois]

Remarried Empress: Sovieshu Contextualized and Navier the Unreliable Narrator (SPOILERS!)

So recently I started reading Remarried Empress on WEBTOON. Honestly the whole premise wasn’t my cup of tea and I was solely reading it because it was part of an event where I could get free coins (lol). But then... I got hooked. I got invested. Started drinking in chapters whenever and wherever I could, and even now I still crave more. I wanted Navier to have some semblance of a happy ending (and, let’s be honest, I wanted to drag that precious little bitch Trashta by her fucking hair across the yard). At first it was mostly that. Raging at Trashta and her Simperor, pondering at Heinley’s true intentions, drooling over Kaufman. 

And then, I noticed something odd. I noticed-- the strangest thing-- Sovieshu seemed to be... not as enamored with his mistress as meets the eye. And there was even some hinting that his feelings for Navier weren’t what we assumed.

I have to preface this: I don’t condone Sovieshu’s crappy actions. He’s an idiot, and acts very poorly as a husband. And there’s no excuse for cheating. Absolutely not! So I don’t want this post to come across like In Defense of Sovieshu, because it’s not. But I do think that our view, the reader’s view, of Sovieshu, is warped. And this is mainly because we see the story through Navier’s eyes of course, but we forget that every individual person is fallible. Every person, at some point, harbors false assumptions that color their concepts of truth and reality. Put shortly, Navier is human, and therefore is not a reliable narrator at some points. Especially concerning her husband. We see Sovieshu entirely through the eyes of his wronged wife in the webcomic. Pin that: in the webcomic. Did you know the webcomic is actually based on a mobile game? Yes, it is! And I downloaded it! And I’m playing it! And... I’m actually... hating Sovieshu less?????????? 

Ok, ok, put the pitchforks down! Hear me out! I’m not saying any of the stuff he did was okay! But Navier’s narration of the story paints him as this cold, detached man who grew to hate his wife so much that he flew into the arms of some hussy for warmth and then just cast his wife aside and deliberately acted like a jerk just because he wanted her to suffer.  And there’s a grain of truth to that. There are points where Sovieshu feels bitter and does or says something waspish. But it’s not as black and white as you might assume. I played the mobile game, and decided to take Sovieshu’s route out of spite. I opened this app, saw it was an otome with this garbage-fire, cheating sack of shit for a romance option and thought “Hah! The nerve. Probably some semi-abusive dirtbag route aimed to appeal to girls who like men who treat them badly. You know, that mutually abusive relationship appeal that some girls like because drama.” And I needed to rack up in-game currency anyway (it’s like usual mobile games, where when you wanna make cool choices you gotta cough up cash unless you “diamond-mine” on crappy stories to save up the meager bits of free currency the app gives you for playing) so I figured I’d blast through the Sovieshu route and skip onto my darling Kaufman in playthrough 2.

And then the smoke genuinely compelling character development got me. So I could run y’all through Navier’s version of the events, but you already know that. For Sovieshu though? Here’s the kicker: this idiot has had a raging passion for his wife slowly building up for years throughout their entire lives, and only realizes it about halfway through the events of the story. This idiot, this buffon, this absolute brain-dead dolt... didn’t even realize he was pining over his own wife until he was about to explode from the desperation from it all. God, I wish I was joking. Lemme break it down for you:

Sovieshu’s POV: He and Navier are introduced as kids and are told they’ll be married someday. Life partners. They are raised in tandem to respect and care for one another. Kinda smacks of grooming (go mom and dad!) but whatever, that’s the background. These kids are mentally regarding each other as spouses their entire conscious lives. And Sovieshu, as he grows, quickly comes to realize his intended is a selfless girl who holds everything inside. The first spark of his affection for her is wrapped in this: that Sovieshu longs for Navier to take off her “perfect princess” mask and let herself be vulnerable with him. He admires her intellingence, her grace, and her devotion to her country. He looks at her and sees someone that inspires him. He craves the opportunity to comfort and protect her. He waits, and these opportunities come in small instances. But they get older, their burdens get heavier, and like most young women, Navier gets better at pretending nothing is wrong with her and putting everyone else first. Sovieshu feels more distant from her. But that desire to break through her wall still stands.

They marry, but Navier, in her infinite wisdom, makes the assumption that this marriage is entirely political (despite...the fact... that they were raised together??? they were literally best friends their entire lives??? are y’all seeing how this could be confusing for him???) and that there are absolutely no feelings involved on Sovieshu’s side. Expect there’s that little problem. That little problem. Of Navier’s absolute inability to be vulnerable. And so she starts this marriage all Elsa-Conceal-Don’t-Feel convinced that her husband (whom she is secretly in love with, shocker) holds no warmth for her because she’s never received any from him. 

Now I’ll acknowledge that this is a two way street, where Sovieshu fails as well. Should Navier have made a mature decision and asked for love and support when she needed it? Yes. Should Sovieshu have offered anyway, despite not knowing that she wanted it at all? Yes. They’re both in the wrong here. They’re both too passive, too afraid.

So the first few years of their marriage pass by like this. And Navier kinda melts into more of a depressed state over it, while Sovieshu becomes frustrated. But he doesn’t know why. He hasn’t quite put his finger on the fact that HE’S IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE, GEE WHAT A SURPRISE BUDDY. And then... the little ingenue comes in. Trashta, with her crocodile tears, oversharing of emotions, co-dependent as all get-out. You see where I’m headed, right? It’s not just that she’s the opposite of Navier that gets Sovieshu hooked. It’s that she gives him that opportunity to unburden all this pent up romantic frustration. He can comfort, and protect, and wipe away the tears of a woman who loves him... And for a while, it’s intoxicating. That itch is finally being scratched.

Or so it seems. Because sooner or later, Sovieshu realizes that this woman is not his wife. And she’s a bit clingy, and clueless, and she’s... well, she’s not his wife. She’s not his wife. 

“Oh, dear God...” the idiot finally realizes. “I don’t want this hussy. I want my wife!” 

Ding ding ding! You did it! And it only took you--what? 20 years? After all this time, Sovieshu (and the audience playing his route) realizes. He’s not cheating because he’s bored, or because he hates his wife, or because he’s Inherently An Asshole And That’s What Assholes Do. He’s cheating because he’s using this woman as a stand-in for his wife. He’s been looking straight through this woman and seeking his wife the entire time. He’s cheating because he’s stupid and repressed and misguided and human. And again, that doesn’t excuse it. He still cheated, and that’s something he needs to spend a life-time making up for. It’s a mistake, and a big one. But it’s not fueled by a malicious hatred or a desire to hurt her. It’s fueled by confusion and fear. And, strangely enough, a desire to perform love for his wife.

So anyway, this stupid dweeb finally wakes up and realizes that no matter how much he plays around with the Town Skank, it doesn’t slate that thirst for the woman he’s spent his life growing to love. And that he actually, truly loves her to begin with. Now at this point, Navier was away travelling, doing queenly stuff. And he gets a message from a servant-- his wife is home. This boy books it. This man throws down what he’s doing, sprints across the imperial palace, to stumble at the feet of his wife; red-faced and breathless, absolutely undone. This man is screaming for his wife on the inside and now nothing he can do will quiet it. And his wife, ever the perfect pinnacle of a monarch, just raises a perfectly manicured eyebrow at him and wonders what’s got him in such a tizzy.

This is where the difference between the narratives hits especially hard. Navier has absolutely no clue that her husband is a hair-thin thread of self-control away from all of this just completely spilling out of him. She looks at him and sees a tormentor; someone who’s treating her like a used doll. And he sees this Goddess that’s been hiding in plain sigh the whole time. He sees his sins and repents before this, his wife, his almighty Goddess. But he doesn’t know what to do. She’s still been hurt by him, Trashta is still in their lives, and damn it all, he’s still frustrated. He still feels bitter and abandoned because even after everything, even after the years of marriage, his wife just seems so unaffected by him. This is where Navier’s “perfect queen” image that she tries so hard to curate really bites her in the ass.

These two dumbasses are hopelessly in love with each other but they’re deadlocked in an endless cycle of letting their prides get in the way. Navier doesn’t want to be vulnerable. Sovieshu doesn’t want to compromise, doesn’t know how to not lash out in anger when he’s really feeling sad. Unlike Navier, he can express emotions-- but not in a heathy way. So he says something mean, does something kinda shitty. And Navier thinks it’s because he delights in her suffering. So Sovieshu’s over here in his head like a cranky little child that’s mad at mommy because she’s on the phone, and Navier is over there in her head wondering why on earth her husband can’t notice a love that she’s never actually expressed to him. And it’s just terrible. But kind of hilarious. Mostly sad and terrible. But defintely hilarious.

To further illustrate this: even a lot of Sovieshu’s actions, for that matter, get warped by Navier’s unreliable narration. WARNING: SPOILERS AHEAD. THIS IS YOUR LAST CHANCE! In the chapter where Trashta is stabbed, Sovieshu immediately screams for guards to surround Navier. So I’ll sum up their thought processes here.

Navier: Oh my God, I can’t believe this asshole. Calling the guards? He really fuckin thinks I did this?! Jerk! Asshole! He really thinks I’d arrange for a pregnant woman to be stabbed!! He’s probably deliberately framing me too, so he can get me out of the way and live happily ever after with her!

Sovieshu: OH MY GOD, MY BEAUTIFUL WIFE COULD GET STABBED NEXT SOMEONE HELP well actually maybe she had something to do with it? nah. prolly not. but even if she did idgaf I LOVE MY WIFE, I’LL COVER FOR YOU BABY I’LL FORGIVE WHATEVER. GUARDS, FIND WHO DID THE STABBING SO THEY DON’T STAB MY PERFECT WIFE NEXT

Like I wish I was joking, but that’s how it read. Anyway, I’m not done with the comic or the game yet. But Sovieshu’s motivations aren’t all as they seem. And while he’s not a perfect husband, he has the capacity to mature, let down his pride, and make steps toward atoning to his wife. I honestly and genuinely believe this marriage could be salvageable if they could come clean with each other. A lot of people want to root for Kaufman or Heinley, and I get it. Those two would probably treat her well. But the fact stands that these two are married, and surprisingly, they both actually still hold a spark of love for one another. If Sovieshu could genuinely repent, and demonstrate this to Navier, they would attain the happy marriage with each other that they both strive for. Anyway, I find myself surprisingly hooked on the story now that I see Sovieshu’s POV. He’s not a hero in this story by any means, but I’m somehow, against my better judgement, rooting for him. I’m rooting for him to make the right choices and repair his marriage. 

It’s a bold strategy, folks. Let’s see how it pays off.

[herstarburststories]

He didn’t make it to 42

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader

Summary: it’s Dean’s birthday, you go to visit him with some news and things that need to be said.

A/N: Happy bday, De.

Warnings: so much angst, mentions of sex, hopeful/happy ending (?)

Dean’s dead. It’s Dean’s birthday and he’s dead. You can’t argue much.

Sam denied the demon blood inside him, and that didn’t stop its evil nature from growing and gasping for his fresh air to the point he was almost shocked alive. Dean denied his dad’s destructive methods’ results for the longest time, and that didn’t stop the cicatrixes in every emotion he had ever shown. You denied the absence of Dean and that didn’t stop the bricks cracking in your soul. There’s only so far you can go with your eyes closed.

So here you are. Standing in front of an empty grave. You are bigger than the dull tombstone, yet you can’t help but not to feel tall, at all. How can you even start to talk? Talking to Dean used to be easy even when it got hard and now you’re feeling like a lost kid in a supermarket. Your snide thinking spells out his name with venom, saying it isn’t easy for you to open your barmy mouth and spill out contrarian shit because this isn’t Dean, just another meaningless symbolism that Sam promises that will help. The real Dean died almost a year ago, he was burned in a hunter’s funeral, the flames dancing over his body as the smell of burnt meat invaded your nostrils. Whenever you try to remember his fragrance, that manly aroma which you loved to scent each morning, all your brain can come up with is the odor of his skin and guts burning. The smell lingers like bad perfume, it doesn’t matter how many times you wash yourself with his soap-- that only broke your heart worse.

But today is Dean’s birthday. He deserves a visit, even if it’s not him. Then you go and attempt to deal with the desolation, push it away just a little, and pick up something from the enormous pile of things you wish to tell Dean. You glance at the cold tombstone: Dean Winchester. 1979 - 2020. Beloved son, big brother, and husband. Hunter. A hero. Simple definitions that can never make it up for who he was and what he meant. You purse your lips and cough a little, a gentle wind touches your cheek so tenderly. If you were still a believer, you’d think this is some sort of sign, Dean’s presence or some other pious hoax. All you do now is to remain in quietude, a deep breath. Ultimately, your voice comes:

‘’You didn’t make it to forty two, huh?’’ You scoff humorless, reminiscing to the multiple days that Dean said he wouldn’t go past 35. He did live each year like it was the last--- you aren’t sure if it's such a good thing. If you carry on like your days are outnumbered, you are silently entertaining yourself until death's knock on your door. ‘’I always hated when you were right. Let’s be honest, you had the words of a pessimist and the wants of an optimist. Still, if you were to be right about something, it would be about a bad situation. A nest with too many vampires, how crappy the motel’s bedroom would be, or how that third glass of wine would make me tipsy. So yeah, I always hated when you were right. And look at you now! You aren’t right, you aren’t wrong. You are dead! And I’m the crazy girl screaming at an empty tombstone.’’

You let out a laugh empty of joy. That’s how a hunter’s life is: you die and people stop talking about you because it’s too sad or too long gone to hold any pity, meanwhile the ones who recall about you go loud with all the spirits in their heads. You put your hand in the pockets of the heavy leather jacket that once belonged to a green eyed man who would be turning 42 today, some strange force causing you to speak again.

‘’Wow.’’ You shake your head to the blue way you paint the scene until you notice that you never greeted him. ‘’Hey.’’ The simple word adds a comical insult to injury. ‘’Guess the dead don’t care about manners, huh?’’ You arch your eyebrows with a grin that demonstrates anything but happiness. ‘’Miracle died. Sam digged a hole next to the bunker and buried him there. He isn’t the same since you died, you know? Not the deceased dog-- Well, he wasn’t the same either. Always whining and scratching your door like a fucking cat, and sniffing your old boots. He made me company in your bed and I whined as much as he did when you didn’t come back home that day. He stood by the door most days, waiting for you to appear. I can’t judge him, I did the same.’’ You shrug, not caring about how risible that confession may look. It's true. You became as irrational as a loyal dog at some point in this sorrow. ‘’And Sam, your baby brother… I think he died with you right there, Dean. He didn’t try to bring you back as he promised, but I shouted and screamed so much. I said I would burn the bunker and throw Baby over a cliff if he didn’t-- if he didn’t let me try. I lived up to the mad woman title.’’

You are crestfallen, pacing on top of where the eldest Winchester - Sam’s brand new nomination -  supposedly was buried. You know your boots barely touch an infected land, there's no deceased man under your steps. The dead thing is in you.

‘’I spent days dragging your body everywhere and nowhere, anywhere I could catch a crumb of relief in hope to bring you back. But I couldn’t. Jack could, but that ungrateful idiot doesn’t wanna follow his grandpa steps and get too attached to mere humans, the creation or whatever. As if we are just some skin and bone to him, as if you are just another human.’’

You sit down on the tombstone, some tender solace in being close to a thing that's supposed to represent him, like sleeping hugged to a pillow or waking up to a photograph of his. Your nails sink against the gelid concrete at the thought of screaming into the sky for the new God that seemed as deaf as the last one. His calm answer to your burning pain. How he dared to tell you he knew what he was doing— as if he was the original lord and not a three years old. You can't make him do it, so you hold on the fury of some overthrown nation.

‘’Anyway, I couldn’t bring you back. Your body, well, you know how human anatomy works. Your body started to smell like death. We tried to stop with human and magic ways, and it wouldn’t work because you were dead. You should’ve seen the doctor’s face when we got you in that fancy hospital tha night. I think we traumatized the doctor with so much violence and trauma. She didn’t even give us a false hope or anything, you know? She just asked about organ donation of what was left. She just wanted to take every little thing out of you, as if you were just another accident on a Tuesday night.’’ Your shake your head as the memories and your points start to mix, it's hard to discern things and keep a straight line when you have an open wound in your insides. ‘’Well, they couldn’t bring you back to life, and neither could Rowena or whatever I looked for. Don’t be mad because I tried, Winchester. You know I’m too stubborn for my own good. I had to try.’’ you refuse to apologize, yet adds the playful words in his eulogy. ‘’But then your body started to stink and God, how could I continue to be so violent to your corpse? That was when I decided to listen to you for the first time and to Sam, so I let you go. I hate you for asking that.’’ What an ambiguous, contradictory truth to bare. You are glimpses of a person for months because of Dean Winchester, still have the energy to argue his selfless logic, just to love him even more. He's got your devotion, but man you can hate him sometimes. ‘’I hate you for going on that stupid hunt. I hate you for being dead, you giant idiot that I love so much.’’ You can't bring your mouth to say loved. "I was always telling you to let the past go and now I’m in love with a dead thing. What a comic way to end our history. I told you that Miracle died, right? I don’t know if dogs go to heaven, but I hope he’s in there with you. I wonder what your heaven is like. I bet it has Whiskey.''

Your dry chuckle makes your notice the tears in your eyes, glistening your orbs as they go like a waterfall to be absorbed by the thirsty land after leaving your cheeks.

"Sam and I-- We tried to make some sense out of this cruelty, but we can’t. You are dead and I can’t seem to put it past me. I still sleep in your bed, and I can still taste your body burning on the roof of my mouth in the quiet nights. I cried this morning because someone asked for a burger, can you believe that? It was so stupid since I used to shake my head and argue with you about cholesterol. Suddenly I was crying at lunch in a restaurant because some stupid kid asked for a burger with extra bacon. They sang Happy birthday to this dumbass child, and I interrupted with my awful crying, and wished that you were celebrating your birthday and not that kid. I guess you could say I wish death upon an innocent child with a problematic eating routine.’’ That was a whole new level of low, as if you are the one wrapped with the sentiment of laying six feet under.

‘’Everyone tells you about how grief is singular and particular with similar emotions that bring people who went through this together. They even have that crap stages thing and all that. You know what they don’t tell you?’’ Your mouth shuts for a moment, like you are waiting some response. You nod as if whatever you were expecting is handed to you. ‘’Grief can be fucking ridiculous. Who cries because of a burger full of oil and cardiac diseases? Who cries because they found a grocery store recipe under her dead boyfriend’s bed? Who falls on the ground screaming in the middle of the mall because they saw a flannel? Who? Those things are so stupid.’’ You smile like there's no tomorrow and the laugh leaving your lips is a treacherous tone. Perhaps you just aren't build up to express joy anymore. ‘’You see it in the movies and in the books and you think, you know, you think to yourself that grieving is being sad on special dates and randomly remembering the loved ones because of some screaming memory, like a flannel or their perfume. Thing is, it’s not just that. All your body seems so small, so tight for all the ache and agony inside it. Your senses go wild, you are not just one person in one place. You’re just the pain everywhere, like being pulled apart and you beg to jump in the fucking grave with them. At least you would be together, at least you would feel like one person and not suffering edges of a broken earthy thing. And--And you start remembering things you didn’t even know you had mesmerized. I look at the ceiling and remember you saying you’d paint it someday. I look at the kitchen and remember me screaming at you for giving Miracle the rest of the food. I smell Sam’s clothes and started crying because hey, they don’t smell like alcohol. You don’t iron them while drinking anymore, so of course they don’t smell like cheap beer.’’ You are chuckling through the tears and it only makes it more monstrous. ‘’Everything is you now that you are gone. Every man has something similar to you, every garden is green as your eyes, and each step sounds like you are coming home. They didn’t prepare me, not for this.’’ You said breathless. A soft single follows. The knife cuts both ways; the empty breeze and the words hurt. Where's the middle term? Where's the limbo? Where's the only safe place for you to rest your weary head?

Out of nowhere, you blurt out, ‘’I can’t masturbate,’’ I know it’s something stupid and even selfish to say, but I think you’d like to know. I can’t masturbate. That’s a part of the whole losing someone process that people are too ashamed to discuss, or maybe they don’t have the urge to be touched anymore because after someone you love dies, after someone-- the hands who touched are dead and cold, you become a haunted object. That’s how I feel most days, like I’m a haunted house because you touched me and now you’re dead and some days I believe I am too.’’ You look around the places. It's beautiful. It's lonely. It has trees and flowers and green. Not as green as Dean's eyes, but it doesn't matter anymore. He doesn't even have eyes at this point. ‘’Well, I can’t masturbate. I can’t touch myself. And I can’t ask someone else either. I tried and ended up punching the guy, Dean. I swear. I panicked when he was between my legs and just punched his nose. You’d have liked it, you were always the jealous kind. I won’t admit that, but I thought it was kinda hot. Especially when you got possessive in sex.’’ A dirty grin appeared on your lips, the echoes of luxury lasting in your eyes for a brief moment. ‘’I don’t think I can be cared for anymore, honestly. Sam tried to hug me when Miracle died and I… It was like I wasn't there. I got frozen in time, and I live in my sleep. In my nightmares you are alive. I  dream about the day you died every week and I used to wake up screaming, but now those nightmares are the only proof you were alive now that you’re as dead as the police report says this time. It was the most painful, calamitous moment for you and I swear it was a nightmare for me, but then I realized that at least I had you there, egoistical or not, I made my nightmare into a dream.’’ You aren't sure which opinion Dean would have on that. Would he understand? Would he shake his head? You wish you can ask him just this one more thing, just beg him to write it down for you on how to be without him here.

You raise on your feet, glaring at the name craved in the concrete. The tears go by still, although they're as usual as the blood in glir veins at this point. ‘’Death is so silly. What it takes, anyway?" Each word conquers more inches of pure wrath. ''People die because they stumbled on their own feet and hit their head somewhere, or they drove their car too close and too fast to the cliff, or because they were giving birth, or because they dated the wrong person, or because they were hunting a fucking vampire and got impaled. What are the chances? How stupid, and idiotic is death? Always creeping and waiting to bite and chew a piece of you-- Taking every scrap of you from me like that’s its right.’’ You are screaming, starting to kick and punch the tombstone with any piece of straight you have. Your limbs hurt and the blood is visible, but you keep going. ‘’YOUR STUPID DOG DIED, DEAN! AND YOU DIED! AND I DIED! SAMMY DIED! YEAH, IS SAID SAMMY! GO AHEAD, TELL ME ONLY YOU CAN CALL HIM THAT.’’ Another punch, your knuckles are ripped. Another kick, your boot as a hole. ‘’DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT.’’ Kick. ‘’SAMMY, SAMMY, SAMMY!’’ A punch to each name. Anything to get a reaction, to get comfort. Anything. ‘’YOU CAN’T BECAUSE YOU ARE DEAD.’’ Gasping for something you don't need anymore, sweet oxygen, your eyes are on the tombstone again. And the definitions. And the trees. Your body is sore and aching. It is the kind and coercion no person wants which you needed; the freedom of feeling outside the exact pain that was inside. ‘’You can’t because you are dead. I’ve been playing some sick games in my mind, you know? Sam stopped hunting and had his closure. He was always better at letting go than you and I, but he’s still hurting. I never saw him hurting so much. I think he knows you won’t come back this time, how could you make us promise something like that?  Well, my twisted game is a bunch of misleading what ifs. What if you hadn’t gone after John? What if you hadn’t gone on that last hunt? What if you had stayed with Lisa? At first I didn’t like her much. Jealous, I admit that. But she grew on me. She gave you something I couldn’t back then and I’ll always be thankful for that. And even though it would rip me apart, I’d rather you to die at sixth after living your suburban dream with her. Have another kid besides Ben, maybe a girl this time, and just have that apple pie life. You and Sam would live close and your kids would always play. They’d be as close as brothers. Maybe I’d get a guy and bring my own kids and we could’ve a barbecue and everyone would be happy. But we don’t get soft epilogues here. It ends how it starts, right? Bloody and desperate. I thought maybe, maybe Lisa could understand what’s going through my head now. I drove to her new address and parked close to her house. I must have spent hours there, thinking if I should come in or not, If she somehow remembered after Castiel died or if I could make her brain work again if I told her the truth. But then I just drove back home and fell asleep wrapped in that stupid lumberjack flannel of yours. The one I always mocked, yeah? She may understand me, but I know you wouldn’t want that. You want her, you want me and Sam to be happy. I don’t know if I can do that, Dean. It’s like myt brittle soul shrewd and my body is just waiting to collapse.’’ You signed, overwhelmed by the battle without an anthem. The victory with no triumph. Is it still a win when you don't have someone to come home too? ‘’Your dog died, it’s the first birthday you didn’t live to see, and I bought all the things you told Mrs Butters you wanted for your birthday because it’s your birthday. I just don’t know how to celebrate it with you dead. People stop counting after they die, right? They just say he’d have been 42 or he died at 41. They give melancholy smiles when they wake up and check the day on their phones and a woe atmosphere swallows them for the rest of the day. Then they get better the next day. I think everyday is your birthday.’’ You attempt to wipe away your tears, which only causes your pulsating hand to stain your face red. ‘’Dean, for the first time, what died stayed dead! Congrats.’’ Once again, a hysterical laugh. ‘’I wish but no. What died didn’t stay dead, you are alive, so alive in my head. I swear you are there some days. I wake and watch the door, so sure you’ll come back. Sam says I’m living in delusion and I have to wake up and keep going since that's what you would want. That's enough to make him keep going, but it only makes me angry. Everyone we know and some strangers looks at me like I'm a house on fire and no longer a warm home, like I'm a car accident. They think I don't notice but I do.’’ You look at your boots, the whole is rolling out blood like your hands. You feel closer to Dean. How sick.

‘’Help, I’m still right where you left me." You plea, his love lingering like a bruise. ''I think gravity is overwhelming and it keeps me here. Sometimes it’s like I’m one of those dusted books Sam used to read. Or those Bukowski ones that you hid, so we wouldn’t see how smart you’re. You tried so hard to hide your intelligence because you didn’t think you were entitled to it. You saw yourself as the protector and never the valuable one for protection. You, the man who made an EMF out of an old radio, who rebuilt the Impala from the ground multiple times, and who knew patterns better than any detective. The man who showed me I could rely on someone other than myself. The dude with a lopsided grin, tough hands and a heart of gold. I miss you so much. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were singing all those classic rock songs and Taylor Swift pop hits, while I drove here. I would think you were home, smelling like guts because you wanted to eat before taking a shower after a hunt. I would think that you are in the Deancave, waiting for me to curl up on your lap to watch Scooby Doo or Doctor Sexy MD until we aren’t watching anymore. If I didn’t know better I would think no death could take you from me. There would be no tear us apart in our vows.’’ The only thing that keeps your organism working is that Dean died knowing how much you loved him. You never let this talk for later or never. No tomorrow is promised. That's a nice comfort, maybe that's what will help you to let go in the future. ‘’But yesterday your stupid, skink dog died and I lost the last living thing that I had from you. You know what’s more angerting? I cried and Sam cried and I noticed we were the living things you left behind and all we have is each other. All your closets of backlogged dreams were left for us-- so yeah. Sam is done hunting and he’s met a lovely girl, and they are moving in like in your domestic dreams. I’m taking care of the family business like your other contradictory dream and making sure Sam is safe enough to be normal. Because I have to, we have too. Stupidly enough, I still wait for the day you’ll burst out the door and tell us to hit the road again. I still watch every episode of your dumb tv shows to make sure I’ll know everything that happened when you ask. I still drive around in your car and close my eyes when the street is calm, only picturing you driving as Baby’s engineers go wild but those are my hands on the steering wheel. If I didn't know better, I’d think you are still around. But I know better. I still feel you all around. I love you.’’

Your monologuing ends as astutely as it stated. You get up, press a kiss to your ruined for the next weeks hands and place it on the rock with writings. You turn around and walk back to the car that you parked near, only in case of Dean wanting to see Baby. How knows? You and your clandestine faith. You lick your lip and get in the car.

You swear you the AC/DC cassette wasn't there before, but when you turn on the car and the radio it starts playing. It's the first true smile that comes to your mouth, it's bloodstained and you look like a shameless woman. With that you can deal.

It hurts a bearable hurt for now. You didn't think it was possible. Maybe someday.

The end.

(she takes a little longer to arive in heaven than sammy. his baby brother says that women are most likely to live around six years more than men. it doesn't ease him up, though. dean waited sam for too long, his platonic soulmate. and now he has to wait his romantic one too? the eldest Winchester considers it the best earthly present when the he sense you around, that smell of orange and apples. it's you, he knows before even turning around. he can't wait to love you again. your name rolls off your tongue so naturally, as if you had seen each other just yesterday: ‘’hey, y/n.’’)

But then again, nothing ever really ends, does it?

REBLOG AND COMMENT. Feedback is magic and helps me!

Starburst's footnote: It just didn't feel right to make an author's note on the top. I wanted it all only to be an arrow to the story. So, this is my side note: it's six am and I'm up writing this after inspiration kissed me with a bruise in the middle of the night. Or more like grabbed my throat. Anyway, I had to write and finish this one to post today, even pushing sleep aside. Hey, we are writers, that's what we do! I've been watching the show since I was eleven and I cried like a baby with the finale. This series was just so important and crucial to molde aspects of relationships for me. The song marjorie by Taylor Swift was used here, and so was the line "you got my devotion/ but man, I can hate you sometimes" by Harry Styles. I told you guys I would use it somewhere! A special thanks to @msmarvelouswinchester​ who helped me with her encouraging and opinon. You are the best! And with all of this I wanna say: Happy bday, Dean Winchester!

REBLOG AND COMMENT! Feedback is magic! Especially about this fic, I’d like to know your opinion. Tags in the reblog! Send an ask or dm to get in the taglist.

[whenisitenoughtrees]

infinity, and beyond

He remembers the first time he kissed Janus. He remembers the way they were curled up against each other, the lights dimmed and the television on low volume, neither of them paying attention to the images on the screen. It was messy and terrible, as far as kisses go, and Patton loved every moment of it, and when they pulled away from each other, they were both breathless, smiling, and he knew then that what he felt, Janus felt too.

He remembers, too, the moment he heard about Virgil.

It's not every day that your husband's long-lost kid breaks into your house. It's not every day that you find out your husband of four years is an alien.

Patton's just trying to roll with the punches.

Content Warnings: threats of violence, mild body horror, brief, non-graphic panic attack

Word Count: 7,168

Pairings: Moceit, parental Anxceit

(masterpost w/ ao3 links)

Patton’s day begins with a teenager holding a knife to his throat.

Technically, the day has already begun; it is mid-morning, the sun inching steadily toward noon. But Patton has barely been awake an hour, has been sitting at the kitchen table with his mug of coffee, staring at all the final exams he has yet to grade as he waits for his brain to start functioning. He likes Saturday mornings; he would go so far as to say that they’re usually his favorite part of the week, because usually, Saturday mornings mean sleeping in, wrapped in his husband’s arms, and later, a big brunch and a lazy day. But today, an emergency called Janus into the office, and he has a backlog of grading to finish this weekend, so here he is. Squinting, bleary-eyed, and with a sad lack of a husband to keep him company.

That is when the teenager appears.

Appears, because there is no better word for what happens. There is no break-in, no slamming of doors or shattering of windows. One minute, he is alone, and the next, there is another person in the kitchen, a young person who can’t be any older than seventeen or eighteen, and Patton barely has time to process that before they lunge for him, knocking him from his chair and to the floor, pinning him against the cool tile.

It takes a second to process the bite of cold, sharp metal against his throat, but as soon as he does, Patton wakes up very, very quickly.

“Please—” he tries, but the teenager hisses at him, actually hisses, and through the panic that is filling his mind and drowning out all logical thought, Patton realizes that something about this isn’t right. Something beyond the fact that there is a knife against his throat and oh god oh god oh god there is a knife against his throat—

The teenager opens their mouth, their face set in a harsh, threatening glare— and it’s their face, there’s something wrong about their face but he can’t quite— but the sounds that come out are gibberish, something guttural and rasping and nothing like any language that Patton has ever heard.

“Please,” he gasps, his voice thin and high and terrified, “please, I don’t know what you’re saying, I can’t—”

He breaks off, because he thinks that if he tries to say any more, it will come out as nonsensical crying, and somehow, he doesn’t particularly think that this person will be swayed by something like that.

The teenager’s lips twist into an impressive scowl, and with the hand not holding the knife, they reach for the pocket of their— hoodie? If it’s a hoodie, it doesn’t quite look like one. It’s something about the fabric, something about the way it moves as they do, but Patton can’t spend energy on figuring that out right now. He tenses as they root around in their pocket, clearly searching for something, and muttering to themself in that same garbled speech pattern. They come up holding something, and Patton can only catch a glimpse of it— what looks like a small, silver disk— before their hand is moving, clapping it against and then inside his ear and—

There is a moment of sharp, almost blinding pain, starting with his ear and shooting through his skull, and then nothing, and he struggles to regain his breath.

“I said,” the teenager growls, “where is he?”

Patton blinks. The sounds they are making are still the same, are still strange and incomprehensible, only, they’re not exactly, because they resolve into recognizable words inside his brain, and if he hadn’t been panicked before, this would definitely be enough to do the job, because what exactly did this person just shove inside his ear?

“What—” he starts, and then the words themselves catch up to him. “Where is who?”

The teenager growls— and it is truly a growl, like an animal would make— and presses the knife in closer. Patton valiantly resists the urge to whimper.

“Don’t fucking play with me,” they snap, and somewhere, back in some hysterical portion of Patton’s mind, he is tempted to chide them for their language. “His DNA signature is all over this fucking house, so where is he? What’ve you done with him?”

Patton can only stare.

Part of his mind has devoted itself to putting the pieces together, no matter the impossible picture they form. Part of his mind is taking in the pale skin that isn’t white at all, but rather a light purple, the way their facial features are just a bit too sharp, a bit too angular to be those of a typical young adult, the way that the spots under and around their eyes aren’t makeup, but instead move, twitching to and fro in unison with their gaze, and that alone is almost enough to send him spiraling, to draw him toward a conclusion that can’t possibly be true, that he can’t possibly comprehend.

The rest of his mind devotes itself to being astonished.

“Are you talking about Janus?” he asks, and he can’t keep the incredulity from his voice.

He doesn’t know which seems more unlikely to him, that this strange, violent, maybe-probably not human person has broken into his house and is threatening him with a sharp knife, or that this strange, violent, maybe-probably not human person is looking for his husband. His husband, who makes him breakfast in bed in the mornings and tea in the afternoons, when he has too many essays to look over and a headache pounding behind his eyes. His husband, who bristles and snarks at everyone around him, who works a corporate job he dislikes and comes home exhausted and irritated at the end of the day and still smiles, that soft, sweet smile that is meant only for him, that nobody else is privileged enough to see. His husband, who he has been married to for four years now, the best four years of his life, who he fell in love with in coffee shops and movie theaters and in the rain, that one day when they were caught out in the park without their umbrellas and had to run all the way home, soaking wet but giggling, grinning and knocking into each other.

His husband, who refuses to talk about his past beyond a sentence or two, here and there, brief anecdotes that never reveal much at all. But Patton has never needed to know his past to know him, and even now, when it seems that his secrets have burst into their shared life in the most violent way possible, disrupting all sense of equilibrium and turning the world on its head, he refuses to believe that there is any secret so great as to force a divide between them.

The teenager— if that is what they are, if the appearance of youth is an accurate indication at all— bares their teeth, teeth that are too sharp, too pointed, teeth that scream predator. “Who else?” they demand. “I won’t fucking ask again. Where is he?”

“He’s not— He’s not here,” he manages. “He’s at work, I don’t know when he’ll be back.”

Please, let that satisfy them. Please, let them leave. Please, let Janus come home. Please, let Janus not come home, let him stay at the office, far away and safe. Please, let him come home and tell me what’s going on, why this is happening, who this is and how they know each other. Please, please, please.

He doesn’t know what he wants. Doesn’t know that he wants to know what he wants.

“Yeah, right,” they say, and he would be insulted by their skepticism if he had room for any emotion other than fear. “That’s likely. You could have him cut up in the basement for all I know.”

He gapes, stunned by the accusation. And for a moment, his indignation is enough to override all common sense, ignore all the impossibilities of the person holding him to the floor, ignore the knife pressing up against his skin. Because, well, first of all, he has no idea where that idea came from, but the very thought that he would do something like that at all, much less to—

“Cut—” he starts, and has to try again, because he can’t wrap his head around the notion, around the idea that that could potentially be something he would want to do, that that is the first thing this person thinks to accuse him of. “Cut up? Janus is my husband.”

Their eyes widen. “Your what?”

“My husband,” he repeats, the reaction emboldening him. “We’ve been married for four years.”

They blink at him, and it’s a motion that takes up their entire face rather than just their eyes, because those moving dots… those are eyes, too. Patton can’t deny it, can’t deny that this person, whatever they are, has eight eyes. Eight eyes, just like a spider, and his outrage fizzles out in the face of that realization, fades back into terror, into a racing pulse and breaths that come too short and quick, and he is confused now too, confused at what this person wants, because their words almost seem to suggest that they don’t want to see Janus harmed at all, that they think he is the threat. That they think he is a threat to Janus.

But Patton isn’t the one with the knife.

“Please,” he says. “Please, just, you can look around the house, there’s pictures of us. We’re together, we’re happy, and I don’t know what you want, but just please, please don’t hurt him.”

“Don’t hurt him?” they repeat, and somehow, whatever strange translation system is at work in his head manages to convey their disbelieving tone. “What the hell are you talking about?”

They seem surprised that Patton is making the insinuation at all, and Patton can’t help the incredulous noise that escapes him.

“You’re holding a knife to my throat!” he all but shrieks, the words ripping out of him at a much higher volume than he intends. “What am I supposed to think you want?”

They make a strangled sound, one that his mind doesn’t resolve into words.

“You—”

And then, they stop, tilting their head. A moment later, Patton hears it too, and dread forms a heavy weight in the pit of his stomach. There is a clattering sound, a key turning in the lock, and the unmistakable creak as the front door opens. The teenager stands, suddenly, a fluid motion, but Patton is frozen in place, barely noticing the removal of the knife and the pressure holding him down, too busy trying to think of a way out of this, or to protect Janus, if worst comes to worst. He’s trembling so hard that he’s not sure how quickly he’ll be able to get up, but once he does, he’s in the kitchen. There are weapons here. All he has to do is grab one, no matter how ill it makes him feel to use his cooking instruments in such a way.

He won’t let this person hurt Janus. Not if he has any say.

“I’m home, love!” Janus’ voice drifts through the house, smooth and unconcerned. There is a familiar thump; that will be his briefcase hitting the floor, and then a rustle of clothing as he sheds his suit jacket. His footsteps draw nearer, and even as the person’s face shifts into an expression Patton has no hope of interpreting, he readies himself to leap to his feet, to fight if need be.

“I just love when idiots call me in for an issue that it would take someone with half a brain twenty minutes to solve,” Janus says, sounding terribly exasperated, and normally, this is when Patton would go to him and give him a hug, would lean his chin on his shoulder and hold him close, or at the very least call out to respond to him. But he stays still and quiet, and the footsteps pause.

“Patton?” He sounds uncertain now, but he’s coming closer again, and Patton finds himself staring fixedly at the entryway to the kitchen, raising his head from the floor to see. Oddly enough, the teenager stands stock still, making no motion to turn to where Janus will appear in mere seconds.

And then, there he is, and Patton cannot help the instantaneous flood of relief at seeing him, at seeing Janus, his husband, poised and confident and unharmed and here. He stands on the threshold, adjusting the gloves on his hands, and Patton watches as his face transitions from calm to confusion to something between anger and fear as he takes in the scene, the toppled chair and rumpled papers, the figure standing in the midst of it all, knife clutched in one hand. And then, he locks gazes with Patton himself, and his eyes blow wide with worry even as the rest of his face schools itself.

“And just who the fuck are you?” he demands of the person. To anyone else, he would sound completely collected, but Patton knows him too well to miss the tremor in his voice.

The person doesn’t move.

“I’d appreciate an answer,” Janus continues. “I’d also appreciate it if you’d step away from my husband.” Janus gives him a tight smile, one that is probably meant to be reassuring, and he returns it as best he can.

And then, slowly, the person pivots on their heel, putting their back to Patton. He can no longer see their facial expression, blank and unhelpful though it was, but he can see Janus’ perfectly well, and as such, he can see the way he holds onto his cool anger for all of five seconds, before it shifts into undiluted shock. His face pales, his lips parting slightly, and he actually takes one stumbling, hesitant step forward, and Patton’s heart begins beating triple time because he has no idea what could make him react like this.

And then, the person speaks.

“Janus,” they say, and the noises that spill from their mouth remain strange and unfamiliar, but somehow, Patton hears the wetness in the name, the fragility, the desperate hope. The knife goes clattering to the floor.

Janus makes a sound, wounded, astonished, and Patton has never heard anything like that come from his husband’s throat, and it scares him.

“Virgil?” he rasps, and evidently, that is all this person needs, because they launch themself forward, and Patton’s instincts scream at him to try to stop them, to leap at them or grab at their hoodie or do something. But Janus’ arms open wide to receive them, and then the two of them are hugging, holding each other tightly, and from here, Patton can see the way Janus’ hands fist in the odd material of the teenager’s clothing, the way he buries his face in their shoulder, and Patton has never been more lost.

Virgil. He recognizes the name, he thinks, and it only takes a moment to summon the memory from the depths of his mind, blurred with age and the faint buzz of alcohol and the heat of the summer night. But Virgil rings out in his mind as clear as a bell, somehow bringing more questions and few answers, because none of this makes any sense at all, because one night, two and a half years ago, Janus told him that he had a son, and that he loved him, and that he lost him, and that his name was Virgil, and then he refused to say any more, and Patton let it go in favor of holding him because the look of devastation on Janus’ face was like none he had ever seen before.

So, this cannot be Virgil. But surely, Janus would know the face of his own son, would never embrace a stranger, and would never embrace… whatever this person is, because Janus is sharp and Janus is observant, and he has most certainly picked up on all their unusual features, on all the ways that they cannot possibly be human. So that means that this must be Virgil after all, and Patton can only watch as they cling to each other, like they’re both afraid the other will disappear if they let go.

And Patton doesn’t know what this means.

-----------

He remembers the first time he kissed Janus. He remembers the way they were curled up against each other, the lights dimmed and the television on low volume, neither of them paying attention to the images on the screen. They stared at each other for a long time before he leaned in, before he dared to take the initiative, and he has never felt happier than in the moment when Janus met him halfway, pressing his lips firmly against his, their noses knocking into each other, their teeth almost clacking together as they sought more, more contact, more closeness. It was messy and terrible, as far as kisses go, and Patton loved every moment of it, and when they pulled away from each other, they were both breathless, smiling, and he knew then that what he felt, Janus felt too.

He remembers, too, the moment he heard about Virgil. He remembers, because he knows only fragments of Janus’ past, a past that he is certain is dark and full of sorrow, and that is why he has never pushed for more than what Janus is willing to give, content to gather up the bits and pieces he is offered and guard them close.

Most of the surrounding conversation is hazy, blurred by one too many glasses of fine wine and a summer heat wave that permeated every inch of the apartment they rented at the time, no matter the efforts of the air conditioner to banish it. But he remembers the way Janus quieted, all of a sudden, face still and contemplative and sad in a way that made his heart clench.

“Have I ever told you,” he said, “that I have a son?”

And he could only stare and shake his head; the answer, of course, was no, the revelation so unexpected that he had no idea how to react.

Janus smiled, small and bitter, like a gash in his face, bleeding him dry. “I do,” he said. “He’s beyond my reach, now. I won’t be able to see him again.”

He remembers he made a noise, tiny and shocked, and that he stretched a hand out, placed it on his, and Janus accepted the touch readily enough.

“His name is Virgil,” Janus continued. “I think he would like you. At least, I hope he would.” He tilted his head, eyes distant. “He’s prickly, slow to trust, abrasive in general. But he’s a good kid. Was a good kid. I suppose he’s not… well. It’s been five years, now.” He closed his eyes, bowing his head. “He would like you,” he repeated, sounding more than a little broken. “He would like you.”

And he didn’t know what to say to that. Didn’t know what to say at all, his words failing him. So he tugged him closer with both arms, leaning him against his chest and rocking him gently, holding him close, and Janus pressed into the contact and didn’t say anything else.

He drew the conclusion that Virgil was dead, died tragically young, somehow. Looking back, he’s not sure how he arrived there, when Janus used the present tense the entire time, quite clearly speaking as though Virgil was alive and well, just somewhere he couldn’t go.

He thinks he might understand that part a bit better now, at least, though most of it refuses to sink in. But the facts are these: Virgil, if this is Virgil, cannot possibly be human. No human looks like he does. And this fact, too, leaves Patton with far more questions than answers.

-----------

“You did what?”

Janus’ voice is loud, sharp, and it brings Patton back to the present in an instant. He doesn’t know how much time has passed while he ruminated, tried to fit all the puzzle pieces together while well aware that he only has about half of them, but Janus and Virgil have drawn back from each other, Janus’ face twisted in alarm.

“We did research before I came down here!” Virgil says. “I’ve seen what humans want to do to us! For all I knew, he’d locked you up in a room and dissected you.”

Ah. So Janus isn’t pleased that his son—his son, his son, this is Janus’ son, his husband’s son— threatened Patton with a knife. Patton would feel more gratified if he weren’t stuck on us, trying desperately to ignore the voice that whispers in the back of his mind, the one that says, well, doesn’t that make sense? Virgil’s not human, that much is obvious, so doesn’t that mean that Janus is—

“You—”

And for the first time since he recognized Virgil, named him aloud, Janus looks at Patton, and Patton looks back, unsure of exactly what emotion is showing on his face. Confusion, probably; lord knows he’s feeling enough of it right now. But for whatever reason, Janus’ expression crumples, and he gently places his hand on Virgil’s shoulder, moving him to the side.

“Virgil,” he says quietly, and for the first time, Patton realizes that he isn’t speaking English at all, but rather, that same unfamiliar language that Virgil has been utilizing, the one that morphs in his head into something that makes sense. “I… need a moment.”

“But we only just—” Virgil begins, turning so that he can see both of them at once. And then, he stops, something odd passing across his face, something that Patton can’t interpret at all. “So you really are… with him.”

“Yes.”

“But he doesn’t know,” Virgil states.

Janus closes his eyes. “No,” he says.

Virgil is silent for a long moment. “Alright,” he says. “I’ll just… go in this other room, I guess. Over here.” And with that, he backs out of the kitchen and into the living room, disappearing from Patton’s line of sight.

Patton glances back to Janus, who is just standing there, still as stone, staring at him, and he opens his mouth, fully intending to chide him for talking about him, or about something tangentially related to him, at least, like he’s not sitting right here. But no sound comes out of his mouth, and suddenly, he finds himself wheezing, gasping for breath as the events of the past few minutes crash over him, and oh god, how is he supposed to process this, reconcile himself to this, because he knew his husband had secrets and he still doesn’t think he understands fully but he does understand just enough to know that everything he thought he knew is not as it seems and he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do with this and—

“Breathe, Patton,” Janus says, and a gloved hand appears in his vision. He grasps it thankfully, squeezing it tight, and the contact serves to ground him, allows him to calm his panic, little by little, until his mind clears enough to realize that Janus is kneeling in front of him, expression twisted into some awful combination of worry and apprehension and a hesitance that Patton has not seen in a long, long time, not since the earliest days of their relationship, when Janus seemed so uncertain that his affections were welcomed or wanted at all, and Patton had to work so hard to convince him otherwise.

But before he can do something to comfort him, Janus draws into himself, pulling his hand back and looking at the ground. “I suppose you have questions,” he says, and Patton almost laughs at the understatement, restraining himself at the last second.

“Yeah,” he agrees, and he wants to reach out, wants to take Janus’ hand again, but Janus’ body language is so closed off that he’s not sure any touch at all would be welcome. “So, uh, that’s Virgil.”

Janus nods.

“Your son, Virgil.”

Janus nods again, his eyes flickering up for a moment and then back to the floor again.

“I’m sorry he acted the way he did,” he murmurs. “He was scared for me, so he jumped to the worst possible conclusion.”

“There was no harm done,” Patton replies, matching his soft tone. “I mean, that was really scary. I was scared. I think I still am. But I’m not hurt, and everything’s turned out okay.” Even as the words leave his mouth, he has no idea whether he’s telling the truth or not. Have things turned out okay? Have they really? He feels like they’re dancing around the most important subject, the elephant in the room, and what’s more than that, they both know they’re doing it, neither of them quite willing to broach the topic.

But they need to. So Patton does.

“He’s not…” He pauses, taking a breath, marshaling all the courage he has left in him. “He’s not human.”

The statement hangs in the air between them, like a comma in a sentence, waiting for the inevitable continuation.

Janus shakes his head, just slightly, the motion so small that Patton might have missed it had he not been looking. “No,” he says, “he’s not.” And he falls silent, unwilling to elaborate, still unwilling to so much as meet Patton’s eyes, and that leaves the impetus of the conversation on him, doesn’t it? It leaves him to voice the rest, to dare to seek confirmation of a fact that half an hour ago, would have been too unbelievable to consider. Still is, to be frank.

“He’s… an alien. He’s not from earth,” he says, putting off the inevitable for as long as possible. He stares at his husband, who he loves, who he cherishes, who he treasures, who he thought he knew. And he still does, surely, because he knows what Janus is like, knows who he is if not what he is, and that has to be enough. He’s determined to make it enough. “So… are you? An alien, I mean?”

The question is out there, now. There is no taking it back. And Janus looks up at him, finally, expression pained.

“Yes,” he says simply, and Patton has to take a moment to breathe, to wrest his spiraling thoughts back under control, because what exactly is he supposed to make of this? This feels too big for him, too vast and too shocking and too incomprehensible, and nothing, nothing has ever prepared him for this possibility.

“Okay,” he says, even though he feels like it’s really not. “Okay. That’s… okay. I need a second to, um. I just need a second.”

“Of course,” Janus says, inclining his head, and then he moves as if to stand, and no, that is absolutely not what Patton wants, so he grabs at his sleeve with one hand. Janus freezes, staring at the spot where his fingers connect with his shirt.

“That doesn’t mean I want you to leave,” he says, his voice coming out somewhere between cross and petulant. “I can have a second perfectly well with you here.”

“Oh,” Janus says, settling back on the floor. He looks more than a little bit lost, as if he can’t fathom why Patton would want him to stay, and that does hurt a bit, the implication that he thinks Patton might not want him anymore, because of this. Which, he supposes it’s a rational fear; it is, after all, a rather large secret to drop on someone four years into a marriage. But Patton just needs time to process, and once he has, he thinks he’ll be alright.

So, he closes his eyes, focusing on the texture of Janus’ sleeve against his fingers, soft and silky.

What does this change, really? A lot, obviously, but how much of that actually matters? Does Janus being an alien change the fact that he always eats the last of the ice cream, or that he insists on doing the dishes by hand, or that he cried when Bambi’s mom died even though he pretended not to so that he could comfort Patton? Does it change the fact that he’s a terrible blanket hog, or that he denies loving to cuddle but instantly latches onto Patton the moment they’re both in bed together, or that he always seems to know just what to do or say when Patton is tired and sad and all the world feels gray?

Does it change that he loves him?

No. No, it can’t possibly affect any of that at all. And he’s known that all along, really, the realization lurking just under the surface, waiting for him to have it on his own time. He feels relief flood him, because alright. His husband is an alien. It’s going to take a long time for him to be used to that. But he’ll be damned before he lets that come between them.

He opens his eyes.

“I love you,” he says, and he puts all of his sincerity, all of the reassurance he can muster into those three words. And he is prepared to say more, to go on at length about all the reasons why, but Janus winces, turns his head away.

“You can’t say that,” he says. “Patton, you don’t even know what I look like.”

He frowns. Janus’ tone edges on defeat, on something uncomfortably close to despair, and he doesn’t like that at all.

“I’m looking at you right now,” he tries, but Janus just shakes his head.

“I’m a shapeshifter,” he says, cold and biting and yet, still reluctant, as if the admission is being ripped from him. “I literally hide my true appearance from you on a daily basis. I’m not human, and I don’t look like one, not when I’m not trying to.” He turns back to him then, meets his eyes, and it’s almost like a challenge, as if he’s certain in his words, certain that Patton will turn his back on him over something like appearance. And it’s true, this new admission throws him for a bit of a loop, but he thinks if he can accept the fact that he is married to an actual alien, he can accept this, too.

Janus is a very attractive man. But Patton didn’t marry him for his looks. And no matter what sort of alien he is, no matter what he’s hiding, whether it’s tentacles or feathers or extra eyes or what-have-you, Patton will love him just the same. What concerns him most is that Janus doesn’t seem to know that, seems to think that this will be the deal-breaker, will be what sends Patton running. And he is expecting Patton to run; that is becoming increasingly clear with every passing minute.

He spent a lot of time, early on in their relationship, showing Janus that he cared about him, showing Janus that he was allowed to be cared for. He didn’t expect to have to do it again, didn’t expect to have to prove his affections once more, four years into a happy marriage, but he will do whatever it takes.

“Then show me,” he says softly, and pitches his words carefully, trying to make it seem like a request and not a demand, trying to make sure Janus knows that he doesn’t have to do anything at all, not if he doesn’t want to. “Show me what you look like.”

Janus laughs, short and sharp, like a razor’s edge. He passes a hand across his face, and Patton’s fingers finally slip from his sleeve. He removes his hat, and then, to Patton’s surprise, he begins to unbutton his shirt, shrugging it from his shoulders, and then follows that with his gloves. Patton watches as the garments hit the floor, suddenly anxious, though he tries not to show it. Whatever Janus is about to show him, it is crucial that he doesn’t allow himself to have a negative knee-jerk reaction, doesn’t allow himself to recoil before his head and heart catch up to his instincts.

Even if Janus turns into… a giant spider person, or something equally scary, he’ll still love him. He knows that, knows that there is nothing that Janus could do or be to make him stop, but what is most important right now is making sure that Janus knows that.

Janus doesn’t say anything else, just settles back firmly on his haunches, bracing his hands against his thighs, shutting his eyes. And his face slides into something blank, into something impassive, but for just a moment, Patton thinks he sees a flicker of apprehension, even of fear, and he wants nothing more to reach out, to insist that everything is going to be alright. But he knows that Janus won’t believe him right now, will shrug off any touch, so he restrains himself, and watches as Janus begins to change.

It’s slow, at first, subtle. His skin almost seems to ripple in place, and then it— flips, for lack of a better word. It reminds him of Mystique from the X-Men movies, or one of those sequined pillows or shirts that has another color on the other side, revealed when you rub the sequins the other way. His skin flips, and in its place is scales, smooth and gleaming, in dappled patterns all across the left side of his face and down his chest. And as Patton stares, utterly fascinated, they move and shift across his body, curling into different designs and reflecting different colors, green and brown and yellow. And where his skin is still bare, it seems to even out, any blemishes disappearing, and it takes on a slightly yellow tint.

And Patton is so occupied by this that he almost doesn’t see the extra arms, folding out of seemingly nowhere, two extra pairs, one resting limp at his side and the other curling around his abdomen protectively. Three pairs of arms, six hands, each one now tipped with sharp claws, and Patton gapes at them, allowing himself one moment of pure surprise before turning his attention back to Janus’ face.

It looks sharper, more angular, a bit thinner, just different enough to throw him off balance a bit. But looking at Janus, his eyes screwed shut and lips pressed into a thin line, as if awaiting judgment, he can only see his husband there, not the stranger he half feared would take his place.

And the scales, well. The scales are lovely. They shimmer and shine in the light, and Patton can’t quite tell what color they’re trying to be, nor if there is any meaning to their movements across Janus’ skin, but he is captivated by them, by their twisting, shifting beauty. They almost look as if they are dancing.

So, he does the only thing he can think to do, and reaches out to caress his face.

Janus starts, eyes flying open, jerking back, but Patton pursues him, tracing his thumb across his cheekbone. The scales there are smooth and cool to the touch, just slightly bumpy, and Patton runs his fingertips across them, learning their shape and feel. Then, Janus makes a whimpering sound, and he freezes, watching him for any additional reaction.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “Should I not do that? Does it hurt?”

“No,” Janus says, almost a stutter, “no. It— feels good. It’s just, I’m not used to—” He breaks off, shuddering, and he presses his face into Patton’s hand. His eyes are open wide, flitting across Patton’s face, and he realizes that his eyes have changed, too. One is the familiar, warm brown that Patton is used to, but the other is golden-yellow and slit, like a cat, or like a snake, and it’s quite possibly one of the most gorgeous things that Patton has ever seen.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he says. “You’ve been so scared, haven’t you?”

At any other time, he thinks that Janus would deny it. Janus has never been one to admit to his own vulnerabilities, has always preferred to cover everything up in a layer of sarcasm and insults and misdirection, and on the worst days, even he has trouble getting him to admit that something is wrong. But now, Janus just shakes against his hand, his whole body trembling, and says nothing at all.

“I’m so sorry you felt like you needed to hide this,” he tells him. “I think you’re beautiful.”

“I have six arms,” Janus says hoarsely, as if he thinks Patton can’t see them. “Patton, I— I have scales, I have six arms, I have—”

He cuts off with a strangled gasp as Patton grasps one of his hands, one of the new ones, one of the ones hanging at his sides, and brings it up to his lips, planting a gentle kiss on his knuckles.

“They’re very nice arms,” he tells him. “And I think it’s ridiculous that I could have been having six-armed hugs this entire time. Don’t think I’m not going to have you make up for that, mister.”

Janus laughs wetly, and this time, it’s more genuine, and laced with surprise. There are tears in his eyes, Patton realizes, tears in his eyes and beginning to streak down his cheeks, and he reaches out to wipe them away on autopilot. Janus shivers every time he makes contact with a scale, but his eyes never leave his face.

“I love you,” Patton says. “I love you, all of you, no matter what you look like or what planet you’re from. I’d love you if you were a slimy tentacle alien like in the movies. I’d love you if you had an extra head, or, or a really long neck, or if you were secretly two feet tall and bright blue. And I told you on our wedding day that I would follow you to the ends of the earth, do you remember that? But I only said that because I didn’t know that going further was an option.”

He scoots a bit closer, removing his hand from Janus’ face so that he can grab two hands at once, not paying attention to which ones. Janus’ breath hitches.

“If you honestly think,” he says seriously, “that you could ever do anything to get rid of me, you’ve got another thing coming.”

And at that, Janus lets out a sob, loud and messy, and throws himself forward, colliding with Patton’s chest. It’s an awkward angle for a hug, but Patton is too preoccupied to care, is too busy bringing his arms up to hold him, rubbing circles into his back and tracing the scales he finds there. And he’s basking in the sensation, too, drinking in the fact that there are six arms hugging him right now, clutching at him tightly, holding onto the fabric of his shirt for dear life, and he has never felt so safe, never felt so warm. So he relaxes into his husband’s embrace, embraces him in turn, lets him weep and shudder against his chest.

“I’m sorry,” Janus gasps out, “I’m so sorry I doubted you, I—”

“It’s okay,” Patton murmurs. “It’s okay, I’ve got you, I’ve--” He stops, his attention suddenly distracted. “Is that a tail? Do you have a tail?”

It certainly looks like one, snaking its way out of Janus’ pants, long and thin and scaled, and how he missed that, he has no idea. Janus pulls back a bit to look him in the face. His eyes are red-rimmed, his skin flushed orange rather than pink.

“Yes,” he says. “Is that… alright?”

Curious, Patton extends a hand. The tail wraps around his wrist snugly, tugging at his arm, and he giggles a bit.

“Oh goodness,” he says, in lieu of a real response, not bothering to stop the delighted grin that spreads across his face. Janus relaxes, untensing, and slumps forward again to rest his head on his chest, releasing a long, heavy sigh.

“I’m still sorry that I kept this from you,” he murmurs, and Patton glances down at him, carding his free hand through his hair.

“You don’t have to be,” he says.

“Maybe not, but I am,” Janus replies. He shifts in place, angling himself to be able to meet his eyes. And Patton once again finds himself fascinated by his heterochromia, at the contrast between the eye he knows well and the eye that is new. It’s almost a comforting sight, once that reminds him that no matter his appearance, Janus remains the man he knows and loves.

“Did you mean it?” Janus asks. “When you said that you would go further than the earth, if given the option?”

A thrill runs through him. “Are you giving me the option?”

Janus hums. “Virgil is hardly going to be content with leaving me here,” he says, and then twists around further to stare Patton full in the face. “But I won’t leave you,” he insists, voice growing vehement. “And I won’t ask you for more than you’re willing to give. If you want to stay here, then we’ll stay here. The choice is yours.”

And Patton leans forward and kisses him on the lips, soft and short and sweet. “I’ve told you,” he says. “Where you go, I’ll follow.”

And he means it. He means it more than anything else he’s said in his life. He means it with the weight of all the years they’ve spent together, all the love he has to offer. Where Janus goes, he will follow, to the ends of the earth and beyond it, and there is a whole universe out there, waiting to be explored. He will have to make arrangements, of course, will have to contact his school and figure out something to tell his parents, and perhaps he should be dreading that, but all he can feel is exhilaration. Because his husband is an alien, has surely seen so many things that are so much bigger than their little lives here on earth, and yet, he is willing to stay here, with Patton, for Patton, and all Patton would have to do is ask.

But just as Janus has chosen him, he has chosen Janus. And for Janus, he would go anywhere.

“Because you know,” he continues, “I think you’re pretty out of this world. In fact, I’d even say that you’re a real star.”

Janus snorts, messy and undignified, and Patton smiles, pleased by the reaction.

“So, how about you introduce me to your kiddo,” he says. “Without the knives, this time. And you can tell me what I should pack.”

And Janus smiles at him, sweet and joyful, one of those expressions that no one else gets to see. Despite everything, that smile is still the same.

“Okay,” he says, and stands, pulling Patton up with him. “Let’s do that.”

And Patton clasps one of his hands, and lets Janus lead him onward.

----------

End Note: There are plenty of things that I would like to explore in this ‘verse, including putting proper focus on the anxceit, having Virgil deal with suddenly having another dad, Patton continuing to adjust himself to the new circumstances, and whatever the other sides are up to. So, I’m tentatively going to label this as a series. Future installments will be under the tag ‘it’s a space opera (and oh how the arias soar)’

General Taglist: @just-perhaps @the-real-comically-insane @jerrysicle-tree @glitchybina @psodtqueer @mrbubbajones @snek-boii@severelylackinginquality @aceawkwardunicorn @gayerplease

[boop-le-snoot]

PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 20

First time reader click here

TWs/SUMMARY: Explicit content. Some fluffy Bruce Banner lovin'. We know our scientist is a soft dom/service top. 🥺💚 With a Tony twist at the end... Because I am an evil woman. 😏 BRUCE BANNER MONSTERCOCK NATION RISE!

Bruce licked his lips.

Despite the obvious intent to ravish me in the sweetest way possible, Bruce made no move to undress or get physically closer to me.

The man was content to kiss the breath out of me, lightly caressing the side of my face and my neck. With each shared, rushed inhale I slipped deeper into the narrow space between drowsiness and arousal. The scientist's presence had the most peculiar effect on me: all my walls crumbled, paving way to a sense of mellow tranquility.

"Lay down," Bruce whispered, pulling my blanket aside. My skin tingled in the cool air of the room. I had gotten pretty toasty under the covers.

With his palms gently pushing on my shoulders, I had no other way but to oblige. Those very same large hands brushed my neck and slid further under the collar of my shirt, tenderly tracing the lines of my collarbones. I felt delicate in his arms, light-headed.

The quiet thud of Bruce's shoes prepared me for the slight dip in the mattress that followed. With a rustle, the textured fabric of his trousers sweeped and finally settled between my parted legs. He radiated warmth, my body involuntarily arching into it. Bruce's lips found mine, again, meeting in a chaste kiss, moving on to nip and peck my jawline, my throat.

There was something erotic in the slow, sensual yet subdued way the scientist was giving into my desires. He wasn't holding back on purpose, it seemed he was rather fond of taking his time to explore my body, his new playground. It was always hard and fast and easy for me, to just take my pleasure, get it torn out of me with sharp words and clever fingers.

With Bruce it was more of a gradual increase in intensity. He wasn't all over me yet he made it known he was in charge. Our bodies connected only faintly but where they did, it left a sweet, pulling ache. I caught myself leaning into it, following the slow motions with twitches and curves of my own.

"Arms up, Princess," He sounded so calm and steady. There was a new definition to his voice, that low undertone of desire, previously unheard. I marveled at how different my lovers sounded.

My (read: stolen from Tony) t-shirt slid from my shoulders with his help, immediately getting neatly placed next to my pillow. I wore no bra; the regret at not wearing fancier panties had been already lived through by me the moment Bruce's lips first landed on mine. For some reason, I was convinced he wasn't the kind of man to care about the amount or the retail price of the lace on my underwear.

I decided to finally open my eyes.

Bruce sat on his shins in front of me, one intense furious blush the only indicator he was affected by our activities. Seeing his eyes - I had to take that back. Devils danced in his green-ish orbs. The man was enjoying himself, quite a lot.

"Off?" Words and other trivial things I didn't worry about anymore. I tugged on his button-up to indicate my own want to see him, to finally see that firm chest that had inadvertently acted as a pillow for me to cry on more than one occasion recently.

Button by button, Bruce was either teasing or provoking me. Which was fine, for once I was happy to fully relinquish the reigns of the situation to someone else. The man was, and I am not exaggerating, perfect under all those frumpy clothes. Bulky chest with coarse dark hair - I wanted to run my hands through it, all over him.

His shirt landed right next to mine and he came close, mouthing leisurely at the space between my breasts, covering my chest with the warm moisture of his breath. Hot and wet wrapped around my nipple just as my eyes drifted closed again. Arching into the bliss, I moaned softly.

And any other time I'd be embarrassed at how soft and kitten-like was the sound; then, however, I was ready to yowl if that meant he wouldn't stop. One nipple and then the other. Bruce didn't apply anything but gentle pressure. His tongue made a slow, deliberate circle around my navel, dipping into the sensitive spot. I was surprised, my hips twitching. I had no idea it could be so pleasant.

The man's soft chuckles were absorbed by my panties where his breath ghosted over my core. My squirming increased as I was no longer able to contain my excitement, my body remembering on it's own how good Tony was with his tongue, bringing me extasy - he ate me for what felt like hours when he felt I did something exceptionally well. I'd be a rotten liar if I told you that alone wasn't motivation enough to excel at everything.

"I can see you like that, Princess," Bruce observed in quiet joy, moving instead to rub his cheek on the inside of my thigh, the slight stubble producing just enough friction for me to get slightly wetter. Beards were just hot.

"Mhmm," I agreed with him, raking a gentle hand through his unruly mop of curls. Bruce groaned and I continued to steadily part his hair, loving the muted noises coming from the scientist, enjoying his breath returning to elicit shivers all over my lower body.

The gusset of my underwear was promptly moved aside, exposing me to his eyes. I've never felt an ounce of shyness with a man but it seemed that day was one of firsts for me. It was the most exposed and vulnerable I'd ever felt; like a door pried open, my inner world for anyone to see. The urge to close my legs and hide under the blankets overcame me.

"Such a pretty pussy, Princess," Bruce's voice was even rougher now, scratching.

An open-mouthed smooch was placed on my lower lips, a nimble tongue slowly stroking experimental lines through my folds. The man purposely avoided the clit, I was sure. He dove down multiple times to my entrance, lapping up my juices with an obscene noise. A lewd moan followed every time. My hips met his mouth with every movement.

My shameful freak-out was abruptly cut short by the devotion Bruce radiated. His hands firmly gripped my thighs securing his meal in the right place. And eating he was; like a starved man, the scientist followed the noises leaving my mouth to find each and every nook and cranny that made me feel closer to Eden. There was no finesse, only slippery, sloppy movements as I reached my first peak with his name leaving my lips in a strangled moan.

I was boneless, weightless. Bruce pushed me more, delving straight back into the oversensitive folds of my cunt like he hadn't just made me see stars and galaxies. Floating in time in space, not a coherent thought in my skull, my last functioning brain cell on it's long overdue vacation.

"How do you feel?" He asked me once he deemed me sufficiently removed from this plane of existence and deposited me somewhere on another world where everything was light and easy.

"Mm-Brucie," I tried to articulate my thoughts. He must've been painfully aroused himself yet he made no move to be intimate any further. The idea of him holding back and refusing his own gratification nagged at me unpleasantly, invoking a primal hunger deep in my belly. "C'mere, want you."

He climbed over on top of me slowly, stretching his limbs, caging me in the sweet trap of his arms. His pants were gone; I felt the hardness, very sizeable hardness budge against my hip. My breath caught in my throat as I stared at him with unseeing eyes and my mouth hanging open slightly.

We kissed lazily for a while, me finally having the chance to roam my hands on his body. He was almost as warm as Bucky - a perk of his own knock-off serum, I supposed. Reasonably toned with a healthy layer of fat, Bruce certainly wasn't ripped or even built like Tony. Banner's body screamed comfort and safety where Tony was all strength and durability. Once again, I marveled at the difference between the two men, finding them both equally appealing and beautiful in their own ways.

Bruce's boxers went to hell and beyond. He was easily the biggest partner I've ever had; both long and thick, my insides clenched involuntarily at the weight of it in my hand, the engorged veins all over the shaft. No time like the present - hiking a leg over his hip, I insistently pressed the leaking tip of his cock against me, swiping it through my folds for extra lubrication beforehand.

The scientist twitched, growling quietly, low and dangerous. "Princess," Bruce hissed, momentarily dropping his forehead onto my shoulder.

"Brucie," I replied breathily, feeling him shudder as the tip breached my entrance. The sting was slightly south of pleasurable, just enough to give me an edge and return to reality. "You're so big," I gasped. The very room I and Bruce were (what felt like) making love. Such a foreign concept. "For the love of both God and Satan, move."

"That's my girl." Giving a watery chuckle, the man obliged, sheathing himself fully within me. I was unprepared for the surge of pleasure - it felt like he was everywhere at the same time. It was unlike everything I'd felt, the burn of the stretch becoming a source of new heights of pleasure.

Bruce's shallow thrusts increased in speed and amplitude as soon as I arched my back, presenting all of myself at his mercy. His movements weren't pounding yet he shook me with every single shift of his hips. "Fuck, so good, my sweet girl," He kept muttering, barely audible. "So tight, so hot, oh God."

The praise only made me clench tighter around him, my orgasm rapidly approaching and finally crashing into both of us with a firm, steady force. His cock throbbed inside me, releasing the seed with force I swear I felt in my guts. I took it all, milking every single drop, there was so much of it. Bruce's release - this one - belonged to me and to me only.

Ever mindful of himself, Bruce rolled over, pressing as close to me as possible, throwing an arm over his eyes. I immediately relocated to make a nest on his chest, idly running my hand through his chest hair. Fascinating.

"Feel good?" And finally he sounded slightly winded. Wow, I couldn't help but wonder what could make him really lose it. What would make him go feral for me. What could trap his breath in his lungs and attach him to me forever.

"Mmm, amazing. You're good at this," My usual snark and sass was returning; I gently teased him. Lovingly.

"That's good to know, it's been a while," He snorted. Must've felt my confusion, too, because the next sentence threw me for a loop: "It's been, uh, years."

Years? For this man?! The universe was unfair. Depriving the entirety of female sex of this man? Abhorrent. "You have quite some things to catch up on," I whispered coyly. "Humbly do I offer my services."

His chest began shaking: Bruce was laughing, no trace of shame, just good-natured relief and happiness in his features. "This is exactly why we love you, Princess. You say the weirdest shit but somehow it all makes perfect sense."

I chuckled, the words spreading warmth - not the physical one - throughout my body and lulling me into a sense of sated exhaustion. I let my eyes fall shut on their own and for the first time in ages, I fell asleep with a calm heart.

Bruce's soft snores kept the bad dreams at bay.

Tony's callous hands roused me tenderly, coaxing the sleep from my brain with grace although there was very little grace about the situation; first thing I noticed upon waking was the sticky puddle between my legs and the sharp smell of sex in the room. Bruce's slightly spicy sweat mixed with the warm vanilla of my perfume. The messed up bedsheets and the warm but empty space next to me.

"Had fun, baby girl?" If Tony's lopsided grin was any indication, I had at least committed some sort of scientific breakthrough. "You know, I had a bet running on when Bruce was going to break his celibacy. If you had waited until next year, which is technically in a few months..." The engineer trailed off teasingly, looking not at all worried about the fact that his best friend had blown my brains out a... Few hours ago.

I cleared my throat. "So, who won?" It seemed only appropriate I ask.

Tony's face immediately fell. "Merlin."

My eyebrows rose. "Didn't take him for the gambling kind." I sat up in bed, stretching the stiffness out of my joints, clearing the sleep from my head with Tony's gaze firmly glued to my naked tits. Some things never change.

"You called him old. That does things to a man's ego," Tony answered dismissively. It was easy to see the obvious pleasure he held for that particular conversation: the billionaire greatly enjoyed it when people gave into his antics and indulged his sometimes childish vices. One of those vices happened to include annoying the resident wizard.

I decided to test the waters. Biting my lip, I gave him an appreciative once-over. "How are you on sloppy seconds?"

He clicked his tongue, eyes sparkling, obviously having expected this question. "I'll join you in the shower. We have thirty minutes before Clint sends Nat down here to retrieve us deviants."

I pranced in the direction of the bathroom, putting an extra wiggle in my walk.

Turns out, Tony had absolutely no problems with sloppy seconds. He was as eager to hold me by my hair, viciously pumping his cock out of me, whispering utter filth into my ear.

His honeyed voice rough, telling me how dirty I was. "You little tart, parading around, making old men drool over you. Fuck, you make me feel like a dirty old man."

I let the sassy remark to be drowned in the sound of his hips slapping against my ass. "I love dirty old men," I moaned. "Want me to get down on my knees for you, daddy?"

"Fuck," Tony's hand tightened in my hair but he made no move to cease the assault on my pussy with his cock. It was steel-hard, deliciously thick and hit all the right places without much effort.

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub ​ @mostly-marvel-musings  @vozit ​ @littlegasps ​ @pilloclock ​ @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads ​ @hermione-grangers-wife ​ @individualistfem ​ @sleep-i-ness @capbrie @lillsxd @agustdowney @dee-vn @justanotherblonde23 @fanngirl19 @persephonehemingway @softie-socks @schemefrenzy @letsby @cutenessloading @romeo-the-cactus @jelly-fishy-babie

[voidofwords]

hopelessly devoted

here’s a short wlw story i wrote! ngl i came up with everything, including the characters, as i went, but i ended up pretty happy with it!

Her grin is so bright when she looks at me. “Syd,” she says, beaming. “You won’t believe it!”

He said yes. I smile at her and tell the sinking feeling in my stomach to fuck off. “What?” I ask, with as much excitement as I can muster. 

Jasmine turns her phone screen towards me so I can see the messages between her and Brandon, but she’s waving the phone around excitedly and it’s impossible to even get a glimpse of what the messages say. Fortunately for me, and I would like my sarcasm here to be noted, she is kind enough to also tell me the news herself:

“He said yes!” She squeals, grabbing me by the arm and shaking my whole body. “Brandon said yes to go on a date with me! I’m going on a date with Brandon.”

For a moment, my brain is so fixated on the fact that Jasmine is touching my arm, it forgets how to do anything else. But I manage to kick it back into action and plaster on my most convincing I’m-so-happy-for-you-and-not-at-all-screaming-inside smile. “Jas, that’s great! That’s amazing!”

She nods eagerly, her deep brown eyes looking into mine. “You have to help me prepare for the date. I don’t even know what to wear!”

That actually makes me grin for real. “Come on, Jas, we both know you have way better style than me.”

She giggles and shakes her head. “Shut up, I love your whole, like, tomboy thing. Your style is amazing. But I just meant I want you there for emotional support.”

“Oh. Right.” Did Jasmine just tell me she loves my style? I am fighting so fucking hard to keep my brain from going into overdrive. I try to smile, but I think it’s more of a grimace. “Of course I’ll be there,” I tell her. “That’s what friends are for.” 

-

I don’t want to move. I don't want to get up. The alarm on my phone went off five minutes ago to let me know it was time to go to Jasmine’s house, but I think I might just lie here forever. What’s the point? She probably won’t even care if I come. She’ll be too fixated on her date with Brandon later to even notice if I’m there or not. 

Brandon is popular and has abs and is apparently super hot and charming - I don’t get it, but sure - and I’m just Syd, the tragic gay idiot, in love with my best friend. If this was a movie, Jasmine would be the main character. Of course she would. And I’d be the edgy queer-coded friend who’s mostly there for comic relief and emotional support. My life is a fucking joke. 

Because I might as well give the merciless gods watching my tragedy unfold something to laugh about, and because I’d be an asshole if I stood up my best friend right before her big date, I get up. There’s no point wallowing in my self-pity any more than necessary. 

Jasmine’s arms are around me the second she opens the door. It’s a signature Jasmine hug, tight and squeezy and enthusiastic, the kind that leaves me out of breath for more than one reason. 

“Syd! I was starting to worry you wouldn’t come.” She takes a step back and looks at me with her puppy-like eyes and I ask myself how the hell I’m going to get through today.

I shoot her what I hope looks like an apologetic smile. “Sorry. But I’m here!” I take in her worn-in sweatpants and oversized Mickey Mouse t-shirt. She still looks fucking amazing - this girl could literally wear anything and still look like a goddess - but I highly doubt this is what she’s planning on wearing for her date with Brandon. 

“I take it you haven’t found out what to wear yet,” I say. “Or is the date more of a Disney-themed pyjama party?” 

That makes her laugh. “No you silly goose! Brandon is taking me to dinner, and then to see a movie.” She takes my hand, and I freeze up as she pulls me inside the house and toward her room. “I need your input on what to wear.”

“You’d probably be better off without it, you know.” I smile as I imagine Brandon’s face if Jasmine showed up to their date in my battered jeans and too-big flannel. But I quickly chase the image away, because the thought of Jasmine wearing my clothes is too much to handle right now. 

Jasmine picks up two dresses from her bed and holds them both out to me. “Which one do you like the best?”

I have seen her in both of them before, but they’re usually what she wears around her older conservative family members, not when she is out having fun. Both of them are very modest, while still being pretty. 

“What happened to the other ones?” I ask, because I know her favourite dress is either the sleeveless floral one or the cute flowy one. 

Jasmine shrugs and smiles a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Brandon texted me saying he doesn’t want me wearing anything too revealing, since we’ll be out in public.” 

What the fuck. “Brandon is telling you what to wear?” 

“No. He’s just giving me some pointers on what not to wear!”

I stare at Jasmine, who is still smiling like she actually thinks this is fine. “Jasmine, that’s still shitty behavior. He doesn’t have the right to do that!” 

She shrugs again. “It’s fine. I don’t mind! It narrows down my choices, and you know it’s hard for me to decide what to wear. Besides, I like these dresses too!” 

“Jas.” I sigh. “Are you sure you wanna go out with this guy?”

Jasmine laughs, as if in disbelief. “What? Of course I do! It’s Brandon.” 

“I just…” I’m definitely overstepping here, but I can’t stop myself. “I don’t get what you see in him.” 

“Oh, well, you know. He’s handsome and funny and… popular and…” She trails off for a second before looking up at me. For once she isn’t smiling. “I just like him, okay? I’m sorry your standards are so impossibly high. I’ve never even seen you express interest in a guy!” 

Is she kidding me right now? “I don’t…” Now it’s my turn to be speechless. 

Jasmine sighs, like she is giving up on me, and picks up one of the dresses again. “I’ll just go with this one.”

I’m worried she will change in front of me like we did when we were younger, but she goes to the bathroom to change. Thank fuck; there’s only so much I can handle in one day. 

When she comes back out, her brilliant smile is back. Her eyes look a little red, but it’s impossible to tell if it’s because she has been crying. I open my mouth to say something but before I can, she spins around to show off her dress. 

“What do you think?”

“It’s nice.” It is nice, of course it is, that’s not the problem. The problem is, it isn’t the kind of thing I know Jasmine likes to wear. But this time, I don’t say anything.

She grabs a box of her nicest makeup stuff and sits on the bed. “Will you help me with my makeup?”

“You want my help with your makeup?” I let out a laugh. “Jas.” I know how to do makeup decently, but I never wear it, so I don’t have anything close to the kind of practice she has. 

“Syd.” She laughs too. “It’ll be fun! Just like old times!”

That is true. When we were kids, Jasmine used to “borrow” her mom’s makeup, and we would take turns making each other look “beautiful”. It was a disaster, but the best kind. 

“Alright,” I say. “But I hope Brandon won’t be upset when you show up to the date with lipstick smeared across your face like a clown.” 

I sit down on the bed with her and help her pick out what I think would look good with her dress. 

It goes smoothly, until I have to do her eyeliner.

“This is a bit tricky,” I say, moving closer. “Please don’t be mad if I do a bad job.”

“I’m sure you’re doing a great job, Syd.” She smiles with her eyes still closed. 

“Stop talking, I’m trying to concentrate.” 

By some miracle, I manage to make it look good and symmetrical. I’m actually kind of proud of myself. “Okay, you can open your eyes now.”

But I’m not prepared for when she actually does, and I realize how little space there suddenly is between us. 

Our faces are so close I can smell her minty breath. Her eyes are locked with mine, and I have officially forgotten how to breathe. I think time might have stopped, just for us. And then, she fucking looks at my lips. There’s no mistaking it. She is looking right at my lips, with her own slightly parted. 

And that’s when I make the stupid, idiotic, wonderful mistake of kissing her. Fucking hell, it may be a mistake but it’s the best one I’ve ever made. Her lips are so, so soft. Holy shit. Is this how I die? Am I actually going to die kissing Jasmine? I think I’m okay with that. I think that is how I want to go. 

But before I even have time to register what a bad idea this is, she breaks the kiss and moves away from me on the bed. She is staring at me with a mix of shock and betrayal. Well, shit. She reaches up to touch her lips, like she can’t quite believe they were actually touching mine just a moment before. “Why would you do that?” she whispers, her brown eyes as puppy-like as ever. Though this time, it’s more like a puppy that has been kicked by its owner. 

“I… I don’t know,” I choke out. “Fuck. Jasmine-”

She shakes her head and stands up abruptly. “I have to go.” Her voice is shaky. “My date is waiting.” 

-

Fuck this shit. Fuck the universe and fuck Brandon and most of all, fuck me and my lack of impulse control.

I have successfully ruined everything. Yay. Not only have i completely screwed up my relationship with my only real friend, I have also probably ruined her date with the guy she likes.

At this point, all I can do about it is go outside and touch some grass. There is an old park in our neighborhood that no one visits anymore, and it’s the perfect place if you want to be alone with your misery and self-loathing. I guess you could say I come here often. 

I sit down against the trunk of a tree and look up at the sky. It’s cloudy, but the kind of cloudy where the clouds look like bunnies and hearts and shit. I guess looking at clouds is a better use of my time than replaying the events of today over and over and hating myself more with every passing second. 

I don’t even know how much time passes but suddenly, I feel another person close to me. I start, convinced I’m about to be murdered or kidnapped, but when I turn, I see Jasmine. 

She sits down next to me and offers me a shaky smile. This time she definitely has been crying. She kinda still is. 

I don’t know whether I should say something, so I just sit there and look at her. She looks down at her own hands, and doesn’t speak for a long time. I’m about to open my own cursed mouth, when she finally speaks. 

“I’m so sorry, Syd.”

I stare at her, my brain not computing. “You’re sorry? What the hell do you have to be sorry for?”

“I was a total… a total dingus earlier!” If I didn’t feel so fucked right now, I would have smiled at Jasmine’s adorable inability to swear, maybe even gently teased her about it. But I don’t. I sit quietly as she continues: “I have been for years, haven’t I? Completely clueless.”

“What?” I don’t know what she is on about, but if she means clueless about my embarrassing crush on her, then yes, she has been. I can’t blame her, though. I mean, I did try to hide it, and for good reason. 

“I left the date with Brandon early.”

I feel like an ass for it, but I’m happy to hear that. Not because I’m naive enough to think it means anything for me, but because Brandon is such a punchable fucking idiot, and definitely not good enough for Jasmine. “Oh,” is what I say. “Did you not have a good time?”

She finally looks at me. “I left because of you, Syd.” 

Fuck. “Jasmine, I’m so fucking sorry. I never should’ve-”

“Stop,” she says, and I do. “I left because I realized you were right. I don’t like Brandon.” She lets out a shaky laugh. Her eyes are brimming with tears. “It probably shouldn’t have taken you kissing me to realize it, but… Yeah, well, I’m an idiot.”

My heart and brain seem to have made a collective decision to stop functioning. I stare at her, not sure if any of this is really happening. Maybe I’m misinterpreting what she is saying. Yeah, that seems like the only logical-

My half-panicked thoughts are cut off by Jasmine leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to my lips. She is still teary-eyed, but she is also smiling softly as she moves close enough that our shoulders are touching. “I don’t think I even like guys at all,” she whispers. “And… well. I’m pretty sure I like you. A lot.”

She is looking at me expectantly, but I am stunned into silence. My brain short-circuited long ago and left me useless and unable to do anything other than stare at her in disbelief. 

“Syd.” She nudges me with her shoulder. “Please say something, I am freaking out over here!”

“Shit. Yeah. Sorry.” I shake my head, slowly kicking myself back into action. “I like you a lot too. But I probably made that pretty obvious earlier, didn’t I?” I chuckle nervously, meeting her eyes. My heart is still going haywire, has been since she fucking kissed me. I don’t think I’ve fully processed that yet. “Sorry, this is… a lot.”

Jasmine grins. “Yeah, tell me about it. Twelve hours ago I thought I was the straightest person ever and that I liked Brandon? And now it turns out I’ve been a lesbian the whole time! God, that feels weird to say, but… Also like such a relief? Like part of me has known for way longer.” 

I almost don’t have the courage to do it, but I reach out and take her hand. Our fingers interlock. When she puts her head on my shoulder, I almost start to tense up, out of habit I guess, but I tell myself to relax. 

The moment feels so precious, so uniquely ours, that I’m afraid I’ll ruin it if I speak. So I close my eyes and savour the way Jasmine’s soft body is pressed against mine, and I pray that this moment never ends. 

[kweebtrash]

Kinktober #3: Face Sitting (M)

Pairing: Hongseok x 2nd Person Reader

Summary:  Some kinda realer scenarios where not everyone can cum easily or have those magic orgasms but face sitting/riding may do the trick. Also Honk is excited for his victory

Word Count: 2k

A/N: I know kinktober is supposed to be S p i c y TM but idk, sometimes i just want some sugar, spice, and everything nice.

Kinktober Prompts by @immabiteyou​

You always had a problem with cumming. You had no idea what it was but nothing, no matter how hard you tried, took you over that edge. There may have been some small tremors here and there and you definitely werent asking for an over the top bone rattling orgasm at this point. Just ANYTHING would be fine. It always weighed on the back of your mind, especially knowing that Hongseok tried his absolute fucking damndest to make sure you felt good.

And you did. The way his strong hands roamed over your body, spreading fire throughout your skin, always made shivers zip throughout. His kisses were full of healing magic; those soft, sweet plump lips could cure any bad day but also ignite the dirtiest of feelings to where you ended up clawing at each other. His body-well that was a given- the boy woke up and looked at his abs first thing in the morning, every morning. He was obsessed with being fit (sometimes too obsessed) and there was a prying thought of self consciousness that popped into your head every once in awhile. Comparing the way you looked on his arm to his being in general sometimes made you feel like you werent good enough for him. But that surely couldnt have be part of the problem.

Because here he was, once again devoted to your body and full of determination. He knew you enjoyed fucking, the act of being close to him in of itself was always special and exciting. It was just your stupid body that wouldnt react. It was like your brain was screaming in pleasure but your body was just like ‘meh, gonna take the one thing you desire the most and just not do it’.

Maybe there were a few traumatic things that had to be worked through, sure, but Hongsi was the only man you had every fully trusted to never let you down. He knew almost immediately the first few times you had faked it, and it offended him, but you explained the annoyance at yourself-which was a bit hard to say the least.

“I loved it. I felt great, seriously i did. The only part that was faked was…"the end.”

And why? Because you were used to it. Because it was ingrained in you to do it; always making the man feel like he had done an amazing job-except this time Hongseok actually had. From the first time to the most recent. He never failed but you did.

He wanted honesty from that point on. He wanted to work on things, try everything under the sun; from restraints, to wax, to toys, and positions that were sometimes almost impossible. But it remained a puzzle the two of you couldnt solve. Tonight didnt seem to be any different save for the fact that you had taken up residence on his face like it was a goddamn throne. His tongue was diving so deep inside you, filling you with a nice warm, wet, thickness that made the pit of your stomach clench. He had eaten you out before, that was one of the first things he tried in an attempt to make you cum, but it had never occurred to either of you to actually try face sitting. Why? Who knows. Sometimes the simplest of things slip the mind and perhaps the whole time the two of you had been overthinking it.

But with all the gadgets and gizmos and positions that made you feel like you were in a yoga class thrown out the window, you found your nails digging into the wall that you had been supporting yourself on. The scratching forced chips of paint to crumble from the wall though it was nothing compared to how fast the headboard was thumping against it. Your thighs were burning but you continued rolling your hips like it was your job. Hongseok spurred you on as he seemed to enjoy this just as much as you were. Perhaps he was enjoying it much more.

He was growling, sometimes snarling, as he paired flickers of his tongue with hot open mouth kisses to your heat and nibbles to any sensitive area he could reach, especially the junction of your inner thighs. While your fingers dug into the wall, his dug into your hips, your ass, your back, marring you with the blunt indentations of his short nails and leaving streaks of red in their wake. You were sure he had barely come up for air and the one second you pulled away to make sure he was okay he forced you right back down to his lips with his nose brushing against the bundle of nerves that had awakened with desire. You were feeling all of your lower muscles tighten to the point where your legs almost felt numb but it was all worth it.

Hongseok slid his tongue through your folds once more, the tip of it teasing your hole that you though he had finally given a break to. The slow and lazy drags, however, were making you shudder just as much as the fast ones and covered your frame with everlasting tingles. Your free hand gripped onto his sweat soaked hair as you tried to level yourself. Holy shit, was this really it? Was this really the time were it would happen? Oh god, you werent ready. Well you were- in the sense that you had been waiting for this for YEARS with him-but also you werent exactly sure what it would feel like. Would this be one of those tiny ones that just felt like a relaxing exhale or one of those wild porn ones that were so ridiculous? Were you really going to scream in ecstasy and feel like you were going insane? Hell yes you were.

“H-Hong,” you choked out as he suctioned his lips around your clit while his thumbs spread your lower lips wide apart. “I think it-it’s happening.”

His eyes flung open, wide and flickering with undertones of amber within the dim beside lamp’s light. “Whats happening?” The words came out in muffled jumbles as he refused to pull away.

“You know…it. The…the thing.”

He finally pulled away as bewilderment spread across his face. “You mean like you feel like youre gonna cum?”

“I-i think so? I mean…im assuming that’s why everything feels so tense, like im gonna explode. That’s what happens right?”

“I think its different for everyone. I get tense too, but then i feel all warm and get kinda snuggly and hold onto you tighter.” He did and it was the cutest fucking thing ever.

“Well im hoping this is it.” You sighed.

“Dont start thinking about it now or you’ll lose focus. Just concentrate on me, babe. Just like before, yeah? Can you ride my face some more?”

“You really like this dont you?” You peered down at him and giggled.

“Baby, you were literally born to sit on my face, i swear it. It sounds stupid and fuckboy-ish, I know, but Ive never wanted this so bad until i felt you grind against my lips.”

Red flushed your cheeks and you looked away in an effort to hide your sudden shyness. Hongsi just chucked and placed the gentlest of kisses to your clit. “On me. Focus.” He reminded you again and you exhaled deeply, letting your mind go as much as it had before. Through the painful numbness in your bent legs that surrounded his head, you pushed on, wiggling your hips in a teasing way that earned a small smack to your ass. The sting made you jump but feel ever so much naughtier. It kick started your chaotic grinds again which welcomed the harsh thrusts and lewd slurping. It was almost embarrassing to hear how wet your were from both your cum and his tongue but in a weird way it gave you a sense of pride and reassurance that this felt amazing.

More pressure built up within your system and you found yourself short of breath now. You swallowed hard and tried to recoup but it was all for naught as your heart thundered so loud you could hear it in your ears. You had managed to make the headboard slam harder against the wall, the top of the filigreed wood leaving its own mark in the paint much like your nails had. Your thighs tightened and you could feel him smile into your skin. He fucking loved the way you seemed so close to crushing his skull if you actually could. The yanking of his hair to shove him closer, as if it were possible at this point, also had him lifting his head as your hips dipped and the very tip of his tongue hit something inside you just as it curled.

And then you let go. Almost so fast from everything that Hongseok had to press his hands into your lower back to prevent you from tossing yourself back completely. You were shaking, your knees digging into the pillow beneath his head. Your hands that had found safety in the wall and his hair now flailed and searched for something to hold onto but it was like they couldnt. You had lost all control. Your brain was fuzzy. Your body was fuzzy. But best of all you felt wave after wave of clench and release with your first full orgasm.

He finally let you go and you collapsed to the wayside instantly curling against his side. He pulled you into his arms and speckled your head with kisses as he squeezed you tight. He was patient and waited for you to come down though he was absolutely beaming with pride. “That was…not how i imagined it would feel like but holy shit.” You managed to finally say.

“Fuck yeah!!” He said victoriously and he raised his hand for a high five. You couldnt help but laugh at his dorkiness and return the gesture. The excitement and happiness between you two was unfathomable. You didnt want to say that this was the best night with him just because you finally came. There had been plenty of other times where he made you feel so perfect and precious and completely in love with him that you almost cherished that more. But tonight was definitely like top five material.

“Im happy i could finally do this for you…” He returned to seriousness and you sighed as you began to wipe away traces of your cum from his face.

“Im sorry if you felt like i put pressure on you. I never meant-”

“Nah, it wasnt you. It was me. You know how i can sometimes be a perfectionist and i know its not like the end all be all of our relationship but…i dont know. I always felt like you deserved to feel good and happy. Like you just deserved…everything.” He shrugged and pretended to take more interest in plucking away a stray hair from your shoulder.

The guilt you had accumulated over the years suddenly lessened and you realized that it wasnt just about making you feel good sexually. It was actually, as cliche as it sounded, about bringing you two closer together in devotion and fulfilling a fantasy. The warmth in your body returned but for a different and cheesy romance movie kinda reason and you snuggled closer to his chiseled chest.

“Thank you…” You whispered. “For not being annoyed or giving up on me and helping me work through whatever was holding me back.”

“It’s what im here for, right? I think i’d be a shitty boyfriend if i wasnt.”

“Well you got that right.” You tilted your head up and kissed him gently, tasting the aftermath on his lips. “You better go wash your face before it gets all sticky.”

“That can wait. Besides i was kinda wondering if….” The both of you looked down at his cock, knocking your heads in the process. It never failed for the two of you to have an idiotic moment but he definitely needed to be rewarded after this.

[bunnys-beetlejuice-blog]

dings a rinky triangle right next to your head Hi guys, it's fic time! I actually put this up last night but I'm telling you right now. It's had a few hours to cool, like a pie out of the oven, but made of words. This chapter will actually contain mentions of ssssself harm, so viewer beware, i guess.

His world stays dark, even though he knows he’s opened his eyes. He tries to understand that, brain feeling foggy. He must be somewhere dark. He’s laying on his back. He can hear muffled voices, maybe, over him? He’s under something. He lays there, listening, but he’s too tired to even try to understand, and the voices are too muffled to be anything recognizable. Maybe, if he really strains, he can hear a familiar voice, or someone who sounds like his baby sister, but the only word he manages to understand is “invisible.”

He falls back into a restless sleep.

The next time he’s able to shake exhaustion from his mind, he tries to sit up. It’s easier than he thought it might be. This time, more aware of himself, his body feeling less destroyed, he actually tries to understand where he is. It feels like he’s laying in dirt, or under dirt, in a mountain of it, the usual soft scent of freshly turned earth overpowering. It still hurts to move, but he forces himself to, clawing upwards, through the dirt, until he reaches a wooden plank, which he goes through, like he’s not even there.

It’s a box, containing something foul smelling. A coffin… he’s inside a coffin. Juno buried him below a pine box, in someone else’s grave. The inside of it stinks, like decay and chemicals, and he doesn’t stop to take in whoever this used to be, just pushes up, and out, until he emerges from the ground like a zombie, like Night of the Living Dead. The ground around him is grown over with grass, and he grabs at it, using it as much as he can, as he crawls from someone’s grave, until finally, he pulls himself free from the earth, and lays there, taking breaths he doesn’t need, to clear the smell of the body from his nose. His suit and trench coat are filthy, but that barely registers, at this point. There are more important things to worry about, like getting home- He sits up, catches sight of the gravestone.

Emily Deetz Devoted Wife, Beloved Mother “Whom Most We Love Reach First the Golden Gate, Leaving Us Desolate”

He stares at the etching on the stone, and feels something in his mind snap, like a rubber band stretched too tight. He’s seeing the world through a fisheye lens, his vision distorted, blurry, as he tries to understand exactly what just happened. Juno made him crawl out of his own mother’s grave. The body he still reeks of was Emily’s. He sits there, a long time, not feeling much of anything, only able to stare, replaying that memory, over and over, and the only thing that makes him move is the sudden realization of what grass over a grave could mean. Emily’s been buried long enough for it to grow. How long has it been since he’s been home? He does his best to push this fun new trauma down, as far as it will go. He’s got to get back to his family. What’s left of it, he thinks, humorlessly.

He stands, off balance, and wipes some of the dust and dirt from his face, and finds that, annoyingly, his glamour has slipped, and it refuses to reapply. Maybe he’s too drained, though he’s not sure how he’s going to get back home, clearly looking as deranged as he must. He’s too exhausted to teleport, and he wanders around the cemetery, avoiding the few people there as much as he can, as the sun dips low, and vanishes. At least by that point he can force his teeth and ears to resemble normal human’s. The moss and eyes, well, he’s too worn down to care. So he’ll look like an extra grubby hobo, he thinks. That’ll have to be his new look, for now.

He reaches a gate, and leans on it, and then falls through it, and blinks, confused. He’s never been intangible by accident, before. Usually it takes concentration to make his solid form incorporeal. He stands, straightens out his suit collar, adjusts his sleeves, fiddles with his tie, as he thinks. There’s got to be someone around here who can call his family for him, or at the very least, a cab. The cemetery is growing darker, and his attention is drawn to the far off flicker of candles. He feels a pull, and he approaches, taking in what he sees.

It’s a group of five teenagers with an Ouija board. Predictable. He snorts, and expects that sound to alert the kids to his presence, but they don’t even turn to see what the noise could be. He steps closer, until he’s fully illuminated by the glowing ring of candles around them, and he tries to be friendly. “Hey, just a normal livin’ adult human man, in a cemetery, at night, approachin’ a group of children. You kids wanna be helpful an’ call me a cab?” BJ tries, but he’s ignored. The kids don’t even look in his direction. He remembers being a snot nosed teen, but this is a bit much. His blood boils, and he leans down, claps his hands in one of the teen’s faces, and she responds to that, but not in the way he wants. “I think I just felt a cold spot!” she tells her friends. “In front of my face, just now!” “Calm down with that,” a red haired girl shoots her a look. “We haven’t even started yet, and you’re already having a spiritual experience. Yeah, right.” “No you guys, really!”

“Lookit me,” he interrupts them. The children continue to squabble. His gut clenches. “Look at me!” he demands, storming to the center of the circle, and kicking at their stupid board game. His boot goes through it. They don’t react. Why would they, he realizes, sinking to sit on top of the board.

He’s invisible.

He tries to recall everything Juno had said, as he’d struggled to keep conscious, while impaled. Loneliness. Invisibility, being at the command of the living. Being… forgotten. No, no, NO- His impending freak out is stymied when he feels hands go through him, and he shoots up, hovering over the board game, as the teens below him react. “Oh my god, total cold spot! Should we like, make a note of that?” “Come on, come on, let’s start, while there’s still someone or something here!”

The five teens lean forward, each placing fingers on the planchette. “Is there anyone here?” one of them asks.

Betelgeuse stares, and feels a tug, again, clearly coming from the board. He knows some demons use these things to play with their food, before they eat, so he gives it a go, and floats over the game, head down, feet in the air, like he’s diving underwater. Maybe these kids can actually help him. He pushes the planchette with one finger, to land on “Yes.”

“Did you do that?” one boy asks, and the group devolves into the kids blaming each other, and he rakes his hands down his face, and tries to move the planchette, again, but they’re too busy squabbling, they’re not touching it anymore. Fuck, this is frustrating. He’s never wanted a group of teenagers to drop dead as badly as he does right now. Finally, they put their hands back on the pointer, and ask another question. “Are you friendly?”

This time, he pushes the planchette to spell, instead. “S-U-R-E.” “That doesn’t instill a lot of confidence,” the redhead from before mutters. “What do you want?” He nudges the pointer along, painstakingly slow. “H-O-M-E.” “You want to go home?” “YES.”

“For fuck sake, yes,” he groans, and then perks as one asks, “How can we help you?” Well… he’s not actually sure. He squints, trying and failing to recall everything Juno had said. How is he supposed to work with this curse thing, when he doesn’t know the rules? He digs his hands in his pockets, frustrated, and then blinks, because there’s what feels like a business card there, one that he doesn’t remember. He pulls the paper from his pocket, studies it.

BEETLEJUICE BEETLEJUICE BEETLEJUICE

He remembers the way Juno had chanted his name, before he’d lost consciousness. That must be it, then. His name is his burden.

“M-Y-N-A-M-E-T-H-R-E-E-T-I-M-E-S”

“Oh, wait, wait, guys, I’ve heard of this,” one of the girls gasps. “Demonic entities, they have you do things in threes, to mock the trinity, you know, father, son, and holy ghost. It’s a demon thing! We might be talking to a non-human spirit!” “That means we can’t trust it, right?” A boy asks, and they all look uneasy. He steers the planchette around the board, desperate. “W-A-N-N-A-H-O-M-E-P-L-Z.” The redhead wrinkles her nose. “Do demons use chat speak?” she asks, glancing around the group.

“O-H-M-Y-G-O-D-U-K-I-D-S-A-R-E-K-I-L-L-I-N-M-E.”

“I’m not afraid. Tell us your name, spirit!” a boy calls, and he gives the planchette a push, intent on spelling it. The pointer doesn’t move. “Come the fuck on!” he growls, but it doesn’t matter how much strength he puts into the action, he can’t move the dinky plastic piece to spell out his name.

“Spirit? You there?”

“F-U-C-K,” he spells out, in a rage, because this is pointless, he’s too exhausted and sore to think of how to make this work, and he just wants to go home, and see what’s left of his family. He growls again, and then snuffs all the candles in the circle, all at once, causing the kids to scream, and scramble, and that, at least, forces a rictus grin from him. He’s always enjoyed the sounds of terror. He leaves the children tripping over themselves in the dark, and decides he’s going to have to make his way home the old fashioned way- floating. At least he doesn’t have to walk, he supposes, tucking his legs under himself, and he floats invisibly out of the cemetery, and down the sidewalk, trying to focus on how good it will be to see Lydia and Charles, and not on how they won’t see him, and especially not on how every part of him, physically, emotionally, mentally, is hurting. read the rest over here~ If you're totally lost, I find starting at the beginning of something often makes the middle of something make better sense. So you can start at the very beginning right HERE

[lloydskywalkers]

call the police and the fireman

I have zero explanation for this except that during the rare occasion of me working on my original novel, it occurred to me that out of all the dragon characteristics Lloyd could have, I’ve been short-changing him on of the coolest ones possible. Also @ninjawhoa did not talk me down so here’s Lloyd ignoring his one brain cell. 

In his defense, Lloyd most certainly had not been trying to completely eviscerate the inside of his throat. That hadn’t been like, anywhere even remotely near the end goal. Was it something he'd wanted? No. Was it something he’d planned? Of course not, his plans aren’t that bad. Was it something he probably should have expected?

….well, maybe, but it’s too late now.

Way too late, Lloyd thinks to himself, as he finishes hiding the last specks of the incinerated fire alarm in the bathroom trash and immediately retreats to sticking his head beneath the running faucet again.

The thing is, though, smart as he normally is, Lloyd’s had it — well, he’s had it not so great, lately. It hasn’t been the easiest of times in his life, which is saying something, compared to the rest of it. So maybe he’d gotten a little too focused on the barest shred of good news he’d received during the entire thing, sue him.

You try being told you’ve actually been part-dragon your entire life, what would your first move be? And having grown up with dragons as a normal staple in his life, Lloyd’s had a whole lot of inspiration on that front.

In hindsight however, Lloyd thinks, as he tries not to cry over his poor, mutilated throat — he probably should’ve stuck with like, trying to give himself claws, or something. Or even the flying thing. The flying thing would’ve been way better.

The worst part is that it actually looked so stupid cool. Kai would lose his mind over how cool this is, and Lloyd can’t even show him, because he might lose his mind in an entirely different and much less enthusiastic way.

Lloyd tries for a tentative “hey guys”, and immediately doubles over in a bout of wheezing gasps, wishing he’d tried for the sweet bliss of unconsciousness-via-head-bashing instead.

Stuffing a towel in his mouth so the rest of the team doesn’t hear him hacking like a chronic smoker, Lloyd wonders 1) how long it’s going to take the green power to fix his throat, 2) how long he’s going to be able to get away with not speaking, and 3) how much of this he can blame on his great-grandmother before she vaporizes him.

He comes to the conclusion that he’s just gonna blame the whole thing on her.

******************************

Despite the circumstances they’d met under, Lloyd likes his great-grandmother. She’s pretty cool, as far as family members go, and he enjoys talking with her, even if ninety percent of their conversation ends up devoted to lecturing him about what “an absolute scumbag your great-grandfather was, child, truly the spawn of *garbled dragon curses*."

Actually, all their conversations tend to end that way, but Lloyd doesn’t mind too much. It’s kind of like if his great-grandparents has just divorced like normal people, instead of being otherworldly, immortal god-like beings who went to war with each other.

He hasn’t been talking to her for that long — it’d taken a lot of finagling the means of reaching the First Realm from his uncle, for one, and then he’d had to make sure he could get back home, of course. The whole thing ended up being pointless anyways, since his great-grandmother ended up coming to visit him, because he’s the only family member she hasn’t considered barbecuing at some point, apparently. (Yet.)  

“—and you do look just like your father, back when he didn’t take after your thrice-cursed *garbled dragon cursing* of a great-grandfather,” she had said, inspecting him with her large eyes. “I was quite fond of him, you know. He was a true terror, as I’m sure you are. Or perhaps not, you have a sweeter look in your face. It’s the cheeks, I think, you’re not nearly as threatening as he ever looked.”

“Um, thank you,” Lloyd had awkwardly replied, as he’d had little to no reference point of whether or not she genuinely liked him at the time, and was being extra-cautious, because certain recent familial encounters had left him with the mindset that it was best to believe everyone related to him probably wanted to murder him.

Fortunately, his great-grandmother was not one of those types.

“I don’t know about the wings, little one,” she’d informed him as he’d dangled upside from her tail, eyeing him mournfully. “You seem to take too much after your mother’s side.”

Lloyd had been less than thrilled with that response, but he’d swallowed his disappointment the best he could.

“Now the teeth, though,” she’d said, her eyes gleaming. “Those, we can work with.”

That was how the fire-breathing had come to be in the first place — which, as you should note, was entirely his great-grandmother’s idea. She’d reasoned that since Lloyd not only appeared to have manifested most of his dragon characteristics in his mouth, but also had a direct connection to the element of fire, he might be able to both successfully breathe fire and survive the attempt.

“Wait, there’s a chance I wouldn’t survive?” Lloyd had asked, blinking.

“You’re exhaling fire through your little mortal throat, hatchling. Of course there’s a chance you wouldn’t survive. A very small one, mind you — I happen to like you a good deal, and it’d be a terrible shame if all I was left with in the world was the rest of your *garbled dragon cursing* family.”

She had also reasoned that since Lloyd seemed to have an excellent handle on both languages — even if Dragon did sound like butchered yowling in his accent, she bemoaned — perhaps there was a connection with the throat there. At any rate, they had both agreed that Lloyd would be far more likely to breathe fire from his throat than he would be sprouting wings anytime soon.

Lloyd had deliberately mentioned absolutely none of this to his team. If Kai ever learns that he’d been warned dying was an option and continued to try it anyways…

Well, it’s breathing fire. Lloyd’s staking his hopes on Kai being so impressed with how cool it is that he totally forgets about all about murdering his reckless little brother.

******************************

While his great-grandmother gives him all sorts of throat exercises he’s supposed to do — apparently the actual fire’s supposed to come from his chest, but the throat will take the worst of it — he doesn’t get the chance to actually test it out until a week or two later, when he’s walking home alone from the grocery late one night.

All he’s picked up is an extra-large bag of M&M’s and like, four things of cereal, so Lloyd’s in good spirits as he crosses one of the older alleyways. He’s also relaxed enough for the first time in about three months to let his guard down a bit, so it’s a real shame that he immediately gets jumped by thugs the second he does.

“Hands up, kid, nice and easy,” the biggest guy says, waving his gun at him. “We don’t want any trouble, just your money.”

Lloyd bites back a retort. Yeah, sure, they can have all fifty of his cents he’s got left. Lloyd’s a real billionaire here, in his training shorts and Zane’s old sweatshirt, who’s even teaching these guys how to pick targets—

“He said hands up, kid!” the second guy barks at him, his own gun leveling out somewhere wildly above Lloyd’s shoulder. “And drop the bags, too!”

That has Lloyd scowling. He spent the last of his junk food money on this, he’s not leaving it on the city streets, gross. He sighs, shifting his arms and beginning to call up his power, when an idea hits him. Lloyd’s mouth curves into a deliberate smirk.

“Hey kid, we said — hey, stop that creepy grinning, we’re pointing a gun at you—”

Lloyd just grins wider, opens his mouth, and breathes an explosion of streaming flame toward their faces.

If he were his father, Lloyd would call out something terribly impressive, like “may my hellfire vanquish you back to the eternal pit of misery you crawled out of, foolish scum” — but he’s not his father, so he’s been figuring he’ll end up saying something along the lines of “stop right there, sucker” because he was raised by a bunch of teenagers with the combined schooling level of mid-high school.

Unfortunately, all he ends up actually saying is a bunch of strangled screaming, because he’s currently forcing a miniature bonfire through his throat, and wow, he definitely did not calculate how much this was actually going to hurt—

It does the trick, at least. The thugs’ faces lose all their color faster than he can blink, and they jump back screaming in terror, dropping all their guns in their haste to escape.

Lloyd would be cackling like he hasn’t since he was about nine, but he’s too busy trying not die inhaling smoke through his scorched throat.

“Son of — hngh—”

Smoke is billowing out from between his teeth now, and Lloyd sucks in a strangled wheeze, his eyes tearing up as the smoke stings against them. He feels like he’s swallowed a blast from Kai, his throat hurts so bad, but it doesn’t feel deadly. He can already feel the buzz of green power doing it’s job, and the pathetic whining noises he’s making reassure him that his vocal chords are still there, even if it feels like he’s flambéed them.

“Worth it,” Lloyd croaks through his abused, raw throat, before collapsing on the street and nearly passing out.

******************************

The next morning is awful. If Lloyd hadn’t developed such a high pain tolerance as he has, he’d be in serious trouble right now.

Not that it makes it any better, he thinks to himself, trying not to whine as he accidentally swallows, his throat vengefully reminding him that he tried to charbroil it last night.

“Morning, Lloyd,” Cole says cheerfully. Lloyd gives him a weak smile in return, adding a little wave for flair, and hopes it’s enough.

“How would you like your eggs?” Zane asks him. Lloyd jerks a shoulder up in a shrug, trying to look as tired as he can. If he can convince them that he’s just exhausted, instead of slowly dying inside because he breathed fire through his throat last night—

“I want scrambled,” Jay says through a yawn, saving Lloyd from Zane’s quizzical gaze. “Make ‘em all scrambled, Zane, with that cheese you use.”

“A ‘please’ would be appreciated once in a while,” Zane mutters, but he’s already reaching for the fridge again.

Lloyd grits his teeth, trying desperately to ignore how much his mouth tastes like ash. Like, actual ash, which is disgusting. Lloyd’s never gonna be able to eat burnt marshmallows again, which is a true tragedy.

The price you pay for being a badass, Lloyd thinks to himself mournfully.

Kai comes in about then, still scrubbing at his eyes, yawning as he sits next to Lloyd. “Sleep alright?” he asks, words mangled through the yawn.

Lloyd nods, then tries to hide the wince that runs through him as his throat twinges. He’s apparently unsuccessful, because Kai narrows his eyes at him, suddenly looking much more awake.

“Hey, are you okay?” he says, sounding concerned. “Talk to me, bud."

Lloyd bites his lip. If Kai keeps asking, the others are gonna start looking over, and then that’ll be more suspicious. Maybe he can just tell him he’s got a cough? Yeah, he can do that. Just one small sentence, a few little words. He can handle that.

“I’m—ngh—”

Lloyd’s voices catches on the first word, squeaks like a broken recorder, and then coughs a burst of bright fire across the breakfast table.

A chorus of high-pitched screaming rings out across the breakfast room, Cole and Jay jumping back from the flames as Nya and Zane rush toward him, quickly putting out the fire that’s caught the wooden table. Kai’s dancing around Lloyd as he doubles over in hacking coughs, sounding two seconds from a panicked breakdown.

“—coughed up fire, that was fire, Lloyd what the FSM was that?!”

“M’a dragon,’member?” Lloyd wheezes, as he’s stared down by his family’s terrified faces. He coughs again, waving at the tiny puff of smoke that comes out, before giving them a shaky grin. “S’cool, right?”

He’s met with five blank stares.

“Oh dear,” Zane finally says, looking like he’s come to the conclusion that Lloyd is going to kill himself with this. Which is rude, Lloyd can’t be cool as heck if he’s dead.

“This is worse than the lightbulbs,” Cole says, faintly.

“Lloyd, how,” Nya breathes into her hands.

“Dude that’s sick!” Jay bursts out in excitement, immediately cementing his place as one of Lloyd’s favorite people ever. “You can breathe fire, what the heck!”

Kai shakes his head at him in awe, his voice reverent. “That’s so cool, that’s not eve—ennn oh my god he’s dying—!”

Kai’s excitement turns to a horrified shriek as Lloyd coughs up a mouthful of blood.

“S’okay,” Lloyd croaks, waving everyone off they crowd him, wiping at his mouth. “S’normal too. Throat’s just raw. It heals up after a bit.”

He’s met by five of the most unimpressed stares he’s seen all month.

“I’m making you a doctor’s appointment,” Zane sighs, tapping at his phone. “And you’re going over this with Sensei Wu.”

“And you’re not breathing fire anymore,” Cole scolds, eyebrows furrowed in worry.

“Without us,” Jay adds. Cole elbows him, and he scowls. “What? C’mon, this is super cool.”

“Jay,” Nya says, a warning in her voice.

Jay laughs nervously. “I mean, super dangerous, haha! Real, uh, really dangerous. You’re coughing up blood, that’s bad.”

Kai hovers by his shoulder, still looking torn between dreadful concern, overbearing overprotectiveness, and most importantly, an vicious kind of curiosity.

As Lloyd had hoped it would, curiosity wins out. “D’you think it’d work with me?” he finally asks him, a gleam in his eyes. “Since I can control fire, do you think I could breathe it too—”

“No,” Zane says, quickly.

“Absolutely not,” Nya says flatly. “Not a chance. Neither of you are going to try anything else with fire. If I catch you coughing up smoke, you’re both toast.”

Lloyd and Kai both nod dutifully.

“Of course,” Lloyd assures her, through a creaking rasp.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Kai echoes.

******************************

Nya storms out of the monastery at one a.m. that night to find both Kai and Lloyd in the middle of the training field, half the dummies burning down and both sprawled out on the ground. Lloyd is still hacking smoke up, having been responsible for the flames on the right side. Kai is on his hands and knees, his face pale and sweaty, responsible for the fires smoldering on the left. In terms of breathing fire, he’s only been able to trigger his gag relax about seven times, but in terms of enthusiasm, he’s contributed to the blaze on the whole by boosting Lloyd’s flames by eighty percent.

Nya spends about forty-five minutes alternating between yelling at them and dousing them with twin jets of water from her hands. Neither Kai or Lloyd mind getting sprayed by that point, but the yelling definitely doesn’t do wonders for the headaches they’ve both got from smoke inhalation.

******************************

After that fiasco, Lloyd is officially banned from breathing fire, influencing anyone else to try and breathe fire, or even mention breathing fire.

Lloyd declares that this is a prejudiced offense against him being half-dragon.

“You are a prejudiced offense against the entire health world on the whole,” Zane glares at him, tying off the last of the bandages he’s been wrapping around his throat. Lloyd makes a face at him. The bandages are overkill, and Zane knows it — all the damage is on the inside, anyways.

Next to them Nya is still chewing out Kai, who’s steadily chugging at the glass of water Cole forced on him. “I don’t care if you think you’re fireproof, and I don’t care if you—” she stabs an accusatory finger at Lloyd. “Have special elemental powers that’ll heal you eventually. If I so much as see a spark of fire from either of you, anywhere near your mouth, I’m going to super-soak you with the illegal water gun Jay built last summer.”

Kai and Lloyd pale in unison. Kai speaks up hesitantly, “Wouldn’t it just be easier if you hit us with your powers—”

“No,” Nya hisses, her eyes flashing murder. “Because it’s making a point. It’s the water gun of shame.”

Kai and Lloyd exchange commiseratory glances.

Cole and Jay don’t say much until Nya and Zane have wandered from the room, at which point they surge forward, eyes gleaming.

“Tell me you got video of it,” Jay whispers.

Kai grins. “Duh. Wait ’til you see what he did to the balance beams.”

******************************

After that, unfortunately, Lloyd really does have to stop breathing fire. Mostly because he’d like to be able to speak again without doubling over in wheezing coughs, but also because Nya’s legitimately terrifying with her water gun.

Also because Kai’s too scared of Nya as well, so Lloyd’s lost his claim to a bad influence.

Ah well, Lloyd mopes to himself. It’s a nice card to have up his sleeve in a pinch, he guesses, but clearly it was never meant to be a natural thing. He’s just too human. (Or too Oni — maybe that’s influencing it? He’ll have to ask his great-grandmother, next time she goes off on another rant about them.)

The important point is, he has every intention of not doing it again. Every intention.

But then he visits his father in prison again, because his dad’s chatty like that now, apparently. Which isn’t a terribly bad thing on its own, because Mr. Self-Proclaimed (or was it Harumi-proclaimed?) Emperor Garmadon has at least mellowed out a bit since the whole “wreck half the city in a rage” thing. And Lloyd’s been called here in person to check out the new security measures they put up, so he does have a good reason.

No, the breaking point comes when Lloyd’s trying to leave in peace, and his terrible dad of a father decides to make some snarky comment about how “boringly quiet you are today”, like Lloyd’s supposed to be his entertainment, or something.

Normally Lloyd would just ignore it and storm off, but his throat’s been killing him this whole time, and the vein in the upper right corner of his forehead is throbbing just a little too much. So instead of leaving, he whirls on his father, eyes flashing as he growls. Garmadon’s teeth bare, prepared to snap at him, and Lloyd opens his mouth to snap right back—

And promptly breathes a campfire’s worth of bright flames at him instead.

Lloyd claps a hand over his mouth in horror as the flames blossom out against the glass barrier, before doubling over in ragged coughs, smoke streaming through his fingers. A clamoring of alarms goes off, and that’s the only warning Lloyd gets before the emergency sprinklers come on, soaking both him and his father. At least they’ll hide the brimming tears from the smoke in his eyes, Lloyd thinks miserably, watching as his gi soaks through.

Garmadon is dead silent. He stares at him with wide eyes, his mouth hanging slightly open. He closes his mouth, blinking twice, his jaw working. Then, finally— “That is undeniably unfair,” he growls. “She taught you how to do that? I’ve been begging her since I was six.”

Despite the intense agony his throat is in, Lloyd beams. “It’s so cool, right?” he says, his voice sounding like a malfunctioning blender. “Totally awesome. No idea why she wouldn’t teach you. Must suck to be—”

Lloyd doesn’t get to gloat much more than that, because he starts wheezing again and the security guards come drag him out “for his own safety”, but for the look on his dad’s face?

So worth it.