#hope he doesn’t read the previous tag before the last one because he does not know that

[lambsonburn]

TAG Analysis - Ep I (first minute)

To preface, this analysis will be very, VERY long because I simply can’t help myself. It also may very well be in parts.

With the length of it, I’ll put a read more thing (or hope I have, I’ve never used the feature before) so it’s not a massive block of text for people to scroll past :)

For starters, the opening scene of the show is crafted so beautifully. Firstly, we the audience see the danger before we see who in danger. Even though this is such a simple, subtle thing, it’s so effective because this is the perfect way to define what the show is and what it’s about - daring rescues of those in situations which in our world would seem near impossible to aid, which just adds to the heroics of IR.

Furthermore, the way the characters are introduced is incredible. As with before, we hear the man’s voice before we see him - creating a similar effect as to previous. But he is presented in such a way that leads our eyes up his form and to his head because we know that he is the one making the SOS which makes the sudden interruption of the child so much better. It’s an “oh shit he’s not alone” type reaction, even though the child is very visible next to him. Also the way they are positioned in the balloon, how it’s at an angle, makes the father falling out seem almost inevitable. Plus, the idea to give them hats makes the scene even better because the act of them falling off and out of shot just adds to the tension.

As a quick little side piece, the use of music is fab. I would go more in-depth about the music if I could but I’m not very well music versed being an art kid; that and it’s been a few years since I last played clarinet so some things are a little vaguer now. To begin, the music in the first 20 seconds - it’s in a repeating pattern, three times up once down twice in a row. Then it goes to a lower register when the father begins to speak which not only allows us to hear him much clearer but also adds to the danger of the scene. Then after he climbs back in it begins to crescendo upwards before including a motif (that I’m pretty sure is used in other episodes) but sounds more heroic-y (I think it shifts to major key but I’m not sure).

The arrival of TB2 from the clouds is so well done, my god. Not only is how it appears so well handled, but the music that accompanies it too. Its presence in the scene is so well crafted. The balloon is to the side, still swaying out of control as to still elicit the danger, but the camera is zooming out. This makes the balloon seem smaller so that when TB2 appears it looks, frankly, fucking huge. What’s even better is that we hear then see it. We hear its engines so clearly that it cuts through the music. We can’t see it but we know where it will appear because the balloon is kept to one side of the screen. The music when it appears is also handled so well. Instead of the faster, scaling initial notes, they’re now much more drawn out. Yes these notes are still scaling upwards, but instead being fear-inducing it leans towards heroism especially with what I think is a gong 34/35 seconds into the ep which really just adds to the feel (it’s uplifting!!). And after, it goes into one of the main motifs played when on rescues. And then it changes AGAIN!!! Just as he grabs the child, it picks up - it gets faster. Nothing has happened but you know that something will. Also the wide shot at 48s initially doesn’t appear to furthering the story, but what it does do is further dramatise the danger. Simply “look, we’re 10,000 ft in the air. There is nothing around us.” You see this openness and you know that that man will fall and he does. And just before we get the drama… BAM intro sequence. It builds so much suspense because you know what’s happening, you know someone’s life is at stake but you have to wait through an incredible cool intro sequence to find out what happens.

Probably leave here for now, at least for an hour or so before I come back to it.

[dyaz-stories]

your imprint's on my soul || Cha Hyun-Su x Reader

summary: When Hyun-Su's monster shows up at your door, he teases you and implies that Hyun-Su wants more with you than what you've shared before so, when Hyun-Su wakes up, you decide to act on that.

word count: 4.1k

warnings & tags: canon-typical angst, fluff, smut, explicit consent, dry-humping, thigh-riding if you squint, handjob (male receiving), they're both virgins and are both painfully awkward, this is very soft tbh

first one-shot · previous one-shot

This one-shot can be read independently as there is nothing intense plot-wise that requires having read the other parts, but I do recommend reading them for context.

A/N: sooo, we've reached the first smutty installment for this series, though this feels so tame and so soft I don't even know if it deserves that name. It's what felt right to me for the development of their relationship and what I think makes sense for their characters! I hope you'll enjoy it!

Hyun-Su always knocks. It doesn’t matter that you’ve told him he didn’t have to anymore, doesn’t matter that you’ve offered to give him a key. He still knocks, a soft rap against your door that you’ve learned to recognize from anywhere you are in the house — it’s probably the first time ever that you are truly thankful for the terrible soundproofing in there. When Hyun-Su isn’t there, you spend your time waiting to hear it again, whether consciously or not.

So when you hear something brutally hitting your door, the sound echoing through your silent house, it doesn’t cross your mind that it could be him.

You stumble through the house to grab your bat, heart beating so fast it’s threatening to fall out of your chest. Whether it’s a monster or a desperate survivor trying to get in, you need to be ready to defend yourself.

You’re slowly approaching the door when whoever — or whatever — is outside hits the door twice more.

“C’mon now, I haven’t got all day.”

You still. You recognize the voice instantly, of course you do, but what you don’t recognize is the tone, or even how loud it is, for that matter.

“Hyun-Su?” you call out quietly.

It’s not the smartest decision, because if it’s not him, it lets whatever’s out there know you’re here, but you can’t see yourself leaving him outside.

“You could say that,” the voice answers, and it’s still obviously Hyun-Su, and it’s still wrong, somehow.

But, after a couple seconds of further hesitation, you decide to open the door anyway. You’ve heard it before, that tone, you think, even if it’s blurry now. Plus, you cannot bear the thought of letting Hyun-Su out there, if it really is him. You tighten your hold on your bat, and carefully open the door.

The second you do, Hyun-Su walks in like he owns the place. It is so unlike him that you get ready to swing, but he spots you and grabs it from your hand easily, using his pull on it to get you closer to him, his other hand coming to your waist to stabilize you with a gentleness that contrasts with the abruptness of his movement. Once he does, he shoots you a grin that makes you knees weak, and, as his blue eyes stare straight into yours, you finally understand what is going on.

“All that for me?” he asks, glancing at the bat.

You don’t bother to answer him. You remember too well the state he was in last time you saw this— well— version of him, and your eyes run over his body, followed by your hands, checking for injuries. But while his sweater is in worst shape than usual, and you find blood that you think is fresh on there, his skin is intact under your fingers.

When you look into his eyes again, you find him staring at you, amused.

“You can keep going,” he teases. Your face starts burning and you take a step back, embarrassed, but he follows right after you, eyes devouring you. “Come on, you know you want to. Why not just give in?”

Your back hits the wall, and he leans closer, like a cat playing with a mouse. The difference is, though your heart is hammering in your chest, you don’t feel that scared. Nervous, sure, but there is no actual threat to his tone, or even to his attitude.

“I’m not— I’m not doing anything Hyun-Su wouldn’t want,” you answer, and you somehow find it in yourself to lift your chin defiantly as you do.

Meeting this version of Hyun-Su’s eyes sends a rush of heat through you once again. Beneath the amusement, there is so much more. Fascination. Adoration, even.

He lets out a brief laugh at your words.

“Please,” he practically purrs, “you can’t think that he doesn’t want this.” You stare at him, and his grin widens. “Maybe you should ask him, then.” He leans closer to you, mouth so close to your ear you can feel his breath tickling your cheek. “Ask him what he thinks about when he’s alone at night.” Your cheeks are on fire. “Ask him what he thinks about when you’re lying in bed next to him.” Your breath catches in your throat. “Ask him what he thinks of doing to you.”

He laughs again, and Lord, you don’t know how your legs haven’t given up underneath you yet.

“Come back to me if he still doesn’t have the guts to do anything,” he whispers in your ear. “For now, I think we’ll take a nap.”

That’s all the warning you get before he collapses into you and you can do nothing but slide down to the floor, holding Hyun-Su’s now unconscious body in your arms. You curse the monstrous part of him under your breath, but you know, deep down, that it’s less about that and more about the fact that he’s leaving you with your whole body practically vibrating with feelings and desires you’ve been having more and more as of late.

Your relationship with Hyun-Su is good. It’s great. It makes you happy, so much happier than you thought would ever be possible after the world ended.

But you’d be lying if you said there hasn’t been a— yearning, a longing for more. Something you haven’t put precise words on, something that is almost fully new to you, because though you had fooled around with the boyfriend you briefly had at the beginning of college, the two of you had never gotten really far. You suspect it’s even more foreign to Hyun-Su.

You do know you have an effect on him, you’re not blind. You know how he can get when he loses himself in you, when he finally lets go of all the weight he carries on his shoulders. You, however, also know how embarrassed he gets when his body reacts to you in ways he can’t fully control. You’re just not sure he’s ready for taking the relationship further and, if you’re being honest, the fear of rejection has kept you from bringing up the subject.

Except that after this conversation, the monster’s words are swirling in your mind, and you can no longer pretend that the desire that makes your pulse quicken isn’t there.

Now’s not the time for that, though. You do your best to carry Hyun-Su to the couch, something you doubt you could have done before the Apocalypse forced you to put on some muscle, cover him with a blanket, just in case, because his sweater is starting to have more holes than fabric, and sit by his side so his head rests on your lap. All that’s left to do now, is to wait for him to wake up.

It’s fine, though.

You’re used to waiting for him.

Hyun-Su opens his eyes, and at first, he just feels warm and good and safe. For once in his life, nothing hurts. Your hand’s in his hair, fingers brushing against his scalp pleasantly every now and then and—

And he doesn’t remember coming to your place or seeing you.

He jumps up, eyes surveying the apartment, which looks the same it always does, then you when he turns around. All he sees there is mild confusion.

“Did you have a bad dream?” you ask.

“Did you see him?” he asks in reply.

You frown for a second, before understanding passes on your face, and Hyun-Su feels the blood draining from his face.

Last time, the monster had been with you for a couple minutes, at most. This time…

He hadn’t thought he would come here. He’d been far away, when the group of humans had gotten attacked. Intervening had been the right thing to do, he’d thought — until he’d started getting shot at. The words they’d hurled at him, he’d all heard before, during a time of his life he wished he could forget. With his attention split between the monsters still trying to get past him on one side, and the arrows and bullets coming from the other side, the monster had managed to take over.

And maybe, just maybe, he hadn’t fought it as hard as he should have.

He had never thought you’d get caught in the crossfire.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “Are you— Are you—”

Hurt. Angry. Disgusted.

“I’m fine,” you answer him. You don’t hesitate to reach out to gently touch his face, and your smile is so sincere it’s almost blinding. “Nothing happened.”

He leans into your touch, unable to stop himself, and though he still feels the need to protest, it gets easier to believe you each time you reassure him you don’t despise him.

“It didn’t do anything to you?” he asks, voice low and quiet.

You shake your head, but he can’t miss the way you glance away briefly, avoiding his eyes at first.

“He didn’t hurt me,” you tell him, and he can tell it’s true, but—

“What did it do?” There’s urgency in his voice, panic even. He grabs your arms to look into your eyes, the window to the soul, they say, but he cannot read into you, no matter how much he searches.

“Nothing,” you say, but again, he can tell that there’s more to it, and he doesn’t let go, until you cave in. “He just said something.”

“What did he say?” Hyun-Su presses on. Fear is invading his every bone, wrapping its vines around his heart and squeezing it.

“Nothing important,” you insist, but it only makes him more desperate, because if you don’t want to tell him, it must be something bad, must be something deep and dark and twisted, must be something that could make you hate him. When he doesn’t let up, you sigh. “He just said to ask you something.”

Hyun-Su’s mind goes quiet.

“Ask me what?”

His mouth is dry, his lips move painfully.

“Just— He said, I should ask you what you want to— to do to me.”

It’s like a bomb just went off.

Hyun-Su lets go of you. It feels as if his whole face is burning. Shame and embarrassment overtake him, and suddenly he can’t look at you anymore, just wants to run out the door, but his body is refusing to move. He’s stuck in place like a rabbit in headlights.

“I’m sorry,” he says automatically, whipping his head in the other direction, since that all he can do.

“So, you, um, you… are thinking about it?” you ask, your voice piercing straight through his heart.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats.

“No, no, I’m, uh—”

You grab his hand, scooting closer to him on the couch, until your knees touch his. And it grounds him. Slowly, reason starts to creep back up from under all the thoughts, and he hears the eagerness in your question.

“J-just so we’re on the same page,” you say, as he slowly turns his head to look at you once more, “you’re thinking about… having sex. With me.”

It’s precious, how you lower your voice to say ‘sex’, and then frown in annoyance at yourself. Hyun-Su still wants to tear his hand from yours, run away before you can tell him how much of a freak, of a monster you think he is. But he can’t.

He thinks he’d rather you rip his heart out, as long as you do it with your bare hands, than to live without your touch ever again.

Slowly, he nods. His face and ears are tingling, and he’s sure he’s bright red by now.

“I shouldn’t,” he mumbles. You’ve given him so much already. So much he hadn’t dared to hope for in years. He shouldn’t ask for even more. He doesn’t deserve more.

But your hands tighten around his. Your mouth opens, closes, your tongue comes out to wet your lips as you hesitate and fidget nervously.

“No, you, uh, you should,” you stutter before catching yourself, closing your eyes like you don’t want to see what’s in front of you before you take a leap of faith. “I mean— I think about it. About you.”

A light buzz starts again in his ears.

“I didn’t know,” you keep mumbling. “I mean, I wasn’t sure that you—” Your gaze goes from his hand to the floor, everywhere so you don’t have to look at him. “That you wanted me. So I’m— It’s, uh, it’s good to know.”

“I want you,” Hyun-Su blurts out without thinking, and of course then you look at him, with wide, pretty eyes, and if he wasn’t blushing before, he sure is now. His face could burst into flames any second. “I hate that I can’t—” His eyes fall on your legs, with the dress you’re wearing riding up on your thighs. “—touch you.” If he wasn’t so scared, if he was braver… “I just…” A whisper. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You wouldn’t,” you say patiently. “I trust you.”

“But I don’t,” he mumbles, looking down at the floor. “You’re so— fragile. If I lost control for a second…”

He sees you hesitate. He expects you to tell him, again, that he wouldn’t lose control, maybe that the monster inside him wouldn’t hurt you. Thing is, you might be right, but it doesn’t matter how unlikely it is. That’s not a risk he can take.

“Okay,” you say instead. “Okay. But what if— what if I was the one touching you?”

He almost wishes you hadn’t said it, with how badly he immediately wants it.

“You don’t have to do that,” he says. His throat is dry. His whole body is aching for you.

“And if I want to?” You tilt your head, all pretty, and oh, how can he deny you anything?

“Please,” he whispers.

Your lips part and your breath seems to stutter, before you lean in and kiss him, and it’s like he’s finally come home. It starts off soft, slow, no different from any kiss the two of you have shared in the past weeks. Your hand comes up to cup his face, thumb stroking his cheek.

Hyun-Su melts. He parts his lips to welcome in your tongue, lets you take the lead and set the pace for the kiss without thinking about it twice.

Then he feels you move. It’s barely there at first, your hand that’s not on his face coming to rest on his shoulder, and all that is known territory. Even if your fingers actually touch his skin there, because of the numerous holes in his clothing, he can handle that.

His eyes snap open again, though, when you move your leg over his so you can come sit in his lap, straddling him. You notice immediately.

“Is that okay? We can stop—”

“No, I—”

He doesn’t want you to stop. He wants more with you, so bad, and though he would never say it out loud, he’s desperate for you to show him that you’re not disgusted in him. Every time you kiss him, every time you touch him, every time you take his hand and lead him in bed with you, he comes closer to truly believing it.

But, ah, with this last conversation, even if it’s not the first time he’s had you in his lap, he feels— heated. He can feel himself growing hard, and he’s still embarrassed at the thought that you can feel him. Despite what he said, his hands are on your waist, holding tight. He doesn’t remember if he chose to do that.

After all, his desire for you aligns with what the monster wants so closely that he’s— scared. He’s so scared of losing control. But you’re looking at him so lovingly, and he wants you so bad… Can he be selfish? Just this once?

“Don’t stop,” he almost begs, and seeing how eagerly you nod in reply is like an explosion of warmth in his chest.

Your lips crash against his again, harder, with more purpose. Your fingers card through his hair, and the feeling of your light pull on them goes straight to his core, more enjoyable than he thinks it should be, though he’s in no position to linger on it, not when the next thing you do is to experimentally roll your hips on top of him.

From your perspective, it’s a clumsy movement, one you’re unsure of. From his, it’s a rush of pure pleasure when you rub against his hard cock, one that makes him openly moan, his mouth falling open enough that he breaks the kiss. The second he realizes what kind of noise came out of him, he raises his hand to cover his mouth, cheeks turning crimson.

He’s not daring to look at you, not at first anyway, until he feels your lips brushing against his fingers, pressing soft kisses against his hand.

“Still good?” you ask.

And he is, but he’s not trusting his voice all that much for now, so he just nods. A smile dances on your lips as you kiss down his jaw.

“Also,” you add, “I’m not— I don’t have much— experience, in all, uh, that. So you should— you should let me know. What feels good. What doesn’t.”

“That felt good,” he admits quietly, and your smile turns into a grin against his skin.

“I could tell.”

What you don’t say is how hot you found both the sound and the thought that you could affect him like that, how badly you want to press your legs together so you can alleviate the ache you’re feeling down there, how you’re worried you actually want him even more than he wants you.

Instead of saying all that — it would make you feel so naked and so vulnerable, and disarm you completely, which doesn’t seem like a good idea for now —, you start trailing your kisses down his neck. There’s one spot there that makes him whimper, more discreetly than before, but you latch onto it all the same, tongue coming out to flick against the skin, pulling on it softly between your teeth. He writhes and whines under you, and when his cock rubs against you just right, you gasp against him.

You’re delighted to see reddish skin when you pull away. He’ll heal, and there will be no trace of it by morning, but there’s something satisfying about it — and the glassy look he gives you, lips swollen and parted, hair a mess on the back of the couch, with that proud mark right above his collarbone… is purely sinful.

Your fingers hook in his hoodie.

“Can I?” you ask.

He’d go to the moon and back for you.

He nods.

You pull it over his head, struggle a little when it gets caught in his hair, then manage to pull him free and kiss him again with a giggle. It’s sweet. You’re still wearing your dress, but it’s the first time he feels your hands directly on his skin all the same, and even if his body’s burning up, your touch sets him ablaze.

You explore his body with hungry eyes and hands, follow the shape of his pectorals, then move down to his abs. You trace the muscles, slowly, and as you move down, closer to his crotch, he can no longer suppress a shiver. You still for a second, and he watches you with wide eyes, waiting for you to keep moving, so badly wanting you to keep going. Finally, your fingers brush against the button of his jeans. Silently, meeting his eyes, you ask for his permission. He swallows, nods again.

He’s nervous, almost painfully so, but he notices that your fingers are shaking as you have to try three times to get it open, and it reassures him, in some ways. It reminds him that, for all the issues he has, this is new for the both of you. There are no expectations to meet, just the two of you discovering, together, what works for you.

Once the button isn’t in the way, you, very carefully, move your hand under his jeans, but over his boxers. The second he feels your hand hesitantly closing over his cock, even through the fabric, he throws his head back, trying his best not to moan again and only half-succeeding.

You watch his reactions closely as you keep touching him, slipping your hand under the boxers after a few seconds. This time he does moan, a high-pitched noise that you take to mean you’re doing something right — even if you have no idea what you’re doing. How tight should your grip be? How fast should you move? Should you be saying something? Should he be saying something?

His cock is rock hard between your fingers, harder than you’d have expected; larger, too. It seems to have been that way for a while, maybe since you’ve started kissing, based on how wet with precum it is. You tighten your grip around it a little, then slide your hand down, slowly, down to the base. He moans again, and you feel him twitch between your fingers.

“Um,” you mumble, “I, uh, I don’t really know— is that— is there anything I should—”

Hyun-Su’s looks up at you, flushed and panting. One of his hands comes to your thigh, and now you’re the one shivering under his touch. You don’t think he even notices though. You’re dripping wet yourself, but for now you just want to make him feel good. If things go well, if he stays open to this sort of things, there’ll be plenty of time to deal with that… later. At the moment, all you want is to show him that pleasure doesn’t have to lead to anything negative.

“J-just, keep going,” he mumbles. “You can, ah, you can go a little faster, if you…”

The rest of his words gets lost in the next moan as you follow his advice, moving your hand up and down his cock, the wetness helping the movement. Despite yourself, you rock your hips against his leg, the pressure of it between your legs feeling so delicious, you can’t deny it to yourself at the moment.

Under you, Hyun-Su is lost in pleasure. Your rhythm is hesitant, you’re not holding him quite as tight as he’d like, but oh, your hand is soft and gentle, and it still feels so much better than his own. The fact that you’re all pressed against him, your breath against his neck, your scent filling him, it’s all much more than what he had imagined — because, yes, in shameful moments, he’d pictured this kind of scenes, but they had never felt as good, pleasure running through his veins and flooding his body.

Any time he indulged in them, though, he came faster than usual, and now, with the real thing, he realizes too late how quickly he is approaching his climax.

“Wait,” he hears himself mumble, “I’ll—”

But he’s already coming, and the strength of the orgasm leaves him breathless as he humps against your hand, trying to make it last longer.

“Oh,” is all you comment, and even through the haze, embarrassment spreads through him as he realizes that there’s cum on your hand and on his stomach. At least he cannot turn any redder now.

“Sorry,”  he mumbles, “sorry, I—”

“No, I— I thought that was pretty hot, actually,” you say, giving him a smile, and thank fuck you’ve taken his hand off him, because he wouldn’t want to have to explain why that’s making him twitch again. “I’ll just— you probably want to get cleaned up.”

“I’m— Yeah, but—” He glances down at your body. He felt you rocking against him earlier, even if he wasn’t exactly in the right mind to say something about it. “Don’t you— Don’t you want to, uh…”

“Ah, I’m fine, I just— I just wanted to make you feel good for now.”

And just as he thought his heart rate might go back to normal at some point, there it is, spiking again.

“We can do that— some other time. If you’d like to.”

There is nothing he wouldn’t give to you.

“I would. I would like that.”

Your smile is a promise for more, your kiss is sweet, and for the first time in forever, Hyun-Su forgets about the monster.

He’s in your arms, and it’s all that matters.

i’ve been trying to figure out what to put here. i already feel like i’m kinda begging for comment on my posts, which i don’t like doing, but i figured i’d try to explain at least once what i’ve been feeling lately — plus i'm starting a new job on Monday and i don't know how much time i'll have to write after that. truth is, the lack of interactions i’ve been getting on here, on these stories, has been kind of depressing to me. i know people are reading them, considering the amount of notes, and it’s hard not to question whether it’s my writing that’s not good enough to make people want to leave a comment, or if it's just how fandom is now and in that case it just might not be for me anymore. i mean, i write for myself first, but i post because i want to share with others, i want to see their reactions, know how my writing makes them feel… and lately it just feels like i’m screaming in the void and nothing else. it’s been hard to stay motivated honestly. so, yeah. you don’t have to leave a comment, especially if you didn’t like it, i get it, i’m not trying to guilt-trip you. i just. feel the need to explain this at least once, in case it changes someone’s mind, and if it doesn't, i'll know i tried. if you've ever commented, reblogged with tags, sent an ask, know that i'm so thankful for you and you truly keep me going.

next one-shot

[revelboo]

I just have to say how much I love your writing! I honestly can’t remember the last time I read a full book that I enjoy as much as any of your stories! Tarn is my absolute favorite, so if you don’t feel inclined otherwise, please make him suffer the torments!! Torments of love, preferably :)

He is fun to torment

L .G. Fuad Pt 4

Tarn x Reader

• So used to his little shadow, because no matter how many times he brings you back to Nickel you always come back to him. He notices you’re missing almost immediately. Nearly a whole cycle without a little organic trailing behind him. A good thing. Welcome. So why does he wander the ship looking for you? Nickel not even looking up from her terminal when he enters the medbay and finds you sprawled on the nest of blankets that you sleep in, skin slick with sweat. Watching as you shudder and cringe into a little ball with a low sound of misery. “What happened?” It’s not that he cares about you. Only curiosity, certainly not concern.

• “Best I can tell, it’s having a toxic response to the food I synthesized for it. Must have been building up in small amounts and reached some threshold,” Nickel says, little servos typing. “It’s been purging for hours.”

• Miserable, you squint at that familiar, soothing rumble. Your big guy with the mask checking on you? Weak and trembling you can’t even lift your head, hair slicked to your cheek and neck with sweat. You’ve never been sick like this before, your body bent on violently ridding itself of poison, because that’s what it feels like. Being poisoned. Not that you’ve any experience with that, but there shouldn’t be anything left to come up at this point.

• Dull eyes stare up at him, your breathing noisy as he kneels and touches your arm, finding it clammy instead of warm. “Dying, then?” It’s not like he didn’t know you wouldn’t live long. Organics are fragile, short lived things anyway. He just wasn’t expecting it to be so soon. Remembering the way you follow along behind him, running to keep up with his stride as if afraid of being left behind. Chattering at him in your attempts to communicate. Or humming to his music. Climbing on top of his ped when he’s still long enough and staring up with pleading eyes wanting to be picked up. Always following him. Reaching after him.

• “No. Just very sick.” Nickel doesn’t share either of you a glance, preoccupied with her work. Sliding his servos under you blankets and all, he rises. “Don’t let it eat anything.” She adds as he nudges your jaw and you weakly swat at his servo with an unhappy sound.

• Staring tiredly up at him, those optics narrowing behind the mask, you really hope he’s not carrying you to be put down or something. It’s not like he exactly likes you. He’d made it abundantly clear by carrying you to the small blue one over and over that he considers you a nuisance. He’s big, though. Stops the others from messing with you and protects you from that nightmare with teeth. So you keep tagging after him and safety. Big servo sliding against your side, you wish he didn’t wear the mask. That you could see his expression, because his touch is so gentle.

• Venting in annoyance, he glances at Nickel then back at you. Those intelligent eyes staring up at him. And he doesn’t care about you. You’re nothing, just a little organic. But he carries you back to his quarters, feeling you trembling in his hand. You’re insignificant. Of no value to the cause. Too small, too weak. So why does he sit on his berth with you and your tangle of blankets in his palm. Why didn’t he leave you in Nickel’s care? Stroking his servo over you, he stills when you lay a hand on him. And he doesn’t care about that soft, warm hand on him. Doesn’t feel anything, certainly not warm at that touch.

Previous

[candycandy00]

The Doll House - A Sukuna x Reader Fanfic Part 4 (Final)

Covered in scars and left totally numb by your abusive previous owner, you’re considered an “unsellable doll”. That is, until the Doll House takes you in and Sukuna becomes your trainer.

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four

Read Geto’s Part Here!

Read Toji’s Part Here!

Read Nanami’s Part Here!

Read Gojo’s Part Here!

Read Choso’s Part Here!

Note: Please remember that these stories don’t take place at the same time, or even one after the other! Consider each one its own timeline. So if you see Geto and Toji with other dolls, don’t be alarmed lol. I had to do it this way because if I don’t, by the time I get to the last trainer, there won’t be any other trainers left to interact with!

AU! Each trainer will get their own story! This is Sukuna’s. If you’d like to be tagged in future parts, let me know! You must be an adult to be tagged! Any feedback whatsoever is adored! I’m not keeping the same tag list as before, since this part deals with darker themes. I will resume the tag list after Sukuna’s part is finished! So if you want to be tagged in this one, please specify!

Smut. 18+. Fem Reader. BDSM. Erotic Torture. Bondage. Extremely rough/violent/painful sex. Needles. Piercings. Rope. Reader is covered in scars. Everything that happens between Sukuna and Reader is consensual but there is mention of abuse by a previous owner. Divider by @benkeibear!

Everything hurts, or at least Sukuna hopes it does. He’s put a lot of work and thought into making this session as intense as possible, and if his doll’s whimpers and trembling body are any indication, he succeeded.

She’s naked of course, her body glistening under the bright light on the ceiling that he has pointing right at her. Her hands are tied tightly, uncomfortably, behind her back with rough rope that’s definitely going to leave burns. Each of her nipples has been pierced through with two long needles, making X shapes. The way they catch the light when she quivers and shakes makes Sukuna’s cock throb. 

The doll is standing on her tip toes. She really has no choice, because Sukuna is gripping a thin but very rough rope that’s going between her legs, between the slick folds of her pussy, scraping and burning her clit. She’s trying to take pressure off it by standing on her toes, but her legs are getting weak. 

She whines out something, tears steaming down her face, but she’s unable to form words. Her tongue is extended, with one long shiny needle shoved through it from the side, effectively trapping her tongue outside her mouth. 

Sukuna jerks on the rope, and gets a garbled scream in response. “Too much? Want me to stop?”

She shakes her head “no”. There’s an agreed upon motion she can make with her head to let him know she needs to stop, but she’s never used it. She’s never used any safe word or gesture yet, and some part of him feels a need to make her do so at least once before she leaves. 

He moves closer, close enough to feel the cool metal of the needles against his chest. He uses his free hand to stroke her scarred face, his thumb wiping at the tears. “Is there even a limit to how much you can take?”

She doesn’t respond, only stares at him. She’s unsteady, trying to balance on her toes, her soft body rubbing against his in the process. He suddenly releases the rope, and the sudden loss of pressure from the rope causes her to fall to her knees. She’s breathing hard, drool dripping out of her forcibly opened mouth. 

Sukuna opens his pants, pulling his erection free and holding it above her face. “Make me cum,” he says, and she looks at him as if she’s confused. She’s probably wondering how she’s supposed to pleasure him with her hands behind her back and her mouth unusable. But she doesn’t hesitate for long. She leans forward and runs her extended tongue over his cock, drooling all over it, licking the tip in swirling motions. Sukuna grins. It must be excruciating, using her tongue this way while it has a needle ran through it. 

He watches her, delighted, as she works to get him off. She’s looking up at him, making such cute little cries of pain. He could cum right now, but he’s holding back, wanting to draw this out as long as possible. He lasts several more minutes, enjoying her suffering, before he grabs her hair and holds her head still, then cums all over her face. Most of it lands on her tongue. 

Without giving her time to rest, he pulls her back up to her feet by her hair, holding her steady as he leans down and licks one nipple, running his tongue over the needles. She whimpers again, and he moves his free hand down to her sore pussy. He gently rubs her clit, pleased by how drenched she is. It only takes a few minutes for her approach release, her legs trembling and weak. He watches her face as she cums, crying and moaning. She’s beautiful to him when she’s like this, her face covered in his cum, her eyes wet with tears as both pleasure and agony dance through them. 

He wants to hurt her more, to push her further to the edge, to make her cum over and over again. He grabs the rope and yanks it upwards, lifting her off the floor with the force of it, causing her to scream. He makes a game of giving the rope a tiny bit of slack and then pulling it up again, watching the way she jerks and twists, her body instinctively trying to avoid the pain of the rope. It makes him hard again. 

When he releases the rope and lets her drop to the floor this time, he shoves her onto her back and pushes her knees up to her chest. “Can this sore little pussy handle my cock right now?” 

She nods emphatically. 

“You want it, don’t you? No matter how sore you are, you want me inside you.”

She nods again. He reaches up and pulls the needle out of her tongue. She gasps at the pain, slowly pulling the sore muscle back into her mouth. 

“Say it,” he demands. 

“I.. I want…” the words come out strange. Her tongue must hurt too bad to speak normally. 

“What’s that? What do you want?”

She looks him in the eyes. “Please… inside me… please…”

He obliges her, burying himself in her wet cunt as she lets out a sob. He fucks her hard on the floor, drinking in the sight of her tits bouncing with each thrust, the needles glinting. He knows exactly how to hit the spots that make her cry out, and soon she’s cumming again, her body convulsing against him. A few more minutes of pounding into her, and he cums too, filling her womb. 

When finished, he stands up and looks down at her. There’s something alluring about how fragile and helpless she looks, her hands still tied behind her back, her body trembling as she rolls slowly to her side to take pressure off her sore arms. She looks back at him as she pants, her eyes wide and shiny. He’s going to miss this. 

She’s met with the buyer two more times this week, the fifth week of her training. Sukuna still doesn’t like the man, and his doll still has little to say about the matter. Her silence on this topic frustrates him, but he would never say so. 

After cleaning her up and helping her to bed, Sukuna goes to the kitchen for a drink. On his way back, the owner asks him to step into her office for a moment. 

“What is it? Did the buyer back out?” he asks, a grin tugging at his lips. He doesn’t realize he was hoping for this to be the case until the owner shakes her head. 

“No, this isn’t about him. It’s about your next doll.”

Sukuna’s eyebrows raise. It’s not often that he has a new doll lined up before he finishes training one, though it has happened before. 

The owner slides a folder across the desk to him. “She came in today, and enjoys bondage. I figured she would be a good match for you, so I told her to come back week after next. You can be looking over her file if you want. She’s quite pretty.”

Sukuna opens the folder to find a photo of the woman in question. Yes, she is indeed “quite pretty”, but she also looks quite boring. Compared to his current doll, the woman in the photo looks painfully ordinary. He tries to picture the woman tied up naked in his room, but the only image that comes to his mind is a trembling scarred body on his floor and teary eyes looking up at him.  

“I’ll look it over,” he says, taking the file with him. For perhaps the first time, he feels no excitement whatsoever about this new doll. His mind is still full of all the things he wants to try with woman in his bed. 

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

When you wake up the next morning, Sukuna is already up and sitting in a chair. There’s a cup of coffee on the small table beside him, and he’s got a paper folder open in his lap, a loose page in his hand. 

“What’s that?” you ask, climbing out of bed. 

He glances up at you, and seems to be thinking about his answer for a moment before he says, “The file on my next doll.”

The words feel like a punch to the stomach. You’re not used to feeling these things. You try to keep your face blank as you reply with a simple, “Oh.”

Sukuna studies your face for a moment, then grins. “Jealous?”

“No, I don’t think jealous is the right word,” you answer honestly. 

“Then what is the right word?” he asks, the folder closed and his full attention on you now. 

You hesitate. Should you be honest? You don’t think you could pull off a convincing lie. You look away from him. “Sad.”

He stands up and walks over to you. “Should I just keep you?”

You look up suddenly. “What?”

His face is unreadable as he looks at you. “Trainers who work here are allowed to choose one doll to keep throughout the ten year contract. Just one during our careers.”

“Oh,” you say again, lowering your eyes. “Just one. Of course you wouldn’t choose someone like me…”

His hand lifts your chin, making you face him. “I’m not going to choose you. I’m not going to choose anyone. I don’t intend to ever keep a doll, because I can’t imagine spending ten years with one woman. But… if I were to ever choose one…”

His voice trails off as he stares at you. 

“If you were…?” you prompt, desperate to hear the rest of that sentence. 

He leans down and kisses your lips. It’s the softest kiss he’s ever given you. “If I were to ever choose a doll to keep, it would be you.”

You feel your eyes getting wet. You try to blink away the tears. Just hearing that is enough. He won’t ever keep a doll, but you’re his favorite. You’ll keep those words locked in a special place in your heart, forever. 

The days pass in a whirlwind. Sukuna’s training sessions become more and more intense, as if he wants to wring every tear and every orgasm possible from your body. In the meantime, you continue to meet with the buyer. 

He seems like a decent man, one who won’t abuse you at least. He’s clean and relatively handsome, and the pictures you’ve seen of his house look very comfortable. You don’t think ten years with him will be too bad. But your heart aches when you think of leaving Sukuna, of never seeing him again, never feeling his touch.  

Finally, the day arrives for you to leave. You’ve already packed up the clothes and other items Sukuna bought for you, and the two of you are standing in the welcome room when the receptionist steps in to tell you the buyer has arrived to pick you up. 

************ 

Sukuna tells himself he feels nothing when the doll picks up her suitcase and starts toward the door.  He tells himself that he’ll miss fucking her and hearing her screams and nothing more. He almost believes it. 

But when she suddenly drops her suitcase and rushes back to him, wrapping her arms around him in a sweet hug, he feels the first pangs of doubt. 

She pulls back and looks up at him, her eyes overflowing with tears. “Thank you for everything, Sukuna. You healed me. I’ll never forget you!”

Sukuna stares at her wordlessly, his heart suddenly racing. What the fuck is wrong with him? That sincerity in her voice, that emotion, made him feel something. Something he’s never felt before. And all at once he realizes he’ll miss more than her body. 

She turns to walk away again, wiping her eyes, and without even thinking about what he’s doing, his hand shoots out to grab her arm. His body just moved on its own. 

She looks back, eyes wide. 

“Wait,” he says, the word sounding strange even to him. What is he doing? All he knows is, he doesn’t want her to walk out that door. 

“Don’t go.”

She looks confused. “But, the buyer is waiting-“

“Fuck him. You’re not leaving,” he says, his voice firm. 

“I… I don’t understand.”

He pulls her back to him, back into his arms, and says, “I’m keeping you.”

He feels her body begin to shiver. Her wet face is buried in his chest, making his expensive shirt damp. Sukuna calls the receptionist back in and says, “Tell the buyer the deal is off. She’s taken.”

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

You still can’t believe you’re in this situation. You’re in Sukuna’s large, luxury apartment, in the bedroom you now share with him, hanging from a rope by your hands. 

Your strength isn’t going to last much longer. You’re holding up your own body weight, have been for a while now, and your arms are in agonizing pain as you struggle to keep your grip. Your legs are strapped up to your torso, spread wide apart with your knees bent toward your shoulders. The jeweled piercings Sukuna gave you in your nipples and clit are shimmering under the light. 

Beneath you, Sukuna is sitting comfortably in a chair that seems designed for these sorts of activities. His shirt is off, displaying the tattoos that make you weak, and his pants are open. His enormous cock is standing up straight, already leaking, and sporting two studded cock rings, one at the base and one just below the tip. It already hurts to take his cock normally, but with the rings, it’s going to be unbearable. They look like they could tear you apart. 

You can feel his tip teasing your entrance. When your grip finally gives out, you’re going to fall straight on it and be impaled. You’ve already slid as far down on the rope as you can, so you can’t ease yourself down on it. 

Sukuna grins as his fingers play with your clit ring. It was only done two days ago, so it’s still extremely tender and sensitive. You tremble and shake, trying to pull yourself up even an inch, but it’s no use. Your strength is failing you. He rubs your clit, pinching it and pulling on the ring. 

“P-please!” you beg, tears in your eyes. 

He doesn’t stop. “Please what? Weren’t you just begging for my cock earlier?”

“I can’t… hold on…”

He laughs as his fingers slide around, feeling how drenched you are. “Then let go. You’re so wet, these rings might not wreck this little pussy too bad.”

You can’t take it anymore, the pleasure of his fingers on your clit. You cry out as you cum, your whole body shaking, and the intensity of the orgasm causes you to lose your grip. You fall directly onto his cock, and it completely sheaths all the way inside you, studded rings and all. 

The scream that leaves your mouth sounds inhuman. You gasp for breath as your sore, rope-burned hands fall to Sukuna’s shoulders, gripping them tightly. You can feel his cock twitch inside you, letting you know how much this turns him on. He smiles at you as he wraps his arms around you, kissing your mouth gently. 

“The cock you wanted so badly is inside you,” he whispers into your ear. “Aren’t you happy?”

It takes you a minute to form words, as your body is still shaking from the shock. “I’m happy,” you say, and you mean it. You belong to the man you love, and every day he finds new ways to make you cum. 

“Does it hurt?” he asks sweetly, running his tongue over your quivering lips, his hands softly rubbing your back. 

“Yes,” you say, locking eyes with him. 

“Want to stop?” 

You wrap your arms around his neck, pressing your body to his. “Never,” you answer. 

He grips your hair and pulls your head back to look at your face again. “Then get to riding. Make me cum or I’ll hang you up again.”

You nod, then take a deep breath before you begin moving up and down his length, the studs on the rings scraping your delicate flesh. 

The pain is intense, but so is the pleasure, and so is the love you feel for this man. He’s never told you he loves you. Maybe he doesn’t. But he chose you. He kept you, and decided to stop training new dolls, “for now” he said. He told you he always gets tired of dolls before the six weeks are up, but you’ve been with him for nearly four months now, and he’s shown no signs of getting bored with you yet. 

After he cums inside you, he eases you up off him and holds you. His touch is so gentle in these moments, his hands rubbing over your scars as he stands up, holding you bridal style. When not having sex, he doesn’t treat you like a doll, like a piece of property he owns. The two of you talk and watch movies together and even cook together. You never imagined you would ever be this happy. 

As he carries you out of the room, you hear him mutter something softly under his breath. It sounds suspiciously like, “Ten years of this might not be so bad.”

Tag List: 

@akaotv @khaleesihavilliard @issracollen @maflorex @dabislittlemouse @siriusdumblittlepuppy @collectionofdolls @butterskyy @missthatgirl

[animementrash]

AOT veterans headcanons

Characters: Levi Ackerman, Erwin Smith, Hange Zoe

Tags: just random thoughts on the main three vets, they/them pronouns for Hange, some may be ooc?, SFW only

A/N: Here are my headcanons based on how I percieve them, I have some more for the rest of the characters but I'm posting only three for now because they are longer than expected. (I also have NSFW ones but I'm waiting until I get more comfortable with sharing my thoughts before posting those) Hope you like them and thank you for reading!

Levi Ackerman:

Washes his hands constantly, almost too many times a day.

Would rather fight a titan with an arm tied to his back than do the dishes. The mere thought of soggy leftovers sticking to his hands makes him gag.

Avoids going out to public places because he’s aware of his popularity inside the walls and doesn’t know how to act when he’s the center of attention.

Following the previous topic and contrary to popular beliefs, this man would never reject a gift/letter/trinket given to him by a local. It can be the most random thing but he will always accept them with a small nod, he’s deeply thankful for their blind trust in him.

Yawns and stretches ALL THE TIME, he is known for sleeping as little as 3 or 4 hours per night and while he’s able to go on with his day without problems, this doesn’t mean he isn’t feeling drowsy all the time so he’s almost always letting out quiet yawns and stretching his arms to ease the soreness of his body.

Sneezes a lot when cleaning. It’s not rare at all to hear him sneeze when he’s dusting or sweeping, if someone says “Bless you” to him he’ll quietly mumble a “thanks” before getting back to cleaning.

Has a favorite seat at the dining table and gets grumpy when someone takes that place before him.

Speaking of dinner, this man eats SLOW AS HELL, he’s usually one of the last to finish his meal.

Is constantly thirsty because he refuses to drink anything but tea.

Has memorized everyone’s footsteps and knows who’s coming to his office before they even knock the door.

Cleans and calibrates his ODM gear daily even when he’s not planning on using it.

Doesn’t like to be in new recruit’s trainings because he gets anxious when most of them hurt themselves while getting used to work with the ODM gear.

Trims his hair weekly, most people believe he shapes his haircut and has hairdresser-like skills when in reality all he does is trim it to avoid losing the shape it already has.

Can’t read cursive even if his life depends on it. One time Erwin handed him a memo written in cursive and he got so frustrated because he didn’t understand what it said that he ended up ignoring the memo. Turns out Erwin needed him to turn in some reports earlier than usual and got scolded because of it.

Loves eating fruit. Fruit was considered an ultra luxury item in the underground so when he realized how much fruit he could eat once he was in the scouts, he got obsessed with it.

Whines and complains a lot for a person who’s known to be grumpy and stoic. Ask him to do something he dislikes and you’ll hear a bunch of huffs and puffs before he goes to do it.

Talks with his horse. A lot.

Wanders through the empty halls when he can’t sleep and doesn’t bother to bring a candle to light the path, the cadets now believe there is a ghost haunting the headquarters.

Erwin Smith:

Hums and whistles a lot, he’s always making some kind of noise while signing reports or walking down the halls. You can hear this man before seeing him.

Takes more time than he’s willing to admit in styling his hair every morning. He is a firm believer that appearance matters a lot so he puts a lot of effort on his.

 Has a specific pair of glasses he uses when reading, almost no one knows about it besides Hange who helped him choose the right ones.

Talks in his sleep, it can vary between mumbled nonsense to full on speeches.

Has a journal that is more like a diary because he writes all his thoughts/hopes/fears on it but he’d be damned if someone refers to it as a diary and not a journal.

Is lowkey afraid of insects but plays it cool when he comes across one because he doesn’t want to come out as “weak”.

Snaps his fingers when trying to remember something.

People think he’s a very wise and smart man because it’s very common to find him “deep in thoughts”, truth is he just tends to zone out and disassociates like crazy.

Loves dogs, he’s the biggest dog person in the scouts. Often stops and pets dogs he finds while taking a walk downtown.

Cleans and polishes his shoes every night before going to sleep. Whenever his face gets reflected on the shiny shoe a smile appears on his lips.

Not always but sometimes sneaks out behind the barracks to smoke some cigarettes, tries to hide all evidence afterwards because Levi will start complaining about the awful smell.

Would rather be late to an early meeting than go without shaving, has to shave daily because by the end of the day he already has a shadow beard.

Is well aware of his attractiveness and uses it to his advantage when needed.

Visits his father’s grave every Sunday and spends most of the day there. Sometimes brings a book and reads it out loud.

Smacked his face after trying to see through a clear glass Levi had cleaned earlier, after laughing for several minutes Levi scolded him for dirtying his glass.

His wardrobe is full of neutral-colored clothes, he sucks at matching outfits so goes with the safest options.

Knows very well Levi can’t read cursive so when he’s bored, he scribbles gibberish on a paper and gives it to Levi saying it’s important to get it done by end of day just to get a laugh.

Has relatives living inside the walls who refuse to acknowledge him, some of them even pretend he died the same day his dad did.

Has an ongoing bet with Hange to see who makes Levi laugh the most, so far Erwin is winning by one but only because he accidentally fell from his horse and Levi found it hilarious.

Arm-wrestles with Miche a lot, especially after they had a few beers.

LOVES dancing, this man knows how to dance and isn’t afraid to show it. (Sadly for him he also loves to clap when dancing and this makes everyone laugh)

Hange Zoe:

Is both street-smart and book-smart, is the only person who has beaten Erwin in a chess match and also beaten Levi in a wrestling match.

Almost always has pencils sticking out of their hair, they place them there for a moment and totally forget about them.

Levi restricted them from using fountain pens because they would spill ink and stain everything and everywhere.

The reason why their glasses have straps on is not only because the risk of them falling off is smaller but also because according to them “it makes them look cooler”.

Wanted to join Erwin in giving instructions to Levi written in cursive but since their handwriting wasn’t as good as Erwin’s they opted for giving instructions in riddles, this makes Levi even more furious than the cursive ones.

Just like Levi, Hange takes a long time when eating dinner but the reason for this is not because they eat slow but because they talk a lot. By the end of the meal their food is either cold or soggy.

Tried to bite a titan once just to show them how it felt to be “on the receiving side”.

Their horse has tiny braids on its mane made by them when they were nervous.

Refuses to brush their hair because their ideas may “fall off” if they do it.

Tackled Levi once when they saw an “eerie figure” roaming the headquarters halls and thought it was a new species.

Has read more books than anyone in the scouts, knows a little of almost everything.

Says “wait, what?” at least twice when talking with someone, before that person can repeat themselves, they interrupt with a completely related answer and expect the person to continue speaking as if nothing happened.

Almost all cadets go to them for advice, they take this very seriously and never joke around when listening to their concerns.

Just like Erwin, they have relatives living nearby the headquarters but they’re not interested in one another.

Has a tendency to bite their nails when nervous, all his fingernails are short and bumpy because of it.

Is very quick at math and calculations.

Always carry a pocket notebook with them and writes anything that catches their attention so they can investigate about it later.

LOVES bugs, is always trying to catch them and examinate them. One time they trapped a cockroach and created a full design of an “armored suit” based on them, when Erwin asked where they got the inspiration for it, they just placed the cockroach in Erwin’s desk and Erwin almost fainted on the spot.

Randomly goes to Miche and asks him “what do I smell like?”, Miche stopped participating on their little riddles when Hange decided to put rotting food in their pockets before asking.

All their books have little notes and highlighted parts on them. Sometimes has two or three copies of the same book because their view on certain parts changes over time.

Takes pinky-promises as a legit way of commitment.

[franknfurterstriangulardinosaur]

podcast where i just talk about him because talking about him makes me so excited. like right now, i’m stimming. i actually find him so peaceful and amazing. like i struggle to sleep so bad. i have hallucinations and i wake up randomly panicking but thinking about him helps me quite efficiently. i think about him when i’m going to sleep. like he soothes me and makes me feel a lot safer. even when he’s not there and i think about him, it’s like he’s there to protect me, he’s there to make sure i’m not panicking, he’s there to be my comfort. i just love how he can help me do things that are necessary for my existence even when he doesn’t do anything. it’s just him existing: he’s a magical man and i love him and i want to spin him around and be happy about him. i think that’s why i like him to be closer to me. sometimes i panic if he’s not close to me. when i’m panicking, i just need him. i need him to touch my hands at least. he’s just making me calmer. that’s all he ever really does. i love when he reassures me that he’s not leaving because i believe him. i think i’m good enough for him for a small amount. it’s like he likes me and wants me. thinking about how we are friends is amazing and he knows me and he knows my name. i love being able to write poetry about him and make really really really long tumblr posts. i love being able to talk about him a lot, i can’t wait to see him next. i love seeing him. i can’t wait to talk to him next. i have so much to say. i love telling him things- he acts interested in me and i’m so amazing. he just loves me so much. he’s obsessed. that’s a joke because i’m obsessed with him. i make that joke so much. it’s honestly starting to change my thinking dangerously. i should probably stop. i know he isn’t. i love thinking about how he’s like so strong and he could help me. going back to being disabled and thinking about my fp. he could push me if i was in a wheelchair and that really helps me a lot of things. i mean he thinks he could push me in a wheelchair and i trust his perspective. i honestly want to scream. i just love how he’s nice about me being disabled. like it’s the bare minimum and yes, he’s nice (not ableist). he’s just so comfortable with it. i think he is anyway. i mean he’s never been disgusted by my body. he is just like “i will help you in any way you need” and i’m like OH MY G-D I’M COMPLETELY IN LOVE WITH YOU AND YOU ARE THE ONLY PERSON WHO HAS EVER BEEN NICE TO ME EVER! which is actually pretty true except for the in love part. i mean like the words “in love” isn’t completely inaccurate but the way people define it makes it so inaccurate that it hurts. i’d rather feel the clothes touching me and sticking to me than be in a romantic relationship with this guy. it’s not him. i’m just so so beautifully aromantic. i don’t want people to think i’m in love with him but i like to phrase it like that when i get excited with him for some stupid reasons. i really say it a lot but not to him. i’m not sure if i’ve ever told him that. the fact he thinks about me is scary as fuck but the fact that he might not think about me hurts because i think about him so much i’m going to explode. he’s my amazing guy. why is he so amazing? why can i talk about him for this long? i trust him now as well, aren’t i so socially acceptable about him? i’m honestly just obsessive about him and i don’t mind. he’s just my fp and my friend and he takes up a lot of my life so of course i talk about him so much and he’s just quite a significant part of my life. i doubt anyone is going to read this but i honestly think he is just something i use to stimulate myself sometimes. i stim using him by tapping him and he taps me and he messages me and i like the feeling of notifications and i’d be so so happy. talking to him was amazing and is amazing and i’ve always loved talking to him since he messaged me for the first time. i remember i wrote myself a note saying “don’t message him too much” and then i ended doing so.

curse you, my tendency to obsess over men with captivating and beautiful appearance and personality of the most amazing amazing guy to ever exist. i’m just insane and obsessive.

goodbye.

i reached the top amount of tags.

(This is just like me ranting about the greatest man in my life- my FP. It wasn’t supposed to start like this)

i like when my fp is warm. i’m cold all the time and it’s so nice to feel warm him. it is like he fixes all my problems just by existing. i love feeling his warmth by being close to him - it’s just like he is close to me. i love just anything to do with him. i’m obsessed with physical touch but when i touch him, i feel like i have to stare at them too just to check that it’s alright. i love hitting his head softly especially because his hair exists. his hair is perfect, I’d eat it. I like putting my face against him, it takes me feel safer and less able to split and I’ll think about it when I’m uncomfortable or about to split and it calms me down. I really love tapping his shoulders and my head being on his shoulder. I love his shoulders. If his shoulders could just be a person, I’d marry them. (Disclaimer: he is not a person that is his shoulders so marrying him would not an accurate shoulder marriage). So being close to his shoulders is so so so amazing for me. I sleep thinking about his shoulders, they’re just the best thing and they’re crafted for me. His shoulders solely exist for me. I love him touching my hair. That’s my favourite thing ever. How can I be mad at him when he touches my hair? I want him to touch my hair forever. I could be splitting on him and he touches my hair, warning me beforehand, and I wouldn’t be splitting on him. I’d be completely in love with him (not really- don’t be afraid, I’m still the most aromantic aromantic ever). I love when he wears jumpers and I can just grab the fabrics continuously and just like his arms and touching the fabrics. I love his arms, just grabbing them and *moving my fingers like i’m speaking*, i don’t know i’m insane right now. completely. i feel sorry for my fp. imagine having someone who is this obsessed with you. like my obsession with him doesn’t really make sense to him maybe. they’ve just got this insane person staring at them both literally and figuratively. i do literally stare at them sometimes like eyes eyes eyes. i have very wide eyes. i don’t know why, eye contact is very frightening but i stare. like if he looked back at me, i’d probably freak out and have a meltdown but luckily i have a type in my fps which is autistic men. i love that guy. he’s a fun person and i just want to bonk him on the head and just scream because he’s just so pretty and what the fuck, i love how he looks. he doesn’t know this but i talk about him a lot and think about him so much. he knows that part. but today i was listening to the first part of the torah and it was like eve came from the rib of adam. and i was like i came from his rib. he ripped out his rib for me and now i exist. and like yeah totally, 2 year (and a week) old him just ripped out his rib and gave it to g-d and they created me. my mind is insane. 2 year olds don’t know what ribs are- some 2 year olds don’t speak to g-d. and like plus why would they create me? “2 year old, what would you like to make with your rib?” “I want to make a cripple” To be honest, he doesn’t mind me being disabled at all. I think I like being disabled more because of him. Like he just helps me with it. I think he’s concerned with my disability a lot which upsets me because it’s literally my life but the way he cares about me is just the best. he’ll help me up if i fall. he helps me stand up when my legs are spasming or i just need to stand up. he gets worried about my dislocations. he just cares about me. it’s so strange for me to feel cared about. it’s so cute. like me? why would he care about me? i care about him. he’s awesome. he’s great. i love him. i would do anything for him. he’s my favourite crumpet. i’m so confused where i started. i love writing about him. i love everything about him. sometimes i think about him and hit myself in the face because i want to hit him in the face. i’m so excited for him to exist near me again. i just need him so bad. he’s everything to me. why would i want anything else when i have him? that’s not true, i love all of my life. he’s just one of the thing i love about life. i should just make a-

[specific-dreamer]

do u have any hc about darry and ace? I love in the musical tht she is the only one to call him "superman" and jumps on his back like twice i think? also just read a rly good fic of ace x marcia where ace does know about darry and pauls relationship and he confides in her abt it

this is more a headcanon on their backstory (i fear i got carried away) i hope that’s ok 😭

i mentioned in the tags of a previous post, but i think darry prayed one night (lilo and stitch style) for god to give him a sister because pony and soda were annoying him and like a month later two-bit steve and bales (who is he in the show btw?? like he’s in the lore but idk him in the show. i digress) introduce everyone to ace and he’s utterly convinced that god answered his prayer

due to that he tries to be on his best behavior around her because he doesn’t want god to take her back

so he tries to be polite and gentle with her

but for a what 13/14? yr old boy (if ace was twelve when they met and im assuming she’s the same age as steve) it’s really hard

one quiet lazy afternoon when it’s just them two in the curtis living room playing cards, she asks what’s his problem? and she goes on this rant about how if he don’t like her than he should just come out and say it.

darry’s flabbergasted. and highly embarrassed because he thought he was being discreet, in treating her more gentle, but he confesses how he thought her a gift from god and ace? she falls in love (/p) right then and there. because she’s never heard that before, especially not towards her.

so she’s all giggly and happy at the thought of anyone thinking her a gift and wanting to be gentle enough to preserve her. she’s giddy at the thought of being perceived as feminine/soft even when she’s wearing her boy-est clothes, she’s excited that someone has those thoughts about her without any expectation of getting anything more from her.

she doesn’t say any of this, but it’s evident how pleased she is by the huge grin on her face. but she does tell darry that she can hold her own weight and he doesn’t have to be gentle all the time.

but when she does want to be treated more delicate it’s always darry she goes to. she trust the others ofc but it’s something about how darry’s first instinct is to treat her like a flower, that makes her more attuned to him.

i think that’s why he’s always lifting her and carrying her somewhat akin to a princess in the show.

that got away from me lord um here are real headcanons that may be more what you were hoping for anon 🤧

every year for halloween the guys always want to do scary gory shit for their costumes or they’d want to go pull pranks and shit on the socs. this however is the one night ace let’s herself go out dressed to the nines, so she usually dresses up as like a princess or a fairy or something that’s traditionally girly and overtop. darry usually wants to go out with the guys but she looks at him once (1) with a fake pout and he’s putty. he’s immediately figuring a matching costume and he’s calling paul to look for a party for him and ace to go to. (one year they were wonder woman and superman, hence his nickname)

idk what darry is in my headcanons but he asks ace how to ask out a girl and she laughs her ass off for a solid thirty minutes before she’s any help. it’s okay because he does the exact same when she asks him later.

when ace is struggling to figure out how to do her own makeup (tricky eyeliner or something idk) she forces darry to sit down and let her do his makeup

darry takes ace to his senior prom. that’s it send tweet

(in a parry universe, darry and ace go on double dates with paul and marcia)

that’s all i got off the top of my head ! i hope these were alright ! (but also per the last part of ur ask, im begging for the link)

[strawhbrrries]

Babys Breath, v

pairing: bob floyd x seresin!florist!reader

summary: Bob stumbles into the nearest florist to the funeral he’s attending and, unknowingly, charms Jake Seresin’s sweet younger sister with all the anxious charm he possesses.

warnings: everyone calls reader “sunshine”, fluff!!!, protective older brother jake??, horrible descriptions of the navy, warnings will differ depending on chapter, no use of y/n or description of reader, not proofread 

word count: 1441 words

authors note: because i love you guys, you get it a day early!! a bit juicier this time!! how do we think the rest of jake's reaction is gonna go? bob + sunshine forever and ever!! as always, please enjoy!! mwah!!

tag list: @myownworstenemyyy @kloofspeaks @bcon24 @chaosofmanyfandoms @strangerparks @kmc1989

find the masterlist here!

read the previous part here! read the next part here!

“You don’t believe me? And why the fuck not?” You held the phone between your ear and your shoulder, trying to close up the shop and interrogate your brother at the same time.

“You’ve given me no reason to trust you, Sunny. I told you not to text him.” Jake responded, voice laced with annoyance. You were sure if you could see him his eyes were halfway in the back of his skull and a hand was on his hip in that sassy pose he did.

“Oh my god, Jake. Am I not a fucking adult? Even if I did text him, which I fucking didn’t, why does it matter? He’s not Javy or Rooster who just want to fuck me and add another notch to their belt.” You snapped, scrunching your face in annoyance. The over-protectiveness he was exhibiting was eating at you, your nerves were hanging on by a thread.

“It doesn’t matter, I told you not to do something. It shouldn’t take all of your self control not to go against me. I’ll see you at home. Goodbye.”

With that he hung up, the tears of frustration welling in your eyes at his words. The universe just wanted you to fail, how could you not respond to the text? Just last week the sweetest man found his way into your shop and now you’re supposed to simply act like he didn’t exist?

hey bobby, I know this is a long shot but i need some saving

can we go get something to eat?

You locked the door to the shop and looked at your phone one more time before frowning and putting it away. The last place you wanted to be was your house, the argument with Jake would just escalate and you weren’t ready for that. Not right now at least. You’d find solace in the one place you shouldn’t. With Bob. You sat on the steps in front of the building, waiting for a response before deciding if you should just go home and face the Seresin wrath.

Every time your phone went off you hoped it was Bob and it never was. You figured he was busy, probably had other plans and didn’t want to hang out with you. 

“Is anyone sitting next to you?” The voice caused you to look up and locate where it was coming from, a smile spreading across your face when you saw who it was.

“Hi Bobby.” You pat the spot next to you, ushering him to sit on the steps next to you. 

“I was around the corner, figured you’d rather see me in person than a text.” He spoke softly, pushing his glasses up a bit and looking at you as he sat down.

“I appreciate it, I was waiting for a text. Can’t lie, I was a bit disappointed to not get one.” You chuckled, laying your head on his shoulder and breathing in. He smelled so good, especially after having worked all day.

“I hope you’re not still disappointed.” He teased, poking your side and laying his head on top of yours. He wasn’t going to pry and see what was bothering you but he couldn’t lie and say he wasn’t relieved that you came to him first about it. “I’m sorry you had a shit day, where do you wanna eat?”

“I don’t care, just not the hard deck.” You responded, closing your eyes and enjoying the softness of the moment.

“I know a spot, c’mon.” He stood up and offered you his hand, intertwining your fingers and leading you to his car.

He drove to a small diner on the outskirts of the town, intentionally so you didn’t have a chance to run into your brother. He assumed the bad day was because of your brother, and that was why you asked not to go to the nearest bar with some damn good food. The place was small and obviously family run, Bob had been here a few times before and would highly recommend it to anyone.

The two of you got a small booth in the back corner, away from the commotion of the rest of the diner. It felt more personal this way. A sweet older woman was your server, she acted like she’d known the two of you your whole lives. Once your food came she left the two of you alone, letting you talk and joke around.

“Phoenix paid me a visit earlier.” You stated, putting a fry in your mouth while he connected the dots.

“Oh my god, that’s where she went earlier. Sorry for that, I’m going to assume she came on pretty strong.” He apologized and it wasn’t even his fault, taking a bite of the food in front of him.

“Yeah, she kinda scared me a bit at first. She gave me her number though, soon I’ll have all of dagger squad.” You joked, covering your mouth as you giggled

“You know the dagger squad?” He tilted his head to the side, furrowing his brows as he tried to figure out where you would know that from unless your brother actually was in it or Phoenix told you.

“Uh, yeah. So, if I tell you this. I need you to swear you won’t speak to him about us, or anything hinting towards me.” You put your pinky finger out, the ultimate swear.

“Okay?” He hesitantly shook pinkies with you, becoming even more confused than before.

“Jake, or Hangman as you would know him, is my brother.” You let go of his pinky and took a sip of your drink while he processed the information, he rubbed his forehead as he thought about it.

“I guess I’m just confused why you kept it from me? I won’t say anything to him, I promise, I’m just confused?” 

“I get a lot of navy men at the shop and I always ask Jake about them, just curiosity I guess. You were the one man he basically swore me off of, told me I couldn’t text you back and we got into a huge argument about it.” You explained, picking at the skin around your nails anxiously. This could go horribly and blow up in your face or he could be completely understanding about it.

“Sounds exactly like him, I should’ve known the second you said he was an asshole. Hangman is the only asshole I really work with, makes everything so much harder. So he doesn’t know?” Bob asked, fiddling with the food on his plate.

“I’m not even sure anymore, he texted me earlier that you had a girlfriend. Which, I didn’t know we had taken that step.” You teased, winking playfully. “But then he said he didn’t believe me when I said I hadn’t texted you back. Which, yet again blew up into a huge argument-” 

“Which is why you called me.” He finished your sentence, shaking his head in understanding. “Phoenix started it!”

“I’m sorry for bringing you into this, Bobby.” You chewed at your bottom lip, frustrated that you brought him into the middle of this because you liked him too much.

He assured you it wasn’t just your fault, it was equally his fault too and he made sure you knew that. For the rest of the meal you explained how the initial argument with Jake went down and how you ultimately decided to say fuck it and do it anyway. Bob was appreciative of that fact and understood why you kept it all a secret. He even promised to continue keeping it a secret from your brother for as long as you wanted, even pinky swearing on it.

“We should probably get going.” You groaned, stacking the dishes from your food and paying the bill as a thanks for him saving you. Although, you both argued over it for a good few minutes.

The ride back to your car was filled with lots of laughs, you told him a ton of stories about your childhood with Jake. How you were constantly telling others he was your real brother and how you got your nickname. He called it an honorary callsign, you giggled and said you’d never call it that. He praised you for being able to live with Jake and dealing with him all the time. You walked hand in hand with him to your car, stopping in your tracks when you see the person leaning against it.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” Jake exclaimed, pinching the bridge of his nose and doing a double take at the two of you holding hands. “Are you sure you didn’t text him back, Sunshine?”

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"The Taste of You"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Word Count: 6420

Tags: Fresh AU, dark rom-com, dark!Bucky, pre-serum Steve, kidnapping, cannibalism, yandere/basement wife, meet cute-ish, gay sex n' stuff, ignoring of sexual boundaries, dub-con ... that morphs into rape play? bordering on non-con, (mostly humorous) gore, (mostly humorous) body horror,

Summary: Steve is so tired of the meat market that modern dating has become. Just when he's deleted all the apps and given up on ever finding Mr. Right, he meets the perfect guy at the grocery store.

A dark, funny, fucked up, and very tasty love story.

It's a Fresh AU. "If you can't handle the cannibalism, get out of the kitchen" ... or something like that

13. Hunger Pangs

Wait! I haven't read a previous chapter. Story Masterlist

Steve:

The new room is much nicer than the last one, there’s no denying it.

Bucky comes down and eats breakfast with Steve, and he’s obviously excited about something because he shovels his eggs in at an alarming pace. He gives Steve a kiss on the lips before he unchains him and announces that today’s the day: Steve is moving into his new room. “Come on,” Bucky beams, leading him out of the cell and down the hallway.

Erica is sitting in the far back corner of her cell when they pass. She locks eyes with Steve briefly through the slats of the door, but makes no move to do or say anything. The last cell in the spiral is where the construction work was going on, and that’s where Bucky stops outside of a door that is very much not slatted. It’s solid, and it unlocks with the press of Bucky’s key fob on the pad outside. Bucky slides it into the wall and urges Steve in first, then closes the door behind them and stands at the entryway while allowing Steve to look around first. “I hope you like it,” he says, sounding almost shy. “Tried to make it really nice for you.”

Steve can’t help it that his gut reaction is to be excited about the upgrade. The room isn’t creepily perfect and sterile like his last room. There are warm hardwood floors covered by soft rugs, velvet couch cushions, and a chevron patterned bedspread. The walls are painted a mellow green color that Steve instinctively likes. There’s a succulent plant in the corner—fake, Steve thinks, but can’t be sure without touching it. It looks nice, anyways. The room is cozy and stylish and almost feels like it could be a regular micro apartment. Hell, it’s almost three quarters the size of Steve’s place back in Brooklyn anyways (which is pathetic and really says more about the cost of New York rent than anything else.)

He steps further in, looking around. There’s a full-size mattress tucked into a wall nook to the right, drywall separating it from another room that’s got a pocket door halfway open. Steve peeks inside to see a small shower, sink, toilet and storage cabinet. It’s compact but functional. Steve doesn’t fail to note that the mirror above the bathroom sink is made from some sort of safety plastic, rather than glass. Oh well. How accurate of a reflection does he really need of himself when he's living as Bucky's basement wife? He quickly checks in the cabinet, finding towels and different toiletry items. He closes it and backs out of the little bathroom, grateful just to see that he'll be able to shower on his own now.

Bucky’s still watching cautiously from the doorway when Steve comes out of the bathroom. As promised, the room has a solid door this time. But there’s a plastic window in it. Steve is reminded that however nice this may be, it’s still a cell. Unless Steve hides in the bathroom, Bucky will always be able to peek inside and see what he’s doing. Even the bed niche in the wall isn’t completely hidden from sight of the door. And Steve sighs when he spots the metal mount on the wall just to the side of the pillows: There’s no cord attached to it right now, but that doesn’t mean there won’t be. It's all set up to tether him in place, if needed. The exact same way as before.

“Well? What do you think?” Bucky asks anxiously.

The left side of the room has just enough space to accommodate a small couch in front of a tv. The tv is inside of the wall and behind a layer of plexiglass. There’s a tiny little desk and a slim bookshelf next to the tv. Steve walks over and looks at all the different drawing utensils. He runs his fingers over a sheet of unblemished paper on top of a stack. “What’s this?” he says, and Bucky walks up behind him and pulls him back gently, encouraging him to lean against his body.

“I know you’re an artist,” he murmurs, bending to kiss Steve’s neck. “You must miss it.”

Steve swallows thickly, feeling inordinately emotional that Bucky remembered this about him. “Yeah,” he says, conflicted. “Yeah I do.” He eyeballs the cups of pens and pencils and thinks that Bucky isn’t totally on the ball—those could be used for self harm. Not that Steve has any plans of doing that. And he’d honestly prefer not to stab Bucky in the neck with a drawing utensil. That's just ... gruesome.

“I know it’s not a lot of space, but you can create here at least. And you can watch tv and have a real bathroom now.”

Steve nods, turning around in Bucky’s arms. He looks up at him and smiles. “It’s nice,” he says. “Thank you.”

Bucky beams. He seems genuinely proud to have provided Steve with his comfy new prison. “Here,” he says, tugging on Steve’s arm to get him following over to the bed. Bucky plops himself down on it, grinning. “It’s a memory foam mattress, and these cabinets up here,” he points to several overhead cabinets on the wall at the foot of the bed. “You can keep your clothes and your books in there.”

Steve nods, eyes flicking from Bucky reclining on the bed, to the empty mount on the wall over by the pillows. “... Are you going to keep me chained up in here?” he asks delicately.

Bucky stares at him for a long moment, looking sad. “C’mere,” he murmurs, beckoning Steve closer. Hesitantly, Steve crawls over to him on the bed. Bucky pulls him close, maneuvering him to lie on top of him. Steve sits up and straddles him to avoid being that close, and Bucky stares up at him with a tender look. “You know I don’t want to do that,” he says quietly, thumbs stroking under the hem of Steve’s tee shirt and brushing skin. “I don’t want you to feel like a prisoner here.”

Steve averts his eyes. “That’s a tall order, Buck,” he says. “The door still locks. I’m still not upstairs with you.” He takes a moment to pointedly look around the room with an appreciative look. It is a nice room. He can tell that Bucky’s made an effort to furnish it in the same style Steve had, back at his old apartment. Something about that really gets to Steve—more than he should let it. “They’re nice digs, but it’s still not where I want to be.”

Bucky sighs and pulls Steve back down over top of him, close enough to kiss, though he doesn’t right away. “One day,” he promises, eyes flicking all over Steve’s face like he’s trying to suss out how he really feels. “I want you with me too, Sweetheart. It’ll happen. We'll get there."

Steve gulps and says nothing, feeling unsure. This is all supposed to be an act, to get close to Bucky and gain his trust so that he can escape, but the memories from before all get muddled in, and Bucky still looks and acts like the guy Steve knew as James, the guy he was so excited to have as his new boyfriend. As much as he tells himself he's only pretending ... Steve’s feelings never feel as fake as he wants them too. It’s fucked.

His mind flashes to the other night, to how Bucky had undressed him and made love to him. It’d felt so good, such a relief after so long without pleasure. For just a little while, Steve had forgotten to feel worried or scared. Now he feels guilty for genuinely enjoying it the way he had. They’d showered together after the sex, too, bodies close and intimate in a way that Steve really regrets having enjoyed. Bucky had brought him back down to the basement for bed, despite Steve’s pleas to be allowed to stay upstairs. He'd kissed him goodnight, and left.

And then, just after the sounds of the upstairs locks beeping:

“Steeve?! Jesus you’ve been gone all day! What did he do to you?! What did he take?! Are you okay?!”

Never before had Steve wanted Erica to disappear so badly. Again, he thinks that it’s nice to have a solid door and a soundproofed room. He won’t ever have to talk to Erica or any of Bucky’s other "product" ever again. He feels gross as soon as he has the thought. Christ, he laments. What is he becoming?

“What are you thinking about?” Bucky whispers, lips skimming over Steve’s chin on the way up to his mouth. He kisses him in a soft, slow press, hands slipping underneath his shirt and up his back. “Hm?”

“Nothing,” Steve murmurs, kissing back. "Nothing."

Bucky's arms wrap securely around his waist, and he flips them over. Steve gasps at the sudden movement and his legs part on instinct. Bucky growls into his mouth, pleased.

“Wait,” Steve breathes, but Bucky’s already getting handsy, rolling his hips down and kissing at his neck as he gropes along Steve's waist and rucks his shirt up. Steve groans as their hips align just so, sending a jolt of pleasure to his cock. “Buck, oh, w-wait.” He’s ignored. Bucky’s open-mouthed kisses on his skin are like a firebrand, searing hot and just as filthy as the drag of his hips. Steve whimpers and tosses his head as he starts to get hard. "Nnnh, nuh ..."

Bucky notices, of course. “Honey,” he coos, one hand sliding down between them and cupping him through the soft material of his sweatpants. Steve’s not wearing underwear, and Bucky’s fingers easily curl over the shape of his erection. “Oh, there it is. You want me to make you feel good?”

“Fuck,” Steve chokes out, because he doesn’t, but he does, his body going pathetically pliant under Bucky once again as soon as he starts talking to him in that low, private voice; starts touching him over his clothes and covering him with his body, murmuring those intimate things into his skin. “Bucky,” he sighs, losing his train of thought when Bucky licks along the shell of his ear. Fuck, he can’t. He can’t think when Bucky does that thing with his tongue … Precum blurts out of his dick and is making a wet patch against his sweats, and Bucky hums and rubs his thumb right over the spot. Steve groans, hips jerking up in sensitivity. “Oh god ..."

“Mmhm.” Bucky starts to push his shirt up. “Come on, Stevie. Let me see this gorgeous body.”

Steve blinks, stupid as his shirt is suddenly being drawn over his head and then discarded. The word "no" runs through his mind over and over again, but it never makes it past his vocal cords. He gasps when Bucky dips down to suck on his nipples—likely to distract him from how he’s edging a hand down his pants at the same time. “Wait,” he breathes, though it comes out sounding weak and useless even to his own ears. He puts his hands up, intending to push him away, but his fingers wind up curling harshly into Bucky's strong shoulder muscles instead, grasping onto him when he drags his teeth across a nipple and wraps a hand around his cock. "Ohfuck," Steve whimpers.

Bucky’s eyes flash upwards, dark and focused and locked on Steve’s face while he sucks his chest. The hand around Steve’s cock tightens, stroking up and down at an excruciatingly tight, slow pace, not quite enough as he purposefully avoids the head.

Steve's guts clench and his balls throb at Bucky’s heated stare. Later, when he looks back on it, he'll pinpoint this as the exact second when he completely abandons the idea of pushing Bucky away, of trying to stop this from happening. “Buck,” he pleads, rolling his hips into Bucky’s hand and trying to pull him back up his body. At least if he's kissing him, he can't look at him like that. “Come on, come on.”

Bucky’s lips are swollen and pinked when he pulls away from Steve's chest. He licks them with that trademark flick of his tongue that has Steve’s cock giving a mighty pulse at how debauched and beautiful he looks. “You want more?” he asks, grinning. He’s gripping Steve’s dick hard at the base, denying him while he waits for an answer. “Tell me,” he orders, mouth sliding sideways in a smile. “Tell me you want it.”

Steve digs his skull back into the pillow and bares his teeth in frustration. “Fuck! Just ..." He's about to beg, he really is, but he grunts and slams his eyes shut, upset at himself. No! he thinks desperately. No no no, he can’t do this! It’s wrong, it's wrong, it's so wrong! He shouldn’t want this, he shouldn't, he shouldn't ...

"Steve?" Bucky stills, and then softens. “Oh, Steve," he chides sadly, his breath hitting against Steve's lips where he's come back up to his face, close and coaxing. “Hey, open your eyes, Sweetheart, c’mon. Look at me. Please?”

Slowly, Steve does. Bucky’s lost that fierceness, and instead is regarding him tenderly. One of his hands comes up and combs into Steve’s hair, holding his head still so that he can’t move away from where Bucky’s kissing him softly. “Don’t be afraid,” he murmurs. “Please, Baby. I don’t ever want you to be afraid of me.” On Steve's cock, he starts stroking gently again, and Steve releases a pathetic little moan despite his efforts not to. Bucky keeps murmuring sweet, reassuring things against his lips as he jerks him off. “Always want you to be happy, Stevie. Love you. Gonna take such good care of you, I promise. You don't ever have to be afraid again. Not ever. You're safe with me. So safe. So safe ...”

Steve’s not sure when the crying starts, but before he knows it, his eyes are wet and he can feel the hot slide of tears escaping. He whimpers in shame when Bucky notices and starts cooing even more at him, kissing the tears from his skin. “Shhh, it’s okay, it’s okay,” he soothes, and god but Steve really, really wishes that it was.

“Bucky!” he eventually gasps, when he feels close to coming but really doesn’t want to face the music yet. “Sstop, please. H-hang on. I-I want—”

On his cock, Bucky’s hand stills. “Yeah?” he asks searchingly, brushing a thumb along Steve’s temple where the tears have slid back into his hairline. “What do you want, Honey? You can tell me.”

He's looking at him so tenderly, and it just hurts. Steve whines and hides his face in Bucky's neck as he grabs at the back of his tee shirt, giving the fabric ineffective little yanks and whining angrily when it doesn't accomplish anything. He wants to feel him, goddammit! He just wants to feel his skin, and his body, and never have to acknowledge it, not ever, because he's weak, God, he's so weak ...

Bucky pets him and chuckles at his little huffs and grunts of frustration, but he doesn't let Steve hide against his neck with his eyes closed for long. He tuts softly and tells him to look at him, a quiet but firm order, and Steve reluctantly does. He's met with the sight of Bucky's handsome, pinched face, smiling sadly down at him. “Tell me,” he insists. “Tell me what you want, and then you can have it.”

Steve whines and shakes his head, starts struggling to get away rather than be forced to ask for it. But Bucky is easily able to trap his wrists against the pillow, and his hips pin Steve’s down. “Shhh sh sh,” he hushes, holding him still. “Don’t do that Stevie, come on.”

Steve struggles and twists against him furiously, but then the fight leaches out of him and he’s just left panting, dick hard and face red as he glares tearfully up at Bucky. “What do you care?! he cries, mad that Bucky’s trying to make this be his choice. He's a prisoner here. It’s not his choice. “We're already here, so just fuck me already!” He sobs, smacking angrily at him. "Come on, come on!”

"Hey, hey, stop. Steve—stop it." Bucky catches his wrists again easily and gives a harsh shake to settle him. “Don’t be that way,” he scolds, releasing his wrists and pulling away from him. He get back on his knees and starts shedding his clothes quickly, never fully climbing off of him the whole time as he strips naked. He curls his fingers over Steve's waistband and pulls his sweatpants off in one swift motion, too.

"Hey!"

He chucks them aside, then completely surprises Steve by grabbing him under the knees and yanking his lower half up high, right up off the mattress. Steve yelps as he’s practically inverted, and Bucky wraps both arms around his hips to hold him in the ludicrous position. Steve stammers and blusters, "What—what are you doing?"

Bucky glares down the length of his contorted body at him, then promptly shoves his face between his asscheeks and seals his mouth right over his hole.

“Fuck!” Steve cries out—both at the aggressive position and the tongue that's suddenly fluttering over his asshole. “Oh, fuck, Bucky!”

Bucky grunts stubbornly against him, burrowing in further and jabbing his tongue in filthy, pointed thrusts, trying to force his way past the muscle. Steve wails and twists in place, but Bucky is strong enough to hold him up in the position, arms wrapped around his waist, hugging him close and refusing to stop.

All the blood is rushing to Steve’s head and he can only gasp when one of Bucky’s hands fumbles to start squeezing and stroking his cock again while he eats him out. Steve looses a humiliating squeal of pleasure at that. "Ahnngh!"

Bucky’s lips leave his hole with a lewd ‘smack’ and he drops Steve back down to the mattress. “You need fucked?” he growls darkly, covering him with his body again. “Hm? That’s what you can’t ask me for?" Steve whines and squirms and shakes his head no, but Bucky peers at him knowingly. "You want it so bad, don't you? But you wish you didn't. So you want ... what? Want me to take it?" He narrows his eyes at Steve's desperate whimper and denial, then grabs his hair and pulls slowly, watching his reactions. "Oh," he says. "I see."

"Bucky ..."

"That's it, isn't it?" He scoffs when Steve says his name again pleadingly. He dips down and drags his lips across Steve's cheek and down to his ear, where he murmurs, "I see you, Baby. It's okay. Is that what you need?"

"Nnngh ..."

"Need me to make you? Need it to not be your choice?"

Steve whimpers and cringes, hating that Bucky can read him so easily. He whines and shakes his head in denial, but Bucky has him all figured out, and it's awful how calm and smug and knowing he is, as he hushes him and purrs in his ear,

"That's okay, Stevie. I can do that for you."

"Lemme go," Steve says miserably, tossing his head against the pillow. But he isn't really fighting. He tries to believe that it's because he knows he can't win, but that's not it. Deep down he knows that the truth is much, much worse.

"Just need to get dicked down into the sheets," Bucky gloats, not waiting for him to respond before reaching into one of the overhead cabinets, from which he retrieves a bottle of lube.

He'd had it stored right there, ready to go, Steve realizes, and he gulps at the implications of that. "Wait," he croaks, pushing ineffectively at Bucky's shoulders.

Bucky snickers at the weak protest, wetting up his hand and his dick. “S'okay, Sweetheart. We can play that game if it makes you feel better. You know how bad I want to put it in you?” He reaches down between Steve's legs to trail slick fingers over his taint and between his cheeks. He presses in with one finger, slow, humming in approval when Steve tips his head back into the pillow and groans.

“Oh god. Unh ... fuck.”

“Thaat’s right,” Bucky rumbles, encouraging him, curling his finger and dragging it out, only to push back in with two. "You might as well relax, ain't that right? This is happening whether you like it or not." There's an element of teasing to his words, as he purposefully plays the role he's figured out that Steve wants him to. His coy tone would be enough to ruin the illusion, except for that he holds Steve down with his full strength whenever he struggles, letting him feel helpless beneath his larger body. "There you go, Sweetheart, yeah. Just relax. Just accept it."

He takes his time, opening Steve up slowly, letting his body adapt. He starts up an easy, gentle pace and makes sure to drag against his walls just so to have liquid hot pleasure spilling up his spine. “Just let me make you feel good, now Honey. It’s gonna feel so nice.”

They kiss—or rather, Bucky kisses him—steadily finger fucking him while he slips him his tongue. Steve clings to him and moans as his prostate is stroked over and over again. He curls his hips to try and get more friction on his cock, humping up against Bucky’s abs shamelessly.

Bucky groans in approval and pushes down into it, giving him pressure to rut against. He keeps fingering him, keeps adding more and more lube until he’s sloppy from it, rim gone soft and yielding to the third finger that he pushes inside, and then the fourth. Steve cries out indignantly at the stretch, but Bucky just hums and keeps doing it. “Should work my whole fucking hand up in there,” he says. Steve tries to turn his face away, but Bucky grips his hair and pulls him back, forcing Steve to look at him. “Should fist all that fight right out of you, shouldn't I? Make you cry and beg. Fucking edge you until you admit how bad you need my cock.”

Steve absolutely sobs, terrified of the threat, of being made to admit anything; heat pooling so heavy and molten in his belly at all of Bucky’s filthy promises that he starts to get close again. “Buck,” he chokes out, desperate. “Unh—"

Bucky growls and surges down to kiss him. It's aggressive and demanding, and Steve can’t do anything but whimper and let it happen. Bucky bites his lower lip when he pulls away, panting into his face. “It makes it hard for you, doesn't it? That what we had was so real. That it's still there."

Steve whines and shakes his head. He squeezes his eyes shut, but that only lasts until Bucky growls and slaps his cheek. Steve's eyes fly back open with a gasp that's half due to the slap, half due to the cruel hook of Bucky's fingers inside of him.

"Admit it: You can't stand that it's still there, that you still feel something for me."

"Nngh." He moans at the rough drag of Bucky's fingers inside, and Bucky's eyes gleam with satisfaction. "No," Steve grits. "I don't." But Bucky's expression tells him that he doesn't believe it, not for a second, and the next pass over his prostate is brutally efficient. "Fuck!"

"You do want this. You want me. Despite everything. You still feel it. Admit it.” His fingers still inside Steve and pulse maddeningly over that exact spot. "Say it!"

"Yes!" Steve cries out, the dam inside finally breaking and leaving him gasping out, "Yes! Okay? I still feel it!"

His ears ring from the weight of such a horrible admission, pushed out by shame and every last bit of breath in his lungs. His eyes well up with tears, the horrible words leaving him like a poison flushed from his system. He feels wrung out once they're said, and he gasps when Bucky’s hand slips free of his body, leaving him totally empty. "Bucky, wha—"

Bucky pushes his cock in, not stopping until he's fully buried and his hips are kissing Steve’s ass. He holds still once he's there, eyes shining down at Steve's face with love. Steve gulps and trembles at that look. Fuck. What has he done?

Bucky moves gently against him, rolling his hips in a languid thrust. “Feel okay?” he checks. “Not sore?”

It takes Steve a full five seconds to realize that Bucky's asking because they'd made love less than twenty-four hours ago. Or at least, Bucky had made love to him. The memory of it hits Steve hard, piling up on top of the wreckage of what he's just admitted out loud. His eyes water and his lip trembles. "Fuck," he says, warbly, throat tightening at the tender concern that he can see in Bucky’s eyes. God, he wishes Bucky would stop. It's not supposed to be this way!

"Sweetheart," Bucky gushes. "It's gonna be okay."

Steve whimpers. No, it's not. Nothing about this is okay. It's fucked. The entire thing: Bucky, Steve, all of it. It's fucked. Steve hiccups, distressed, and Bucky kisses him gently, kindly. Which feels like the worst fucking thing he could be, right now. Steve is still teetering on the edge of tears. He kisses Bucky back almost desperately, moaning and whining needily.

"Baby," Bucky rasps against his mouth. "Stevie, can I move?"

Steve snivels and nods. It's a relief at least, when Bucky sets into fucking him. It’s deep and relentless, Bucky holds him close and rocks into him, their skin slapping quietly, second only to their panting breaths and Steve's helpless moans from how fucking good it feels as Bucky fills him, over and over again.

“Fuck, baby. You feel so good.” Bucky pants against his neck, rolling his hips softer and deeper, making it more like it'd been last night, more like making love. Steve starts to whimper and whine from how sweet it is, hurt little keening sounds leaving him without his permission.

Bucky groans and strokes a tender hand up his side, over his ribcage, kissing and sucking at his neck, at that spot just below his ear that always makes him fall apart. “No, no,” Steve gasps, feeling himself getting closer. He doesn’t want to come like this. Threading one hand up into Bucky’s hair, he yanks—hard enough to get Bucky gasping and pulling back to look at him. Steve grits his teeth and shoves at Bucky’s shoulder. “Fuck me,” he growls. “Hard.”

It works, in that Bucky's eyes darken with lust instead of love. He gets back on his knees and starts fucking him harder. Relief unspools in Steve’s chest and his eyes slip closed as he takes what Bucky gives him. In what feels like no time at all, he’s crying out, “Buck-ee!” the words jarred apart by harsh thrusts. “I’m c-lose!”

That drives Bucky on, his face contorting and his fingers digging in harder at Steve's waist as he fucks him more desperately, losing some of his rhythm—he's getting close too. “Come on, Honey," he grunts, knocking Steve’s hand away when he reaches down to touch himself. His mouth slides sideways at the outraged little sound Steve makes. “Nuh uh," he pants, grinning. "I want to see it. Wanna see you cum on nothin’ but my cock.”

Steve groans, tilting his hips more and working for that exact angle he needs, crying out sharply when he finds it and straining harder, arousal pooling tighter in his gut, more and more and more, until it’s threatening to spill over and destroy him. "Close!" he gasps, whining from how close he is, how badly he wants it. "Oh god, Bucky, oh god. Please please please ..."

Bucky growls, hooks his forearms under Steve's knees, and uses that to hoist him up into his thrusts at an even harsher angle. And there, right fucking there! Steve wails and starts to come, shooting hard up his stomach, his dick pulsing near painfully at the lack of stimulation where he’s throbbing and coming all over himself. And Fuck, the pleasure is so deep inside him, coming in fucking waves and seemingly never ending. It’s so sharp and good and overwhelming, makes him sob and break into hysterical tears as Bucky fucks him so good through it all.

Bucky blankets him with his hard, heavy body, “Hey ... s’okay, s'okay,” he says, trying to soothe Steve even as he's about to come, himself. "Shh-sh-sh, Stevie. God, oh baby." He threads his arms under Steve’s back and hugs him tightly to his body. He starts grinding deep and dirty, grunting and then moaning like he’s been sucker punched as he finally grinds out his own climax. Steve’s still sobbing when he feels the cum start to leak out, pushed out by Bucky’s slowing thrusts. “Shh sh sh,” Bucky hushes, still panting as he comes down from his orgasm. He kisses the side of Steve’s head and over his temple, his ear, nuzzling him and not pulling out. He keeps moving his hips against Steve’s ass, even as he softens inside. “Shh, Stevie, shh. You’re okay. It’s all gonna be okay.”

The crying is embarrassing. It takes a minute, but eventually Bucky’s soft words and his gentle caresses help to calm Steve down. He stops gasping and blubbering, feeling sheepish for such a pitiful reaction. When he tries to bury his face in Bucky’s neck and hide there, this time Bucky lets him.

Bucky’s fingers pet through his sweaty hair. “You okay?”

Steve nods, scrubbing his cheek against Bucky’s shoulder. “I don’t know why I did that,” he mumbles, embarrassed. He’s never cried through an orgasm like a freaking girl before. “Sorry.”

Bucky tuts and hushes him, rolling them onto their sides. He slips out of Steve’s body with the motion, but he makes up for it by tangling their legs together. “Don’t apologize,” he says softly. His hands are petting over the skin of Steve’s back now, up and down, soothing him. “Sometimes you just have to let it out.”

He doesn’t say anything else, just lets Steve hide against his body and avoid the conversation about what the fuck it is they’re doing. Steve can’t think about that right now. He just has to give his poor fucking brain a rest. It deserves that much, goddammit. Sniffling, he nuzzles into Bucky’s chest and inhales the scent of sweat and testosterone, taking comfort in the strong man holding him in his arms. The man who loves him, and treats him so nice, and fucks him so good, who wants to keep him and who … also happens to be a cannibal serial killer.

Just for right now, Steve lets himself ignore that last bit.

Bucky:

Bucky wakes with a gasped “Becca!” his eyes shooting open. He’s panting from fear and his heart is racing in a way that feels awful, but he quickly realizes where he is. Steve is in his arms. They’re in Steve’s room.

Bucky exhales hugely and closes his eyes and calms himself down. It’s okay. It was just a dream. He’s here. He's safe.

Steve doesn’t stir when he finagles himself off the bed and gets dressed. Bucky considers waking him to say goodbye, but Steve looks so peaceful lying there, and Bucky isn’t sure he’ll improve his mood by waking him just to announce that he’s leaving him alone in the room. Bucky knows Steve still sees it as a jail cell.

So instead he covers Steve up to the shoulders with the blanket and leaves the room as quietly as he can. He’ll be back down in an hour or two with late lunches for Steve and for Erica. Bucky takes good care of his girls. Pain meds and comfortable rooms aside, he’s always liked cooking them nice food. He’s not a sadist, despite what Steve seems to think. But if he’s being completely honest with himself, he’s definitely been putting more effort into Steve’s meals than he ever has for the girls before. Steve is better, and he deserves better.

Bucky has to pass by all the other rooms on his way out from the spiral and towards the stairs that lead upstairs.

“Hey!”

He stops and backtracks two steps, surprised. Erica is at the door to her cell, somehow hobbled over there and standing upright. She’s holding onto the wooden slats to keep her balance on her remaining leg. Bucky raises an eyebrow at her and steps closer, not missing how she flinches at the proximity. Normally she just trembles and stays completely silent whenever Bucky’s in the basement, so this is novel behavior. He peeks through the door at her. “Yes?”

She blinks at him, looking nervous but steadfast. “What’d you do to him?”

Bucky smirks. “Do?”

“You had him up there all day yesterday. I know you did something.”

Bucky almost laughs at her confrontational attitude. “Aw, did you and Steve make friends?”

She doesn’t say anything, just tightens her lips into a thin line. Bucky eyes up her body. She’s wearing one of the hospital gowns he gives all the girls once they’ve begun their surgeries. He wonders what cut will be next for her. Carlo’s already asked to meet her, but Bucky’s answer to that was and is a firm no. He’s not into psychologically torturing his girls any more than necessary, even though Carlo clearly is. The knowledge that you’re being slowly eaten and are going to die on an operating table is more than enough punishment, even for sins as bad as theirs.

“Lunch'll be ready in about an hour,” Bucky tells her sweetly, when she just scowls at him.

Upstairs, his phone is in the living room, screen lit up with a text message notification from Carlo. Speak of the devil, he thinks, swiping open the screen.

📱Carlo [Today 12:03 pm]: What do tits taste like?

Bucky makes a face at his phone and texts back.

📱Chef J. [Today 12:57 pm]: Lean cuts first, fatty cuts last, remember?

Erica’s definitely still too stressed to start hacking off the fatty parts. Two seconds later, Bucky’s phone buzzes with another text.

📱Carlo [Today 12:57 pm]: Well what’s lean?

Bucky sighs. Sometimes he forgets how damn ignorant people who didn’t go to medical school are. He sends a text with a short list of lean cuts he can provide while still keeping Erica alive. Carlo quickly responds that: fine, he’ll take the other leg.

📱Carlo [Today 12:59 pm]: And can I have a piece of her hair?

“Ugh.” Bucky’s least favorite part of his entire operation is how his customers want the freaky shit, too. Hair and lingerie are the most commonly requested items. Bucky thinks it’s gross, doesn’t like the reminder that he’s technically got something in common with these freaks. It’s about the food for Bucky, the intimacy of the experience, not the sick and twisted fantasies his fucked-up clients have.

📱Chef J. [Today 12:59 pm]: Sure

He flops down onto the couch with a sigh, feeling tired and bored. After spending the whole day with Steve yesterday, being alone in the house suddenly feels incredibly lonely. He turns on the television to try and distract himself, but it’s no use, he just winds up sitting there and ruminating on Steve and how to best win him over to seeing Bucky’s way of things.

He supposes he could talk to him more about it, just open up and be honest. Talk about his past, or dig around in his records and show Steve the variety of human scum that he actually sources for his business. Bucky doesn’t have confidence that any of those methods would improve the situation. They might just make Steve turn further away, and that’s the last thing Bucky wants. Grunting, he flicks the tv off and shoves up to go over and root through the kitchen to figure out what he’s making for lunch.

He needs to go shopping, he thinks. There’s hardly anything in the pantry to play around with. He grabs a box of bucatini noodles and puts them on the counter, then finds the cream and parmesan in the fridge. He idly wonders if the piddly local grocery store might have Chanterelle mushrooms. He’s got plenty of garlic and white cooking wine, is pretty sure there's a bag of peas in the freezer. If he were making it for himself, Bucky might go the carbonara route, but he’s got a strict policy of not serving any of the girls meat. It’s not worth the inevitable suspicion and stress. And Bucky knows that it’ll be hard for Steve to eat bacon with any sort of comfortability this soon, since he witnessed Bucky eating ‘other bacon’ just yesterday morning.

Bucky sighs and leans against the kitchen island, wondering if he’s hoping for too much to expect Steve to ever come around. Even if Steve never wants to try it himself, if he could just accept it as part of Bucky, that would be so wonderful. It’d be so freeing.

As for the ultimate intimacy of having Steve willingly offer some part of himself up for—

Bucky quickly shakes his head and pushes the thought away. That’s never going to happen. He definitely won’t win Steve over if he ever reveals that fantasy. Steve wouldn’t understand. Bucky would lose him. Sighing, he looks around the living room, feeling morose at his expensive house that he has nobody to share with, the gourmet kitchen he cooks in alone, all the architecture and art that nobody but him ever appreciates.

His eyes land on one of the pieces he’s got hanging in the foyer. It’s an unusual style that’s reminiscent of the medieval period. And unusual subject matter too, with a hand dangling a bit of parsley over the heads of two fish. Bucky has an affinity for oddball, slightly dark artwork. And it’s kind of hilarious to him that this one was painted by one of Natasha’s boys—who is now deceased and probably sitting on a shelf in some walk-in fridge right about n—

Bucky’s lips part as a novel idea occurs to him. Oh. 

Maybe explaining all of his own opinions and reasons for doing what he does isn’t the way to convince Steve to stay. Maybe he needs to provide Steve with some outside perspective.

Maybe ... he should host a dinner party.

Story Masterlist

Masterlist

💖To be added to any of my tag lists, please use This form (it's easy!)

🍵Consider tipping your friendly neighborhood starving artist smut author!

✍🏻Commissions: reach out via Tumblr DM or contact here

Tag List:

@scottishrosefury

@not-that-syndrigast

@lolitsbuckybarnes

@kathy-2005

@stuckysgal

@thenewmissescullen

@sapphirebarnes

@yoruse

@autumnrose40

@alexakeyloveloki

@gretasimp

@kandismom

@ivoryangel1290

@mrs-rogers-barnes1

@iloveshawnieboi

@m0k0k0

@sousydive

@sapphirebarnes

@kandis-mom

@juicyfruit-22

@bloodrosefuryao3

@laylamikaelsonbarnes

@leighta

@drfellow

@era

@smlmsworld

@mrsstuckyboo

@banneriscarried

@saltyllamakidwombat

@blackhawkfanatic

@scarlettmischief

@chibijusstuff

@caplanbuckybarnes

@downriverfellow

@kitasownworld

@skel-skell

@onecoolbroad

@mrs-bucky-barnes-73

[workingforitallthetime]

drawn arrows unseen

part 17 / previous installments/tags

Mason’s never watched the draft lottery before, not even the year he was drafted. But this year his heart beats faster with every card flipped. Sixth, Chicago. Fifth, Montreal. Fourth, San Jose. Third, Arizona. Mason paces around the room waiting for the lottery winner, chanting Anaheim, Anaheim, Anaheim in his head.

It’s Columbus.

Mason deflates. It’s so far away. But Anaheim has the second pick. Connor should go first overall. Connor deserves to go first overall. But – and Mason feels like a traitor for thinking it – if anything good can come out of Connor being an omega, maybe it’s him falling in the draft, just one spot. Falling straight to Mason’s team, straight into Mason’s apartment and bed and life.

It feels so right that he almost convinces himself it’s going to happen. On draft night, after Jarmo Kekäläinen announces Adam Fantilli’s name as the first overall pick, Mason sits at the edge of his couch, leg jiggling nervously, waiting for it.

It takes him a moment to register that Pat Verbeek didn’t say Connor’s name. Mason rewinds the broadcast and watches the pick again, just to make sure. It’s Leo Carlsson.

Mason throws the remote at the wall.

He’s not sure what he’s madder about: that Connor fell, or that he didn’t fall to Anaheim. Arizona snaps him up at third overall. Mason watches him hug his family and shed his jacket and walk up to the stage, hungry for any glimpse of Connor's face.

[Mason does not read any post-draft coverage, but Scott Wheeler and Chris Peters both predict Columbus and Anaheim will be sorry they passed on Connor because he’s an omega. Both franchises say they wanted a 1C with size, but everybody knows what they were really thinking. Pronman’s last mock draft predicted the first three picks correctly.]

Mason knows nothing good can come from a FaceTime request from Kent Johnson on the night of Connor’s 18th birthday, but he still picks up. Kent’s in a club, the music loud and the familiar ice buckets and velvet couches of bottle service visible as the phone swings around unsteadily. “Say hi to Mason,” Kent demands, and hooks Connor into the frame with an elbow around his neck.

“Hi?” Connor looks at the screen, puzzled. Mason can’t even tell if Connor knows who he’s talking to. HIs hair is hanging sweatily in his face and his shirt has one button too many unbuttoned. The club lighting casts shadows along his collarbones.

Mason wants to do things to him that would have Parliament holding a whole new set of Hockey Canada hearings.

“Happy birthday,” Mason projects, although he suspects it’s a losing battle over the music in the background.

“Thanks, man.” Something catches Connor’s eye off camera, and he ducks out from under Kent’s arm and disappears from the frame.

Mason glares at Kent so hard it ought to bore holes in the screen of his phone.

Kent snorts at him. “Don’t worry, nobody’s touching your omega. Last guy who tried to grind on him got an elbow in the gut.”

Mason opens his mouth to object, and then shuts it. Connor doesn’t feel like his omega, even if his entire body goes fuzzy with static when he hears Kent say it. Connor feels like a friend Mason played with once, who he kept in touch with for a while and then he faded away. If the thought of Connor still turns his insides upside down, maybe that will stop hurting, eventually. That’s how it has to be, with Connor headed to another team that’s going to hope for a bond with one of their own alphas.

(next)

[nine-of-words]

Something Borrowed (Part Three)

M Gargoyle x M Reader

PREVIOUS || STORY TAG || NEXT

Wordcount: 3815

Content Warnings: Discussion of a Breakup/Divorce

Are you the type of person that wants to read several hundred words worth of descriptions of various baked goods? If so, you are in luck! Also, I promise not every story I post to this website will revolve around divorce.

Kirby had told you that you couldn’t stop living because you were cursed. You had told them that you would keep it in mind.

While you do keep that in mind, you certainly don't act on it during any of the encounters you have with Carlyle over the next few weeks.

Maybe if you weren't still so devastated from your breakup and the threat of your curse ruining any attempt, you'd have the courage to ask him out yourself. But as for now, you stay rooted in the comfortable little routine you've built.

Your next attempt is still something that is a perfect pairing for coffee, but slightly more involved. You prepare a tender batch of coffee cake, with a hearty ribbon of cinnamon swirled through the middle of the loaf, and crumbles of cinnamon streusel on top to to match, forgoing any glaze or drizzle that might have otherwise ended up finding its way onto the cake.

Still too sweet. Way too heavy, too dense of a crumb. But cinnamon is clearly a welcome flavor. Maybe something more elegant?

The week after that, you tried a ginger-pear gateau, hoping that the sweetness of the honey would be more permissible than normal sugar, with the heat from the ginger to balance out what sweetness there was. You painstakingly arranged the thin slices, the whole thing baked to perfection and kissed with citrus zest.

He didn’t like that either; but he does seem to like the burn of ginger, commenting on the underlying warmth.

And he may or may not be the type of guy that eats with his eyes first, given how impressed he was with the admittedly beautiful layering of fruit slices.

The next thing you tried was an opera cake. An almond sponge soaked with coffee, which you already know he’s quite fond of. Layers of cream and dark chocolate ganache diligently stacked and cut neatly serve to pleasantly enhance that already present espresso flavor.

You had even piped two Ss, elegantly connected with an ampersand, for Sugar & Spice- the current name of your shop, as of moving locations- in immaculate script across the top. If most of these are going to go into the case, you might as well make them on brand.

He seemed to like this one the most so far, taking a lot longer than ever before to decide its fate.

But he doesn’t like any sort of application of buttercream, it turns out. You should’ve known better already, you suppose- he doesn’t like frosting- he doesn’t even take cream in his coffee, why would he like cream layers in a coffee flavored cake, either? 

It wasn’t a complete loss, however, because he seemed to really enjoy the addition of cardamom that you had used to compliment the flavor of the espresso, at least enough for him to point it out. 

And honestly, the praise he heaped onto you for your careful penmanship and attention to tidy little details takes any hint of sting from the failure away instantaneously.

You’ve already figured out he likes citrus- specifically oranges- and almonds. He prefers a fluffier crumb to a denser one. No heavy glazes or frostings or cream layers.

With the culmination of your last few attempts, you've put together another critical detail: he likes spiced things.

Cinnamon. Ginger. Cardamom. Clove. Nutmeg…

Those flavors seem to be the one big unifying element of what he’s liked of your baking.

Mixed spice.

You’re making some progress, finally.

But what to make him that can test your theory? Cinnamon buns? Too sweet, surely. Gingerbread? Too dense, no go. You could always make a simple spice cake, but it would probably seem sad and bare without frosting, which you’ve already confirmed that he despises in all forms. 

Not to mention that any of these options will make your shop smell like a Yuletide market, or a candle store… And it's the height of summer…

“Wowie, don’t think too hard over there!!” You snap back to attention upon hearing Kirby’s lively voice through your mental fog. You realize you’ve been silently ruminating for quite a while. “You’re frowning so hard your face might break! What’s on your mind?”

“Trying to figure out what to make Carlyle for Tuesday.” You tap the end of the pen you’re holding onto the notepad in front of you. “Can’t think of anything.”

“Hehe, can’t you just bake this man a nice loaf of crusty bread and call it a day already? Everybody loves good bread.”

“Hah, no. It has to be a sweet baked good, I’m afraid. No need to worry though, I’m just a bit stumped at the moment. I’ll figure it out.”

“Oooo, I can help you decide on something!! I’m awful at cooking anything but I’m pretty good at the whole deduction thing, hehe~”

“Oh, no- I couldn’t ask you to help me with something so frivolous. You’re doing actual detective work.”

“A little distraction now and then can be good! Especially when you’re as stuck as I am right now with these leads…” Kirby looks almost forlorn for a moment before any lack of cheer is immediately erased from their expression. “Sometimes thinking about something else entirely can help get you the breakthrough you need!”

“Well, is there anything you’d like me to make?”

“Ooo! Ooooh!! I would ask for baklava but that’s probably way too sweet for your man.”

“Hah, well, maybe I can make you some baklava too, if this goes over well.”

Kirby grins wide, their ears flicking back and forth in excitement.

“Yes!! What’s this guy like again? Gimme something to work with.”

You quickly summarize your previous findings.

“Hmmm… You know what that sounds a lot like? My Oma used to make these little Yuletide cookies that sound a lot like that, with the spices and the orange peel.”

“Huh. Those do sound familiar.”

“I dunno, I forget…”

After a cursory scroll through your respective devices, Kirby manages to find the name.

“These, these! Pfeffernuse!” They exclaim in excitement and shove their device towards you, pointing to the screen with their other hand.

“Ah- I can whip these up for sure...” You reply, scrolling down to skim through the ingredients list.

The cookies come together relatively quickly- you could knead dough in your sleep after growing up in your parents’ bakery. And, as expected, they make your shop smell like a Yuletide candle stall, which it seems every customer you have over the course of the afternoon seems to feel compelled to comment on- It doesn’t get old at all.

“Here they are.” You present the serving dish filled with pfeffernusse to Kirby, then take one of the small, shiny cookies for yourself.

By general standards, they’re quite good. Very flavorful.

But for your specific purposes; the shiny glaze is too sweet; and the cookie itself is too heavy and too dense. There’s no way that Carlyle is going to like these…

“Oh, wow!!” Kirby says your name in a shrill tone, almost a squeal around a mouthful of cookie. “Amazing!! Divine!! These are absolutely perfect, just like she used to make!! If he doesn’t like these, his tastebuds are broken!!!”

“Hahah- I’m glad you like them.” You feel the smile spreading out onto your face.

“You’re the beeeest-”

Honestly, seeing your new friend’s reaction makes it worth it to have made them anyway, even knowing from the start that they weren’t going to bag you a win. Luckily, you manage to reserve some for Carlyle to at least try later, before the ecstatic faun manages to devour the whole batch.

Later that day, the dwindling overcast daylight from the encroaching evening creates a lonely, gloomy atmosphere in your empty shop. The uneasy feeling that always seems to reappear when you’re alone starts to creep back in, and you can’t help but worry that Carlyle’s not coming today. Perhaps the on-and-off rain is keeping him from stopping by. You’ve only seen him show up on foot, and even if he drove there’s not any ample parking on this street.

Or maybe he’s not coming back, period. Maybe he’s gotten bored of whatever this little thing between you is? You couldn’t blame him.

After all, you don’t know each other all that well at all. You’ve only seen each other a total of five times now, basically in passing. You wouldn’t even know he was a lawyer if he hadn’t specifically used the word ‘case’ when referring to his job and mentioned the courthouse before.

And the curse… Well. You know what the letter said by heart now. Withering before blooming, and all of that.

It’s nearly to the point of you giving up and just going about your normal closing procedures when the familiar jingle plays. And while the notification sound and the name on the order is familiar, the order itself is not at all.

Usually, as you’ve learned, you see an order for half a dozen cupcakes- always a variety, except for whomever always orders your lemon meringue flavor without fail.

But this evening, he’s ordered… a disposable cutlery kit.

No cake, no cupcakes, no other items at all. Just that.

You tilt your head at the screen, wondering what it could possibly mean.

After a bit of deliberation, you take a single cutlery kit from the open box and set it on the counter top. 

Moments pass as you stare at the lonely item on the counter, contemplating the situation with only the ubiquitous smooth jazz playing on the overhead speakers to keep you sane.

…Should you brew coffee?

But the minutes tick by, with still no sign of Carlyle.

You decide not to, not wanting to waste it if he's not coming. You fight the urge to either break into uncontrollable laughter or equally uncontrollable tears.

The rain has picked up enough that you can hear it audibly pattering against the panes of your shop windows.

Time marches on.

You sigh. You drum your fingertips on the counter top. You glance at the clock. 

It's two minutes past close.

You’ve finally moved to turn the neon sign declaring your shop as open off for the evening, and just as you’re standing there pressing down the switch you see Carlyle a few paces down the sidewalk, walking towards the shop underneath the protection of a clear umbrella.

He stops in his tracks, looking at the darkened sign and then back down at you on the other side of the glass, seeming at a loss for how to proceed.

After a second of stalemate, you push open the still unlocked door.

“Carlyle?”

He finishes the rest of the walk as quickly as he can without splashing through the accumulating puddles in his leather shoes.

“Hey. Sorry I'm late."

“Hi! I’m- I’m sorry, I wasn’t sure what you meant by a cutlery set.”

“I planned on going home early today, so no cupcake order from the ladies this evening. I wanted to let you know I was still coming, but I realized I had no way of knowing what you’d make to order it for myself, so.” He smirks faintly and shrugs beneath the umbrella, the shoulder pads on his suit lifting up slightly with the motion. “That was the solution I chose. You eat with cutlery, so: I'm still coming to eat.”

“It's okay. That’s actually pretty clever." You beam. You don’t care in the slightest that you’re already closed- you’re just happy he showed up. You motion with your hand for him to enter. "Come in, come in. You’re going to get soggy.”

He obliges, closes his umbrella, then shakes it off before he steps completely inside.

"I suppose the weather held you up?"

"Yes, the train was delayed. There was a large rain spirit blocking off the tunnel, it was an entire ordeal.”

“Well, that would certainly explain the sudden rain. It wasn’t on the forecast this morning.” You chuckle nervously.

“I don’t want to intrude, since it took me long enough to get here that you’re closed now.” He motions to the sign. He’s always been courteous enough to punctually depart when you’ve turned the sign off, cutting off your conversation far earlier than you’d like at times. “We don’t have to do this today if it would be a hassle.”

“Oh, no, it’s no bother- it’s pouring out now, you can’t walk back to the station in that- even with an umbrella. At least stay until it passes.” You reach out and gently touch his forearm for effect. Then, you recoil like you’ve touched a hot stovetop, realizing you’re probably being a bit too comfortable with him when you don’t even know how he feels about physical touch from a relative stranger. You move the culprit to stroke the back of your own head for comfort instead. “Er, if you wanted to, of course. We could sit at one of the tables for a while and have a chat…”

"That sounds like exactly what I need right now." He gives you one of his characteristic bright smiles, and you're so close you can see the outline of his wide, slightly protruding canines. He places his contained umbrella in the bottom of the coat rack.

"Why don't you sit down? I'll go make you some coffee."

You do just that, returning with coffee for you both; his in his claimed mug, and yours in one from the regular marbled set. You can’t help but laugh at the stark difference between the color of your respective drinks, perhaps being on the very far end of the spectrum in shade, seeing as he likes his with no additions and you with as much cream and sugar you can reasonably put into yours.

When you return, he’s sitting at one of the tables, looking out the window. He’s removed his suit jacket and draped it across the back of the chair. You nearly drop the mugs as you’re coming down the stairs as you miss the last step on the flight, because you’re too focused on the how aesthetically pleasing you find the sight- emotionally evocative, like you’ve taken a wrong turn in your own shop and walked into some sort of sad, tragically beautiful painting.

After delivering the (thankfully unspilled) coffee, you turn back to the counter to grab the plate of pfeffernusse. You set the cutlery set down, as well.

“I don’t think you’ll need this for the cookies, but… you did already pay for it.” You say with as straight a face as you can manage.

Carlyle laughs a deep, rich laugh- somehow gravelly and smooth at the same time. He takes the cutlery kit and slides it into the breast pocket of his jacket where it’s hanging on the chair behind him with a pointed smirk, before turning his attention to the cookies on the table in front of him.

You take a seat across from him, hoping you don’t look as obviously captivated as you feel.

You’re used to having a countertop between you, so this is a new experience. It certainly feels more intimate, like you’re having a coffee break with a friend rather than a customer you’ve developed a bizarre crush on. You’re close enough now that you can’t help but notice all the subtle details of the stone texture of his face- the small divots and minor cracks, and the faint lines of erosion where water must have chosen its path down his face countless times.

“These look a bit familiar somehow.” Carlyle selects one of the cookies and rotates it between his fingers in observation, watching the overhead light glint off the shiny coating.

“I don’t think you’re going to like them.” You say, watching him inspect the small treat through an inquisitive look on his face. “But I made them for a friend earlier, so I thought I’d have you try them anyway.”

He’s quiet for an uncommonly long amount of time as he eats the cookie- but not in the good, stunned-into-silence way you’ve been dreaming about seeing. He looks tired. He looks wistful. He looks sad.

It goes on so long that you wonder if you should say something, until you finally do.

“...Carlyle?”

“Hahah… Sorry, spaced out a bit there. I’m sort of a mess today.”

“Is everything alright? You seem unhappy.” You may not be very familiar with him yet, but you’re not so dense as to have not noticed he’s acting much more muted than normally. “I hope the pfeffernusse weren’t that bad…” You laugh quietly to try to lighten the mood. 

“Oh, no- Not at all. Nothing you’ve made has been anywhere close to bad in quality.” He smiles, and you try desperately not to reel from the compliment. “It’s just too sweet for me. Too heavy. The flavor is great, though. Smells like Yuletide morning as a kid.”

“Did you also have a grandmother who made these?” You laugh. “It seems like everyone who’s come into my shop today has had one.”

“Ah, no. My Mom made something kind of like them, but they were rolled in powdered sugar instead.” Then a realization clearly lights up his brown eyes. “So actually yes, I suppose I technically did have a Grandma who made them. But I didn’t know her before she was a statue.”

“Oh- Did you hate sweets as a wee little stone man as well?” You can’t help but laugh, covering your mouth picturing an overly formal gargoyle child. “I bet you did.”

Your laughter is infectious, and you can see his beige spaded tail swishing around the chair legs animatedly.

“I did! Mom always left some out of the sugar for me.”

“Damn, that’s smart. I should’ve thought of that.…” You ponder, tapping your lip with your fingertips and avoiding his eyes.

“No reason to, honestly. They were still a little too sweet, even when she didn’t. I’m sure your friend enjoyed them though, so they fulfilled their main purpose.”

“They did… So, if it’s not my baking, what’s got you so down, then?” You ask, then hastily add: “If you don’t mind me prying.”

“Work.” He says simply. “Work has been difficult for me lately.”

“Understandable. I imagine being a lawyer must be quite stressful.”

“Not only that- I’m a divorce attorney.” He sighs, rubbing his fingers restlessly along the mug’s handle. “I see people when they’re going through what’s likely the worst time of their lives, every single day. And because of the nature of the job, I can't even offer much in terms of support. I’m not a therapist. Ultimately, all I can really do is make sure my client isn’t being shafted.”

“Oh, that does sound draining.” You look down into your ridiculously milky coffee to try to hide the wince. You can’t help but wonder if you would’ve needed a divorce attorney if the curse had destroyed your relationship later than it did. You can’t help but feel perversely relieved- at least you didn’t have to go to court over your heartbreak. “What made you choose that field?”

“I didn’t, really. I used to do criminal defense. I was moved to civil cases a few years ago. I do enjoy my job, for the most part. Most of the time, it’s easy enough to separate myself. …It’s when something is hitting a little too close to home- that’s when it’s hard.”

“Close to home?”

“Yes. My parents were married for thirty-five years- owned their house, fully grown kids, perfect example of a good relationship and they decided to just- get divorced a few months ago, out of nowhere. I mean clearly it wasn’t out of nowhere to them, logically, but it was a shock to me.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. That must be hard to come to terms with, even as an adult. Especially when it’s a surprise.”

“The irony isn’t lost on me, believe me.” He swirls his half-full coffee in the mug, a grim smile on his face as he takes another long sip. “Sometimes I feel like I’m cursed.”

“Cursed?” You say, barely louder than a whisper. You haven’t told him about your own curse- so you know he must not know the weight of using that word with you, but it slices into your chest all the same.

“Yes, not literally of course, but as if working with geasa all this time has rubbed off on me- like the magic itself has backfired on me somehow.” He takes a deep breath of air and shakes his head. “I know I’m just being dramatic. I would know if my magic was off. I was fine when they told me months ago, then- It just didn’t feel real until I went to help them pack up my childhood home this past weekend. I’ve felt down ever since.”

“I know how that feels…” You quickly course-correct. “I mean, how hard that is- packing up a place you loved like that. It’s like having to physically detach from part of yourself.” 

“From such a heartfelt description, I assume you’ve had to as well?”

“Yeah. My fiance broke up with me last autumn. Lived together for years, and I was the one that moved out- That’s how I ended up opening shop here.”

“I’m so sorry.” Carlyle says, genuine concern in his voice. ”That must have been incredibly hard for you.”

“It was… But it’s in the past.” You lie with a sad smile. Maybe sometime soon, you’ll manage to convince yourself…

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I’d rather not.” It’s bad enough feeling like that loss will swallow you whole at any moment. It’s only even more mortifying to be reopening the wound once again in front of the handsome regular you’re crushing on.

Carlyle nods, clearly intrigued but not pushing you for any more information. There is a short, surprisingly comfortable stretch of you both sitting in relative silence apart from the rain pattering on the shop window and the low background music of the shop. 

Carlyle finally clears his throat.

“At least there’s always coffee,” He sighs in catharsis. 

“True. In your favorite mug, at that.” You chuckle, eyes resting on the familiar lettering. Strangely, seeing it in Carlyle’s hands, it doesn’t fill you with nearly the same heart wrenching sadness as it used to.

“I hope you don’t find it tasteless that I’ve claimed it, given what sounds like the painful context.”

“Ah, no, not at all- If anything, it’s making me feel a lot better about the whole thing.”

“I’m just saying- he can’t change his mind and come back for it now.” Carlyle smiles at you from behind the cup. “I’ve become very attached.”

You somehow manage to speak through your flustered laughter and your heart trying to race out of your chest.

“Haha- I don’t think you have to worry much about that…”

>> ✨ MASTERLIST >> ☕ KO-FI

[squishmallow36]

It's all I wish to hear tonight, and you're all I wish to be, and this is how we all fall - Chapter five

Summary: The entire spectrum of human emotions. Feel free to complain if you do not experience an emotion while reading this. Also. This is the last chapter so it's a great time to binge read all of them.

Word count: 3091

Tw: major character death, Alvar's associated illness, minor canonical character death, alcohol mention, drugs mention, swearing

Taglist (lmk if you want to be added/removed!): @stellar-lune @faggot-friday @kamikothe1and0lny @nyxpixels @florida-preposterously @poppinspop @uni-seahorse-572 @solreefs @did-i-say-you-could-get-up @rusted-phone-calls @when-wax-wings-melt @good-old-fashioned-lover-boy7 @dexter-dizzknees @abubble125 @hi-imgrapes @callum-hunt-is-bisexual @xanadaus @callas-pancake-tree @hi-my-name-is-awesome @katniss-elizabeth-chase @arson-anarchy-death @dizzeners @thefoxysnake @olivedumdum

Bonus Garvar tags because you haven't told me to stop: @tw-5 @camelspit

On Ao3 or below the cut!

Previous chapter in case you missed it :)

    Garwin spends every spare minute he can searching, searching, searching for the intersection of five rivers. And he has a lot of spare minutes. 

   Alvar takes a lot of naps. 

    The hope of finding it dwindles as time goes on and Alvar keeps declining. It gets to the point that sometimes Garwin is afraid to leave him for a moment to track down a new lead. 

    Soon, Alvar is unable to leave Candleshade, then his bed. His crackling breathing is sometimes the only difference between sleeping and worse--but thinking about that outcome doesn’t do anything to help the situation.     

    Ruy knocks on the doorframe to one of the many studies in Candleshade, entering without permission and sinking into a plush chair across from Garwin. 

     Garwin tries to smile at him. It probably doesn’t work. 

    Ruy’s eyes are rimmed with red, which does pair nicely with the chair. He smiles just as painfully back at Garwin. 

    “Doesn’t his highness need a chaperone?”

    “I needed to talk to you.” Ruy pauses, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. “I know you’re determined to find your five rivers, but, Garwin, it’s been weeks. If you were going to find it, you would have by now. I don’t want you losing your mind over this.”

    Garwin puts his book down and smooshes himself into the chair next to Ruy, wrapping an arm around him and burying his face in Ruy’s hair. 

    Hot tears prickle at the back of Garwin’s eyes. The futility of all of this has been going around in his head for a while and Ruy just put it perfectly into words. “I know. But what else can I do? I don’t want to just watch him waste away if there’s a way I can make it stop.”

    “I don’t know.” Ruy takes his free hand and ruffles Garwin’s hair. 

    “I have one final theory. It’s absolutely batshit but if I don’t try it, then I’m gonna blame myself forever.”

    “This better not turn into a cycle of ‘just one more thing’ and before you know it, it’s been a week and a half.”  

    “It won’t. I promise. I’m out of leads to possible leads after this.” Garwin pauses. “If I’m not back before bedtime for whatever reason, please continue the Chronicles of Timothman. If you don’t, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

    Well, there will be a definite end if--nope. Deny the truth and it doesn’t exist.     

    Ruy nods solemnly. “Hail me if you need anything. I’ll be here until then. And by here I mean this chair specifically. I live here now.”

    “It is a nice chair. Or maybe you’re a nice chair. Either way, I should get going before it gets dark because I’m an old man now and can’t be outside the house after sunset.”

    “Congratulations. Antivampires will now have to be added to the lore of Timmothman.”

   Garwin smiles amusedly. “That’ll be fun.” He kisses the top of Ruy’s head before he stands up, joints singing the song of his people for reasons unknown. It’s certainly not because they hurt, well at least more than the human body simply falling apart because it’s an evolutionary dumpster fire. 

    He ruffles Ruy’s hair before he heads down to find a starlight bottler device thingy. There has to be one somewhere around here, and sure enough, there’s one on the twenty-third floor. 

   Garwin drags it to a window because getting it to the elevator and outside would be more work and starts looking at the night sky for the unmapped stars. 

    ‘Unmapped’ is a tad bit of a misnomer when they’re in the human Hyperion catalog. 

    With the other hand, he holds a star app up to the sky, lining up the shot. It might not be dark out, but the starlight bottler device thingy works anyway. This was discovered after Alvar just fucking forgot he had a project in the Universe and had to scrape it together during his lunch hour. 

    It makes sense because the sun is just a really close star so as long as the sensitivity is adjusted correctly, it still works. 

    And, sure enough, they’re perfectly lined up, just like the calendar in the Alden shit predicted. It might be a funny coincidence or maybe the metaphorical and literal stars are aligning because someone out there wants Alvar to live. 

    Garwin flips the switches and collects the light into a very not official bottle, glowing faintly green.     

    He holds it up to the light before checking that his Nexus is turned on, and steps through the beam of light. 

    The usual feathery sensation of light leaping is replaced by a feeling of being crushed under boulders. It’s also significantly darker than usual, a deep green haze covering the world that stays in the corners of his vision even after he’s spit out at the other end. 

    He blinks repeatedly, trying to clear it, and wouldn’t you know it? It’s Sophie fucking Foster and her doofy friends. 

    Garwin’s hands curl into fists at the sight of Fitz, nails digging crescents into his palms, but he has to stay focused. Unfocus is not an option here. 

    But god fucking damn that kid has taken enough from me. 

    Garwin tears his eyes away from them and takes in the scenery. Specifically the fact that there are several rivers--maybe even five--intersecting. It’s also weirdly quiet. Sophie and co. are talking and not bothering to be quiet but they’re completely silent.   

    Even nature itself is silent, no fluttering leaves making noises, no burbling river. It’s almost as though it’s holding its breath, and so is Garwin, waiting for Sophie and co. to notice him. 

    They have at least one responsible adult chaperone--Vespera--with them, and she does some weird shit to a tree. The world around Garwin flickers like he bonked a force field in the Hunger Games and he hides behind a convenient tree to avoid confrontation. 

    Some sort of illusion probably went down because now Sophie and co. are both able to be heard once again--albeit quieter than expected--and they can see the rivers. There’s also a nice pile of rocks they’ve chosen to comment about. 

    C’mon Sophie, you’ve fucking seen rocks before. Those exist in the human world, believe it or not. 

    Garwin waits and watches the drama as it goes down--from waddling into the rock pile to Gisela deciding to join the party to Vespera getting exploded to some dwarves kidnapping a goblin man to an almost stabbing of Godzilla.

    Sophie must be friends with a psionipath because it certainly isn’t Ruy who takes down the forcefields around their little group as they swarm Godzilla. 

    Unfortunately, a gray-cloaked figure steps out from where they were living under a rock, proclaiming, “My name is Elysian, and I am the power source you are all here looking for.”

    That’s just a tad bit pretentious, one part of his brain thinks.     

    The rest is simply screaming. Mostly screaming about Alvar. The solution is right fucking over there and kidnapping isn’t exactly the most war-crime-y of things Garwin has imagined. 

    He lets out a huff and Elysian, whose only distinguishing feature is a pair of big fucking naturals, turns to him. 

    Garwin leans against the tree, channeling Alvar’s sass as he smirks. “Nice to see you, Sophie. It’s been a while.”

    She looks confused for just a second, her photographic memory failing her. Then she blinks and she’s even more confused, trying to reconcile her worlds colliding. 

    “Hey, Keefster. Nice to see you too. Done any fun running away from your problems recently?”

    Keefe breaks eye contact, finding something interesting on the ground to study while trying to not smile. 

    “How do you know Keefe?” is all Sophie can manage.

    “They were the younger sibling I never wanted back when they were in the Neverseen. Thanks again for making me put up with your hellspawn, Gissy.”

    Gozdilla rolls her eyes. She’s so much like her son sometimes it’s hilarious. Of course, neither should not be told this because they both correctly believe that the other is insufferable.      

    “How the Exile do you two know each other then?” Keefe asks, and it’s difficult to tell if they’re asking Sophie or Garwin. 

    Sophie answers, “he was in my class back when I lived in San Diego. What I can’t figure out is why he’s here.”

    “Well, it has a little something to do with Fitz and a little something to do with troll hives and a lot of something to do with a vague half-baked hope that Ely here can do something to solve all my life’s problems.”

    Garwin hears Alvar’s voice in his mind saying You’re gonna beg that bitch to let you into Yale? He almost smiles. 

    “What did I do?” Fitz demands. 

    “Oh, do you not remember forcing Alvar into a cell in a troll hive? Yeah. He’s my boyfriend. Well, one of them. I’m also dating Ruy if you guys know him. That’s beside the point.”

    Fitz stares at Keefe, locked in a telepathic conversation that’s almost certainly, “did you know this?” “Ye.” “What the fuck.” “What’s it to you?” “You didn’t think of telling me that my brother was dating…him?” “There were bigger issues at hand.”

       Garwin smiles callously. “Thanks a whole metric fuckton, Fitzroy. Really appreciate it.” He turns to Elysian. “So, all-powerful power source. Can you fix him?”

    “I--think so?” she replies, breasting boobily. 

    “Gonna need guarantees here sooner or later, babe.”

    Sophie glances back and forth at her friends at Garwin’s absolute audacity to order Elysian around. Godzilla doesn’t seem too thrilled either. But they can go fuck themselves. They aren’t on anywhere near as tight of a timer as Garwin and he, frankly, would not fucking care even if they were. 

    Garwin shrugs off the tree and begins approaching Elysian, a leaping crystal to Candleshade in hand. It was a home crystal, once. But Candleshade hasn’t been a home in a long time. 

    Ely steps back, deep brown eyes glinting golden in the sunset from behind their hood. “I can’t leave this place.”

    Garwin stops. Nope. Not when I’m this fucking close. “Can’t? Or won’t?” 

    Maybe taunting them isn’t the best idea considering he’s a pathetic human and they’re basically the gray equivalent of the genie from Aladdin. Plus tiddies. 

    But you know what? Let him get blown off the face of the Earth. If saving Alvar means sacrificing himself, then that’s what he’ll do. 

    Elysian looks back at her pile of rocks.

    A wave of calm seriousness, almost desperation, washes over Garwin. “What do I have to do? I’ll give you anything. Just--,” his voice cracks, “--please.”

    “I’m sorry. Maybe if you could bring him here--”

    Garwin holds the leaping crystal up to the light before they get a chance to finish their sentence. 

    It simultaneously takes a year and a half and a quarter of a second to run all the way to their bedroom. Is the elevator broken? Is that why it’s taking so long? Hurry the fuck up you stupid piece of shit technology. 

    He disembarks, finding Ruy in the hallway and time stops. 

    Ruy is curled up against the closed door of their bedroom. His shoulders shake with violent sobs. 

    Garwin’s mind puts together the only answer. Alvar’s gone. Passed away. Dead. The euphemisms can’t disguise the absolute heart-wrenching realization that he’ll never see Alvar again. 

    His knees wobble under him, and he slides down to the floor next to Ruy, too numb to register the door casing digging into his back. 

    Ruy leans into his side, trembling. 

    They hold each other for stars know how long. The sun finishes setting and the stars glitter in the sky.

    Ruy wipes his nose on Garwin’s sleeve, whispering in a voice rougher than gravel, “He’s--he’s gone.”

    Ruy’s words send a spear into Garwin’s already aching heart. He pulls Ruy closer with his free arm. “Can I ask what happened?”

    “When you left, he had been napping all afternoon. I don’t know if you heard him complaining about being cold earlier, but he was freezing when he woke up for dinner. He got up to go to the bathroom and made it back to the door frame. He couldn’t fucking breathe.” Ruy stops, a sob burying his face in Garwin’s shoulder. “I didn’t know what to do.”

    “Oh, honey. I don’t think there was anything you could do. I’m just--I’m so sorry I wasn’t here for you.”

    “Don’t be sorry. You were trying to help. I still don’t fucking know what to do now. It was just so sudden. One minute he was fine, or as fine as he gets, and the next he was choking on his own lungs.”     

    Garwin shifts himself into a shaky standing position, helping Ruy get up. “Come on, I don’t want to get stuck on the floor.” 

    They’re probably going to eat ice cream and get drunk until reality no longer feels so claustrophobic. 

    There were also some references in the Alden shit to some elvin plants that sound like they’d be interesting to smoke. 

    Ruy and Garwin collapse into the objectively best couch three floors down and Ruy asks, “How did your expedition tonight go?”

    Cue reality and memory smacking Garwin in the face. “I found the place. And the thing that would’ve theoretically saved him. If I had been just an hour earlier, we would be having a very, very different night tonight.”

    Garwin lets Ruy process that because it’s a lot. Even when you’ve been raised conditioned for the impact of death because it is inevitable when you’re a human, it’s a lot. 

    “Do you still have Gisela’s contact information?”

    “Yeah,” Ruy shifts to pull out his Imparter. 

    “May I borrow that for two minutes or less?”

    Ruy nods, handing it over before swiping a tear off of Garwin’s cheek. 

    Garwin navigates to the unnecessarily hidden texting feature that is obscured by a horrible UI design and lets her know that she and Sophie can fight each other for custody over Elysian. Their services aren’t needed here anymore. 

    She doesn’t reply but it is left on read. Rude but to be expected. 

    Garwin gives it back and bundles Ruy into a boyfriend burrito with the blanket that usually lives on the back of the couch for exactly that reason. 

    “So now what?” Ruy whispers. 

    “Would you like a finale to the Chronicles of Timmothman?”

    Ruy almost smiles, and Garwin takes that as a win. His chest still feels like it has a gaping hole but seeing that glint in Ruy’s eyes appeases it just a little bit. 

    “Let’s see. Where did we leave him? Ah, yes. Kidnapping children as revenge. Not at all because their parents were pieces of shit. Just because his home village no longer exists doesn’t mean there aren’t more fucked up villages nearby. In doing so, he’s incidentally adopted, like, a dozen children. Most of them aren’t older than five.”

    “Oh, stars,” Ruy whispers, terror apparent in his voice.

    “And all of them are ankle biters of chaos. Because they’re five. That’s just how that works. So now instead of having a nice, fulfilling life with his boyfriends, instead he gets to herd cats all day. “

    “We should get a cat.” 

    “Put it on the list. Those parents were none too thrilled with the magic tricks of their disappearing children, and, eventually, when a child of one of the members of the higher class--I don’t know how village governments work. The guy’s like ten cents richer than everybody else so he’s basically their god aside from the Christianity they’ve inherited by virtue of being vaguely based on nineteenth century Germany.”

    “Would their currency be measured in cents then?”

    “I don’t know and I don’t care and I don’t want to find out. You get the fucking point. This guy’s kid gets kidnapped and well this can’t stand so I guess we’re going to have to venture into the evil bad forest to go find him. Side note: the town believes the kid simply wandered away because there can’t be any child stealing monsters in the forest. But it is also evil. Don’t ask.”

    “Sounds perfectly accurate. Unreasonable, but accurate.”

    “Yeah there’s a whole mob that goes into the forest. Nobody wants to deal with them and they don’t find jack shit. One guy in the mob wanders off never to be seen in the village again. He joins the Erlkönig polycule.”

    “Honestly, goals.”

    “I know, right. I feel like the new guy needs a name.” Garwin pauses, thinking. 

    “Is it too soon to name him Alvar?”  

         Garwin’s breath hitches. It’s probably way too soon but the themes. The narrative demands it. He almost starts crying again. “That’s perfect. Alvar lives a wonderful, luxurious life in der Erlkönig’s castle with Timmy and some other people that weren’t important enough to receive names. And they all lived happily ever after. It’s said, to this day, that if you go wandering long enough in the woods and you’re deemed worthy of finding them, eventually you’ll stumble upon der Erlkönig and his castle.”

    “I’ve lived in the woods for many years. Checkmate.”  

    “Either they weren’t looking for new members or it was the fact you joined the Neverseen at fifteen and that would’ve been a fucked up relationship dynamic if you had found them.”

    “I could’ve been an ankle biter.”

    “You were already nine when you were banished. That’s four years too ancient. You’d be a menace for someone’s kneecaps by that point.”

   “Yeah, I guess. Now I get to be a menace to society.”

    Garwin smiles, pressing a kiss to Ruy’s forehead. 

    As he begins to drift off to sleep, the cold emptiness where Alvar is supposed to be curled against his other side is notably, eternally missing. And there’s no replacing him. 

     But wallowing isn’t going to solve this, so the only option is to move forward. 

    Ruy suddenly jolts awake. “Wait, I forgot to tell you.”

    Garwin makes an interested noise. 

    “Alvar made me promise to let him tell you, but now…that isn’t exactly plausible. But, it turns out, with enough bribery and some too-long essays and definitely not forged recommendation letters, you’ve been accepted into Yale.”

    It takes a whole second for Garwin to process this. It takes another whole second for him to stop mentally screaming and come up with a coherent response. Even if that response is kissing Ruy. 

    The future isn’t going to be easy, and it’s certainly unknown. But he’s got Ruy. And that’s what matters.  

[dyaz-stories]

stars around my scars || Cha Hyun-Su x Reader

word count: 1.2k

warnings & tags: so soft, fluff, angst because it's sweet home, hurt/comfort, kissing, touch-starved!hyun-su, a little suggestive but it's not too bad, hyun-su needs a hug and he gets that and more eheh

previous one-shot · next part

A/N: this can be read on its own or read as a part of the little hyun-su x reader series i've got going on at the moment! no particular context needed for this one, but i wrote it in like two hours so i hope you'll enjoy it.

Hyun-Su sits at your table like he’s not sure he has the right to be there. He’s been less cautious around you lately, less distant, now that he knows that you accept him wholeheartedly for who he is, all that he is, even the dark, ugly parts that he tried to keep from you. But sometimes, when he is in the space that is so clearly yours, he still makes himself small, as if he thinks you’d kick him out if you remembered he was there.

It doesn’t matter that you invited him in and insisted he stayed. The fear that you could change your mind at any point, that the longer he’s around, the more he risks showing you a part of him you won’t like, that’s what sticks.

When you sit down across from him, he notices your eyes landing on his bruised knuckles, sees your brow furrows. Sheepishly, he removes his hand from the table.

“Doesn’t it hurt?” you ask.

You ask that a lot. Worry a lot. Selfishly, he likes that you do.

“It’s fine,” he replies, voice quiet. “It will heal.”

The wounds won’t get infected, they won’t kill him, and they’ll go away eventually. So, sure, it stings as long as they’re open, but he’s long stopped bothering with cleaning or treating them. Who cares about his pain anyway?

“That’s not the point,” you say, reaching out for his hand. He doesn’t resist when you take it in yours. How could he? Your fingers are soft, gentle, your skin is warm. It’s like he melts into your touch, like his muscles turn into lead.

It also makes him greedy, makes him want to know what it would do if you touched him more, in different ways. Inside him, the monster stirs, and Hyun-Su forces it back down.

You lift his hand and blow on the wounds that mar his knuckles. The gesture is childish, and despite himself, a smile breaks on his face.

“That’s not going to change much.”

He notices belatedly how fond his voice sounds. He’s usually so careful not to let it be so obvious, but you just surprised it out of him. If you notice, you don’t let it show. Instead, you roll your eyes at him — until you get another idea.

He looks at you in bemused interest as you lower your face towards his hand. And then he realizes what you’re doing, and his heart skips a beat.

You glance up at him, a silent request for his approval, before you go any further. He doesn’t know how to give it to you, doesn’t know if he should, if it’s safe.

He also doesn’t take his hand away.

Your lips press gently against his knuckles, and it sends a jolt through him that ignites his whole body. He can’t see himself, but he’s sure he’s blushing. When you meet his eyes again, he averts his immediately, swallows, clears his throat. But then he feels you open your fingers, letting his hand slip from your grasp, and he tightens his hold on you at the last second. He cannot bear the thought of losing your touch, not just yet.

“That—” His voice cracks. “That does help.”

“Oh,” you say, and then your thumb runs over his hand in a soft caress. He exhales, long and slow. He’d do anything for you not to let go of him.

When you stand up, his head shoots up, eyes following you like a puppy — only for you to get closer to him. You roll your lips together, still searching his expression for approval. You trace a wound on his shoulder, one he doesn’t even remember getting, if he’s being honest.

“Would it help here?” you ask.

Hyun-Su’s whole body is buzzing with the absolute, desperate need to be touched again.

All he can do is nod.

You lean in, kiss his shoulder, and he closes his eyes. He wants to drown in you. He wants you to run your hands over his body, he wants to touch you so bad, and he hates himself for remaining so still. But then you touch his cheek, trace his jaw, and he’s so infinitely thankful that you do what he can’t.

You’re the one who’s not meeting his eyes this time, as your index finger brushes against his bottom lip. There’s no wound there, they’re just chapped, and yet…

“How about here?”

He’s almost shaking in anticipation by now. He thinks he’d kill to be kissed by you — he knows the monster would. But again, he just nods.

So, standing in front of him, between his legs, you cup his cheek in the gentlest of ways, like he’s precious, and you kiss him again. It’s soft, gentle, just lips against lips.  You make a delicate sound when you part from him, and he regrets the loss of it immediately. It must be why he blurts out, before you can move any further “It still hurts.”

Your eyes go wide for a second, before a smile stretches your lips. He only gets a second to ask himself if he asked for too much, if you’re going to be disgusted with him for daring to ask, if—

You kiss him again, a little harder this time, nose pressing against his cheek. Your hands move to the back of his neck to support yourself better. Hyun-Su feels you part your lips, feels your tongue against his mouth, and that is when he loses it.

He’s happy that you have your eyes closed because, even though he feels fully in control of himself at the moment, he’s not sure which color you’d see in his just now.

He pulls you into his lap, hands on your hips at first before he moves one of them, just a little, to the small of your back. You’re all over him now, body against his, scent overwhelming, your taste on his tongue. The apartment would be quiet, if it wasn’t for the sound of your mouths together, and for the rush of his blood in his ears.

You gasp quietly into him, your teeth catch against his bottom lip and it makes him shiver. He dares then, caught in the euphoria of it all perhaps, to reach up to touch your face, long fingers stroking your cheek. His skin is on fire everywhere you touch it, but he wouldn’t give it up for the world, and he finds itself praying it never ends.

Yet it does, fairly abruptly, when he realizes, suddenly, that he’s falling. On instinct, he wraps his arms around you to protect you, and then the two of you hit the floor. The chair had to have tipped backwards at some point, without the two of you noticing.

There’s a moment of stunned silence afterwards, before you let out a quiet laugh, hiding your face in his shoulder.

Much to his surprise, he hears himself laugh as well. It just feels easy to do, when you’re in his arms. His heart is still pounding, his lips are tingling, and his breathing is shallow, but he’s feeling emotions he hasn’t felt in years.

He’s happy.

Deep inside of him, the monster takes a step back, satiated.

For now, anyway.

i've really loved writing this and i'm quite happy with the end result, especially for something i wrote so quickly, so i hope you liked it too! please let me know your thoughts either on here, in tags, in an ask or reblog the fic, it means the world to me and it lets me know you want to see more, so it keeps me motivated!

next part

[outofangband]

very informal thoughts on the more mundane villains I write (Avranc, Brodda and Lorgan)

mentions of bad stuff from canon ahead

anon who wanted to see this, I hope you do! I’m also going to go back to it tomorrow and finish any edits and additions as I can’t from mobile right now...

third and last time I’m reposting this. apparently Tumblr is once again doing the thing where it doesn’t let you edit things under a cut on mobile 

Avranc

mundane evil at its finest. Bureaucratic, petty, and callous. Depraved indifference is the term I used in my recent meta about The Wanderings of Húrin and it’s the most accurate thing I can say about him. He’s well aware that he’s living in a nigh apocalyptic world and he’ll mistreat or even kill anyone he thinks has earned it.

His cruelty towards completely traumatized Húrin and callousness about Morwen’s death was surprisingly disturbing to me when I first read The Wanderings and it’s stuck with me ever since

Brodda:

I really hate this man! I’m not normal about it, either. If you’ve ever mentioned disliking him even in tags or comments you might have dealt with my overexcited responses. Sorry in advance/in retrospect. It will probably happen again. 

Technically in my published stories he’s only in a few but he features heavily in unpublished stories of mine too. The scene where Morwen scares him away by looking is simultaneously one of the scariest and most amusing scenes in the entire book for me. 

In one of those published stories Aerin says that his best quality is his long periods of absence and the kindest thing he does is ignoring her. That’s the highest character endorsement you’ll get from a reliable source.  The previous batch of Aerin headcanons and the next one has some less than fun facts about him. 

What to say about him? He’s a mid level commander and violent sadist who accuses women of witchcraft. He often ignores Aerin because he gets bored of being cruel to the same people, hence her glowing character endorsement (my sarcasm as well as hers). He’s way too obsessed with his own dagger (hence the title of the story) He’s mostly fun to write when he’s getting stabbed by Morwen with it and the art I have of it is the best thing ever. Earlier last year I thought my dark!Finarfin was the worst character I’d write but I think even he isn’t as bad, if only because dark Arafinwë has more self awareness.   The BoLT version is interesting too because it puts his actions in an even more disturbing light when he’s acting against his own people. I tend to use a combination that has him originally from Hithlum but having left a couple decades before the start of the Narn. I have...thoughts about this including one of the most disturbing things I think I have ever come up with regarding Dagor Bragollach.

Anyways he’s an awful person and needs to stay away from Aerin and Morwen and just about everyone else on the planet. Currently I’m playing with an idea for a wip where Morwen does convince Aerin to flee to Hareth in Brethil and then finds herself accused of causing her vanishment by sinister means.

But I had to work out his character so much for Cut Your Hand As Willingly (semi published, it has its own tag which I’ll put on this post) that I’m not sure I could face writing him again. 

Lorgan: Any visuals I have of him are based on the description of the governor from The Magnus Archives episode Foundations. He’s notable to me mainly for being the guy who Húrin yells at in The Wanderings. Well, one of them. I guess that story does have more than one instance of Húrin yelling at people.   He also apparently considered abducting Niënor. I don’t know exactly what version this was in, I actually thought I invented that in my brain but then two people completely unrelated posted about it so it’s somewhere in HoME. I have a post about it here. It’s kind of pathetic that he failed in this despite the family being actually cursed. Always a possibility for further exploration in dark aus He doesn’t appear in many of my stories except as a background character.

I don’t like him much either but it’s also interesting to imagine versions where he was originally of Húrin’s people too. 

[guangshi-091305]

Fic recs where Wei Wuxian and A-Yuan are being adorable together with all the dad-son vibes... read tags and warnings by authors first please! All fics are completed and have the most wholesome scenes for my fave parent-child duo. Some of them have reversed dynamics due to de-aged Wei Wuxian too <3

1- Flowers Blooming in the Dark by TheLegendOfChel

When Wei Wuxian, the god of death, meets Lan Wangji, the god of vegetation, the last thing he expects is to be swept off his feet. Unfortunately, the rest of the world is less accepting of their courtship. Denied permission to marry, Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji elope. The other gods, furious with this blatant act of disobedience, declare war on the underworld, and vow to punish Wei Wuxian for kidnapping the honorable Hanguang-jun. Wei Wuxian finds this rather unfair. If anything, Lan Wangji is the one who kidnapped him!

2- no time for crying by Narci

Jingyi’s made a lot of silly mistakes on night hunts before. Everyone has, even Sizhui. But this may be the worst. (Jingyi stares harder in hopes that the two children will suddenly regrow to their previous sizes. They do not. Jingyi keeps trying. He whispers, “have you ever just like realized that you’re about to be literally murdered?” “Can’t say I’ve had that particular realization, no,” Zizhen replies with the air of a born badass. Jin Ling sighs. “Murder is wrong,” the child in black interjects wisely. Even at age six, Senior Wei is lecturing us, Jingyi thinks hysterically.)

3- Time, Time, Time by skeletonofaplant

“So, what is Poor-gege doing here?” Lan Jingyi almost smacks into the ground with the way he trips over his feet. “Uhm—! Excuse me?? Poor!” “Stop being so clumsy, Poor-gege,” A-Yuan huffs as he impatiently tugs at Jingyi’s hand. Lan Jingyi relents himself to being dragged again, however not without narrowing his eyes at the little boy. “Just because I’m not your Rich-gege doesn’t mean I’m poor,” he mumbles under his breath. A-Yuan gives a shrug and hums noncommittally, “If Poor-gege says so.” — — — Or the juniors travel back in time and meet people they never had a chance to

4- grow by cafecliche

“Okay,” Jingyi says, as Sizhui puzzles this out aloud. “Okay! So the demon has been turning its victims into children.” “I think so,” Sizhui says. “To make them easier prey,” Jingyi says. “Yes,” Sizhui says. “So—” Jingyi’s voice cracks here, “this kid is Senior Wei.” Wei Wuxian, still tangled in his own massive robes, blinks politely at them. (Or: Wei Wuxian is cursed on a night-hunt, and the junior quartet rapidly finds themselves in over their heads.)

5- Due Process by Kytrin, ShotsOfSunshine 

The huli-jing of the Yiling Wei sect have always stood out as neither being on the side of the law or against it. However everything changed with the murder of their leader. Now, with a usurper sitting upon the Spider Lily throne, Wei Wuxian fights to reclaim his birthright and set his clan back on the right course. No one will stop him. Not even Lan Wangji, the finest dragon on the force and the only man to ever come close to catching him.

6- A Step in the Wrong Direction by pupeez4eva

Jin Guangshan uses an array to show everyone exactly what the Yiling Patriarch is getting up to in the Burial Mounds. Finally, everyone will get to see the deadly Wen army that he is amassing there. Instead, all they see is a group of old people, an overly friendly fierce corpse, an adorable child, and the supposedly evil Yiling Patriarch, who is too busy being a protector and father to actually do anything evil. (No, things definitely aren't going to plan).

7- The Edge of Night by Hobbsy3

For Wei Wuxian, the apocalypse begins in a petrol station, with a crying baby and its dying mother, and a horde of the undead outside. All Wei Wuxian can think of is making it back to his family, but little does he know that finding his siblings will only be the start of the fight to survive… A modern zombie AU featuring artwork from the incredible steppjes.

8- the impracticality of zithers as weapons by sushicorps (Inclinant)

“Announcing the arrival of Leader Wei of the Yiling Sect.” Lan Wangji, peerless Jade of the Gusu Lan Clan, chokes on his tea. It has been thirteen years since the rolling mists blanketed the peaks of Yiling, barring entry to all that sought to harm it. It has been thirteen years since Wei Wuxian had been seen in the cultivation realm.

9- Building it back, stone by stone and seal by seal by KizuKatana @kizukatana (NEW!)

It had been over 200 years since the war between cultivators left more than half the land ravaged and uninhabitable and the practice of cultivation punishable by death. Despite the risks of being caught as a practicing cultivator, Wei Wuxian took on the hunt of a dangerous yao that had destroyed a small village and killed all of the civilians. While searching for the demon, he encountered a mysterious cultivator dressed all in white. Wei Wuxian was excited to finally meet another cultivator, but instead of greeting him or making pretty much any conversation at all, the man attacked Wei Wuxian on sight. - - - - - - There is NO WAR in this fic. This takes place two centuries after the war happened, and it has a sort of post apocalyptic vibe. This is a story of rebuilding and finding safety. It's about found family and forming a new society away from the old one that persecuted them. While all of these are wangxian centric with a good dose of dad-son wwx/a-yuan, these tags might be good starting places for what you want!

 Lan Yuan | Lan Sizhui & Wei Ying | Wei Wuxian

Wei Ying | Wei Wuxian is Lan Yuan | Lan Sizhui's Parent

Wei Ying | Wei Wuxian Adopts Lan Yuan | Lan Sizhui

Lan Yuan | Lan Sizhui is a Wei

You know what I would have liked to see in the different adaptions of mdzs? Some more of Wei Wuxian and A-Yuan bonding time. I really adore their cute relationship with each other and I would love to see the process of how they got so close!

Because how on earth did this:

“Give him to me.”

But the old woman just kept shaking her head, and the child clung tightly to her neck. Although they were both almost slipping off the horse, there was unconcealable terror in both of their eyes. Wei Wuxian swiftly reached out, picked up the child, and tucked him under his arm.

The old woman was horrified. “A-Yuan! A-Yuan!” she cried.

While the child named A-Yuan was still very young, he already knew that he should be scared. But he didn’t cry—he only vigorously chewed on his finger and snuck glimpses at Wei Wuxian.

Become this:

Wen Yuan didn’t understand what anyone was talking about, but children always call for their loved ones when they are frightened. And so, he sobbed and cried, “Daddy! Daddy! Waaaaaaaaah…”

I'm pretty sure he's calling Wei Wuxian his dad in this scene. He doesn't even know who Lan Wangji is.

And yeah I admit, I'm a sucker for platonic stuff like these. I was obsessed with Dick Grayson and Damian Wayne's bond and now I'm obsessed with Wei Wuxian and A-Yuan. Lucky me.

On a side note, does anyone have any fic recommendations based on these two's cute little relationship? I always see A-Yuan with Lan Wangji in fics, but rarely do I see him with Wei Wuxian.

[ciaossu-imagines]

It's no problem at all and thank you so much or saying that. And I can’t blame you for getting sidetracked with a lot of thing sine I have been known to get that as well and it is also one of the reasons it took me so long to even write all of that previous message out. I really am and I’m really looking forward to seeing what the next chapter has to bring. I’ve seen some spoilers of it and am curious to see it all together in English. I’ve already told my friend about it so hopefully she’ll also watch it one day, though I’ not sure whether she’ll read the manga because she doesn’t have that much time but hopefully she will. I’ve spammed her with picture of Mikuni and she likes his design so hopefully one day.

And I’m looking forward to hearing your thoughts. Damn, 500. That’s seriously so much. But it is good that it will help in keeping the blog going for the months to come. It’s cool. What’s important is that you enjoy writing them and even though I have blocked your avalanche of spice tag, I’m looking forward to anything else you’ll give us, be it unrequested or requested. I see, that makes sense and then you don’t have to face any kind of filler while consuming Black Butler. Me too. Feel free to share your thoughts about it with me when the time comes. I see. I also have that sometimes with actors and I’ll just be looking at them on the screen, hoping to remember their name or where I saw them before and if I can’t remember, I’ll just IMDB them. Thank you so much. And that they most definitely do.

Oh, I see, that makes sense and I love that your replies can go overboard because of that. Yeah. I just had the problem of adding short text message after text message to her and it was just a bit much to her to respond to all of those texts (since we talk in WhatsApp and we usually reply to the text itself, one after another) when she did respond so now I’m trying to do a maximum of 10 messages per go (unless images are involved but I still try to keep it to a small amount). But thank you so much for saying that 😭 Yeah, the chapter really was. Like it concentrated on my favourite team after a big important match and I just loved seeing the interact and everything. Well, I had actually already kind of seen them grown up before since the last non-special chapter has a scene of various characters in the future and even after that there’s a special chapter with that semi-fave boy in the future but not like this. Like the clothes that he wore in the previous post-timeskip chapters and the clothes he wears here are so different. That was actually was I was talking about with my friend so it’s like even though I’ve seen him as a grown-up before, not like that and it’s really nice. Not only that but his smile and what he said was so great and you bet I cried. Not only then but like while reading the whole chapter. I don’t actually know when I started crying but seeing him there at the end really does make me so happy and I now often just check that picture out because even in the anime, you can’t help but love that smile. It’s just so gentle  😭 (though what he says is so teasing and I absolutely love it). Could I send you the picture? I’ll take what he says out so it’s absolutely non-spoilery and the only spoiler thing is how he turns out as a 29 year old but yeah, just can’t help but ask. And yeah, I actually already know what they became because of the last non-special chapter and even though I never thought about what they’d become, it all makes sense and you bet I’m proud of them, all of them, for where they ended up. Though the author did give a bit of extra info on that guy for him in the future and I’m still absolutely here for it. People want him and I love it (I don’t know how else to word it without giving you spoilers but it’s nothing weird, I promise). And of course 💕 Your Ever Young plan makes sense.

That’s great to hear 😄 Oh, so you’re almost there, nice. And that’s amazing to hear about the Nanbaka manga. I hope all chapters are great quality and that the story’s good. The Discord I’m in is at chapter 224 so we’re quite a bit behind but I love the way it’s translated so I’ll stay with that for that.

That makes sense. I also recently had to do that for something else that I can talk to you about in the DMs if you want. But that does sound annoying, damn. Yeah, the fogging up is also annoying. And I’m so sorry to hear that. I hope you still get to rest plenty and that you have a speedy recovery.

As a seasoned AO3 poster, I’ll give you the basis of what I know sine I am someone who does tend to put my story first into the HTML window. Though I’ll also say that you can put your story into the ‘Rich Text’ window and work with that, since you can easily align your text in there and you can select that you want to italicise it or bold it or something like that. I just like italicising my story in the HTML window since for me, it’s quite easy to type the right thing at the beginning and end of what’s supposed to be italicised (<i> at the beginning and you close it off with </i>). I also recently learned (at least I think that’s the case) that you can’t do superscript in the rich text bit so if you want to do that it’s ^{at the beginning and} at the end. Though there is the danger that your text will become like one block in the writing thing if you go from one section to another so I always click on the ‘Preview’ button, then go back to editing and then go to the other section. Hope this is clear and helps in some kind of way. Gods, just the thought of all those sounds is killing me so I totally understand. If I have to, I can shut out unpleasant noises while I’m in the zone but yeah, music isn’t unpleasant and I wouldn’t want to shut it out so I rather just write with the hum of my computer as the only constant noise. Thank you.

C

Of course 😊 Thanks for understanding whenever I get sidetracked! Like I said, I always wish there were just a couple more hours in the day so that I’d have extra time to do all the things I need to do and then more of the things I want to do, haha. Don’t even worry about taking long to reply to our messages! They’re always lengthy so I expect delayed responses because of that, especially since everyone has their own lives and stuff going on. And I’m really so intrigued by what’s going to be revealed in the next couple chapters – I’ve been good about avoiding Servamp spoilers past Chapter 134…I have my theories about some things but I’m hoping for quick translations of the rest so that I can see if those theories are right, because if they are, good god will that be a nicely done twist. And I hope your friend gets around to checking it out! The art in the manga really is beautiful and like I mentioned, I screenshot a lot of mangacaps every time I read something and go and look at several of my favourites when I have sad moments. I picked a couple that are relatively non-spoilery, ones that really speak to the theming of the story, just in case seeing the art and characters makes any of my lovely readers more likely to go and check it out!

I’m always so flattered whenever someone says they’re looking forward to hearing me ramble about things so thank you so much for that. And yeah, I’m really so flattered and happy that the event was such a hit this time and I’m hoping everyone is finding the queue as useful and enjoyable as I am. I’m keeping it at one a day just because I’m barely writing at the moment, all caught up in rereads and such, but the queue is currently at about two months, so I can relax and do stuff like that without any worries about not being active enough on here for you lovely readers 😊 And that is a load off my shoulders and results in a much happier Dee. When I am writing though, I’m really enjoying doing so, because there’s a great variety of characters, fandoms, and genres to write because I included and distributed the unused fandoms evenly amongst all my fandoms and the characters. I hadn’t thought about the fillers I’ll be avoiding that way but you are right and now I’m even more sure about going manga. Some filler is fun but some is…awful, if I’m to be truly honest. And I definitely will share my thoughts when I get to that point in the rereads. I’m just about to finish up the last five chapters in Dogs: Bullets & Carnage today and then because I’ve hit two really heavy series back to back, I’m taking a nice break and reading through Welcome to Demon School, Iruma-kun! I’ve been doing great – once I finish Dogs, that makes five fandoms I reread/caught up on the source material for!

Ah, as always, it’s a relief to hear people enjoy my absolute novels that I write to them, haha! I textwall like a bugger, but at the same time, you lovely readers are all so fascinating and fun and interesting to talk to, how can I not! And I’ve never used WhatsApp but I can get that getting textwalled via text can be a little harder to keep up with in comparison to getting textwalled in say, the tumblr dm’ing system or via email. But I can also imagine that WhatsApp is a lot better about word counts and image sharing! And I’m so glad to hear that the special Haikyuu!! chapter was all that you had wanted it to be. (Side note but I’m so upset – the Haikyuu!! manga disappeared from my manga reading app so looks like unfortunately I’m going to have to go anime only on that one, though I prefer reading). And that’s so cool, that the series gives time and space to see these characters grown up. I find a lot of sports manga is honestly really good about things like that, because we are all always so curious to see what our favourite teenagers will grow up into. Ooh, did his fashion choices get better, worse, or just really different? I’m just so glad that it gave you extra for a character you adore so much and I know that his smile really makes you happy so yay 😊 Please, of course feel free to send through the pictures, especially since you’re willing to take out the text so I don’t get spoiled. It really does warm my heart when people are willing to take in consideration spoilers and such because unfortunately, though I love my friends dearly, not all of them are so careful about spoilers haha.

I can completely get sticking with the translation you prefer, so I’m glad it’s got at least that many chapters for Nanbaka and I’ll be careful, when I get to Nanbaka and catch up on it, that I don’t spoil anything past that point for you! The quality should be good, I’m hoping, and my favourite thing about my manga app is that it, by default, takes the images down to medium quality (good enough to read but not high-res images) but if I want, I can go and set the pages to be a higher resolution, which really helps for chapters where the images are grainy in medium res. And please go ahead and talk to me about anything in the dm’s! You have me curious. And thank you for the well-wishes. Unfortunately, I’m an absolute moron and I smoke, so colds tend to hang around longer than they would otherwise, but I’m healing up really well. And thank you so much for the run-down on AO3 posting! That’s very helpful to know and having a preview feature will really be a godsend for me. I was super worried I’d post and then have to go back and edit a million and one times to fix anything that didn’t look right. And I don’t mind HTML, I just always struggle with the paragraphs and breaks in HTML a little but it’s good to know that 😊 And it’s always lovely that everyone writes in such different ways and is an interesting thing for me. What about any of you lovely readers out there, on top of C? Is there anything you listen to while writing or any writing habits you have – things you need in front of you, areas you need to be, etc?