#i guess this is the scene keen was talking about

[aousboom]

If you hug me to sleep, I'll be so happy.

ONLY BOO! (2024)

[endearng]

Third time's the charm

Pairing: virgin!Spencer Reid x fem!reader Summary: During one of your movie nights with Spencer, you decide to, once again, take the lead. Or, you got cockblocked so often that you almost thought it wouldn't happen. WC: 3.1k Warnings: smut (nipple play and dry humping); reader thinks spencer might be asexual but he's just a shy puppy; they are desperate for each other; "ruined" movie night; virgin!Spencer my beloved. (I guess that's it. If I forgot something, please let me know!) A/N: Aaaand here it is! I didn't think I'd write smut so soon, hehe. I hope you guys enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it - it's actually a sequel to Dearest friend, but can be read as a stand-alone. Feedbacks are highly welcomed and appreciated. <3 Masterlist

"It’s nice we finally have some time for each other," you hummed in agreement. "Thanks for coming over," Spencer said.

"You don't have to thank me," you said, sitting down on his couch after placing the drinks you chose from his fridge on the coffee table. "I wouldn't want to be anywhere else," you confessed. It got him blushing.

Spencer started one of your movies. It was your choice: you usually took turns picking out a movie to watch together whenever you had the chance, since neither of you were keen of going out that often and you didn't have much time outside of work. It was a fun opportunity to know more of each other through your personal taste, since he often chose foreign films about humanities and you, well, you made him watch Easy A, which got him talking about Nathaniel Hawthorne’s The Scarlet Letter.

After the movies, you would talk to each other about it, maybe mentioning a personal experience that you remembered thanks to a particular scene or a character's arch. Maybe you would kiss.

Which was a problem. Well, not a problem, but, you see, you didn't have much time together other than going to each other's houses and out on a few dates, which were your favorite: Spencer often found the most beautiful, cozy places to take you, like coffee shops, museums, bookshops and libraries, followed by a nice dinner at a local restaurant. It was during one of those dates that something gave him the nerve to touch your hand. Holding hands quickly escalated to having his hands around you at all times possible, and it got to the point where you nearly had to peel off of him when he got too comfortable and you sadly had to leave to do something. These moments of physical touch were making you go insane, thinking about making a bolder move on him, but you thought that maybe he wasn't ready. Plus the fact that you seemed to be interrupted whenever things got too heated.

If you had a nickel for everytime you and Spencer had to stop right before you got intimate (in any way, really), you'd have two nickels, which isn't much, but it's weird that it happened twice. It was like the universe (more like Hotch and the gore that surrounded the team) were set on a mission for you to never have sex again. Besides that, more extreme thoughts plagued your mind and told you that maybe he wasn’t attracted to you like that. It often made you go home feeling a little bit insecure.

You knew that it was better to assume, but you were only human. After some pep talk with yourself on the way to his place, you convinced yourself that you would have to have this conversation with him, sooner or later. You thought so hard about this that you even came up with the possibility that he was asexual — you were fine with it if he was, obviously, because being with him made you feel whole. Still, you wanted, you needed to get this off your chest before you exploded with assumptions and unrequited feelings. Unrequited desire.

You decided to try to be subtle. Scratching the back of his head with your nails lovingly, you both watched the movie. "What are you doing?" He asked, looking at you. You could see the goosebumps on his arm, that must have been the trigger for the question coming out of his lips. You gave him a soft smile.

"It's called affection, pretty boy," you kissed the tip of his nose. "And I don't intend on stopping anytime soon."

You kissed his left cheek when he turned to look at the TV screen.

Then, you turned his head gently to kiss the right one. He glanced between your eyes and your lips, so of fucking course you were about to kiss him, but you decided to tease him a little and pecked the tip of his nose and gently kissed his forehead instead. He breathed out a laugh. Ticklish. It made you wonder where else he would be sensitive.

Stop, you slut of a brain.

When you were about to kiss his lips, you withdrew your face from his, smooching his cheek instead. He sighed, oblivious to your real intentions, impatient and utterly, stupidly in love with you.

Oops. There goes your heart. Out the window. Taking your judgment with it.

"Spence?"

"Yes?"

"Can I do something?"

"Yes," he answered. "You know can do anything, baby."

"This is a very dangerous thing to say to a girl who has the feelings I have for you," you said, grinning. His expression morphed into one that almost looked like sheer panick.

You slowly moved to straddle his lap, giving him plenty of time to stop you if he wanted to, his legs trapped between yours. You sat yourself on the top of his thighs. He watched every movement feeling like the world stopped and there were the both of you, moving in slow motion, movie long forgotten behind you. His breath hitched when he came to his senses and noticed the position you were in, now that you've done what you had. "Is this okay? It's more comfortable than kissing you like… well, that," you laughed softly.

"Yes. I-It's perfect," he breathed out, hands finding your waist.

You lips finally met his in a kiss that had both of you sighing. You found out that Spencer was a really good kisser — and you were proud to be the one with whom he practiced kissing to perfection —, your lips easily falling into a passionate rhythm. Gasping for air, you pecked him on those perfect lips that were red and puffy from all the assaulting you were doing, but he quickly pulled you in for another, this time, sloppier than ever, encouraged by your own boldness. He was french kissing you. Fairly used to it, but not with the intensity of it, you groaned in welcomed surprise, hands finding the nape of his neck and getting a grip on them, not so gently as you normally did. You pulled his hair down, breaking the kiss, lips tingling and lungs screaming for air. He smirked, feeling smug at the state he left you in.

You rose slightly from his lap, still holding his head and looking straight into his eyes. By holding yourself slightly above him, the pendant of your necklace grazed his chin, like he had imagined many times after watching you fiddle with it. God, it was finally coming true, having you in his arms and intending to let you do whatever you wanted to him and him only, the way that it should be ever since the day you met. You nearly made him go insane, pulling you closer to his body than you ever were, acting like a desperate madman. You smiled down at him and kissed him again, more feverishly than before, trying to tell him through that kiss that you were his. Biting his lower lip and earning a fucking moan, you sat yourself down on him again. You felt his bulge against your clothed core and the light contact made you feel lightheaded.

You were so caught up on him that it almost made you forget you needed to talk to him first. Unfortunately, as you tried to catch your breath and to find the right words to speak, Spencer felt his insecurities creeping up on him. Despite knowing it would be best to talk to you, he felt like voicing it out loud would push you away from him — which he didn't want. He was very comfortable with the indecent small distance between your bodies.

He was fidgety. You knew you needed to address this because your boyfriend wasn't the best at voicing his needs — you remember and giggled internally at how you had been the one to knock on Spencer's door asking him to put an end to your suffering by telling him how you felt. Heh. Kudos to you.

"I wanted to talk about this with you," you murmured, now feeling his kisses peppering the skin of your neck. You knew how much he was hiding from you because he wouldn't stop moving and it was very distracting, but if you didn't speak, it would be the end of you. "I'd ask if you were okay with me and you like this, about taking further steps, shit." You moaned when he fucking bit you and kissed you right after.

He pulled away from you, hands flying up to the back of your head. Foreheads touching, eyes locked in yours. "I want it. I want you, I mean. Been wanting you for some time now—a very long time, yes." He strongly shut his eyes closed, most likely working up the courage to say something. "But I don't want to... disappoint you," he finished, sounding insecure.

Not on your watch.

"Me too, Spence. God, I want you so bad," you answered, unable to look away from him, who now looked down, paying close attention to the rising and falling of your chest. "Hey, look at me, please," you pleaded. His eyes met yours. Oh, those maddening eyes... "Believe me when I tell you, baby, I want you. And if you don't want to do anything, you don't have to. I won't push you, of course. I just wanted to have a conversation with you before, because setting boundaries is important and consent is hot—" he laughed quietly. Making jokes was your go-to way of making situations lighter and he was glad for it then. You smiled when you noticed the sound he made. "And I'm also positively certain that you wouldn't like to have our first time on your couch."

"My first time," he revealed. softly. Eyes not meeting yours.

Oh.

You didn’t falter. "It doesn't change much, baby. I still stand for what I just told you," you assured him, "I want you to enjoy yourself, Spence."

Looking back into your eyes, he declared, "And I want you."

"You can have me," you answered, "You already have."

"You'd need to guide me. You know, hands-on activity. Because I’ve never done it before…" he trailed off.

"Lucky for you, I'm great at teaching."

His grip finds your waist, lips anxiously waiting for yours — and when they touched to mold perfectly in another breathtaking kiss, he felt complete. Like nothing bad could ever happen in the world just because you were in it. His past, his insecurities, the awful things you both saw on the field, nothing mattered. Looking at you, touching you, was a nearly an out of body experience. The things you got him thinking by just kissing him. And he thought his insecurities would get the best of him. Jokes on them, you exist.

You look at him through hooded eyes. "I've never felt like this before. I feel... tingly," he confessed, lovely smile on his face, eyes blinking.

"You're feeling good, handsome," you answered, glancing at his dazed eyes.

A beat of silence. Swallowing second thoughts. "Can you make it better?"

"Is that a request or a challenge?" You asked, grinning.

"A request." He answered shyly, hiding his face on your neck, peppering kisses on your skin. You were going to explode.

"Oh, don't talk to me like that," you shivered, feeling absolutely lost, "I might spoil you and give you everything you want," you sighed.

"Let me have it, then," he answered, voice muffled by your skin.

"I'm all yours, Spencer."

He had the audacity of blushing as his fingers played with the hem of your shirt. You smiled at him. In this state, if he asked for you to run naked around town, you probably would. It was dangerous, to say the least. Softly, yet desperate, the words left his lips. "Can I take this off?" He sucked in a breath. "Please?"

"Yes, pretty boy, you can," you answered. "You can have anything. I thought I already said that."

"Yes—You did. You did," he breathed out between needy kisses across your skin, getting rid of your shirt in no time.

At first, he was mesmerized by the sight in front of him. He hadn't seen many naked (or semi-naked) women in front of him, but you were something out of this world. The bra you were wearing matched your skin tone and pushed your breasts together and there was the fucking necklace, almost mocking him by being constantly so close, too close to the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. The view was almost overwhelming by itself. You looked at him, but he couldn't possibly come up with the words that would describe you in that moment. Words had failed him, nothing else in his mind but you. The tool he used to communicate, to access the world and how it shaped reality, to comprehend the mind of another person, to get to know others... He had nothing left. Except from the pulsing of his boner against your clothed pussy, that is.

Just like that, IQ of 187 slashed to 60, Emily Prentiss said, once. Funnily enough, when you passed by wearing a sundress.

Unable to talk but, oh, so able to use his hands, they traveled up to your breasts with a featherlight touch, which didn't stop him from feeling your heartbeat. He let his hands trail over the soft and sheer fabric of the bra you were wearing. Finding your nipples, his touch got more intense. He licked his lips. His actions made you shudder and sent a spark of excitement to your sex. "Pretty," he said. "So, so pretty, my girl."

"Do you like it?" You asked, breathless from a little touching. Pathetic. "I got these thinking of you. Wanna look pretty for you, Spence."

"You are," he said, looking into your eyes, his own foggy, hands reaching to touch your neck. "You're pretty all the time, it's so unfair to me," he murmured. "I really like them on you, but… can I take ‘em off?"

"Yes. You can do anything, Spence."

Spencer wanted to burn the sight of you, in that slightly disheveled state, in the back of his mind so he could remember it forever — not that he would have a hard time trying to remember anything. Nevertheless, he did everything so slowly, almost as if trying to tattoo on the tip of his fingers the softness and temperature of your skin. He inhaled deeply, consumed by your floral-scented perfume and lifted his hands to unclasp your bra. His fingers curiously, but unhurriedly, lowered each of the straps. Like opening a gift that had been so carefully wrapped he didn't want to ruin.

But did he wanted to be ruined by you.

The sight of your bare chest was marvelous, to say the least, and he timidly grazed his fingertips against the exposed area, eliciting goosebumps and a soft whine. His mouth watered, thoughts simply reduced to the need of having you in his mouth. The striped pattern on the soft skin of your breasts around your nipples were faint, barely there, unless if you took a close look at it. It goes without saying that he was blatantly gazing at your bosom at this point.

Pupils dilated, he looked up at you, hungrily, drawing his face closer to you, curls tickling the skin of your collarbone. He inhaled your scent, mind blanking. Tortuously dragging his lips on your skin (and unintentionally smearing some of his saliva on you, he was drooling, after all) as a silent request, the necklace brushing his forehead slightly. The grind of your hips against his answered his plead to taste you.

"Oh—you're so, so good to me, princess," you moaned when he finally wrapped his lips against the nub, playing with the other.

You felt almost overwhelmed with the attention you were getting and the reaction you were having to said attention. Your underwear was sticking almost uncomfortably against your core and you felt yourself aching for some relief, aching for him. So, as Spencer worked his hot tongue on your tits, licking, softly biting, sucking, making a mess on and of you, you busied yourself by chasing the relief you both desperately wanted. The solace it provided you both with was exhilarating and made you feel dazed.

Steadily rocking yourself against him, you earned a few grunts. "You're making a mess of me, pretty boy," you murmured as he switched his attention to the other boob.

"Give it t'me—I want it, I deserve it," he breathed out, body aching with lust, cock pulsing against your covered clit. His words only fueled the fire inside you, the coil in your lower stomach threatening to snap at anytime now.

"Yeah, you do, my boy," you breathed out, pulling the hair on the nape of his neck, nearly tasting your orgasm, "gonna look so pretty when you come for me, won't you, baby?" Both hands gripping your hips, mouth never leaving your skin. You sure would be bruised by tomorrow, but this, this was definitely worth it.

"Yes—Yes, I will," He whined. He fucking whined.

"Tell, me—ah—where do you want to cum, baby?"

"Shit—" until then, you were sure that was a word you'd never hear him saying, let alone that freely. "Gonna—Shitshitshit," moaning out your name.

That's when it hit you that he had cummed his pants. It was such a fat load that it had seeped through both his underwear and his slacks — which prompted you to reach your own high with a moan of his name directly into his ear.

Both of you feeling dizzy, you slump against him, feeling his arms wrapping your frame as you rested your head on his shoulder. You both took deep breaths, the only sound in the room. Well, besides the movie you both totally ignored.

"I can't get up right now... My legs feel wobbly," you chuckled. "Are you okay, Spence?" You asked, looking at him when you didn't get an answer.

"Yeah, 'm fine," he answered, "I mean, I'll be fine as soon as I recover from you."

You laughed sincerely, "From me? What have I done to you?"

"You gave me what I wanted, you spoiled me, you broke me," he said, a silly smile adorning his pretty face. You pushed him playfully. "I can't even explain what I'm feeling right now. My brain has stopped working ever since you straddled me. Are you trying to kill me?"

"No, babe."

"Wrong answer. You're so gonna keep doing that to me, so you'll definitely be trying to killing me from now on." He pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

[rotthepoet]

Can you do a Draco smut where him and f!reader are getting it on his room and Blaise wakes up to see them about to fuck and he asks to watch. Reader is surprisingly down for it and Draco’s ego is bigger than a fucking elephant so he fucks you in front of Blaise. Not a threesome with Blaise, just him being a perv lmao

BABES IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK A MONTH TO GET OUT!!! I WASNT IGNORING YOU TRUST. I made a few changes to your request because @2dloveshp and I have been talking about Stalker!Blaise and im about to start dropping content for him 😻

Let me set the scene for you. Draco Malfoy, your wonderful, doting, egotistical boyfriend, has decided what he wants right now: is you! So trust he’s dragging you away from your friends, mid conversation, mumbling about how its his turn for attention. But oh shit, when Draco’s dorm is supposed to be empty, you’ll never guess whose there minding his fuckin business nose deep in homework. Draco’s best friend, Blaise, of course.

And gonna be real with you, Blaise doesnt even register when the two of you walk in. It takes a solid minute of Draco pushing you into bed despite your whines about there being company that he snaps back into reality.

Draco doesnt give a shit, lowkey he brags to Blaise all the time about how good you are in bed that he doesnt really care if he sees?? Ngl the Slytherin boys prob have a groupchat where they share nudes because i think theyre all just a bunch of chavs in disguise.

Anyways! Draco is not stopping and god when he’s feeling you up like this? You’re just falling apart. No more complaints as long as draco fucks you soon.

But god the way you moan is so fucking pretty. And blaise can feel himself hardening under the desk, and fuck he’s had a crush on Draco’s girl(you) for so fucking long now.

He cant help but take note on what makes you feel good. His homework becomes a page filled with notes on how you react to each of Dracos touches. How you arch when he suckles a spot on your neck. How you mewl when he pulls your hair. One hand is furiously writing each observation while his other hand palms his boner.

And fuck he nearly chokes when Draco goes down on you, watching the way your pussy glistens with your arousal, the way you keen and beg for more and less at the same time.

He’s fucking obsessed with you. The only problem is Draco, and it shouldn’t be that hard to get rid of him.

[psychedelic-ink]

ㅤㅤㅤ✦ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄 ⸻ 𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐄𝐒

ㅤㅤjoel miller x f!reader

⌜HOW MR. MILLER STOLE CHRISTMAS MASTERLIST⌟

genre: enemies to lovers, romance, fake dating, minors dni

word count: 3.7k

chapter summary: hanging garlands around town goes horribly wrong when you decide to decorate one of the polls. luckily a stranger with a rather soothing voice talks you through it and helps you down. But much to your surprise, he doesn't seem to be a stranger at all but rather a reminder of the past you've been trying to escape from.

warnings: age gap, canon typical violence, reader having a fear minor fear of heights, some threats, a brief make-out scene at the end, drinking

**dividers by @saradika

Jackson is everything you never expected in such a cruel world.

It’s been only a week since your arrival, yet you already feel fully incorporated into the community. Tommy and Maria Miller had surprisingly taken a liking to you. Later on, you learned that, especially Maria, wasn’t that keen on newcomers. If you had to guess why she decided to take you in, it would be the fact that you were half-dead and a mile away from their doorstep. It was cold, very cold. You still remembered how the wind sliced against your cheeks. When you came to, you met Tommy Miller. His smile was genuine and vaguely familiar for a reason you couldn’t quite understand. He had shown you around, then led you to your new home.

A home. Something you’d thought wasn’t possible anymore. 

Something that you would protect to keep, no matter what. 

It was a bit rundown, but solid nonetheless, like most of the survivors. Despite being only one person, the home they provided had three rooms and two bathrooms. You felt spoiled. You’d told Tommy about it, he had just laughed it off saying that after everything you’ve been through you deserve a decent roof over your head. 

The words had stung at the time. He didn’t know who you were or what you’ve done. Jackson was a small community so you knew that Tommy Miller had been somewhat involved with the Fireflies but not like you. Never like you. 

You feel slightly nauseous thinking about it. Snow crunches loudly under your boots as you make your way to Tommy’s. It’s lonely not being able to talk, not being able to say what you’re thinking freely. Most of the time it just feels like you’re looking through the other side of the glass, never truly comfortable around people that you frequently conversed with. 

Standing in front of the door you take a deep breath, your skin tickles as your lungs expand with crisp cold air and you smile faintly upon the exhale. It’s hard, but you shouldn’t be complaining. You don’t have to fight to stay alive anymore. You don’t have cuts and bruises, you’re not a soldier anymore—you’re free. 

Your mind drifts off only for a second, to that day when you made your escape. You would’ve been dead if it wasn’t for the man who spared you. His vacant gaze is still vivid in your head, waking you from sleep from time to time. 

You follow your first knock with a second one. Heavy footsteps reach your ears and the door opens with a loud creak. Tommy’s eyes shine bright as he sees you, a half smile tugging at his mouth. If you had to call someone a friend it would certainly be him. 

“Hey there Pecan,” he says. “Ready for some decoratin’?” 

“Can I get out of it if I say no?” 

He scoffs, “Don’t be a baby. It’ll be fun.” 

“How is labor fun?” 

You grin broadly and upon seeing it Tommy rolls his eyes. Stepping forward, he closes the door behind him. “You’re the goddamn second person to tell me that, you know.” 

“Who beat me to it?” 

“My pain in the ass brother.” 

The two of you walk to the back to get the garlands. Everyone in Jackson had pitched in to make them, including you. “I keep forgetting you have a brother. Why haven’t I seen him yet? Does he hate you or something?” 

“I’d say the opposite,” he huffs, opening the door of the garage. It’s full of boxes with “Christmas” written in bold letters. Luckily you don’t have to deal with those today. Only the garlands. “He’s like a mother hen. Too overbearin’. His name’s Joel and if you decide on gettin’ a tree you’ll see his ugly mug.” 

You doubt that anyone related to Tommy would be ugly but you decide to keep that to yourself. “Why is that?” 

“Maria appointed him as Christmas tree farmer. You can imagine his joy upon hearin’ that.” 

“All by himself?” you ask a bit surprised. 

“Nah. He has a couple of helpers but they work in shifts, everyone is pitching in chopping down the trees and getting them where they need to go. You’re free to help him out if you’re so worried.” 

“I’m not,” you say a bit too quickly when seeing Tommy’s grin. “It just felt a bit unfair for an old man.” 

“He might be old but he’s a fuckin’ beast,” he answers, leaning down and picking up one of the boxes. You follow, you take two since garlands aren’t exactly heavy. “I’ve never seen anyone as resilient as him. Honestly, it scares the shit out of me sometimes.” 

“You can say that about a lot of people here.” 

“You’ll understand what I mean when you meet him.” He heads out the garage and so do you, both of you leaving deep footprints on the snow as you head to the heart of the community. “And do please call him old man in person. I wanna see the look on his face.” 

“I’m not going to sacrifice my well-being so you can laugh at your brother, Tommy.” 

“You disappoint me, Pecan.” 

Damn, Tommy Miller and his stupid stupid garlands. 

You have no idea how long it’s been since you started hanging them all around town. You and Tommy had split up, deciding that it would be faster. At the time it made perfect logical sense but now, as your heart rams into your chest while decorating one of the polls, you decide it was a stupid ass idea. 

You’re not exactly scared of heights but you’re not a fan of them either. Every time the ladder creaks, you have a miniature heart attack. You’d feel much safer if Tommy were holding the legs, even though you know it wouldn’t help much if the damn thing collapsed. You hear the faint chatter coming from below. Some people staring as you wrap the stubborn garlands around the cylinder wood. You hate this. Hate it, hate it, hate it. 

When you’re finally done and about to climb back down, you can’t move. 

“Fuck,” you hiss loudly, knowing that no one can hear you. You glance down—big mistake. Your entire body freezes over, your fingers tight around the poll. You have half the mind to hug the damn thing. Your throat tightens and you look up. This is it, after everything you’ve been through, you’re going to fucking die while hanging fucking garlands—

A strong gust of wind blows, swaying the ladder side to side, a sharp scream rips from your throat, and this time you do hug the pole. You notice a small crowd gathering. Another blow of wind and the unstable surface ceases to exist, you barely manage to bring your legs around the poll. 

Screams and shouts that don’t belong to you reach your ears and you hope no one got hit by the ladder. Oh god. You can feel your heartbeat in your throat, sweat beading from every pore despite the cold. 

“Slide down!” you hear someone shout. A man, you register. A man with a deliciously raspy and deep voice. “Just slide down damn it!” 

“No!” you shout back. “It took me hours wrapping the damn garlands I’m not doing it again!” 

A weak excuse but still valid nonetheless. If you slide down all that work it rook the town to make these things would get destroyed thanks to your body. And even if it doesn’t, the damn things would slide down with you. There’s no way you’re climbing back up here. At least not until hell freezes over. 

“You’re gonna fall and the ladder is busted,” the man shouts back. “And from the quiverin’ of your legs, I don’t think you’ll last until Greg brings the other one!” You hug the poll tighter, he was right, your legs—especially your thighs—were about to give out. And as if he can read your mind, the voice shouts out once more. “I’ll hang the damn things myself and fix’em up, just slide your ass down before your legs fuckin’ give out!” 

You’re starting to get a bit lightheaded. Adrenaline and fear make your breathing uneven and quick. The disembodied voice is right. If you don’t slide down now your body is just going to give up and you are going to crack your head against the ground. A sharp exhale parting your lips, you finally start sliding down. You loosen your limbs, groaning every time you feel the needles of the garland ripping away and presumably falling above the snow. Fuck. You hope the stranger is good with his hands.  

“That’s it, atta girl,” you hear him say, ignoring the way your body slightly clenches at the praise. “Just go down, I’m right here.” 

More voices start to reach your ear the more you go down. You hear the voice of a girl, “I would’ve died if that happened to me.  Holy shit.” 

The man grunts, “Now’s not the time, Ellie. Keep your opinions to yourself.” 

By the time you reach the end, your breathing is ragged and you can barely feel your legs. The man who’s been talking you through it holds you gingerly from the waist and pulls you away from the poll. Your feet skip over each other and you end up tripping backwards, right into the stranger's chest. You feel the warmth of his breath tickling the back of your head as you both end up falling. His body breaks your fall, his large hands still holding you from the waist. A pleasant shudder runs up your spine and you find yourself relaxing. 

The crowd inches closer, a worried clammer coming from all directions. However, all you can focus on is the girl standing right across from you. She’s wearing a thick coat, her hair in a neat ponytail. She’s giving you a curious look, she also looks amused. 

Your brows furrow, the brown of her eyes familiar. 

“You plannin’ on gettin’ off me sweetheart?” 

You push yourself up, realizing you're still sprawled on top of the stranger. Heat rushes to your cheeks as you scramble to stand, muttering apologies. He chuckles, a deep, resonant sound that sends a shiver through you.

"Easy there, no harm done," he says, getting up as well. The crowd disperses now that the crisis is averted, leaving you alone with the man and the girl, who's still watching you with that curious expression. “You a’right? That was quite a journey down.” 

“I’m. . .” You turn towards him, still feeling disoriented, still feeling a bit shaky. You’re about to tell him you’re alright, and possibly thank him right after, but the words die in your throat. You hear the loud beat of your heart. Thud thud thud. The world is turning, spinning. You open and close your mouth, over and over again. His eyes meet yours. The same brown eyes you’ve seen in countless sleepless nights. 

You don't forget the face of the person who determines your fate. 

And in his case, you don’t forget the face of the person who spared you. 

Recognition slowly flickers across his weathered features. It’s so subtle. His lips part ever so slightly, eyes in the midst of going wide but keeping his eyelids neutral. He blinks heavily and snaps his lips tightly shut. You do the same. Your mouth now a thin line as you take each other in. 

Then you see the recognition, the surprise, turn into anger. You’re a brutal reminder of his past and what he’s done to get here. 

“Joel,” the girl hisses, nudging him with an elbow. “Don’t be an asshole.” 

You blink, eyes snapping to the girl. . . Ellie. . . the immune girl. 

Despite her harsh warning, neither of you speak. You are eyeing each other like wild animals wanting to protect their territories. Your legs are still shaking, your body trembling. He looks different but at the same time not at all. There’s no blood on him, no weapons. And the vacant look you’ve grown accustomed to is now full of emotion. 

No one notices Tommy until he’s standing next to Ellie, his chest heaves as he tries to gather his breath. His gaze fixed on you, “You a’right there pecan?” 

You freeze once more. The familiarity you’ve always felt around him—

“He’s your brother,” you state. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up as he nods. You feel sick. 

“I’ve heard what happened are you alright?” 

“I’m fine,” You’re not. Joel is still staring at you, taking in every detail. You take hold of yourself and force some emotion other than fear to flicker across your face. “I’m fine thanks to your brother, the ladder collapsed and I had to slide down,” you turn to Joel, ignoring the taste of blood in your mouth. “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome.” 

The playful lilt in his tone was completely gone. Ellie jumps forward, quickly taking your hand, everyone except you misses the way Joel flinches, jerking forward. “I’m Ellie and this caveman here is Joel.” 

You clear your throat, “Nice to meet you Ellie and. . . “ You meet his gaze once again and say carefully. “Joel.” 

He doesn’t say a word as you introduce yourself. Thankfully Tommy whistles and all eyes turn towards the ruined garland and the pine needles scattered above the snow. “Fuck. It’s gonna take days to fix this.” 

“We still have time don’t we Uncle Tommy?” Ellie asks. “Joel offered to help fix it and hang it.” 

Tommy’s head snaps towards Joel, a lopsided smile stretching across his lips as he shoots him an amused look, “Did he now?” 

Ellie’s look matches her uncle’s, “He did.” 

“Well then,” Tommy says, slapping his brother’s back. Joel glares at him, his brows knitted tightly together. “I’ll leave it up to you.” 

“We should go,” Joel says suddenly, grabbing Ellie’s arm and dragging her away. Both you and Tommy are left dumbfounded as you watch Ellie furiously waving. 

“Nice meetin’ you pecan!” 

“Good,” Tommy grins, prompting your sharp glare. “The nickname is catching on.” 

Alcohol buzzes in your system, making you grin like a fool as you lean back against the makeshift bar, enjoying the sight of everyone dancing and laughing. After a boring meeting of who would be doing what during the Christmas season, everyone had rushed out to get the bonfire ready. Faint music hummed in the background. Festive songs you’ve hadn’t heard since you were a little girl. You only recognize the melodies since you were a kid when you last heard them, the lyrics you can’t quite remember. 

You watch Tommy and Maria from the corner of your eyes, he had his arms wrapped snugly around her waist. They were happy. Deep inside you can’t help but be envious. You hadn’t met a lot of people since coming here, it was hard to make friends when you felt undeserving of the comfort you received. 

Your skin tingles as you remember Joel’s hands firm against your waist. You’ve felt something before recognizing him. Something sweet and playful. But it was ripped away thanks to your intertwined past. He was death. You can’t forget that. You wonder if Ellie knew what he’d done for her, you wonder if Tommy knew. 

Shaking your head you take another swig of your drink. All these thoughts were sobering you up. You can’t have that. You need to relax, to forget. But despite knowing that, a nasty feeling of worry brews in your gut. What if Joel tells them? What if he makes the case that you’re dangerous and did unspeakable things for the cause? Will Tommy and Maria throw you out then—or worse—kill you? Joel is Tommy’s brother after all. . . you. . . you are nothing. 

There’s a flicker of movement and a ripple amongst the crowd, lifting your head you see Joel giving Tommy a quick hug. He says something to Maria, a greeting you assume, and you notice Ellie heading off with Dina. Your heart skips a beat. You should go home, or at least stop staring at the man but you can’t. He’s the one you’ve been thinking about ever since you left the damn hospital. It was his eyes you’ve seen the nights you were jolted awake from the horrors the world had to offer. 

You can’t decide on what to do and because of that, you’re suddenly facing an icy cold gaze from him. His lips are downturned, shoulders raised. You think about smiling, maybe raising your drink but you decide it would only add fuel to the fire. 

A minute passes, a minute that feels like an hour, and he finally rips his gaze off of you, turning to Tommy instead. He squeezes his younger brother’s shoulder and quickly disappears. 

You feel an unwarranted rage at him leaving. Running away. And suddenly you’re on your feet, following him. You can see his footsteps in the snow. You’re not sure what you’re going to say to him but you have to say something. This is your home now too and he won’t be taking that away from you. You’re not leaving after finding some semblance of peace. 

You follow the footprints to a narrow space between two buildings. You notice moss in the cracks of the wood. You frown. Where the hell is he? There isn’t any place else to go from here, it’s a dead end. 

You turn on your heel, only to come to an immediate stop. 

His expression is dark, a harsh sneer on his face that makes you stop. You remember the stories, the ones about the things he’d done to survive. You swallow thickly and take a step back, but he reaches out and shoves against the wall. You gasp as Joel’s arm presses against your throat, your back hitting the wall with a painful thud.

"You’ve got some nerve, showin’ your face around here," he growls, pressing you harder against the wall. You can feel his warm breath against your face, his forearms causing you to struggle for air. But you refuse to back down, refusing to let him intimidate you. You stare right back into his angry eyes. “Tell me what you want.” 

“Nothing,” you hiss. “I just wanted to talk to you, clear the air.”

“Clear the air of what?” he leans closer, your nose almost brushing. “You’ll leave right now.” 

“No I fucking won’t,” you snap and claw at his arm. It’s getting harder to breathe. “Jackson’s my home too.” 

His eyes narrow and he presses forward, fully cutting the airflow. There’s a vicious throbbing in the back of your eyes and tears gather in the corners. “I should’ve fuckin’ killed you when I had the chance,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. 

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. You don’t know what to do, you can barely speak, only whimpers leaving your parted lips. You attempt to kick at his legs but he simply moves out of the way. 

How can this be the same man who held you so gently before? 

“Take this as a warnin’,” Joel loosens his grip, your lungs filling with delicious oxygen. “If I see you anywhere near Ellie—” 

“Oi Miller, what the fuck are you doing?” 

You should be relieved. You really fucking should. But seeing the panic flaring in his eyes, a similar emotion starts coursing through your veins. You both tense and you feel your skin growing taut over your body. Your eyes shift between him and the two friends standing. You recognize them, one of them is Marc, and the other Steven. Twins. Your eyes move gradually back to Joel, he meets your gaze, your eyes drop to his lips, a plan forming in your head—an ill-advised plan, but a plan nonetheless. 

You kiss him. 

You fucking kiss him. 

The arm on your throat immediately drops and you fist the front of his shirt, pulling him closer until he’s flushed against you. His body feels solid against your own. Strong and tall. He hesitates, his lips still as stone. Not knowing what else to do to make it more convincing, you tilt your head, lick the seam of his lips, and moan absurdly into his closed mouth. Joel starts moving then. His hands trail down the sides of your body and grip your hips, squeezing as he moves his mouth. 

Everything about the moment lingers. The kiss, the closeness, everything. His hands twitch and you find yourself rolling your body towards him, feeling the semi-bulge underneath his pants. When a second moan escapes you it’s not for show. Heat licks the base of your spine, your entire being screaming for him to come closer and closer and closer— 

He stops. It’s sudden and cold. However, you take the hint and with a lazy smile turn to the men watching you with dropped jaws. Joel doesn’t bother to look in their direction, he’s still holding you, allowing you to use his shoulder somewhere to lean against. His grip on you is tight. 

“Sorry guys,” you make an effort to slur your speech. “I might’ve had too much to drink and couldn’t keep my hands to myself. Love it when a man is a bit rough.” 

You don’t know why but his grip on you instantly loosens. Both Steven and Marc look at you with utter shock. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Marc blurts out. “Get a room you two. There are families out.” 

With that they both leave, grumbling to themselves something about young people you can’t quite catch. 

When both of you are sure no one is near, Joel shoves you off of him. “What the hell was that?” 

“A kiss.” 

“Don’t fuckin’ pull that shit with me, people are gonna talk. They’re gonna think I can’t keep it in my pants.” 

“Better than them thinking you were gonna kill me,” you say. “You should be thanking me for saving your ass,” you answer, trying very hard not to look down at the front of his pants. “Don’t worry so much nothing is going to happen. They’ll talk a day or two and then it’ll just blow over.” 

He doesn’t seem that convinced, “Fine,” he grunts and you start to take your leave. Your mind is swirling with unidentifiable emotions. You need time to think. “I was serious, stay away from Ellie.” 

As if you were the dangerous one here. 

“Joel,” you turn to face him one last time for the night. Not prepared to see how his eyes were glossed over, the anger and hatred drained from them. He looks startled. “I’m not leaving my home.” 

[bird-inacage]

The Heart Killers EP6-EP7: "You think I'd go on living if you died?"

I'm sure everyone is still wiping away the snot from their face thanks to Episode 6's brutal ending. I want to talk about how next week's preview shows we're leading into the best invitation for reconciliation as far as Bison and Kant are concerned. Let me explain.

In the wake of Bison being confronted with the awful truth, he will likely assume (in the immediate instance) that everything - every single thing Kant has said and done was a total lie - a strategically crafted fabrication to get him hooked, including Kant's feelings. That Kant never loved him at all, it was all an act. We as an audience know that's not true but Bison doesn't.

With Bison getting shot next episode, this forces Kant to drop his mask in the most revealing way possible. In the face of losing Bison, this becomes the catalyst for Kant turning the tables, and proves twofold:

Kant's panic over Bison possibly dying indicates he genuinely cares about him. His entire demeanour during this incident will be under the eyes of everyone present including Fadel and Style. If there was any doubt about Kant's feelings, there won't be now.

Kant can no longer lie to himself. He can't live without Bison (by his own later admission). Throughout EP6, Kant's been trying to assure Style he will move on once this whole situation has blown over, but Kant's simply telling his best friend what he wished he could convince himself of. He tries to believe that he can give up Bison and be okay, that it will all be worth it if it means protecting Babe. But deep down he knows he won't be. This confirms it.

So firstly, Bison will witness just how much Kant cares about him. It doesn't deny the fact that Kant lied to him, but the truth is Kant has also undoubtedly fallen in love with him. The man sits by Bison's bedside sobbing and inconsolable, and I anticipate Kant may well confess why he did what he did whilst Bison is 'unconscious', who may recall some or all of what he says when he wakes.

Secondly, Kant will decide that he can no longer put Bison in any kind of jeopardy and that means: 'fuck the mission'. He's going to have to turn on Chris, and aid Bison and Fadel to escape the pursuit from the police that he helped them gain progress with. Chris already suspects that Kant has fallen for Bison which makes him a huge liability. Sealed by either by his own active choices to defy the police, or in Chris' eyes, Kant has effectively chosen to put a huge target on his back. By extension Babe is no longer safe either.

In the preview, we also see Bison disappear from the hospital, just as Chris plans to apprehend him. It's likely that the next time they meet, Bison has been in hiding (probably watching Kant from the shadows) before he intervenes to help. It could be that Kant is being hunted down by the cops or Mother. For Bison to do this shows he's already on the road towards forgiveness, having observed Kant and processed what he now knows. It's far more complicated than he first assumed, and he's willing to hear Kant out. They're ready to start the path to reconciliation and face what's to come together.

On a final note, I've been speculating who may be the ones leading the attack at the bowling alley. The obvious guess would be the police. But for some reason, I have a wild feeling it could be Keen. (I remember Pepper being on set when these four were filming for this scene). It's possible for example that Mother finds out it's Kant and Style who are the informants and Keen tries to score some brownie points by taking them out. In the heat of the moment, Bison protects Kant on instinct and gets shot. Now that would make this all the more heart-wrenching wouldn't it?

You can keep tabs on bird-inacage’s BL meta directory for my other long-form posts around The Heart Killers, which I’ll be updating in real time as the show airs.

[zirconika]

nine lives of a thief

TWO | the first life

NAVIGATION . MASTERLIST

This chapter is part of a series entitled 'Nine Lives of a Thief,’ but you may choose to read each part as a oneshot. Click the link to view the series masterlist!

PAIRING: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader WORDS: 4.7k SUMMARY: While on a supply run with Aaron, Daryl is eager to learn more about you. Getting pieces of you and your story then propels him to revisit your history to determine the best way to make it up to you. It goes awry when he discovers a secret you've been keeping for years. WARNINGS: Angst. Fluff is only in the childhood flashback. Uses scenes from S05EP16 SETTING: Pre-Negan Alexandria and Pre-Apocalypse A/N: omfg sorry for the late update i’ve been busy taking care of my college requirements and i took driving classes HAHSNDHDHAJA anyway hope u guys like this one

     Daryl Dixon was a man who was wired to function solely on just destination—get to it, do it, and leave it. It confused him that a part of him now ran on motivation. It was not the drive to operate that confounded him, but that he was always eager to return. 

     To you. To see you. 

     And if he’s lucky, maybe even speak to you. It bothered Daryl that the last real conversation you had was the first time you spoke since ever. There never seemed to be an opportunity anymore, and if there was, you always seemed like you were in a hurry or that you were busy as if you had a nine-to-five corporate job you had to tend to.

     He knew you were somewhat avoiding him, whether you knew it or not. 

     Right now, Daryl was focused on one thing—getting food for the community. Coming back to you was a close second. Even as Aaron made conversation, you were all he could think about. How he’d initiate a conversation without starting one. 

     The longer he listened to Aaron, the more he thought of ways he could bring you up: That girl, how’s she been? No, it’s too upfront. 

     “You okay?” asked his friend. 

     Daryl perked up. “Hm? Ah, m’sorry, just distracted.”

     “You wanna ask me something,” Aaron guessed as they kept walking. 

     “Yeah, I… Wanted to ask ‘bout Eric. Er—how is he?” Daryl worried Aaron would catch on, but it was clear he loved talking about his beloved. His enthusiasm for Eric reminded Daryl of your spirit back when he first met you when he was all but six.

     A bright smile broke on Aaron’s face as Daryl opened a wired gate. Aaron’s smile stayed as he talked about Eric. “Says he misses being out here with me. I do, too and…”

     Daryl swung the gate open, entering the deserted courtyard, thinking only of you while Aaron talked about Eric. It wasn’t that Daryl didn’t care—he did, but it wasn’t exactly easy to act like he did when his mind did him a grizzly favor bringing you up every single time. How much older you looked…

     He felt he missed a great deal of your life, and he was hoping he’d get to see more of it now that you’d reunited. If only you just weren’t so damn hard to reach then—

     “You ever felt that way about anyone before?” Aaron asked him as he followed from behind. He could sense the question in Daryl’s eyes. If he knew Daryl wasn’t listening, he didn’t give him too much for it. “Love, I mean.”

     He hadn’t heard of that word in a long time. In fact, he thinks the first time he ever learned of the word was decades ago.

     “That Dixon kid spells trouble.”

     It was your father’s routine to comment on your then next door neighbors whenever he visited you at your grandparents’ home in Georgia. It was usually that specific combination, but it also differed each day. Sometimes, he was talking about the younger kid, while sometimes the older one.

     It mattered to you a lot. You knew them more than just trouble. You were keen on making sure your family never found out you had a crush on ‘that Dixon kid.’ 

     The first time you met Daryl, you were instantly hooked by his eyes. To you, it was the greatest shade of blue you’ve ever seen. You were just settling in your grandparents’ home, saddened to spend your childhood away from your parents as they worked in the city. They figured it wasn’t exactly the best place to raise a child, so they sent you to the scorching land that is rural Georgia, in the safety of your grandparents’ care.

     You hated the Georgia heat, hated that you had to say goodbye to your friends in the city. That is until you saw that charming fella, sporting worn out overalls as he rode his bike away from home. 

     You just had butterflies fluttering in your belly. At first, you thought he had pepper or some sort of dirt just above his lips, but you learned the hard way that it was only a mole, but that’s another story for later.

     Rejection from a crush is usually a direction to stay away. To you, however, you were only more interested in getting close to the much shorter kid. You planned on befriending him first, then riding a horse to a faraway castle to get married second. 

     The first time Daryl met you, he despised you. He loathed you, even. Hated the way you wore your hair in braids and the way you couldn’t take a hint even if he tried. It was on the first day of first grade, only on the way to school.

     He always sat alone by the window in the school bus, his lunch nothing but a juice carton he could fit in his tiny pocket. You had sat down next to the boy, his feet barely enough to reach the floor. 

     “Y’know, you’re gonna starve if you call that your lunch later,” you told him.

     He only scowlded at you in response, ignoring you to watch the world pass by the window. 

     You smiled at him nonetheless. As far as you were concerned, you liked this boy. You knew right then that you would be safe in his company. “I’m [Y/N]. You are?”

     No response. You let that go on for a while—just sitting right next to each other as he watched the small world pass him by, acting as if you weren’t even there. Unapologetically, you touched the surface of his face just above his lips, trying to swipe away the supposed dirt stain.

     “What’d ‘ya do that for?”

     “You have something on your face! I couldn’t just let you go to school with that,” you argued. You could almost see it: the kids laughing and pointing at him all because he forgot to wipe off a stain from his face! You were just concerned is all.

     The boy wiped at his cheek with his hand, only to realize what you were referring to. “Heavens to Betsy! S’just a mole I’ve had since I’s a baby!”

     “Great! We’re making conversation.” You smile at the boy. “You’ve gotta think it’s silly that I know about your mole and not your name.”

     “Not gonna. Yer piddlin’, talkin’ so loud ‘ya could piss off the Pope, actin’ lower than a snake's belly in a wagon rut!”

     You frown, confused at his Southern lingo “Piss of the Pope? Lower than a snake’s what?”

     His frown dissolved. “What, yer not from around here or somethin’?”

     He was relieved to see your smile return, glad to not have pissed you off to send you running back to whichever father you had who, he assumed, probably had a shotgun. 

     “Yeah! I’m from Brooklyn.”

     The boy grunted, crossing his arms. “You’ve got an awful lot to say for someone who just moved.”

     “Oh, I only have this much to say to people I like.”

     “Well, I don’t like you,” he interjected.

     You only smiled as you unzipped your bag to pull out another smaller bag. “Didn’t say you had to, because I can make you!”

     Before he could argue, you tore your sandwich in half, handing one half to him and keeping one the other for yourself to munch on. “Try it,” you tell him.

     “How do I know ya ain’t trynna poison me?”

     Rolling your eyes, you took a bite from the snack. You handed it to him insistently. “I’m still alive.”

     “Yeah, but—”

     “Just try it!”

     Daryl’s never had enough good things in his life that your sandwich appeared to be more of a threat than a peace offering. He was used to getting the shortest end of the stick, or not even any.

     He opened his mouth to debate against it, but he gave in. One bite in and something told you he hasn’t had something quite like it for the past year. You decided right then and there that you wanted to be the one who could put a smile on his face.

     “This—sh’good.” The young boy admitted in between loud chewing. “You made this?”

     “Meemaw did,” you replied, grinning as you ate your own half. “I’ve got more snacks in my bag, if you wanna share them later. But I need to know your name first!”

     The bus came to a halt. It was the first time you looked at him clearly, and him you. “I’m Daryl.”

     That night, he was all you could think of. The blue-eyed little boy who you were determined to make yours. His pretty nose, his funny walk, his everything. You weren’t particularly secretive with your feelings, bringing a sandwich for him after you asked your grandma to pack you two every day. 

     It wasn’t just the sandwiches, though. You’d often pester him, asking if he’d ever want to marry you one day, to which he’d respond with, “Ew, never!”

     “Daryl,” you called to him as he ran away from you, retreating back to his house.

     “What?” he turned back to yell.

     Grinning, you braced yourself for his outburst of anger. You made it a hobby to rile Daryl on your quest to make him yours. “I loooove you!”

     “No!” he spat back, running even faster back to his house. You laughed the entire time, thinking of when he’d eventually wear down and say it back. Little did your young self know, she’d be able to turn the tables around in just a decade. But that’s a story for another time.

     Little Daryl, on the other hand, lay in bed, staring at the ceiling racking his mind on ways he could get rid of you. That day, he was guilty of something grave, something dangerous. Thieves are born once they do the honor of their first theft, and you were just unlucky enough to be Daryl's first victim, having done you the untimely inconvenience of stealing your heart. That day was the first of many lives he would lead.

  ︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

     “I dunno, I was young. But I guess I did, once,” Daryl said after recounting his earliest memory he had of you: stubborn, ambitious, and determined. “Whatever it was, I screwed it up.”

     “Screwed up how?” Aaron asked, and Daryl wondered if you had opened up about your past to the guy. He wishes he’d brought you up in the conversation earlier on so that it wouldn’t be suspicious for him to suddenly talk about you after he’d just given a glimpse into his history.

     “Drove her away when I drove away,” Daryl said lightly. He was relieved to find a confused Aaron, but more so when they reached a couple of cargo containers lined up in an organized fashion marked with the text: How the harvest gets home. 

     Aaron wanted to ask, but his interest was piqued by the promise of food to take home. They made their way through the gap between the two containers, eager to give it a look. Daryl noticed the two cans hanging by the sides before he followed suit, but he followed anyway. 

     The pair climbed up the short length of stairs, pleased to find more containers.

     “Huh,” Aaron chuckled, enthused about what awaited behind the doors. The can on the door was certainly appetizing. “Woah…”

     Daryl watched as Aaron mused about the container, who bent down to loot his pack for a tool to obtain another license plate, this time from Alaska—K4Z 816, with the subtext ‘The Last Frontier.’ There was definitely something… Strange and unsettling about the place. However, the promise of something to bring back weighed more than the thought of coming empty-handed. Besides, what’s the worst that could happen?

     “Hey, listen,” Aaron called out, triumphant while Daryl explored the small space enclosed by the containers. “I don’t like giving up either. But… The guy is in a red poncho. You could see him from miles away. We’ve got a lot of miles here, and no sign of him.”

     The lock of the container caught Daryl’s attention.

     Aaron began to walk over to Daryl after getting a new addition to his collection. “We’ve come away with… A trailer full of cans. I’d say that’s a good trip!”

     The pair stopped in front of one of the containers. Daryl bent down to tinker with the lock, eager to get out of there to return to you. “Here you go.”

     The archer was already picturing the many things he wanted to do when he saw you again, and the ways he could approach you. Daryl grunted as he swung the handle open.

     The choice to open the door was certainly a choice, albeit an absolutely fatal one. Wires snapped from all directions as the door slid open upwards. There were no cans inside of the container, no. The pair jumped in horror as they were met by the gruesome sight of the dead, some impaled by a hook and some able to chase freedom. 

     One by one, all of the doors swung open to reveal the very same scene in front of them. The pair dashed out of the scene upon discovering their mission was a total bust. 

     The walkers were already pouring out into the open space, blocking their only way out. Daryl plunged his knife down one of the walkers making its way to him, its groans speaking only of its lethal appetite. Aaron, on the other hand, made a weapon out of the license plate he’d just looted, smashing it against the temple of a walker twice until its head split open.

     “Over here!” Aaron yelled to Daryl, pointing to the space under one of the containers. The archer followed Aaron in a haste and for the first time in a long while, Daryl feared death. 

     He felt his heart beat faster every passing second that the dead clawed their way to them, crawling with an undying thirst for their flesh. He wondered if you’d miss him if he were to die now, if you’d look for him…

     No. There was no way in damn hell he’d die without explaining himself at least twice. That’s right—twice. And even possibly more just so you’d take him back. He’d make it up to you. Daryl stole one glance at the walker crawling towards him with a ‘W’ blatantly itched on its forehead before obtaining a long metal chain as a weapon.

     The troubled pair hurriedly got out of the small space, with Daryl whipped the chain on three incoming walkers, ruthlessly determined to get out of there. He was already drafting a plan in his head: get out of there, get to you, talk to you. He was no longer going to spend more time waiting around for the right time, if there even was such a thing.

     He plunged his dagger deep into the head of the walker that had gotten ahold of Aaron’s bag before running out together. Aaron wasted no time slicing the head of a walker clean with his own machete, eager to be out of there as soon as possible. He did the same for another one coming his way.

     Holy shit, was it terrifying having to push through the walking dead as if it were just a mosh pit in a concert. The two couldn’t even begin to catch their breath as they jumped into the same door of a car, especially as a head of a walker just peeped inside in time when Aaron made to shut the door close. He had to do it multiple times until the head was crushed enough for him to finally close it.

     The shelter of the car was no use, though. Walkers gathered from all sides, clamoring to get inside. They both knew it wouldn’t hold and would eventually give up. For sure, more walkers would be drawn by the commotion, curious to get a piece of what was inside the damn car.

     “Glass will hold for a while, right?” Aaron asked, observing the crowd of hands and brutal groans from the dead on all sides of the car’s windows.

     “Maybe,” Daryl replied, still holding a dagger in his hand. Daryl thought of ways he could salvage this mission for the sake of returning to you. “Maybe we can make it so they can't see us. In a couple hours, somethin’ will come by, they’ll follow it out. There’s gotta be somethin’ in here we can use to block the view.”

     Aaron began to rummage through the compartments. “We can cut up these seats.”

     He only found an eerie warning written on a crumpled sheet of paper in one of the cup holders, stating, ‘TRAP. BAD PEOPLE COMING. DON’T STAY.’

     Aaron showed it to Daryl, who could only think of how damn helpful it would have been three minutes ago. Just like that, he was drained of the hope he could ever return to you. 

     They sat there for a while like that, hopeless. Daryl chuckled.

     “What?” Aaron asked.

     “I came out here to… Not feel all closed up back there. Even now, this feels like me… Than back in them houses. That’s pretty messed up, huh?”

     “You were trying,” he assured Daryl.

     “Can I tell ya somethin’?”

     Aaron nodded. “Lay it on me.”

     “[Y/N]... I’ve known her since we were kids. She’s—er—the one I been thinkin’ of back there when ya asked me if I’ve ever felt it before. I did. I… I thought I’d never even see her again, so I put her in the back of my mind ‘cause the last time I did, I ruined her for good. I thought she was livin’ the perfect life I always pictured for her if I left, thought she was better off. Then I met her and… Shit, I’m an asshole.”

     Aaron sat there, taking in everything Daryl had just told him. You had shared a fair piece of your history to him, entrusting him with a small part of your past you thought you’d never end up facing again. He knew of a first love that broke your heart, knew you have your fair share of regrets and grudges. He just didn’t expect it to be Daryl Dixon.

     “I see.” Aaron only nodded. “She used to be my partner out on these runs, yknow.”

     “Yeah?” Daryl asked, intrigued. He was never able to learn much about you for the past week, having been cautious about who he could and could not ask. “Why’d it stop?”

     “Well…” Aaron sighed, his eyes focused on the unsightly crowd of dead clamoring to break the glass. “I don’t think it’s my story to tell.”

     “You don’t think we’re gonna die in here?” Daryl asked with a smirk.

     “Yeah, I don’t. We’re both gonna get out of here and you’ll ask her about it and she’ll tell you.” Aaron looked around the windows. “You’ve got a lot to know. It wasn’t easy for her back then.”

     “Right.”

     “Listen, I saw you with your group out there on the road. Then you went off on your own by the barn. Storm hit and you led your people to safety. That was it. I knew I had to bring you people back.”

     Daryl could only give him a hopeless smile.

     “You were right. We should have kept looking for that guy in a poncho,” Aaron said, shaking his head. “I shouldn’t have given up. You didn’t.”

     Daryl licked his lips before pulling out a cigar and placing it between his teeth. He didn’t mind having a heroic end anymore, because it meant earning him at least an ounce of redemption. It would be a sort of repentance for what he’d done to you all those years. “I’ll go.”

     Aaron looked back up to him, confused.

     Daryl had to explain as he lit his cigarette.  “I’ll lead them out. You make a break for the fence.”

     “No, no, no,” said Aaron. “This was my fault.”

     “It wasn’t a question.” He’d made up his mind. Daryl took away the cigarette from his mouth for a moment. “And this ain’t your decision. It ain’t nobody’s fault. Just let me finish my smoke first.”

     Aaron looked at Daryl, and he was sure the archer did not want to die just yet. He wasn’t gonna let that happen to his friend. “No. You don’t draw them away. We fight.”

     And fight they did, braving the outside. It was simply luck that the man in the red poncho happened to be their very savior, and he was just looking for the man that led them to shelter.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

     Any half-sane man should have been concerned with the matter at hand—the crime scene unfolding before him. Rick stood there, blood the main component of his gait, having just executed the community’s only doctor.

     And yet Daryl couldn’t tear his eyes away from you, couldn’t help but stop the questions running in his head: Is she alrigh’? What is she thinkin’ right now? Is she okay? Is she fine?

     When your eyes met his, we raised his brow in question. You only looked down, avoiding his look. You always did that. You’ve been avoiding him. This time, he let it slide. After all, you did just witness a murder.

     For a while after that, you continued to avoid him. He let you. Maybe because he wanted you to, but eventually he grew tired of it. A couple of nights after the incident, he decided he’d take matters into his own hands with you.

     Daryl watched you from below. You were on watch duty at this hour of the night, manning the gates in the event a threat presented itself.

     You were so lost in thought you almost fell off the wooden watch tower when someone offered you a sandwich. 

     “I don’t think ya should be on watch if ya didn’t even catch me climbin’ up here,” the archer said, his hand outstretched with a wrapped sandwich in hand. “Made it myself.”

     “Sorry, I was just…”

     “Avoidin’ me?” he asked.

     “What?” you asked back with a nervous laugh that faded into silent confession. You took the sandwich, scrutinizing it with a nostalgic burn in your chest. This has happened before, but you didn’t want to ask him about it or bring it up in any way at all.

     Daryl looked into the distance, the night sky with a lot more stars than he could recall from when he left. “Stars are brighter nowadays, huh?”

     You’re grateful he was kind enough to give you a break from the subject. But he wasn’t trying to change it. He was just thinking of the night he left… “Light pollution’s gone down, so… Yay apocalypse?”

     His gaze returned back to you, and you wanted to beat yourself up for feeling that familiar rush of butterflies in your stomach like you did back when the only thing you felt for him was love. “Ya ain’t gonna try it? S’gonna get cold.”

     “How do I know you’re not gonna—?”

     This time, Daryl took the bread from your hands to take a bite. “Poison ya? I’m still alive.”

     You took the sandwich with a laugh. “I was gonna say drug me into liking you.”

     “Don’t need drugs for that.” Daryl gave you that same old damned smile he did, and suddenly the air smelled like the leather seats of your parents’ car that you stole. You held his stare, but you refused to return the smile. 

     “I should go,” you told him, shoving the bread to his chest as you rushed down the ladder. You heard Daryl’s frustrated and confused grunt while you were hurrying down. 

     By the time you got down, Daryl was just close behind. “[Y/N|,” he called out calmly.     “Goodnight, Daryl.” You felt the tears prickle in your eyes. You refused to face him, you just felt the fire in your legs propelling you forward, pushing you to run home. It was all so familiar, everything he did. You hated the way you felt so stupidly attached… You were an idiot. You’d give in, and everything would just go like it did back then.     “[Y/N],” he called out once more, this time with the slightest hint of indignation. He just wanted to talk to you so he could say his piece, would that be so bad? “Stop, damn it.”

     You heard his footsteps getting louder and closer just as he grabbed you by your wrist, purposeful yet so gentle like he always was whenever he touched you back then. Your heart was beyond just beating quickly. You were sure it would eventually break through your bones and run free.     You didn’t even realize your face was wet with tears until Daryl wiped it off for you. You were seventeen all over again, crying to him and asking him to take you with him if he was going to leave. You were nine once more, crying yourself to sleep after moving away. 

     “I can’t,” you utter out.     “Can’t what? Tell me.” His eyes were hungry for answers, but you didn’t even know either. You just knew you couldn’t stand to see him anymore. It broke your heart, because you thought that if you would ever run into him again, you would be okay. That you would have moved on, and you could remain civil. So many words you wanted to tell him. 

     You swat his hand away. “I can’t keep talking to you just because you’re here. I can’t—can’t keep pretending that you’re—you—that what happened for around thirty fucking years ago is no longer bothering me, because I know damn full well that it is and it always will! And you being here I… I just… I can’t!”

     “Ya want me to go?” he asked, gentle as ever.

     “No, Daryl,” you said, out of words you could say to even come close to saying what it is you felt. “I just… I just wish you never left.”

     So many explanations, and yet it was all reduced to you pushing him away. You just needed to get out of there.     And that should’ve been the end of it. Daryl respected your preference for isolation. That really should have been the end of it for at least that night. He stood there, his heart half-broken. He just decided that maybe he deserved it, that he was stupid for thinking he deserved even another chance.

     As Daryl watched you walk down the street away from him, he decided he’d give you more time. As much as you needed until you were—

     In the short distance, you fell to your knees. Daryl halted in his tracks, his brows furrowed in confusion, trying to make sense of what you were doing. Even though your back was to him, he could make out that you were doing the same habit he was used to seeing you doing, only this time, your back was heaving up and down.

     God, he didn’t need to see anything else anymore. He was already on his way the moment he felt something was wrong. His mind raced with so many terrible scenarios he refused to verbalize. 

     “[Y/N], what’s wrong?” he asked, worried as he knelt down in front of you. “What’s happenin’?”

     “I—” Your mouth was locked shut from the static that spread from the tips of your fingers all the way to your jaw. It was cold, and it was burning hot. 

     You felt Daryl scoop you in your arms without question, and you let him. You heaved short, heavy breaths you couldn’t begin to catch. You felt and heard your heart in every direction, beating as if it was taunting you. 

     “...Bringin’ ya to Denise,” you heard Daryl say over the racing pace of your deafening heartbeat. You shook your head, the static finding that safe spot of yours, too. 

     “No, I—please—home—don’t—Denise,” you managed to say in between the uncontrollable hitches in your breath. 

     Daryl shook his head, slowing down as he tried to think of the right thing to do. But he felt your fist tighten its grip on his vest in request.

     “Please. Now—Now, Dar—Now.”

     You felt him caressing your hair with the gentlest of touches, just as you remember it. You felt him whispering soft promises against your ear, but you couldn’t make any single word out of it as everything went pitch black…

i'm still building my blog. so for now, just send me an ask to be added to my general taglist :)

TAGLIST: @vaniniweenie @avabh12 @stinkygirl009 @whatchareadingnow @remuslittlesister @romanoffmaximoff0096 @daryldixmedown

[ylangelegy]

redbullracer!seungcheol x jounalist!reader (i will cry????)

some time ago, i was obsessed with this f1 edit of seungcheol and i ended up with a plot featuring world champion red bull racer choi seungcheol having a big fat crush on a competent, no-nonsense journalist. seungcheol is commitment-phobic, a bit of a simp, and has zero rizz. his co-driver jeonghan takes advantage of this 🫡

under the cut is a little in medias res moment somewhere around the first scene! tbh, i feel like i still lack the f1 know-how to pull off this fic so it will rot in my drafts for now (߹ ᯅ ߹)

"They always ask about my love life," Seungcheol grumbles, running his hand through his hair.

"It's like they don't care about anything but that," he continues, before his expression sharpens the slightest. "Did they ask you something weird?"

Jeonghan's eyebrows quirk and he makes a show of thinking. "Oh, they asked if you had a crush on someone," he replies, waving a hand dismissively. "I was really surprised— you're a grown man!"

He pauses, just to give the moment some dramatic weight. "But I told them the actual truth, of course," Jeonghan finishes, grinning wide.

Seungcheol feels a strange shiver of dread go up his spine at Jeonghan's admission. He pauses before he leans over, his expression intent. His eyes flicker between Jeonghan's, and his voice drops to a hushed whisper. "You didn't."

For a moment, neither one of them say anything. But Jeonghan can't keep up with the farce any longer, and he howls with laughter.

Jeonghan doesn't even try to keep a straight face as he laughs, the noise loud and sharp. Seungcheol immediately smacks him on the shoulder, his expression horrified.

"You really told her that I have a crush?" Seungcheol hisses, casting a quick look around. No one looks even remotely interested in him, too busy wrapped up in their own conversations to pay him and Jeonghan much mind. Meanwhile, Jeonghan is still laughing. He's hunched over, practically wheezing.

"I told her," he says, confirming Seungcheol's worst nightmare. "And guess what? She had a pretty interesting response for me."

Seungcheol sighs before dropping his head in his hands. Wonderful.

"What did she say?" he responds, his voice coming out as a grumble. There's a slight bite of irritation to his tone, directed at Jeonghan.

Jeonghan snickers again, almost giddy with the information.

"That your love life is of no interest to her," Jeonghan responds, grinning. He makes a show of nonchalantly inspecting a finger. "She wasn't too keen to talk about your little heart-pumping, butterflies-in-stomach kind of crush, either."

Seungcheol can feel his stomach drop at Jeonghan’s words. He had hoped that Jeonghan'd been lying in order to rile him up. There was hope, at the back of his mind, that you might be even the teensiest curious who he was interested in.

"She didn't ask about who it was?" Seungcheol asks weakly, hoping against hope that Jeonghan's answer will change.

Jeonghan pauses, just to build up suspense.

"She didn't," he confirms, and he's not even trying to hide how gleeful he is about this whole thing. "All she wanted to know was how my drive was."

Seungcheol closes his eyes, taking a deep breath.

It figures. The one time he's actually interested in someone— something he didn't think could even happen— and it's a girl who has doesn't give two damns about his life off the track.

"She's very professional," Seungcheol huffs, lifting his head, and he’s definitely not pouting.

"Oh, she is," Jeonghan agrees. His smile is more subdued now, but it's still there, still present.

"She cares about racing, above all else. That's a good quality, isn't it?" Jeonghan adds as he glances over to where you can be seen, speaking with Chan from Mercedes.

Seungcheol follows Jeonghan's gaze, peering at you.

You're engaged in an animated conversation with Chan, and although your voice is too low for him to hear, he notes your serious expression as well as the rapid-fire way you talk with your hands.

Seungcheol makes a face, sighing again at Jeonghan’s words. "What's the point of being attracted to someone that laser-focused on work?" the older man muses, the rhetorical question more for himself than anything.

The answer to Seungcheol's question comes right on cue. Chan's gaze flicks over your shoulder, towards the two Red Bull drivers, and he must mention it to you or something. In the next moment, you're twisting around to give Jeonghan and Seungcheol a small wave of your hand.

And a fraction of a smile.

Seungcheol is painfully, visibly affected.

At your tiny little smile, he feels his heart begin to pound. A shiver of heat goes up his spine. And are his ears turning red?

This is bad. This is very bad.

Jeonghan catches the reaction and begins to snicker again. Seungcheol feels the urge to hit his best friend in the stomach.

"You're screwed," Jeonghan teases, his voice a delighted little whisper. "You’re so, so screwed."

this WIP is currently at an est. 20k words but it's a mess!! all the f1 terms are wonky!! etc., etc.— as a small bonus (and apology, because i may never publish this in full lol): i abused taylor swift's so high school while writing, so the line i associate most to this fic is 'brand new, full throttle/you already know, babe' 🏁

[rey-jake-therapist]

About the AMA with McPayne and the "it was just a cool shot" I haven't seen some things mentioned.

Charlotte Brändström was the director of that scene. And, that scene was filmed during the writer's strike so McPayne couldn't be involved during the filming of that scene.

If McPayne didn't intend it to be anything more during the writing of the scene, a director might have had a different intent.

I mean, you're right, but he would definitely know if there was an intent. But again, the fact that he didn't straight out deny it leaves all the possibility that it may have been intentional.

Honestly, I'm not sure I would have given so much thought to this shot myself, if they hadn't doubled down when they filmed the wake of Galadriel.

There's also the sound to take into account : when Galadriel woke up, there was not only the video effect, but an eerie sound. And if it says anything regarding the "presence" of Sauron watching her, it could very well explain why Payne and McKay won't say anything about it yet.

First shot : Sauron has a very keen eye, we know that. He could see Adar's army from an extremely long distance, and who knows even if he wasn't able to see Galadriel and Adar talking in the tent. There's much we don't know yet about his visual capacities. Same of his hearing abilities ;) With this in mind, there's nothing extraordinary for him in being able to see Galadriel down the cliff.

Second shot : Galadriel was in an entirely new place, and Sauron was probably far gone. Meaning, he wasn't standing above her this time. If they admitted now that Sauron was capable of seeing her while being a different place, it would be admitting that he created a bond with her when he stabbed her with Morgoth's place, because it would be the only reason why he could do that. And that, they won't do.

I've often seen assumed, just as late as today, that Sauron could see the three Elven rings after they were forged, because "he can see everything, everywhere", and because the sight of the three Elven rings turned into his Eye, at the end of season 1. He also had a smug smile on his face implying he was happy with what he had just seen.

Except, except... During the finals, we got the proof that Sauron didn't see the rings, through his reaction to seeing Nenya:

"it is even more beautiful that Celebrimbor led me to believe",

is what he told Galadriel. Meaning, he had never seen it yet. I'm still very much convinced that he was somehow present in the forge when they made the Elven rings, as it was hinted here :

But the claim that he literally sees everything is taking these scenes way too literally imho. If he could see everything, everywhere, or if he can read minds as I also saw suggested, how comes he still gets surprised ? If he was really capable of "seeing everything" with his super Eye, why would he need spies ?

So, my guess is that he can feel a lot of things happening, for example : he felt that the rings were made according to his design, because he's connected to the rings, and to Galadriel as well... Hence the satistifed smug. He's also capable to collect datas about the people he connects with, when he catches them into his mind palace (or rather.... invades theirs ?) and builds illusions based on their personal memories. But I don't think that he literally "sees" everything, as if they were happening right in front of him.

So where am I going with these ideas? Simple : I think that if we're right that this visual effect was used to tell us that Sauron was watching Galadriel, the fact that he was capable to see Galadriel wake up in the "safe haven protected by the rings" informs us that because he created this bond between them, he can see her, something he wasn't able to do before unless she was within his reach.

[sandcobangevent]

Unforgettable

by @keirgreeneyes and @tiredmilkshake

Chapter 1

“Seriously, I can’t believe my luck. We go off, have these adventures, meet celebrities and then get to share it all with people through the podcast—and he makes the most amazing dinners after we’re all done!”

“This is Sherlock Holmes you’re talking about? The same Sherlock I introduced you to?” 

“Yes, Mike. The very same. I mean, he doesn’t cook immediately. Usually he collapses for–oh, once it seemed like 24 hours, though he might have gotten up while I was sleeping at some point.”

“And you’re saying he cooks? That’s the bit that’s surprising to me. I mean, I thought he had a thing about pasta.”

“I mean, we do have pasta every so often. But like, he made this fantastic sauce with capers the other day.”

“That’s...surprising, yeah. Well, I guess maybe he’s changed a mite.”

“What’s that mean?” 

“He didn’t used to, in uni, that’s all.”

“Well, everyone changes, don’t they?” 

“I’m not sure Sherlock Holmes does.” 

“Is that a crack about his autism?” 

“No, no, I’m not criticizing him. Just, he’s unique and always has been.”

“Yeah, unique and pretty amazing, I’d say.” 

“Agreed. You two are good for each other.”

“Some people might even say we have a rapport.” 

“He really does seem happier now, actually. So, yeah, he does seem different.” 

“Right. Well, Mariana just texted me that there’s a mess of chicken parmesan a certain unique detective and chef made that is waiting for me back at Baker Street, so I think I’ll say cheers and catch you later.” 

“Have a good night, Watson, and tell Holmes hello for me.” 

“Will do.” 

Chapter 2

“Watson, what’s that smell?”

“Why are you asking me, mate? You’re the one with the sensitive honker. Shall I go back to the flat for Archie? I wonder if he’d be an excellent sniffer dog, you know, like those dogs that work for a living? I mean, he’s no German Shepherd, wouldn’t really be much good at roughing up the bad un’s. But he does like to give things a sniff or two. And a slobber. Yeah, well, I guess he might be good at a crime scene if we needed somebody all glommed up with snot and saliva.”

“Watson—that’s utter nonsense. Crime scene dogs require keen senses and are given intensive training. Archie’s much better at what he’s good at: giving someone’s leg a good time at the park.”

“Hey—he did that one time, and no one ever lets up—”

“As I was saying, something smells different, about your person. What is it?”

“Oh, well, we were talking about making that mushroom and camembert frittata, and I happened to see a nice thing of camembert at a shop and so I thought I’d just pick it up and..”

“Well, its scent is so strong I think that even Archie would be distracted by it if he was here, much less a genuine detection dog.”

“What am I supposed to do with it, then?”

“I don’t know, but please take it out of here. Perhaps Inspector Lestrade can put it in her car.”

“Oh, no, Holmes, you’re not stinking up my squad car with that smelly old cheese.”

“Right, well, if no one wants me and my smelly old, delicious cheese around, I’ll just take us outside and let you do your detecting on your own.”

“What’s that, Watson? Wait, wait, there’s something here we’ve been missing…”

“So, do you want me to go, or should I linger here with my great smelliness messing up your investigation?”

“Wait–Stop!! Fire, fire!!”

(Screams break out, there is the sound of gunfire and breaking glass.)

Chapter 3

“Sherlock, it’s alright, mate, we caught him.” 

“Yes, well, after he’d wounded two police constables, destroyed significant amounts of evidence with that fire, and all this from a hidden place within the very crime scene that we had been investigating. And we caught him all thanks to you, by the way. Timely use of that disgustingly reeking round of cheese you had on hand to distract him while I tackled him. Good job, Watson.” 

“Well, cheers, mate. Wasn’t exactly what I was planning, but I’ll take the praise. I still can’t figure why he did come out. He had a doozy of a hiding place all set up, what with that false wall and cozy little room he’d set up for himself.” 

“That’s just it, Watson. When we entered the galleria, my immediate impression was that there was something wrong about it. The dimensions. But I didn’t follow through on my deductions. And look how much devastation has occurred.”

“Sherlock, mate, go easy on yourself. You couldn’t know he’d go all batty hearing us talk about sniffer dogs. I mean, turns out he’s phobic about pooches? You can’t predict this kind of thing. We all have our things, and there’s no reason why anyone, even you, should be able to pull a guess about something like that out of the air.” 

“No, Watson, that’s just not true. And I never ‘just pull something out of the air.’ The signs were there. The thefts had commenced after the renovation project was completed. And even the canine connection should have been apparent to me—the owner of the art gallery has a pair of identical toy poodles, and the disappearances of these priceless minature pieces never happened on days when the dogs had been on site.” 

“Toy poodles, miniature sculptures, she does really have something about tiny things, doesn’t she?” 

“It was part of her aesthetic, Watson. Along with her charitable philosophy, all the proceeds went to provide building funds for tiny houses for people without permanent dwellings. Now her gallery is in a shambles, the work of established and budding artists in this field who had been featured there, destroyed. And all because I lost sight of what I’d immediately grasped when I entered the space. But I was distracted and forgot to follow up on it, John. It’s just unbelievable. I forgot. ”

“Hey, hey, it happens to all of us, Sherlock. You may be amazing and brilliant, and often what seems like miraculous, but you’re also quite human. But whoa. I might need a moment here, I think that’s the first time you’ve ever said my given name. Wait. Sherlock? Where are you going?”

Chapter 4

“Thanks for going through this mail, John. I’ve taken care of the bills, but there’s so much of this kind of thing” (sound of papers thwacking down on a counter) “and I can’t tell if it’s just junk or if there are some legitimate inquiries in there.”

“No problem, Mariana. They’re so sneaky with their envelopes these days, those spammers. And there’s no podcast to edit right now, so I’ve nothing better to do.”

“Any change in Sherlock?” 

“No.” (Heavy sigh.) “It’s been the same since that case. He’s shut himself up in his room and won’t talk. At first he was at least playing his violin, screeching away at it all night. But now that he’s stopped that, I’m even missing that. At least I knew he was alive in there.” 

“I’m sure he’ll snap out of it, eventually. I mean, hasn’t he before?”

…

“John?”

“I wouldn’t know actually.” 

“You’ve never seen him go through this?” 

“Well, you met him at just about the same time that I did, so your guess is as good as mine.” 

“Oh, that’s right! You two are so close, I forget that sometimes. You seem to have always been together.” 

“I can tell you, it did not feel like that right away. First couple of nights in the flat with him, I was afraid I’d become a murderer myself.” 

“Then he could have come back and cracked the case!” (laughter) “He would have liked that.” 

“Yes, I expect he would, at that. If anyone could come back from the dead and solve his own murder, it would definitely be Sherlock Holmes.” 

“Well, what can we do to help him cheer up? Maybe we’ll find a nice juicy mystery in here and that will get him feeling better.” 

“Maybe. But I already sent him a few leads from the email account, and he just told me to delete them all.” 

“That sounds pretty bad.”

“I know. I’m pulling my hair out. I wish I knew what would make him feel better.” 

“What about what he does to show his appreciation for us?” 

“You mean cook him something? I couldn’t, he’s like a world class chef.” 

“No, he’s really not.” 

“What do you mean?”

“He’s been teaching himself to cook.” 

“There’s no way—wait, why do you say so?” 

“Who pays the bills around here? I’d noticed that there were certain charges happening frequently, paid to a Youtuber who runs private courses on cooking.”

“On the company card?”

“Yes, but neither of you had said anything about it, or sent me receipts.” 

“And we both know how important those receipts are!” 

“Yes, I think I made myself very clear on that after you two took that client out to rollerskate sushi and came back with absolutely nothing by way of documentation.” 

“Yeah, I think I’m still paying off that outrageously expensive saki we drank out of little warmers on the harness they gave me. But it was so very good.” 

“Huh. Perhaps it’s a good thing that you lost those particular receipts.  Anyway, I asked Sherlock if he knew anything about it. He refused to tell me anything, just issued me a repayment and said I shouldn’t worry, there wouldn’t be any more charges. It was all sorted out, so I never ended up mentioning it to you. But did he tell you anything about it, John?”

“He never breathed a word about this to me.”

“I was worried it was some kind of scam he’d been caught in, that he was embarrassed to admit about.”

“Yeah, I can imagine that he would be pretty quiet about something like that. Should we be worried that he’s got some kind of gambling issue?”

“No. Not at all.” 

“So you did figure out what it was?” 

“I did.” 

“Did a little detecting of your own?” 

“Indeed.”

“How did you get it out of him?” 

“I had noticed that the charges were paid at about the same time each week.” 

“So you spied on him!?” 

“No, no, I wouldn’t want to invade his privacy.” 

“He bloody well does mine all the time. Do you know, he sat in the loo for fifteen whole minutes while I was in there, quiet as a mouse in the shower stall, while I’m shaving, clipping my toenails, taking a wee, moisturizing, have a nice little chat with myself…”

“Wait, moisturizing? John, I had no idea you had a beauty routine.” 

“It’s not a beauty routine. It’s just good for my pores. It’s self-care.” 

“That’s very wise of you, John.” 

“Oh sod off.” 

“What did Sherlock do?” 

“Well, he startled me half to death he did. I was just giving myself a little pep talk in the mirror, reminding myself that everyone starts somewhere. Einstein didn’t pop off about E=MC² first thing. He had to do a bit of maths, a bit of calculus, a bit of physics first. And I was sure to get better at this whole podcast thing as time went on.” 

“So, how did he startle you?” 

“Oh, right. He hears me saying that and comes out with ‘You’re quite right, Watson. Even Einstein was a beginner once.” Of course, then he tells me how Einstein taught himself maths and physics, earned a PhD at the age of 26 while publishing four ground breaking papers in those fields. ‘But Watson,’ he says ‘he’d failed an entrance exam once and had to struggle on, so don’t give up.’” 

“He’s just trying to help.” 

“Right, I know. And the funny thing is, it did help.” 

“Even if he scared you to death?” 

“Yeah, I think he was just there because he wanted the company. After I calmed down, I didn’t mind, actually.” 

“See, you are close.” 

“Well, if we were, wouldn’t I know how to cheer him up?” 

“You’ve got to start somewhere.” 

“Yeah, if only I knew what made him happy.” 

“Oh! That was the whole point of my story. Sherlock was teaching himself to cook. For us.” 

“Wait, so the Youtuber—”

“Correct, they were private classes on cooking.” 

“Oh, wow. Now I really want to help him out of this.” 

“Right.” 

“Okay. Well, I have heard something recently that may help.” 

“What?” 

“An old acquaintance of his said he had a thing for pasta.” 

“Like, the penne he keeps asking for?” 

“He’s been asking for penne?.”

“Yup. He texts me when he knows I’m going to shop or put an order in. Penne and tomato sauce. That’s all he’s asked for…” 

“Since that case. Okay, well. If he can learn to cook for us, I can learn to cook for him.” 

“Do you think you need to take a class to cook pasta?”

“To make the best pasta ever tasted? Yes, absolutely.” 

(Laughter) “You think you’re going to be able to make the best pasta ever?” 

“Yes, because he deserves it.” 

“Well, perhaps we can count this as a work expense, since it is meant to help him be able to get back to working again. Just–”

“I know, send you the receipts.” 

“Bingo!” 

Chapter 5

“Watson?” 

“Yes, Sherlock.” 

“What is that?” 

“That, mate, is a plate of my very special beef crumble and mushroom lasagna. I used wine to sauté those mushrooms, just like you did with that risotto you made two weeks ago–”

“And you want me to eat this?” 

“Well, I didn’t put it on your plate because I want you to throw it at me. What do you think?”

“Are you being serious, Watson?” 

“Yeah. Should I not be?” 

 “Well, I regret to inform you that I am unable to comply.” 

“You’re not hungry then?” 

“No, no, I am quite famished.” 

“Then, what is it? I thought you liked pasta?” 

“You thought I liked pasta?”

“Yeah. I also rather thought you didn’t like repeating yourself?”

“I was repeating what you said, Watson. I never said I liked pasta.” 

“Well, all you’ve been eating is that penne stuff lately, and I heard you did like it, so–” 

“Who exactly did you hear that from?”

“Stamford. Said something about you liking it back at uni.” 

“You’ve been digging into my history at university?” 

“Whoa—wait a mo’ there, that sounds way more sneaky and spy-y than what happened. We were talking about you—” 

“Oh, you were talking about me, and my eating habits when I was a student? I hope you feel enlightened now.” 

(Sounds of a chair pulling back, then cabinets being opened, water running, and a pot being settled on the hob.) 

“Sherlock… I’ve done something to upset you, haven’t I?” 

“Please, Watson, I am quite hungry, as I said. Thank you for your gesture, but I’ll be quite fine with my penne." (Sounds of a fridge door opening.) Wait, where’s the jar of tomato sauce I had in the fridge?” 

“Ummm, well, I sort of used it in the lasagna.” 

“Did you use it or not? It appears to have vanished.” 

“Yeh, it’s gone.” 

(Sounds of a chair being pulled out and Sherlock sinking back into it.)

“How about butter? I always love a bit of salt and butter on my pasta when I’m not feeling quite the thing.” 

“I suppose that will be acceptable.” 

“No, wait.” (Sounds of footsteps and a coat being grabbled.) “I’ll just pop down to Tesco and get a couple more jars of the sauce.” 

“Really, Watson, there’s no reason–”

“There really is. I wanted to make something special for you and all I did was end up ruining your dinner. It’s easy as pie to make it right. Just let me, okay?” 

“Well… I will enjoy the dish much more if there is sauce. Just the plain, however.” 

“No mushrooms? Peppers? Spicy red pepper with paprika?”

“Watson, I was feeling grateful but now you’re becoming tedious.” 

“Gotcha. Plain tomato sauce coming up.” 

(Sounds of feet running down stairs, followed by a door opening and being slammed shut in the distance.) 

(Sounds of fingers drumming on a table. A chair is pulled back, a lid removed from a pot and replaced. A long suffering sigh.)

(Sounds of a voice humming. Water starts to bubble.)

“At last!” 

(Sounds of jumping up from a chair. Pasta shakes in a box, and cardboard is torn open. The sounds of pasta being poured into a pot of water, just as a door is thrown open in the distance, slamming into a wall.)

“What is going on?!” (Mariana’s voice sounds distantly, coming up from the front hall of 221 Baker Street.) 

“Oh, sorry Mariana. Can’t talk.” (John’s voice is closer, as though he’s made it up a few stairs.)

“Is there a case?” 

“No, no, something much more important. Dinner!” 

(Sound of Mariana sighing.) “Dinner? You had me worried, John.” 

“Can’t chat, water boiling. ‘Ta.” 

(The sounds of feet clattering up the stairs sound, and then rapid breaths, a bit wheezy.) 

“Got ‘em! Here you are, mate. (A gasping breath ) Fresh from the Tesc. I believe these are from 2024. A very good vintage, if I do say so myself.” 

“Watson, you are being ridiculous. There is no particular advantage to having tomatoes packaged in this year over any other. The processing of the sauce makes it highly homogenized. One batch will taste much like any other.” 

“Yes, but if it came from last year, or the year before, it might well be off, so you’d likely not want to eat it, yes?” 

“Perhaps. But all this talking isn’t going to get me fed anytime soon.” 

“Oh, sorry, ‘course. Here we go, let me just—” (Sound of a pan clattering.)

“Please—let me. If you don’t mind. I just want to heat my sauce and eat in peace.” 

“Sure thing. Yeah. Well. Maybe I’ll just see if Mariana wants to eat some of this lasagna.” 

“Excellent idea.” 

“Well, alright then. I guess I’ll just go.” 

“Mm-hm.” 

(Sounds of Sherlock humming as John’s footsteps recede.) 

Chapter 6

“John! This is sooo delicious. Is that white wine I’m tasting?” 

“Yeah. Yup. ‘Tis. The mushrooms.” 

“Mmmm…. Thank you. This is really quite good. I wouldn’t have expected—” 

“No, guess you wouldn’t. I really put my back into it.” 

“That class really paid off.”

“Hmph. Yeah.” 

“Well, you don’t seem very happy with it. Aren’t you going to eat some?”

“I dunno. My heart’s not really in it anymore.” 

“Because Sherlock rejected it?” 

“He didn’t— It’s not that Sherlock rejected me—” 

“Whoa–whoa–whoa. I didn’t say he rejected you.” 

“The thing. The pasta. He didn’t..,well, I suppose he did reject the lasagna. But I thought he liked it!” 

“What exactly was it that Stamford said?” 

“Something like he had a thing for pasta at uni.” 

“That’s pretty vague really. There are a lot of types of pasta. Why did you think he would like this dish?”

“It’s all fancy. Like he’s been making for us. I figured he was down about the case, and not up to cooking something big. So, I thought I’d do it for him.”

“And, at any time, did you actually ask Sherlock what he wanted?”

“...” 

“I take that is a ‘no’?”

“Erm—” (Whistles.) “Correct. I did not ask him what he wanted.” 

“He’s been pretty clear. He wants tomato pasta. Penne.” 

“But this is clearly so much better.” 

“To who, John? To you?” 

“...” 

“Go talk to him.” 

“He just threw me out of the kitchen. I doubt he wants to talk to me right now.” 

“Was he angry about it?” 

“A little bit.” 

“Then all the more reason to talk. Maybe you need to apologize, maybe not. Find out.” 

(A big sigh.) 

Chapter 8

Summary:

John and Sherlock talk, and peace prevails.

Chapter Text

“Hello Watson! I’m feeling much better. Did you and Mariana enjoy the lasagna?” 

“Yeah. I’m glad to hear that. We did. And I’m sorry—” 

“What for?” 

“For...assuming you’d want the lasagna.” 

“That was odd.” 

“Are you still upset that Stamford and I talked about you?” 

“No, not really. I am a bit surprised.” 

“It was nothing bad. Honestly, I wasn’t trying to get some kind of intel about you.” 

“Well if you had been, Stamford wouldn’t be a terribly useful informant. You might try Victor next time. Or my brother. He’s well informed about most things and could detail quite a bit of my likes and dislikes from those years. Although, I’m not sure how useful any of that information would be to you, truly.” 

“No, Sherlock. I’ll not be asking Victor, or your brother. If I want to know what you were like at uni I’ll ask you.” 

“Hm. Well, I might prefer it if you do ask one of them. Not the best memories of that time.” 

“Oh. Was it…hard for you?” 

“Well, I didn’t graduate, and I had only one friend, and I never talk about it unless forced to do so. So that might tell you something.” 

“Jeez. Oof. Sorry, mate. I didn’t realize how bad it was.” 

“It was rather stressful.” 

“Oh! Is that why the pasta?” 

“Watson, that question makes no sense. There is not really a why relating to pasta. There might be a when, or a how. But why doesn’t make much sense for such a generic food stuff.” 

“No, I don’t mean all pasta. I mean your pasta. I take it you ate penne a lot in uni. And you’re doing it now again?” 

“Mm. Well, I did go through a phase where the tubetti lisci was my preference, but I’ve come to feel penne is superior once again.” 

“Is this something that makes you feel better when you’re out of sorts?” 

“Ye–Perhaps. It doesn’t exactly cheer me up. It’s more that it’s dependable.” 

“Because it’s always the same?” 

“Because it’s straightforward. There’s no surprises in it. I know I like the taste, and the texture, and I know that each bite I’ll have will be 100% what I want.” 

“No squishy mushrooms. No odd little nuggets of something.” 

(An unhappy grunt.) “Do we really need to talk about those things. I just had a very satisfying dinner.” 

“Oh, I’ll stop. ‘Course. But, so when you made those dishes for Mariana and me, was that just because you thought we’d like them?”

“No. Well, I did make them because you had indicated you liked those particular meals, but I chose the ones to make you’d both talked about that were also appealing to me. It’s a lot of effort to cook something like that, I’d like to enjoy it as well.” 

“I’m quite glad about that. I would have been sad if you’d been making it just because we wanted it but you hated the thing. I misunderstood, and thought that was the way you liked to eat, but were, maybe too depressed to have energy to cook it.” 

“I haven’t had energy to do that kind of cooking. I’m not depressed about the case.” 

“You’re not? You’ve been moping about, and turning down cases. Looks like depression to me.” 

“I’m considering.” 

“Considering, if you want to continue?” 

“More considering how I can avoid that kind of issue again.” 

“Mate, ya’ can’t.” 

“Well, that’s very reassuring.” 

(A half-bitten off laugh.) “I’m sorry. I’m not saying you’re a failure. I’m saying you’re human.” 

“But I’ve never had that kind of error creep in before.” 

“Never?” 

“Well, perhaps not never…” 

“You will be tired. You will be hungry. You will be sick. You will miss something.” 

“Unlikely.” 

(Chuckling.) “Once or twice. Here or there. You’ve said I’ve helped you out now and then, what’s that if not maybe not having it all 100% in your noggin.” 

“But I have your help now. And Mariana’s.” 

“And we’re extremely human as well.” 

“Oh, I know. Watson, you do realize that you snore, don’t you? You might wish to take your naps up in your bedroom.” 

“Thanks for that. I never got complaints in the barracks.” 

“That is because everyone snores or something, and in that situation there is no real remedy, so what do you expect?”

“We’re getting off track here. This is not about my sleeping patterns.”

“But you will nap in your room?” 

“Sure, fine. Whatever. But are you feeling depressed?”

“Perhaps.” 

“Well, I’d like to help. Somehow.” 

(Sherlock takes a deep breath and releases it with a sigh.)

“You are, Watson.” 

“By making you lasagna that disgusts you so much I can’t even talk about it and making you think that I’m spying on you by chatting to your old friends?”

“Nooot really either of those things. But you are here. And you tried to do something nice. That is greatly appreciated.” 

“Glad to. On both counts.” 

“And you are dependable.” 

(A chuckle.) “Like your next bite of manky pasta?” 

“It’s not manky. You’re not gross.”

“I’m simple then? Like a tubal li-whatever you called it?” 

“Tubetti lisci. No. You’re much more like a penne. Smooth, durable, but with a bit of a nice point at each end. A little bit of texture, a little bit of bite. And you take the sauce so well.” 

“I have no idea what any of this all means. Is that good?” 

“Excellent, Watson. You may not have the complexity of something like your lasagna there, but I always know what I am getting, and I always know that I will like the next bite.” 

“Aw, thanks.” 

“And I am very glad you made the lasagna.”

“Even though it made you want to sick up?”

“It didn’t.” 

“Admit it, it did a bit.”

“A bit.” 

“But you’re still glad?”

“Well, you and Mariana enjoyed it, didn’t you?”

“Yes. We really did. Well, she did. I wasn’t really feeling it. My appetite was a bit off after making you so cranky.” 

“Are you feeling better now?” 

“I am. And I am feeling a bit more hungry.” 

“Then why don’t you heat some up. I’m thinking I may have a second helping of my pasta and it might be...nice to eat with you, too.” 

“One re-heated plate of lasagna coming up.”

“It’s nice that even though I am not feeling up to doing something for you both, I can still enjoy seeing you have something you like to eat.” 

“Is that why you did it?”

“Well, of course. I didn’t cook things you didn’t like to watch you get sick on them.” 

“No, I mean you wanted to see us like the food. And even if you didn’t make it, it still makes you happy.” 

“Why did you want to make the lasagna for me, Watson?”

“Ah. Yeah. Same reason. See you happy. Right.” 

“Right.”

“What’s good for the goose is good for the gander.” 

“Why are we talking about geese now?”

“Forget it.” 

“I’d rather not forget something else presently.” 

“Oh. Sorry, wrong turn of phrase. Suppose it might be nice to forget about the case though. Or uni.” 

“Unlikely.”

“At least you won’t forget me, or Mariana anytime soon.” 

“That is true, Watson. I find you both, rather unforgettable.” 

“Cheers. Want me to heat that up for you, too?”

“Please.” 

______

Check it out on AO3 too!

[kazimakuwabara]

Feral

Summary: Kurama goes Feral. It's more amusing than one would think. (1000 ish words, humor and friendship)

***

“Uh… what is happening here?” Yusuke asked, staring at a scene he hadn’t quite expected to walk in on.

Hiei at Yusuke's side, simply nodded along, his eyes fixed on the scene before him.

Kuwabara, battered and bruised, with some silver cuffs on his wrists that suppressed his Reiki, was sitting awkwardly, more or less in Youko Kurama’s lap. The great Youko had his arms wrapped around Kuwabara’s waist and was alternating between rubbing his face against the back of Kuwabara’s throat, cheeks, and the top of his head. Youko's white silvery tail was thumping loudly against the floorboards, as he cuddled and nuzzled against Kuwabara, whining like an overexcited animal.

“...Uh… well…” Kuwabara shrugged, going through a series of sounds as he tried to find the words to explain his odd situation, “Uh… the guy who captured us injected Kurama with something that turned Kurama into his Youko form… but he’s all… kinda feral now? He won’t talk to me either, he just makes these noises…”

Kuwabara was cut off as Youko let out a stranger chattering sound, followed by a keening yip, and then proceeded to cuddle Kuwabara harder. He buried his face into the back of his throat, his tail wagging even more enthusiastically.

Kuwabara sheepishly pat Kurama's leg and with a touch of embarrassment, but plenty of affection, cooed, "Yeah, you're just a sweet guy, ain't ya Kurama?"

“He’s become a cuddle monster,” Yusuke managed incredulously, his voice a mix of awe and delight. It seemed he might laugh at any moment, but was somehow managing to keep the amusement at bay, if at least for his own safety.

“The demon who captured you both and drugged Kurama. Where is he now?” Hiei asked stepping into the room. He was doing much better than Yusuke at keeping a straight face, though his eyes were rather wide.

Kuwabara smirked, and then gestured to the corner by their door, “Oh, well. I guess the guy was hoping Kurama was gonna like eat me or kill me, or something other than cuddle me. But Kurama sniffed me, and just started to cuddle, and it pissed the dude off. He got real pissy about it.”

A bubble of laughter snuck out of Yusuke’s throat as he started to reach his breaking point of keeping a neutral expression.

Kuwabara lifted his voice and continued to speak over him as he kept up with his explanation, “So the guy came towards us, clearly ready to do something to us, or well, really me. And Kurama attacked him. Just leaped at him with this ferocious snarl, fangs out, claws out, and boom! Snapped his neck, and left him in the corner!” Kuwabara lifted his cuffed hands and pointed to the corner of the room by the door again.

Yusuke and Hiei stepped further into the room and peeked behind the door. There, slumped in a heap, was the demon who had abducted Kurama and Kuwabara several hours ago.

Yusuke lost it, “Oh my God. I’ve been scared shitless, and Kurama, in a feral state, just snapped a dude’s neck that we couldn't take out as a team! And he’s here cuddling you like you’re his kit!” He threw back his head and laughed, ignoring Kuwabara who snapped at him to shut it.

Hiei stepped further into the room, and Kurama suddenly darted at him.

Yusuke’s amusement fell away as he tensed with worry, but it was unnecessary.

Kurama had rushed Hiei, sniffed him, and then made another high-pitched keening sound, and began to rub himself against Hiei, cuddling and nuzzling Hiei as if he was greeting an old friend. Kurama had even gone as far as dropping to his knees, so he could tuck himself under Hiei’s chin, and nuzzle at the fire demon’s throat. 

Hiei smirked at Kurama’s behavior, and chuckled, “Putting Kurama in a feral state was a foolish thing to do. We have Kurama’s scent on us. Even in a feral state, he would be able to recognize his own scent on someone and know if it made them his enemy of friend. He most likely regards us as his pack mates; his family.”

“That would explain why he keeps trying to feed me rats,” Kuwabara sighed, holding out his hands towards Yusuke.

Understanding immediately, Yusuke approached Kuwabara and carefully snapped the cuffs off, the silver shackles falling to pieces on the floor. Kuwabara sighed with relief and rubbed his wrists, before he stretched his palm and sent a sparkle of his Reiki over his hands. “Oh thank goodness. It’s back.”

“Kurama’s been trying to feed you rats?” Yusuke asked, sliding under one of Kuwabara’s arms, and hauling the large man to his feet.

Bruised and aching, but not too bad off, Kuwabara kept a hand curled around Yusuke’s shoulder and leaned on him for support. “Yeah. There were rats in the room. Kurama hunted them down, and he’s been trying to get me to eat them!” Kuwabara gave a sheepish grin, and gestured to a thin blanket behind them, “I’ve been stuffing them under there to appease him!”

Yusuke started to laugh again when the yipping Youko was suddenly invading his space. He snipped Yusuke’s cheeks, and neck, and then made a pleased, “mrrr,” sound before cuddling into Yusuke’s space, and rubbing his cheek against Yusuke’s throat.

“Whoa! Whoa!” Yusuke gasped, half laughing, “Wow, he’s happy to see us.”

“This isn’t like… gonna be forever is it?” Kuwabara asked, reaching out to gently pet one of Kurama’s long ears.

Kurama purred and then gave Kuwabara’s chest a nuzzle, happy for the attention.

“I have an idea of what they gave him, so I’m sure it’ll wear off,” Hiei said, grinning at Kurama. Kurama for his part, saw Hiei’s grin and rushed back to Hiei to rub against him a few more times before darting back to Yusuke. Kurama bounced between his three friends, yipping and whining, his tail wagging rapidly with excitement.

“He’s going to be mortified!” Hiei added with a cackle.

“Well, let’s head on out. We can stop by Koenma’s, or go see Yukina. Someone. Let’s make sure we fix this,” Yusuke sighed, grinning at Kurama as he affectionately nipped at Yusuke’s jawline. Yusuke used a free hand to gently push Kurama away, and chuckled, “While I bet his mom would love a more cuddly Kurama, we can’t let him stay like this for too long.”

“He’ll follow us right?” Kuwabara asked, limping as Yusuke helped to guide him out of the room.

“Oh, I don’t think we have to worry about that!” Hiei snorted, holding the door open for Yusuke and Kuwabara. The moment the pair cleared the threshold, Kurama darted off after them, before coming back to Hiei and whining.

Hiei reached out and patted Kurama’s cheek, “Calm down, I’m coming too. Go on now.” 

Kurama yipped and then exited the room. Hiei followed, snorting with amusement as he followed after his friends, “I can’t wait for Kurama to go back to normal. He’s never going to live this down.” He then laughed loudly and shut the food firmly.

The villain, whose body was still slumped in the corner, dead for his efforts, was quietly and easily forgotten.

[haveyouplayedthisttrpg]

Bonjour! What's the most memorable or fun character you've played in a game? :3

Bonjour! I think the most memorable one is from the F.I.S.T game on the @anim-ttrpgs book club.

Prof Eton (cause he's a mess)

Who can talk to objects. His parents didn't believe him, thought him mad, like his traitorous kettle. he is like a failed professor X meets Mr Sinister, with a focus on cyborgs and object-human mixes. He shall find his people and if not found, create them. And objects are better than humans so a mix of the two should be really nice to have. So why can't his creations see that he is just trying to be a good parent. He shall create a school to educate them. When he has the money…and the place..and the students… We all make do.

His creations don't really like him that much, except from Wheelie. Anyway to give you the idea… how did he receive the message from Fist for the mission ? A phonebooth man entered his room, Prof opened its thorax and picked up the phone. he gave pamphlets to his teammates for his scholl, kept talking about replacing their limbs with "robotics" And then the referee asked the wrong question : what does your wheelchair look like ? And I readily admit to some trollish tendancies, some impertinance, give me some leeway and i will use it to create something beautiful ( as long as the table is ok) Before this question, it was a perfectly ordinary wheelchair ( with hidden weapons inside) but now... It uses wheels, yes, wheels made of feet, robotic feet, legs up to the knee for more mobility, legs spaced like the beams of a regular wheel.

A wondrous invention. Certainly appreciated by his teammates. With robotic arms from the back that envelops the user in a hug to keep one's warm.

Prof called them his guns. He once proposed the sensible idea to replace one's lungs, to resist pollution and gaz, but he needs an air conditionner first. Suddenly the other PC was not so keen on the idea. he gave a name to a robot made to die in a fiery vehicular joyride that served as a distraction.

He was more interested in the mech than the child used to power and control the mech His robotics arms made finger guns...that actually fired bullets like guns. And he tragically died trying to save a mech from his flesh parasite. (Enter second character on the session, Kettle. Can you guess why kettle ? of course it was Eton's traitorous kettle, now a Human-kettleS cyborg, with very few human parts, like hands they're useful

the head is a Kettle, whose lid is just a little open, and in this opening there are two eyes, just the eyes, with the optic nerves descending in the inside of the head kettle

Its entrance was Crash Windows "Eton, you will die by my whouag" slippped. After said Eton death, bad timing. It took 2 feet from the wheelchair to put them on. ) And post credits scene : the wheelchair rising by itself and going into the wild snowy fields of Russia )

[forget-you-morelike-fuck-you]

A Taste of the Divine- E.M.

OKAY OKAY OKAY so I based this one off of a song I have been utterly OBSESSED with lately called The Summoning by Sleep Token. You can find it here: https://youtu.be/wJNbtYdr-Hg

I definitely think Modern!Eddie would make this kind of music and you can fight me on that. The other song I have quoted in here is I Have A Problem by Beartooth, which you can find here: https://youtu.be/KTUCGRu_DL4

Masterlist

You go to your first rock show and you get a much different experience than you bargained for.

TW- 18+ MINORS DNI, smut, fingering, dirty talk, pet names (pretty girl, good girl, angel, etc.), pnv, protected sex (wrap it up, babes), dom!Eddie, degredation kink, praise kink, slight corruption kink if you squint, drinking, cursing (lmk if I missed anything!)

Pairings- Modern!Rockstar!Eddie x Reader

Word Count- 6,335

(Pic and gif not mine, credit to owner!)

There’s just something about him. 

Past the intimidating exterior of black leather, studded belts, and cigarette smoke is someone whose sole mission in his life is to worship every inch of skin on your body.  

You never meant to end up with someone like Eddie. You never even heard his name before your friend laid a poster down in front of you at your weekly lunch date, squealing as she told you about the show. You looked at the paper, detailing the time and place of a band you had never heard of, and honestly didn’t really have any interest in learning about. You were never one for rock music, instead favoring the sound of smooth indie and pop. But your best friend was so keen on going. Her boyfriend is in the band, but all of the friends she had that liked the kind of music they played weren’t available, so she was begging you to accompany her.  

“Pleaaase, Y/N! I’ll do anything you want!  It’s just their first headlining show and I don’t want to be in the crowd alone!” She pleads, giving you those best friend puppy dog eyes. After careful consideration and a lot of bargaining, you finally relent, resolving that she would buy your drinks all night.  

“Corroded Coffin, huh? Sounds like pretty heavy stuff,” You eye her with uncertainty. “I really don’t think this is gonna be my scene,” Your best friend rolls your eyes at you, wagging her finger at you. 

“No take-backs! You already said you’d come! And you don’t have to like them, I just really want you to be there with me to support Gareth! You know how big a deal this is to him! I’ve never asked you to come to a show with me before, and I swear, if you absolutely hate them, I’ll never ask you to go again! I promise,” She sticks her lip out in a fake pout as an attempt to further suck you in to her plans. 

“Okay, okay, fine! Just this once, because I love you!” She does a happy dance in her seat across from you, giggling like a madwoman. 

“Okay, great! Oh, Y/N it’s gonna be so much fun! And you definitely have to wear something hot. You can borrow some of my fishnets! We’re all hanging out after and the lead singer, Eddie, he’s so fucking fine. If I didn’t love Gareth so much, I would totally be on that.” The face she makes as she speaks makes you laugh, which helps you feel better about going. 

“Alright, fine,” You roll your eyes, chuckling at her giddiness. “But this Eddie guy better be, like, the hottest guy I’ve ever seen.”  

“I really don’t think you’ll be disappointed.” She promises with surety.  

When you get to the venue, it’s packed wall to wall with people in black, decorated with studs and leather. The smell of alcohol and sweat was heavy in the air, and you take it in as your best friend keeps a very firm grip on your hand as she drags you toward the front, near the stage. She pushes past people with authority, and when people give her dirty looks, she just exclaims “MY BOYFRIEND IS IN THE BAND!” This makes you laugh, because more often than not, the people just move out of her way. People respect that sort of thing around here, you guess.  

As you near the rail, your friend flags down one of the security people hovering near the stage, and your friend introduces you to him by name. “Carlos! This is my best friend, Y/N. I’m gonna go get us some drinks, so can you just make sure no one’s creepy to her? She’s never been to one of these shows before.” Carlos, a nearly middle aged gentleman who stands at least 6 feet tall and looks like he could wrestle for WWE, nods. 

“I got you hon, no one gets past these eyes,” Your best friend pats him casually on the shoulder with a smile. 

“I know I can count on you, buddy.” With that, she starts making her way toward the bar, pushing past people like it’s the most normal thing in the world. You look over to Carlos, not wanting to just stand there awkwardly. 

“So,” You begin, shouting slightly over the din of all the other concertgoers, “Do people get pretty rowdy at these shows?” Carlos makes a face and shrugs. 

“It really just depends on the crowd. I’ve had to knock a few assholes out in my time, but generally no one gets too rough with the people who don’t want it. Just try not to get sucked into the mosh pit. That’ll do some damage if you’re not careful.” You nod solemnly at his sage advice, clinging a bit closer to the rail for safety.  

“And what if I do get sucked in?” Carlos raises an eyebrow as he mulls it over. 

“Don’t be afraid to push your way out. They can get pretty nasty, but usually it’s just a bunch of people dancing like maniacs,” 

As your friend returns, holding the drinks above her head, Carlos takes a step back toward the stage. “Here you go! Tequila Sunrise for you,” She hands you the clear plastic cup, careful not to bump someone and spill it, “Vodka Cran for me,” She holds her cup out to yours, and you tap them together before taking a big drink.  

“Is it gonna start soon?” You ask. 

She nods, “Yeah! I saw Gareth and the guys walking through the back door. Should be any minute now.” You keep talking and drinking and laughing for a few more minutes until the lights start moving across the stage, and everyone starts screaming as the band comes out from behind the curtain.  

“Whoa,” You mutter, eyes going wide as you spot him. Eddie Munson is wearing nothing but a tight pair of black jeans and a leather vest, his arms and torso covered in intricate tattoos. His hair is a wild mess of dark curls, and he wears a serious expression. There’s a glint of silver around his ears as you spot a rows of earrings going up to his cartilage, and a little hoop in his right nostril. His broad hands are littered in heavy silver rings and necklaces drip from his neck to swing at his mostly bare chest. You feel your best friend nudge you, and you look to her as she gestures up toward Eddie. 

“Disappointed?” She wiggles her eyebrows playfully.  

“No, no I don’t think I am...” You give a bark of a laugh.  

“I knew you wouldn’t be! Wait until you hear him sing!” You make a face of bemusement before turning your attention back to the stage, where Eddie has started shredding on his red and black crackle-painted Warlock guitar. Everyone goes crazy, including your best friend, as Eddie’s voice comes screaming through the music. 

“I found my vice, I found my vice. It lives in a bottle and wants me to die! I found my vice, I found my vice. It lives in a bottle and wants me to die! But I wanna be alive.... Go!”  

The sound is overwhelming, and it sends your eyelids flying open wide as you listen. You’ve never heard anything like this. You can’t tell if you like it, but you’re definitely impressed by the lung capacity Eddie surely has to be able to perform like this as often as he does. He doesn’t even start to sing until he gets to the refrain, and the suddenly smooth sound of his voice sends a shock through your body like you’ve never felt before. He grips the mic stand with both hands, eyes closed as the guitar swings by his hip. 

“I guess a bottle can’t save my life, I guess a bottle can’t tame my mind... This is my reward, a barely beating heart? But I still lie to myself, I always lie to myself. My hands are in the air, and God, I hope you’re there! Cause I can’t make it myself, I’ll never make it myself...” You’re stunned as he switches back and forth from screaming and singing so easily, and you find yourself start to move your body to the beat of the music, a smile growing slowly on your face. Your best friend is jumping up and down next to you and then the whole venue starts screaming with Eddie, “SUBSTANCE THERAPY NEVER SET ME FREE,”  

By the time the song ends, you’re dancing with your best friend. Although you’d definitely prefer your music taste to this, you can’t deny the intoxicating rush this music sends through your bones.  

When the next song starts, the mood in the room shifts a bit, and you can see why. Eddie’s body language changes from angry to seductive, his hands caressing the microphone like it’s a long lost lover. A stark comparison to the death grip he held on it during the last song. You watch as he pushes the hair out of his face, a soft synth echoing through the room before the guitar starts. Then Eddie begins to sing, his lashes low on his eyes, his tongue darting to lick his lips. “I’ve got a river running right into you. I’ve got a blood trail, red in the blue. Something you say or something you do, a taste of the divine... You’ve got my body, flesh and bone, yeah. The sky above the earth below...”  

He runs a hand up his toned torso, gripping lightly at his throat as he lets his eyes scan the crowd and you stand, mesmerized by the way he moves. When his eyes meet yours, you almost gasp at the intensity of his gaze. He holds it for just a moment before he flits his eyes away, probably to some other beautiful person he sees among this sea of people. Still, you can’t tear your eyes away from his performance. 

There are a couple minutes in the middle of the song where Eddie has a guitar solo, and it almost looks like he’s making love to the guitar in his hands as he walks around the stage with it. He comes to the edge, just a few feet from where you stand, front and center with your best friend, falling to his knees and throwing his head back, his plush lips open in a silent moan as glistening beads of sweat trail down his forehead and chest. It makes heat flood through you, and you watch his nimble fingers as they move across the strings like lightning. You wonder what else he can do with those fingers... 

As he gets back to his feet, his eyes open and land on yours again. The look on his face as his eyes bore into yours makes you feel like you’re the only one in the room for a moment, and then he’s gone, sauntering back to the microphone, the guitar dropping out as gentle synth intermixed with piano float over the room again. He takes his time taking his guitar off his neck, grabbing the mic stand and dragging it with him as he walks, back toward where you stand. Your best friend starts shaking your shoulder and you rip your eyes away from the delicious sight.  

“This is the best part!” She yells excitedly. “You’re about to get soaked, so get ready!” She squeals and turns back, gripping the rail, whooping in excitement. 

When Eddie stops, he lets his face fall forward, his bangs brushing over his eyes as his lips hover right over the microphone. The drums kick back in and he raises one hand over his head, ripping the mic out of the stand as the song drops into half time. “Oh, and my love, did I mistake you for a sign from God? Or are you really here to cut me off? Or maybe just to turn me on...” He drops down to kneel on one knee, one hand still holding onto the mic stand as he taps his fingers on the mic with the other, keeping time. He’s so close you can almost hear his rings clink against the metal. “Cause, these days I would be lyin’ if I told you that I didn’t wish that I could be your man. Or, maybe make a good girl bad...” His eyes graze over you once more, and you watch as they rake up and down your body, sending a shiver through your spine. Then, he gets up, mic in one hand, stand in the other and walks back to where he was before to finish the song. All of the air is sucked out of the room for a moment as the final chord dissolves in the stale air before the room erupts like a million firecrackers. 

You have to take a deep breath to keep your cool. There’s never been music that made you feel exactly this way before. But then again, you’ve never been eye fucked by an insanely gorgeous metal singer as such dirty, beautiful words spill from his perfect lips before. 

The rest of the night goes on like this, and as you indulge in a few more drinks, you loosen up even more, letting your body flood itself with the sheer vibrations of the music around you. It’s like you’re waking up in a brand new world filled with raw emotion, no matter what kind. “We’ve been Corroded Coffin! Thank you!” Eddie screams as the lights come up, and the whole place, including you, is chanting as they exit the stage, all high fives and smiles in the euphoric haze of a good show well done.  

“Come on!” Your best friend has to pull your shoulder to get your attention, the rush of adrenaline written all over her face as she starts pulling you through the crowd. You make it to the edge of the rail and a security guard lets you through, knowing that you’re with the band, and you find the back door to backstage to go through. You run up the steps with her, laughing as you finally find some semblance of quiet behind the closed door. Your ears are ringing, adjusting back to the lack of chest rattling music as you go find the band. “Baby!” Your best friend runs to Gareth, and he lifts her off the ground, spinning her as they embrace. “You did so good out there! You guys were so amazing! I swear to God a record deal is coming any day now.” She then turns to you, “This is my best friend, Y/N, she’s never been to a rock show before, but I think we’ve won her over,” She explains. “I can tell you liked it! Don’t even deny it!” 

You laugh, smiling sheepishly as the band looks at you expectantly. You give a nod, “Yeah, that was... A rush.” You turn to Eddie, who smiles coolly as he takes a drink of water. “I’ve never in my life heard a voice like yours. It was incredible.”  

“You see, Eddie! I told you she’d like you!” Your best friend interjects. You shoot a glare over to her accusatorily, and she shrugs, a smug smile on her face as she holds Gareth close. You feel a heat rush to your cheeks as you turn back to Eddie, who’s still looking at you. 

“Thanks,” he says. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.” His voice doesn’t even show a hint of strain as he speaks, which is mind-blowing considering all of the screaming he did on stage. You follow awkwardly behind the band as they make their way to a sitting room of sorts, complete with a TV and a few couches. You sit near your best friend and Gareth, who share a plush armchair, but making conversation with them is no use, they’re too wrapped up in each other, kissing and talking to each other in hushed tones about the show and how much they love each other. While it’s a cute sight, it feels as though she’s stranded you on a desert island with a bunch of strangers, one of them being the scorching hot singer sitting next to you on the couch. 

You smooth your impossibly short skirt as you sit, trying to keep yourself from saying something stupid. “So,” You hear from beside you. You look up and Eddie is laying back against the corner of the couch, legs spread. You can see now the faint smudge of black eyeliner on his eyes, and it only makes the dark chocolate of his irises look that much more tantalizing. “You not really a rock person?”  

You scoff, quirking your head to the side a bit, “No, not really. Well, I never have been before anyway. I’ve never really enjoyed the screaming.” He nods, his brows raising in recognition. 

“Yeah, it’s not for everyone, I suppose. But you liked it tonight?” He raises his brows hopefully. You bite your lip lightly, eyes flitting up, remembering the feeling as the intense sound washed over you.  

“Yeah, I did. I have to say, I think you may have completely converted me.” You both laugh lightly at that. “Can I ask, how do you do that? It’s the most baffling thing I have ever seen!” Eddie’s smile widens a bit, and he makes a sound like he’s trying to find the words.  

“It’s a lot of practice. There’s some technical bullshit you need to understand to fully grasp it, but essentially, it’s all about breathing and the way my mouth is shaped,” He shrugs, letting out a short laugh, “That’s a pretty shitty way to put it, now that I think about it, but it’s fine.” You breathe a laugh and nod in understanding. 

“Don’t worry, it’s okay. Not like I do a lot of screaming myself, anyway,” Eddie smiles out of the corner of his mouth, his eyes looking you up and down. 

“Really? That’s a shame...” He takes a gulp from his water bottle, and you feel heat rush over your whole body. Your fingers fiddle with the hem of your skirt again as you try to think of something else to say.  

“Y’know, that second song you did... The girl you wrote that about sounds pretty lucky to have you to come home to.” You look at him through your lashes, gauging his reaction. You watch him clench his razor sharp jaw, his hand running over his thigh lightly as he adjusts himself to look at you better.  

“There isn’t one,” Your brow raises in feigned curiosity and bat your lashes at him sweetly. 

“Oh? Then who’s that one written about?” You lean toward him ever so slightly. His eyes rake over you once more, and he leans in toward you, his mouth hovering just over your ear. 

“Could be you, if you play your cards right...” A jolt of lightning streaks right through the center of your body, and you feel your heart thump loudly in your throat. Damn, he’s smooth. You try to clear your throat and recover your control, but Eddie sees right through you. It’s a game of sexy chicken, and he’s winning. 

“And what makes you think that I’d want that?” Your voice isn’t as stable as you wish it was and you inwardly curse yourself as Eddie gives you a playful, boyish smile. 

“I saw the way you were looking at me out there. And I think you saw the way I was looking at you, too.” He leans his arm against the back of the couch, laying his head on his hand. “Y’know, you don’t fool me, Y/N.” The way he says your name sends a shiver up your spine and wonder how he’d say it from between your thighs... “I can tell that beneath that bohemian, hippie girl façade, there’s a wild little girl just begging to be let out of her cage. All I’m saying is that I could be the key to her freedom, if you want.” 

He’s done it now. You bite your lip, a heat rushing over your face, all the way up to the tops of your ears, and you have to fight to keep your breath calm. You get up, letting skirt ride up just a touch so he can get a good look at the garters running down the backs of your thighs before holding your hand out to him. “Wanna give me a tour?” You ask innocently, but your eyes are wandering over him, fantasizing what he’ll look like once he’s on top of you. You see Eddie’s cool exterior crack for just a fraction of a second before he takes his time reaching for your hand. His feels massive in yours, his fingertips rough with callouses. The rings he wears make cold indents in your skin.  

“Right this way,” Eddie starts walking, his hand tightly holding yours. You shoot your best friend a quick look over your shoulder, and her eyes are bulging out of her head as she watches you walk away. She sends you a quick thumbs up before getting back to her conversation, a silent “Good luck!” as you walk towards a darkened hallway.  

“Where are we going?” You ask, your eyes scanning the dim hallway covered in posters and sharpied graffiti. 

“Right here,” Eddie opens a door to the right of him, and pulls you in. The room isn’t very large, but there’s a vanity sprinkled with a few pieces of jewelry and makeup items, and worn couch. Eddie closes the door behind you, and you hear a lock click as you look back at him. “So,” The tone on his lips is warm and sultry, and you inhale sharply as you feel his fingers barely graze your bare sides, the bustier top you wear coming only to just under your breasts. “This is my dressing room...” His lips hover right at your ear, and your lashes flutter when you feel the slight tickle of his lips just grazing the skin there.  

“It’s- it’s nice,” You’re losing your resolve, the slight wobble in your voice is giving away your rather compromised position. 

“Why, thank you,” You can hear the amusement in his voice as his lips travel down, not even touching, just teasing you with the hope of contact. His hands, however, grip at your hips a little more now, pulling you closer to him. A mad rush of heat spreads down your thighs as you feel the bulge of his cock starting to form in his jeans. “I’ll tell you how this is gonna work,” He mutters. “I’m gonna ask you what you want, and you’re gonna tell me. I don’t like playing guessing games. Do you understand?” 

You’ve never been spoken to this way before, but damn, is it sure erotic. Borderline pornographic, really. You nod, barely finding your voice as you say, “I understand.” 

“Good.” His lips brush over your shoulder now, and with all of the anticipation it almost makes you go weak in the knees. “Now, can you tell me what you want first?”  Your eyes flutter closed, and you move your head out of the way of his lips. 

“K-kiss me?” You breathe. Eddie chuckles darkly behind you as he presses a firm but gentle kiss to your shoulder, moving the strap of your top out of the way as he blazes a path up your neck, taking his time to find the spots that make you hiss in pleasure. 

“Like this?” He taunts. You nod lightly, your brain growing fuzzier with every sensation. He suddenly turns you around, spinning you by the hips. One of his hands presses into your back as the other grabs your chin, pulling your lips to his in a wanton display. His tongue darts into your mouth and you taste the faint menthol of what was probably a cough drop to soothe his vocal cords. The moan that escapes you is swallowed by Eddies mouth as he moves you backward, your legs hitting the couch. He lets you go as you sink down, and you move yourself so that your legs are spread apart to accommodate for him while you lay back. Your hands find his chest as he comes to lay with you, one hand finding your face, the other supporting him on the arm of the couch as he kisses you again. His lips move lazily down your neck again, sucking soft bruises occasionally, and you let out a soft whine, not wanting to be heard by the band members outside. Your body arches up into his, craving the feeling of his body against yours. 

“Do you want something, sweetheart?” He presses chaste kisses just below your ear, nipping lightly.  

“I want... Fuck... I want your fingers... Please,” Your eyes screw shut, and you feel his lips meander back up your face, capturing your mouth in another hot kiss, Eddie’s thumb brushing over your cheekbone.  

“I think that can be arranged...” The hand on your face starts moving down, over your collarbones, the curve of your breast, giving a squeeze there, down and down until you feel his large, rough palm against your heat. You grind into his hand pathetically, the scant fabric over your clothed pussy doing very little to hide the mess you’ve made. Eddie lets out a little laugh as he plays with you, and you can’t help but whimper at every touch. “Not so tough now, are you baby?” He presses kisses to your jaw, letting his tongue swipe along the skin. “You just wanna be a good girl, don’t you?” You almost want to protest, but it seems impossible as his fingers pull your panties out of the way and dip into your sopping pussy. He pulls his fingers up your slit, and you gasp harshly as he flicks over your clit, the callouses on his fingers creating a new sensation that that of your own.  

Eddie rubs slow circles round your bud, and your hands find his back, nails digging in as you get further lost in the pleasure. “I want...” You pant as Eddie’s mouth travels down to the tops of your breasts. “I want your fingers inside.” Eddie hums against your chest in acknowledgement, fingers moving down to toy with your aching hole, dipping gently in with two fingers. You push yourself further onto him as he curls up, and you tighten your grip on his body as he moans gently at the feeling of your velvet walls wrapping around him. 

“Goddamn. This pussy’s gonna make me cum quick, isn’t it. So fucking tight. You suck me right in, pretty girl.” He purrs. He pumps in and out of you at a decent pace, letting you reach your peak on your own time. You’re sure he’s done this so many times he must have it down to a science. Your moans get needier as the seconds pass, your release approaching in near record time. Eddie can tell. It’s like he can read your mind, or at least, your body, like an open book. “You gonna cum for me, baby? You gonna be a good girl and soak my fingers?” The encouragement only spurs you on as you get closer, closer until finally, your walls flutter, and Eddie kisses you to swallow the sounds of your release. He groans as he continues fingering you, his thumb brushing lightly over your clit as your legs shake from the intense climax. You pant hard as you find your way back to your body, and Eddie pulls his fingers out, his lips still on yours. He pulls away as he brings his hand to his face, and he stares intently into your eyes as he sucks his fingers clean. You almost whine just at the sight of him, brain completely melted out of your skull, replaced only with the carnal need for him to fuck you, good and deep. “Next time, I hope you ask for my mouth,” He muses, “I need to get a proper taste of that sweet pussy.”  

“Next time?” You breathe. He gives you a smirk. 

“If you want,” he says. “But now, I’m hoping you tell me you want my cock inside you.” You let out a girlish laugh at that, hands reaching for his pants before you feel his hand cover yours. “Ah, ah, ah... Words first, angel.” He commands. You look at him through your lashes, hips moving up so your pussy grinds lightly against the knee positioned between yours. You see a subtle flutter of his lashes as he waits for your reply. 

“Please, Eddie,” You press kisses to his jaw, sucking deliciously. “Will you stuff my cunt with your cock?” He lets out a groan, his hips driving down into yours. 

“Good girl,” He rasps, and he lets you continue your task of undoing his heavy belt. You can see the strain of his cock against his pants, and you can’t help but paw at it, your mouth watering at the mere thought of him filling you up. He reaches around to his back pocket to pull out a condom, and unceremoniously rips the foil open with his teeth while you pull his pants down, spitting the ripped piece in his teeth away. You pull out his cock, stroking the long, thick length of it a few times, collecting glistening droplets of precum on your thumb before sticking it in your mouth, relishing in the taste. Eddie watches you rub the pad of your finger down the length of your tongue, a devilish smile breaking out on his face as he rolls the condom down his length. He leans back down, necklaces tickling your chest. “I knew there was a bad girl in there somewhere,” He hisses as his cockhead comes in contact with your entrance. You can’t say anything, moaning as he pushes into you harshly. “You like the taste of me, don’t you?”  

You nod pathetically as he grabs your legs, pulling you into a better position for him to snap his hips into yours. Every thrust punctuated with a heavy breath. All you can do is try to hold on to any surface, teeth clenched to keep you quiet as you writhe beneath Eddie’s command. The pace he sets is borderline bruising, both of you struggling to keep your breath as your bodies meet. Eddie hooks your legs behind his back, one hand going to grip the meat of your waist to hold you steady as the other starts playing with your clit, making your goal of keeping quiet enough to keep everyone outside from hearing that much more impossible. “God, you feel so fucking good,” Eddie throws his head back in a low moan, eyes screwing shut as he continues pounding into you. “I can fucking feel the end of you. Fuck, I’m not gonna last long,” His eyes open back up and settle on your face, contorted in this piece of bliss he’s giving you. The hand on your clit reaches up to your face, the finger coated in your slick pushing into your mouth. You accept it greedily, moaning at the taste of yourself on your tongue.  

“God, so fucking good for me. You look so pretty like this. So fucking pretty.” His cand comes back down to rub your sensitive bud again. You can feel your orgasm rapidly approaching, your breath coming in short pants. You squeeze your legs around Eddie’s middle, needing him to be even closer.  

“I’m- gonna- cum- Eddie...” You stare into his eyes like they’re art, and bite your lip as the tension in your core approaches a precipice. You shut your eyes, letting the feeling take over as you lose yourself. 

“That’s it. That’s it... Fuck, Y/N, I can fucking feel you...” He lets out a divine whimper as your walls pulse around his cock, his hand tightening around your waist, but he doesn’t let up, not for a moment. “Gonna... Gonna fucking fill you up, pretty girl.” You whine as you feel Eddie’s cock twitch inside you, and then his hips stutter, a deep moan tumbling from his lips as he cums. He fucks into you a few more times, slowing down, the fingers on your cunt rubbing languidly now. Finally, he stills, and you’re both just staring at each other, breaths heavy, pupils blown in the euphoria of the mind-blowing sex you just had.  

Finally, you let out a light laugh, your hand going to wipe a few stray hairs from your forehead. “That was...” You close your eyes and lay your head back against the seat of the couch. “That was fucking amazing.” Eddie gently pulls out of you, and you wince as he helps you set your legs back down, the muscle ache already seeping into your thighs. 

“Yeah,” he says. His lips form a Chesire cat smile, a few beads of sweat falling from his hairline. “I think that I would agree,” His bangs are stuck to his skin, and even though you’ve just had some of the best sex of your life, you can’t help but already want more. You start to sit up a bit as Eddie moves off of the couch to throw the condom away, and he grabs a small towel to hand to you before getting one for himself.  

“So,” He looks to you as he puts his softening cock back in his pants, pulling his belt back through the buckle. “About next time...?” You ask. He lets out a small laugh as he throws your towel into the corner of the room.  

“What about it?” He has a coy smile on his face, eyebrows raising slightly. 

“Will there really be one? Or was that just dirty talk?”  

He considers this for a moment, looking you up and down as you smooth your skirt back into place before nodding. “Yeah, there’ll be a next time. How about you give me your number, and I’ll take you out to dinner sometime?” Your brows flick up in surprise, not thinking he would offer a date. 

“Do you offer that to all of the girls you fuck after shows or just me?” You’re almost genuinely curious. Eddie shakes his head, his lips downturned slightly.  

“No, just you. I don’t really make a habit of this, if I’m being honest,” He confesses. You’re genuinely shocked by that. Not only is he insanely talented both on stage and in bed, he’s also one of the most gorgeous men you’ve ever had the privilege of laying your eyes on.  

“What’s so different about me, then?” Now you are really curious. Eddie shrugs. 

“Well, Y/BFF/N has been talking you up ever since she told us all about you, so that helped. And Gareth seems to think you’re a pretty decent person...” He looks at you pointedly, “But what really sealed the deal was the look on your face from the stage. It was one of the best reactions to me that I think I've ever seen. You came here tonight, not thinking you’d really have a good time, and then you just let yourself get lost in it. It was... intriguing. More than that, really. It was kind of magical.” You cast your eyes downward, a blush creeping onto your face as you smile sweetly.  

“Oh,” You breathe, feeling prettier than you have in a long time. Eddie offers you a hand, and you take it as he helps you to your feet, not letting go as he opens the door for you. You start walking toward the doorway, but he stops you, pulling you back to him and walking you backward until your back hits the cool metal door. His free hand finds your face, pushing the hair away before leaning down to kiss you, deep and slow.  

“How about Friday night? I’ll pick you up at 7,” He suggests as he pulls away, forehead resting on yours. You nod, heart thumping in your throat. 

“Yeah... It’s a date.” You open your eyes to see that beautiful boyish smile again, and he kisses you once more, just a gentle peck on the lips. 

“Okay, then,” And with that, he leads you back out to the living room. You blush wildly as people take notice, a couple of them whooping as you and Eddie sit back down on the couch, except now, he doesn’t let you sit at the other end, like before. He pulls you close, having your head rest against his shoulder as he slings his arm across the back of the couch.  

The rest of the night is spent talking and laughing with the band, Eddie deflecting every playful jab that comes your way about the activities in the back room. And when it comes time to leave, he kisses you again sweetly before you part ways. “I’ll see you Friday,” He promises. 

“Friday, yeah,” Your best friend starts tugging at your arm, but you don’t look away from him until you have to, giving a small wave as you start your way out of the venue. 

“Soooo,” Your best friend asks, wiggling her eyebrows at you as you make your way to the parking lot. “You reaaaally liked it then?” You laugh, hitting her on the arm playfully. But still, you nod, remembering the feelings, the sounds, the sensations.  

“Yeah, I really, really did.” You beam at her widely as she gives a whoop in excitement. You get into her car to go home, closing the door as you find your seat. As you buckle in your seatbelt, you hear your phone ding, and so you look to see a new number texting you, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you open the message.  

“Can’t stop thinking about you. Mind if we move our date up to tomorrow?” Your breath hitches in your throat as you type out your reply. 

“I thought you’d never ask,” 

[justagirl-with-aphone]

~The coffee shop in my heart~

fem!coffee shop employee x Prohero!Bakugo

Just 3 more hours, you thought to yourself. 3 more hours and I get to go home and snuggle with my cat. You sigh, wiping up the remains of a broken glass a kid dropped on the floor. You’ve been working since 6am, its now 3pm, and understandably, you weren’t a bundle of sunshine right about now. A hectic day filled with entitled customers, and screeching little demons kids running wild, and your shitty boss on top of everything else. The only think keeping you going is the vacation you were almost saved up for, just a few more days of dealing with this bullshit and beach here I come!!

Returning to your spot at the cash register, you continue taking peoples orders. “YOU BITCH, THIS ISN’T WHAT I WANTED, GIVE ME A REFUND AND MAKE ME SOMETHING ELSE.” an angry man screamed at you, entitled people are just the best... 

“Sir, as I said several times, as much as I would hate love to fix your issue, I’m just the cashier here, I’m not the one who made your drink. However, cannot give you a refund if that is exactly what you ordered, you asked for a white chocolate mocha, and that’s what you got. We do not give refunds if you don’t like the drink. We give refunds if there’s a mistake, allergy concern, or if the drink was made wrong. Now please either step to the side or vacate the premises, you’re holding up the line.” It took everything in you to remain polite to the man screaming in your face, if he didn’t like white chocolate mochas, why would he order one? You questioned, annoyed as hell. 

Said man, ignoring everything you just said, continues to demand a refund, screaming at you for the next few minutes. Everyone else in line left from the scene, but the familiar chime of the bell above the door rings, indicating a new customer. Too busy to greet said customer, you ask the man to leave again, getting fed up with his shit. 

“Oi” a gruff voice booms, catching yours and the mans attention. 

“What do you want-” the man spins around to confront the man interrupting his tantrum only to freeze in place. 

“Leave. Now. I got places to fuckin’ be.” The ash blonde man voices, menacingly. 

The male Karen stomps out, admitting defeat. Wanting to thank your savior, you take a look at him, only to be met with piercing vermilion eyes. The man was tall, and was on the bulkier side with ash blonde hair. he came dressed in a black sweatshirt and some tech-wear pants. He was hot. “You gonna fucking take my order, or are you gonna keen drooling?” Then man asks sarcastically, apparently you zoned out. You roll your eyes at the remark and scoff, patience running thin from your encounters earlier. 

“What do you want?” you ask, no longer using your cheery customer service voice, you were drained. 

“Coffee. Black.” the man states, pulling out his sleek black card. 

“I need a name please,” you write the order and give it to the barista.

“Bakugo.” Bakugo states gruffly. nice name, you note. While your coworker is in the back making the drink, you’re left to make small talk. 

“I wanted to thank you for earlier, he wasn’t the most pleasant.” your customer service voice back on in full swing. 

“Cut that shit out. Its annoying as hell.” You look at the man confused, a little irritated. “The act dipshit.” So much for thanking him...

“And here I thought you were a nice guy helping me out by getting rid of the man. But I guess first impressions aren’t everything now are they?” you question, looking at the man. “Since you don’t want the “act,” this is what I think. I rather be anywhere but here dealing with your obnoxiousness rude self centered ass.” Grabbing the cup from your coworker, you hand it to him with a cheery fake smile and voice “Have a great rest of your day.” walking to the kitchen and exiting out the back door. Finally your shift was over. 

You were surprised the man they called Bakugo never reported what you said to your manager. What surprised you EVEN more was when he came back the next day... and the next... and the next...It became a daily thing, this went on for about 2 months. Everyday, he would walk in, order a black coffee, and annoy the shit out of you an hour. But the most surprising thing out of all of this is you started to like him being there. 

“Oi, dumbass” Bakugo greeted, in his own, interesting way.

“What’s this? No more “extra”? I’ve upgraded” You feign shock. Bakugo rolls his eyes and asks for his usual.

You feel a pair of eyes on you. While your taking Bakugo’s order, come to think of it, you’ve felt eyes on you all day. Confused by the attention, you turn to meet eyes with the man. The same guy who cussed you out before. Looking at the man, you weren’t mentally prepared for what this motherfucker was about to do. He picked up a glass of water, looked you dead in the eye and dumped it on the table. 

You were going to kill him.

You ball your hands into a fist, resisting the urge to punch his lights out. “I don’t get paid enough for this shit. ” As you’r about to walk over there with the rag you retrieved, a certain blonde snagged the rag from your hands, stomping over to where the guy sat. “Clean it the fuck up.” Bakugo growls, throwing the rag at him. ‘You thought he would’ve learned his lesson the first time, but apparently not.’ You thought to yourself while watching the man clean up the mess he made...

[srbachchan]

DAY 5731

Jalsa, Mumbai Oct 26/27, 2023 Thu/Fri 12:11 AM

Birthday - EF Rajeev Ranjan Friday, 27 October .. our wishes for a wonderful day .. love from the Ef family .. 🌺

Another day of work passses .. and in an unobtrusive moment the director pauses by me and wishes to ask a few questions ..

I presume it is regarding the scene, but it is not .. it is wanting to know what technology I possess to amble through and work around in this status and imagery of mine as a Legend ..

I 🤣🤣🤣🤣 … hahaha .. cannot imagine anyone actually keen to ask this rather purile question .. I laugh it off .. he insists .. I do not know what to say .. I tell him the status that gets attributed to people like us is the language , assess of the audience .. ask them .. I have never believed the vocabulary or these incredibly silly epithets that come racing at one , so best to change the topic and talk some film craft etc., .. he carries on .. and I look about the Production to find an escape route, but none comes .. so I linger on with my diatribe, hoping that this rather odd topic would shift to something more appropriate ..

Finally it does ..

and the relief of its absence for the rest of the day dawns upon us .. and it ceates wonder because he is a writer too .. and was an enquiry from him on how he has not used a pen and paper to write but has taken resort on the digital accoutrements .. missing the factor of reading from book rather than a screen ..

Guess he is right after all .. that smell of a new book as the pages open is of immense memory and reminisce ..

Decisions to take care of insecurity and giving the need a need are perhaps the most rewarding .. it absolves all feel of possesses ..

Possess and do what .. thou shall be gone soon from the worldly world .. leaving behind nothing , but the essence of life .. so why be in the stage of insecure ..

Give it all away and LIVE !!

Amitabh Bachchan अमिताभ बच्चन

[quackquackcey]

Weekly WIP Snippet

I'm going to try to start doing these if only to help motivate myself LMAO

For @ficwip’s word ✨SHOUT✨ this week, I present a snippet from my sterek season 2 canon rewrite sequel that I really need to work on LOL

Ft. sterek in club scene w/ himbo scott & danny:

"Dude, everyone here's a dude," was Scott's first astute observation. "I think we're in a gay club."

"Nothing gets past those keen werewolf senses, huh?" said Stiles.

Scott just flashed him a smug smile after getting hit on, practically preening, and Stiles rolled his eyes.

"Man, Isaac was right," he muttered. "You really are a himbo."

"You're just jealous," said Scott before they split up—Stiles searched for Danny while Scott looked for the kanima.

He debated on whether it was a mistake to wade through this sea of hot, sweaty, dancing people, especially when someone started grinding against him from behind. A shuffle and muffled shout were all Stiles could hear amidst the loud bass before a different set of hips pressed up behind him, large hands settling naturally around Stiles' waist.

Stiles didn't know what it said about him that he immediately knew it was Derek.

Lips brushed against his ear. "Isn't that him over at the counter?" asked Derek in his ear.

Stiles whipped his head around so fast that he accidentally whacked Derek in the chin with the back of his head—Derek glared at him before practically bulldozing him out of the crowd towards Danny, who seemed to be watching another man practically making out with someone else with a dejected expression.

"Hey, Danny!" Stiles swung an arm on his shoulder. "Fancy seeing you here!"

Danny glanced at him, then Derek, then him again. "I'm finding out a lot about you today," he said. 

"Well, you're about to find out more," shouted Stiles over the music. "I need to talk to you somewhere quieter."

Danny paused. "Uh, sorry, but I'm not into threesomes."

Stiles' mind blanked as his mouth flapped open and closed.

Derek, on the other hand, placed a hand on Stiles' shoulder and flashed a grin at Danny that was more a baring of his teeth. "Did we ask?"

"...I guess not, not with the way you beat that guy up," muttered Danny.

Stiles snapped back to reality. "Wait, you beat a guy up? What?"

"Yeah, just now," said Danny. "Y'know, the guy you were dancing with."

Derek crossed his arms. "He was in my way, so I moved him out of the way."

"Yeah right, moved him so hard that his nose started bleeding," said Danny with a snort.

Stiles gaped at Derek—he’d never admit that his stomach fluttered everytime Derek’s possessiveness flared. “Wha—”

[cosmiccowboystuddies]

the sunshine court notes

first things first riko needed to be brutally beaten to death, a shot was too quick

renee talked like a fortune cookie and it was pissing me off

i wish we got more of Wymack and Jean, it was very nice of him to get on the plane with Jean

jean immediately getting annoyed with basic life is really funny

jean is also really sassy and hilarious

also something weird happened in jeremeys house

my personally theory is that he had a sibling who died and his family thinks its his fault

like maybe an accident or maybe the sibling overheard something that they weren't supposed to and his sibling had to die as a result

whatever happened the butler knows about it and is trying to protect him

and whatever happened had to be bad because the act of dying his hair had his family ban him from the dinner table

neil believing his relationship with andrew as a strength his really good for his character, considering his mom was so keen on him not forming any connections

the fact that jean actually considered reaching out to his sister, only for him to learn that she was dead breaks me every time

and neil using her to force him into a belief that he doesn't deserve to belong to anyone but himself was a necessary cruelty.

i also like that Jeremey was the one who telling him about Rikos death was good

jean has no agency in the entire 1st act of the book, he is taken from the nest and basically held captive, then he is forced to go to the sunshine court, which he doesn't like but has to

the foxes all hide info from jean for his own good

and jeremey being the one to tell him is nice because jeremey is his first taste of freedom

jean talking about his abuse in such a casual manner is horrifying bc he thinks its so normal and its horrifying

" i didn't ask" broke me in so many ways because Jean doesn't particularly trust jeremey at the time, nor did it slip out while he was angry, he just said it so casually like it was normal

At first i felt bad for Lucas, but not so much anymore.

he was a sympathetic character who was trying to straddle a thin line of having faith in his captain and who he belives is a violent stranger and his brother who is not the same boy he know

but bringing Greyson to jean was soo fucking stupid it pisses me off

and the fact that jean wasn't even really fighting back, just trying to protect himself is upsetting

also the imagery of him punching the keypad over and over again just trying to get out is gutting

jean isn't a dog who bites, he's a dog who puts his foot to the fire because he believes that he is supposed to do

the water scene was sad as well because he was trying so hard to behave but physically could not

also Jeremey and really most people on the team meet his violence with unflinching kindness is really sweet

i also appreciate how jeremey doesn't force jean to talk about his trauma or even takes the notes from him, jean has had little to no control in his life since he was 15 and forcing him to talk about it when he wasn't ready would have made it worse

and jean asking jeremey to pretend was sweet and what was even sweeter when he did

jean learning to cook is nice as well because he needs life skills

theory for book 2: jeremey buys jean his freedom and jean becomes an exy coach ( more of a pipe dream i guess)

i also think Greyson will kill lucas

jeremeys saving grace being the thought of his sister deserving better is horrifying

i wish we got more of his relationship with Zane

neil is a real one because Jean compared Greyson to drake once, and Neil took care of it for him

jean being afraid of sleeping alone is so sad because he's basically been trained to sleep next to someone

and the fact that he has nighmares, but they are hardly mentioned, and jeremey is the one to bring it up is so sad

also kevin should have tried harder to reach out to jean

jean pushed away the foxes because he knew they would eventually leave him too

jean being steadfast in the idea that if he plays a good game he will have momentary peace is heartbreaking

jean holding onto his talent despite people thinking he slept his way to the top is also upsetting

i hope we get a zane and jean reunion bc i think they truly cared for each other

maybe kevin sends jean a postcard and a magnet and they can reconnect

also him realizing his very limited possesions have been destroyed made me almost cry

and the magnet scene with jeremey is very sad, but him realizing the magnets are broken make him realize that he is

kevin and jean still both being afraid of riko is telling bc riko is dead

let me know what yall thought... always willing to talk about all for the game.