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rafeyswrd · 11 months ago

Note

for your rafe cameron series 🧡!

i hc that rafe hates that his shy gf is a people pleaser so whenever ppl ask reader for/to do things, he tells them no and teaches reader to be selfish sometimes

sweet girl . part one.

part two.

. . . finally done with uni and travel work so!!! i have not written in too long, so hopefully i have done it some justice!! part 1 because i truly think it deserves more :(

warnings. manipulative rafe? oblivious reader. bad friends lowkey.

Rafe Cameron adored you to the ends of the earth, every breath you took called his name. He cannot think of any quality you owned in which he disliked (maybe, slightly, being a pogue). But God he could not stand how nice you were. You knew it was a bad habit, a habit that made you likeable for all the wrong reasons.

Your heart was racing, and the base of your palms overloaded with sweat. No matter how many times you tried to relieve the stress, your mind would not stop reeling. It took days of convincing on your friends’ end, but it finally came to their luck when you’d hesitantly agreed.

Terrified. Terrified is the word you would use to describe how you felt. You were in shambles just thinking of the ocean, the deep seas scaring you in ways you would rather not imagine. But your friends needed you, after constructing a plan to get another batch of gold – all they needed was you.

“Are you ready?” JJ asked. Your shaking hands were gripping the edge of the boat before you nodded.

You tried, you really did, only you felt the panic settle in when your legs were the only identifiable object below you that did not jitter you. Your eyes stung painfully, and you were sure they would swell soon enough. After every exhale you did, water filled your lungs and the fish that trickled by your trembling feet, did not help but cause a worrisome tremble of your body.

It was a long while with overwhelming darkness consuming you, and time didn’t register then, not until Rafe’s angry voice was loading through your ears.

He was beyond furious. He wasn’t supposed to leave you alone today, but how could he say no to you when you were practically begging? (it did not take much — in fact.)

Rafe stood near his bed, watching your breathing steady and lashes gently flutter open. He paced near you with haste speed, before sitting down near your arms. “Do you know how stupid you are?”

“wh-what?”

“You wanted to keep this relationship a secret,” his breath shook with every word he spat out, yet the touch on his hands were laced with gentleness. “So you better stay outta trouble. I can’t come ‘n get you around your shitty fucking friends.”

You sat up slowly, taking notice of the way your clothes lay folded on his desk chair, his own clothes hanging loosely around your body. You knew Rafe cared about you, he is your boyfriend, but it never crossed your mind that he’d find anger in your misery.

You gulped, shrugging your shoulders yet your hands still circled by his, “I-I don’t get it, they’re my friends and they asked, it was a risk anyone would tak-”

“No the fuck it’s not, my God Y/N,” he dragged his hands over his face, before leaning close to you. “No friends would ask you to jump into the fuckin’ ocean knowin’ you’re scared shitless.”

His jaw clenched and you squint your eyes at the furrow of his brows, “Rafe…I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.” The frown residing on your face was evident, reaching out with one hand to clasp his rough hands with your own, and another tenderly caressing the creasing of his skin.

You didn’t understand his anger, but it was justified in your head, nonetheless. How could he ever be wrong in your eyes?

Not a second had passed and he was already mimicking the sadness plastered onto you, before using his other hand to caress your cheeks — a touch so soft sighs escaped the pair’s lips.

“Baby,” he cleared his throat, “Im- m’not mad at you. No one loves you like I do. I wouldn’t risk your life; your friends are selfish.”

He cradled your head onto his chest, wiping and pressing on your pouting mouth. “‘s not the first time either, you care too much ‘ts going to hurt you.” you shrug into his chest, heart aching at the sound of his own beating erratically breath your ears.

Rafe sighed, gulping and leaning onto the headboard, “gonna have to have me stuck by you all the time, i’ll be your backbone while you get to be all sweet ‘n shit.”

“you think i’m sweet?” a saccharine giggle escapes you at the roll of his eyes, and Rafe tightens his hold on you, knuckles white as you draw mindless patterns on his chest.

#fanfic #rafe x reader #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe imagine #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron angst #rafe outer banks #rafe x you #rafe x y/n #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x female reader #outer banks x reader #obx x reader #rafe obx #rafe cameron x pogue!reader

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shadowkoo · 18 days ago

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Troublemaker

→ Summary: Jooyeon needs help finishing his song and the only way to do that is by unraveling you. You're the missing piece; the only voice he wants to layer into his track, the only one he craves to hear making those breathy little moans that already have him on edge. But as the recording session goes on, it’s no longer enough to just listen to you like that, he needs to be the reason you sound that way.

↠ jooyeon x f.reader | 3.1k words | 18+ ↠ genre: idol!au, smut

→ Warnings: y’all getting freaky in the studio (as deserved), mutual pining, begging, fingering, unprotected sex, orgasm control, multiple orgasms, dry humping/grinding, breast play, PRAISE PRAISE PRAISEEEEE (did i mention praise? no? well there’s a good amount of praise lol), dirty talk, mild exhibitionism, pet names (you’re his fave troublemaker ofc duh)

→ Networks: @ksmutsociety @k-vanity @keopihaus @lapydiaries @cosyhomenet

→ Author Note: this is a belated birthday gift to myself bc sometimes the fics you want to read you have to write lol. also a big shoutout to aeris @aeristudios for creating a gif for me from a very specific vid that i needed to make this banner <3 i had a vision and it came to lifeeee | divider credit

⋆˙⟡ m.list ⟡⋆⟡ ao3 ⟡⋆⟡ wips ⟡⋆⟡ updates ⟡⋆⟡ shadow realm ⟡˙⋆

“Thanks for agreeing to this,” Jooyeon says with a nervous grin tugging at his lips. “I really appreciate it. I know I asked for the favor super last minute.”

He and his band, Xdinary Heroes, have been grinding nonstop on their upcoming full-length album. It’s a personal project packed with some killer new singles, plus deeply personal solo tracks written, performed, and produced by each member. All in all, it’s shaping up to be their most anticipated album yet.

Jooyeon’s been pouring himself into his solo track for days now, getting lost in the lyrics and layering harmonies late into the night. It’s different from anything he’s done before. It’s slower, sultrier, a little more exposed, maybe even a little dangerous.

It’s so close to being complete, but something is missing. And it’s been driving him crazy trying to figure it out. That is, until last night, when it struck him like a lightning bolt; what Jooyeon wants to add is the right fit, it’s just not the right voice.

He doesn’t need just any voice, though. He needs yours.

The one that has haunted his thoughts more than he’d ever admit. The one belonging to the woman who always brushes off his flirting with a smirk and an eye roll. Like he’s just playing a teasing game. Like he couldn’t be serious about you.

But he is.

“It’s no problem,” you reply with a gentle smile as he holds the studio door open for you. “I’m always happy to help.”

Jooyeon watches you settle onto the couch, then crosses the room to grab the lyric sheet from the soundboard. He sits beside you, just close enough for his knee to graze yours.

Together, you start to go over the song. You read through the verses, pausing to smooth awkward phrasing or tweak the flow, marking spots for vocal layering, planning out subtle additions.

He talks through the nuances of harmonies and breathwork, and you decide exactly where your voice should slide in without overpowering his. It’s more like a dance, your parts should wrap around his, complementing him. Keeping it intimate, intricate.

Once you're both satisfied with the new arrangement, Jooyeon runs through it, testing how it feels when he sings.

"I like it," he says, glancing up at you with a nervous smile. "What do you think?"

You lean back, giving him a slow once-over before smirking. "I think you'd better warm up that pretty voice of yours, I’m gonna need to hear it for real before I let you know my honest thoughts."

He chuckles before ducking into the recording booth and slipping on the headphones. You move to the soundboard, adjusting levels and offering feedback, telling him which takes hit hardest, when to push his tone, when to let it fall softer.

You do your best to stay composed, acting like his voice isn’t crawling all over your skin, like the shift between his sharp high notes and his deeper rasp isn’t doing something to your insides. But every time he looks at you through the glass with his lips parted, brows drawn in focus, it gets harder to pretend you're unaffected.

Jooyeon’s always been a triple threat; insanely talented, unfairly gorgeous, and effortlessly magnetic in the most maddening way. You had the biggest crush on him back in your trainee days, though you’d never dared to act on it. The kind of crush that made it hard to breathe whenever he was around. The kind that never really faded, just got buried under layers of sarcasm, eye rolls, and distance.

But now, hearing him sing this kind of song, watching the way he pours himself into every note, you’re not so sure you can keep pretending those old feelings are still locked away.

"I've always hated how fast you’re able to wrap up your parts," you tease through the studio mic, doing your best to sound casual.

Jooyeon laughs, tugging off his headphones and letting them dangle from the edge of the music stand before stepping back into the room.

"You're so annoyingly perfect," you add with a dramatic roll of your eyes, trying to deflect the growing heat low in your stomach.

"What's wrong with that?" he grins, cocking his head and raising his eyebrows in that boyish, heart-melting way he always does, like he knows exactly the kind of effect he has on you.

"Just—whatever," you grumble, losing your train of thought completely as you push out of your chair, grabbing your water bottle on the way to the booth.

The studio is always too warm, so you shrug out of your sweater and toss it over the back of a chair, left in just your tank top and flared leggings. You slip on the headphones, adjusting them over your ears as the track cues up. Jooyeon’s voice echoes in the background as you add the breathy textures and moan-like embellishments the song calls for.

When the section wraps, you glance through the glass, locking eyes with him.

"How was that?" you ask, a little breathless yourself.

Jooyeon doesn’t answer right away. He’s staring at you, or through you, and his face is completely unreadable. It’s as if he’s caught somewhere between thought and instinct, and you suddenly feel far too exposed under his hard gaze.

"Jooyeon?" you inquire, heart beating faster.

The sound of his name seems to snap him out of it. He clears his throat roughly, fumbling to press the talk button. "Uh, yeah. Let’s, um—let’s run that again, if you don’t mind."

You blink, surprised. "Not at all," you say, adjusting your mic slightly. "Anything you want me to tweak for this next take?"

He hesitates, and when he does, his voice is lower as if almost strained. "Just...make it a little more believable, more…sexual.”

A slow blush creeps up your cheeks as you nod. You close your eyes, letting the music flow through you, trying to feel it, be it. But it still feels off. Too fake, too forced.

You crack one eye open and give Jooyeon a small, frustrated shake of your head. He pauses the track immediately.

"It still doesn’t feel genuine, does it?" you sigh, raking a hand through your hair.

Jooyeon leans forward, "Are you open to an idea?"

Without waiting for an answer, he sets the track on a loop, steps away from the soundboard, and steps into the booth with you. The space begins to feel even smaller with him in it.

He grabs the chair off to the side of where you’re standing, dragging it back against the wall. Then he lowers the mic stand to match the new setup. Sitting down, he pats his thighs with a steady hand.

"Come sit."

You blink, your heartbeat picking up once again. "What?" you ask, half-breathless. "Why?"

"Just trust me. Come sit," he says, voice low but insistent, his eyes locked on yours.

Against better judgment, you do as he says. Carefully, you settle onto his lap, feeling the solid heat of him beneath you. His hands are patient but firm as he adjusts your headphones, slipping one ear off so you can hear him while the track hums softly into the other.

Jooyeon’s voice brushes your exposed ear, low and coaxing. "Now just relax. Feel the music. Feel me." His hands trail slowly down your arms as you start to sing the first section of harmonies.

Heat floods to your core almost instantly, and you can’t help the way your thighs instinctively press tightly together. He notices and lets out a pleased chuckle before his lips brush against the sensitive skin of your neck.

A soft, involuntary moan slips from your mouth, your head tipping back against his shoulder.

"That’s it," Jooyeon murmurs, his voice low against your ear, careful not to let the mic catch it. "That’s what I want to hear."

His hands gliding over your upper thighs before sliding up, fingers hooking lightly at the waistband of your leggings. He lingers there, teasing, testing your boundaries.

"God, you’re trouble," he breathes, his voice thick with want. "Do you trust me?"

You nod without hesitation, your whole body buzzing with anticipation.

"Then open your legs for me," he says.

The second you obey, he slips his hand beneath your lower layers of fabric, fingers skating lower and lower until he finds the soft heat of you, brushing against your clit with a featherlight touch that makes your breath hitch.

You bite your lip hard, struggling to stay composed as the track plays on, your own voice layered under Jooyeon's. You sound breathy, aching, just the way he envisioned.

His touch is light at first, just enough to drive you mad, tracing slow circles over your sensitive bundle of nerves. Your hips twitch without meaning to, seeking more pressure, more friction, but he holds you still with a firm arm wrapped around your waist.

"Easy," he murmurs, dragging his mouth along your jawline. "We’re not in a rush.”

You whimper softly, the sound melting right into the music, blending so naturally that if anyone else heard the track later, they might think it was just another embellishment, another perfectly captured emotion.

Jooyeon's free hand slides up, slipping under your tank top to palm your breast through your bra, thumb brushing over the hardening peak. Every touch, every movement of his is purposely slow, calculated to wring every ounce of sensation from you.

"You’re doing so good," he whispers.

Your hands find his thighs, gripping tight as his fingers slip lower, teasing at your entrance before gliding back up to circle your clit again, just a little firmer this time. Pleasure coils hot and sharp inside you, tightening with every lazy pass of his fingers.

"Joo, please," you gasp, not even sure what you're begging for. More of something, anything. Everything.

Jooyeon groans low in your ear, the sound vibrating through you as his fingers slip lower once again, this time dipping two into your slick heat.

“O-Oh god,” you mewl loudly, not caring what gets picked up by the mic anymore. He stiffens below you, his hard length pressing against your backside.

"My favorite little troublemaker makes the prettiest sounds for me," he murmurs against your skin, voice dark and possessive.

His fingers curl deeper inside you, finding that devastatingly perfect spot that has you gasping sharply, your whole body jolting against him. “You feel so good, trouble, you’re so wet for me.”

Jooyeon speeds up just enough to tip you closer to the edge, and when your head lolls back against his shoulder again, he captures your mouth in a slow, devastating kiss.

It’s messy, and when you finally break the kiss to gasp for air, your body shudders against his as the first waves of release start to crash over you.

"That's it," he rasps, working you through it, keeping his movements steady. "Sing for me."

And you do. A high, broken moan spills from your lips, right on cue, weaving seamlessly into the track playing in your ear as pleasure tears through you, leaving you shuddering helplessly in his lap.

For a moment, all you can hear is the thundering rush of your heartbeat and the faint echo of the music. But then reality crashes back in.

Jooyeon’s hand is still tucked inside your pants, his breath still hot against your ear, his voice still murmuring sweet, dizzying things meant only for you.

Panic surges inside your body, choking you. You tense, jolting upright, desperate to put space between you. Scrambling off his lap, you make a move toward the door, the walls of the studio feeling like they’re closing in.

"Y/N, wait—" Jooyeon’s voice is sharp with concern. He reaches out, catching your hand before you can leave, his fingers wrapping around yours, grounding you. "Please. Don’t go."

There’s a hint of fear in his voice now, a crack in his usual easy confidence. It stops you cold; you’re torn between the overwhelming urge to flee and the equally powerful pull to turn back to him.

"I'm sorry," Jooyeon says, voice low and rushed. "I'm sorry if I took that too far. I acted impulsively and overstepped. I should've thought about your boundaries instead of getting caught up in my own feelings."

He drags a hand through his hair, frustration bleeding through every word. "I put myself first, and I’m sorry. I know you probably still see me as just a friend. I... I’ve liked you for years, and I got wrapped up in the moment. If you want, I'll scrap the whole recording. We can pretend it never happened."

"Wait, what?" you blink up at him, stunned.

"I’ll throw the whole song away," he says quickly, almost tripping over his words. "Start over. I don’t care."

"No. No, I don’t want that," you cut him off, heart pounding. "But...what did you say before?"

He hesitates, eyes darting nervously across your face.

"I, uh..." He chuckles awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. "I said I’ve liked you. Probably since the day I met you. That’s why I was so excited when you agreed to help me with this. I just…" He stops himself, tilting his head slightly, trying to read you, trying to see if he’s ruined everything, if you’re about to walk out for good.

But before he can figure it out, you close the distance between you and crash your mouth against his, silencing every doubt burning in his mind.

Your hands tangle into his long hair, fingers threading through the blonde strands, tugging just enough to draw a low, needy growl from his chest. His arms wrap around you tightly, hauling you against him before spinning you and pressing you back against the padded wall.

You gasp into his mouth, and he devours it as he lifts you effortlessly. Your legs wrap around his waist, anchoring yourself to him as you grind down instinctively, a moan slipping free when you feel the heat of him, hard and ready, pressed against you through his jeans.

Jooyeon breaks the kiss just long enough to breathe, his forehead resting against yours.

"Are you sure you want this?" he asks, his voice rough, his eyes searching yours like his entire world depends on your answer.

You smile, tracing your fingers down the line of his jaw. "There’s nothing I want more than you," you whisper, tugging him back in for another kiss.

He sets you down gently, his hands lingering on your body as he peels off your tank top. Your pants follow next, pooling at your ankles, leaving you bare and burning under his gaze.

His clothes are stripped away just as quickly, until there's nothing left between you but body heat.

Without another word, you're back in his arms, pinned between his body and the wall. He slides a hand down, lining himself up, his tip slowly circling your entrance. His teasing has you whimpering against his lips.

"Mmmm, still so wet for me, trouble," he growls against your skin, the deep rumble of his voice making your thighs tremble around his waist. "I think I could fully sink into you in one move. What do you think?"

His mouth trails hot kisses along your jaw, down the sensitive column of your throat. "Can you take all of me at once?" he murmurs, his voice dark and possessive, like he already knows the answer.

You tilt your head back, offering him more of your neck, your chest heaving as you clutch at his bare back, desperate for him. "Yes," you gasp breathlessly, wrecked already from just the anticipation. "I want you inside me, Jooyeon. Please."

That single word shatters the last thread of his restraint.

With one smooth, devastating thrust, he buries himself fully inside you. He fills you so perfectly that you cry out, your body arching against him. The stretch is intense, making your walls flutter helplessly around him.

"J-Jooyeon," you moan, your voice breaking, raw with pleasure.

He holds you there for a moment, just letting you feel every thick inch of him, nestled so deep it feels like he’s part of you. His forehead presses against yours, his breathing just as ragged while he composes himself.

"Fuck," he groans, grinding his hips in a slow, punishing circle once he’s got a hold of himself. "You feel like heaven...squeezing me so tight already. So perfect for me." His hands grip your thighs tightly enough to leave marks.

You whimper, rolling your hips to meet his, and he curses again. His control slips even further as he pulls out almost entirely, only to slam back into you, setting a rhythm that’s brutal and achingly perfect.

Each thrust rocks you harder against the wall, pleasure clawing up your spine until your nails are digging into his back, desperate for more. So much more.

"You’re my little troublemaker," he growls against your ear, voice rough, possessive, as he drives into you over and over, each snap of his hips pushing you closer to the edge. "Say it."

"I’m yours," you choke out, stars bursting behind your eyelids.

"Again," he demands, thrusting deeper, making you sob out the words.

"I’m yours, Jooyeon. Only yours."

He captures your mouth again, swallowing your cries hungry kiss, claiming every sound you make as he pounds into you mercilessly, bringing you closer and closer to falling apart.

Your walls clench helplessly around him as you shatter. You sob his name into his mouth, your body spasming in his arms as he fucks you through your orgasm, never never letting up.

The rush of heat and sensation leaves you dizzy, your vision white-edged and blurred.

Feeling you fall apart around him drives him over the edge, too.

"I’m gonna–" he gasps, his voice a whisper against your lips. He buries himself deep with one final, punishing thrust, his whole body tensing as he comes inside you. His forehead drops to your shoulder, his heart pounding against your chest while he catches his breath.

For a long moment, you just cling to each other, trembling, your bodies still fused together, the air thick with the scent of sex and the sound of your heavy breaths.

Slowly, Jooyeon lifts his head, brushing your sweaty hair back from your face with a tenderness that makes your chest ache.

"You okay?" he asks gently, his voice low.

You nod, still too wrecked to form words, and he smiles breathtakingly before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"Good," he murmurs, a teasing glint in his eye. "Because I can be ready for round two in a few minutes."

You throw your head back and laugh, loving how effortlessly playful he can be in any situation. “Maybe we should focus on editing that recording first. Then maybe you can fuck me into the couch out there. After you lock the studio door, of course.”

It’s his turn to laugh, his chuckle rumbles through the room while his arms instinctively tighten around your body. You nuzzle closer into him, skin still tingling, breathing in his scent.

And you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 month ago

Text

compos mentis 10

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, chronic health issues, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: After a long court case, your mother stays attached to her lawyer, bringing even more contention into your life.

Characters: Andy Barber

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You turn the dial and watch the wheel on the screen. The high-tech washer is a bit intimidating. It’s not like your mom didn’t insist on having everything with redundant features, but this is something else. You tap start on the touch screen and the machine shows a smiley face over the word ‘fill’.

You shut the door of the laundry room as you carry out the empty shopping bags. You enter the kitchen where you hear Andy. He has his back to you as he reads something.

“Got everything sorted. Colours first,” you say, then let out a strange wheeze. You’re not out of breath but you just feel like you should be. You’re still adjusting.

“That’s good,” he says as he puts down the canister and turns to you. “I was just about to start some dinner.”

“Dinner?” You repeat. “Could I... help?”

“You wanna?” He sounds surprised.

“Sure, I... before... I never got to do anything,” you take a deep breath.

He frowns, “are you okay?”

“Yes, I just... it’s weird not having the air,” you shrug and look down at the bags. “Where can I put these?”

“We can reuse them. Just in this cupboard.”

He crosses the kitchen and opens a lower cupboard. There’s a plastic crate with folded cloth bags and the like. You near and bend to tuck the other ones beneath. He doesn’t move back but you don’t think he realises he’s crowding you.

“So...” you stand straight and face him. He is very close. You didn’t notice the little silver strands in his beard before. “What are you making?”

“We’re...” he corrects you, “making some fried chicken. Or trying to. I still haven’t perfected it but I found a recipe online.”

“Oh. Fried chicken?” You say.

“You don’t like it?” His brow furrows.

“No, no, I... I can’t remember if I like it. Mom never let have any once I got sick. She said it was bad for me.” You look down. “She lied. Just like everything.”

“Oh, honey,” he puts his hands on your arms, startling you. Even so, you don’t pull away. He’s being kind, you don’t want to offend him. “I’m so sorry. I know it must be hard but... try not to think about her. She doesn’t deserve your energy.”

You nod and sniffle. “I’m trying. It’s just... hard.”

“I know,” his thumbs rub against your sleeves. “Do you want a hug?”

You flinch and look up at him. Your brows squiggle and your blink in a flutter. You don’t know how to answer that. You remember the few times you tried to hug your mom and she shooed you off, saying she didn’t want to get tangled in your tube.

“You seem like you need it,” he coaxes.

After all he’s done for you, you feel guilty refusing him. And you’re not quite sure either way. It might not be that bad. Not if he’s offering, right?

“Okay,” you answer.

He slides his hands around your arms and encloses you in an embrace that has your head against his chest. You turn your ear to him and hear his heartbeat. He rubs your back. His firm palm sends warmth through you, along with a strange chill. Something not quite cold, just tingly.

You stay like that. Rigid at first. Then, feeling awkward, you move your arms around him.

He holds you for a bit longer then slowly releases you. His hands trail up and down your arms as he looks down at you. Your cheeks are flush with heat.

“You give great hugs,” he says.

“I... do?”

“Sure,” he smiles.

“Um. You too.” You utter.

He runs his hands down to your hands, clinging to them for just a second, then lets you go completely. He clears his throat and looks away. “So, are you hungry or what?”

“Yeah, actually,” you shuffle over to the counter as his steps are more certain.

“Alright, to start... By the way, I use the air fryer. Deep drying is so bad for you.”

“I don’t mind,” you assure him. “Mom used to by these frozen dinners I just put in the microwave...”

“She didn’t cook for you?” He asks.

“Not really,” you shrug. “I was always too light-headed to stand that long...”

“Right.” He stiffens as he opens a cupboard and takes down a large bowl.

You squirm, “I didn’t mean to talk about her. Or upset you.”

“You didn’t upset me. She does,” he insists as he uncaps the canister of breadcrumbs. “I just—thinking what she did. How she tricked all of us, but you especially. She made you think--” He stops himself. “I won’t get into it. I’m sorry.”

“I feel bad she dragged you into this,” you hang your head.

“I don’t,” he intones as he shakes crumbs into the bowl. “If she didn’t, she’d still be hurting you. I wouldn’t have been able to help you.”

“Oh...”

“Do you want to grab the flour, sweetie? It’s just in that cupboard.” He points in front of you.

You open the door and find the sack of flower. You grab it and offer it to him.

“You go ahead. About half cup for now.” He directs.

“Oh, I...”

“Just guess. Doesn’t have to be exact,” he assures.

You nod and carefully unroll the top of the bag. You tip it over the brim and tap the side to get the powder out. You think you poured too much. You turn the bag upright. You fold it down again.

You put it away as Andy spins the spice rack. You watch him pick out several jars. You rub your fingertips, dry from the flour.

“Andy?” you eke out.

“Yes, sweetie,” he says as he seasons the crumbs and flour.

“You didn’t... didn’t just help me, you know?” You turn and twiddle your fingertips together. “I think you saved me.”

His cheeks dimple and his blue eyes flick over to meet yours. “I’d like to think so, but...”

“But?”

“But it took me so long,” he shakes his head.

“But you did! Andy. You really did.”

His lips slant and he shrugs, “I don’t know.”

“Andy, if you—if you never stood up to her, I wouldn’t have,” you frown. “I’m too weak for that.”

“You’re not weak,” he insists. “You just never got a chance. She took that from you.”

“Maybe...” you drone.

“She did,” he says, his eyes clinging to you. His expression softens and he narrows his eyes.

“What? What are you looking at?” You touch your face in panic.

“You,” he smiles, letting the tension slake away. “I said it before but you really do look so beautiful.”

“Beautiful? You didn’t say... that,” you blush.

“Didn’t I?” He wonders. You shake your head. “Well, I’m sorry because you do. You are really beautiful.” He blinks and pokes his tongue into his cheek, turning back to the bowl as he pushes the contents around with a wooden spoon. “I don’t wanna stop looking at you.”

“Andy,” you gasp. “You don’t have to say that.”

“I have a bad habit of telling the truth,” he chuckles. “Sweetie, you mind getting the chicken out of the fridge?”

“Yeah, I can do that,” you say.

You go to the fridge and open the left-door. You find the package of drumsticks and shut the door. As you glance at Andy, he’s staring. Again.

“I’m not trying to gawk,” he says as he takes the chicken from you. “Really. I just... can’t help myself.”

“Andy,” you squeak again.

“Don’t be afraid to tell me to cut it out if I keep staring,” he laughs. “But I can’t guarantee I’ll listen.”

You smile. You can’t think of another time when anyone called you beautiful or said anything nice. It was always bad news or reprimands. The doctors were annoyed and just wanted you gone. Your mom was the same. But Andy. Andy has no obligation to you and yet you don’t feel that. You feel... wanted.

You chest tightens and your eyes burn. The realisation is a bitter as his compliments are sweet. You turn away.

“Do you mind if I just... check the laundry?” You ask quietly.

There’s a lull before he answers. You can feel his gaze again. “Go ahead. You know if you need anything, you can just tell me.”

“I know, Andy,” you traipse away. “I’ll be right back.”

You flee into the hall and don’t stop until you’re in the laundry room. As much as you want to cry, you won’t. You wouldn’t be able to hide the evidence. No, you can do this. Just take a breath. Deep; in then out. Isn’t it wonderful how easy it is?

🩷

Sleep nips at your eyes but you can’t quite sink beneath the surface. You’re adjusting. This house is still strange to you. Just like everything else.

You turn onto your side, then roll the other way, back and forth as your insides stir. You can’t get them to stop. Or your brain.

When you’re not thinking about your mom, you’re thinking about the doctors, and when you’re not thinking about them, you’re thinking about the people and things you never knew. All those missed opportunities. You blame her but you blame yourself too. You let her do this to you.

When at last you can shove aside the memories that make you cringe and shudder, you think of Andy. He’s so nice but you think you know why. He feels bad for you. Just like those people who used to see with your tank and offer you their seat or hold the door for you.

You think of all he’s done and how you could pay it back. How you can’t. It’s a rotten feeling to owe someone. That’s how you always felt with your mom. She never failed to remind you about everything she did for you.

You sit up, your stomach brewing. You can’t settle down. You’re trying but the more you do, the worse it gets.

You linger on the edge of the bed and try to figure out what to do. You need a distraction. You stare at the peek of the moon visible between the curtains.

The house is quiet. You don’t want to wake Andy but if you stay upstairs, you’re certain you will. You get up and listen at the door. You hope he doesn’t mind...

You go out into the hall. The house is dark. You tiptoe to the stairs and slowly put your foot down the first step.

You’re sure you’ll get through one rerun of Law and Order and be ready to pass out. It always does the trick. As you come down to the first floor, you notice the haze from the front room. The flicker of colours along with the low buzz of voices draws you forward.

Andy beat you to it. He’s watching The Andy Griffith Show. You remember the actors from when your grandma used to let the episodes play in the background. The last time you saw her, you were six. She’s gone now.

You hide behind the door frame and look back at the staircase. You could try again.

“Can’t sleep?” Andy’s voice startles you. You yelp.

You sniff, “uh, yes. Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. I can’t either,” he says. “You wanna watch something? Doesn’t have to be this?”

You turn and peer through the door. You shrug, “if you don’t mind. You don’t have to change it.”

“I don’t mind at all.”

You cross the room and go around the couch. He's in a tee and a pair of shorts. They might even be boxers. You try not to stare.

You sit on the opposite corner. He offers you the remote.

“No, please, you pick,” you wave it away.

“Really, go ahead,” he wiggles it at you.

“I... okay.”

You take the remote. You look down at the buttons and reluctantly push the Guide button. You flick through, searching for something that isn’t too niche.

“I’m just happy to have someone around,” he says as he leans back. “It’s been a long time since I that’s been the case.” He shifts a little closer. “I didn’t realise how much I missed that.”

You keep your eyes on the screen and select Law and Order. You rest the remote on the armrest and chew your lip. You’ve always been alone but you’re starting to realise how miserable that was.

#andy barber #dark andy barber #dark!andy barber #andy barber x reader #defending jacob #compos mentis #series #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #au

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itsmiyamore · 9 months ago

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— cried like a baby (coming home from the bar

"Said I'm fine but it wasn't true, I don't wanna keep secrets just to keep you" — Cruel Summer, Taylor Swift miniseries m.list | part 1

a/n: the next part of my drunk!Sakusa miniseries :) although most of the series is isolated drabbles, this is a semi-part 2 of the first one (though there may be minor discrepancies bc I didn't originally intend for it to be a direct continuation). I hope you all like it!

-> this fic is part of the @ficsforgaza initiative and is partially sponsored by @strawberrystepmom <3 sorry for the wait and thank you for your donation! Info on the next wip I'm hoping to get sponsored is here.

Sakusa Kiyoomi doesn't know what's wrong with him.

You've been near him all night, dizzyingly within reach and yet, Sakusa knows it is not his place to reach out. You're wearing that perfume—the one he gave you one Christmas years ago, at a time when everything was better and he didn't have conflicting feelings about you.

God, he hates feelings.

He wonders if you remember—he hopes you remember—because he remembers having to call Komori’s sister for advice on which scent to choose. He remembers your smile as you sprayed some on your wrist and brought it up to your face to sniff. He remembers you wearing it that night—the night he was so stupid that he let it all go.

But none of that matters anymore, because last Christmas he didn't get you anything, and he hasn't been close enough to you to know whether you still wore the perfume or not.

Until now.

He's sobered up enough to be a little more aware of you helping him up the stairs to your apartment and to be a little panicked because why did he tell you he was fine with spending the night?

You're kind, letting him stay because he's too alcoholically impaired—despite everything he's ever done to you. You just don't want to be driving in a storm, he tries to reason. It's your job to take care of him. But it's not; it hasn't been in a long time since you stopped being a manager for MSBY, something which Sakusa would know better than anyone if he had been a bit sounder of mind.

Once inside, you somehow manage to wrestle off his shoes and lead him to the kitchen. It's an unfamiliar kitchen, one with white tiles that Sakusa would have complained against. There’s a faint smell of lemons, and he thinks briefly of dancing and your laughter—a memory, or perhaps just his imagination.

“Stay here, alright?” you say quietly, accommodating to his current sensitive hearing levels. You set him down at the table, leaving to get him a towel, he supposes.

Your apartment is small—cozy, he supposes. The right amount of space for a single person. A sense of relief rushes through him at the observation and he lets out a satisfied hum.

(He chooses to ignore the fact that he has no right to be happy over your lack of a roommate.)

��Here, I think this will fit you,” the door thumps as you close it behind you, already changed out of your wet clothes. In your arms are a towel and what he assumes to be dry clothing for him. Your fingers burn wherever they come in contact with his skin as you help him take his shirt off and he shudders, hoping you’ll assume he's just cold from the rain.

Sakusa feels self-conscious—how long has it been since you've been intimate like this? Since you've been near him like this?

The shirt you provide fits perfectly, and Sakusa is too busy at first relishing in the familiar scent of your favorite laundry detergent (one you had stopped buying when he was around because the other one cleans better, he’d argued) to wonder why you have a men's size shirt in your apartment.

You're drying his hair when the question finally crosses his mind and he tenses. Your movements come to a stop, and you lean forward curiously. “What's wrong?” you ask, voice right by his ear, and Sakusa shivers.

He's drunk, and he misses you—he misses you like he never thought he would and it's all his fault for being a grand, stupid idiot.

But a grand, stupid idiot is what he is now as the alcohol rushes through his system, so when he says, “I'm fine,” and you insist again, he turns to ask you, “Who's shirt is this?”

This time, you tense up, gaze becoming unreadable. You stand up straight, resuming your previous motions, though much more stiff than before. “What does it matter to you, Sakusa?” your voice is clipped, and his heart clenches at the way you say his name. “You are nothing to me to be asking that question.”

He has nothing to say to that because you’re right and he regrets it—regrets asking, regrets agreeing to come with you, regrets getting drunk in the first place; but most of all, he regrets letting you go.

So, Sakusa cries.

The tears fall one by one, fat and warm as they slide down his face, then eventually he's fully weeping: hands clenched into fists on his lap and hunched over in an attempt to conceal the way he cannot control his emotions.

You're stunned, he can feel your startled gaze burning into him as a loud whimper claws its way out of his throat.

He sits up—burying his face in his hands as his body shakes violently with each sob. You’ve repositioned yourself in front of him and you’re hugging him, but he can barely register it over how much he hates himself right now. It's a disgusting feeling bubbling in his chest—a self-loathing that he's managed to suppress all these years you've been gone.

Because he's the only one to blame for you leaving.

So he takes advantage of the fact that you're here now—you're here with him—and he buries himself into you, trying to engrave anything his memory might have missed before you let him go and he has to lose you again.

“I miss you,” he sobs, “I miss you so much.” The circles you're tracing on his back pause for a moment, almost imperceptible, but he feels it and you sigh shakily.

“Sakusa,” you say. It's only his name, but it feels like a warning, and Sakusa might actually lose his mind if you ever finish your statement.

“No, please,” he begs, “I'm an idiot.”

A rueful giggle bursts through your lips, and as he glances up at you, he notices you're starting to cry too. His hand cups your face, thumb brushing away a stray tear, and you bite your lip. You seem to debate it in your head, but whatever voice of reason usually reigns seems to huff in defeat, because you lean into his touch with another sigh, eyes squeezing shut.

“I'm sorry,” he says, and it feels like salvation.

“You're an asshole,” you giggle tearfully again. “You broke my heart, you know that?”

“I know,” Sakusa’s reply is quick. “I know.”

His forehead rests on yours, angling his face so your noses brush against each other, your lips so near—the nearest they've been in too many years.

And he cannot wait any longer.

It's hesitant, really only the whisper of a kiss as his fear pounds through his body, but you respond, pushing back against him with more force. You throw your arms around his neck, not breaking the kiss as you position yourself on his lap. He groans at the sudden weight, pulling away and tilting his head back, and you take the opportunity to place soft kisses on his jaw and neck. Your hands cling to his shirt as you make your way back to his lips, both breathless and shuddering at the sudden overdose of each other.

“It's yours,” you whisper, leaning back, refusing to meet his eyes. “The shirt. It's yours. You left it and I…” This time you do look up at him. “I couldn't bring myself to give it back.

Sakusa thinks you've never looked more beautiful than you do now, perched on his lap with your hair still wet from the rain, a towel on your shoulders, and hands fiddling nervously as you peer up at him, lips bright and red—all because of him, and only him. So Sakusa leans in to kiss you again, because what does it matter whose shirt it is anyway, when he's the one here that you're kissing?

“How are you feeling?” you ask softly as he pulls away. “Is your head still hurting?”

He just hums as you hold his face in your hands. “I'm fine.”

You laugh—a proper, full, heavenly laugh that Sakusa swears could beat any symphony or concerto in the world in terms of sonic beauty. “Liar,” you accuse through chortles, “Look at you, sopping wet all over my chair and floor and drunk out of your mind—I don't think you're fine at all.”

He smiles, pulling you into a hug, more sure than he's ever been when he says, “This time, it's true.”

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sophie-hatter-jenkins · 1 month ago

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Hello <3

I love LOVED evolution and i always checkout your rec list !!

Do you have any recommendations for extremely angsty (rated m or t) hinny?

Just delicious angst- which obviously ends with them together- it could be emotionally unavailable harry, or FWB or anything really.

Lots of love <33

Hi, Anon!

Thanks so much for the ask, and for saying lovely things about Evolution, I am so glad you enjoyed it!

Sorry for the delay in replying, while I was putting this list together I found myself getting very distracted reminding myself why I love all these fics.

Anyway, let's get on with what you came for, shall we?

Welcome to Sophie’s Hinny Fic Recs: Angsty Edition!

You specifically asked for T or M rated fics, but there are a few here that are rated E. I’ve included them because 1) they’re great, 2) some of the M rated ones are no less explicit and 3) angsty-Hinny really can’t seem to keep it in their pants. Anyway - I’ve marked which is which, feel free to use your discretion on which links you click.

I’ve got a bunch of completed fics for you, and also some great WIPs, if you want to hop on to those with me!

But let’s start with the Completed ones:

Castles - @pebblysand - Canon-compliant Post DH - rated M

God, I find it hard to explain how much I love Castles. It’s just extraordinary - and certainly angsty! Hinny is core, but, there is SO MUCH MORE here. Mind the tags, there is some difficult (though sensitively handled) subject matter here.

The Potters and the Weasleys - @goodlifewrites - Hogwarts magical AU - rated G

Enemies to lovers done really well, which is hard for Hinny, plus extra bonus points for being Jily Lives, basically my catnip.

Knowing Where To Look - @ala-baguette - Canon-compliant Post DH - rated T

Hinny are not the focus here, but they're definitely in angsty mode and it hits just right. Plus it’s a rollocking good mystery, super-atmospheric and a really interesting POV.

If you never bleed you’re never gonna grow - mp143 - Post-Hogwarts canon-divergent - not rated, but I’d say definitely M

I recently rediscovered this fic, and while it’s not the angstiest on this list, there’s plenty of pining and soul-searching on show, plus (magical aspects aside) one of the most true-to-life pregnancy stories I’ve read.

Off-Kilter - @remedialpotions - Canon-compliant Post DH - rated M

Interesting first-person Harry POV, as Hinny struggle to sort themselves out post-battle. You’ll want to go straight on and read the sequel, August, too.

Too Close - Scared Of Clouds - Magical AU - rated T

Bodyguard fic, in which Auror Ginny is assigned to protect an extremely uncooperative and reclusive Harry.

persist and resist the temptation to ask you - @nuatthebeach - Muggle AU - rated M

Well, you didn’t think I was going to do a rec list without including it, did you?? Seriously, I am on an absolute mission to make more people read this!

such a beautiful blank but smooth it - Pocketfullof, smutty_claus - Groundhog Day/Fairy Tale-inspired magical AU - rated E

Ginny is doomed to try and win Harry’s heart, over and over, in just one day. It’s such an interesting premise, with much angst for poor old Ginny.

In Case Of Emergency - lilyevansJan30 - Magical AU - rated M

Auror Harry and Quidditch Player Ginny find themselves in an exes-with-benefits situation, which is absolutely fine, right up until it isn’t.

And now for the WIPs!

This list would absolutely not be complete without including the undisputed queen of Hinny Angst, the marvellous @takeariskao3, and two absolutely top notch angsty WIPs

Already Gone - takearisk - Amnesia fic - rated M

Ginny wakes up in St. Mungo’s following the battle at the Department of Mysteries … or so she thinks.

The Path From You - takearisk - Magical AU - rated M

Angst-drenched exes are forced together when Auror Harry is assigned to Quidditch Pro Ginny’s case.

Beasts - @whinlatter - Post-DH canon-compliant - rated M

One of my very favourite takes on Ginny, in her final year at Hogwarts after the end of the war.

you don't know what's lost 'til you find it - mp143 - Magical AU - not rated, but I’d say definitely M - features a major character death

Told in two alternating timelines - how Hinny got together in the wake of an unimaginable tragedy, and how they reconnect after years co-parenting their daughter strictly as friends.

Whelve - @seriouslysam8 - Magical AU - rated M

You want angst? I’ll show you angst! An older Hinny deals with the return of their eldest son 11 years after being kidnapped as a young child. Devastatingly awesome.

#hinny #hinny recs #hinny angst #harry potter #ginny weasley #asked and answered

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lees-chaotic-brain · 1 year ago

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your dog did what?!

summary: they react to your dog chewing up used feminine products (feat. gojo, shoko, ino, choso, and nanami)

wc: 1.7k

cw: crack, fluff, reader has a period, kind of gross, use of pet names (sweetheart, babe, love), reader is referred to as "my girl" and wears makeup in nanami's part, swearing, gojo just being overly dramatic

a/n: if you would like to see part two with megumi, nobara, yuuji, and inumaki, or would like to see another part with haikyuu characters, look here to see how you can sponsor it!!! also this entire fic is 10000% @pandora-ophelia-blog's fault (jk ily)

jjk masterlist | blog navigation | sponsor a wip!

gojo satoru

“Who’s a sweet boy? Yes, you are! You are! Oooh, what’cha got there, huh? Wanna show daddy?”

You could hear your boyfriend cooing at your dog in greeting as he stepped through the front door, and you smiled to yourself as you continued reading your book. Then:

“EEEUUUUUGGGGHHHHH WHAT THE FUUUUUUCCCKKKKKKKK????”

Your boyfriend came hurtling around the corner launching all six feet three inches of himself into your lap, as he pointed accusingly in the direction he came from.

“BABY. YOUR DOG!!! HE-OH MY GOD I CAN’T EVEN SAY IT!”

He gives a full body shudder and clings to you tighter, wrapping his infinity around his foot and using it to keep your dog away from the two of you.

“BEGONE YOU FOUL BEAST!” He made exaggerated gagging sounds. “GET AWAY FROM US!!”

“SATORU!!” You shouted over his panicked screeching. “STOP YELLING.”

“But babeeeee.” He nuzzled into your neck still fending your dog off with a single socked foot. “You don’t even understand what this HORRID creature did.”

“Get off me you stupid lunk.” You push him off your lap, ignoring his indignant squawking, completely over his dramatics. “What could he have possibly done that’s that bad?”

“HE. ATE. A DIRTY TAMPON.” He flops around on the floor like a fish out of water, unable to find a better means of properly expressing his disgust. Your nose scrunches up, and you look down on him with annoyance.

“I mean, yeah it’s gross. But it’s not like he hasn’t done it before? It’s just kind of a thing that some dogs do.”

“WHY ARE YOU SO CALM ABOUT THIS???”

Taking advantage of his momentary distraction, your dog leans down and licks your boyfriend's face, dangerously close to his mouth.

“AAAAAUUUUUGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH”

shoko ieri

“We’re returning the dog.”

You look up from your phone as your girlfriend enters your bedroom, shedding her lab coat. Setting your phone down next to your pillow, you stand and give her a kiss. “Hey. Watch it. That’s our child you’re talking about.”

She huffs, leaning against you as you give her a hug. “Then I assume you haven’t seen it yet.”

“Seen what?” Wordlessly, Shoko takes you by the hand and leads you to the bathroom, opening the door and revealing the state of your bathroom. “This. It looks like shark week in here.”

You choke back a laugh at her phrasing, taking in the disaster that your bathroom currently was. Just then, your nine month old puppy trotted in wagging, excited that his entire family was home. Scooping him up, you press a kiss to the top of his furry head and present him to your girlfriend.

“Just look at him Sho. Can you really look our son in the face and tell him you’re giving him away?” You give her puppy eyes over the top of his head. “Look at how sweet he is! Who’s a good boyo, you are, ahhh I just love you so much!”

She looks at you in exasperation as you coddle and coo at the little bundle of fur, trying and failing to hide the admiration in her eyes. Finally she relents.

“I suppose since you love him so much we can keep him-”

“Yay!!” You dance around the cramped hallway holding the dog up. “You hear that? You get to stay! You know why? Because she looooves us! That’s right! She-”

“But you have to clean this up.”

“Boo.”

ino takuma

Walking out of the grocery store, you accept an incoming facetime from your boyfriend, answering with a smile and a cheerful greeting. “Hey baby, what’s up-”

“My dearest darling girlfriend.” He cuts you off, speaking as soon as you answer and not pausing to listen to what you’re saying. “The love of my life. Could you possibly please explain to me why I came home and our apartment was covered in bloody fabric?”

“What?” Concerned, you stop loading your groceries into your trunk and squint at your phone. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Show me.”

Obediently, he flips the camera, giving you a clear view of the red shreds scattered across the ground. You tell him to bring the camera a little closer, so he does and realization hits you over the head like a sledgehammer.

“Oh…um, so I don’t know how to tell you this…” You hesitate, knowing what you were about to tell him would most likely send Ino into hysterics. “But, uh, those are dirty pads that the dog chewed up…”

The other end of the phone is silent for a solid thirty seconds before he speaks again, surprisingly calm.

“Say sike right now.”

You wince. “I can’t…”

There’s another moment of silence, and you watch as your boyfriend goes through all the stages of grief in a matter of seconds. Then he takes a deep breath and pulls himself together with a forced smile before hanging up.

“Give me a second babe, I gotta go call Nanamin and ask for some advice.”

choso kamo

You were cuddled up with your boyfriend on the couch after a long day, soaking in the warmth and simple domesticity of the moment when he spoke over the show.

“Earlier today your dog was chewing on something bloody and had made a huge mess so I cleaned it up.” You sit up, pausing your episode. “Cho baby, what?”

He shrugs. “It appeared he had gotten into the bathroom trash can, and at first I wasn’t going to bring it up because it was no big deal, but the more I think about it the more I worry.”

He furrows his brow, his bottom lip jutting out in a slight pout. “That wasn’t all…your blood, was it?” Mistaking the confusion on your face for offense, he backtracks rapidly.

“Not that that would be a problem! I was just concerned because of the quantity of blood. I know it’s not healthy for humans to lose that much blood so I got a little scared. I want to be able to help you if you’re hurt.”

“No baby, I'm not mad.” You reassure him with a soft kiss. “I’m just confused. I don’t know why there would be blood in the trash can, or why the dog would eat it. You said it was the bathroom trash can-oh.”

Suddenly you look embarrassed, fidgeting with your fingers. “Don’t worry about it Cho. It’s no big deal. I’m sorry you had to clean it up. I’ll make sure I secure the trash can better next time.”

“What is it? What’s wrong?” He senses your shift in mood and he doesn’t like it. “Are you okay? Can you at least tell me where the blood came from so I don’t have to worry?”

Haltingly, with your cheeks burning, you explain how a period works to him. Despite knowing that it’s perfectly natural, you couldn’t help but feel a little shy for no reason at all.

“So yeah.” You finish. “That’s what it is. Gross isn’t it…”

Peeking up to gauge his reaction, you notice that he’s staring at you, aghast.

“That happens…every month?” He looks mildly horrified. “And it hurts you?”

“Well I mean yes, but everyone has to deal with it so it’s really no big deal-”

“And it’s happening to you right now? Why didn’t you tell me?” He looks so heartbroken, your chest hurts. “I just didn’t want to be a bother…”

“You’re not a bother! I want to take care of you! What did you say helped again?”

He leaps up from the couch, muttering as he paced back and forth before planting a quick kiss on the top of your head and running out of your apartment.

“I’ll be right back! I need to go buy some things!”

nanami kento

You’re in your bedroom putting the finishing touches on your makeup when you hear your apartment door open, letting you know that your boyfriend was there to pick you up for your date.

“Give me one second!” You call out, carefully curling your eyelashes. “I’m almost ready, just doing up my makeup!”

“Erm, darling?” You hear your boyfriend call out from the other room. He sounds a little off. “I hate to disturb you, but can you come here for a second?”

Carefully applying an even coat of mascara to your curled lashes, you get up from your vanity, despite not having finished your highlighter or lip gloss. Knowing your boyfriend he wouldn’t be bothering you unless it was important. Your bare feet pad softly against your wooden floors as you leave your bedroom and enter the main area.

“Yeah, babe? What’s going…” You trail off, noticing what your dog had been up to while you were getting ready for date night. “Oh…”

Oh indeed. From where you stood in the doorway, you had a perfect view of the carnage scattered across your floor. Your dog had gotten into your bathroom trash can, and there were shredded pads galore all over your apartment. Used shredded pads.

You feel your face heat with embarrassment as you survey the crime scene. “I-I’m so sorry. She does this from time to time but normally I remember to put the trash can out of her reach. This is so embarrassing. You can just wait outside while I finish cleaning this up-”

In your humiliated frenzy you begin banging through your cabinets, pulling down your latex gloves and a trash bag preparing to clean it. “Just go wait in the car, this will only take me a few minutes-” You’re interrupted by your boyfriend taking the latex gloves and trash bag away from you.

“Hey, love. It’s okay.” Nanami leads you back towards your room, putting on a pair of gloves. “I’ll clean this up. You just relax and take your time getting ready.”

“But Ken-” You protest, looking back over your shoulder as he guides you with a warm palm pressed against the small of your back. “It’s gross and-”

“I don’t mind.” He presses a quick kiss to your lips. “Trust me. I wouldn’t offer if I did. Don’t worry about it.”

He looks you up and down, a small smile spreading across his face. “Do whatever you need to get ready. I just want my girl looking all pretty for our date, alright?”

taglist: @arlerts-angel @ponderingmoonlight @m0k0k0 @starlightanyaaa @pandora-ophelia-blog

lmk if you want to be added to any of my taglists!!

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vomitspit2 · 18 days ago

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ur viltrumite mark snippet makes me sick to my fucking STOMACHHHHHH its so good im gonna b thinking abt it 4 so long ,,, thank u 4 the food its so good im gonna shit my pants

i think viltrumite mark def isnt like main mark, in the sense he isn't outwardly goofy or anything like that, but hes still got those core mark traits [bad at geography, believes in doing the right thing [but it depends on what he has been told the right thing is], keeping the people he loves safe, etc.] and its what draws me in the most ,,,,, like cracking him open like a cadbury egg and slurping up whats on the inside its just so appealing !!!!!! another reason why i liked that viltrumite mark snippet is how he stuttered over what he said to the sculpture like ,,, no 'i love you' no 'i miss you' just . 'you were a good person' and then destruction, the last thing left of his anchor. ARUGHHHHH im gonna beat him to death i love ALL mark graysons

ALSO THANK YOU FOR THAT POST ON SINISTER MARK BEING A CANNIBAL. i read the comics, had a fun time, thirsted over mohawk a lil, and i REMEMBER reading how he said that they all ate each other to survive !!!! all marks have a thing for biting or blood, imo, it just varies, but HE DOESNT FUCKING EAT PEOPLEEEEE i am supremely peeved when people get characters wrong . sighhhhhhh . hes still my fav tho <3

ANYWAY . soooo excited for that viltrumite mark fic u were posting snippets of im already in love w the mc !!!!!!! also i fully suspect that they might get their ass beat by nolan ,,,, or get chewed out ,,,,,,, i feel like nolan, who raised his son on viltrum, definitely is outwardly gruff, but behind closed doors he cares SOOOOO much for mark, but doesn't rlly know how to express it that well

bro you had me STUNNED receiving this in my inbox holy hell …. i’m glad that i could write something that would resonate so deeply; your entire message was a delight to read (◍•ᴗ•◍)❤!!!!!

i LOVE viewing and developing viltrumite mark as a very stoic and expressionless individual — i think a lot of the fandom can agree that’s how he is. as i’m writing this bigger WIP for him, it’s really fun to shed the layers of main!mark off him while still keeping him in some resemblance of his counterpart — all the traits you listed are what i feel the bones/skeletons of mark’s personality are and each variant wears a different skin of it! so real, cracking him off like a cadbury egg. i’m putting that bitch under a microscope 🔬 he is appealing to study!!! orz orz …. also i had him stutter off the phrase bc i wanted him to be catch and choke on using pet instead of person to identify the mc as such! i think recognizing and caring for them as an individual is SO much more meaningful than an ‘ily’ or ‘i miss u’ for viltrumite mark.

it just feels lame to me to characterize sinister mark as the only cannibal in his universe before they were all deserted 🥀 like there is so much to do with him (all the variants actually — they’re free real estate!) but watering down just the guy who survived to be ‘cannibal guy’ 💔 ugh lameeee ,,, i love the idea that they all bite or enjoy blood in various degrees! the solidarity i feel with you on that!! like you get it, you see the vision (≧▽≦)!

bc of this message, i decided to include a few snippets of that WIP — i’m hoping it’ll be done in may, it’s at 8K currently — bc i could not not hand out freebies after receiving such a jaw-dropping message!

i can say that nolan is definitely not going to be a happy camper in this one-shot. i don’t want to spoil much but ahhhh i love the predictions!!!!!!

#getting to write spawn is the real important part of all this #long live spawn!!#invincible x reader #viltrumite mark #viltrumite mark grayson x reader

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effervescentwolf · 2 months ago

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wip wednesday

thank you for the tag @ghostlandtoo! i realize wednesday is almost done... but tagging @pikapitou and @justonebigbee if either of you have anything you'd like to share! here's a little more from my magical realism fic, which is. very slow going. but also so awesome to me

Buck has never been this in tune with Eddie, which is saying something. Even their first shift together, there was something seamless about moving together. They clicked, like Buck has never clicked with anyone else, even while trying to guard himself against Eddie. He shoved it back then, because firefighting was worth more than keeping his hackles raised, and Eddie slipped right through just like that, settled himself right where Buck wanted someone, in the spot that scared him most. He couldn’t figure out how to get Eddie out from under his skin then. Hadn’t wanted to. Still doesn’t.

It’s still scary sometimes, but he wants to stick it out like he always has, wants to hope that this time it doesn’t hurt. He’s an optimist, sue him, but in all the time he’s spent worrying about what he wants, he’s never once thought about not having Eddie. He thought of it after the well, after Eddie got shot, and tried to shove it so far down it would never resurface. At least in those cases, he had Eddie before then, had his best friend, and every bit of something he could only have dreamed of. It was almost worse in his coma dream. Eddie barely existed there, all the years erased, and everything about that had been wrong.

It had occurred to him only once, that as much as his life changed, he would have been different too. Eddie had been pressed up against his back then, warm and real, breathing slow and deep. He’d fallen asleep earlier and rolled over at some point. Buck hadn’t bothered moving, liking the weight of him close, and it was safe enough there to consider what being different would have meant.

If he grew up wanted, he wouldn’t have clung to the 118 as tightly as he did. There wouldn’t have been walls to break down, and Buck wouldn’t have wanted Eddie as badly as he did, and Eddie wouldn’t be everything he was to Buck. Buck’s eyes were only a little wet when he turned his face into his pillow.

Everything that happened to him was unfair. Buck knows that. He’s spent years unpacking it in therapy, but it’s part of him. It’s part of what makes him imperfect, and Buck is—he can’t imagine being the other him. Being whole already. Having to make room for someone else.

When he met Eddie, he already had an empty space waiting, and there’s something important about that.

#wip wednesday #bc this is post lightning strike #so much of this is reflection and realization #and figuring out what it means to belong #buddie #wolf writes

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stabbyfoxandrew · 2 months ago

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hiii aerie, how are you?

could i ask for my usual dealer's choice between arson, mafia and angel Neil this week, please? whichever is being the nicest or got the least requests : )

thank you!! have a great week <33

WIP Wednesday (3/12) | Arsonist Neil / Firefighter Andrew AU (Part 287)

Since he got home from Kevin and Co., the card they all signed has been hanging up on his refrigerator by the note 10 had left in that gift basket last month. It's backward now, because Andrew got fed up with those stupid smug reindeer on the front. They seemed to mock his every move, the fuckers. It's too soon to ask 10 to meet up again, Andrew thinks. The man is a fucking recluse and likely needs a little while to recharge. Andrew does too, if he's honest.

Especially considering Jean's little 'get some on us' comment.

Not that he doesn't want to fuck 10. But he's never been so interested in someone and he doesn't think relying on 10's stupid exy fixation to get into his pants is exactly the start of a great romance. For fuck's sake, they've met in person once. Not that that's a real problem for Andrew, he's gotten on his knees for men he's known for minutes. But those were all horrendously casual, one-sided hook ups. 10 is something Andrew... would like to keep. And he's apparently the first person 10's ever been attracted to, if he was telling the truth. How insane is that?

Now Andrew's not stupid, he knows he can look downright decent when he puts an effort in. That's how he's landed those previously mentioned hook ups after all. But 10 actually... knows him. And likes him anyway? It's fascinating. It's also hard to understand.

So Andrew sits on the card for a few days.

The two of them keep up with their daily texts and calls in the meantime. Four days after their impromptu date, 10 asks if they can try the video chat function on his new phone so Andrew calls him and 10 shows off his hotel room. It's a lot nicer than Andrew thought it would be. Evidently he'd been picturing the arsonist in a rundown shack this entire time. But he has a bed and a chair, a small hoard of shelf stable snacks, and a large TV— optimal for exy viewing.

"You got a coloring book." Andrew comments when the camera spans the desk.

"Yeah. I haven't really done anything with it yet," 10 says, as the camera settles back on his face. "I've been playing a lot of phone games since I set this thing up. Did you know there's like a million of them?"

"Yes. What's your favorite?" Andrew asks, making 10 purse his lips and look off to the side as if trying to remember.

"Uh, I like the fruit cutting one. And the one where you have to run away from monkeys."

"Fruit Ninja and Temple Run."

"Yeah, sounds right."

"I should've guessed you'd like the running game." Andrew says, making 10 roll his eyes.

"You also have to turn and jump and dodge. It's fun. Do you play it?"

"I'm more of a Sudoku sort of man." Andrew tells him. "Sometimes Candy Crush. When I want to waste precious hours of my existence.”

"I should've guessed you'd like the candy game."

"Shut up."

"Make me." 10 dares with a roguish grin. His eyes glance down and Andrew licks his lips. Oh, he would love to make 10 shut up.

"Do you want to do something tomorrow?" Andrew asks foolishly. At 10's puzzled look, he sighs. "I mean, would you like to meet up somewhere? Maybe you could try and convince me to kiss you again.”

10 swallows and nods. "Yes. Please."

"Don't say that word to me." Andrew tells him. 10 considers that demand for a moment, then he nods.

"Okay. Yes, I want to. Where? When? What do I wear? Is anything even open tomorrow?" 10 asks.

"Why wouldn't— Oh fuck." Andrew curses. Freaking Christmas is tomorrow. He knows the Magnolia will be closed, they had a sign up announcing such the other day. The movies might be open... But Andrew is not a teenager, the idea of shoving his tongue down a man's throat in the back row is not appealing to him in the slightest. He supposes he could invite 10 over... No. Definitely not. Not yet.

"You could—" 10 cuts himself off. "Never mind. Um. I don't think it's a good idea for you to come here. Yet."

"Agreed." Andrew wracks his brain for a moment. They could get a room at a different hotel to hang out in, but that would bring a lot of expectations. If it weren't for the holiday they could meet up at one of the big box stores in town and walk around together— that's something Aaron used to do with his girlfriends in high school. (So romantic.) Andrew scribbles that off his list. Hm, while Aaron was off doing stupid shit like that, Andrew was... Aha! "Alright, I know a place. But... It's not exactly the Ritz."

"I've lived in a Toyota, Andrew. I don't need the Ritz." 10 says, a fierce look in his eyes. Andrew feels the heat of it even here. He gives 10 directions to his high school haunt, watching as the arsonist scribbles them down on his room's memo pad.

"And then you just drive until you see it. It'll be on the right." Andrew tells him. 10 nods as he writes. "You got that?"

10 reads back the directions and nods again. "Got it."

"I'll be there at two o'clock. Just a warning, I will be coming off a shift at the station."

"I know."

"Stalker. Stop having my schedule memorized."

"No. Go fix your lock." 10 counters.

"What?"

"Your chain isn't done up." 10 tells him, making Andrew turn his head to look toward the front door. 10's right.

"That isn't usually a problem."

10 rolls his eyes. "Fine, get home-invaded and axe-murdered."

"I doubt any axe-murderers are lurking in my building."

"Never know. They're more common than you think."

#hi! i'm alright. :) it was stormy here earlier but it died down thankfully #but a certain 50lb heathen was scared of the thunder last night and kept climbing in my bed and crushing my legs :')#btw painful reminder this fic is set in 2013 #andreil #aftg #WIP Wednesday #Arsonist Neil / Firefighter Andrew #🕊️#answered #tessasilverswan #long post

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firstprincehornyramblings · 2 months ago

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WOW I've been slacking on these lil updates, huh? Well, I'm almost done with the wip I'm focusing on. It might even be done next weekend? So, time to make sure you guys are still vibing with it? So, back into the age gap professor Henry fic I was affectionately calling 'what if Henry was Alex's bisexual awakening, but they weren't together?' All dat below the cut.

---------------

“Oh,” Henry inhaled deeply, it was the tone of voice and the fucking way Alex looked at him. As if he’d broken the poor boy’s heart. It made Henry’s ache, guilt seeming to climb his limbs like a physical horror. He sat up a bit straighter, fixing his pants, trying to avert eye contact. “Well, if you’d prefer, I can request another assistant for the remaining two months.” “I don’t want you to do that either,” Alex sat back on his heels, his own face contorting with guilt. As if he had anything to feel bad about. It was Henry who should be ashamed, not Alex. Why was this beautiful man feeling anything even close to the contrition that settled itself into Henry’s bones. If Alex felt a negative emotion, it should be anger, he should hate Henry, for being so weak, for giving in so easily, or for stringing him along. Was it possible he knew how hard Henry was fighting? Could he understand the gnawing need to feel even the brush of fingertips? Did he know how Henry wrestled with his own desire and logic? How he found it hard to sleep with the shame of allowing himself to be so taken with a man so much younger? “I want to see you,” Alex continued. “Part of why it’s sad is because soon you won’t need an assistant anymore. And I’ll go from seeing you every day to not seeing you at all. I think that would be worse, I’m going to miss you so badly. I already miss you on weekends, seeing you makes my day better, He- Professor Fox. Even when we fight and I annoy you, shit, I’m just flirting with you. I love seeing you crack a smile when you call me ‘deplorable’ or some other stupid word.” He sighed then, straightening his posture, as if to look serious, “I know I’m young, and you probably do want someone your own age, but I think I could make you happy. We could have fun together, and that’s the only thing that matters, right? I know, at least, that nobody would try harder to make you hap-” “Alex,” Henry interrupted, his voice trembling. But he couldn’t take anymore, not a single word. He couldn’t listen to everything he’d ever wanted to hear from every other man he’d been with, “It’s late, they’ll lock the doors soon. You should head back to your dorm, or your boyfriend, or whatever you do on Friday nights. As long as you want to keep working with me, I’ll see you Monday afternoon.”

----

in my defense, i didn't say the cut was for smut reasons. don't be mad at me. (i promise the fucking nasty is COMING <- not as fast as alex will tho. ba dum tss)

ANYWAY, TAG TIME. adding a few new people, but also if any of you want to be taken off my tag list, lemme know, i always feel like im bothering people lol

@taste-thewaste @henrysfox @mikibwrites @judasofsuburbia

@softboynick @catdadacd @sheepywritesfics @henryspearl

@basil-bird @caressthosecheekbones @henfox @anti-homophobia-cheese

@redlipstickandglitter @eusuntgratie @potato-jem @gayhoediaz

@thesleepyskipper @onthewaytosomewhere @thighzp @lfg1986-2

@bitbybitwrites @midnight-soulless-system @tailsbeth-writes @percy-jackson-is-sexy-

+ literally anyone else; I love reading yall's stuff. <3

#wip wednesday #first prince smut #rwrb smut #my fic #rwrb fanfiction #firstprince fanfic #professor henry

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i-hope-this-is-a-phase · 9 months ago

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Insult to Injury

A Test Drive by Zuesue for @honelle56 (T | WIP | 3k)

#injury recovery #emotional hurt/comfort My contribution to the End of the Summer Fic Exchange. Updates each day until complete

Thank you to @fujogie for sponsoring the collection, and thank you to @jess-total-mess and @dreastmilk for betaing.

Happy reading!

Fic underneath for those who prefer Tumblr over ao3

Dream remembers when George and Sapnap got the UTV.

He's not the greatest at keeping up with Sapnap's streams, but he tries to catch as many as he can. And when both his roommates are participating, he thinks it'd be rude to miss even with all the code he still needs to get done.

When they had gotten home, Dream had asked why they'd gotten a car they wouldn’t use.

“Bro lacks the vision,” Sapnap had said, making George cackle into his hands.

“I don’t lack anything,” he had retorted, which had made George wolf-whistle and Sapnap laugh. “No, shut up. George needs a car he can actually drive so he can learn.”

“He’s stupid too,” George chimed in, and if Dream had chucked a pillow at his head, that’s his business.

“No, no, listen,” Sapnap said. “It has all the shit a regular car has, brakes, steering wheel—”

“Wow, dude knows what’s in a car,” George drawled.

“—and it has a speed cap, so George can get all his fucking driving experience without being a menace to society.”

It had taken some convincing (because UTVs are fucking dangerous according to Dream), but Dream had come around to the idea, even if it was mostly lies so they could have a UTV. And even then, it had been a good source of happiness for them in the following rougher months, which Dream only saw as a positive.

It was a random day in May when George asked if he’d watch them ride it.

“You’re so boring, we’ve been at this all day, and you want to keep working,” George laments.

“It’s not that, I’m almost done—”

“You’ve said that already. Four times.”

Dream pauses and glances away from the monitor to where George sits. There's a computer now in the gym so they can fix code as they work. George is turned toward him in the office chair, and Dream notes the tiredness in his hunched-over posture. They’ve been at this for hours, he will admit, and George has been a great help the whole time. Has been for a while actually. “I have?”

George rolls his eyes, but he smiles. “Idiot,” he says. “Break for tonight. We can start again tomorrow.”

Dream looks back at the monitor. He is really close, he just has to adjust the rendering a tiny bit and—

“Dream.”

He glances over again. George is still smiling, but there’s a no-nonsense look in his gaze. “Please? Just for tonight?”

Dream looks again at George, at the days-old stubble, the hoodie he’s been wearing for two days just so he didn’t have to abandon Dream while he’s been working, and thinks he deserves a break.

He makes a show of rolling his eyes as he gets up.”You just want me to get you food.”

George’s eyes light up, but he still scoffs at Dream. They each have to play their parts. “That’s not true.”

“Is true.” He stretches up, feeling the cracks in his shoulders and spine. “Fuck.”

George laughs. “Bro’s getting old."

“Like you’re one to talk.”

George hunches over and makes a groaning noise. “Oh, I’m Dream, and my poor back hurts from all the dicks in my ass—”

“George!” he exclaims, scandalized, and George laughs again, bright and loud in the space.

“We should do something,” George says.

“Like what?”

“Like, go out, do something active. I’m too tired to sit.”

Dream walks toward George, and the two make their way out of the gym. “How does that even work?”

“Dunno, but my butt’s gonna fall off if we don’t do something.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want you to lose your best asset.”

“Asset. Ass-et. Get it?” He elbows Dream’s side.

“You’re so dumb.” They’ve reached the kitchen, and George beelines for the fridge. He pulls out a bottle of water and (quite dramatically) drinks it all in one chug. “We have a fridge in the gym,” Dream reminds him.

George shakes his head. “Doesn’t taste right.”

Dream doesn’t get it, but he knows George has his quirks, like only wearing a specific brand of sock because it’s “just right” or the way he tidies his sheets but not the pillows when making his bed. “Well,” he says, “since you’re no longer dying of thirst, what do you wanna do?”

George thinks for a minute before he brightens. “Have you seen me drive the UTV yet?”

He hasn’t. Every time George and Sapnap went to mess around with it, he politely excused himself. Although he likes that George is getting "driving" experience, he has his reservations about the safety of it.

Then again, George has been quite accommodating for his antics, so maybe it’s time he returned the favor.

“No, you wanna grab Nick?”

“Yeah!” George runs off, and Dream hopes Sapnap isn’t busy and George isn’t about to terrorize him.

Even if it’s fruitless.

An hour later, Dream sits watching his idiot friends drive up sandy hills on their UTV. The off-roading park allows members to keep their vehicles there, fueled and ready, and since it’s not on Dream’s bill, he’s happy to watch them goof off all night long.

Just then, he sees the UTV careen over a hill and come crashing down thirty feet away.

“Holy fucking shit!” Sapnap yells from the driver’s seat, a wide grin plastered across his face. George whoops beside him, clearly gleeful.

A few seconds later, he sees George and Sapnap undo their seatbelts and make their way over to where Dream is sitting.

“Impressed?” Sapnap asks, breathing heavily.

Dream hums. “Thought George would be driving,” he says, “since it’s his car after all.”

“Am I not good enough for you?” Sapnap gives him a puppy-eyed look.

Dream laughs. “You’re a good driver, Nick.”

“Hell yeah!” he shrieks. George pouts at Dream.

“I’m a good driver too.”

“Not from my point of view,” he says. George meets the challenge with a blaze in his eyes. He smirks.

“Alright.” George walks off, and this time, climbs into the driver’s seat.

Sapnap plops down next to Dream and pulls out his phone, aiming it toward George. “Woo!” he screams. “Kitten’s driving!”

He can see George scoff from where he sits. He takes off, doing a tight turn before hurdling up a hill.

Sapnap cheers beside him, and Dream thinks, This isn’t so bad.

“Dream, look!” he hears. He shields his eyes and looks to where he heard George.

The UTV is now on top of the biggest hill. George is standing next to it, waving.

“I’m gonna go down it!” he yells.

“Do it, pussy!” Sapnap yells back. Dream nudges him for the comment, but he joins the cheering.

George slides into the driver’s seat and straps himself in. Dream hears the motor roar from where he sits, and he watches the UTV gun it down the hill. Sapnap raises his phone higher, most likely to get a better angle as dust billows behind the truck. It speeds down the hill, toward the ground, and—

It happens.

The UTV catches on a rock. It flips.

One.

Two.

Three times.

It slams into a hill.

It stops.

Then, silence.

“GEORGE!”

Dream takes off running toward the UTV. He was wearing his seatbelt, he’s gonna be fine. "GEORGE!"

But then why hasn't he answered yet?

“George, are you good!?” He’s at the UTV. He climbs the hill to get closer. “George?”

George is hanging awkwardly in the harness, barely sitting in the seat anymore. His eyes are open, gazing forward. He's breathing, though. Dream can hear it. He reaches out a hand and presses it against George’s face. It’s an awkward angle, the UTV is slanted on the hill, but he needs to see, needs to feel that George is alright.

George’s face is sticky with dirt and sweat when he presses a hand to his cheek. But it’s still warm and soft like Dream always imagined, and he can feel the breath on his arm.

George blinks, and Dream breathes.

“George.” His other hand brushes the hair out of Georgge’s eyes. “You alright?”

George is still hanging in his harness. Dream leans over to unbuckle him and accidentally nudges George, causing him to hiss.

“Wha—did I hurt you?” Dream asks, pulling back a step.

“Head,” George groans, and something bad curls in Dream.

“Your head...hurts?” George tries to nod but groans again.

“I don’t—didn’t hit it,” George says. Dream gently, ever so gently, cards his fingers through George’s hair to feel for bumps or blood.

He finds nothing, but when Dream looks to George to tell him, he notices something.

Dream looks at people. A long part of his career was watching his friends on streams, and, since his face reveal, he has spent a lot of time memorizing what people’s faces look like outside of a screen. He knows what George looks like, can tell how long his stubble has been growing, when he needs to take George to get a haircut, what he looks like when he's tired, upset, in pain.

As he’s looking into George’s eyes, there’s something wrong. They aren’t focusing on Dream; they’re dazed and unfocused.

And the bad feeling inside Dream gets worse.

“Let’s get you out of there.” He’s careful this time as he leans over and unbuckles George, carefully distributing George’s weight onto him as he pulls him out onto the sand.

At that moment, Sapnap appears.

“I called for help, they’re getting another vehicle to come pick us up and take us to the road,” he says, and Dream loves him.

“Thank you, Nick.” He looks back at George, who’s squinting at Sapnap.

“Look funny,” he says, and Dream chokes.

“And you look stupid.” But there’s a tenderness to Sapnap’s gaze, and Dream understands he’s equally as worried as he is.

A vehicle comes over the hill and stops next to the UTV. With a bit of maneuvering, they get George secured into the back alongside Dream. Dream has his arm slung around George’s shoulder for support as they navigate back to their car.

“We’re gonna get you checked out,” he promises. “We’ll drive straight to a clinic.” George doesn’t respond, but he presses closer to Dream, and that's enough for now.

Time both moves fast and slow as they get George to a doctor. Fast in that it's a blur. Slow as in every bump that makes George wince makes fear twist inside Dream.

He was wearing a seatbelt, he thinks. He’s gonna be okay.

The nurse checking out George is thorough. She asks questions, flashes lights, and writes her findings on a clipboard. She gets George’s details from Dream (he has George’s insurance card saved into his phone) and tells them the doctor will be in soon before she leaves.

George lays on the hospital bed. They turned down the lights in the room, so George isn’t squinting anymore. But, his face still conveys pain.

“My head’s still hurting.”

“The nurse says she can’t give you pain meds just yet.” If he didn't know already that giving pain medication would only slow the nurses down, he would’ve gone to the pharmacy himself to grab some for George. But, his mom’s voice reminds him that pain is often a good symptom of where the hurt is, and so he stays put.

“Don’t worry, George,” Sapnap says. “When we get back, I’ll let you have some of my special gummy bears.” He wiggles his eyebrows, and George snorts.

“Thanks, I guess.” There’s silence for a second. “Did you get it on video?”

“What are you—oh yeah!” Sapnap pulls out his phone and taps in his passcode. “It was kinda sick actually.”

“Can I see?” George tries to sit up, but Dream (ever so gently) pushes him back down.

“No. The nurse said no light until the doctor returns.”

“Oh, c’mon Dream,” Sapnap whines.

“Oh, c’mon, remember? He used to say that.” George has his stupid grin on his face, and Dream is only a bit relieved that he’s at least feeling well enough for mockery.

Just then, the nurse comes back in with what Dream supposes is the doctor.

“Hi everyone!” she says, focusing her attention on the figure in the bed. “You must be George.”

“Yes ma’am,” he says. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Sapnap muffling a laugh.

“I am Dr. Smith. I’m the resident neurologist for this floor.”

“Neurologist,” Dream says. “So it is a brain problem.”

She nods, but there is no tightness to her face when she looks at George. “You seem to have a minor concussion. I was told he was in a car accident?” She looks toward Dream at that.

He clears his throat. “Well, yes and no,” he starts. “He was messing around with our UTV, but he was wearing a seatbelt though, so we didn’t—I didn’t think he’d get hurt?”

She hums. “Concussions don’t necessarily occur because of impact. They occur when the brain bounces around inside the skull.”

“The UTV flipped a bunch,” Sapnap says. “Could that’ve caused it?”

“Yes, that would explain the bruising. I would still be very glad you were wearing a seatbelt, for I’m sure we would be having a very different conversation if he was without it.”

George is still hurt though, Dream’s brain adds. He shakes it off.

Dr. Smith is talking again to George. “We’ll be giving you a list of what you can and can’t do during your recovery. You’ll most likely want to avoid computer screens, TVs, anything with bright lights. You’ll also want to avoid doing anything mentally strenuous for the first few days. We saw a lack of concentration in your testing, so we want to keep on top of that.”

George speaks up: “But, my work—it's all computers and screens.”

Dream turns to George. “We can figure stuff out or take a break,” he assures. “We can pause the project for now.”

George’s face looks pained again. Dream wishes they could give him medicine. “No,” he says, “I can’t, you—”

“We can provide a doctor’s note if necessary, but using electronics will stunt your recovery. For at least two weeks, you need to stay away from screens.”

Two weeks, Dream thinks, as Dr. Smith goes on about migraine recovery. George is gonna hate this.

George looks like he’s hating this. His lips are pressed together in a thin line, and his brows are furrowed. For a moment, Dream wants to smooth the lines out from his face, but he knows now is not the time.

“We’ll be keeping you overnight for observation.” Dr. Smith gives Dream a form. “We’ll get George to a room as soon as a gurney frees up.” She hands him a pen as well. “If you need help, press the call button.”

And with that, the two leave the room. George turns to face the wall.

Dream looks over the form. It’s various medical jargon and information. He starts filling it out while Sapnap goes over to George.

“So, concussion,” he states. Dream hears George scoff.

“Glad you were paying attention,” he snarks over his shoulder.

“Well, since I’ve actually been concussed before, I was going to offer to grab all the usual shit you need, but since you’re being a little bitch—”

“Nick,” Dream interrupts. He would usually let them fight it out, but Dream sees the tense lines in George’s back, and thinks this isn’t the time. Sapnap glances over to him and must see something too because he huffs and backs off.

“Got it,” Sapnap grumbles. He turns back to George. “Want me to grab anything else while I’m out?”

George turns his head back over. “Sushi?” he asks, and Dream can see a glint of mischief.

Sapnap must see it too, because he softly laughs. “Should’ve guessed that.” He grabs his phone and stands up. “I’m assuming you’ll be staying too?” he says to Dream.

Dream nods. It isn’t a question in his mind, but it makes sense why Sapnap asks.

“K, see you at home.” With that, Sapnap walks out, making sure to shut the door quietly behind him.

Dream continues to work on the form while George stares at the ceiling. A few minutes later, a team arrives to help George get up to the observation room. Dream follows dutifully behind, carrying George and his phone.

Once they’re settled in, with George in the bed and Dream sitting in a chair beside him, finally done with the forms, he finally asks the question.

“How are you feeling?”

George continues fiddling with the sheets. The hospital provided pajamas for him, as it was long past the early evening it was when they took the UTV for a spin. The lights are dimmed low, shadows casting across the room and across George’s face.

“Could be better,” he mumbles. “Head still hurts.”

“The nurse gave you pain medication, right?” He’s sure at some point a nurse came in and gave George pills.

“Yeah,” he says. “Still hurts though.”

Dream nods and scoots his chair closer. There’s a beat of silence, then George says, “I’m sorry.”

Dream looks at his face. “For what?”

“The pause—it was only for tonight.”

“The pause,” Dream says again. “You mean…for the project?”

“Yeah,” George mumbles, hunching over slightly as he continues to fiddle with the sheets.

“George, I don’t—I’m not thinking about that right now,” he says. “I’m just so glad you’re okay and that it’s going to be okay.”

George rolls his eyes. “I’m not gonna be able to work for weeks, Dream. How is that okay?”

“Because—okay, look.” He reaches out and grabs George’s hand to stop him from tearing the blanket to shreds. George’s hand falls still under his touch. “The project’s been delayed so many fucking times. One more time is not going to kill us.”

He feels George’s hand twitch under his palm. “But it’s not—it was stopped before because of the code,” he starts. “Not because of—not because I couldn’t help.” He hasn’t met Dream’s eyes yet.

Dream moves and sits on the bed. George’s hand twitches again in his grasp. Dream squeezes it, gentle, soft. “George,” he says, “two weeks is not the end of the world. This stuff, this technology, it’s gonna change the world. It can wait two weeks while my best friend recovers.”

He sees a ghost of a smile flash across George’s face. He presses on: “The nurse says no screens or bright lights for at least two weeks. So, you can’t code. But you can help me render shit, set stuff up once your doctor clears you, or we can sit in bed for two weeks. But all that really doesn’t matter, because I’d rather you get better quicker than you hurting yourself because you want to help me.”

“And I’m fine waiting for you,” he adds. “We’ve already gotten this far, and we’re this close. A two-week break isn’t going to change that. Plus.” He turns to smirk at George. “Weren’t you the one before now who was asking for a break?”

George groans, but he’s smiling now, and that’s all that matters. “Alright,” George says. “If you insist, I guess I could take a break.”

“I’m glad.” He’s smiling now too. George turns his hand over to squeeze Dream’s. Once. Twice. Three times. Dream’s smile grows wider.

“I love you.” Even in the darkness, he can see George’s blush, and it makes Dream’s heart flutter.

“Idiot.” But he’s smiling too, and that’s all that matters.

#rei speaks #dreamwastaken #dream #dtblr #gnf #georgenotfound #DNF #DreamNotFound #Rei recs #fic rec #Rachel speaks #iti

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whatevertheweather · 5 months ago

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Thank you all for the tags @run-for-chamo-miles @monbons @forabeatofadrum @rimeswithpurple @ileadacharmedlife @artsyunderstudy @noblecorgi @you-remind-me-of-the-babe! You're all making me very emotional about fandom, and my TBR has gotten out of control.

So. It's 2024 for a little bit more. I'm not sure what's going to happen as I write this post, but I know it's not going to be succinct, so we're just going to start below the cut and see what happens.

I'm waffling over where to start, but I've decided on what we're here for, which is the fic recap. I did actually make fic goals in 2024, and I did actually meet some of them, which I'm trying to focus on instead of the parts I didn't meet. Here's a nice lil screenshot to sum that up.

I did give Bait and Switch a checkmark after some hesitation, because it says ongoing, and I did keep it going. I just didn't finish. (The new goal is before CORB 2025 I guess.)

So I completed 2 fics. Continued 1. Posted 60,917 words, AO3 says, even though that's including the chapters of the WIPs I started last year, and by my clumsy calculations with that in mind, it's actually 32,990. Did not meet my goals, struggled to write most of the time, but when I was looking for these stats, I found AO3 doesn't even give me a 2023 tab (rip first chaps of Bait and Switch and Musical Chairs, I guess), so it's an improvement over last year.

It just doesn't feel like it, because so much of what I did is unposted. So those are the stats I'm gonna give.

Words that didn't get posted: 23.5k

Fics this close to done that I just couldn't get any farther on: 4

Fics started: 3

Fics lovingly revisited after being abandoned for a long while: 2

Number of projects I got really excited about writing: 3

Number of times I wrote AHAHAHA in brainstorming documents because I figured out what I need to do to fix the problems I was having: 5

How long it will take me to turn those ahas into action: I cannot possibly say

Number of times I should have reached out for brainstorming help: 50, probably

Number of times I actually reached out: 3, I think

It's these last two points I actually care about. Well, no, I care about all of it, but it's these last two I've been thinking about. I had writing goals for 2024, I'm going to have writing goals for 2025, but I also had a more nebulous goal to participate in fandom more, and that's the one I'm actually bothered about not meeting.

I have a bad habit of thinking the only way I can participate is by getting fic done. Sharing it. Posting snippets if it's not done. Like I can only rejoice in other people's WIPsday posts if I have my own, instead of just being inspired by other people's writing and art. Or I can only share excitement or progress if I'm sure it's going to go somewhere, instead of just posting what I have and letting the community of it all be its own excitement. Or I can only comment if I have the headspace to put together a stunning review that perfectly encapsulates what I liked about a fic/art/anything, instead of just saying what I can or messaging someone to tell them I loved the thing they made, as if I don't know how wonderful it feels when that happens.

I'm getting sappy and maudlin on main, but I appreciate this fandom so much, even when I revert to lurking, and I want so much to get back to participating and talking to people and sharing in all the amazing wonderful things this fandom does. Y'all are some of the most talented and creative and kind people and I adore you all. So that's my main (fandom-related) goal for 2025, and any fic completed will just be bonus points.

But! Since we're here for fic at the end of the year, I will round out this rambling post by saying there are at least 3 ideas I'm hopeful I'll be able to maintain my current level of enthusiasm for, and beyond that there are about 5 that are a few sentences away from done, so there's hope for seeing at least some fic from me in the new year. Related, here's a peek at the first three documents on my drive.

Two of these fall in the "a few sentences away from done good lord why can't you just finish this" category. The other one falls in the category of things I'm actually very excited about, and hope to at least have a WIPsday post for it before too long. Because I'm thinking keeping things secret for fear of never finishing them is actually kind of silly, and I don't need to keep trying to create things in a vacuum.

Finally, a mess of tags that is me waving hello with both hands: @fatalfangirl @moodandmist @martsonmars @facewithoutheart @whogaveyoupermission

@mostlymaudlin @sillyunicorn @aristocratic-otter @bookish-bogwitch @alexalexinii

@ivelovedhimthroughworse @iamamythologicalcreature @ionlydrinkhotwater @thewholelemon @bluedahlia912

@youarenevertooold @cutestkilla @raenestee @confused-bi-queer @basiltonbutliketheherb

#my writing #I think there was more I was going to say in the tags but I'm all worded out #so happy new year <3

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 8 months ago

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Don't Speak 52 - Finale

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, stalking, manipulation, reclusive behaviour, disordered eating, dissociation, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Reader is a reclusive loner who ventures down to the library on a simple mission. Her task is complicated by the man she meets there. (f!short!reader)

Character: librarian!Andy Barber, Steve Kemp

Note: 🕊️

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

“Alright, one o’clock,” Amber says as she walks into the room. She sets down her phone and you pull the pillow over the tablet to hide it. “Is that enough time?”

“Sure,” you answer. You don’t have much choice. It has to be done and the sooner, the better. You want it to be done with. All of it.

As much as you want everything to go back to how it was, you know that even this can’t make it so. Things will always be different. You will always be different.

“I’m just going to give Curtis a call and check in.” She explains.

“Right,” you shrug and smile at her.

You wait for her to leave before you move the cushion. You’re nervous about the appointment. It’s going to hurt probably. You don’t think anything can hurt as much as everything that’s happened in the last few months.

You tap the screen to wake it up. The library of videos opens and you scroll through. You spent have the night wavering between the delete button and just smashing the tablet. For whatever reason, you can’t do either.

You close the cover again, still caught in indecision. Once you’ve dealt with the baby, you’ll be able to think. You get up and take the tablet with you to your room. You dress in your old clothes; a pair of faded jeans and an oversized sweatshirt.

It’s strange being in that place again. You look around at all those things you almost forgot. Amber didn’t change a single piece of it. Your chest sinks as your eyes cling to the window. What did she think when she found you gone? You feel horrid for hurting her like that.

You sit and pull on socks then rub together your frigid hands. The world around you is both hazy and vivid. You feel every second roll by and yet the colours and the sounds are all so distant. Today is the day.

You hide the tablet under your pillow and go back out. Amber is on the couch. Her shoulders are almost to her ears. She’s as anxious as you are.

“Curtis can’t drive us. He’s caught up helping out his buddy.” She explains.

“Oh, that’s okay,” you shrug.

“We’ll take my car. He fixed the heating issue so it should hold out,” she says, flicking her thumb against her phone nervously.

You go to her and sit, “it’ll be okay.”

She sniffs and sits forward. You feel her look at you, “are you?”

“I think?” You clutch your knees. “I don’t know. I just feel... sure. Certain.”

“That’s good. But you know, it’s entirely your choice.”

“I know and that’s why I’m sure,” you force a tense smile.

Her phone buzzes. She squints at the screen as she reads. “He said he’ll bring us some dinner. He should be done with Jake by then.”

You nod and your eyes explore the room. She’s silent, still watching.

“So much is different,” you murmur. “You know Jake too?”

“Sure. He helped us. When you sent that message. He found you.” She says.

You look at her, “found me?”

“I know. Sneaky.”

“No, it’s... good.” You lower your head.

You linger in the lull. It’s not uncomfortable. It’s calm. Patient. There’s a rattle at the window. A strange tapping. You look over and Amber follows the noise too.

There’s a dove outside looking in. The frost in the window has warmed to condensation in the last days. You stare at its grey feathers as it coos and quorks its head.

“Spring is close,” Amber says. “The birds are coming back.”

You stare, hypnotised by the creature. A second dove lands beside it. You read that they often stay in pairs.

“Well, about an hour and we’ll head out,” Amber gets up. “You need anything, bub?”

“No, I’m fine,” you assure her and lean back, “I’m just going to close my eyes.”

She hums and goes into the kitchen. You listen to her as you relax into the couch. You drag your hands up to your stomach. Almost there.

🕊️

As Amber drives, your eyes catch in the side mirror. You give a start and sit up against the seat belt. You shake off the fright as the grey car behind you slows with the flow of traffic. No, you’re imagining things.

You lean your arm on the door and hold your head. Amber idles in the clog of the street and taps her fingers on the steering wheel. She looks ahead and clucks. You’re ahead of schedule. You couldn’t stay still and it’s a good thing you left early.

She continues on in the slog and flips her blinker. She takes a side street away from the dense main way. Before she can circle around the block, a pair of headlights flash in the mirror. You don’t get more than a glimpse of their glare. She pulls through the back entry beside the dumpsters and curls around the front of the clinic.

“Oof, finally here,” she shifts into park. “You think with the weather getting nicer, more people would walk.”

“Yeah,” you agree dully.

Your ears are buzzing. You look over your shoulder at the clinic then back to the fence ahead of you. You exhale.

“Bub,” Amber says as she shuts off the engine.

“It’s okay. I’m ready,” you say. “Just... something...”

Your voice trails off as another car pulls up from the back of the lot. You turn and your chest knots at the familiar grill and emblem. It can’t be. It’s just a coincidence.

The SUV pulls in next to you and you look up at their tinted window. His silhouette alone is enough to assure you. You reach over and grab Amber’s wrist as she unlocks the door.

“No, lock them!” You cry out as Andy open’s his car door.

“Bubba--” She swallows her protest and the locks thunk. “Shit!”

Andy’s treads his the ground and he slams the door. He looks around, staring at the clinic, then scowls. He bends to look through the passenger window at you.

“Open up.” He demands.

“Fuck off!” Amber shoves her hand across you and flips him the finger. “Don’t make me call the police again.”

“You fucking liar!” He snarls as he hits the window, his voice muffled by the barrier, “I knew you were hiding her.”

“I said go the fuck away,” she leans over.

You watch Andy in horror. You shrink down as you tremble. You’re not ready for this. Not for him.

“Dove, Dove,” his gaze falls and meets yours, “hey, sweetie, let’s talk. I calmed down. Please--”

You close your eyes and shake your head.

“She doesn’t want to talk,” Amber snips.

“Dove, you can’t--” he pauses. “Whatever you’re doing here, don’t do it. Please. We can figure this out. I know what this place is--”

You shake your head and drone, “no, no, no, no, no, no...”

“Go away!” Amber barks again and slaps the window. She pulls back and grabs her phone. “I’m calling Officer Jones. How many reports is that, Andrew?”

“Wait...” you gulp as you open your eyes and grab her arm. “Wait...”t

“Bub, please--”

You squeeze and let her go, “he’s my problem. Let me deal with him.”

“You can’t. He's dangerous. He’ll hurt you--”

“I don’t care. He can’t hurt me. Not anymore.” You undo your seat belt and take a breath.

She says your name as you reach for the lock and slide it up. The door opens from the other side. Amber latches on as you try to get out. You tug and pull away.

You get out and close the door. Andy crowds you between the cars, his hands on your shoulders at once, sliding up to cradle your face.

“Sweetie, sweetie, I was so afraid--”

You grasp his wrists and lean away as he tries to kiss you.

“Don’t touch me,” you yanks his arms down and shove him. He’s big and strong. You almost forgot that. Still, he does as you tell him. His eyes are bloodshot and his face pale.

“Honey,” he begs.

“No.”

“What-- what are you doing here?” He rasps and looks over again. “You’re-- you’re-- you have to be. It’s mine, isn’t it?”

You shake your head.

“It’s mine. It has to be! I’m the only one. The only one!” He grabs your arms again, “Please, honey, I can take care of you. Both of you. You and the baby.”

“No!” You exclaim and hit his chest.

Another car door snaps shut and Amber’s shadow comes around the trunk. You look at her and give her a look. She stops, worry woven above her brow. You face Andy again and push until he stops touching you.

“It’s not yours and even if it was, I wouldn’t want it. Just like I never wanted you,” you sneer.

“Dove, you don’t mean--”

“I mean it,” you hiss. “I hate you. I always hated you but I was afraid.” You hit his stomach and he staggers back. “You’re a bully. That’s all you are.”

“No, I love you--”

“No, you don’t!” You holler and stomp your foot. You point at him, “you don’t love anyone. You can’t. I’m not the broken one. You are!”

“Dove--” he stands straight and reaches for you. You slap his hand away.

“Don’t touch me. I’m done with you. I don’t want anything to do with you!”

“You don’t have a choice,” he snarls, his eyes darkening as his expression hardens. “That’s my baby, I have rights--”

He lunges for you and you cry out. He doesn’t get to you as Amber launches herself between you and tackles him against his car. She’s smaller than him but that doesn’t stop her. She bites his hand as he tries to grab her neck and she jabs two fingers into his ribs. He wheezes and recoils.

She pushes away and stands between you and him. She keeps you behind her as she stands tall.

“Try it again.”

“You can’t do this. You can’t keep me away from her. You can’t kill my child--”

“It’s not yours!” You shout and peek around Amber. You squeeze her arm and step up next to her. “It’s Dr. Kemp’s. Your friend. The one who helped you hurt me.”

“No, I didn’t--” he begins.

“You did. I have proof. I have the videos.”

“What videos?” He spits.

“I changed the password,” you say. “You can’t get rid of them now.”

“No, you’re lying. There’s no--”

“I have them all. Every single one.” Your eyes overflow. “It’s your name on the account, not mine. The police can figure it out, can’t they?”

He looks as if he’s been hit again. The lines in his forehead deepens and his mouths slits to a thin line. He glares at you. The way that used to make you do whatever he wanted. Not this time.

“It’s over. I’m done with you. I never even wanted you, Andy,” you breathe. “No one could ever want you, not even me.”

He winces and his lips part but nothing comes out.

“And if you ever come near me or my sister again,” you twine your fingers through Amber’s and cling to her. “I will send those videos to the police.”

He stares, eyes searching, pleading. You won’t fall for it. He can make himself look pathetic but you don’t believe him. Not anymore.

He waits. You say nothing. He sniffs and pulls his shoulders back. His jaw grits and his eyes flash.

“You’re just the same as you always were. Fucked in the head,” he grits and goes to turn. Before he can, you swing your foot up. It’s a low blow, cheap, but you don’t care.

Your toes meet the front of his pants and he grunts. He staggers and falls to his knees, clutching his crotch as he shudders. You get closer as Amber keeps a hold on your hand. You bend and lower your voice as you get close to Andy’s ear.

“I never came for you,” you whisper.

He gurgles and you back up. There’s nothing else to say. You turn and tug on Amber. You walk away without looking back.

As you get to the door of the clinic, the sun comes out from behind the clouds and beams against the white brick. A cheep tweaks in your ear and you turn to see the sparrows bustling in the barren branches of the bushes. They send up a chatter that fills the air. You can hear it all. You can see it all. Feel it all.

You keep your grip tight on Amber and reach for the door with your other hand, ready to open it and all the other doors that come after it. You don’t want to hide anymore. You want to fly.

🕊️🕊️🕊️

I just want to thank everyone who has followed along on Dove's journey. It was bumpy and took a while, and it definitely took a lot out of me (in a good way). I hope you enjoyed this.

Until next time 💗

#andy barber #steve kemp #dark andy barber #dark steve kemp #dark!andy barber #dark!steve kemp #andy barber x reader #steve kemp x reader #series #don't speak #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #au #librarian au #defending jacob #fresh

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insomniaflarrow · 1 month ago

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WIP Wednesday

Thank you for the tag @elodiah! :D

I've done some extensive plotting and realised that I have to cut a massive chunk out of my chapter to make everything work, so instead of letting it go to waste I'm dropping some of it below the cut!

Loki nods curtly, miffed expression dissolving back into careful neutrality, rehearsed. "I don’t want to fight. I’m just trying to put this in a way that makes my stance clear, but I'm afraid it will likely go against your own."

"I'm guessing from what we've talked about that your stance is I should give up on you," Mobius mumbles.

The stream is the only answer he receives, and it's enough. When he takes in the sight of him, here and not here, he drinks it in as if it might be the final time. The downtilt of his chin as he angles his eyes away. The fold of the cloak over his shoulders, falling down and away into nothingness near his knees, the end of the timelines just about visible, fraying into the edges of his clothing. The way he's placed his hands in his pockets, elbows tucked close as if it would be a sin to take up more space, to overflow in any manner beyond the small illusion he contains his entire being in.

"Are you going to let me stop you?" Mobius asks. He doesn't fight his case on the leaving, not on the technical side of things. He lost that argument long ago, and has been holding the front of an onslaught solo.

Loki presses his lips together. "I don't know." His voice is a small thing, bravado laid to waste.

"You said that the only thing that might've stopped you first time was me asking you not to go." Had Loki been here, Mobius might have made a grab for him, held his shoulders so he couldn't vanish, so he couldn't slip through his fingers again. But he isn't. So he doesn't. "Now I’m asking you not to go."

If anything, Loki seems physically torn by indecision. Mobius can't help but feel like he's the one taking him apart, desperately wrenching him in the hopes he'll step over the chasm and join him on the same side.

"I wouldn't actually be going anywhere. I'd still be in the Tree. It's not... it's not death."

"Isn't it? You're resigning yourself to existing alone, forever. Sounds like dying to me."

"I exist as much in the form of the universe as here. I'd still be with you."

"But not this you."

"Not this me."

The sun has sunk less than an inch across the sky, but the world seems less bright, a deep blue taking the place of pink. Above the canopy, the clouds Mobius saw earlier have finally crept their way overhead, casting their grove in darkness.

"I'd remove myself into another pocket dimension, to throw He-Who-Remains off, and converse with your TVA department within that time. When we are satisfied that we have rid ourselves of that threat, at least for the time being, I will remain as custodian of the Tree for the foreseeable future. Forever," he reiterates, shutting down all Mobius' old arguments about long-distant solutions that could crop up.

"I still don't understand why, Loki. I don't... I don't get it." He pinches the bridge of his nose, battling the tension headache threatening to override any inhibitions he's managed to retain.

Loki's expression has softened. "I'm worried about you."

And, oh, Mobius did not expect that. He shakes his head. "What –"

"We've both been existing like this for so long, I think you've forgotten that it doesn't have to be like this. This... perpetual cycle of goodbyes. Or pretending it's not a goodbye. You will save me from the Tree, and something will draw me back." His smile is distinctly marked with woe. "I don't want to keep pretending not to say farewell forever."

"And I don't want to say it in the first place. Loki, I don't know what I'd do without you. I've never –" he chokes back something that definitely isn't his voice threatening to give out on him, a decade's worth of grief finally finding its home, "– I've never had to do this without you. I don't know how."

The corners of Loki's eyes crinkle, ever so soft. "That's the problem. You’ve got to try. I owe you that chance.”

It slams into him, all at once, a comprehension of where this is going to end, and elicits an intolerable kind of fear. The kind that drives to deliration. “No,” he says, as though wounded. He repeats himself, this time incensed, his rage building and suspending somewhere between ribcage and his tongue, because Loki is still blinking at him sadly, entire face cast in fondness. “You’re not leaving.”

Loki’s expression doesn’t falter, anchored in endearment. Mobius can’t tear his eyes away, even as he continues, so it feels maddeningly like he’s tearing into someone who would let him do so forever. His voice levels off, dangerously calm. “I’m not letting you go. I’m not.”

No pressure tagging @blackbirdofasgard @kcscribbler @lokimobius @loki-is-my-kink-awakening @megglesthegeek @mobiusismycomfortcharacter @thosegayoldmen plus open tag for anyone who'd like to share :D

#loki series #loki season 2 #lokius #my fic #wip wednesday #turns out writing scenes months in advance doesn't always work out #the fic looks wayyy better now though promise 🙏#will be keeping as many sentences of this as possible btw

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