#it's a little long for a tidbit but it got away from me

[ashmcgivern]

Revenge for @palidoozy-art of their scrungly cryptid of a man, Kjosev!! Love this guy, glad I finally got to draw him >:]

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Congrats on 5k!!!

I love little off-duty tidbits about the 141. What they get up to when they’re not on a mission, what do they do for fun on base, what do they do in their private time etc.

—Count The Hours

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [Collection of what the One-Four-One do on their down-hours with their Lovers] ���

John Price: Reading ➺

It was no secret that John liked to indulge in quiet time whenever he got the chance. Always surrounded by soldiers and hurling orders eventually got to even the most skilled Captain—he was no different even if he’d been at this for countless years. 

On the days when the silent sounds of the house were able to be appreciated for what they were: the running of the laundry, the small creak of the kitchen cabinet that needed to be oiled, and the sound of your soft humming, it was a sacred turn of events. Such mundane, and normally labeled nuisances, were an excellent backdrop for the words on the page of his book that flew from the paper. Scenes unfolded from times and places long past; everything was separate. A perfect way for the mind to unwind. 

You pass by silently as John reads, kissing his forehead when he grunts in pleasure. The man lets his fingers brush your thigh as you move off to do whatever you wish. He knew you’d join him eventually. 

Reading was good, but nothing quite beat the perfect distraction that was you. 

John flips a page and absentmindedly itches at his beard.

Simon Riley: People Watching ➺

“I bet she works in a cafe,” you mutter softly. “Look at her clothes—those are cafe clothes. Gorgeous.”

Brown eyes blink at the woman in a long skirt and a neat blouse, coffee cup in hand as she walks the ground before disappearing around a bend. 

“What are bloody ‘cafe clothes’?” Simon grunts, giving you a strange look from over his balaclava. The bench you two sit on is far removed into the trees of the park, and you smile as you lean into the man and intertwine your fingers with his, stealing his body heat. 

“I can’t explain it,” you wave your free hand as Simon chuckles lowly. “Your turn.”

“Pick one for me,” he grumbles. You point to a man dressed sharply from across the path, bending down and tying his shoe as a child plays with their mother near a picnic basket and blanket. Your lips twitch into a smile. 

“Accountant,” Simon says easily, squeezing your hand as he blinks slowly, casual with his guesses. “Child’s birthday—he’ll ‘ave to go in soon.”

“Really?” You chuff under your breath. Simon hums, vision sliding about as his thumb runs over your knuckles. “I guessed a hitman.” 

The man at your side looks down once more. “You what?”

Johnny MacTavish: Hiking ➺

The both of you are covered in dirt and sweat, lying on your backs with your packs about a foot or so away; lungs working inside of your chests as you smile like fools. 

“Remind me to let you carry me back,” you pant, chuckling as the form beside you rubs at his face—pushing back the grime. Nature is all around you two, the grass behind your bones and the open sky above your heads. Johnny and you rest for a short while on top of the hill, the wind picking up from the East but not so to an unmanageable degree. 

It had been on a whim to come out here on such short notice, but it didn’t mean that it wasn’t enjoyable. 

Johnny always made hiking trips enjoyable. 

“Aye,” he laughs. “Don’t worry, Dearie, I’ll manage.” A moment of shared smiles passes between you two—you reach out and push at his cheek teasingly.

Johnny chuckles and grabs at your wrist, bringing it back and laying a firm kiss on the palm that leaves your already hot cheeks burning. 

“Ready to keep going?” You’re asked delicately, those cobalt eyes crinkled with love. 

“Oh, if I must,” you tease. 

The man kisses you once more before standing, offering you a hand without a second thought through a gentle smirk.

Kyle Garrick: Cooking/Baking ➺

Kyle’s rolled-up sleeves are pushed back even more as he hums under his breath, the gentle jazz filling the room to mix with the scent of fresh bread and stew. You rest your head on the island table of your shared flat, watching as the man glances back at you and your arm pillow.

He chuckles. 

“You don’t have to watch, Love.”

“Want to,” you mutter, eyes soft. The man’s smile turns sheepish as he glances away.

The man adds what he needs and says over his shoulder cheekily as you blink. “Well come on then, I’ll need you to taste test. Tell me what it needs.”

You chuckle and stand, walking over and sliding up beside him as Kyle takes a spoon and brings some of the broth to your lips. Your hand cups under the utensil, sipping it down. 

You hum under your breath, glancing at him. 

“It’s delicious, Kyle,” your fingers go to steal the spoon, but it’s moved away from you swiftly with a teasing tsk of his tongue. 

“Ah, ah—it’s not done,” the man beams, kissing your cheek and putting the spoon down. “Patience, Love.” 

“C’mon,” you lean into him, looking up into his face. 

Instead, a kiss is pressed to your lips, making you melt as a hand comes to circle your waist. 

Kyle leans back, smirking as he licks his lips.

“More salt,” he mutters, pulling back and disappearing into the pantry as you gape after his tall form.

[hyunsvngs]

playing with spiderhan’s hole for the event??? 😓🙏🙏

wc: 0.8k

sw: anal fingering (m rec), rimming (m rec), dirty talk, degradation, interesting forms of bondage, sub!hannie, dom!reader

a/n: my first drabble as part of my event and a sweet little tidbit for captain save-a-hoe (my spiderhan fic!!) pls enjoy <3

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

“stay still, hannie.”

“baby- baby, i can’t move anyway, look what you had me do!” jisung’s huffing and puffing at you, but it was also wholly his idea. he was the one who’d got the bee in his bonnet about stringing his own legs up to the bed so that you can have your way with him, but still, that doesn’t mean he’s not going to be dramatic about it when it actually happens.

it’s not as if he can’t get out of it. you know he’s strong enough, he knows he’s strong enough - he just knows he loves being tortured even more. jisung lays face down on his bed, fully naked with his messy hair obscuring part of his smushed face where it rests in his pillow. you’re just glad his aunt isn’t home.

you snicker at his theatrics, and then you’re leaning over to hook one lubed up thumb into the pucker of his asshole. he squeals, foot kicking out, but its movement is prevented by the webs attaching him to the bottom bedpost. “you’re still trying to move. god, would you just lay there and take it?”

you know it’s a low blow, talking down to him like that - nothing gets him harder. it works, too. he hiccups, nodding, knees frantically shuffling to get him in a better position. his legs spread from the movement, hard erection hanging down between two lithe thighs. you have to bury a finger all the way inside of him to the knuckle as a reward for the sight. “ah! oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, baby, more, moremoremore!”

“i’ll give you more, jisungie, just stay still for me,” your voice is calm, steady, and jisung nods with a sigh into the pillow. you curl your finger inside of him, his hole still tight despite the plug you’d pushed inside of him earlier, and he keens so prettily you think he might be crying. it’s the chaste kiss you press against his asscheek that has his muscles relaxing, and then you swipe your tongue over his balls as you push a second finger inside.

“what the ffff- jagi, baby-” jisung squeals, ass pushing back against you. when you pull your mouth back from his balls, you swipe your tongue over the area where your fingers meet his rim, and he really does let out a wet sob this time. you know he could free himself from his restraints if he wanted to, but he doesn’t, hands scrabbling to grip the pillow next to his head. you swipe your tongue over his rim a few more times, and by the time you’ve picked up a decent pace, he’s babbling freely. “hah, that’s- that’s s’good, s’good, my baby! you’re doing so well, please make me cum!”

when you pull away, you curl your fingers inside of him, pushing and prodding inside his walls. you know he can cum from this, and jisung arches his back to help you hit his prostate. he almost shoots off the bed when you finally reach it, if not for the way his legs are strapped down, and a long string of profanities leave his mouth. his cock has started leaking now, a thick, viscous string of precum that attaches him to his anime bedsheets beneath him.

“hmm, i don’t know. should i make you cum like this or let you cum inside me later?”

“b-both?! both! i can- i can do both, oh my god, jagiya, please-”

“god, really?” you start, and he gives you the sweetest, most faux timid nod. you shift your wrist slightly, and your fingers hit his prostate dead on this time. from what you can see, his face screws up from the constant stimulation the angle change gives him, eyebrows furrowed and sweet rosebud lips parted. you curl your fingers inside of him, rub rub rubbing until you’re satisfied with how wet his fat cock is. “wanting to cum twice is a pretty slutty move, y’know. are you a slut, jisungie?”

jisung tenses, breath hitching. you think you’ve overstepped it, gone too far somehow, but then his body shakes and he’s spilling onto the sheets below him. it keeps spilling out the more you rub over his prostate, efficient in drawing out his high, and the puddle that’s left on the sheets is almost pathetic for an untouched orgasm.

when your fingers slide out, his whole body slumps, and you curl around him. with a huff, he pulls his legs free and spins towards you, head burying in your tits. you’re still in your clothes, panties sodden from your arousal, but you know he’ll make it up to you when you let him come round.

you wait until he’s let out that signature post-sex giggle before you speak. “so, slut, huh?”

jisung blushes, crimson set high on round cheeks, but the earnest eyes he gives you are enough to tell you what he’s thinking. still, he has to babble. “that was so sexy, baby! i didn’t know you had it in you?! god, just thinking about it is getting me, and-“

“good,” you faux yawn, turning onto your back. jisung blinks. “well, i’m wet and my pussy hasn’t had any attention-“

jisung clambers on top of you, nose pressing against your neck. “say no more.”

[muddyorbsblr]

would've could've should've pt1

See my full list of works here!

Part of the 500 Follower Celebration Requested by: Anonymous

Summary: A careless comment from Thor calls into question the stability of your relationship with Loki

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: 18+ | mature themes; the slightest bit of steam toward the beginning; angst; Tony and Thor having a very much "bro" type attitude and not in the good way; hinting at Reader's emotional baggage; the slightest mention of human experimentation [let me know if I missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: established but private/secret relationship; Reader's baggage will be explained further in part 2

There was something rather peaceful in the routine you and Loki had settled into when either of you came back from a mission. Decompressing the night before the debriefing care of Rogers that you took bets on how long this one would last. And whoever won would get to pick where to get takeout from on your next indoor date night.

Your last mission was particularly stressful, nearly losing a limb from triggering a booby trap while retrieving intel about potential human experimentation from a HYDRA base. The second Nat mentioned that little tidbit in passing while you were unpacking your equipment from the mission, the god left the common area, raiding the pantry for a selection of your favorite snacks, and queueing up one of your comfort movies.

The one about a woman that hit her head and found herself stranded in a romantic comedy only to realize that her best friend, the one that had been in front of her all this time, was her great love all along.

When you got to your apartment, Loki was already there with the movie ready to play on the screen, and he even went the extra step to open and plate the snacks on the coffee table in your living room for easier access. And the cherry on top of it all was that he brought over one of his sweaters for you to change into, something he'd been doing more and more ever since you mentioned how comfortable they were during one of your missions together where you'd shared a suite.

"You know, I'm pretty sure they're watching the same movie outside," you mentioned, speaking around the wafer stick you were munching on. "Nat just texted me that she has Netflix power considering how this mission got us stressed out to hell and back. Wanna just watch it outside with the rest of the guys?"

The god shook his head, pulling you closer to him. "If we join them outside, then I would be unable to do this." He tilted your chin up and pressed a soft kiss to your lips. "And this is my favorite part," he mumbled against your skin before proceeding to give you a series of kisses, increasing with passion in each one.

Suddenly whatever was happening in the movie didn't matter to you anymore, an army of butterflies fluttering near violently at your stomach as he wrapped his arm around you and maneuvered your positions until you were straddling him on the couch, your knees on either side of his hips. He kept his hand on your waist, holding you steady while his other hand buried itself in your hair before he licked into your mouth, letting out a decadent sounding moan when your tongues met.

He moved his hand to your lower back, changing your positions once again so that your back was flat on the couch, and he hovered over you and between your legs. You leaned into his touch, losing yourself in his attentions, until his hand moved upward, cupping your breast. That was when you broke the kiss.

"I'm sorry," he panted, immediately moving his hand away once he saw the frantic, panicked look in your eyes. "I got carried away--"

"No, sweetie, I'm sorry," you insisted, placing your hands on his shoulders, and pulling yourself up slightly to kiss him, trying to reassure your boyfriend he did nothing wrong. "It's just…I want to be ready, really, I do. And I know it's frustrating for you it's just that…every time we take a step  in that direction something in me starts running and cowering in a corner, it's not fair to you that--"

"Please don't apologize, darling, you have nothing to be sorry for." He righted your positions on the couch, delicately stroking your hair and giving you a soft peck on your lips before he stood, offering you his hand. "I think we could both benefit from cooling off a bit. Would you like to join the others outside?"

Despite having offered it yourself just a few minutes earlier, your stomach dropped when the tables had turned, knowing that you'd put a stop to something that could have turned out completely mind-blowing and possibly even life changing. Only thing was, when you reached the peak of a relationship, that was it.

The only way forward was down.

"You go ahead," you told him, walking toward your bedroom. "I'll just change into my sweats first…so no one asks questions."

By some miracle, no one on the team had caught on yet that you two had started seeing each other and had been in a relationship for the better part of the year. And neither of you seemed to be itching to burst your little bubble of privacy quite yet, knowing that the second the team knew, Wanda and Nat would be down your throat with questions practically begging for every detail. And Thor would be doing much of the same for his brother.

At least that was the story you tried to tell yourself. It was better than what that little voice in your head tried to scream at you every time he didn't take the seat next to you. Or when he'd drop your hand and take a few steps back the second he heard someone rounding the corner.

Loki gave you a strained smile, starting to walk toward your front door. "I'll see you outside then." Before you could reach your bedroom, he called out to you. "I love you, little mortal."

You blinked back the tears that were threatening to come out, looking back at him with a contrived smile of your own. "I love you, too, Mischief."

A good few minutes passed before you exited your apartment, the movie paused on the TV and a rather lively discussion being had among your teammates. Something about Barnes' new girlfriend.

"Oh good you're here, jellybean, welcome to the circus," Tony greeted you, jutting his chin toward the empty seat next to Wanda. "Need your input on something."

Instead of taking the seat, you walked over to the bar to pour yourself a glass of wine. You had a feeling you were gonna need it. On your way there, you spotted Loki seated near his brother, giving you a minuscule smile and a tiny wave of his hand.

"Go ahead, I'm listening," you called out.

"Stark's trying to tell me the woman I'm seeing isn't all that interested in me because she doesn't want to spend the night," Bucky started. "Said she's just with me for the aesthetic of dating me, whatever backwards 21st Century nonsense that is. I'm trying to tell the rest of these horn dogs that maybe she's just not ready yet. Good things take time. Flowers need to blossom--"

"Sarge, don't ever say that line again, it's so cheesy you'll attract rats in here," you shot back, pointing your finger at the soldier before turning toward Stark. "That said though…I'm with Bucky on this one, Stark. Maybe she's just not ready yet I mean…not everyone's ready to drop trou and put out so easily, you know. How long have you been dating this girl anyways?" You turned back to Bucky as you asked the question.

"Three weeks? Give or take?"

"Dammit Stark, it's only been three weeks, give our boy some time." You made a show of facepalming before you picked up your glass, plopping down next to Wanda who immediately rested her head on your shoulder.

"They've been at this for the last ten minutes," she groaned. "Wake me when they put the movie back on." Meanwhile, you clocked Nat next to her, not so subtly massaging her temples in an attempt to calm herself down. You shared the feeling; this was such a common sense discussion it shouldn't have lasted thirty seconds.

"Well then perhaps you could provide some insight for another situation, Lady Y/N," Thor boomed from across the floor, swatting his brother's hand away when he tried to get the blond Asgardian to stop.

"Brother you really need not--"

"Nonsense. Lady Y/N seems knowledgeable on how timetables and relations between mortals work, perhaps she'll finally give the perspective I have been seeking."

Your boyfriend shot you a look, as if he was already embarrassed by what his brother was about to say, piquing your curiosity even more. "I'm all ears, Thunder. Ask away."

"My brother has been seeing a mortal woman for the better part of the last Midgardian year. My best estimate…eight moons," he began, your stomach once again dropping at the realization that he was about to ask your insight about…yourself. You gave him a motion to go on, placing your glass on the table to hide the way your hand had begun to shake. "And while it has been as you here on Midgard would say 'like pulling teeth' trying to get him to divulge any detail about her, something I have surmised is that she also seems unwilling to spend the night with him. Yet he claims they love each other."

"Yikes, tough break, Reindeer Games!" Tony winced. "My two cents? You're not just on the same boat with Barnes over here, you're the goddamn captain of the ship. Go on, jellybean, tell him."

"I-I…" you stuttered, your heart thundering in your chest from unwittingly having been placed on the proverbial hot seat. "Maybe she just…wants to be sure, you know? I mean…I don't know how y'all do it in Asgard but here, with some people, being intimate is…something m-more than physical."

You could see from where you sat that the raven-haired god's fingers were twitching, his leg bouncing as if he wanted to stand up and leave the room. You pretty much wanted out of this, too.

Thor waved off your explanation. "I completely disagree. That amount of time passed, I believe one should be sure lest she be wasting both of their time. Brother, much as I can tell you love this mortal, it is my expert opinion, which I believe will be backed by the men in this room, that your mortal woman does not love you. This is, as our genius friend Stark has stated earlier, all for the optics of having you at her arm."

It was getting impossible to breathe. How dare he say that about you right in your face like this? Thinking he knew everything there was to know about your relationship just because he was in one of his own?

"You know not the first thing about her, Brother," Loki hissed, speaking through his teeth as if he was readying himself to strike.

"I know enough," the blond Asgardian shot back dismissively. "You know I think the world of you, Brother, and after everything you've endured, you deserve every bit of happiness this universe will grant you." He clapped his hand on Loki's shoulder. "If this mortal shares not this sentiment, then perhaps your time is better spent elsewhere."

"He's right, Mischief," you choked out, your voice so small you were surprised it even traveled that far that it had everyone looking to you. "Maybe you are wasting your time with this one…you know, if she's making you wait so long." You stood up abruptly, making Wanda groan in protest when she nearly fell over to the spot you'd just vacated.

In what was probably your most poorly miscalculated decision for the night, you downed your wine in a single gulp, starting to walk back to your apartment.

"Hey where you going, jellybean, you just got here," Tony hollered from his seat. "Come on, I know talking about Frosty the Snowman's nonexistent sex life was a drag, how about we all drop it for now, I'll order some tacos and we can go back to grilling Manchie here."

"Or we could lay off either of us and grill someone else for a change?" Bucky groaned, throwing his human arm over his eyes as he turned his face to the ceiling.

"You know what, you are so right, let's talk about the big guy who has a lot to say about being the resident relationship expert." Stark turned to face Thor. "How is Lady Thunder lately? And how are you with the whole your old hammer chooses her over you thing?"

The conversation faded into a dulled roar in your ears as the wine begun to take what fleeting effect it would have on you, your pulse faintly thumping in your ears as you made your way back to your apartment.

You hadn't even been back two minutes before your door swung open again, the God of Mischief standing at your entryway looking a mix of concerned and distraught. "Darling, I completely apologize for my oaf of a brother, I had no idea he would--"

"It's okay, Loki," you cut him off, throwing your hands up as if to push away the conversation. "Maybe he's on to something, I mean you should be with someone who doesn't take forever and a day to be ready for something like this, maybe we should--"

In an instant, he stood inches away from you, placing his hands on your shoulders in a gentle but firm grasp. "Don't say another word, my love, please." He rubbed his hands up and down your arms in a soothing gesture; whether it was to soothe you or him was beyond you.

"You want more, I get that," you pressed on. "And I can't give that to you--"

"You are all that I want, precious mortal." He leaned in, pressing a desperate kiss to your lips before wrapping his arms around you. "I am already more than content that you've even granted me the honor to know who you are outside of our duties. This is all I need, to be able to love you as I have these past moons."

Tears began to fall from your eyes as your words weighed heavy on your tongue. "I'm sure there's someone out there more than willing to give you what I can't, it's selfish of me to keep you--"

"Stop, little mortal, I beg of you," he pleaded, repeatedly pressing his lips to your forehead. "Don't rid yourself of me like this. I don't care if there's someone else out there, they aren't you." He sat you both down back on the couch, cradling you against his chest as his hand rubbed up and down your back in soothing motions. "Please just try to put what my oaf of a brother said out of your mind. His opinion is entirely his own and it is one I do not share."

Your next question blurted out without much resistance. "Loki what if I never become ready? What if you really are wasting your time with me, you shouldn't--"

"Any time I spend with you, regardless of how it is spent, is never a waste," he whispered, stroking your face as he held your gaze. "If ever you decide to share that part of yourself with me, it will be an honor that I will cherish for the rest of my days, but I will never be the one to place pressure on you to move yourself at a pace you're uncomfortable with."

You nuzzled your face into the crook of his neck, prompting him to press a kiss to your temple when you sniffled from the tears you were trying and failing to hold back. "I do love you," you mumbled against him. "You know that, right?"

"Of course I do, my darling mortal." He pressed his cheek against yours, taking deep breaths to calm himself after the scare your words from earlier gave him. He wanted to punch his brother clean across the jaw for jeopardizing his happiness with his careless words, and the stabbing pain it put him through seeing how deeply that opinion had cut you.

He started moving toward your bedroom, carrying you in his arms bridal style. Mostly in refusal to let you go even for a fraction of a moment.

"What're you doing?" you mumbled, making a motion to move out of his arms.

"We're going to bed, darling. Just to sleep, nothing more, I swear."

"Hmph…" you shook your head, the motion making the tip of your nose nuzzle his neck in a slight tickling sensation. "Maybe…maybe you should stay at your place tonight." Your voice was so small, so unsure of what you'd just said. The god stopped in his tracks, his body going rigid and making you immediately regret your words.

"Do you want me to leave, dear heart?" he choked out, his heart at war with himself as it protested against him putting you back down on your feet.

"No," you admitted, lifting your head from his shoulder and showing him the tears that had begun to redden your eyes. "I want you to stay, I'll always want you to stay, I just don't…" Your breath hitched in the back of your throat, almost sounding like a hiccup. "I don't want you to be frustrated because of me--"

"I'm not," he reassured you, resting his forehead on yours. "Being with you like this is more than enough for me. I need you to know this, my darling."

He laid you down on your bed before his clothes changed into his own loungewear set with a wash of his green magic, settling under the covers next to you and pulling you into his arms.

"Promise me something, Mischief?"

"Anything."

"If…and when…the time comes that you get tired of waiting? And you want to be with someone else--"

"Little mortal, not another word." He tightened his hold on you, as if he couldn't hold you close enough. "Please, my love, let's just retire for the night."

"Just let me get this out," you insisted. "Let me say my piece and I'll never mention it again. Okay?"

He sighed, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. "Okay."

"If you want to be with someone else, just promise you'll tell me and leave me first? I don't wanna find out waking up one morning and seeing someone else with her arms around you and just waving it around for everyone to see." Your voice dwindled and wavered into barely a whisper, your arm tightening around his midsection, a part of you already refusing to give him up even if the day were to come.

"That will never happen," he told you. "Why would I ever wish to leave you?"

"Just--Just promise me anyway. Please?"

"Look at me, little mortal." He traced along your jaw with his finger, tilting your chin up so he could see your eyes. The sight of the genuine fear of that precise outcome reflected in your expression knocked nearly all of the air from the god's lungs. "On the remotest chance of that happening, I promise I will never do wrong by you. But I want nothing more than for you rest assured that I will never wish to be with another.

"Perhaps one day you'll believe it. But I will gladly spend my days proving my devotion to you. This…This I will gladly swear to you. On whatever semblance of a soul I have left." He brushed the tip of his nose against yours before pressing a tender kiss to the same spot. "I love you, my darling Y/N."

You finally settled in his embrace, resting your head on his chest as you began to let your breathing even out. "I love you, too, Loki."

Just the thought of history repeating itself one day had your blood going cold, feeling as if your very bones were shaking from the images your mind conjured of the inevitable day that Loki would leave you. Somewhere deep inside you knew it was ridiculous for you to even think that your boyfriend was anywhere even near capable of putting you through what he had all those years ago.

But that was the thing about fear. Sometimes it was rational, like jumping out of the Quinjet and having a passing scare that your parachute had a hole in it. And other times it was outright absurd. Like now. Thinking that in the morning after you first had sex, the god would have realized there wasn't anything worth spending more time with. That he'd have had his fill of you and now it was time to move on to better prospects.

It didn't help, either, that your overly cautious mind was yelling that the signs were all there. That it could tell you exactly where this was headed because of the dropped hands. The refusal to even sit near each other. The barely there acknowledgement when you were even in the same room together. Everything that had happened before with him…felt like a mirror image of what was happening now. With Loki.

And you didn't have it in you to tell him that his desire for privacy was slowly and quite surely crushing you.

A/N: Starting off another story from the request pile! This is going to have 3 parts, where both parts 1 and 2 will deliver on the more angsty part and part 3 will be the comfort/fluff. I know you asked for "90% angst", Anon, but hopefully 10k words worth of angst will do it…because part 2 is 6.5k words long 😳👀

everything taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @peaches1958 @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th  @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @smolvenger @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokidokieokie @lunarnights95 @superficialdomina @kmc1989 @november-rayne @goddessofwonderland @buttercupcookies-blog @peaky-marvel @lokiified @tom-hlover

[vangelini]

If you’re interested Can you write a fic Where reader has met Spencer’s mom and she absolutely loves reader and r mentions in front of the team when they have a case in Vegas and says “if we have time can we go see mom?” So the team thinks that they’re dating. They both get all flustered and deny repeatedly. Eventually the get together and kiss maybe where the team saw? So they’d go like “aweee” making them both embarrassed again.

Secret’s Out | Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: A visit with Diana Reid makes you realize how badly you want your relationship to be public. Luckily, Thanks to the team’s snooping, you don’t have to worry much longer.

Tags: fluff, established relationship, BAU! Reader

Warnings: none

Words: 1.7k

A/N: i accidentally lied about how long this was gonna take 🤷‍♀️ IM SORRY, I GOT SICK (it’s not covid though yaaaaay) enjoy 💕💕

|

There were so many things you loved about dating Spencer— his ranting as his long fingertips combed through your hair, the cheeky tight-lipped smile he looked up at you with when he wanted to hold you, the thoughtful coffee dates and foreign film movie nights. You could probably go on indefinitely. One thing you DIDN’T love was keeping it all a secret.

Spencer wasn’t a fan either, but you both knew that this wasn’t something you wanted floating around the office, or, God forbid, an unsub’s criminal plan somehow involving your relationship. So, it is what it is. You were left with two real places you could be a couple: each others apartments, and around Spencer’s mom.

You ADORED her, and she returned the same sentiment tenfold.

The first time you met, you had been, admittedly, and reasonably so, scared shitless. You had heard little tidbits of information about her through the proverbial grapevine. Penelope told you about how she was in some sort of facility in Vegas, and you overheard some ballsy intern talking about how it was actually an ‘asylum’ because she was ‘crazy’. This pissed you off a little, but Spencer reassured you that it was not a big deal. But, no matter what he told you, or how many times he calmed your doubts, standing in that common room in front of Diana Reid was terrifying.

What if she didn’t like you? What if she thought you weren’t good enough for him? What if you didn’t get along and you would sit in awkward silence as she scowls at you and-

“Spencer, is this the girl you’ve been writing me about?” She smiled wide at her son. He nodded sweetly, something glimmering in his eyes. Your heart pounded a little, but that melted away when she wrapped her arms around you, speaking into your ear. “I already like you, sweetheart,” you could hear the smile in her voice, and you couldn’t help but join her.

The three of you spent hours together— finishing a puzzle she started, talking about your favorite books and stories, stories of the favorite boy you two shared. You were all disappointed, when you had to leave.

“Please visit again soon, sweetheart,” she hugged you, turning to Spencer, whispering something in his ear that was purposely just loud enough for you to overhear. “This one’s a keeper, Spence,” she kissed him on the cheek, waving you goodbye.

“Spence?” You grabbed hold of his hand that searched for yours by his side, and he started rubbing your knuckles with his thumb, a habit you loved about him.

He hummed a little in response, pulling you closer.

“I think I love her,” you smiled.

—

That brought you here, sitting next to Spencer, reasonably spaced out, to avoid suspicion, on the jet toward a new case— a new case in Las Vegas. He read through the file for a third time in the past minute and a half, deft fingers moving along the print. You watched in awe of your boyfriend, the focused look on his face making your heart flutter.

“Spence…” you gently interrupted, nudging him gently on the knee. He broke his eyes from the pages, looking down at you. He smiled. You knew he loved you, but it was times like this— when his eyes would immediately dilate, a small smile effortlessly pulling up on his lips, that made you really believe it.

“What’s up?”

“Since we’re in Vegas,” you started, putting a hand on his knee. He grabbed it. “If we have time, could we visit your mom?” The room must have gotten too quiet, right before you said that, because everyone seemed to hear your innocent suggestion.

“You two making plans, over here?” Morgan jested, flashing a signature smile that you had been Pavlov-ed into associating with teasing. You looked at him curiously, not yet understanding his point. “You two going to visit Reid’s mama? What, are you finally gonna ask for his hand in marriage, Pretty Girl?” He chuckled, proud of his joke. You both blushed harshly, scooting away from each other subconsciously.

“Morgan, don’t say stupid stuff,” you laughed nervously, occupying yourself with the file in your hands, trying not to look at your boyfriend’s same flustered expression. “It makes you sound… I don’t know, stupid,” you scoffed at you inability to come up with anything other than that.

“Sooo,” Emily started, smiling wide at the scene in front of her, tickled a little by Reid’s unconscious, nervous leg bouncing. “You’re NOT going on a solo couples excursion?”

Spencer brushed his hair behind his ear, clearing his throat. “Actually, it’s not at all odd for someone to be well acquainted with their friends’ parents,” he pursed his lips, wetting them with his tongue nervously. “When I was a child, I had more in common with the parents of kids in my class, than I did my friends themselves. Studies show-“

You kicked his leg a little, trying to signal that he was digging himself in a hole. He pursed his lips and went quiet.

“I love making the kiddos uncomfortable as much as the next guy, but let’s reconvene on this case,” Rossi interrupted, flashing you an apologetic smile. You sighed and returned the gesture, as the team went back to the former subject. Reid slid back next to you, looking down at you with big, brown eyes. Behind the prying eyes of the team, he hooked his pinky finger with yours, smiling, as he started scanning over the crime scene photos, again.

—

It was a quick case, thankfully. Forty eight hours after you arrived in Vegas, the hostages were returned home, and the unsub was arrested. The team let out a collective sigh of relief and went out to lunch to celebrate. Well, the team MINUS you and Spencer.

“It makes me so happy that my mom loves you so much,” Spencer pulled you closer, walking toward the exit of the facility, his had tangled in yours.

“Gosh, me too,” you laughed, still giddy from getting to visit your boyfriend’s mom, something that always made your day better. He waved a small goodbye to the staff, opening the door for you. “Rossi said he would come pick us up, right?” You squeezed his hand, his free one moving to cup your cheek. You leaned into his touch, sighing and closing your eyes, the warm summer sun beaming onto your faces. He hummed a small ‘yeah’, swaying with you in the light.

“Y’know…” Spencer started talking. You opened your eyes, looking up at his face, strands of hair shielding his eyes a little. “We don’t HAVE to keep our relationship a secret,” he pushed a piece of hair behind your ear, one hand moving to hold your waist. His eyes searched yours for a reaction. You cocked your head to the side. This notion was a little out-of-nowhere for him.

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” he looked up in thought, eyes squinting from the sun. “When we were in there, we didn’t have to keep anything a secret. We didn’t have to walk on eggshells to keep anything in the dark. We were just,” he stopped, looking down at you. “Y’know, us,” he smiled, both hands holding your waist. He was right, and you knew that. More than anything, you wanted to be able to grab his hand without making sure the coast was clear. He wanted to sit so close to you, you couldn’t breathe. You wanted to be able to smile and laugh and be with him without trying to keep it under wraps. He wanted you more than anything.

“Alright,” you put your hands around the nape of his neck, and he sighed. He loved that.

“You mean it?” He smiled, a little surprised you agreed so quickly.

“Yeah,” you laughed a little. “I mean, once the team knows, we’ll have to have a talk with Hotch about work-home balance,” Spencer laughed at that, knowing you were right. “Penelope, Emily, and Morgan will want all the details,” he rubbed small circles into your skin, his smile not fading from his face.

“And Rossi is gonna make us have the talk,” he chimed in, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“So that’s it? We’re gonna tell everyone we’re dating?” Your smile was wide, hands combing through the hair at the base of his head. Spencer just nodded, pulling you close to him in a kiss. He smiled into your lips, wrapping his hands all the way around you, then bringing them up to your face. He pulled away, smiling, opening his mouth to say something.

“I-“

“Awwweee!” Your heads spun around to the road, team members’ heads sticking out the window of the van, Rossi in the driver’s seat.

“Reid, you sly dog!” Morgan whistled, smiling wide. Spencer blushed, dropping his hands from your face and laughing nervously. He stuffed his hands into his pockets. You looked between them, then bursted into laughter.

“I guess that’s one way to let them know,” you looked up at your boyfriend. He ran his fingers through his hair.

“I guess so,” he shrugged with a smile, grabbing your hand and walking toward the vehicle.

The secrecy, thankfully, came to and end.

But the rest of it all was just starting.

[dayz-ina-daze]

I keep seeing?? Other disabled people offering advice on my dash, and while I don’t know… if there’s like. A Thing going on right now, I do have my own tidbit to offer:

If you want something from your doctor, bring a fucking friend to the appointment. Have a witness.

People who have known me for a little while, or have followed me since I first popped onto tumblr, know that I only recently got my wheelchair. I’ve been diagnosed with POTS and other varying minor medical conditions, plus the slew of anxiety and depression and such that I don’t talk about as often. POTS is a condition that makes it notoriously difficult for someone to stay on their feet for long periods of time due to blood flow, and in my particular case, it also really heavily effects my balance (for example: I was in a dark room and fell over, and genuinely did not realize that I was falling until I had hit the floor) and nausea. I physically cannot eat while standing. I can’t be standing for more than maybe 15 minutes or so at a time, or else I’ll pass out.

My only means of personal monetary support at the moment are commissions, which is especially important during the winter months for me, because my depression and chronic pain really flare up in cold weather, so I have been very hopeful and adamant about finding a job - but obviously, I can’t be on my feet for long periods, so I struggled to get clearance alone for my wheelchair for fucking months y’all. Months of me actually actively begging this same woman who diagnosed me, having full on breakdowns in front of her, asking her what needed to be done for me to prove to some invisible force that I needed this device that would help me get out of the house more and regain some sense of freedom and independence… and she would always send me away again with halfassed excuses!

You wanna’ know what finally made her give me the clear to even ASK my insurance to cover my chair? Me bringing my girlfriend to an appointment with me. An appointment that I had stocked up with multiple notes, references, evidence, etc etc - WHICH I NEEDED! NONE OF! Because I asked about my wheelchair with my girlfriend in the room, and my doctor switched gears immediately. I was cleared to send insurance requests not even within a week.

Bring your friends to your doctor’s appointments. If they’re willing, bring them. This is such a small thing in retrospect, but it’s made me NEVER want to go to an appointment of mine alone ever again. Bring them with you. It’ll save you so much heartache and effort.

[gogogodzilla]

day 24, primal play

arthur morgan x reader warnings: nsfw 18+, dirty talk, unprotected sex, creampie, spanking, dubcon but they're roleplaying, medium/low honor arthur, public sex, bondage kinktober ☠︎︎ main masterlist ☠︎︎ read on ao3

It was a stupid game, really, and you truly shouldn’t be away from camp for such a long time. You tried to justify your absence by robbing and hunting as much as you could. This week, however, you were the one being hunted. 

The rules were simple. Arthur would give you a day head start as you got as far away from camp as you could, and he would track you and eventually ‘catch’ you. You were careful not to make this game last longer than a week. The need to ravish each other and the obligation to be at camp were both too great to deny yourselves for too long. 

In the beginning, you’d leave Arthur little gifts for him to find along the way. They’d have clues as to where you were going or small tidbits of the things you wanted him to do to you. He always made sure to keep your fantastical writings and make them a reality. 

It was the anticipation that kept you on edge for as long as the game lasted. You never knew whether the rustling you heard was just the wind or Arthur coming to claim his prize. 

You knew it was risky to turn your back, even just for a moment. Your fears came true when the familiar cool metal of a blade was pressed against your throat. You hadn’t even heard him come up behind you. 

“Now you oughta know better,” Arthur’s gravelly voice murmured against the shell of your ear. “Pretty little thing like you shouldn’t be all alone out here… Not with dangerous outlaws running ‘round these parts.” 

He dragged his knife slowly down your front, tracing every little dip and curve of your chest. You were ashamed by just how much his actions riled you up. He wrapped his bicep around your neck, keeping you trapped against him, as his knife trailed across the tops of your thighs. 

“You one of ‘em?” you questioned, pressing your ass into his groin. 

You felt the scratchy fabric of his bandana brush against the side of your neck as he pressed his nose against you, breathing in your scent. 

“Some would say that,” he hummed before sliding his knife into the holster on the back of his belt. Your body hummed with excitement and something… more. 

The rope of his lasso hit the back of your thigh, and he removed it from his belt with his free hand. “Hands behind your back, darlin’,” he ordered, and you wriggled against his grasp, feigning to put up a fight. 

He looped his foot around your ankle and brought you to kneel on the tall grass before pushing you to the ground. You thrashed in his grip as he settled his weight on your bottom half, and wrestled your hands behind your back, tying them together. 

“What are you doing?” you whimpered, tugging against the rope that bound your wrists. 

Arthur shimmied down to rest on the backs of your thighs and spread his hands across your ass, kneading the flesh there. “Little thing out here for the taking,” he murmured as his hands trailed up your sides and slid under you to grope at your breasts. 

You bit your lip, attempting to stifle the whine that threatened to escape you at his touch. He lifted himself so he was hovering over you and pulled your hips up so your ass was in the air, inviting his touch. 

He slid a hand across your calf and then under your skirt. His calloused fingers drug over the smooth skin of your thighs before moving to caress your clothed heat. You gasped as he teased you through the thin fabric of your undergarments. 

The unsheathing of his knife caused your ears to prick up and you felt the familiar cool metal of the blade pressed against your neck once again. 

“Gonna keep quiet for me, darlin’?” Arthur questioned as he used his free hand to tug your undergarments down your legs, leaving you bare for him. You gasped as the cool night air brushed against your cunt. 

You nodded quickly, “Yes, anything you want.” 

“That’s what I thought,” he hummed, satisfied with your answer. 

At the clinking of his gun belt leaving his hips, you pressed your core against him whining at the feeling of the rough denim of his jeans against you. He was quick to free his weeping cock from his jeans. He stroked himself once and then twice before sliding his length between your folds, eliciting a breathy moan from you. 

He leaned down so his chest was pressed against your back. “So wet for me, darlin’. You want this outlaw to use this pretty little cunt of yours?” he said as his breath fanned across your cheek, having pulled down his bandana at some point during your encounter. 

He didn’t give you enough time to answer before he was pushing his cock inside you, inch by aching inch. You groaned at the way he stretched you, the sharp prick of him entering you had you squirming. 

He pushed your thighs further apart with one of his knees as he began to rock his hips against yours. 

“Shit, darlin’,” he hissed with the slow drag of hips leaving you a moaning mess under him. “Should tie you up more often.” 

Each rut of his hips was deeper and harder, filling the open air with the sounds of skin slapping against skin and Arthur’s soft grunts. He moved his knife away from your neck and trailed it down your back, the tip of it leaving goosebumps in its wake. He moved to drag his knife over your clothed breasts, each thrust of his hips pressing the blade dangerously close to your skin.

With his free hand, Arthur reached around you to rub harsh circles around your clit. His pace was brutal, but you loved every second of it. He tossed his knife to the side, opting to grip your hip with one hand while the other stroked your clit.

A jolt ran through your being as a harsh smack lands across your ass, earning a yelp from you. Arthur was quick to run a soothing hand over the reddened flesh as his hips stuttered against yours. 

“Good girl,” he grunted, and his praise went straight to your core. 

He landed three more smacks across your ass before you were cumming harshly on his cock, squeezing him in a vice grip while your orgasm ripped through you. Each drag of his hips through your heat was bringing him closer to the brink as his pace increased. He came with a strangled groan as he filled you to the brim, his white hot load coating your walls. 

You relished the feeling of him inside you. His cock twitched as he came down from his orgasm and his hips slowed. Within a few moments, he was pulling out of you and a whine was escaping your lips. You loved the feeling of his cum dripping out of you and covering your thighs, and Arthur groaned at the sight. 

“So beautiful,” he hummed as his fingers danced across your thighs. 

You rolled onto your back, grinning, “Think this was the quickest you’ve caught me.”

Arthur grunted, “I had Charles teach me a few tricks. Told him I needed some help hunting.” 

You laughed as you looked up to the stars. You’d have to give Charles your thanks.

[slutsareteacherstoo]

I Hope - A Terry Richmond Drabble Part 1

Phew y'all I'm so nervous! I wrote this short drabble with "I Hope" by Lizzie Berchie on repeat. It's such a hypnotic song (yearners beware!)

Wrote this for the ones seeking something a little softer, sweeter with Terry. Chile idk how to do the tags. But OC Savannah is Black.

I haven't written anything in soooo long but writing this made me feel so good so I hope you like it. Lol please don't expect anything from me in the future I'm just throwing my hat in the ring.

Black Fem! OC - Savannah (dark skinned, curvy, and disabled) x Terry Richmond (Gentle!Terry, Sweet!Terry, Nervous!Terry)

Very much safe for work! | 1k+ words | Fluff

[PART 2]

There is something special

I don't wanna miss it

I'm feeling celestial

You touching my spirit

You touching my spirit

Terry lowered himself on the balls of his feet. His black socks in contrast with the cream-colored rug he was on. He met Savannah at eye level as she sit at the edge of the bed. His eyes were a world of intent, passion and care. He searched her dark brown ones. They were ones filled with yearning and timid anticipation. The only sounds in the room Terry cared about were Savannah’s. Her breathing for one. They were shaky, shallow breaths. He and Savannah had had so many conversations prior to this moment, to assure her that they’d take things at her pace. That he wouldn’t step out or look for anyone else, just because she needed to go slower than he was used to. No one else was on his mind, only her. He was utterly and totally ruined by the woman in front of him. His heart was hers only. And he needed her to know that. He needed to show her — slowly and steadily.

Terry bent forward, cupping Savannah’s face in his hands. She leaned into his left hand and gave him a small smile.

“Hi,” Savannah said aloud, trying her damndest not to break eye contact.

“Hey,” Terry said mirroring Savannah’s smile, only he had more crinkles in his eyes.

The two let out a short laugh. Savannah broke her self-started staring contest and looked away. But Terry’s eyes never left Savannah. Returning her attention to Terry, she couldn’t help but be bashful and blush. Savannah felt the heat rush to her cheeks and knew Terry could too. He began to move his lips side to side, as if trying to stifle a…smile? A laugh?

“What?” Savannah chuckled. She was eyeing him more intently now, while he was the one to be evasive. “ What?” Savannah said again raising an eyebrow. When their gazes met yet again, Savannah felt a bolt of electricity zip through her body.

“It’s you,” Terry said. “I just—you really do blush orange.” The two laughed together. Savannah thought back to when she’d shared that tidbit with him. That under her deep brown skin, the neutral undertones gave way to the hue, to her tell.

Terry thumbed small circles on Savannah’s right cheek.  It was a way to keep the both of them in the moment, a reminder that this moment was real.

“I do,” Savannah admitted as she was back in the unstated staring contest. She could get lost in his eyes honestly— changing from stormy seas to clear skies, planets she wouldn’t mind being in orbit with. The room was silent for a beat, save for the pair’s breathing. Savannah’s had matched Terry’s now, more calm and measured. Then, Terry spoke,

“Savannah, baby” his voice was low and quiet but it commanded her as if it were a different level. “You are in control. When you wanna stop, we stop. When you wanna continue, we continue. We don’t go any further than any of us agree to. Nothing has to happen. And there will be many times after this one where things can.” 

Savannah loosened a bit at that, letting out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. She nodded and Terry continued.

“I got you. At every step, I got you. We’ll take it slow,” he brushed one of her coily tendrils behind her hair. “I’m not going anywhere”

Savannah could feel the tears well up, threatening to blur her vision. The rush of emotions going on inside her, being noisy and inconsiderate, were slowly fading. She felt more sure. So much so, that she took Terry’s face in her hands and pressed a kiss to his lips. He melted like he always did in her grasp and pulled her closer. She took in his bottom lip with fervor, as he let himself be drawn in. As she deepened the kiss, Savannah laid back against the bed, bringing Terry with her. Terry didn’t mind. Like he’d told her, she was in control. If all they did tonight was make out in her bed, he wouldn’t mind it at all. He couldn’t get enough of the feel of her lips and the taste of her tongue. Savannah couldn’t get enough of his scent, pine and rosemary mixed with his natural smell. It complemented her black chamomile and vanilla. Getting lost in the senses, Savannah hadn’t realized she was at the top of the bed, with Terry hovering over her. She opened her eyes and saw the want in his eyes. The look on his face was expectant yet cautious. Her own were a reflection of her newly settled self— this new way of being she was ready to embrace, to let free: eager and willing with a deep craving for the man above her.

“I’m ready,” she said nodding vigorously. “ I wanna try. I wanna try with you.” Terry nodded silently, moving forward to kiss across her forehead. Savannah bowed into it. He made his way from one temple to another, venturing to the side of her neck. He found himself inhaling her scent before kissing and sucking behind her ear. The moan Savannah let out surprised the both of them. It was short, high and sweet (as least Terry thought so). At the sound, he smiled into her neck, while Savannah used her hands to cover her face. Terry came out from the place behind her ear.

“Open your eyes,” Terry said firmly, still holding the utmost care and softness.

Savannah peeked out from behind splayed fingers. Terry lightly grasped her hands and put them at her sides. He’d placed his right hand under her chin, urging her to really see him when he said this.

“I don’t care what sounds you make. Nothing is too silly or too embarrassing. I’m not going to judge you for however your body wants to express itself, especially when you’re having a good time. Especially when you feel good. Because you deserve it. Do you understand me?”

“Yes.” she nodded. And with that, Terry brought his lips to Savannah’s once more before resuming his exploration of her with his lips, seeking out a more inclined Savannah, slowly and steadily releasing her inhibitions to let him in; but most importantly, allowing herself the opportunity — and hopefully more to come— to let go, to allow herself permission to feel good. Terry couldn’t wait to be of service to Savannah in that regard. He’d honor whatever wishes she desired, as long as she’d let him and have him. 

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

A/N: Okay y'all that's it. Watched some of The Underground Railroad today and a lot of the softness and tenderness Aaron performs Caesar with influenced this heavy.

I literally wrote this by hand in pencil, then typed it in the notes app and made minimal edits.

Also the only reason why i gave the character the name Savannah cuz the sound from Waiting to Exhale kept playing in my head. So minus the adultery, this is good man skskk

I also hope something like this for anybody reading it, especially if you need it (lord knows i do). Okay, bye sksksk 🫣🏃🏿‍♀️

[midnight-bay-if]

I read the ask about MC coming back to life and thought "How would they react if it was the opposite?". So the scenario is as follows, ROs died in MC's arms, MC begs them in their last moments not to abandon them and if they close their eyes they won't rest a day until they can see them back. ROs can't respond and die, BUT soon after they open their eyes as if they had actually just blinked. In fact they are in a completely different place, with a kind of drawing like a magic circle around them and naked without any wounds, then they look around confused and see MC, who even though hasn't changed in appearance, or is very similar to the last moment RO saw them, there is something arcane in their presence, not evil, but magical. Then MC takes a deep breath and says

"I had to fight five demons, two angels and read a cheap copy of necronomicon to be able to accomplish this without sacrificing anyone." then MC starts crying and jumps into RO's arms and hugs them with all their strength, as if they were afraid that RO would suddenly disappear "And all of this was worth it for this single moment! Don't ever leave me again you bastard!". How would the ROs react?

Sorry for the long ask, I got carried away.

(I will answer this prompt as it has come, but I thought I would throw in some lore here since it might provide a clue for a certain character. So, necromancy is actually outlawed in my little universe. The reason is that it actually always takes a sacrifice of some kind. There’s no getting around it. Death for life is always the exchange. Also, it’s very powerful magic that only a select few left know how to perform. Just a fun tidbit that some might find interesting. Now, for fun, I will answer the prompt as it is.)

S: They feel your weight press against them, inhaling the scent of you they have grown so familiar with. It takes a moment for their mind to catch up. S always knew you were special. It was obvious from the first moment you met. That tenacity, that strength, it was what drew them to you. But this? It scares them. Death should feel weightier than this. It shouldn’t feel like merely waking up from a long sleep. Their limbs are stiff, their throat dry, their skin tight… but otherwise, fine.

The moment of death comes back in flashes. A miscalculation, a moment of weakness, and that’s all it took. Life is a fickle bitch.

Regaining their bearings, S finally hugs you back, gripping your shirt so tightly it stretches. “I… fear what you must have gone through, darling. Words cannot express the depth of my sorrow. So, for now, I will remain quiet. I am here, love. I will not leave you again.”

Rain: They blink as if waking from a long sleep, but you are pressed against them tearfully, and everything hits them in a rush. Death. They died. So, how are they here now? They take a cursory glance around and see the ingredients, the circle, the book… Then, MC’s words as they regained consciousness… Oh, no.

Rain grips you tightly, one hand at your waist, the other buried in your hair. “I’m so sorry,” they whisper, tears in their eyes, “you are so strong. So strong. But you can stop now, okay? I’m here.” Rain pulls away enough to see your face, pressing a now warm hand to your cheek. "I love you so much."

Taj: They breathe sharply. Their chest feels strangely tight. They glance down at their hands, taking in the details as you hang off them, afraid to let go. Everything seems as it should, but after what you said… Shit like this shouldn’t be possible. It’s fucking nuts. You’ve always been so nondescript, so human… How could they have been so wrong?

Taj pulls away, both hands gripping your shoulders hard enough to mark. They stare into your eyes, soaking in the details, the evidence of how you have over-exerted yourself. “You fuckin’ idiot,” they whisper with evident affection. “Don’t you ever do anything like that for me again, you hear?” Then, they yank you back to their chest, holding you fiercely.

N: There isn't much that scares them, but this... They breathe heavily, still waiting for their hammering heart to reacclimatize to beating. They feel your nails digging into the skin of their back as you clutch at them with surprising strength. It all works to ground them.

Death for demons is a shameful journey. Demons are supposed to be powerful, controllers, and unparalleled manipulators. Demons are not supposed to be saved by their human lovers. Yet, feeling your weight in their arms and the tears you weep for them... all they feel is pride.

"There, there, my dear," they whisper, running a gentle hand through your hair. "It's over now. I am here. And it would take the destruction of cities to tear me from you again."

Umbra: The sensation is oddly familiar. But being uncomfortable in one's skin isn't a new experience for Umbra. At first, Umbra isn't even sure what happened. Their heavy eyelids open, and it takes your voice and desperate embrace to keep them from shutting again.

As you cling to them, Umbra glances around the space, and everything becomes clear. "No..." they whisper, gripping you back tightly. They dare not ask about it. They couldn't bear to hear you suffering in their name. For once, they don't move. They enjoy the closeness of your heat and breathe in the scent so distinctly yours. Just for a while. "I wish you hadn't... but thank you."

[plutoswritingplanet]

Hand That Feeds (Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Female!Reader) pt.3

a/n: decided not to include smut just yet, it didn't feel right considering the story, next time i promise we'll f the raisin

Warnings: Blood and Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Smoking Cigs

Summary: The camp gets attacked, and as such, important changes are forced to develop. Cross-Posted on AO3

Pt. 1, Pt. 2

Old. He feels old. 

His age is like a thief in the night, it creeps up on him, slowly, before sinking its teeth right into his bones. There are centuries to his name now, and still, he doesn't learn from his mistakes. It's him chasing a woman, that has gotten him in this mess in the first place, and now he's doing the same damned thing. That's the only explanation, why he lets you get away with as much as he does. 

Here you sit, curled into yourself, his lasso secured tightly around you, your hands raised towards your face. He watches with confliction, as you put a cigarette up to your lips, the bud lighting your features for just a moment, before a cloud of smoke escapes into the dark night.  It's a deep, heavy inhale, your chest expands. He can feel the lasso move under his grip, and he flexes his fingers against it.

He's never seen anyone smoke in such an elegant manner, not after the bombs anyway. This regal air, a natural sort of poise, intrigues him beyond any reason. How did the Wasteland not destroy all this grace, how are you untouched by the roughness of this world, is beyond him. He tries to categorize everything he knows about you, all the small tidbits of information he has gathered through the short time you've been travelling together. Still, nothing explains this strange nature of you, and Cooper leans back, the sound of your Geiger meter spiking every time he moves. 

Cooper reaches into his pocket and takes out a pack of cigarettes, your cigarettes. Feeling your gaze on him, he takes one and lights it against the small fire you both got going. Well, in all fairness, it was you that started the fire, while your captor watched you struggle, keeping his leash on you. 

Those strange little power trips seemed to be one of his favorite games. He wouldn't be the first man that got off on power you've met, but he was definitely the most annoying. Your throat still burns slightly from the smoke, as you throw him a displeased look. 

The nicotine is barely noticeable to him, like a grain of sugar in a very large chocolate cake. In his case, the cake is made of every drug possible to find in the Wasteland. 

Still, Cooper tastes the pre-war chemicals with a strange sense of melancholy. It makes him remember, again, and he closes his eyes as he exhales the smoke, not bothering to smother a low groan of pleasure. Your eyebrows jump to your forehead, but you compose yourself quickly, throwing your burning bud into the fire. 

The events of the previous night are still vivid in your mind. His fingers flexing against your tongue. His knee between your legs, close but not close enough. Perhaps he wasn't the only one getting off on this uneven relationship, but you were not about to admit it, even to yourself.

- So - your voice is rough from the smoke, and you swallow around a lump in your throat - Where are you taking me?

He doesn't answer for a long while, just enjoying his cigarette, your cigarette. And he seems to be enjoying it very much, more than what's considered proper. Honestly, with the way he's been groaning, you wouldn't be surprised if he came on the spot just from the smoke. The thought makes your cheeks redden, and you chastise yourself for even thinking in that general direction, again. Has it really been that long?

- Shady Sands - smoke pushes past his teeth, surprisingly intact for a Ghoul.    - For real?

- Yup - another drag, you watch his chest expand under his coat - Shady Fucking Sands.

Your head slumps down, as you turn your gaze back to the fire. Hunger creeps up on you, and with your hands tied, you reach over to an Iguana on a stick roasting over the flames. Your tongue burns from the heat, but as soon as the chewy meat hits your stomach, you're ready to sing to the heaven's. 

- That's an awfully long way for a bunch of caps - you note, between quick bites of your food - What was my bounty? Five hundred?

The last time you've checked, it was something around that number. Not too shabby, but not worryingly big either. Just enough to keep you on your toes for any desperate newcomers, but not enough to warrant attention from anyone actually dangerous. The Ghoul, as desperate as he looked back at the bar, started to look more and more like a professional, every second you've spent with him. There was something in the way he walked, the way his eyes stayed vigilant and aware, that screamed danger. Still, for five hundred caps, times must've really been hard on him.

- Try ten thousand.

A piece of meat lodges itself into your throat as you inhale with surprise. As soon as it happens, you cough it out, and it flies back into the fire, leaving you heaving with tears in your eyes. 

- How much?! - you demand, hands trying to massage the pain in your chest. 

The Ghoul smirks, taps the brim of his hat with his gun, which he kept trained on you for over three days now. 

- Had I known I'm worth that much, I'd turn myself over a long time ago - you murmur, and the Ghoul shoots you a mirthless laugh.

- Thought you ran a charity, Healer - he spits your name out like the worst of slurs, and with half a mind you wonder why it bothers him so much. 

Still, his words hit a little bit too close to home, and you turn to your skewer, chewing in silence, until he gives you a wordless permission to sleep.  Tugging your messenger bag under your head, you listen to the various liquids sloshing inside, your Geiger meter cracking away on your hand. The Ghoul stands up to put out the fire, as cold was better than anyone finding you in the wilderness. Then, he sits down, a short distance from your curled up form. 

You can feel him, even if you can't see him, and with tired arms, you tug your robe closer around your body. 

- I try to be good - you whisper into the night, into the hot coals of the bonfire, into his unyielding indifference.

- You ain't gotta explain yourself to me, sweetheart - he answers in a low voice, and it's the nicest thing you've heard him say, since you've met him. 

***

The raiders come at night, as they always do.

You're still halfway into deep sleep when the first shot rings out. The bullet lodges itself into the ground right in front of you, dirt exploding across your face. It doesn't wake you at first, confusion and remnants of some distant dream muddling your senses. 

The Ghoul springs to action with record speed, and before you can truly react, he shoots three shots in the direction of the tree line. That's when you jump to your feet, ears ringing and head swimming with confusion. 

A man in a tattered blouse falls to the ground, right next to the small fire pit, ash flying into the air. You can see his blood seeping into the coals, but before you can react, The Ghoul grabs you by the shoulder, all but throwing you behind him, as he levels his gun in front of him. 

The ringing in your ears mixes with the wild beating of your heart, as you try to wrestle the panic into submission. The Ghoul's tattered coat whips itself across your ankles, and you've never wanted to be free of your binds as much as in this moment.

Silence. Complete, and utter silence engulfs the two of you, and you grab onto the bounty hunter's arm to steady yourself. His head turns in your direction for just a second. Eyes lock together, something flickers across his face, but it's gone before you can even begin to decipher the expression. 

- I'll check the parameter - he grumbles, and walks towards the closest tree. 

At first you don't even know how to voice your protest, as he all but ties you to the tree, securing his lasso, and consequently cutting off any means for you to escape. Like a wild dog, you're left there, watching him turn away in favor of walking into the trees. 

Panic rises in your gut, as you tug on the rope.

- Hey! - you whisper-yell after him, eyes searching for any more attackers - Don't you dare leave me here!

But he's already walking away, keeping himself low, his rifle tight in hand. A couple of steps into the tree line and he blends completely with the surroundings, like he belongs there, amongst the trees. Chest heaving, you double the efforts of freeing yourself, the rope digging painfully into your wrists.

Frustration quickly overcomes fear, and you kick out, the ash from the bonfire swirling around you like a cloud.

Then, a twig breaks somewhere behind you, and your blood freezes in your veins. 

***

Cooper moves through trees like he's one with the southern wind. 

His coat shuffles around his ankles, as he presses further into the tree line, more bothered by the small attack than he would like to admit. 

The bullet almost hit you. In the head no less. Ten thousand caps, gone in a second

He allowed himself to close his eyes for just a moment, barely a second, and it was all it took. When has he become so sloppy, he couldn't tell, but he supposed it had something to do with the way you looked like, when sleeping. 

So at peace, like this hard ground was the most comfortable bed in the world. Your cheek squished into your messenger bag, as if it was the softest of pillows. He wondered, what warranted such trust, such peace of mind, that you fell into deep sleep almost as soon as you closed your eyes. 

Did you really trust him that much?

A dangerous idea, he thinks. An idea he might've entertained centuries back, when he still had a nose and didn't look out onto this hell of a world through layers upon layers of cynicism. Still, your curled form tugged on something, some shadow of his former self, that he needed to squash sooner, rather than later. 

He was getting too damn old for this. 

Cooper finds the raiders camp in a matter of minutes. Two sleeping bags, a bunch of empty bottles and, to Cooper's dark amusement, a half-eaten human leg. 

So, not just raiders, but fiends as well. 

Cooper kicks at one of the sleeping bags, his eyes searching for anything of use. And that's when his mind catches up.

He hears your scream tear through air.

His head whips back, hat almost falling. 

A shot rings out.

Ten thousand fucking caps. He's an idiot, an old idiot. 

Cooper starts to run, branches snapping under his boots as he cuts through the trees with surprising agility. Another scream, raw and gut wrenching, and he can almost see your bloodied body twitching under the second fiend. The one he didn't get. 

Rifle first, he all but barrels into the clearing, for a split second not knowing what he's looking at. 

Because yes, there is a bloodied body in the camp, it's face barely resembling human features with the way it's been brutally eviscerated. But it's not yours. Too thin, too male, too hardened. 

That's when he sees you. Curled against the tree, where he tied you down and left you. Your hands are gripping some large stone, blood drips from your fingers, down to your arms. Your shoulders are moving, up and down, in a steady rhythm of deep, heaving breaths, and for a second, Cooper allows himself to feel relief. 

You don't even look at him, still holding onto the rock, nails biting into it's surface, and he can't clearly see your face, but he can see the blood. Your Geiger meter crackles, as he comes closer, kicking at the dead fiend, just to be sure. 

- We gotta get moving, there might be more of those fu-

His words die in his throat, because suddenly, something collides with staggering force onto his body. Landing on his back, he immediately lifts his arms up, to shield himself from bloodied fists, slamming into his chest, into his head, wherever they can reach. 

- You left me! - your voice sounds like a wounded animal - You motherfucker! Why did you leave me?!

There is no real force backing your punches, all your strength apparently drained by what you did to fiend just moments ago.. They do become quite irritating, and Cooper wrangles your, still bound, hands until he has your by the wrist. And that's when he sees you. Finally, truly sees you.

You're hunched over him, straddling his waist, hair whipping around your head like some deranged angel's halo. Features twisted into a mixture between fury and anguish, your face is red, sticky with drying blood. 

Beautiful, tragically beautiful, Cooper thinks, and this time doesn't chastise himself for it. 

- Why did you...?! - your voice cracks like a broken mirror - You're the one killing people, not me. I'm not... I've never...

Cooper fights through your spasming muscles, as slowly, your anger dissipates, leaving nothing but tears, which are now creating pathways down your cheeks. Finally, he understands. Your poise, your elegance, the gentleness in every movement. 

You've never killed anyone. Never taken a life. 

Unknowingly, he has made you into a killer. 

Shoulders sag against his hold, as you slump into him. He feels you, the length of your torso on his, your shallow breathing warming his shirt. And he lets you rest, lets you curl into him like he isn't worse than both of those fiends combined. Like he hasn't just put you through this hell, hasn't tied you up, dragged you through God knows where. 

- He... - you choke out, and Cooper curses at the way his hands slide around your back to hold you closer, tighter - He tried to...

- I know - he doesn't know what has possessed him, but he comforts you just the same - I know, sweet thing. I'm sorry.

Tears fall heavy onto his collarbone, as you let yourself be held. And he holds on with everything he has, deciding that perhaps, you both have some time left. Fingers trace the pattern of your curved spine, the dips between your shoulderblades. He dares not move lower, even though perhaps he wants to. Perhaps he would take advantage of this situation and try to find out just how much he can get away with. But some missplaced feeling of decency wrangles itself onto the surface, swallowing down all the murder, and the lies, and all the horribly depraved things he has thought about, while keeping you hostage. 

 It takes some minutes for you to calm down, and when you do, he pulls you up. Not the usual tug of the rope you're both used to, but a gentle hand in your hand, helping you steady yourself against him. The warmth of your body is all but a memory now, and he clings to it for just a moment longer, a souvenir for later. 

The silence is heavy with unsaid words, with actions that will have disastrous consequences. But as he unties you from the tree, as you look over at the bloodied body of the fiend, he finds that there are no words left to be said. 

So you swing your messenger bag over your arm, and let him lead you further into the Wasteland. No longer yourself, no longer the Healer, but something else entirely. 

[eddiebabygirldiaz]

tease tidbit tuesday

tagged by @transboybuckley @freewayshark @rewritetheending @devirnis

thank ya darlins! yalls work is just !!!!!!!! so good!

here's a snip from my sort of secret project :) (and sorry it's long, im just excited)

Eddie offers Maddie his hand, palm up, no trace of a fist in sight, and her brown eyes flicker with something that could be relief, that smile fading away beneath the weight of grief clouded breath as she takes Eddie’s hand, clasping onto him like he’s the only support she has, like maybe if she holds his hand hard enough then Buck will feel it too.

“Do you need anything?” he winds up asking, unsure of what else he can do but needing to do something for someone other than himself.

Maddie shakes her head. Stops. Shrugs her shoulders. Laughs a little at herself. “I guess saying my brother would be a bit too pathetic, wouldn’t it?”

“No,” Eddie answers truthfully. “No. Not at all. I–” he sighs and lets the rest of that sentence fade away.

I need him too isn’t what she needs to hear right now and it’s not like saying that would do anything anyway.

It wouldn’t alleviate the sickly crush of his bones or the despair hardening his heart or the death that’s more alive in his veins than anything else.

Maddie squeezes his hand as if she understands and maybe she does.

It makes Eddie ache for his own sisters, for their energy and comfort. It makes him ache for a way to heal the hurt splintering across them both. It makes him ache for a time when he and her worked together to bandage up a wounded Buck while he smiled a bloody smile.

The two of them were always enough then. Not so much now.

“Remember the time Buck busted his nose while skateboarding?” Maddie asks and it sounds a bit like she’s talking more to herself than to Eddie but he listens as she continues, the image of a young Buck with curly hair a few shades lighter than it is now hanging in his eyes and coated in the blood smeared across his face so vivid in Eddie’s mind he could touch it.

“He was on the sidewalk trying to race alongside the cars that drove past, waving and smiling like an idiot to anyone that looked at him.” She huffs, laughter clearly not something she is fully capable of at the moment, amusement not strong enough to burst fully out of her.

“Idiot,” Eddie agrees, forcing himself to say it, the word falling out alongside a weak exhalation that was meant to be an answering smile or laugh.

What he really wants to do is beg her not to do this. It sounds too much like the things people kept saying to Eddie after Shannon’s funeral.

Remember when Shannon set firecrackers off during that one football game? Remember how she used to laugh so hard she’d snort? Remember the time she thought she could fix the car by herself even though she knew absolutely nothing about cars? Remember how beautiful she looked when y'all got married?

Everyone was desperate to hand off their memories of her, remind him of who she was as if he had forgotten. Perhaps he had at some point. But each memory felt like a knife slipping beneath his skin, slick and edged with a sharp sting.

It took everything he had not to shout back, Remember how she used to love me? Remember when she left me? When she left our son? Remember the way she used to always want to be around me and how quickly everything changed until she couldn’t stand being in my presence? She was leaving again, did you know? She knew I wasn’t enough, did you know?

Eddie doesn’t want to talk about Buck like he’s already gone. He doesn’t want another love to leave him behind again. He doesn’t want to even consider the possibility that these memories are one day all he will have left, that when he speaks of Buck it will always start with Remember and a story that couldn’t even come close to encapsulating everything Buck is.

tagging @shitouttabuck @elvensorceress @try-set-me-on-fire @lemonzestywrites @spotsandsocks @daffi-990 @exhuastedpigeon @queerdiazs @jeeyuns @spagheddiediaz @queerdiaz @bigfootsmom @honestlydarkprincess @shyaudacity @heterosexistly @hippolotamus @dr-shortsighted-owl @lonelychicago @monsterrae1 @bi-buckrights @sibylsleaves @wikiangela @jesuisici33 and anyone else who wants to share!

[bradshawssugarbaby]

She’s So High - Jake Seresin x Reader

A/N: Inspired by the song She's So High - Tal Bachman.

pairing: Jake Seresin x Reader

warnings: pining, mentions of death/combat, swearing

word count: 1.7k

“First class and fancy-free, she's high society. She's got the best of everything, what could a guy like me ever really offer? She's perfect as she can be, why should I even bother?”

“Oh, Bagman’s got it bad,” Javy teased, smirking as he took a sip from his beer glass, the draught’s foam catching on the top of his lip as he took a drink.

“Aw, leave Loverboy alone, she’s too good for him, he’s trying to numb the pain,” Bradley quipped as he gave Jake a slap on the back, grinning ear to ear as he saw his friend and usual rival squirm in his seat at the mention of the girl he’d been pining after for a couple of weeks now.

“Ha. Ha. You guys are killing me with your humour,” Jake retorted, shaking his head.

Jake wasn’t the crushing type. He hadn’t had a crush since he was 16 - crushes were juvenile and cowardly in Jake’s mind - he was a man who knew what he wanted and went for it when he saw it. He couldn’t remember the last time he fell this hard for someone who barely even knew his name, he was always found no-strings-attached relationships easier, no one had unrealistic expectations, there was little to argue about, and no one ended up heartbroken when things fizzled out and inevitably ended a month or two later. He knew he was getting too old for it, and eventually women would start to become disenchanted by a man in his mid 30s with a fear of commitment, but, he’d cross that bridge when he got there. He was happy with how things were in his life - he never got hurt, and neither did anyone else when he got shipped out halfway around the world or relocated.

That was, until he saw you. Jake played in a beer league baseball tournament on weekends, and she had joined his team a couple of weeks ago as an alternate player. You were the sister of one of his teammates girlfriends, and just happened to have played ball in high school, so you volunteered yourself to play when their second baseman broke his ankle earlier that week.

You'd become a regular replacement for second base, and the entire team was in awe of your talent on the diamond. Jake had noticed right away, your long, sporty high ponytail, piercing eyes and the way you looked in a pair of athletic shorts was enough to get his heartbeat to race, taking away any and all focus he had during the game.

Instantly, he was captivated by you. He caught himself feeling things he hadn’t felt in a long time, and he didn’t know what to do about it. In retrospect, he should have just let it go, or sucked it up and said something to you on his own accord like he did with every other girl he’d liked, but, instead, he confided in Bob, a member of his flight squadron, who apparently, can’t keep a secret to save his life.

Bob had accidentally let it slip to Natasha during a flight exercise, and Natasha couldn’t resist the juicy little tidbit she could now hold over Jake’s head. She kept it to herself for about a week, until the new object of Jake’s affection had entered the Hard Deck one night with another of the baseball teammates and his wife.

Jake was caught off guard, for once in his life, rendered speechless and vulnerable, unsure of how to proceed. He wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole right there, not wanting to say a word to her, especially not with his friends around. His friends were great towards him, and he had no doubt that if he did ever bring an established girlfriend around them, they’d welcome her with open arms, however, a girl Jake had a crush on? He wasn’t ready to admit to it, and he knew he’d have to if they caught his reaction.

Natasha, however, was able to put two and two together when she noticed Jake slinking down in his seat in an effort to hide himself behind Bradley’s shoulder. Bob gave a bewildered stare at Jake’s odd behaviour, until his gaze drifted towards the door and landed on the girl Jake had been describing to him. Bradley, not wanting to be left out of the secret, but also having the loudest mouth of the group found out, and once that happened, just about everyone in North Island had learned of Jake Seresin and his not-so-secret crush.

“You’re telling me you can fly into enemy lines and shoot down planes, staring death in the face and laughing at it as a pilot, but you can’t…ask a girl on a date?” Javy taunted, trying his best to keep a straight face as he quizzed Jake about his nerves and reservations about asking her out.

“It’s not that I’m nervous. I don’t get nervous,” Jake replied with a cool tone.

“Come on, Bagman, everyone gets nervous.”

“For the last time, it’s Hangman, and not me.”

Jake sighed as he sipped his beer, running a hand through his perfect, sunkissed hair, golden honey coloured strands becoming tousled free from the hair gel he’d used to comb it into place. He frowned as he set the glass down on the table. He knew his friends would never let him live it down if he didn’t go over and at least talk to this girl, and the longer he waited, the more his friends would egg him on. He stood up from his seat silently, taking a deep breath before shooting the group one of his infamous cocksure grins - trying to force a look of natural confidence without coming across as being mistaken for arrogance.

“Alright, I’ll go talk to her, watch and learn boys, and lady. Watch and learn.” He said, thickening his accent to mask his nerves as best as he could.

With a cheer of encouragement from the table, and a hopeful thumbs up from Bob, as well as a wisecrack from Natasha about how there had to be another woman out there who was able to resist his southern charms and graces, Jake walked over towards the girl he’d been pining over for the last few weeks. He’d never pined for someone like this before, and the thought of feeling this way over a girl he barely knew was completely foreign territory to him. He’d never admit it to anyone, but fuck, he was nervous.

He’d never been good at addressing his feelings, having grown up in a military family in Texas - emotions weren’t something you shared or acted on typically. At least, not the positive ones. Love itself was almost a foreign concept - sure, he’d had girlfriends. He thought he’d been in love with a few of them, but these newfound feelings towards her? They had him questioning everything he had ever known about love. Maybe the feelings for his exes leading up to this point were something less intense than love, or, maybe this was something more intense. He couldn’t quite tell. All he knew was that for the first time in his life, he was lacking all confidence.

You were tall, almost taller than Jake was at just under six feet tall (though if anyone asked him, he stood at six-foot and half an inch), and you looked like something straight out of a magazine, with long flowing hair, piercing eyes, and a radiant smile. You were the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on. Stunning, and nothing short of perfect.

And he was…he was Jake. He knew he wasn’t bad looking, in fact, he usually figured he was one of the better looking guys in his squadron, save for maybe Javy and Bradley - Javy was smoother than he was when it came to flirting, it was so effortless for him, whereas Jake always felt like he was trying too hard, and Bradley had the one thing he didn’t and couldn’t - a mustache that actually suited his face. He couldn’t help but feel like she might be more suited with one of them, they were certainly better matches for her in his mind. He just hoped and prayed that she’d give him at least a drink shared between the two of them before she’d meet Bradley and be swept off her feet by him.

“Hi darlin’, what brings you here?” Jake said with a smile, immediately regretting his decision to go with the pet name.

“Hi! Jake, right? I’m just here with Derek and Alexis, you know, third-wheeling their date,” You laughed as she sipped her cocktail, and for a moment, Jake thought he was in heaven.

“How about coming to sit with me for a drink? I’m sure Derek and Alexis won’t mind if I steal ya for a few minutes, right?”

Jake held his breath for a moment as he waited for you to respond. Was he taking it too far? Was he coming on too strong? Should he backpedal and clarify it as friends? Should he leave it and let it go? Should he just turn around and walk away, spare himself the heartache that he was sure would inevitably follow if he waited for you to reply.

“I’d like that. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind. Do you play darts?”

“Do I?” He laughed softly, breathing a sigh of relief as he nodded his head, his lips now curling up into a grin at you, “You’re looking at the darts champion of the entire bar. Hasn’t been a single serviceman or woman who’s been able to beat me. I’m somewhat of an undefeated legend around here.”

“Oh, is that so?” You challenged, a wicked grin forming on her lips as you laughed, “You’re on, Jake.”

As you walked towards the dartboards, Jake followed behind, completely on cloud nine. He passed by the table where his friends were seated, and at their thumbs up and silent applause for him, he simply mock-saluted before keeping his eyes on the girl of his dreams. You may end up leaving him tomorrow, finding someone better for her before you even leave the bar, but for now, you were all his, and he wasn’t going to fuck this one up.

[alwritey-aphrodite]

Hiiiii!!! I’ve got a whole book load of ideas for this pathetic man named Carmy Berzatto but this one’s been in my head for a while. Basically they aren’t together (yet wink wink ;)) but reader keeps a sketchbook around and has a few drawings of Carmy because how can you not wanna draw his sad doe eyes. One day they leave it behind and Carmy finds the drawings and is flustered that someone would wanna draw him.

He can also confront reader for some tension but this boi just needs to be drawn like a French girl and given some love.

Happy writing btw!

Thank you for this request!!! I would love to hear more of your ideas if you’d like to share them hehehe

You are going to murder your best friend.

He’s incredibly irritating, in ways he doesn’t even realize. He’s disgustingly caring, keeping his fridge stocked with snacks and drinks that only you like, remembering books you’d wanted to get and dropping them at your front door, taking you around Chicago to find the best art supply stores. He even comes with you whenever you want to take a trip to the art museum, not because he enjoys the art but because the thought of you being there alone makes him anxious.

Not only is he upsettingly kind, he’s also nauseatingly gorgeous. Sometimes it’s a little hard to look at him, you’re so worried your heart is going to stop. You love every little thing about him, every tidbit and quirk you learn loving stored away in your mind to turn over when you can’t sleep. You can’t stay away from him, but you’re not sure how much more of him you can take.

“Wanna go down to the park with me?” You lean yourself across his counter as he cuts the fruit you’d just bought at the farmer’s market. You’re perfectly capable of doing it yourself, but he didn’t even ask, and you’re sure he knows more than you do when it comes to making produce last longer. Plus, this just means you get to stare at his hands and his arms and that face he makes when he’s focusing.

“Why?” He asks, not even bothering to look up at you, not because he doesn’t care but because he’s desperately trying to impress you with his knife skills, as if he doesn’t run one of the best restaurants in the city.

“I have to practice my figure drawing,” you tap the front cover of your sketchbook for emphasis, hoping he hears the gentle thudding even if he doesn’t see it.

“I’m almost done,” he says, instead of reminding you of how hot it is and how little free time he has, because he’d do anything for you, even if you didn’t ask, even if he only suspected you wanted something, he’d make it happen.

It's not long after that the two of you are sitting on a scorching park bench, roasting underneath the sun. You’re sure Carmy’s bored and sweating, and you know he has a million other things he could be doing right now, but he’s sitting next to you in the blazing heat while you try and find a clean page in your sketchbook.

You flip to a clear page, searching the park for someone interesting to draw when you see a laughing baby a few feet away, the high-pitched noise bringing a smile to your face. You try your best to capture that particular joy that you’re almost certain only babies are capable of feeling, and it’s not your best work, but your only glad was to get more comfortable with live references and exploring emotions. Plus, Carmy is much too distracting. He’s got his head tilted towards the sun, eyes shut against the light that illuminates the slope of his nose and the curve of his jaw, making him look nothing short of godly. You’re not sure how you get away with all this staring, but you don’t want your luck to run out, so you turn back to your paper and search the park for someone else to draw.

After a runner, an elderly couple, and a young woman crying, you close the cover of your sketchbook as your fingers start to cramp. You rest your hands on top of the cover, trying your hardest to deter the breeze from disturbing your pages the way it ruffles Carmy’s curls. As close as you are, you never want Carny to see your sketchbook, beyond the few pages you’ve already shown him.

Most of the pages are full of him, different angles and emotions and parts of his body. There’s a page dedicated to his hands, to his curls, to those beautifully expressive eyes. You’re certain that you could draw him from memory and have every slope and curve and angle be absolutely perfect. Those drawings are your reminder that you’re talented, that you have skills that you’ve practiced for years and years and that your art is good, whether you always think that or not, but you’d die if Carmy ever saw them.

Friends don’t secretly fill pages and pages with drawings of their friend, because it’s strange and a little creepy and reveals feelings you’d rather keep hidden. Really, you’re not sure how you get away with staring at Carny so often, ogling without so much as a glance from him, but you can’t help yourself. You’re friends with the most beautiful man in existence, of course you’re going to stare when he’s focused or distracted and won’t notice the stars in your eyes.

It’s not until hours later, after you’ve returned to your own apartment and you finally get around to unloading the bag you’d been carrying all day, that you realize your sketchbook is missing. You know for a fact that you carried it back from the park, mindful of the reassuring weight of it in your hands, and you immediately know you must have forgotten to put it back in your bag after you’d stopped at Carmy’s to cool down before making your way back to your apartment. You can practically see it on his countertop, all of your most closely guarded secrets left unprotected. You’re halfway through your spiral about needing to pack up and move away forever to save yourself from the mortification of Carmy knowing how you feel when there’s a knock on your door.

You open it without thinking, immediately regretting your decision when you see Carmy on the other side, looking rather disheveled. Your mind comes up completely blank as you struggle to form a sentence, trying to decide between playing it cool and pleading for forgiveness.

“You’re really talented,” he tells you, offering the sketchbook out to you. You can tell by his tone, by the fact that he sounds like he’s choking, that he’s seen the drawings. You take the book, the weight heavy in your hands without any of its security. You feel raw and exposed, ripped apart and stomped on, but you step back and open the door farther anyway, walking towards your kitchen and hoping Carmy follows.

“I’m sorry,” you settle on a simple apology, not certain you’d be able to articulate anything more, because how are you supposed to explain to your best friend that you’re so in love with him you can’t help but commit him to memory, can’t help but fill pages and pages with just his figure because you love him so much it’s like your body and soul are being taken over by some force you’re completely unable to control as your pencil glides across the page?

“Don’t be,” he clears his throat, fingers fidgeting against the back of a chair, “they’re really good,” he pauses, lips working silently like he can’t quite push out the words, “I don’t understand.”

“You’re my muse, I guess,” you force out an awkward chuckle, trying your hardest to be funny so you don’t have a breakdown, “I dunno, it’s just easy for me.”

Drawing him, loving him, comes naturally to you, like it’s something you’ve been doing your whole life. You know him, every slope and curve and angle, every shadow, you know him so well he seems like a part of you. He’s trying to process, you can tell by the way he works his jaw back and forth, and you’d be committing this moment to memory to add to your pages and pages of drawings if you weren’t so nervous. You’re going to have to let him go when all you want to do is keep him with you forever.

“No one’s ever done anything like that.”

“I’m sorry,” you apologize lamely, because you’re not sure what else to say.

“It’s not a bad thing,” he clarifies, seeming like he’s finally getting his thoughts in order, “I don’t mind, I just wish I’d known.”

“Well, now you do,” you feel a little stung, wishing for something more than indifference, rage or elation or any strong feeling at all.

“I’ve gotta go, early morning tomorrow,” he says and you just nod, because you’re not sure what else to say. You’re still standing in the kitchen when you hear your door open and gently shut again, leaving you alone once more. You feel weightless and weighed down at the same time, and you speed through the rest of your nighttime routine, desperate to crawl into bed.

It's not until you’re passing by your front door to make sure it’s locked that you see the containers of cut-up fruit Carmy had left for you.

Tagging people who seemed interested :) @onceuponaoneshotfanfic @yxtkiwiyxt @veryprairieberry

[hansols-yoda-boxers]

Brat Taming 101 (with sub!skz)

A guide on how to tame your brat.

Word Count: 2965

Contents: d/s dynamics, degradation, ruined orgasms, orgasm denial, use of whore, mistress, chastity belt, exhibitionism, pervy behaviour, bondage, sex toys, public sex

Chan

Degradation is the way to go with this one. Channie is not often one to be bratty. He likes pleasing you and being good for you. And he loves the way you take care of him and help him to release all of his stress. So it’s rare that he messes with that. He likes to tease, sure, but he usually doesn’t take it very far, falling in line very quickly.

But on the rare occasion that he continues to push your buttons, degrading him is the way to go. This boy is such a slut for your praise. He always needs to hear how well he’s doing, how good he’s making you feel, how much of a good boy he is for bringing you so much pleasure. So taking that away and replacing it with some degradation does wonders.

His cheeky little grin fades so incredibly quickly when it starts. He tries a little harder to please you while trying not to make it obvious; works his mouth or his fingers or his cock harder to prove how good he is for you and you can see the way he’s quickly breaking when you don’t react.

Add in some disinterest if you really want to dissuade him from trying to be bratty again. Don’t moan or squirm or buck your hips, look as bored as possible. He’ll get so desperate for a reaction and so disappointed when he thinks he’s doing a bad job, not even capable of making you feel good. When tears well up in his eyes and he starts babbling about how he just wants you to feel good and to tell him what to do you’ll know you’ve truly broken him.

“S-Sorry sorry sorry. Please. I-I can make you feel g-good. Promise. Promise I can be your g-good boy. Promise I can make you feel good. J-Just tell me what to do. Please tell me what to do.”

Minho

Two words: ruined orgasm. The man can run his fucking mouth, and he knows just how to press your buttons. He loves to too. Early on in the relationship he got so fucking cocky because you couldn’t figure him out. He knew you were trying to pull him apart and find out what makes him tick but it took ages to uncover it and he had free reign to be as bratty as he wanted. 

Edging wasn’t a punishment because the resulting orgasm was too good. He loved overstimulation, actively relishing in it the whole time. Even denying him wasn’t quite what you wanted. It took far too long to take effect and after weeks you were also desperate for him.

No, you had needed something else.

And all it took was a quickie while waiting for your food to be delivered one day to figure it out. He had cum just at the moment that the doorbell rang and the sudden surprise ruined his headspace completely and left him unsatisfied. It was so cute, the look of anger and frustration on his face after being left without a complete orgasm. The way he grabbed your hand and all but demanded you did it again so he could cum properly.

And you’d given in that day, but saved the tidbit of information for later. And it’s so so worth it. When you have him tied up and he’s been a menace all day long, teasing you and acting up, and he’s so sure that whatever punishment you give him he’ll like it or at least take it well. Edging he can take, denial he can handle for at least a couple of weeks. But the way you pull away, stopping all stimulation at the second he’s about to cum, leaving his body shuddering and tensing and cock leaking but not actually releasing is the worst torture he could imagine.

The first time he gets frustrated and his words get more defiant and bratty about how you fucked it up and don’t even know how to make him cum. But your smirk has him faltering. It only takes two ruined orgasms for him to break. When you leave him unsatisfied and uncomfortable, so pent up and needy to cum, he’ll start tearing up and begging you. If you tell him then that you’re going to deny him after that and not let him cum at all he’ll completely fall apart before your very eyes.

“I-I’ll be a good boy! I’m sorry, mistress. P-Please, I need to cum so badly! Please.”

Changbin

Binnie, honestly, is barely a brat. He likes to be playfully bratty but he's never very serious about it. Most of the time he’s a very good boy for you and he loves to be praised so he has no reason to act up. He likes to tease you here and there but never for long so it’s very rare for him to act up to the point that you feel the need to punish him.

Only once in a blue moon does he get too bratty. You know something about annoying you and seeing you frustrated with him sometimes gets him going. He doesn’t drop the teasing quickly and keeps pushing your buttons to get you upset. And at first you do exactly that, giving him warnings that just make him grin at you and act up even more. Telling him to wait until you get him home only makes him giddy.

The way to get him to behave is unconventional. You could try degrading him but it doesn’t have the desired effect, usually making him cry. And not in a fun way. You can deny him but only if you want him to get clingy and pouty afterwards. And if you want to get off with him then having to wait isn’t ideal.

No, the best thing to do happens before you go into the bedroom. When you get home, instead of pulling him into the bedroom or telling him off, simply set yourself down and sigh in defeat, pout for good measure. Unlike most of the others, Changbin feels so bad if his teasing upsets you. He wants you riled up, not sad. So if you sit somewhere to do something quiet his attitude will change immediately.

He’ll approach you with a pout and poke your cheeks. If you sigh that you’re not in the mood to play when he’s acting up like that, lamenting that you just wanted your sweet boy and you had a whole plan to pamper him and make him feel amazing (he loves more than anything when you’re a pleasure dom for him) and any resolve he has left is gone. He’ll have his head in your lap, looking up at you with watery eyes and whimpering that he really wants to be your good boy and he’ll do whatever you say.

“I’ll be you good boy, you know how good I am. I’m sorry I acted up all day, please let me make it up to you.”

Hyunjin

The problem with this whore (affectionate) is that he kinda likes anything you do to him. He’s just kinky like that. And when he’s in the right headspace any “punishment” is usually just going to egg him on. Of course denying him an orgasm can be effective but he has no shame and no pride about it and you will find him humping his pillow mere days later to get off “without touching himself.”

He’s a tad infuriating.

No, truly the best thing to do to actually break him is something that keeps him from getting off at all. A chastity belt is truly the best choice for when he decides the act up.

The hilarious thing is it honestly doesn’t take that long. He’s so desperate to be touched and you leaving him high and dry is one thing but locking him up so he can’t even touch himself? Just dangling the chastity belt in front of him has him swallowing hard and chuckling nervously. Sometimes just that is all it takes for him to start behaving himself, being the best boy you’ve ever seen and following every instruction to a tee.

But if his attitude persists it’s truly as simple as locking him up. From there it doesn’t matter what you do. You can keep teasing him and touching him until he gets worked up, you can make out with him which always ends up with him turned on anyway, but even sitting on the couch, cuddling, and watching a movie will do. Once it’s on it’s all he can think about. 

Even on the couch he’ll end up curling against you and whimpering that he needs your attention. And when you question him about his bratty behaviour it’s completely gone and he's the sweetest, most pliant boy you’ve ever seen.

“M sorry.  I-I’ll be a good boy. I promise. J-Just please take it off. Please let me cum. Promise I’ll be such a good boy for you.”

Jisung

God this is too easy. Sungie may have a big mouth but he’s impatient, horny, and desperate. He can never hold out very long so no matter what you do he’ll break out of the brattiness unless you fully indulge it.

No no, the real fun of this is the how. You have so many options.

Easily the fastest is don’t let him touch you. Even bringing out the ties will make him whimper. He can hold it together for a minute or two but the second you slip off your panties he’s a goner. This man will tip the whole ass chair over and nearly break his own front teeth when he goes down trying to get closer to you and begging to touch you, telling you how badly he needs to feel you.

You could also tap into his exhibitionism kink. You both know it exists even if you don’t talk about it much. Usually it’s nothing serious. A little bit of teasing while out at dinner, or a quickie in an empty closet when you’re both needy. But when he’s being a brat and you get him home and push him down on the couch. Get a hand down his pants before he has time to react and watch as his cheeks blush red and he starts to stutter and whimper while you murmur to him about how if he’s going to be a brat he can do it on the couch where any of his friends can walk into so see how badly behaved he is.

I blame stayvilleblr for making me think about perv!jisung. The most fun method is a combination of his pervy tendencies and his little humiliation kink you eventually uncovered. You learned early on dating him how much he liked getting a view up your skirt or down your shirt. It only took you sleeping over once for you to start losing panties and when you found a pair under his pillow you saved that little tidbit of information for later.

Let him run his mouth all day and be a tease. You would think he’d get suspicious of your leniency but he never does. Coax him into his room but let him think it’s all his idea. Only when you’ve got him on the bed should you pull the panties he’s hidden out from under his pillow. Boy will do a 180 so fast. Starts sweating and blushing and stuttering. Stuff the panties in his mouth and start degrading him for good measure and watch him fall apart before your very eyes.

“You’re just a needy little whore, aren’t you.”

“Y-Yes please, fuck, please fuck me. I’ll be your good little whore, I need it so bad.”

Felix

Brat? This boy? You have the wrong sub. Felix doesn’t have a bratty bone in his body.

However he likes the idea of getting punished. Just a little bit. So if you notice him suddenly acting up or teasing you when he knows he shouldn’t he’s cautiously testing to see if he can push your limits and shake up his usual good boy act.

Go easy on him. Let him tease just a little and honestly, a warning usually deters him from anymore, too bent on being your good boy to truly cause trouble. If he keeps going though you can at least put on a little show for him. Give him a few warnings and watch him get just a little nervous but keep pushing you. When you get him home be just a little bit rough with him he likes being manhandled.

He might break just from that but if he doesn’t all it takes it just the hint of a punishment. On the days when he really wants to push his luck he’ll hold out for as long as he can, being so cutely defiant it makes you wanna giggle. But keep your wits about you and follow what he wants, giving him a few more chances to be a brat. 

Then give him literally any punishment. Deny him an orgasm, stop touching him, overstimulate him, degrade him, honestly anything will make him break so fast. He wants to believe he can be a brat but he can’t take being punished and he will immediately start tearing up and begging and saying he’ll be good for you again. Make sure to give him lots of snuggles and good aftercare.

“I-I’m sorry. I-I’m so sorry please please d-don’t stop. I-I’ll be good. I’ll b-be your g-good boy.”

Seungmin

This is not going to be easy. He so so relishes in making you frustrated and it isn’t easy to break him when he gets into a bratty mood. If you touch him at all he sees it as a win and he’ll definitely let you know it, teasing you for not being able to keep your hands off of him. If you let him touch you or tell him to make you feel good he’ll get so cocky about it, saying you can’t get off without his fingers, tongue, thigh, or cock.

No, the only thing that truly works is to completely ignore him. He’ll let you tie him up because he doesn’t think you could break him out of his brattiness no matter what. Just get on the bed and start playing with yourself, ignoring him and his comments completely. Pull out your toys and he’ll start saying that you know he can fuck you better. Pull out a dildo that’s bigger than him. If you’re really invested get a fuck machine and don’t hold back any moans or reactions from how good you feel.

Seungmin likes to think he’s the only one, or thing, that can really make you feel good. Proving him wrong is the only way to tame him. He’ll start sweating when you pull out the dildo and his words get more defiant and cocky until you’re moaning louder for the toy than you do for him. That’s when he starts straining against the ties. The closer you get to your release the more desperate he’ll start to sound and when he knows you’re about to cum (or at least when you sound like it) is when he’ll start begging, voice nearly cracking as if he’s going to cry.

“Baby, please. Put down the toy I can fuck you so much better, I promise. Please let me touch you, let me fuck you.”

Jeongin

Sweet sweet baby bread is a massive fucking tease. He lives to push your buttons and get you going. And it would take a while to figure out how to properly wipe that cocky little smirk off his pretty face. The best method is often calling him on his bluffs.

He really likes to run his mouth and tell you how good of a job he can do. He does know how to please you but he’s not used to being in charge and it trips him up every time. Any time you pout at him and tell him that he can take over if he’s so much better you’ll see his smile falter. He’s suddenly clumsy and frazzled and desperately trying to save face because he’s not actually sure what to do . The boy who is usually so good at getting you off will struggle to do so, even more so when you give him a genuinely curious and worried look and ask if he’s okay. Give it time and he’ll crumble, begging for your help and to tell him what to do.

What’s way more fun though is when you call him on his bluff in public. He cannot keep his hands or his words to himself when he’s out with you, enjoying any reaction he can get out of you, knowing that with so many people around there’s nothing you can do about it. It makes it all the more surprising to him when you pull him into a changing room at the mall and press the heel of your palm against his crotch and ask him if he's really that needy that he can’t wait until you get home. The way his eyes go wide and he starts sputtering is just too cute. Despite his whimpers that someone might hear him while you’re palming him he gets hard so fast and soon he’s panting and hiding his face in your neck and promising to be a good boy for the rest of the day because he can’t stay quiet when he cums and he knows someone will hear.

“Sorry sorry m’ sorry please. Promise I’ll be a good boy for you. I-If I cum like this someone will hear. L-Let’s go home  n’ I’ll make you feel so good, p-promise.”

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for headcanoning deadnames for trans characters for symbolism purposes?

im a trans guy (minor if it matters) who's been a fan of this one show for a little over a year. none of the characters are canonically trans, but there's a lot of trans allegories to be drawn from the material if you're me or my mutuals at least. the two main characters are both male and i ended up developing an au where they're both explicitly transmasc as a way for me to just explore trans themes in an alternate narrative. i haven't begun writing it yet but definitely plan to once i feel like it's solidly locked in my brain, and i've been sharing snippets & concepts every so often.

part of this was thinking of how they would've chosen their current names, and name symbolism got me considering what they would've changed them away from as well. one character i thought could've initially been named after his mother so i can draw contrasts between the two, and the name i decided on for her has a meaning that highlights her relationship with her father (and the character's relationship with his father in turn); it's also the name of the character's daughter figure in the show. a lot of the other main character's backstory kind of revolves around his dead sister, so i thought by making his deadname that sister's name then i could turn that into an allegory about transness and childhood and sibling death (and sororicide but we don't have time to unpack all that). i don't plan on ever explicitly referring to the characters by their deadname in the narration, except maybe in an ironic tone, but i think it would be cool to sort of sprinkle in references as subtext to just give the readers something more to chew on.

the thing is i've seen posts around talking about how nice it is to make trans characters/headcanons without once considering their deadnames, or how weird it is for people to consider them, and i definitely agree with the sentiment; one of the biggest goals for many trans people is for their past selves to be completely irrelevant, and i feel a bit guilty for perpetuating something so painful for the general community.

but i still don't think i'm an asshole in any way since these are literally just characters and obviously i'm not going around talking about real people's deadnames or anything. i just don't want to make people uncomfortable/trigger dysphoria if they find someone talking about deadnames for a trans charactsr they're attached to (i've definitely had that happen myself when reading trans fics, enough that i had to stop reading, and i don't know how you'd even tag for something like that). if the general gut reaction to this ask is negative then i'll probably consider just not talking about the deadnames unless someone asks about it, since they're not crucial to the plot at all, just some uhh not so fun tidbits.

anyway sorry this is so long for something i feel like might be a non-issue that i'm overthinking. if you somehow guessed the fandom have a chocolate 🫀 if you're one of my few mutuals who knows who i am from the details of the au then um pretend you didnt see this post.

What are these acronyms?

[tootoomanycats]

Boiling Over

Suguru Geto x Personal Chef Smut

Pairing:

Pent Up Geto Cult Leader x OC Fem

(can also be read as reader insert)

Word Count: 3,576 words

Summary: Geto realizes that his new cook has started to put disgusting notions into his daughters heads. After tucking the girls to bed, he finds holding the lid on his anger challenging and complex. It is time to have a talk with this vile monkey; only things don’t go according to plan.

Warnings:

Language usage refers to non-sorcery users such as monkeys and animals and uses verbiage degrading non-users' ideology. (It's Geto; I am only trying to stick to how I think he would internally speak about us muggle folk.)

Enemies arguing to unexpected smut.

Mentions of premature ejaculation. (we make sure he knows he’s still wanted)

Minor mention of a potential eating disorder for Geto.

Author Notes:

Hello Everyone! I promise I am still working on rewriting Performances, but I had to stop because my brain would not let me get any sleep until I got this little one-shot out and edited. I never planned on writing any JJK content, but this is my lesson in never saying never. Honestly, I don't know if this will be a stand-alone one-shot or if it will develop into a short story. Either way, I hope you'll like it! As always if you like what you have read please remember that fanfic writers live off of likes, comments and reblogs- we wont admit it but we all have praise kinks.

Have you watered your writer today?

Each long stride only allowed more anger to fill his lungs. That disgusting, foul-breathed cretan. How dare she encourage such thoughts in their minds? To speak of this dementedly wicked world like the Garden of Eden, like it was something worth protecting. When creatures like her ruined its oasis, this was just more evidence that only further proved every reason to go through with the plan to wipe them out of existence.

Silence filled the long, winding corridors in the late hour—only the soft shuffles of his steps to be heard. The time spent wandering, stewing in the whirlpool of thoughts, was unknown. Be it subconsciously or with intention, he came to stand before the kitchen door. Finger paints covered the wood in various colors and shapes and crudely drawn animals. No doubt, the artistic freedom given to the girls by that damn woman. Another distraction put in front of them that should instead be spent studying and growing more substantial for the future, his future. Fingers massaged at his temple, and that damn under-eye twitch was back.

Before turning to continue on the walk of rage, a faint light shined from under the door. The source’s inconsistent flickering made it obvious it was a flame light, not the usual overhead bulbs. A shadow was moving about, its lines from under the door jam shifting around. Was someone trying to find a late-night snack? Curiosity got the better of him as the door cracked open, the well-oiled hinges making no noise to give away his presence. There, at the kitchen island, sat the bane of his existence. A single candle was her only light source as she made notes in a thick-bound journal. Books littered across the counter’s surface that she was scanning between.

After spending two hours tossing and turning in bed, Hope had given up on sleep finding her tonight. What time would have been spent dreaming was now used to research and plan instead. In the short time since coming to the estate, she realized how out of her depth she was. Growing up on a farm had taught her many valuable tidbits that rolled over into the new career of personal cook. Sadly, though, most of the knowledge of common fruits and vegetation was useless now due to being on foreign soil. Not to mention, all the meals commonly made here were a complete novelty to her. All day, the worry of not knowing a simple dish to make for the girls if one got sick filled her head.

She felt lucky that it was still summer, but fall and winter would soon come, so it was best to start studying basic soup stocks and how to preserve them now. Just as exhaustion began to creep its way up her spine, the face of that egotistical man came to mind. She groaned, remembering how he had already refused everything but the boiled, unseasoned chicken breast. A previous warning of how picky her new boss was had first been brushed off, but now she only saw it as something more concerning. When inquired, the girls only looked at each other before explaining how their father seemed to struggle with food. Something about how things always seemed to taste putrid: Hope made a mental note to inquire if there were meals that would not be so vehemently refused going forward.

“I see I am not alone in burning the late-night oil.” Geto had to hold in the smug smirk at watching Hope almost jump out of her skin when making his presence known. Stepping closer to the kitchen island, his eyes scanned its counter’s contents. Multiple subjects filled the open pages, text outlining photos and drawings of local flora and fauna in Japan, while another explained cultural customs entwined with particular meals. “Homework?” he asked, keeping the tone of the question light, almost teasing. Anger still simmered just below the surface, the lid of feigned equanimity keeping it in check.

She quickly closed the notebook, gathered the books, and walked backward while responding. “Just menu planning and figuring out what to plant in the garden first.” Mirroring his strained smile, she still tried to calm the racing of her heart from being caught off guard by his presence. “W-What has you up so late?” Gulping when the evident anger in his eyes seemed to be barely masked by the smile on his lips. With each step he took further into the space, she took one back-feigning needing to put the books back in their place, on the opposite end of the island. Something deep and primal warned not to turn her back to him.

Hands going back into their usual hiding place in the sleeves of his haori, he stopped where she had just been sitting. Magnanimous in allowing the useless cook her space. “I just tucked the girls into bed. They were having difficulty falling asleep, and I couldn’t figure out why for a while until they started asking some peculiar questions.” Geto tilted his head, the candle’s light only illuminating one half of his face while the other became shrouded in the darkness of the night. Even in the dimly lit space, the fear on her face was clear as day. Teeth ground together as realization dawned on him; at first, he had chalked up what she had told his daughters as common monkey ignorance. But now, in the fearful response of shirking away from him, it became apparent that she knew exactly what she had done.

“Oh? What kinds of questions?” Hope’s palms began to sweat, making it hard to hold the books. She had no shame in introducing the importance of protecting living things, nor held abasement in teaching how the circle of life affected everyone, including Nanako and Mimiko. However, this did not make her oblivious to the potential backlash of such actions. Placing the books down on the edge of the counter before straightening her posture; if she were to be fired or threatened, then he would have to do it while seeing her head held high.

What was once a simmering pot now started to boil. It was one thing to play stupid with him, but it was another thing entirely to look proud while doing it. Taking a step forward, he spoke sternly, “Yes. It seems they have these ideas suddenly.” Another step. “Notions I have taught them that will not be allowed in the future I am creating. You wouldn't happen to know where they got those from, would you?” He now stood only a few short strides from her and the corner she had put herself in. Watching as she stood taller with each step, even puffing her chest out. She was brave; he would give her that. Bravely stupid.

Hope’s eyes dropped down from where he now stood to the books before her. With a deep breath, she calmly spoke the answer he was trying to pull from her. “Yes, I had asked them what vegetables would be best to grow in the garden earlier today. As it turns out, they didn't know, and neither did I. So I found a book, and the three of us took turns reading and learning.” Wetting her mouth, she continued before glancing up to see the anger on his face build. “The girls started to have more philosophical questions on which I gave my opinions on.” Fear spread through her bones as he quickly walked into the small space that was left between them. Turning to face the outrage on his face, back facing the island as her hands held onto its edge for the needed stability of what was to come.

“Who are you to fill their minds with such disgusting notions?” The pot's lid danced over the boiling rage held within. The candlelight illuminated both of them clearly, making it possible to watch as shock filled her face at his statement.

At first, her jaw hung open until the feeling of offense had her back to defend herself. “You may think it disgusting, Your Radiance, but like it or not, the reality is that those girls are starting to realize that not everything in this world is horrible. There are things worth enjoying now, not just when you create some theoretical future.” Though her words rang with strength, her body responded in alarm at watching the monster before her shift through so many emotions.

“They are my children! And much too young to be curious about such things.” The lid crashed to the ground as the emotions finally boiled over the pot’s opening. His voice had raised before quieting back down.

“They are growing girls, just three years shy of being teenagers! How can you not see that they are becoming curious about the world around them? Both have questions, yet you refuse to acknowledge it.”

Wrath filled his eyes, his usually fake pacifying expression vanishing to show the true nature of his feelings as he crowded her further with a sneer, twisting his lips. “Oh? What questions would be so important that they would go to a vile monkey for answers instead of me?” His tone was dangerous, threatening, and low.

She could feel the hair on the back of her neck rise; he did not expect such rage to be mirrored back. “I may be a monkey, but at least they feel safe enough to tell me when they like a boy.” Shock started filling his face as she took the chance to be the one now leaning in. “Tell me, how do you plan to explain to them that you will cause the death of their crush?”

Her eyes flicked back and forth between his; he was so close that she could feel the heat of his breath across her nose. Blood thrummed in her veins at how hard her heart pounded. The butcher-block wood creaked under her white knuckle grip, and her back pressed firmly against the counter as he further cornered her in. If this is how she died, then so be it; it will have been worth it to have finally shoved reality into the maniac's face.

Large palms and long arms became caged bars around her, nails scratching groves into the woodgrain. “A crush is a trivial thing.” He leaned further, pressing his chest forward, forcing her spine to bow back uncomfortably. The stiff lip of the wood now bit painfully into her haunches. Delicate fingers gripped the front of his gojogesa, desperate to have any control of how he continued contorting her upper body. His head tilted to whisper into her ear, “They will learn that a monkey’s place is beneath them.”

Geto hated weaklings and abhorred their very existence. It was revulsion, not excitement, that caused the fluttering in his stomach when their cheeks brushed. Loathing how it should have been disgust, not pleasure when her breasts pressed against his chest with each shuddered breath she took. He should have felt repulsed when realizing how perfect the closeness of their height was and how easy it would be to connect further.

It’s because of the years of celibacy that she was so sensitive, Hope told herself. Why else would such a monster cause the sensation of pooling hot honey to form in her belly? How, when Geto shifted his weight to press the muscle of his hips against hers, a whimper caught in her throat that pride refused to let out.

It must have been the lack of touch for so long that had her eyes fluttering shut when he nuzzled his nose into her temple. Monsters did not fathom such intimate affection. Monsters would not wrap such large hands around the back of her neck, gripping the corded muscles of her throat in such a dizzying way. She would not lift onto the counter and widen the distance of her thighs for a beast to slot between them so perfectly. Surely, such a creature would not brace his other hand around the center of her back to press further for contact. The sensation of the growl emanating from its lungs shooting to her core.

It was because his nose had become accustomed to the disinfectant spray that he was so sensitive to her smell. Internally berating himself for nuzzling into the hairline above the cook’s ear, lemon verbena, and citrus mixed pleasantly among the uplifting notes of her scent. Geto couldn’t refrain from pressing firmer into her hairline, gulping in deep breaths of Hope’s scent. The grip on the back of her neck tightened further; confirmation of the creature’s ability to still breathe came in how she tried and failed to hold back a second low moan.

His own response vibrated from how feminine hands gripped the thick fabric on his back and along his rib cage. Cursing at the way, soft, long legs dragged upward along the sides of his hips before wrapping around to press him closer. Silk robe falling open from the movement to show matching panties. It was unbelievable how quickly his cock hardened, straining against the white cloth of his momohiki. He could feel the heat radiating from her core, even with the five layers of Buddhist robes between them. How many years had it been since he had touched himself, let alone such a tempting, vile animal?

Hope bit her bottom lip at the delicious pressure against her core. If she hadn’t been so swept up in the moment’s intensity, she might have been embarrassed about the wet spot that could be felt already in her underwear. Skin growing hot as her body craved more contact and friction. The hands that previously gripped his clothes now reached up to thread into the long tendrils of the brutes hair. Fingernails scraped against his scalp before grasping firmly to pull the face away from hiding against her cheek. The strangled gasp he made caused her walls to flutter; what other noises would this monster of a man make?

The site that greeted her was breathtaking: flushed cheeks, eyes wide with shock and pleasure, and an oh-so-tempting pout to kiss. Gone were the fake smiles, disgusted glares, and angry scowls. Now what stood before her was a desperate mess of a man whose cock was so hard it could be felt through the many layers of clothing. She felt relief from the sight before her; a previous worry that he was toying with her was dissipated. No one would be able to deny his desire from how hard he was breathing, his own hands clinging to her like a lifeline.

Suguru was a man who had faced his fair share of dangerous and terrifying situations in his lifetime. He prided himself on keeping calm and making calculated choices during high-stress moments. So panic began to set in when he found moving from this frozen position impossible. The way her hands had gripped his hair, forcing them to hold eye contact, had his cock throbbing. Panic rose higher from the sensation. She kept glancing at his lips; this wasn’t good. Willing his lungs to work and throat to open, a quiet but hoarse word came out. “No.”

It was Hope’s turn to pout. Her legs locked tighter around him. In reality, he could break free from her so easily; the fact that he wasn’t just proved how much his body languished for contact. Her eyes pleaded as she took in his image, memorizing it and burning it into her mind. “Please.” she quietly asked in return. Hips rocked gently against his to help emphasize her ask. All movement paused at hearing an odd sound. Her brow furrowed in question at the noise he made suddenly, his face contorting to one that could be described as painful. Had she hurt him just now?

Geto eyes shut as the sudden climax continued quivering through him. Its shame was felt running down his stomach, legs, and clothing. He refused to look, to see her expression once she realized what had just occurred.

Hope's concern grew as he stayed still and closed off, contrasting how he clung to her a moment ago. The grip in his hair melted into gentle touches on his cheek, cupping his face to see if she could coax him to look at her. Hormones and endorphins craving the intimacy once more. When his eyes still refused to open, she scanned more of him to find the source of the sudden change. That’s when she spotted it; instantly, it all made sense. The relatively sizable wet spot formed on his clothes was proof of what occurred. Warmth spread to her cheeks as sinful thoughts began to race in her mind, the desire for more growing. Biting her bottom lip, she murmured-

“Again.”

His eyes sprung open wide, disbelief shaping the expression. Their eyes met as he processed her expression of hunger. The gentle touch of her hands on his cheek shifted to clasping the side of his face in place. Hips tilted as she pressed her core to where the wet spot lay on him. His mouth was agape in shock at the feeling of being nuzzled along his jawbone, the sensation trailing a line to his ear where a whisper was pressed against its shell. “I want another one, please.” The ask was sweet and sincere, even begging. Words failed him as a hand gently guided his own from the counter across the warmth of a plush thigh to someplace much hotter. A palpation hit his ribcage when feeling thin satin fabric, saturated and slick, shuttering when Hopes’s fingers encouraged his own to press more firmly against the spot. Her resounding whine brought him back from the out-of-body experience.

The overwhelming rage from before shifted into something much more savage and ravenous. Years of repressed urges bled to the surface; sturdy fingers gripped into the base of her hair like a handle to be pulled back from him, the movement forcing her skull to tilt up. It felt impossible to catch any breath as it heaved erratically between the groaning and growls, responding to how desperate legs clung to him. Any previous control had spilled from the pot that now boiled over. Another hand raised to cup her face with the same tenderness she had shown him just moments ago, watching how her eyes repeated their glances to his lips again. Finally, he leaned in.

“Shhh, I know where she hid the cookies from earlier.” Multiple footsteps could be heard getting closer and closer outside the door. Mimiko and Nanako both telling the other to be quiet, annoying the other with each repeated response given back and forth.

Hope and Geto’s eyes widened as the reality of their situation quickly sunk in. Her mouth opened and closed like the koi fish in the pond outside, and before she could say a word, the maniac was gone. Her brain struggled to process his disappearance, the movement inhuman in its speed. The limbs that once were held up against the other body flopped from no longer having something to grip onto. As the kitchen door slowly opened, she scrambled off the counter and ripped open one of the fridge doors to hide her overtly flushed face. Praying that its cold air would help calm down her heart rate. She was panicking as she quickly fixed the front of her silk robe back in its proper place.

Hidden outside the kitchen’s veranda, Geto stood in horror as the events that had just transpired replayed in his mind. Dismay that the truth about who started the whole situation was him. What was worse was that as hard as he tried to feel the disgust he so proudly touted for her kind, he could only feel how hard he was--again. Realization dawned on him of how dangerous the cook was as he shifted Hopes’s title from monkey to succubus.