#like he doesn’t even fuck around and he still finds out

[dollbrbie]

♡ ⸝⸝ HOW THE AGE GAP AFFECTS YOUR RELATIONSHIP

cw. toji & panther!reader, age gap, smut kinda so mdni

EXPERIENCE

with yours and toji’s age gap being around a decade, there’s definitely a huge difference in experience. this doesn’t necessarily just mean with sex, but it’s safe to say toji has been round the block a little. after all, he’s an attractive man so it wasn’t unexpected when he had said he was experienced. it did start to make you feel a little out of place, though. you just felt so innocent compared to him. but, toji will never want his girl to feel unsure about herself when he’s around.

“you don’t need to get so worked up about it, sweetheart. i can always teach ‘ya.”, he’ll say with his signature smirk, and in that moment, you don’t feel so bad about it.

LIFESTYLE

with that being said, toji has a lot of life experience compared to you. he’s had his fun in his twenties, partying and drinking, the one night stands that come with it. now, he just wants to settle down. he spends most of his weekends at home when he’s not working at the club. and trust me, he’s not working there because he loves the atmosphere. whenever he does go out, it’ll be with a few of his friends just to have a couple beers.

with you though, you wanna have your fun! you’re still young and you haven’t really lived you life yet. so, you and your girls will regularly go out clubbing, to the bar or to some festival. and while toji will always fund you for it, he’s never going to be happy about it. he knows what goes on there as a guy. it’s not like he doesn’t trust you, he just doesn’t trust the other men around you and he really wishes you’d understand that better.

ARGUMENTS

this links back to the last point. while arguments are pretty rare between you two, when they do happen, it’s very clear the age difference and maturity between you both and most of the time it’s because of your lifestyle. you can get pretty fiery at times, always defending yourself, while toji just can’t deal with it. he’s the type of guy who’ll just walk off during arguments when they get heated, leaving you to overthink and think the absolute worst. he just thinks he’s too old for it.

and sometimes, you can even get a little petty. posting on your instagram story when you’re at the club, maybe showing a hint of some guys shoulder. yeah, it’s kinda toxic, but toji knows you better than to ever cheat on him. but it definitely gets him riled up the way you want him to.

afterwards, you always find yourself beneath him, having him fuck your brains out just the way you wanted. he knows you do this on purpose, but he can’t help but fall for it every time.

FRIENDS & FAMILY

this one is a hit and miss. your friends have known toji for just as long as you have, so they’re more than okay with your relationship with him. even when you’re not out with them, toji will look out for your girls, making sure weird guys stay away from them, watching over in case of anything suspicious. honestly, they love him and your relationship.

however, your family definitely don’t approve as much. you can’t really blame them too much, they’re just trying to look out for you. and with toji’s appearance, he’s not really giving the boy next door vibes. they never invite him round for family gatherings or dinner, they kinda just.. ignore him. after their countless attempts, they know they’ll get an earful from you if they say anything too out of order, so they just let you do you at this point. they have the mindset that hopefully you’ll grow up one day and realise that your relationship isn’t gonna last.

but toji is determined, he’s been made very aware that your family don’t particularly love him. but, he knows you’re the one, the one he wants to spend the rest of his life with. so he’ll try and try and try again until he gets it right. because one day, he wants to be putting a ring on your finger, and he certainly doesn’t want your dad scowling at him whilst walking you down the isle.

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 SERIES MASTERLIST

[buck-star]

Broken ribs and special date

Bucky's just about to win the boxing fight, when John breaks his ribs. Little did he know that he will find something more in the woman who treats his wounds than just another woman looking at him.

Pairing: Boxer!Bucky Barnes x Paramedic!Fem!Reder

Wordcount: 1.671 Words

Warnings/Tags: boxer au, injuries, meet cute, fluff

Authors Note: @gremlin-girly here you go. Thank you for the encouragment to write this one. Dividers made by me.

Events: 4B-Bingo [4B 010 | B1 | Boxing AU | @avengers-assemble-bingo], Bucky Boy Bingo [N1 | Meeting | @buckyboybingo], Bucky Barnes Bingo [BO23 | U1 | Action/Adventure | @buckybarnesbingo]

Masterlist | Bucky Barnes Masterlist

One punch. Another punch.

The loud cheers from the people around the boxing ring erupt in the club when one of the guys falls down on the ground. He’s holding his hands in front of his face to protect his nose and cheeks that already got attacked by the other boxer.

His chest rises and falls heavily, the skin above his eyes already broken when he brings his hands to the ankle of the man who’s still standing. With a swift movement, he pulls the leg back and causes the brunette man to fall down on top of him.

A huff escapes the brown-haired man, followed by a cough as his ribs land on John’s knee. The cracking sound of breaking ribs is only audible for the two of them.

You flinch, watching the scene from the side. Your eyes roam over the men on the ground, their limbs tangling together as both try to set punches.

Both of them are groaning and panting. Bruised faces, but none of them cares, only getting even more motivated by the chanting of their names, the loud cheers, and the screams that fill the boxing club.

“C’mon,” the brunette laughs, his fist connecting with John’s face. James, who’s also known as Bucky ‘White Wolf’ in the club, wraps his legs around John’s hips. He turns them both until he straddles the man and sets another punch to his jaw.

Bucky grins at the man, watching John wiggling underneath him. The man’s fist connects with Bucky’s stomach and chest, not even hard enough to make him budge. Except the one punch that’s set against Bucky’s broken ribs, making him hiss in pain.

“Fuck!” Bucky growls, slamming his fists a few more times against the other man’s jaw before he gets dragged away from John.

Two medical workers rush into the ring to look after John, while Bucky gets led to the side where you’re sitting. It’s a small room where you can watch everything from when the door is open.

You watch the brunette man getting dragged into the room, a frown on his face as he tries to argue with his trainer that he doesn’t need anyone to look over his ribs.

“I’m fine, I told you,” he huffs, falling down on the plank bed. Bucky growls at his trainer as he walks out of the room and closes the door behind him. Leaving you alone with the boxer.

You turn toward Bucky, smiling softly. His expression softens when he looks at you, a small smile forming on his lips. “Hi, I know you’re a big boy and can handle some wounds, but do you let me look at them anyway? Especially your ribs would be important to have a look at.”

Bucky nods, even though he would say it’s not necessary. He brings his calloused hands to the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head to reveal his muscled chest and stomach to you. His left arm is covered in tattoos, a star on his shoulder while the rest is black and gold that looks like roses and boxing gloves.

You have seen a lot of muscular chests and skin from boxers, but never as impressive as Bucky’s. With his shirt on, though it’s fitting him like a second skin, he doesn’t look that well trained.

You clear your throat, sitting down on the chair before moving closer to Bucky with it. He’s sitting with his legs slightly spread, his head hanging low to look at the bruise that’s forming on his skin. “I didn’t know it would look that bad.”

“You broke them,” you say, pressing your digits around the bruise into his skin. Bucky watches you intensely with his blue orbs, taking in every little detail of your face. A soft chuckle escapes him as you tilt your head slightly; for whatever reason, he thinks it looks adorable. “What? Does it tickle you?”

“No, I just think… you’re cute, I mean—“ Bucky sighs, throwing his head against the wall behind him. He had the perfect moment to flirt with you, and he had to ruin it by telling you you're cute. It could have been everything: sexy, beautiful, and handsome. But he has to say cute. Like he’s a college boy trying to get a prom date. “Sorry, I'm Bucky, by the way, and that’s not what a beautiful woman like you wants to hear, is it?”

“I can’t complain; it’s nothing I get to hear daily,” you chuckle softly, giving him your name as well, and then you turn around to get a cooling pack. You press it with a paper around it to Bucky’s ribs, holding it there until Bucky places your hand on top of yours to hold the pack himself. “It’s better than sexy, I guess. It’s not that I don’t like to be sexy, but having every man walking in here telling you you’re so sexy. It’s like it’s all about your body but never about me.”

Bucky hums; he can’t relate to it, but he can still understand. “You’re cute then, doll,” he chuckles and looks at his hand that’s pressed against his hips. “Can I fight with it or? You know John isn’t down yet. So…?”

“Your ribs are broken; it’s all swollen and already blue. Risking to worsen that, it’s your decision; I can’t stop you from going into the ring, but I wouldn’t suggest it,” you answer honestly. You keep that soft smile on your lips as you inspect his bruised cheek and forehead as well. “These aren’t that bad. Only your skin is broken from the force of the punches and some light bruises.”

Bucky nods, watching you a moment longer. It’s quiet in the room but not uncomfortable. You’re waiting for him to tell you if he wants to go back into the ring. And he’s thinking about it.

“I wanted to ask if—“ he chuckles, running his thick fingers through his brown locks. Bucky’s expression softens further, his lips curling upward into the sweetest and softest smile you have ever seen. “You would go out with me if I win. But you look worried about my ribs. Would you go out with me even when I don’t win? I mean… I don’t do it to impress you; it’s a way to impress someone, but I don’t feel like I have to impress you.”

Bucky’s eyes search your face for any hint. He has noticed the frown on your face when he played his injuries down and when he asked to be able to keep fighting in the ring with John. But he has also noticed that your smile widens when he smiles, and for the first time in ages, he’s interested in a woman, but not any woman, in you.

“It’s just, I kinda like to earn certain things. So your attention, your agreement to a date with me,” Bucky explains with a low chuckle. He removes the ice pack and looks at the bruise. It’s dark and hurts; he’s not sure if he wants to risk anything when he can just go on a date with you instead.

“I would love to. But you don’t have to fight against John to earn it. I would love to go out with you in one piece,” you say softly with a slight giggle. Bucky raises his eyebrows in amusement, tilting his head but nodding. “So, do you want me to tell your trainer you can keep going or that your ribs should get some rest before you step out there in the ring again?”

Bucky hums, thinking about it for a moment. He doesn't like to interrupt a fight like that, especially not against John. But he also knows better than to go out there to get another punch or kick into his ribs and get a worse injury.

“John knows my ribs are broken, or at least injured. He would use it to his advantage,” he says quietly, nodding his head. Bucky looks back up at you, a soft smile on his plump lips. “Tell him we will continue that another time; my ribs have to heal first.”

“Good,” you say, opening the door to find Bucky's trainer standing in front of the door. He turns around when he notices you in the door, his eyes wandering from you to Bucky, who's still sitting on the bed, and shrugs. "His ribs should heal before he gets out there for any fights. They are broken, and another punch could cause them to damage anything."

The trainer nods at you. “Barnes, you will listen to the lady or you will get timeouts,” he warns Bucky, who's grinning at him playfully. “I mean it, you will sit on the bench if you dare to disobey her.”

“Yes, sir,” Bucky chuckles and gets off the bed. He picks up his shirt to throw it over his shoulder before he walks up to you. One of his thick arms wraps itself around your waist, pulling you into his warm side. “If you excuse us, we have a date.”

Bucky's trainer's eyes widen. Bucky doesn't even look at any women, and now he's going on a date with you? You really have to be someone special when he asks you out. The wide smile Bucky gives him before leading you to the locker rooms answers it for him – you're not just someone; you are Bucky's everything.

“Have fun, lovebirds. But not too much,” the trainer says. “I mean, mini Bucky's aren't bad when they come here and are as good as their daddy.”

Your eyes widen when you look at Bucky. “Does he always plan stuff like that for you?”

Bucky shakes his head with a chuckle. “No, you're special, and he knows. I don't do dates, unless I'm sure it's the right person,” he hums, smiling softly at you before he presses his plump lips to your forehead. “But don't worry, no mini Bucky's before the date. Maybe after the date, doll.”

Taglist: @rogersbarber @loki-laufeyson68 @etherealdisneyvillainness @winterschildren8 @rnurse-kole @kimmie113080 @sergeantbarnessdoll @sebastianstanisahotmf @mercurial-chuckles @holylulusworld @randomawesomeperson102 @looking1016 @multiversefanfics @kpopgirlbtssvt @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers @alexxavicry @gremlin-girly @grilledcheesewithjalapeno @unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men @irisk12 @lilyalone @iris-xoxo-juhu @fckedupandbeautiful @hisredheadedgoddess28 @princesscore-angel @casa-boiardi @blackhawkfanatic @mrsalexstan @thesarcasmqueen-22 @bamitzzsam @feynightlight @ethanhoewke @kandis-mom @peachy-satan00 @armystay89 @queen-honeybee-stories @p1nkgirly333

[steveseddie]

kiss it better

written for the @steddiebingo get lucky mini event | prompt: there was only one bed | rating: t | wc: 2,9k | cw: blood mention | tags: different first meeting, post s3, injured eddie, steve takes care of him

read on ao3

Eddie doesn’t know what to do. 

He’s all roughed up and bleeding, his lip stings, and his head is pounding. 

He should’ve known that stopping for gas was a bad idea as soon as he saw Carver and his stupid friends kicking it at the gas station. Foolishly, he thought they wouldn’t notice him or try anything. 

Turns out he was wrong. 

They snuck up on him, cornering him against his van, all four of them.

And maybe if Eddie had kept his mouth shut, they would’ve been fine just stealing his stash but of fucking course Eddie didn’t. Instead, he ended up getting beaten up until the store clerk came out and scared them all off– Eddie included, because apparently he was ‘asking for it’. 

So now he’s driving around, wondering what to do because his uncle is home at night for once, and Eddie doesn’t want Wayne to see him like this. He can’t go to Jeff’s house either– their parents don’t like Eddie, and they’ll like him less if he gets blood on their carpet. The same goes for the other Hellfire guys, especially the kids. Their parents might not know Eddie yet, but showing up like this certainly won’t give them a great first impression. 

A thought occurs to him. A stupid thought. He remembers last week when Henderson crashed his bike, and the person who fixed his cuts and scrapes was no other than Steve Harrington. Apparently, the guy has experience patching people up, and even more surprising is the fact that he’s a nice guy with a soft spot for Eddie’s new sheepies. 

When Henderson told them the story, Eddie scoffed and laughed at the absurdity of it, but Wheeler and Sinclair quickly backed the kid up. Harrington showing up later that night to give all of them a ride further proved that they might’ve been telling the truth. 

That doesn’t mean Harrington won’t tell Eddie to fuck off if he shows up at his door asking for help, but it’s worth a try. Eddie can’t keep driving around Hawkins like this, not when he’s starting to feel dizzy. 

So he drives to Loch Nora, easily spotting Harrington’s house thanks to the familiar BMW parked out front. 

Over the years, he’s heard the rumors about Steve’s parents rarely being home, and as he walks up to the door and rings the doorbell, he hopes they’re all true. That it’s just Harrington in the house tonight. 

But after a couple of minutes, during which no one opens the door, Eddie starts to wonder if Harrington himself might not be home at all.

“Fucking figures,” Eddie mutters, turning on his heels, resigning himself to spending the night in his van, hoping that the new sheriff won’t find him and write him up. 

But just as he takes a step towards his van, the door opens behind him, and when he glances back, he finds a bleary-eyed Steve Harrington peeking through the opening. 

His eyes widen the moment he sees him and Eddie can’t help but notice that he also relaxes a little, like he was expecting something worse than the town’s freak knocking on his door in the middle of the night. 

“Munson?” He says, his eyebrows furrowing.

Eddie gives him a dorky salute. “Evening, Your Majesty!” 

“What are you doing here?” He asks, but then Eddie steps into the porch light, and he gasps. “Jesus, man. What happened to you?” 

“Fucking Carver and his fucking friends. They took my stash and beat me up.” Steve winces sympathetically, but Eddie can tell he’s still wondering why that led to Eddie showing up at his door. “Henderson mentioned that you fixed him up the other day, so I thought– I, uh–” He stops talking as he realizes just how dumb this is. Harrington and he aren’t friends, they don’t even know each other. He grimaces. “You know what? Nevermind, this was stupid, I’ll just fuck off. Night, Harrington.”

“Dude, wait!” He says, opening the door wider. Eddie gets a glimpse of a bat in his hand, and he can’t help but wonder exactly what Steve was expecting to find at his door. 

“You, uh– you’re gonna finish the job?” Eddie asks, staring pointedly at the bat, which he can tell now is covered in nails. What the fuck?

“What?” Harrington looks down at the bat. “Oh. Shit, man, no, I just– sorry, uh–” he trails off, simply setting the bat aside against the wall. “You don’t have to go.”

“No, I do,” Eddie says, tugging a lock of hair in front of his face, embarrassed. “You don’t owe me anything, we’re not even friends–”

“No, but you’re friends with Henderson, Wheeler, and Sinclair.”

“So you’ll help me for them?” Eddie asks quietly. 

Harrington shrugs. “Won’t be the worst thing I’ve done for those shitheads.” And before Eddie can ask what he means by that, he steps aside, holding the door open for Eddie. “Come in, man.”

Eddie steps over the threshold and hears the door click shut behind him. It’s not his first time here, but the house looks so much different without a party happening. Empty, sterile, cold. 

Harrington gestures at the staircase. “First aid kit is upstairs,” he says, and with a nod, Eddie follows him to the second floor and into his bedroom. This– this is new. Never in a million years did Eddie think he’d be in Steve Harrington’s bedroom. So while he looks for the first aid kit, Eddie walks around and snoops. 

He doesn’t find anything interesting. Harrington’s room is pretty boring actually– the plaid wallpaper, the sports magazines on the desk, the action movie posters over the bed. But then Eddie notices a cork board near the desk, and stuck to it there are pictures of Harrington with Eddie’s kids, as well as a few others– the redhead girl who recently moved across from his trailer, the Byers kid that went missing a few years ago, a girl with short curls that he’s never seen before, and a girl who Eddie guesses is Sinclair’s little sister. So the kiddos weren’t lying, Harrington does have a soft spot for them. Or maybe for nerds in general, Eddie thinks when he recognizes Robin Buckley from the marching band in a few pictures as well. 

Maybe that’s part of the reason why Harrington didn’t shut the door in his face. Eddie is a nerd, after all. 

“Found it,” Harrington says, heading to the bathroom and gesturing at Eddie to follow. He sets the first aid kit on the sink, rummaging through it. With a wince, Eddie hops onto the counter next to it.

“Dude, are you expecting an apocalypse or something?” He snorts, staring at the contents of the kit. He expected painkillers and some bandages, but Harrington has a fully stocked first aid kit. Eddie glances up from what he’s pretty sure is a suture kit to see Harrington’s nose scrunched up. 

“I tend to get beaten up a lot,” he mumbles. “I’m sure you’ve heard about that.”

Eddie has. He thinks back to Harrington getting beaten up by Byers, then by Hargrove, and then last summer by– actually, Eddie doesn’t know what happened that time. He just knows it had something to do with Starcourt burning down. 

“So you’re an expert?” He asks, legs dangling back and forth. That is, until Steve moves to stand between them. 

“Yup. You’re in good hands, Munson,” Steve says, playfully wiggling his fingers.

Eddie gulps, suddenly nervous about having Harrington’s hands on him. Maybe he should’ve thought this through. 

Steve probably notices his hesitation, and his hands pause halfway to his face. “This might sting a little, but I gotta clean up the cuts first.”

“Go for it, doc,” Eddie jokes, but his voice wavers a little. 

Harrington huffs out a little snort, the corner of his mouth ticking up for a second before his expression turns focused. He gently touches Eddie’s face with a strip of gauze and whatever he soaked it with makes Eddie flinch when it comes in contact with the cut above his eyebrow. 

“Sorry,” Steve says sympathetically. He dabs at the cut again, and even if he knows what’s coming, Eddie can’t help but inch back. “Dude, stay still,” he chastises, using his free hand to grab Eddie’s chin and keep his face in place. When he finishes with that cut, he moves on to the one on Eddie’s cheekbone. The whole time Eddie is holding his breath, not because it hurts but because Steve is touching him so gently, and it’s making his stomach flip flop nauseatingly. 

“Why did Carver beat you up?” Harrington asks, giving Eddie a short break while grabbing more gauze.

Eddie snorts. “Do jocks need a reason to beat up freaks?”

Steve’s lips purse. “Guess not.”

“I didn’t do anything, if that’s what you’re asking, uh–” He trails off momentarily as Steve grabs hold of his chin again and starts cleaning up the cut on his bottom lip. “I, uh, I might’ve insulted his dear mother, but that was only after he and his asshole friends cornered me.”

Steve’s lips stretch into a bemused smile. “It’s good that you fought them off when you did.”

Eddie throws his head back with a cackle. Steve hmphs and grips his chin more firmly, making his stomach do a backflip. “Bold of you to assume I could fight off four jocks on my own. I’m built like a fucking twig, man.”

Steve’s eyes dart down to Eddie’s bare arms in his cutoff shirt. “You’re not,” he mumbles before clearing his throat and averting his eyes, his cheeks pink under the bathroom light. “How did you uh, get away then?”

“Guy from the store scared them off,” Eddie mumbles as Steve cleans his last cut, the one on the bridge of his nose. He leaves the spot between his legs to get more supplies and Eddie finds himself looking down at Steve’s arms, big and strong with muscles rippling underneath his sleeping shirt. Steve could probably fight off four guys with those arms. 

Or not, he thinks when he remembers how many times he lost a fight in the last couple of years. Still, Eddie bets they could do some damage. At the very least, they could easily lift him. 

“I don’t think you need stitches,” Harrington says, snapping Eddie out of his thoughts. He tries to school his expression into one that doesn’t say he’s fantasizing about Steve lifting him into this very own sink. He really doesn’t need another jock punching him tonight. 

“That’s good news, Nurse Harrington.”

“Your face will probably bruise, though,” Steve says, grabbing some butterfly band-aids, applying them over the cuts.

Eddie grimaces. So much for Wayne not finding out.

“Does it hurt?”

“No, you’re good,” he says, gesturing at him to continue. “I, uh, I didn’t want my uncle to see me like this. That’s why I didn’t go home, he ain’t working tonight.”

“What were you gonna do if I didn’t open the door?”

Eddie shrugs, wincing a little when Steve applies the band-aids over the cut on his nose. “Sleep in my van, probably. Might do that anyway when you’re done patching me up, doc.”

Steve scrunches up his nose. Eddie gets hit by the urge to kiss it. “Yeah, no, you’re not. You can stay here. I didn’t go through the trouble of fixing you up so you can crash your van and die from a possible concussion,” he says, his hands settling on his hips. 

“What do you know about concussions, Harrington?” Eddie asks, trying to ignore the way his body tingles at the prospect of spending the night here.

“I’ve had like, three at this point, man,” Steve says with a snort. “So you’re staying?”

“If His Majesty insists,” Eddie says with a royal twist of his hand. 

Steve shakes his head amusedly and closes the lid on his first aid kit, which Eddie takes as a sign that they’re done here and hops down from the sink. 

“So which guest bedroom is mine?” Eddie asks, following Steve out of the bathroom.

He pauses and gives Eddie a sheepish look. “Oh, uh, actually there are no guest bedrooms.”

Eddie frowns. That doesn’t sound right. “What? But I heard Tommy Hagan brag about hooking up in every one of them during your parties.” 

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. “Fucking Tommy,” he mutters. “Yeah, we used to have guest rooms but my parents turned them into a gym, an office, an art studio. Since they never have friends or family over.”

“So I guess I’ll take the couch?” Eddie asks. It looked comfortable enough from the glimpse he got before Steve led him upstairs. Better than the old one back at the trailer.

But Steve shakes his head. “No way, you just got the living shit beat out of you. I’m not making you sleep on a couch.” Before Eddie can ask where he’s making him sleep, he casually adds, “We can share my bed.”

“What?”

“Yeah, I’ll let you borrow some clothes to sleep.”

“What?”

Steve’s mouth twitches up and Eddie wonders if he’s messing with him, but then he walks over to his closet and starts rummaging through his clothes. “Do you prefer shorts or sweatpants?” He asks over his shoulder. 

The thought of wearing any clothes belonging to Steve leaves Eddie gaping like a fish. 

“Eddie?” Steve says when he doesn’t get an answer. “Uh, sweatpants are fine,” he stammers out. 

Soon, he’s holding in his hands one of Steve’s old Hawkins High shirts and a pair of sweatpants. He excuses himself to change in the bathroom– and takes advantage of the privacy to have a little freak out because he’s about to sleep in Steve Harrington’s bed wearing Steve Harrington’s clothes next to Steve Harrington. 

He wonders if Steve was right about him having a concussion, and if that could be causing hallucinations. That would make more sense than whatever is happening instead.

But concussion or not, Eddie figures he might as well roll with it.

He allows himself a sniff from Steve’s shirt that he’s wearing before he tells himself that he needs to be normal if he doesn’t want Steve to get weirded out and kick him off the bed.

But when he steps out of the bathroom, Steve is the one acting weird, by building some kind of pillow barrier in the middle of the bed. 

“Uh, I know you’ve probably heard the rumors about me, man, but you don’t have to do that, I won’t jump you in your sleep,” Eddie says, hanging a hand from his neck. 

Steve cocks his head, frowns and then when he realizes what Eddie is saying, he frantically shakes his head. “What– oh, no, dude, no– this isn’t for you, I’m not worried about that,” he says earnestly. “This is for me! I tend to move a lot and cuddle anyone I sleep with.”

Eddie relaxes a little. If Steve knows about him and he’s not throwing pillows at him, then maybe he’s cool with it, so he hesitantly gets on the bed– and even lets himself crack a joke. “And you don’t want to cuddle with me?” 

Thanks to the moonlight filtering through the curtains, Eddie sees Steve’s cheeks pink up. “I do, but uh, I just don’t want to hurt you.”

Eddie’s brain screeches to a halt. “Back the fuck up you– you do?”

“Uh, yeah,” he chuckles, brushing his hair back. “Who doesn’t love cuddling?”

“Straight guys sharing a bed with a gay dude,” Eddie says, blinking at him with owlish eyes. “That’s who.”

“Well,” Steve starts casually before upending Eddie’s whole world. “I’m not straight, so your point is moot.”

What in the ever loving fuck? 

“I think– I think you were right about the concussion,” Eddie mumbles dumbly. “I’m pretty sure I’m hallucinating right now.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “You’re not. I mean it. Dudes are hot.”

A hysterical laugh tumbles from Eddie’s lips. “Yeah,” he says in a high-pitched tone, giving Steve a pointed once over. “I know.”

Steve’s lips stretch into a smirk. “Thanks, but I was talking about you.”

Eddie squeaks pathetically, and the only thing he can think to do is throw the covers over his head. 

Steve’s chuckles are muffled, but he still hears him down there. “Relax, Eddie, I won’t jump you,” he says, echoing his words. 

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie mumbles. “I, uh, wouldn’t mind.”

“What was that?”

Eddie removes the covers, his cheeks are burning and Steve can probably tell by how red they must be. “I said I wouldn’t mind.”

Something dark flashes across Steve’s face before he gets it under control. He reaches over the pillow barrier to brush his thumb gently over the cut on Eddie’s cheekbone. “Tell you what, if you make it through the night, I’ll do it.”

Excitement and anticipation bubble up in Eddie’s chest. With a feigned pout, he says, “You would deny a dying man his last wish, Stevie? That’s cruel.”

He snorts amusedly. “Let’s say I’m giving you an incentive to live.”

“How do I know it’s worth it?”

Just as he did in the bathroom, Steve grabs Eddie’s chin and uses his hold to pull him closer, over the mountain of pillows until he can press his lips against Eddie’s. 

He keeps the kiss short, sweet, and ends it with a swipe of his tongue over Eddie’s cut lip. It stings a little, but he doesn’t give a fuck. 

Eddie blinks dazedly at Steve, who is grinning smugly. 

“Now you know,” he says, and with a wink, he flops down on the bed. “Sleep, Munson. And don’t die.”

Eddie doubts he’ll me able to sleep after that, but he refuses to die before he has the chance to kiss Steve Harrington again– or before he can send Jason Carver a fucking thank you note. 

[monstersflashlight]

In LOVE with your alien fics and I was wondering if it's alright to request for a specific alien race? Specifically the Yautjas (the alien creature from the Predator movies)

I was thinking of a human reader who works in an intergalactic repair shop of some kind for space travel and while she's used to getting beings of their race come by often, there's this one yautja who just keeps coming back more frequently than the others and since he's being such a generous and regular customer she decides to give him some "perks" 👀👀

If you can't then it's fine just wanted to try asking. Absolutely adore your writing and am thankful to have found your blog!! ✨️✨️

A/N: I don’t usually do specific alien races, but you are welcome to imagine this one is a yautja. Also, if you are wondering… yes, the title is a joke. Enjoy!

The perks of being an alienfucker

Alien x fem!reader || exhibitionism (technically), semi-public sex, oral sex, dirty talk (very light)

You’ve been working as a mechanic at the space station for a while. For long enough that some of the “locals” already know you. You are friendly with a couple of them, always cheerful when they show up to fix one thing or the other. You suspect they only bring you the little problems to fix so they can chat with you, you are something like a catch by intergalactic standards. Or so they’ve told you.

But there’s one… There’s one alien that makes your blood boil and your pussy get wet. Every time he shows up you have to bite your lip to avoid saying something inappropriate. But the fact that he doesn’t look much better makes you feel extra giddy. You almost expect him to bend you over the spaceship and fuck you hard, but he never does.

He’s always waiting, as if he’s expecting some kind of signal from you that you want the same thing. And he catches you in the worst moment, when you are ovulating and your vibrator broke down last night. He appears at the door with his big strong arms and his too big body and you are already salivating. You can see every ridge of his body in his super tight suit…

And you had enough of the teasing, of the flirting, of the way his eyes run over your body as if he’s imagining licking every inch of you.

So you turn around and bend over the spaceship. The inclination of the hood makes your ass be higher than your shoulders and you are sure you look sinful like that. You look over your shoulder as you lower your pants and panties, exposing your pussy to him. If he doesn’t get the signal he needs with that… you are more than done trying to get this fine specimen of an alien to fuck you senseless.

He stops what he’s saying (you don’t even know because you weren’t paying attention), and looks at you, his eyes traveling down your body and focusing on your most vulnerable place. “What are you doing?” His voice sounds breathless, and it makes a shiver run down your spine.

You press your face against the cold metal, rapidly warming under your skin, and look at him over your shoulder, wriggling your hips a little. “I think it’s pretty clear. I’m face down, ass up, do you need a map?” You tease like the little shit you are.

He steps closer to you, still a couple feet away. “Don’t play with me, human,” he growls. His eyes are as dark as ever, and he’s clenching his fists at his sides. He seems to be vibrating and you can’t stop the little whimper that leaves your mouth.

“I want you to play with me,” you tell him after your brain starts working again.

He stomps his way to you until he’s standing right behind you, his hands hovering over your exposed backside. “Last chance to say this is all a joke, human,” he warns.

You growl, and he inhales loudly. “Fuck me already, for fuck’s sake,” you let out, your body tense and ready to explode just having him there, looking.

You don’t know what you were expecting, but for him to fall to his knees behind you and start devouring your cunt and asshole like a desperate alien was not it. You try to find something to grab, but you are powerless as he eats you out with everything he has.

You are panting and moaning, a little part of your brain realizing the door is wide open and anybody can walk in. But that only makes you hotter, groaning deeply as he pushes a finger inside of you. Is messy and fast, and your first orgasm catches you off guard completely.

He pulls back, growling low and sustained, it almost sounds like… “Are you purring?” You let out in a choked breath, almost wanting to laugh. But he doesn’t let you think twice about it, the tip of his dick pressing against your opening.

He pushes in, one long thrust that makes your feet get off the ground and you are grateful he ate you so well before because you definitely needed the extra lubrication. He’s big. He feels huge, actually. And you can’t get enough of him.

He fucks you nasty, his hips pushing yours forward and making you hit the metal of the spaceship in an almost forceful way that makes your brain short-circuit as you see stars. He keeps grunting and moaning, and the sounds he makes only drive you further into ecstasy.

It’s fast and hard and everything you needed.

“Come for me before somebody walks by, human. I want to feel your pussy strangling my cock,” his crude words make you twitch around him, creating a new wave of curses and grunts that drive you over the edge.

The orgasm rocks your body backwards, pushing him as deep as possible as you tremble. Your face is pressed to the spaceship and your knees feel weak as he grabs your hips and pushes you off your feet, rutting inside of you until you feel the first shot of his come hitting your cervix. It’s exhilarating in the best way possible.

You come back to your body feeling like jelly, plastered against the spaceship unable to move. He pulls back with a groan, kissing your back one last time before caressing your side.

“I’ll be coming tomorrow... to check on the spaceship.” He whispers before patting your ass and pushing your pants and panties back up, trapping the mess he made on your pussy against the fabric. It feels weird and sticky, but makes your lower belly boil with arousal.

You can’t wait until he returns.

[loungemermaid]

Things I’ve just chosen to believe:

Katniss goes grey young. By her mid twenties she has strands, by mid thirties there’s streaks, and by her forties she’s salt and pepper. Peeta doesn’t look like he’s going grey because he’s blond, and to be fair it takes a little longer, he starts later, but one morning it’s like his hair went white overnight.

Katniss never stops delighting over new food. The food obsession from her younger self, when she was starving, is permanent. She acquires a lot of tastes, especially spice and herbs, but she can’t ever get over unsweet tea and black coffee. Whenever she makes iced tea she has to make two pitchers.

Peeta hates cooking on an electric stove and throws theirs out for a coal one. It’s what he’s used to, he knows how it works, and damn it, he don’t wanna learn anything else. He still, until the day he dies, spends hours cleaning and polishing it, every week.

Speaking of, they both live to be insanely old. Into triple digits. (This is not impossible, most of my family considers “dying young” to be 75). They meet their great great grandchildren. They get wonderful healthcare. That and Katniss’s herbs ensure a long, sweet, happy life. Haymitch does too. He thought he’d die at 40. He meets the grandkids. Katniss and Peeta’s, not just his. (The new liver buys him decades. So does him not putting said new liver through the wringer.)

Even though Katniss greys earlier, Peeta wrinkles quicker. Because he’s white. And very pale. And doesn’t wear sunscreen until his twenties. That’s okay, Katniss thinks his crow’s feet are sexy.

Peeta finds a stray cat while Buttercup is still alive. A girl cat, fluffy and black. Then there’s kittens. And after that, there’s almost always kittens around. Yes, the kittens do try and fuck with Haymitch’s geese. They only ever try that once though. Very little makes Haymitch laugh near as hard as seein’ a six week old kitten ballsy enough to try and pounce a gosling before mama or daddy goose swoop down and bite the shit out of them. It happens every year. And he always loves it.

Haymitch talks about his ma sewing and patchworking his clothes when he was younger, and Katniss gets inspired. She hated knitting, but she’s fantastic at quilting. Her first ones are pretty simple, nothing fancy, but she saves every single scrap. Not because they have to, because she wants to. Because all of them have so little material things left. So, a scrap from a favorite shirt. Another bit from some extra soft blankets that finally bit the dust. Baby clothes. Hair ribbons. Apron strings. She turns it all into beautifully patterned quilts, with small running stitches and (ethically harvested) goose down for batting. She has trunkfulls, gives away the ones mostly made with bought fabric to anyone who wants or needs one. The ones with special fabric she never parts with.

[pretty-royals]

Lost on the hill

| summary : Zoro gets lost and stumbles upon your secluded home. After earning your trust, you invite him and his crew to visit—but since he has no sense of direction, you teach him a song to find his way back.

Type : Fluff

Warnings : Zoro…being lost ?, Typical Zoro struggles,A slightly ridiculous navigation song

The rhythmic rustling of the leaves was the only sound that accompanied you as you stood outside your house, the soft evening breeze carrying the scent of the forest. Your small home sat perched on a hill just beyond the thickest part of the woods, isolated from the rest of the island. You preferred it that way—fewer people meant fewer problems.

But today, you weren’t alone.

A stranger stood just a few feet away from your doorstep, looking just as perplexed as you felt.

Green hair. Three swords. Broad, muscular frame.

You held your breath, your fingers tightening around the wooden spoon you had been using before you heard the unmistakable crunch of boots on dry leaves. Your noodle legs taking you to your front door window.

He looked…dangerous

“Who are you?” you asked, voice firmer than you felt.

The man blinked, then let out a frustrated sigh. “Tch. Don’t tell me I wandered into someone’s house again.”

Again?

You frowned. “You mean to tell me you don’t even know how you got here?”

“That’s about right,” he admitted, scratching the back of his head. “I was just walkin’ through the forest, and then suddenly, I’m here.”

What the fuck ?

You stared at him, trying to gauge if he was a threat. His swords were still strapped to his hip, but he made no move to grab them. His stance, though relaxed, carried the kind of stillness that came with confidence—like he didn’t need to draw his weapon to be dangerous.

Slowly you got out of your house, spoon still in hand.

But something about him wasn’t setting off any alarms. His expression was open, a little annoyed but not aggressive. Just… lost.

You exhaled, lowering your guard just a fraction. “Well, you are at someone’s house. Mine.”

His eye flickered to the small wooden cottage behind you, then back to your face. “You live out here all alone?”

You crossed your arms. “Yeah. And I like it that way.”

The man hummed, as if he understood. “Huh.”

You watched him carefully, waiting for any sign of bad intentions, but instead of doing anything suspicious, he just… plopped down on the ground, legs crossed.

Well. That was unexpected.

“You’re just gonna sit there?” you asked.

“You got a better idea? Not like I know how to get back,” he grumbled. “Besides, I walked all damn day. My legs could use a break.”

You hesitated. He really didn’t seem like he was going to hurt you, and there was something strangely nonchalant about him that made it hard to stay tense.

“…You want some water?”

He tilted his head. “Huh?”

“You said you’ve been walking all day.” You turned toward your house, already pushing open the door. “Might as well have a drink before you try to find your way back.”

For a second, he didn’t respond, but then you heard the faintest chuckle. “Yeah. That’d be nice.”

⸻

By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, you had already spent the better part of your day talking to the stranger.

His name was Roronoa Zoro. A swordsman.

Apparently, he was part of the infamous Straw Hat crew, though you had never met them. You had heard whispers of their exploits whenever you went into town for supplies, but you never paid much attention to rumors.

“Your captain just lets you wander off?” you asked, pouring yourself another cup of tea as Zoro leaned against your wooden porch.

“He doesn’t let me. It just happens,” Zoro grumbled.

You smirked. “So… you get lost a lot?”

Zoro scowled. “No.”

“You literally ended up at my house by accident…. "

“…Okay, maybe sometimes.”

You laughed, surprising even yourself. You couldn’t remember the last time you had entertained a guest, let alone one as odd as this swordsman. He was blunt, a little grumpy, but something about his presence wasn’t bad. In fact, it was… comfortable.

After a while, you sighed, setting your cup down. “You should probably head back before your friends start to worry.”

Zoro groaned, stretching his arms. “Yeah. If I take too long, Luffy’ll probably come looking for me, and that’ll be more of a headache.”

You hesitated, then glanced at him. “You should come back tomorrow.”

Zoro blinked. “Hah?”

“You heard me,” you said, suddenly feeling shy under his gaze. “You should bring your crew. If you all need a place to rest before you head out, you can come here.”

For a moment, Zoro just stared at you, as if trying to figure out if you were serious. Then, a small smirk pulled at his lips. “You sure about that? You just met me.”

You shrugged. “You don’t seem like a bad guy.”

Zoro let out a low chuckle. “Guess I should be flattered.”

But then, as if realizing something, his expression shifted. “…Wait. How the hell am I supposed to get back here?”

You raised an eyebrow. “You really don’t know?”

“If I did, I wouldn’t have ended up here by accident,” Zoro deadpanned.

You snorted. “Okay, fair point.” Then, after a moment of thought, you grinned. “I have an idea.”

Zoro narrowed his eye. “I don’t like that look.”

Ignoring him, you sat up straighter. “I made up a song a while back to help me remember how to find my house. You can just sing it tomorrow, and it’ll lead you back here.”

Zoro gave you the most skeptical look you had ever seen. “You’re joking.”

“Nope,” you said, crossing your arms. “You wanna come back or not?”

Zoro sighed, rubbing his temple. “Fine. What’s the stupid song?”

You grinned before dramatically clearing your throat.

« Up the hill, past the tree,

Walk where the river used to be.

Turn to the left, count to three,

Then go right where the big rock’ll be.

Follow the path, don’t lose sight,

Then you’ll find my house just right! »

Silence.

Zoro stared at you, completely deadpan. “…That’s dumb.”

You gasped. “Hey! It works!”

Zoro groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You expect me to sing that?”

“You want to find my house, don’t you?”

He muttered something under his breath before standing up, rolling his shoulders. “Fine. Whatever. But if I get lost again, it’s your fault.”

You smirked. “Sure, sure.”

Zoro glanced at the darkening sky, then back at you. “Alright. I’ll tell my crew. Be ready for chaos, though.”

You laughed. “I think I can handle it.”

With that, Zoro gave you one last nod before stepping off your porch and disappearing into the trees.

You watched him go, a small smile lingering on your lips.

Tomorrow would be interesting.

The Court :

@dazaiwifey @the-maladaptive-daydreamers @sle3pymarimo @sweet-3-whispers

[danger-xylophones]

Hello there! I’ve just been looking at some of your Tolkien asks for the elves and I thought you were a really good writer, so I was wondering if you’d be open to writing about how the elves would react to finding out their human friend had parents that didn’t get along that well or argued a lot, and just really disliked each other? I don’t even know if they’d even have a concept of that, because elvish couples love once and forever. If you don’t want to write that, it’s perfectly ok. I understand that this is a sensitive topic for a lot of people, but I just wanted to ask :) Regardless, have a nice day!

Warnings: discussion of unstable/unhappy house holds, illusions to abuse/neglect

Note: I’ve included some elves invented for ROP and The Hobbit movies

Note 2: thank you for this request, it led me down several rabbit holes and now I know exactly how fucked up Celebrimbor’s father was

Masterlist

I think the elves understand on some base level that it is possible for parents to hate each other, especially the ones that interact with humans more often like Elrond.

They’re timeless beings after all, who have seen the rise and fall of countless kingdoms of man. They know the propensity for greed and malice.

But it’s always abstract to them the same way true death is.

In the back of their minds they think it must have such an adverse effect on the child that it would be easy to spot.

Some are naive enough to assume that every person that chose to follow Morgoth and Sauron must have had parents who hated each other.

So when you reveal that you grew up in such a household it rocks their shit it startles quite a few of them.

In order from least to most surprised:

Arondir

As a guard of the south lands, he is constantly dealing with humans. He understands, I think best of all those listed, the broad range of dynamics possible in a human household and I’m sad to say he’s probably had to break up quite a few fights between parents.

So when you tell him, he’s rather unfazed. Not to say that he doesn’t care that you grew up in such a household but he knows that it isn’t something some people like to talk about. He offers you a firm squeeze on the shoulder and offers his ear should you ever want to talk about it though.

If you still live with your parents, he makes a point to start watching them more closely. He wants to be ready should he have to do something.

Elrond

Given his past list of parental figures and him being half-human, Elrond understands the best out of Tolkien’s elves. That’s not say his parents were bad but he has the best experience with uncommon households out of the elves on this list.

Younger or older, he approaches your situation with empathy. Similar to Arondir, he doesn’t try to pry but makes it clear that he is here for you if you want him to be. He also offers up a room in his house if you still live with your parents. He goes a step further though to offer a place to stay to any siblings you have as well.

He doesn’t claim to understand exactly what growing up around people like that does to one’s mental health but he is willing to do the research needed to become an advocate for you and for those who grew up like you.

Galadriel

Galadriel as we know her in the books and PJ’s films has the best intuition about the situation you grew up in. She’s incredibly mature and has a cunning to her that isn’t present in the other elves on this list.

Honestly, she might figure out that your home wasn’t exactly happy before you even tell her - catching all those little signs; the hesitation before mentioning your family, the careful censoring in certain anecdotes, or the complete lack of mentioning them. She catches them and puts two and two together.

I’m torn on if she’d ask you directly or wait for you to tell her. The first option wants for tact but I believe Galadriel can almost see the scars on your psyche and wants to help them heal. Regardless, you are always welcome in Lothlorien should the need arise.

Celebrimbor

Despite how low he is placed, Celebrimbor I think has the closest lived experience to you. He’s down this low because he thinks the shittiness of his father is an exclusive trait to him. It doesn’t actually cross his mind that humans deal with awful parents as well so he is quite shocked to learn this about you.

To be fair, we don’t know who his mother is and by all accounts her and Curufin could have had a wonderful marriage but I find this unlikely given his temper.

Celebrimbor understands best of all the shadow that rests on your shoulders - the creeping dread that rests in your heart whenever you hear a raised voice. Celebrimbor is a good person to rant to because he understands the anger the best and while his father may have committed atrocities in the name of avenging his father - he is careful not to overshadow your own tumultuous feelings whenever you do express them. He just listens, adding scathing commentary when needed.

Honestly, you revealing the truth about your own parents relieves him a little - not because you grew up like that but because someone finally understands what it’s like for him as well. None of the other elves get it. But you do.

Arwen/Elladan/Elrohir

So, the reason these three are grouped together is simple - they’re raised by Elrond. They understand the weird direction of their father’s life and he talks openly about its effect on him with all three of them as they grow up. So, they are a prime example of the elves understanding that parents hating each other is a thing that happens, but none of them have first-hand experience with it.

Arwen, to her credit understands the best out of Elrond’s children. I fully believe she inherited Elrond’s foresight and uses it to intuit what she doesn’t understand already. Still, she is surprised to hear about your parents and tries her best to get her head around it. But she is not immune to the “why did they stay together” question. In her defense, she doesn’t expect you to have an answer.

Her brothers on the other hand do ask you fully expecting you to have some wisdom about it that they don’t. Being some of the youngest elves on this list, it makes sense. They’re mature enough to know that they don’t know everything but not mature enough to comprehend that you don’t know everything either.

All three of them have a million questions but try their best not to bombard you with them. They do, however, insist to their father that he help you with housing if you or your siblings should need it.

Lindir

I believe Lindir to be a smart but sheltered elf. We don’t know how old he is so I personally believe he is on the younger side, maybe barely older than Elladan and Elrohir.

He’s bookish and as a result of that he has a very scholarly understanding of the world - so he has possibly read stories about dysfunction households. But I think he believes them inventions of the author. As in, he thinks they are isolated incidents and not unfortunately common truths for the children of men.

He is floored when you tell him. He is good about not bombarding you with questions but he will ask you why your parents married in the first place. Whether you tell him they were in love once or were a political marriage he can only nod slowly as if he understands (he does not, he is so confused). He can only offer to do what he does best - listen to you if you choose to tell him.

Gil-Galad

Gil-Galad is someone who falls victim to his own preoccupations. It never crosses his mind that the attraction patterns of men are different from elves. He’s not so sheltered to think it impossible but it’s like an out of sight out of mind thing for him. He just doesn’t realize it’s a possibility.

In his defense, he does have a lot of things to worry about as high king and unfortunately the interpersonal politics of humans are not top of the list.

But he’s curious when you tell him and he listens attentively. Whether your parents married for social gain, love, or convenience - he asks careful questions about what it was like to grow up in such an environment. He wants to help and after you tell him this, he resolves to find a way to help other humans currently caught in unhappy households. Depending on your relationship with him (I.e. if it’s platonic) he kind of adopts you. He feels like he wasn’t there for you then but he can be here for you now.

Haldir

Haldir’s hard for me to place. On the one hand, as a border guard he has the chance to interact with more humans than a lot of elves on this list. So that should put him towards the top. But I also think he has a rather insular way of thinking. As in his main concerns are for the elves of Lorien and not the travelers he meets which means he might not inquire about their family lives.

Ultimately, I think he is similar to Gil-Galad in the sense that he just doesn’t think about it. If the few men he speaks to on his travels make a reference to a singular parent, he just assumes the other died because he can’t fully wrap his head around the idea that some people have a potentially volatile home life and might only feel close to one parent. Or neither. His immediate assumption is that the reason a human doesn’t mention their parents is because they died. He doesn’t mean for it to be, it just doesn’t cross his mind on its own.

But, he actually talks to you and when you explain to him that no, they stayed married because it was easier to raise you and your siblings that way but they always fought with each other - he is so shocked. His immediate thought is why didn’t they just leave each other, but he tries to puzzle that out on his own. Ultimately, he is very thoughtful about your circumstance and tries to be someone you can vent to when you need it. If your parents are still alive, he offers to accompany you to visit them if you ever need. And he does his best to secure you a safe place in Lorien should you need it.

Glorfindel

Glorfindel is a great elven warrior able to face many things and take down balrogs. He has no idea that childhood can be one of the most challenging parts of life. And I mean that sincerely. Glorfindel is rather oblivious to the affairs of men prior to his fall. His concerns are Gondolin and the safety of his people.

Now he was alive for the kinslaying, so he is not a stranger to violence against kin. But he thinks that the bond between parents and child is almost sacred and not something easily broken. He is sad when you tell him that the children of men are excluded from the idyllic home life guaranteed to the elves.

But he’s also impressed by you. You’re a good, kind-hearted person despite the tension you grew up in. And he thinks that is something to be admired. He devotes himself to helping establish safe homes for children who grew up like you, especially post-fall and him being sent back to middle earth. And he holds up his promise long after you have perished - committing the house of the golden flower to be a symbol of safe haven.

Tauriel

So, Tauriel, I think is the most understanding of the Woodland elves - she’s a guard, she patrols, I have a feeling she comes into contact with the people of Laketown regularly enough to have experienced a variety of family dynamics.

But she doesn’t expect you to have grown up in a household like that. I think because of Laketown’s apparent poverty post the fall of Dale there is a noticeable uptake in crime. And, unfortunately a lot of crime comes from the broken homes of Laketown - youth acting out to escape their parents bickering, parents causing distress to their children and partners, things like that. I think, subconsciously, she associates unhappy homes with unhappy people.

But you don’t fit the way she thinks. You’re sweet and caring and she feels the weight of cognitive dissonance like a shackle. It takes her awhile to reconcile her view of you but she does her best not to let you see. And she’s decently good at it until she starts asking questions. But she listens carefully and starts to look for warning signs in the people of Laketown that they may need help. She petitions Legolas to speak to his farther to offer refuge to those in Laketown that may need it and asks the dwarves of Erebor to do the same.

Thranduil

Thranduil, I think, suffers from some of the most insular thinking on this list. He focuses on the affairs of his elves and pays no mind to the problems of men. It’s how he’s kept his people safe.

Now, I personally, think Oropher was not the kindest father. I think he was stern and hard to please because he expected the best of himself and his people. So, this affects Thranduil’s perspective on parents quite a bit. He may feel that he was unloved at times but he can attest that his father loved his mother even if he was not good at displaying it. His views are skewed to say the least. So he thinks you’re exaggerating at first.

If two people hated each other as much as you claim, why would they have a child together? Let alone stay together to raise that child?

It takes a lot of explaining for him to realize exactly what you grew up in. And when he does, he feels awful for not believing you. He’s not the best at apologies but he tries to make up for it by extending his services to Laketown. He does eventually find it within himself to apologize to you, directly. And asks that you help him understand.

Legolas

He is gobsmacked. Genuinely, so shocked. I firmly believe that Legolas is one of the youngest elves on this list and as a result he still has some maturing and learning to do.

If this is during the fellowship, he has to ask Boromir and Aragorn if you’re telling the truth - that two people can stay together whilst hating each other. And that it’s common amongst humans. He then gets to learn about Boromir’s childhood as well.

His heart breaks a little. He wants only the best for the people he cares about so he’s saddened and angry to hear the pain in your voice even if it. Is well hidden. He promises, as your friend, to never let you be reminded of your family’s pain. It’s a naive promise but one he means full heartedly.

Note 3: thank you so much for this request, it was a much needed break from King’s Herald and actually helped me solve a plot hole I got into. And thank you for the kind words, I’ve been worried my writing’s gotten stale but hearing that people enjoy it helps me to work out of those funks. Thank you so much.

[that-weird-thing-in-the-woods]

~{ Heyyyy, Not much to say just thought if this }~

•Deadbeat•

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Klarion was acting weird.

He had been attacked the YJL more often than usual and has been dragged it out for as long as he can and instead of his usual “Do what I need to and cause as much chaos as possible” it has changed to “Take as much time as possible to do what I need to do and cause even more chaos” so yeah Klarion has been a pain in their side for weeks at this point.

And today was no different, Klarion had showed up and brought some of these tar things that if you punched it they would explode in your face and cover you in the tar things (But don’t worry the tar doesn’t work it just feels and smells really weird) so well the YJL where fighting off the tar things Klarion was tinkering with what looked to be a puzzle box but Tim doesn’t really care about that right now he just needs to get to him after beating the tar things.

After about 19 minutes the YJL finally got to where Klarion was sitting looking at them but before Klarion could say anything someone suddenly yelled.

“KLARION YOU FUCKING DEADBEAT” Looking to where the voice came from and was met with a very pissed off and a very pregnant being looking at Klarion with the rage of a thousand suns.

All Klarion had time to say was “Oh shi-“ before being thrown more an a hundred feet than started to get thrown around like a rag doll well the being yelled at him in a very strange language.

And while the YJL watch as one of the biggest pains in there sides get thrown and Tim doesn’t know to step to help Klarion or start recording so the team could watch this later for fun, but Tim didn’t really have the chance to choose as a young voice from his right side.

“GET HIS ASS MAMA!” said what looked to be an 8 year old boy who looks like the perfect mix of the Being and Klarion and in his other hand was a camera and a small bowl of popcorn.

After a few minutes of watching Klarion get his ass kicked by the Being before Klairon is yeeted into a Lazarus green portal with the still very pissed off Being hot on his tail.

And the Kid follows close behind and walks through the portal as it closes behind him.

And now the YJL are just standing there covered in weird tar stuff and wondering what the hell just happened.

-•—••••••••••••••••—•-

Background

Dusk was just having a regular day ( well as regular your day can be when you are basically the prince of ghost and chaos ) when Papa ran in and shut the large black iron door behind him like his life depended on in, papa looked at him and Dusk looked back at him and just asks “What did you do to piss off mama?”.

“Well… you know how your mamas been making that new galaxy and how he absolutely adores the thing?” Papa says with a very nervous smile while he looks for the object Mama gave him to hop from one world to another without making Clockwork upset.

“Yeah of course mamas just showed me a few days ago” Dusk says while thinking his papa is avoiding the reason mama is mad when it dawns on him “…Oh you didn’t” Dusk says with horror, Mama says it takes a lot out of him to make a new galaxy and with him holding Dusk’s baby sister it takes even more so Mamas just been sleeping in the nest of his room.

“Well I went in there while your mama was asleep and I was trying to grab something from the new galaxy and I tripped and pulled the whole thing down….and that was what your mama woke up too so now if you excuse me I’m gonna go find something so your mother doesn’t beat the shit out of me” was the last thing papa said before hoping to one of his favorite worlds and at the same time is when a very sleepy mama walks in still in his nightgown and robe he hasn’t even put his hair up yet but he’s still looking like he’s going to kill a man before he turns to dusk and asks.

“Starling where is your Father?”

Well Dusk has always been a Mama boy

-•—••••••••••••••••—•-

Little Facts

•Short summary of why the hell is going on with Danny it’s the classic GIW and bad Fentons, Clockwork grabs him with the help of Dan and Dani and takes Danny to the ghost zone and now Danny is a full ghost but Dan and Dani were hurt in the fight to get Danny back but there are two problems one he can’t hold both cores at once as he is still a baby by ghost standards and his cores not powerful enough for that and he needs some DNA to help stabilize both of there cores and Clockwork calls a favor from Klarion to help Danny and Klarion falls in love with the very pretty ghost boy who can beat his ass and after Dan now Dusk has been born Danny lets himself fall in love with Klarion and now we’re here.

•Danny has a Space core and Dusk has a Moon core and Dawn has a Sun Core

•Klarion finds Danny being able to beat his ass hot and because Klarion is an immoral being it doesn’t really hurt or injure him Danny makes sure of that no matter how angry he is 

•Dusk likes making fun of how much of a SIMP Klarion is than immediately starts acting like a mamas boy the second Danny walks in a room

•The room that the new Galaxy was in is made of all black marble for the pillars and floor the nest I’m talking is a very large circle mattress in the middle of the room with dark blue almost black thin see through fabric around it with a lot soft and comfortable blanket in there for when Danny is making new things and sleeps in there if he’s tired enough for mad at Klarion and brings Dusk in there to show him Danny creations but Klarion always finds them later with Danny holding dusk like a baby in his sleep and ends up joining them

•Dusk has white hair like Danny while Dawn will have black hair like Klarion

-•—••••••••••••••••—•-

Appearances

Danny’s Appearance

[Ok so take the full dress and the fur arm thing and add on the middle part of the first one and than make the white hair from the third pic and make it into the first hairstyle than change the dresses color to black and green with silver]

Dan’s Appearance

[instead of red it green, black and silver]

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

~{And that’s it! Also I was helped by @villainmirabelmadriga for the outfits and i love what they come up with so go check them out anyway byeeeee}~

[bullet-prooflove]

Relentless: Eddie Diaz x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @noxytopy @gatefleet @totalstitchlover19 @angelofthetrenchcoats

Companion piece to:

Bang - Eddie's new year starts with a bang.

Lifetime (NSFW) - One night with you makes Eddie realise he wants a life time.

El Paso - Eddie is forced to make a decision that hurts you both.

Possibilities - Eddie thinks about what might have been.

Welcome Back - The one person Eddie wants to see is the one person not at his welcome home party.

Home - Eddie sees you for the first time since El Paso.

Chemistry (NSFW) - You and Eddie have always have good chemistry.

90% Of The Work - Eddie proves he's ready to put the work into your relationship.

Hotshot - Eddie finds out about your relationship with Brad Torrance when the other man turns up at your door.

Good Catholic Girls (NSFW) - Eddie has only ever dated good Catholic girls before you.

Your sleep overs with Eddie are anything but conventional. They take place during the day, in between your shifts because in the evenings he spends his time with Christopher.

For a while it works because if there’s anything Eddie understands it’s the need for flexibility but the day time naps, they start to fuck with his circadian rhythms. He has trouble sleeping at night which is detrimental to his job and in turn his mental health so you call time on sleeping together. This causes problems for you because when you do go out he can tell you’re struggling to keep your eyes open even though you swear to God you’re not.

“This isn’t working.” He tells you one afternoon after you stand him up outside the movie theatre. He drives by your house to find you asleep on the couch, still in your LAFD uniform from the shift you’d gotten in from over an hour ago. “Selena, you’re exhausted.”

“I’ll rally.” You promise him, heading towards the kitchen but Eddie’s hands come to rest upon your shoulders steering you towards the bedroom instead.

“You need to sleep.” He says undressing you before he tucks you in underneath the sheets. You’re out like a light as soon as your head hits the pillow. He sticks around afterwards, does the laundry that’s piling up, cooks you something for dinner before you head back out on shift later tonight.

This pace you’re setting, it’s relentless, unsustainable, even if you weren’t in a relationship. You’re running yourself into the ground, taking every single shift that’s offered to you and Eddie, he can’t figure out why, not until he’s tidying up the stack of letters on the kitchen table and he sees the medical bill.

Almost ten grand for a surgery after the deductible.

That’s why your busting your ass so much.

His gaze strays to the procedure and it feels like he’s punched in the chest.

A D&C.

A procedure that’s used for miscarriages. He reviews the date of the surgery, doing the math and his heart just fucking breaks because that night you spent together, the two of you made a baby, one he had no fucking clue about.

He works out you lost it two months later, after he’d cut off contact.

You’ve been paying it off ever since because Firefighter’s Insurance it hasn’t caught up with the rest if the world yet, it doesn’t prioritise women’s reproductive health.

He can’t imagine what that must have been like for you, going through something like that alone, to have the reminder of it delivered to your door every single month. It’s just another testament to how strong you are, how resilient but the thing is you’re not on your own anymore, you have him. He can’t go back and change what he did but he can do something to take the pressure off, to help you heal.

He uses the back of his hand to wipe the salt from his cheeks as he pulls out his cellphone, dialling the number from the top of the letter. It rings twice before an operator picks up asking how they can assist him.

“Hi.” He whispers, his voice barely more than a rasp. “I’d like to make a payment.”

Love Eddie? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[airandyeah]

Crying For Help (Alpha!Higuruma X Omega!Reader X Alpha!Nanami) Pt.8

My Masterlist Series Masterlist Warnings: Obvious A/B/O dynamics, I will mark every chapter as 18+ like all of my other A/B/O stories. Drunken confessions, late night calls...

The next week is hard.

Between Sukuna being, well… Sukuna—with his relentless smirks, innuendos laced between legal jargon, and the way his eyes always seemed to find you first in a room—your patience wore thin. He flirted shamelessly during case discussions, only stopping when things got serious… or when Higuruma’s jaw visibly clenched across the table.

The case itself was an absolute monster. Pages upon pages of conflicting testimonies, shady evidence trails, and enough red flags to start a parade. You barely had time to breathe between sorting files, updating logs, and prepping Higuruma for court.

And then there were the Alphas.

Nanami, always composed, always watching. You could feel the weight of his gaze like it had heat—sharp and assessing. He didn’t speak much, but his presence lingered like a pressure behind your eyes.

Higuruma was different. Warmer, closer. The way his voice dipped when he asked how you were holding up, the way his hand brushed yours a second too long when passing a document. He wasn’t subtle—but neither were you.

They hovered. They watched. They circled. And you? You were one snapped pencil away from losing it entirely. ~~~

It was late, the kind of quiet where the city outside your window felt half-asleep.

You had just stepped out of the shower, towel wrapped around your body, steam still curling in the air when your phone buzzed on the counter.

Higuruma's name lit up the screen.

You hesitantly answered, holding the towel a little tighter around yourself as you pressed the phone to your ear.

His voice came through—drunken, slurred, warm with something unfiltered. “You’re… you’re so beautiful,” he mumbled, breath hitching slightly. “A perfect omega… can’t stop thinking about you.”

Your stomach flipped, heart caught somewhere between panic and something else—something softer, something dangerously warm.

“Higuruma… are you okay?” you whispered, voice barely above the hum of the bathroom fan.

He laughed, but it was low and almost sad. “Shouldn’t call… know I shouldn’t. Just—fuck. You don’t even realize, do you?”

He continues, voice thick and slurred with drink, but still somehow gentle—too gentle for someone who always kept such a pristine, buttoned-up image.

“D’you know how hard it is…?” he murmurs, the words tumbling out with no filter. “Workin’ with you, Watchin’ you walk around all confident, like you don’t even know what you do to people.”

You swallow, unsure what to say, heart thudding louder with each confession.

“You’re a perfect omega,” he slurs again, softer now, almost like a secret. “Smart. Sharp. Gorgeous. And fuckin’ kind. S’not fair.”

There's a pause. You can hear him shift on the other end, maybe sitting, maybe lying back.

“I shouldn’t be sayin’ this,” he mutters, barely audible. “But I think ‘bout you too much. Too damn much.”

The silence that follows is heavy—hot and electric. You're stunned, frozen in place, the phone still pressed against your ear, towel forgotten.

Do you say something? Or just listen, like a fool, heart aching in your chest?

You snap out of the haze his words put you in, blinking back the warmth crawling up your neck.

“Higuruma,” you say softly, trying to keep your voice steady. “Are you home? Or… somewhere safe, at least?”

There’s a pause on the other end—quiet, except for the faint hum of city traffic and his uneven breathing.

“I’m… yeah. M’home,” he finally mumbles, though it doesn’t sound convincing. “Took a cab. I think. Maybe.”

You sigh, running a hand down your face, heart pounding with concern now more than anything. “Okay. Just—don’t go anywhere, alright? Drink some water. Lie down.”

He chuckles lowly. “You worry about me?”

You roll your eyes, though there’s a flutter in your chest. “Someone has to.”

He lets out a low chuckle, the sound crackling through the speaker. “You’re so freakin’ perfect,” he drawls, words slurring together like honey over gravel. “All worried about me… like a proper omega… always so sweet ‘n thoughtful.”

You can practically feel the smirk through the phone, the weight of his words curling around you.

“Bet you’re sittin’ there all neat,” he mumbles, “pillow in your lap, brows all furrowed like you do when you’re thinkin’ too hard—‘cause you care. ‘Cause you always care.”

His voice dips lower, breathier. “Fuck, y’really are perfect.”

His voice turns softer, almost vulnerable, slurring just a bit as he continues, “I wish you were mine, y’know? Not just… this. I mean—shit—I think about you all the time. Nanami does too. He just—he’s too proud to say it.”

There’s a heavy pause, the line filled with his slow, uneven breaths. “We’re both so fucked when it comes to you.”

Your heart thuds painfully in your chest, heat prickling at your skin as you stare at the ceiling.th

“Higuruma…” you murmur, voice caught between concern and disbelief.

“I mean it,” he breathes. “You’re—God, you’re everything. How the hell are we supposed to work with you every day?”

You squeeze your eyes shut. This was too much—too fast. “Okay, I’m hanging up now,” you say, trying to keep your tone steady despite the flutter of something you can’t name tightening in your chest.

“Wait—no, don’t—”

But you’ve already tapped the screen, the call ending with a hollow beep.

You stare at your phone for a moment longer before sighing and tossing it onto the couch beside you. This week just keeps getting worse. ~~~

The next morning, you’re a mess of nerves.

You keep checking your phone like it’ll spontaneously combust with some regretful message or angry voicemail, but… nothing. Not a single text from Higuruma.

When you walk into the office, he's already at his desk. Calm. Focused. He gives you a polite nod, no trace of the drunken slurring or raw honesty from the night before.

For a moment, you wonder if you dreamed it. But no—your call history is right there. One call. Nearly twenty minutes. His name lighting up your screen.

Still, he doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t look at you like he remembers baring his heart—or that he mentioned Nanami, either.

And maybe that should be a relief, but somehow it just makes your chest ache more.

In reality, he remembered every word.

The slurred confessions. The way your voice wavered with concern. The silence before you hung up.

But when he passed your desk the next morning—he was pretending. Letting you keep your dignity, sparing himself the awkward aftermath. It was a silent agreement, unspoken and suffocating.

You hated how relieved and disappointed you were at the same time.

Taglist is always open for anyone! Just comment, send an ask, or a DM and I'll add you! Taglist: @ollyissleepy , @erintaro , @hellv1ra Perma Tags: @thenightperson , @makingtimemine

[for-a-longlongtime]

WIP on Wednesday Thursday

Well, first of all, my WIP folder is currently looking like this:

But fuck it, we ball right?

I got tagged by @din-cognito and @avastrasposts this week, and @the-blind-assassin-12 and @lotusbxtch last week, so I've got some catching up to do! I've been all over the place working on different docs, so you're getting a few tidbits this week.

I've posted snippets of this before (and lo! a hozier title! I'm gonna have to change that though because the story ended up going differently than planned), and after it having been on hold for months, the pieces are coming together at last.

let me wrap my teeth around the world (working title) | Santiago x Frankie “You think we did the right thing there?” Santiago says, staring at the ceiling as he avoids Frankie's eyes. Unsure he really wants to hear the answer, because of how likely it is that he is the only person who can’t answer that with a decisive yes. Fish was the only one on their team - besides Tom - who'd had a family to take care of, who needed that money probably more than any of them did because of his pilot license being suspended. “I mean... Following his lead with the money.” No answer. The deafening silence lasts for much too long. Santi grimaces as he closes his eyes. Shit. Why did he even ask? He keeps fucking up like this.

Next we've got a WIP that I haven't worked on in a bit (it wanted to go on break, bummerrr) but that I'm hoping to pick up very soon.

Untitled | Reynaldo x Matthew It’s those large hands that draw Matt’s attention first.  That, and the golden chain partially but-not-quite hiding under that checkered golf shirt, glistening every now and then in the bright afternoon sun. It’s almost as bright as the gleam in Sophie’s eyes when she throws back a shot and listens to the older man introduce himself as Reynaldo. Matt is only vaguely aware of the prepared talk that the man launches into, a few words standing out, such as ‘exclusive members only’ and ‘the best golf club in all of Arizona’. Things that everybody wanted to hear, and that gave Sophie all the more opportunity to coo at the man how this was ‘one of the best premium golf clubs’ she’d ever been at. It probably isn’t all that premium though, considering the Scotts and Dale had been able to book this place on a budget. And truth be told, it’s still unclear to Matt why they are here on a ‘vow renewal bachelor staycation’, which seemed a contradiction on its own. Or even why Sophie showed up here, acting like one of the guys, just long enough until she found someone who was willing to give her the attention she was clearly looking for. He’d seen the pattern before, especially with the girls on the Kel-squad. None of that matters though, he tries to remind himself as they make their way up to the golf course. He’s simply glad to get away from Kelsey for a couple of days - not just for some peace and quiet, but also so he doesn’t have to wonder if she’s talking to Domingo every time she smiles at an incoming message on her phone.

Finally, this last one is still in the VERY early stages, but ngl... I'm excited. Thank you to the folks who encouraged me to keep going with it! This is hella out of my comfort zone but what the hell, that's where the fun is, right? This one is going to more filth than I'll probably be able to shove into an one shot... so it may end up becoming two or three parts. We'll see.

for glory (working title) | Harry Castillo Harry is speechless, shock painted over his features, and it takes him a moment to find his voice. "You wouldn't dare to," he finally manages to say, and what had previously been surprise in his eyes has now flipped into unmistakeable rage. "Mmm, is that so, Harry? What - you think I've got morals or something?"

EDIT: WAIT!! I forgot to add one final excerpt! This is from a yet to be decided chapter from Joel and Marcus Moreno' story. I spent way too much time trying to find the right face claim moments for them at different ages, and this is what I settled on for their mid-twenties:

Joel in his mid-twenties (a.k.a. Zach Wellison in Brothers & Sisters)

Marcus Moreno in his late twenties (a.k.a. looking like Comandante Veracruz from the Burn Notice movie).

Yes, I'm as shocked as y'all are about the latter, but I promise it'll make sense. As for the excerpt:

Untitled series | Joel Miller x Marcus Moreno Marcus folds his arms as he leans back against the wall, looking every bit the charismatic guy most people know him to be. But Joel has known him a long time and can see where the varnish has cracked, and the parts he so desperately tries to cover up.  "So you don't like it. How I look. You don't like me anymore," Marcus says after a moment, and there’s something about all that combativeness on display - as well as the bitter irony of those words - that hits Joel much harder than he was prepared for. He doesn’t have the same defense system that Marcus clearly is equipped with; the mask that he can put on and off so easily after years of practice. So he just shakes his head. "Think it's been too long since you've had someone push back against you, M." "The fuck is that supposed to mean?" Joel tries to hide his sigh by drinking from his coffee, but the beverage has gone cold, the stale taste of it now bitter on his tongue in a way that feels oddly specific to this situation. "Don't pick a fight with me because you're unhappy, Marcus," he says softly.

I know a lot of y'all already posted a WIP Wednesday, so I'm just gonna link a couple of folks, no pressure as always (apologies if you've already made your weekly WIP update):

@perotovar @sin-djarin @lotusbxtch @mountainsandmayhem @qveerthe0ry

@letsgobarbs @gothcsz @milla-frenchy @guiltyasdave @oliveksmoked

@magpiepills @arcanefox207 @reallyrallyauthor @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @clubsoft

@romanarose @the-blind-assassin-12

[neetily]

feel free to ignore this if you don't take requests from your askbox but uhuhhmhuhm,,, always liked the idea of sam hooking up with a reader who's a higher up/representative from joja or something the appeal of a janitor w/ like, a rich office worker is just so funny to me hdawdhaiwu

i was surprisingly really into this when i started writing, so ty for helping me get out of my comfort zone!! it was a lot of fun x

warnings: power imbalance, worker/boss, semi public sex, masturbation, quicky wc: 1,949

The old staff room all the way at the back of JojaMart was always a little stuffy, ever since he gained employment, really. Dusty, with cobwebs hanging from every corner of the ceiling, long since forgotten about items for sale hidden in even older boxes— it really could use a good deep clean, Sam’s always thought. Not that he’s ever cared enough to do the cleaning himself, as he much prefers taking his breaks outside of the staff room, right around the back of JojaMart where no one else can see him, and where he feels like he can actually breathe in something other than rust and dust.

He thinks he might feel more inclined to clean it some more before you show up again, however.

The best he could offer you for the time being was the staff bathroom. Tucked away in a hidden corner of the break room where no one else should come to see. And besides, you’d told him to be quick, right? If he’d have been given just a little more time, he’d have cleaned the place up for you better. But the bathroom is the nicest place for now, he thinks. Has to be, otherwise he wouldn’t use it. Shane’s gotten on his back enough times already about keeping it as presentable as possible— rightly so.

But even in the clean(er) bathroom, he still finds himself struggling for air. Stretching over you to crack open the tiny little window at the top of the tiny little bathroom just a smidge more, gasping with the motion as he grows incessantly closer to you. He’d love to offer you something better, something that you deserve, but for now: this’ll do, right?

He doesn’t exactly hear you complaining about it, anyway. Not too much, spare for a few disparaging comments earlier, but those were aimed less at him and more at his immediate boss. Something about deducting points from the review given the state of the store? He wasn’t really listening, if he’s honest. Far too enamored by how tight your business attire was, and how pretty you sound when spouting judging reprimands. All tight lipped and disapproving— fuck, he can feel himself grow harder at just the thought, honestly.

From how easy it is for you to look down upon him, despite being shorter in reality. Demanding he tower over you, shield you from the grime and the dirt in his arms instead. He’s just doing what’s expected of him, right? Doing what you, the big boss, as Shane so affectionately calls you, want him to do.

It’s not his fault that that includes cupping your ass cheek, holding you up in the air with his other palm flat against the bathroom wall to stablise himself, hips pressed soooo tight and snug against your own… It’s not his fault, is it? After all, he’s just trying to give the store a good score. Just trying to help the big boss out, isn’t he?

“Faster, Sam—” you whisper shout down his ear, though it sounds louder than it should given how tight knit the bathroom really is— as small as legally possible, he bets. Your cheek presses against his own, arms wrapped nicely around his neck to let you dig your pretty nails into his back and God, you feel so fucking good. Unfairly so, really, given the nature of his position right now. So warm and tight, hot breath fanning against his warmer skin to leave him all dizzy and light headed, and shit, it’s so hard to breathe with the pace he’s already fucking into you with, never mind if he gives you more of what you want.

Though he so badly wants to, you must understand. More than anything, he wants to fuck you into next week. As fast as you want, as hard as he can. But you’re already so fucking wet, sopping all over his cock to leave a dripping mess of slick and pre to form a puddle under him—which he’ll have to clean up after you—and his balls are already slapping so sweetly back against you with every eager thrust that he’s afraid to go any faster. Worried that he might get you caught out in such a lewd situation, nervous about the fact that if he is caught with his pants literally down by his ankles, that he’ll never get to see you again.

And your little bossy cunt is squeezing his cock too good for him to let that happen.

“Can’t—” he gasps, quick and hiccuped, his breath hitching at the way your cunt sucks him off just a little tighter from hearing the utter desperation in his tone. And the way your tits bounce back against his heaving chest briefly catches his attention, leaving him momentarily dumb with just how good he feels. “Wanna,” he continues, punctuating his sheer need to give you everything you want and more with an unfair, tempting thrust. Giving in just a little, because he can’t help himself when it comes to you. But the resounding wet squelch of his fat cock stroking against your insides hard and fast is enough of an answer, though he always strives to be employee of the month. So he goes above and beyond to offer a proper explanation.

“See?” his hips stutter into you, faster still. Enough to leave you clawing at his back some more, his knees bending so that his cock humps right against your sweet spot, and he has to shove his shoulder against your open mouth just to shut your pretty whines up. Unfortunate, really. “Wanna go faster too, but, God, you—” there’s so much he wants to say. You might be the love of my life. You better give us a good score for this dicking down. You’re so fucking hot I could cum on the spot I bet. But he settles on a stuttered, and breathless, “You— y’need to be quiet, please—”

God how he’d love to listen to you moan and whine all day long, actually. Fill you up without the threat of getting caught— though isn’t this exciting too? Huddled over each other like two teens in heat, both his hands now placed firmly on your ass so that he can fuck you back down his cock just as much as he fucks up into it, determined not to let his balls slap against you too much lest he fucks too much noise out of ya, but he inevitably gives in to his selfish instincts once or twice. The resulting sweet sucks of your cunt just gushing around him, as if begging for more and more, has him reeling. His chest tight with so much affection for you, doing his best to prove himself to you because you’re his boss. And this is so wrong on so many different levels, which also only turns him on some more. Has his cock leaking more precum out, fat bubbles of it fucked against your insides to help him more easily glide in and out, and he’s feeling so fucking good that it’s a bit frustrating, to be honest.

Because he knows you’ll have to leave after this little private meeting. Understands that as soon as he pushes your back up against the bathroom wall for stability, his thumb meeting your clit in a fervent plea, instinctively rubbing frantic circles against the sensitive bud hidden between two bodies, he knows that you’ll have to go back home or to headquarters or to wherever the fuck it is you need to go after your little inspection. But what truly matters is that you’ll be away from him, and that’s annoying, because you make him feel so much better— not even his hand feels worth the time at this point. God, he fucked his fist silly last night to the mere thought of you showing up in store, giddy from the moment Morris had muttered your name at last nights team meeting.

And maybe, if he flicks your clit good enough, and if he fucks against your sweet spot fast enough, pinching at the fat of your ass nice enough, you’ll feel more inclined to stay. At least just a little longer, yeah? Let him treat you, take you out to the saloon before you have to head home and maybe let him eat you out a little or something.

It’s the least he could do.

You deserve so much better than the cramped JojaMart staff bathroom anyway, that’s for sure. And he hopes that by messily stroking your puffy clit in time to match his imprecise, faltering thrusts, he hopes to convince you to give him a chance. Just a small one, if you’d please. Isn’t he making you feel so good right now? Curled up into him, body begging for release as he feels your little hole tighten up around him, sucking him off so good that he has no choice but to fall further into you with hushes gasps and sighs. Got him so close, right on the edge of creaming your perfect little pussy right up, fuck— so he doubles down. Slows his hips to a roll to instead focus on getting you off with fast flicks and shuddered hips, whimpering down your ear as he’s forced to bite his bottom lip closed in an effort to remain hidden.

“That’s it,” he coos down at you, still yet holding your weight against the bathroom wall. And he can feel just how close you are too, especially given the way you desperately hump his cock for more— but he’s a good employee. He doesn’t make messes. “C’mon, please— gimmie it, ‘m so close, and—”

Before he can fully get his words out, he’s besotted with the feeling of your tight hole convulsing around him. Contracting and pulling him in, all gushy around his throbbing fat cock, and fuck… His balls ache to give you the same treatment.

But he’s a good boy. He’s trying to impress you.

And so rather begrudgingly, he draws his hips back. Making sure to let you down as gently as possible as he takes over fisting his cock. Bucking his hips into his paltry palm as you come down right before his bleary eyes, vision hazy with desire as he humps his fist to completion, aiming his cock down to the floor beneath him so as to not ruin your already crumpled attire any further. Thick ropes of seed meant for you, wasted on the sickly blue tiles of the staff bathroom— he’ll never forgive himself.

But to jack off in front of you feels pretty good too, especially when you offer him such a sneaky, satisfied smile. Enough thanks in its own right, he thinks to himself. Sending you a dopey lovesick grin back with a twitch in his eye, drawing out his orgasm for as long as possible so that you’re forced to share the same stale air as him for just a little longer.

“Sammy…” You call to him so softly, so sweetly, and like the loyal JojaMart dog he is, he instantly perks his ears up to you.

“Yes ma’am?” He sighs, still yet trying to catch his breath before you.

You’re fixing your outfit out, straightening the tight skirt and buttoning up your shirt all proper again. He thinks you look pretty all done up, but perhaps his favourite look on you is one of getting fucked out.

“Be sure to clean this mess before you go.” You point down to his feet, his gaze following down to the puddle of mixed fluids creeping closer.

He’ll have to try better for the next review.

[rebeliz7]

MY WIFE

Kara Danvers x Reader

Prompt: “How could you do this to me?” “I’m sorry. I am so sorry.”

Word Count: 1700

…

You know something is different from the moment you walk inside your apartment. Nothing is out of place, and everything looks exactly how you left it when you went to work in the morning, but still, something is different and you can feel it. 

You close the front door with a soft click and place your coat and purse on the rack, your shoes in the closet and your keys in the bowl. 

The silence is unnerving, it’s not a normal silence, it’s an eerie silence. These walls seem to vibrate with an unspoken secret. 

The glass of red wine on your kitchen counter is the first thing you notice. There’s red lipstick smeared on the edge, you recognize the shade but the dots stand too far apart for you to connect them just yet. 

It’s almost eight o’clock, and you’re supposed to be attending a conference via Skype with the head of Engineering in Tokyo, but he canceled at the last minute because of a family emergency and you couldn’t wait to get home. 

You aren’t supposed to be at home, you aren’t supposed to see whatever it is that this eerie silence is hiding. 

A heavy and uncomfortable weight settles in the pit of your stomach, with each step that you take down the hallway, towards your bedroom. 

The second thing you notice is the bedroom door being closed, and the dots begin to move slowly towards each other, as if they’re magnets and you’re taking too long to figure them out. 

When your mind finally puts them together, you come to a stop at the same time that your stomach drops, your body aches. 

The red lipstick, the door and the soft glowing red light that’s coming from underneath the door---the eerie silence. 

You know what you’ll see when you push this door open, and a part of you wants to turn around and pretend this isn’t real. 

The other part of you knows that there’s no going back, even if ignorance is bliss. 

You turn the knob and push the door open.

The red light blinds you for a second, and another wave of pain hits you right in the pit of your stomach. You developed the red light bulbs because you’re married to a kryptonian, and the bulbs act as a suppressant for sunlight, a suppressant for her inhuman strength.

Your sister in law helped you carve the idea, but your best friend was key in making them work. 

Your best friend. 

Looking at her now you completely understand her eagerness in helping you out back then. 

The thing about finding your spouse in bed with someone else, is that it becomes an out of body kind of experience. It’s not something that you ever expect to have to see, and your mind struggles to fully accept what your eyes are witnessing. 

Finding your wife making love to your best friend and boss, it’s just devastatingly life altering. 

They’re not fucking, they’re making love in a way that it’s particularly heartbreaking for you, because Kara is just as delicate when she touches you. 

How ironic, you think, it is that without the red lights, Kara would have been able to notice you minutes ago. 

You lean against the doorframe, your body feeling heavy and like it doesn’t belong to you. A headache is coming, your head is spinning and the pain that takes root in your chest reminds you of the car accident you were in when you were fourteen. 

The emotional pain transcends to become something real. They might as well have carved open your skin with a scalpel, taken out your heart with their bare hands and let you bleed to death, and the pain would be exactly the same. 

They haven’t noticed you, and you wait because you don’t know what to do. 

What do you say in a situation like this? What do you do? Experience has only taught you so much. 

You’ve been cheated on before, you told your wife the story about your girlfriend in college, and how you found her having sex with a cheerleader in your dorm room a few weeks before the semester was over. 

She knows how you feel about cheating. 

Lena knows too, of course, being your best friend she knows most of your inner thoughts, things that you can’t talk to your wife about, things that you trusted her with.

They knew you’ve been cheated on in the past, and they still did this to you. 

You take a deep breath, just as Lena moans out your wife’s name, and you turn on the regular lights in your bedroom. 

Whatever numbness you were feeling is broken by Lena’s throaty moan. You’re not willing to hear more of that. 

Your wife is the first one to react, jumping out of the bed in a rush, wide eyes staring at you with fear and shock, and completely nude. 

You don’t want to notice the little details, but you still do. You take notice of Kara’s red raw lips, abused from so much kissing. Her blond hair is a messy mane, from Lena’s desperate pulls. 

And Lena, who takes a second to comprehend what is going on before she has the mind to close her legs and pull a white satin sheet to cover her naked body. There are angry marks on her neck, from where your wife’s lips must have sucked till it bruised.

Swallowing with difficulty, you look away, feeling sick to your stomach. 

You’re a stranger in this life, you don’t belong in this narrative. 

Your legs shake when you move, so you walk slowly, directly to your closet. You grab a suitcase, and that sparks a cascade of reactions. 

“What are you doing?” Kara asks you in a rush, as she runs to your side. “What are you doing?” She asks again, when you meet her eyes. 

You look at her for a fleeting moment, but you quickly discover that her panic is only making you angry. 

She has no right. 

Setting the suitcase on the mattress, you go around the bedroom, picking up what you deem necessary. You don’t plan on taking much, only what you need until you’re back on your feet. 

You notice Lena being petrified on your bed, sheet clutching against her chest as she observes you. 

“Please, stop. Please.” Kara begs, as she follows you back and forth, back and forth. You don’t stop packing. 

“Please, just stop.” You eye the bedroom quickly, deciding you’ll buy whatever else, when Kara stands in front of you.

She’s thrown some pants on and a top, but Lena still hasn’t moved. 

“This means nothing!” Kara screams, making you take another pause. 

Your eyes flash towards Lena out of instinct, and you catch the exact moment the words hit her. She flinches, seems to shrink a couple of inches and even tears begin to roll down her cheeks. 

Her pain doesn’t make you feel any better. 

It’s clear that promises were made, conversations where you were supposed to leave the picture were held. 

You try to advance towards the bedroom door, but Kara blocks your way. 

“No, don’t leave. Please, don’t leave. Lena will go.” Kara rushes in. “Lena, leave!”

Lena flinches one more time, but she manages to pull herself back together quickly too. 

“Immediately.” She says as she throws the sheet aside and stands from your bed. 

This isn’t new. The way she moves around your bedroom is familiar, as if she’s been here a thousand times before today.

“You should stay. Work things out.” She tells you, as if she’s still your friend and her words aren’t liquid poison now. 

“¡Out!” Kara tells her harshly but you don’t wait to see her getting dressed, you just take the suitcase and leave the room. 

Kara follows you, rushes to block your path in the hallway again. 

“Please, don’t leave. Don’t leave.” She begs, anguish washing over her features. 

You see her pain, but you also don’t recognize the person standing before you anymore. 

“¡She means nothing!” Kara exclaims, desperate to convince you. “I have no feelings for her. This was just sex. Nothing more and I am so, so sorry baby. Please. I love you. You’re my… my wife, please.” 

Your heart breaks at hearing her words, mostly because you never thought of her as someone who could hurt you. Not even when you knew that she had the power of the sun in her bare hands, you always trusted her.

“Your wife.” You utter the words in a whisper, weighting them on your tongue and tasting only despair. 

“I love you.” She fiercely tells you. “I love you, and I won’t ever, ever leave you. Please.”

When she tries to touch you, you back away from her slowly. 

They say that every person has a breaking point, a switching moment, a flicker of time when they change. This must be that moment for you, because you know that this is the biggest pain you’ll ever get to feel. 

This betrayal is your defining moment. 

“Please.”

“I trusted you.” You tell her, refusing to acknowledge her pain no more. You hoped that you’d grow old together. 

You’re almost at the door when Lena walks out of your bedroom, clad in a blue tight dress and stilettos. 

She’s gorgeous, always has been. 

When she’s close enough and both of them are standing next to each other, they become complete strangers to you. 

They represent your life in two different ways, but your life altogether. 

“Please, stay.” You tell Lena, your hand slightly raised, and tears spring from her eyes again. You put on your shoes, and pick up your coat and purse. 

“No, she’s leaving.” Kara says. “Leave, Lena.”

“I’m so sorry.” Lena tells you, and you shake your head. 

“How could you two do this to me?” You ask them but you don’t wait for their answer, as you open the door and walk out without your keys.

This won’t be the last time that you see them, Lena is still your boss, and Kara is still your wife. 

You knew something was different when you got home, you just didn't know you were about to lose everything though. 

… 

[rikosseen]

Just Taehoon Seong and his relationship headcanons

☆ First and foremost, the encounters with him before you two get together are heated and not in the fun, flirty way. He hated you initially, and was a really big A-hole until he learnt what it was like to lose someone special

☆ After this realisation, his attitude began to change slightly, and was more accommodating to your needs instead of being stuck up

☆ Really oblivious to his wrongs, and won’t accept what he’s done until he’s cooled down. This takes some time, so you need to be extremely patient

☆ Possessive and gets angry easily when he feels sizes up by a guy who he knows could treat you better. Leads to later arguments when you press about why he’s acting differently

☆ Is really guilty afterward, though he can’t help but still feel infuriated. Asks his dad for advice alot. Hansu thinks you’re a saint for putting with his son for as long as you have, and prays that Taehoon betters himself

☆ Loves to show you off, and loves to be shown off. You canNOT be embarrassed about being seen with him.

☆ Extremely toxic when it comes to you opposing his opinions, and really doesn’t get why you think differently when what he thinks is so much better

☆ Swears at you soooo much. Sometimes endearingly, sometimes not. “You’re just a cute little shit, that’s why.” “Okay, well fuck you. I don’t need you in my life anyway.”

How does he keep you around?

Well, Taehoon betters himself because he knows in his heart that you mean a lot to him. So even with the toxicity of the relationship, and his apparent red flags, he takes help from others to treat you better.

He finds out what you like and minimises his atrocious bad habits. He’s not perfect, but he hopes you see that he’s trying.

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

personally, i need even just a tiny glimpse of what it looks like when joe needs comfort and reassurance during the season :(

A Case of the Season Blues

You're so right, bestie. Let's head to the kitchen. This blurb is going to focus on the first loss of the season mentioned in Season Lightning (this sort of deals with comforting Joe during the season but not as depth as this blurb will be!)

Series Masterlist

Complete Masterlist

__________________

The first loss crawls over his skin, even in the shower at the facility, he can feel the burn still. Joe can still feel the spindly tendrils of defeat slithering up his calves and keeps trying to beat it back down with the soap and water. But when he steps out, towel wrapped around him, with no more water or soap to aid him, the ghostly weight creeps back up.  

Losses happen. It’s a part of the game, the way it works. But it’s echoing, faintly ever so faintly because Joe keeps telling himself to focus on getting dressed. Focus on getting back home--to you, to Storm, to the little corner of peace he has. But there’s the seedling, the bitter taste--they lost. After a 3 winning game streak, they fucking lost. 

And Joe’s not sure fully what went wrong, what could’ve changed, what he didn’t see that he should’ve seen. But he’s all too close. That much he knows. Too close to the game, too close to the frustration. He hates how much this stings, though he had fitting words for the team, a speech about banding together, about taking time to recover to come back stronger, Joe’s not sure if he has it in his bucket. It’s early in the season, there’s plenty of time to turn the tide. Plenty of games left to play. But it’s frustrating, feels like a backwards slide on all their progress. And Joe won’t go backwards. Refuses to do so. 

Yet, even as Joe’s redressed, he can’t keep that feeling at bay, can’t brush off the invisible string or hair on his skin to make it go away. It’s settling, pressing into the cartilage of his body, making his joints throb. 

If the first cut is the deepest, then this feels like a gutting. 

The only solace Joe has though in the travel back home is the spare key to your old place, the orange key cap still decorating it out from the rest of his keys. And not that it matters much now to give it back and not that matters that he could pay for the Wi-Fi to text you, and not that it matters that it’s your chain still around his neck, because none of it is actually you. None of this holds the same warmth as your body does. 

And you, you’re all Joe can think to want right now. 

Joe eases through the front door, used to the smile of you, the excited taps of yours as you wait for him to drop the bag, to take you in with ease, to laugh. He’s unsure if you’ll still be there, he hadn’t texted you besides letting you know that he landed safely, because he couldn’t find the way to articulate what he needed--the scent of you, the warmth of you, the rumble and shake of your voice through your chest into his ear as he lays his head onto your sternum. 

His I really need you text draft felt too simple of a phrase, too flat, too incomplete. Because Joe doesn’t just need you. He was seeking you out. In a dark room, he’d know you by touch. And maybe even without it, Joe would know you. He’d feel you in a way that animals seek shelter before it rains, by pressure and energy, and all things mostly intangible, but always felt. 

Joe’s greeted by you well before he can get the door closed, the slide in closer from you into the inches around him. It warms his skin, makes his stomach settle after being in knots. He finds the nook of your shoulder and neck and buries his face into the skin, muscle, and tendons there. “I’m proud of you, hon. Always going to be proud of you.”

“I just,” Joe starts, but words are failing him. Words don’t need to really exist here, not in your arms. “It hurts,” he states. 

The first time he’s been able to articulate it without shame, without fear, without worrying what others will think of him. Without it being laced with anger, Joe can just be utterly disappointed. No one has a camera on his face, no one’s asking for a statement. 

“It’s okay if it hurts.”

Joe drops the bag, doesn’t care if anything breaks and slides both arms around your waist. God, if he could just live here, burrowed into your neck like this, he would. Your palms are just a little cold, like maybe you’d been cleaning or out just before coming inside but Joe gives into the directive, pulls back just enough to look at you. 

“We can let it hurt for right now, okay? And I’m still incredibly proud of you.” The sentences are sealed with a kiss, just one before you pull him back down, place him back into your neck and he sighs. 

This--this is where he wants to be. 

Joe can’t track how long the two of you are embraced in the foyer. Doesn’t care to know. What he does know is that you offer food--as always--and when he declines, without words, you lead him upstairs, put his duffle back down into the closet alongside his backpack. “I’ll get to those tomorrow,” he offers. Can do that much at the very least. 

“Okay. Or if you want me to do it, I will.”

“I just--I’m tired.” It’s not really that. It’s not that Joe is just tired, but that’s only what he can think to say. 

Your gaze is steady, eyes darting from his eyes down over his face and back up again. “What’s got you spooked? Because you never spook.”

There--that fucking sight. The sharpness of such a loving gaze. “Feels like I’m going backwards. All this progress, all this hard work, for what? To fucking lose?”

“Season’s still young.”

“I know, but what if it just slips away again? I can’t go through what happened last season again.”

“Then tell the Bengals to suit me up. Because I won’t let you.”

Even though he shouldn’t, he huffs out a laugh, pushing his hands through his hair. “Softball and football do not share the same kind of rules, you know?”

Your steps are silent over the carpet, but you take his hands, pull his attention from the floor back to you. “But we-you and I- are a team. And if you’re in the trenches, so am I. So find me some fucking pads. But we can do that tomorrow, okay? Come up with a plan, you can talk football at me like I’ll understand a fraction of it and we’ll figure it out. It’s one game. There’s 12 more. And none of this is going to matter right now because it still hurts, right?”

Joe nods. Knows that you can see even if he can’t say it. 

“And I’ll be right there in the hurt with you. Okay? I’ll keep you from going backwards. Any and every way I know how.”

He just wants the little bit of peace-the calm that being near you brings. Because he’s neverJoe Burrow--first round NFL draft pick, Heisman winner, QB1--he’s just Joe--guy who had a crush on you for ten years, who just had dreams he wanted to come true, guy who doesn’t always get his socks into the laundry bin. Just Joe. Your fingers tangle up in his hair, brings his forehead to you lips and he loves it, loves that he’s just Joe, who’s a little spooked, who’s a little hurt at the loss. 

And you let him be just Joe. 

“Tomorrow, you tell me what you saw and I’ll translate it,” Joe offers. “But tonight, I just want to lay on your chest and have Storm sit on me in protest that I’m hogging his favorite human. And I don’t want to be alone.”

“As long as I’m still around, you’ll never be alone.”

[theseinfernalangels]

Headcanon: Aye, General Grievance

TLDR; Things they do that are annoying, until they aren’t.

• Ridoc (at least, when you meet him) needs to learn how to shut the fuck up. Not because he talks too much (his voice is actually very rich and soothing), but because he’s the type of guy to jump in a conversation when you take a half-second to breathe. He also loves to finish peoples’ sentences — which eventually becomes endearing, but you can’t stand it when he thinks he knows what’s going to come out of your mouth…Until he does, anyway. After that, it makes him feel very sly and you, very shy.

• Sawyer has a habit of drumming his fingers on any surface when he gets nervous or is trying to think. At first, you can’t help but ache with sympathy for the poor guy, but it gets old very fast. You’re trying to work on your homework when you hear a dull tapping noise resound from the other side of the room, which means that Sawyer is here and probably working on the same thing as you. You decide to ask why he does that so much, and he just sheepishly holds up his hand, his fingernails bitten short and bloody.

“It’s either that or this.”

• Aaric corrects people’s grammar all the time. It’s helpful for when you write essays and stuff — he had such high quality education compared to everyone else, so of course he knows the difference between there, their, and they’re. However, he also tends to do it out loud, too. If you’re from somewhere with a variety of local slang, he’ll just stare at you for a moment before going, “You mean [insert technically correct term here]?” You have to teach him your dialect and its quirks so that he doesn’t keep trying to one up you. Eventually you catch him slipping up, and he just shoots an unimpressed look your way. You take it as a win.

• Dain, bless his heart, was at one point (and kind of still is) that kid who was like, “Ma’am? You forgot to collect the homework.” He can’t help it; he likes to be helpful, and if he helps the teacher remember, then he knows that they’ll approve of him more. He also says that if he were the teacher, he’d be really grateful for the reminder because, fun fact, he can be kind of forgetful sometimes. It’s like his own little personal training so that he can train his memory and get good attention from adults, because Amari knows he’s not getting it from either of his parents.

• Bodhi has a tendency to be a little clingy. He can’t really help it; the boy just loves to be with and around people. He can’t stand to be alone. He doesn’t have separation anxiety, per se, but being completely alone for more than thirty minutes at a time can put him on edge. He loves to touch, loves to hang around, loves to follow. Why do you think he’s always trailing behind his older cousin? It’s what he’s been doing since they were kids. Now that Bodhi’s entire family, sans Xaden, is gone, he has to be with people or else he’ll feel lonely and get in his own head about it. You find it to be really odd at first, but once you figure out the deeper meaning, you let him drape himself over you for as long as he needs.

• Garrick never lets himself be looked at in the infirmary. He’s so damn stubborn, it drives everyone insane. The only reason he’ll give anyone is that it’s more important that the other, more severe injuries be looked at first…even if he has a broken arm or a deep laceration in his side. You can’t drag him there (the man is just too solid), and he doesn’t give in to pleading, either. The only way you could ever convince him to come get his injuries looked at is if every single other person in the room has gotten looked at first, and even then, he’s very reluctant. Finally, after what feels like hours of questioning, he quietly admits that he hates having to be touched by healers, because it makes the rebellion relic burn like a stretched wound.

• Liam, despite being the resident Golden Boy, is just a man at the end of the day. He leaves a trail of wood shavings wherever he goes. You would think he’d clean up after himself, but you just find them everywhere — in the hallways, in the grand hall, all around his room, all around your room…It drives you insane. Like, yeah; the quality of his wood carvings is amazing, but does it really make up for the fact that there’s always a faint trace of sawdust and shavings everywhere around Basgiath? You finally realize he’s doing it on purpose when you complain about it and he just shoots you a small smile.

“Sorry. I’m just making sure you can find me.”

• Brennan, whenever he’s writing with a normal fountain pen and needs to stop to think, always traces the nib on the edge of the ink pot he’s using. It makes this little scraping noise that gives you chills, like when people run their nails down a piece of paper. You feel bad for getting pissed off about it, but does he really need to be doing all that? It’s constant, too — there are times where he’ll take ten minutes just to make little rings around the edge of the pot while he just stares into space. Eventually you confess that it makes you really uncomfortable, and he just smiles wistfully.

“It’s a Scribe thing. I get it from my dad.”