#like should i blow up my life? should i break up with my partner? should i ruin my friendships? should i completely disappear

[lepidopterium]

-

[capsi-cuminme]

Blowing Off Steam

summary: in which you're very stressed, and sparring is the only way you can destress. you're having trouble finding a partner though, so logan volunteers to help.

pairing: logan howlett x fem!reader

word count: 1.7k

warnings: mild swearing, fingering, some dirty talk, lots of horny thoughts, 18+ MDNI

author's note: ahhhh sweaty logan on a fighting mat is all i need. anyways, thank you guys sm for the response on my other fic, as a gift i bring you smut ;)

•──✦──•

You’re stressed. You’ve been overworking yourself, you know it, and you need to relax, destress. Your body feels wound up with tension and energy, and you’re unable to release it. It’s not like you have super complicated abilities that mess with your mind and make you lose your shit, no - that’s Jean’s set of troubles, not yours. Your ability is simple enough - super strength. 

So what is it that isn’t simple then? Right. Someone you can actually truly train with and exert yourself out with. There aren’t a load of people who can physically keep up with your strength, not except Colossus, and even he’s just a kid. So when, at times, you want to blow some steam by training, you have next to no one to do it with. 

Or, you didn’t, not until Logan came along. You’ve sparred with him a couple of times, but only for excessively short periods of time, due to you not being able to keep your shit together because of his overwhelming attractiveness. Honestly, you don’t think it’s your fault that you’re unable to focus; his arms look like he could rip apart logs of wood with them, his shoulders are so wide that they’re practically made for people to rest their ankles on, and his demeanor - his understated, wolfish demeanor makes you go insane. 

And as if all these things weren’t bad enough on their own, they tend to get exponentially exemplified whenever you guys spar. Obviously, fighting makes him breathe hard and stuff. So your life becomes even tougher. 

Really, you aren’t trying to be horny around him all the time. But that’s the thing. You’re pent up, stressed, overworked. Being a member of the X-Men means that it gets really hard to get laid due to several factors, and then when your coworkers are so hot? God help you. 

As you sit on the gym’s bench, staring at the sparring mats, you strain your mind to think of someone to spar with. You could ask Colossus, the kid’s always more than ready and could give you some competition on one of your bad days. But there’s too much of a risk. You’re already restless with energy, itching to let yourself go; in case the kid isn’t prepared or you get too excited, you’d end up hurting him, which is something you can’t risk. 

You could maybe go to Ororo and Scott, ask them to come at you together? The two of them together would successfully tire you out. Maybe they’d become a bit more than you’re mentally willing to handle. You don’t want to have to strategise at every step. 

God, you just need someone who can handle whatever you throw at them without having to think too much. Unfortunately for you, there’s only one person in the mansion who can do that. 

“Oh hey Bub, what you doing here? Got no classes to teach?” The somehow smooth but gravelly voice breaks you out of your train of thought as you turn to look at Logan, entering the gymnasium. 

Internally rejoicing at his choice of clothes - the white wifebeater under the oversized jacket - while simultaneously praying that he isn’t here to stay, you get up from your seat to speak to him. “Oh, nothing much. Just wanted to blow off some steam.”

“And you’re blowing off steam by… sitting on the bench?” He raises an eyebrow, looking at you questioningly. 

You sigh through your nose, smiling exhaustedly. “No, genius. I was confused about what I should do to destress.”

Your prayers go down the drain as you notice his eyes light up at the prospect of a sparring partner. Nodding to the mats, he asks, “You wanna go?”

Tongue in cheek, you review your options for a moment. Go to bed frustrated and stressed, or fight an extremely attractive man who’s also able to keep up with you. 

“Sure, let’s go.” 

And that’s how you find yourself attempting to elbow Logan in the face. He dodges and takes a step back, but not too far. Turning, you see the grin etched on his face. Taking it as a challenge, you feign a movement to the right, but attack from the left. Your arm aims for his face, but he deflects it by pushing your momentum to one side, stepping away and behind you and putting you into a headlock.

“What’s up?” he murmurs into your ear. “Can’t figure out what to do? Are you really that tired, huh?” 

You felt his chest heave from behind you, his warm breath tickling your ear. Body humming with excitement and mind buzzing with the thrill of finally being in an equal match, you grit your jaw, throwing your head back against his. As much as you enjoy the tone of his voice, you hope it hits him in the mouth just so he can shut up, because being aroused is not something you’re looking forward to. 

Yes you’re horny, maybe even a little perverted, but you truly don’t have any ulterior motives. 

Logan hisses as his grip on you loosens. Shimmying your way out of his grip, you lunge at him, arms ready to swing, but instead of throwing a punch when you get near, you use your leg to swipe at his legs, resulting in him landing on his back.

Silently rejoicing, you straddle him, pulling your arm back to land a punch on his jaw, but unfortunately he grabs hold of your arms before you can do that. As a result, you’re left heaving on top of him, arms immobile, face right above his. You don’t miss the way he breathes, sweat trickling down his forehead, eyes glinting with something you can’t fully identify. You also don’t miss the dampness of your underwear, the electricity you feel where you’re sitting on him. You realize you’re playing a dangerous game. Just as you’re about to make a move to get up, Logan suddenly moves you by the grip he has on your arms, slamming you onto the mats with considerable force. He looms on top of you, looking down. You squeak in indignant surprise, but he pins your arms on both sides of your face, lodging his thigh between yours. You gasp, not expecting the sudden escalation of events. “Darling, you know I’ve got a heightened sense of smell, right?” he asks, drawling. ��I can smell your arousal, practically feel how you’re soaking down there.” Eyes wide and mouth agape, you stare up at him, not sure what to say, how to apologize. “Logan, I- I’m sor-” “Don’t have to say a word, Darling, I’m the same as you,” he emphasizes his point by rolling his hips against yours. You whimper quietly, feeling his erection pressing against your clit. “If I’m not interpreting this correctly, you can stop me,” he hums, getting closer to your face. Waiting for your approval, he looks at you. You close the distance between the both of you, borderline moaning as you feel his tongue grazing against your lips, asking to enter your mouth. More than willing, you grant him entry freely, whimpering as his tongue explores your mouth. You break the kiss, short of breath, but your distance doesn’t last long. Logan is sloppily making out with you as he grinds against you. Your bodies move hurriedly, in urgent need of release. 

“Lo,” you gasp between the kisses, “need you so bad, please.” He complies, hands leaving your arms as he gets on his haunches and quickly unbuttons your pants, pulling them down. His hand moves to your pussy, thumb pressing against your clit, gauging your reaction. Your eyes widen due to the unexpected movement, and you gasp. Satisfied with your response, he rubs short, quick circles against your clit, stimulating you as he slowly pushes in one finger. You moan, hands reaching down to stop the sudden intrusion. It’s been a while since you’ve done this, so your body’s sensitivity is at an all-time high. Logan doesn’t care, swatting away your hands, slipping in another finger. He moves them in shallow thrusts, stretching you out while looking for the spot that’ll finally get you wound up enough for his liking. You bite your lip to keep yourself silent, staring at the way Lo’s fingers pump in and out of you, making a mess out of your cunt. Suddenly, his fingers press into that spot that you’re never quite able to reach yourself, making you let out a loud moan. “Lo, Lo please, right there please, don’t stop-” you break your own voice off with an even louder whimper, eyes closing due to the pleasure. Logan watches you with keen eyes trained on your face. He speeds up his fingers and thumb, enjoying your reaction thoroughly, as it ignites something deep within him. He palms himself lightly, hissing as he realizes how hard he is. “Shit, darling, you make me insane,” he mumbles, guiding one of your hands to the bulge in his jeans, making you feel him. Your mouth falls open with a little “oh,” as you feel him. You try to palm him to relieve some of his tension, but fail as his fingers pump in and out of you, driving you closer and closer to the edge. “O- oh God, Lo, I’m cumming, please please please-” you moan loudly as your orgasm crashes over you, thrashing on the mat. Logan holds down your hips, continuing his languid movements, easing you out of the feeling in waves. As you finally relax, catching your breath, you look up at him, unsure of what comes next. Usually by this point, guys tended to take their own pants off. Logan’s were still very much on. Before you could verbalize your confusion, he speaks. “I think we’ve blown enough steam off in the gym,” he chuckles. “I don’t want Charles to gim’me looks the entire month. I say we take this upstairs bub, what d’ya say?”

You stare up at him, wondering why he’s even asking, when there’s only one possible answer you could make out through the haziness of your mind. “Yes, let’s go.”

[plutoswritingplanet]

It's A Special Death You Saved (Feyd Rautha Harkonnen x Female!Reader) pt.1

a/n: i had a "no bald men" rule before he licked a knife... so y'all know my priorities are in order. Cross-Posted on AO3

Warnings: Dub-Con (as per usual), Arranged Marriage, Reader is an Atreides (it's just such a good prompt i couldn't help myself),

Summary: A month-long engagement to the na-Baron Harkonnen makes you question, whether a marriage can bloom on the grounds of hate. Loosely based on "Special Death" by Mirah.

Pt.2, Pt.3 Pt.4 (finale)

The message comes from the Emperor himself. An indisputable order that renders your Father speechless. You've never seen him quite as distraught, as when he has visited you in your chambers to deliver the news. Hands fidgeting, eyes refusing to meet yours, heavy shadows falling across his face. He seems to expect your reaction, not giving you as much as a flinch, when you scream your protests at him. And he should've expected as much, you were always the more impulsive of Duke Leto's children. 

- But the Harkonnens are beasts - you argue, voice breaking - You've said it yourself, many times.

- Actually, I think that was Gurney...

- You've never denied it!

And he doesn't deny it now, head hung low. Never, not once in your life, have you seen your Father give up. Until today. 

Your Mother enters just a few seconds after him, her dress flowing around her ankles as if she had floated in on a cloud. She stands to the side of your bed, hands folded, and an impassive expression embedded onto her features. And the more she speaks of the centuries of breeding, the importance of an union and the powers beyond your understanding, the less you see of your mother. What stands before you, instead, is a Bene Gesserit sister, veiled in schemes and dark plans, which were in the making before you were even born. You curse yourself for not noticing this stranger sooner, and storm off, out of your room, your shawl blowing out behind you like bat wings.

Paul doesn't visit you, but you can hear him, even through the effort of swallowing down your tears. He fights for you against your Father. He would fight for you against the whole Empire if he had to, and your heart swells, as he throws a particularly nasty curse into the air of your Father's study. It doesn't change anything. According to the decree of the Emperror, the oldest daughter of the Duke Leto Atreides will marry Feyd Rautha, an heir to the Baron Harkonnen. A centuries long dispute is about to be put to an end, and all thanks to the small sacrifice, which is your life. All would be well in the galaxy. Really, you should be honored, to be tasked with such a monumental peace treaty.

Everyone in the court seems to know about your situation. Mournful looks follow you, as you walk into the training barracks, ridding yourself of layers upon layers of flowing fabrics, leaving you in a rather tight costume, light enough to beat your frustrations out on someone.

Duncan Idaho meets your searching eyes, and you know he is aware as well. All it takes is one inclination of your chin, and he's up on his feet, sword in hand. Loyal as ever, he stands in front of you, watches with mixed feelings as you enable your shield, no questions asked. None needed. 

He barely has time to put his defenses up, when you charge at him, fury and despair pushing your movements into stances which are clumsy and ill though out. Still, there's power within your strikes, a strength of someone who needs to move, unless they break. So he lets you, for a couple of minutes. He dodges your attacks, pairing some of them, never moving quite into the offense.

The rest of the soldiers scurry off somewhere, for which you will be thankful in the future. They might hear your cries of anger, but they will not see you break. They will not see the way your blade smashes into Duncan's shield over and over again, with no regard for the slow attacks, which would penetrate it. Likewise, they don't see your sparring partner fall to his knees and swipe you off your feet in a split-second movement, making you hit the floor with a frustrated snarl. And they don't see you finally give up, and cry, hugging your blade to your chest, the severity of your circumstance falling onto you, crushing you down.

- Never fight in anger, Princess - Duncan reminds you, voice cautious, and you growl at him like a wild animal - It dulls your instincts, makes you distracted.

- Did you know? - you demand, your sharp voice cutting through his half-assed lecture.

For a moment he looks truly remorseful. His eyes float around the room, and your heart sinks when he sighs deeply.

- I found out not long ago - he confesses - Your Father told me. 

Your blade slides against the floor as you throw it, a raw scream tearing through your throat. Duncan takes a step towards you, hand extended towards your shaking form. But, before he can attempt to touch you, you're up, rolling your shoulders forcefully. Tears stain your cheeks, and you wipe them roughly with the back of your hand, skin becoming irritated almost instantly. There are swords laid out on a small table, just beside you,  your fingers grip the cold handle so hard, your knuckles seem to creak under the pressure. Duncan readies himself as well, dusting off his trousers. 

He's not good at comforting, but he's the best at fighting, and if that's what you need in this cold morning, he'll oblige. 

- You'll make it through, you know - he says, his voice genuine, and you laugh without any mirth.

Your blades clash, faces coming closer as you absentmindedly notice small scars adorning his cheeks.

- You can adapt to anything - you strike against his shoulder, the shield pushes your blade away - We could send you to Arrakis right now, and a week later you'd be riding a damned Sandworm into battle.

To that, you laugh, this time your smile reaching your eyes. The idea is preposterous, but it renders your footsteps lighter, and you twist to dodge a nasty blow to the right arm. Duncan huffs a laugh as well, as you slip through his fingers. He points his blade in your direction, a smirk playing across his lips, and you bare your teeth in a playful display of wildness.

- Careful, Princess, you might scare your betrothed away - Duncan teases, as you roll your dagger in your hand.

- Scare a damned Harkonnen? Do you find me that intimidating? - the idea thrills you just a little bit, you're woman enough to admit it.

- I think you're fucking terrifying.

- Duncan Idaho, you better not be swearing at my Daughter.

Your face falls immediately, as your Father approaches the two of you, shooting Duncan a stern gaze which holds no real threat. Still, your sparring partner raises his hands, his blade tucked away safely into his belt. There's sweat clinging to your skin from all the training, mingling with drying tears on your cheeks, and Duke Leto tries very hard not to comment on your choice of processing recent events. Still, he nods at you, and like a good daughter, you put your blade away, walking from the barracks after him. 

***

The Emperor has called for a traditional, Atreides engagement. A mercy, which you're eternally grateful for. You're not too aware of Harkonnen customs regarding marriage, but given the House's reputation, it couldn't have been pleasant. House Atreides however, took to such matters much more ceremonially, old-fashioned to some. 

Soon, a ship is arriving, with your betrothed onboard, and a month-long courting period willcommence. After that, official engagement and soon after, a wedding. Then, you will be transported back on Geidis Prime, where a life of misery awaits. That's all the time you have. A month.  

The dress, which was picked out for you, is uncomfortable and shows both too much and too little skin at the same time. While your legs are bare and exposed to an almost scandalous degree, a high, stiff collar nearly chokes the life out of you. This whole getup was the idea of your mother, as an attempt to highlight your best features and hide all that might be considered less desirable. 

You have no idea what's wrong with your neck. Perhaps, by cutting off your airflow, your mother aimed to keep you docile. 

She frowns deeply as you tug on the fabric, nerves climbing up your spine, growing more desperate every second. She swats at your hand, and you throw her a look. Out of the corner of your eye Paul smiles at your antics, your only consolation in this hopeless place. 

- Stop fidgeting, you'll tear the dress - Lady Jessica scolds you, and you can sense actual worry underlining her stern voice.

The Harkonnen ship slowly glides into the atmosphere of your home planet, a black, awful thing. Like all things on Geidis Prime, dark and miserable. Soon, you'll join them, adorned in equally black and lifeless clothing, never to see your family again. Never to see the Ocean. Your nails bite into the collar of the dress, you can hear a stitch tear.

- Stop that.

Your hands fall uselessly against your body, as your mother uses the Voice on you. Wouldn't be the first time, you were quite the unruly daughter and Lady Jessica was determined to make a Lady out of you no matter the means. Still, this time, the unnatural tone feels more like a panicked plea,  than a light-hearted scolding. 

- Relax Mother - your voice is sharp, despite the slight tremble - In a months time I'll be gone from here forever, stuck in some blackened cell, wistfully sighing "ooh" "aah".

You place your hand on your forehead in a dramatic display of doubtful acting abilities. When you were younger, your mother would laugh at you, as you enacted scenes from romance books. You would throw yourself at a nearby piece of furniture, pretending to be some wronged lover, or an unhappy bride waiting for someone to liberate her. And your mother would clap her hands, thoroughly entertained.

Today however, she doesn't even crack a smile.

- I don't expect you to be happy about all this - she whispers - But I do expect you to wear your grief with some grace.

A slap would've been kinder, you think, and stare ahead, as the Harkonnen ship opens, and a group of people dressed in black spill out of it like ants from a drowning anthill. Your heart is thrumming hard in your chest, and your hand reaches out, despite all your apprehension, towards your mother. A force of habit, to search consolation within her disregarding the fact, that it was her meddling that put you here. 

Her fingers lace with yours, thumb stroking your palm in an attempt to soothe you. 

Immediately, you know which one of the bald headed Harkonnen is your betrothed. 

He's much taller than you, an imposing figure even despite his rather lean built. His skin is almost completely white, as expected, his teeth are blackened out, as expected as well, and his eyes are bearing into you with an intensity so oppressing, you almost look away. Almost. 

- I present to you, Feyd Rautha, the na-Baron of House Harkonnen. 

The pale man steps forward, releasing you from his gaze for only just a moment, to trade pleasantries with your Father, who looks beyond miserable as he fixes your soon-to-be husband with a tired look. Then, Feyd Rautha is brought before you.

There's grace to his movements you did not expect, as he pushes his black cloak aside, and kneels in front of you. Harkonnen were known for their bulky ruthlessness, but this one... This one reminded you of a panther, the way his eyes travelled the length of your body, full lips pulling upward into a barely noticable smirk. 

Customs, you remind yourself, as your mother's hand squeezes your fingers. You don't want to let her go, but you do, slowly, with so many mixed thoughts rattling around your brain, it makes your head swim. 

Feyd Rautha grabs your extended hand in such a gentle manner, you're almost convinced the Harkonnens have shaved some poor bastard and dropped him off instead of the real na-Baron. Then, he lifts your palm up, until his lips press against your fingertips, a gesture so tender, your heart does a flip in your chest. And then, it stops all together, when his grip on your palm tightens, and he pulls your hand closer, to kiss it properly. As if he can't help himself, he looks up at you, and you realize. 

You almost got yourself caught, but reading people's intentions have been taught to you as fervently as reading texts, and you can see right through this facade of chivalry. There's darkness in this man, a swirling void, which brings a wave of cold fear upon you. This cunning, depraved creature will soon enough become your husband, and you'll be stuck with him forever. How long will he keep up this impeccable appearence? Was this performence for you, your Father, his own twisted fun, or all the things combined?

With a furrowed brow, you tear your hand out of his grasp, a full body shiver running up your spine at the sight of his self-satisfied smirk. He drinks up your reactions like a man parched, and you fight hard to put on a mask of indifference, as he rises from his knees to stand before you in all his imposing glory.

***

You can feel his eyes follow you, as the welcome committee retreats into the Palace. He doesn't let you out of his sight throughout the feast, which takes place immediately after his arrival, and even now, as he gets ready to "entertain" the court by indulging in some barbaric ceremony of his, his eyes are trained only on you. 

It's uncomfortable, to say the least, having him stare at you, while you sit surrounded by your family, who, for the most part, say nothing. Except Paul. Your dear baby brother, your protector in all this madness. As Feyd Rautha throws his coat to the side, showing off his (admittedly impressive) muscles, Paul leans towards you.

- He looks like a hard boiled egg, don't you think sister? - he whispers and subsequently ends your vow of silence. 

The giggle you let out is caught quickly by everyone around, your betrothed included, before you press an open palm against your lips. 

- Behave - your mother warns, and you try, you really do.

But in the serene light of the fading sun, your soon-to-be husband's head does look frighteningly egg-ish. God, you'll get yourself killed, before the wedding ceremony is even resolved if you keep this up.

You're seated high in an outdoor theater. One of your grandfather's favorite places, where he used to dance with bulls for sport. Where he met his demise.

Feyd Rautha presents his knives to you and your family, their blades glint ominously in the setting sun. Again, you are struck with the sheer grace this man exudes. His movements, despite being forceful and wild, have a beauty to them, as if he was rehearsing ancient dance moves, rather than killing blows.

And, despite your brother's earlier comment, there is something enticing in the way his pale skin catches the rays of bleeding sunshine, slowly creeping towards the horizon. He's almost beautiful, almost handsome enough to consider. 

The thought leaves your head almost immediately, as the Harkonnen servants bring in his apparent opponent. Your heart drops to your stomach at the sight of a beaten, dark skinned warrior. Immediately you recognize a Fremen, you've read so much about them in your free time. You know how they filter water, what they eat, how they move through the sands, and despite your knowledge you can't fathom, why this poor man has been brought here. 

At your side, Paul shifts in his seat, all jokes leaving him in a hurry. The both of you watch, as the man you're promised to toys with a clearly drugged victim. Slashes bloom on the prisoners skin, blood sprays in the air. You refuse to look away, to show such weakness, even as Feyd Rautha grabs the poor man by his hair and with a forceful push impales his throat on the blade. Blood pours down onto the sand, paints the Harkonnen's face and chest a deep shade of red.

It's a brutal display of power, of cruelty and wildness the Harkonnens are known for. Suddenly, everything Gurney has warned you about, while training your fighting skills, rings like a thousand of bells in your ears. This is who you will marry, who you will spend your entire life with. 

You swallow down an urge to throw up, and stand up from your seat. 

The show must go on, you think, throwing your Mother one, venomous look, trying to force her to understand your pain. Then, you lock eyes with your betrothed, who watches you from below with a cruel smile, blackened teeth on full display. You meant to congratulate him, to play the part as instructed, but you can do nothing of the sort. Instead, you stare back at him, disgust flowing from your features like a broken faucet. 

Lady Jessica opens her mouth, but before she can, without a doubt, scold you again, you're out of the seating area, your footsteps echoing in the halls. 

Once you're sufficiently tucked away from prying eyes, your back hits the wall, and you allow yourself feel the luxury of unbridled panic. Your breathing comes out in fast, shallow pants, as cold sweat forms on your forehead. Thoughts racing, your fingers tangle into your hair, tugging at the roots. This is your future, the only future waiting for you, and it's filled wth pain and blood.

- Have you enjoyed the fight, my Lady? - you immediately know it's him, despite not hearing him speak before.

A gasp of surprise leaves you before you can catch it, and your back straightens almost painfully fast. 

There he stands, tall and lean, and terrifying. Blood still decorates his torso creating a contrast that is both terrifying and hypnotizing. He watches you, curiosity and humor swirling behind his eyes. You can't decide whether they are completely blackened out, or if they hold a blue, almost serene hue. 

- No - you answer, finding your voice entirely too shaky for your liking - I did not enjoy it.

He laughs, a guttural, low sound that makes the hair stand at the back of your neck. You know he wouldn't dare try anything here, right under your Father's nose while the engagement is still in the making. Yet, as you stand frozen, just you, him and the marble walls around you, dread finds home in the pit of your stomach.

- Was that man Fremen? - you ask, partially to fill the silence, partially because you're genuinely curious.

The man shrugs, you can see muscles moving under his white skin. He takes a step towards you and you will yourself not to run.

- Sometimes we bring a couple of captured desert rats home - he explains with a nonchalant tone - Mostly for entertainment.

The almost bored intonation he uses to describe this barbaric ritual makes something boil deep inside you. 

- That's cruel - you counter, emotions flowing freely onto your face, much to the man's delight - To deny those men the honor of dying on their home planet. To drag them into a completely foreign place, just to kill them for sport, like some animals... It's...

- Some of them live - he cuts you off, taking another couple of steps towards you, but in your growing outrage, you barely notice - Our brothels are filled with Fremen whores.

Your face twist into an expression of utter repulsion, and Feyd Rautha raises his eyebrows in a pathetic mask of confusion, almost childlike giddiness lighting up his eyes as he looks down at you.

- Oh, don't give me that look, my Lady. - he cooes, and you've never felt a stronger urge to slap the daylights out of someone - I know for a fact there are brothels on your planet filled with hungry soldiers.

- Yes - you bark back at him - but the people there are working prostitutes, not slaves!

He shrugs, looking somewhere to the side of your face.

- A waste of money, if you'd ask me.

- Good thing no one has - there's venom in your voice, and your betrothed sucks a breath through his teeth.

You curse yourself for leaving your dagger, for not concealing it somewhere in this ridiculous dress, because the way the Harkonnen's expression shifts freezes blood right in your veins. 

He looks at you, amusement tugging at the corners of his lips, while something much darker lurks in his eyes. His bloodied hand comes up, finger making contact with the exposed skin of your shoulder. You can feel the thick liquid stick to your flesh, as he drags his hand down, painting you, marking you.

- You're quite the little viper, my Lady.

Watching him silently, you don't respond. Don't know how to, when he closes the distance between your bodies enough to make you feel the heat radiating off of his chest, while the smell of blood and sweat completely assaults your senses. It's sickening, the way he looks at you, like you're a new toy, just waiting to be unpacked and destroyed by too eager hands. 

- My Uncle, the Baron, has instructed me, to be the utmost gentleman to you. To woo you completely - his voice is low, barely above a whisper, as he grins down at you - But I just can't lie to my future wife like that, can I?

He leans closer and finally, you take a step back, sliding out of his space, assessing a cautious stance. His hand almost follows you, the skin of your shoulder feels conflictingly cold without him.

- Once we're wed, I will possess you completely - this time you stand your ground, as he approaches, circling you like a lion stalking it's prey - And then...

He leans down beside you, shoulder to your shoulder, close enough for you to feel his hot breath graze your ear.

- Like the bull that took your grandfather's life, I shall pierce you.

The violent innuendo doesn't slip past you, and with hatred brewing behind your eyes, you look straight at him, forcing your fear to lay dormant. 

- You're disgusting.

- And you're blushing like a lovely, virgin bride should - he concludes, sending an awful wink your way, before withdrawing from you completely. 

Your veins burn hot, as you watch him leave, a selfish confidence painting his steps, and you beg every God in existence to grant you a sword in your hand. Or a dagger. A kitchen knife would do as well. Anything, that would help you cut this unbeatable, patronizing, infuriatingly handsome smirk from Feyd Rauthas face.

Alas, you're left with nothing, only a small glimmer of hope dangling in front of you, after your damned betrothed's words fully register in your brain.

A bride you might be, but certainly not a virgin one. Duncan Idaho made sure of that many years ago. The thought makes you smile, despite nerves wreaking havoc in your body. At least that's the one thing Feyd Rautha won't be able to take from you.

[kymerawrites]

"You're such a bloody drama queen," Simon grumbled under his breath, smoking a cigarette as he watched her pace back and forth. He didn't move an inch from his spot on the couch, arms crossed over his chest. It was always like this with her; they argue, they make up, they argue again. It was a vicious cycle they couldn't seem to break free from. He took a drag of his cigarette before blowing out a stream of smoke, eyes still locked on her

"Can't you just sit still for a bloody second?" Simon snapped, his irritation getting the better of him. "You're giving me a damn headache with all that walking around." He tapped his fingers impatiently on the armrest, his gaze following her every movement. He couldn't help but feel frustrated by her constant need for motion, like a caged animal.

"I could if you'd stop being such a controlling arsehole," she shot back, stopping in her tracks to glare at him. "Sorry if my pacing bothers you, but I have the right to move around in my own home." She crossed her arms, her defiant stance mirroring his.

"Your home?" Simon echoed, a mocking edge to his voice. He snorted, extinguishing his cigarette in the ash tray. "Last I checked, we share this apartment. And believe me, I didn't ask for a fidgety partner who can't sit still for two seconds."

“God for fuck sakes Simon, you make me pace this way. Can’t you see that?!” I said irritated

He rolled his eyes, clearly unperturbed by her retort. "Oh, and it's all my fault that you're pacing around like a maniac?" He leaned back on the couch, his gaze sharpening. "Maybe, just maybe, you should try taking some responsibility for your own actions instead of blaming everything on me. Ever thought of that?"

I huffed in annoyance, not backing down from his gaze. "And maybe you should stop making me so bloody irritated that I can't stand still! You're always bossing me around, like I'm some sort of property and not a person with my own thoughts and feelings."

He stood up abruptly, his tall frame towering over her. "You know damn well that's not true," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "I don't treat you like a bloody object. I care about you, even if you can't see it. And if I come off as controlling sometimes, it's because I want to bloody protect you."

“Oh no, it’s you and your fucking lieutenant, commander whatever the fuck you are act in my space.” I scoffed

His eyes narrowed at her sarcastic remark. "Watch your bloody tongue," he warned, his tone more menacing than before. "You know damn well what I do for a living, and I don't appreciate your tone. But while we're on the subject, you could learn a thing or two about respecting your partner. Maybe if you weren't such a bloody pain in the arse all the time, I wouldn't have to step in and take charge."

That comment hit me, just a little to make me shift from mad to confused “so, if I’m such a pain to you, such a..liability why not leave me?”

He gritted his teeth, his frustration mounting. "Because goddamn it, I care about you," he snapped. "Despite all your attitude and stubbornness, I can't just walk away. Believe me, I've bloody tried. But deep down, I know I can't let you go. Even if you drive me mad with all your whining and dramatics."

I turned around not to face him “you can also just say you love me.”

He sighed, raking a hand through his hair. "Bloody hell," he muttered under his breath. He walked closer to her, his movements slow and deliberate. "I do love you, alright? But love doesn't make this any easier. It complicates everything. Because even though I love you, you still piss me off like no one else can, and it drives me bloody insane."

He grabbed my waist and hugged me from behind I just smirked “and yet I think you love all the sass and drama I give you don’t you?”

He let out a scoff, his fingers digging into her waist. "Bloody hell, you know me too well," he muttered. "Yes, there's something infuriatingly addicting about your damn attitude and all the drama you bring into my life." He buried his face in her neck, inhaling her scent.

He chuckled softly against her skin, his breath warm and tickling. "Bloody hell, you drive me wild with it. Part of me wants to strangle you, and the other part..." He trailed off, his hand roaming higher up her body, tracing her curves.

“Finish that sentence si..” I whispered

He nipped at her earlobe, his voice low and gravelly. "And the other part wants to do things that I can't even say in public." He spun her around to face him, his gaze dark and intense. "You have no idea the effect you have on me, how you make me feel. It's maddening, it's intoxicating and it's all your damn fault."

He pushed her against the wall, his body pressing against hers. His hands gripped her wrists, pinning them above her head. "You know what else is maddening?" he growled, his face mere inches away from hers. "How bloody irresistible you are when you're all defiant and stubborn like this. It's like you're begging for me to put you in your place."

He dipped his head, his lips brushing against her neck, leaving a trail of warm, open-mouthed kisses. "And the worse part is, you know damn well you have me wrapped around your little finger. Even when you're infuriating me, I can't get you out of my head." He nipped at her skin, his teeth grazing her sensitive spots.

He dipped his head, his lips brushing against her neck, leaving a trail of warm, open-mouthed kisses. "And the worse part is, you know damn well you have me wrapped around your little finger. Even when you're infuriating me, I can't get you out of my head." He nipped at her skin, his teeth grazing her sensitive spots.

He shifted his body, pressing his thigh between her legs. "You push my buttons on purpose, just so you can get a reaction out of me. And bloody hell, you always get the reaction you want." He pinned her even tighter against the wall, trapping her in his embrace.

His lips found hers in a hard, possessive kiss. He dominated the kiss, his tongue delving into her mouth, claiming her in a way that was both rough and passionate. He pushed his body flush against hers, his hands roaming down to grip her thighs, lifting her up against the wall.

“You’re too good for me si..” I laughed as he lifted my legs on the wall forcing me to embrace them around his waist

He grunted with the effort, his muscles straining as he pressed her against the wall. "Bloody hell, you're a menace," he growled, his lips finding her neck again, sucking and nibbling on her sensitive skin. "Bloody menace with your damn legs wrapped around me like this. Drives me wild to have you like this, all vulnerable and pliable in my arms."

He ground his hips into hers, his arousal evident against her core. "And you're damn wrong about that. I'm not too good for you. I'm just bloody addicted to the way you make me feel, like you're a poison I can't get enough of."

I rolled my eyes “just kiss me already lovebird.” I smiled

He chuckled at her cheeky remark, his eyes dark and intense. "Bloody smartass," he murmured, before capturing her lips in another fierce kiss. He devoured her, his tongue delving into her mouth and dominating the kiss. The kiss was rough and passionate, full of pent-up desire and frustration.

And ofcourse they kissed and made up just for the cycle to continue

[hoshigray]

hiiii!! I loveee your posts!! can you write something about Tojo or Geto being extremely jealous to the point y/n wants to break up but they don’t allow it? I don’t know I can picture it in my head but I can’t write anything good like you 😭

....why not do both? (¬‿¬) ty for the love, sweetie ♡ hope ya like this one! tagging @neptunes1nterweb bc they asked to be, lol, ily sapp!! ☆

cw: Geto + Toji x fem/afab! reader - smutty, so minors, move. - fingering (f! receiving) - biting (ears + shoulders) - clitoral stimulation (fingers + toy) - imagery of taking pictures of your naked body - pet names (baby, princess, sweetheart) - overstimulation - use of a vibrator and rope to tie your hands (geto); oral/cunnilingus (f! receiving) - impact play; pussy slaps (3x) - toji being a tiny bit of a meanie + possessive - overstimulation - pet names (baby, mama, sweetie) - clitoral play (licking and pinching) - heavy depictions of being given head - mentions of spit/saliva (toji)

You love your boyfriend, you know you do. And you know he loves you just as (if not MORE) than you. There's never been a day where you'd doubt this love. His love...but this love does have its bad moments — like this one.

Your boyfriend tends to be quite possessive of you, to the point of jealousy. There have been times you'd try and excuse the behavior; he's just your partner making sure you're safe and that no one gets any funny business when it comes to you. If anything, it's his way of showing his seriousness about you, right? Well, that's what you've been trying to tell yourself all this time, even when bringing it to his attention, to which he'll brush off or reassure you it's for your own sake. But today? Oh, it was the last of it.

Your friends invited you to a party they were having, and you, being your good partner, invited your boyfriend to tag along. It was all of good intentions, no? After all, it's not like you planned on staying til things went crazy; just meet and chat with some old buddies, eat some bomb food, a drink or two at max, the usual. And things were going great doing just that; you stumbled upon a very old friend you hadn't seen in ages!! Excited to see his face again, you spent most of your time catching up with him on the living room couch and seeing how life's been on his end. The conversation was going swell, nostalgia getting the best of the two of you. So much so that your old friend got a little tipsy from his drink and got a little handsy — putting his arm around you when the two of you would laugh reminiscing old memories together.

However, your laugh ceased when his laughs turned to abrupt howls of pain. You'd then turn behind to see your boyfriend standing behind the couch, who ripped the poor guy's hand off your shoulder and is crushing his wrist with a deadly grip. Immediately, you'd stand to stop the commotion and excuse your friend for your man's actions (he surprisingly expressed forgiveness), and you two left that party. No words were exchanged in the car ride home, but you had your mind set at that late hour. There's no point in being with someone who's just going to be envious of anyone who has your attention — even old friends, for God's sake! This is it, for sure! Those were the words you went with as you stormed from the bathroom and into the bedroom where your boyfriend lies on the bed of your shared bedroom. With crossed arms and furrowed brows, you tell him these words with a confident breath:

"I think we should break up."

ʚ⁺˖↪ Suguru Geto

"Mmmph!! Ahhhnnn!! S-Suguru, stop!! Your hands, too fa—Ahhhh!!!"

"Hold still, baby." He coos to your ear before teasing it with a blow; shudders run down your spine from the breath play.

With your back to him and your hands tied with a rope, Geto uses this position to play with your vulnerable body. Your panties exposed for him to see, a wet patch blossoming more and more from the touches of his slender fingers as they roughly rub on your clothed, leaky cunt. The lacy material becoming drenched with your fluids, he has your body twitch on him, and he sneers at the pathetic display.

"Ohhh, fucking shit—hic..." Tears well up from shut eyes, the swift motions of his fingers increasing the pounding in your head. "Suguru, pleaseee, it's teww muuuch!!"

"Awww, is it?" He mocks your whines. "Serves you right, though. You scared me with what you said earlier. Breaking up with me after I was trying to make sure that guy didn't try anything funny with my princess?"

"Nnnnmm! I'm s-sorry, Suguru! But he was my friend, and you were bei—Iiiiieee!!!"

Your body jerks when Geto snakes his hand inside your panties, using a forefinger on your clitoris and rubbing harshly on the sensitive bud. You can just picture the cunning smirk with the chuckle you hear while he kisses your bare shoulder. "Well, your friend seemed to be a little too touchy for my liking. And you," Geto suddenly sinks his teeth into your shoulder, having your nude figure jump at the bite. He uses his free hand to keep a leg to the side, making sure your legs are wide for him. "You seemed too close with this friend, huh. You were practically making him blush the entire time."

Did I really? Was I being too open? You couldn't answer those questions; it hurts to think with your boyfriend's fingers inside your slit, fingertips grazing your spongey walls, turning your brain to mush. The squelching racket from your southern lips and his digits ring your ears to a lewd trance — it makes your face dial to an unbearable heat.

"Nnmaaa, Ahhhhh!! Suguruuu," a tear makes its way down your hot cheek. Geto hums into your ear, and you shiver as he nibbles on your lobe. "Pleaseee, forgive me...I should've known you were just there for—Mmmm! M-Me...I'm sorry, so please..."

It's best that you couldn't see Geto's eyes narrow at your apology, the bedroom light donning his dark orbs a purple hue. He snickers, "See? My Y/n is understanding. Such a sweetheart for me, huh." He lays sweet kisses down your neck. "You're forgiven. Not thinking about breaking up with me now, right?" You nod erratically, earning a hearty chuckle while he grabs for something on the side. "Good, but we're not done yet."

Your sweat runs cold when you hear a familiar buzz when Geto presses a button on a small remote. You turn to see a bullet vibrator, the mattress experiencing the whirr of its vibrations. And when he picks the toy up and brings it down to your inner thighs, your anxiousness scales to an all-time high.

But you're too late to voice concerns as the toy makes contact with your clitoris, the delicate bud unprepared for the touch of the cold surface and intense buzzing. Especially with him pressing down on your clit and bringing his fingers back into your vagina again, his digits scraping your tender walls, your orgasm hit you within seconds.

Your nude body bucks to the aftershocks of your climax, your cunt pulsing around Geto's fingers, and come coating his digits and sliding down to the sheets. The pitch of your wails descends with every exhale, your mind too fuzzy to think of anything else but sinking into your man's hold.

Geto rubs small circles on your clit with the vibrator; you gasp and try to squirm away, yet to no avail. "Did so good, princess. Kinda wanna take a picture for your friend. Show him how much of a great time you're having with me...I'm kidding, I'm kidding~, so don't cry. Okay, princess?"

ʚ⁺˖↪ Toji Fushiguro

"Hoohh!! Ohhhh!!! Tojiiiii!! W-Wait, I already came—Eeeyahhhh!!"

Toji's got you with your back to the bed, legs propped up by his hands, and your bare cunt not even centimeters away from his face. His mouth is situated on the folds of your chasm, tongue lapping around your slick walls, and nose brushing on the fragile button that is your clit. Your moans at a higher pitch than before as your man is feasting on you for another orgasm, his chin already painted of your come from a few minutes ago.

Your legs tremble from the pleasurable abuse on your sore nerves, yet Toji's hold prevents you from so much as writhing away from him. He lifts his chin from your sloppy cunt, licking traces of your come from the scar on his lip. "C'mon, mama. I know you can cum more than one time." He gives your inner lips a suck before swapping his mouth with his fore and middle finger, the two sliding into your vulva with ease. Your brows skewed down and mouth agape for moans to escape, Toji enjoys your disheveled display with a devilish grin. "Heh, look at you. Lookin' all pretty like this because of my fingers."

"Haaaahh, Tojiii, Ohh, Jesus..." You grip the sheets below as his digits swirl and pump to and fro into your cunt, difficult to breathe with the hot air surrounding you and heat spreading from your cheeks to your ears. "Pleaseeee, I'm too sensitive — hic — G-Give me a min—Ohhhooo!!"

"Aht aht aht, don't act soft on me now," he gives your slit a smack, the rough hit from his palm catching you off guard, almost choking on your breath. The stinging pain pushed tears to roll from hot cheeks into the pillowcase. "You already tried that with that lil' friend of yours. Lettin' that fucker get too close fr' my eyes, and then you walkin' up here actin' all high and mighty talkin' about a breakup. Where's that now, Y/n? Hmm?" He licks circles on your clit, having you howl his name in despair — music to his ears. "Did'ja let the kid make you forget who can make you crazy like this?"

You peer down — big mistake — to see his fierce emerald eyes honed in on yours. You chew on your lip at the helpless atmosphere you're drowning in. "Mmmph...Toji, please, I'm sorry. I—Ohhhh, fuck!!" Toji's fingers do a 'come hither' motion, skimming your walls with the tip of his digits. "I really am...You just made me really upset that time, but, Hmmmm...I love you, I love you lots..."

The smirk on his face gets broader. "Ya know I ain't mad at you, not with that cute face of y'rs." Toji kisses your inner thighs, lightly nibbling on the skin to make you yelp. "Just teachin' my baby a lesson." Another slap to your hole results in a sudden scream from your puffy lips. "Who does this belong to?"

"...you—Ahhhhhh!!!" A third smack.

"Louder."

"Yours!" Your voice sounds broken. "I'm yours, only yours..."

"Good," you flinch at the feeling of his palm on your slit again, but he soothes the pain away by rubbing gently. "Now you just sit still while I finish, 'kay, sweetie?"

He doesn't give you time to reply, stuffing his mouth on your cunt and sucking on your folds. The image of his raven hair buried down to your thighs and his gruff moans as he eats you out shed you into another level of embarrassment that you throw your head back to the pillow. The commotion between your legs and his mouth is the only thing you hear that suffocates your senses, along with the growing heat.

Tingles crawl up your spine. "Nnnmm, naaaaa, Toji, I'm so close, I'm gonna..."

Toji hears your pleas, a hand dragged to your clitoris, giving the swollen bud a few pinches while he resumes using his mouth to stimulate your heightened nerves for another release. And it comes in hard, choked sobs lashed out from your throat as your body is stimulated to experience your second climax of the night.

With his grip still on your legs, your body is forced to endure your crescendo, muscles tensing, abdomen tightening, and your essence being lavished by your boyfriend, his tongue moving to gather your come to drink and savor from your messy entrance.

And when things finally calm down with your body following a steady rhythm, he withdraws from you with a satisfied grunt. Licking the last remnants of you from his thirsty lips, he gazes down with a proud leer. "Always tastin' so fuckin' good fr' me, mama." He takes off his shirt, his eyes still honed in on you. "We're not done yet, though. Gonna spend all night makin' you go crazy fr' me."

[wrestlingwithlife]

COD Incorrect Quotes With Our Lovely Y/n

Warning gets a little spicy towards the end ;)

Price: Well, should I be worried?

Y/n: Not yet.

Price:

Y/n:

*loud explosion*

Y/n: Now you can worry

————————————————————————

Y/n: No, I don't want to talk about physics! I don't know anything about the laws of physics because they are hard and boring. I simply would like them to behave in a way that is most convenient to ME and MY LIFE! Is that really asking too much?

Gaz: Yes, as a matter of fact, it is!

Y/n: Well, guess what? Science is stupid bullshit!!

Gaz: You take that back!!!

Y/n: No. Magic is awesome. Science blows. The end.

————————————————————————

Y/n: What are you doing here?

Soap: I could ask you the same question.

Y/n: I live here. This is my room.

Soap: I should probably ask you a different question.

————————————————————————

Y/n: I just heard Ghost call the dog a “fucking liar” because he barked like someone was at the door and no one was there.

————————————————————————

Price: I am going to need you to swear-

Y/n: Fuck.

Price:

Price: ...swear as in promise.

————————————————————————

Price: *shatters a window and climbs through it*

Price: *turns around and helps Y/n through it* Breaking and entering is wrong Y/n

Y/n: Okay.

————————————————————————

Ghost: You read my diary?

Y/n: At first I did not know it was your diary. I thought it was a very sad handwritten book.

————————————————————————

Y/n: I like your new pants!

Price: Thanks, they were 50% off!

Y/n: I’d like them better if they were 100% off. *winks*

Price: The store can’t just give away clothes for free.

Y/n: Thats’s… not what I meant.

Price: That’s a terrible way to run a business, Y/n.

————————————————————————

Y/n: The real treasure was the memories we made along the way.

Graves: I almost died.

Y/n: That... was my favorite memory.

————————————————————————

Soap: You look good in that hoodie.

Y/n: You know where else I'd look good?

Soap, zero hesitation: My bed.

Y/n, at the same time: By your side- wait, what?

————————————————————————

Ghost: This bloodline ends with me.

Y/n: That's the fanciest way I've ever heard someone say "I'm gay".

————————————————————————

Y/n: Gaz, you do remember when we agreed we were better off as friends, right?

Gaz, naked in Y/n's bed: No, I absolutely do not.

Y/n, already taking off his clothes: Fuck... Me neither.

————————————————————————

Price: We should get you to a doctor for a check up immediately. What if it happens again, and there isn’t anyone around to help you? What if it’s congenital? Oh my God! Was it me? Did I hurt you?

Y/n: …You realize any other person that made their partner pass out on bed would simply feel really proud of themselves, right?

————————————————————————

Y/n: Well, Ghost and I finally did it!

The rest of the squad: *gasps, shocked expressions, etc.*

Y/n: That's right... We kissed!

————————————————————————

Y/n: There are 20 letters in the alphabet, right?

Gaz: Nope, there's 26.

Y/n: Ah, I must have forgotten U, R, A, Q, T.

Gaz: Aww, that's cute, but you're still missing one.

Y/n: You'll get the D later ;).

————————————————————————

Y/n: What are you in the mood for?

Ghost: World domination.

Y/n: That's a bit ambitious.

Ghost: You are my world.

Y/n: Aww...

Ghost:

Y/n:

Ghost:

Y/n: OH.

————————————————————————

Price: Know why I called you in here?

Y/n: Because I accidentally sent you a dick pic.

Price: *Stops pouring two glasses of wine.* Accidentally?

————————————————————————

Soap: You know my motto: carpe diem, carpe noctem, carpe coles.

Y/n: Seize the day, seize the night, what’s the last one?

Soap: Seize the dick.

————————————————————————

Hopefully these helped quench you guy’s hunger whilst I work on my next post.

- Author~Chan out ✌️

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Musician Age Gap AU Pt 16

"AUNT KARA!"

Esme throws the front door open and sprints full tilt across the lawn to throw her arms around Kara.

"Hey there," Kara greets.

Pulling her face back to look at Kara with wide eyes, Esme gets straight down to business.

"Tell me *everything*."

----

Kara's exhausted on the couch by the time Esme runs out of questions. She softens the blow of having left Esme so long without updates by letting Esme watch her video recording of Lena's new song. Oh, Esme has already seen the bootlegs of the song spread online, but none of those were taken from backstage.

The hard conversation doesn't come until after dinner, when Esme goes upstairs to finish her homework and leaves Kara alone with Alex and Kelly. They both gaze at her with soft, but expectant eyes.

"I'm fine," Kara tells them.

"No one is saying you're not," Kelly assures her.

Alex is less gentle. "Doesn't mean we can't be worried."

Two days ago, Kara would have taken offense. Today, she recognizes the validity of Alex's concern.

She sighs. "I don't think it was the wrong decision."

"Neither do we," Kelly says. "I don't think choosing happiness ever could be."

"But going half the way across the world at the drop of a hat is bound to be jarring." Alex's voice isn't sharp at all. In fact, she's far more calm than Kara expected her to be.

Kara glances at her suspiciously. "You don't approve."

Alex shrugs. "It doesn't matter what I think. The fact you made the choice tells me it was the right decision in the moment." She lifts her glass of wine to her lips, eyeing Kara over the rim. "But is it sustainable?"

Biting her lip, Kara considers the question. She doesn't regret her choice, and the past few weeks have been a whirlwind of excitement and novelty on all fronts. But what happens when the shine wears off?

"I'm still happy," she says carefully. "And Lena has been amazing. I just... don't know what my role is."

Kelly offers a soft smile. "Growing pains is natural, especially in a situation like this where you've been thrust into an unfamiliar industry and an intense career like Lena's. And learning to navigate the personal stuff is requirement of any relationship. It's just going to be harder with Lena than with anyone else."

"Why?" Kara demands, defensive at the implication she would be daunted. "Because she's famous?"

"Yes, Kara!" Alex leans forward, features lined with concern. She sets her wine down, and scrubs her hands over her face. "I don't-- it's not that she's famous, it's the fact that she can't meet you halfway."

Kelly nods. "Successful partners find the common ground-- a spot where they can meet in the middle. What Alex is trying to say is that Lena can't do that."

"Look at what's happened so far," Alex elaborates, gesturing towards the door. "You uprooted everything and got dropped into her world. She hasn't-- she *can't* do the same for you."

Kara looks into her glass, pensive. Again, Alex isn't wrong. Lena's single foray into her life had been coffee in the park-- in disguise. Meanwhile Kara has been thrust into the deep end of Lena's own life. Her career, her family and friends...

Could Lena ever find the same kind of assimilation into Kara's life? Would she *want* to?

And does Kara care if she doesn't?

"I don't think it would be fair to either of us to end things before even trying."

Before anything else can be said, Esme's door slams open upstairs and teenaged feet pound down the stairs at a breakneck pace, only to screech to a halt at the threshold of the living room.

"Aunt Kara?"

Kara sits up from her slouch, concern leeching over her. "What's wrong?"

"Yeah, you okay sweetie?" Kelly asks.

Esme's features crease in apprehension, her anxious gaze flicking between Kara and her phone.

"Um... there's something you should see."

Kara reaches for Esme's phone when she offers it. She shoots her sister an uncertain glance, then turns her attention to the glowing screen.

She blinks at the list of breaking news results on the search screen, jaw tightening. She clicks on the first. A photo fills the screen-- and Kara's heart plummets.

[eggluverz]

THE GENERAL NEEDS A BREAK… AND A MOONCAKE

PAIRING. jing yuan x gn!reader

SUMMARY. the general is drowning in work, and the mid-autumn festival is the perfect excuse to take a break.

SOF'S NOTE. i know it's late but i wanted to get this out still hehe hope you still enjoy the moon festival cuteness even though i missed it xD i've been in a jing yuan mood lately ngl i just wanna cuddle and have a lazy day with him :> pls enjoy!!

You knew autumn was in the air as you walked down the streets of the Exalting Sanctum with a bag of fried songlotus roots from a nearby vendor. The trees carefully scattered throughout the streets were now vibrant shades of orange and yellow; you could feel the crisp wind blowing around you. 

And while you were able to enjoy your time outside work, visiting the bustling Mid-Autumn Fesitval in Aurum Alley, you knew the general was not. 

In fact, you hadn’t seen your partner in days now because of how busy he has been lately. You weren’t even sure if he managed to escape work within the past week. 

With a sigh, you sadly munched on another songlotus root. That simply wouldn’t do. 

You understood Jing Yuan was busy trying to keep the Preceptors out of his hair while dealing with the threat of the Stellaron on the Xianzhou. And while you knew how important it was, you also knew Jing Yuan could delegate some of his tasks. He could free up just a bit of time to enjoy the festival before it came to an end for the year. 

As you approached the Seat of Divine Foresight, you were determined to accomplish just that— Get the general to come along and explore Aurum Alley with you. 

“How are you doing, General?” you drawled, walking over to his desk and peeking behind his stacks of papers. 

He blinked blearily before a small smile formed on his face at the sight of you. “Why, I’m having the time of my life. And you?” 

You went around to his seat and gave him a brief kiss in greeting. Your hand cupped his cheek as you smoothed the dark circles under his eyes. Jing Yuan sighed and leaned into you touch.

“I’m doing well,” you said. “Would be better if you could attend the festival with me.”

He chuckled at that. 

“I know you must be having so much fun working, but I promise I can make your Mid-Autumn Festival experience even better than this,” you sang, plucking the pen from his hands and placing it flat on his desk. 

“You certainly drive a tempting offer.”

“Then accept.” 

“Perhaps I will.”

You cheered as he laughed, setting his papers aside and standing up follow you out. Like the gentleman he was, Jing Yuan extended his hand out for you to hold. You accepted graciously and the two of you walked hand-in-hand out of his office and to Aurum Alley.

It was a long walk, but time always felt short with Jing Yuan. Minutes passed by too quickly and you found yourself always wanting to spend more time with him. 

Night had come by the time you arrived in Aurum Alley, and you had just made it in time to see the lanterns lighting up the sky. The warm, twinkling lights of the lanterns lit up the dark night, planting a seed of awe in you as you watched the festivities happily. You felt a stare pointed in your direction and you knew it was Jing Yuan looking at you in admiration.

You turned back to him and tapped his chin upwards. “You should be ogling at the lanterns, not me!” 

“Can a man not do both?” 

With a giggle, you rested your head against his chest. He was warm and inviting, and you were glad he could escape his life as the general for just a little bit to enjoy this scenery with you.

“Have you tried Tall Auntie’s mooncakes this year?” you asked, feeling your stomach grumble as you took in the delicious scents around you. “I swear, it tastes even better than before!” 

“I have not.” Jing Yuan shook his head, tucking your hand back into the safety of his own. “Shall we go?”

You nodded and skipped along, excited to have another one of her mooncakes. While mooncakes could be found everywhere, in all parts of the galaxy, Tall Auntie added the Luofu touch. The filling had a mixture of red bean paste and custard made from puffergoat milk— You almost drooled at the thought. 

Noticing the dreamy look on your face, Jing Yuan laughed. He wiped the corner of your lip, eyes bright with amusement. “You have something here.” 

So, perhaps you did drool at the thought. 

Smiling sheepishly, you wiped at your mouth. “I suppose I’m craving it now. You’ll love it too, trust me.”

“I’m certain I will.” 

As the two of your approached Tall Auntie’s food stall, you ordered two specialty mooncakes and found a secluded area to munch on them. There was a bench surrounded by trees and buildings, with a view of the lanterns growing smaller and smaller in the sky, and you thought it was a perfect place to enjoy your snack. 

“What do you think?” you said, eagerly watching him take the first bite. 

Jing Yuan closed his eyes in contentment, leaning back against the wall. For a moment, he said nothing. He simply chewed, savoring each flavor as it hit his tongue. When he swallowed, he opened his eyes and nodded at you. “Delicious.”

You beamed and he ruffled the top of your head. 

“It’s just what I needed after a long week of work.” 

“You deserve it,” you said, leaning your head on his shoulder. “Even the hardworking general deserves a break.” You took a bite of your pastry and hummed in contentment. “And a mooncake.” 

Jing Yuan nodded in agreement, shutting his eyes and allowing his heavy body to relax into your touch. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

“Anytime. And after, we’re going straight home and sleeping in bed.”

His eyes opened at that, a teasing crinkle on his nose. “I propose we partake in some other activities in bed before we sleep tonight.” 

You laughed at his boldness, glancing around to make sure no one else heard. “Jing Yuan!” 

“My love,” he replied. 

The warmth in your heart grew as you snuggled against him once more. “Okay, but only if you get me another mooncake first.”

“You have a deal.” 

[gabessquishytum]

Time and Night Endless have a problem. Their darling son Dream has been dating a man completely not of their class, a shameless and uncouth ruffian, by the name of Hob Gadling. While they did make their disapproval known, they were inclined to leave it at that, as surely this was merely a rebellious phase on Dream’s part; at some point he would come to his senses, end the relationship, and settle down with someone more suitable.

Except they have heard through the family grapevine that not only has Dream not come to his senses, but he is in fact planning on proposing to the dreadful man. That he has in fact purchased a ring already! Clearly something must be done.

They arrange a private meeting with Hob and offer him fifty-thousand pounds to break up with their son before the proposal, preferably publicly enough that they can be sure he did it, and so it decreases the likelihood of reconciliation.

Hob only hesitates for a moment before agreeing.

Time and Night walk away from the meeting feeling incredibly smug that they’ve saved their dear son from an inappropriate relationship with a blatant gold digger.

Hob walks away from the meeting pulling out his phone to call Dream. “Hey love, how would you like to con your parents out of a shit ton of money?”

Three days later, Dream and Hob have a giant blow-up fight in the middle of a friendly gathering—Desire was there filming the whole thing and had gleefully uploaded it to every social media platform they have, so the Endless parents can see for themselves. It’s pretty ugly: there’s accusations of cheating, loud negative allusions to their sex life, Dream even throws in a “my mother was right about you” for good measure. It’s a goddamn disaster of a shouting match that ends in the world's messiest breakup.

Time and Night would be horrified by the scandal if they weren’t so pleased with the results. Hob Gadling may not be an acceptable partner for one of their children, but at least he certainly does deliver. They wire the money to him with absolutely no remorse, considering it money well-spent.

A week later, a new video is uploaded to Hob and Dream’s social media accounts: the two of them side-by-side, leaning into each other's touch like love-drunk teenagers, fingers entwined and sporting beautiful engagement rings, as they announce their reconciliation and engagement.

“Communication has always been the key to a successful relationship, and all we really needed to do was sit down and talk to each other like adults. Any issues we may have had have been resolved, and if it weren't for the people close to us who didn't want to see us fall apart, we might not be here today,” Hob says, grinning ear to ear. 

“I would particularly like to offer my greatest, most heartfelt thanks for our upcoming marriage to my parents,” Dream says with an evil glint in his eye. “They not only engineered our reconciliation, they selflessly gave fifty-thousand pounds of their own money to help pay for the wedding and honeymoon. We can't thank them for their kindness and support enough.”

Hob then grabs his fiance and dips him before kissing the life out of him, and that’s where the video ends.

Night faints and Time breaks a priceless vase.

(Desire also gleefully shares this video on the same platforms as the first one, and helpfully tags their parents with it to boot. It was actually fun scheming with their brother for the first time in a long time, and they may or may not be planning to stitch the two videos together into a small tasteful movie as a wedding present (and perhaps providing a copy to their parents as well))

-🪽anon

I love the "evil parent offers main character a lot of money to break up with love interest" vibe. Whatever happens you just KNOW its going to end badly for the parents!

And really, they should have known better. Hob is a shameless ruffian and an experienced conman, OF COURSE he was going to pull some kind of trick. He's actually really pleased because he was worried that Dream wouldn't get his perfect wedding, because Hob’s meagre salary won't stretch to a big budget. With the "generous contribution" from mum and dad, Dream can make his gorgeous goth wedding fantasies a reality.

Dream has an amazing time at the fittings for all the wedding outfits, and Desire even has a hand in designing the most gorgeous jumpsuit for Dream to wear at the reception. They're totally invested in this wedding and keep feeding Dream and Hob information about their parents latest plans to sabotage the big day. This leads to Dream getting in touch with their estranged younger brother, who is thrilled to a) be invited to the wedding and b) provide security on the big day! He's built like a brick wall so no attempted shenanigans will get past him.

There won't be any trouble at the wedding, anyway. Hob has a few of his old pals on the job, and they will make sure that the Endless parents are tragically prevented from reaching the venue on time. So sad. Its okay though, because Desire will be putting together a beautiful wedding movie for everyone to watch after the honeymoon!

When asked by their society friends about their new son in law, Night and Time will grit their teeth and smile. He's a very... resourceful man. Not what they'd imagined for Dream, but he seems happy enough. And there was a prenup, so it can't be that bad if (hopefully when) they get a divorce.

Yeah.......they're never getting a divorce!

[powderblueblood]

HELLFIRE & ICE — eddie munson x f!oc as enemies to star-crossed lovers

CHAPTER FOUR — HOT SKIN and a HALL PASS

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summary: rules, you've recently learned, are for breaking– sanity is also, apparently, relative. after making a statement in the cafeteria, you play hooky with eddie in main street vinyl. content warnings: MINORS DNI tension you would need a chainsaw to cut through, farm-to-table snarking, do they even know they're yearning, nancy wheeler i'm sorry i shittalked you again (it will get better i swear) word count: 4k

Dear reader, do you ever feel like you’re completely losing your grasp on reality? 

You’ve cruised through life almost seamlessly up to this point. Yours is a well-oiled machine, one you painstakingly built yourself. But do you ever feel like you’ve spent so much time constructing something so carefully that it doesn’t make sense to you anymore? 

Like you can’t see the forest for the trees, or the treason for the thrill. 

Do you ever want to light your whole life up in flames, just to see what’s really fireproof?

“So, which is it?” 

You’re standing at your locker, making a bad job of touching up your now-flaking under-eye concealer when a voice rings out from the other end of the hall. It bounces off the cool metal of the lockers, the tack of the linoleum. It makes your shoulderblades go tense. 

“Has little Lacy been hiding a pair of brass balls this whole time, or is she on a suicide mission?”

You’d roll your eyes, but your face is aching. 

“Showing up with me this morning would have been one thing, but sitting yourself at my little table of outcasts? At lunch? The most important social event of the day?” 

Munson lets out a low whistle from where he leans, a couple of lockers up from yours. 

The hallway is deserted save for the both of you; you, out on a forged hall pass and him, probably just ditching to ditch. You peer at him from behind your locker door. He’s standing slanted in a long, lithe line made bold and jangly by his carefully curated metalhead armor. 

You, and this comes with a hefty dose of begrudgery, have to hand it to him– he leans great. 

“Talk about blowing up your reputation beyond repair.” 

You know he’s making fun of you– he’s not exactly subtle about it, nor is he about anything. It’s all in the lilt of his tone, how ridiculous he thinks the interwoven politics of the cafeteria are, how dumb he thinks you are for considering that in the least bit important. 

Munson’s idea of survival in high school is attacking conformity with a nuclear bomb, whereas yours is a little more artful. 

“I know this might be hard for you to comprehend, Munson,” you sigh, and the sound rattles through your ribcage– you are tired, tired of him, “given that your understanding of object permanence has clearly been stunted at an infantile level, but the world does not revolve around you."

"No?!" he croons, sarcasm slicking out of him.

"I was catching up with Ronnie.”

“Right, because you guys have been such good gal pals up to this point,” Munson scoffs. 

His face, framed by those wild waves, materializes in the reflection of your locker’s mirror, peering over your shoulder. You slam the door and pivot to face him properly, impact ringing out like a gunshot. 

He does a little jump, a shadow of his shock at you on Harrington’s porch. 

That reaction is like a shot of espresso straight to the veins.

Good. Be afraid. Asshole.

You're sure as fuck awake now!

“Lab partner love never dies,” you say, leveling his stare. “You’d know that if you showed up for Biology once in a while.” 

“Maybe I need a tutor. I could use someone to help me brush up on anatomy.” 

“Sorry. I don’t teach remedial.” 

“Maybe you should start. Rehabilitate your image.” 

“Again, who died and made you my parole officer?”

His expression cracks; a gasp of a laugh. “Oh, so you remember all that?”

“My hippocampus is alive and kicking.”

“Your hip– what?”

Your lips purse, and just as you’re about to throw another verbal dart at him, the voice of Ms O’Donnell cuts through the both of you. 

“I hope you two have a damn good excuse for loitering in this hallway– because if not, Mr Munson, I believe you’re less than one detention away from suspension.” 

Munson’s got this terminal disease where he’s more smarm than charm, despite his warped perception of himself. There’s no way he’s going to handle this with the grace that’s necessary, because O’Donnell hates him anyway. 

He keens his head in the teacher’s direction, ready to roll out some useless excuse. 

Before he’s even got the chance to speak, you cut him off. 

“Hall pass, Ms O’Donnell.” You flash the fake yellow slip at her, careful to obscure the names– you’ve usually got one of these forgeries to hand, just in case you need it, and teachers generally trust you enough not to check them out. It comes with the whole work-life balance you’ve been treading for the entirety of your high school career; you’re well-liked and you’re maintaining an impressive grade point average. They don’t give a shit what you do other than that. 

“The Weekly Streak has run into a printer snag and Nancy Wheeler’s car is on the fritz. Eddie,” his first name, which you never ever use, feels weird and heavy on your tongue, “offered me a ride to the printers to make sure it gets worked out– it’s a big issue. What with the game this weekend and everything.” 

O’Donnell’s eyes narrow. You nudge Munson right in his funny bone– hard enough for him to wince. 

“Right?”

“Right! That big game. Front page news, Ms O’D. Gooooo Tigers.”

The teacher clicks her tongue against her teeth, her rock hard stare challenging the delinquent beside you– it’s entirely likely that Munson could have blown it for himself just by virtue of being alive and in O’Donnells sight line, but you know she’s got no reason not to believe you. 

See, your reputation at the school newspaper precedes you; it’s just about the only thing that really holds your interest within the monotonous structure of Hawkins High. With your finger on the pulse of Hawkins’ student body, it only makes sense that you serve as a fierce and unforgiving editor of the Streak’s society pages– funnily enough, that hardline professionalism included never giving Munson’s infamously lame Dungeons and Dragons club a single mention in them. 

Vetoed, you’d drawled at one of the more well-mannered members that had shyly approached you about writing a piece. Not Ronnie– she knew better than that.

How come? they’d whined, as their fearsome leader glowered near the lockers just like he was doing now. 

On grounds of irrelevance. I’m not wasting valuable inches on a make believe board game club. 

This activated Munson. Lacy, you wouldn’t know valuable inches if they rammed you in the–

“Make it fast,” O’Donnell decrees, and you feel her watch you as you take off down the hallway. With a snappy quirk of your painted fingers, you gesture for Munson to follow your lead. And you better believe he does, almost tripping over his ratty Reeboks trying to keep in step with you. 

You both heave open the double doors, squinting against the unseasonable late autumn sunshine. Heels of your ankle boots clicking against the concrete, you make an unconscious beeline for the parking lot– for Munson’s van. 

“So– what now?” he asks, dur-dur dumb as all hell. 

“What now is I just got you a free pass to play hooky,” you say, little miss cactus flower, prickly with annoyance. You shield your eyes against the blazing light. “Weren’t you ditching anyway?”

“Yeeaaah,” Munson hums, scratching the back of his head, “But… the plan kind of was to smoke a joint and go to the record store.” 

“Doesn’t sound like a complete waste of time,” you hear yourself saying before you realize it, yanking at the van’s passenger door. You pause, raising an expectant eyebrow at Munson. Isn’t this your cue? 

Baffled, bewildered, but grinning despite himself, he extends that silver ringed hand and helps you haul your ass into his beat up chariot. 

Completely losing your grip on reality.

–

It’s a fugue state. It’s an out of body experience– you’re watching yourself from outside your corporeal form and you have no logical control over what you’re doing. 

That’s the only way to explain why you’re standing in Main Street Vinyl, elbow to elbow with Eddie Munson. 

But that might also be the weed talking. 

You don’t know where the hell he gets this stuff, but it’s strong– way stronger than the shit he’s sold to your friends ever since he started dealing. Well, you guess it makes sense that he’d keep the good shit for himself. You’d do that too, if you were him. 

What if I was him, you idly wonder, peering up at him as he flicks through letters R through T in the metal section. His tongue peeks out of his mouth as his ringed fingers work though the vinyl, carefully considering each one. 

This is what you mean by obvious– you, for one, would have the good conscience not to look so stoned while you’re so stoned. 

You definitely don’t look stoned right now. 

No one can even tell that you’re looking at him, up from underneath those thick lashes of yours. 

He’s got thick lashes too, come to think of it. 

Munson is actually not completely unfortunate looking– but again, if you were him, there’s no way you’d wear your hair like that. You’d keep it long-ish, though, you think. He’s got a point there; a nice curl pattern. Maybe to your ears. And the clothes obviously have to go– that denim vest is a patchwork disaster. Did he sew all those patches on himself? 

A vision of him hunched over the thing with a needle and thread in hand flits through your brain, pricking himself more than he can pick up a stitch. He’s gone out of his way to make himself look like this– kind of similar to the way you pick up your skirts so they’re always impeccably just short enough. 

Now, the leather jacket you could forgive if at least the collar was different. Maybe one of those Brando-style biker jackets, you could rock that. Or a brown leather number, to bring out your eyes– which are his eyes, of course, his crazy dark empty universes of eyes. 

The kind of eyes with the kind of stare that nails you in place and makes you want to do crazy shit like ditch class and get loaded and stand dumbly in a record store. Those eyes.

That are staring at you. He’s staring at you. Right back at you. 

“I can read your mind,” Munson monotones, unblinking. 

You go flush, heat crawling all the way up to your ears. “Wh–what?”

Then he nudges you and snorts, breaking the spell. 

“You have gotta stop thinking such dirty thoughts about me, ice princess. You’re gonna melt.” 

You scoff, shaking your head– but the cartoonish move is more to ground you in reality than a reaction to him and his idiocy. You’re Wile E Coyote after blunt force impact with an Acme anvil, shaking the circling birds away. 

“They don’t even have what I’m looking for here.” 

Stalking around the stacks of records, with no clear direction in mind, you feel Munson’s laser stare follow you. “Yeah, they don’t usually file Madonna next to Motörhead, Lacy.” 

They’re both filed under M, aren’t they? is what you want to say. “I don’t listen to Madonna,” you protest instead, all quietly miffed and earnest with a crinkle in your brow. 

“Mm, don’t think that’s true,” Munson smirks, rounding on you around the rack. “You gave me a pretty spot on rendition of Like a Virgin– or does your hippocrampus not recall?”

“Hippocampus,” you breathe out, but it’s lost in the din of Main Street Vinyl’s quiet, carpeted atmosphere, “I don’t listen to her, like, recreationally. I can’t help if that song’s an earworm.” A beat. “I also can’t help if you’re a particularly serenadable virgin.” 

“She’s gonna touch me for the very first tii-iime…”

“That was a threat.” 

You make an active attempt toward tunnel vision as you slowly tread through the store, feeling the high starting to turn on you– this was the part smoking weed that you hated, the few times that you’d imbibed in it. That lack of control over the way you were coming across. For a girl trained in the art of saying all the right things, this was dangerous. Your tongue felt both loose and heavy in your mouth, like it could come out with anything and you couldn’t stop it, it’d just roll on out. 

The malevolent presence of Munson and your pathological need to one up him wasn’t helping matters. 

Ever since the parking lot at school, you’ve been stalking around like there’s a target on your back. Evidently, you’re not the kind of girl that chills out when you smoke, which is equal parts a relief and a disappointment to Eddie. He wonders what you’d look like, mellowed out and floating. Your eyebrow unarched and your lips not poised for attack.

He’s also acutely aware that he wouldn’t know what the hell to do with you then, either. 

But he can’t tear his eyes away from you, a hyperfocus that he’s assuming is a symptom of his own buzz. Every little twitch and jump you do– it’s like it’s begging him to pay attention. Like if he looks away for even a second, he might miss something. 

“What are you looking for?” he asks, eyes trained on you while you thumb through the records. 

As much as you love music, and you do, you have a tough time describing exactly what you want to listen to. The notes in the songs that you revisit again and again read more like physical feelings, sparking off in your nerve endings. For example, listening to River by Joni Mitchell feels like something heavy is sitting on your chest. Listening to Hong Kong Garden by Siouxsie and the Banshees feels like you have fairy lights at the end of your fingertips. 

“I want something that sounds…” you say, noticing the distinct feeling of cottonmouth setting in, “Ticklish.”

“Ticklish,” Munson deadpans back at you. 

“Something that sounds like someone’s running a xylophone mallet down my spine.” 

He regards you for what feels like an excruciatingly long timewith this terrible, awful look on his face– brows ticked up over his glassy bloodshot eyes, pink mouth peeling into a grin, and this look, this look of wonderment. Like he can’t believe you’re real, and you’re here, and you’re saying shit like this to him. 

Join the club. 

“... You don’t get stoned a lot, do you?”

“Ugh!” you groan, a little louder than you mean to– the cashier shoots you a glare as you stalk past Munson, stalk past him, cheeks flaring pink. “I know what I’m talking about. I know it when I hear it– I heard a record just like that earlier this year! It’s like, some band from Scotland or something? Totally incomprehensible lyrics, yeah, but that’s what it felt like. It was like… bone deep.”

You hear Munson emit the teeniest hehe! and you just about snarl at him over your shoulder.

Rounding on the alternative section, limited as it is, you feel a welcome sense of familiarity. You haunt this corner when you can, when you’re out of sight from prying eyes. There’s only one other regular purveyor of this little corner of Main Street Vinyl that you know of. You trace a thumb over the spines of the cassette cases–it’s mostly tapes, rarely ever records because tapes are easier to import and harder to damage, and it’s always haphazardly organized–and then you spot it. 

Victoriously, you thrust it in Munson’s face, which is right over your shoulder. He’s frequenting that spot a lot recently. “Ha!”

“Oh!” he chirps, sounding almost pleasantly surprised and plucks the tape from your fingers. “... Cocteau Twins?”

You falter, eyelashes flickering as you look up at him. Dammit. He even pronounced it right. 

“You know them?” You hate how high your voice sounds.

He runs a thumb over the plastic casing, edging a little closer to you. That came outta left field. 

“This shit… sounds like what a haunted music box would sound like.” 

Aaand we’re back in the room.

“Okay…?”

“This is creepy, cursed doll music.” 

And the room is filled with assholes.

“Alright.”

“This is what you hear right before you’re about to get possessed by the ghost of Tiny Tim. The whiniest little bitch ghost of all time.” 

And all the assholes are named Eddie Munson. 

“I get it.”

“You better be careful with this stuff, Lacy-Wacy,” he teases, mocking that fraudulent concern ripped straight from an episode of Donahue. He taps the cassette case against your forehead. “Music like this is a gateway drug. A gateway drug to hanging out with, like, Jonathan Byers.”

You reach out and grab his wrist, tugging his hand and that damn tape away from your face. You’re shocked to find that the skin under your fingers is blazing hot–same as you felt through his shirt when he helped you to the door in your drunken stupor. 

Does he always run this warm? you wonder. Is it all that Satanic poseur poison coursing through his stupid veins?

“Well, it’s a little late for that,” you tell him, and you’re not quite sure why. Probably because every secret you swore would die with you is slowly but surely punching its gnarly hand from the grave, like fucking Carrie from fucking Carrie.

Munson doesn’t even express any overt shock, like he’s learning to roll with the punches of you revealing bits and pieces of yourself through sheer annoyance with him. He just cocks his head, challenging you with a silent, Really?

This chick. This blink-and-you’ll-miss-it chick.

“I ran into him in this corner a lot,” you explain breezily, tilting a shoulder up like it doesn’t bother you, like it’s never bothered you. “We’d always be standing next to each other at the listening booths, and I’d be listening to stuff I couldn’t take home and he’d be listening to stuff he couldn’t afford to buy and… We like a lot of the same music. We went out on like, one date if you could even call it that, and it didn’t work out.”

“Because he’s a creepazoid?”

“Because he was hip deep in it for Nancy Wheeler,” you supply, a green monster gurgling in the pit of your stomach. “Like every other respectable member of the male species.” 

It was the summer before junior year, a punishingly hot one even by Hawkins standards. You’ve never been good in the heat and that summer made your entire body feel ill-equipped, your skin ill-fitting. Main Street Vinyl had those big, big box fans right near the cash desk which was right near the listening booths, so you would spend the majority of your time there when you weren’t being forced to the lake or Skull Rock with your friends. 

Jonathan would look at you with alarm at first, like you were trespassing. Then he’d spy what you were listening to and sneak these small, shy smiles at you that you indulged in– at first, because you weren’t copping a lot of male attention from anyone else that summer. Eventually, it was because his shadowy eyes were always ringed with this tenderness, with knowing. Like you two were sharing a secret. It made you be able to look past the greasy hair and crippling social awkwardness. 

You know you rocked his world the day you breezed past him at the listening booth, leaned in and whispered, I love Linda Thompson's voice, don't you?

But still, the Love’s Baby Soft scented specter of Nancy Wheeler loomed large. You picked what you thought was a secluded spot in the park for your ‘date’, which included a conversation that was almost entirely cruise directed by you. Said conversation completely flatlined when you both spotted Nancy Wheeler cresting a hill, walking her family dog.

At this point, you and Nancy were most familiar with each other from the school newspaper– she, the peachy-cheeked junior, the rising star that was sure to make editor and you, the girl who knew where the parties were happening and where the bodies were buried. 

The picture of coquettishness, she offered you and Jonathan an awkward, stilted wave. Jonathan spoke a grand total of three words after she left, zeroing in on the spot where she appeared like a man possessed. 

You didn’t acknowledge his existence after that.

It’s not that you were particularly hung up on Jonathan Byers, but you didn’t expect someone like him to be able to elicit that cold sinking feeling you were used to experiencing at the hands of other boys and their ignorance. Maybe it hurt more because you thought you had something in common– something real, something that wasn’t shotgunning a can of Busch. Whatever it was, it made you sure of two things. 

You hated Nancy Wheeler, and she wasn’t going anywhere. 

You wished you didn’t hate her. But you also wished she’d dissolve into a fine mist.  

“Wheeler’s a priss,” Munson pulls you out of memory lane in a harsh left turn, face contorting into a half-grimace. It’s the general consensus on Wheeler– the shoes are too goody for everyone to be falling head-over-heels with her, if you want Eddie’s honest opinion. There’s no there there, not like with–

“I’m a priss.” It sounds like you’re defending her. In some weird way, you might be. 

I know what guys like you think of me.

“No, you’re a bitch.” 

His weight on the word bitch makes your knees feel unsteady. The way he says it. It’s not enunciated like an insult. It’s a dagger cloaked in velvet. It’s warm, like he is. It’s almost filthy. It makes you look at his mouth. 

“You’re a stone cold killer bitch,” Eddie’s voice hums low in his chest. His heartbeat is picking up, and he wonders if you can feel it where your freezing fingertips are squeezing his pulse point, “and I think–”

“You two truant assholes gonna buy anything today or am I gonna have to call the goddamn dog warden on y’all?” 

Heaved back into reality by the clerk at the cash desk. A trickle of cold sweat runs from the nape of your neck into the collar of your sweater. Heaved back into reality to see you’re still clutching Eddie Munson by the wrist, and he’s looking at you like you’re the last Popsicle. Cold shock in the middle of a summer’s day.

It gets so hot here in summer.

“I think,” you breathe as you unstick your fingers from him, suddenly aware that you’re parched and starving and your face hurts, “it’s time for me to go home.” 

“I– yeah,” Munson stumbles, also perturbed by the interruption. His red-ringed eyes gain a little more clarity. He’s seeing something you’re not seeing. He shouldn't be letting himself see that. “Let’s go.”

Let’s go back to the van. Let me make you look at me like that again. Let me see if you’re cold all over. I can fix that.

“No, I gotta…” Your head pounding, your thoughts swimming– the sharp and stupid realness of this whole afternoon coming into perfect view. What are you doing? “I need to walk it off.” 

He inhales sharply, a strangled chuckle– oof. That other shoe, that buckled heel of yours, clattering to the floor. He should have expected that, right? There’s no way you’d wanna… Because you’re you and he’s…

Eddie retreats back into himself a step or two; it looks like he’s gone all bashful, a little color dropping out of his cheeks. His hands clasping behind his back. His heart is in his big intestine. 

“That’s the second time you’ve turned me down today, sweetheart. Keep it up, I’m gonna start thinkin’ you don’t like me.”

Munson, get the fuck out of here before I ban you again! and Jerry, can’t you see me talking to somebody right now! explode in a cacophony, the boy and the keeper of the keys to the record store hollering at each other. You take this moment of interruption to nudge the door open with your shoulder. But you don’t start into the street without giving him one more look. 

“Lacy.” He’s grinning this dumb grin, eyes gone soft at the corners.

He’s giving this one last nudge.

Your heart thumps. A reminder– this is really happening. Shit. Fuck.

“That’s the thing, though,” you say, attempting to smooth your expression out with a frosty smile. “I don’t like you, Eddie.”

author's notes: of course, my eternal eternal ETERNAL THANKS for all the love you have shown this story and the anons you've sent!!! writing is crazy so thank you for caring about mine. onto the fun stuff because you know i love a reference: - he leans great. a shameless my so-called life drop but eddie to me is a kind of stunning midpoint between catalano (left back twice) and krakow (would go down on you for days) - someone in the tags said ronnie and lacy should hold hands and i don't disagree. lab partner love never dies! - there's never a bad time to listen to ace of spades by motörhead - there's also never a bad time to listen to treasure by cocteau twins, which is the album lacy is referencing - i always fee like the zombie hand reaching out of the ground motif is unfairly accredited to the living dead franchises or something like that, but of course the most iconic instance to me is from carrie (1976) because women own horror - god, we really need to bring back listening booths in record stores! like we really need to bring them back lest romance die forever. - richard and linda thompson, also forever!!!!! my headcanon for this re: jonathan byers is this particular record is a joyce byers influenced choice. joyce and lonnie loved this record (when they were happy... lol) and played it all the time when jonathan was a baby. their original copy got lost (or destroyed) and sometimes jonathan will play it in the main street listening booth but he won't bring it home because he knows it's painful for his mom. - all my stone cold killer bitches in the house make some noise - jerry from main street vinyl you will always be rob from high fidelity in MY HEART (eddie is barry even though he doesn't work there lmao) - ok my hellcats! that's all the cultural education for this chapter!! thanks again for reading, reblog and scream at me in the asks because i so appreciate (and need) the support and i'd also love y'all to send me prompts! don't be shy! i love an in-universe blurb!

[actual-changeling]

This was supposed to be a short little Folie à Deux meta, but several hours of writing, thinking, and script research later, and suddenly here we are.

Welcome to this glimpse into my insane mind.

So! Let's go on a little journey and discuss the ending of season five, because Folie à Deux not only sets the foundation for The End but actively makes it so much worse than it could have been.

In the previous episodes, Mulder has been ditching her and blowing her off more and more, he keeps doing things behind her back without telling her, they keep having fights about belief vs. hard facts, and then, at the beginning of that episode, what happens?

MULDER: I must've done something to piss him off. SCULLY: What do you mean? MULDER: Get stuck with this jerk-off assignment or have I finally reached that magic point in my career where every time somebody sees Bigfoot or the Virgin Mary on a tortilla I get called to offer my special insight on the matter? SCULLY: You're saying "I" a lot. I heard "we." Nor do I assume that this case is just a waste of our time. MULDER: Not yours, anyway. There's no reason both of us should go to Chicago. I'll take care of it. SCULLY: Mulder! MULDER: I'm monster boy, right?

He actively and intentionally breaks them up against her will. Mulder is making decisions for THEM without consulting or listening to her, and what can she do except let him run off like he so clearly wants to.

Now, what do you think she takes away from that?

After being left in the dark about his undercover mission in the episode before? After Mulder showing her, one way or another, that he does not want to work with her, that he's fine leaving her behind?

But alright, she stays behind, it's simply Mulder being Mulder.

She does the research he asks her to do. She shows up and helps out when he gets taken hostage. She listens to him, tries to understand, she's concerned because he hasn't been sleeping. She does the fucking autopsy even though he went behind her back and tricked her into it. She keeps looking and looking and looking, and by the end, she's not relieved that the case is finally done or that Mulder is no longer actively insane.

Folie à Deux—a madness shared by two, that's what she believes is happening to her, to them.

Shared by two. Scully thinks of them as a pair, a team, an "us" and a "we".

We all know what he tells her when she visits him at the hospital, but let's really really think about the consequences of it.

MULDER: Scully, you have to believe me. Nobody else on this whole damn planet does or ever will. You're my one in five billion.

Yeah, alright, that sounds intensely romantic and affirming of their partnershi— oh that?

Oh, that's Diana. No, I never told you about her even though she's arguably one of the most impactful people in my life. I found the X Files with her, she believes in my theories without giving me any resistance, we were in a relationship, she's back now and I am spending more time with her than with you while ALSO not paying attention to you.

If I will tell you about her now? No. But I WILL treat her like she's my partner and not you.

SCULLY: Say that what you're suggesting were even possible, who'd want to kill a kid whose abilities would offer you the ultimate advantage—I mean in business, in war, in anything? DIANA: Maybe somebody whose business is in keeping secrets. MULDER: Well, let's test him. I think the kid will stand up. Let's run a brain scan and a psych evaluation on him. (looking away) You know what to do, Diana.

Not a single word of recognition towards Scully after the shitshow that just went down with Gibson. Way to go, Mulder, way to go.

On top of that, it is worth mentioning that Fowley calls him by his first name and he calls her by hers. Scully can probably count the amount of times Mulder has called her "Dana" on one hand, and she doesn't call him "Fox" because, and I quote:

MULDER: And I... I even made my parents call me Mulder. So... Mulder.

So, Diana is an exception. Why? Why does she get to call him that? Why she but not Scully?

Why does she get to reappear in his life after leaving without an explanation and have Mulder welcome her back with open arms, offering Scully's position on a silver platter?

Scully needs to ask TLG for help and information about Fowley, and it makes everything so much worse. Within their work-relationship, she's the scientist, that's her job, that's who she is, that's why Mulder needs her, and Fowley isn't one.

Right?

LANGLY: She was there when he discovered the X-Files. She has a background of para-science.

Oh. Oh, okay. Sure.

A big thank you to @sentientsky for sharing the script, which gives us this wonderful additional information:

So, to summarize, she's hot, Mulder's type, has exactly the kind of background that someone working on the X Files needs, and they have an old dynamic to fall back into—a dynamic they fall back into period.

She goes through all that, stays up all night to make sure her evidence is scientifically sound, just for Mulder to not even back her up when Spender and Fowley challenge her.

The script actively states that this is what Diana has been waiting for during the meeting—to refute Scully.

Fowley questions Scully's capabilities as both an agent and a scientist during a meeting right in front of Mulder, and Scully looks at him. She waits for him to say something, to defend her like he usually would, but he doesn't.

He doesn't even look at her.

The betrayal she must have felt, ESPECIALLY after what he told her at the hospital. It's no wonder she writes off anything and everything he says to her when he's injured in some form after that experience.

She needs to make herself believe he was just talking like that because he was having some sort of episode, because what are the other options here?

One in five billion, until someone better comes along?

Until he no longer needs her to do something for him?

Until she has outlived her usefulness and has transitioned from being a vital part of their investigations to being annoying and overly sceptical?

Until it becomes clear that Mulder isn't the issue in their partnership, it's her? That all her fears and anxieties weren't so irrational, after all?

Because it's important to remember that this is the day after she saw him and Diana at the hospital.

After THIS:

How much do you wanna bet that she spent the last, what, twelve hours since seeing them trying to convince herself that it's not what she thinks?

That, of course, Mulder is still her partner. That they're still a team. That she is not an indulgence to Mulder or the X Files, that she belongs down in that basement just as much as he does.

You and me. Me and you. Right? ...Right??

The case goes off the rails, Fowley gets shot, Gibson gets kidnapped, CSM delivers a Star Wars line and later burns down their office.

She stays at his apartment for the night, and we see them interacting when Skinner calls, but Mulder is still not fully acknowledging her. He asks her about Fowley and any news regarding their assignments, but that's it.

No "how are you feeling about potentially getting fired, Scully?"

Now, there's this tiny but important part that they decided to cut, which emphasizes the emotional gap between them; it re-affirms what we have seen for way too many episodes.

Mulder cares about her, but he is completely taking her and the safety she offers him for granted. He is, and I mean this in the least negative way possible, essentially using her as a crutch—without even noticing. Scully notices, though, and in lieu of an explanation from Mulder, she is forced to draw her own conclusions.

I'm going to stay here (your life) if that's okay with you (if you still want me in it).

When they're standing in the ashes at the end, it's just as horrifying and terrible for her as it is for Mulder, and she clings to him for the both of them. She clings to him to keep him from breaking, and he doesn't hug her back.

Scully is giving him her everything, she's trying so incredibly hard to keep him in one piece and soothe his pain, but, tell me, who is taking care of her?

There's a limit, she has reached it, and Mulder doesn't even realize it.

Is he acting maliciously at any point? No, definitely not. However, he is carelessly cruel sometimes, doesn't communicate how much Scully means to him, and simply keeps taking and taking because she keeps giving.

Five years, and yet he still blames and distrusts her when she doesn't immediately jump onto his insect zombie bandwagon. Five years, and never once did he mention the person he found the X Files with. Fowley so easily takes Scully's place and she understandably feels rejected and unloved.

WE know he loves her, yes, but she isn't sure of that anymore. Loving someone comes with feeling comfortable around them and being yourself, yet he is incapable of fully understanding the responsibility they both have to keep each other safe from each other.

Scully is sacrificing herself to keep him from breaking and he does not even notice how she is falling apart right next to him.

[profoundbondfanfic]

Hi! I’ve been trying to find some good omega!cas fics, would you be able to recommend any? I’ve done some of my own searching, but I can always count on your reviews so wanted to check!

Hey! I hope you were looking for a long list because we got a little carried away with this lol

A Baby for Christmas by DyslexicSquirrel (Explicit, 11k words)

Dean Winchester finds a list of all the Eligible Alphas in town when he’s fixing Castiel Novak’s car and the fact that he’s not on it surprises him more than it should. He’s been pining for Castiel since he showed up in Oak Grove alone and pregnant, but Castiel never gave him, or any other alpha, the time of day. Now he’s on the hunt for a mate. Can he come up with a plan to make Castiel realize he’s the perfect alpha for him and make both their Christmas wishes come true?

A Little Grace by tricia_16 (Explicit, 99k words)

Castiel is well aware that a handsome, surprisingly gentle alpha like Dean was way out of his league even before he made the decision to become a single parent. Dean's been kicking himself for blowing his shot with Cas before he could even ask for it, and now Cas is happily taken (and adorably pregnant) by an alpha who doesn't deserve him. Neither one of them could have guessed that Castiel's baby would be what brings them together, but it turns out that a little Grace goes a long way.

All That's Best of Dark and Bright by orphan_account (Explicit, 21k words)

Dean Winchester is an alpha cop. He's got a soft spot for omegas with kids and a short fuse when it comes to people hurting them. When he signs in for his shift, his first call is to a break-in in a well to do suburban neighborhood. He meets Castiel Novak and his young son, Alfie. Someone has broken in to Castiel's house and scent marked. Castiel is unwilling to offer much information about himself or his life. Dean's happy not to push, but his partner Benny thinks that Castiel might know more about who broke into his house than he's willing to admit. As Dean tries to get Castiel to open up to him, he finds himself drawn to the omega. But Castiel has to be mated, right? He already has a kid. Or at least, that's what Dean believes.

At a glance by Nachsie (Explicit, 44k words)

The first time Castiel laid his eyes on Dean Winchester, he couldn't comprehend two things about him. One, why this incredibly handsome man was smiling at him asking to borrow his drink...and Two? Why he immediately smashed Castiel's drink into another man's face? Whoever said love was dead, never met Dean Winchester.

Decadent by Redamber79 (Explicit, 36k words)

Dean is the owner of Glads n Roses, where he specializes in unique flowers and bouquets, particularly in flower language. He also sells chocolates on the side. When Decadently Yours, a chocolate shop, opens across the street, Dean sees it as challenging his business. It doesn't take long however, before they strike up a deal to sell the new business' chocolates in the shop, and then he begins to fall for the Beta Castiel, even though he knows he's involved with the Alpha Gabriel, though not mated. As Dean and Cas get closer, he discovers something else. Cas is actually an Omega, with the sweetest scent under his blockers. But Dean refuses to poach, and as long as Cas is with Gabriel, he won't make a move. Life, however, has something else in mind.

Expectations by everandanon (Explicit, 418k words)

For centuries, the Winchester princes have taken omegas from the northern town of New Eden to bear the royal heirs before exiling them to the countryside - a punishment for a past dispute caused by the town's strict beliefs. When Prince John marries Lady Mary of Campbell and puts a Queen on the throne, however, most people assume the tradition has been set aside. Thus, it's a complete surprise to Dean when he's sent to New Eden to retrieve the girl they've arranged for. Cas, as a male omega in backward New Eden, has been ostracized and condemned by his town since he presented. To make matters worse? His sister is being given away to the crown prince of Winchester, never to return. But when the morning before the prince's arrival dawns and Anna is nowhere to be found, the town's council decides there’s only one thing for it: They’ll simply have to give him Cas instead.

Friends Helping Friends (Telling Me What My Heart Meant) by Annie D (scaramouche) (Explicit, 6k words)

Dean and Cas have known each other for about a year now, and in that time, Cas has never gone into heat. So far.

Following His Lead by InvictaAnimi (Explicit, 98k words)

Peak alpha, Dean Winchester, has the perfect life on paper. He owns his own architecture firm, is building a real estate empire, and has the choice of just about any omega partner that catches his eye. A fateful flight to London changes everything for Dean when he finds his true mate, the intrepid freelance photographer, Cas. Cas is gorgeous, brilliant, competitive, and driven. He’s everything that Dean could have hoped for. He’s also keeping secrets from him. Once they find each other, they must remain close until they mate or suffer from the debilitating and painful mating sickness. It wouldn’t be a problem if his mate would stay put, but Dean finds himself chasing his omega throughout Europe, using only the clues his mate leaves him. Dean must choose between his old life and this stranger, his career and his future mate. As an alpha, he is used to being a leader, the one in charge. To be with Cas, though, he’s going to have to follow his lead.

Head Down, Walk with Reason by goldenraeofsun (Explicit, 63k words)

As an omega, Castiel is ineligible for the throne after his father dies. When his uncle takes the crown, Metatron's first order of business is to arrange a betrothal with King John for the hand of his firstborn son, the Crown Prince of Terra. So Castiel flees. On his first night on the run, Castiel stumbles into a band of outlaws just at the border. Injured and wary, he has no choice to stay with them. And although he had planned to return to his own kingdom once it was safe, home might not be the place he left, but instead with Dean, their alpha leader that took him in.

Homemade by saltnhalo (Teen and Up, 5k words)

Dean Winchester, a successful but perpetually overworked and overtired engineer, meets chef and restaurant owner Castiel, his new neighbor. Castiel courts him in the form of homemade meals in Tupperware containers and handwritten notes, and Dean eventually takes it upon himself to return the favor.

In the woods by MalicMalic (Mature, 28k words)

All Castiel wants is to lead a simple life, away from the high society and his controling alpha mother. One chance encounter in the woods makes him believe that dreams just might come true, until life decides to make things complicated for Castiel. As he tries to save himself and his future, he doesn't realize that the solution to all his problems was just around the corner.

Lonicera by zation (Explicit, 46k words)

The one where destiny had a discussion with faith and they decided to have some fun, much to Dean and Cas’ chagrin.

Looking for: Alpha to Match Swimsuit by SillyBlue (Mature, 70k words)

Cas is 44, has a distant husband, a crappy job, and his only child is leaving for college. He plans to distract himself with a beach vacation for which his son and niece convince him to buy a cute swimsuit. But his husband decides he won't "let" him go to the beach dressed like that; a man his age in a bikini? Cas decides to keep the swimsuit - he can easily add "divorced" to the list of things to be sad about during his vacation after all. Claire and Jack decide to intervene by secretly creating a dating profile for one purpose: to look for a man that matches Cas' swimsuit. The unusual profile attracts Dean, who decided to combat his impending midlife crisis by taking some weeks off of work and buying beach wear that he had every intention of banishing to the back of his closet once it arrives. Lucky for him this has provided him with the perfect speedos to match Cas' swimsuit.

No Righteous Path by jupiter_james (Explicit, 111k)

On his 40th birthday, Dean Winchester suddenly begins to worry that he may have lost his chance for a real mate. He's been so focused on his business as a 24-hour roofing and repairman, that he's never taken the time to date properly, or even make any lasting friendships outside of his family. Beginning in their late 30's, alphas and omegas start to lose their mating and bonding hormones, making it more difficult - and often impossible - to mate or bond with anyone past a certain age. But as a modern Alpha, Dean would be content with a companion, at least. Blood bonds aren't the be-all, end-all. However, after a late night emergency roofing repair call from Castiel Novak, Omega, Dean starts to hope. Yearn. The only hangup is that Castiel admits to being as old-fashioned as the books he teaches. Nervous to go against his religious upbringing by being with someone who he can't bond properly, as alphas and omegas are intended to do. But he can't deny his attraction to Dean, and despite his sensibilities, he thinks that, just maybe, he can change for the man he's falling in love with.

Ready To Run by CrzyDemona (EvelynRaith), Inkblooded_Witch (Explicit, 117k words)

Castiel and Jimmy have always been close, on opposite sides of a single coin. While Jimmy’s rebellions have been loud, blatantly throwing every indiscretion in their father’s face, Castiel’s have been quiet, easier to hide, less publicly embarrassing. For this reason it’s no surprise when Jimmy is slated to be married off first. Something they’re informed of right as he has decided he wants to marry Balthazar, an Alpha he’s been courting on the sly for some time. Neither of them have been optimistic about their fates should they be left to their father’s tender mercies. Castiel knows that once Jimmy is gone, he will be next. He likes Balthazar, and sees no reason why they should both be condemned, so they hatch a plan. While Jimmy elopes and boards a steamer to Europe, Castiel boards a train to Nebraska as his twin. Knowing your life will never be the same is one thing, but Castiel never could have predicted what chaos would come of him getting on that train. Starting when plans to slip away before he reaches his intended destination quickly go awry.

real alpha by sharkfish (Explicit, 14k words)

Castiel has used Real Alpha since he was old enough to afford it. They’re a reputable company, and have never disappointed: every few months, Castiel calls in to an automated system to make his request, and within hours, there’s an alpha knocking on his door to fuck the heat out of him. He doesn’t care who it is, what they look like, how much stamina they have, whether they are angels or humans. It’s just an ends to a mean.

Refugee by RachaelLikesYaoi (Explicit, 123k words)

Dean Winchester was used to his brother bringing home omegas from work. They were all basically the same. Quiet, reserved, and... haunted. It made sense, Sam worked for a strictly omega lawyer that dealt with all sorts of different cases. It never really bothered Dean when they were brought home. They fixed up their guest room, replaced a couple of locks, and more often than not he wouldn't even see the omegas. It was easy. A piece of cake. Then Sam told Dean over dinner one night that one of his clients would be living with them for a year to complete his house arrest. A whole year, and no matter how many times his brother told Dean that the guy was harmless, Dean couldn't forget about what the omega had gotten arrested for. Assault. With a deadly weapon.

Roots of Fate by orphan_account (Explicit, 40k words)

Castiel Novak leads a quiet life in the little town of Fairhope. He tends his gardens and takes pride in filling his great-grandmother's footsteps as the town's honorary green witch. His quiet life comes to a halt when he gets a new neighbor and it's none other than the alpha of his dreams and high school crush, Dean Winchester. But Dean's not alone, he has a daughter now. Overnight, Fairhope is flipped on its head as every available omega and beta in town fights for the alpha's attention. Cas tries to help as best he can but Dean eventually comes up with his own solution and that's when the posters show up. Posters that claim that Dean Winchester is looking for a mate. But to win, you have to get a key from a certain orange cat. Let the games begin!

Running with the Wolves by Dancingdog (Explicit, 381k words)

Castiel made one mistake and it landed him with a child. Knowing his brothers would never accept an unmated omega with a child, Castiel chose not to tell his family about Samandriel for six years. But Michael found out anyway and Castiel soon finds himself on the run from his furious family. To save both his and his son's lives, he flees into the wilderness, where the 'wild folk' reside and they must learn to live as wolves rather than humans if they are to survive. Except, the wild folk are not the savages Castiel was led to believe whilst growing up, and he finds that maybe being a member of Dean's pack isn't so terrible afterall. Then his brother, Gabriel, shows up and takes an interest in Dean's omega brother, Sam. The problem? The Winchesters and Novaks have been enemies for centuries.

Scent Deprived by Destielshipper4Cas (Explicit, 41k words)

Dean rescues an omega from an illegal research facility. But after years of scent deprivation, the omega is catatonic at best and on the brink of going feral at worst. Now it’s up to Dean to save him. In order to break past Cas’ defenses, he might just have to let him into his home and heart in return.

The Stars Will Remember by casblackfeathers (Explicit, 60k words)

Being a hunter was all Dean knew ever since his mother had been killed by a demon when he was four. Hunting, offing monsters, and then jumping to the next case was his life. Then he met the most alluring and breathtaking omega he had ever seen and spent the next five years loving the hell out of Cas, their life together filled with the domestic lovey-dovey stuff Dean had never thought he would dig so much. When a simple salt-and-burn goes sideways, it ends up with Cas’ memories stolen from him. Dean is left to pick up the pieces of the life they built together, his ‘make it up as he goes’ strategy to prove to his mate that Dean’s still worth a damn, his only chance at getting Cas back. He’s done a shitty-ass job at keeping Cas safe before, but he will pull out all the stops now to woo his mate again and stir the memories Dean knows are still there buried deep inside Cas’ mind.

Undercover Boyfriend by CassondraWinchester (Explicit, 60k words)

Two men, one lie, and a whole bunch of trouble. Castiel Novak’s in serious trouble. His sister’s destination wedding in Mexico filled with several days of activities, is in only two days. And everyone expects to meet his underwear model Alpha boyfriend — the one he invented. Now Cas has to produce a half-naked hottie or suffer the worst humiliation of his life. But Cas just doesn’t date those kinda guys! Or even know any for that matter. Undercover FBI agent Dean Winchester’s cover is blown and he needs to disappear fast. When he ducks into a bar he runs into Castiel, a comic book artist, one very hot, but geeky Omega. And as luck would have it he just happens to be looking for an Alpha. Could they be the solution to both their problems? Or will trouble find them on the sandy beaches of Mexico?

You can also check our omega!castiel tag for more fics.

[epicbuddieficrecs]

Weekly Recap | July 15th-21st 2024

I have a week off of work, woohoo! This week I mostly read all of my favourite WIPs that updated multiple times, thank you all for keeping me well fed 😎

Complete

is there some place where we can go right now? (i don't think that it can wait) by sibylsleaves/ @sibylsleaves (Established Buddie, Bar Sex, PWP | 2K | Explicit): Buck, Eddie, and the inside of a bar bathroom

you call me pretty little thing by sibylsleaves/ @sibylsleaves (Established Buddie, Panty Kink, PWP | Explicit): “Buck,” Eddie breathes after a moment. “Are you wearing—?” Buck nips at Eddie’s slack mouth and says coyly, “Why don’t you see for yourself?” Eddie, it seems, doesn’t need to be told twice. He shoves Buck off his lap, tearing his sweatpants down his hips to reveal the tiny, pink lace panties Buck has on beneath them.

looking for something dumb to do by sibylsleaves/ @sibylsleaves (Buddie Wedding, PWP | 4K | Explicit): It’s also not unusual that the app bay is almost empty when they walk inside, save for one engine parked along the side. What is unusual is the rows of white folding chairs facing the back wall. And the archway adorned with greenery and pale pink blossoms set up beneath the loft. And all of their friends milling about the app bay, dressed up like… Like they’re attending a wedding.

Hell or High Water by glorious_spoon/ @glorious-spoon (4x04: What's Your Grievance, PWP, First Time | 5K | Explicit): That’s Buck’s cue to put a stop to this before it crosses a line they can’t come back from. Before he says something or does something that means Eddie will never touch him or smile at him or let him into his home again. Buck breaks things; that’s what he does. And he’s tried so hard not to break this.

🔥 my man says he loves me (never says he loves me not) by colonoscopys/ @colonoscopys (Post-S7, Identity Porn | 9K | General): It’s the summer after Eddie blows his life up that he realizes he kinda wants to do it again.  He’s looking at the TV, watching some shitty, fuzzy screen show that Buck favored on his last shift, and letting sleep kinda wash in and wash out. There’s an ad after a while. “Are you struggling with being in love with your best friend too?” The man asks. “You should sign up for inlovewithmybestfriendandgoingtodie.com. A support group dedicated to people in love with their best friend, inlovewithmybestfriendandgoingtodie.com is a great way to learn how to cope and survive when you’re in love with someone you’ll never have!” Eddie gapes at the screen. 

WIP

🔥 Held Up a Lightning Rod (Wonder Why I'm Struck) by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels/ @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Not A Firefighter Eddie, Sugar Baby Buck | 17/22 | 88K | Explicit): When Eddie Diaz stumbles his way into money, he finds himself one of the most eligible bachelors in Los Angeles - to his dismay. He needs a way to get people off his back without confessing his messy marital situation, and Shannon's still not answering his calls, so he caves to a friend's suggestion: hire someone to pretend to be his partner. Enter Evan "Buck" Buckley: sugar baby, fire fighter, and the man about to turn Eddie's world upside down.

🔥 Long Death by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Post-S7, Vampire AU | 8/12 | 33K | Explicit): In the summer of 2024, a never before seen form of vampirism breaks out in Los Angeles. Just as Eddie is about to get his son back. Six months later, Buck's life is permanently changed.

drift past the flowers. by dylaesthetics (Post-S6, (Un)requited Love | 6/12 | 18K | Teen): OR Buck and Natalia get engaged, and Eddie flees the state about it. A petty email correspondence ensues.

🔥loves a game, wanna play? by 42hrb/ @exhuastedpigeon (Post-S7, Love Island AU | 6/13 | 26K | Mature): In the aftermath of Chris leaving for the summer, Buck convinces Eddie they should apply for Love Island together.

🔥 Things We're All Too Young to Know by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Canon S1-S6, Divergent Post-S6 | 131/? | 413K | Mature): This is a love story. Even if it doesn’t always look like it. Even if it doesn’t always feel like it. A look back on Eddie and Buck's lives up to now, and what led them to each other, interpreted from the current 9-1-1 canon.

🔥 If You Can Make the Music by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Canon Divergent, | 4/5 | 11K | Mature): Spin-off Sequel to Evan Buckley & the Coma-Verse of Madness - Chapter 5 (Seaside): A year after a whirlwind two week love affair with bartender Buck in Galveston, Texas, Eddie Diaz finds himself coincidentally relocating to the area. But when he attempts to reconnect with Buck, he's in for an unfortunate surprise. (Part 3 of Coma-Verse)

[theeslutintheroom]

Sex Addict

theodore nott x reader

warnings: female reader, possessive theo, dom theo, obedience, talks of smut, dominance

***

As you lay in Theo’s bed exhausted from an hour and a half of fucking you decided enough was enough.

Ever since you discovered the muggles “birth control” and let your boyfriend cum inside you? He has’t been able to stop.

Your body was bruised- marks from where his hands grabbed you- all over your thighs, hips, arms, even your neck! Hickeys were also littered across your skin mixing in with the bruises. To top it off? A burning sensation in your core where Theo thrusted inside you.

Worn out but you lifted your head to look at him, “Theo?”

“Hmm..”

“I think you are a sex addict babe…” you started. Your partner finally put his full attention on you, scoffing at your statement, “I think it started when I got the birth control- and I think we should take a break from having sex-“

“-NO!” Theo yelled, his eyes bulging out of their sockets. He narrows his dead eyes, “I promise baby I won’t fuck you again- all day- just please-“

You shook your head intending to stay true to what your intuition was telling you. You truly did believe this. He hasn’t been able to keep his hands off you! You loved Theo with all your heart and Merlin- did you love how his dick feels inside you- but it was becoming almost repetitive.

“Just two weeks.” You reassured him, “then we can have mind blowing sex, i promise.”

****

The boys plus Pansy and yourself were sitting in the common room and you were looking for a seat. You would sit on Theo’s lap but you didn’t want to encourage his actions. Thats when Mattheo spoke up, “Why do you sit on your mans lap, Y/N?”

This made your partner do a dark chuckle as he raised his brow, “yeah? why don’t you, baby?”

I look at Theo and roll my eyes, the boys howl and do their “ooos”. They know Theo doesn’t like it when I give him attitude. Simple obedience is what he likes.

“Sit. on. my. lap.”

You are a good girl for Theo- usually. You do as your told. You obey, you listen, you sit, you stand- all for him but not today. Why not today? Because you felt completely in control! Who knew with holding sex was a power move? Who knew you liked that?

“Tell the boys why I won’t do that, Theo.” You say still standing not even worried about having a seat now.

Enzo laughed clearly enjoying this and Draco snickered and with a sneer on his face he poked at your man, “come on mate, what happened?”

Theo sat up straight, he mumbled “She thinks I’m a sex addict- Y/N won’t let me fuck her for two weeks.”

All the boys including Pansy let out the loudest of cackled Ive ever heard and hearing it? I smirked looking down at my boyfriend as if I had won a game we weren’t even playing. Pansy was the one to interrupt this exchange.

“Wait, this is important, why do you think he’s a sex addict?” Pansy exclaimed and when you raised both your brows Theo looked away embarrassed for maybe the first time in his life.

At least he knows what he has done.

“Because Its only Wednesday and Theo and I have fucked 5 or more times now.”

Pansy gasped an actual gasp, clearly taken aback. “For fucks sake, Theodore, let her have a break!”

****

Enjoying toying with your boyfriend so much, you and Pansy decided to play with him a little bit. In time for dinner about a weak into your break you came in with a short little mini school girl skirt, your buttons on your white collared shirt undone, some high rise stockings and your tie undone.

This? This was a big deal. Your first time defying your boyfriend was when you didn’t sit on his lap. But dressing like this? This would usually land you for 20 spankings and not being able to finish.

You decided you sit with Pansy across the table from him and when you and Pansy walked up all the boys went silent- looking at Theo- knowing you had crossed a line.

“Hi baby,” you toy with him. Never do you call HIM baby. You aren’t in charge. You are HIS baby. Theo shook his head angrily.

“Don’t you dare “baby” ME, you know the rules!” He shouted at you and usually this would mean that you would be submissive and start apologizing profusely, not today. You winked at him, this seemed to fuel him more, “go change. now.”

“no, I don’t think i will.”

Pansy interrupted, “she looks hot? No?”

Mattheo staring at you mumbled, “I’ll say.” Theo gave him a pointed look. Immediately understanding a line had been crossed.

Theo raised and this was where your heart sank, you knew you fucked up. He leaned over the table and slammed his fist down onto it making everyone flinch- and you the hardest. “I said, go. change. now. Or else I won’t wait for this week to be over- and when im done with you- you WILL be begging for a break.”

and that ladies, gentlemen, others, is when you got your cute little ass up and ran to your dorm to change.

Now you were regretting your little break because your panties were soaked.

tagged: @midorissi @leilaleilaleilasblog @pizzaapeteer

[tenebraewrites]

ribs / bill farrah x reader

  I’d like to preface this by saying I love Darby and Bill beyond words -- but I wanted to start off with a one-shot/drabble  which my brain only saw through Bill x Reader. My unrealistic desire for Darby and Bill is to write about them spending the rest of their days solving crimes and living on the road. 

Anyway, for the sake of clarity, this is Bill x Reader, off on a road trip -- short musings and some tenderness in a motel room -- mildly nsfw!! <33 if anyone enjoys this i’ll probably flesh this out into an actual fic

   ----------

 Bill’s hand never wavers from its place atop your thigh - no matter the sharp turn he has to take, no matter the winding road he’s forced to slowly navigate. It rests upon your thigh, his fingers brushing beneath the hem of your skirt. Like all things with Bill, intimacy is an act of true tenderness; the circles he traces upon your skin send a flush down your neck, but they are foremost a simple, constant reminder of his affection.   

“We’ll be there in about ten.” Bill’s voice gently breaks through the quiet reverie of your thoughts. He accompanies this announcement with a gentle squeeze of your thigh, the corners of his lips twitching at the sigh of contentment that you can’t contain. 

Scoffing, you feign annoyance. “Shut up, Bill.” You shift in your seat, Bill’s hand dropping from your thigh. Rolling the window down a sliver, you let a small, tender stream blow across your skin. His hand returns, slowly inching across your thigh to make you laugh -- it resumes its natural place, and you fall back into quiet harmony. 

   He’s watching the road, and you’re watching him -- you’re counting his freckles again, thinking he’s gained three new ones. The radio offers the greatest source of sound in the car; Bill’s a focused driver, and the road makes you feel wonderfully melancholy. It isn’t sadness -- but your thoughts stir, faced with great expanses and endless roads. Bill’s presence is grounding, but it too, makes you reflective; you ponder your life before him, afraid to conceptualise one without him now. Bill told you once, late at night, curled into his side on a fractured hotel mattress, that he loves your moody tendencies . The parts of you that have deterred past lovers only endear you to him.

Your parents struggle to understand why you’ve become so wholly devoted to Bill - he is not the son in law they had dreamed of. His tattoos, dry ruminations on capitalism, his mullet; your parents can’t move past these things. You love them, still; it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks. Bill’s all you need. He’s a best friend, a companion, a lover, a partner in crime -- it took you a long time to realize that’s what the love of your life should be. 

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

   The motel you two are staying in would surely rank amongst the dredges of the hospitality business - but you’ve hardly noticed the flickering hallway lights, or how the water only runs ice cold. 

Bill’s lips are on yours, gently seeking you again and again; his kisses are soft, coaxing, pleading. Sitting on his lap, his chest is firmly pressed against yours -- his arms hold you to him tightly, as if an inch of space between you two would be a chief insult. His hands are beneath your sundress, canvassing the expanse of your back like its newfound territory; he treats your body like a wondrous delight every time you two make love. Your body is forced to alternate between the burning need you have for him, and the sweet heaven of this moment -- the endless kisses are the finest precursor to what is to come. When you’re laying across the bed, your limbs splayed as Bill works you with his mouth, this moment now will have played its part. 

Reflexively you brush against him, needing friction to relieve the burning need your thoughts have unleashed. Bill senses this (he knows, he always knows), a hand moving to untie your dress - the fabric gathers at the top of your chest, because you’re too inraptured with kissing to brush it aside. Your hands are cupping his jaw, tracing lines across his fine symmetry - your fingers find the tattoos upon his shoulders, tracing the ink you could identify in your sleep. 

Pulling away from him, you move forward to kiss his cheeks; you press your lips to the small tattoo lying there, pepper love bites against the soft skin beneath the curve of his jaw. Bill tenses beneath you, his grip upon you becoming desperate; his fingers press into your skin, as he drags you across his lap in a languid motion. 

Emboldened, you cease your ministrations; placing your lips to his ear, so that your breath will flush his skin, you tease him. “I feel your heart racing.” 

“Shut up.” You can feel his skin flushing, your cheek pressed against his. Shifting so that your hands can cup his face, you’re given a clear view of Bill’s warm cheeks -- he’s smiling at you, so wholly uninhibited and happy. 

“Yeah?” Your voice is tender, caressing the back of his neck.

“Yes.” Bill is succinct, his affirmation quickly accompanied by his lips finding yours once more; what was once a slow, aimless pace, has been quickened. His hands move to cup your breasts, his fingers brushing against your nipples; you moan, an aching feeling building in your core. 

It is always like this with Bill. It’ll never matter how many times you’ve had sex - it’ll never matter how many times he’s made you cum on a motel mattress. He’ll always worship you like it's the very first time. 

[thatbadadvice]

Help! My Girlfriend Bought Me A Million Dollar House And Raised My Kids And All I Got Was This Million Dollar House And Someone To Raise My Kids, When Is It Finally Going To Be My Turn To Get A Break??????

Pay Dirt, Slate, 17 April 2023:

Dear Pay Dirt, My longterm girlfriend and I disagree about whether a $30,000 inheritance left to her by her great-aunt should be “her” money or “our” money. She wants to spend a large part (almost a third!) of it on expensive supplies for her hobby. I think that we should save most of it and use some of it on a vacation since we both find traveling extremely romantic. My argument is: 1) I don’t care about her hobby, but we’ll both enjoy a trip abroad; 2) we’ve lived on only my (admittedly low, since it’s academia) income for over a decade, so according to her own rule about entitlement to “her” windfall, shouldn’t she technically have been entitled to none of my wages all these years? Her argument is: 1) she had to put aside her hobby for many years to raise our children (it’s not a safe art form for young kids to be around) and yearns to return to it; 2) she paid entirely in cash for our $950k house at the beginning of our partnership (though my income pays the property taxes and maintenance costs), therefore she alleges that we haven’t actually been living on solely my income because I’ve been saving on rent all these years. I feel resentful of the double standard about control over finances and hurt that she would rather prioritize her own joy over our shared joy. She feels impatient to reconnect with her hobby and hurt that her contributions to our lifestyle are unseen. How do we reconcile our different viewpoints? How should the money be allocated? Is there something that we’re missing? —I’m About to Glass(Blow) a Fuse

Dear About to (Glass)Blow a Fuse,

I hope you don't mind that I corrected your very clever parenthetical sign-off! You're understandably dealing with a lot of hurt right now at the hands of the cruel and self-absorbed girlfriend who bought you a million-dollar home and abandoned her beloved hobby to raise your children, so I totally get why a brilliant, overworked, and under-appreciated academic genius such as yourself would fuck up something so incredibly simple and obvious, you poor thing. Really speaks to the distress you're in as the victim of this woman's sordid scheme to steal every ounce of joy from your life by experiencing some of her own after decades of managing your household for you for free.

Great relationships are built on the exactly equal division of all resources, and it sounds like your girlfriend has trouble grasping this because she seems to believe that the home you live in and the time she has invested raising your children for you have value, when of course they do not. The only thing that has value in this world is cash money, which is why we call it money. If parenting were valuable, you'd be able to trade it on the stock market! And what was your girlfriend going to do, not live in a house? These are things she'd have done with her life anyway, and they don't get to count toward her contribution to the household just because she did them for and with you instead of expressly and specifically pursuing her art. Whereas who knows what you could have done with your life if you hadn't been locked into a free house and a partner dedicating herself full-time to keeping your children alive for you?

Now, after all these years of being nothing but a worthless freeloader whom you support out of the generous goodness of your kind heart, your girlfriend has finally acquired something of value, and she wants to keep an entire third of it for herself? To do something that doesn't directly benefit, enrich, or entertain you personally? That's not equity, and it's certainly no way to repay you for periodically writing checks to the plumber. Isn't it about time you finally got something out of all of this for your trouble?

What benefit is there for you in having a partner who enjoys the sweet satisfaction of creative fulfillment after years of yearning to express herself? What kind of weirdo wants their girlfriend to have her own interests? And what kind of ungrateful hussy doesn't jump to spend thousands of her own money on a romantic vacation with someone who actively resents even entertaining the possibility of the idea of her doing something that makes her artistic spirit sing?

The balance sheet of this relationship is indeed all out of whack, and it's too bad that it's taken this long for your girlfriend to see just how uneven your bargain has been. If we're going to get technical about what has "value" in a relationship — and it does seem like your girlfriend is an inveterate bean-counter in the worst way around this stuff — the best way to reconcile your mutual account, as it were, is to present your girlfriend with an itemized bill for all the services you have provided her over the years, such as allowing her to buy you a home, permitting her to forego a wage-earning career, and gifting her with the opportunity to abandon her favorite hobby. That should pretty swiftly put everything you're "missing" in stark relief, and solve the question of how she should allocate her money in the future.