#like. have you seen a real woman. outside. in the wild. have you seen a fat person before…

[moiled-spilk]

sometimes I’ll see people say some shit like “GOONER ART STYLE!!!!! PORN ADDICT!!!!!!!” and it’s literally just a drawing of a fat woman who is proportionally accurate

[senseofnewness]

lovesick!patrick zweig because why not

• when he first saw you at the academy, he knew he had to have you, there was something mesmerizing about the way you moved, running off the court with your racket in hand, your tennis skirt fluttering with each stride, revealing the hem of your shorts that barely covered your perky ass

• sure he was a horny boy and the mere sight of the bare skin of your thighs drove him wild, but there was something so irresistibly attractive about your obliviousness to your own beauty, you were simply playing, enjoying yourself, completely unaware of the effect you had on him

• he finally gathered the courage to introduce himself, seizing upon a stray ball as his excuse, you smiled, a radiant beam showcasing your perfect, pearly white teeth and plump glossy lips, his breath hitched, heart skipped a beat, in that moment he not only stuttered saying his own name but envisioned you moaning it in his ear later on tonight

• at first, the attraction was purely physical, your stunning beauty evident in your little tennis dress that embraced your godly proportions, your long, graceful hair tied back in a tight ponytail, your legs moving swiftly across the court, and your hands gripping the racket so tightly that he longed for his cock to replace it soon enough

• he later found out that you were not only the hottest woman he had ever seen, you were also smart, witty, passionate and caring, you made him laugh with every comment you sent his way when you meet him at the water fountain, your little unofficial meeting place

• he began to perform small gestures to show his affection : fetching extra water bottles for you, offering you snacks during breaks, and even staying late to help you practice your serve, you noticed, of course, and you liked the attention

• one evening, as you confided your doubts about going pro, he struggled to offer encouraging words, relating a bit too much, but hoped the soothing sensation of his hand stroking your arm provided the comfort you needed, while it had the opposite effect on him, he was on fire

• he spent hours talking with you after practice, every night, about your lives, dreams, and desires, feeling closer to you than ever, you were now more than just a crush, he adored everything about you, from the way you giggled to the playful slap you gave him when he flirted a bit too openly

• after some pep talk from art, he decided to make his intentions clearer with you, waiting for you to get changed after practice and grabbing your hand to lead you outside to talk, he confessed he liked you, and you simply answered "why", leaving him at a loss for words as there wasn't any real explanation for love

• he pulled you into a long lingering kiss, a kiss so sweet that his heart shattered a little because he knew something so good could not last forever, "i don't have time to date" you told him, "i can wait until you have time" he assured you

• you didn't have time to date, but you always found time to get yourself cornered somewhere, your arms wrapped around patrick's neck and his hands on the small of your back as you kissed passionately

• hands started wandering and soon, it was getting harder to breath for him when your hands were so dangerously close to his length, almost fondling him, he had been a good boy until now but you're tempting him to be bad

• he went to your matches and you went to his, but he found out rather quickly after a match you couldn't attend that your absence was causing him to lose, his mind filled with questions about your whereabouts instead of focusing on the ball and his racket

• while he knew there was nothing official between you two, you had made it clear, why did it break his heart to see you talk with other men? sure, he did see other girls from time to time to take care of the blue balls you gave him, but weren't you the one with no time to date?

• in the midst of the season, you were excelling while he struggled, and he couldn't help but blame it all on you, he confronted you, pleading for a chance to have you, just once, one night, so he could purge you from his system and return to his former self

• "i'm not fucking you patrick" you said, rolling your eyes at him "why not" he asked, nibbling his lower lip "because i know you like me and you will want more" that was probably true "that's not true. and even if it was, what would be so wrong about it?" you both were attracted to each others and consenting adults "we're both about to go on tour! i need to focus" you sighed, "would i distract you?" he asked, pleased, a smirk on his lips "well, yes" you admitted, a boy was the last thing you needed

• he made you promise to revisit the subject after the tour, you agreed but only on the condition that he would win, you knew he needed the motivation but to be quite honest, you weren't so sure he was still capable of it, so you told him that any match won was a step closer to your 'divine' and 'life changing' pussy and he regained his confidence

• the following week, you both left the state, competing in different tournaments, but kept track of each other’s achievements, true to your promise, you sent him nude pictures after each victory, it began with just your breasts, and now he had a full view of your cunt

• he had looked at the pictures so often that he could swear they were burned into the inside of his eyelids, his post-match routine had turned into an endless session of masturbation, all thanks to your pictures

• thoughts of you lingered in his mind daily, coloring every moment with excitement, when he saw you on tv, his pulse quickened, and a smile effortlessly found its place on his lips, but then he remembered that you were still not his and it was breaking him

• and then he was in town at the same time as you and you gave in, it had been so long and tour was lonely, he was some warm comfort and you missed him, kinda, he knew it, so he gave you his all to prove to you that he was the one for you, the perfect guy to fulfill your needs

• he never felt that before with any girl, with your legs resting on his shoulders while he was ramming into you like a maniac, it all made sense, he felt like he was finally complete, like it was always meant to be, and it felt so good, you came, he came and so it happened again, and again, and again, and again

• he suddenly stopped fucking other girls, he wanted you to know he was serious about you, ready to settle down, get married and have kids, but the truth was that no one would ever be able to make his eyes roll back into his head and his thighs tremble like you did when you rode him

• he didn't want to play anymore, literally and figuratively, so he slowly stopped qualifying for tournaments to focus on you, to come watch your matches, he was always there, making sure you were stretched and hydrated, and he always cheered for you the loudest

• before competitions, you were always so tense and he found out that eating your cunt helped with that, he made it his life mission to make you the most relaxed girl on earth, he spent hours sucking on your clit, and you were, without a doubt, the most delicious meal he ever had

• when you lost matches, he also made sure to be there for you, holding you tight, cuddling you in bed, reassuring you that you were the best player in the world, and he was right, you were, you played with his heart like nobody else, but in those moments, he was pretty sure that he was madly in love with you and you would fall for him too

• he told you, you laughed it off, he told you again, what did he know about love? all you knew was that he was the guy who never grew up and was throwing his career away for a stupid teenage obsession

• you were eating lunch when you asked him "tennis is what you want, right?" he nodded, but the truth was that you were the only thing he truly desired, tennis seemed dull next to you. "you need to focus, you're playing like shit" you tried to be harsh to wake him up but he already knew that, but he could not do anything about it, it was your fault

• all he could do was thinking about you, enjoying the few moments he got to be with you when you were in town, he couldn't even afford to fly over to see you anymore, so he waited for you to come back, and he made sure to fall asleep inside of you each time, that way you would not leave in the middle of the night without saying goodbye

• he was not even a tennis player anymore, he barely played while you spent your time out of state or out of the country winning, sexting with patrick had lost its savour, it used to be exciting but now it just felt like it was holding you back, you were meeting new people and he was still the guy who followed you around like a puppy when you were 20

• years passed and getting back into tennis was hard for patrick, his body was rusty and he lacked motivation, you were not here to coach him to be better anymore, he had not seen you in years, plus, the fact that you had met someone, a tennis player, the kind who wins competitions, not a loser like him, was not helping, so what was the point in trying? he simply didn't know what else to do

• you went on with your life, he watched your radiant smile dazzle him from the TV screen as you held the trophy, a ring on your finger, a bittersweet ache filled him, a reminder of what might have been but never had been

• he mourned the love that slipped through his fingers, much like his career appeared to fade with each passing match, yet, amidst it all, he found a flicker of solace in knowing that you were happy, despite the fact that you should have been happy with him

[winchesterwild78]

Austin Nights

Characters: Jensen Ackles x Reader, Steve Carlson-mentioned, Radio Company Band mentioned.

Warnings: SMUT! Unprotected sexual contact, (cover it up), oral sex

A/N: The wonderful, amazing, beautiful, sweaty photos of Jensen at the Radio Company concerts gave me this idea. This is just pure SMUT and FANTASY! Sorry not sorry, but that man makes me FERAL! Never in my wildest dreams did I think I’d find a man dripping with sweat so attractive my common sense flies out the window and I’d be willing to lick him dry. 🤭 Sorry, so yeah, this story does not depict real life. (Much to my dismay. 😀) Written fast and edited fast, please overlook any errors. Do not copy or take my work.

Minors DNI 18+

The lights dimmed, casting long, dancing shadows across the intimate venue. The crowd roared as Radio Company took the stage, but for Jensen, he couldn’t take his eyes off the woman who stood in the front row surrounded by her group of friends. 

He’d seen you laughing and dancing when Louden Swain was on stage, and he was instantly drawn to you. Backstage before Jensen and Steve took to the stage, Steve asked Jensen what had him so mesmerized. Jensen smiled and nodded his head towards you. 

He couldn’t tell what color eyes you had, but he knew they sparkled when you laughed. Finally the moment you had been waiting for, Radio Company was on about to play. You’d been a fan of Jensen’s for years, and you couldn’t pass up the opportunity to come see him in such an intimate setting. 

Your friends and you were able to snag tickets before they sold out, and you were waiting at the front row with baited breath. 

Steve and Jensen came on stage and introduced everyone in the band. You watched every move Jensen made and when the two of you locked eyes on each other, your breath hitched. Jensen would flash that killer smile, you’d blush and look away. Your friends were laughing when they saw you turn red. 

“I think Jensen’s checking you out, Y/N.” Your friend squealed. You laughed, “Yeah right, you’re dreaming.” 

As the night wore on the venue was getting hot and sweat was running down your body. Jensen was just as sweaty. You couldn’t help but bite your lip at the sight of his damped hair, sweat trickling down his neck and dipping below the collar of his shirt. 

Jensen ran his fingers through his wet hair and the wet strands fell around the curves of his face. As he continued singing, goosebumps erupted on your skin and you could feel the arousal settling in your core. 

Jensen’s voice was magnetic and every note his sang pulled you closer to him. The two of you would lock eyes and you’d bite your lip. When Jensen sang “Ain’t No Telling” he stared at you the whole time. 

His body moved with perfect rhythm to each song and all you could think of was how his body would feel above or under yours. You clenched your thighs together, feeling your growing arousal. 

When Jensen started gyrating the room went wild. He moved his hips and body back and forth like he was taking you in the best possible way. You licked your lips and your breath quickened. 

As the concert came to an end you needed to find a way to cool off. You told your friends you’d meet them outside, and you went to the restroom. Standing at the sink, you splashed water on your face and chest. Your shirt was soaked from sweat and water, and you could clearly see your blue lace bra through the wet material. 

Walking out of the bathroom you ran into something solid, well, someone. It was Jensen. He grabbed your arms to prevent you from falling, and his touch sent electricity and goosebumps through your body. 

His smell was intoxicating, it was a mixture of his cologne, sweat, beer and mint gum. Your walls quivered with anticipation. “Hi, I’m Jensen, and you are?” He flashed his smile at you. “I’m Y/N, it’s nice to officially meet you.” You shook his hand. “I’m sorry I ran into you. I should have been paying attention.” He smiled, “It’s okay darling. So did you enjoy the show tonight?” 

“Oh yes, very much. It was unbelievable. You sounded incredible.” You smiled softly at Jensen as he stepped closer to you. He cupped your face and leaned in closer. He was looking between your lips and your eyes. You licked your lips and leaned closer.

Jensen’s lips pressed softly against yours, his hands finding your hair, and your hands sliding behind his neck and your fingers running through his damp hair. He deepened the kiss by swiping his tongue over your lip, you parted your mouth allowing him entrance. 

As the kiss heated up, you moaned into his mouth. He backed you into a room, kicking the door shut with his foot and he locked it. Once inside The two of you started shedding clothes like they were on fire. Jensen pressed your naked body against the cold wall and a shiver went down your body. 

Jensen’s fingers were trailing down your body and his lips kissed down your neck to your breasts. His tongue flicked each nipple, causing it to harden. You could feel your arousal running down your thighs. 

Your head tilted back as Jensen’s fingers found your folds and slipped between them. “Oh Jensen,” You whispered. Jensen’s finger slipped inside you and you moaned. He began moving his thick digit in and out, hooking it up and hitting your g-spot. You moved your hips in time with his movements, chasing your release.

Jensen slipped in another finger, causing you to gasp. His movement became faster as he felt your walls tighten. “Oh God, yes!” He moaned. “Tell me what you want sweetheart.” “You, please I want you to fill me up.” “Mmm, not yet baby girl, cum for me first. I want to feel you come undone on my fingers.”

You panted as Jensen hooked his fingers inside you and with each thrust he pushed you closer to your release. Jensen leaned into your ear “Cum for me baby, let go.” You came hard and he kept pumping, causing you to scream out in ecstasy.

Jensen kissed your lips with a smirk on his face, “That’s it baby, let it all go.” You felt yourself cum again and your legs started to tremble. 

Your body responded to his touch like no other man. You opened your eyes and took in his gorgeous toned body and saw his hardened length. You licked your lips with anticipation. The need to feel him inside you was growing with every second, but you really wanted to taste him too. 

You dropped to your knees, taking his length in your hand, you licked the pink tip of his engorged cock. He sucked in air and instinctively grabbed your head when you started sucking him down your throat. He started fucking your mouth fast, causing tears to well in your eyes. 

“Fuck, that feels so good!” Jensen moaned. You took him deep down your throat, using your tongue to lick and swirl around his shaft. As you pulled his cock out you let it pop a bit. A little string of spit and precum formed between your mouth and his cock. 

You looked up at him and his eyes were dark with lust. Jensen helped you up and pushed you back towards the couch. As your legs hit the couch, you fell down. You giggled and Jensen laughed. You laid back on the couch and Jensen climbed between your legs. 

He positioned his cock to your entrance and pushed in. Both of you gasped, your hands gripped his shoulders, and his head fell to the crook of your neck. “Damn sweetheart, you feel so incredible.” 

“Please, Jensen.” You begged. “Please what?” “I need you to move, I want to feel every inch of you, please.” “Mmm I like you begging.” He smirked. Jensen bottomed out and you gasped. He pulled out and pushed back in, pushing you further into the cushion. Your legs wrapped around him as he pushed deeper inside you. Every thrust, every inch pushing in and hitting that spot again. 

Jensen pulled you up with him and your legs were on either side of his thighs. You steadied yourself on his length by holding onto his broad shoulders. You started bouncing up and down, taking every inch of his cock deep inside. Each bounce you could feel Jensen’s cock hitting your cervix. Your breasts were bouncing and Jensen’s hands were gripping your hips tightly. You knew you’d have bruises tomorrow. His mouth sucked on your nipples as you threw your head back grinding your body into him. 

Jensen flipped you back over onto your back. Your body and his body were glistening with sweat. You could feel your release building again. The sound of panting and moans mingled in the air with the sounds of flesh hitting flesh. “Oh fuck, Y/N, you feel so good. Your pussy stretching around me and taking every inch of me.” You felt your release close, “Jensen, I’m gonna cum.” “Me too, fuck! Cum with me.” With one final thrust, Jensen came as your release hit. Your walls clenching around his length, milking his hot seed out, as he coated your walls.

As Jensen began to soften, he pulled out. Spilling some of his seed out onto the couch. He grabbed some towels and cleaned you up, then him. He wiped the couch up and threw the towel to the side. 

“You were amazing, Y/N. Damn that felt good.” Your face was blushed with redness from heat and sex, “You weren’t half bad yourself, Ackles.” You grinned at him. 

“Oh, not half bad? Okay, I guess we’re gonna have to go another round then.” He smiled as he kissed your lips. You grinned, “I think I can handle that, but let’s go home first. I’d rather be in our bed.”

The two of you got dressed and before Jensen unlocked the door he kissed you again, “The kids are staying at Jared and Gen’s house tonight, so I’ve got you all to myself, Mrs. Ackles.” “Good, because I’m not finished with you yet, Mr. Ackles.” 

He laughed and kissed your forehead, grabbing your hand and walking with you towards the car. “I love you, Y/N.” “I love you too, Jens.”

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[scarltzwitch]

BETWEEN CLAWS AND CHALLENGES — LOGAN HOWLETT.

PAIRING: Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader.

SUMMARY: Logan meets a young woman during a cage fight. Despite his reluctance to hit her, she challenges him to a fight.

The underground fight club was buzzing with excitement. Lights flickered over the steel cage, and the atmosphere was charged with adrenaline. Cheers and shouts filled the air as Logan Howlett, known as Wolverine, prepared for the next fight.

Logan stooned in his corner, his andamantium claws gleaming under the lights. His opponent, a burly fighter with an aggressive style was stretching and getting ready for the match. The crowd wass wild with anticipation.

A figure caught his eyes in the crowd. A young woman watched from a corner. Her presence was commanding, with an air of strenght that radiated from her. She possessed extraordinary strength and agility, her movements a blend of grace and power, honed by intense training.

The young brunette approached the cage. Its was her first time challenging someone as formidable as Logan, but her determination was clear. She wanted to test her recent discoveries about her own powers and see just how far she could go.

The fight began with a intensity that took everyone with surprise. Logan, though hesitant to hit a woman, couldn't help but be impressed by her skill and strength. She dodged with agility and countered his attacks with notable force.

Meanwhile, the burly fighter in the corner of The cage couldn't contain his curiosity.

“Who is this intruder daring to challenge Logan?”

The young woman met his gaze unflinchingly. “I’m someone who’s been waiting for the right moment to prove herself. You’re just another step on my path.”

Logan, with a mix of surprise and respect, turned to her.

“So you came here to challenge me? I have to admit, this is not something I expected.”

“Then,” she replied with a defiant smile, “get ready for a challenge. I’m not here just to entertain you, but to prove I have what it takes.”

Logan nodded, intrigued by her attitude. “I wouldn’t expect less. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

The fight continued with both fighters showcasing their skills to the fullest. Logan threw powerful and quick strikes, but the young woman moved with fluid grace, absorbing and countering each attack with impressive skill.

During a brief pause, Logan approached her with a look of admiration. “I’ve never seen someone so determined in the ring. Where did you get that drive?”

She panted slightly, but her gaze remained steady. “I came here with a purpose. Not just to fight, but to challenge my own limits. Sometimes, you only learn when faced with a true test.”

Logan smiled, nodding. “You’ve got guts. And you’ve managed to keep me on edge.”

She returned his smile, her face reflecting the satisfaction of the fight. “Thanks. This was a real challenge.”

Logan watched her for a moment, feeling the adrenaline still coursing through him. “So, what’s next?”

She stepped closer with a playful glint in her eyes. “I’d invite you for a beer, but only if you can keep up. What do you say?”

Logan raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

“Is that a challenge?”

“Something like that,” she replied with a mischievous grin and smiling.

“It’s not a fight, but it won’t be easy to keep up with me.”

Logan look at her with a mix of respect and curiosity.

“I accept the challenge. Let’s see if you can keep up outside the ring.”

They left the fight club together, leaving the cage behind, with a new connection beginning to form between them.

@ipreferreadingtocope

It might not be the best one-shot, but I made my small effort. Apologies for any errors it might have. But I hope you enjoy it.

— Lily. 💜

[moongreenlight]

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley who despite his better judgement lets Soap talk him into picking up a girl for the night.

Mdni. Nsfw below cut.

Apparently Soap knows a guy who knows a guy in the area they’re deployed. They’d been staying at some shithole inn in France for weeks. Driving into the city to stake out some mark day in and day out. Tedious, mind-numbing work. Sitting at cafes and on patios at pubs people watching. Looking for anyone that may or may not match the vague description that had been provided by some mole on the other side.

Simon could sit still and shut up. Johnny was a separate issue. He could dial in for a few hours at a time, but then he’d start to slip. Bored and antsy, he’d try and strike up conversation. Inevitably returning to what must have been his favorite topic, or the one thing plaguing his mind the most. He’s horny. Fucking hell, is he horny.

Bitching and whining about not being able to get any play here because he doesn’t speak a lick of French and even when he tries it comes out so muddied that nobody takes him seriously. And that the inn they’re set up at is years away from town. Paints him out to be a serial killer.

Simon would grind his teeth and endure yet another one-sided talk about how bored Johnny had been getting of his hand. Even the left one wasn’t doing the trick anymore. He’d resorted to calling in some favors he was apparently owed to get the help of some girls in his evenings off.

“Jesus. Lookit the legs on her.”

Johnny had almost fallen out of his chair swiveling his entire body to watch some girl in a short skirt and a long trench coat stride past their spot outside of a cafe.

“Mhm.”

Simon was in a better spot to watch her pass. Eyeing her frame from over the rim of his steaming mug of tea. Fucking dreadful day. Drizzling rain. Bordering on sleet because of how miserable the weather was. Cloudy with a breeze that felt bitterly cold even through his coat. Shit tea, too. He couldn’t help but allow his mind to wander.

Not like they’d made any progress. Not like they could make any progress being staked out on a side street with no traffic whatsoever. The girl had been the only person other than their server that they’d seen come by in the last half hour. And sure, she had good legs. Better than their server’s at least. Some cranky older woman who’d ignored his attempts to order in French and looked mugged off that she had to deal with them at all, especially sat outside in this weather.

“Hell’s bells. Almost forgot you had a brain in there somewhere.”

Johnny, of course, couldn’t resist making a dig.

“Don’t get carried away.”

Simon grunted.

“Naw. C’mon, L.T. You like girls? They’ve got girls.”

Should have predicted that he was going to run wild with this.

“M’warnin’ you.”

“Loads of girls. Fuckin’ customizable. Send you a preference sheet and everything. Real professional operation.”

Johnny snickered into his paper coffee cup. Given to him along with a nasty look when he’d fidgeted with the ceramic mug he’d first had a bit too much and sent it smashing into the pavement.

Simon wasn’t one to be jerked around cock-first like Johnny, but Jesus. He was wearing thin. Maybe the isolation was getting to him. Maybe a seed had been planted somewhere deep in his mind from Johnny’s moaning. Not to mention, it was impossible to get it up watching French cable porn on a twin bed. He was backed-up and pissed off with the work. And with no end in sight, it could push a man to do strange things.

He shifted his hips forward in his seat, taking a long drink of his tea as he scanned the empty street for the umteenth time.

“Haven’t used up all your favors?”

You would have thought he’d just backhanded Johnny the way his eyes bugged out of his head.

“Gie’s a break.”

“Jus’ a question.”

Simon shrugged, sighing like he was already regretting asking. He was.

“Don’t work me up over nothin’, L.T.”

Johnny grinned, waggling his brows and leaning his forearms onto the table. Now completely distracted from the task at hand.

“Johnny.”

“Sure I could work somethin’ out. Only ‘cause I’m feelin’ generous. Ken yer a’right owing me a favor?”

Simon snorted.

“Sure I can manage.”

Johnny’s eyes were glinting something awful. More lively than he’d been in days. Practically laying over the table and kicking his feet. Thrilled to finally have the means to something Simon wanted.

“We’ll see about that’.”

Conversation moved on. Dragged back to the mission with instruction to change location. They spent a full ten hours out in the rain and the cold and the grey for absolutely no payout. Again. Still at square goddamn one. It was arguably worse than combat. Least on a real mission he’d get some release.

Johnny had stepped away in the early evening to make a call. Just before they were tapped out by Price and Gaz. Likely cashing in his favors owed, because he came back with a smug smile and two pints. Saying something about how Simon needed to quit taking himself so seriously. All work and no play or some stupid shit to that tune. Made a comment in passing on their drive back to the inn about how he should get his quarters decent by nine.

Honestly, Simon wasn’t expecting much. It was a bit of a ridiculous concept to him to begin with. He’d regretted saying anything straight after the words had left his mouth. He wasn’t sure he’d even be able to entertain some two-bit whore, even if she just served to curb his boredom. He never sought out things like this. Never felt the need. He wasn’t like Johnny or Gaz where he had to sneak off during missions for a wank or a quick fuck when time allowed. Not like Price where he’d seek a willing nurse or secretary to grope or bend over his desk on a day off. Sure, he’d take the opportunity if it arose, but he was always more focused on the job while he was at work rather than chasing his next high.

And he couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken anyone home. Fucked into his hand as much was necessary to keep everything operational. Knew when it was time when he started lashing out on a hairpin trigger. Got lazy on missions. Lost one too many sparring matches during training because he couldn’t focus.

So when nine came and went, he just found himself agitated that he’d requested the woman at the front desk change the sheets on his bed again so late. Ducking out to the balcony for a cigarette when she came in and slipping her a few euros on her way out despite the way her lip curled distastefully. Fucking frogs.

He was sat on the armchair in the corner of his room. Halfway paying attention to whatever channel was on the TV across from him and nursing a tumbler of shit whiskey he’d picked up from the shops their first night in. Swapped his mission clothes for a black tee shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants. Tugging his balaclava over his face out of pure habit. Strictly instructed not to wear it out for the sake of keeping a low profile. Though he wasn’t sure how much good that did. He stood out from the crowd with his scars and crooked nose and tattoos without the covering. Whatever. Wardrobe wasn’t his job for a reason he supposed.

The sharp knock on his door grated heavily on his last nerve. Eliciting a low growl, but no movement to answer. It was half ten at this point. He wasn’t expecting anyone. Probably just another group of teenagers lost on their way to a friend’s room.

Another knock, and this time it didn’t stop. A muffled giggle through the door.

“Jesus Christ.”

He grumbled, shoving up and striding over to the door. Jerking the door open and using his hulking frame to cover the small opening he allowed.

Johnny’s fist nearly collided with Simon’s jaw. Distracted by the two girls stood behind him in the hall, giggling at him and batting their lashes. He was grinning like a goddamned devil. Chest puffed-out, shoulders rolled back. Entirely too comfortable.

Simon cocked a brow, giving the group a scornful once-over.

“Aye, L.T.! I come bearing gifts.”

Simon’s brow shot up further, eyes flicking from his friend to each of the girls behind him. Johnny immediately caught on to his confusion and barked a laugh, slinging his arm around the shoulder of the girl on the left. She sunk comfortably into position, leaning into him and giggling like it had been rehearsed.

She was pretty. Both of the girls were. The one tucked under Johnny’s arm had long auburn hair tumbling over her shoulders. Bright green eyes. Great smile. Perfectly groomed. Both of them covered conservatively by long coats to protect from the rain that had gradually started to come down harder and colder through the day. Hard to tell they were hooking by looking at them.

They seemed more familiar with Johnny than what Simon could assume was normal. It made his stomach turn if he thought too much into it, so he didn’t. Instead he side stepped, allowing the second girl barely enough room to slip through the door, and jerked his head for her to move.

“S’pose I know better than to expect a thank you.”

Johnny grinned, entirely unbothered by Simon’s glare that was boring through his skull. Arm already wandering down the auburn haired girl’s back at an alarming speed.

“Not as dim as you look, Sargent.”

Simon sighed, snapping the door shut.

“You’re late.”

He said flatly before he’d even finished locking the door. Turning to face the girl who’d already made herself comfortable on the edge of his bed. Leaned back on her hands, flashing him a dazzling smile.

“Throwing off your schedule, am I?”

You said, voice dripping with honeyed sarcasm. This made Simon recoil slightly. He’d been expecting some trashy, mildly-disgusting woman to come stumbling through the door when Johnny had mentioned he was cashing in favors. Not you. Not by a long shot. You looked, for lack of a better word, spoiled. Expensive. Perfectly styled, glossy hair. A tasteful amount of makeup. Not so much that it marred your features, but enough to make you nearly unapproachably attractive. And relatively covered-up. Expensive looking fur-trimmed coat falling just above your ankle.

Noticeable lack of a French accent. And you weren’t cowering in his presence, which suggested that you’d dealt with worse than him. A thought that sent something strange down his spine. Jealousy maybe? Anger? Sympathy? He wasn’t in the mood to dig further into that.

He crossed the room, lowering himself back into the armchair he’d been stationed in before his night was interrupted.

“You’re an hour and a half late.”

His tone was clipped. His eyes cold and hard. Fixed directly on you in an almost invasive kind of eye-contact. He jerked up his balaclava to his nose to take a deep drink from his glass. Studying you from over the rim. Killing the contents and setting it back on the side table with a soft thud.

You pursed your lips for a fraction of a second, standing from the corner of the bed and pacing across the small room to stand in front of him. Threatening to encroach on his personal space. Smiling tightly in a way that seemed to come with a practiced nonchalance. That same feeling settled in the center of his stomach.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. I got caught up.”

Your soft, sweet tone did nothing to tame his irritation.

“They couldn’t even send a professional?”

He shot back tersely, folding his arms over his chest. You cocked your head slightly to the side. A fraction of genuine humor peeking through your smile.

“Plenty professional.”

You shrugged, letting the comment roll off of you. Water off a duck’s back. It irritated Simon to no end and he couldn’t pinpoint why. Trying to settle his mind by watching the way your perfectly manicured fingers began to work on slowly undoing the buttons of your coat with careful attention.

He snorted, tugging his balaclava back down over his jaw.

“That your thing, then?”

You gestured to his face covering. Shrugging off your coat to reveal a fucking scrap of a dress. Much more in-line with what he’d imagined a hooker to wear. A tiny, black, strapless thing that hugged your curves like it had been sewn directly onto you. Black lace garter pulled high on your thigh. Knee-height black boots that must have made you four inches taller than you were.

He cocked a brow, tapping a finger on the arm of his chair.

“Somethin’ like that.”

You cracked a true smile at that. Folding your coat neatly in your arms before setting it on the beat-up dresser to his right. Returning attentively to your spot in front of him.

He stiffened. Already perfect posture becoming rigid to the point of snapping. Keeping his hands firmly planted on either arm of the chair. Narrowing his eyes as he looked over your face in much closer detail.

“It’s late.”

Was all he managed. Voice rough as ever.

“And?”

You tilted your head like a confused dog.

“And you were an hour and a half late. It’s late.”

He shot back dryly. Nails digging into the chair.

“Let me make it up to you.“

You sank to your knees just between his legs surprisingly gracefully given how tight your dress was. Falling delicately onto the disgusting carpet. Faded and torn and fraying. Scratching at your bare knees. Didn’t even pull a face. Conditioned to understand that this was normal. Trained to grin and bear it. Another stone added to the weight anchoring him to his seat.

It was horribly cliche. Such a painfully tacky line, but he wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth; so he shifted his hips forward and allowed your slender fingers to dance up his thighs and dip under the waistband of his sweatpants. Aided you in tugging them down to his ankles. Grit his teeth together when you began palming him through his underwear. Trying not to catch your eyes that were fixed up on him. Trying to push the nagging voice in the back of his mind away. Reminding him of just how dirty this was. Made him feel fucking pathetic. Calling in the aid of a hooker like he couldn’t bed a girl himself.

And the worst part. The part that brought up the most self-loathing; was how fucking fast the blood was racing to his cock under your touch. How much he truly enjoyed seeing you knelt down and blinking up at him with a look that could have been confused for adoration. Maybe you were a professional.

He sucked in a sharp breath through his nose when you finally sprung his aching cock free from his boxers. Forcing his head back to avoid your gaze. Pressing it hard against the wall to the point of giving himself a headache. Scarring the soft wood of the chair’s arms with his nails when you licked a hot stripe from his base to the tip.

All of his guilt and knotted up emotions seemed to dissolve themselves at least partially when you wrapped your lips around him. He’d almost forgotten just how warm a mouth was. Infinitely better than his hand. Jesus, was it.

He kept his hands to himself. Not needing to guide you like he had so many others. Tried to let himself relax under the feeling of your hand gripping his base and your mouth working his tip. And he nearly did get swept away when you removed your hand and tried to force his stiff cock to the back of your throat. Allowing you to work at choking and gagging around him for longer than was probably polite. But again, he just found himself irritated. Edging himself out of pure goddamn accident because no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t force himself from his mind.

He couldn’t understand why you were such a sticking point to him. He’d had one night stands before. Hell, that’s all he’d had. Never cared much about the quality or condition or history of the girls he slept with. Maybe he had a savior complex he was too stubborn to admit to. Maybe his mind had been so warped and addled over the years that he formed some kind of baseless connection with you for God knew what reason. He just couldn’t fucking stop thinking about you.

He would have liked to. Would have liked to screw his eyes shut and focus on how good you felt wrapped around him. Mouth hot and wet. Wanted to focus on the ecstasy of your throat struggling to fit him. Listen to your soft, choked whines. Let himself pretend you were no different to the others he’d bedded before, but it was fruitless. He made a low sound, a growl that lodged itself somewhere in his chest, before taking your jaw in his hand and pulling you off of him. Cock still throbbing like it had its own heartbeat.

“You need to go.”

He made the mistake of glancing down. Saw the way your perfect makeup had begun smearing around your eyes and down your cheeks just barely. Big eyes rimmed with tears. Nose running, chin and lips glistening. Slick from your own spit. It nearly pushed him over the edge, but he knew inevitably he was prolonging his own torture.

“What?”

Your voice was hoarse because of how much strain your throat had been under. Softer than it had been. Less confident. You looked almost hurt. Wiping your mouth on the back of your hand and sniffing softly. Jaw held fixed in his hand.

“You need to go.”

He repeated, firmer this time. Sucking his teeth. Trying to ignore the way your gentle panting cooled the shining trails of spit running down his shaft and sent a chill up his spine.

Your face twisted in confusion, mouth falling open. Leaning back on your haunches to look him over like he’d suddenly grown another head.

“Is it not good?”

He groaned softly, finally letting go of your head. Not realizing just how much effort it had taken for him to pull you off until he saw the small red marks decorating the delicate skin of your jaw.

“S’fine.”

“Fine?”

You looked properly offended. A little confused. Like this had never happened before- and it probably hadn’t. Of course he’d be the one to stain your perfect record. Of course he’d be the one to warp your pretty face like that. Drove him up the fucking wall.

He fought the urge to roll his eyes. Now he was backed-up, pissed off, and you wouldn’t leave as easily as he would’ve liked. If he was lucky, he’d still have half a hard-on by the time he got you out the door. Maybe coax out a less than satisfying orgasm that would at least put him to sleep.

“Gave myself lockjaw for fine?”

You spoke again, those same nimble fingers now gently massaging the hinge of your jaw. He tried to avoid looking at the way your dress bunched around your hips and revealed your panties. Black lace that matched the garter on your thigh.

“It’s late.”

He huffed a sigh. Leaning down to fumble in his sweatpants pocket for a cigarette and a lighter. Needing anything else to focus on. It brought him nearly nose to nose with you. Not realizing until he flicked his eyes up. And you didn’t recoil. Sat there half glaring at him, the tip of your nose almost brushing his through the balaclava. You were pretty even this close. Probably more so.

“You’ve said.”

You shot back cooly, brows knit together.

“Have I?”

He pulled back up, hooking his mask up over his nose once more and sticking the cigarette between his teeth.

“Few times.”

You looked wholly unamused. He flicked his lighter open. Lighting the tip and taking a deep drag.

“Meant it a few times.”

He shrugged, speaking through his exhale. Turning his chin up and away from you so the curling smoke didn’t wash over you.

You snorted, pushing up to your feet, putting your hands on your hips and giving him a once-over.

“You’re seriously asking me to leave?”

His teeth sunk into the butt of the cigarette just a fraction too hard. He felt the crunch of the filter bending under the force.

“S’not you, it’s me.”

He offered. A wisp of a dry smile tugging momentarily at the corner of his lips. This earned another smile from you. He caught it even through the way you chewed the inside of your cheek.

“You married?”

His eyes narrowed slightly. He almost choked on the cloud of smoke he’d been drawing in.

“No.”

His voice was harsh. Like a string pulled taught to the point of snapping.

“So what is it? You don’t like me?”

You shifted your weight a bit, but he could tell it wasn’t because you were uncomfortable. You still held yourself confidently. Shoulders rolled back, posture straight but not stiff.

“Bloody hell.”

He groaned, rubbing his brow.

“Is that it, then?”

You prodded further.

“No.”

You seemed thoroughly dissatisfied with his answers. But he didn’t know what else he could say. You seemed fine. Pretty girl. Got him closer to an orgasm than he’d come in weeks. He just couldn’t get over the fact that you were hired out to do this. Made him feel too dirty. That and he’d already looked too far into the situation. You seemed like you’d been doing this longer than anyone should have to. Strangely enough he felt some obligation to protect you. Wanted to pull you away from whatever situation that had pushed you to this.

“So what’s the hang up?”

You huffed a sigh.

“Don’t usually do this.”

He grunted out, resigning to the fact that he’d have to drink himself to sleep at this point. Leaning down to jerk his sweatpants back up his legs.

“Could’ve fooled me.”

You snarked back. He snorted a humorless chuckle from around the cigarette.

“Nothin’ against you.”

“Yeah, alright.”

You shook your head, a small smile curving your mouth. A mix of confusion and amusement. Like you couldn’t believe that this was really happening.

“I’m not in the business of I.O.U’s.”

You said, looking over your shoulder while you walked over to grab your coat from the dresser.

“S’at so?”

He ashed his cigarette into his empty glass. Trying not to snort when you flashed him a sour look.

“You’re sure? I’m supposed to be here all night.”

You were already fastening the buttons on your coat. Glancing past him to the window on the back wall of the small room. The curtains were drawn, but through the backlight of the street lamps outside you could see rain streaking the glass.

“Mhm”

He hummed his answer. Silently grateful that you were finally moving toward leaving. Least he’d be able to get a few hours of shut eye before having to go back out tomorrow. Hopefully sleep off the guilt and the slightly sick feeling that’d settled itself over him.

You left a few minutes later. After making absolutely certain he was sure. Then it was ‘cheers’ and he was dead bolting the door. He got a fresh glass and downed the rest of the bottle of whiskey. Not enough to even get him tipsy, but enough to lull him into a dreamless sleep for the few hours he allowed himself.

He should have been expecting that Johnny would give him a fucking earful in the days following. You must’ve said something to the auburn haired girl and it got around. Wouldn’t shut up about it. Gave him shit like he was getting paid to do it. Couldn’t believe that he’d pass up an opportunity like that.

They got shipped back to base about a week later. Simon was thankful for the short break. Slowly working on forgetting the entire mission. The whole ordeal with you. Focused his efforts on training and filling out the endless towers of paperwork that’d gathered on the edge of his desk in his absence.

And then it was months later. And he’d made good progress on forgetting France. Mission was a bust. Wasted time and money and effort for no payout. Turns out their mark had been in Germany the entire time. Tipped off that they were on the lookout for him. Johnny slowly stopped his teasing. Only occasionally bringing it up when Simon dismissed the efforts of an overly eager private. Things went back to normal.

After getting intel on a new assignment, Price had urged the boys to get together at some pub by base for drinks on him. Chat about next steps and do some more of the team bonding he was so keen on. Simon grudgingly obliged. The bar was full of people seeing as it was a Friday, so he was content people-watching and grunting a few words when prompted. Decent way to kill a few hours.

He’d excused himself to go outside for a smoke, pushing through the crowd until he finally reached the side alley next to the pub. Taking a few long moments to work his way through a cigarette and let his head stop pounding from the noise of the inside. He wasn’t focused on anything in particular, at least not until he heard some shouting on the street.

He furrowed his brow slightly, pushing off the brick he’d been leaned against and sidling out to see what was going on. Not usually interested in the commotion, but moving out of some deep-rooted obligation to supervise a situation.

He saw a car with dark tinted windows rolling slowly down the road. The driver leaning half-out his window and shouting something over to a girl who was walking by herself down the sidewalk. Her back was to Simon, but he could tell by how stiff she was that this wasn’t a friendly exchange.

He groaned under his breath, taking a moment to debate on if he should get involved before flicking his cigarette to the ground and crushing it under his heel. Starting down the street toward the girl.

It didn’t take him long to close the distance between them. The girl was walking slowly, he could see the way her head was on a swivel, searching for an escape. The driver of the car was shouting something crass at her and she was making a point of not engaging.

“Alright?”

He called out through the dim street, rolling his shoulders back and tucking his hands into the pockets of his coat. Puffing out his chest slightly in case his sheer size alone wasn’t enough to impress.

The driver faltered slightly, the girl did not stop to look back.

“Yeah, mate. Cheers.”

The man called back, trying to sound casual. Simon grunted and nodded, staying as friendly as he could. Moving a little closer to the curb to shield the girl from view. Thankfully, this was all the interaction the driver seemed to need to get the hint. Pulling off without much more prompting.

The girl’s posture immediately relaxed. Shoulders dropped, slowing her gait to a stop.

“Thanks. I owe you-“

Her voice cut off like someone had pressed mute when she turned to face Simon. He was stunned. Fucking shocked to see your face. This had to be some cruel trick played on him by the universe.

You looked great. Better than you had in France- if that was even possible. Even with the way your face paled, he could tell. Your eyes were brighter. Shining at him like headlights. He would have been able to convince himself he was hallucinating if you hadn’t had that same look of recognition painted over your face.

“Thought you weren’t in the business of I.O.U’s.”

He broke the silence after a few long moments. Both of you stood rooted to the pavement mere yards apart. Your breathless laugh broke the tension like a stone dropped in the middle of a stilled lake.

“I wasn’t.”

He nodded sharply.

“And now?”

You smiled. Brighter than you had before.

“I could be persuaded.”

He scoffed.

“S’at so?”

[cassiusfen]

This isn't my art, (it's made by @ TheHearthFox over on Twitter) but I wanted to make a long post about why this work in particular speaks to me so goddamn much. I think such a massive part of the queer experience -- and also the furry experience -- is about the abstract. This can be seen in so many different aspects of furry "culture," from the concept of fursonas to kink and and other fetish content. You and I will never know what it's like to be a werewolf and transform under the full moon into the form of a big hulking furry beast. However, us furries create art and other works about the idea of it anyway. We never will be able to be our fursonas -- our often idealized and "perfect" versions of ourselves -- and part of that really hurts. It hurts so bad honestly, to the point where I can't quite put it into words. In terms of queer culture, I will never know what it is like to be a cis woman, and that also messes with me a lot. Yet, I'm still trans, my identity can change, I can perceive myself as whatever I damn well please. Identity allows you to shape yourself and the world around you in your own image, even if not everyone can see its beauty.

We have ways to get at least somewhat close to how we feel in our abstraction. VRChat allows you to make an avatar of what ever you want, whether it's your fursona or just an ideal version of you. Hell, it doesn't even have to be you, it could be anyone or anything really. We have a whole industry based around creating big ass costumes that allow people to at least look something like their desired character. But it's not enough. It's never enough. I ain't religious, but sometimes I feel like I've bitten the apple, been kicked out of the garden, and now I'm left to fend for myself with an identity that my physicality will never match. When I made my fursona using an avatar base in vrchat and configured it to match my real world body scales and looked down, I honestly started crying. I take the headset off, and I'm still me. Everyone takes the headset or fursuit off and they're still the body they were given, not what they would choose. Our reality is objective, and there's no way to really change that. We can act like animal people online all day, but the moment that screen shuts off, the moment we walk away, that warm, fuzzy feeling (hehe) fades.

To think abstract is to think beyond what you can normally sense. You will never get to brush the knots out of your fur in the morning, or play with your antennae while anxious (I see you bug people). We can still have those ideas, however. I know I'm on the third goddamn paragraph and I'm just now talking about the artwork I linked but this is an important concept to me. Usually, when I think of the abstract, it feels unreal, "fuzzy" so to speak. However, in HearthFox's piece, the objective reality appears out of focus and pixelated. It feels like even if we are unable to fully embrace the abstract, we can still embrace what we can of it, and bring some sort of color to a world that doesn't feel like it is made for us. The colors being outside of the lines could suggest that our abstract perception is maybe just "painted on" to the world around us, but is that a bad thing? Is it bad to take things in from the world around you, but still look at it all in your own unique way? I think not. This also isn't only about therian identity, or furry identity, or even queer identity -- it's also about neurodivergence. You are never in the wrong for thinking about the world in a way that is viewed as "non-standard" by the rest of the world. If you see yourself as a wolf, bee, fox, bear, raccoon, a fucking plane, it's not a bad thing. We can still identify however we want, and this modern way of looking at identity is the best way for us to embrace the abstract.

Go wild, go fucking stupid. Love yourself, if you're a fox, be a fox, there are ways you can feel that way, even if it's not all of the time. We can fight, we can love, we can still find ways to elation, even if sometimes existence itself feels wrong to you. This work is but one side of abstract thinking. Look at the color the fox has compared to the objective. Look how the fur drapes, how it runs down the body, or how the snout expresses emotion. Sometimes it feels melancholic, but you cannot tell me that trying your absolute damnedest to live your identity doesn't at least bring some color to your otherwise dreary and unfocused world.

Stay safe, love yourself no matter what.

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

yes! love me some mortal x immortal??/god type couples, i think they're cute. It's always sad though when they realize one will outlive the other, unless they do some magical stuff to make the human live just as long or if maybe the god person turns into a human.

I think it'd be so cute for nymph reader to accidentally slip up again before her and marcus officially meet, but she's not quick enough to disguise herself or hide again before marcus sees her so he chases after her and then it's like love at first sight ❤️

Hi, sweetie.

Your idea inspired me to write this…. You can take this as a prologue to Nymph. I thought Marcus could be younger (maybe Javier Peña style?). I hope you like it.

Warnings:  fluff, some nudity, not much going on, mythological figures treated in a simple way

A/N: hope you will be gentle with me. your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

nymph. [prologue] l General Marcus Acacius

For a moment he thought he was daydreaming. He had to, because his eyes had never seen anything more beautiful. 

All the glory of Rome, with all its provinces, with its cities of marble and gold, were nothing compared to what appeared before his eyes.

A being. A woman. Light and luminous like the rays of the sun, so different from what surrounded her, and at the same time seeming to fit there as if she had been created for this place.

He shouldn't be in this place. Marcus immediately felt as if he had sneaked into a temple where men were forbidden to stay, or as if he had spied on something that was supposed to be a closely guarded secret.

That day his legs carried him to these areas outside the camp. He didn't know why, as if the warm wind was pushing him for fun into the thicket of the forest. And when he stood behind a large and old oak tree, he saw the silver surface of the lake and her in front of him.

Beautiful as early morning, naked, sitting on the shore of the lake with her face turned towards the sun. He should have retreated and forgotten about it, but he couldn't help himself. 

He took a step forward, very quietly so as not to scare the woman away, but when he passed a blackberry bush, a wild bird got scared and flew out of the branches with a screech.

The girl heard this and immediately stood up abruptly. In the full sunlight, he saw her naked figure, standing proudly, although fear flickered in her eyes. She was like one of the statues in the temples.

Marcus raised a reassuring hand, approaching "Don't be afraid. I won't hurt you."

She didn't say anything. She only gave him an angry look and reached for the flowing robe that was lying on the nearby stones. The soft material wrapped around her body, hiding the beauty of her body from his eyes.

"Are you a goddess?" he asked.

You looked at him over your shoulder. "If I were a goddess, you'd be dead or blind for daring to watch me bathe, mortal." you mocked him.

"So maybe you're a mermaid?" He was already close to you.

The light robes glowed with their own light. It was hard for him to believe that you were real.

"A mermaid?" you laughed. "You really don't know much about the world, but you're sweet." you turned to him with a smile on your face. "I'm a nymph, soldier."

He watched you carefully. Brown, gentle eyes looked at you with reverence. Dark hair, strong body and sun-kissed skin. You've seen many men, this one was really handsome.

"My name is Marcus." His voice was pleasant, low and warm. "I'm Marcus Acacius. I command the Roman troops stationed nearby."

You nodded. "You're everywhere. Even here." you gave him your name though, and he repeated it as if he wanted to check how it tasted on his tongue. "You are not the General of these troops. You are too young." 

Marcus frowned dark eyebrows, arrogance flashing from his eyes "I am over thirty years old."

"Still young." you smiled gently and approached him "I am older than the oldest oaks of this forest, than the lake you are looking at." your hand moved over his chest hidden behind his clean, black armor "I knew the heroes of your myths, I served the gods you worship. You are still young, Marcus."

He couldn't take his eyes off you. Every move you made, every grimace, every smile, he wanted to remember it all. His heart was beating hard in his chest, you had to feel it.

"You mortals are truly funny." you continued, your hand sliding to the hilt of the sword at his side. "You confuse sirens with nymphs, you blame gods for your decisions, you call monsters those who weren't."

"Who do you mean?"

Your amused gaze traveled to his handsome face. "Like Medusa."

Marcus rolled his eyes and groaned. "That Gorgon? She was a monster with snakes instead of hair."

"She was a beautiful woman. Neptune possessed her in my lady's temple, which is why Minerva was angry. It was a sacred place." you replied, and although your words were strong, he didn't see the anger in your eyes. You were amused by the naivety of this soldier. "Don't judge a woman for the actions of a man, even if he's a god. She had every right to fly into a rage. Rome does the same, and you serve it. Remember the wrath of Medusa, Marcus."

Your fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword. A warm hand rested on yours. Marcus tilted his head slightly.

"If you want to disarm me, you have to give me something in return." he said, a small smile appearing under his dark mustache.

You raised your eyebrows slightly. "Oh, really? What's that?"

"A kiss. One small kiss." His soothing voice penetrated your heart. "Prove to me that you're real."

You considered his words for a moment. Your sisters had often told you about how sweet and handsome mortals tried to charm them just to possess their bodies. Marcus seemed different to you though. You didn't know why, but you liked him.

"That's a big ask." you said, lifting your chin proudly.

"That's also a request from a little boy, as you called me."

You shook your head in disbelief. His impudence was captivating. Finally, you nodded. With your free hand, you reached for his smooth cheek. The skin was warm, you felt his breath on your lips, you could almost hear his heartbeat. 

But it wasn't you who gave Marcus a kiss, it was he who stole it from you, pressing himself into your lips as if he wanted to taste the forbidden fruit at all costs. His hand slid into your hair and pulled you closer so that you wouldn't accidentally slip away from his lips. 

Warm, soft lips caressed yours, and as soon as you parted your mouth, Marcus took the opportunity and slipped his tongue in, deepening the kiss.

Your legs almost buckled under you. You'd never experienced anything like it. Your body gave in to each kiss, wanting more and more. The solid hilt of the sword in your hand provided your only stability. 

Eventually, however, Marcus had to draw his breath. It was at that moment that you drew his sword in one fluid movement and took a few steps back.

"You are too careless for a Roman soldier." You declared, raising his sword towards him.

"You can stab me with it, my sweetest." He replied, his eyes shining in ecstasy. "My life is complete now, I can die."

"You don't know what you're saying."

"My life is a blink of an eye to you. To me, you are equal to the gods."

He noticed your eyes widen, your chest heaving in a sharp breath. The blade trembled, too heavy for your unskilled hand. Marcus caught it and pulled you to him.

When his hand rested on your cheek you let go of his sword, which fell softly onto the grass. His touch was warm, gentle, tender. For a moment you thought that he couldn't be mortal, he had too much power over you.

"How can I live without being able to taste your lips every day?" he asked "Do something about it, or I'll go mad..."

"Your life is a blink of an eye to me..." you whispered feeling his lips brush the corner of your mouth "I'll have to live until the end of the world hungry for your warmth."

You let him experience the taste of your lips again. And Marcus seemed insatiable with you. Strong arms held you tightly, protecting you from sinking to the ground. It lasted maybe minutes, maybe hours. 

Marcus spent the whole afternoon with you, talking and listening, laughing and feasting his eyes on the sight of you. His heart was filled with feelings he couldn't name. 

However, his life called him to fulfill his duties to the Empire. He reluctantly reached for his sword.

"Will you be here tomorrow? I want to see you again."

You looked at him with tenderness. "I will be. And I will wait for you."

"Promise me."

"I promise."

He kissed your hands with reverence, feasted his eyes on your sight one last time, and then disappeared into the darkening forest, leaving you full of feelings unknown to you.

"My dear child..."

A familiar, calm voice floated to you from nearby. You felt a warm breeze and soon Minerva, your lady, stood by your side. Her armor gleamed in the last rays of the setting sun.

"I didn't think mortals could be like this." You said, staring at the place where Marcus had disappeared. "No one warned me about this..."

"A great future awaits him. His destiny must be fulfilled." the goddess spoke gently.

"Marcus will do great things. Many lives are already tied to him..." your voice broke, tears welling up in your eyes "My lady..."

Minerva looked at you softly, her eyes full of infinite wisdom. No one and nothing could hide from her.

"Take this from me." you whispered, with each word your heart shattering into pieces "Take from me what doesn’t belong to me. Take him."

"Do you know what you are asking, child?" Minerva's face was gentle but determined "You don’t know his full destiny. This mortal loves you, his heart is pure. He will come here tomorrow, for you."

"My lady, we are not destined for what we both desire... And I don't want to watch life slip away from his eyes. Please..." tears were already running down your cheeks, but you didn't feel ashamed, it only proved what you felt "Please make him forget about me and take him out of my head too. It was a beautiful day, but I don't want to take away what is destined for him..."

"Are you sure? Will you deprive yourself of this love?"

You nodded. This decision was painful, but you couldn't do otherwise. Marcus was supposed to have a bright future, full of victories and glory. There was no place for you there.

"Let it be so, child." the goddess's hand, hot as the sun's rays, touched your cheek, Minerva leaned down and her lips brushed your forehead "Forget it, it is my will. Let this feeling fly away from you if it is not meant for you. And tomorrow, when he opens his eyes at dawn, he will no longer remember what happened here. May destiny be fulfilled." 

When the first rays of sunlight crept lazily into the camp tent, Marcus rubbed his eyes and stretched on the bed. A strange feeling of emptiness and loss filled his heart. He had the impression that he had lost something precious, something that he would never get back.

nymph. [1/2] l General Marcus Acacius

taglist: @ashleyfilm @gothcsz @littlenicpascal

@missladym1981 @axshadows @psychoenergy @sabsunflowergirl @pedrofan @heckzprince @hard-candy-writing

[murdockparker]

Paralyzed

Steve Harrington x Reader

Summary: She walked in on a Friday afternoon. Steve needed nothing more than to get to know her--if only he could find it in himself to speak to her.

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: just pure fluff, mentions of murder (but not frfr)

A/N: no this isn't based on a big time rush song you're crazy anyway!! I think this is my first real Steve fic? The first real one I got around to posting I guess. Cheers!

__

It was a Friday afternoon.

Correction, it was a terribly busy Friday afternoon. Family Video was seemingly the place to be, people swarming the building in hopes of renting new releases for their perspective weekends. Steve usually loathed his Friday shifts for this exact reason, countless questions about the new tapes, a dozen or so mothers berating him when a certain movie is out of stock—as if Steve Harrington himself is the reason behind the madness.

But, this afternoon was different. 

This afternoon she walked in. 

He had enough of the madness, leaving Robin all alone to deal with the wolves for a mere five minutes—he needed to get out of there. With his head in his hands, he sat on an unopened box filled to the brim with different assortments of candy—candy he needed to stock sometime today, a fact he surely couldn’t have forgotten even if he tried. Only two minutes into his escape, Robin came bounding in the backroom, a wild look grazing her eyes.

“Steve,” she nearly panted. “You gotta take over for a minute. This woman is just—ugh—not taking no for an answer! I told her we don’t have The Breakfast Club in stock, but oh no, why trust the employee who rented all ten copies earlier today? Huh? How about we give the girl who makes a little over three bucks an hour a hard fucking time!” Robin was rambling at this point, the words falling deaf on Steve’s ears.

“Robs,” Steve groaned, finally looking up at his friend. “Give me another minute, I have a nasty headache—”

“Me too, Harrington,” Robin sighed, plopping down on the box next to him. “Her name’s probably Debra and she’s a beast in fake leopard print.”

Steve snorted with laughter. “Fine, I’ll head back out there,” he stood up, dramatically dusting off his jeans. “I just don’t know why the hell our help wanted sign hasn’t brought in more folks, we’re dying out here.”

“No one wants to work for Keith,” Robin said simply.

“Damn straight,” Steve pointed, pushing his way back onto the sales floor. The leopard printed demon was nowhere to be seen, much to Steve’s utter relief—he didn’t have the energy to fight her off anyway. Finding his way behind the counter, the doorbell rang out, a pavlovian response nearly spilled from Steve’s lips. “Welcome to Family Vid—”

His heart stopped.

She was gorgeous, like she just stepped out of a magazine ad—the one’s his mom bought, not the trashy shit they sell down at the gas station. Sunglasses adorned her temple like a crown, her hair perfectly falling around the pink lenses. Steve didn’t know what to say, it felt as if he simultaneously forgot all the words in the English language and stuffed seventeen Saltines in his mouth—he was tongue tied.

“Uh, hi,” the girl said softly, waving towards the frozen spectacle behind the counter. “I saw you have a help wanted sign outside?”

Steve could only nod, making a good effort to keep his jaw from falling on the floor. 

“Well,” she smiled, the kind that would make babies giggle at the sight, “I just moved here and sorta need a job so…” A resume was placed on the counter before him. It looked professional—way more than what Family Video could ever hope to ask for from an applicant, anyway. Steve couldn’t stop reading it. She was literally an angel, an answer to his very prayers—every one of them. If he had the power to hire her on the spot, he’d be tossing her a green vest from the back without a second thought. Part of him was cursing the fact Keith wasn’t here to interview her this very second, he needed to get to know this girl. 

“I-I…” Steve tried to speak, feeling his cheeks grow inflamed with embarrassment. He wasn’t used to being so… foolish around a girl.

“Steve, is it?” 

She knew his name. 

Of course he knew she read it off his name tag, he wasn’t that thick, but hearing it come straight from her lips? He could have melted directly into the floor and no one could have stopped him. 

“Yeah, this doofus here’s Steve, I’m Robin,” Robin appeared by his side, seemingly in the knick of time. “Don’t worry about him, we’re getting him the help he needs.”

The mystery girl giggled. “Ah, I see.”

“You want to apply here?” Robin asked, prying the resume from Steve’s—reluctant—hands. “Oh thank God, we’re dying for more bodies around here.”

“I love movies,” she explained quickly, noting how intently Robin was reading over her simple paper. “A-and I used to work at a movie theater back home before moving here, so I know a lot about the recent releases—”

“I’m gonna be honest,” Robin said, leaning onto the counter, voice dripping with secrecy. “You’re probably too good for this place, I mean, way too good for this shit-hole—”

“I need a job,” she repeated, almost desperately. “My folks forced me to move here and I’m trying to save up to get my own place back in Chicago, I’m not built for this small-town bullshit.”

This made Robin explode with laughter and Steve shrivel in despair. She had an expiration date—a way out of Hawkins.

“Well, I’ll make sure to pass this off to our manager—with a glowing recommendation, of course,” Robin winked.

“I appreciate it!” She smiled again, the sight nearly had Steve wishing he had his own pair of sunglasses to wear—it was blinding. “Well, I hope to see you guys around?”

“We’ll be here!” Robin called out, watching the girl walk back towards the door and out towards her car. A hand smacked across Steve’s bicep. 

“Hey!” He finally responded, rubbing the aforementioned spot. “What the hell?”

“I should bring that whiteboard out of retirement,” Robin arched her brow. “You’re positively hopeless, Steve Harrington. What the fuck was that all about?” 

“I don’t know, Robs,” Steve sighed. “She was just—I didn’t even know what to say!”

“Clearly,” she snorted. “You looked like a gaping trout—”

“I did not—”

“This was worse than the girl who asked for a Mint-Choco Deluxe and you handed her a straight scoop of ice cream—no cone. I had to practically chase her out with a stack of napkins and a thousand apologies.”

Steve cringed at the memory. “Maybe…”

“When Keith hires her—and you know he’s gonna—you better get your act together. I don’t wanna deal with…this every day.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve waved. “Sure.”

And deal with it, she did. 

(Y/N) was her name, Steve had the pleasure of unpacking her new name tag for her first day. He almost wanted to keep it, but figured it would make him look like a crazed lunatic. Patiently, he waited by the front door, hoping to see her pull up in her car, ready and rearing for her first day on the job. Steve begged Robin to allow him the pleasure of training her, given he could somehow speak in her presence, of course. She simply rolled her eyes and agreed to the shift exchange. 

A shiny, cherry-red BMW peeled into the lot—Steve noted it looked awfully familiar to his own car, minus the color of course. It seemed a bit out of place in a small town like Hawkins, but the car had suited her just fine. Everything about her suited her kindly, Steve had noticed, especially the clothing she wore. Family Video was no place for a fashion show, Steve could attest to that himself, but with the way she was practically strutting towards the doors? The parking lot was her runway and he was begging to see more. 

“Good morning!” (Y/N) greeted cheerfully, pushing the glass door open wide.

“Morning,” Steve managed to squeak out. He pushed the unflattering green vest towards her. “Your uniform.” She easily slipped the fabric over her own shirt, the stark whiteness of her blouse really made the green pop.

“Well?” She spun around, twirling like a princess. “Do I look the part?”

Steve could only nod. 

“So what’s the first thing on the agenda? Do y’all have a time clock?”

Steve nodded again, pointing his thumb towards the break room.

“Ok..ay…” She said quietly, walking in the direction she was given.

He could cry—it was so pathetic. The way this girl had him so worked up? How was he expected to train her? No, forget training her, how was he supposed to even talk to her? Steve had been in pickles before, but this one took the cake.

“So you just… don’t speak then?”

She had managed to sneak up behind Steve, who had clearly been deep in thought. Her angelic voice alone made him jump. 

“I-I speak,” Steve explained. “I just… have a lot on my plate currently, s’all.”

“I’m sure working at the Family Video is real hard work, superstar,” she giggled, jumping up onto the countertop. “But I’m glad I don’t have to understand your training through charades."

“I’m pretty good at charades,” Steve said, crossing his arms. “O-or so I’m told…”

“I’ll take your word for it,” she smiled. “But seriously, I really thought you just didn’t want to talk to me or something.”

That couldn’t have been farther from the truth. 

“So… I should probably show you the computer system for rentals,” Steve tried changing the subject—poorly, but she graciously turned her attention to the computer she so-conveniently sat next to. “Y’know, because that’s like, the entire job.”

The girl leaned in, not daring to remove herself from the counter top, trying to see what Steve was clicking on. 

“You seem tense,” she noticed. 

“It takes me a while to get warmed up to new people,” he lied. 

“What? Like a cat?”

“…exactly like a cat.”

“Well, Steve,” she hopped off the counter, “it’s a good thing I like cats.”

He tried his best to hide the redness flooding his cheeks.

She made Family Video more enjoyable, even after her first shift, Steve thought. He already liked the job enough, spending time with his best friend and getting paid for it was already a huge perk, but now that he got to know her? He might just keep this job forever.

Forever lasted only four months. 

“Steve!”

He peeked his head over the horror aisle, finding (Y/N) staring at him expectantly from the front counter. 

“Yes?”

“I’m dying over here,” she said dramatically, falling over on the countertop. “It’s so… boring.”

“It’s a Monday morning,” Steve said simply, commanding every fiber in his being to not shrug at the statement. “Mondays are usually boring around here.”

“Everything about Hawkins is boring,” she said, not lifting her face up from the counter. “How do you manage living in this God-forsaken town?”

“I don’t think everything is boring,” Steve scoffed, ignoring the rest of the tapes that needed to be put away. His feet were already leading him towards the counter, as if they had a mind of their own. “I mean, I doubt you’ve run through everything this town's got to offer?”

She lifted her head up from the counter, a red mark gracing her forehead. “In the last four months of living here? I think I have. Hell, the one cool place y’all could have had burned to the ground.”

Steve winced at the mention of StarCourt, the wounds still fresh. “It wasn’t that cool…”

“Fine,” (Y/N) propped herself up, head in her hands, “name one cool place in Hawkins.”

“Skull Rock.”

He doesn’t know why he said it.

“Skull Rock?”

“Uh, yeah,” Steve sheepishly said, hand finding the back of his neck quickly. “It’s the go-to for the coolest kids in Hawkins—made popular by yours truly.”

“And what exactly is Skull Rock?” Her arms were neatly crossed by the time he managed to look back at her. 

A make-out spot.

“A-an… experience?” Steve squeaked, trying his best to sound cool. “It’s hard to explain, you just kinda gotta go and see for yourself.”

“Huh,” she tutted. “Why haven’t I heard of this Skull Rock until now? Certainly if it was as neat as you say it is I would’ve heard about it by now.”

“It’s underground,” Steve tried to convince her. “Not physically, I mean. It's above ground, I promise. Underground in the sense that only the cool kids know about it.”

She snorted. “Cool kids?”

“Y-yeah,” He tried to double down.

“As in, like, high schoolers?”

“Other people besides high schoolers can be cool kids, y’know,” Steve said, trying his best not to cough. 

“Maybe I’ll ask Robin about it when she comes in—”

“I could take you?” Steve is quick to interject. “To Skull Rock, I mean. Tonight, if you’re free.”

A smile crept across her ruby red lips. “Like a date?”

“Pshht, no,” Steve waved. “Like a thing friends do! An activity of sorts.”

“Sounds like a date.”

“An activity,” Steve corrected, feeling queasy at the thought she may actually say yes. 

As if mulling over her options for the evening, (Y/N) stared directly into Steve Harrington’s brown eyes, pinning him to the spot with such a glare. “Hm. Alright.”

“A-alright?”

“Do you think I have to change for this ‘activity’?” (Y/N) motioned her hands up and down her body, giving Steve actual permission to fully look at her. Her outfit was already sensible enough—she was here to work, after all—he didn’t ever see a reason for her to change.

“Maybe different shoes?” Steve offered, looking down at her feet, adorned with ruby red flats to match her lips. 

“What sort of shoes do you recommend? These are my favorite flats.”

“Sneakers. Something you don’t mind getting dirty—”

“I don’t mind getting these dirty.”

“Something more suitable for the forest,” Steve amended. “Sticks, mud, poison ivy. Would hate for the tops of your feet to succumb to that bullshit.”

“Succumb,” (Y/N) repeated. “Big word.”

“Average word,” Steve mumbled, feeling only a tad bit embarrassed.

“Average is fine,” she shrugged. “I have sneakers in my car. We could go after work?”

—

Six o’clock couldn’t have come faster. 

Steve had spent the last few hours of his shift trying to best plan his escape from Family Video—an escape that involved pulling (Y/N) into his car before Robin could tell her what Skull Rock really was. Thankfully, (Y/N) hadn’t had the mind to tell Robin what their plans were after work yet, but he knew it would come.

The minute hand finally ticked to the top of the clock. 6pm on the dot. Steve practically threw off his vest and ran to the wall clock to punch out.

“In a rush?” Robin asked. 

“Something like that,” Steve said, not wanting to share much more. 

“Well, enjoy yourself Rob!” (Y/N) nearly sang, now standing behind Steve waiting for her turn with the wall clock. “I left the counter nice and warm for you!”

“I know you meant that to sound endearing, but it just sounds gross,” Robin laughed, not even looking up from the book she had been reading. “Get out of here before Keith makes you both work overtime.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” (Y/N) said, pushing her pink sunglasses—which were housed in the tiny locker she used every day—onto her head. “Besides, we’ve got plans.”

“We?”

“Gotta go Robin!” Steve could only shout, pushing (Y/N) out of the small room in the back—it could hardly be called a break room. Containing a small T.V on the wall, a stack of lockers, a small fridge, quaint table and a broken microwave.

“Alright, weirdo,” (Y/N) laughed, “we made it outside.”

Steve hand only blinked, but she was right. Somehow he didn’t recall the jaunt from the break room to the front door, much less the fact they made it out to their cars. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” she laughed again, “oh.”

He was sure his face was the near same color as her lipstick—cherry red and probably emitting the heat of a thousand suns. “Are you gonna change your shoes?” Somehow he strung together a full sentence.

“Go start up your car, pretty boy,” (Y/N) said smoothly, “I’ll meet you in a second.”

Pretty boy. 

Start up his car, he did. He fumbled through the few cassette tapes he stored in his glove box, eager to find one she’d like. Though a thought like this had crossed his mind a handful of times, he never thought she’d actually agree to go out with him. No, not go out, this wasn’t a date. Right? 

She had called him pretty boy. 

And he was planning on taking her to the unofficial make out spot of Hawkins. 

Maybe it was a date. 

“There!” (Y/N) exclaimed, sliding into his passenger seat, showing off her worn shoes. “My well-loved sneakers! Just like you requested. How I allowed you to talk me into going to a random forest is beyond me.”

Me too. Steve thought. 

“You’re not going to murder me, right?”

“What!?” Steve had already begun driving to their destination, but her sudden question had him nearly swerving off the road. “No!”

“That’s what a murderer would say.”

“I—why would I…?” Steve was at a loss for words. “If I was going to murder you, don’t you think I’d admit to it at this point?”

“No,” she shrugged, crossing her legs. Her sneakers were red too—her favorite color, perhaps? “I assume you’d admit it right before you kill me, not in transit to the murder location.”

Steve could only laugh. “You confuse me.”

“You love me,” she admonished. 

Maybe he did, and if he didn’t? He certainly could see himself, though, sooner than later. 

It only took another fifteen minutes of driving to reach their destination, parking his beloved BMW in a spot he knew all too well—part of himself cringed that he could admit that, even to just himself. “We’re here.”

“I’m still not convinced you’re not going to murder me,” (Y/N) hummed, hopping out of the car, a spring in her step. 

He couldn’t help but chuckle, popping his trunk to dig for a blanket he knew he had left behind for one reason or another. “Come on,” he ducked his head towards a clearing, “it’s this way.”

“You really have to start explaining the appeal, Harrington,” (Y/N) said, pushing past a rather suspicious looking bush, following closely behind Steve. “This trek is nothing to scoff at.”

“Do you trust me?”

“I thought the murder accusations already confirmed that I did not?”

“Yet you still got into a car with me,” Steve said.

“I still got into a car with you,” she repeated. 

As if on cue, Skull Rock, in all of its glory, peeked through the brush and into view—thankfully with no one else around. 

“We made it!” Steve exclaimed, nearly impressed he remembered how to get here. Quickly unfurling the blanket he grabbed, he sat on the ground. “Come on, I promise it’s clean.”

“Doubting that,” she said, still sitting beside him. “So, spill it, what makes this place so cool?”

Steve took a deep breath. 

“I, uh, may have stretched the truth a bit?”

“How far?”

“Huh?”

“How far did you stretch the truth?”

“Not by much…”

“You’re sweating,” she pointed. 

“No I’m not!” Steve said, trying his very best to not look down at his pits, afraid they were betraying him. Looking back up at the girl sitting beside him, her ruby lips were twisted in a wicked smirk. “You’re making fun of me.”

“Nah,” she said, almost sounding honest. “But I also know pretty well what goes on around this rock—sick as fuck, by the way, it really looks like a skull.”

“You know about Skull Rock?” He was nearly dejected, embarrassed, even.

“I do.”

“And you still came here with me?”

“If it meant I could spend some time with you outside of work? Sure,” she said with her brilliant smile. “Though, don’t expect any swapping of saliva.”

“Then why…?”

Her knees tucked under her chin, arms wrapped fully around them. “I don’t have many friends here. You and Robin kind of are it for me, at least, since I moved here. I figured I should try and spend time with y’all before I move again.”

Her big move. The one she was saving up for. 

“Back to Chicago, right?”

She nodded. “Yeah. Though, it’s going to be a while until I do actually move. Who knew trying to rent your own apartment in a big city is stupid expensive? Wait—don’t answer that, that’s a stupid fucking observation.”

“It’s a bit silly,” he agreed, trying his best not to laugh. “But, yeah, way more expensive than Hawkins.”

The sun had begun to set, not that they could see it, through the trees and all, but the sky was now a warm orange. The kind of color that reminded Steve of summer, melted creamsicles and sweet memories.

“What’s in Chicago, anyway?” Steve finally asked, eyes glued to the sky. The question had been on the tip of his tongue since he met her. “I mean, I never really hear you talk much about it—only when you feel the need to dig at Hawkins.”

“It’s where I grew up,” she shrugged. “All of my friends are out there, my life is out there.”

“I mean, you did just say Robin and I were your friends?” He offered, leaning back on his hands. 

She narrowed her gaze, pulling her head up from her knees ever-so-slightly. “Most of my friends are out there,” she corrected. “I just… my dad moved out here for work, a job he literally can’t tell us about—my mom is stuck being some bored housewife waiting every night for him to come home, slaving over a home cooked meal, and I’m just his failure of a daughter who works at a video store.”

Steve knows that feeling a bit too well. 

“It doesn’t even have to be Chicago,” she chuckled, mostly to herself. “I just can’t stay here. My forward thinking mind is too big for this town. I figure, maybe in the city I can find myself, figure out what this planet has in store for me, you know?”

“I do.”

“You do?”

“I mean, I never had the thought to leave Hawkins,” Steve said, still looking up at the sky—darker now, but still orange. “Especially now with all of the…”

How does he explain the Upside Down? Does he explain the Upside Down? No. She doesn’t need to know. Not yet, anyway.

“…you know, the missing people,” he finally said, finding the right explanation. “But the idea of going to a big city, finding my way and maybe figuring out what this big head is good for?” His self deprecating laugh echoed from under the large rock formation. “I get it.”

“Y’know,” (Y/N) relaxed her grip on her knees, “my mom had hesitations about moving here because of the missing people—afraid I was going to go missing too.”

“And your dad still moved you here anyway?” Steve still couldn’t wrap his head around the fact people would move here willingly, especially all that’s been in the news about their small town. 

“I told you, big secret job,” she said, as if that was the only answer. “My dad’s answer to the problem was buying my mom a new kitchen set and me a car.”

“The BMW?”

“Hell yeah,” she snorted. “Though I suppose once I get to the city—any of them, I’ve decided—I’ll sell it. No need for a car if you’ve got decent public transit. I wonder how much I can get for it?”

“Probably less than what you’re thinking.”

“You’re probably right.”

The sun had finally set, leaving a hazy, sort of mystical hue over the rock and clearing. 

“You could come with me, you know,” (Y/N) finally spoke up. 

“Huh?”

“Get out of Hawkins? Lord knows I’d need a roommate. Rent is gonna be insane regardless.”

He pondered the thought. Moving out of this God-forsaken town with practically the girl of his dreams? It sounded too good to be true. “Huh.”

“You obviously don’t have to answer right now,” she said, nearly flustered. Was she flustered? “It was just a dumb thought…”

“It’s not dumb,” he said steadily, truthfully. “Not dumb at all.”

“What? You’re actually considering it?”

“Don’t ask me things if you’re not serious about them,” Steve joked, pointing at her. “I mean, it sounds pretty perfect. Leaving Hawkins, making a way for myself, trying to not rely on my parents… I dunno. Something to think about.”

She only nodded.

“Of course, I can’t leave yet,” Steve corrected, mostly to himself. “I have… unfinished business.”

“Ominous,” she snorted. 

“A man has his secrets,” he smirked, turning to look at her. “Not murder-y secrets, I really can’t stress that one enough.”

“Handsome, funny and mysterious, the full package,” she hummed.

“You think I’m handsome?”

“I don’t want to stroke your ego,” (Y/N) said. “Surely you know you’re handsome.”

“I didn’t know you thought I was handsome.”

“I think everyone thinks you’re handsome,” her eyebrow raised. “Especially all those girls who come in to rent movies I know for a fact they have no interest in. Robin says you had a similar effect back at the ice cream place.”

“You’ve talked to Robin about my handsomeness?”

“I’ve talked to Robin about your obliviousness,” she corrected, “I think there’s a difference.”

He felt like his brain was melting. If he had a mirror, he’d check his ears to make sure no pink matter was dripping out. “But you think I’m handsome?” If the lighting hadn’t been as low as it was, he’d probably be able to see just how dark her cheeks had become.

“Irrelevant.”

He found the courage to scoot a little closer to her. “I mean, I think it’s pretty relevant… considering I think you’re pretty handsome too.”

Her head couldn’t have turned faster.

“Beautiful! I meant beautiful! Not that you can’t be handsome,” Steve felt himself choking on his own foot, falling deeper into a hole he knew he couldn’t get out of. “If you’d rather be called handsome, that’s fine by me, but traditionally, you’re stunning—so so pretty and I—”

“Steve—”

“A-and I’m messing this up,” Steve deflates. The crickets around Skull Rock must have been paid actors at this point. Steve made a mental note to bring a can of Raid the next time he came here—revenge of some sorts. “I can’t believe I’m messing this up.”

Something slightly wet touched his cheek.

“I don’t think you’re messing anything up,” (Y/N) said, pulling away from his face. She kissed his cheek. “I think you’re a little silly and overthinking a lot, though.”

“You kissed me?”

“I kissed your cheek, no need to short-circuit,” she smiled softly. “I figured it was a good way to bring you back down to Earth. Did it work?”

He nodded, a bit too fast for his liking. “Uh, yeah. I think so.”

“Good,” she said, so sure of herself. “You were really spiraling there for a moment.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, I guess I was.”

More crickets. 

“Would you have kissed Robin on the cheek? If she was spiraling like that?”

“No,” she said honestly. “Just you.”

“Oh.”

“You took me to the make-out spot of Hawkins,” (Y/N) gestured to the rock above them. “Did you expect me to not kiss you?”

“You kissed my cheek,” he clarified, feeling bolder. “I don’t think that counts.”

“Hm,” she tapped her chin in faux-thought. “It probably doesn’t.”

“I could let you try again?”

“Oh you’d let me?” She crossed her arms, voice airy, light.

“Or I could kiss you,” he shrugged. “Dealers choice.”

“Oh what endless options I have,” she laughed, getting up from the blanket. It was only a little scratchy. “Come on, pretty boy, it’s getting late. My mom is probably worried sick I haven’t made it home yet. Probably waiting by the front window with some terrible dinner in the oven, I assume.”

She offered her hand, helping Steve up off the ground. “You’re probably right.”

“This was nice,” she said, walking back to the car. “Thanks for taking me out here, Steve. I finally found the one good thing in Hawkins.”

“Skull Rock is just that impressive, huh?” Steve laughed, his smile reaching his eyes.

“Something like that,” her smile was just as big. 

--

BONUS: “Pop your trunk, I’ll put this nasty blanket away,” (Y/N) said, circling to the back of Steve’s car.

“It’s not that nasty,” he snorted, fulfilling her request. Climbing into his car and starting up the engine, he waited for her to throw the scrap of fabric in the back. In the corner of his eye, he could see her through the mirror, staring intently at the contents of his trunk. “How long does it take to put a blanket away?” He sighed, hopping back out of the car to join her, realizing quickly why she was just staring in his trunk. 

“Y’know,” she clicked, “this doesn’t really help the whole ‘I’m not gonna murder you’ thing.”

In her hands was his tried and true baseball bat—still outfitted with spiky nails and the very essence of dried blood. 

“I-I can explain—”

“You probably can,” she said, throwing the bat back into the trunk, slamming it shut. “How about over dinner sometime?”

He’d be stupid to say no.

[echantedtoon]

Single Dad Michikatsu Snippet

A small Snippet based on my single dad Michikatsu headcannons.

The day was bright and beautiful as the mid-day light fell through the window and grazed over the few patrons still in the small cafe you worked at. The murmuring hums of light talk, generic elevator like music, and the occasional care passing by outside. It combined with the sounds from the kitchen. Clinking dishes, utilities, and the occasional shout of an order ready to be served. Relatively peaceful and normal day for you.

You smiled from your place behind the counter happily handing a woman her order of a donut and way too sweet frappe when the door opened and the most unusual sight came walking in-

"There's no dam way you saw a ghost let alone drop kick it!"

"We did so! The academy's haunted and we saw the old man ghost! I kicked it and then all these little ghosts popped out of it!"

You and everyone else still in the small cafe had stopped what they were doing to look up and over at the yelling. The tallest man you've ever seen had walked in through the door jingling the doorbell above as he did. You couldn't help but look at him and the menagerie surrounding him. 

The man was tall, at least six foot something, and was adorned with long mahogany hair he wore in a long ponytail draped down his back except for the long bangs framing his tired but stoic expression. The dark purple eyes looked like he was done for the day and visibly you could see bags under his eyes. He looked mid to late twenties at most. But that wasn't the unusual thing about him. It was the amount of children that surrounded him.

"You wouldn't know what a real ghost is if it was right in front of your face!," yelled out a teen boy. His black wild hair and scowl reminded you instantly of a feral cat. Why he couldn't have been older than eighteen or nineteen years old. "It was probably just someone pulling a prank because you're so dam gullible!"

"WE ARE NOT!!," two voices shouted as one. Both boys were obvious twins. They looked exactly alike with long strangely colored hair and turquoise eyes. Both looked thirteen maybe fourteen years old?

The one on the right pointed at him. "Tanjiro was there with us when it happened! You can ask him!"

The black haired teen scoffed crossing his arms with a sneer. "Tch. All of you are dumb if you believe that stuff. Is the ghost that haunts the art room real too then?"

"Yeah! We saw him crawl out of his vase!"

That earnt another round of arguing as you blinked at the sight before realizing that the tall man had stopped walking and stood right in front of your cashier. However your gaze didnt go to him at first but instead to his torso as you noticed a tiny pair of eyes blinking at you. The eyes were of an infant and they were currently drinking from a bottle held to their mouth by a large hand. You blinked at the tiny innocent eyes strapped to his torso..Before you slowly looked up. Once again stopping at a second pair of tiny eyes belonging to a toddler with black hair pulled up into a small ponytail. Why he couldn't have been older than four as he was held on the man's hip. Without even acknowledging you he turned and tugged on the man's shirt.

"Daddy!," he shouted pointing his other hand at the menu board behind your head stapled to the wall. "Nuggets! Nuggets!"

"Uh..." You finally looked straight up at the man's face and jumped finally realizing he was staring at you....Quickly you shook your head and smiled at him in perfect customer service form. "Hello, Sir. What can I get you?"

The man didn't say anything at first continuing to listen to the teenagers arguing behind him and the toddler tugging for his attention in deep thought for a long moment deciding what to say.

"....Give me a cup of your strongest coffee."

[leikeliscomet]

Racism in the ace community is seen as a joke from the outside and a confusing concept in the inside but it's pretty bait tbh:

Barbie, Wednesday and Elsa are ace-coded but not canon aces but they're widely accepted as ace icons in the community. Lacking genitalia, disliking romance and being single are not inherently asexual yet the community happily claims them as ace solely on those reasons. But Selah Summers? Nah she actually didn't say the words "aroace" even though the director confirmed it so she didn't really count. Abbi Singh? Nah she had a girlfriend and her superpower is being a succubus and it's not like the Imperfects actually addressed the themes of an asexual lesbian South Asian woman and her sexuality or anything. Fei Hargreeves? Well yeah the actress and producer confirmed it but she never said it on screen. Ace characters of colour always get held "screened" for approval to be "real rep" in a way white aces aren't its so weird (this also happens to gay aces but that's another post)

Almost anything involving Yasmin Benoit. The reason she's unacceptable ace rep is because of misogynoir. She's spoken so many times about never dating and not having sex (which mind you is none of our business and she shouldn't need to explain herself in the 1st place) and yet she's "too sexual" to represent the community. Again with the nitpicking, popular white ace accounts were so quick to dogpile her for not-so-good takes but when she speaks about racism? Crickets. When she spoke about sexual harassment? Crickets and not only that but they defended her harasser. The main ace activists that defended her were other Black aspecs.

Not understanding how desexualisation affects POC. Specifically, Black women are excluded from representations of love and sex because we're seen as undesirable. It's common for TV/Film to pair up everyone but the Black girl, or have a rebound Black partner for the non-Black main character who's disposed of when they're ready for their "real" non-Black partner again. This isn't done for Black aspecs benefit. It's a form of dehumanisation. Friendship especially in m/f is needed but exclusively pushing for friendship between Black women and non-Black men when there is romance coded or confirmed and shaming Black women in fandom or in show for shipping the Black female character is not doing what you think its doing.

Not understanding how sexualisation effects POC. Again linking to Yasmin, POC, especially Black people have been sexualised due to white supremacy. The "allosexual privilege" framework fails to acknowledge this because Black people's sexual attraction and sex is seen as aggressive and animalistic. Black people aren't "allowed" to be ace because of this sexualisation and why Yasmin regardless of what she wears or does is seen is too promiscuous.

Not acknowledging ace POC as ace rep. Again, where was the acknowledgement of Selah and the Spades as groundbreaking rep? The first aroace darkskin Black girl as a lead in any film? Sherronda J Brown spoke about Big Mouth's Black ace character and someone said it didn't count just bc they dislike the show. Again with Abbi and Fei the community didn't make noise for them like they did Todd from Bojack Horseman or Florence from Sex Ed (mind you the gap between how they did Florence vs O is jarring in itself) Isaac from Heartstopper was inspirational for many aspecs and I wont take that away but the way he's instantly credited for ace representation when he has so little screentime compared to the others is wild.

Just tired tbh. "Listen to POC aces!" "POC aces are valid!" Prove it then...?

[ladyloveandjustice]

I want to expand on what I'm talking about. And I said a little bit extra in the comments:

There's just some posts that have been going around about how to solve the issue of men swinging real right in America right now,which does have an impact on society. some guy was saying he was attacted to the right bc they were all 'welcome brother' but in the left people resent him. I think it's just. It's easier to go to an idealogy that's like 'you're entitled to this' than an idealogy that says 'hey you're not entitled to everything but you could be more emotionally healthy and kinder to other people and". That's something simply being nice or making them feel good won't ever fully fix. The "rewards" for being in the right will always feel more immediate for white men.

It's not unique to men to feel alienated in an idealogy that wants you to challenge yourself. At the same time, more kindness to everyone, emphasis on acceptance, less volatile language toward each other, will help the community be stronger over all. it is a difficult conundrum, but I don't think it comes down to 'we don't make men feel special enough

It also ignores I think, that white men DO get rewarded in leftist spaces too. a lot. Men will get a ton of adoration for saying something vaguely feminist than if a woman says it a lot of the time, and so on a so forth, everyone loves a sweet guy...I think that's something that already happens.

But let's get back to volatile language:

We always say guilt isn't going to help anyone and it isn't about guilt. But I think we need to admit that no, we do try to make people feel guilty and ashamed a lot. And not framing it around that most of the time would do a lot.

I've seen posts straight up saying it's a bad thing to want to survive and live happy lives and take actions to do this because (x) bad thing is happening. You know, the most basic human instinct? And that's not going to win over people. You may not like that, but it's not.

I don't think that needs to center on women helping men feel special about themselves. A lot of us are asked to take care of men all the time and it's exhausting. Men on the left can focus on being more positive about the concept of manhood if they want, but asking women to do the work. is just....yeah that's just the patriarchy.

I do think examining things like black masculinity etc is great though. If you have another marginalized identity, it will intertwine with masculinity in very specific ways that will be used against you, just as it is with femininity or being outside both those concepts (yet the world assigns you one anyway). I totally get that masculinity is used as a weapon against both gay men and gay women, in different specific ways. And I think at least learning about that and supporting efforts to stop this makes one a better person.

On the other hand. it would be insane of me to ask a Black woman to make a Black man feel special and accepted for simply being a man if she doesn't want to do that. Like. absolutely wild.

And it's it's rarely about that, is it? When we say "celebrate men" it's not bringing any unique experience into it. It's about white men. They're the ones who make up most of the alt-right.

Communities in the right are not compassionate but because they offer some form of reward and companionship they can seem like that. As much as people are lured in by "welcome brother" or whatever, those same people will on the right will mock any person who steps outside the strict roles that have been set.

So....we need to abolish to same roles. I think we need to focus on how we talk to people. On supporting people when they're trying.

It also comes off in how we talk to each other about basically I can harshly tell someone who has privilege over me-- a white man or straight person ect ect-- their guilt about their privilege does nothing, I'm not interested in guilt and what we need is action. But let's be real. Telling someone "you benefit from a system that makes other people suffer" is going to make someone feel guilty. And yelling at someone for feeling guilty isn't going to make that better. I think we avoid saying the truth and say what's the core of it-- no, it's not your fault you were born a certain way and now you benefit from something. A society hundreds of years in the making made that happen. And that sucks, that you basically have no choice but to be complicit. And it sucks way, way more for the people who are kept down by that system. So we need to change society. We can do it together. It's not to "make up" for you existing. It's because we care about each other. I want this for all of us, because when we see each other as whole people and are treated equally, it benefits all of us.

This is a not a "men are uniquely punished by the left for being men, we need to celebrate masculinity, stop being so mean" thing. It's a human thing. It's about the way we talk to each other and try to weild guilt towards people in general. People want to feel good about themselves. They want some kind of acceptance. If you're constantly made to feel bad, it can be hard to want to stay. This is something everyone feels, because we all have a selfish instinct.

People don't like feeling guilty. That's just how people are. It's promoting compassion, rather than hatred and resentment, that's going to help us in the end.

But me simply saying that isn't going to change much. Humans feel hurt and lash out too. When horrible things are happening to us, we resent people that don't understand that or are part of that. The paradigm shift will be hard. Not everyone will be able to do it and I don't think that's wrong.

Everyone gets frustrated by a class of people where a lot of them have more power and try to push them down. Nobody wants to talk to someone that's trying to hurt them.

That's why it needs to be someone like me who could explain racism 101 rather than idk. making a person of color say 'well white people don't feel special and accepted for being white. poc we must be nicer. let's celebrate whiteness because the right does and that's why white people are drawn to it, they feel accepted." listen to how ridic that sounds. you are literally asking for a white history month. That's the same thing you're doing when you're talking about manhood like this. The onus is not on the discriminated group to reach out to those harming them. That's up to others in the community.

But as a broader thing...We just need to figure out what the end game is. Do we want to yell and guilt trip, or do we want more people in our corner? What's more important, the end goal or if someone knows all the right lingo or matches up to your opinions exactly? What do we need to rally around? How can we take care of each other? If we're kinder to the community, more people will follow.

Anyway this is the last time i'll say some big thing like this and tag it. I don't like doing this on tumblr for a reason.

[thatoneluckybee]

Okay, so lemme ramble about the Wild Hunt for a sec, given the new episode, because I am certain there is/will be symbolism at play

Essentially, the Wild Hunt is this germanic (though there's many similar ones around the world) myth. It's this horde of spirits/ghosts that travels through the night on an eternal hunt. Crossing their path is generally seen as a big no-no and a good way to become part of the horde of hallowed dead stuck in the eternal hunt. The same goes for copying their sounds of howling wind (and sometimes barking dogs). However, either of these can be rewarded (usually with something that seems worthless and usually turns out to be gold)

Now, for that sweet symbolism. First of all, the Wild Hunt usually consisted of the hallowed dead. They didn't get to pass onto the afterlife, instead bring swept up by the hunt. In the story this more than likely is replaced by those floating eyeball thingies - the souls of those who got stuck in this world before the afterlife

What I'm more curious/concerned about though is who leads it. It's most certainly someone's Phantom, given the little card with abilities. But who could it be? Let's use some clues from both the episode and the myth

First, the episode. There's 3 main things to consider here. 1) this phantom was outside the gate (and thus also unlikely to be a dean or student). 2) your phantom has to do with how you die (this also ties in with the myths). 3) looking at it's abilities, it has something called 'overclock', and while this could be some sort of rage mode, I think it'd make more sense if it means that this Phantom form can stay up either for a long-ass time, or straight up indefinitely

Now, for the myths. The figure who leads the Hunt actually changes a lot depending on the specific telling, and it's been both men and woman. A largely common factor though is that they get stuck in the Hunt after exclaiming their love for hunting, and something along the lines of wishing they could do it forever (potentially specifically instead of an actual afterlife). Given the thing I said before, I think it's a fairly safe bet the person who's Phantom it is died hunting, or at the very least pursuing something

The person who leads the hunt also seems to be searching for Lenore specifically, which is interesting to me. The Wild Hunt generally hunts animals, not people. So I propose 2 possibilities:

1, mythological: The Wild Hunt, like I said, should generally not be interacted with according to most myths. A possibility is that Lenore or on of her predecessors did do that in some way, shape, or form. Maybe in the real world, but Phantoms can't really be there I think? Maybe someone else like her brother or parent were also in this between dimension and messed with it, though I don't believe that's how it generally works. But maybe that thing at the start of the story, where they got noticed by those monsters, was actually them getting noticed by the Hunt, which is why it's now after her (and likely Annabel too in that case)

2, relationship driven: Essentially, my other idea is that the Phantom that is the Hunt is going after Lenore specifically because of who she is. Maybe her father died or something? But in that case I think her brother is way more likely. Think about it, Theo was first looking for (pursuing?) Lenore. The tree got knocked down by lightning (one of the Phantom's abilities). And he was riding his horse when he was killed. Just saying, it could be possible

Also, interestingly enough, both Lenore and Annabel have a certain degree of connection to the Night Hunt? Lenore has already denounced the 'natural' way passing onto the afterlife is supposed to go in favour of having herself and all her friends coming back to life, somewhat reminiscend of the leaders of the hunt commonly rejecting the afterlife in favour of their hunt. And the woman that led the Hunt in some stories likely all stem from the same figure, the supposed Old Mother Frost (and what, if I may ask you, is Annabel's ability?)

No matter who it is though, I'm hoping they touch on that idea of someone who crosses the Wild Hunt (and shows cleverness/boldness) sometimes gets rewarded. And while is generally looks useless at first, it often turns out to be valuable. Who knows, this endeavor just might be the key to escaping...

...well, that or I'm looking way too deep into it and the writer just chose the Wild Hunt because it looks/sounds cool and vaguely fitting of spirits of the night coming to get you. I mean, most thing I just said are honestly closest to incoherent rambling with vague connections, but who knows...

This is nevermore, you’re NEVER looking too deep into it

IM MAIN TAGGING THIS THIS IS AMAZING

I think it could be Theo? We know SOMETHING happened to him as he was at the top of his class. Was he reincarnated? I doubt it. Theo is also connected with deer and hunting. Would also explain why the Wild Hunt (which Lenore thinks is her curse) seems to be targeting her and her family.

[shinigami-social]

This is probably going to be massively controversial, but I just feel like it needs to be said at this point. I desperately need people to read this very carefully and approach this in good faith. General blanket warning for intersexism, transphobia, and intersectional misogyny with both of these I just wonder how many people in the intersex community just like… fundamentally don’t understand the way being intersex impacts your gender. I know that sounds fucking wild because obviously being intersex impacts your gender but like… it feels like a lot of people reach for comparisons to the binary over just, like, the label intersex itself. The thing on my mind in particular is the stark difference in what transfemininity seems to mean inside and outside the intersex community. This isn’t to refer to AMAB and/or CTM intersex transfems, but in particular people who were AFAB and/or CTF.

I want to clarify before I get into the main body of this post that I fully believe people can be AFAB and/or CTF and be transfem. This post isn’t to say that this never happens, no one ever experiences the combination of these two* things, or that people who identify this way are wrong for it. I just want to open up a discussion about why people are identifying this way, I guess. It’s not about invalidating anyone or their experiences, on the contrary, I really want to discuss the varied nature of the intersex experience.

I was AFAB, and I would generally consider myself CTF. I have simple virilizing classic CAH. I experienced many of the events which a lot of people talk about as why they relate to the transfem experience or consider themselves to be transfem. I grew up with a tenuous connection to girl/womanhood at best, I had the locker room harassment, I was widely rumored to be a hermaphrodite and transgender (no one could decide in which direction), I was put into situations specifically to attempt to uncover my “real” sex/gender. Even when I was seen as a girl/woman, I was Wrong about it. When I was seen as a boy/man, it was before I had ever come to terms with that identity for myself, and it was instead something thrust on me against my will for being a girl/woman Wrong. I was, for much of my life, locked out of womanhood in various ways.

I can very easily understand why people with experiences such as these would relate to transfemininity (and on a “relation” basis, yes, I would say I relate), and perhaps even identify with it based on how these sorts of things impacted them in particular. That being said… I have never understood why people think this is somehow not just being intersex. I’m not trying to say it can’t possibly be both, but sometimes it feels like people just refuse to acknowledge that this is a very common experience of the intersection of misogyny and intersexism. There are certainly transmisogynistic elements to it, I think transmisogyny and intersexism are deeply intertwined and always have been, but like… to act like this is solely transmisogyny feels like a denial of the intersex experience. For intersex people who were AFAB, are CTF, and/or likely some other types of intersex people depending on their circumstances, this is entirely par for the course because they are intersex. The things I described are, above all else, intersexist in nature. They happen to people for being intersex. There are aspects reminiscent of transmisogyny and perhaps even motivated by transmisogyny in many cases, but this distinct experience that I see many, many intersex people have experienced, it is to me such a classic experience of growing up intersex.

This is to say nothing of the appropriation of the transfem experience (no, I’m not accusing you or anyone else specifically of doing this, if it doesn’t apply to you, it doesn’t apply to you, but yes some people are objectively doing this). I am not focused on that. It is its own separate issue, but the thing I am trying to communicate here is why people struggle to find themselves in the word intersex when the thing that caused them these traumas is being intersex. The denial of intersexness and intersexism as explanations for the experiences directly caused by being intersex. The need to use terms broadly conceived of within perisex communities to describe perisex experiences of sex and gender to describe experiences inherently outside of the perisex view. To me, it seems like there is a very clear difference between using intersex transfem to describe “I have Klinefelter and also I am a trans woman” and “due to my experiences with PCOS, my relationship with femininity is deeply complicated and I use transfem as a sort of code for reclaiming my womanhood that I feel has been denied to me.” And like. I am not saying that these couldn’t possibly both be transfem experiences! I am not the decider of what makes people transfem, and it’s not really my business at the end of the day, but these are still just like, objectively different concepts being described. This is what I meant at the beginning of the post by the inside-outside usage of the term. It feels like transfem, in intersex spaces, is often used as a shorthand to describe a specific relationship to femininity and womanhood and this relationship is not necessarily “transitioning to femininity.” At the same time, it feels like it is being used this way because in some way, perhaps, the community is lacking in language that adequately communicates “my being intersex locked me out of womanhood, even though womanhood is what I was assigned and expected to conform to” which is, to me, a fundamental difference between most (not all, I’m aware we cannot ever make absolute statements when it comes to intersex experiences) AFAB/CTF and AMAB/CTM transfem experiences.

To me, I feel that intersex does adequately express these sentiments. Or, at least, it can if you let it. Intersex people pretty much inherently experience a complicated relationship to their sex and gender, and I wish we were allowed to talk about this without there being an obligatory comparison of how every intersex experience is always analogous to some equivalent transgender experience. Intersexism is intersexism, and intersex people experience it because we are intersex, and maybe we should fucking talk about that sometimes.

[tommykinard6]

I love your headcanons!

Why do you think Tommy has a difficult relationship with sex and how does that show?

Also do you have any more ideas about the emergency contact one? Like the first time they get a call from the hospital...

Yessss thank you so much for asking about those headcanons! I’ve been wanting to talk about these.

I actually just got another ask about the emergency contact and I’m going to go super in depth for that, so stay tuned!

But why do I think Tommy has a difficult relationship with sex? I’m so, so glad you asked. This is one of my biggest headcanons.

However! Please read with caution. TW: for a form of self h*rm involving sex, self hatred, and internalized homophobia.

Tommy was extremely closeted for most of his life. When he was at the 118, he couldn’t even accept himself. But at some point, he stopped being able to ignore it. For me, this might be when he realized he liked Sal (see my other post).

Now for some people, exploring your sexuality includes a *ahem* wild phase. To me, Tommy had two parts of this phase. The first one was…not great.

Tommy was a self loathing closeted man. He hated himself for being gay. He wanted to be “normal”. So when he stopped being able to ignore it, he thought he could “get it out of his system”. So he went to bars outside of LA (he wasn’t risking bumping into anyone he knew) and hooked up with any man who showed interest. He wasn’t picky. He was just more focused on getting out of this “phase”.

So he hooked up with a lot of men. And he didn’t care about himself at all. In fact, he out right hated himself every time. So it devolved. If something didn’t feel good, Tommy leaned into it because he saw it as punishment. He used sex to punish himself and to hurt himself.

I’m not quite sure about how he pulled himself out of it, but we’ll go with this. My idea is that he had a sexual partner who caught onto what was going on, that Tommy secretly hated something happening but refused to stop on his own. The partner shut down the event and when he called out, gently, Tommy on what was happening, Tommy broke down. The partner held him and listened to his garbled story and talked him through it. Instead of the hookup, they spent that night just talking, with the partner trying to get Tommy to see what was happening and get him out of the slump.

And it didn’t fix it. Tommy continued this pattern for a couple more hookups, but he started to get discontented and uncomfortable. Around this time maybe, the 118 got Bobby Nash and the dynamic started changing. Sal was gone and working with Hen, an openly queer firefighter, started to shift how he looked at himself.

So Tommy stopped the hookups and started working on himself. He couldn’t quite face himself still, but he worked on liking himself outside of his sexuality. He started laying down boundaries when he hooked up. And then he left the 118 and started therapy. He was ready to start over. He was tired of the pain and the self hate and the cycle he’d been stuck in for so long. He wanted what he’d seen others have. He saw Hen with her wife and he wanted a bond like that and he knew it could never be with a woman.

Skip forward all this time and he’s learned to be gentle with himself. He finally loves himself. He has embraced his sexuality. Maybe he’s still friendly with that past partner or maybe they never spoke again, idk. He’s had some relationships but nothing’s really stuck. Then he meets Evan Buckley.

He meets Evan Buckley and he feels the sun for the first time. And Evan is still figuring himself out and Tommy not only really likes him, but also wants to make sure Evan doesn’t make the same mistakes he did.

Does that answer the question? Let me sum it up.

Tommy used sex to punish himself and those were his first real experiences with guys. So even now, in healthier relationships and with better mindsets, he doesn’t do the hookup game anymore and is very shy of having sex too soon. He doesn’t have sex without knowing and trusting the person.

Y’all I have no idea if this made sense, but this is literally the premise of a story in my brain.

[magicalbuttertarts]

(AU) Wild West - Hangman Adam Page x f/Reader (18+)

AEW Masterlist

Warnings: Some swearing. Descriptive sexual acts. Unprotected sex. Oral (m & F receiving) Fingering.

Just like all my other stories, this has not been proofread, but please enjoy

WC: 1702.

From my previous account, plentyoffandoms.

©️ magicalbuttertarts 2024: do not repost or translate my work. This is the only place I post my work.

Summary: Sheriff Hangman decides to visit his favourite prostitute at the brothel.

◆

The familiar building came into my view. Many women, from young to old, were in the windows or hanging out over the railing on the pouch.

They all waved at me, calling my name. Hoping I will choose them.

"Oh, Sheriff Page."

"Oh, Adam."

But there is only one woman who I pick here at The Madams Secret, who is run by the one and only Nyla Rose.

Speaking of Madame Rose. There she was, walking outside, demanding her girls to go back inside. She noticed me as she heard the sound of my horse.

"Good evening, Sheriff Page." I tipped my hat at her. "Madame Rose." I got off my horse and tied her to the post.

"You look like you have seen better days." She placed her hand on my arm, looking at me with concern.

Nyla has known me ever since I was a young boy, coming to this small dusty town with my father.

"Are those men from the Blackpool Gang giving you trouble again?"

"No more trouble than usual." The two of us walked through her front doors.

"She is up in her room." Nyla nodded her head towards the stairs. I thanked her as I walked through the crowded room.

Many women hanging all over men who should be at home with their wives and their children. I saw many men get taken by their hands to go somewhere private.

I walked up the stairs, taking the familiar route to her room. I tried to ignore the noises coming from behind the closed doors.

I raised my hand to knock on the familiar door, but I stopped myself. I took off my hand and tried to fix my hair as best as I could.

Her door opened suddenly, and she gave me an amused smile. "Good evening, Sheriff Page."

"Good evening, sweetheart." She shook her head, giggling at the fact that I call her . I know she gets called many names, but never sweetheart.

She stepped to the side, and I walked into her room, looking around. I have no idea what I am looking for, but I always look around when I come by.

I heard the door close, and I turned to look at her. She was leaning against the door. "Stephen." Was all she had to say before I took her in my arms and kissed her, hard, moaning her name.

Hearing her say my name, my real name also sent a shiver up my spine.

When my father and I first came here, we were actually on the run from some debt collector. We travelled for many weeks before we settled here, with whole new identities.

I became Adam Page.

I met YN when I was wandering around, trying to get used to this place I would eventually call home.

I met her right outside The Madams Secret. Her mother was a prostitute there. Nyla took YN under her ring and kept her safe while her mother was busy with her clients.

YN wasn't friends with any other children in town because the grownups were concerned about their children being around that type of environment.

She found out my real name when she was at my place one evening, and my father came in, calling me by the name Stephen.

"Who is Stephen?" Came her soft voice.

That night, we told her everything. She promised she would never tell anyone, and to this day, she never has. She only says my name in private.

As I bunched her skirts up around her waist, eager to get my hand between her thighs, I wanted to tell her how much I missed her, but I couldn't.

She spread her legs for me, and I groaned at how wet she already is for me. I inserted two fingers, and her mouth left mine, gasping.

"You missed me, Sweetheart? Yeah, you did. I can tell." I said as I thrust my fingers in and out of her pussy.

Every time I see her, I always make sure that she orgasms at least two times. The record for me making her orgasm is six times.

"Come on, sweetheart, I can feel you're close already. No one took care of you while I was gone?" I placed my hand that wasn't between her thighs at the nape of her neck, forcing her to look into my eyes.

Her eyes were half-closed, and her mouth was hanging open. Her pussy was fluttering around my fingers. She shook her head no.

"I know they didn't. No one ever does. Don't worry, Stephen is here to take care of you. You want my mouth after this or my cock?"

Her pussy tightened around my fingers when I said my cock, but I needed her to say it.

"Cock. I need yours." Her eyes squeezed shut, her mouth fell open, ready to moan my name loudly.

I crashed my mouth against hers, swallowing her moans as she came for the first time tonight. I groaned into the kiss as she squeezed my fingers with her pussy.

I continued to thrust my fingers through her orgasm. "Look at me." I said to her as I pulled fingers out her pussy.

I opened my mouth once her eyes were on me and placed my fingers in my mouth, my eyes closing at the taste of her.

I pulled away from her slightly, dropping to my knees. "Hold your skirts for me."

I groaned loudly when my mouth wrapped around her clit. Her skirts fell around me, making it dark. Her hands gripped my head through the fabric as she grinded her pussy against my mouth.

"That's it, sweetheart. Use me." I muttered against her pussy, knowing she can't hear me. I continued to eat her out, wanting her to finish all of my face.

She was crying out my name, almost like a chant. Her legs were shaking. If I wasn't holding her up, she would be sliding down the door.

"Oh, shit." Was all I heard before she soaked my face. I groaned as she soaked my chin, her juices soaking into my beard.

She lifted her skirts, and I had to blink at the soft light in the room. She was going to say something, but I stood up so fast, lifting her into my arms, making her squeal.

"Stephen." She gasped as she clung to me. I walked backwards towards her bed, didn't stop until I felt the edge of her bed against the back of my thighs.

I sat on the bed, bringing her with me, letting her sit in my lap, our lips connecting once more. "I need to see you." I said against her lip. I let go hips as she slid off my lap.

I didn't tear my eyes away as she slowly took her clothes off. I imagined that this was happening in our own home, instead of a brothel, that I should have shut down long ago.

"Your turn, Stephen." She said as she stepped out of her skirts. I quickly undressed, watching as she bit her lip as more and more of skin appeared until I was just as naked as her.

She walked towards me and placed her hands on my chest, and pushed me so I was laying flat on back on her bed.

I gripped my cock, jerking it as she climbed on top of me. "You wanna ride this cowboy?" I asked as she raised her self so she was hovering over my cock.

"Always." She said as she placed my cock against her pussy and slid down on my cock. The moment I was fully inside her, I gripped her hips, hard. Not wanting her to move. Never wanting this moment to end. My cock being gripped by her warm, wet pussy.

She placed her one hand on my chest and the other on my face. "Come back to me, Stephen." I didn't notice I closed my eyes.

I opened my eyes, and she winked at me as she raised herself until just the tip inside her pussy. She slammed herself down, her back arching, her nails digging into my chest.

I couldn't stop the groans and moans falling from my lips as she bounced on my cock. Her pussy always squeezing me just the right way.

Her own head was flung back as she moved her hips. "So good. So good, Stephen." I softly moaned at her, saying my name as she fucked herself atop of me.

"That's it, sweetheart. Just like that. Taking me so well." I said as I sat up, wrapping my arms around her waist, flipping her onto her back as it was my turn to pound her into her mattress.

I pulled back, placing her legs over my shoulders as I continued to pound into her pussy, folding her in half. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head. She was close.

"Come on, sweetheart. Cum all over my cock." I reached between our two bodies and started to rub her clit.

It didn't take long for her legs to start to shake over my shoulders. Her hands gripping her hair, tears streaming down her face.

I fucked her through her orgasm, forcing myself to not finish just yet, but her pussy was gripping me just the right way, but I pulled out, jerking my cock.

She quickly got on her knees, wrapping her lips around my cock. I removed my hands from my cock and placed them on the back of her head as she moved her lips up and down.

"YN." I groaned as I came, sending a shiver up my spine as she swallowed my cum.

She continued to suck, even as I started to soften in her mouth.

I pulled her mouth off of me. I laid down next to her, bringing her with me. Wrapping her in my arms, trying to keep her room as the fire started to cool.

"Stephen." Her back was against my chest.

"Yes sweetheart?" I asked as I moved her hair from her shoulder and kissed her shoulder.

"I missed you." I stopped kissing her shoulder.

"I missed you too, sweetheart."

Tag list: @lghockey @nicoleveno14 @legit9thlunaticwarrior @hooks-martin @madhatterbri @wwenhlimagines @melissahausen @tahiri-veyla @crowleysqueenofhell

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

s3 episode 6 thoughts

it’s been an exhausting day. work was awful. i was brave and didn’t cry whilst there. and for that, i deserve this episode even more than usual. 

oooooh it’s an internet episode!!!! an episode about an internet killer!!! that probably felt new and scary back then!!! i’m excited to see something i assume as naturally dangerous as hitchhiking to be seen as scary and new. let us jump in, and enjoy the adventures of our agents, and numb ourselves to the hardship of the outside world.

these two people are in a car. he is smooth talking her. oh… they only waited three months to meet in person after talking online. hmm… is that speedy or not? i guess that depends on who you ask. for me, i’m gonna say speedy. because they didn’t even see each other’s faces before this.

he has mysterious scars on his neck. yeah, i noticed that very conspicuous camera panning. the music is very ominous. and now they’re kissing. 

OH??? THERE IS A STICKY FLUID. IN HER MOUTH. an unusual one. not whatever you were thinking. what the hell… was that man some kind of insect????? there was real goop in there, man. eughhh it was very gross. 

cop is approaching the car next day. and she is like. jelly? as in, covered in gel. the gelatin monster has struck and apparently he’s surfing the net. 

(trust when i say i’m not a gelatin monster. or don’t trust. perhaps skepticism is better)

okay, investigation time. this guy shakes hands with mulder and entirely ignores scully. tells me a lot about his character very quickly. mulder has also got some more conventional looking shades this time around. perhaps his other ones were just not keeping the sun out like he had hoped for.

body reveal! so it seems that the goop has um. melted her skin? EUGH. mulder swabs the goop. it’s just a prop, i tell myself to avoid gagging. a prop with excellent construction that was very carefully crafted. shoutout prop team as always. 

detective looks real freaked out by the goop. yeah he’s not special in that regard.

mulder says he has heard of similar killings from women placing ads in the paper! i don’t want them to separate though, as he announce he’s going on an investigation while she does an autopsy. c’mon, can’t we do some teamwork in the same room?

scully looks disgusted at the bloody goop in her hand. this is appearing to be a universal sentiment.

the goop man is at the computer typing to another woman. and smiling mischievously. we learn, from a woman dropping a key off at his door, that his name is mr. incanto, and she thinks that since he types and gets a lot of packages, he must be a writer or an editor. and she wants him to read her poems. wow. leaping to conclusions here. i admire it. it’s clear she’s flirting with him, and the idea of a person you’re attracted to reading your poems is a wild one for me to entertain. personally i would rather explode crazy style.

scully is scrubbed up <3 and she is so cute <3 i don’t mean this in a condescending way… she just looks cute in a fully “i respect her capabilities” kind of way. don’t worry. but this man is not respecting her and is shocked she’s a doctor. rude as hell… could never be me.

he says he’s old fashioned. umm okay if you want to be all manly about it how about you cut up the goop body yourself… oh that’s right you can’t. because you don’t have the skill set. or even any skill sets, as far as i can tell.

he says this is effecting her judgement because the victim is a woman and he isn’t being sexist. IF YOU DON’T SHUT YOUR MOUTH MAN…. she is so patient even when she ought to rip his heart from his chest with her teeth

she’s making a face when he leaves like she really IS thinking about doing some heart ripping and then she gets into the recording mode. and the body has increased in goopiness. in fact. there is only a skeleton now and a LOT of liquid. oh… 

mulder is asking about the murder victim, and he’s sitting on a very 90’s printed couch, and yeah he looks good. don’t worry about it. he’s asking the victim’s roommate what chat room they met in. now personally, if i was talking to people on a chat room, i would not be telling my roommate the names of said chat rooms, but maybe it was different vibe wise at that time. imagine if my roommate knew i ran a blog like this. i couldn’t picture such a thing. and the victim would READ her roommate the letters???!? OH I CANNOT IMAGINE SUCH A THING!!!!

he uses the roommate’s house phone to call scully, who is dealing with a very wet skeleton. but that’s so funny to me. he wanted to use someone else’s phone to call her. maybe his phone still hadn’t been replaced since that kid melted it in episode 3.

he’s putting out a localized online warning… is that a thing? wow. you learn so much on this television program.

“in life, bones have the tensile strength of forged iron”, says scully. and i’m giggling. n kicking my feet.

ohhh the bone is SQUISHY. it is not supposed to be this way. but it did look quite satisfying. again, props team, shoutout.

oh tea… the body fat wasn’t there!!! it disappeared. scully is like, why would he do that, steal a victim’s fat. and i would love to know the same thing. 

another woman is preparing to meet with the goop monster. oh, but someone is telling her there was a warning SPECIFICALLY for woman in cleveland to not go meet people online! but she’s like nooo i’m a good judge of character. LIES LIES LIES. she’s only been talking to him for a MONTH???? HOW CAN YOU JUDGE A CHARACTER IN A MONTH?

the killer’s at a fancy restaurant looking place with a bouquet of flowers and he’s checking his watch. oh and he dumps the flowers!!! queen of self preservation saved herself tonight by standing him up??? yes, it appears this is the case!! 

now there are a bunch of ladies on the side of the road. i have only seen this happen in this show and never in real life, but maybe i'm not looking in the right direction. NO! he sees a woman and smiles. they go to a back alley… no!! but she won’t kiss him. okay, i think, she has a chance. alas. i was wrong. so he attacks. OH AND HE IS SLURPING ON HER BODY???? another woman finds her goop-ified. 

they’re at the scene and the detective is being awful (shocker!) but mulder hands over some of the letters from the killer, and notes that they contain letters from 16th century italian poems. which tells me he is familiar with 16th century italian poems. ohhhhhhhhhh. blushing a lil. 

focus. so the fellow would have access to niche italian poems, is what we are learning here. likely a college professor, or a grad student, or something along those lines.

the killer should also have a wound pattern, they note, because the woman scratched him very well.

and BLEGHHHH, cut to his place, where he’s cutting his wound??? like straight up trimming it like it’s fabric or something. nasty nasty nasty nasty!!!

someone is bringing him a package. and the woman who asked to show him her poems asks him to dinner?!?!?! but he says he’s busy. the teenage daughter reads him for filth. he’s creepy and smells weird. delivered by a girl who meant every word she said.

scully is posing impeccably, looking as someone types on a computer. it was formidable.

mulder comes by with some results and he sort of. scoops her out of the room. 😳

theory time in the hallway! hallway theory time!! always one of my favorite times. “okay, it’s not yet the finely detailed insanity that you’ve come to expect from me” <- at least he’s self aware 

FAT SUCKING VAMPIRE LET’S GOOOO. such a preposterous creature. i have to admire it.

there are examples of this in nature, right? “i don’t know too many scorpions who surf the internet” scully, you just offended the coolest scorpion alive somewhere out there. but they couldn’t hear you so it’s okay. just don’t ever say that again…

scully wants to brief the people involved in the case and the detective is again being weird. mulder recognizes this. i can see it.

okay, so the killer has some more niche italian poetry. and an email from the woman who saved herself by not showing up! nooo, i thought she had escaped!

knock at the door. it’s scully. but not at the door of the right guy!! the detective is at the door of the right guy!!! 

mulder makes some remark about not being a good salesman because no one answered the door. and yeah i giggled. but she cuts him off with the fact the detective hasn’t answered his calls or returned… has he been gooped?!

now the killer is out with the woman who previously saved herself. and she sees his skin. and she offers to drive him home!!! noooo ellen :( don’t fall for his tricks and lies

the poetry woman is at his door. she puts a HUGE thing of poems under his door. 

but back in the car he is about to smooch ellen. somehow poetry lady let herself into his room??? and a bunch of flies are around. 

(we later learn she was the housekeeper or landlord or something so yeah. she would have access to the keys. but at the time i was baffled)

goop monster and ellen don’t smooch because he sees the poem lady is in his room!!! and the detective is in the tub!!! and he walks in right as she sees this!!! oh no. violence ensues…

her daughter comes to the door. and asks where her mom is. and he GRABS her weird as hell. and says he’s leaving.

mulder is sitting on a table again because he’s weird. but the girl calls the police!!! and they found her mom’s body and the detective's. the little girl asks scully why someone would do this and she says she doesn’t know… STOP I’LL SOB

okay, this dude’s name is virgil and there are no records of him existing. virgil. damn. maybe he’s FROM 16th century italy, because that’s a 16th century sounding name. are there any italian legends of fat sucking vampires? can’t say i’m very familiar with their lore 

they’re trying to get into his computer and all the files were deleted. ohhh they have floppy disks!!! i love floppy disks 💾

the killer went to ellen’s place?!!?!? and she locks the door. ellen please pull out a glock at this time. 

scully sent out a warning to everyone in proximity. and three of them were already missing!!!! that is evil :(

and ellen got the email but he’s in the room. and he starts attacking… oh lord, just as the agents roll up. 

they get in formation and then kick down her door and WHEW they way they work as a team… i’m eating it up. sweeping the rooms. guns cocked. 

ellen is under some sheets and coated in goop whilst mulder does parkour to go and find this guy. GO GO MULDER RUN RUN!!! his voice is all growly while he holds a shadowy figure at gunpoint, but he only runs into a teenager. no! poor kid :(

NOOO… THE KILLER WAS HIDING IN THE BATHROOM AND SCULLY WAS GOING IN THERE TO GET SOME STUFF TO TAKE CARE OF ELLEN!! he smashed her head in the mirror and he starts to goop her until ellen does in fact roll up with a glock. and shoots him in the chest. YES ELLEN I KNEW YOU HAD IT IN YOU <3

so they have him in custody now and his skin is suuuuuuper dry and peeling and nasty. and scully asks what the hell he was doing and he goes on about stuff blah blah blah and then he quotes some italian and she gets freaked and dips. and we end with a hannibal-esque shot of his evil peeling nasty face. and some contemplative music.

so. that was gross.

grossness established. i once again kind of enjoyed this episode. like was i gagging, and not in the good way? yeah i was. but again with the suspense. i think the plot could be absolutely ridiculous- like an actual fat vampire- and if the plot and pacing are the right tempo, i’ll find myself fully absorbed into it. 

but i can’t help but feel that i’m missing something. the italian seemed too purposeful. is there some medieval tale of a fat vampire? i’m being so serious btw like actually. is that a reference that flew over my head? is it in dante’s inferno or something? i love history but middle ages europe always puts me to sleep so i can’t say i’m familiar with the literature or tropes beyond what i learned in art history class. where we never covered ANY sort of vampire. just a lot of baby jesus and also mary and sometimes adult jesus. 

hmm. so i’m wondering here what that was about. and yeah, i could google it. but again, more fun when you tell me things.

i mean, if it was something they just made up for fun, i get that too. like earlier we had that evil mermaid baby that lived in the waterways. and we had that evil twin that looked like the fiji mermaid. and eugene tooms the lizard man. the seriousness with which the situation is played enhances the campy angle when you ponder it.

overall, it was interesting to see a world where the internet was new and fresh and scary. now it’s scary in mostly familiar ways. but it was not always this way! and while i am a little confused on the concept of the episode itself- who exactly our monster of the week was, if he even WAS a monster of traditional sort of means- i won’t lie, the episode had me invested. there were also moral questions raised about how someone could do something so evil, specifically in relation to scully’s character, which probably speaks to her biggest fear being that anyone could pose a threat, which i think i’ll contemplate at another time, because it is fascinating, especially when you consider… i think it’s s2 episode 13? where the narrative also really dives into this question. how can people do evil things, and how can good people cope with knowing that it’s impossible to know who is capable of doing terrible things?

after a hard day at work in which a million things went sideways, it does feel nice to watch my pals mulder and scully do some sleuthing, no matter the situation in which they find themselves.

the goopsterrrrrrrr