#literally a rotting sort of feeling in my gut

[ashersbraincell]

Does Christmas music make you nostalgic in the sad way/generally bring up sad feelings in general?

[godmadeaterribleerror]

More Than You Could Ever Know - Part 1

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: On god they're about to be so cute. This was going to be one chapter but they can't stop fucking and I can't stop writing. Enjoy!

Title from All I Want For Christmas is You by Mariah Carey

Word Count: 8.5k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: A No Love Lost Christmas Special! Takes place about five months after the end of No Love Lost, sort of an epilogue to the main story.

The Boys start Secret Santa, Ben pretends to do his job. Usual Warnings, plus smut. Much fluff and smut.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, tooth rotting fluff, smut (fingering, oral f receiving, p in v sex), established relationship, Christmas Special

Part 2

Read on A03!

Doing this in Butcher’s apartment was a terrible idea, because the asshole only cleans when it’s his weekend with Ryan, and you’re right on the wrong end of that. Doing it immediately after work was a worse one, because you’re in heels and a too tight bra that you’re not allow to rip off, throw in Ben’s face, giggling when he all but tackles you into bed.

Doing it without Ben here to smile and pout and snark at might be the worst idea you’ve ever had.

And you’ve had a lot of remarkably fucking terrible ideas.

You’re not really paying attention to your friends around you, because you’re staring at your phone. Turning it around between your hands, waiting for Ben’s text to let you know Ryan’s home from school. That he’s not being bullied, and he’s doing his homework, and his powers didn’t cause what the principal had referred to as structural damage to the school’s foundation, and what Ben had correctly said was just a fucking accident. It’s not Ryan’s fault you pussies put the baseball field right next to the goddamn building.

There haven’t been any incidents since then—Ben had taken Ryan to a large, empty field and helped him figure out how to not turn a ball into a genuine weapon—but it’s still a delicate situation. It took a lot to get Ryan into a public school. A lot of promises of Ryan won’t hurt anyone, you fucking pussies, he’s not a damn baby, and bargains of Ben and I will donate, and go to all the fundraisers, but you’re not allowed to explicitly advertise that Ryan’s here, and many, many thinly veiled threats of if you don’t treat our son like a proper fucking human, I’ll let my wife yell at you. And she’ll rip you to fucking pieces.

You wouldn’t have ripped anyone to pieces. Literal pieces. Emotional pieces had been on the table, as had reputational pieces. It was one of the very few advantages of being so highly and strangely regarded as the woman who killed Homelander and the founder of the Soldier Boy Relief Foundation. People respected you and your opinion, which was an interesting choice on their part, but served you well. Ryan had gotten into the school, and he seemed to be liking it, so you hadn’t even been that mad at Ben for threatening the superintendent.

But you also don’t really get mad at Ben. Not ever. You whack his arms and wrinkle your nose and elbow his gut, but he always feels that you don’t mean it, and you never fight him when he tugs you into his arms and kisses you breathless and dizzy. When he mutters promises about fucking you stupid later, and calls you a brat, and chuckles when you grind onto his thigh in the middle of the office, and you miss him so much-

It’s barely been six fucking hours, Sunshine.

You scowl into the air, even as your whole body sings from the feeling of Ben, strong and deep and flaring in your chest. Shut up, you’re supposed to be picking up Ryan-

Already got him. We’re home.

You were supposed to text me, Benjamin-

Why, I’m telling you right fucking now-

Because Singer’s still on our ass. You sigh, tapping your fingers on the back of your phone. And the Ben’o’phone isn’t admissible in a court of law to prove we’re well-suited parents.

Singer can shove it up his fucking dick-

Ben, please- You cut yourself off as your phone buzzes, the screen lighting up with a message.

Benjamin; Stupid fucking handsome asshole husband

Ryans hoem

R u fuckingg happy sunshine

You smile, typing back Yes. Thank you, grumpy.

Shut the fuck up, Ben grumbles in your head, and all his adoration flares in your chest as you smile into the air like an idiot.

I love you, you massive fucking man-child.

I love you too, brat. Why the fuck aren’t you home yet.

You can almost picture his half-pouting scowl, feel the warmth of his body around you and smell pine drifting through the air. Meeting with everyone.

Everyone.

Yep.

Why the fuck is everyone meeting without me-

Because you’re picking up Ryan.

We could’ve made fucking Butcher do that-

Butcher doesn’t have a super awesome wife who’s going to tell him everything when she gets home, my love.

There’s a pause, and then Ben mutters between the low words of your friends talking around you, Be fucking fast.

MM says your name, looking between you and the bowl on the center of the table. “You put Ben in there?”

I always am. You nod to MM as Ben moves back to a quiet, warm hum in your chest, and tuck your phone into your pocket. “Yeah. I’ll give him his name when I get home.”

“And we’re sure Ben knows how Secret Santa works?” Hughie scratches the back of his neck with a sheepish expression, and you sigh.

“No. But I can explain it to him.”

“Old cunt ever even celebrated Christmas?” Butcher mutters, his feet kicked up on the table. “He don’t seem like the spirit of givin’ type.”

You flip Butcher off, your words short and firm. “He’s not a million Butcher, he’s celebrated Christmas before.”

Ben seems to love Christmas. Or at least grumpily acknowledge it with a soft, easy glow over his ribs and a relaxed face, which is the closest thing he gets to loving something that’s not you or Ryan. He’d told you, at the beginning of the month, that it was the only time his father didn’t drink as much. The only time his mother got to love him and not be caught between he and his father’s fights. The only time he got something as a child that he wasn’t expected to feel sorry or wasteful for receiving. 

You wish there was some sort of supe that could communicate with ghosts or raise the dead. You’d mimic their powers, bring Ben’s father back, and then kill him again.

“Alright, Love.” Butcher raises his hands up in mock surrender. “Just makin’ sure.”

“Suck my fucking dick-“

“Can we, um,” Annie gives you an apologetic look as she cuts you off. “Can we draw? Now? Everyone has work tomorrow, and I would like to go home and eat my weight in sushi.”

Hughie nods, grinning down at Annie. “And watch Love Island.”

“Love Island?” MM raises his brows, and Annie blushes.

“It’s fun-“

“Names, cunts.” Butcher leans forward, pulling his paper, and looks around at the rest of the group. “Before time get’s all our sorry fuckin arses. Except yours. Love,” Butcher winks at you. “You’re stuck ‘ere till the sun goes out.”

“Eat me, Butcher.”

“Oi, I’m not above tellin the Gov you said that-“

“Ben would kick your sorry ass if you said that, Butcher.” MM’s voice is flat as he interrupts, leaning over the table to draw his paper. “You might be a supe now, but that motherfucker would beat up a mountain if it insulted her honor.”

You snort as Butcher’s sour expression, and give MM a grateful nod. Everyone here knows you don’t really have honor—at least not in a way that matters—but they also know that Ben doesn’t really care about that. His notion of your honor is subjective. You’re, apparently, above killing and straining labor, so he does that for you, but he also threatens congressmen and rude parents of Ryan’s classmates with his wife. You don’t lie to him, but he’s flat out encouraged you to commit perjury. He’d threatened a journalist who said you spread your legs for any powerful supe, but then shoved your knees apart to bury himself inside you and fuck you until you were a slurring, whiny mess under him.

It seems to mostly be about what you think of the insult. If that mountain called you a slut and you laughed, Ben would just glower, standing tall and ridged at your side. If it said the same thing and you stopped talking—cold spreading through your body and a ringing in your ears—Ben would make the mountain regret being born.

You miss him so fucking much.

Once everyone has a name and you’re sure no one’s pulled their own name, you leave Butcher’s apartment with grins and half-goodbyes. You, Annie, MM, and Hughie will all see each other tomorrow, and Frenchie, Kimiko, and Butcher will do the same.

It’s a short drive home from Butcher’s apartment, but that’s by design. For Ryan. Butcher lives in the city, and you and Ben are in the outskirt suburbs. You’d say Ben’s benefitting more from this arrangement—Butcher lives right above their office, while you have to drive to downtown for yours—but you’re the one who fought for this. The one who convinced Ben that Philadelphia would be a good place to live, because there was enough to not get bored, not enough that you’d never have peace, and it was halfway between New York and Washington. Most of the supe cleanup contracts that Ben, Butcher, Frenchie, and Kimiko got contracted for ended up being in New York—you’ve called Ben a murder maid several times, and he always rolls his eyes, kisses the top of your head, and mutters we don’t fucking murder people, we just get them in line when they’re being damn idiots—while a lot of your work is in DC, dealing with the more technical side of the post-Vought mess.

Ben hadn’t wanted you to call it the Soldier Boy Relief Foundation. He’d scowled at you as you’d told him and MM the idea, and their glares had been almost identical.

“There’s no fucking way you’re calling it that.” Ben had snapped, and MM had shot him a look of surprise.

“I mean, not that I don’t agree,” MM had said, scanning over Ben with a frown. “But why the hell do you think that.”

“Because Soldier Boy’s fucking dead. You,” he’d bumped his shoulder with yours, rough affection spreading over his ribs, even as he continued to glower. “Fucking killed him, Sunshine. Don’t use that name.”

You’d wrinkled your nose at him. “First of all, that’s very romantic, Pretty Boy. I’ve always wanted to metaphorically murder my husband.”

Brat-

“But,” you’d continued, kicking Ben’s shin as he’d started to smirk. “I have reasons to name it that.”

MM had scoffed. “There is not a chance you’ve got reasons to justify using that name-“

“It will draw attention.” You’d raised your fingers as you listed the reasons, using a bored, plain tone. “The whole point of this is to get as many victims of Vought and Homelander as much help as possible. Labelling it with Soldier Boy’s name will put it on people’s radar-“

“So would calling it the Starlight or Anomaly relief Foundation-“

You’d shaken your head, giving MM a flat look. “Annie’s supe name is already tainted in the public eye. Mine is controversial. If people hear the Anomaly Relief Foundation, they’ll form an automatic opinion based on the trials and news stories they’ve read. Soldier Boy will get people to actually look at what we’re doing. Older victims will be more likely to come out of the woodwork, supes that admired Ben growing up will be more willing to see what we’re offering them, and congress is full of old white assholes who will love it.”

MM had frowned, but nodded for you to continue, and you’d raised a second finger.

“Vought’s copyright on Soldier Boy expired last year, but Starlight and the Anomaly won’t be available for public use for another forty. Even if Vought goes down, they could drag us with them on petty litigations and technicalities, and we don’t need that right now. Finally,” you’d raised a third finger. “I think it’s poetic, and funny, and rubbing how we won in Homelander stupid dead face.”

You’d won that argument. And the argument about where to live. And the argument about letting Butcher have alternate weekends with Ryan.

That last one had been the easiest to win. For the name debate you’d had to convince Ben and MM, and for the city debate you’d had to convince the whole team of stubborn assholes you called your friends, but for the last one you’d only had to convince Ben. And you always convince Ben. He puts up a grumbled argument, and you tear down his points with teasing, loving words, and he gives in with a grunt. But you always see his small grin, and feel all his love and care and affection bursting from that piece of him near your heart, and he devours your face and neck and cunt until your knees get weak and you almost fall over.

You might love him more than life.

He’s waiting for you when you get home. You barely open the door before he’s on you, sweeping you into a long, deep kiss and groaning down your throat.

Hi, Benjamin. You mumble between your heads, and his chuckle rolls through your whole body.

“Hi, Sunshine.” He grins at you as he pulls away, hauling you up his chest as you gape at him a little stupidly. It’s not fair how he somehow keeps getting more handsome, how a domestic, peaceful life looks so good on him it might drive you insane. How his shirt under your hands is clean and soft and easy to tug on, to pull him back onto your mouth. How, when you finally get your shoes off, they’re on a mat right next to his, and that makes you feel all warm and fuzzy. How his beard is so well-trimmed because there’s nothing to rush for, and the whole house smells like pine because of Ben’s constant presence, and when he carries you up the stairs he doesn’t bother to look where he’s going because he already has the path memorized.

“Wait,” you push up on Ben’s chest, dropping your chin on his shoulder. “Ryan-“

“Hi!” Ryan calls your name from downstairs. “I’m doing homework!”

Don’t know how the fuck he’s my blood. Ben mutters in your head, never breaking his pace. He’s all damn smart and good at homework. “You know the drill, Kid?”

“Dinner in forty, only bother you if it’s an emergency!”

Smug pride inflates in Ben’s chest, and when you lean back he’s already grinning at you with darkened, blown out eyes, his half-hard cock already poking at your thigh.

You wrinkle your nose at him. We are not fucking with Ryan in the house.

We fuck with Ryan in the house all the damn time-

When he’s asleep, or watching TV, or has his headphones on. Not when he can hear it.

Then we’ll have him put headphones on-

You are not asking Ryan to use his headphones so we can have sex. You give Ben’s borderline pout a sweet smile, and lean forward to kiss over his beard. But when he goes to bed, I’ll let you do the thing.

Ben’s hunger grows white-hot and ravenous in your body, and when you meet his eyes, they’re darkened and peeling you apart. You have to squirt.

I can’t control that-

Whatever. Ben kicks open the door to your room, shooting you a wink. You have to let me make you fucking squirt, beautiful. No holding back.

You snort. When have you ever held back during sex.

I managed not to fuck you for six goddamn months. His voice is almost a growl in your head, and it’s not help your resolve to not have sex in the slightest. That’s some goddamn restraint, brat. He drops his mouth to that one spot on your throat, sucking and biting until your fingers curl in his hair. You’re fucking hot.

Thanks. Your voice is breathless, even between your heads, and you give a weak pull of Ben’s hair that only spurs him on. Wait, Ben, I need to talk to you-

That makes his pull away in an instant, his attention vigilant as he scans over your face, your skin suddenly wrapped in his concrete resolve. What the fuck is-

Nothing’s wrong. You take his face between your hands, giving him a soft smile. It’s about the meeting with everyone.

The one that you didn’t fucking invite me to.

The one, you swat at his arm, sticking your tongue out. That I’m trying to tell you about now, you big baby.

Fine. Ben grumbles in your head, watching you expectantly. What.

Have you ever done Secret Santa before?

Once. Vought party in the 80s.

You raise your brows at him. Really? How did that go?

I don’t fucking remember-

Well, it was forty years ago. You hold his face between your hands with a mock pout. Is your memory going, Benjamin? Do Ryan and I have to put you in a home-

Shut the fuck up, brat. Ben moves you flat on your back, kissing a very distracting line along your jaw as your finger curl in his hair.

Ben- You tug him back up—because if he keeps that up, you’ll never get around to telling him anything except more—and the asshole rises up with his hunger covering your bones and muscles, his body big and warm and strong over yours-

“Yes, darling?” Ben drawls, smirking down at you, and you scowl.

“You’re such a fucking cunt-“

“You love it,” he shrugs, still hovering over your body. “Tell me what the fuck the meeting was about to so I,” he pushes his knee between your thighs. “Can focus on this.”

Not with Ryan in the house-

You’ll just have to be quiet. He presses his knee up, bumping right over your clit, and grins at your small whine. Tell me about the meeting.

We’re, fuck- You grind pathetically against him, and Ben drops his weight to down to trap you against the mattress stilling the movements. You dick-

I’ll give you my dick. He kisses you once, long and slow, guiding your arms fully around his neck. Just use your fucking words, beautiful.

It’s a miracle you remember how words work, let alone say any of them, because Ben dives back down to your neck—keeping you pinned down as he works you into a gasping, writhing mess under him—and everything becomes very simply Ben in your mind and body.

“I, um,” he nips at your throat, and you have to swallow a moan. “Kimiko wanted to do something, for the Holidays, and Hughie suggested Secret Santa, so we’re, fuck, Ben, we’re doing that-“

Ben rises back up to frown at you, and you whine at the loss. “Doing what.”

“Secret Santa,” you whisper, taking the moment of his distraction to wrap your legs around his torso. “I put your name in, and, um,” you let go of him for a second, fumbling around in your pocket for Ben’s paper, folded neatly while yours was crumpled. “I grabbed yours.”

Ben wraps an arm around you as he sits up, pulling you to fall over his chest and curl in his lap. “That,” he nods to the paper, still in your hand. “Is who I have to get the gift for.”

You nod with a hum, passing it into his hand. “I didn’t look,” you say, watching him un-wrinkle it. “So don’t-“

“Butcher?” Ben looks up at you with a scowl, a hot, stinging itch spreading over his skin and sitting in his fingers. “What the fuck am I supposed to do with Butcher.”

You sigh. “Tell me. Don’t tell me, Ben.”

“I had to fucking tell you,” he snaps your name, glaring at the paper. “I can’t get a gift for fucking Butcher, all he does is fucking work and pussy around, fucking asshole probably doesn’t even want anything like a normal damn human-“

“There has to be something.” You mumble, tapping your fingers on Ben’s arm. “We’ll figure it out, Ben. I’ll help you. But you can’t tell anyone I did, and you have to pretend you don’t think this is stupid-“

“I don’t think it’s stupid-”

You give him a flat look. “Benjamin-“

“I think Butcher’s a fucking ball strainer.” Ben shrugs, fisting his paper into a ball and tossing it onto the floor. “But I’ve got you, Sunshine, so I’m good.”

You flush, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Ball strainer’s a new one. I like it.”

“Good,” Ben mutters, relaxing under your hands, the glow returning in his chest. “Who the fuck did you get.”

“I’m not telling you.”

“Why the fuck not, I told you mine-“

“Which you weren’t supposed to do.” You give him a flat look, and he rolls his eyes. “It’s Secret Santa. You’ll find out with everyone else.

“What’s the fucking point of being married,” Ben grumbles, pulling you a little further up his chest. “If my wife won’t tell me all her secrets.”

“You already know all my secrets, Benjamin.”

“Not fucking all of them-“

“This isn’t a secret.” You smile at him, and the glow spreads up his spine. “It’s a surprise.”

“Whatever.” He grumbles. “Sounds like a fucking secret.”

You kiss his cheek with a soft hum. “Grumpy-“

Your words die in a yelp as Ben flips you over, crashing his mouth into yours with a fervor, his hands squeezing and kneading at your waist.

“Brat,” he growls, and you have to bite your tongue to hold down a loud plea of his name. “I’m going to fuck you stupid, Sunshine, make you fucking drool and beg.” He bites on your lower lip, his knee pushing back to your core, and you whimper. “But you need to keep quiet.”

You will not be able to keep quiet. You’re grinding desperately against him, your mouth slack and open, and your whole body warm and sensitive and buzzing with Ben. Leaving wet, open kisses down your neck, replacing his knee with a broad hand cupping your pussy, groaning onto your skin as he twitches against your thigh.

“Ben-“

“Do you need some fucking help?” He drawls, crawling back up over you with a smirk. “Can’t keep that smart, pretty mouth closed?”

“Fuck,” you gasp as he pushes your panties to the side, running one finger between your folds. “God, Ben, fuck you-“

“I will.” He winks at you, his whole body still filled with adoration and hunger as his tone becomes stern. “Just ask real fucking nice, and I’ll fuck you all you damn want, Sunshine.”

“Ben, please-“

“Think you can keep it the fuck down?”

You nod frantically as Ben’s thumb moves to your clit, rubbing around it but never on it. A metallic tang sits in your mouth as you chew through your cheek, and Ben must see the tint of red or feel the sting of pain, because he pulls back suddenly, and you can’t stop your moan of protest.

“Not going to let you fucking hurt yourself.” He mutters, raising your legs up as he pulls off your underwear. You can talk here, he balls up the cloth, rising back up over your body. But that’s it. Got it?

You glance at the underwear in his hand, and swallow as you realize what he means, your mouth falling open without a single other thought.

Fucking words-

Got it. You smile up at him, curling a hand in his shirt to tug him down into a deep, easy kiss, pulling his tongue between your teeth. Fuck me.

He rises back up, scanning over your features with an attentive, rough care that pulls you apart and makes your whole body molten. There’s a sharp, sore ache over his skin and in his muscles, his free hand trailing slowly over your thighs, and God, if he doesn’t fuck you right now you might die.

Please, Ben. You grind up into the air, letting all of your love and thirst for him leak out of your body and into his. Please.

You can see the moment it hits him. His eyes flash, his nostrils flare, and if there was anything holding him back from just fucking you it’s gone. He presses his thumb on your lower lip in a silent request for you to open, and when you do he looks almost feral. He groans as he stuffs your panties into your mouth, tracing broad fingers over your cheekbones and squeezing your waist as he draws back.

Going to go slow, he mutters in your head, angling your hips up into the air so your ass is resting on his thighs, your dripping pussy is fully at his mercy. Take my fucking time.

Ben-

He slaps your pussy once, and your moan is muffled as your eyes roll back in your head.

So fucking wet, he says your name in the silence, smirking at you as he repeats the movement and your hips buck into the air. And fucking needy, already whining and I’ve barely damn touched you-

Please, you widen your eyes at him, your fingers curling in the sheets when he drags his thumb up, over your slit, and presses hard on your clit. Fuck, Ben-

What do you want, darling. He presses his thumb down, angling it so he can tease your already fluttering cunt with two forefingers. You want my fingers? He shoves them deep into you, crooking them as they hit that deep, soft spot that makes everything in your body sing.

Fuck-

Or, he kisses a sloppy path down your chest—pausing only to flick his tongue over your nipple and smirk at your high, muffled noise of need—and moves one hand back to your hips, adjusting you further upwards as he buries his face between your legs. My mouth?

His beard brushes and tickles your thighs as he tongue-fucks you, his nose bumping your clit, and God, it’s everything. Ben’s everything. Just the sight of him—in all his stupid, handsome glory, all of it just for you—makes you dizzy. And he’s touching you like you’re holy and grinning against your cunt as you make high, muffled sounds, and you’re so close already and he’s so good-

Ben. You don’t have to the strength to push up on your elbows and fully look at him, and he’s holding you still with big, warms hands that pull and rub at your skin, so all you can do is moan into the mock-gag and arch your back when he licks a rough stripe up your cunt. Fuck, Ben, I need you, please-

He hums against you, flattening his tongue on your clit as one hand snakes back under your ass, playing and teasing around your cunt, never pushing in. You like this, darling? Like getting my mouth and fingers the needy fucking miracle you are, like it when I fucking worship your perfect pussy-

Yes, please-

He shoves two fingers back into you, pumping and scissoring as he flicks his tongue over that bundle of nerves. Tell me how good it feels, Sunshine, talk to me-

So good, you whine, and he chuckles in a way that rolls right into the tight coil near your gut. Fuck, Ben, fuck me, please-

That what you want? He rises back up with one last suck of your clit, leaving you whining and empty and fuck, he’s so handsome and all yours and looking at you like you’re some sort of god-

Benjamin-

His cock slaps on your clit—you don’t even know when he took off his pants, because everything is just a haze of warm and pine and Ben and good—and you fucking squeal.

You want my fucking cock, beautiful? Want me to make you squirt all over my fucking dick, fuck you like you deserve, fuck you until that smart, pretty mouth is fucking drooling and screaming my name-

Please, you hook your legs around his waist, trying to guide him inside you. Want you-

Beg.

I did, you asshole- The gag barely muffles your moan as Ben teases the head of his cock inside you, and you almost fly off the bed. Fuck, please-

More.

Please, Ben, please fuck me, please-

Good girl. He pushes himself inside you without further warning, primal satisfaction glowing over his ribs and abdomen as ghosting, iridescent fire covers your skin. So fucking beautiful, he growls your name between your heads, dragging himself out and slamming back in with a bruising force. Fucking perfect. So tight and wet for me, Sunshine, always so fucking good-

Ben groans as you squeeze around him, but he doesn’t pick up the pace. He just moves your hips a little higher, towering over you as he slowly thrusts in and out of your aching pussy.

Fuck, you’re a goddamn marvel, beautiful, feel like fucking heaven, could die here-

Ben, you whimper around your underwear, somehow finding the strength to reach up to him. Please, faster-

It’s all he needs. Ben’s praise becomes slurred as he fucks into you at an inhuman pace, his skin slapping sinfully against yours and his cock bumping your cervix with every thrust.

Christ, fuck- He falls over you, kissing over your collarbone before sucking on your neck, his movements becoming jerking and uncontrolled. You’re- fuck- Such a good girl, taking my cock so fucking good, fucking made for me, best fucking pussy I’ve ever seen, fucking love you-

You’re so close. Everything in you is alight and desperate for release, and you’re only a split second from begging for it when Ben groans against you, rising up to watch you with a devout, starved focus you can feel pounding in your heart.

You’re perfect. His voice in your head is deep and so fucking hungry, and you whimper. Cum, Sunshine.

Release rips through your body, and Ben rips your underwear out of your mouth, slamming his lips over yours and kissing you into the mattress. You scream down his throat as he fucks you through your orgasm, and when something warm and wet flows out of your pussy, Ben’s cock starts to jerk and spill into you. It’s so warm and blissful and made of Ben’s ardor and pleasure, and it sends you over the edge once more.

Neither of you try to move for a minute, Ben’s brow dropping to yours as you sit in his safe, certain warmth.

“We’ve got dinner.” He mutters, kissing the space between your eyes as he pulls out of you. “Go shower, beautiful.”

“You need to shower as well-“

“I’ll shower after.” Ben shrugs, rubbing on your thigh as he sits on the edge of the mattress. “You’re a bigger mess than me, darling.”

“Then I,” you mumble, and he rolls his eyes, jagged affection flaring in his body. “And I’m only a mess because you’re a tease, Pretty Boy.”

Ben snorts, leaning down to give you one last, soft kiss. “You love it,” he mutters onto your lips. “See you downstairs.”

You don’t move for a while after the door closes behind him, and you don’t know how long passes when Ben sparks in your chest, his words low in your head.

Move, Sunshine. Dinner’s almost ready.

Shut up. You smile at the ceiling, because he’d known you would still just be lying, fucked out, in bed. I hate you.

No you don’t. You fucking love me. 

I’m allowed to feel two things, cunt.

But you don’t, brat. Say it.

You roll your eyes, pushing up on the bed. I love you, you dick.

I love you too. You feel him glow in your body, and you shuffle to find where Ben had tossed your pants. See you in ten.

You nod mindlessly into the air, and pull your own paper out, smiling easily at the name. See you soon, my love.

—————

Ben worked in a fucking office. He did a goddamn commute every weekday, got dropped off at a fucking office, received a paper bag and a kiss on the cheek from his wife, then worked from nine to fucking five.

In a fucking office.

At a fucking desk.

Ben had a fucking desk. With a computer and stupid chair that spun in a circle and a mug that his son had gotten him. It said World’s Greatest Grandpa, and his wife had almost fallen over laughing when Ben showed it to her.

You think that’s fucking funny, Sunshine-

I know it’s funny, Benjamin. She’s kissed him, alive and beautiful in his arms, leaning into his body like she’d never want to be anywhere else. And they were out of Dad mugs, so it was either that or you being the World’s Best Mom.

Ben had rolled his eyes, then kept that mug where he could see it all the time. At his desk.

In his fucking office.

His office with a horrible fucking paint job, and lights that barely worked, and a printer that he had no damn idea how to use. It was why he made Kimiko print out photos of Her and Ryan, and he spent most of the day just fucking staring at them and bothering Her through the brain connection while she worked.

Because Ben was—as She’d call it—being a dramatic fucking man child. He only actually went in once or twice a week, for briefs on new missions and paperwork on old ones. The worst part of the whole fucking thing was that he still couldn’t figure out the fucking computer, and every few weeks he had to sleep at a hotel in New York for a case. In reality he got paid damn well, woke up next to the most beautiful woman in fucking history every morning, and picked his son up from school every afternoon. He got to do work he didn’t hate, and work with people who he—against his fucking will—liked enough not to kill.

Butcher was calling it a Private Military Company. She called it Supe Cleanup. And murder maid, but most supe cleanup.

She was fucking right. In all the jobs Butcher had found for them, exactly two had been non-supe related. And whatever She said was the goddamn truth anyway, because no matter what Butcher claimed, they worked for Her. She got Neuman to give them all their damn cases, was the one who funded a lot of their fucking bullshit, and She dealt with most of the aftermath. Butcher wouldn’t say it because he was a pathetic fucking pussy, and She wouldn’t say it because she was too kind for her own damn good, but everyone else knew.

She was the fucking boss. She called the shots, and looked damn hot doing it. She was the one who killed Homelander—all Butcher had done was shoot a fucking gun, any asscuck with eyes and hands could’ve done that—and the one who built this shit up in a matter of months. She had the ideas for the supe reform programs, and employed all the lawyers who represented the countless victims of Vought and Homelander. Christ, She even got Butcher the damn license to be a private contractor, and convinced that Defense Secretary pussy to hire them the post-Vought efforts. She was the one with a real damn job.

Ben, Butcher, Frenchie, and Kimiko sat around until someone told them there was work to do, and then they damn did it and went home.

She testified before congress. She dealt with all the fucking press idiots, and offered the supes second chances the pussies didn’t deserve, and made sure everyone got their reparations. Ben wasn’t really sure what the fuck the actual mission statement of Her whole thing was—She’d explained it, tits pressed together as she crossed her arms, and he hadn’t remembered all her big, fancy fucking words—but he knew she was doing something good. She ran a real company, not a group of four fucking assholes.

“It’s not a company, Benjamin.” She’d told him, straddling his torso and pouting down at him as his hands kneaded her skin. “It’s a non-profit.”

“What’s the damn difference,” he’d grumbled, and she’d sighed, tapping her fingers on his chest.

“Well, if it’s a company I don’t get any government funding. And as a non-profit we get exempt from certain taxes, and it lends us a certain credibility, which is important because a lot of people aren’t going to trust us. Which I understand, this is a mess, but we also can’t give the media or public anything that might lend to confirmation bias-“

Ben had pulled Her down as she started to spiral into a fucking overdrive, and kissed her until she relaxed in his arms.

Don’t fucking hurt yourself, Sunshine. He’d muttered. You had me with ‘well’.

That was- She’d let out a small gasp as Ben nipped on her upper lip, her voice breathy in their heads. I hadn’t even started talking-

I know. He’d smirked against Her, rolling them over so he could look down at Her beautiful face, how it was open and easy and all his to keep joyful. You have me all the damn time, darling.

Good. She’d smiled up at him, Ben might have drowned in how fucking perfect she was. Because you have me as well.

He didn’t have Her now. Ben had Her everywhere in the world, except in his arms. She was in the flicking, golden light of the office, and the off-key, horrible fucking humming Butcher was doing across the room, and wallpaper of his phone. Both She and Ryan were in pieces all over Ben’s desk as well. Not just in the pictures, but the little paper guide She’d made him to the internet. It told him how shit like URLs and emails and incognito mode worked, and it was in Her handwriting because She loved him enough to help him with this. Ryan had contributed, and drawn a little fucking smile on the corner of one of the pages, and Ben kept it open to that section all the damn time.

Ryan was mostly in that stupid damn mug that Ben kept on his desk every moment, even when he wasn’t using it.

She was mostly in the ring on Ben’s finger. Matching Her’s, the only thing he ever owned that he gave a shit about. He’d had houses and trophies and diamonds and stupid fucking crystal plates that barely damn worked, but they’d all been replaceable. This ring wasn’t. It was made of all the stupid scrap Frenchie had found in the pawn shop, and fireproof because his beautiful, perfect wife was a fucking menace.

And She wasn’t fucking replaceable. The ring proved that Ben had Her—alive in his body and consuming his every damn thought—and he’d never fucking lose Her. He simply fucking refused to, because he’d never, ever be able to find someone he knew how to love half as much. Christ, he’d never had a goddamn chance, because loving Her might be the only thing Ben had ever been a natural at. He’d learned how to do it without effort, like it was something he was born for, and he’d never want to do anything else again. He was the only pussy in the world who was worthy of it, as well.

Ben was worthy of Her, because he fucking understood that She was priceless and holy. That loving Her was a task, but fuck it was worth it. Every nightmare and hollow, glassy stare when she retreated back into pain—the feeling like torture in Ben’s body, making him feel fucking sick until she smiled again—was well worth it to love Her. Worth how he might not be the only one who got to see all Her damn perfection on the surface—beauty and kindness and smart words that came with a smarter fucking brain—but it was Ben alone who got to see everything. The whole picture of this insane, infuriating, perfect woman.

And fuck, She was a masterpiece. And She was all fucking Ben’s. All his to tend to and hold, all his to throw around and fight besides, all his to grin at and care for and really fucking love. All Ben’s to give the whole damn world, and then reduce it all to a moan of his name when he fucked Her. When he buried his head in Her pretty pussy that tasted like a heady, slightly bitter, powerful fucking drug and rubbed Her clit until she squirted all over his fucking face. All Ben’s to trace with worshipping, firm hands, all Ben’s to get fucking high on.

Because sometimes he’d have his hand braced near Her head as he fucked her, and she’d be a needy fucking mess under him, and he’d trace fingers over Her lips and cheekbones before brushing the hair from Her face.

And his ring would catch the light through their blind shades.

And Ben would lose his fucking mind.

He’d hit a pace that was inhuman, and kiss Her everywhere he could fucking reach. Breathing would feel pointless, because he had his wife under him, screaming his name and being the only thing in the whole world that mattered. All of Ben’s existence would narrow to his mouth on her own, or kissing at Her breasts, or sucking on her clit. His hands would be for squeezing and pulling Her skin, or tracing and teasing over her perfect body, or thrusting fingers in and out of Her pussy. Shoving them deep enough his ring would come out covered in her arousal, crooking them until she was pleading and whining under him, and tasting Her when he pulled them out, leaving Her ruined and whimpering on the edge.

And he’d split Her open on his cock, make Her say his name like a prayer, and fuck Her until she squirted all over his cock and he could pump her full of his cum-

Stop distracting me, Benjamin.

I didn’t fucking do anything. He drawled Her name between their heads, smirking into the air. You’re the one who’s distracting me, brat.

Shut up, you’re probably at your desk watching baseball. And you know what you fucking did.

Ben rolled his eyes, turning off his monitor, and with it the MBA game. I don’t have a damn clue what you’re talking about, Sunshine, you spoke first-

Because you started getting horny and loud in my brain, and I’m at work. I can’t start masturbating while I talk to MM and Hughie, they’ll never look me in the eyes again.

Tell them to fucking leave.

I’m not kicking them out of our meeting so we can have mind sex.

You’ve kicked them out so we can have real sex-

Ben could almost see the wrinkle of Her nose. That’s not the same, you looked like you were going to kill them if they didn’t leave-

I hadn’t seen you in a fucking week-

Three days, don’t be dramatic-

And, Ben ignored Her, pushing on. Those pussies chose to leave, it’s not like I fucking threatened them-

They could see your boner, my love. Her voice was bored and amused in his head, and Ben wanted to fucking eat the sound and turn it into a moan. And you almost broke down my door demanding we go on a date, and I quote, ‘right fucking now’-

We should go on a date-

Ben-

Tonight, darling, keep your damn head on. You can stash Ryan at Butcher’s, the asshole looks fucking lonely anyway-

Don’t call it stashing, Ben-

Fine, drop him there after you pick him up-

I was actually, um, I was going to- She paused, and Ben could almost hear her nervous swallow. I wanted to ask, and you can say no, but I-

Words, darling-

Could you pick up Ryan today? I have to go do something.

Ben frowned into the air. Something.

Her voice hummed in his head. Yeah.

Are you going to fucking tell me-

No. It’s a surprise.

It’s a fucking secret-

Ben. Her voice was soft and gentle in his head, and that alone made his frown drop to what She called a pout.

What.

If it was a secret, I would’ve told you I’m working late, or going out with Annie and Kimiko, or something else stupid. But it’s not a secret, I just can’t tell you right now.

She was right. She was always fucking right, and Ben had an idea what this was, but he still missed Her. Wanted to touch her and walk with her and make Her bury her face in his arm when he teased her. You’re going to fucking tell me.

I promise that, by the end of the month, I will have told you. And we can do that date on Christmas eve. Whatever you want.

You don’t have to damn bribe me-

I know. She sighed in the silence, and something in Ben ached as Her own guilt clouded over his eyes. But I want to go on a date with you. And I really want to tell you what I’m doing-

You’re getting a gift. Ben said between their heads, and there was a brief silence before She responded.

Shut up.

Ben drawled Her name, grinning at the air. You’re going to get your gift for the stupid fucking Santa thing-

No, I need to go to the mall for that. Actually, She paused, and Ben felt a smile tug at his lips as he pictured Her pretty face starting into the air, her fingers tapping her desk or leg. Could you take Ryan to the mall? Help him get his gifts? And maybe new pants, I think he grew again-

You have to go with us to get the tree.

If Her nose hadn’t been wrinkling before, it sure as fuck was now. I thought I didn’t have to bribe you, Pretty Boy-

It’s not a fucking bribe, Sunshine, it’s a deal. You go do your secret shit-

My surprise shit-

And I’ll get Ryan and do the fucking shopping. But we’re doing that date, and you’re coming with us for the tree.

Okay. Deal. Ben?

He grunted Her name between their heads, and something warm spread over his whole body at the sound of Her sweet, sharp, infinitely adoring voice.

I love you. She whispered. Thank you-

Don’t. Ben muttered. I love you too. But if you’re not home by midnight I’m finding you and carrying you back.

Her giggle was soft in the silence of the office, and Ben didn’t bother to fight the wide grin on his face. Promise?

Brat.

Cunt.

She faded back into a quiet, perfect presence over Ben’s skull, and now he actually had to damn work. But then he’d get to pick Ryan up—Ben didn’t fucking know how shopping worked without Her there, and he didn’t think Ryan would either, but they’d figure it out—and kiss Her dumb when she got back from whatever the hell she was doing.

She’d tell him. Ben didn’t have a single fucking doubt She’d tell him, because they didn’t keep secrets from each other. Ben could feel Her all the fucking time, and knew exactly where she was across the city, and he didn’t have a single damn desire to keep anything from Her at all. He didn’t see the point in it. That’s what fucking marriage was for, Ben giving his everything to Her, while She gave every part of her right back.

It’s why he was so fucking ready for the holidays. Ben hadn’t had a real Christmas since he was fucking six or seven. They’d either been spent at boarding schools or in military camps through his youth, or at drug-fueled parties through his career. Or just fucking alone. When everyone had people to go to that they cared about more, and Ben didn’t have a single fucking person who saw him as their person.

He’d told Her that, and something soft and pained had flashed over her beautiful face as she held his face between his hands. He’d expected an age joke—So in a hundred fucking years, Pretty Boy?—but all he’d gotten was a gentle, slow kiss and loving words.

You’re my person, Benjamin. She’d mumbled against his lips. And as long as you’re stuck with that, we can do whatever you want for Christmas.

I’m not fucking stuck with it, he’d grumbled, hauling Her up his chest. I love you, Sunshine, you’re not getting rid of me until I fucking die.

She’d hummed, smiling at him. So in like a year, old man?

Ben had rolled his eyes—there She was—and kissed Her until she was squirming above him, then fucked up into her as she screamed his name.

And he didn’t really fucking want much else. There were to many damn traditions for this shit. Activities he didn’t understand, and mistletoe he didn’t fucking care about—he didn’t need a damn plant to tell him when to kiss his wife—and cards that were fucking pointless because they had six friends who they saw every damn day.

He wanted to do some of it though. Ben wanted to eat all the food, and watch whatever movie She told him to—he didn’t understand how a movie about the Grinch could be the best Christmas movie ever fucking made, Benjamin, but he’d watch most anything if She sat with him —and he really wanted to do the tree. To get a big one that made the whole house smell good, and he could cover it in stupid lights.

It should be rainbow lights. She’d fucking love rainbow lights, so Ben should get rainbow lights.

Ben should get them a lot of fucking things. He should get Ryan whatever the hell the kid needed to be a kid, and Ben hadn’t been a kid since the fucking 20s, so he’d have to ask Her and see what that shit looked like now. Probably sports gear, and a real phone that wasn’t a damn brick, and a trip to some museums because Ryan was like Her, and they both liked smart shit, and museums were full of smart shit.

She should get a trip to a museum as well, just Her and Ben. She should get twenty more houses, and a massive library that was just for Her to be a genius in, and as many breaks and vacations as Ben could drag her on. Back to their villa in Rome every summer, and up to Boston to visit Her sister, and every other beautiful place in the world.

She should get the fucking world. Ben should be able to drag the sun down from the sky for Her to hold, and break of a piece of the moon for Her to touch.

But this—a normal, easy holiday where Ben could buy find Her something as perfect as she was for a gift—was going to be damn good place to start.

End Note: It was bold of any of them to think Ben would be able to keep any sort of secret from Her.

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Taglist

@manicjk @lordofthunderthr @artemys-ackles @brtodd @ej13928

@deansbbyx

[heylittleriotact]

📚What I'm Reading These Days📚

A to Zenith by @allofthebarks (Solas x Female Lavellan): For my fellow Solavellan hell-dwellers, my bestie has refused to let the end of Solas and Lavellan's story get in the way of her delivering sweet, sexy angst and pining over a decade later. HELL YEAH. She's going to fuck us up emotionally 26 times, and I am ✨here✨ for it. Our friendship was built on a foundation of jointly authoring unhinged InuYasha fanfic when we were 14, she was my maid of honour, and our FFXIV characters are married, so I can very personally vouch for the quality of her work.

Sonnet of the Lone Cardinal by @brain-rot-central (Ascended Astarion x Female Durge): Set post BG3. I've been absolutely entranced by this beautiful Dead Dove all year. It's so breathtakingly fucked up and disturbing. The chilling, deeply seated tension that the writer is capable of cobbling together in your gut with each chapter is nothing short of impressive. This isn't in-your-face, no punches pulled sort of depravity: it's slow burning nightmare fuel tempered with absolutely gorgeous angst, evocative characterization, and the never-ending feeling that something absolutely fucking terrible is about to happen.

Herbarium by @emmg (Emmrich Volkarin x Female Rook): COME AND GET IT EMMROOK FANS - I literally can't even with this. Somehow @emmg manages to capture the Gentleman Necromancer in all of his dorky, yapping glory, making me laugh my absolute ass off and then like... three lines later dives into the fucked up inner workings of his brain and all of it's trauma soaked angst and self-loathing and self-denial in a way that actually boggles my mind. Like it's sooooo fucking good. Rook is a fucking turbo-babe and I love her. The smut is absolutely top notch, and if you're not reading this, you're missing out, so do yourself a favour and make it happen.

Indelible Imprints by @preciouslittlebhaalbae (Astarion x Female Tav): Isekai fics are usually a tough sell for me, but @preciouslittlebhaalbae pulls it off so well with her OC, Erin, and I'm so glad I finally got a chance to get caught up on Chapter 14 recently. This is a really lovely, wholesome Astarion-centric romance with softness, pining, sweetness, spiciness and hilarity in equal measure. We're not afraid to get dark either, which really does it for me. Definitely check this out - it's amazingly written, and seeing Erin's dynamic develop with all of the Tadfools is so thoughtfully and pragmatically done. Writer also has impeccable music taste. 11/10, no notes.

[notjuststardust]

Bucket Time Trafalgar LawxReader

Reader eats too much brownie batter and suffers. Inspired by me at least once a week :). Keep in mind this is not proof read and its literally the first forethoughts that belched from my brain rot of this concept so take it easy if there are grammatical errors, please. Might upload an edited 3rd draft once I get there but for now enjoy this fluffy slice of doctor Law taking care of his sweet tooth crewmate. Fluff and some angst if you squint.

TW: Mentions of vomit, hypersensitivity.

“What did I say about consuming raw brownie batter?” Your captain growled, your locks in hand as you wretched into your bucket for the fifth time tonight.

 “Not to eat it in copious amounts..” you whine, giving him your best puppy eyes in hopes of some sort of appeasement.

 “No I said don’t eat it at all.”

 “But-“ you’re caught off guard by another wave of nausea, dipping your head back over your bucket and spilling your guts. As irritated as your captain is, he can't help but feel a swell of pity about your predicament. You always licked some of the brownie batter from the bowl on baking day despite his strict orders not to but Shachi and Penguin had dared you to down the entire thing. You’d done it in 60 seconds.

 That had been the beginning of the end of your wellness.

 “S-sorry,” you sniff, tears slipping from the mere action of relieving your stomach, grabbing for the clean cloth on the sink to wipe your mouth. “Wont do it again.” You mutter weakly, head nearly drooping from tired yet Law knows one thing and that is that your sweet tooth always makes you a liar.

 Once your fever goes down and he discharged you to your quarters when next month rolls around you’ll forget all about this and indulge once again in the chocolate goodness.

 It’s too late for another scolding so he chokes back a comment, replacing your bucket with a new one. As the sink rolls on he watches you in his peripheral, barely upright from dehydration and exhaustion. He’s shocked you haven’t dropped by now. You’ve had a fever since 5 o clock when Shachi and Penguin had finally decided to relay your secret sickness to the captain. 

 You’d made them promise not to because you looked ‘gross’ and smelled bad but it was no worse then what he already was used to. Now it was 1am and you were barely upright, staring off in a daze of impending doom toward your bucket.

 “Go to sleep.” It sounds more like a threat than a suggestion. You huff and squirm. 

 “If I fall asleep I might miss the bucket. I’ve never missed the bucket before.” He freezes mid scrub, cranking his head to look at you. Sensing his stare you stare harder at the bucket, trying to ignore the intensity bubbling his steel gaze molten.

 “Your health is not something to make a gamble of,” more than anger is evident in his command, making you shrink. “If you miss I’ll just clean it up,” he gestures to the cot pulled out in his office for you. “Now sleep.” He gruffs watching you stand and sway out of the bathroom, careful to avoid even a glance his way.

 He relaxes once he thinks he’s won.

 That’s until he’s droning through paperwork only to find you wide awake at the crack of dawn, refusing sleep even still. “(Y/N)-ya.” Your eyes snap shut. He stands from his desk.

 “I haven’t missed the bucket before, I won’t miss it now!” You levy and that’s the hump that breaks the camels back. All the worry, stress and disrespect peaks spilling out of Law’s throat as projectile, emotion and tired clouding the real contents that spew fourth.

 “Are you that naive? I’m a doctor. Without proper sleep your body won’t properly restore your ATP. You’ll just keep getting worse,” he snaps, hackles raised as you turn up your nose in refusal. “If you’re really going to act like such a child I may as well drop you off with strawhat-ya! Tell me, is that what you want? You might fit in with the band of idiots..” The tension clenching his chest into what had felt like chronic hypertension eases with his outburst for only a moment. 

 There’s only the brr of the submarine and the shuffle of a body, yours, flipping over to face the wall. Law opens his mouth to take it back but you speak first. “If that would be easier for you, I accept your decision, captain.” Your body trembles and it’s not from the uptick of waves. Caging a hand over his mouth Law tries to concoct something to salvage his harshness with you. A snore graces your lips and whether artificial or not the doctor decides is best to simply say nothing for now.

—- 

 Law returns from breakfast to find your cot freshly made and… empty. Oh no. 

 He starts with your bedroom. You hadn’t been down for breakfast and he hadn’t taken your temperature just yet. Had you seriously left before he could make sure you were okay? No, you were sensitive, a bit silly but you were not an idiot. Not like he had said at all. After checking just about every room the doctor freezes something blatant clicking in his brain. He murmurs a quiet ‘shambles’ switching himself with one of Ikkaku’s trinkets only to enter as a closet door slams shut.

 “Ikkaku.” The ginger slowly turns her head, face pale as she giggles too much. He doesn’t need to say anything because he scanned the room the minute he’d switched. You’d been found a while ago.

 “H-hey captain, what are you doing in here?” He almost states his business fully but the only worry on his crewmates face is for fear of you being found. If you were sick Ikkaku would most definitely rat you out.

 “Tell (Y/N)-ya I need to see her in my office when you see her.” He flicks a telling glance toward the closet before hesitantly excusing himself and like clockwork he hears the closet reopen.

 “He wants to get rid of me. Doesn’t he?” He goes frigid at your words. You were notably the most sensitive of your crew members. Emotion and human behavior were your strengths so how could you think such a thing? Nevermind, of course you thought that, you’d thought he implied it last night.

 Law stands outside the door, frog in his throat when you open it. You don’t seem shocked that he’s out there but you don’t seem happy either, eyes scanning him over for any sense that he had in fact heard your words. “Sorry.” You apologize almost instantly, eyes set to the ground in silent shame. There was more color to your face and you smelled like waffles.

 You’d kept something down, good.

 “Room.” He murmurs, and you both reappear in his study. You blink off the still heavy nausea and plonk into a chair. He takes your temperature and administers a subcutaneous antibiotic. The silence is loud.

 “I left a note with my vitals for this morning.” He eyes his desk and sure enough there’s a note written in big letters, ‘Need some space. BPM 68….’ He swallows as he reads through your detailed note. You didn’t leave a single thing to the imagination because you knew he’d worry. Law nods, then he slides back into his chair.

 “I’m glad you’re feeling better. I know I might now show it but… you had me worried.” You nod but do not move, do not even offer a single joke. He feels his heart clench. “Do you remember much?” He offers as a transition, folding his hands together on the table.

 “Everything.” It’s not an admission but it sure feels like it. His tongue fumbles into knots and you notice. “You were tired.” You say so quietly, eyes set on the medicine cabinet for comfort instead of him.

 “That’s no excuse,” he counters just as quickly wanting so badly for you to just look at him, see his side. “You are not an idiot and you have no place on any other crew.” Your brows pop and you let out a low whistle.

 “That’s rich.” It almost sounds bitter but there’s the twitch of a laugh.

 “Care to let me in on the joke?” He inquired cooly, forcing himself not to take it personally, yet. You consider yourself.

 “Well,” you shoot a glance Law’s way. “I mean it would be great petty revenge to join Luffy’s crew.” Your captain facepalms.

 “(Y/N)-ya-“

 “If you wanted to visit me I’d make sure to get real cozy with Luffy so I didn’t have to talk to you.” You tease as he snorts. The thought of you and Luffy together gave him a headache, not to mention his stomach soured at the mere idea of you brushing hands and stolen glances at one another.

 “You hate me that much, huh?” He sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. There’s quiet.

 “I could say the same thing to you.” You say it so casually he nearly chokes. He looks up to find your teasing feign gone. What was it you had said earlier?

 “He wants to get rid of me. Doesn’t he?”

 “I do not want to get rid of you.” There is conviction and then there is objective fact, this was that. Nothing you could say nor do could change the fact that even though you were sometimes a moron who ate too much brownie batter or an idiot that took bathes with electronics in the tub you were his problem and to be quite frank, his favorite problem.

 Though you were an inconvenience at times you were a comfort to just about everyone on board. You brought a content that hadn’t been here in your absence and a space for Law to be palpable despite his hesitancies. Not to mention you always followed through.

 A consistent chaos in a sea of abnormalities.

 “Are you sure?” You murmur, words unsteady as the sea of ‘want to says’ in his head. He nods and reaches onto the desk, open palmed and flicking his pointer. His cheeks heat as you stare at his hand. Then you put a pen where he’s requesting your hand.

 He about deflates.

 “Y-yes, I’m sure.” He puts the pen away when realization his you like a brick.

 “Wait-“ not wasting another second you take hold of his hand. He clears his throat as you stare at him for confirmation, gifting you a curt nod. Maybe he couldn’t say the words but you could read the in betweens.

 “You’re my problem. Do you understand?” Bravely, he lifts your hand bringing it to his mouth. He hesitates as you gulp, careful only to brush his mouth over a knuckle once he's certain you don’t want to protest.

 “Y-yes Captain!” You give him some sort of mock salute in the middle of your fluster, bashful as you realize what class of problem you were. He chuckles softly, releasing your hand.

 “That means no more brownie batter,” he stands at full height, leaning over the desk to take in all your bashful glory. “That way I can finally taste those beautiful lips of-“ That’s when Shachi and Penguin burst down the door, parting the anticipatory union and turning you both red with embarrassment. 

 “Too much cookie dough!” They grovel, sloshing to piles of green much on the floor.

 It’s bucket time again.

[mrsnancywheeler]

ommggg i read let me down easy today and i kept re-reading it bc its TOO GOOD AHH !!🦅🦅

it hurt so much but im a whore for angst first, and a human second🫶

just thinking about the reader suffering in silence because she feels guilty for having any negative feelings towards finnick :(( the way she dismisses those feelings bc she thinks that whatever she’s going through is nothing compared to what he’s been through :((

also thinking abt finnick’s slow realization that she’s suffering because of him :(( like the incident at the market is when he began to notice the changes :(( and later when he fully understands how his behavior affected her IT MESSES HIM UP SO BAD

i just know he was remembering his past interactions with reader (where she breaks the glass / when she rejected his money at the pearl necklace stand) AND CRINGING …and it only gets worse when reader spills her guts about what she went through. omg ik he was sick.

another #thougjt i had was how this might mess up the reader for a bit after too #idk (that just might be me tho lmaoo) bc i feel like once you’ve been in that cycle of feeling depressed/insecure for so long it’s hard to snap out of, even with constant reassurance 😔

But maybe that’s just my angsty side talking HAHA

but i loved this fic, 11/10🫶

-🦅

omg yes, literally my favorite thing I've ever written. ik I wrote it, but it's the only thing of mine I reread bc it's like the perfect expression of how I feel, like if I could represent myself in one fic it would be that one if that makes any sense. it's like a concept that always haunts my mind no matter what I'm hyperfixating on maybe because I'm just like melancholy like that 🎀🎀🎀

but thank you so much, I'm literally so glad people are enjoying it because it literally is my own roman empire

yes she wants to be angry, she is angry, but refuses to let herself be because his issues are what she needs to prioritize. how can she be angry when he is constantly suffering? even if it's not so slowly tearing her apart, like a piece of paper sitting in water, she's trying to stay connected for the illusion of it all, to be strong for him.

her being loving isn't new to him, so he isn't thrown off by that, only slightly confused by her waking up earlier then usual. so her gifts have little bearing when he's used to it and he really doesn't want to feel loved right now because he's trying to reject whatever will make him seek comfort. when she starts changing her clothes and makeup, it's different, but he's not responsive because she's always been his pretty girl and always will be, her buying new clothes doesn't make him perceive her any differently or wonder if there's a reason, people try out new things.

when he notices how other peoples interactions with her have changed that's when he really starts to notice, if everyone else perceives her as melancholy then something has to be wrong. even if he's not quick to point the finger back to himself. he tries gifts, maybe she wouldn't buy something because she wanted him to do it, some sort of attention, but it's not big enough part of the issue to have any bearing on the effects it's now had on her. the girl rotting depression era shall we say. eventually through that, what people say to him, self-reflection he gains full consciousness of what he's been doing, how he's been hurting the person he loves so much. and the guilt is incomprehendable.

how could he be so selfish? so closed off as not to process all the clear cries for help? thinking about how he was getting annoyed, feeling like she was being moody when she insisted on doing the dishes until the dish broke. how she ran out into the ocean, in the rain without a care to regain some sense of composure, composure to try and make him happy. then the necklace thing, how could he miss her clearly trying just to be with him, be near him, have the interactions with him that he was giving to the girl at the shop instead? he was so unresponsive to the emotional needs he just assumed it to be a material need that he was willing to give. so when she rejects the money it just doesn't compute, to buy it she needs it, and then she tries to send the message that buying something isn't what she's asking for but he misses it completely. he gets snappy and it snaps her.

so when he's finally talking to her, he needs her to tell him the truth, the nuances because he's been so blind to all of it. he needs to know how he hurt her and it really is like a full wake up call. he can't let his own trauma consume him, allowing it to traumatize her in different ways. like when she mentions her getting to the point of just wanting him to want her body if he wouldn't want her because that's how people perceive him, that's what was hurting him, but he inadvertently made her feel that way. it breaks him to think that he did that to her, that he hurt his girl that way. then the idea that she would have let him cheat on her, she would've picked being with him over her own well-being, well she did, and he doesn't deserve that. he can't fathom how he could be with someone who loves him so blindly as to choose being with a ghost of him over not having him at all, when she deserves so much better. when he has been so callous with such a precious kind of love. or the fact that he even made it seem like he had interest in anyone but her.

there will be a fluffy, smutty requested sequel but readers issues afterwards will be lightly touched upon in it. but yes, she would have to spend so much time mending her relationship with herself afterwards. he's totally on hand and knee trying to make it up to her, to prove how much he loves and needs her, to give the attention she deserves. but she's still paranoid about cheating, insecure, scared, even if she tries to mask it. but he knows. he could, and does, spend hours praising her, telling her how pretty she is, how she's the only one, how sorry he is, how much he adores her, but it doesn't stop the nagging voice in the back of her head. she tries to hide it but she's clingier and he's okay with that, she needs him more.

but yes there's lots of long term effects the incident has on there relationship. and they have to try and navigate that together.

thank you pookie, I love your thoughts sm 💋💋💋💋💋💋

[tamaruaart]

The Vengeance AU

Hi y'all- okay so damn, I have been holding this one off for QUITE a while- I've had this idea in my head for a bit but I never made full AU out of it, but before that I guess I should give a "heads up" of sorts?

I already have a post about Zhao's family tree. And there you can see she had two siblings, Mao-Yin and Syaoran (who were actually twins)

Something I try to make clear is that Zhao (As well as Quanshuǐ and Yue) is not only an OC for Lego Monkie Kid, but also for the original Journey to the West book. Though her role is fairly minor. And in her JTTW book version a lot, and I mean a lot of things are different than in LMK.

Like for example in JTTW her orange hair was actually a punishment, while in LMK it's her natural hair color. Or how in JTTW Quanshuǐ was one of Zhao's temple maidens while she was still living with her family. And also in JTTW Mao-Yin and Pangfua (Zhao, Mao-Yin and Syaoran's mother) committed a suicide in a river while in LMK they just kinda disappeared.

(However all of the JTTW lore about Zhao and her family is canon in LMK in this AU)

I'm trying to write LMK!Zhao as if she was an actual LMK character. I'm changing things I think the actual writers would have changed to fit the tone of the show.

One thing to mention in the JTTW version is that Zhao's brother Syaoran was actually killed via homicide by a few soldiers, and there's a lot to say about that but I'm not going to get into it (this is changed in LMK where he's still alive). Anyways, in JTTW he had a child with one of Zhao's late flower maidens who's name was Měi Lán.

The child's name was Yuǎn'ān (far & safe/far from danger). Basically at the end of jttw yadayadayada zhao wukong argue wukong kill zhao yadayadayada yuǎn sad and angy. And that's basically his JTTW lore /j

He's honestly such a minor character I don't think he would appear in LMK at all. He probably wouldn't even be a canon LMK character at that-

But then I was having a brain rot and thought "What if I made an AU where Yuǎn'ān is a canon LMK character and he was a villain trying to kill MK as revenge so that Wukong can feel the pain of having to lose someone so close to him. Because he knows he can't harm Wukong as Wukong is immortal... but MK isn't" ?

And now we're here! So, enough chitter chatter time for Yuǎn'ān!

(He takes after his father. A LOT. Also if you point out how wonky the feet look I'm throwing you into the dumpster)

General Premise:

In the vengeance AU Yuǎn'ān is one of the main villains. In short, word got around about a certain "Monkie Kid" and a certain "White Tiger" heard about it. He could never forgive Sun Wukong for what he did, but even then he can't do anything to Wukong because he's immortal. Unfortunately, or well, fortunately in Yuǎn's case... The Monkie Kid isn't immortal. Forever grieving the petty loss of his aunt, he sets out to "get rid" of MK, and maybe then Wukong will finally know what it feels like to lose someone oh so dear... Or maybe, just maybe.. he already knows?

Personally:

Yuǎn'ān is... Not exactly an optimist to say the least. He's extremely devoted, salty (this whole ass AU is just him holding a grudge) and a biiiittttttttt passive aggressive. You could say he's a sort of He-Wolf. Also he's a literal copy and paste of his father smh (ironic 'cause he never even met him-).

Not to mention stubborn, oh my god this man listens to no one-

However, deep down he doesn't have the guts to kill someone, like he could definitely injure you (he's got the hunting spirit after all) but not... To exactly murder a person.

Yet, only destiny will determine if he'll end up listening to his gut, or to his head...

Anyways, this is cringe but idc TRIVIA TIME MOTHERFUCKER >:D

Q&As:

How old is he?

Ageless. But mentally I'd say around his early twenties (Maybe 23-24)

Are Quan and Yue also going to be in the AU?

Quanshuǐ doesn't appear in the AU. Yue exists but we don't really see him.

Does Yuǎn have orbs for hands?

No I was just being lazy when I drew him :(

Did his earrings belong to Zhao?

Yeah :)

What are his pronouns and sexuality?

He's demisexual and pan, pronouns are he/him

Any funfacts about his appearance?

He gets his eyes and freckles from Zhao. And his hair is from his father

I don't see his freckl-

LOOK CLOSELY AT HIS FACE AND SHOULDERS.

Are any canon key events and characters changed/removed in the AU? And when does Yuǎn'ān appear?

No. No events nor canon characters are removed. Yuǎn gets foreshadowed sometime during the end of season 2. Then he gets fully revealed in season mid-season 3 and starts his whole "IM GOING TO FUCKING KILL Y-" thing.

Will he be redeemed?

We'll see. (probably-)

Does he have any OC x Canon parings?

For now, no. And honestly I'm not planning on any because I don't exactly see him as the romantic type. I'm open if any of my tumblr friends/moots would be interested in Oc x Oc crackships with him tho, heheh! 👀

Can he also heal like Zhao can?

Eh, I'm still debating but probably not

Will you be posting a lot about this AU?

Probably not a lot. But I'm sure you'll get some content of it from time to time.

Why is he so salty??

That's just the way he was born man 😔

Anyways, yeah! That's basically it, thank you for reading! If you have any questions about this mf feel free to ask :D

Ba-byeeeeeee

[evanpeterswifeyyy]

Absolutely random rant session about my fucked up sleep stuff

Does anyone else have constant nightmares or disturbing dreams?

Like, my only dreams I’ve ever had have always been either terrifying or deeply disturbing. And for the first few years I was definitely terrified in my dreams, but now it’s just a common occurrence and feels like a “yeah this is fine and normal” moment in my dreams. The only times I get the feeling it’s a nightmare is when it gets super weird and disturbing and then I have to force myself awake.

Does it even count as a nightmare if I’m not scared??

Idk how to explain this phenomenon but like I have so many strange dreams that reoccur in the same sort of way I can make categories for it

+ dreams where I’m being chased or running from something/ someone

+ dreams where my environment is rapidly changing

+dreams where I have multiple dreams back to back that are wildly different

+ dreams of body horror like I had a dream of someone i loved being covered in moss, another time they were a rotting corpse, sometimes it’s acne based, a lot of the time it’s me hiding from someone who’s literally about to die in horrific ways. (I recently had a dream where a woman got surgery and it all split open and it sickened me so bad I had to stay up for an hour before I could fall back asleep at like 3 am)

+dreams where I die

+an amalgamation of all that

I genuinely don’t think I’ve ever had a “good” dream.

Like most ppl have dreams about going to work, being embarrassed, finding the love of their lives, their teeth falling out, etc.

Mine is being in a jumbled up rubix cube of an environment where I’m at school, but it’s not my school visually, but one room is from my school and my school is also a hospital now and I have to go to class but oh someone is getting throwing up their guts and oh now I’m in my house and my mom who’s not really my mom is hunting me down and I have to run away through the woods that are near my house but I don’t have woods near my house and now I’m at a haunted house and being stalked by creepy dolls— and on and on and on.

Once I had a dream I was in a church chapel and it was like the 1600s and it was a church but also acted as like a courthouse and I was watching someone’s trial where they were getting sentenced to beheading and then it randomly flipped and I was pulled from the crowd as the offender somehow and I had the most realistic, terrifying feeling of actual death when I realized I was going to die and a blade came down and I didn’t feel any pain rlly but everything when black and my head dropped in the basket and I remember still being concious but everything was muffled and my brain was all fuzzy and then I woke up. I was genuinely so sick to my stomach after waking up. It’s hard to describe the feeling other than I literally felt what it feels like to accept death and it’s horrific.

I’m just curious if this happens to anyone else.

I haven’t tried anything to prevent these dreams, I kinda feel like I can’t anymore even if I did try everything in the book. It’s why I’ve been trying so hard to learn how to lucid dream because I want to be able to feel safe and comfortable when I’m in a dream. And like technically I do because when I’m in my dreams I’m usually like an entire separate person (whether I look like me or not) kinda like a video game. So it’s “normal” to me in the dream. But obviously, it’s not comfortable in the way I want it to be.

If anyone has any tips on how to calm down my dreams a least a little bit pls drop it in notes because I’m desperate atp.

Sorry for the random rant but I find dreams so fascinating in general and this has been bothering me for days because they always spike up sometimes and turn into actual nightmares and I’ve been getting that recently. I hope this was actually interesting to people who did read this atrocious yap session.

I see u and I appreciate u 🫶

I actually have tons of dreams I remember pretty well if anyone wants to hear me specifically talk about all my weird dreams. I do keep a dream journal but it’s not consistent at all and sometimes I’m either too tired to write down the dream or too terrified of it to recall so there are some I don’t remember at all or it’s hard for me to talk abt in detail.

Even describing some of them in text gives me chills.

[batsarebetterthanpeople]

im so sorry to send you this but im confused. i thought izzy hands was obviously homophobic while i was watching the show but now people on the internet are telling me that calling him gay and homophobic is a conspiracy theory. i want to trust my instincts on this as a queer myself but they say it so much i think im starting to believe it. i know literally none of this matters but its genuinely bumming me out. maybe we all just have slightly different definitions of homophobia?

I would love to answer this for you. Your instincts are correct. Izzy is gay and homophobic. You should trust your gut on this because it's important for you be able to identify guys like Izzy irl if you're someone who might be on the receiving end of homophobia.

What happened is that back in June of 2022 everyone fully agreed that Izzy was one of those repressed gay men who's internalized homophobia rotted his soul and became externalized. We wanted to put him in a jar. We all interested in how this weird little freak got this way. Then everything changed when the canyon formed. Since then it has been a mad dash to beat the allegations. Unfortunately an actor has validated them in a way that makes me really wonder about him frankly, because he seems to be operating under the impression that people are saying that Izzy is a "homo sex is sin" Style homophobe when nobody was saying that, what we were saying is that Izzy is incredibly weird about and hateful towards feminine men and he believes that Stede is corrupting Ed with his foppishness, which is still homophobia it's just a different brand of homophobia than the religious right's obsession with the mechanics.

Tbh tho I don't actually care about that actors' take because he's not a writer, he has a history of not being very good at reading the subtext given that he fully didn't realize it was a gay show for half the episodes, and David Jenkins has liked multiple metas on twt about Izzy being a homophobe so I'll trust that lol. The only consequence that Con O'Neill being publically wrong has had for me is that people occasionally do an unearned victory lap when he says something.

But also I low key sometimes feel incredibly unsafe knowing that there's a substantial group of people who claim to be queer and against homophobia but who can't understand that the whole subplot with Lucius in episode 5 and the thing with Ed in episode 10 is laced with bigotry against feminine gay men. I don't think admitting that means you have to think it's his only motivation or that it's contradictory to the read of him being attracted to Ed and Lucius or with the concept that he's mostly just power hungry, but it does sort of mean that I have to move through the world knowing that there are people in my own community who would fully blame me if something happened to me. I don't fucking like it. That's why I get so upset about this so publicly. It's like so what happens if I get attacked but the guy calls me a namby pamby or a bitch instead of a faggot. Are you gonna be like "well we don't know~". It's just an uncomfortable thought. I don't understand why they're so desperate to beat the allegations either, like he's fake. People who have experienced things like what Ed and Lucius went through at his hands are real. The argument that gay people can "do something to (someone)'s brain" is written into legislation trying to ban trans people from public life. Nobody wants you to stop liking Izzy we just want you to stop saying shit that's harmful

And I don't necessarily think that everyone who chooses to put more emphasis on Izzys obsession with Ed wouldn't be able to identify a hate crime, I just have seen more than one piece of meta that goes "Izzys not homophobic he just thinks Stede is a mincing fop who's corrupting Ed with his frilly whiles there's nothing homophobic about that" and I just have to block them for being homophobic themselves because what else do I do with that? When I vague post about this shit I'm talking about specific ass things that I've seen that have made me feel very uncomfortable and unsafe not generic canyon trends. I just really feel like we need to calm down about Izzy. Like you can feel empathy towards a gay guy that hates himself and write a bunch of fic about him getting laid without deciding actually he did nothing wrong and everyone who can see that that's not true is making shit up to oppress *checks notes* people who like a fictional character. I don't get why that's so hard to do.

[white-weasel]

Saw Saturday came early! (Aka my friend and I are doing something else on Saturday so we got together and watched Saw III on Thursday instead) More thoughts from me about the movie

I feel like this movie REALLY made a big gore jump. Saw II already had a big jump from the original but this one… Jesus Christ. I worry that sometimes the traps get a bit too gruesome for their own good? We’ll have to see the later movies to see how my opinion develops on this topic

I was surprisingly okay with the angel trap? Idk it’s definitely a horrifying thought but I think there was just a very big disconnect in how that would feel/play out and the over the topness of it all made me able to watch it. Very creative though I will give them that.

Going along with that, rip Kerry. The start of the movie I was so ready for her to be like the dual protagonist of the movie and then she was not. I thought it coulda been kinda interesting but I get that wasn’t really the plot direction they were going with it

Generally enjoyed the character of Lynn! I wish I could’ve learned a little bit more about her before the end of the movie, but I get they were setting up the twist of her being Jeff’s wife so they had to keep things vague. At the same time, the absolute BALLS on her to threaten and taunt Amanda with that shotgun collar around her neck? She’s an icon for that

Lynn and Amanda could have been toxic yuri, if only they were given more time!!! I mean they *were* toxic yuri, but I’m saying in another life we got even more with them

Jeff sucks. Really really hated Jeff. And he wasn’t even fun to hate, I just hated him. Like dude I get you’re going through grief and fucked up because your kid died but come ON (Lynn, at this point the toxic yuri is looking like a better option for you than that sad sack of a husband)

The pig guts vat trap didn’t bother me like at all lol I’ve seen a few lists about traps and this one tends to be towards the top but it was whatever to me from both a story and shock value perspectives Like I like the idea of a psychological trap where the person being tested doesn’t have to hurt themself physically but rather has to do something insanely hard emotionally, but man. Jeff sucks so much that I didn’t even care about his internal conflict about destroying his dead son’s possessions. I was just sitting there screaming “hit the fucking incinerator button already.” Also yeah, rotting meat is gross but seeing it thinking about it doesn’t make me ill. The thing is, this was the trap my friend had the hardest time watching without a doubt. Different strokes for different folks

The hardest trap for me in this movie was the rack. I feel like I don’t need to explain why. I didn’t even attempt to watch any of it. As soon as the explanation was given, I turned my head and dutifully put my hand shield up lol. My friend was nice enough to give me the general play by play of the scene, but just listening to it was a lot

I liked seeing more Amanda in this movie and her character of someone who believes that John saved her life by putting her in a trap, but then can’t actually live and abide by that same code when it comes time to take up his work

(And she also falls into her own self destructive tendencies, despite being “saved” by John, showing how fucked up and flawed his own philosophy actually is)

Did enjoy seeing Adam again even if it was literally only in a flashback where Amanda is killing him

Also enjoyed the puppet again. He always makes me laugh and my friend finds it funny that I find him funny. Like that part where he’s just laying in the hallway with the trike? It got me so good

Curious to see where the movies go now that both John AND Amanda are dead. My guess is that John had some sort of contingency/final game that he wants to be played upon his death. This would mean that there’s at least one other apprentice running around who will carry out this game for him

There are only two people I’m aware of who we’ve been introduced to and have survived a game: Lawrence Gordon and Daniel Matthews (though he wasn’t really being tested but also he was in the death house so?? Close enough) so I think it’s gotta be one of them. I’m leaning more towards Daniel but idkkkkkk I’m not getting strong vibes from either of them that they’d join John like Amanda did. My friend is also keeping her lips staunchly sealed so I’m floundering like a fish here

Things I’m excited for/wanting to see in future installments: finding out who the next Jigsaw is, hoping for a little more focus on trap victims so I care about them getting out, the gay middle aged men (HoffStrahm), and more of the puppet

[thegamingcatmom]

Okay but also imagine yet another poor, unfortunate soul managing to invade the (cursed) building and just sets out to explore because, wouldn't you?

And suddenly there's sounds of howling and growling and it sounds like a cat´s dying somewhere and this poor, unfortunate soul goes to check it out because they have no idea and someone might need help and so they run, run, run to get there in time and help and as they round the corner they expect to be met with a battlefield but what they see instead is-

That poor, unfortunate soul did expect many things indeed, but someone getting absolutely dry humped into oblivion by...something - looking like the walking dead - was not one of them and also-

What the actual fuck-

Well, let's just say Maggot Momma wasn't best pleased about her neck-deep-into-whatever-part-of-you-time being interrupted and she´s been so close to reaching that grande finale and she'll personally see to it that this scum rots in hell and-

Head lifting - almost in slow motion - from where it´s been burried in your neck to fix it´s gaze on the intruder - the corners of it´s mouth slowly pulling upwards and - if looks could kill-

Setting you down gently, tenderly, from where it´s been holding you up against the wall - a clawed hand that was previously supporting your bum to keep you up and aligned with it now descending until your feet reach solid ground again - but that hand has yet to abandon it´s rightful place-

Another clawed hand pulling out from where it´s been imbedded in the wall, moving down to brush it´s back across your cheek, rake through your hair-

All the while never breaking eye contact with Its prey.

And well, after recent happenings you´ve come to realize that you truly (probably) won´t be getting munched on any time soon - why? That´s anyone´s guess. But you kinda feel like there´s been a silent agreement of sorts between you and it ever since (meaning: Maggot Momma doing what she damn well pleases because she cba about your worries when your smell-) and, granted, you didn´t think serving as a humping pillow was the way to go when it comes to saving at least some of these souls but you have noticed the killing sprees becoming less frequent and there´s been less blood, guts and gore galore ever since...recent happenings.

(However - and we´re not gonna talk about this - Momma has to kill time (amongst other things) in some way when you´ve decided to neglect her - again - because of rather trivial matters like needing to sleep.)

(Her perfect little Drama Queen indeed.)

But some souls are just lost, cannot be saved no matter how hard you try-

(Meaning: how long you manage to keep Maggot Mommy distracted before you fall asleep on her you wimp-)

And so, Maggot Momma takes one last whiff of perfection - energizing her, getting her going - before she´s off, running like the devil itself and-

Poor, unfortunate soul indeed.

A/N: This post was brought to you by one of my fur babies and his habit of, quite literally, humping that pillow into oblivion.

(Thought yall could use something lighter after...recent happenings.)

[skhardwarevers2]

[put grief here please thanks] <- that is actually what I put in this draft so I knew what it was for omfg…

Intro as written in the original document:

It’ll never live up to ARTCON, sure–but one can try and try I will. 

If I ever figure out what this is about. It’s not a sequel to the incomprehensible slop that was ARTCON, I need a more coherent idea than that.

Okay, maybe it’s not a sequel to ARTCON but maybe heavily based on it and about N/A…thought stuff and what-not

The Unheard Point of View from Creature Feature: The Finale

[you know me, my writing is weird. If you’ve read and vaguely remember ARTCON it’s like that obviously.]

tags as written on my original post of this

[!!TW!!: BUGS, GORE, ORGANS, BODY HORROR, AND JUST REALLY CREEPY CRAWLY THINGS]

I remember(?) being awake for the first time. I couldn’t recall what had happened–I just knew that it hurt. It still did, does, and will(I would assume). It wasn’t the initial hit, the scissors were easy to handle. All they did was get caught in my chest for a while. What hurt more was them taking them out and leaving me there to bleed out. I tried to call out to him, but I didn’t. He’d know something was up, or maybe he didn’t care. I’m just a thorn in his side anyway, right? A painful reminder, a monstrous entity. I didn’t want to be but I was. It took everything in me not to retreat again, to that mental hell(literal hell). Agonizing pain and fear flooded my senses till I couldn’t figure out where I ended and the pool of blood that was staining the abyss began. It was dark, dark and cold. It felt too familiar. I was like a rat scratching at the walls, I didn’t know where I was–I just wanted out. I could hear my internal residents (bugs, wretched little things, just like me) complain about the poor condition. I couldn’t even do something as simple as provide shelter for these damned things, let alone my real job. Make my primary a better person and then die. A cold lonely terrible death. For a moment I swore I could hear something whisper in my ear–“we could fix that problem”. It was so enticing. To live. To be seen as something more than an animal’s corpse. Despite how my body began to rot in record time, chunks of my hair falling out and bits of my skin getting peeled away as I(?) writhed in pain. I wanted to speed up the process of dying but I didn’t want it to hurt. So I would tear and peel and scratch and pull myself apart and cry my terrible rotten tears as I could do nothing but hate myself. If I even count as a “my” or a “self”. I couldn’t even feel bad. Everything happening here was my own doing. Once again the voice came back into my head, this time I was certain it was real. “We can fix you,” they said. And I wanted it so desperately to be true. The abyss wrapped around me, like a cocoon. For a moment I was where I belonged. Safe. Warm. Protected. For a moment the pain stopped and I–for just this one moment–felt human. But no matter how well you treat an animal, one day you’re going to eat it. The abyss tore me open, completely gutting me. Showing me how disgustingly human I already was. Blood and guts spilled onto the floor. Nothing that surprising. I knew I had some sort of organs. It still hurt. It still was disgusting to look at. I couldn’t even scream. They had taken away my throat and my voice along with it. I wasn’t sure how I still managed to cry. And when I thought it was over, when I thought there was nothing else they could possibly tear out and mangle with their harsh hands and words(which had been muttering something about how wretched of a creature I was, something I had proved time and time again to be true)–they took my heart. Carefully ripping it from its spot in my chest, placing it in itself. It needed a new one, and promptly thanked me for my cooperation. In return they’d keep me here, in this state, my chest gaping open with veins and small organs that got stuck just sitting there like decorations. Inside of the abyss, who was now alive, thanks to me. At least I helped something. I was a part of something, some one. I understand the bugs

now. So reliant on something else for life that’s not as reliant on you. Because of a want to be part of something bigger. The Abyss, in some sort of attempt to keep me contained–reached into my brain to find the perfect place to put me. Slowly I was entrapped in those same bland walls that I hated. My mental hell turned literal hell. It’s what I deserved, likely. If I never showed up this wouldn’t have happened. I shouldn’t have pushed it trying to fix things beyond repair. If they were ever broken. Its hands (or at least two of them), stayed in my brain–needing that too to increase efficiency. For the first time in a while I didn't think. I just laid there on the cold, cold ground and wept for the sorry being that I’ve become (have always been). At some point there was no difference between the Abyss the Grief and me. Grief took over for both of us, as we tore apart the person who put me(us) in this situation. And after that we rested. Satisfied with having ripped them apart the same way they did me(us). At some point I stopped feeling any more of the pain from my primary. I didn’t think much of it, until I opened my eyes, like some terrible nightmare, to find myself right where I was before this happened. On the floor of the (dead) Abyss, bleeding out with a gaping hole in my chest. The bugs were back (empathetic this time). I always thought they never were there, but maybe the literal hell that formed before brought them back. They rejoined me, making my skin crawl in disgust for how inconsiderate we both were being, but at least I(?) wasn’t alone. I’d make it out of this place, even if it killed me. I tried to stand, but I could barely feel my legs. No matter. I’ll slowly inch my way closer and closer to my (former) primary day by day, week by week, month by month if I had to. Maybe then I’ll finally prove the point that I truly don’t want to die. Maybe then I’ll feel human. Maybe then I’ll truly be a reminder to him, not just a pest. Maybe.

[soconfusedwithmylife]

MORE CHAPTERS THIS SOON???? ON GOD???

we love two texans off their rockers mhm. ok so time for another stupid thing from me!! basically ive only learned that you can subscribe to things to get emails about updates just a few months back despite having used ao3 since like '15. ive seen people get mails from ao3 before on shitposts and shit idk why or how it never clicked for me. but anyways since i was an absolute baffoon for the longest time, my method of checking for updates on my fics was just going to my bookmarks, sorting by updates and just refreshing. and it worked well for me!! this whole time!! but see the thing is, apparently your bookmarks goof up if an author uploads many chapters back to back.... so you see where this is going. i DID miss whole chapters that ive only noticed at the start of the next cycle before so idk why i never considered the possibility but basically this whole time i thought you posted only one (1) chapter for bit of a secret. was doing a meme about it today when

NOW if you'll excuse me im told this chick's finally getting her guts rearranged AND katsuki's finally getting some

OMG THE MEMES I love you. You're so funny lmao

The lady at the drive thru window was just staring at the wall, thinking about how bad she wants a different job while listening to them scream at each other lmao

And Tomura is literally so contradictory. He's got bad double standards lol I'm very glad you noticed that. I was wondering if anyone would call it out.

If it's any comfort, I used to just spam check the fics I loved in a trillion open tabs. I didn't even realize you could bookmark for a long time and just like you, only recently found the subscription button 💀 so don't feel bad about it lol also, sorry for the spam!

That sucks you missed some but I'm glad you found out sooner rather than later! The Texans are giving me straight brain rot right now so it might be a little bit before I update Boas 😬

[cesium-sheep]

he called to hang out before she left for work and everything was fine but he wanted to ask logistics questions and she didn't want to but didn't feel like she could say anything to stop it and they both got really audibly frustrated in a way they normally don't and it feels like the locus was placed on me even though she literally just said afterwards that I was behaving very normally for me. I stopped engaging with the conversation after I'd said the one piece that actually mattered which was just, an option can be bad, sure, but it sounds like some options are being outright discarded out of hand rather than just filed as low preference, which seemed to make him more frustrated, and after some more lecturing he did apologize for "kind of jumping down [my] throat" and I pointed out I wasn't engaging anymore and he was like "great idea" and just. hung up. and then arin talked about her own frustrations and really did make it sound like she was putting it on me, which was just a gut feeling during the actual argument but like. that sucks? that's bullshit. especially if this was totally normal behavior for me, which she independently confirmed earlier in the sort-of debrief, why is it on me that it went poorly this time? and she had to leave for work so I only had time to express to her that it feels unfair without expecting a response and now she's gone and he's gone and they're both mad at me and I legitimately didn't even do anything. and my brain wasn't having a good time to start with. and now I gotta fuckin unpack this shit with both of them at their own fucking convenience, cuz he has very little model for this type of stuff and I don't know if she's going to be more resistant to it since she's kind of blaming me for losing her time with him and I really don't fucking want to but it can't just be left to rot.

[narcissa-black-supermacy]

i don't know how you can seriously ask me a question like that bc i think that after you, the person who's the most unhinged about this fic is me. i agree that it very much does contain some of the best writing you've ever done, and also i'm completely shocked to find out that you were 17 when you first started writing it because that first chapter definitely does not feel like a 17yo wrote it, i would never guess. hell, i've writing fic since like 13-4 and all my writing from age 17-8 is so whiny and bad and annoying there's a reason why i moved to ao3 and left everything else to rot on ffnet forever.

here's a list of scenes that i've reread the most, in no particular order and for no reason whatsoeve

[warning for on fire spoilers below]

the first chapter

it just. never fails to gut punch me. you're thrown into this scene so abruptly and sharply, with no backstories or preparations whatsoever, and yet somehow you can picture it all perfectly and you can feel exactly whats going on and the severity and intensity of it all. "he's been hurt" - those words, just echoing over and over, setting this horrible sense of dread and urgency. the encounter with remus confirms even further that something is very very wrong, this unusual sense of estrangement between them, and it all twists into a knot and sinks in your gut, setting such an intense fear there. 10/10. absolutely would reread again.

the cruciatus scene

this one is just. ohmyohmyohmyohmy where do i even start. the entire motif of love as violence and violence as love is very very prevalent all throughout the fic, but this is where it absolutely explodes. and honestly, ive been sort of,,, waiting (hoping??) for it, ever since the foreshadowing with what the healer told them, and yet seeing it all laid out in action in front of your eyes is just...... actual chills. shivers down my spine every time i read it. and the fact that its..... ohmygod i cant even talk about this normally without getting all hyped up like im on illegally obtained adderall and 7 energy drinks or something. the metaphor, the fact that its james putting the gun in his hand and telling him shoot me, asking sirius to do it to help him its just....... one of my all time fav lyrics is from a song called dirty by grandson and it goes "Do you have enough love in your heart / To go and get your hands dirty?" and i think anybody can show love in a tender way, in form of warm words and kisses and care, but to love someone so strongly you are willing to turn yourself into a monster for them, you are willing to do the (literally!) unforgivable is the kind of insane love people write books about. okay, you love him - but do you love him enough to hurt him? do you love him enough to take the shot when he's the one putting the gun into your hands? (not even to start talking about the other side of things, the fact that james, even in his not-fully-yet-himself state just naturally trusts sirius enough, trusts him so much with the force of a years old instinct, to give him that power and that authority is just...... bye dont talk to me). and at first sirius doesnt want to, he calls james insane and an idiot for even suggesting it - even when he does let the hypothetical thought cross his mind, he doesn't think it will work because you have to mean it in order to do it and how could he ever mean it, how could he ever want to hurt james? but love and hate are just two sides of the same coin, like tenderness and violence, and its like this metaphor with the pendulum clock, where one side is hate and the other is love - if youre in the middle, maintaining balance, it will be very hard to sway the pendulum into one of the edges, but if youre already at the very edge, it only takes a second for you to tip over to the other extreme. thats why most people get murdered by someone they know, thats why most women are murdered statistically by their partners - because its much easier to drive yourself into murderous insanity by jealousy or frustration when you deeply care for a person, rather than hurt someone you don't know at all. and james keeps pushing, he keeps talking to him, and pressing all the bleeding wounds, reopning them fresh until sirius finally reaches that tipping point and all hell breaks lose - until he's screaming his throat dry with the cruciatus until james can barely take it anymore and is begging him to stop. until he slumps forward, limp and lifeless. and all of that is suddenly gone, replaced by this cold dread, the pendulum back in its original position. sirius' wand drops to the floor. and we get this very very dramatic and emotional scene of him rushing over to hold his lifeless body, all panicked and on the verge of losing it entirely and barely breathing himself, just begging over and over no, no, no, please, please wake up, don't you dare, don't you dare leave me, not again; and then once he does wake up, after sirius has already circled through all five stages of grief at least a dozen times and already ran through all the possible scenarios and possibilities of ending his life that he hasn't tried yet, with this sudden jolt up and gulp of air - it's james. it's james james, his james, james from before, and it's crazy how sirius, and all the readers present in the room, we can all tell that that is it immediately. just from one look, one word,--

(lmao apparently there's a characters per block limit on tumblr and ive reached it ahahahahaha i never even knew it existed and ive been on tumblr for over a decade) -- that little spark in his eyes that was missing this entire time, this sharp edge to his tone when he says "sirius," like sirius hasn't heard his name being called in years. and its all just. the big bang. like people say "anti climatic" about things - so this is the opposite of it, it is climatic. its like if reading was sex, then this would be the orgasm. i'm gone. bye. extinct. ended by this chapter. unreal.

THE Smut Scene

i was going to have at least 5 different scenes here but i got ridiculously carried away with the previous one ajkshfsg so. just because i can not skip it, ever. a honorary mention of that one smut scene that lives in my head rent free from chapter 15. i love absolutely everything about it, i love how you can't tell apart where the love ends and the violence begins - or maybe it doesn't, maybe its just different shades of that same passion. the way sirius is so upset and frustrated and he wants it so badly but he wont, refuses to, just to see james suffer until he is literally begging for it - just touch me already, please, i missed you, i need you - all the words sirius yearns to hear, just not like this, not in this context, not as a dirty little secret once more. he's so hurt and in so much pain and none of it is even acknowledged because to james he's just "acting like a baby" and so when it finally snaps in him, it snaps fully, and he just shoves himself inside with no warning-- and the pain is there but its not enough to drown the desire, and its all just mixing together in this messed up mix of "what the fuck--" and "dont ruin it by talking" and the "you have no idea how much i miss you" together with "shit slow down you fucking sadist" because it's all there - the pain and the hurt and the love and the passion until you literally can not tell them apart - there is no concept of consent or kink negotiation with these two like there would be with any other sex scene, there isn't even a warning for dubious consent or anything like that bc it doesnt work like that with them, all those stupid rules apply to regular mortals in regular mortal relationships and their regular boring mortal sex - but james and sirius are part of each other's souls, its irrelevant when it comes to them. and its all so insane and overwhelming when its sirius trying to physically hurt him (by giving james what he actually wants, giving it brutally but giving it regardless), and all he gets in response to that violence is just james saying i love you, and then he's crying, he's the one who was meant to hurt james but he's the one who ends up crying - and when james sees that he has all the right in the world to make fun of him (bc who the hell cries during sex? thats just embarassing and pathetic come on), but he doesn't, instead he leans into the tender side of it even more, hes encouraging him, (yes, you feel so good, keep going, just like that) (i'm yours, you feel amazing) and it's all just---- its too much for my little heart to bear.

i think you severely underestimate me saying that i'm just as unhinged about this fic because i am, i could write novels about it, and i swear to you on my firstborn's life that if you ever finish it (even if its in 8 more years, we are in no rush here), im gonna get it bookbound into a beautiful beautiful cover and annotate the hell out of it and send you a copy. i need to be able to hold it and be able to draw hearts around my fav lines and see the stains that my tears leave when i reach the most emotional parts.

[in a flirty voice] hey wanna be insane and talk about On Fire all day long together

you are playing a dangerous game dani i am sooo unhinged about that fic. it's my magnum opus. my brain child. my baby. it contains some of the finest writing i've ever done and i love the way the story evolved along with my characters over the years. for a long time before i was really active on tumblr/fandom again, writing that fic was my only real connection to the hp world (other than rereading the books themselves); i started the first chapter when i was around 17 ... and i'm 25 now lol.

i'm not the kind of person who outlines stories, i kind of just sit down and write and let my brain take things where they want to go. so when i wrote that first chapter all those years ago, i still hadn't worked out a lot of later plot points, like what sirius did to cause the fallout between him and james, james' relationship with lily, etc. i like to think that this story was as much of a wild ride for me as for the readers because i literally did not know what to expect until i sat down to write it.

also i adore the themes of love and violence the story touches on. i wanted to make readers think about love as a destructive force, love with carnivorous teeth, love that burns everything in its path. love as a kind of devotion that borders on religion. all-consuming, devastating, and uncontrollable. the kind of love written about in wuthering heights, macbeth, anna karenina. love tinged with obsession and lust. love resembling psychological torment.

i just think sirius and james, with their natural codependency, and this intrinsic idea that they're each other's soulmates, make the perfect pairing for a story like that. i wanted to know: what would it take to break down a relationship between two characters who would die for each other? how deep the wound, how sharp the blade? i wanted readers to be both horrified and unable to look away from all of it, to be made to feel uncomfortable but still root for james and sirius to be together at the end.

people always say: write the story you want to read. on fire, but we can't feel a thing is that story for me. it contains elements of all my favourite books growing up, the exact characterisations of james and sirius that i hold most dear, and honestly i'm still surprised that my brain was able to come up with something like it. i don't know that it ever will again, tbh :')

[vampkillr]

Yearn — Jason Todd

m! reader — 1k words — angst with a happy ending — this can be interpreted as a continuation of witness — mentions of intense grief — mentions of suicide — please don't read if those things will make you upset/uncomfortable.

Bruce moved on fast. This was just a matter of going from one Robin to the next. I hated him for it. I hated Tim, too— even though I knew it wasn't his fault. I hated a lot of things. The world for not stopping without him. The birds for still chirping. The wind for still blowing. Clocks for still ticking. Myself for still breathing. I could name a million things that had been taken from me when he died. All I can think of is him. I can't get anything done. So I just sit here on the bench in front of his headstone.

I stopped talking after it happened. I stopped going out. I killed every part of the life I had without truly dying— but that was just a matter of the guts I lacked. I did everything I could to make myself as close to dead as he was. And I rotted with him; regardless of the fact his body wasn't underneath the soil. "You've done this every day for the past two weeks," A man spoke, sitting next to me on the bench across from Jason's headstone. "is this all you do?" I didn't move. I didn't even acknowledge his presence. It felt weird to be this close to another person. I hadn't really heard anyone else's voice in three years. My rent always seemed to be paid for me, and groceries were never an issue since I always had what I needed at the apartment. I knew Bruce was the one doing those things for me, but it didn't change my anger.

"Please," I could feel the way my brows knit together. His voice was quiet. "I need you to look at me." I didn't want to. Some part of me wanted to continue playing dead. I didn't want to interact with the world as if I was of any significance. Despite this, he grabbed me and forced me to turn. His hair was black, face morphed with some sort of desperation. A scar raised in the shape of a J brandished his cheek, and his eyes... I knew those eyes.

I forgot his voice. That was the only thought that seemed to cross my mind now that I was being faced with him. I couldn't recognize him despite the way I once had been able to tell him apart just by his footsteps. The realization was painful. “Say something,” He pleaded, brows furrowed.

But I couldn't. There was no word that my body could utter, no sound that I could possibly make to properly articulate the hellfire that was going on inside of my mind. I wanted to scream. I needed some way to dispel the two and a half years worth of grief and suffering I had endured. I needed some way to take it all back. A way to turn back time, so that I could walk into his death knowing that he would return— knowing that he was still alive. I have spent literal years being hopeless and wanting every day to die and be with him. But here he was in front of me, as if all of that pain I had gone through was for absolutely nothing. And yet for some reason it was him that I was angry at. Despite the things I had to see him endure. Despite knowing he hadn't done any of this on purpose. The guilt of feeling that way ate at me.

He held onto me as if I'd slip through his fingers. Clutching me so tightly by the arms that the vessels beneath my skin were breaking under the pressure. I didn't mind. As long as I got to feel him one more time, I would have let him kill me if it was what he wanted. His absence left my world a different color— and now that he was back, I had to meet him once more, and one day I'll have to lose him again. I can't.

“Can't what, baby?” He brushed the hair out of my eyes as the wind picked up. I guess I spoke out loud.

“Feel like this again.” I didn't know what I was saying. I didn't know what I wanted. My body ached for him. My heart was torn to shreds from the loss. So what was going to happen when he really dies? Could I survive that? The way I barely survived this? And if so, was that really any way to live?

I was pulled from my thoughts by the feeling of Jason's hands holding my cheeks. Warmth against the crisp air that chipped away at my skin. "I spent two years....” I could see the way he was choking back his words. With a deep breath he moved on. “Two years dreaming of being with you again.” It made me wonder what he had been doing for the rest of the time he was gone, but that was a question for another time. “I think the only reason I survived all of it was because I needed to get back to you.” For a moment I forgot what it was like to trust him. In front of me was not the same Jason I knew, and yet still I could feel the old Jason's heart. He had been through so much that he changed as a person, but the care in his voice and the love that dripped from his fingertips every time he touched me was the same. The feeling of it made me believe his words.

I leaned myself into his body, grasping onto him just as he was holding me a while ago. Breathing him in, memorizing the weight of his arms wrapped around me. I would have to learn how to be with him again. Have to learn how to be human. Learn how to love him and trust him the way that I did so long ago. i'd have to figure out how I was going to apologize to Bruce, and how I was going to forgive him. There were so many things that I personally destroyed in my life for practically nothing. I wasted away only to be proved wrong. I almost killed myself for a man that was still alive.

There was a lot I was going to have to work through, but for now all I needed was him.

ive been working and also i'm in a massive block rn and no one is requesting anything, my interaction's at an all time low im getting like a max of 3 likes every 2-4 days so it just sucks. i know this fic was shitty but like i said writers block is kicking my ass so it took a while to even be able to finish this. i would really appreciate some reblogs on this fic or another one that you really liked, it'd mean a lot to me.

[turtle-steverogers]

i was thinking but do you know the unsent project? it is this website where you can write a message to your first love that you never sent to them. now imagine steve writing one (or multiple) to bucky after he came out of the ice after nat told him about it... yeah

hello hi anon this broke me and it was too perfect not to turn into a ficlet klafjldskjfalskf thank you

-

Unsent Letters

To:

Steve’s fingers freeze over the keyboard, the cursor blinking at him. It feels like it’s taunting him-- teasing him with the burden of choking out a name. What should he even say? The sender is anonymous, but how many people are named Bucky out there? Would anyone even care?

To: Bu

Steve huffs and backspaces, his hands trembling as he curls them into fists. He isn’t sure what provoked Natasha to tell him about this website. It’s a cruel tease to everything he wishes he could say-- wished he could say before Bucky slipped through his fingers. And now his only option is yelling into an abyss. The text box is black and daunting. He turns it yellow. No, too happy. Green. Yes, that’s fine. Bucky’s favorite color was always green.

His gaze wanders away from the screen of his hefty Dell laptop and out the window of his apartment. DC’s low rising buildings span out in front of him. His gut aches; he misses New York already. But he knows being there would only mangle his soul further, seeing his already alien home torn to shreds by literal space whales. He huffs, thinking of Bucky’s comics. His stories came to life after all. Bucky would have probably vibrated out of his skin if he knew there was other life out there.

To: My astronaut

How’s space treating you? It’s treating me pretty badly, if I’m being honest. If only you could see what it’s done to Brooklyn. I think you’d be pretty mad at it if you knew…

Steve hesitates, reading back over what he’s typed. It’s stupid as hell, and he cringes, but he doesn’t backspace. His fingers find the keys again.

I miss you something awful. I don’t think that even encompasses how much I’m hurting without you. I feel so lost right now-- space is much bigger and scarier than you’d think. I know you’d love it. I wish you could see bits of it, but god, I just want to go home. I want you to come home.

Steve freezes again and finds the screen blurry where tears have welled in his eyes. His jaw clenches as he pictures the way Bucky would laugh at him-- teasing him for his dramatics and ruffling his hair. He wishes he could be there now, rolling his eyes and nudging Steve’s shoulder.

“What’re you upsetting yourself for?” He’d say, gently closing the laptop and coaxing Steve into his arms. “I’m right here, pal.”

And if Steve closes his eyes, he can almost feel Bucky’s warmth enveloping him. But he’s not there. He’s dead, and Steve’s a goddamn ghost, drifting through a future that doesn’t know him.

He opens his eyes and stares at the text box, then clicks submit.

The screen loads, and his message is gone, his pain forever documented in the abyss.

-

For someone who fought aliens two weeks after waking up from his impromptu seventy year sleep, Steve’s life is pretty monotonous. He contemplates this unfortunate fact as he stands in front of his toaster, hair sticking up on the back of his head as he nurses a mug of coffee and waits for his toast to pop.

It’s 5:45 in the morning and he tries to remember a time when he didn’t rise this early. Before the war, perhaps. Though, he’s always been a bit of an early bird. His home life was sporadic to put it lightly and he’d learned from an early age that the sooner he was awake, the better it was for everyone. Vigilance is not a new concept for Steve.

He hasn’t always stayed up late, though. That’s certainly new, and he feels this fact viscerally as he catches sight of his reflection in the microwave. There are bags under his eyes that will be gone by mid-morning thanks to the serum. Dermatologists hate him, Natasha says. Steve thinks he’s pretty lucky that the serum more or less equipped him with a built-in anti-aging agent. His father had started balding by thirty.

His toast pops and he starts a little, blinking blearily at the slightly burnt bread as he pulls it out of the toaster with his thumb and forefinger. He spreads on the same raspberry jam and butter that he uses every morning and tries not to think of how bland it tastes in his mouth as he eats it standing at the counter. Another routine.

He tries not to look at last night’s dishes in the sink as he stacks his plate and silverware on top and doesn’t bother sorting out his hair before pulling on his sneakers and slipping out of his apartment. The sun hasn’t quite risen yet, only the beginning tendrils of light sneaking over the low tops of the DC buildings, and Steve vaguely regrets not grabbing a sweatshirt before he left. It’s not quite Summer yet and the mornings could still get pretty cool.

He’s about to take off down the street when he freezes. Natasha is sitting on the steps of his complex, wearing a pair of pink tinted sunglasses and tossing up and down the keys to her car. Steve blinks, rubs his eyes, then blinks again. Nope. She’s still there.

“Nat?”

Natasha looks up at him and smiles. “Hello.”

Steve shifts, uncomfortable. “Hi. You need something? Is there a mission?”

“No,” Natasha says lightly, standing. “You’re not running this morning, though. Come on, I’m taking you to Starbucks.”

“What?”

“Starbucks. You’re going to try it.”

“I don’t want--”

“Steve, you do the same thing every day. Step out of your comfort zone a little.”

Steve frowns, but Natasha’s right-- he really doesn’t ever stray from his routine.

“Fine,” he says, and twenty minutes later, they’re strolling into the nearest Starbucks.

He’s only been in one before, and that was to use the restroom while on a run. He’d bought a water bottle in an attempt to not be rude and use their facilities without giving them any business, but he hadn’t even considered the expansive menu. All the fancy names were too daunting.

They’re just as daunting now as he stares up at the board, heart hammering out of his chest as he’s faced with indecision. Natasha takes one look at his face, and reaches out to squeeze his arm.

“I’ll order something for you,” she says. “What kind of coffee do you like?”

Steve gives her a pained look. “Um… just coffee?”

Natasha quirks a smile and orders him something called a caramel macchiato. He’ll take it, he guesses.

The drink is too damn sweet and sugary and he almost gags. Still, he was always told to finish what he was given, so he drinks the whole thing.

-

To: Mr. Sweet Tooth

You’d fucking love it here. Everything is packed with sugar and sweetness-- enough to make even my teeth rot. I had something called a caramel macchiato today and it tasted like someone took your ma’s caramels and condensed them into a cup. I couldn’t stand it, but I know if you were here, you’d want at least twelve. I hope you’re enjoying all the sweets you can up in space.

Love, Mr. Boring

-

Steve’s fingers are stiff and frozen as he works at the straps of his stealth suit. The tangy taste of saltwater still sits heavy on his tongue, and he clenches his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering too harshly as he finally peels off his suit. It’s not much better, being naked, but at least the wet fabric isn’t clinging to him anymore.

The mission had been pretty straightforward until some alien tech managed to blast the quinjet to kingdom come, and they all free-fell straight into the freezing Atlantic.

Steve had managed to keep it together as they took down the goddamn mad scientist that fucked them over, but now that he’s home and alone, he can feel the adrenaline crashing.

He’s shaking from more than just the cold as he draws himself a warm bath, and he pulls his knees up to his chest, trying to breathe through the panic that wants to engulf his entire being.

He loses time for a bit, and comes back to himself lying in his bed, burrowed under several thick layers. He feels so cold, down to his very soul-- a chill that he can never seem to truly shake, even when he’s warm.

Not for the first time, he wishes Bucky were there to hold him. He slips off to sleep thinking old, comforting thoughts of Bucky rubbing his hands between his own, coaxing his head under his chin to engulf him in that natural warmth of his. He always was a fucking furnace.

But when Steve wakes an hour later, shaking hard enough to move the bed with the force of the nightmare he’d dropped into, Bucky is not there to soothe away the ice.

-

To: JB

im so cold and i cant breathe ever and nothing feels right. I dont know what to do, u were always the problem solver between us and i cant think straight right now and i just want you here please. I cant do this anymore, im so tired please come back. I need you please

-

The Winter Soldier file sits in front of Steve-- a horrifying nightmare wrapped up in a neat brown folder. Residual nausea swirls around in his gut as he comes down from the horrible high of reading through the contents. His hands shake where they grasp the thick paper. His heart clenches hard in his chest.

Bucky is alive. Bucky is alive, and he’s been unmade.

Steve doesn’t know where he is-- if he’s escaped, or if Hydra found him again. It’s been three weeks now since the helicarriers, and he’s only just gotten the courage to sit down and wade through the shit that is Bucky’s reality.

He just hopes he’s safe. God, he hopes.

Sam says he’ll help him look, and Steve needs to know he’s at least out of danger, but he barely knows where to start.

And he’s sorry. He’s so fucking sorry.

Blinking out of his reverie, Steve looks at his laptop. He feels strange and detached as he reaches for it and logs in.

To: Bucky

And yes, that feels right. He should use his name, since he suspects no one has for a long, long time.

I’m so sorry for what happened to you. I’m sorry that you’ve been hurting so quietly for so long. I understand if you’re not ready to come home-- I understand if you never are. I just hope that you know that there will always be a place with me that is safe. I love you so much and I’m here, forever and always.

Love, Steve.

He’s not naive. He knows it would be dangerous to submit that particular message, so he doesn’t. But that’s okay. That one’s just for him-- for them.

-

“Steve? What is the… Unsent Project?”

Steve frowns and pokes his head out of the kitchen. Bucky is sitting on the couch in the living room, using his laptop, because his own is having storage issues.

Bucky looks at him. “It’s one of your saved tabs. What is it?”

And oh, fuck. Steve had forgotten to remove that from his homepage-- it really wasn’t needed anymore. He blushes all the way to his ears.

“Oh, it’s-- nothing. Not anything important--”

But Bucky has already clicked on the tab.

“The Unsent Project,” he reads aloud. “A collection of unsent text messages to… first… loves…”

He trails off as he processes what he’s looking at, and Steve can’t quite read his expression when he looks at him again. His eyebrows are furrowed, and he’s looking at Steve like he’s some sort of kicked puppy. Steve shifts, uncomfortable.

“Were you sending me… messages? While I was dead?”

Steve swallows. “Um…” and now that Bucky says it out loud, it really does sound quite sad. He shrugs. “It’s Natasha’s fault?”

Bucky shakes his head, clicking on the search bar. He starts to type his name, but Steve shakes his head.

“I didn’t use your name.”

“Oh,” Bucky says, then frowns at him again. “What did you use?”

Steve blushes harder, sitting next to Bucky and taking the laptop from him.

“Um…” he hesitates, then types what he was sure he used as his first alias.

My astronaut

The screen buffers and loads, then fifty or so messages pop up. Steve scrolls down-- it doesn’t take long to find his.

They’re both quiet as they read, and Steve cringes. Jeez, he really had been pretty dramatic. Next to him, Bucky makes a hurt noise.

“Oh, honey,” he murmurs, taking the laptop back from Steve. He reads the message again, then once more, and reaches out for Steve. “Aw, I’m here now.”

Steve huffs, embarrassed. “I know,” he says. “That was way back, like, three weeks after I woke up.”

Bucky stills. “You fought aliens three weeks after you woke up?”

“... More like two.”

Bucky hums. “Are there others?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, reaching out to type on Bucky’s lap, because Bucky is holding him now and he’s quite reluctant to move. He thinks for a moment, then types in the next one he remembers.

Mr. Sweet Tooth

Bucky laughs, and Steve finds himself smiling.

“I find this funny,” Bucky says. “Because caramel macchiatos are definitely one of my favorites now.”

Steve laughs, too, and butts his head against Bucky’s shoulder.

“If only I could tell that to myself back then-- he’d be thrilled.”

“I’m sure,” Bucky says. “Any more?”

Steve hesitates, thinking of the one he’d sent after that nightmare-- when he was low and hurting. Incoherent. He isn’t sure he wants Bucky to see that particular side of his soul, but Bucky has been more than generous in letting him in on his pains nowaday, and it’s not like Bucky hasn’t witnessed Steve’s own current nightmares.

He bites his lip and types in JB. That seems to yield a lot more results, and it takes a while for Steve to find the message.

He hides his face in Bucky’s neck as he reads. Bucky’s arms gradually tighten around him, and a moment later, he feels him kiss the top of his head.

“Honey, I hate that you were hurting so bad,” Bucky mutters against his hair.

Steve shrugs. “We both were,” he says, and it’s true. There’s something to be said about the guilt they both feel for not being able to save the other person at their lowest, but life hasn’t been kind to them. The vitriol, Steve thinks, should be directed at the goddamn universe for keeping them apart, not themselves for fucking dying. They’re working on it.

Bucky’s quiet for a long time. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he says. “Is that it?”

Steve shakes his head. “But I never sent the last one.”

“Why not?”

“I wrote it after DC.”

He feels Bucky squeeze him again, and he squeezes back.

“Oh.”

“I just-- I wanted you to know that you didn’t have to come home. That I just wanted you to be safe; needed to know you were safe, but it was up to you. I just needed you to know I was here, if you needed me.”

Bucky pulls back then and cups his face, kissing him soundly. Steve’s surprised for only a moment before he’s kissing back.

“I did know that,” Bucky says against his lips. “I needed time-- I was lost-- but the first thing I knew when I remembered who you were was that you were a safe person, because you’d never force me anywhere.”

Steve kisses him again, then pulls him into a hug. “I’m glad you knew that.” It’s warm, where their chests meet, and Bucky is solid beneath him. Real. He isn’t speaking into an abyss anymore.

-

There’s a sticky note on Bucky’s pillow next to his head when he wakes up the next morning. Steve’s side of the bed is already vacant, and he can’t hear him downstairs. He must have already left for a run.

Propping himself on an elbow, Bucky plucks up the sticky note.

To: My Bucky

Thank you for choosing me to be your home, and thank you forever, for being mine.

I love you with everything I have.

Love, your Steve

Bucky smiles, heart light as he folds the notes. He’ll keep that one with him, he thinks. A little bit of home to bring wherever he goes.

-

anyway yeah fslkjflaskjfls i-- ouch. anything to do with letters w these two hurts me immensely