#literally no brain cells left at this point

[ravensmadreads]

GIRL I AM DECEASED -

you call and I come running

rating: E for Explicit! 18+

pairing: javier peña x f!reader

word count: 8K

summary: a drunken confession leaves you and Javi on unsure ground. When an on the run narco douses you in an unknown, off-market drug, Javier has to save you by doing the one thing that may truly well and good fuck him over.

warnings: sex pollen, dub con due to sex pollen, minimal plot scaffolding to hold up a gratuitous amount of porn, minimally edited, feral!javi is best javi, the barest hint of breeding kink, not really butt stuff more like butt touching, light angst, no use of y/n

a/n: comes from @perotovar 's ask for my 100 follower milestone event: hi there! congrats on your milestone!! i saw your prompt list and saw "I’m so sick of this ‘will we, won’t we’ shit." and "A whispered, “Fuck, can we do that again?” against the other’s lips." and thought it would be a really good combination for either javi p or max p? which ever one you feel fits better! 😊 (as for smut, only include it if you think it works!)

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Bogota was begging for rain. At the end of summer, the city and its people had been suffering months of stifling, thick, humid air without a drop of relief. Sweat clung to exposed skin, dampening shirts and tightening waistbands. Heat weighed like a physical presence in the air while open windows and doors sought to tempt in some non-existent breeze, hoping to coax some pity out of the militant heatwave. But the heat and the moisture-thick air stayed, hovering like a cloud of mosquitoes, just as merciless and just as blood-thirsty. 

Night offered no consolation either. Stagnant and cloistered, the sun-bleached air greeted its visitors with a great, warm lick – like the wide tongue of a particularly aggressive bloodhound. The ongoing joke among the locals blamed the blackouts on all the fans, spinning throughout all hours of the day and night, instead of el gobierno barato. Only then came the sigh of ease, in front of whirling blades with ice water behind them. Flapping shirts and mopped brows. Only then, was there relief to the tension. 

Unfortunately, a running car would tip off any narcos in the area, so even that small miracle is denied to the two agents sitting in the darkness of la calle. A crack in the glass window releases a tendril of smoke, not enough to expect a breeze, not enough to wipe away the smear of sweat from across forearms and under knees. 

A drunken confession lingers even thicker in the air.

You thought you could do this. You really thought nothing would change – it was an accident after all. He didn’t mean it – he couldn’t – he was just teasing you, when he leaned over the sticky fourtop in the back of the bar at three in the morning, his breath tangy with the ghost of four glasses of whiskey, his body heat immense and overwhelming as he pressed into you and said – 

Whatever he said, you told him no.

Actually, you laughed and then said no. No, because he didn’t mean it, he couldn’t, he was just teasing you and he would never, ever, ever, ever know how much you actually wanted it and even if – even if you both wanted it, it could never, ever, ever, ever happen. 

It couldn’t. It was so absurd for him to even consider it, you laughed.

And then he never looked at you the same way.

You had done something irreversible. He had said the words, but you had done something irreversible to him. 

Something in the air had changed, maybe forever. And that, that you might have lost your partner, your friend, potential potential potential disappearing in a cloud of Marlboro smoke over bottles of cerveza, that was the worst part. 

He doesn’t look at you the same way.

Or at all. 

He smokes and he watches and he acts like you’re not in the seat next to him. Like his confession hasn’t cleaved him apart.

Nothing’s moved in hours. Neither the target or the shadows in the car. The tension presses up against the windows, hot and stifling. There is no relief.

“I didn’t want it like this, you know,” you say to the sun visor, arms crossed, low in your seat. “I . . . tried to see if Murphy would switch, but I didn’t think the tip would pan out so fast, and I didn’t . . . I didn’t want . . .”

The shadow next to you emerges with his face as he brings the glowing orange light of the cigarette to his mouth. Full lips, short thick hair below his nose, a jawline sharper than any hit of cocaine. 

“What did you expect?” he asks, his voice thick and heavy like oil. It clings to you.

You scowl into the darkness beyond your window. “For Murphy to me a fucking solid, for once. Covered his ass more than once after they adopted Olivia. I just wanted one goddamn –,”

He forcefully flicks the stub of his cigarette out the window as a precursor to punctuate his next sentence. “No. What did you want, if you didn’t want it like this?” 

The acidity in his tone stings you and you unintentionally flinch as if he had pressed the cigarette nub into your skin. 

“Javier, c’mon, that’s not fair.” 

He arches one eyebrow, his teeth clenched in his jaw, hollowing out a pocket of skin below his temple. The overhanging orange streetlights sap the color from his skin.

“So you get to make all the rules now. Got it.” He crunches up the empty box of cigarettes and chucks it in the back seat. You watch him with narrowed eyes as he settles back against the seat with his arms crossed. 

“Why do you have to make this difficult?” You snap. “You know this isn’t easy for me either.” 

“But it is easier than the alternative, right?” After two hours of ice cold silence, he finally looks at you and you can feel the spike of frost in your chest. The twitch in his jaw is the rage in his eyes taking physical form. “Easier than . . . trying. Right?” 

He looks away, already having confessed too much with whisky on his breath, and he can’t afford another slip-up. He knows this. You know this. You want to reach out and touch him but you worry he might physically slap you away if you do. You’ve hurt him in places Javier Peña doesn’t like to admit he has. 

“It’s not that simple,” you say to his thigh. “And you know it.” 

His jaw twitches again. “I’m not asking for your goddamn hand in marriage. I’m just — sick of this ‘will we, won’t we’ shit. I want –,”

“No.” You say and you can feel the word imprint under your sternum. “There’s too much at risk. We’ve been in this fight for too long to get benched and if Noonan even gets a whiff of anything out of whack with her agents, she’ll . . . I want to, Javi, can’t you see that? I really want to – in case I didn’t make that crystal fucking clear. I want to, but there’s no trying for people like us. In a place like this.” The firm weight in your voice pushes on something that makes him look at you again. That rage has dissipated, melted, leaving only a corporeal ache. His brown eyes were endless in their confusion, their disappointment, their hurt. Please, he begs without words. You swallow, your thumbnail digging into your palm to keep yourself from launching yourself across the bench seat of his truck and into his lap. “I want to, Javi. I want . . . you.” 

He drops your gaze as if it burned him. He shifts back, hand coming up to cover his mouth, the side of his knuckle rubbing his upper lip as if coaxing whatever was sitting just behind his teeth back down his throat. 

Javier stares out into the oppressive Bogota night, his clavicle dewy with sweat and he shakes his head.

“Save it.”

You actually flinch. God, you knew it was going to hurt but you never thought it would hurt this much. Hurts so much it claws up your chest with cut-metal knives until you can’t breathe. Until you can’t see as tears flood your eyes.

“Javi, please.” Your voice is calm, despite the small implosion in your chest. “Don’t–,”

“No, I mean – look.” He points out across the dashboard.

The door that has been shut tight for the past three hours has opened. El Corto, a man who lives up to his name, pokes his round face around the edge of the door, glancing up and down the street with the paranoia of someone who trafficks drugs for a living. You turn your head into your shoulder to act like you are adjusting the firearm on your hip to wipe your eyes. Beside you, Javier turns the safety of his handgun and slips it into the back of his jeans.

“You good?” He sounds like Javier, your friend, and that swell of confidence gives you the strength to kick down a door into a whole nest of narcos. You meet his eyes and nod. 

The air is no cooler out in the open when you slip out of Javier’s truck into the dark night of Bogota. Javier strides across the black street, eyes just as fast as El Corto, paranoia just as high. There’s never any telling if the narcos are alone and that’s why you hang back just a bit, eyes on Javier and a dozen other places. 

“El Corto,” Javier snaps, sharp and demanding. The voice of authority. The narco freezes, narrow shoulders going taught. You keep eyes on his hands, your own hovering over your weapon in case he chooses to go for his. “Ven aquí. Tenemos algunas–,”

Without warning, El Corto takes off running, darting off down an alleyway. 

“Fuck,” Javier hisses and pulls his shirt out of his pants, experience the cruelest teacher. But you’ve already passed him –  running your favorite way to unwind, train, and way to avoid your problems, tearing down the alleyway after the shadow sprinting into the night. 

There is something singular about running that is more addicting than any drug the narcos peddled. A chosen target. A finite end. The only thing you had to count on, the only thing to worry about, is how hard you had to pump your arms, the length of your stride, the control of your breathing. Hunting down narcos was a breeding ground for chaos. But not this. This made sense. 

El Corto, despite having about half your stride, makes up for his short stature with speed. You catch only a glimpse of his jacket, then his shoe. A mile through an empty street and he finally comes into view. You’re gaining on him. The unrestrained creature in your chest roars and blocks out the searing pain in your calves, under your ribs. God, you swear you can almost smell him.

Maybe all animals, big or small, can sense the moment before the trap ensnares around them because without warning, El Corto darts left, leaping over a wrought iron fence into the lower levels of an apartment building. He’s gone before you can blink.

Snarling, you squeeze the fence railing as you tuck your legs over it, the momentum of your run clearing you from the tips. 

A voice in your head and possibly behind you is yelling at you to wait, don’t go inside without backup, but you can’t stop. You can’t help it. If you can’t have who you want, this is what you want. This is what you need.

And you need a fucking win. 

You burst through the screen door to an empty concrete room – torn carpet, wall paint chipped away, maybe an old living room – a flash of jeans around the hallway at the end giving a fraction of an indication of your target. So you take off after him, rounding the corner. You watch as he nearly runs through a faded yellow door, the wood cracking and splintering from the force as it slams open into the wall. The door ricochets off the wall, nearly slamming close again, just as you reach it, but the brunt of your shoulder knocks it back again.

And something cracks you across the chest. 

Powder. Blue. Lots of it.

You stumble, your eyes and nostrils burning, as it seizes in your lungs. You cough and hack, trying desperately to unseal it from your lungs, but it barely budges, barely slides loose. Blind and gasping from the heat of your run and through the powder, you veer off course, stumbling into what feels like boxes. Your knees tremble, suddenly unsteady on your feet. 

Through your watery eyes, you watch as El Corto drops the plastic bag that used to contain the powder, a malicious glint in his eyes.

“Puta,” he spits, the slur hardly original for a female DEA agent. He steps back and sheds the gloves you didn’t realize he had been wearing, still watching you with twisted interest. 

You’re no longer coughing, but the air still hasn’t settled in your body. You feel the heat in your lungs rise, expand, then fall, against your skin, as if it is in sync with your heartbeat. With every breath, a sour, sticky warmth presses against every joint in your body, every bone. There’s a knot building at the base of your spine, tightening your hips, and you stumble until you’re seated on one of the boxes, which you now see as packing crates. 

You swallow but your mouth is dry. Head heavy. Distant. Your eyes feel swollen in your skull.

“What the fuck did you do to me?” you whisper. 

He’s not scowling at you, you realize, he’s leering. Eager. Excited. He takes a step towards you. 

A floor above, you hear the sound of the door being breached and Javier calling out your name. El Corto scowls, as though his favorite toy had been taken away, before he tears himself away to the narrow window on the other side of the room. More shipping crates have been stacked against the wall and El Corto scurries up it, unlatching the window. He pauses, glancing back over his shoulder at you.

“Diviértete para mí, putita,” he waves with three fingers as Javier crashes into the room, his gun raised. He spots El Corto just as he slips up through the narrow window – the space no bigger than the width of a child – his foot kicking down the tower of boxes. Javier nearly nabs his ankle, leaping up the concrete wall, as the narco disappears into the night.

His open palm striking against the humid wall is a wet slap. “Fuck,” he snarls, this time pounding with the heel of his fist, “we almost fucking had him. What the fuck ha–,”

He turns and meets your gaze for the first time. His mouth drops in horror.

Sweat blooming across your forehead, you lean over on a crate, limbs trembling, breathing uneven. Every scrap of fabric over your skin burns, your thighs burn, your blood burns, you are burning. The sweat peaks in droplets that run down the back of your neck, under your armpits. Whatever he hit you with makes you want to take off every inch of your clothes –maybe then you could fucking breathe – but even then, it wouldn’t be enough. 

He’s got you by the shoulders, forcing you to look at him, before you realize what’s happened.

“Talk to me.” Javier snaps, that authoritative force sharp and demanding, and it sends an aching bolt between your legs. You whimper in pain, your eyes fluttering. He shakes you. “Stay awake and tell me what happened. I need you to focus. ”

Your lips feel puffy, overripe and ready to split, your jaw tight and throbbing. “H-h-hit m-me with blu-ue – don’t–don’t know what i-it is.” 

Javier steps closer and the scent of his cologne hits you like a train. Groaning, a strange, unwelcome instinct yanks your head down into the curve of his neck, the source of the smell. The touch of his skin beneath your lips is a balm – cool egg yolk over a fresh burn – and you bury your face in deep.

“Oh, fucking Christ, Javi.” Your voice trembles, wavering down into a low moan. That same alien instinct latches your hands over his shoulder, nails digging into the cotton. But it’s not alien, you realize through the muggy, humid fog in your mind – you know this feeling. You are intimately aware of the coiling knot between your legs, your soaked underwear, the tightness of your nipples. But this can’t be happening. It shouldn’t. It shouldn’t hurt like this. 

You gasp, in real pain, a throb that starts clenching your cunt before rippling up your spine and locking your shoulders. You hunch against him, waiting for the contraction to pass. 

“What is it?” Javi holds you, panic evident in his voice. You swear you can hear his heartbeat in his neck. “What’s wrong? Talk to me, goddamn it.” He demands with no bite in his command. 

He peels you off him, you hiss, ripped out of the soothing embrace of his arms, and he makes you look at him. His eyes are wide, mouth twitching. The entirety of his chest is blue, most of powder from your skin covering his shirt.

He cups your cheeks, trying to see if the powder has left an acid burn, as another wave hits and you lock your body, now a battleground against the strangling desire to turn your face into his wide palm and inhale. There’s liquid making the crotch of your pants sticky and it’s embarrassing. It’s mortifying and silly and the ounce of sanity still left in your head keeps an iron grip on every muscle in your body – sanity telling you to not fucking do this. Don’t do this to him. Not when it would mean so much to him.

To you. 

But fuck, you want it. You need it. You might actually die without it.

Tears spring into your eyes, making a gooey muck as they slide down your cheeks and mix with the powder. Whatever this is, you have to fight it.

His eyes dart to your tears, the little bit of powder still on your face, and without thinking, he brushes your tears away with his thumbs.

Sanity cracks the whip – if it gets on him, then –

With the last ounce of strength, you shove him back, as far away from you as you possibly can. The second his warmth is gone from your skin, you tremble and your knees give out. Fresh tears, spurred on by the pain, by the fear, by the shame, spill from your eyes and you curl up against the wall. 

“D-don’t, Javi, don’t. I th-think it’s t-t-transderm-mal–,”

“What do you–,”

You watch helplessly as his pupils contract and then expand wildly, black swallowing that aching brown. He shakes his head like a bewildered animal, sweat already bleeding across his skin, and he stumbles back onto a springy metal cot on the opposite wall. He blinks, hand tightening around his knee. It makes his forearm flex and you have to physically close your eyes, the sight forcing your cunt to clench down on nothing. 

“What . . . what the fuck is this shit?”

You bite your lip, your chin tucked to your shoulder as your body cramps, punishing you for denying it the only source of relief. You squint at him and see he’s half-hard in his jeans. You whimper.

“I-I don’t know . . . new– new party drug?” You grunt, your head thrown back against the wall. God, your skin is going to melt right off your bones.

“This is way fucking worse than ecstacy,” Javier murmurs, his jaw tight. “Fuck, got a bit on me, but you . . .”

He blinks at you, eyes glassy, with sudden and total understanding, with perfect clarity why you shoved him away, and what exactly you need. 

He murmurs your name and you gasp, another cramp yanking new tears down your cheeks. 

“J-Javier,” you swallow thickly, “I know what I s-said before, a-and in the car, but if you ever cared about me, p-please . . . please, just –,”

You can’t encompass all that you need into words, but you hope he understands, is feeling kind despite all that you had done to him. Your bones ache, skin too tight.

He shakes his head, but weakly, his eyes caught on your throat, the wetness clinging to your lips. “You’re just saying that because of the drugs. We have to call Murphy. Get us to a hospital or something.”

“Javi,” you whine and maybe it is the drugs, or maybe he has an inkling of how much it hurts, but he’s across the room in an instant. He grabs you by the shoulders and hauls you to your feet. He drops his head and inhales like he can draw the heat from your blood. The tip of his nose dragged across your jaw is a cube of ice against the furnace of your skin. You shudder, hands clasping around his shoulders, dragging him against you, his hands cupping your hips as if to steady him. 

“I-I’ll give you this.” Javier Peña doesn’t stutter. Your eyelids weigh a thousand pounds as you draw your gaze up to him. “I’ll help, cariño, and then we call Murphy. Okay?” 

You nod, dizzy and overheated and sick with wanting. You nod and tilt your hips forward into his fingers as they pop open the button of your jeans. The sound of the slide of the zipper drives a shiver through you and you feel his cock, fully hard, against your thigh. 

His lips brush your cheek, his voice slurred, dripping slow in molasses, sweet and dark. “I’ll help. I’ll give you what you need.”

The first press of his fingers against your pussy rubs slippery and wet. With a sigh of relief, you drop your head against the wall, hips shoving into his hand, begging for more.

“Fuck,” he wheezes. “You’re already soaking.”

“More, Javier, more.” 

He grinds his cock against your thigh to soothe his own ache. He nods slowly as if dazed, his eyes locked onto to where his hand disappears inside your jeans. “Y-yeah, okay.”

If any hesitation remains, it’s gone when he sinks two fingers inside of you and taps up. You moan and he shoves his knee between your legs. 

“You like that, pretty girl? Does that help?”

“Yes,” you gasp into his neck, his fingers rocking into you. “Yes, Javier, yes!” 

His touch douses the ache, the fire, across your skin, in your spine. With every snap of his wrist, he draws away the heat from your exposed, too-sensitive nerves, easing the lighting storm in your low stomach. The noises you’re making, the noises your cunt makes against his fingers – it should embarrass you, should draw red up into your cheeks and ears, but it’s just more release. You yowl like an animal in heat and Javier’s groin jerks against you. You gain enough sentience to realize he’s fucking you with his jeans on up the wall, his hand never slowing or easing. You can feel yourself gush between his knuckles. 

“You’re almost there, muñeca, I can feel it. Just give it to me. Come for me,” he pants into your clavicle, the spread of bone across your chest. You tighten at the thought of his breath against your nipples, his teeth on the soft weight of your breast –

And you do. You come with the easy brush of his thumb against your clit. White lightning soothes the rage beneath your skin and you shudder in his arms, forehead collapsing against his shoulder. The snap of his hips against your thigh is a bruising rhythm, harsh, feral, an understanding that only something rough and wild can actually save your life. 

“Is that better, querida?” His wide palm pushes the hair back from your damp neck, cradling your heated cheek. His thumb brushes just under your bottom lip. You can feel his own fever, radiating from his skin. “Can we get you somewhere safe?”

But you’re still too high, too taut, to answer him. Another one builds, stacks up on itself every time his rock-hard cock digs into your hip. He scissors his fingers and you bear down onto his thigh. 

“Fuck,” he mutters, but without exhaustion or anger. He sounds almost gleeful. When he looks at you, his pupils are blown wide, sweat making his skin glow. The skin around his mouth is damp. “Alright, I’m not gonna stop. You can have one more. One more, querida.” 

His shoulders tense, the muscles in his back shifting, as he changes the angle of his fingers, renews the pressure of his thumb on your clit. He brushes against something deep inside of you, wet and spongy and never before reached and you arch your back in response, air sucked from your lungs. His thigh nearly lifts you off the floor. 

“Oh, that’s it, isn’t it?” He taps the spot again and tears flood your eyes and spill down your cheeks. 

“Oh my god, Javi,” you murmur and he seems to like that. You clamp down around him and his hips stutter, his moan deep and coming from an ache in his chest. He inserts another finger and your cunt sucks him in, greedy for more. 

He eases back into his rhythm, raggedly humping your hip, the rough material of his jeans burning between your thighs. 

“You’re so close, aren’t you?” he breathes. “Fuck, I knew it would fucking feel this good. You’re clenching down on me so hard, baby.” 

On the tip of your next orgasm, the haze clears for just a second and you catch him in the eye. This isn’t just the drugs, you know, this isn’t just an excuse for both of you. This is hating to see the other one in pain. This is sharing a worry for a bit of yourself that lives in another body. What passes along the length of your gaze is the exact thing you feared losing. 

Selfishly, you’d rather not have him like this, than not having him at all. 

But this is what it could be, he tells you through an open, gasping mouth, through eyes that pin you to the wall, this is what we could have every day, every night. If you just let me in. 

If you just –

“Come for me.” 

You answer with his name, on a cry high and sharp, and you’re coming – harsh, fast, exploding as you drench him, his fingers pressing roughly into that one sweet spot. 

Javi slumps forward, the weight of him nearly stifling, as he gasps, his hips stilling, stuttering, stopping. His skin flushes cold for a second, sweat cooling his fever, his face buried in your neck. 

You feel it. Against your thigh. You swallow in surprise, the fog parting briefly again. 

“Javi, did you . . .”

He wrenches his hand out of you, releasing his grip on your hip as he lowers you down. 

“I’m not fucking calling Murphy,” he grits out.

*~*~*

Javier is a man of singular focus. Almost dogged and single-minded in his hunt, it’s rare he is even capable of listening to the voice of reason. It’s a different voice than his own that tells him when he’s doing something monumentally stupid. There’s a part of him that knows exactly why that voice sounds a lot like you, unconsciously knowing that you’re the only thing that could give him pause. And yet, there are times when he can shut the voice out, can shut out everything inside of him screaming at him not to do the thing he’s going to do. But this, this decision, genuinely has him torn. There is no right way to do this.

Well, there is a right way. One where he takes you to dinner, buys you flowers, walks you home, tucks your hair behind your ear, kisses you softly at first, then rough, until you beg him to come up the stairs. Despite what some may think, he is capable of being romantic. He can be sweet. He can ask nicely. 

But that is something he is not capable of right now. 

In his post-nut clarity – because, yes, he did come in his pants like a twelve year old with his first porn mag after having his fingers up your cunt for what was all too short – he realized the room you both were in was some sort of safehouse. 

A cot against the wall. A portable stove with something in the pan black and sticky. The crates are empty of any valuables – by the shape and length, most likely guns – but the few that are still full have a few bags of that elicit blue powder. He makes a mental note, somewhere on the very distant laundry list in his brain, to take a bag – with gloves on and wrapped up in several other baggies – to have it tested at the lab. Because whatever this stuff is, it might actually be more dangerous than cocaine.

Especially to idiots like him, he thinks roughly as he yanks the thread-bare mattress off its wiry frame onto the floor. He snatches up the cotton sleeping bag at the foot of the frame and unzips it, the inside facing down. This is such a monumentally stupid idea, he knows it is, but he can already feel that cramp building up his thighs, his cock throbbing awake, arousal clamping down on the base of his spine. And he just got a whiff of it. He can’t imagine what you’re feeling already. Behind him he hears you moan softly, never one to complain or whine when things get tough or hard, so he goes faster. He tucks up the other end of the sleeping bag in what he hopes is some semblance of comfort, but he wonders if that will even matter to either of you when it hits again which, judging by how hard his cock is growing, is eminent. The wet spot on his thigh, beneath his jeans, is sticky, uncomfortable. He needs no further reason to unbutton them. 

You moan, this time louder, higher, again and he turns to face you, his shirt already undone to his stomach.

You’re pale again, skin glossy and sickly wet. When your eyes flutter open, they’re glassy, gaze distant and unfocused. You twitch when that first cramp settles in deep. He thinks, his mind not entirely his own, about how deep the clutch of your cunt sucked in just his fingers and he shivers. He simultaneously wanted to get this over with and drag it out for days. Have you beneath him for days. 

Your legs tucked up beneath you from where he laid you down, Javi approaches quietly, kneeling as he takes off his shirt and goes to untie your boots. He touches your ankle as gently as he can and you shudder, cracking an eye open. 

“Javier, it’s coming back. It’s coming back and it hurts.”

In addition to the many, many agency violations, this is monumentally stupid because he’s obsessed with you. Has been for a while. Not just in a way that makes him want to fuck you for hours flat on your back, but in a way that your smile is the last thing he sees before he goes to sleep and the first thing on his mind when he wakes up. An obsession with your wellbeing, your safety, your happiness. A persistent coiling thought about your laugh, and strength, and the way you can make grown men twice your size tremble in fear. You’re a hunter, just like him, and with your beauty – your staggering, haunting beauty – how was he not supposed to immediately attach himself to you? It came on slowly, his pathological need to be near you, and once he realized what it was, there was no going back. No turning it off. 

He didn’t mean to tell you when he was drunk, but after bagging another narco, it was like he could see the light at the end of the tunnel. A brief glimpse into a world where you both were safe, and happy, and – god willing – together and in this world, he told you and he was brave about it and you said it back and he felt warm all over. But that was not this world, not his reality. In this one, he has to save you by doing the one thing that may truly well and good fuck him over. 

“Sit up, baby, that’s it.” He eases you into his arms and it’s like his touch drags you back into consciousness. Your fingers dig into his bare arms as you take in his exposed chest. 

“Javi, fuck, I don’t wanna beg, but before when you – you – I felt better. It cleared. I don’t know why or how, but with your fingers inside m-me, it . . . helped.” 

“I know, cariño, and I want to help more.” His thumbs press up under your jaw, tilting your head up to look him directly in the eyes. There’s fear there, pain, and it’s agonizing to him. “But I don’t know if that’s what you want.” 

“What I want? Javi, I–,” your eyes widen in understanding of what he’s offering, of what he’s scared to do. What he’s scared to take without your permission. 

You swallow, a pink flush crawling up your throat. “I . . . I don’t . . . I didn’t want our first time together to be anything like this, but . . .” You shake your head, shuffling closer to him, your breathing thinning as the drugs start to strike matches against your nerves. “I just don’t want you to think it doesn’t mean anything.” 

“It’s gonna mean everything to me, no matter how I get it.” He presses a soft kiss to the corner of your chin, just in front of his thumb. You nod, eyes squeezing shut, as you fight this arousal that claws into your skin like meat hooks. He pulls you to your feet, holding you steady as your knees try to lock up. He unbuttons your shirt with shaking hands. 

You touch his chest like you’ve never seen a man naked before. The hesitant, awed touch of you sends all the blood still remaining in his head straight into his cock. 

“I’m gonna fuck you now,” he murmurs to your cheek, your shirt off your body, his hands tugging your jeans down your hips. You nod again, speechless in your relief, and follow your jeans to the ground. Twisting on the nest he made for you, you slide your bra off, your nipples already tight and perk and waiting for his mouth. You huff, a sound so unlike you it makes him genuinely concerned, as the front of your panties darken again. 

“It’s okay, Javi, this is what I want. I want this.” You hate being vulnerable, he knows this, your attitude a front that leaves no room for sexist comments in the bullpen. And yet, here you are, deflowered and begging for him. You spread your legs for him, eyelids heavy, and he can smell the arousal on you. 

He drops to his knees, unsure where to start first, but the blue powder coursing through his veins demanding he puts his hands on your hips, which he finally acquiesce to. 

“I don’t think I can be gentle,” he admits quietly. He wants to nip, suck, slurp every inch of you, wants to see that perfect body bend to his will, to his turning. He wants to fuck you open and stuff himself up inside you so deep it leaves a mark. In his haze, the instinct to fuck supplies him with an image of you pregnant, bred and full of him, and his cock twitches so hard he drops onto all fours over you. 

You slip your underwear over your toes and your knees take him by the ribs.

“Please, Javi, please.” 

He knows it must hurt, must be so blindingly painful for you to beg like this. You never asked anyone for anything and that independence turned him on and frustrated him to no end. 

“Please, be rough,” you ask him from under your lashes, your body writhing beneath him. His hips, on a separate system than the rest of him, thrust the rough teeth of his zipper against your cunt and you keen, the sound imprinting into every crevice and curve of his brain. “Make it hurt.”

Oh fuck, this might actually be the thing that kills him. 

He hushes you, stills your flushed whimpering with a kiss that ends in teeth against the high curve of your cheek. He noses to your mouth, then down to your ear, where he bites on your earlobe. He’s balancing on one hand as his other tugs his jeans down and off his hips. 

He wants to fuck your tits. Come all over them, have his spend flush up your throat, your chin. He wants to come so hard he blinds you with it. And then he wants to flip you over and fuck your ass with his come-lubed dick. 

You wriggle and whine, legs wrapping around his hips, tugging him down onto you when, half-a-mind away, he realizes he just said all of that outloud.

“Yes, Javi, you can have whatever you want. Fuck me however you want.” His blood is boiling now, the white-hot bomb settling itself in the base of his spine, his balls already tight. Why he’s dragging this out is beyond him and possibly a medical detriment to you. 

“Javi, just fucking put your cock ins–,”

He watches as every conscious thought wiped from your mind, brow heavy, mouth seared open as he plugs you full of him in one rough thrust. You shudder and his elbows buckle, his body locked up tight because if he moves, if he dares to rub his cock through your velvet, hot clutch, he’ll come right there. Your eyes roll back in your head as his cock makes space for itself inside you.

“Javi–,” he claps a wide palm over your mouth, his teeth straining in his jaw, his temple twitching.

“Baby, I know it hurts – I know it fucking does – but I need you to stay still.” It feels too good. You’re too hot, too slippery, and soft. He can feel the hum of words behind his fingers and he shakes his head. “Do not fucking move – I just need to – I have to –,” 

He inches in just a bit more and you both gasp to the ceiling when he bottoms out. Your rough curls against his pelvis sears him, hot and sweet like cinnamon. He drools when he thinks about eating his own come out of you.

You only get one word out, one word that sets his whole world on fire: “Please.” 

He rears back, yanks you up his thighs, hands cupping the backs of your knees and he plows into you. Your tiny fingers that have pulled countless triggers and clapped irons on criminals twitch, tightening into the smelly cotton fabric, your mouth contorted open. His pace, his thrusting, is relentless, unforgiving but the look on your face is pleased, an almost maniacal grin across your lips. 

“Oh, right there, Javi, just like that. Just like that.”

He’s faster than he is precise. Precise comes later when the bestial fog clears from his brain, when the lust bleeds out of his system, when he doesn’t want to hump you like an animal with his teeth bared and cock so deep inside of you it kisses your womb. 

Before his mind entirely succumbs to the mounting arousal, he’s grateful he had the foresight to take the mattress down. If he hadn’t, there’s a good chance he would have fuck you, the bed, and himself right through the paper-thin walls. 

And then he lets go. Lets this thing in his chest and hot behind his groin take over, lets himself indulge in whatever carnal, depraved thing sparks in his mind.

He’s fucking you so hard you’ll both have bruises by morning. 

He watches, transfixed, at the place where his soaked cock disappears through your puffy, wet lips into the mind-numbing heat of your pussy. He can’t stop watching. He barely feels your nails digging into his thighs. 

The walls of your pussy squeeze him and it makes him falter, hitch speed. His gaze is torn away and instantly, it focuses on the bounce and sway of your tits. Sweat droplets roll from your neck into the valley of your breasts and without hesitation he bends to catch them with his mouth, tugging you further down his cock. You cry out, hands digging into his hair, as his tongue drags a wet trail over the top of your breast, the tip flicking your rock hard nipple, then beneath the swell where he meets it with his teeth. 

You jerk, pleasure overwhelming. “Uh – oh – oh – fuck – Javi.” The words leave your mouth truncated, cut short by his rhythmic bouncing. He nuzzles your tit, streaking you with his own sweat, not able to stop fucking up into you to really get a good grip on your breast, but wanting to put the whole thing in his mouth. 

“I’m gonna do it right next time,” he swears fidelity to your skin. He grinds his teeth against your sternum. “Next time I fuck you I’m going to pull you apart bit by bit. Starting with these fucking tits and ending with my tongue up your cunt. Maybe your ass.”

Against his cheek, he feels your skin break out in ridges, your whole body shivering at his words. He leans up, grinning wildly and grinds particularly deep inside of you. You still haven’t fully opened your eyes.

“Oh, you liked that, didn’t you? You want my tongue up your ass. What about my cock, huh? Want my fat fucking cock inside there?” 

You whine, clawing at his chest, as you nod frantically. He could ask anything of you right now and you’d give it to him. And god, he wants so much.

“It’d hurt, baby, you know it would.”

You nod, words tumbling out of your mouth in a mindless babble. “I don’t care. I want it there. I want you inside me. I want it to hurt. I want you to fuck me raw, Javi.”

He groans, more like a growl, rapidly picking up his pace. He lifts your knees higher and fucks up, the change in angle making you moan so loudly it fills up his ears with blood.

“Tell me where you want it. Say it, querida.” 

“I want it in my fucking ass, Javi.” 

His jaw twitching, that primal, unrestrained urge in him wrapping itself around his spine, he shoves you off him. Wetness dribbles down his lap but he doesn’t let himself smell or see it for long, as he flips you onto your hands and knees, sliding in and pummeling your pussy from behind.

You whine, singing for his cock, and collapse onto your elbows, presenting your ass for him. The pair of you really are just fucking animals.

He presses his thumb to your tight hole, the wet slap of his balls against your ass suddenly the least obscene thing in the room. There’s barely enough room for his thumb there and he tips his head back at the thought that no one had ever taken you there before. His. All his and no one fucking else’s. 

“Javi,” you sob, that preening need gone from your voice as though you are begging him not to go further, but desire kept you from voicing what you actually wanted. 

His bottom lip twitches and he leans down and gently bites your shoulder, grounding you and clearing out all fear. Drugs or not, he’d never do anything you didn’t explicitly ask for, but the second this is all over, he’s going to get on his hands and knees and beg you to let him work your ass open. 

“Not tonight, cariño.” He slides his thumb out of you, his wrist twisting as he palms the meat of your ass. “But I’m not leaving this completely untouched.”

He smacks the jiggling flesh until he sees a pink hand print, earning him a yelp from you every time his palm lands. He feels fresh, sticky wetness soak his cock with each slap, enough for it to dribble down his thigh. He’s not going to shower for a week. 

The higher he climbs, the faster that animalistic heat leaves his blood. You’re not as pale as before, the skin of your back growing a nice healthy flush. As his grip around your hips tightens, he feels your cunt clench around him. If he won’t take your ass tonight, he still wants you puffy and sore. He leans back just to watch his cock pound your pink, abused hole.

“I’m close, Javi,” you admit breathlessly. He nods, leaning forward again, that image of your pussy split open for him deliciously sealed in his mind, and he drags his nose down your spine. Sweat from his chest drops and splatters against your skin.

“I know you are, I can feel it. Can I see your face? Watch you? Can I put you on top?”

You nod and he slips out of you for what he hopes will be the last time in his fucking life. He’s no longer drug-crazed, but he is drunk. Pussy drunk. Drunk on you. Imbibed by the juices trailing down his thighs. He shifts and you swing a leg over his hips, immediately swallow him deep inside you. 

Unlike the courtesy he gave you, you give him no time to adjust, grip his chest, and ride him within an inch of his life.

Your tits swinging in his face, he presses his fingers so tight into your thighs, he’ll be able to count the distinct bruises, and plants his feet. He meets you, thrust for thrust, and he watches your competitive nature battle your overwhelming chase for release. 

“Just come, cariño,” he pants. “You’ve done so good tonight. Just fucking come all over my lap. Let go.” 

His words melt something inside of you and you whimper, curling down over him, which he takes to wrap his arms around your back, and roll you under him. He kisses your chin, your temple, the corner of your mouth. His big palm cradling your head, he grinds low and deep, seeking out that place he touched with his fingers. 

“It’s alright. I’ve got you. You can come.” He prods that spot once and it’s all over. You clamp down on his cock, milking him for all he’s worth because as you arch, mouth open, tears down your face, he comes too. He comes and he comes and he comes until he drips out of you and that breaks another orgasm across you, this one bumpy and leaves you shaking. 

He feels dizzy, unsure up from down, the loudest sound he hears is his own blood rushing in his ears. He’s never been more exhausted. 

He can hear the vibration of you saying something against his throat, but nothing is quite working like it’s supposed to, so he slumps off you, his hand never leaving your skin, as he tugs you against him.

He’ll be dried and sticky in only a few hours – you both will – but that doesn’t matter right now. The only thing that does is the feeling of your heartbeat over his. 

*~*~*

Morning, along with the scent of rain, glides in through the open window and your fingers twitch as sunlight hits you. Your eyes fluttering open, you lift your head from the sleeping bag to see wet puddles on the floor under the window, the concrete streaked and stained with water. It must have rained sometime last night and, shockingly, you didn’t hear a thing.

The heatwave had finally broken. 

It’s not until you’re full awake do you realize his hand rests in the cup of your neck, thumb rubbing smooth, soft circles into the hard knot near your shoulder blade. You smile, groaning softly, becoming more relaxed by how good it feels. 

You roll over and greet his eyes. They’re brown again, the hungry blackness gone, but leaving an edge of uncertainty in its wake. 

He wants to know how you feel about last night.

“You fucked up,” you tell him and that worried crease appears between his eyebrows. You inch closer, your hand curling up against his jaw. “All that time last night, all the time you had me under you, and you didn’t kiss me once.”

You close your eyes, drop your head, and press a fervent, determined kiss against his pink lips. You can feel it as he swallows it in, his body shifting forward, hand coming up to your hip. But just as quickly as it starts, he pulls away. 

Javier shakes his head. “I can’t,” he says almost mournfully, eyes downcast. “I don’t want to know – what you taste like, if . . . I can’t kiss you if this is the last time.”

He’s still respecting your boundary, your wishes, while coated in his release and yours. He knows he can’t be selfish with you again.

You wet your lip, hand still on his cheek. 

“Javier, you saved my life last night. That was some kind of fucked up drug, but if you hadn’t been here and did what you did, I think I would have had a heart attack.” He shakes his head, ashamed and desperate to prove you wrong. You understand his hesitation. It felt too good for it to be anything other than a transgression. “And if anything, it showed me something I think I already knew but couldn’t find in myself to admit. I need you, Javi. I need you because I can’t live without you. Because I love you.”

His eyes light up when you return the words he uttered in the bar. None of this is how it should have been – in an abandoned narcos hideout, but god, there’s not a single thing you’d change. 

“Yeah, baby? You mean that?” You nod as hot, natural desire flashes in his eyes as he pulls your body under him and captures your mouth in his. His warm palm cups your hip, your ribs, up under your arm, and pushes your elbow to your head. There’s more to say, more to worry about, but that fucking heatwave over Bogota has finally broken and Javier Peña’s cum is dried and flaky between your thighs. 

“We should call Murphy,” you giggle, withdrawing your tongue from his mouth. He shakes his head, the blunt edge of his teeth against your cheek. “There’s a deadly new drug on the streets. Lives are at stake.”

“My dick is at stake,” he murmurs, lips hovering over your skin, drawing your knee up to his ribs as he slots himself between your thighs. The smile slides off your face as he thumbs your raw clit in rough, desperate circles. 

“I thought you said you were going to take it slow next time,” you huff, hips rolling against his stiff cock. 

“I will. Gonna take you to dinner. Cup your ass over a distractingly short dress. Buy you flowers and fucking gold jewelry . . . then I’m going to take you home and open you up with my fingers, then my tongue.” 

“So what’s this?” You gasp against his neck as he sinks his cock into you. 

He groans, grunts, as if he hadn’t spent the better part of the night making your cunt his personal possession. 

“This is me, fucking you, before breakfast. Then we call Murphy. Any objections?” 

You squeeze your knees around him, ankles hooked across his low back, sucking a mark into his neck. 

“Not at all.” 

When you do go public, not shying away from holding hands in the office, or openly walking in at the same time from the same car, Noonan is irate, but can’t bring herself to cut her two best agents loose. It seems catching Pablo Escobar matters more than some silly, little government-issued guidelines. She’d get her day in court, but not today. Not for a while. 

Noonan is annoyed. 

Murphy is not. 

“Came across some new party drugs and not a single thing happened, right?”

“You could have found it, taken it home for you and Connie to enjoy,” you say as you slide your arm across Javier’s back, his hand on your hip. He rarely ever takes his hands off you now. “But, no, you bailed on me instead.” 

“Sounds like you should be thanking me, instead of busting my balls.”

“He’s right, baby,” Javier nuzzles your neck. “Could have been him stuck in that basement with me, horny as a cat in fucking heat.” 

You shrug as Murphy makes a face. “I blame the heatwave.”

He leans into your ear. “And I blame your fucking ass in that skirt. I’m gonna take you home, make good on my promise. Any objections?”

“Not at all.” 

[inkskinned]

in the time loop the only way out is to leave her there but you don't ever leave her there, never in the roughly one thousand years you have been in the same day. it is probably like "50 first dates" but you haven't stooped so low as to watch "50 first dates" yet. (but who is to say what another thousand years of the same media will bring to you, maybe you will develop a new taste).

you spent about 200 of these years sulking in a bathtub or on the couch or staring at the seaside. 300 of them have been spent slowly mapping the geographical distance you can actually get before the time loop restarts. you have a list of favorite places: one library in Western Massachusetts called "The Bookmill", which has weird hours and has never raised an eyebrow to you arriving out-of-breath and panting, asking to see a specific book on a specific shelf. There is one beach without a name in North Carolina; it is an accident of geography and ownership title disputes - and it is pristine, untouched, warm and cozy. you've taken her on a lot of picnics there. Acadia National Park. One specific birdhouse in the mountains.

you were stuck in the time loop with the money you entered it with: not enough to rent a private jet. you've robbed a bank a few times, you don't like the way it ends. maybe next century you'll get the hang of it. you don't like the look on her face when you say hang on i have to stop at the bank.

you just have to leave her, and you can go back to being a person again. you took 5 years just catching a flight and sitting in the Grand Canyon. if there's one thing you regret more than anything, it's that you hadn't gotten your passport renewed before this fucking time loop. maybe you should spend some time learning forgery - but also, like, you look like an english teacher. nobody is going to be cool about you asking to see their paper printing machines.

the world is very big. that is one of the things groundhog day gets wrong. there are no consequences, so you have literally all the time (or none of the time?) in the world. in groundhog day, he does a lot of very cool things, but in reality - your muscle memory never gets better. you can't necessarily learn how to play piano or sculpt ice, because your hands never remember the practice. but hey - maybe you'll try violin next. drums. synth.

you can open any door and walk into any conversation. money isn't really an object. you can try every meal off every menu, forever. take her on helicopter tours and into every museum and on every event that is happening right-now at-this-moment. parades and funerals and calligraphy classes.

but you are somewhat trapped by the limitations of your body. if you were reading a book, you still need to get up and go back to the library and find that book again when the day resets. (thank god for the internet). it still takes like 2 hours to board a plane, and then takeoff and landing and traffic. you've gotten off to run around on the freeway. one of the little thankful things: since your brain isn't actually developing (it's a muscle too), the days thankfully don't feel shorter to you. that would be agony.

all you have to do to leave the timeloop is let that man get away with it. that's all. in every version of yourself - forever - you have stopped him.

the problem is that this experience has convinced you of the existence of the human soul. after all, how else are you forming memories? your very cells reset. information has to be transferred somehow. and if timeloops are real, you can convince yourself other magic exists. so you have two choices here: this hell, or the next. there might be a millennia where you have been worn down to the point you can accept fate's decision. this is just not one of them. ironically - she is the one thing you have left.

and besides! if you can't always find something new in your partner, aren't you failing them? there is something new about her, every day with the same morning. every brutal day with the same orange sunset.

after all, you wanted to live with her in heaven, in eternity, and, well - isn't this second-best.

[anexperimentallife]

Project 2025 would ban anything the far right considers pornography. The far right considers anything queer-positive to be pornography, and they WILL encode that into law if given just a TINY bit more power.

Have queer fanfic (or trad published literature) or pics of your transition, or of two men kissing, saved to your hard drive? If the GOP get their way, you'd be guilty of possession of pornography. Did you share any of it? You'd be guilty of distribution of pornography. Have a sweet coming of age story with a queer protagonist? That'd be child pornography.

Even now, states are trying to make it a crime to be openly queer in public (by, among other things, classifying dressing as the "wrong gender" anyplace kids might see as a sex crime against children). Oh, and Florida tried (and thankfully failed) to impose the death penalty for the above.

This is just one example of the horrors awaiting us if the project comes to fruition.

And the far right is already screaming that any adult who mentions around kids that queer people exist is "grooming" children. Wear your Pride shirt past a playground? You're now a child groomer. Think they won't put that into law if allowed? You're naive.

The GOP currently controls the Supreme Court (which is how they overturned Roe v. Wade) and has a majority in one branch of congress. Imagine what will happen nationwide with the GOP controlling every branch of government, including supermajoroties in both houses of Congress.

Oh, and top GOP officials have also announced their desire to NUKE Gaza, so don't come at me with, "but I can't vote blue because Biden..." Or tell me how you think Gaza would somehow be better off with Trump and the GOP.

In France, the left and center joined together--even though they disagree vehemently on many issues (get two leftists together and they'll have three positions on any issue)--to stop the far right from totally taking over, because the one thing they ALL agree on is that fascists dictatorships are BAD.

Much the same with the UK finally kicking out their own neo-fascist party, the Torries, to install 400 Labour MPs. Not everyone loves Labour's policies, but virtually everyone with a brain cell recognizes that the Torries are fascists, and that FASCISM BAD.

"Every election, they tell us this is the most important election if our lives!" Yeah, because each election over the past several decades has been more important than the one before, until we are now at a tipping point between remaining a fucked up oligarchy with SOME resemblance to freedom, and an outright neo-fascist military dictatorship.

Trump has literally stated publicly his intent to criminalize dissent, use US armed forces against protesters (Kent State, but multiply it by thousands), purge all agencies and stuff them with those personally loyal to him, and use the DOJ to go after anyone he perceives as a threat to his political power, among other things.

And remember the things he did in office, like pulling the teeth of federal workplace protections for queer folks (which Biden reatored).

I don't care if you don't like Biden or Harris. Neither do I. But the alternative is Trump, and anyone telling you not to vote in 2024, or to vote third party, is rooting for Trump, and for Project 2025. Anyone telling you not to vote does not give one single solitary flying fuck about vulnerable populations in the US or anywhere else in the world.

"You're just being an alarmist!" Right. Like I was being alarmist when I predicted the failed Jan 6 coup attempt. Like I was being alarmist when I said the GOP would try to use control over SCOTUS to overturn Roe v. Wade.

Fucking vote.

[kunaigirl]

Happy Disability Pride and awareness month! Let's talk about Epilepsy!

Hi there! I got tired of seeing my condition (that impacts my literal every day life) being left out or forgotten about during discussions about disabilities, so I made my own post about it! Let's go!

First Off! What the heck is epilepsy? Epilepsy is the fourth most common neurological disorder in the world, and it's a chronic medical condition. Epilepsy is a brain disorder that causes recurring, frequent, triggered, and unprovoked seizures to occur.

The official Epilepsy Foundation describes seizures as follows: "Seizures are sudden surges of abnormal and excessive electrical activity in your brain, and can affect how you appear or act. Where and how the seizure presents itself can have profound effects...Seizures involve sudden, temporary, bursts of electrical activity in the brain that change or disrupt the way messages are sent between brain cells. These electrical bursts can cause involuntary changes in body movement or function, sensation, behavior or awareness." (Source link)

Sounds like a lot of fun right? This is our life. Even with medication, we can be VERY limited to what can be safe for us. Seizure medications are NOT a cure, they only exist (at least as of now) as a tool to help have your seizures less often, or be triggered less intensely. Even on medication, seizures can still happen.

If you have epilepsy as a child like I did, it impacts your entire growing and developing experience. I spent MANY times as a child in and out of hospitals, neurologist and specialist offices, an getting so many EEG tests done. The pain of scrubbing the glue out of your hair for DAYS is horrible.

At a young age my seizures were so frequent and serious, it impacted my brain's ability to retain information. I had to re-learn the names of things at age 8 and 9. I had to re-learn HOW TO READ at age 10. I had to be home schooled because the public school system of my state at the time refused to work with me. I have VERY distinct and vivid memories of crying over my little baby ABC's book that I needed as a 4th and 5th grader. I knew I should've known this by this age. I knew that at one point I already did, and it was TAKEN FROM ME.

As an adult, I'M NOT ALLOWED TO DRIVE A CAR. And I can NEVER go to see a movie in theaters or go to see concerts or live music. There are entire TV shows I don't get to see. I can't go to clubs, arcades, dances, or raves. I miss out on A LOT of fun things. I always do, and I'm WELL AWARE of the fun I'm missing out on. The social, casual, and fun life experiences I'll never get to have. That WE'LL never get to have. And oh yeah! Seizures can KILL SOME OF US. Yep.

And the list goes on, and every person with epilepsy experiences it differently. There are multiple different types of seizures you can have, they're NOT always convulsing on the floor. For example, I have complex-partial-myoclonic-seizures. Meaning my muscles DO twitch when I have seizures, but I'm not always completely unconscious and sometimes I'm even able to stay sitting up. However, I'm still very "off" and can't focus or remember much for a good while after the fact. I can't talk or communicate during one, even with my slight bit of consciousness.

My experiences are not universal, I just wanted to talk about it and bring it up. It helps to talk about it even a little bit. Here's more about different kinds of seizures. Here's more about common seizure triggers. Here's more about CORRECT seizure first aid. And here's more general information/resources.

Please stop leaving us out of disability awareness. Please stop ignoring us or saying we're "not really disabled" or anything else like that. Please. Why does it always feel like the only people who care about epilepsy, are people WITH epilepsy? We're so tired of being ignored by others who don't have our condition.

If you're an epileptic person reading this, I see you. I love you. You're so strong, we all are. I believe in you, I believe in us. We're so much stronger than we get credit for, and it's going to be ok. Your anger and frustration are valid. Your emotions and struggles are real. You're valid, and I see you. Hang in there, we got this.

[banj0possum]

Alistair x (platonically) Teen Reader

In the fic he is like oh my god a bride, he walks in and instead of an adult..or a bride-

They find a teen, who literally threw a pebble at him, an angsty teen💀

I’m very happy to read ur fics and usually pair them with teen/child mc because I find it funny because they expect the love of their life

and teen mc standing there :🧍‍♂️

anyways sorry for the long request, luv ur writing, and ur art :D

Yandere! Evil King x Teen! GN! Reader

CW: platonic relationship, Alistair is a bit of a DILF so do with it as you will, Dads are hot you guys!! READER IS A MINOR.

👑 Who is this sassy lost child?

👑 His minions kidnapped you while you were on a carriage ride back to your kingdom.

👑 He was hoping for like a princess or something to marry and take over the kingdom with or whatever so like...what tf he gonna do with you???

👑 Clearly you were too young to be in a situation like this, but theres no way he's giving you back without a reward, so yes he still holds you for ransom.

👑 "Child, I am Alistair, King of-ACk!"

👑 Did...did you throw a pillow at him?!

👑 "How dare yo- AHK! Stop it!" another one..

👑 You refuse to listen to anything he says, you just wanted to go home

👑 You two had a bit of rivalry for a bit. He hated you and you hated him.

👑 He promised not to show any affection or care towards you since in his eyes, your actions didn't deserve it. How can someone be so rude to a king !?

👑 But he starts to notice you don't eat much. He never sees you in the dining hall and has only seen quick moments of you nibbling on some bread or pastries the servants gave you.

👑 He scoffed, so irresponsible! You must eat a proper meal right this second or you'll starve!

👑 You're surprised to see a meal prepared for you during your routine trip to get a snack from the pantry with a note on the plate.

👑 "Next time, ask for a proper meal. I don't want your parents to think I've been starving you. -Alistair P.S. go to bed early."

👑 Huh...

👑 Alistair smiled from the doorway of the dining hall, watching you eat up with a smile on your face. You might have been too scared of him to ask for food so you've been sneaking snacks while he wasn't looking.

👑 Of course he wasn't doing it because he cared about you, he just didn't want royalty like you to resort to such pathetic means to eat!

👑 Why are you still sad? Perhaps he should get you some things to keep your attention..

👑 He asks (threateningly may I add) about your hobbies or interests.

👑 The next morning your cell (which has been upgraded to a lovely room in the castle because he didn't want you to be filthy and gross in a dungeon) was filled with anything he could find that he thought you'd enjoy.

👑 Don't think he wants you to be happy! He's just tired of seeing you sulk everywhere!

👑 He denies everything, but you swear you could see a tiny smile on his face when you hugged him happily.

👑 You start being a little more open to him, showing him anything you've made or done with pride and he'd receive it gratefully, but he won't show it of course.

👑 "I made you this friendship bracelet!"

👑 "I've seen better jewelry."

👑 "Oh I'll take it back then I guess.."

👑 "No, it's mine now, back off."

👑 Drawings and the like that he said would be thrown out as soon as you left would be seen framed in his room

👑 It would be a..waste of good canvas..

👑 And of course he buys a few books of your choice for you to read, he'd be damned if your brain turns to mush.

👑 Bro bro he'd be the type to let you swing around while holding onto his bicep.

👑 If you ever have any problems, or come to him in a bad mood, he'd have no idea how to help other than to sit down and listen to your troubles.

👑 He's not the most physical when it comes to affection, but you bet your ass he's gonna do everything he can to cheer you up.

👑 At this point he's rewriting his demands for the ransom. Either your kingdom lets him sign some adoption papers or he's starting a war.

[novantinuum]

jen's "Hard-Light Hybrid Steven" headcanon dump

Okay so I'm just making this its own post, because frankly at this point... the original post is so hard to get all the pulp out of due to the headcanons being spread over multiple reblogs and half of it being in the tags.

So here we go. Self indulgent headcanon time. This is how I'm now personally interpreting things within the realm of my own fic work and the post-canon storylines that live in my mind. This is NOT, however, a work of meta- I am by no means suggesting this to be what I see as "canon," only having some fun playing around with ideas I think are cool on a speculative fantasy anatomy level. Take it as you will basically, lol. This is ultimately just for me.

With that stated:

"jen what the fuck do you mean when you say hard-light hybrid Steven, what are you even suggesting"

Essentially I am proposing that Steven becomes progressively more hard-light based in form as he ages. When he was born he was two almost entirely separate halves mashed together- organic and gem- and those two halves slowly but surely merge over the years (hard light replacing organic matter) until one day they are literally inseparable, and Steven is one permanently cohesive being... entirely hewn from hard-light, but with a level of anatomical complexity that still makes him a complete anomaly amongst Gems and humans alike. Instead of the innards of his body being solid light, he is still formed of cells- only now, those cells are entirely hard-light.

His gem is somehow mimicking the form of organic matter with a level of detail that's absolutely unobtainable by shapeshifting or tailored reformation alone. Steven has become the single most complex hard-light system to have ever existed.

Some more specifics on how I imagine this merge working:

Much of the "merging" is natural over time, basically his gem branching out new bits of hard-light circuitry within his body as it integrates within his system.

However, this process is sped up significantly by all the spills and injuries Steven deals with throughout his childhood... because his body's instinctive response to injury is simply to replace damaged cells with hard-light analogues. An almost instantaneous patch job.

Steven's component halves being so distinct early on is a large reason why he takes so long to harness many of his powers.

This is also why Steven's (mostly) organic half is so weakened during the split in Change Your Mind- at that point there's a lot about his anatomy that's been converted to hard-light, so it's basically as if White Diamond yanked the power source out.

(Same idea for why he's so weakened during the movie when his gem's on the fritz... his gem's connection with the rest of his body got partially severed for a time, which. Is not Good for someone who at this point is more hard-light than not hard light.)

At a certain point post-canon, it becomes impossible for Steven's organic and gem halves to be separated. They are so tightly integrated that attempting to remove the gem would only poof him.

Now, here's the thing though...

Steven does not realize that Any of this is taking place until the blunt reality of his strange new anatomical nature is put on display for all to see... when he actually DOES poof.

Here is how (in my own post-canon musings, which I have simplified here because y'all don't live inside all the intensive lore that jangles about my brain) I envision that taking place:

So, Steven would be in his mid to late twenties at this point. He's married to Connie, and they have an infant son.

Recently, there was a fairly severe Gem incident that left Beach City and Little Homeworld pretty damaged. Things are still being mopped up from that.

Steven, Garnet, Amethyst, and Pearl head out on a quick mission one day to intercept one of the last few supporters of the Gem who attacked the Crystal Gem's hub of operation, and at first it seems like it's gonna be a straightforward trip.

Then, Steven sees the Gem in question pull a destabilizer wand on Garnet, and- unwilling to watch her to get ripped apart like that again- throws himself in between. He can take it, he thinks. These things never hurt him one bit as a kid

He cannot take it.

He poofs.

His gem unceremoniously falls to the ground, along with the clothes he was wearing and whatever he had in his pockets.

Cue the others going "what the actual FUCK" because based on everything they've ever witnessed and known about him no one had "Steven poofs" on their bingo card.

The insurgent Gem is captured and dealt with, but now... oh, boy. There's literally no playbook for this. Nobody knows what to expect.

Steven's gem is quiet for WEEKS. During that time, the Gems end up consulting the Diamonds on Homeworld to ask for intel on diamond reformation, but none of them are much help- Rose and Steven are the only ones who have actually poofed. Beyond them, this is completely unprecedented.

In a very vague sense, Steven is aware of what must have happened during this time... (even if a part of him wants to deny it, because How???)

He can pick up vague snippets of what's happening just beyond his reach... catching voices and what must be faint sensations of familiar people handling his gem, but beyond that he has no awareness of the passage of time, and he has no means by which to reach out to them mentally.

It takes almost two months for him to finally reform. When he does, his gem quickly shifts through its previous three forms and then just... outright h a n g s for a while on the new one... as if what's trying to "load" up is so complex it's goddamn buffering.

(my brain can only think of This image uyhjfsdbyuhjfg)

No one really knows what to expect but when he finally reforms, he... looks mostly the same? Still rather human in appearance, externally? The only notable difference is that his irises are pink now. (But with no diamond pupil- not unless he's going Full Power Mode.)

Steven also reforms WITH an outfit much like a Gem would.

The second he's back, he runs to embrace Connie (who is sobbing in relief) and asks how long he was out.

And he did NOT anticipate that answer to be two months.

As it turns out, he missed quite a few baby milestones while he was gone, and he feels horrible about it- it's not his fault of course, but he feels so bad that Connie had to go that long without his support, and that there's all those special "firsts" with his son he'll never get to experience.

This whole incident marks Steven's final "retirement" from participating in real combat- he outright tells the Gems to not involve him in any other combat situations unless the whole ass planet is under threat, basically. The potential risks are just not worth it now that he knows how long he'd be out of commission, should he poof once more. He can't put his family through that again.

Now, with all that outlined...

Ways that Steven is Weird now:

He looks rather human- his hair looks like hair and his skin looks like skin- but after he reforms, literally every "cell" of his body is fashioned out of hard-light.

However, if one were to theoretically slice him in half (which I PROMISE I am not going to do, this is only a thought experiment ahahah-), his internal anatomy would glow much like the Gems' do. (See below image for what I mean.) The "human-like" appearance of his skin and hair and other externally visible features does not extend very deep.

He "bleeds" pink now- but it's only surface, and is all just excess hard-light. No real blood.

His body would no longer show up on a radiograph- just the gem.

Many of his anatomical features (not all of them, though) are now vestigial in certain ways-? Like, various functions have overtly been taken over by his gem... he doesn't need to breathe or have any lifeblood beyond light pumping through his system, so his heart and lungs serve no necessary purpose anymore... but all of these organs still "exist" as like an echo of what once was, perfect mimics of their organic form but hewn from hard-light.

That being said, Connie enjoys the reassurance of his heartbeat, so he retains that function while conscious.

(Not to mention, "breathing" is literally just a habit for him by this point.)

HOWEVER, when he sleeps (another thing he technically doesn't Need to do but does anyways) his breathing and heartbeat stops entirely and it kinda spooks Connie out. The literal only evidence she has that he's still kicking during these times is the soft hum of his gemstone.

He does not have a biological NEED for food or water anymore and can fully operate on exposure to light alone, but he still really enjoys eating and drinking anyways. In fact, he's still able to absorb energy from food... so it's basically like he's over-charging his battery or whatever. He also still experiences taste (so still posesses some form of taste receptors) and instinctively feels "hungry" at meal times, so like... the running theory is that he must have hard-light analogues for all these receptors and neurotransmitters and hormones that communicate sensations like hunger in his system even though their function is entirely redundant with his gem powering everything.

Furthermore, his memories and sense of self and everything one might refer to as "the soul" is stored exclusively in his gem now. Which means, if one could manage to analyze his brain like one could with a human brain, there would be entire sections that simply... don't light up the way that others (such as the parts of the brain that govern motor control, as an example) do. This is because all the "data" once stored there has migrated.

He can fully shapeshift now, if he wanted to.

He can also still visually "age"- it's all based on his mental state, same as before.

But despite being hard-light in nature now, he can still interface with organics in fusion because his form is still so organic in shape and function. He's still the bridge between humanity and gemkind. I like to think that... theoretically... a Gem might be able to fuse with an organic too, but the sheer burden of trying to shapeshift and maintain such cellular complexity is what stops this from happening.

Steven, though? His very existence as a hybrid acted as a template by which hard-light could learn to understand organic life. He is still an intensely unique being, even IF he no longer consists of any actual organic matter.

_

I am sure I will probably add something to this later, but for now, those are all my musings.

Anyways, thank you for taking a brief visit to the deepest recesses of my brain, where I am chewing at the drywall and bouncing around the room like a cat who has just devoured the goddamn motherlode of catnip. Good night! !! :DDD

[theemporium]

green -“Does he not know that we’re together?” jack hughes being pouty that people are flirting with hsi gf

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

2. “Does he not know that we’re together?”

.

Now, maybe Jack tended to jump to assumptions a lot quicker than others, but he was pretty sure it was a universal sign that if two people at a bar are constantly at each other’s side, constantly touching each other, and constantly kissing—then they have to be together, right? 

At least, that was what he assumed anyone with two working eyes and two working brain cells would assume since it’s pretty fucking obvious. 

And yet, despite the fact you and Jack had rarely left each other’s side since you arrived at the bar with the team and their respective partners, it hadn’t stopped some shameless man from attempting to flirt with you the few times Jack had left your side. 

And it was really, really starting to piss him off. 

He knew you weren’t reciprocating. He knew that you probably weren’t even being all that polite to the man, giving him short, one-word answers in hopes he would catch the hint. And yet, the fact he still kept finding his way to your side was starting to make his eyes twitch. 

“Does he not know that we’re together?” Jack scoffed as he found the man staring at you from across the bar, eager and waiting to catch your eye, which was impossible considering the fact your back was to him right now. “Scratch that, how can he not know that we are together?” 

“Because he’s stupid? Drunk? Both?” You supplied, watching with some delight as Jack let out a small snicker. 

“I literally kissed you in front of him and he still tried flirting with you when I went to the bathroom,” Jack grumbled, his lips quite close to a pout and you tried not to laugh. 

“Maybe you gotta make it clearer,” you grinned at him. “Wanna make out?” 

“And give that creep a show? As fucking if,” Jack frowned before pausing. “But if you wanna go make out in the bathrooms, I am so down.” 

You laughed, shaking your head. “Stop letting him bother you.” 

“Yeah, but he’s bothering you and I don’t like that,” Jack confessed, his hands sliding around your waist and pulling you closer to him. “What if I wasn’t here to be a buffer? He wouldn’t leave your side.” 

“Luckily, I am here with you though,” you pointed out as you wrapped your arms around his neck, smiling a little as you leaned to peck his nose. “Plus, even if I was single and not creeped out by his behaviour, his pick up lines are shit.” 

Jack snorted. “Worse than Trevor’s?” 

“Way worse,” you said with your nose scrunched up. “Which I didn’t think was possible but here we are.” 

Jack shivered. “That’s a terrifying thought.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” you laughed. “Maybe Trevor has hope after all.” 

Jack scoffed. “Don’t start getting delusional now, baby.”

.

[dreamdragonkadia]

Heyyy I saw that your open to percy jackson request and I was wondering if you could write a percy jackson x mortal reader. And kinda have him confessing to her that he's a demigod and her comforting him since he was anxious about telling her because he was afraid of her leaving and like it ends very sweet and stuff

Orrr still mortal reader and having a reunion after he went missing in camp Jupiter ( hurt/comfort)

Or maybe (if you read trials of apollo ofc) her finding apollo and meg and bringing them to percy and apollo kinda flirting with her since I loooooove jealous percy . I have tons of ideas and there aren't a lot of percy x mortal reader so I'd definitely like to see more of those

Ofc no pressure and I'm looking forward to future writings of yours since I absolutely love them 💕

Have a lovely day/night

*Very aggressively shaking the iron bars of my enclosure* THANK YOU!!! I will give you all the kisses for this. These prompts are sooooo good, but I especially love the first one because—get this—I was LITERALLY thinking of something like this today. Me and you? Same brain wavelength. We are sharing one single Seaweed Brain cell. I didn’t have a good prompt for the idea until this message, so you basically unlocked it for me. I’m thinking older Percy for this one—end-of-college Percy, maybe just out of it, living the “young adult with a job, bills, and a mortgage of trauma” life.

p.jackson x mortal! reader

He knew it had to happen eventually.

At some point—sooner rather than later—Percy had to tell you the truth. The burden of it sat heavy on his chest every time you looked at him with that effortless smile, completely unaware of the worlds you were in the middle of. His mom had been pushing him to say something for months. Three years together, living in a shared apartment that still had mismatched plates and walls full of inside jokes, and the idea of forever had started to feel real. Tangible.

He had even caught Poseidon dropping hints in his own cryptic, godly way. A trident-shaped mark burned into the sand on the beach during one of your trips. A perfectly placed seashell—blue and green, suspiciously matching Percy’s eyes—that had been ‘just lying there’ when you pointed it out. When Percy had confronted his dad about it, Poseidon had only grunted something about "honoring the love of your life." Because, of course, Poseidon thought this was simple. As if breaking the news that monsters were real and Percy Jackson was the son of an actual Greek god wouldn't send you sprinting in the opposite direction.

It wasn’t fair to you. He knew that.

It wasn’t fair to keep the truth buried beneath all the late-night Netflix marathons and quiet breakfasts where you’d steal bites off his plate without asking. But Percy didn’t know how to say it. How do you casually drop “Oh, by the way, monsters are real, the Greek gods are alive, and I’ve basically been fighting for my life since I was twelve?”

He was scared—terrified, actually. The thought of losing you clawed at his heart more than any monster ever had. You—his beautiful, mortal partner who grounded him in ways he never knew he needed. You, who could calm him with a touch when nightmares of Tartarus left him shaking. You, who didn’t know it, but gave him the kind of world he could fight for all over again.

Sometimes, though, Percy swore you could see through the Mist. The moments were fleeting but there all the same.

Like that time in Central Park when you’d been walking ahead of him, suddenly stopping short to squint at a gnarled tree root. You tilted your head and muttered, “I could’ve sworn that moved…” Then there were the times you furrowed your brows, staring off into space, and said, “I think I’m going crazy, Perce. I swear that pit bull had glowing eyes.” Percy had only laughed it off back then, pulling you close and kissing the top of your head like it was nothing.

It wasn’t nothing.

He’d seen the way you brushed it off when a shadow moved the wrong way. Or how you frowned at the old man selling ‘authentic drachmas’ outside a museum exhibit. How sometimes you blinked a little too hard, shook your head, and said, “Never mind.”

Percy knew better. You weren’t crazy. The Mist was just thin around you, and whether you realized it or not, you were starting to notice cracks in the veil.

He wondered what you would think of him—of the battles, the gods, the truth of it all. Of the scars he still hadn’t explained and the very obvious celestial bronze sword, he kept under the bed that you assumed was “a really cool prop” from his teenage LARPing days when you saw it lying around. You never pushed him for answers, though, and Percy loved you for that. For trusting him without conditions.

Still, every time you walked into the apartment after work, tossing your keys onto the counter and greeting him with, “What’s for dinner, Seaweed Brain?”—he froze a little inside. It had to be now. Today. Tomorrow. Soon. He couldn’t keep this from you any longer.

But how could he start?

“Hey, babe, remember that glowing pit bull you saw? Yeah, that was probably a hellhound.” No. Too much. Too soon.

Maybe he could ease you into it. Start small. Bring up Greek mythology over dinner. Ask if you believed in ghosts or weird supernatural stuff and see how you reacted. Or maybe he could take you to his mom's for dinner—because Sally could explain it better. She always could.

The problem was, no matter how he planned it, Percy couldn’t shake the knot of anxiety in his stomach. He’d faced Titans, gods, and even Tartarus itself. But nothing—absolutely nothing—was as terrifying as the idea of losing you.

And gods, he really hoped you wouldn’t run.

But tonight, as you sat cross-legged on the couch in your fuzzy socks, absently scrolling on your phone while a random cooking show hummed in the background, he knew this was it.

He couldn’t keep living in this half-truth, couldn’t keep pretending that the monsters weren’t inching closer, that you weren’t starting to see them. The glowing eyes. The shadows. The strange pull toward places even Percy couldn’t explain.

He watched you for a moment, his heart thudding against his ribs like it was trying to escape. You didn’t look up at first, too focused on the screen, but his staring must’ve given him away because you finally glanced over.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” You teased, smiling. “Do I have something on my face?”

Percy managed a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “No. You’re perfect.”

The words came out too serious, and that was enough for you to frown. You set your phone down on the coffee table, leaning toward him. “What’s wrong?”

His throat went dry. Say it. Just say it.

“Babe, I need to tell you something,” Percy said quietly, fingers fidgeting with the frayed hem of his hoodie sleeve. “It’s… important.”

Your expression shifted, playful teasing giving way to concern. “Okay…? You’re kind of scaring me, Percy. Are you okay?”

He exhaled, running a hand through his dark hair before looking at you—really looking at you. You were everything he’d ever wanted, everything he’d thought he’d never get. And maybe, just maybe, after tonight, you wouldn’t be here anymore.

“I’m okay. But—what I’m about to tell you…” He swallowed hard. “It’s probably going to sound insane. You’ll think I’m joking at first, but I’m not.”

“Percy,” you said softly, reaching out to touch his arm. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

The warmth of your touch anchored him, and for a moment, he almost chickened out again. But he couldn’t keep lying. Not to you.

“I’m not… normal,” he said carefully. “Not like you. Not like anyone, really.”

You blinked, waiting. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Percy paused and then just ripped off the Band-Aid. “I’m a demigod.”

Your brow furrowed. “A what?”

“A demigod,” he repeated, voice firmer this time. “Like—half human, half god. Greek god. My dad is Poseidon. The Poseidon. God of the sea. I’ve been fighting monsters and… dealing with this stuff since I was twelve.”

You stared at him, mouth slightly open, like you weren’t sure whether to laugh or call him crazy. Finally, you let out a soft, disbelieving laugh. “Okay, Seaweed Brain. You’ve been watching too many fantasy movies—”

“I’m serious,” Percy interrupted, “I know it sounds insane, but it’s the truth. I’ve fought monsters. I’ve met gods—like, actual gods. I’ve been to places you wouldn’t believe. The glowing pit bull you saw? That wasn’t just a dog. It was a hellhound. You’ve seen things, haven’t you? Weird stuff you can’t explain?”

You froze, the humor draining from your face. Your mind raced, replaying the times trees flickered the wrong way, the glowing eyes, the strange feeling in your gut that told you something wasn’t right.

“But… Percy,” you whispered, searching his face. “That’s not possible.”

“It is,” he said softly. “And I didn’t tell you because I was scared. Scared you’d think I was crazy. Scared you’d leave. But I can’t keep this from you anymore. It’s not fair.”

You leaned back slightly, like you needed space to process. “So… what, you’re saying the Greek gods are real? And your dad is Poseidon. Like, trident, ocean waves, ‘Little Mermaid’ Poseidon?”

He winced. “Yeah, but don’t say ‘Little Mermaid.’ He gets touchy about that.”

You shot him an incredulous look, as if you couldn’t believe he was cracking jokes right now. “Percy. This is insane. You—you’re insane.”

“I’m not,” he said quickly, desperate. “You’re already starting to see through the Mist—that’s why weird things keep happening around you. You see glimpses of it, even if you don’t realize it. You’re not crazy, okay? You’re just…” He paused, choosing his words. “You’re too close to me. And the closer you are to me, the more the Mist starts to thin.”

You stared at him, the pieces slowly clicking together, even if you didn’t want them to. “You’re serious. You’re actually serious.”

“Yeah.”

“Prove it,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly.

Percy hesitated only for a second before standing up and pulling something out from under the couch. It was Riptide, now in pen form. He uncapped it, and with a soft shing, it extended into a gleaming, deadly blade.

Your breath caught, your eyes wide as saucers. “That’s—that’s a sword. A real sword.”

“Yeah.” He gave a half-smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s called Riptide. I’ve been carrying it around since I was twelve.”

For a long moment, you didn’t say anything. You just stared at the sword, then at him. Finally, you whispered, “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“Because I was scared.” His voice cracked slightly, the vulnerability out in the open in it's rawest form. “Scared you’d run. Scared you’d hate me for lying. I thought… maybe if I kept it hidden, I could keep you safe. Keep you normal. But it doesn’t work like that. I’m part of this world, and you’re part of my world. You deserve to know the truth.”

You took a shaky breath, still processing. “So… you’re a demigod. Your dad is Poseidon. Monsters are real. And I’ve been seeing them this whole time?”

“Pretty much.”

“And you thought I’d leave you?”

“I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”

You looked at him—really looked at him—and, you saw it: the truth he’d been carrying, the fear, the love. Percy had been fighting his whole life, and here he was, offering you the truth even though it terrified him.

You stood up and walked over to him. He tensed, waiting for the worst. But instead, you placed a hand on his cheek, forcing him to look at you. “Percy Jackson, you are an absolute idiot.”

His brows furrowed, but before he could respond, you pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“I’m not leaving you.” You kissed the corner of his mouth. “Ever.” Another kiss—this time on his jaw. “Because I love you." Another kiss on his cheek. "Even if this sounds completely insane—and I mean, completely insane—you’re still you.”

Percy’s breath hitched, his arms wrapping around your waist. You kissed him again, firmly this time, and when you pulled back, his face broke into a grin—the first real one all evening.

“I don’t deserve you,” he muttered, pressing kisses to your cheek, then your nose.

You giggled softly, his lips brushing over your skin. “No, you really don’t.”

“Lucky me,” he murmured, kissing the space between his words now—soft, fleeting kisses that made your heart race. “To have—you—in my—life.”

You let out a breathless laugh, pulling him closer. “You’re such a sap, Perce.”

“Yeah,” he murmured against your lips, smiling. “But I’m your sap.”

[littlelordfuckler0y]

Felix catton x reader Instagram au [part2] [part1]

yourusername proofreading my essay (he’s about to descend into madness)

fe1ix_catt0n There were some rough patches I’d say…

yourusername uh huh

yourfriend Exploiting English major friend perks 🙄

yourusername he offered alr

annabel_ he doesn’t even proofread his own essays lol

-

Felix sat in the library with legs crossed across y/n, these days he just happened to be in the library when y/n was. Just happened to be there to finish his reading assignment whilst she studied. He saw the frown on her face as she seemed to be stuck on something against the white light of her computer. They couldn’t group study as in help each other with assignments given their majors were entirely different but they had study sessions, finish their respective work together. “What’s wrong?” He asked, by now he was used to her patterns of difficulties, it was generally ‘thermodynamics’ and even though he didn’t understand it listening to her rant about it was somewhat cherished by him.

“This fuckass essay” she said with a sigh and deadpanned herself.

“Oh you’ve to write essays now?” Felix asked leaning forward in his seat given this was something he could help with.

“Not really, it’s just for the robotics seminar remember? There are supposed extra points if we submit an essay on how excited and emotional we are about partaking in it…” she trailed off as she stared at her screen “As if the model isn’t enough.”

“But you have been excited about this for months?” Felix mentioned tilting his head, “what’s the problem?”

“This essay, this is my third final rough draft and it’s so exhausting” she replied and slouched back on her seat crossing her arms.

“Let me help” Felix offered as she turned the computer to his side as he sat across her. Just going through the first paragraph his eyebrows knitted together trying to make coherent sense of it. Stem majors write the worst essay stereotype was now more than a stereotype to felix. “So” he paused going through it “You’ve just left gaps here with ‘something’ in the middle-what? What’s that for?”

“Oh yeah I’m supposed to put a fancy word there so it looks pretty.” She mentioned with a shrug.

“Just a fancy word? As in randomly?” He asked puzzled as he scrolled through her essay thoroughly and found she’d actually done that. Halfway through a sentence she’d added big words with some context.

“Not randomly no, just, put one in those places.”

“Oh-alright see the second body of the essay is well done, you’re talking about the system of your model and the workings of it, it sounds smart but isn’t the essay supposed to be about how you feel? I mean the assigned title is literally on it.” He explained “It doesn’t align with the main objective.”

“So what? I’ve written about my model which I’m entering IN the seminar.” She reasoned leaning back up on her seat as he shook his head and motioned his with his chin for her to come around the table and next to him.

“Yes but it barely covers the feelings aspect, which is what you have to write the essay on. It literally says that here” He said pointing to the middle portion of the screen where her essay was displayed as she stood beside him.

“I don’t read the small print” She said. Felix paused to look at her a are-you-serious look on his face and waited for her to catch on his disappointment “What?” She asked.

“Okay let’s see, you’ve just kept ‘something’ in quotes at places, which is fine for your first draft-”

“Draft?” She interrupted him with an obvious scoff “Oh no this is the final one. I don’t do drafts.”

“What? What do you mean you don’t do drafts?” He asked somewhat confused.

“I write then I proofread and cut, honestly I don’t know why you’re wasting so much time it’s just for extra” she shrugged so casually, felix felt like stem majors had an entirely different set of brain cells when it came to anything literary.

“This is going to take it a while.”

fel1x_catt0n Congratulations to Y/n and team! Great work guys ❤️

yourusername aweee thanks felix 🕺

fel1x_catt0n much deserved, angel

katie_ congrats

annabel_ did felix attend the nerd convention today? 😂

fel1x_catt0n it was very interesting despite your generalisation

farleigh_start Congrats girl!!

-

The whole science seminar was initially optional, even with such there was a lot of competition and a crowd. The crowd was mainly the college professors and seminar conductors and some juniors who had to volunteer for extra credits. However the crowd seemed huge from the stage minimising everyone into a small dot given the auditorium space was gigantic. After the prize distribution y/n and her team had gotten first place for their model. A big deal amongst a handful of people because not a lot of stem majors themselves cared about extra irrelevant to their portfolio projects. But well there were some. Y/n was very giddy, laughing amongst her team of three people as they walked down from the stage and through the auditorium amongst the crowd. They were then approached by the only student dressed in a full on tuxedo, not even a stem one. Felix.

“Felix?” Y/n blinked as she stopped in her tracks as she saw him approaching her direction with a giant bouquet of flowers and hugged her. She was confused and amused at the same time, she recalled telling him that the project was a big deal to her but she didn’t think he’d show up actually. “Woah you showed up?!” She asked giggling as he wrapped his arms around her even tighter and kissed the top of her head.

“Of course I did silly” he scoffed as he pulled away and handed her the flowers, “congrats smarty pants, all of you.” He spoke to her group as well with a victorious smile as he kept his arm around her shoulder.

“Thanks!” They said one after another, assuming Felix and y/n were perhaps a thinking. However the way Felix was dressed was rather funnier to them. They made their smell talk and went on about their way still snickering amongst themselves.

“Strange what was so funny…” he trailed off looking back at y/n as the rest of her team left.

“Your tuxedo” she replied with a small chuckle.

“What’s wrong with it?”

“The only set of people who’re wearing a tuxedo at this function are our professors, it’s just blazers I guess you’ve done out-dressed everyone” she jokes as she fixed the bow tie of his shirt and he playfully rolled his eyes at her.

“The invite seemed fancy, fancy attire for fancy invites isn’t that how it’s supposed to be?” He reasoned for himself.

“What invite?” Y/n questioned.

“The one on the function website” Felix replied.

Initially y/n had just forwarded the message she got from her group about the timings and venue as a vague invitation because zero art majors are interested in these events “what? We have a website?”

“Yeah. I looked it up” he answered with a shrug, he wanted to look just perfectly suitable for her event because it seemed to be a big deal for her, so he did his research despite failing miserably at fitting y/n found it to be a very heartwarming gesture.

“Wow? Such dedication…”

“Of course my love” he said with an obvious huff, hoping his hints would pass through her.

yourusername the one and only. tuxedo at da science centre.

yourfriend he was out there outshining professor john’s Maxwell theorem themed necktie🤗

yourusername LITERALLY?

teammate1 bow tie AND cufflinks…

fel1x_catt0n I see I’ve gained a reputation

teammate2 jokes apart you two are such a cute couple 💖

annabel_ LOL they’re not dating!!!!

yourusername yeah haha ^^

-

“are you serious?!” Y/n friend exclaimed as they spun around the flowers felix have in their hands. “He gave these? They’re bigger than our torsos man”

“Yeah…yeah…” y/n trailed off with a shrug trying to downplay it somewhat.

“AND he came in a tuxedo, AND he posted you…do you have zero situational awareness or what?” Her friend scoffed as they gently whacked the flowers on y/n’s forehead.

“Look, felix is a friend’s friend. He’s the most friendliest of them all. Stop trying to induce romanticism in me, he’s a great friend. Very outgoing, giving, sweet…that’s how he is.” She explained.

“You are most definitely blind are you not seeing these!” They pointed to the ever so gigantic bouquet of flowers, “helping you with your essay, bringing you snacks, wanting to hang out with you all the time-”

“That’s what we do too.” Y/n reasoned.

“Girl.” They took a deep breath. “I hate you and I never want to hang out with you.”

Y/n snickered falling back to her bed, “Yeah sure. I hate you too.”

“That’s not the point-we’re us and Felix is a completely new person in your life who’s doing all this for YOU.”

“Yada yada” Y/n said rolling her eyes at her friend as they once again whacked her with the flowers.

“You pull shit like this and that Annabelle will steal him from you. Dig your own grave.”

Y/n burst into a hearty laugh at that, “Steal felix? What are you on about we’re not a thing to begin with and Annabelle is his friend just like me.”

“YOURE NOT EVEN LISTENING TO ME” Her friend said with a sigh as they crossed their arms.

“BECAUSE YOURE NOT MAKING SENSE.” y/n said back with a high pitched tone, this was their normal between the best friends when one couldn’t get a point across, not just normal, civil even.

“OF COURSE IM NOT BECAUSE YOU ARE FUCKING BRAIN DEAD.” They said as they forcefully throw the flowers in her direction.

“YOU WANNA HAVE A GO AT ME OKAY.” she seethed and threw back a pillow, “Fucking come here” she said as the set of, almost grown ups, fought with one another in the most figurative sense with a pair of pillows aiming for most harm.

“Not my hair-not my hair you gangly uncoordinated bitc-” the wrestling match was interrupted by a knock on the door.

Followed by the familiar voice “everything alright in there?”

Felix.

“PAUSE.”

“-Pause.”

“What the fuck’s he doing here?” Y/n whisper yelled as her friend pushed her to go open the door, straightening her hair out hurriedly as she walked up there.

“GO.”

“Felix…Hi” y/n said as she caught her breath and smiled at him, despite of the disheveled state of her room.

“Hey…I was just passing by and I thought you were fighting-?” Felix asked with a soft smile as he leant on the doorframe of her dorm. It was as if he never needed an invitation.

“No we were just, er what is it we-we were” y/n looked back at her friend to jump in with an answer.

“Roomie wars.” Her friend shrugged off. “Ya know…where’s my candle, where’s my ramen from yesterday”

“Oh…” Felix trailed off with an understanding nods. “Yeah I get it.”

“Funny you were just passing by, through dorm hallways, when yours is—three buildings down isn’t it?” Her friend intervened with an accusatory chuckle receiving a disapproving look from y/n.

“Yes I was actually here for y/n.” Felix said, he would never be put in a situation where he’d get awkward, blatantly open and confident he didn’t truly care for implications if they were correct. “Do you have any lectures this evening.”

“No.” Her friend answered quickly before she could.

“Yeah no I don’t.” Y/n replied with a tight smile at her friend.

“Great then I’ll pick you up at 5 yeah?” Felix said.

“Wait-for what?”

“Anything.”

yourusername this man is drowning in pussy

fel1x_catt0n this is so foul

yourusername the cats wuv you

fel1x_catt0n yet your caption is that of a comedic genius

yourfriend I have no words

farleigh_start just not yours…

-

HIII I am sorry I don’t update regularly I promise I will now, I am going through a very difficult and traumatic time in my life it’s so so so hard to cope at the moment.

Any comments on this or opinions would help me a lot more than you think either ways if you’re here and read this thank you so much <3

[mo0nfairy]

I gotta see a part of yandere Leon where reader remembers him as they get through los Iluminados maybe some yandere in action lol (at least only if you want to!)

part 1. part 3. part 4.

tw :: obsessive!leon, yandere!leon, mention of drugs, framing, handcuffs, stalking, trauma, guns, wounds, heights, being locked up.

⸺ ooooooo !!! i've been meaning to make a part 2 of my last ask, but had zero idea where to go from where i ended. i also had played a bit of RE2 before the remake came out recently, so a piece of my brain has been kept up in raccoon city for a little while. i would love to express my thoughts and mesh these two games together !!

let's start with where we left off in los iluminados.

upon having your handcuffs taken off by the stranger who is far too close for comfort, you pace backwards, far away as you can get from this insanity of a man. his attitude abruptly shifts into something softer, a major contrast to the emotional breakdown he had just seconds prior. he realizes you're afraid — afraid of him. and as much as the mere thought destroys him to the point of breaking down again, he shoves a sob back down his throat and keeps his distance, despite how desperately he wishes to close it.

6 years. 6 years. he has been waiting over 2,190 miserable days for this single moment. all the sleepless nights spent searching the world for you; all the hopeless nights spent clinging to pillows, praying by some miracle it will somehow become you. every second of these past 6 years has been spent dreaming of this single moment. and even though your reunion wasn't the teary-eyed, passionate kiss in the rain he had hoped for, you are still here with him nonetheless.

and like hell will he let you slip from his grasp again.

with as much time as his needy self would grant him being physically away from you, he is soon at your side. leon then wraps you in his jacket and you swear you hear a harsh gasp escape from him when his finger accidentally makes contact with the skin of your neck. despite your negligence and more-than-obvious discomfort, you do appreciate the new warm embrace after a week of cold rain and damp clothes. it smells exactly like him, as well.

and with that, he's got a gentle hand hovering over your lower back as he guides you through the depths of this hellhole. and piece by piece, memories that had been buried in your brain begin to disinter themselves.

for example, you got a staring problem bro?? for the entirety of the time you spend with leon in los iluminados, there is literally never a single moment where this mans eyes are not on you. half of the time it is to ensure you are unharmed, but the other half consists of him staring in complete and utter awe. it's kind of hard to focus on surviving when leon is constantly staring into your soul. but it has just been so fucking long since he has been able to see you in all of your glory, so please excuse him for any inappropriate behavior on his end.

also, you knew you have lived in raccoon city for a short period of time before the events of RE2 happened, but like everything else that relates to that damned place, you couldn't remember a thing.

except now. leon's gaze uncovers a memory you have of yourself being held in one of the RPD holding cells. the atrocious scent, the uncomfortable bench, the paint peeling from the walls. you try and scrutinize what on earth you could have been arrested for, but your attempts are merely futile. but unbeknownst to you, your arrest was nothing but bullshit. and to say leon has had a crush on you from the second you moved into RC would be nothing short of the truth. so, by pulling some strings, the rookie had managed to lock you up for what he calls 'bonding time'. he'll place a chair backwards in front of your cell, prop his arms on the backrest and admire you with your full attention finally on him (instead of just stalking you around town).

two things you now remember about this man: he was so adorably baby-faced back then and my god, was he awkward. he still cannot talk for shit and i mean this with my whole heart. his sweet, innocent eyes gaze at you while he tries to play it cool, pulling cards like "yeah, i workout" and "you come here often?". all as if he hadn't personally arrested you for possession of illegal substances he planted himself. (nothing will happen to you, obvi. he just desperately needed a second alone with you to show off how charismatic he can be. or try to be, at least).

and for the short second of seeing him after 6 years, his eyes were just devoid of any life. you had assumed the trauma inflicted from that night had caused such a contrast in his physical appearance, and you would be right to assume that. but the soulless eyes, monotone voice, and lackluster personality was entirely due to your disappearance. days upon days of the lonely, eternal torment destroyed his sanity. however, that illustrious boy you can barely remember seems to have returned with your presence.

another thing you can't believe you had forgotten was how intense his stare is. the way he stares is illegible and sometimes overwhelming. he shivers in his stance, whimpers at your every move, and his mind runs rampant with all sorts of obsessive declarations of love. although it may seem creepy to others and especially yourself, do not fret. he has no ill intent towards you, god he could never! this puppy-dog of a man is simply marveling at your sheer existence.

you are able to retrieve another lost memory when you have to jump from a window and into his arms (for those who say he won't be able to catch you, stfu. have ya'll seen how beefy his arms are??? anyways....). the secret agent you have grown to like during your stay in los iluminados jumps down marvelously (most def showing off his james-bond-esque agilities to you). he now watches from below as you stare at the distance beneath you in trepidation. this distrust you have — he is going to travel to the ends of the universe to fix it. no matter what.

you begin to ponder, he has savagely brutalized all threats in your path and held your hand as if he were holding the world all in the same breath. you should trust him, especially after witnessing the pure display of loyalty he has for you.

"don't be afraid, y/n. i'll catch you, i promise!" there is 10000% a way to walk through the house and down the stairs to get to him, but ofc he's not gonna tell you. why would he willingly throw away the opportunity to be your knight in shining armor?

"you will?" your voice is full of apprehension. his stare on you feels like the same bullets he's forced upon your attackers.

"always."

with that, you rip the bandaid off and jump from the ledge. and leon was most certainly not lying. you land safely in his embrace and he wraps his arms tightly around your form. and to finally have you so close, after so, so long of devastatingly praying he could feel you once more.......... if he had a tail, it would for sure be wagging so fast it would morph into a blur. and the way he holds you is different, as if his gentle nature is reserved for you and you only (which it is. this is literally him in a nutshell).

and when you had instinctively buried your face into his neck upon landing, clinging to him out of fear of hitting the ground, he literally melts. i'm serious, he literally just 🫠🫠🫠🫠. the faint hum of laughter and adoration that escapes his throat breaks you out of your state of shock. you made it safely to the ground without breaking every bone in your body, hooray! (as if there is a single reality in existence where leon would ever allow that to happen, but i digress).

you meet his gaze and there is that all-too familiar stare he gives you. leon's arms holding onto you like a lifeline uncovers a memory you have of yourself being held like this all those years ago. you can't recall exactly where in raccoon city you were, but you can remember how humiliated you were when you tripped over a crack in the pavement and ate shit. there was the fairest of scrapes against your shin, but the mortification hurt far more than any wound. while you dust yourself off and attempt to ignore the burning stares of pedestrians, a shout of your name sparks your attention.

the RPD gear and besotted eyes you're met with could be no other than that baby-faced rookie. you ponder of what he was doing on this side of town. was it a simple coincidence you had run into each other? or perhaps, had he followed you? just when you think you can't feel more embarrassed, leon gets down on one knee and dramatically inspects your wound. and my god, he acts like you were shot or something. he visibly shudders from the sight of your leg; people begin to gather around the commotion. with pure ease, he then scoops you into his arms to bring you to safety. you can feel his heart pound like a machine gun beneath the palm of your hand.

despite the humiliation deprived from this event, you fortunately are free from anything mortifying in los iluminados. however, leon doesn't seem to understand when to take a hint.

"uh... you can put me down now." you come out of your memory to thrash in his grasp and avoid his intense gaze, but your prince charming seems to still be caught in his y/n-filled daze.

after a few long seconds, your comment seems to finally reach his brain. "huh?" his response is faint and you almost don't hear it.

you repeat yourself and begrudgingly, leon then slowly puts you back onto your feet, savoring the last few seconds spent with you in his arms. exactly where you belong. you can only fear how much more suffocating affection you'll have to endure before you can finally remember what happened that night.

i think someone legit needs to slap me across the face and bring me back into reality cause holy shit...... i went WAYY too far with this. my brain is a mess thank u for reading.

i have more thoughts about this........ just incase u were curious........ ;)

[harmonictechnicality]

*no rest for the wicked*

my teensy contribution to @thefreakandthehair's spicy six summer collection 💖 | word count: 3k | rating: T | ao3 link | also, this wouldn't exist if @chocoarts didn't send me a sketch that immediately set off sparklers in my brain so bless youuu ✨

Twenty-six hours. That’s how long Eddie has been up. Twenty-six hours and twelve minutes. The heaviness hanging in his eyes is medieval-level torturous, and the cramp in his left calf is probably permanent by now. 

A sane person who enjoys sleeping might be asking, ‘Why? Why put yourself through this when there’s a perfectly decent bed down the hall?’ And Eddie would be forced to reply back with two, simple words:

Concert. Tickets.

That’s right, Eddie is actively murdering his own brain cells to win two vip tickets on the radio. Twenty-seven hours ago, it seemed like a grand idea. Genius, even. It’s free and minimal effort - he just has to call the station every hour on the dot. No biggie, right?

Ha, sure. Tell that to the muscles in his eyelids.

“How much longer do you have?” Chrissy asks, snagging a magazine from the stack on the couch.

Eddie checks his watch. Huffs out a laugh. “Let’s just say, I could watch the entire Star Wars trilogy including the credits for each one.”

“Translating to...?”

“Seven-ish hours.” Robin quickly chimes. She pops out of her bedroom and joins Chrissy’s side, instantly threading their hands together. They share a look, one that makes Eddie believe in nice things, even in his state of misery. It’s their superpower, injecting their optimistic outlook into the atmosphere. Infectious in the best way. 

“I always forget that you speak fluent nerd.” Chrissy snorts.

“Ouch.” Robin gasps and pulls away, stomping off to their room. Too dramatic to be believable. “Get back to bed before I actually feel offended by that.”

Normally, Eddie is charmed by how hopelessly in love his roommates are with each other. But right now, they are his mortal enemies (well, tied with The Clock), because they get to sleep and he gets to stare at the lightbulb in the ceiling fan. Every now and then, it flickers, which never fails to startle him. 

Good. He desperately needs the extra alertness. 

Another forty-five minutes go by before anything noteworthy happens. Eddie’s other roommate gets off his night shift around one in the morning. The front door squeals as it opens, crackling all the adrenaline leftover in Eddie’s body. 

“Scared the shit out of me, man.” Which could’ve been a literal statement if Eddie hadn’t just taken a bathroom break.

“Gotta get this door fixed.” Steve says. That’s what he always says when it creaks. The reaction never changes, always skating his fingers over the door hinges, mouth twisting to the side. Hands on his hips in disapproval. Eddie has to look away before Steve breaks out his insufferably cute ‘foot tap’ routine. “Hey - why are you still up?”

Ah, yes. Just what Eddie needed. A reminder that it’s fucking late. He finds the energy (or common decency, who knows) to point at the phone. Then to the radio.

“You’re still doing that, huh?”

Eddie nods twice.

“Damn, I’ve never heard you this quiet.” Steve sounds genuinely surprised. A little too smug for Eddie’s liking. “Didn’t know your mouth could stay in a straight line for this long.”

There it is. The rich boy smartassery that will never die. Always lurking in the depths of his genetic makeup.

Eddie claps, total deadpan.

The conversation lulls while Steve messes around in the kitchen for a bit. He’s noisily opening cabinets and clanking dishes around in the sink. Eventually, he walks back into the living room with two beers. 

Both for him apparently. “Well, listen,” he starts out. Kicks his feet up on the coffee table. “I’m pretty wired after work, so if you need some company-”

“Six… hours… left.” Eddie musters out.

“Okay well, I doubt I’ll last that long. But I can give it a shot.”

Eddie smirks, raises both eyebrows. “There’s a dirty joke somewhere in there. Too tired to find it though.”

“Good to know the horny part of your mind is still awake.” Steve gives Eddie a small pat on the head. 

“Oh? That’s a good thing?”

“Depends on who you ask.”

“I’m asking you.” It’s too direct, Eddie hears it. And now it’s just Out There - his inability to flirt in a subtle way. And yeah, he could blame it on sleep deprivation, but he’s never been known for his mastery of ambiguity so…

The pause goes on long enough for the light to flicker again, the room growing darker with it. Steve takes a swig of his drink and smiles. “It’s good to know, Ed.”

The light flickers even darker.

Eddie is fully awake after that. Which could’ve been part of Steve’s plan - stimulate his brain with flirty comments and keep him up with those melty smiles. It’s no secret that Eddie turns into a hair-twirling loser around this guy. 

Even after living together for a year and seeing one another’s most disgusting habits, he still feels this way. Tight throat, stomach flips. Purely smitten in a way that would nauseate deadbeat poets.

In this moment, however, it’s a wonderful remedy to staying awake throughout the rest of the night. Much more effective than energy drinks and Tootsie Rolls.

Steve ends up on the floor, leaning against the edge of the couch. He sips another beer, recounting some bullshit that happened during his shift at the hotel. Eddie does his best impression of Listening to Steve’s stories, but the words are just buzzing around the glow of Steve’s hair and the shine on his lips. Nodding at seemingly appropriate times is all Eddie currently can offer.

“Sleeping with your eyes open, Munson?”

Eddie blinks hard. “Huh?”

“Creepy, but impressive.” Steve laughs, tapping his hand against Eddie’s leg. “You should add that to the Special Skills column on your resumé.”

“Bold of you to assume I have a resumé.”

They spend the next hour doing just that - adding useless skills to Eddie’s nonexistent resumé. It keeps them busy. Content. Steve smacks Eddie’s knee anytime he laughs, leaves his hand longer every time. Maybe that’s all in Eddie’s semi-dormant mind, especially since Steve shows casual affection to all of his friends. But the warmth of his palm is real enough to have Eddie fully committed to making Steve laugh as much as possible.

“What about… Expert Paper Clip Chain-Maker?” Steve suggests. 

Eddie stares at the chain in his hand, the one he was oblivious to creating. He whips it around like a lasso and then shrugs. “A bit wordy.”

“So you’re saying length matters?”

“Christ on toast, Harrington. You’re awfully quick to jump to that conclusion, aren’t you?”

Steve doesn’t answer, just starts laughing again. Eddie didn’t even need to tell a shitty joke this time. 

And when Steve’s hand hits his knee, sliding slightly up his thigh, Eddie laughs along with him. It’s the only way to cover up the heat rushing to his face.

Eddie enters the realm of delirium with three hours left in his challenge. He slumps onto the floor next to Steve, nudging his shoulder, staring into his sleep-heavy eyes. It’s four in the morning, inhibitions be damned.

“Do you think if you ever visit Europe, they’d call you Harring-metric-ton?” Eddie picks a piece of lint off Steve’s sleeve. Perfect excuse to reach out, move in closer.

Steve groans. “Yikes. But yes, that question keeps me up at night.”

“So that’s why you’re still awake. See, I knew it wasn’t because of my silly little concert tickets.” 

As soon as the words leave his lips, Eddie convinces himself that it’s the truth. Which is so dumb, so stupid. But this seed of insecurity keeps him going, fully projecting his assumptions onto Steve’s harmless comment. Somewhere deep down, buried underneath his exhaustion, Eddie knows it was a joke. But he can’t seem to shut up anymore.

“The riddle has been solved, folks! We finally know why Stevie here is still awake.” Eddie exclaims, flinging his arms out to the side. “Alert Scooby and the gang at once! Mystery Incorporated can finally pack up their magnifying glasses and pursue careers with better health insurance. Ones that covers vision costs this time. It’s what dear, ol' Velma deser-”

“Eddie.” Steve places a hand on Eddie’s arm, holding him still. Was he moving? Oh god, was he shaking? 

Fucking mortifying.

Steve’s thumb swipes across Eddie’s skin, tracing diagonal lines back and forth. “You’re rambling.”

“And you’re…” Eddie loses focus. He looks down at the hypnotic patterns that Steve is making. “There. Doing that.”

Steve stops briefly to flip Eddie’s hand over, starts tracing the lines in his palm instead. The pressure makes Eddie’s heart lurch up into his throat. He can feel it thumping in his neck, faster with every stroke of Steve’s fingers. All he wants to do is close his hand around them, keep Steve there for the rest of the night. Longer if he’d let him.

“I can stop if it’s weird.” Steve’s voice is so much quieter than it was earlier. 

Don’t stop. Eddie thinks. Can’t say it like that because gross. Humiliating and gross. “It’s not weird.”

Steve keeps his focus on the motion, Eddie does the same. They stay like this for a while, just watching. Intently staring over the invisible lines like pages in a novel. Eddie is pretty sure he’s breathing too loud, can hear it above the whistle in the air conditioner. Wonders if Steve can hear it too. 

Probably.

“That’s not why I’m staying awake.” Steve says, never breaking the pattern.

“No?”

“It’s who I’m staying awake for.”

Steve finally stops, right in the center of Eddie’s hand. The air in the room goes dense, weighted with acknowledgment. Something has changed and Eddie can feel it everywhere. 

He tilts forward, pulling his gaze away from his hand and up at Steve’s lips. If he weren’t stuck between half-awake and total-delirium, Eddie would just do it. Kiss Steve the way he’s always wanted to. Syrupy slow and deep. Savoring every second.

He could do it right now, right this second. But his focus starts drifting as he closes his eyes. “Did Chrissy tell you?” Eddie grumbles, almost unintelligible. 

“Tell me what?”

Eddie’s head falls, landing somewhere on Steve’s chest. He inhales the scent of laundry detergent (because Steve and Chrissy are the only avid laundry-doers in the apartment). It’s so soothing, drawing him further into a dreamlike place.

“Tell me what, Ed?”

“That I…” Eddie is nearly asleep before he can finish the thought. The confession:

‘That I’m crazy about you.’

Sunlight hits Eddie first, startles him so much that he jolts upward. Fully awake. It takes a few seconds of furiously rubbing his eyes before the dread kicks in. 

Morning.

It’s morning.

“Shit.”

Eddie fell asleep.

Steve fell asleep.

“Shitshitshit. So many shits!” He fumbles through the labyrinth of blankets and pillows around him, snatching his watch from the coffee table:

10:24 a.m.

“Goddamnit!”

Eddie sinks back down to the floor, clutching the phone that serves him no purpose anymore. All of those hours of waiting and calling for nothing. Even if general admission wasn’t already sold out, it’s not like Eddie could afford tickets on his own. He can barely keep up with his share of the rent. Chrissy had to cover for his grocery run last week and he still hasn’t paid her back.

It’s just so expected too - for him to fuck up like this. Always letting opportunities slip through the cracks, making careless mistakes. No one will be surprised that he failed at such a simple task like calling a fucking radio station.

Eddie sets the phone back on the table and cleans up the living room in a daze. Every now and then, he mutters under his breath about being a total moron. He stays relatively quiet for the most part though. No use in throwing a bitchfest while Steve is blissfully conked out three feet away.

Of course he looks good sleeping too, even in the midst of Eddie’s breakdown. Unfair.

Just before heading back to his room, Eddie hears that familiar door creak. Same one that always sets off Steve’s inner handyman tendencies. 

He looks back to see Chrissy padding towards him with a blanket wrapped around her. For someone who hasn’t had their mood-altering cup of coffee yet, she looks extremely pleased to see him. Maybe she knows about the fate of the concert tickets. Maybe this is an early-risers pity party.

Fucking yay.

“Chris, please don’t try to-”

His words are muffled by Chrissy throwing her arms (and blanket cape) around him. She’s so bouncy, the way she always gets with Robin whenever their favorite song comes on at the karaoke bar. He pats her on the back and clears his throat, still trying to piece together what this exchange could be about. However, Eddie is functioning on a few hours of sleep, so his cognitive skills are groggy at best.

She gives him one more squeeze and then looks up, positively gleaming. “I knew it! I knew it would finally happen!”

“That I’d screw up for the umpteenth time in my life? Gee thanks, Chris.” Eddie says.

“What are you talking about?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about you and Steve!” She whisper-yells back.

Was she snooping on them last night? He wouldn’t put it past her, snoopiness is the foundation of their friendship. Well, whatever Chrissy thought she saw, she’s wrong. Sure, Steve and Eddie flirted, both letting some potentially mutual feelings slip out.

But it was all cut short by Eddie passing out mid-flirt. God knows how Steve took that reaction. Probably assumed Eddie was so bored that he would rather sleep than makeout with him. Or worse, that Eddie was pretending to sleep to let him down easy.

Christ, he doesn’t wanna think about that right now. Not while he’s still mourning the loss of his precious tickets.

“Hate to break it to you, honeyjam, but nothing happened.” Eddie shakes his head, gesturing to Steve who hasn’t budged from the recliner. “It’s just me over here and Steve over there. No conjunction connecting us together in that way.”

He can already tell Chrissy isn’t buying it. She’s getting that little forehead wrinkle right above her eyebrows, just like an angry cartoon character. Her best attempt at intimidation. “You didn’t see what I saw.” 

“Gay desperation?”

“No, you jackass. Come here!”

Chrissy yanks Eddie into his bedroom, demanding for him to lock the door. He listens, mainly because the intimidation is starting to work a little. They sit at the edge of the bed and she begins to explain everything she saw:

Steve constructing a wall of blankets and pillows around Eddie to ensure he slept comfortably. Steve waiting by the phone, tapping his foot in that insufferably cute way that Eddie loves so much. Steve scoring the tickets, celebrating quietly to himself.

“How long were you standing at the door, weirdo?” Eddie teases her to avoid the way his stomach is twisting around her words. 

Chrissy shushes him and squeals. “And he kissed your cheek!”

“Liar.”

“He did, I swear! He kissed you on the cheek or the chin or the nose. I don't know which one for sure because my view was obstructed by all of your hair.”

Eddie instinctively combs his fingers through a few strands, undoing the knotted pieces. Not all of them, but enough to keep his hands busy while he thinks through this. Processing. “And you’re sure it wasn’t a dream?”

“Positive.”

“What about a hallucination? Didn’t Byers make a batch of those infamous brownies again?”

Chrissy gives a deep sigh. “Whatever. You’re hopeless.” She shrugs the blanket back over her arms and heads toward the door. More than a fair assessment, Eddie can’t argue even if he wanted to (he always does). 

He stares at the line of posters along his wall, letting Chrissy’s words replay over and over. Imagining what it might have felt like. If Steve’s breath was warm or if his lips were soft. Eddie wonders how it looked to have Steve dipping down to his level. Staying so quiet, so careful not to disturb him. The visuals swarm his head until there’s nothing left but Steve. 

Him and Steve. Connecting them together in that way after all.

So, Eddie gets up and walks back into the living room. He takes in the view of Steve curled up in the recliner, mouth slightly parted open. Chest falling with every sniffle, not quite a snore.

There’s so many emotions while looking at him. Eddie can’t just pin one down to fully comprehend what's going on. All he can do is repeat the scene that’s occupying his mind, settling in his bones.

“Here,” he whispers, placing another blanket across Steve’s lap. It’s feathery gentle, more than he intends for it to be. So gentle that Steve doesn’t shift or stir. 

Eddie takes a deep breath and bends down, close enough to notice all the little details. The ones he’s been too sheepish to indulge in before last night. 

The tiny hairs on Steve’s forearm. The creases in his t-shirt. The bit of dried toothpaste on his chin. None of it should make his cheeks feel this flushed, but they do.

He lets the rush of bravery wash through him as he kisses Steve on the tip of his nose. Just the way Steve must’ve done to him. It’s swift, lighter than he means for it to be. Barely touching. But it’s enough to switch his heart rate up a few notches, pulsing jumping in his wrist.

Eddie steps away, waiting to see if Steve wakes up. Not entirely sure if he wants that or if he’d rather keep this memory to himself. 

“Thanks… by the way.” Eddie adds, brushing the tips of his fingers over Steve’s hand. Wishing he could trace the lines in his palm. Rewind back to last night and pause it there indefinitely. “I’ll tell you again when you’re up, but yeah.”

“Thank you, Steve Harrington.”

[sc0tters]

Addicted | Luke Hughes

summary: when Alex and Trevor decide to voice their feelings about you it causing Luke to reevaluate his own.

song: Kiss Me - Ed Sheeran

request: yes/no

warnings: mention of underaged drinking, slight bit of swearing.

word count: 2.03k

authors note: this song has been calling my name since I put it on the playlist, and let me just saw that I’m not upset in the slightest. This picture of Luke made me laugh so much that I had to put it in. If you want to check out the rest of the celly you can do so here!

Luke had been in love with you for years.

Thoughts of you consumed his mind from the moment he woke up until the moment he went to sleep. His heart rate would increase and his palms would grow sweaty as he watched you run across campus before you’d tackle him into a bear hug even though you saw him the day before. Every time you were in a more revealing outfit he’d stumble on his words like he had never spoken English before. Every year it was like half of his brain cells never made it to the lake house as all he could do was watch in awe as you’d walk around in shorts and your bikini tops.

But it was fine because you felt the same way as Luke.

The first time you realised this was after a ballet recital of yours when you were six and somehow Ellen convinced all three of her sons to come and Luke said that your tutu was pretty on you.

It like your whole world combusted in that moment as your semi toothless grin joined the conversation “you think so pookie?”

“I know so sparky.” Luke was never one to shy away from complimenting you and it made you swear he only did it to screw with you. The way your cheeks turned crimson red as you’d chew as the inside of your cheeks trying to hold in the inevitable squeal of joy at the compliment.

All of the scales seemed to increase when you went off to college, your friendship grew stronger as you remained his number one supporter, your love for him grew deeper as his eyes never left you at parties because other girls were never what he wanted. Clearly since everyone else could see this you would should have as well, right?

Wrong.

Totally absolutely positively wrong.

His love for you could have been written in big pieces of card in front of your face and it might as well have been like you were reading another language because you wouldn’t have believed it. The same thing went for Luke, every guy you turned down never made him feel more confident. In fact it usually made him feel worse.

You had the most athletic players flirting with you, the start football and baseball players all weren’t good enough for you. So what was to say that some hockey player would be what you wanted?

Luke was usually a confident man, he got that from being around Jack that it became a learnt trait. Yet you seemed to make him feel like a normal kid again. There was no need for the title of being drafted, or for his family name. To you he was just Luke or your pookie and it slowly ate up at him.

Just like every other year July meant it was lake house time. It was the third day of the trip and it was hotter than ever, literally the sun was scorching and you were out soaking it all up. Your bikini was the smallest one in your closet and it avoid the tan lines your top string was undone as your stomach lay on your towel.

Luke had been enjoying the sight he really was, your feet occasionally bounced as you had your favourite songs blaring through your AirPods and it was a sight that made his mouth water.

But when Trevor and Alex walked back in from the porch and started talking about you it caused the youngest Hughes boys mood to turn for the worse.

Trevor shook his head as he grabbed a drink from the fridge “I don’t know how you haven’t made a move yet Hughesy,” he confessed as he cracked the cap of the bottle open.

Alex nodded in agreement “huh?” Luke furrowed his eyebrows as he knew that they were talking about you.

The Ducks player smiled “y/n is out of this world,” he pointed out as none of the older boys were stupid, you were a pretty girl and they all knew it.

Except Trevor was the only one who ever let you know about it, the constant flirting that came from his lips during this lake house trip. It seemed you being over the age of eighteen let you move away from the title of only being Luke’s friend.

Words of warning wanting to tell Trevor to fuck off were desperate to leave Luke’s mouth yet they couldn’t as you walked into the living room.

An oblivious smile formed on your face “what are y’all talking about?” You asked as you reached into the fridge to grab the container of cut up mango that you had made earlier that morning.

Trevor let his outstretched hand reach into the container as he took a piece “just about going for a ride on the boat later,” he lied as his eyes never left your mouth as some of the fruit juice dribbled down your chin landing on your bikini top “hope there is room for me on that boat,” there always was room for you but you were enjoying flirting with Trevor.

Sure you weren’t attracted to him like that but he certainly wasn’t harsh on your eyes “for you sparky? Always.” The nickname was one that you had picked up when you were five, you learnt what electric currents were when you found two wires in Quinn’s room and decided to place them together. The eldest Hughes couldn’t help but laugh when he walked in to see how your eyes lit up like you were in a candy store.

Luke scrunched his nose at the smile you sent the ducks player as you continued you eat your mango but when you pushed your hair behind your ears letting your chest now be on full display the Hughes boy could no longer take it “put this on,” he mumbled as he held out his baseball jersey.

You furrowed your eyebrows as you looked white fabric “okay?” You shrugged as you took the Tigers home jersey and slotted your arms into it.

But that didn’t seem to be enough for Luke as he came over to you and began to button the buttons up “Luke!” You groaned saying exactly what Alex and Trevor were thinking as they sent the boy a glare “perfect,” Luke smiled as he softly pulled your hair out of the jersey letting it lay flat behind your back.

His dagger eyes were sent to both Alex and Trevor the entire day, even on the boat when Quinn was teaching you to drive it and even when you were on Luke’s lap.

“Am I missing something?”

Your question pulled Luke out of his thoughts as he looked at you “what?” He asked as he let his fingers draw over your leg.

It irritated you as you could see that something seemed to be going on between Luke and the two older boys “you seem mad at them,” you sighed as your lips formed into a pout.

Sure it might have been childish to be upset but Luke usually told you everything “it’s nothing,” he shook his head causing your fingers to grip at your can of seltzer.

Yet your pokes didn’t go quiet like he’d hoped “Luke-” your soft words were only met with a glare “just drop it okay?” His complaint was only met with your wide eyes.

Thankfully at that time you were in need of a new drink. So you got up to get yourself a refill.

The boys watched in amusement as you walked back into the house “you really fucked that one up Lukey,” Trevor teased only adding to the boys anger.

Luke clenched his fist “you need to shut the fuck up dude!” He warned as he got up as he pointed his finger at the older boy.

It seemed like this was all bubbling up over today “just go ahead all to her,” Quinn’s voice was soft as he knew that you were on his brothers mind.

The youngest Hughes boy took a large gulp as he remembered that he had lashed out at you first.

Your head remained in the fridge as you looked at the different options for drinks.

The cool air on your face made you grow calm. It was soothing as you tried to not cry, you knew you were overreacting but all of Luke’s actions today seemed to weigh up on you in this never ending battle that you had created based on the feelings you felt towards the boy. Your thoughts were pulled away from your brain as the sound of the glass sliding door shut.

You turned around and was already faced with Luke “Jesus Christ!” You cursed as you clenched your chest.

Luke’s face softened as he looked at you “sorry,” he apologised as he crossed his arms.

He wanted to reach out to hug you “why are you so mad at them?” You asked as you watched the hockey player pick at the bracelet on his wrist.

All of the explanations that went through his mind all didn’t sound valid “it’s stupid,” that was the honest truth, he knew he was over reacting but that didn’t make it any less irritating to deal with.

You scoffed as you sat on the counter ��that never stopped you from telling me,” you pointed out as most nights were spent with Luke in your bed laying his bed on your chest as you combed your fingers through his hair.

The way your lips were plump and your cheeks were tinted with a hint of red from the sun that had landed on in them made you look so very kissable.

But Luke remained stood where he was “they think you’re hot,” he explained with his voice barely a whisper as though he was ashamed to admit to it.

Your laugh made him feel better “do they now?” It was a clear stroke to your ego as you watched the boy grow embarrassed.

It shouldn’t have been nearly as amusing as it was “you thinking I’ve got a new best friend to get?” You joked causing him to furrow his eyebrows with annoyance.

Luke situated himself between your legs “‘ts not funny,” he mumbled as he rested his head on your shoulder.

A smile found its way onto your face “it’s pretty funny,” you nodded as you hooked your fingers under his jaw forcing him to look at you.

Your eyes were soft as they studied every feature on his face as though it was the first time you’d seen his face “it doesn’t matter if they think I’m hot,” you explained as you watched his face grow confused “only matter if it comes from a guy who hasn’t even said it.” You added as your tongue darted between your lips.

The hockey remained as clueless as ever when you let your thumb run along his jaw “who?” He was almost asking because he needed to finally hear that dose of reality of who it was that went through you mind in the way you went through his.

A moment of silence was heard so loud that a penny dropping wouldn’t even be noticed “looking right at him.” You confessed causing his eyes to widen.

It was like he was at a crossroads as the ball was now in his court. Truly nothing went through his mind as he was desperate to find the right course of action. The girl he had loved for all of these years, the girl he had longed for to be more than just friends, the girl was you and here you were with all of your cards out waiting for him.

Yet there he was frozen in time.

Again it seemed like it was your turn once more. So you leaned forward as you kissed him, it was brain meltingly perfect. Like that moment you do something that feels so good it makes your brain all hazy, like that.

Luke pulled away with his smile as his finger ran over your lips “what’s got you all smiley?” You asked as you cocked your head.

“I got the girl of my dreams.”

[luminouslywriting]

hello! could you do headcanons of BoB mens with a nurse?? 💕

Hi sweet Nonny! I have a soft spot for this particular idea, so I hope you enjoy! As always, my requests are open and I don't mind spam!

Cut for length, more under the cut, light spice sprinkled in:

Dick Winters:

-Winters has a lot on his mind and falling in love with a field nurse is admittedly not on his radar....so that being said, it's a gradual thing that he's barely even aware of

-But you know who is totally clocking the way that he checks on you, takes the time to talk to you even when he's busy, and always is super kind to you? Lewis Nixon. Lew picks up on this and brings it to Winter's attention.

-He's not exactly trying to start anything with the war on, but once he's aware of the feelings, he tries to maintain professional decorum and courtesy.

-However....he can't help but be worried about you, especially during the winter months. It's probably at this juncture that he lets you know that he's thinking about you and worried often.

-He's very sweet and definitely needs a partner where there's an equality in taking care of one another, so this balances out beautifully.

-Also loves when you medically info-dump, he finds it adorable haha

Lewis Nixon:

-Immediately becomes besties with you in Toccoa because his brain cells told him you'd be the best person to be friends with. He was right, he just didn't expect to have a thing for you amidst his divorce.

-The friendship is honestly a lifeline to him and you keep him going for a while—there's just a lot of being there for one another and checking in on one another.

-It's not just friendship stuff though; he's a chronic flirt and can't help that the two of you already act like an old married couple (in the most positive and great way possible)

-When the divorce goes through near the end of the war, he realizes that it's all working out for the best anyway; you've been by his side the entire time anyway

-Has a really sweet confession with you when you're in Austria and expresses that he couldn't have done any of what he did without you

-Also is super supportive of career and life goals that you have for when you get back to the states

Ronald Speirs:

-Honestly, he sees you as one of the few people that he trusts implicitly because you're just good at your job anyway and you're there to help the men, not to gain glory

-It automatically endears you to him in a way that literally no one else (sans the medics lol) will ever understand

-I think the relationship honestly is a bit back and forth/will they-won't they for a while....and that leads to some hooking up casually in between missions or whenever you two can get a free second

-And he does want to make things official, but he also doesn't want you to feel committed to him and then have something happen

-So he doesn't commit to admitting how he feels until after the end of the war, at which point he romantically shows up at your home and confesses everything

-Please just say yes, he's been in love with you FOREVER

Buck Compton:

-Probably meets you when he takes one of his friends to the aid station and you're there

-He's immediately lovestruck with practical heart eyes....and yes, Donald Malarkey has to hear way too much about you from this point onwards haha

-Writes home about you to his family and starts making little visits to the aid station unannounced when there's precious little downtime to see how you're doing

-Things are a casual sweet thing and nothing really happens between the two of you since it's war and there's really not time for that

-But then he ends up at the aid station after Bastogne and is so mortified about everything and doesn't want to talk to you at all. He's ashamed of how he left things before he ended up back at home because he didn't really tell you goodbye or anything.

-Once the war is over though, he tracks you down to tell you that he's sorry and that he loves you.

Carwood Lipton:

-Honestly? You're a source of light during the hard times and just as much of a mom as he is a dad haha. The two of you are such mother hens over all of the men in Easy Company, no one can win if the two of you team up.

-That being said, you're also obnoxiously trying to get the other person to take care of themselves.

-He's not about to say anything to you, despite his many letters home to his sisters and his mother about you

-But when he gets pneumonia? After Bastogne? Just take care of him and coddle him and love on him a bit. All bets will be off the table as to when he tells you that he has feelings.

-Probably starts a relationship with you once you're both in Austria and asks you to marry him before the end of the war

-Everyone in Easy Company regards you two as the mom and dad since Nixon and Winters aren't around as much haha

Joe Liebgott:

-Doesn't wanna go to the aid station, doesn't think he needs anyone to help him, doesn't even wanna have medical attention—and all of these complaints literally shut him up the minute he sets eyes on you

-And suddenly he's very chilled out and okay to be there?? Yeah, he's chill now.

-Some light flirting and touchiness here or there, but nothing too serious

-He probably even convinces you to have a fling in the hospital closet or something—war is war, after all

-But doesn't consider anything you two have serious until after episode 9 and then he realizes just what you mean to him and he has a whole revelatory period where he treats you like you're God or something

-Absolutely proposes before you make it out of Austria haha

Donald Malarkey:

-This sweet man? Who constantly is taking his friends to and from the aid station and hanging out and checking on people? Absolutely and easily makes friends with you.

-It's not necessarily flirting, per say. He's very respectful and very sweet about mentioning that you're low on supplies to higher ups or asking if the aid station is still doing okay.

-Doesn't even realize he has feelings for you?? Probably not until the very end of the war.

-And then he's freaking out because you're all gonna be going your separate ways in the next few weeks and how is he gonna find you then??

-Well it's quite simple really, you already gave him your address haha. So he spends some time at home before making a trip out to see you.

-It's not a "date date" but it's definitely a date and it just progresses from there lol

Eugene Roe:

-Literally Easy Company's shining ship of dreams?? Like if you and Roe don't make it, then there's no hope for anyone else haha.

-You two have worked together since Toccoa and were always close, speaking in your own practical secret language and exchanging smiles, stealing moments with one another

-In fact, they wouldn't be surprised if the two of you aren't already married. Except for the fact that you're not and the two of you are being SLOW AF about your feelings.

-In Bastogne though? It's a whole catalyst for him telling you how he feels because you narrowly make it out of the church before it collapses and it's a whole shitshow.

-And he's thinking about the fact that he almost lost you and you would've never known how loved you are or how much he'd miss you

-Yeah you two are getting married in Europe before the end of the war haha

Bill Guarnere:

-This man is an escapee from the hospital wing multiple times. And those multiple times, he struck up a pretty good friendship with you.

-He wasn't happy to be there initially, but once he found out you were from Philly too, he chilled out completely and the two of you became great friends

-Bill writes you when he's in the field since you're always back in the hospitals at London

-And Joe knows that he may or may not have a crush on you, and is always prodding him to just admit things to you

-But it isn't until they show up together in the hospital, both missing legs, that things are admitted

-He's pleasantly surprised and shocked when you kiss him and tell him that he took way too long and you're too committed to him at this point haha

Joe Toye:

-A sweet man like this ends up at the aid station and isn't too happy about it—but he takes his medicine like a man and is very respectful.

-You don't really want to clear him to go back into the field but you do, somewhat begrudgingly.

-And when he ends up back in the hospital, leg missing and in total distress, it's you that keeps him centered and keeps him going.

-He doesn't realize until he gets back to the states that he misses you, so he starts writing you letters. He doesn't expect anything to come of writing you—who would want to end up with him, after the accident, after all?

-And slowly, the letters from him stop. And so you just roll up one day?? Like SIR, I LIKE YOU—WRITE ME BACK!

-The wedding is the cutest thing ever and only a few members of Easy Company are invited.

George Luz:

-He hits on you from Day 1 in Toccoa. And when you give him a shot in the butt, it shuts him right up and he does not flirt with you (verbally anyway) anymore after that haha.

-He becomes your most vocal supporter and parrots your instructions back to the men because you know what you're talking about

-Checks in on you after each jump to see how you're doing and make sure that the men aren't treating you rudely

-You two probably hook up after Bastogne and his near-death experiences, leading to a budding relationship between the two of you

-Don't worry, Lipton ignores it so he doesn't have to deal with the consequences lol

-And George? He's absolutely ready to marry you and proposes the same day that the war ends

[drakaripykiros130ac]

So, now I read insane posts that Mysaria becoming Rhaenyra’s lover makes perfect sense in terms of how the White Worm managed to manipulate her in the book.

Excuse me????!!!

So, the only possible way to manipulate someone is through a sexual relationship?

Maybe for people with one or two brain cells max.

In actual canon, the Dance had been chipping away at Rhaenyra’s mental health since the moment it started. Because first she lost her father (with the Greens covering it up and not even letting her see him), then she discovered the snakes stole her throne, and then she lost Visenya. These three in one blow. Not long after, Luke had been murdered.

At this point, Rhaenyra was not only physically incapacitated (the miscarriage did some damage and she was not allowed to ride Syrax for a long time), but mentally as well (she lost a father and two children).

Then, as the Dance progressed, she remained isolated at Dragonstone, not mentally capable of leading the Black Council and her husband could not remain there and be by her side either, (because how else were they to win the war if no one actually left the island to gather support)? Rhaenyra and Daemon did not have any quarrel. The Queen could not leave Dragonstone, and Daemon had to go, secure Harrenhal and ensure the support of Great Houses.

Then came the Battle of the Gullet, where Jace died. His death is what broke Rhaenyra for good. She was never the same after she lost her firstborn. Afterwards, she lost Viserys too (she believed he was dead).

And I do not recall Mysaria being at Dragonstone at all during this time. She helped Daemon with Blood and Cheese, but she came in the picture and became the Mistress of Whisperers only after the Blacks took King’s Landing.

After the Fall of King’s Landing, Daemon had to leave again, because the war had not yet been completely won. And so, that was when Rhaenyra was left alone with Mysaria advising her in King’s Landing.

Nowhere is there any indication whatsoever that there was anything going on between these two. And Mysaria, very easily, took advantage of Rhaenyra’s emotional state (and her Consort’s absence) in order to turn her against Daemon. And let’s be honest…it’s not some big achievement. Between Daemon’s “questionable” actions and Rhaenyra’s mental state, it was very easy for Mysaria to get the job done with just a few whispers.

Stop trying to defend a shitshow of a scene, which the showrunners themselves admitted came out of nowhere and was not scripted (therefore, intended for queerbaiting purposes alone).

Nothing like shipping Rhaenyra with the woman who literally tips her over the edge and destroys her life, right?

I repeat, girl on girl action is easy to find online. It’s not that rare. If you’re that desperate, find a decent site, a quiet space and work out…whatever you have to work out.

[the-broken-pen]

hi I saw your recent post I hope your moving went smoothly!

I have a loose prompt, if you wanted/had time/had WiFi to write: an interrogation room meet-cute between villain and non-field agent hero

As soon as the door clicked shut behind them the hero realized they were in the wrong room. A very wrong room.

They blinked. The villain blinked, taking them in.

“You look lost.”

“That’s rude,” they responded before they had the chance to think about it. “I work here.”

“Do you now,” the villain said, and the hero grew abruptly aware of their jacket stamped with the Agency logo, their gloves marking their designation as a touch based hero. It was a miracle they didn’t turn red with the embarrassment of it.

They tried the doorknob behind their back. It rattled, but didn’t open, and internally they started screaming. Just a little bit.

“They don’t open from the inside,” the villain said helpfully. “Security risk, or something like that.”

“I know that,” the hero snapped, and the villain raised an eyebrow. “Sorry.”

The apology blurted out before they could stop it.

“Did you just ‘apologize’ to me?” The villain looked at them incredulously.

“Uh,” they managed. “Funny question.”

“Funny—“ the villain cut themself off. “It’s not a question, I literally just heard you apologize.”

“Maybe you should get your hearing checked out,” they offered, and winced, because apparently every sane part of their brain had fled to France and left them with a singular suicidal brain cell.

The villain’s mouth was slightly open, as if they weren’t entirely sure what was happening. The hero shared the same sentiment.

The villain glanced at the camera, then back to the hero.

“You’re not a field agent,” they said, as if it was dawning on them.

“You don’t know that,” the hero said defensively.

“You’re holding a file.”

“Field agents are capable of holding files,” the hero replied. “Kind of rude of you to assume they can’t.”

The whisper of a smile tugged at the corner of the villain’s mouth.

“Sorry,” the villain said, and it was just barely mocking.

The hero rocked on their heels a bit, drumming their fingers on the file in their hands.

“They’re taking a while to get you out,” the villain observed.

“Yeah, Bob’s on duty.”

“Oh, so Bob doesn’t do his job?”

The hero jerked. “I did not say that.”

“It was kind of implied, though,” the villain said earnestly.

The hero had interacted with villains before: ending interviews for files, the odd informant. Never held a conversation though, and certainly not for this long.

This was why they didn’t do field work.

“What, no response?”

The hero smiled, sickeningly sweet. “I’m compiling commentary to add to your file.”

“So you admit to not being a field agent.”

“Continually makes assumptions, poor listening comprehension…”

“Not a very long list,” they pointed out.

The hero felt their smile sharpen. “The rest involves curse words.”

The villain barked a laugh, and the hero jerked slightly in surprise.

The villain regarded them like they were deciding something, as if they could see something within the hero that they themself couldn’t.

It had been a long time, longer than the hero would like to admit, since someone, anyone, had looked at them like that.

Like they mattered at all.

“I like you,” the villain said finally, slowly, like they weren’t entirely sure those were the words that were going to come out.

“You also like crime.”

“And you know how dedicated I am to that,” the villain said pointedly, a glint in their eye.

“How sweet,” the hero managed after a moment. “This is exactly why I became a hero. To be compared to felonies.”

The villain just smirked. They peered down at the handcuffed hands, then looked up at the hero. They weren’t sure when they had moved away from the door, closer to the villain, but somehow it had happened.

There was something warm to this; it sat in the hero’s chest, light and airy.

“I’ll text you when I get out. Say, next week?”

“You’re going to jail,” the hero reminded, mouth dry.

The villain grinned. “Right,” they drawled, amusement splashed across their face. “Jail. Which is where I am going. And where I shall stay. Absolutely.”

Something clicked, and the hero didn’t have to look under the table to know the villain had slipped their cuffs.

Despite their best efforts, their eyes flicked downwards, like they could see the now empty cuffs below the table. The villain grinned further, as if in challenge.

Are you going to tattle?

The hero swallowed.

“I’m really not supposed to be in here.”

“I’ve gathered,” the villain said. “You work the desk all the time?”

“Yes.”

“Personal choice, or…”

“I like it,” the hero said defensively. “It’s just puzzles, and I’m good at those.”

“Puzzles?”

“Putting things together,” they said vaguely. “Routes and evidence and all that.”

The villain’s brow furrowed, as if they were mulling something over. Their gaze returned to the hero, and it was searing.

“You’re the one who found me, aren’t you.”

“Oh,” the hero said, blushing. “That’s-I’m not—“

The villain leaned forward. “Am I in that file?”

The hero tucked it behind their back.

“No.”

“Are you lying?”

“No,” the hero said with emphasis. The villain laughed.

“You’re bad at this,” they said, but it was fond.

“Thanks, I try,” the hero said. They were waiting for the villain to stand up, but they seemed content to just sit there and watch.

“Mhm,” the villain agreed, and for some reason, the hero flushed even further.

The villain’s gaze snapped to the door, and they tilted their head as if listening to something.

“They’ll be here in a minute,” they said. The hero blinked. “To get you out,” the villain prompted.

“Right,” the hero said. They had forgotten they couldn’t leave, but the villain didn’t need to know that. They had a feeling they knew anyways.

“I’ll call you,” the villain reminded.

“You don’t have my number,” the hero protested.

The villain gave them a look. “You’re cute. Do you like pizza? We could do pizza.”

“We could never speak again.”

“Funny, I’ve never heard of that restaurant.”

“You—”

“Oh look, they’re here!” The villain said cheerfully.

The door swung open, and someone the hero vaguely recognized stepped in.

In the next second, the hero was in the hallway.

“Oh, and love,” the villain called, and the hero cursed themself for blushing. “Don’t be jealous of the other felonies. You’ll always be my favorite crime.”

The hero ducked their face behind the file, but they couldn’t stop the pleased smile that crept from the corners of their mouth.

[whumblr]

Eat your words

Crossed out - Continued from ch.4 - Prologue

-

Lucas dragged himself up the metal stairs to his cell, both mentally and physically spent. Sure, he was used to making long days, long hours. But those hours were mostly spend stuck to a desk, morning to night in an ergonomic chair, with tasty takeout and a sense of accomplishment when he went home. Now he was stuck in hell, and deskwork was replaced with manual labour for ten straight hours that left his body stiff and sore even after the first day.

All he wanted to do was fall onto his cot and sleep until that goddamn buzzer announced the start of a new awful day.

But unfortunately, it seemed he couldn’t just yet. His stomach plummeted when he reached the top and saw Nero standing right outside his cell, waiting for him. If only he had a cellmate, he could fool himself for a few seconds that Nero wasn’t there for him…

He nearly halted right in his step, but the stubborn part of his brain made him carry on as if nothing was wrong and he kept walking, albeit a little tense. The anxiety in his brain at the same time replayed the scene from yesterday at his first breakfast, where he had taunted Nero about expecting compliance from him.

“Don’t go thinking you’ve won that battle now, son.” One of the other men at the table had muttered to him when Nero had simply walked off and Lucas remained scot-free. He hadn’t put much thought into that. But he was pretty sure the other half of that war was going to be fought out right here. Right now.

“Good evening, warden Mathison,” he tried, upholding some sense of politeness to outright avoid a drawing of weapons yet still refusing to call him ‘sir’.

Nero merely nodded in response. “Settling in alright, Varga?”

“You know what they say about the first day at a new job. It’s exhausting. So if you don’t mind…” Lucas pointed vaguely at his bed and took a step forward.

An arm shot out, hand slamming into the metal doorframe that rattled with the force, blocking the entrance.

“You haven’t made your bed,” Nero observed.

Lucas followed his gaze. The blanket was shoved to the side, all crumpled up. Ready to dive in only to have that flat mattress make the pain in his back even worse.

“I was a little preoccupied getting used to the new morning schedule.”

Nero smiled. His eyes snapped from the bed back to Lucas. “Do it now,” he said, and removed his arm.

“I’m literally turning in the second you walk awa—”

Nero didn’t even say anything, just stared him down and Lucas instantly fell silent.

He hesitated for a moment, but then stepped forward, through the small door, right past Nero. He expected… something. A shove in the back, blocking the exit and caging him in to this box of a room. But nothing happened and he safely reached the bed. He pulled the sheets taut and threw up the blanket, smoothing it out over the mattress. He didn’t think Nero would expect anything less than military precision, so he lifted the thin, plastic-y mattress and tucked the sheets and blanket neatly under. So he could rip it back off in a few minutes.

As he worked, he could feel Nero’s gaze lasering into his back. The man casually leant against the door opening, arms crossed.

“Consider this a warning,” he said. “I’ve sent people to solitary for less.”

Lucas bit back a ‘yeah, yeah’ and opted to continue working in silence, smoothing out all the wrinkles and placing his pillow neatly on top. He stood straight, next to the bed, eyes fierce on Nero’s as if daring him to find something to criticize. Nero tilted his head in an ‘acceptable’ and gestured up with his fingers, beckoning Lucas back out of the cell.

“These hours, after dinner,” he said, “you are free to spend however you want. Seeing as you don’t know the rules yet, not to mention there’s paperwork for you to go over, you’ll spend these hours in my office. Every day. After dinner.”

Lucas soured. “For how long?”

“Until you get it.”

“Get what?”

“The basic rules and basic manners expected of you here. Or until you sign. Up to you. I’ll expect you tomorrow at seven pm first.”

So much for his plans to just sleep early and escape reality every night. “Right,” Lucas merely said.

Wrong answer.

“Varga…” the man almost tutted, a fake disappointment in his tone and he stepped closer. “You’re a lawyer,” he continued like a patient teacher coaching a stubborn student. “I know this isn’t the first time you’ve heard or uttered the word ‘sir’. If it makes things easier, you can think of me as the judge. Your judge.”

“Is that what you fancy yourself to be here?”

“Here?” Nero laughed, inched closer standing directly in front of him and whispered: “Here, I am so much more.”

Before Lucas could even brace himself, a hand shot out and slammed into his throat. The enormous force threw him against the bars of the cell. His body crashing against the metal echoed through the room, the only thing even resembling a cry for help as all his air was cut off.

Some men on the other side of the room startled from the loud noise. They glanced over, but as soon as they saw what was going on, they quickly averted their eyes again, literally turning their back on Lucas. They continued their hushed conversation, ignoring him. Leaving him helpless and choking.

“What was it you said?” Nero spoke calmly, drawing closer. “Don’t hold your breath on it?”

The metal bars pressed against his back like they were trying to work right under his shoulder blades. Hands clawed up, trying to pull at the fingers digging tighter around his throat. Absolutely useless. Like trying to pry the bars of his cell apart. Lucas gurgled a sound of surrender, a sound that turned to a high-pitched yelp of surprise in his throat as his feet came off the ground.

Eyes widened, brain in full denial as Nero just fucking lifted him right off the floor with one hand. Slowly, sliding him up against the metal as if he weighed nothing, until they were at eye height.

There was no emotion in those grey eyes. No urgency. Just a silent expectation.

Whereas Lucas’ eyes contained every emotion he had. They all mingled into a wild panic. He couldn’t breathe. Could only struggle and flail against the vice grip around his throat, against the perplexity of this situation. He pulled at Nero’s arm, lightly kicked his feet but didn’t dare to but any weight behind it.

He tried to nod, shake his head, anything to show that, yeah! Okay! He got it!

And all of a sudden the bruising force on his throat released and he dropped back to the floor like a ragdoll.

He heaved in a breath, coughed it out again as too much air filled his lungs. He clutched a hand to his chest, forcing himself to calm down, forcing a measure of control back to his body. Trembling all over, he rolled to his knees trying not to double over.

“Have I made myself clear?” The cold voice above him broke through his daze.

Lucas panted hard, hand now cradling his bruised throat, the other on one of the bars as he tried to pull himself back up into a somewhat more dignified position than hunched over Nero’s boots. He fought the urge to wheeze out a ‘crystal’, but looked up and merely whispered, “Yes sir”.

Nero nodded and turned away from him. “Tomorrow. Seven pm.”

-

Continued here

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