#mac brow

[serethereal]

it gets more and more silly to be a picky eater the older i get but. i can’t help that i hate so many foods i’m sorry…

[terrbear27]

Its #2023 lets make some mistakes

[alltheirdamn]

Rotten | cowboy!joel x f!reader

Summary: Sharing land with Joel Miller has always been infuriating, but when your bad attitude finally gets his attention...things get messy. Rating: 18+ Explicit MDNI Word Count: 5.2k Warnings: No-Outbreak AU, banter and arguing, explicit language, brat taming, semi dark!joel, dubcon elements, degrading, choking, rough spanking, hair pulling, face slapping, throat fucking, touch of dacryphilia, rope/bondage, rough unprotected piv sex, hint of a subspace moment, orgasm denial, squirting, creampie, no aftercare because joel is an old, grumpy asshole A/N: Y'all probably wouldn't believe me if I told you Apple by Charlie XCX inspired this random fic...but anyway, this one goes out to my sweet bb angel @lotusbxtch <3 thank you for always being my partner in crime in the late hours of the evening ilysm

Part II

Masterlist | Ko-Fi

The Texas sun beat down on your skin as you rode through the acres of land—your land— stretching out before you. Passed down from generation to generation, this entire pasture of fields and wild barley was yours. After both of your parents died during a freak accident, you inherited the land and dealt with upkeep and farm animals as if it were your life. And it was your life. Every inch of this farmland was yours, no matter what anyone said. 

You pressed your heels into the side of your horse, Mac, and urged him further down through the tall grass. The summer hadn’t been kind to the fields, the grass yellowing in most places, but what would you do about it? Tell the sun to stop shining? All you could do was take care of the land and ensure nothing went wrong. The animals were taken care of, the wild wheat still grew strong in the outskirts past your tiny farm home, and you had enough money to put dinner on the table for yourself at the end of your night. 

No trouble at all. 

What was trouble, though, was Joel Miller riding his ass right down the edge of your land. The sun cast him in a dark silhouette as he rode closer, his broad body sitting tall on the back of his horse. You held back the reigns, shushing Mac gently as you slowed him to a trot, keeping a healthy distance from the insufferable man trespassing onto your fields. 

“Think y’got yourself a bit lost out here, Miller,” you hollered. 

Joel removed the black cowboy hat from his head; the grey hairs streaking through his curls shimmered in the sunlight as he swiped an arm over his sweaty forehead. Every inch of his skin was sunkissed and tan from hours under the sun, his greying beard patchy and well-kept despite his rugged exterior. If he weren’t such an asshole, maybe you’d even consider him attractive, but your irritation with him ran deeper than any other emotion. 

Staring up at you under thick brows, Joel quirked an amused grin and shrugged. 

“Ain’t lost at all, darlin’. S’my land out here.”

You steered Mac forward, keeping yourself parallel with Joel’s body. You weren’t intimidated by any man, let alone Joel Miller. He may have a few decades on you, but that didn’t matter. The Miller family had always been a problem. For generations, they feuded with your family over acres of land that stretched across the horizon, never agreeing on who owned what. Before Joel, his father had caused an uproar in your family, and now he just had to continue causing problems. Would you ever rid yourself of this man and his family?

“I suggest y’take your ass home ‘fore I make you leave,” you warned. 

The wind kicked around you, fanning your hair down around your shoulders. Joel caught how your hair flared under your cowboy hat, and a hint of mischief sparkled inside his dark brown eyes. He was a fucking nuisance and still on your fucking land. 

“Careful now, darlin’. Those are some mighty big fightin’ words.”

You straightened your spine, holding firm on the reigns to keep yourself anchored. Mac huffed impatiently as if he knew how sour your mood was turning. The longer you kept yourself around Joel, the quicker your anger grew. The sun would set soon, and you still had miles to cover before you made it home; you wouldn’t entertain an old cowboy all night, even if he were staring at you like you were a wild horse to be tamed. 

“This is the last time I’m tellin’ you to stay off my land, Joel. I mean it.”

Joel chuckled lightly as if your words meant nothing. He placed his hat back over the matted curls on his head and began riding past you. You glared over your shoulder, watching his body travel further into the horizon and away from the rolling fields of your land. 

**

The summer wasn’t getting any easier. The sun grew brighter each day, and the air thickened with humidity, making it nearly impossible to continue wearing anything restrictive. With no one else around to pester you, you paraded around the stables in a tight top, a pair of daisy dukes, and your usual worn leather boots. The fewer clothes, the better—even if that meant getting bit up by a few mosquitoes here and there. 

You were deep into cleaning Mac’s stall when you heard the sound of hoofs pounding against the dirt ground outside the stables. Your body went rigid; you knew who it was without looking. Who else would it be out here? The horse in the distance bristled as its rider dropped to the ground, his heavy footfall nearing you as you exited the stall with a towel slung over your shoulder. 

Joel stood tall in the entrance, his broad frame sucking in all of the light as he walked closer. He wore an old denim button-up, and the sleeves pushed up his tan forearms, exposing the thickly corded muscles that ran down to his hands. Without a cowboy hat resting over his eyes, you could see how rich and dark they were as they stared you down. Despite hating him, your body reacted on its own accord. You clenched your thighs, trying to quell the ache growing inside your core. Leaning against the stall, you narrowed your eyes, watching Joel stalking closer. His steps were confident—casually, even—as if he owned the damn place. 

“Not sure why y’think it’s okay to come waltzin’ in here,” you scowled, folding your arms over your chest. 

“Ain’t you just a ray of sunshine,” Joel smirked. 

“Fuck off, old man,” you snapped, rolling your eyes. 

“What was that, darlin?” 

Joel stepped forward, and you mimicked his movements, drawing yourself closer to him. Even with his height towering over you, you were unphased. This man wouldn’t get the best of you. 

“Oh, sorry. Should I be speakin’ louder? Ain’t sure if y’got your hearing aids in.”

“No, I heard y’just fine. Just wanna hear you say it again.”

The toe of your boot tapped against his as you glared up at him. With a smug grin stretching across your face, you repeated your retort. 

“Fuck off. Old man.”

Joel’s body tensed, his eyes narrowed as he considered your words. You weren’t backing down; he was on your property and, quite frankly, pissing you off. He could bitch and moan all he wanted about how this land was his birthright, but he was wrong. Your parents settled the matter generations ago and never once faltered against the Millers. That wouldn’t change now. You’d uphold their wishes and continue fighting for what was yours. 

“Y’gotta damn nasty mouth on such a tiny body. Ain’t your parents teach you some manners?” Joel questioned. 

“They taught me enough, but it ain’t gonna stop me from tellin’ you off. So, get the hell off my property,” you demanded. 

You glanced down, noticing Joel’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. It was amusing seeing him all riled up. Who knew he had that kind of spark in him? You wondered just how far you could push him until he snapped. 

“Ain’t you just spoiled rotten. Is that what it is? Y’think everythin’ is yours ‘cause your mommy and daddy said so?”

His voice was taunting, a litany of rhetorical questions to which he didn’t care to know the answer. Whatever you said, it wouldn’t matter because his mind was made up. Stubborn old man.

“I don’t think everythin’ is mine. I know it is,” you objected. “So, move your old ass back to your side of the pasture and get out of my face.”

Joel crowded your body, walking you back towards the stall door until your body pressed into the wood. You lifted your chin defiantly, watching his eyes clouded with rage. 

“Spoiled lil’ brat. Should teach you a lesson for the way you’re speakin’ to me,” Joel growled. 

Let’s see how far we can take this, you thought. 

“Whatcha gonna do? Spank me?” You laughed, gracing him with a rueful smile. 

Placing his hands above you on the door, Joel caged you between his body. You had nowhere to run; truthfully, you didn’t want to run. The incessant ache between your legs was swelling, your underwear practically soaked with the burning anticipation coursing through your veins. 

“Keep runnin’ your mouth, darlin’. S’only gonna make things worse for you.”

“I ain’t scared of you, Joel.”

“You damn well should be,” he warned. 

Joel’s hand shot out to grab the base of your neck, yanking you a breath away from his lips. The rich scent of whiskey wafted off his lips as he held you close, his fingers tightening around your throat. You rolled your tongue across your bottom lip, an invitation for whatever threat he had. You could take it. 

“Y’think it’s cute actin’ this way? Think you’re just tough shit, and no one will put you in your place, hmm?” Joel whispered. 

“You gonna be the one to do it, Joel?” You challenged. 

Joel used his grip on your throat to spin you toward the door, your cheek smashing into the wood as he pinned you against it. The instant sting of his palm radiated through the denim of your shorts, the heat of his hand melting into your skin. You yelped in pain, dragging your nails over the wood that strained against the press of your body. His hand smoothed over the curve of your ass before delivering another jarring smack. 

“Fuck!” You cried, biting back tears. 

“Spoiled.” Smack. “Fuckin’.” Smack. “Brat.” Smack. Smack. 

“Joel, please!” You begged. 

You weren’t sure if you were begging for more or begging for him to stop. Either way, he was unrelenting, his handprint leaving welts on your skin. Joel’s grip on your throat tightened, restricting your breathing as he dug his fingers into the supple skin of your ass. Prodding…smoothing…spanking. A continuous, viscous cycle you were weak against. Every bite of his hand on your body intensified the throbbing between your legs, your clit swelling with need. Repeating slaps against your other cheek forced tears down your face, their path leading down your neck and onto Joel’s warm hand. 

“You cryin’, darlin’?” Joel taunted. “Gonna beg me to stop?”

“Please—” You choked out, your words garbled and strained. 

Joel’s lips touched your ear, his breath fanning over your skin in waves. 

“M’fraid I can’t. Not til’ y’learn your lesson.”

You twisted your head around, your tired eyes connecting with his. There wasn’t a hint of brown in his irises as his pupils swallowed them whole, an unsatisfied look washing over his features. He wasn’t done, and neither were you. 

“Fuck you,” you snarled. 

Joel tilted his head, his graying mustache twitching as his lips curved into a smile. An unmistakable hint of desire masked his expression, keeping you reeled in and wanting more. If he could keep going, then so could you. 

“You just ain’t backin’ down, huh?” Joel questioned. 

You wagged your head back and forth, his fingers squeezing against your windpipes. Joel’s hand coasted up your waist, tugging at the belt loop on your shorts until your body spun to face his. Even with tears streaming down your cheeks, you grinned at him, clearly unbothered by the onslaught of pain he had inflicted. 

“That all y’got, old man?” You lipped off. 

“Call me old man one more time, darlin’,” Joel warned his face inches from yours. 

“Old. Man.” You punctuated each word through gritted teeth.

Joel cupped your sex through your jeans, no doubt feeling the arousal seeping through the denim fabric. A rouge whimper fell off your lips, and you bit back any more sounds to give away the desperation rolling through your veins.

“Fuckin’ brat,” he exhaled, but there was a lightness in his voice.

You were both giving into some carnal need, electrifying the humid air around you. You chased his mouth, wanting to lap up every threat on his whiskey-drenched tongue. Joel pulled back, your lips connecting with nothing as you arched forward. With a slight pout, you huffed in annoyance. 

“Look who’s actin’ all desperate now. Just beggin’ for this old man to fuck you.”

“Betcha can’t even get it up in the first place,” you grumbled. 

Joel’s hand connected with your cheek, a rough slap sending your face to the side. Dammit, if that wasn’t the hottest thing he’d done. The sting of his palm sent a wave of pleasure rolling through your stomach, a burning need just aching to come undone. Thick fingers gripped your jaw, wagging your face side to side. 

“I’ve heard enough of that bratty mouth,” Joel said decisively. 

His hands brushed over your collarbone, grasping your shoulders and shoving you to your knees. Your legs hit the straw-covered ground with a soft thud, your skin scraping against the dry hay. He wasted no time undoing his large belt buckle, working his cock out of the confines of his jeans, and your mouth went dry at the sight of him. Joel was hung like a fucking horse, his length thick and no short of any girth. Precum dribbled down off the tip, the sticky mess enticing you to move closer. Staring up at him through your lashes, you waited for his next move. He might have you on your knees, but you’d have his cock, and that was power in itself. 

“Make use of that mouth and suck,” he commanded. 

You lapped at the precum, his cock twitching against every flick of your tongue. You explored his length, dragging your tongue along the veins running down the underside of his cock. Joel gripped the hair at the crown of your head, guiding your mouth over the tip and down his length. Your nose brushed against the bushy hair at the base, his musky scent flooding your senses—it was intoxicating. 

“There we go,” Joel hummed, his voice gravely and strained. “So fuckin’ full of me y’can’t talk back.”

His name came out muffled as you tried to speak, your tongue flatted against the base of his cock. He pushed his cock a centimeter further, the tip knocking against the back of your throat. You gagged around him, your hands slapping against his thick thighs. 

“I don’t wanna hear y’say a damn word,” Joel growled. “You’re gonna take my fuckin’ cock down your throat and choke on it.”

You clawed at his thighs as tears sprung along your waterline, threatening to spill over the longer he kept himself inside your mouth. His fingers tightened around tiny strands of your hair, anchoring you to his cock as he thrusted himself deeper. You tried to protest and pull away, but his grip on you was unforgiving. 

“Please,” you garbled, spit rolling down your chin. 

“Still actin’ like a spoiled fuckin’ brat, ain’t you? Think y’can get whatever you want?”

He granted you an inch to breathe, pulling you halfway off his cock. You inhaled sharply through your nose, trying to latch onto any control. Joel used his grip on your hair to slide your mouth up and down his length, the sound of your lips around his the only noise aside from his labored breathing. You tapped on his thigh twice, hoping he’d relent and give you a reprieve. 

“Real fuckin’ cute,” he laughed. “Struggle all y’want, darlin’. I ain’t stoppin’.”

The tears flowed freely now, mixing with the saliva pooling down your jaw as you worked him deeper down your throat. Every strained attempt to beg him to stop fell on deaf ears; his cock only pushed further down until you had no choice but to sit there completely disarmed and helpless. The scratches left on his thighs didn’t phase him at all, nor did your whimpers as you tried to swallow a breath around him. 

“Keep cryin’, darlin’. Just makes you look prettier when I’m ruinin’ you,” Joel muttered. 

As your nose pressed against the hair at his navel, Joel’s hand brushed over your cheek, collecting a rogue tear on his thumb. Through blurred eyes and running mascara, you blinked up at him right as he tasted the tear pooling on the pad of his fingertip. 

“Delicious,” he hummed.

A dangerous grin split across his face, his hips jerking forward one last time before he wrenched you free from his cock. You coughed violently, the air wooshing back into your lungs with each heaving breath. You swiped the back of your hand across your mouth, wiping off the saliva coating your chin and jaw. 

“You fuckin’ asshole,” you choked out. 

Crouching down, Joel met you at eye level, his eyes soulless and dark. You shivered under his heavy gaze and flinched away from his face as he crowded you. 

“How’s that attitude of yours now?” He questioned. 

You reeled back, sending a glob of spit across the bridge of his nose. Joel scrunched his eyes together, jaw clenched as he wiped away your spit. You bared your teeth at him, still refusing to back down. Joel straightened to his full height, working at shoving his cock back in his jeans. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t a bit disappointed; you hated him but wanted more. 

“Guess I ain’t been rough enough,” Joel grumbled, walking down the stable. 

You watched as he picked a bundle of lead rope off the hook near Mac’s stall, weighing it between his hands. A jolt of panic ran through your veins as you saw his eyes light up in mischief. You were so fucked. You half-considered running, but where was the fun in that? Joel would only chase you down, and even that sounded delicious. There was no use in fighting it now; you were in it for the long haul. 

“Now,” he started, his steps slow as he walked back toward your kneeling body. “I’m gonna give you two options. Y’either walk your ass outside like a good girl, or I drag you out by your hair. What’s it gonna be, darlin’?”

“I’ll walk,” you snapped, rising to your feet. 

Your knees ached with each step as you walked into the blinding daylight outside the stables. Gnats swarmed around your face as you stood idle by the entrance, glancing over your shoulder at Joel stalking behind you. The rope swung beside his body as he carried it in his hand, the lingering threat lying within the coarse fibers that wound together. His head jerked over to the tie rack beside the barn, his eyes trained on the vacant stall before the expanse of your land. 

“C’mon, brat.”

He waltzed in front of you, guiding you to the empty platform with a stern look gracing his features. Without a single word, Joel yanked your wrists together, his deft fingers working at knotting the rope around your skin. The fraying pieces bit into your skin, rubbing and burning the longer he twisted it in loops around your hands. He gave the rope a good tug, humming in satisfaction once the binding was tight enough. Guiding your arms upwards, he clipped the lead to the metal loop on one side of the tie rack, keeping your body suspended awkwardly as your wrists ached from the restraint. You refused to say a word, too frustrated even to protest his actions. If you thought you were helpless before, you were utterly powerless now. It was just you, Joel, and the empty stretch of land that went on for miles. 

Joel pressed his body against your back, the warmth of his touch ignited heat within your core all over again. You squirmed as his hands roamed over your curves, his fingers tracing the outline of your breasts under your sweat-covered shirt. He pinched at your nipples, finding their pebbled indentation hidden within your bra. A desperate whine left your lips as you swayed against the pull of the rope, your feet slipping against the ground. 

“See all that land out there,” Joel whispered, his teeth nipping at your earlobe. “That’s all mine, darlin’, and I’m gonna make sure you remember that by the time I’m through with you.”

“Tyin’ me up and fuckin’ me ain’t gonna change my mind,” you scoffed. 

“Guess I’m just gonna have to fuck some sense into you.”

Joel’s hands worked down your body, making quick work of undoing your shorts and shoving them down to your boots. The hot, sticky summer air breezed over your bare skin, hardly helping to soothe the painful ache between your thighs. Thick, calloused fingers massaged the skin of your hips, kneading your supple curves as you writhed against his touch. You could beg him for more, and oh god, did you want to. You wanted to cave and relinquish everything just to quell the burning pleasure inside your body, but you wouldn’t beg. Not for Joel Miller or any other man. 

Joel swiped a finger through your drenched folds, tutting at your pliancy. The brief touch alone was enough to spark stars behind your eyes, your breath growing shallow.

“Well, would ya’ look at that,” Joel tutted. “You’re soakin’ my fingers, darlin’.”

You refused to say a word, too afraid you’d succumb to your own devices. You wouldn’t ask him to fuck you, but Jesus Christ, you fucking needed it. Every fiber of your being cried for release, and if it meant you had to be tied up and fucked in front of the yellow fields in front of you, then that’s what you’d do. 

“I’ll give you one last chance,” Joel offered. “Say this land is mine and I’ll let you go.”

You glanced over your shoulder at him, no doubt a mess after being on your knees before him. There was a cruelty in his eyes that alarmed you, but you were too focused on what you needed, even to feel afraid. 

“This is my land,” you stated, your chin held high. “S’my family’s land and it’s gonna stay that way ‘til I’m in my grave.”

“Wrong fuckin’ answer.”

Joel knocked your legs apart, the denim of his jeans dragging against your slick arousal. There was a moment where there was absolutely nothing, a vacancy of sound or touch that deprived your senses. Maybe you were teetering on the edge of delirium, too far gone to know what he was doing behind you, but then you felt everything. The thick head of his cock brushed against your entrance, rubbing between your silken folds in tantalizing strokes. That was the only warning he gave before pushing himself deeper, splitting you open inch by inch. You cried out as your body worked to stretch around his length, and your vision blackened as the sharp pain of the sensation jolted through your veins. 

“Fuck!” You screamed. 

The adjustment to his size was agonizing despite how wet you were. Nothing could have prepared you for the way Joel broke you open, nor was there anything that could have prepared you for how brutal he would become. Thrust after thrust, he assaulted you, completely breaking you and molding you to his cock. The pull of the rope burnt the skin of your wrists as he took you harder, your body lurching against the restraints with each snap of his hips. Joel tugged your body backward, shifting your legs until you were forced to bend at the waist. Words wouldn’t form on your lips, and you dissolved into a heap of wailing cries as he plunged deeper into you. 

“Where’s all that loudmouthin’ now?” Joel grunted, his fingers bruising your hips. “So fuckin’ cock drunk y’can’t even speak?”

Your silence only drove him crazier, his speed quickening mercilessly. The ache inside your core was all-consuming, a burning wildfire inside your stomach. You dropped your head between your shoulders and dug your nails into your palms, keeping yourself grounded. 

“Joel,” you gasped. “Please.”

You failed in your attempts not to beg this man, throwing everything to the wayside as you succumbed to the pulsing ache between your legs. 

“Shut up, brat,” he snapped. 

“Joel!” You sobbed. “I’m gonna—fuck—please. I need to—to…”

The words turned to ash on your tongue as he snaked a hand around your body, his fingers drawing circles over your swollen clit. You yelped at the roughness of his fingers, the sensation alone nearly causing your legs to buckle beneath you. If it weren’t for the ropes holding you firmly in place, you would have fallen to the ground. 

“Poor thing,” he crooned in your ear. “Y’wanna cum? Is that what you want?”

Another drive of his hips. Another draw of his fingers. Tormenting movements that kept you on the edge of ecstasy and suffering. Your arousal pooled down your inner thighs, mixing with the sticky sweat that clung to every inch of your skin. 

“I need it, Joel,” you gasped. “Christ, please!”

“Y’gonna change your mind?”

“N—.”

Joel pinched your clit between his fingers, and your words drowned out under a helpless wail falling from your lips. He pulled you back by your hair, winding it around his fist as he drew his lips down your neck. The sweltering touch of his mouth on your skin and his rough fingers on your sensitive bud were enough to topple you closer to the edge. The furnace igniting inside your stomach wouldn’t stop any time soon, but you still wouldn’t give up. He was always going to be wrong, and you’d rather die than give him the satisfaction. 

“Say it, darlin’. Say the words, and y’can cum all over my cock.”

“Never,” you panted. “Never gonna—.”

He pistoned into you, his cock spearing deeper and deeper, completely paralyzing you. Sobs wracked through your body as you took every thrust, and your mind began to float off into a blissed-out haze that drowned out the noise behind you. 

“Gonna own all this fuckin’ land,” Joel gritted out. “Own it just like I own this fuckin’ pussy.”

Please. Please. You weren’t sure if you repeated the words inside your mind or aloud; either way, Joel only huffed a laugh and continued with his repetitive assaults on your body. Your orgasm began barreling toward you, your core fluttering around him as it sparked beneath your skin. Everything inside you tensed up, and your jaw went slack with an outward cry as you slipped under the rapid release coursing inside your body. 

“Oh fuck!” You sobbed. “Fuck… fuck… fuck!”

Your sex clenched around Joel so hard he choked on a breath, his body rigid against yours as you spasmed beneath his hold. Hot, wet streams of your orgasm drenched his cock as he tore through your orgasm with shallow thrusts. Jole rammed into you over and over again until another wave of pleasure slammed into your body. 

“Fuckin’ brat,” he hissed. “Never said y’could cum, did I?”

His hand vanished from your waist and returned to the welted skin of your ass with a resounding smack. There wasn’t enough air in your lungs to cry out, nor any more tears to shed. You hung against the ropes, limp and pliant, as he took you with abandon. 

With another snap of his hips against yours, Joel spilled into you, his release filling you to the brim as he released a carnal groan. You could barely lift your head to look back at him as he untangled his fingers from your hair and pulled away. 

Every atom inside your body was pulsing with overstimulation, your ass welted and bruised, and your throat raw from screaming. The constant thrum of your heartbeat in your ears smothered the sound of Joel’s belt buckle clanging together, the warmth of his body far removed from yours as you stood on tired legs. Moments passed without a single touch, and you wondered if Joel would leave you there tied to the rack and dripping with cum. 

“Think y’learned your lesson now?” He asked, his voice sounding far away. 

All you could do was wag your head in protest, your eyes pinned down to the floor, fixated on the pool of saliva that had fallen from your lips. Joel appeared beside you, his grey hair dissolved and face red from exertion. He worked at unclasping the rope from the hook, unbinding your wrists until your arms fell limp to your sides. Your body was weightless without the stability of the rope, and you fell forward, anticipating the impact against the cement. Joel was quicker, though, winding a strong arm around your front and holding you up. 

“Easy now, darlin’,” he whispered softly. “Easy.”

Your fingers wrapped around his arm, clinging to anything to escape the impending collapse of your entire body. Your boots scruffed against the cement of the stall, kicking dust into the air around you. With his arm still braced around your chest, he used the other to guide your shorts back up your legs and onto your hips. You hissed as the denim rubbed against your ass, the swell of your skin still prickling with pain no matter how brief the touch was. 

“Can y’stand on your own?” He asked. 

“Mhmm,” you mumbled.

“Attagirl.”

Yet as he released your body, you staggered forward, grasping onto the tie rack for support. Joel waited until you found your balance and offered a hand. You were hesitant but relented silently. He took your wrists in one large hand and began massaging at the reddened skin, working out any tension left from the rope. You stared blankly at him, watching a crease burrow between his eyebrows. You still hated him, right? Right? Something so minimal shouldn’t make your heart pound against your chest, but there you were, speechless as you watched this rough man touch your skin with a tenderness he had yet shown. 

“Suns goin’ down soon,” he muttered, nodding to the sky. 

You peered over your shoulder, surprised to see the sun dipping over the horizon. You hadn’t noticed the pinky hue of the sunset while he fucked you, but now you stared at it in wonderment. 

“Guess it is,” you sighed. “Y’should get your ass off my property ‘fore it gets too late.”

Joel snorted, glancing up at you through thick lashes. In the dwindling sunlight, his eyes had dissolved from onyx back into a glistening amber color, the flecks of rich brown dancing as he looked at you. 

“Stubborn lil’ thing,” he huffed. 

He dropped your hands and straightened to his full height. Perspiration coated his button-up, staining it in dark spots as excess beats of sweat still rolled down his muscular neck. You tamed the flyaways of your hair, trying to minimize the obscenity of your look the longer he stood before you. It was no use after what he had done. 

“Y’ain’t changin’ your mind, huh?”

“Nope,” you shook your head. 

Joel rolled his eyes and shoved a hand into his front pocket. Leaning close, he brought his other hand to your face, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, letting his fingers brush over your cheek before pulling away. 

“Guess I’ll just come back tomorrow and try again.”

“Y’come back here tomorrow, and I’ll shoot you dead, Miller.”

He cracked a grin and began to retreat toward his horse beside the stable. You stood motionless as he mounted the brown mare, slipping the reigns between his hands. Joel gave you a farewell wave before taking off across the flowing fields, his broad figure dissolving into the sunset. You slumped against the wall of the stables, letting your body fall to the ground. A smile slid across your face, taking in the open land before you. 

You didn’t give up. It was all still yours.

[ckret2]

Chapter 49 of human Bill Cipher being such a miserable prisoner even the Pines are starting to feel bad for him: The Eclipse: Epilogue.

####

"The heck did you do to that poor woman?" Tate asked, staring out the window. Bill was sitting on the pier, legs dangling in the water, staring blankly into the depths. He was still muddy and trembling. "She looks more traumatized than when y'all left."

Ford couldn't meet Tate's gaze under the brim of his hat, but he could feel Tate raising a brow when he spotted Dipper pacing back and forth on the pier behind Bill, muttering furiously.

"We've had a very bad day," Ford said. 

"Uh-huh."

"Could I borrow your phone to call my brother?"

Outside, Dipper was oblivious to everything except the one line he'd managed to remember from the Axolotl, the words he'd picked out as they crossed the lake. "'Sixty degrees that come in threes,'" Dipper murmured. He knew that much. It was a poem. It was a rhyme. He couldn't remember the rest. What did it mean? He murmured it over and over to himself as he walked, trying to remember the next line, "'Sixty degrees that come in threes,' 'sixty degrees that come in threes'... breeze, freeze, ease, lease, knees—" He couldn't remember the rhyme.

Bill was considering grabbing Dipper by the ankle and dragging him off the pier just to shut him up when whatsisname, the younger McGucket came out of the shop. "Hello there? Miss Goldie?"

Human. Strange human. Human that Bill could get on his side. Be charming. He tried to remember how to be charming. He offered a feeble smile. "Yello?"

"I wanted to make sure you're all right," Tate said. "You look like you, uh... you've had a hard time."

Bill laughed ruefully. "Well, I've been dragged all over the mountain, I'm hungry, exhausted, and half-drowned, and I can barely walk—but I'm not currently dead. Allegedly. I'll take what I can get."

The corners of Tate's mouth twitched down in a concerned frown. "Is there anything you need? A..." He floundered for a moment, "A water, or...?"

"I've had enough water to last me a lifetime." He wondered idly whether he could claim he was too exhausted to make it all the way home—there was a sofa in the staff room, Tate would probably let the poor bedraggled "woman" take a nap, if Bill got that bit of distance between himself and the Pines maybe he could... maybe he could... do something with it? But he couldn't think of anything more definite than that and now Ford was coming back and the window of opportunity closed. He shrugged wearily. "Just need to get back to the shack. Thanks." He half heartedly used the lake water to wash the drying mud off his lower legs and knees.

"Stan will be here in about twenty minutes," Ford said, and tried to ignore the dirty look Tate gave him. 

"I'll be just inside if you need anything else," Tate said. "Watching." He headed inside—and then, indeed, stood at the shop window and watched.

Ford was never going to get on Tate's good side. He suspected Tate would be a little less sympathetic to the poor woman on the pier if he knew who he really was; but it certainly wouldn't make Tate like Ford any better for keeping him around.

"Nothing to do now but wait." Ford unloaded the rest of their supplies from the borrowed motor boat. He dropped Soos's Monster-Mon backpack beside Bill—it was heavy, Bill must have just shoved his clothes and bedsheet straight in without bothering to wring out the water—and the plastic bag of snacks Dipper had bought. "You ought to eat more while we wait." Ford nudged the snack bag.

Bill sneered at it. "I don't want that trash."

"What?" Ford examined the bag's contents. Jerky, chips, candy, cups of marshmallow cereal... "This is ninety percent of what you eat."

"Ninety percent of what I eat is what I can scavenge from the counters."

Ford looked through the bag again. Ah. Right. So it was. "If you want something else, you know you can ask us to..."

"Mac and cheese."

Maybe Ford had better stop talking. He sighed and glanced at Dipper to see how he was doing.

It didn't look like Dipper had even registered Ford's return, too busy pacing and muttering to himself. Ford frowned. "Dipper?"

"Axolotl," Bill explained. "He's obsessing over him. Didn't I tell you that meeting that thing would drive him insane?" He tilted his head toward Dipper. "Look at that, he's already mumbling to himself. Don't suppose you have his therapist's number, do you? I doubt that would save him, but it might slow the process—"

Ford shushed him.

Dipper had briefly tuned back into the conversation when he heard Bill say Axolotl; and now he grit his teeth and stubbornly tuned it back out. No. He was not going insane. Dipper would figure this out. If he just remembered the rest he'd be fine. He tried to go through all the potential rhymes alphabetically, "—bees, cease, d—deez?" That wasn't a word. "Fees, geese, he's..." and on and on, "seas, tees, uh... vees? Wheeze..."

"I've had enough of you trying to convince that boy he's about to go mad," Ford muttered to Bill. "What do you get out of saying that? Even if you do convince him he's insane, it won't make him start trusting anything else you say."

"I'm not lying," Bill said heatedly. "You ought to know that, you've been in the multiverse, you've seen plenty of maddening sights. You saw them before you even left the Nightmare Realm."

Ford hesitated before responding; was Bill trying to persuade Ford he was insane? But he could still remember those first few moments of terror in the Nightmare Realm: the creatures that had seemed to move and shift in impossible ways as they swam in and out of dimensions Ford couldn't see, the lights and colors that throbbed like an inverted migraine, Bill himself seemingly suspended a million light years away and a foot in front of Ford's face at the same time. Until Ford had latched onto his quest to destroy Bill and let that focus him, his mind had felt like an unraveling sock. "You were chief among those maddening sights."

"I was," Bill acknowledged neutrally.

"But I didn't go insane."

"Because you knew when to look away." He cast a sideways glance at Dipper, an implicit unlike him. "I know you used to read cosmic horror. Do you know why the narrator always goes mad just from looking at some giant beast? It's not because it's too ugly to take. It's because once you meet something, you try to understand it; but if you want to understand the reality something like that comes from," he rolled an eye up toward where the invisible Axolotl had hung in the sky, "you have to lose your understanding of your own reality. They're incompatible. Like the lunatics who escaped Plato's cave and came back ranting about nonsense like sunlight and colors."

It was a twisted interpretation of the cave allegory. Plato had meant it as a metaphor for education: that learning about the true nature of reality was enlightening, but alienated you from your peers.

Perhaps to Bill, enlightenment and insanity were the same thing.

Ford murmured, "Once your eyes have been too dazzled by the sunlight to see the dim shadows, you'll never be awed by a candle again."

"You have been there before."

Ford didn't answer.

"Once you've seen something like that, if you let yourself dwell on the significance of it all, you're doomed. Better to tell yourself it's unimportant and try to forget it ever happened."

Ford thought of Fiddleford.

Bill twisted around to snap tiredly at Dipper, "So stop staring at the sun before you go blind, moron."

"Shut up." Dipper had been trying to mentally drown out Bill's dire predictions by grasping for more rhymes—"disease, unease, Socrates"—but enough filtered through to make his stomach churn with nervousness. What if Bill was right? What if he never remembered what the Axolotl told him—what if he drove himself mad trying? What if this turned into a lifelong obsession—but he'd be fine and could let it go once he remembered—was that the trap? Was whatever it had told him impossible for a human to remember? Was it something so incomprehensible a human couldn't remember it without going crazy?

But he'd seen plenty of stuff last summer that was supposed to make humans go "insane." Bill had to be messing with him. He remembered the first line—surely that meant he could remember the rest—but was that part of the trap? "'Sixty degrees that come in threes'... come on, there's something else, I know it, what is it? 'Sixty degrees that come in threes'—"

Bill sighed irritably. "'Watches through the eyes in trees.'"

Dipper stopped pacing. He hadn't realized he'd raised his voice enough to be audible. "What?"

"What?" Bill said.

"What's the rest of it?"

"What rest of it? It's a couplet. That's all," Bill said. "Is that what he told you? He gets rhymey when he feels self-important, it's no big deal. Maybe you're lucky. Put it out of your head and you'll be fine."

Dipper turned the words over in his head. Sixty degrees that come in threes, watches through the eyes in trees... "That's not exactly right," he said slowly. "It was 'watches from within birch trees.'"

"Is that how he translated it? I've never heard it in English before. I got close, though, I knew it'd rhyme."

Ford echoed, "'Sixty degrees that come in threes.' Like a triangle?"

Dipper gave him a perplexed look. "What?"

"You're taking geometry next year, aren't you? The inner angles of polygons always have the same number of degrees; and a triangle has a hundred and eighty degrees. Three angles of sixty degrees forms... an equilateral triangle."

Dipper and Ford stared at Bill.

Bill gave them a tired, unreadable look. "What?" he said. "Don't look at me. I'm not the only equilateral triangle in the universe."

Well, now Dipper was sure there was more to the poem than just a couplet. "How many other equilateral triangles spy on people through birch trees?"

"Lay off," Bill said crabbily. "I didn't have to tell you that line. Don't make me regret it." He planted his elbows on his knees, laced his hands together, pressed his forehead to them, and massaged his eyelids with his thumbs.

He tilted slightly to the right, keeping the weight of his head off his left arm.

####

"Nice shirt," Stan said, eyeing Ford's anger management t-shirt.

"If you like it, you can have it."

"What happened to your coat?"

"Somewhere at the bottom of the lake," Ford sighed.

"How...?"

"I'll fill you in later."

Bill's trembling was almost unnoticeable by the time Stan arrived. Or, at least, it was slight enough that he could stand and make the short walk from the pier to the car without an obvious struggle. 

He climbed into the back seat, slid across the bench, leaned against the door, wrapped his arms around his Monster-Mon backpack, fell asleep, and didn't wake up for the entire drive home.

Dipper and Ford fell silent when they noticed; and, sensing the heavy atmosphere, Stan followed suit.

####

The event organizers for Higher Dimensional Gate had arranged for the Magister Mentium's audience to surround him in a circle with as large a circumference as possible, so that as many shapes as possible could pack into the first few rows where they could see him. Even so, the crowd was much too large for everyone to be in the first few rows. Speakers had to be planted throughout the crowd so that they'd all be able to hear the Magister speak. Most of his audience couldn't see him.

But he, with his all-seeing eye, could see all of them.

The crowd extended back, row after row after row, in every direction like flecks of multicolor confetti filling the air all the way to the horizon. He'd never spoken to such a large crowd before. He didn't think he'd ever seen such a large crowd before.

Not all of them were his worshipers. He didn't have that many worshipers. The rest were drawn in by his boast—to be the first shape outside of legends to predict an eclipse, over six months ahead of schedule. They were here for a spectacle. He meant to give them one.

If he succeeded, all these spectators would become his worshipers, he was sure of it. If he didn't succeed, he lost everything. The whole nation knew about his bet. He'd be financially ruined. His worshipers would abandon him. There would be no fleeing to a new town and starting over; everyone everywhere knew who he was. His life would be over.

This would be only the third eclipse he could recall. There's no way to neatly map shape ages onto human ages. Different year lengths, different aging speeds, different mental and physical milestones. But approximately, compared to a human, he was scarcely over fifteen years old. 

But he wouldn't fail. He pushed all his fears aside. He didn't even want to think about them. He wouldn't, because he couldn't, because he could see what nobody else saw. He could see the eclipse's approach.

It was traveling across the vast empty gulf outside the world.

The only other third dimensional objects he'd ever seen were the sun—which looked to him like a circle—and the stars—which seemed to be mere points. He assumed all third dimensional objects were fundamentally just second dimensional objects, moving on a strange plane. He had no capacity to model a 3D object in his mind.

But the eclipse was a beast that twirled and gyrated around impossible axes, moving and rotating in ways his eye couldn't even comprehend. To him, it looked as though the living creature—he assumed it was a living creature, sometimes it manifested a couple of limbs or an eye—was constantly shapeshifting, its perimeter moving and altering. Its uncanny undulations had haunted his nightmares for months after he first watched it, so young he'd barely started school. It wasn't any less nightmarish now.

But as incomprehensible and terrifying as it was, he could see it, and nobody else here could, and that was all that mattered. He could watch it on the horizon and publicly announce that it would cross the sun in two weeks—and then in about three days—and then, to his humiliation, not tomorrow but today, guaranteed, as the creature sped up and threw off his estimate. His worshipers and bemused spectators had taken over the square to while away the time. They'd quickly gathered around him to wait after he'd declared it would arrive within the hour

That had been almost an hour and a half ago. The stupid thing had slowed down.

The triangle was terrified.

In every direction, shapes were staring at him. Waiting. His father was watching him—his stare seemed to grow heavier by the minute. He could see reporters in the crowd taking notes.

He had to fight not to pace, not to cringe, not to show any nerves in front of the hundreds of eyes.

Now. It had to be now. It was so close. Please don't let him be wrong. Every cord in his body quivered in terror as he grabbed his microphone and announced: "Lines, bis, tris—quads, quints, and more! My dear students and beloved believers, and my—" he cut off the urge to say something nastier, "—curious visitors, who I hope will join our quest for enlightenment. This is the moment you've been waiting for! The eclipse is upon us! In less than a minute, it will begin!" He had to keep his gaze forward as he spoke, looking at his audience. (His mother had always said the way his eye went white when he was looking at the third dimension unnerved people.) "Soon—you won't have to take all my claims about the third dimension on faith. You'll be able to see for yourself the effect of the third dimension on the plane."

The crowd murmured excitedly. He could see his father relax. He stared up-but-not-north, gnawing nervously on his eyelid until he caught himself. The beast above glowed a warm pink in the light of the nearby sun.

And the stupid thing. Slowed. Again.

He stared in disbelief.

"Sixty seconds," his father whispered, out of range of the microphone.

His stomach flopped. He was dead.

"One minute, fifteen seconds. What's going—?"

He held his microphone away and hissed, "The eclipse decided to zigzag."

"Eclipses can zigzag?"

"Shhh!" He'd already failed. He'd already shown everyone he was wrong. He could hear the murmurs. His eye hurt from staring at the sun and from straining for so long to turn so far upward-not-northward, go faster faster faster—

There! The snout of the eclipse was this close to kissing the perimeter of the sun. He cried triumphantly, "Now!"

The wretched beast did a loop-the-loop around the sun and missed it entirely.

The triangle felt the last strands of his fraying self-composure snap.

He howled in rage.

He could hear laughs from the crowd. They felt like daggers in his sides.

"ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!" He was bellowing into outer space as if he thought it might hear him, "Do your think this is a game?! Is this funny?! Are you trying to humiliate me in front of the whole world!" His father put a hand on his arm; the triangle shoved him away. "Get back here right now! You thick, brainless, blobby, pink, feeler-faced two-eyed freak of nature! GET BACK HERE and LOOK ME IN THE EYE!" He was a lunatic, everyone would know it, their leader raving in a direction no one could actually see about some big pink delusion, what did he care, no one would ever take him seriously again anyway—

And the thing in the sky.

Stopped.

And looped back.

And came closer, and closer, and bigger, and bigger—it just kept getting bigger, how far away had it been before, how large was it, how large was the sun?

He hardly noticed the crowd's gasp as the creature twirled between them and the sun—the light shone through its body, pink with blood—and then out of the way, and then in again, and out—until finally it was so close that its perimeter completely engulfed the sun. He'd taken a field trip to the planet's surface once—an enormous solid mass of stone and crystal. Until now, he'd never seen another solid objects so large. To his limited understanding of 3D objects, it looked as though there were no organs inside its perimeter—just a layer of solid, uninterrupted flesh. He didn't know how it could even move.

It stopped straight over him.

He was sure the two black circles embedded inside its body must be its eyes. His whole life he'd heard psychic powers—psychic powers like his own—described as having an "inner eye." But he'd thought the phrase was just a metaphor. An eye on the inside of a body instead of on its perimeter would be useless to most people. He'd never seen a creature with an eye literally on the inside of its body. But the eclipse had two.

And they were looking at him.

A giant ever-shapeshifting cosmic horror from outside of reality, staring through the veil separating the sane world from outerplanar space, and it was looking—at—him.

He was terrified.

He heard an alien voice in his head, vast and deep and slow as distant whale song:

"Hello there!" It was overjoyed. It was tickled pink. "I've never been spoken to by a shape on the wall before. I didn't know you could see off of it!"

Weakly, the triangle repeated, "'A shape on the'...?"

"Yes, this wall of yours." The eclipse gestured with its tail at—everything. A single sweep that took in an entire dimension. "I've probably commuted past this wall billions of times, and nothing's ever called to me before. I didn't know shadows could do that!"

"'Shadows'?" the triangle echoed again. That was all they were? An eclipse's shadows?

"I'm absolutely delighted," the eclipse said. "First contact from a lower-dimensional species! I've watched you for eons and never imagined. Isn't this exciting! How charming of you! Tell me who you are."

Him? "Me?"

"Of course. Who else?" It stared at him. Only him. A shapeshifting force of nature the size of a planet with two inner eyes, an eclipse that saw him as a shadow—and it was looking only at him.

Weakly, he said, "I'm... the Magister Mentium."

The eclipse thought that over. Its tone was a tad dubious and not terribly impressed (why should it be impressed? he was embarrassed at himself for giving his silly puffed-up title)—but it said, "Yes, I suppose that's true. I am the Axolotl. It's been a pleasure meeting you." It began to shapeshift again—its eyes slid sideways through its body, until one reached its perimeter and disappeared.

It dawned on the triangle, in its first immature understanding of third dimensional objects, that its eye had disappeared because the Axolotl was turning away. "Wait!" he cried. "Why..." Why answer him? Why focused on him so completely, if he was just a shadow? Why ask who he was like he mattered? He didn't even know how to put those questions to words in his own mind, much less out loud. "Why are you here so early?"

The Axolotl turned back to the triangle. "Oh! I had to go back for some documents I forgot at the office. Big case in the morning," it said. "You shadows know my schedule?"

"You... pass in front of the sun."

The Axolotl turned away, eyes disappearing and frills fluttering, to look at the sun. "So I do! How funny." It turned toward the triangle and gave him a strange, grotesque look that—by the tone of its psychic voice—he suspected was a smile. "I must get going. I'll be heading into the office a few hours late tomorrow, but perhaps I'll see you again then." And it turned away. It felt like it took forever for the enormous body to sail over-not-north-of the triangle—and pass, at last, out of the sun's path.

The triangle didn't look down-but-not-south until someone shook his side—his father. He lowered his dazed gaze to the crowd—the cheering, applauding crowd. Ma-gi-ster, Ma-gi-ster. A sea of multicolor confetti shapes that filled the air to the horizon.

Shadows.

His father shook him again—"Go on, say something. They're waiting"—and the triangle held up his mic as though he were in a dream. He tried to remember what he was supposed to say. "I was right," he said flatly. "Just like I always told you. I can see the third dimension. The realm of dreams—of colors, of light, and..." The lies left a sick taste in the back of his eye. He couldn't say them. Points of light in darkness and pink nightmares.

"I'm s— You'll all have to excuse me," he said, his voice childish and small. "I can't—I've had a... a... profound... spiritual experience. I must meditate on the revelations I've received." The words felt like woo-woo mumbo-jumbo. "The next eclipse will be a few months after the new year." It seemed important, for some reason, to pass that information on. Wasn't that what he always said he did? Share the wisdom of third dimensional spirits with his followers? "I... have to go now."

His father took his elbow. "This is your moment," he whispered. "Come on, son—you don't want to lose your chance to speak directly to them, do you?"

He shoved the microphone in his father's side. "You speak to them."

"But—"

"I can't," he said. "I can't."

He cut through the crowd as fast as it would part for him—if they were any slower, he'd have started stabbing his way through—haunted the whole way by their applause.

####

And that was it.

From the Axolotl's perspective, he had just had a brief pleasant exchange with a precocious tadpole in a sidewalk puddle.

From the triangle's perspective, he might as well have been standing on the boat deck watching as Cthulhu rose from his millennia of dead slumber at the bottom of the ocean, turned to the fragile vessel bobbing on the waves, and said, "Good morning! Glorious weather we're having, isn't it?"

And from the perspective of the Higher Dimensional Gate, their Magister Mentium had predicted an eclipse, been rightfully insulted when it didn't come the exact second he ordered it, and furiously summoned down an eclipse darker and swifter and longer than any in recorded history.

Up until then, he had been seen as, at best, an oracle. A prophet. A messenger to share the secrets of the third dimension, but that was all he could do. But now, he had commanded forces in an unseen dimension, creating an eclipse months before it was natural. He had made it flicker on and off like he had his finger on the sun's light switch. News reports and the most unimpeachable scientific authorities reported that the eclipse had centered on the location of the Higher Dimensional Gate rally, narrowed down to an inexplicably small radius around that point, and then remained unchanged for several long minutes, long enough for anyone in its shadow to grow fatigued from the missing sunshine. Nothing like that had ever happened before. It defied every known fact about the science of eclipses.

People around the gathering—even people who had known nothing about the Higher Dimensional Gate rally—reported that during the eclipse, they'd become inexplicably disoriented, unable to tell compass directions, and had felt themselves fall toward the darkness—as if gravity's pull had suddenly moved from the south to the epicenter of the eclipse. Public building inspections confirmed that somehow the entire town had shifted, ever so slightly, closer to the epicenter. Closer to the Magister.

Never mind prophecy; as far as the Magister's rapidly-increasing followers were concerned, he might have been a god.

It was the greatest triumph a baby cult leader could ask for.

He barely noticed.

####

For days, he could hardly sleep, speak, or think. He kept losing track of conversations to stare into space. Now, it awed his followers when his eye turned an empty white—he must have been communing with something in a higher dimension.

He didn't argue. It was better than letting them know he was losing his mind.

He spent his time alone locked in his room, pacing back and forth, trying not to look up-but-not-north and failing. Dwelling on the significance of it all. Feeling like he'd never figure it out.

He used to love cosmic horror stories, back when he had time to read. They followed a reliable pattern: the hero travels farther than any rational shape ever should, meets something big, and goes mad from the realization.

And what was it that the hero always realized? That he was a dust fleck in the firmament. That he was insignificant. That he didn't matter. That there were things out there he'd never seen before and would never truly understand, and that they cared not for mere shadows on the wall like him, and that in the grand scheme of the cosmos he was nothing. That he was utterly unimportant.

In moments of what felt like lucidity in between the shivering horror, the triangle  wryly acknowledged that it was no surprise he'd ended up in a cosmic horror story. He could see into another dimension. In the stories he'd read, that made it all but inevitable.

But all the authors had gotten the maddening revelation wrong. He could have handled knowing he was nothing. It almost would have been a relief. 

True horror was knowing he mattered.

He'd spent the majority of his young life selling the idea that he was oh-so-important, as part of a big con to trick gullible idiots into liking him and flinging cash at his rotten undeserving family—and he'd only been able to do it because when the guilt got to him, when his conscience asked what would become of the shapes forking over their life savings on false promises of divine secrets, he could look out into bleak black space and tell himself that nothing really mattered, nothing was important, nothing he'd ever do would really make a difference, and the people he manipulated didn't matter any more than he did. He meant everything to his worshipers, and nothing to the universe. He could do anything and it didn't matter.

For a moment, a vast mind-melting shape-shifting incomprehensible eldritch god had focused its full attention on him—of all the universe, of all the dimensions beyond the known universe, it had looked at him and only him—a mere shadow on the wall, and yet in that moment, it found him interesting. It found him worthy of notice. He had screamed into the cold uncaring void, and the void had cared. For a moment, he'd held cosmic importance. He mattered. His actions mattered.

He'd felt it see him as important, but why? What was so important about him? There had to have been something significant he'd done, something he showed it, something in what he said. He replayed their conversation in his mind over and over and over and over, trying to remember what he'd done that proved he mattered.

He didn't know what it was. He couldn't find it. All he could remember was just... being.

The writers were wrong. Cosmic horror wasn't when an elder god's eyes slid past you without noticing you existed. It was when the elder god gazed down at you at your lowest and bleakest, during your most petty and selfish act of mass swindling, from a dimension where not even slamming the door and shutting your eye could shield you from its gaze—and it decided you were worth caring about. Cosmic horror was when you encountered a colossal alien that planted the incomprehensibly alien idea in your head that you had an inherent worth just because you existed. Cosmic horror was when a force of nature asked the name of a shadow on the wall.

If it was true... if it all mattered... then what was he doing? How could he? What had he done?

####

He was lucky—he was lucky that his parents had raised him to think so clearly about issues like morality and money and easy marks. His only saving grace was that he was too rational to seriously entertain the Axolotl's mad ideas.

And yet, his mind boiled with mad regret. It blazed with insane guilt. The heat of it could burn him out. It was months before he could continue his public sermons without feeling sick—and even once he did, he could still feel the delusion that what he did mattered, festering in his mind.

It would fester for the next trillion years.

####

(And that concludes this plot arc! I hope y'all enjoyed it!! I'd love to hear what y'all thought of the whole thing—especially now that we've looped back to the original eclipse. 😁)

[realprissygirl]

The 2010s Black Barbie Look

a deep dive on one of my fav sub styles ever. this aesthetic takes from the 2010s baddie, swag movement, and a lingering hyperfemininity from the 2000s that soon was obliterated by most brands a few years later. i’ve always been into this look as i was the intended audience. a teenage black girl in high school when this look took off.

the vibe ❤︎︎

“everyone was a barb. victoria’s secret was the go to place to shop on fridays after school. you were the cool girl if you had more than four beauty rush glosses. the scent of love spell filled your bedroom.”

biggest influencers

aaliyah jay

ella bandz

asian doll

cuban doll

nicki minaj

blac chyna

india love

kash doll

molly brazy

dream doll

shannade and shannon clermont

rico nasty

pattyeffinmayo

bali baby

color palette ❤︎︎

+ neon yellow/green, pinky purple

pink of course! very girly and femme. but a much wider range of shades vs today. there was a huge boom in neons too. (this tracks back to the return of the 80s/90s fashion elements) (i remember having this lime green PINK quarter zip that i loved so so much). also gray was a super popular accent color for fashion and interior. zebra print decor was a staple (seen in aaliyahjay’s and ellabandz’ bedrooms) because vs pink was so big, the white on hot pink polka dot pattern was seen everywhere from clothing to needing to girls decorating their rooms with VS PINK bags.

the staples ❤︎︎

fashion

aurora borealis swarovski crystal details

PINK

crop tops

fuzzy tops

heather gray

neon leopard print

white on pink polka dots

sequins

bamboo earrings

pink mcm bags

MICHAEL KORS EVERYTHING

ugg and bearpaw fur boots

juicy couture backpacks

pink timberland boots

beauty

mac cosmetics

anastasia beverly hills eyeshadow

eye glitter

cut creases

glued on rhinestones

colourpop ultra matte lippies

pale pink lippies

anastasia beverly hills dip brow

glitter gloss

mega volume bundles

too faced chocolate bar eyeshadow palette collection

deep side part sew ins

artist couture loose highlight

blinding highlighter

gigantic messy buns

sleek ponytails with swoop details

nyx soft matte lip cream

victoria’s secret beauty rush lip gloss

blonde blow outs

“coffin” nails

pink nails

blonde hair and dark roots

tartelette palette

poppin hoez lip gloss

essentials

hello kitty accessories like phone cases

3d phone cases

phone cases with sassy phrases

luxe addiction cases

fur keychains

pink beats

kendra’s boutique hair barb tools

iphone glitter skins

rose gold iphone

perfume bottle phone cases

fragrance

nicki minaj fragrances

victoria’s secret pink mists

paris hilton fragrances

ariana grande fragrances

versace bright crystal

core elements ❤︎︎

2010s black baddie aesthetic but hyper pink and girly, like the 24 year old baddie’s teenage sister

the omg girlz

harajuku barbie culture

bad girls club

the rise of the rapper gf archetype

nicki minaj’s transition from harajuku barbie to onika

the influx of “doll” female rappers

stripper influencers

[buckyalpine]

SOO much fluff with my random thoughts. We love a meet cute featuring a sweet uncle Bucky. Imagine working at a daycare, surrounded by the cutest little ones everyday. You know you shouldn't have favourites but you can't help but fall especially in love with three year old Jamie and his mop of brown hair, his sweet blue eyes absolutely stealing your heart. He'd recently been babbling and talking your ear off about getting to stay at his Uncle's house since his parents were going away on vacation.

"We have the same name" He stated proudly while mushing up some playdoh between his tiny fingers, "Mama said I gets to stay with him for two whole weeks"

"I hope you have the best time, bub" You smile at his excited ramblings, giving his hair a ruffle before making your way to cut up some fruit for snack time.

-

You arrived at the daycare center just in time for their lunch for the afternoon shift, setting your things down and getting to work grabbing napkins and laying them on the tables. The littles ones all lined up to wash their hands before getting their lunch boxes out, most quite self-sufficient with opening their containers without assistance.

You heard a frustrated grunt, looking over your shoulder to find a very determined Jamie with his brows knitted together attempting to open his lunch to no avail. He finally gave up, toddling over to you, the growl of his belly making a clear statement.

He was hungry.

"Can you open this please?" He holds his thermos with two hands, smiling when you take it from him, patiently waiting for you to open it. You try to unscrew the lid, frowning when it doesn't budge even when you try with all your might. You tie a rubber band around the top to give it some grip but it stays locked in place, unmoving after you ran it under hot water and ridiculing you when you tried to pry it open with a butter knife.

"What is your uncle, a super soldier?" You huffed, trying to open the little lunch thermos one more time but there was no point; it was sealed shut. "I don't think I can open this for you, bub, he closed it extra tight"

"Uncle Jamie made me mac and cheese" his little face melted into a sad pout, his belly rumbling again.

"I'm sorry baby, how about sharing half a grilled cheese with me, hm?" You cooed, toasting your own lunch in the panini press and putting it on a plate for him. "We need the avengers to open this, let's see if uncle Jamie can open this when he picks you up"

He happily nibbled on the sandwich, licking up the crumbs, putting away his thermos and making his way over to play with some blocks. When it was hometime, you got everyone ready, sending them on their way while Jamie remained, waiting patiently for his uncle to arrive while sitting on the playground, hugging onto his stuffy in the meantime.

"Ms. y/n, Uncle Jamie is here!" He jumped up in excitement hearing the rumble of a motorbike pull up outside, running to the fence, waving over to him.

"Let's see this Uncle Jamie of yours" You said with an amused expression, wondering who managed to close a lunch lid so tightly. His uncle certainly wasn't what you imagined, watching a tall, broad man parking his bike. He was dressed in all black, parking the bike and pulling his helmet off, letting it rest on one of the handle, running his hand through his short chestnut locks, a toothy grin spreading on his face.

There was no way.

"Oh my God-

"Uncle Jamie!!" The little one ran off to his uncle, jumping into his arms, hugging him with his entire body. The super soldier grinned, catching him with ease, blowing a raspberry against his cheeks making him squeal and sending him into a fit of giggles.

"Hey little man" He chuckled, cradling his nephew and giving him a few extra cuddles before setting him back down and taking his backpack from him. You'd wondered what the hell was in his little backpack which was strangely heavy, gasping when you saw him pull out a tiny leather jacket.

"Arms up, buddy" Jamie lifted his arms, letting his uncle secure the jacket on him.

"He didn't eat his lunch, we couldn't get the lid open" You handed him the thermos with an apologetic look, "He had a grilled cheese instead, I hope that's okay"

"Sorry, doll" Bucky smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck, "Guess I didn't realize how tightly I closed it" He took it from your hand, opening it up with ease, steam still billowing from the contained from when he'd heated it up that morning.

"He didn't tell me his Uncle was the very Sergeant James Barnes" You ignored the heat that crept up on your cheeks, an equal blush spreading across Bucky's. "He's been talking about you all week"

"He's been talking about you too" Bucky said with an edge of a flirty tone to his voice, his nephew had said just about everything there was to know about you but the little runt left out just how pretty you were. How sweet. Super cute.

Actually that was a lie, he definitely went on about how pretty you were.

It would appear he had more in common with the three year old than he thought; they both had an apparent crush on you.

Get it together Barnes, you just met her.

"He's a little rascal" Bucky chuckled, looking over his shoulder to find his nephew impatiently wiggling, waiting for a ride, "We're actually just around the block so not a long ride but he loves it" Bucky chuckled as he strapped Jamie into the sidecar, plopping a tiny helmet onto his head.

"Bye Ms. y/n!! See you tomoowo!!" Jamie waved making you smile at how adorable he was, his voice muffled in the helmet.

"Bye baby, see you tomorrow!" You waved back, your breath hitching in your throat when you met the other set of sparkling blue eyes peering at you.

"Yeah, see you tomorrow, Ms. y/n" Bucky said with a wink making your stomach flip, giving you a cheeky smirk before pulling the visor down.

You couldn't wait for tomorrow to come.

-

Okay imagine after two weeks of little parking lot interactions he obviously has to ask you out on a date. Then another. Another. Soon, little Jamie is excited to see you having sleepovers at Uncle Jamies!! He's bragging to all his friends about how he gets to see Ms. Y/n all the time.

Then you're over for Christmas! And New Years! Now you live with Uncle Jamie and it's the best thing ever! And obviously, little Jamie is the ring bearer at the wedding. A year or two later, he finds out he's going to have a baby cousin to play with.

Just an idea.

[solarmorrigan]

“Hey.”

Eddie looks up from the inventory sheet he’s bent over (the new shipment of records isn’t going to record itself – Christ, that was awful, Henderson is contagious) to see his coworker Kyle poking his head into the back room.

“Someone left something for you at the counter.”

“Who?” Eddie asks, brows furrowed.

Most everyone in town seems to have let the murder accusations drop (embarrassed enough by their own fanatical reactions that they’d much rather forget the whole thing), but a few people still treat him like a felon walking free; it doesn’t hurt to be cautious.

“Uh, real normie-looking guy. Gives you a ride sometimes.”

Eddie blinks. “Steve?”

“Yeah, sure.” Kyle shrugs. “Says you left it in his car.”

Whatever Eddie is expecting to see when he follows Kyle back out to the front counter of the music shop, a brown bag lunch isn’t it. He most certainly hadn’t left that in Steve’s car this morning.

Steve hadn’t even given him a ride that morning.

But it’s got his name on it, sure enough, in Steve’s weirdly neat handwriting. The asshole even drew a little heart next to it.

Eddie can already feel a smile pulling across his face as he snatches up the bag. Maybe he hadn’t forgotten his lunch in Steve’s car, but he certainly hadn’t brought one in with him. He’d been planning to hit up the McDonald’s down the street if he got desperate, but whatever Steve’s brought him is bound to be better.

“Your girlfriend pack that for you?” Kyle asks.

Eddie lets out a little huff of a laugh, for a minute not quite sure how to answer.

Gender assumptions aside, Eddie doesn’t know what to call this thing with Steve – this thing where they’d started screwing and then they’d started falling asleep together without screwing and then they’d started spending all their free time together and now Steve does things like pack Eddie lunch and bring it to him at work.

“Sorta,” he finally settles on.

“Dude, if she’s making you lunch and writing little hearts next to your name, she’s more than ‘sorta’ your girlfriend,” Kyle says.

“Yeah… Maybe,” Eddie allows, because – well, because maybe.

“Pretty nice of your friend to drive it over, though,” Kyle says. “Pretty sure at least half of my friends would’ve just eaten it.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says again, warm and a little smug, “Steve’s a good dude.”

He digs into the lunch sack and finds an apple sitting on top (of course), a baggie of Keebler fudge cookies (score), and a Tupperware container filled with–

“Oh, fuck yes!” Eddie hugs the precious little tub full of macaroni and cheese to his chest like he’s doing his best Gollum impression. There is nothing in the world better than Steve’s mac and cheese.

It’s still warm.

“I’m taking my break!” Eddie declares, skittering off to the back room before Kyle can argue.

He sits himself down in the employee break area (a crappy folding table, two mismatched chairs, and a microwave so old he’s probably getting radiation poisoning just by sitting next to it) and digs in to the cheesy goodness that is Steve’s cooking.

He’ll eat the apple after, he reasons.

(No he won’t.)

As he eats, his eyes drift back to the crumpled brown bag, to the little heart drawn in bleeding black sharpie, and he thinks.

-

Steve’s house smells like chicken and herbs when Eddie lets himself in early in the evening, and oh, Steve must be in a good mood today.

Eddie feels spoiled.

He finds Steve in the kitchen, wrist-deep in sudsy water as he sways back and forth absently to the tune of the rock station coming from the radio on the windowsill. The room is warm, and something delicious-smelling in a covered pan is simmering on the stove, and the space behind Steve is invitingly empty, just waiting for Eddie to sidle up into it.

Eddie feels so, so spoiled.

Steve doesn’t startle when Eddie slides in behind him and wraps his arms around his waist, but Eddie isn’t really surprised anymore; it seems like Steve can always tell when someone is there.

He does glance over his shoulder, though, just long enough for Eddie to see the smile on his face before he turns back to the dishes. “Hi.”

Eddie’s pretty sure the smile on his own face is softer and infinitely more besotted. “Hi.”

“Good day at work?” Steve asks.

Eddie hums, pressing a kiss to the top of Steve’s shoulder. “You brought me lunch.”

“I’m glad Kyle actually gave it to you,” Steve says. “Wasn’t sure someone else wouldn’t eat it.”

“I got it,” Eddie says, as if there was any doubt with the way he’s still smiling in between trailing little kisses up Steve’s neck.

Steve shuts the water off and dries his hands on the towel hanging off the cupboard door before turning in Eddie’s arms to give him a proper kiss. “It was good?”

Eddie hums again. “You brought me lunch.”

“We’ve established that, yeah,” Steve laughs, allowing Eddie another kiss as he grins.

“You made me lunch,” Eddie says, pecking another kiss to Steve’s lips, still smiling like an idiot. “And you drove it up to the store for me.”

Steve shrugs, a little coy. “It’s my day off. I had time to kill.”

“Kyle says that makes you more than sorta my girlfriend,” Eddie replies, as if that will make any sense at all to Steve.

Whether it makes sense or not, it does make him laugh, and Eddie peppers kisses all over his face while he does.

“So it was good?” Steve asks again, when he’s caught his breath.

“You made me lunch and then you drove it over to me,” Eddie stresses. “It could’ve tasted like ass, and it still would’ve been the best thing ever.”

Steve rolls his eyes, but is more than obliging to the deep kiss Eddie pulls him into after that.

“But just so we’re clear,” Steve says when they break apart, “it didn’t taste like ass, right?”

“Oh my god, no,” Eddie finally relents. “It was literally the best thing I’ve ever eaten. I’m going to marry you so you can make that mac and cheese for me every day.”

“Every day, huh?” There’s a funny little smile climbing back over Steve’s face. “You sure you won’t get sick of it?”

“Nah,” Eddie replies confidently. “Never.”

They’re both smiling a little too much now to really kiss, but they make a good go of it anyway.

[Prompt: Smiling between kisses]

[novemberheart]

{overview} Kyle wakes up

{warnings} fem reader, a/b/o dynamics, poly 141, short chapter, ghostsoap

Chapter 28 <- Chapter 29 -> Chapter 30

John had rubbed your back till you fell asleep again.

Not that you stayed asleep. Your eyes fluttered open, raw and sore. You peered over at Kyle. You feel like his anesthesia should've worn off by now. Has anyone even come to check on him?

“Gazza,” you mumbled softly. You pressed your lips against the bruise forming under his cheek. He didn't even twitch. You rubbed your eyes, carefully pulling yourself out of bed. You grabbed your phone, your hand resting against Johnny’s shoulder from where he slept on the floor.

“Yes, Bonnie?” he gasped awake, his hands held onto your thighs. He thought you were upset. You were, but that wasn't why you had woken him.

“I’m going to the bathroom. I want to find a nurse or doctor or something too,” you explained, your fingers straightening the sloppy bits of his mohawk. He yawned, nodding his head in agreement. He placed a kiss against your stomach before moving to get up. His back snapped as he stretched.

“Alright, peaches,” he sighed. “Thank you for waking me,” he added, giving your bottom a slight pat. “We’ll be back,” he said over his shoulder to the alpha who was just starting the sit up himself. Your eyes burned at the light from the hall, Johnny's hand resting above your brow to block it.

“Mac, this is the mens room,” you mumbled. Even through your squinting, you could see that.

“Aye, I have to go too. Don't worry I won’t let anything happen,” he affirmed. You shrugged, glad it was empty. You came out of the stall, trying your hardest not to look over at Johnny as you washed your hands.

A man entered. A big one. You could see his shadow moving behind you and you quickly kept your eyes trained on your hands. He took a few steps towards you and your head snapped over to Johnny wondering why he hadn't said anything.

You saw Simon’s reflection in the mirror. You squealed, not bothering to dry your hands, spinning on your heels. He grunted as you threw yourself at him, his hands gripping your sides as he hoisted you up.

“You lost, pup?” he grunted, letting you lift his mask and kiss at whatever skin you could reach. Johnny chuckled, pushing the two of you out of the way so he could wash his hands.

“That’s new,” you murmured against his jaw. He had a large, angry bruise where his jaw and neck met. You could feel him shiver. He hummed in agreement, pressing a firm kiss against your chin.

“Just a scratch,” he grumbled, nipping at your cheek. “Got a fever, pup,” he tsked, almost disapprovingly. His arm extended out, his hand resting against Johnny’s shoulder pulling the man towards him. Your mouth fell open as theirs collided. It was rough and needy and you forgot how to breathe just watching them. It was short, a string of saliva connecting them as they pulled away. Johnny swiped it away with his tongue. They turned to you, evil smirks on both their lips. They kissed your cheek softly, a mean comparison to how they were just acting. Simon didn't bother to set you down, carrying you back down the hall.

“Makin’ your beta better?” Simon asked, jostling you a bit. Your eyes grew wet suddenly, making him sigh. “S’alright, pup. The doctor says he’ll be fine. You're just here to speed up the process a bit so he doesn't hurt as long,” he soothed. You felt heavier in his arms, the weight of the pack on your shoulders. That wasn't for you to carry. It was his and John’s responsibility.

The room wasn't as dark before, John had turned on a soft lamp he had found somewhere. The machine was beeping faster than before. You tried to wiggle out of Simon's grasp and he let you.

“His heart rate picked up,” John spoke, his hand resting over his face. “I called a nurse. Should be here soon.”

Kyle's fever was back. His skin had lost its warm glow, and it would've looked cold to the touch of it were it not for the sheen of sweat covering his skin. You gained some hope when he started to twitch. It started with his good foot, then his fingers, the muscles on his face quickly following.

He didn't wake up.

Your hand reached out, your fingers tangling with his as you knelt on the bed. You swore you could hear him gasp, his body relaxing almost instantly.

“Kyky?” you questioned softly. You looked behind you at John, whose eyes were wavering back and forth between the two of you.

“Where’s the bloody nurse,” he growled, making his way out of the room.

“Stop holdin’ back,” Simon instructed, nodding his head downwards. You did as you were told, your cheek resting against Kyle’s shoulder. You breathed in his scent, a high whine leaving your throat. You couldn’t stop yourself this time. Your arms wrapping around his chest as you buried your face into the crook of his neck. Your legs tangled around his good one as you sobbed quietly against him. “That’s what he needs,” Simon grunted. Simon’s large hand rested against the back of your neck, giving you an encouraging squeeze. “Needs a push to wake up,” Simon continued.

Simon had been in Kyle's shoes before. Granted, at the time you hadn't known him yet, but he remembers what it was like to be trapped inside his body without being able to escape. He could hear everything, smell everything yet he had no way to express it. Kyle was trying. Trying to show that he was there and would be fine. All Kyle needed was a little push from you to gain the energy to come out of it.

It was what had woken Simon up that first day. The smell of you had infiltrated his brain, turning it into mush besides one lingering thought.

Wake up.

“His heart rate is goin’ down,” Johnny breathed a slight tremor in his own body. Simon shushed you gently, you growing restless from not receiving any comfort from Kyle. “Johnny get in next to her,” he commanded, his hand gripping his shoulder. Johnny obeyed, gladly cuddling up behind you. You sniffled harshly, your eyes peering at his over Kyle’s shoulder. He winced, his heart twisting painfully in his chest.

“It's alright,” was all Johnny could manage, his thumb brushing under your eye. Johnny didn't stay there for long, the nurse came back into the room.

“He’s responding?” she asked. You refused to pull your face away.

“When she leaves. Started twitchin’,” Simon explained.

“He was mumblin’ something too. Couldn't make it out though. Sounded a bit like your name though sweetheart,” John added. You gasped your head snapping over to meet his.

“Really?” you begged. John nodded his head, an affirming lift in his cheeks.

“That’s fairly common,” the nurse spoke. “He could tell you were gone and was trying to figure out where you were,” she explained. You tried not to feel any less special, curling your head under his chin. “Everything seems to be back to normal. Next time you plan on leaving let me know,” she sighed, patting the edge of the bed.

You couldn't go back to sleep. You requested Johnny curl up in bed with you. It hadn't helped.

“I need you to wake up,” you whispered. Your fingers danced over Kyle’s cheek, the skin twitching under the feathery touches. “I know you hear me. You'd probably smirk if you could,” you huffed. Despite that, you pressed a kiss against his cheek, which was probably feeling a bit raw with how little your lips had left it. When you pulled away you noticed the soft curve of his lips. “I knew it,” you grumbled with a relieved smile on your face.

His eyes fluttered open.

You wanted to squeal but you kept your mouth shut. You wanted a few moments with him alone.

“I missed you,” you murmured. Another soft smile graced his face. He leaned his forehead closer to yours, urging you to come closer. You rested your head between his and the pillow. “Are you hurt? Do you want me to go get a nurse?” you questioned, already beginning to pull away. He made a noise that sounded a bit like a strangled whine.

“Just you,” he croaked. Your body felt warm as you cuddled back up against him. “Price?” He groaned.

“He’s on the floor sleeping,” you explained softly. You felt his body relax. “Mac is here too,” you spoke, lifting the hand that was splayed across Kyle’s chest. “And Simon is hunting down breakfast somewhere,” you finished. You purred softly, breathing him in. His chest rumbled for a moment before he stopped himself, a small wince on his face.

“You were saying how much you missed me?” Kyle urged, making you roll your eyes.

“Would you like me to keep going?” You hummed. He hummed in agreement, a soothing warmth spreading through his chest.

You babbled on for a few moments. Taking a bit of pride when his heart rate picked up from your words.

“Food,” Simon grunted, entering the room again. His eyes softened when they met Kyle’s. “I’ll go get a nurse,” he murmured, his knuckles brushing over Kyle’s forehead. Your heart warmed at the interaction. As Simon left he patted John awake.

“You alright?” He asked instantly, his hands gripping onto the railing of the bed.

“Never better,” Kyle croaked, making you giggle. John rolled his eyes, his lips resting against Kyle’s hairline.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his jaw clenching. You bit your lip, adjusting yourself slowly so you were facing Johnny in an attempt to give them some privacy.

“Not your fault,” Kyle said slowly, his voice cracking. “Things happen,” he finished with a clear of his throat.

“Just came out of nowhere,” John sighed. “I-I,” he started. He couldn’t find the words. The feeling you get from watching a vehicle in front of you flip three times, knowing one of your greatest loves was in there without so much as a seatbelt was hard to put in words. “We’ll take care of you now,” John promised. “That situation has already been handled.” That sent a shiver up your spine. You knew first hand what John's idea of “handling” was. Yet if it was aimed at someone who deliberately hurt Kyle- you wouldn’t oppose it.

“I trust you,” Kyle groaned softly. You felt lips skim the back of your neck and you turned back over so you were cheek to cheek with Kyle. A happy rumble echoed through him before he cut himself off.

Simon reemerged with a nurse.

Hi everyone! Hope you enjoyed this short chapter! See you in four days for chapter 30!!!! Ahhhh! 🧡

[ellecdc]

Hi!!! I don’t know if you’re still up for some pregnant!Reader, but I have an idea after reading your Remus which he thought he can’t have his own baby. And my mind spiral.

What if, reader and him (whoever it is that you decide it to be. I’m not picky ;)) ) are dating for a while but never talk about baby or even marriage yet. Then just out of the blue Reader found out she’s pregnant. So she kind of both freaking out and happy at the same time.

I don’t know why, I just want some angst with the Reader to approach the boy carefully, break the news for him and worries that he might not want the baby.

hi doll! thanks for your request. also I don't think this is very heavy on the angst, now that I've read it back? hopefully I was able to do your prompt justice, though! <3

Sirius Black x fem!reader who tells him she's pregnant [1.3k words]

CW: pregnancy fic, newish relationship, slight miscommunication part way through but they work it out real quick, open ended HEA: I do not state whether the reader wants to keep the pregnancy - that is up to your interpretation!

You were beginning to wonder if you’d gone about this the right way. 

Maybe you should have called him first? Then again, calling someone to ask if they had time to meet up and talk was never a good sign. Knowing Sirius, he would have wrestled the information out of you over the phone, and you felt like this needed to be a conversation had in person.

Maybe you should have texted him and warned him that you were dropping by? But then again, he would have called you and asked what the occasion was, and he would have been able to sniff out the hesitation in your voice, and this needed to be a conversation you had in person. 

Maybe you should have-

But any ‘should have’s ceased to matter when you heard shoes scuffing on the sidewalk as Sirius spotted you sitting on the steps leading up to his townhouse, a smile breaking out on his face as he pulled his headphones off of his head to give you his full attention.

“Hey doll.” He greeted, still clearly stunned yet not unpleasantly so. “This is such a nice surprise. Hi!” 

“Hi.” You greeted quietly, accepting his fierce embrace and a kiss to the lips as you offered him the biggest smile you could muster. You swore you noticed his brows twitch a fraction but the expression was fleeting before he pressed a second kiss to your lips. 

“I’m happy to see you. Come inside? I’ll just get changed and then we can hang out, yeah?”

“Sure.” You let out with a breath, and you let him take your hand in his as he unlocked his door with the other and granted the both of you entrance to his home. 

You had been chewing on your lip as you waited for Sirius to change, though you only registered that your mouth tasted like iron when Sirius finally returned from his room.

“Have you had anything for lunch yet, doll?” He asked, stamping a quick kiss to your head though hardly slowing his strides as he made for the kitchen cabinets.

“Sirius?” 

“Are you hungry?” He asked again, mistaking you calling his name for having not heard him.  “You know I’m pants in the kitchen, but I can probably handle some mac and cheese if you’re down.”

“Sirius.”

“Yeah, doll?” He asked; the box of mac and cheese in his hand lowering when he turned to see you now standing from the table and looking at him gravely. “Is everything alright?” 

“I-”

Your hesitation caused his brows to twitch again before he decided to just place the box of pasta onto his counter. You watched as his face fell frighteningly blank before he crossed his arms protectively across his chest and leaned back against the counter.

“What’s up?” He asked quietly, clearly attempting at flippant and casual but landing somewhere around fear and defeat. 

“I…I know we haven’t, well… we haven’t been dating very long and I- I don’t know. We’ve never, well, we’ve-” You paused to take a breath, swallowing around your gag reflex that you were sure for the first time in over a week wasn’t from the news you were trying to tell Sirius, but rather the nerves of telling Sirius the news. “Fuck.”

You pushed the heels of your palms into your eyes until you saw stars, trying to convince your lungs to take in the air you so desperately craved but falling painfully short.

“Breathe, doll.” Sirius sighed, suddenly beside you as he rubbed one hand along your back and guided you to sit back down in your chair with the other. “Just breathe.”

“I’m pregnant.” You blurted as your arse hit the seat; voice muffled from your hands covering most of your face and also behind the various hiccups and sobs escaping you. 

Sirius’ hand stilled on your back before hesitantly resuming its ministrations. “You… you’re what?” He whispered.

“I’m, I’m pregnant. I- I’m sorry, Sirius, I’m so sorry.”

“Whoa, whoa. Okay, just breathe, Y/N, please.” Sirius let out with another sigh as the two of you sat at his kitchen table; you trying to even out your breathing and him waiting for you to. 

“I’m sorry, Sirius, I…I really am.” You said finally, pulling your hands away from your eyes and trying to imbue as much sincerity into your reddened, swollen eyes. Sirius chewed on his lip as he surveyed your face.

“What exactly are you sorry for, Y/N?” He whispered. 

“I- I don’t… I’m just sorry. I’m sorry to be dumping this on you, I’m sorry this is happening, I just-”

“Okay, new rule, you’re not allowed to apologise for… being pregnant, okay? Because it seems to me that might be both our faults.”

“I know but…”

“No but’s.” Sirius denied; silver eyes tracking the way his hand brushed up and down your arm. “What- well… I mean, what part about this is the most upsetting to you? What has you this upset right now?” 

“I don’t… I don’t know. I mean, we’ve never talked about this, you know?” You asked helplessly between shuddering breaths, resting your elbow on his table and leaning your cheek onto your fist as you looked at him. “And we’ve not been dating for very long. I guess…I guess I was worried about telling you, I didn’t want you to be upset.” You managed to admit, voice trailing off towards the end of your sentence as a fresh set of tears pooled in your eyes. 

Sirius made a tsking sound before taking a steadying breath. “I’m sorry you were scared, doll.” He started. “I have to admit I’m far less upset at the news that you’re pregnant than I was when I thought you were breaking up with me.”

You sat up straight, then, surprising Sirius and causing him to do the same. 

“Breaking up with you?”

Sirius let out a soft, sad chuckle. “Well, yeah; you show up at my house unannounced, all wound up, stating that you have news and then barely managing to get it out before you’re crying.”

“Oh god.” You groaned as you shoved your face into your hands.

“Y/N? Can I hug you? Please?” He asked then, sounding far smaller than you think you’d ever heard him before. 

In the next moment you were standing, tucking yourself quickly into his chest when he stood too and tuning in to the sound of his heart - a riot within his chest - as the two of you swayed gently in the middle of his kitchen. 

“What do you want to do?” He asked after a while; his heart falling to a more acceptable rate within his chest though pounding just as hard as it was when he first hugged you. “Do you know what you want to do?”

You swallowed thickly, scrunching your eyes shut as you willed yourself to be honest with him.

“I…I think I do, yeah. Know what I want to do.”

You could feel Sirius nodding from where his cheek was pressed to the crown of your head. “Okay.”

A few more minutes of silence passed before Sirius broke it again.

“Can I ask one thing, love?” 

You braced yourself as you pulled away from his chest, though only far enough so that you could look up at him, and nodded. 

His bottom lip wobbled for a moment before a look of determination painted his features. 

“Whatever you want to do, can we do it together?” 

“But…what do you want?”

Sirius’s head quickly shook before he lowered his forehead to yours. “I want what you want, I just want to do it together, okay? Please?”

You couldn’t help but breathe out a humourless laugh; humourless because of how worked up you had been over having this conversation, because of how you’d managed to scare your sweet boyfriend into thinking you were breaking up with him, and because of how stupidly fucking lucky you were to have landed such a fucking keeper.

“Okay.” You agreed. “Of course. Please. Together.” 

“Together.” He echoed.

[goldengodcannibal]

I am sitting here analyzing this gif frame by frame because I legitimately haven't stopped thinking about it.

The way Mac's face goes through so many expressions at once. Surprise, realization, hope, desire, desperation. He's looking Dennis in the eyes and then he drops clearly right to his lips and then back to his eyes. The way his shoulders relax as he breathes out. The softening of his face and the upturn of his brows. He wants this so bad. He wants Dennis so bad. The way his lips part. How he's being drawn into Dennis. He's ready for this. He's been ready for this his whole life.

And Dennis? We can't see his face, but his hands. The firm grip on Mac's face and the way his palms gently slide back across his cheeks, dragging along his facial hair. The tiny miniscule brush of his thumb. The flex of his fingers settling on Mac's neck as his hands settle down toward going around his neck. And if you look at his head? There's just the slightest tilt and he's LEANING IN? He's pulling Mac closer?

My tummy hurts so bad.

(GIF from @thelosthighway)

[upat4amwiththemoon]

Hi, I know this is 2 years after you wrote it, but I just found the piece you wrote between Kate Bishop and Natasha’s Daughter Reader. ‘A goddess’. What can I say. I found myself liking the idea and as I was reading it through. I realised I would be curious to see a part 2 if you were up for it. No doubt along the lines of Yelena finding out Kate is dating her niece. Let’s just say the whole concept with Clint finding out was amusing and wondered how it would then play out with Yelena.

A goddess | 2

Summary: Mysterious girl with an assassin mother.

Pairing: Kate Bishop x female!Romanoff!reader, Natasha Romanoff x daughter!reader, Yelena Belova x niece!reader

Warnings: mother bear Natasha, auntie bear Yelena

Word count: 1516

a/n: I actually started writing a second part two years ago but then kinda forgot it :DD

Tags: @thought-of-you-and-me @rafecameronswhore @natashamaximoff69 @scarsw1fe

masterlists | guidelines

All parts: part 1, part 2

”We’re home!” Y/N yells into the seemingly empty house, slamming the door shut after Kate steps inside.

“Kitchen.”

Y/N snorts at the short answer from her mother. “She doesn’t sound too excited.” Kate mumbles, taking off her shoes and jacket.

“She is.” Y/N reassures. “She’s just..cautious. You know how she is.” She mumbles quiet enough so her mother doesn’t hear.

The couple walk into the kitchen, where they see Natasha stirring a pot of mac and cheese while looking at her phone intently. “Why are you cooking?” Y/N frowns, looking at her mother’s mess of a braid.

“What? You’re the only one allowed to cook in this house?”

“I’m the only why knows how to cook.” She comments with a teasing grin that Natasha ignores with a roll of her eyes. “We’re going to my room.”

“No, no, no.” Now Natasha turns to look at them, though she mostly ignores Kate. “If you two want to spend time here, you do it on the living room.” She stares at Y/N with raised brows.

“Wh-“

“Living room, where I can see you two.” Natasha states. “Or, Kate leaves.”

Letting out a huff, Y/N grabs Kate’s hand and pulls her to the living room that is in the clear view of the kitchen. Kate sits on the couch with a perfect posture, her eyes straight forward, staring at the empty television screen.

“You can calm down.” Y/N whispers, bumping Kate’s shoulder with her own as she puts the television on.

“She’s staring at me.”

Y/N glances at Natasha. The woman is glancing at the two often, but she isn’t full on staring at them. “She’s busy cooking, for some reason.” She smiles, leaning against Kate. Their touches are always as innocent as possible around Natasha.

For the next hour or so they talk, quietly, and watch the television, until a knock on the front door interrupts them.

Frowning, Y/N turns to look at Natasha, who is cleaning her hands and about to go to the door. “Who is coming over?”

“Yelena.”

With widened eyes, she curses and stands up quickly, turning off the television. Kate is staring at her, starting to panic too. “What? What’s going on?”

“If you are afraid of someone in my family, be afraid of Yelena.” She whispers harshly, carefully listening to Natasha and Yelena’s voices by the door.

Kate’s eyes widens too as she stands up, her body rigid again. “Fuck, right, she’s your aunt.” She quickly starts brushing invisible dust off of her clothes. “Are you…going to tell her about us?”

“Of course not, she’d kill us both.”

“Shit, shit, shit.” Kate whispers to herself, taking a step back from Y/N so they wouldn’t be so close to each other.

Yelena and Natasha finally walk into the living room. “There’s my niece!” Yelena yells out with her arms wide. Y/N smiles, walking to her to be embraced by her aunt.

“Hey, Yel.” She lets out a giggle as she gets bear hugged. Once they pull away from each other, Y/N gestures towards Kate, who Yelena finally notices. “This is-“

“Kate Bishop!” Yelena grins. “I know you. You are an Avenger too.”

Kate’s eyes are widen when she gets addressed. “Uhh, yeah.” She nods a couple times too many to be considered normal. “Yeah, that’s…that’s me.”

“So shy this one, eh?” Yelena glances at Natasha, who answers by nodding with a small smirk on her face.

“You don’t know the half of it.”

Y/N glares at her mom, not wanting Yelena to know about her relationship, not yet at least. She knows her aunt will always be supportive of her, but dating Kate Bishop, the young and reckless Avenger, would cause too much stress for her.

“Let’s go eat.” Natasha gestures for everyone to go to the kitchen. “I made enough mac and cheese to feed a town.”

“That’s why you’re my favourite sister.” Yelena’s sing songy voice makes Natasha roll her eyes.

Y/N and Kate glance at each other as the two adults go into the kitchen. They walk into the kitchen right after, taking their seats opposite of them. Natasha brings the pot to the table, opening the lid and putting a ladle inside. “Guests first.” Yelena picks the ladle right away, scooping a generous amount of food on her plate. “Yelena!”

“What?” She frowns, taking one more scoop just in case. “You said guests first.”

“I meant Kate. You basically live here.”

Yelena scoffs, already eating. “Whatever. Kate Bishop can wait.”

“Yes, I can wait.” Kate states with a tight lipped smile on her face. She takes the ladle for escape the looks she gets.

Y/N bumps her leg against Kate’s under the table, it’s meant to be a comforting touch, but it makes Kate spill some of the mac and cheese on the table.

“Shit!” Her face turns red. “Sorry! I didn’t…curse.” She clears her throat, eyes wide from as the mortification settles in her body.

Y/N stares at her, trying to give her some sort of subtle look to get a grip, but nothing hoes unnoticed by the two ex spies. “What’s going on here?” Yelena waves her fork between Kate and Y/N.

“Nothing!”

“I’m just a clutz!”

“They’re dating.”

A silence falls over the table. Kate and Y/N’s eyes are wide as they stare at smirking Natasha, the latter is glaring at her mother.

Yelena sets her fork down. “Say that again?”

“They’re dating.”

“Why is Kate Bishop dating my niece?” Yelena is staring at the couple with stern eyes, neither of them knowing if the question was directed at them. “Well?”

Y/N rolls her eyes. “Because.” Is all she says, her arms crossed over her chest.

An extremely dramatic gasp leaves Yelena’s mouth. “Do not because me! I taught you how to sass, you aren’t supposed use it against me.” She furrows her brows, a look of betrayal on her face as she keeps her eyes on her niece. Y/N has always found her dramatics amusing, but they seem less fun when they’re directed at her.

“I don’t have to explain my relationship to you. To either of you.” She glances at both of them.

“Yes you do. You were supposed to tell me first, so I could scare your girlfriend around and then I’d help you tell Natasha.” Yelena states, having thought this situation through many times. “Why was I not the first one to know?”

“Because mom walked in on us.” Yelena’s whole face screws up. “No!” Y/N quickly points at her. “She walked in on us kissing, we were only kissing.”

Shaking away the disgusting thoughts, Yelena turns to Kate with a glare. “What are your intentions with my niece? Why are you dating her?”

Her eyes widen. “I-“ she looks between Yelena and Natasha, suddenly feeling like the room is overheating, “because I love her.”

“You love me?”

She turns to look at Y/N. “Of course I do.”

“This is how you tell my niece you love her for the first time?” Yelena gapes at her, the look on her face not getting any better. “Where are the flowers and romantic gestures?”

“Yelena!” Y/N groans, throwing a piece of napkin her way. It doesn’t fly far.

Kate’s mind is short circuiting, everything is happening so quickly. She doesn’t know whether to fear Yelena or continue confessing her love to Y/N. So, she stands up. “I can get flowers!”

“Sit down, Kate.” Y/N pulls her down back to the chair. “Everybody calm down. We are dating, neither you or mom can do anything about it, and that’s it.” She turns to Kate. “I don’t need flowers or romantic gestures, I love you too.”

Letting out a breath, Kate nods with a somewhat relieved smile. “Okay.” She nods and turns to Yelena. “I really love Y/N, and just like I told Natasha, I really hope to get your support to continue seeing her. I will never ever hurt her, I know you will hunt me down if I do.”

“Damn right I will.” Yelena mumbles. “Fine, Kate Bishop. But I will keep my eyes on you.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Yelena gives her a look. “Miss. Belova, Yelena, I mean.” Kate coughs, downing half of her water so she wouldn’t keep talking.

“Kids these days.” She shakes her head and goes back to eating the mac and cheese like nothing happened.

Natasha, who preferred to enjoy the show rather than contribute to it, grins at Y/N. “Eat up honey, the food’ll get cold.”

“I will get back at you.” She mumbles, sending a soft glare at her mother’s way, though she really doesn’t mean it. “You okay?” Y/N sets her hand on Kate’s thigh.

“Yeah, yeah I’m good.” Kate shoves a forkful of food in her mouth.

Y/N giggles and kisses her cheek, ignoring the the looks her mom and aunt give her. She starts eating, hoping the rest of Yelena’s visit would be less eventful.

[lundenloves]

“ 𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘 𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐒 ” ¹

≔ in which simon’s son enlists behind his back. ceramics are smashed, threats are thrown and feelings are hurt behind nonchalant expressions.

⤷ *return of the mac in the background* i wasn’t really sure which route to go down with this so i just blind wrote it. if you don’t agree with any of the following actions or words, keep it to yourself because i really do not care. it’s been a long hibernation, troops.

∷ warnings of abusive dynamics if you squint but mainly just unnerving silence and abrupt shouting | 2.3k

masterlist | dad!simon masterlist | taglist | request info

Eight thirty. 

Three hours into Simon’s habitually quiet morning routine with the rising sun pouring keenly through the kitchen window, and sparrows chirping a little too loud — the mail had slid through the door.

A modest fall of envelopes, taking each one with a crease between his brows after sifting through them, eyes glossing over each addressee while walking to the kitchen table with the stack. He liked it this way. He liked the known, finding a specific comfort in knowing that the mail would come on the same dot every, single, day. 

Not that there was ever anything special. Only the usual, clubcard points, screwfix leaflets, disgusting bank statements and various military envelopes on his current pension plan. Christ. 

He sat down, pulling a lip upward to disregard more than half of his own mail, tossing it to the counter behind him for the bin. “What a load of shit.” Came a grumble, kissing his teeth at the mere £3.40 discount he had received for spending over £300 in Tesco. 

Though the pending sigh was lost for a singular stand out letter. One he seemed to still over, chest dipping in regret. Regret for nothing in particular, only a sinking feeling for the familiar Be The Best motto cast upon the right side of one envelope — different to his Who Dares Wins slogan. The envelope wasn’t for him. 

The birds hadn’t paused their songs, an ambient morning now fuelling a slow anger. An inter boiling one, but for now simmering with long breaths. In and out. His shoulders broke inward with large palms leant on the counter, craning his neck side to side to release placebo tension. 

The letter mocked him. A bit of paper that had permanently strained something, “Fucking hell, son.” He picked it up, flipping it backward to frontward as if the writing would change. As if his son's name would disappear from under the window of the envelope. Though it didn’t, and the paper was slid to the depth of the counter, prompting Simon to rub at his bottom lip.

It took three minutes of silence before he was being followed downstairs by his son. Few words exchanged, and surprisingly fewer questions. They both knew, and tension had already built, bringing Simon’s anger to a heavier simmer. The prior efforts of calmness were obliterated at the sight of the kitchen once more, the pad of his foot tapping against the vinyl flooring.

“What the fuck is this?” The letter was slid across the counter, branded and bred in the British military with the familiar crest proud in the top right. It looked sinful, like something exposing, illegal even. The boy's stare was one of tiredness, palms flat on the kitchen counter to stare down at the envelope on the oak.

Fatigue hadn’t quite left his eyes, squinted in the bright dawn. “What’s what?”

Though his words were met with silence and the birds chirping outside seemed wrong. The moment had forced a thicker, uglier tension into the room, and his son rounded the counter to pick up the letter. Brash and pasted, once again, in military branding. 

His eyes fell to his father. 

A picture of disappointment, veiled with frustration through a glare, one so strong it almost felt off-putting. Stress seemed evident via the way his hand had pushed toward the back of his neck, running upward and down the front of his face. 

“What is it?” The same question, though this time quiet and sincere. His eyes had regrettably softened for all of two seconds before a leg had begun bouncing in compromise after taking a seat in pre-ceasefire. 

“Nothing.” A teenage mumble. 

Simon laughed dryly, shaking his head with a palm flat on the counter. “This.” He raised his hand, now only the tips of his fingers on the letter. “This isn’t nothing.” Eyes catching his mirror image, a lanky eighteen year old with next to no muscle. It was devastating, really.

“It’s just mail.” 

“Open it.” A stern command, standing up and boring his eyes further into the boy before him. His height and build was much more significant, effectively towering over the six foot kid with all of his broadness.

“It’s none of your business, like.” The croaked words of a voice just woken were ones Simon raised brows at. 

“Anything with that crest is my business.” 

The similarities between his younger self and the boy before him was something Simon internally hated. He hated that his son had genetically taken not only his originally scrawny, defenceless build but also his raging attitude and temper issues. Dark eyes and accompanying circles, a rare smile and sigh of laughter.

Though not one bone had been broken in his body, his nose wasn’t squinted from various punches and his skin hadn’t been plagued by scars of battle. Something Simon could always draw a line between, though, he no longer held that power. 

The kid begrudgingly opened the letter, hunching shoulders inward as if to shield it from his father. A congratulatory letter, one addressed to his name in bold letters with an offer to train at the military academy for a reserved cadetship upon completion. 

The silence was loud. 

Simon knew what it was before it had been opened. His fingers pinched at the bridge of his nose, and rubbed at his temples. “Fucking hell mate.” A deep breath was taken, chest puffing out with the inhale. “Fuck sake.” 

His son felt like a child again, small and inwardly anxious for his fathers reaction. Not that Simon was ever violent, not ever, but he was a different kind of frightening. Silent. He gave you the option to take whatever you’d wanted from his step back, though fiery eyes only pushed you down one slope. Anxiety and paired overthinking, it came as part and parcel of the Riley name. 

“I was goin’t tell you.” 

Another laugh escaped Simon, “At what point?” The side of his lip curved upward, though there was no real amusement. “Look at me.”

There was a scoff from his son in response, shaking his head with eyes locking back to the letter. Ink printed in gratification. “Nothin’ to do with you though is it?” The second part came as a mumble for the internal struggle to hold back aggression. Though it slipped through, naturally. 

“What did I say? Fuckin’ hell.” Simon growled, taking the envelope from the boy and skim-reading it. “Right.” He cleared his throat. “The fifth, next month, yeah?” Eyes flicking to his son who had shrugged, slinking off behind Simon to look through cupboards in evident dismissal.

“Dunno–”

“You’re out.” 

They had spoken in unison, each person cancelling the other out to create a bout of eye contact. “What?” The quirk in his lip was a giveaway of building frustration, eyes cast directly across his father who stood just taller than him. “I’m out?”

“You’re out the house.” Simon slid the letter across the counter in finality, “As soon as you leave for that camp. You’re gone.”

“What the fuck.”

“Big enough to enlist?” His tone was venomous, something his son was unable to contest. “Big enough to fucking leave.” The letter had been picked up by the kid, eyes skimming it over, eyes darting across the page while familiar anger had slowly built.

“Fuck off.” He mumbled, brows pulled together in a foul mix of annoyance and evident upset over his fathers’ dismissal. “Any other dad would be proud of that.” The letter dropped to his abdomen, two shaky hands still clutching to the torn envelope. “Not you though, yeah, not fuckin’ you. ‘Course not.”

There was a pause before a crash. 

A split decision of anger, one Simon mirrored at that age. A raging feeling of internal emotion that was only alleviated in bursts of aggression and breakage - punching holes in doors or smashing dishware. There was never a safe space to feel, therefore it came out unwillingly. 

For his son, it was a failing on his behalf as a father. That space was never created for lack of recovery had never allowed real estate. 

Multiple ceramics flown off the counter with one hand swoop, “Such a cunt.” His chest heaved and Simon’s eyes bore into his. Solemnity follows each and every moment with an unnerving silence, though it wasn’t continued when aggravated palms had landed on his chest, a teenage attempt to express.

“Don’t.” A bark, complete with snarling and a metaphorical showing of canines. A hand caught the boy's forearm, an admittedly tighter than required grip. “Don’t you fucking dare.” And for a moment, he feared he sounded like his father. 

Though he did dare. 

A rebellion as it was.

Again, a heavy palm had landed on his fathers’ chest - uncaught and if any stronger than the age of eighteen would’ve at least budged Simon. And, god, did he sound like his father with the promise of violence, a grip on his son’s shirt to hold him against the wall at the action alone.

A huff of air fell through his nose, head tilted, “If you enlist and you have this attitude,” The words were spoken through gritted teeth, eyes fixed to the wall he held the boy against to speak just above his ear. “They’ll send you right fucking back.” Though his son no longer recognised dad. This was someone else, someone he was never to meet. “Show some fucking respect.” A tone orchestrated of octaves reserved for Ghost. 

You had come down with the crash of ceramics, fully aware that Simon was in knowing of your presence by the way his grip had rid, stepping back with hands to his head. “What the fuck is going on?” You scowled at your husband who was already lighting a cigarette. 

After a short inhale, “He’s enlisting.” The smoke tumbled from his lip that turned upward to accommodate a low but amused chuckle. “He’s enlisting, lovie. Our boy.” The cigarette was then pointed to the teenager. “He’s enlisting so he can run around with a fucking rifle, kill one or two people because it's what? It’s a laugh is it? A fucking game?” Though the words were intensely directed to you, waving the smoke around before taking another inhale and shaking his head. 

“It’s not that serious, fucking-”

The words were cut off by a harsh slap of the counter and a rumble of a scold. “Not that serious?” It could only have woken the whole house and Simon ditched the cigarette to lift his shirt up, various scars and burn marks stretched across his front and back. “What's this? Eh?”

“Calm down.” You warned, or at least attempted to. 

“Calm down? He’s going to get himself fucking killed.” A bite, one without intention of ceasing. 

“You’re not dead.” The kid provided.

“I died years ago, son.” His eyes were naturally narrowed in their frustration, slow on the look-up, and shoulders tense through chest heaving. Up and down, and up and down.

The kid mirrored his fathers’ lost expressions.

“Right.” You then interrupted, placing delicate hands on the shoulders of your boy to steer him out of the room, letter still in his hands. 

“Coddle him. Tell him he’ll be fine,” The smoke from the cigarette danced around his hand, lifted back upward for a long, slow inhale, eyes burnt to your back. “That the world is a safe place and he won’t get hurt.” His voice had lowered.

But there was a mutual understanding of the lie, that nothing was fine and he wasn’t going to come out unscathed. Mentally, if not physically. 

It had bled into an argument between the two of you after, pointed fingers of accusation and bursts of tears had split from your eyes. His frustration turned into ready anger, then dismissal, refusing to believe the reality. 

“What’s your fucking issue?” Was the question you had barked once downstairs, four words that seemed obvious in their asking though Simon still quirked a brow. “There’s no need. No fucking need at all for that.” 

He shook his head, looking down at you over his cigarette while you swept up smashed ceramics. “Don’t act like you don’t know.” His voice low, cigarette mumbling the words with an inhale. 

You dropped arms to your sides, pointedly tapping the foot of the brush against the floor. “Like I don’t know what?” The accompanied scowl was one Simon’s eyes darted back and forth from, looking away out the window before tipping his cigarette. “It’s something he wants.”

“He’s going to get himself killed.”

“Ever the fucking pessimist.” 

“Once he leaves,” The cigarette was acting as punctuation, pointed toward the door in far gesture. “He’s out.” Tone unnervingly quiet. One that warned any other argument off, though not yours. 

“Do me a favour, yeah?” You continued to sweep the ceramics. “Realise this isn’t about you.” Looking up at the way he had shifted in his stance, arm now crossed over his chest to tuck under his opposing armpit. 

“Fuck—“ He laughed. “It’s not about me.”

“You just kick off immediately.” 

“Hardly.”

“The fucking state of the floor, Simon.” You scorned, raising your voice to take his attention from the mindless cigarette smoking. “He’s your son. Treat him like it.” 

“When he learns respect-”

“He doesn’t respect you for that fucking attitude. It’s a battle, let it go.”

His eyes met yours to stand down, ditching the cigarette before nodding absently. His silence was telling of an awful mood, one he would carry for the next few days if uninterrupted. 

Tension grew thicker than a rope knot dramatically fast in the Riley household, and whether granted or not, there was only the one man to blame. Walking on eggshells whenever he would come home from a bad deployment was only fit to last so long, and you couldn’t change him. 

But he didn’t want to change himself either.

≔ unedited, and the tags probably won’t work. this is all i got and i’ll slam my fist on an ikea desk, this. is. all. i. got.

simon 'ghost' riley taglist: @vamppxncess @crowbird @tallrock35 @fluffmonster @islanderr @blueoorchid @lea3773 @coldflapjack @rayhawk05 @han11dh @melovetitties @fallonx @rvjaa @fuckmelifesucks @bhayatsara @local-spidey @konigsblog @penutjuice @babychoi03 @sheluvzeren @sparklingtragedy @maviee @wiserebelpartypie @daddylorianisastateofmind @bhayatsara @writingmysanity @johfaam0 @idkbbyx3 @gressseyy @shibble @maladaptivedaydreamingbum @hotgirlsshareaccounts @simpxinnie @cliosunshine @bloobewy @lazybutsmexy @iluvoaldmen @yyiikes @tieflingteatime @cosmoscoffee @lilvampirina @cinnabeanz @spencerreidisbae123 @paperbag-prncss @cookiecutta @sluttyforsimon @loveangelic @friendly-neighborhood-lich-queen @hayleybarnesx

@bunthebunny23

song of the day (time of writing)

[allaboutsturns]

𝙻𝚎𝚐𝚘𝚜!

christopher sturniolo x reader

content/warning(s): fluff, lego building, kissing, tickling, swearing.

summary: you bought a flower bouquet lego set and were struggling to figure out how you were meant to build it when your boyfriend chris walks into your shared room and offers to help.

you stared at the scattered array of orange, yellow, white, and green lego pieces that decorated the hard wood floor of you and your boyfriends shared bedroom with an annoyed expression painted across your face, “ugh!!” you groaned, impatience starting to boil through your veins.

you had been trying to put together this lego bouquet for probably thirty minutes now, but with each attempt came failure. you just couldn’t figure it out and you were too stubborn to ask for help. you knew if someone offered help, you’d take it without hesitation.

“this is really starting to piss me offfffff!” you huffed. you heard footsteps walking down the stairs towards the bedroom that you were in. instead of getting up to greet whoever was approaching, you placed your head in your hands allowing defeat to cast a shadow over your body.

you rocked back and forth in your criss-cross position on the floor. you heard the door open which was followed by a little chuckle, “baby, what are you doing?” a familiar voice asked. you groaned before throwing your hands up into the air as a surrender.

“i can’t figure out this damn lego set,” you mumbled as you jutted your bottom lip out into a fake pout, finally looking up at the boy who had entered the room. it was your boyfriend, chris. he was wearing a black hoodie and grey sweatpants.

“well i don’t think you’ll be able to figure it out without the manual for one,” chris said with furrowed brows as he grabbed the manual out of the small garbage can that resided in the corner of the room. you rolled your eyes at him, too stubborn to fully admit he was right, “well… yeah..” you grumbled.

“and two, the pieces are scattered everywhere, ma,” he paused as he scanned the floor, finally continuing, “you have to keep the pieces organized.” he said with a small laugh as he walked over to you, patting your head gently before sitting down next to you.

“can i help?” he asked before planting a small kiss to the tip of your nose. you felt a smile tug at the corners of your lips as you nodded, “yes please,” you answered, finally letting the smile take full control of your expression.

chris smiled back, planting another gentle kiss to your lips. you smiled into the kiss before pulling away and looking at the unorganized mess of lego pieces in front of the two of you, “okay so… organize?” you asked. chris nodded his head as he hummed a response, “mhm!”

the two of you began organizing orange with orange, yellow with yellow, white with white, and green with green.

after you finished organizing the pieces, chris picked up the manual that he had placed on the floor next to him a couple minutes previously. he flipped it open to the first page of instructions and you leaned over, laying your head on his shoulder as you looked over the page with him.

“okay so these pieces,” he started, pointing at the green pieces, “go like this,” he continued, now pointing at the picture representation on the instructions. he placed the manual down, in front of the two of you this time, leaving it open to the first page.

you both began grabbing pieces and connecting them together. sometimes you would pick up a piece he needed and would hand it to him, vice versa.

after about thirty minutes, you and chris placed the final lego piece onto the build together. with one final click, you guys had finished.

“we did it!!” you cheered. chris laughed and pulled you into him, kissing your head and face excitedly. you couldn’t help but giggle at how cute he was.

you laid in his arms as you both looked at your completed lego masterpiece. after about five minutes of just looking at your hard work, you felt chris’s body shift and you looked up at him. he looked down at you and a mischievous smile crept across his face. you shook your head and tried to escape his grasp but it was too late, he was already tickling you.

“chris! shit- no! please! stop- oh my god!!” you screamed through a laughing fit. you tried to wiggle free but couldn’t escape his grasp. you were both laughing uncontrollably.

all that could be heard from your room were squeals and screeches and laughter, “baby, stopppp!!” you begged, laughing so hard that tears began to form at your waterline.

“fineeee,” he sighed with a fake pout as he stopped tickling you, “your laugh is just too damn cute,” he mumbled. you rolled your eyes and playfully punched him in the arm, “you’re the worst!” you said with a giggle. he smiled and kissed your forehead.

“i love you so fucking much, ma.” he whispered, pulling you into him as close as he could. you nuzzled into his chest and wrapped your arms around his waist, “i love you, baby.” you replied as you closed your eyes.

chris ran his fingers through your hair gently as you both sat on the floor tangled in each other. it was moments like these that you both held so close to your hearts. this was a memory you would never forget, “i wish i could just freeze time and stay in this moment forever,” you whispered into his chest quietly. him playing with your hair was lulling you to sleep.

“me too, gorgeous, me too,” he said quietly, “but i’m also glad that we can’t freeze time here because that means i get to make more memories like this with you, more memories that we won’t ever forget.” chris said as he kissed the top of your head. you smiled and nodded, “you’re right.. i love you more than anything.” you spoke the words ‘i love you’ again. you couldn’t help it, you really did love him more than anything and if you could say it to him a million times in a day you would.

“i love you more than anything, ma.” he reciprocated.

eventually you fell asleep in his arms on the floor. he noticed because your breathing slowed and your grip on him loosened a bit. he gently stood up and picked you up bridal style, walking you over to your guys’ bed. he placed you in the bed gently and tucked you in, walking over and turning the lights off before grabbing the lego bouquet the two of you built and putting it on his desk, “i’ll find a little vase for you tomorrow.” he whispered quietly to the bouquet, giving it a little boop before walking over to his side of the bed and climbing in.

he gently pulled you as closely into him as he could and kissed the back of your head before closing his eyes and falling asleep. your breathing synced as you both slept peacefully, dreaming about more memories you hoped to make with each other.

divider by: @/Kafekitsune

MORE CHRIS FLUFF!!! i’m obsessed w him he’s js so cute (IM A MATT GIRL 4LIFE THO!!) i love building legos so i js had to make one about the reader and one of the triplets building a lego set together. HOPE YOU ENJOYED! (writers block has been kicking my ass btw so i hope this isn’t like… terrible LMAO)

- ace <3

taglist: @whoisabbyysblog @mattyblover07 @b2cute @samandcolbyfan22 @h3arts4harry @nickgetsmewetter

[festivalsofmargot]

how do you think Ominis, Garreth, and Sebastian would react to a jealous reader being jealous because someone else was being flirty and asking them to the Yule Ball?

The 3 Boys & Your Jealousy

{Garreth Weasley/Ominis Gaunt/Sebastian Sallow x GN!Reader}

Word Count: 

Garreth: ~ 1500 words

Ominis: ~ 1700 words

Sebastian: ~ 1400 words

Warnings: Kissing, Fluff, Angst

Author’s Note: Lord, I’m having so much fun with these requests. Thank you, anon!!! I tried to make them all have different reactions to reader getting jealous, but I know they’d all secretly love it lmfao. So it’s a little similar, but it’s definitely the 3 boys enjoying it in their own way. Have a fun time, everyone 🥰 Hope you’re all having a good day ❤ 

Songs (if interested):

Garreth’s song: You Stupid Bitch - girl in red

Ominis’ song: Silence / akiaura - hentai boys, akiaura

Sebastian’s song: My Kind of Woman - Mac DeMarco

-

Garreth:

“I feel like you’ve been avoiding me. Did I do something wrong?” Garreth Weasley had come up to you and asked. For someone who was asking if something was wrong, he could look a bit more concerned. Rather than just munching on his apple, looking at it like it was the only thing that had his full attention.

You took a deep breath and rubbed at your temple roughly. You were overreacting and you knew it, but dammit you couldn’t help but hate him at the moment. “No Garreth, I’m just not in the best mood today.”

“Well, talk to me.” He plopped himself down on the Central Hall fountain bench next to you. “Some have called me a good listener.” He took another bite of his apple, obnoxiously loud.

“Not right now. Why don’t you go bother someone else?”

“Who else could I bother like this? You and I got a good thing going.” He haphazardly joked.

“How about your date to the ball? That’s a good place to start if you ask me.”

He furrowed his brows, trying to decipher what you were talking about. Then he remembered Samantha Dale had asked him to be his date the night before. “Oh! You know about that? How does word travel so fast in such a huge castle?” He wondered aloud with his mouth full, looking at his apple as he turned it in his hand.

Merlin, you didn’t know why you were so head over heels for Garreth Weasley. Something about his carefree, aloof attitude made you fluttery all over. You wanted to smack him just as much as you wanted to kiss him. 

Truth be told, you were convinced he was going to ask you to The Yule Ball. But once you saw Samantha Dale talking with him about it and seeing how big his smile was, you became so frustrated with yourself for ever thinking such a thing. How could you have been so wrong about his signs? You shouldn’t have assumed your flirty banter together was something special between the two of you. You had no one to blame but yourself.

“Look Garreth, I’m pretty busy. Samantha will be better company than me today.” You took out the essay you were halfway finished with and began writing, hoping he would take the hint.

He was about to take another bite of his apple when the pieces came together in his brain. You think I said yes to Samantha... and you're jealous. 

It was hard to keep calm when he felt so elated. He had been pining for you since 5th year and never had the courage to confess his feelings. Being with you as a friend was better than risking not being with you at all. But here you were, acting as green as his eyes. Becoming jumpy, he scratched the back of his head and looked away from you, trying to bite back his delighted smile.

“So...” He began as casually as he could, “You don’t like the idea of me going to the ball with Samantha?”

You stiffened. Am I caught? You swallowed the lump in your throat. “I don’t care who you go with, Weasley.”

You used his last name instead of his first, that was how he always knew if you were upset with him. In this particular moment, he took a dark pleasure in it. “Well, it sounds like you care a little.” 

You looked up from your essay to the marble floor in front of you and clenched your jaw, trying to calm your irritated nerves and stop yourself from saying something you’d regret. “It doesn’t matter if I care. Go with who you want.” You went back to your essay.

“But you care.” He slid closer to you so that his thigh was touching yours. Your whole body tensed and you shifted your leg away, disgusted at his brazenness to continue flirting with you when he was going to the ball with someone else.

“I’m going to work in my room.” You pulled your belongings together and left your place next to him.

Garreth got up and followed you easily, finishing the last of his apple and tossing it in a nearby bin. He rubbed the back of his hand across his mouth to wipe off any apple juice. Maybe he could wipe off his idiotic smile while he was at it too. 

You could feel his chest practically against your back as he followed close in pursuit. “Leave me alone, Garreth. I’m really not in the mood today.” You growled at him, but he didn’t let up. 

He took glances around as he kept up with you. Once he was confident no one was looking, he grabbed your arm and pulled you into a nearby, empty corridor.

“What are you -”

“Tell me you’re jealous. I want to hear you say it.” 

His words sent your mind through a whirlwind and you shoved him away. “You got some nerve, going to the ball with Samantha and going after me like this -”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake! I turned her down. School gossip failed to mention that part, I see.” He interjected. “Now let me have this a little longer.” He stepped closer to you, daring you to push him away again. “This thing where you want me all to yourself, I think I really like it.” His words came off as a jest, but he was genuinely aroused.

You narrowed your eyes at him, trying to determine if he was being truthful or just trying to keep up his flirty banter with you. But your icy glare at him through your lashes only made him more feral rather than intimidated. 

“I -” He cleared his throat, regaining composure. “I’ve been looking for you all day so I could ask you to the ball, but you kept dodging me.”

“Garreth, if this is some sort of messed up joke where you try to get two dates to the ball -”

“It’s not. But, that is a fun idea.” He quipped, hoping it would lighten the mood. 

Sighing, you turned on your heel to walk away.

“Sorry sorry sorry, bad joke, bad time.” He grabbed your wrist, panicked. “But I’m serious about taking you. I really want to take you.” He swallowed thickly and held your wrist in his hand. “Would you... want that too?” As he waited for you to respond, he had started stroking your skin with his thumb, unaware he was doing so.

His hopeful look along with his tone had managed to convince you he was being truthful. This was the first step either of you had taken beyond flirty banter, and it had you finally soften to him that day. You looked at his hand on your wrist and adjusted so you could entwine your fingers through his. His heart nearly burst out of his chest. Was this finally happening?

You looked up at him then, but locked on his lips rather than his eyes. Heat formed in his abdomen at your gaze. He used his free hand to cup your jaw. The dark look in your eyes told him you had the same severe craving for him as he did you. He eased towards you and brushed his lips over yours.

He pulled back to gauge your reaction. You looked at him with wide eyes and for a brief moment, he thought he had messed up and taken it too far. But all that panic went away when you dropped your books and threw your arms around him, seizing his lips, taking all coyness between you two and throwing it out the window.

Your sudden burst had rocked him both physically and mentally. Gripping you back, hard and fast, he steadied himself, stepping on your essay as he did so. He matched your eager mouth movements with just as much intensity. 

Needing to come back up for air, you pulled back. You looked at each other, breathless. All that tension between you two through the years had finally been able to get released at least somewhat.

“You looked so happy when Samantha asked you. I assumed you said yes.” You told him, still catching your breath.

He hadn’t realized you had been there to see Samantha asking him to the ball. He was both sorry you didn’t catch him rejecting her and sorry you had to catch it at all. Merlin only knows how he would have handled watching someone else asking you. “She’s a good friend, I mean I wasn’t going to scowl or laugh her off. I was letting her down as easy as I could.”

“I’m sorry I was jealous.”

He kept his face close to yours and glanced back at your lips, ready for more. “I’m sorry I enjoyed it.”

“No, you’re not.” 

“I’m not.” He captured your lips once more.

- 

Ominis:

Ominis was in a full on panic. He hadn’t the faintest idea what he had done wrong. He may be blind, but he could sense, clear as day, that you were upset with him. 

He was pacing back and forth in his dorm room when he was supposed to be at dinner. The sickness he felt had made it hard for him to want to digest anything.

He had been up at all hours of the night thinking about how he was going to ask you to The Yule Ball. But every time he tried to approach you that day, you’d take your leave. He thought he would have gotten his chance in History of Magic class, but everything seemed off. You usually tried to sit close to him and brush your fingers along his, it excited him each and every time. But today, he felt as if you were sitting as far as you possibly could from him.

He was trying to think back on everything that happened before you became so drastically distant. The last time he remembers you two being fine was when he had finally built up the courage to ask you that morning. 

Sebastian had pushed him to do it and fueled his ego to prep him, affirming that he saw the way you looked at him and how you weren’t so subtle about it. He was filled with so much joy, he couldn’t stop himself from smiling like a buffoon when he went to talk to you. 

“Ominis!” You had greeted him so cheerfully, it had removed any doubt in what Sebastian told him. As he was about to greet you back, Adelaide Oakes had touched his shoulder from behind to grab his attention. She then went on and on about how she fancied him, and took the ball as her chance to finally tell him how she felt. He had never been so overwhelmed with romantic attention in his life, it only fueled his confidence more. His words came out in a stutter to Adelaide to thank her but decline. It was difficult to turn someone down while grinning like a fool.

“I um - I'll leave you two to it.” He heard you say before he finished speaking with Adelaide. Your footsteps behind him had walked away so fast, he would have believed it if you were running. And ever since, for some reason you’ve been... oh. It hit him then. You must have assumed he was going to say yes to Adelaide. You couldn’t possibly be jealous, could you? If you were, he needed to find you and fix this immediately. But damn him if he wasn’t a bit thrilled at the idea.

He had his wand guide him to the first place he thought you could be in, the astronomy tower. It was late in the day, he was sure you’d be there. As he made his way up, he found his excitement at your jealousy swelling. You weren’t jealous because he was a Gaunt, a descendant of Salazar Slytherin, going with someone else. No, you were jealous because he was Ominis, a boy you liked for who he was, going with someone else. Or so you thought.

When his wand brought him to the astronomy tower and sensed you were close, he felt a bit of pride that he knew you as well as he thought he did. But he steadied himself, remembering you were upset with him. Coming at you beaming probably wasn’t the best approach.

“Ominis? What brings you here?” Your voice was monotone, nowhere near as pleased to see him as you were earlier.

He was relieved you were willing to speak to him rather than run off. “I needed to talk to you. Figured you’d be up here.” He approached cautiously.

You furrowed your brows, wondering what he could possibly need you for. Oh you’d just die if he wanted to ask for advice on how to treat Adelaide well at the ball. You turned away from him and lazily looked through your telescope. “Probably best we talk tomorrow.”

“You’re upset with me.”

You peeked up at him briefly, knowing it wasn’t fair to be, then went back to your telescope. You exhaled, inwardly chiding yourself. Ominis doesn’t owe you anything. “I’m sorry, I’ve just... had a lot on my mind.”

His wand guided him to the railing you were near and he leaned himself against it. “I’m all ears.” Part of him wanted to clear everything up as soon as possible, but another, increasingly louder part of him wanted to hear you confess that you were jealous, confess that you didn’t want anyone else to have him but you. So, he dared to play coy a little longer.

“You don’t want to hear what I have to say.”

“Try me.” The way he said it had taken you aback, as if he was telling you, not asking you, to talk to him.

“And what if I don’t want to tell you?” You looked back up at him, a bit of venom coming through.

He took a few steps towards your voice. I think I like this game. He knew he shouldn’t find your jealousy this exhilarating, but he did. He wanted it to absorb you until you couldn’t stand it anymore.

The look on his face stirred something fierce in you and you tried to take a quiet, calming breath. You hoped he wouldn’t hear you doing so, but he did, and it only added fuel to his fire.

“I don’t hear you walking away, so I think you do want to tell me.” He reached out for your robes and pulled at you to come closer to him. 

You had been weak for Ominis Gaunt since 5th year, so you obliged. But you didn’t do so without internally screaming at yourself for being such a fool. 

Despite being so close, you kept your hands to yourself, he noted. But he could sense your body tensing and he knew you were close to talking. He just needed to hold out a bit longer, push you just so in the right direction. “You’re angry with me, tell me why.” He knew why.

“I shouldn’t be angry with you.”

“Yet you are.”

“I am.”

“Tell me what I’ve done.”

“You... haven’t done anything.”

His grip moved from your robe to your waist, he could feel you shift at his touch, but you didn’t pull away. “I have, tell me.”

“You know, you shouldn’t be up here with me alone, touching me like you are. Wouldn’t want Adelaide or me getting the wrong idea, would you?” He could hear the bitterness in your voice, and it was sending him over the edge. You shoved his hand away and went to the railing, leaning forward and looking out. “I don’t think you mean to, Ominis. But you’re really messing with my head. Looking as happy as you were when Adelaide asked you to the ball, and now you’re here acting like you care for me.”

He followed your voice again and came up behind you. His hands found your shoulders and he comfortingly slid them down to your biceps. His touch still had the same, nerve-racking affect on you. You shrugged him off and turned to face him. He put both hands on the railing on either side of you, trapping you in. “I do care for you.”

As a friend. You wanted to finish for him. Him saying this to you knowing he was going to The Yule Ball with Adelaide hurt. Ominis was the last person who should be comforting you. “I need to go.” You nearly choked, heartbreak constricting your throat. But Ominis kept you blocked in, he wasn’t going to let you leave. 

“Tell me why I’ve upset you.”

Being in this position with him had an inferno swirling in you. Being able to see his pale, blue eyes this close had any fight in you vanish. “I wanted... you to ask me to The Yule Ball today. I wanted you to go with me, not Adelaide.” 

He leaned forward towards your neck and brushed his nose along your skin. 

Your melancholy turned into something else at his touch, something more throbbing. You reached your hands up along his chest, felt his heartrate pick up along with yours. “I want you to be with me.” You confessed in a whisper.

He began to kiss at your neck and you fisted the fabric of his uniform to keep yourself upright. He kissed up your neck, along your jaw, feeling his way to find your lips. He got to the corner of your mouth and pulled back just slightly, leaning his forehead against yours.

“I want you all to myself.”

He crashed his lips into yours. Your hands held tight to his shirt to keep him close. He took his hands off the railing to wrap his arms around your waist, his place against your mouth feeling all the more secure. You nipped at his bottom lip and he couldn’t help but let out a throaty “mmh.” 

He often tried to imagine what it would feel like to kiss you, the taste of your lips, the sensation of your hands roaming him as pretty as you pleased. This moment had been better than anything he conjured up in his head. He had never envisioned how much hot need would be in it until he had you there in his arms.

You tried to push him away suddenly, but he kept at you, not yet having had his fill. “Wait -” You caved for a brief moment and kissed him back, then pulled away again. “What about -”

“I said no to Adelaide.” He went back to your lips, then to your neck to explain himself so you’d stop pulling away. “I was going to ask you. But you ran off.” He hoped that was enough to stop any further questions, because his mind was already onto more pressing matters. He had heard that sucking on someone’s neck would leave marks, he decided to try it on you then.

You bit your lip, trying to keep your eyes from rolling into the back of your head. “You um -” You cleared your throat, “You still want to ask me?”

“I will, but let’s not talk right now.” 

-

Sebastian:

“What has gotten into you today?” Sebastian caught you off guard, shutting the greenhouse door behind him. You were tending to the carnivorous plants for Professor Garlick, you being the only student she really entrusted with such duties. 

You glanced at him over your shoulder, then brought your focus back to the plants. “I’m a little busy right now, Sebastian.”

He had never heard you speak to him with such acidity, you might as well have slapped him in the face. You had been in a sour mood with him all day. Of all the times for you to be upset with him, why did it have to be the day he had finally decided to confess his feelings and ask you to The Yule Ball? He strode to your side and bore his gaze into you, willing you to face him and explain yourself.

You didn’t give in and continued tending to the chomping cabbages. Sebastian was the last person you wanted to see. After everything the two of you had gone through, all the glimpses you gave each other, all the near kisses, how could it not mean the same for him as it did you? Was his overprotectiveness for you something brotherly rather than romantic? You felt so stupid having mixed the two. You had fallen so deeply in love with him through the years, and now you’ve come to find he doesn’t see you in that way. He made it very obvious how smitten he was when Grace Pinch-Smedley fawned over him, professing her love and asking him to the ball. 

“At least tell me what's upset you so.” He said sternly, interrupting your tragic thoughts.

You knew you should wait until your anger dissipated before speaking with him, but in that moment you didn’t care. You set down your gardening tools and turned to face him.

“How about we talk about you first, Sebastian?”

He let out a frustrated exhale through his nose and crossed his arms over his chest. “What about me?”

“I saw you and Grace speaking this morning, seems you were quite pleased with yourself. Care to share?”

He quirked his brow, not sure where you were heading with this. He remembered Grace speaking with him, but he didn’t remember feeling ‘pleased with himself’. “You saw Grace and I, did you?”

“I did.” You turned back to the chomping cabbages then. “Seems she was doing more than just asking you to the ball.”

He inwardly cringed at the memory. He was flattered at her confession, sure. But the part where he had to reject her had really taken away anything pleasant about the moment. “She told me she had been... harboring feelings for me.” He got shifty thinking back on it, getting rejected after spilling your guts like that must be dreadful.

You took note of his body language, and rosy cheeks. It was salt in the wound and the scowl on your face deepened. “No need to be so bloody bashful about it, Sebastian.” You mumbled.

He stilled then. You thought he was ‘bashful’ thinking back on his interaction with Grace? The gears in his brain started turning.

In that moment, you figured this was your last chance to lay it all out there for him. Since Grace very blatantly told him she wanted more than just a date to the ball, best to tell him how you felt now before they were officially together.

You turned to him fully. “Sebastian, do you care for me?”

His heart began racing and he straightened. “Of course.”

“Like you care for Anne and Ominis?"

“I do.” He said with conviction.

“So, like a sibling?”

“I - Well, I -”

“Because I don’t care for you like a brother, Sebastian.” You took a step towards him.

He was entranced, listening close to everything you had to say. The air between you two grew thick and it clicked for him then. The possessiveness he usually felt over you was now what you were feeling over him. You were under the impression he accepted Grace’s feelings... and you can’t stand it. A rousing sensation shot through him. He wanted to see what more you would do with this newfound greediness for him. 

“Perhaps you should have gotten to me before Grace did.” It was bold. He knew he was treading on thin ice, but seeing you act in the way he usually did was a turn of the tables he never knew he wanted to see. He was going to egg you on, get as much of this avaricious side out of you as he could before you devoured him like the plants in this room wanted to.

You reached out to him and began trifling with his tie. He stood perfectly still, afraid that if he moved you’d get discouraged and release him. “Are you telling me you would have been mine if I got to you first?”

Oh yes. “Suppose we’ll never know, considering you didn’t.” This wasn’t at all how he thought confessing his feelings to you would go. But this was a much more electrifying way to do so.

The two of you had unknowingly stepped closer to one another, pulled together like magnetic stones. Your hands were no longer fiddling with his tie, but rather holding it, ever so gently pulling him towards you. “So I’ve lost you, have I?”

Fight for me. Don’t let anyone else have me. “And if you have?” He wanted to find out what your lips tasted like more than he ever had before. He was so close, and eyed them oh so hungrily. But he tried to hold strong a bit longer, so he could know if you were feeling just as carnivorous for him as he always had for you.

The fire in your eyes almost had him on his knees. 

Claim me. Claim me as I’ve claimed you.

Giving his tie a hard yank, you pulled him to you and caught his lips with yours. You didn’t waste any time, straightaway tasting his bottom lip with your tongue. Keeping an unyielding grip on his tie, you shot a hand up to his hair and held tight. He put his hands on your hips, and couldn’t stop himself from pulling at your shirt so it came untucked. His hands roamed around your lower back, under your shirt to feel your skin.

Your movements in this kiss were the result of years of pining. There was both an ache to take it slow, feeling everything you both possibly could, and an urgency to make up for lost time right then and there. Now that you finally had him... Wait wait wait, I don’t have him.

You tore yourself from him and walked away, tucking your shirt back in.

“Wha - What? Where are you going?” He was breathless and dizzy and disheveled from your kiss. Get back here.

“Go to Grace.”

He groaned. He should have known keeping up the Grace ruse would have some sort of consequence. But in the moment, he was so obsessive over the fact that you wanted to stake your claim on him, he couldn’t help himself. “I lied about Grace. I turned her down.”

You turned to face him, still keeping your distance across the greenhouse. “Why would you -”

“Because being near you makes me crazy, that’s why!” He shot a hand through his hair, more out of anguish than to fix the mess you made. “I’m mad for you. How have you not noticed? This... possessiveness you have over me today? I feel it for you all the time. So, I’m sorry if I crossed a line, I -” He let out a shaky breath, trying to put the words together. “Seeing you act how I have... I wanted to relish it a bit longer. Forgive me.”

You remained where you were, but he could see your features shift. “Enjoyed my suffering, did you?”

Trying to keep his composure, he nodded his head. Your sultry look had his blood heading somewhere it shouldn’t in the middle of the greenhouse.

He may have been slow catching onto your jealousy, but he was quick to catch that you wanted his lips back on yours. Ravenous himself, he strode up to you and pulled you back against him.

[etiolatedmutant]

logan insists they celebrate thanksgiving in october bc that’s the way they do it in canada and wade doesn’t really have many complaints (he’s canadian too, anyway, plus he gets yummy food waaay sooner)

wade bakes, logan cooks, althea gets the booze, and everyone crams into their tiny apartment with various goodies that clutter the countertop

logan makes wade taste Everything before he plates it; wade pops sweets in logan’s mouth every so often in between picking at them himself before guests arrive

wade makes a big obnoxious speech before dinner about how thankful he is for everyone (with a thick veneer of sarcasm plastered over the whole thing because duh) and then sits back down to stuff his face

and when everyone’s invested in their own conversations, logan drapes an arm around wade’s shoulders and cups the back of his head so he can tug him close. he kisses right between the bald furrow of wade’s brow and says so quietly, just for wade’s ears “y’know i’m grateful for you, right?”

to which wade says, “of course i do, peanut, why else would you leave the skins in the mashed potatoes? man only does that if he’s The Most Thankful”

and logan rolls his eyes, pulls back, and grips the bottom of wade’s chair so he can yank it closer

“eat your food before the dog gets it”

wade doesn’t, because now he’s too focused on logan, and mary jumps into his lap and scarfs down a few hearty mouthfuls of mac n cheese

[mintiicinnamonii]

Hi, I have a request, how about an (Amnesia rules) one-shot with Macaque and his female S/O?

Like macaque somehow winds up with amnesia (memories going back to the time of the brother hood maybe?) and once he catches sight of his wife he’s immediately smitten and starts flirting and trying to court her the entire time as everyone tries to figure out how to fix him? Please and thank you 🙏🏻

notes: this is my first oneshot, apologies! i went for a more clingy macaque approach, since he was way shyer during the brotherhood era. also, since the brotherhood era was before macaque was betrayed and started to develop his abandonment issues, he was probably way more affectionate, thus this. so now yall get clingy cat macaque and his wife

Amnesia Rules Macaque

“What do you mean, ‘he’s looking for me???’” You asked through the phone, tapping your foot on the floor, eyebrows furrowed. MK was on the other end, hastily explaining. “I MEAN that we woke him up while he was mystic monkey meditating and now he doesn’t remember us, hates the Monkey King-“ You sighed. “Doesn’t he already hate him??” Silence. “Thats besides the point! He’s been looking for you for AGES, We had to tie him up so he wouldn’t escape!”

You groaned. “I’ll be right there.”

—

When you walked into Pigsy’s Noodles, out of all the things you thought could happen, you did not expect this. Macaque was clinging onto you like a koala, hissing at anyone who went 50 feet close to you. “So you’re telling me, that Macaque lost his memories??” You asked, crossing your legs as Macaque nuzzled your neck. “Yeah, basically..” MK groaned. Wukong, who was hiding behind the counter as to not get mauled to his impossible death by Macaque, peeked his head out. “Geez, I forgot how annoying Macaque was back then-“ He shut himself up as Macaque growled at him. “Hey, no growling.” You scolded, petting Macaque’s head. The monkey purred, leaning into your touch. “You’re great with your hands~” He chuckled as you went bright red. “So.. how do we get him back to normal??” Sandy raised a brow, looking at the smitten monkey. Everyone in the room looked directly at Tang, who was eating his noodles without a care. “What? Why are you all looking at me?” Tang crossed his arms as Pigsy facepalmed himself. “Tang, you KNOW WHY! We need to get Macaque back to normal!” 

Wukong nodded from his hiding spot. “Yeah! Can we go back to grumpy Macaque and not have a Macaque thats trying to maul me 24/7, Jangles? PLEASE???” You shrugged. “I dunno.. I like cuddly Macaque. Can we keep him like this?” You kissed Macaque’s forehead as he purred, hugging you tighter. Your heart melted; it was if you were watching a little cat. A cat so adorable you couldn’t help but take a picture. For blackmail. Totally not because you thought it was cute. 

Tang hummed. “I mean.. if this works the same way it did when Monkey King lost his memories.. we just gotta crush him with a rock.”

Your eyes widened as you choked on your spit. “CRUSH HIM WITH A ROCK?! THE HELL YOU MEAN ‘CRUSH HIM WITH A ROCK?!” Macaque noticed your anger, looking up at you. “Starlight? Everything okay?” You snapped out of your rage instantly, glancing at Macaque. “I’m fine Mac. No need to worry.” You squeezed his hand and kissed his cheek, causing a bit of pink to creep up his face. Macaque, in an attempt to hide this, buried his face in your chest. 

“Any blunt force will do, cause we aren’t exactly in a place where giant rocks are right now..” Tang said, fixing his glasses. “So what do we do then? Keep him like this?!” Pigsy asked, crossing his arms. “Please do.” You chimed in. Suddenly, Mei gasped. “I have a great idea.”

—

“WHY DID I HAVE TO BE THE BAIT???” Wukong screamed as he ran through Flower Fruit Mountain. Sandy, Tang, Pigsy, MK, Mei, and you watched as Macaque chased a screaming Wukong down. “DON’T WORRY MONKEY KING! YOU GOT THIS!” MK yelled, giving him a thumbs up. “Okay.. almost there..” Mei watched carefully. As Macaque chased Wukong, he got closer and closer to the cliff where they all were. “NOW!” 

Sandy quickly pushed a beige boulder off the cliff, crushing Macaque with it. You were just standing there, flabbergasted as your best friends casually crushed your husband with a boulder like it was nothing. Sandy pat your shoulder in consolation as you stood there. Wukong sighed in relief. “Thank god its over-“ As Macaque stirred, Wukong yelped, summoning his cloud and flying away instantly. You on the other hand, ran right up to him. “Hun?? Macaque??” You asked frantically. Macaque got up, groaning as he rubbed his head. He looked over at you with those gorgeous amber eyes. “Hey, gem..” He smiled. Suddenly, you hugged him tightly, peppering his face in kisses. “Oh thank GOD you’re back-“ Macaque blinked, confused til he looked up to see the others on the cliff, peering down and awwing at the sight. “Ah. I see..” He sighed, looking back down at you and your worried face. He chuckled. “Don’t worry, plum..” He kissed your forehead. “Nothing can make me forget my love for you.”