#minimum (giver au)

[f1-stuff]

Mal! Minimum (giver AU) for the WIP game, please!

Hello love! ❤️

Damn, y’all have really asked about every single WIP now 😂 I have to admit that what I’ve written so far of this fic I’m intending on majorly revising, but nevertheless, I’ll share a portion of it!

The first time he meets Carlos Sainz Jr., Charles is twenty years old, new to Formula One and driving for Sauber, getting good results - impressive results. Sainz invites him to dinner to welcome him to the paddock, a gesture that Charles reads as both polite and strategic.

Everything he’s heard about Sainz would support that assumption - that he’s well-mannered, precise, smooth, intelligent. Strategic. Both in his driving and in his personality, always putting in extra hours at the Renault factory that aren’t required or asked of him. Putting up good, consistent race results with a style of driving that’s fast, but in a controlled way. He’s well-liked in the paddock, by the engineers, the mechanics and the other drivers, but Charles has always read this as a tactic to get ahead - he still believes that.

But what he discovers over the course of that dinner, and indeed, over the course of his first season in F1 is that Sainz is a little different than anyone he’s met before, or at least recently. He is all of the things that Charles has heard, but also...odd. It’s something difficult to put into words - something in his eyes and expressions. He jokes around more than Charles is used to, finding something funny or someone to tease constantly.

“Charles or Charles?” Sainz asks when they properly meet, pronouncing it both the French and English way.

“Either is okay,” he says, as they shake hands. Sainz gets this small smirk, like he’s in on a private joke. Charles has the urge to frown.

From then on, Sainz calls him by a combination of the two - the unvoiced fricative of a French word like chef, combined with the English pronunciation of the ‘s’ at the end. And he always has that small smirk, which Charles has learned to ignore.

It’s not just the humor, but also the way he jokes that seems strange. Charles is used to how some of his peers joke around - Lando has always been someone he finds amusing, along with Alex, especially when the two get together. But Sainz almost seems to...come alive in some way when he’s able to get others to crack a smile. He seems to truly thrive off of making friends, rather than it being solely a method of maintaining his position in the sport.

Charles has always been one to keep more to himself, having his small circle of friends that he can always return to. But Sainz seems content - more than content - to make as many friends as possible. He’s almost hyperactive in a way that would make Charles think...well- that would make Charles think his dosage of suppressants is off, or something.

He would never suggest it because he doesn’t want to get Sainz in trouble - he’s been nothing but nice and welcoming to Charles. And no one else seems too concerned about it in the paddock. Anyway, he’s new to Formula One and he doesn’t want to stir the pot. This is the way things work, and who is he to question something that no one seems to be questioning. It’s not his business.

And it continues to not be his business for years. He and Sainz cross paths often enough on race weekends, but their racing is always normal, professional, competitive. They’re on their own paths - Charles to Ferrari in only his second year in Formula One, and Sainz to McLaren with Lando.

The pair of them, Sainz and Norris, are certainly a hyper duo, which does raise some eyebrows amongst the media. But it quickly dies down once everyone gets used to their dynamic and the racing regulations continue to be strictly adhered to. In most cases, drivers can get away with a lot, as long as the racing stays within the rules.

In fact, it’s Charles’ and Max’s racing styles which remain the talk of the media at most races. Charles knows that they both have a forceful style of driving. But the media seem to take it to mean that the two of them are emotional, or something. It couldn’t be further from the truth, at least for himself.

Charles has worked hard to find peace and calm in the cockpit, as well as to find the right balance with his medication. A pang of annoyance creeps in every time he’s questioned by the media about his previous temper problems, but he’s getting used to answering them. Max is better than him sometimes, with his blunt, straight-forward answers. But Charles has learned that if he repeats the same thing over and over, eventually reporters will get bored and move on.

No, he doesn’t escape criticism, especially not with the way he wants to beat his teammate, Sebastian. They get far too much attention from the media when they collide with each other, not once but twice, creating a narrative that they are both acting in their own self interest and should be monitored closely for other concerning behavior.

Charles likes Seb - admires him, even. He’s been a part of a championship-winning team four times, not to mention he’s polite and agreeable off track, helping to mentor Charles with his knowledge and experience. But on track, they both have that same will to give their all, no matter who they’re racing, even if it’s each other. He wishes it wouldn’t lead to both of their cars retiring from a race after colliding (which certainly doesn’t help the narrative), but it’s an honest mistake on both of their parts.

They don’t make it easy for the other. And that’s what Charles likes most about him.

But it’s his fourth year in Formula One when suddenly Carlos Sainz Jr.’s business becomes his own. Because Seb is moving to Aston Martin. And Sainz is coming to Ferrari.

[quinloki]

Birthday Request Event v2024

Gift Details ♥ Reader Style: afab Character: WBP 4 main Commanders (by request, "whoever I could fit", and the answer was, apparently, yes.) Vibe: NSFW Consensual AU: Mafia AU Prompt: Forced Proximity (get-a-long shirt) Gift Giver: @swanbrooke

Summary: Marco's mad, Ace has to pee, and Izou and Thatch have a solution that doesn't involve you going into the bathroom with Ace.

Content Notes: no peeing occurs in this fic. foursome, vaginal sex, anal sex, oral sex, messy kiss, cum play, mdni

(I try so hard to keep the drabbles short for these kinds of events, but gods willing I will I re-write this some day because it should be a 5k minimum honestly)

This birthday party is 18+, consensual unless explicitly stated otherwise, and BYOB

Marco roughly shoves the oversized shirt over you and Ace, holding it, and you both, snugly in place for a long moment. You can see the vein on his forehead throbbing, and the angry twitch in his smile.

“You two will stay in that until I tell you otherwise, yoi!” He barks more than he means to, looking you both in the eyes before letting go of the shirt. “You’re both members of this Family, and you’ll have to figure out how to get along.”

You and Ace exchange glances, watching Marco stomp away. “If anyone comes to me complaining about you two bickering again today, you’ll really be punished, so appreciate this and reflect!” He calls out in warning.

You both sigh, but there’s nothing to be done. It’s not like you’d been arguing in malice anyway. You and Ace just tended to get a little hot under the collar when you got into a discussion. There were no hard feelings.

Not as far as you knew, at least.

“Hey.” You prompt, looking over at Ace. He looks at you and raises a brow. “We’re cool, yeah?”

Ace laughs. “Yeah! Man, Marco really got to you, huh?”

You grin. “I think we really got to him, honestly. He’s pretty overworked, isn’t he?”

Ace snorts. “Understatement of the year.”

“Ah, I wanna do something for him that isn’t going to accidentally backfire.” You murmur as Ace picks you up and starts walking. “Where are we going?”

“I need to take a leak.”

“ABSOLUTELY NOT!” Roaring, you squirm to be let down.

“I’m not going to piss my pants!” Ace shouts back.

“Fucking hold it in!” You wiggle enough Ace loses his balance and you both topple over. “You should’ve said something to him when he put the shirt on us! You’re not dragging me into the john with you!”

“You want me to pee on you?”

“I want you to put that iron bladder to work, you-.” You stop, and both of you look up to see Izou giving you an odd look.

“… Get-a-long shirt?” He prompts and you both nod. “Marco’s not unreasonable, I’m sure you can take it off for a minute to use the bathroom.”

You and Ace exchange glances again and look back up to Izou quietly.

“Oh.” His brows raise and he laughs. “You actually angered him, huh? Alright, well, I suppose I offer a possible solution.”

“You’re a commander like Marco, can’t you like, decree a five-minute break or something?” You question and Izou shakes his head.

“In this situation? Heavens no.” Izou waves his hand. “I was going to point out that when you orgasm it usually calms your bladder down.”

You and Ace both go quiet, but Izou’s expression doesn’t change, and he doesn’t offer anything different. It’s not like you’re against the idea of sex, but the small problem you’re facing right now is that you’ve been crushing on a few people in the “Family” and Ace is one of them.

Izou is another.

“… What’s the worst Marco can do?”

“Oi! Are you saying you’d rather face Marco’s anger than have sex?” Ace grumbles.

Suddenly Ace was too close. You flinch, but you can’t bring yourself to worm out of the shirt. Instead you hide your face inside the shirt and try your very best to disappear. Marco’s another, and the idea of him punishing you is suddenly entirely too overwhelming.

Ace tugs on the collar, looking into the shirt. “Y’alright in there?”

“No.”

“Seems our sweet little flower is sweet on you, Ace.” Izou says. There’s a teasing sound in his voice, but there’s also something else you can’t place.

“On… me?” Ace blinks.

“… Not just you.” You mutter from inside the shirt. “Don’t get a big head or anything.”

“Phrasing.” Ace quips and you smack his chest. “Ow!”

“Mm, and who else would be included?” Izou prompts. “You’re already mortified little flower, you might as well get it over with.”

“… Thatch.” You admit, sighing. “… Marco.” You nearly weep his name, he’s so mad at you and Ace, and there’s no way he, or even Thatch - who treats you like such a kid - sees you that way anyway. “And…” Your stomach is doing flips. You’re either going to die of embarrassment, or get kicked out of the Family.

You poke your head back out and look up at Izou. It only takes him a second and his eyes widen a little before a truly delighted smile crosses his face. “Oh-ho.”

“Greedy for someone so small, ain’tcha?” Ace teases and you glare at him until he has mercy on you. You and Ace work together to get back on your feet.

“Greedy for me?” Thatch asks and you duck back into the t-shirt as Ace ruffles your hair. “D’aww, and shy about it too.” He grins and looks over to Izou. “So what started this anyway?”

And now, here you were.

Inside the shirt and on your back, Ace buried balls deep inside you, stretching the collar of your shared shirt to its limits. You’d pulled your hands into the shirt so Ace could hold himself up easier, and Thatch was buried in Ace’s ass to “help” him out. Izou’s cock was between yours and Ace’s mouths, the two of you giving it as much attention as you could.

There’s a loud crack and Ace yelps before thrusting into you so roughly that you cry out too.

“Don’t get distracted kitty-licking Izou,” Thatch says, grabbing your legs and pushing them back. The shift makes Ace’s angle better and helps Thatch drive him deeper. “Focus on getting her off before you pop, Ace.”

Izou grabs a fistful of Ace’s hair and forces his lips against his cock, fucking himself against both of your mouths at the same time. “And don’t argue either.” He commands.

“She’s,” Ace gasps, voice a mess as he’s trying to keep up with Thatch’s pace, and please Izou. “Teasing… my nipples!” he finally manages.

“Mine too!” you add. “M’not that mean.”

“Oh?” Izou intones. He pulls Ace’s head back again, stroking himself as he enjoys the view of the two of you under him. “Open your mouth, pretty little flower, and keep your tongue out.”

You do as instructed, breath falling out of your mouth as pleasure builds between your thighs. This was not how you’d expected things to go, but you were too far gone to feel embarrassed, let alone complain. The only way it could be better would be for Marco to be involved, but you weren’t sure you could survive all of them at once.

“Fuck, this is hot.” Ace gasps. He’s wrapped his feet against Thatch’s calves and is finally getting some leverage, grinding into your clit as Izou cums on your lips and tongue.

“Appreciate the gift I’m giving you,” Izou says, pushing Ace toward your mouth. “I’d rather be the one kissing those sweet stained lips right now, but you need to thank her for playing with you.”

Ace doesn’t hesitate. He licks your tongue before kissing you deeply, the bitter and salty taste of Izou’s cum shared between you. Your arms are around Ace’s back, and you squeak into the kiss, moaning as he presses in even deeper.

Your fingers flex against his back and you claw at him, sucking in desperate slips of air between sloppy, wet, tongue-heavy kisses as you orgasm against his cock. Your toes curl and your legs tighten and Thatch pushes them back a little more, railing heavy into Ace until he breaks the kiss.

Your sweet cries fill the room as swears fall from Ace’s lips. His hips stutter and he fills you up. Thatch isn’t far behind, the slow deep finishing thrusts of his hips making you and Ace whimper beneath him.

“You cum like a fire hose,” Ace huffs, looking over his shoulder at Thatch as the older man pulls out.

“Says the guy leaking out of me.” You sigh, a blissful smile on your face as the two of you fall into a relaxed fit of giggles.

“When I said I wanted you two to get along,” Marco says, his voice tinged with a bemused edge. “This wasn’t what I was expecting, yoi.” He’s leaning against the doorway, eyes holding your gaze. You’re practically begging him to join in, but before you can form the words, Izou lends you a hand.

“Ah, Marco. Perfect timing.” Izou offers. “Just in time for round two.”

[snootlestheangel]

Cheers to the Unknown Pt.7

Monster/cryptid au ft. Just A Dude!Ghost; canon-divergent, alternate universe. More details here (parts are not a coherent story necessarily just scenarios as they come to me !subject to change!;all tagged under "cheers to the unknown") TW: Some discussion of past traumas; This is just about some of their quirks and the way they interact based on their species of monster; some angsty stuff about their backgrounds and stuff

141 Stuffs with Siren!Gaz, Lightning Nymph!Soap, Changeling!Price, and Just A Dude!Ghost

Gaz boops people with his nose. Ghost and Soap get direct nose-to-nose boops, but Price gets a slight bump either to his shoulder or the side of his nose.

Once again, Gaz is still a chompy boi, but when it's not his partners, he just chomps someone's hand or their shoulder. Like full on aggressive bite. Price keeps threatening to return him every time he gets bit. Gaz knows he won't and he abuses that knowledge.

Price is such a little trinket gift-giver. It's definitely a weird feeling for Ghost because the captain is a changeling after all, but Ghost still knows he means no harm.

Both Gaz and Price have sensitive noses, Gaz more so than Price. They refuse to be near Soap when he's meal prepping because of the strong acid smells. Ghost also refuses to be near but for different reasons.

Meal prepping for Soap looks like him pouring straight battery acid into a thermos. Ghost almost started crying the first time he saw it. He still has a hard time watching Soap make a deadly concoction and call it "lunch".

Price loves fishing for two reasons: it's an excuse to get away from everyone for a bit and it's also a good way to keep an eye on his Siren son. He sometimes keeps the bigger fish for Gaz when he knows the sergeant feels homesick.

Price and Ghost like to mess with recruits that are rude and just awful to deal with. They do this by Price making himself look like the lieutenant, and they'll spend an entire day freaking out the targeted recruits by having "Ghost" be seen in multiple places at the same time. Recruits quickly learn not to piss off Ghost because "he's everywhere. It's fucking terrifying."

Soap will shock people for the hell of it. Recruits slacking off during training? Gaz is being obnoxious? Ghost won't get up? Price is about to hand him a stack of paperwork he doesn't want to do? Zap

Ghost absolutely sticks by Laswell's side sometimes when she visits. She's the only other human he works closely with and trusts. Look, he loves Soap and Gaz, and he trusts Price something fierce, but sometimes his nonhuman partners stress him the fuck out. He just needs the presence of another human being.

Gaz will sometimes "hunt" his partners when they join him for a lake day. Ghost is typically the target, since Soap and lake water don't get along well. He'll grab them off the shore or drag them under the water for a brief second after stalking them. Ghost is used to it, and knows that participating helps Gaz let out some energy but also keeps his skills sharp.

The last time Gaz hunted Soap, it scared the nymph so bad he let out a shock but it ended up shocking Gaz, and they had to get out for a minute because Soap almost drowned.

When Gaz gets particularly sad or down, he'll hide under the little rundown dock on the base's lake. Sometimes, Soap and Ghost will lie on the dock, just one of them, both and Price, or Price and one of them. For the most part, it's typically just Price keeping an eye on his son. On the really bad days, Gaz wants just Price but the captain has to sit in the shallow part of the water next to Gaz so the siren can curl against him.

During times like that, Price wishes nothing more than to be able to make himself look like a Siren. He can't and it secretly breaks his heart.

Soap, being a relatively old being (I'm thinking a couple hundred years minimum), has a hard time adjusting to modern life on occasion. He was born during a time that monsters were being hunted for simply existing. He grew up hearing horror stories about humans and their technology that allowed for such heinous things. He never got to meet his grandfather because he was killed by humans.

Because of all that, he gets freaked out a bit when he's around a lot of humans. There's so much fear he has of them, and that's why the whole thing with Graves was really bad for him. Graves, being a human, and knowing how to kill a special nymph like Soap even though nymphs had been hiding for decades, was really upsetting.

Soap really wants for his family to meet Ghost, but he doesn't ever bring him up to them. He's afraid of what'll happen when they find out he's dating a human. They don't know about Gaz, either.

Price is also older than he looks. Not nearly as old as Soap, but he's not 37, more like 57 in actual years he's been alive. Changelings age slower than other species.

Price has actually known Gaz since he was a kid. He saved Gaz from poachers during an assignment. Gaz was 11 at the time, Price was technically 42 but looked more like 35. Unfortunately, Price and his team couldn't save the whole pod, just Gaz. Even though Gaz was eleven at the time, Sirens are emotionally reliant on their parents until they're twenty (20), so Price took it upon himself to be the little Siren's new dad. Sirens, in general, are just very reliant on others.

Nik, may or may not, have aided in raising the Siren.

Gaz still has nightmares about the incident, and will seek out Dad after the really bad ones.

Soap sometimes has a slight vibration after being fully charged. Ghost and Gaz both love when he lays on top of them after this. It's like a giant, warmer cat purring.

(any suggestions on what Nik should be?)

Taglist (want added?): @tacticaltaxonomist @cthulhusstepmom @cathnoneofyourbusiness @thorougly-melted-brains @sp4z-4tt4ck @49saltpeppershakers @bluebrryice

[caffeinatedowlbear]

Unlikely Occupations for Handsome Jack

I played this on the soon-no-longer-twitter, and figured I like these too much to lose them when that site inevitably becomes an ex-parrot. This post will collect all the previous AUs I've made, and you can request new ones in the comments.

The rules are simple: name a job/occupation that would be very unlikely for Handsome Jack, and I'll try to come up with an IC(ish), (mostly) not crack explanation of how he ended up that way. All ideas generated from this exercise are free for the taking, as long as: 1) the prompt giver doesn't mind; 2) you let me know what you make of it.

Note: while any minimum wage job fits the 'unlikely' criteria, ideally I'm looking for suggestions of jobs/occupations that someone (but normally, not Jack) would conceivably WANT to do, and not just to survive. It's sad but true that people rarely end up in minimum wage jobs for interesting reasons. So please go easy on burger flipping, shelf restocking, call centers and the like.

Prompts filled so far: Janitor, DJ, Florist, Marine Biologist, Preschool Teacher, Pediatric Nurse (new!).

Outstanding prompts: cab driver; mortician; therapist/social worker (got ideas for this one); supermarket cashier (got half a plan)

Filled prompts below, starting with a fan favorite.

Janitor

Now, I know that ‘it’s just a front’ may sound like a cop-out because it can apply to any ‘Jack in a minimum-wage job’ scenario. So I tried to make it more interesting.

Setting: can be modern-day, can be sci-fi, but needs to be an AU in which Jack isn’t instantly recognizable by all and sundry. He is a rich and successful asshole, though. But there’s a certain shiny object he really, REALLY wants to get his hands on. Could be physical thing, could be information. Either way, something that money (of which he has plenty) can’t buy, because it’s held by another, even richer asshole.

Multiple attempts to infiltrate the guy’s home, where the shiny is kept, have failed. The mark is famously a recluse, his security systems are deadly, and all his staff are life-long friends and acquaintances. There’s only one tiny security hole: cleaning and maintenance. Now, most of it is automated, but once every few months, there’s a need for human labor. So every few months, a trusted and vetted housekeeping services agency dispatches some of its most trusted and vetted workers. And isn’t it lucky that Jack has a contact at said agency?

It goes off without a hitch at first. Agency Contact makes sure Jack’s fake identity passes all the background checks, and adds him to the next crew dispatched to Rich Asshole’s house. But then, Agency Contact is busted for an unrelated piece of shady business. Their latest acts in the company come under scrutiny. Jack’s employment status holds, but not his assignment. He is supposed to have at least six months of spotless (...sorry :p) record with the agency before he can get assigned to high-priority jobs like this.

So now Jack has two options. Say "fuck this shit, I'm out" and look for a different solution that might not even exist... or hold out for the sure-fire way in, even if it means spending six months pushing around a mop while toeing the company line. What’s it gonna be, Jack??

DJ

Going off the beaten track for this one, because I didn't want to do the obvious option of 'rich guy's hobby/vanity side gig'.

My take is, we're back on Tantalus and in Jack's (John's?) youth. It's a place full of poverty and violence, but also a colorful night life. Of course, many night clubs are fronts for drug and arms (and worse) trade. Getting in with the clubs is a solid strategy for a young guy with his head on his shoulders.

Jack tries to do different jobs that take him all over, to see the backstage stuff as much as possible. (He even has a brief stint as an unlikely bouncer: no-one expected the scrawny 20yo to throw some real good punches.)

His first DJ experience happens when he's a stage hand / gofer at a club, and the actual DJ goes off to screw someone, telling Jack to take over for half an hour. The music is cued up, just look like you're having fun, he's told. This is the first taste he gets of the kind of power he didn't think he wanted. Because the power that comes with money and access and control is one thing (and make no mistake, he wants that). But the power to stand in front of a room full of people and command their mood? To be cheered? To get them to chant your name, even? That hits something really, really deep inside young Jack. He knows that day that however he gets to the top, he won't just be the man behind the curtain. He will be the one whose name the crowd is chanting.

From there on, Jack's goal is clear. Not only is he going to get power and money and his slice of all the shady business, but he's also going to be a goddamn ✨celebrity✨ while at it. For bonus points, add a scar earned in a gang war ten years later and make Handsome Jack his crime name *and* stage name.

Florist

Setting: semi-historical or steampunk flavored Victorian. There is a war on, but it's pretty far away or a relatively cold one. So no immediate danger on the home front, but spycraft is in high demand. Jack is an era-appropriate Bond type who gets saddled with an assignment to...

"Make bouquets? Is this a joke?"

No, it's not. The flower shop Jack would be operating out of is a hub receiving intel from multiple covert informants. It will be Jack's job to pick out what's important, and pass it to the right people, encoded via flower bouquets. Sending messages via different flowers are already a thing in this society, as they were in our world's Victorian era, but obviously, the spy organization obviously has its own code book, so no harm done if a bouquet falls into the wrong hands.

"Except I'd have to bloody make it again, so, actually, plenty of harm done."

In order to maintain the cover, the flower shop also has to do legitimate business, so Jack gets to make plenty of "civilian" bouquets as well, and be all polite and gentlemanly with the customers.

There's only one silver lining to this dismal assignment. The assistant assigned to help Jack with sorting and aggregating the intel is pretty darn cute.

Marine Biologist

(Short write-up, but this is one of my personal faves!)

Canon-adjacent BL settings, but instead of Pandora, Jack is drawn to Aquator in his vault-hunting pursuits, searching for a vault rumored to be at the bottom of the ocean. Helios is a city-sized submarine!

For bonus points, add a Rhack plot featuring mercreature!Rhys, who has knowledge of the vault, but is reluctant to reveal its location, and whose trust Jack is desperately trying to win.

In a Preschool

Modern-day, Passable Dad AU. It's career day at Angel's school. Jack didn't want to come, what with being a currently unemployed head of a recently-failed startup. But he can't say no to Angel, so... sigh, here we go.

Jack is the last one to talk, his hope being that maybe they’ll run out of time and he won’t have to. Alas, his slot comes up. A few minutes in, the teacher gets an urgent phone call and steps out (don’t come after me about child safety protocols in this AU, okay :p).

Then the period is technically over, and the teacher isn’t back (guess the phone call was urgent enough to make them run out without telling people; they’re so fired). Other parents have left at some point during the period, because they have jobs / better things to do. Jack tries to send Angel to go find an adult, but she declares they’re not allowed to leave the classroom on their own (because she’s an ass). But, she continues, they can’t be left on their own, either (like I said, an ass).

So, Jack is stuck with a bunch of preschoolers for an hour. Once he runs out of failed startup stories, he just starts rubber-ducking new business ideas off of them. It’s surprisingly effective: kids are really good at poking holes in what seem like reasonable plans to adults.

And this is how, once a teacher finally comes to see what’s going on, Mr. Lawrence is offered a job as a substitute teacher at his daughter’s preschool. He will get fired once he deals with a bully by holding the offender up by the ankle until a believable apology is delivered.

Pediatric Nurse

(the prompt giver was very specific that it should be nurse, not doctor)

Setting: Tantalus, Jack is a single dad and dirt-poor. Angel is hospitalized with something that requires long-term inpatient care, and Jack literally doesn't have the money to pay for her treatment and rent, so he loses the apartment and starts low-key living at the hospital.

He's getting away with it pretty well. Angel shares a room with a few more kids, whose parents catch on pretty quickly, but don't mind that an extra parent is hanging around, because the hospital is permanently understaffed, and the kids like having company. (He gets more than an occasional meal from other kids' parents, too.)

When Jack's not doing gig work on his laptop, he's reading up everything about Angel's condition as well as all-purpose medical care so he can take care of her when she's finally allowed to leave the hospital. He's a fast learner, and soon ends up helping out the permanently overworked nurses with basic stuff like changing dressings, giving an extra hand with whatever, and even fixing up some medical equipment when something outdated inevitably breaks. It's not long before the kids in Angel's room (and the adjacent rooms) start calling him Nurse Jack.

The only one who's not thrilled about Jack's permanent presence on the ward is a young (and very attractive) doctor who's being a real stick in the mud about 'non-medical personnel outside of visiting hours'. The fact that, thanks to Jack's liberal use of nicknames, the kids start calling him Dr. Cupcake doesn't win Jack much love, either. Things between them getting more tense by the day, and Jack is this close to getting banned from the hospital outside of strict visiting hours.

That is, until one day, some Tantalus bandits barge in, demand that the whole floor is cleared so that their boss can get medical attention, and even take some medical personnel (including Dr. Cupcake) hostage to make their point. Little did they know that one of their hostages is: a) not a licensed medical professional, but b) real handy with a gun.

[kuvvydraws]

Solitale AU

Praetorius' HCs 💙

First • <<Prev ← Part 10 → Next>>

Receptive edition

One thing, of many, you could not call Praetorius is charming. He's not charming at all. He's as dry as a jar of desert sand, as a raisin in a pot of salt. He barely knows how to smile on command, and it's always a pitiful thing that makes everyone, including himself, uncomfortable.

He's thoughtful, however, and a monster oriented to detail. You will find letters around the house, properly sealed with wax and his personal stamp, addressing you with some sort of compliment or the likes. At first glance, it seems like he made you part of his work routine, just another letter to be delivered, another business to be attended... That couldn't be further from the truth. That fact that you managed to sneak in his head while he was focused at work tells a story - he made room for you in his impossibly tight world, in his crowded mind, even when he shouldn't have. To be honest, this is the bare minimum, but it's something.

He's very particular about music, often prefers purely melodic pieces with no singing, and likes to play it out loud rather than wear headphones or a set. If a particular mood strikes him (or you), you'll find him squaring up in front of you, spine straight, so he can ask you for a dance. It's all very formal, and it might feel a smidge cold because he's all proper and dancing according to all the rules he's aware of - his hands won't stray, his body won't get closer, he won't lean in to conspire in your ear... But he's close. More than ever, physically. And your hands are on his impossibly broken body, and he's letting you touch him despite knowing you could hurt him. It would be so easy to hurt him, he's already a pile of dust covered in cracks. He's aware of it, and yet he lets you in his space. And there's music, and you're dancing, and for the moment he's just your partner, without the shadow of the Commander haunting his eyes.

He's a practical gift-giver. Flowers are not good in his eyes because he finds rude and a bit of an indirect to give someone something that will inevitably die. He leans towards books, food or useful items for the day to day. He's still trying to understand what romantic means. He feels it, don't worry, he just has trouble externalizing anything positive that goes through his head.

He's not a very skilled cook - he can follow recipes just fine but he lacks all the passion and motivation. He spent his whole life eating protein/magic bars, so he doesn't care for food. But he's very good with his hands, so expect all the furniture in your home to be in pristine condition. He'll fix anything, will change your lightbulbs and your taps, clean the whole house thoroughly... Let him do things for you

[sunmoonandeddie]

marriage story

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

word count: 5,641

summary: Fake marrying Bucky was only supposed to be a means to an end.

prompt: college au, fake marriage au, and enemies to lovers

warnings: swearing, talk of past sexual abuse

a/n: This was written for @broadwayandnetflix​ for @bucky-smiles​‘s Secret Santa!  SURPRISE!!!!  I’m so sorry I’m a day late, I just wanted to make sure it was as good as I could make it!!  I really hope you enjoy!!!

You weren’t sure how you ended up staring at divorce papers.

Hell, you’d just graduated college three weeks ago and had miraculously landed your first job that was conducive to your career.

And now, you were a divorcée at the age of twenty-one.

Granted, your marriage had lasted much longer than a lot of those that happened when the two people were teenagers.

It had also been fake, but that’s beside the point.

You read over the divorce papers for the eightieth time since they’d arrived.  Both of you took your individual things, no need for lawyers…

It had all seemed so simple when it first began.  A means to an end.

You were eighteen and stupid.  Desperate.  You had no idea what the consequences would be.

You had no idea that you’d actually fall in love with your husband.

He’d needed to live off campus since he couldn’t afford the on campus housing.  At a minimum of seven thousand dollars a school year, it was ridiculous.  You couldn’t really afford it either, but the school had a rule that you couldn’t live off campus until your junior year, and the two of you were still second semester freshmen.

Then there was the issue with your FAFSA.  You weren’t exactly on good terms with your parents.  And by not on good terms, you meant that you didn’t speak to them.  At all.  Getting their tax information wasn’t going to happen, and it wasn’t like they were helping you pay for college.

But FAFSA wouldn’t let you fill it out as an independent student until you were twenty-one.  Apparently, being cut off from your parents wasn’t enough of a ‘special circumstance’ to allow it.

But, there was one little thing that could fix all that.

Matrimony.

If you were married, you’d have to file independently.  No questions asked about parents.

And the university would allow you to live off campus, too.

It was a perfect solution.  A quick little trip to the courthouse.

Living together had seemed logical.  A little two bedroom apartment was much cheaper than seven thousand dollars for nine months in a dorm room you had to share.

Plus, you had to keep up the illusion to the school and the government that you were married.

Outside of living together though, there wasn’t much needed.  Each of you wore a fake ring when you went to your meetings with your advisor and your classes.  It kept the rabid frat boys away from you, at least.

And then there were the scholarships.  Turns out, there are scholarships specifically for married college kids, and your advisor thought you were just perfect for it because she’d never met such a wonderful couple.

It was all perfect.  Until it wasn’t.

First off, you and Bucky didn’t even really like each other when all of this started.  You only knew each other because you were best friends with Natasha, who was his best friend’s girlfriend.  It had actually been the two of them that had gotten the idea in the first place.

“So, I’m sure you’re wondering why we gathered you here today,” Steve said, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes.

“Steve, this is my room.”

This was not how you wanted to spend your Saturday night.  You’d worked a double that day, from eight in the morning to ten that night.

The perks of working at a bar that did Mimosa Mornings on the weekends.  The worst part was that you weren’t even allowed to take a shot or two to help you get through it since you were eighteen.

Stupid fucking law.  If you could work in a bar, you should be able to drink to deal with the customers.  Because fuck, they’re horrible.

But you made more than you’d be making at Buffalo Wild Wings, that’s for sure.

“Can we just get whatever this is over with?” Bucky asked from across the room.  He definitely wasn’t keen to be stuck in a room with you for any longer than necessary.  “I have work in the morning.”

“Same here,” you added, narrowing your eyes at the two who sat in front of you.

Natasha was your best friend and your roommate, but fuck were you ready to put out a ‘New Friends Wanted’ sign.  You could take applications.

Requirement number one: Must not be dating the best friend of the most annoying prick in the world AKA Bucky Barnes.

Requirement number two: Must not be waiting to ambush you in your own dorm room with said prick.

“So, both of you are having issues with the university,” Nat said as she took out a bunch of papers.  “The dorms are crazy expensive and you’re not allowed to live off campus.  Also, FAFSA is ridiculous.”

“And we have a solution,” Steve said, a grin on his face.  He was such a giver.  He loved his friends more than anything in the world and would literally give anything for them.  Seriously.  You’d once watched him actually give the shirt off his back to Bucky when the latter had gotten drunk at a party and puked all over his.

He’d also gotten it on your shoes, and Bucky had just burped and said, “They look better now.”

The disgusting asshole.

“Well, spit it out,” you said, rubbing your temples.  You were still in your uniform, a pair of cut off jean shorts and a tank top.  Your hair smelled like cigarette smoke and someone’s beer that they spilled on you.  “I’d like to go to sleep before sunrise, please.”

“You two could get married.”

Both you and Bucky stared at them like they’d grown two heads.

“I’m sorry…  What the fuck did you just say?” You asked, standing up.

Natasha rushed to continue, still grinning.  “If you two get married, the university will let you live off campus, and FAFSA will let you file as independent!”

“And it’s cheap!  A marriage license only costs like… fifty bucks?  Something like that!” Steve said.

Well…  It wasn’t… a horrible idea, even if you and Bucky might end up killing each other before then.

“I don’t know...,” you said, the whole idea making you nervous.  Marriage?  Come on.

Bucky crossed his arms over his chest defensively.  “I really don’t want to be married to her.  We’d kill each other before we hit our six month anniversary,” he mocked, shooting a glare your way.

“It would only be until you graduate!” Natasha said.  “And then, you two get divorced and it becomes a funny story to tell at parties!”

You shared a look across the room with the brunette.  It would solve your problems…

“Fine.”

Turns out, getting married was a lot easier than you thought it would be.  All four of you went to the courthouse that next Tuesday when all of you had a break in between classes.

You wore a sweatshirt and leggings, your ratty sneakers that were covered in mud along the bottom.  Bucky wore jeans and a university hoodie.

Not exactly usual wedding attire.

Natasha, ever the optimist ever since she met Steve, had shoved a daisy she’d picked in your hair.

And an hour later, you’d walked out as Mrs. Barnes.

Wrapping your arms around yourself, you stood up from the couch and walked around the little place you’d called home since you were eighteen.

It had been quiet the first few months.  You signed a lease on an apartment a few blocks from campus and had moved in right at the end of the school year, but he went home with Steve to Brooklyn, New York.

You were alone the entire summer except for the few weekends that Natasha managed to come visit.  The only time you and Bucky spoke was when he texted you to let you know when he was moving in.

And that’s when the fighting had started.

As you stared at a picture of the two of you on the wall, you couldn’t help but laugh.  In the photo, you two were sitting on the couch, holding a cake that Natasha and Steve had gotten you as a joke.  HAPPY 2ND ANNIVERSARY! was written across it in bright blue icing.

It was a far cry from when you two had first moved in.  Everything was an issue.  You didn’t do this, he did that, the both of you wanted to watch different movies and he had brought the television but you’d brought the DVD player.  Everything.  Hell, you’d sleep on the bean bag in Natasha’s dorm some nights because even being in the same apartment as him was too much.

Eventually, there was compromise.  An understanding grew between you and with that, a truce.  You couldn’t keep living like you were.

You were pretty sure the war had finally, silently ended one late night in October.  It was the weekend before Halloween, and you’d had the worst shift of your life.

Your keys clanged as you unlocked the front door, trying to open it as quietly as possible.  Even from where you stood, you could see the clock above the stove that read 1:42 AM.  You were supposed to be off at ten, but that clearly hadn’t happened.  One of the other girls working had gotten sick and you were forced to cover the few hours she was supposed to work alone until close.

And to add onto that, you made less the entire weekend than you had last Friday night.  You’d been hit on, groped, yelled at.  Fuck.  You just wanted to collapse in your bed.

“You’re home late.”

“Fuck!” You jumped in shock, your heart pounding in your chest.  God.  Your anxiety had just spiked and the exhaustion you’d been feeling was replaced with your fight or flight instinct.

Bucky was standing in the hallway entrance, brows furrowed.  “Sorry.  I didn’t mean to scare you.”  He had on those gray sweats that he looked so good in…

No!  Down girl!  Bad!

It didn’t matter that he was hot.  He was a total dick.

Though, lately he’d be rather kind.  Nice.  There’d been less fights in the past few weeks.

You cleared your throat, looking away from him.  “Yeah, Wanda got sick, so I had to close.”

“There’s dinner in the microwave,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Oh.  Thank you.”

He nodded, before disappearing down the hall.  It surprised you when you heard the bath start, but whatever.  Whether or not he took baths was none of your business.

You were surprised to find a huge bowl of vegetable soup in the microwave.  Huh.  You’d just been talking to Natasha about how much you missed your mom’s homemade version.

Whatever.  It wasn’t like you’d ever be having that again.

You let your head rest on the counter as you waited for the soup to heat up.  Fuck.  Your entire body ached.

“Hey, do you want epsom salt?” Bucky called out from the bathroom.

“Uh, what?” You said as you raised your head.  Even just moving that little made your head pound.

He poked his head out of the doorway, his long hair pulled back in a bun.  “For your bath?  Do you want epsom salt?”

“My bath?  What the hell are you talking about?” You asked as the microwave beeped.

Bucky leaned against the doorframe.  “The bath that I’m currently running you.  Do.  You.  Want.  Epsom.  Salts?”

There was a long pause as the two of you stared at each other.  “Yeah,” you said finally, your voice coming out a lot smaller than you expected.  “That would be nice.”

Once he’d disappeared back into the bathroom, you pulled out your phone and texted Nat.

To: Tasha

Why is Barnes acting weird?

From: Tasha

Which one of you?

Get it?

Cause you’re married?

To: Tasha

Yeah

I got it.

But he’s being fucking weird.

From: Tasha

How so?

To: Tasha

He made me dinner?  At least, he poured vegetable soup from a can into a bowl and left it in the microwave.

Oh

And he’s running me a bath???

V V strange.

If I don’t text you tomorrow

It’s probably because he killed me

From: Tasha

Oh that

To: Tasha

What do you mean

“Oh that”????

NATASHA

ANSWER YOUR PHONE

From: Tasha

Sorry, was talking to Steve

He mentioned you’d been working a lot and how tired you were so I told him he should do something nice.

And I may have told him that you missed your mom’s vegetable soup.

So that probably explains that.

“Hey, it’s ready,” Bucky said as he came into the kitchen.  “I’ve got some towels in the dryer going, so they’ll be all warm when you’re ready to get out.”  He seemed so… laissez-faire about it.  Like you two didn’t fight on a daily basis usually.  He watched as you took a bite of the soup, his blue eyes zeroed in on you.  “Do you like it?” He asked.  “I tried following my ma’s recipe.  Don’t know how well it went.”

You couldn’t help but moan around the spoon as the warm soup went down.  Even reheated, it was amazing.  “This is your mom’s recipe?  It’s amazing.”

His cheeks flushed as he tried to hide a grin.  “Thanks.  I’ve missed her cooking.”

It was silent as you finished up the soup, the only sound being the spoon clanging against the bowl.  It wasn’t until you set your dishes in the sink to wash the next day that he spoke again.

“Oh, I got you this,” he said as he pulled out a box.  “I saw my advisor and he knows that we’re married and he mentioned that we still don’t have rings, so I just went and grabbed a ring from a thrift store.”

It was then that you noticed the simple silver band on his left ring finger, glinting in the low light.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you said as you took the box.  But your breath was stolen from your lungs as you opened it, revealing a gorgeous diamond engagement ring with a matching diamond wedding band.  “It’s…  It’s beautiful…  Thank you…”

“You’re welcome,” he said softly, rubbing the back of his neck.  “Uh, you go ahead and get in the bath.  I’ll bring you the towels when they’re done.”

As you sat in the bath, you couldn’t help but stare at the rings that now resided on your left hand.  They glinted in the low light of the candles that had been placed in various places around the bathroom, most likely lit with Bucky’s lighter from the local smoke shop.

They were absolutely stunning.

Maybe… just maybe… this marriage wouldn’t be as bad as you first thought it would be.

You glanced over at the table as your phone buzzed, running to it.  Maybe it’s Bucky…

But your hope was dashed as you realized it was Natasha calling you.

You hadn’t realized you’d been crying until a drop of water fell on the screen.  Wiping your eyes, you brought it up to your ear.  “Hey, Tasha!  What’s up?”  You couldn’t help but wince.  You sounded like a fucking real estate agent.  Perfect and peppy and… not you.

“Hey, I just wanted to call and see how you’re doing,” she whispered, as though she was trying to keep someone else from hearing.  “Bucky got the divorce papers today and I figured that meant you did, too.”

Ah, another thing.  He’d been staying at Steve and Natasha’s place since all of you had graduated, and the time had come for the divorce.  He’d gotten all of his things out within two days, except for the hoodie you were currently cocooned in and your wedding rings.

“I know how much you love this place,” he’d said with a wry smile.  “So you can have it in the divorce settlement.”

It had been a joke.  The divorce settlement.  Like you two had actually been in love and things just hadn’t worked out.

“You aren’t gonna change the Netflix password on me, right?” You asked as you stood in the doorway of Bucky’s room, arms crossed over your chest.  “Because I’m still paying for half of it.”

Buck grinned at you as he taped the last box shut.  “I don’t know…  Might change it up on you.  Have it all to myself.  Then my suggested movies and shows won’t be so fucked up,” he teased.

You rolled your eyes, glaring at him.  But there was no heat behind it.  “We have separate profiles on there, you dumbass.  So if Gossip Girl is on your suggested, that’s your fault.”

The laugh that erupted from his mouth made him throw his head back, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

Seeing Bucky Barnes laugh was one of the Seven Wonders of the World.  It was better than the Great Pyramids of Giza, the Taj Mahal, and the Great Wall of China all rolled into one.

“We’re still gonna have Thursday night movies, right?” You asked, trying to ignore the way your voice cracked.

In the three years since you’d gotten married, Thursday night had become your sort of fake Date Night.  You two would order takeout and watch movies until the both of you passed out of the couch.  You both changed your availability at your jobs to let them know that you couldn’t work Thursdays.  Not even Natasha and Steve were allowed to intrude.  It was just your special night to hang out.

“I’ll bring the food.  Do you want Thai or Mexican?” He asked, his features a little softer.

“I’ll text you what I want,” you said.  Biting your lip, you toyed with the rings on your left hand.  “I guess I should give you these back, huh?”  You started to slip them off, but he stopped you.

“They’re yours,” he said, his hand closing over yours.  His blue eyes shimmered in the light as you swallowed.  “Keep them… as a reminder of your former husband.”  The corner of his mouth twitched, but you couldn’t tell if he was going to smile or frown.

“I’m gonna miss you,” you said, suddenly surging forward to hug him.  “Even though you’re super annoying.”

Bucky laughed as he wrapped his arms around you just as tight.  “I’m gonna miss you, too.”

“How’s he doing?” You asked as you moved to what had formerly been Bucky’s room.  It was now completely bare, except for a single gum wrapper on the floor.  You sank down against the wall as you stared at it.  Extra wintermint gum.  Because he absolutely hated spearmint.

“About as well as you, I imagine,” she said slowly, choosing her words ever so carefully.  “I don’t know.  He went out for a walk a few minutes ago.  But he locked himself in the guest room for hours after getting the papers.”

You let your head fall back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling as you tried to stop another onslaught of tears.  “This is what we wanted,” you said, your voice cracking.

A pause.  You could feel the tension even through the phone, a can of worms Natasha was about to open.  “Is it?  Is this what you wanted?”

“This was always the plan!” You retorted, the tears coming in a wave now.  “We’d stay married until after we graduated and then we’d divorce.  No drama, no court, no lawyers.  Just a means to an end.”

You could hear her whispering to someone that you knew was Steve on the other end for a few seconds, the sound muffled.  She’d probably covered the speaker.  “Do you want me to come over?” She finally asked.

“No,” you said with a sigh, rubbing the hell of your palm against your eyes.  “I just wanna… curl up in bed and watch cheesy movies and never come out.”

You didn’t understand.  Why did this hurt so bad?  He was just a friend.  You two had never even kissed, for crying out loud.  This wasn’t some fanfiction where you two fell into bed one drunken night and then woke up with feelings.  This wasn’t an ‘Oh no, there’s only one bed’ type of deal with 100K+ words on AO3.  You two were just friends.  Really.  There was no happy ending for the two of you waiting.

“Are you still gonna go to the Barnes’s Fourth of July party?” Natasha asked, her voice softer.

You pulled your knees up to your chest, resting your chin on your knee caps.  “There’s no point.  We’re not married anymore.”

“Sweetheart,” she chided.  “You know he’d want you there.  So would his family.  You’re still a Barnes, even if you change your last name back.”

“I don’t know,” you said, chewing on your bottom lip.  “I like the last name Barnes better.  It’s not like I have any connection to my old last name.  Maybe…”  You swallowed.  “Maybe I should keep it.  It costs money to change it back, after all.  It’s on my license now.”

Ah, yes.  Because your license had expired while you were married and you’d had to get a new one.

“You’re a Barnes now and forever, hon,” she teased.  You could hear her smile through the phone.  “And you know Winifred would be pissed as hell if you didn’t go.  You’re her daughter now just as much as Bucky is her son.”

God, the tears came on like a tsunami when you remembered the Barneses.  George, Winifred, Becca, all of them.  Especially Winifred.  Sweet, sweet Winnie that had become your mom in the years since you’d met her.

“Bucky, I don’t know about this,” you said as you walked up the steps to his place.  Or, rather, his parents’ place.  “I should just go home.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he scoffed as he searched for the right key.  “I’m not letting you drive the way back just to spend Christmas alone.”

Truthfully, it was stupid to even suggest.  Your apartment that you shared with him now was over eight hours away, and it was two days before Christmas Eve.

God, how the hell did you end up here?  You’d been planning on spending it alone, just like you had Thanksgiving.

But when Bucky had come back from the break and realized that you hadn’t gone anywhere, it’d prompted him to ask why, which had then resulted in him insisting on you accompanying him to New York City for Christmas with his family.

“What if they don’t like me?” You asked, barely audible.  In truth, you were terrified.  This was your first holiday season that you were away from your parents.  Thanksgiving had been strange, and you had certain it wasn’t going to get any better up until a few weeks ago.

Bucky stopped suddenly, looking at you with big blue eyes.  “Sweetheart, they’re going to adore you,” he said, more sincere than he’d been since the two of you had gotten married.  “How could they not?”

“You didn’t!”

“Yeah, well, you didn’t like me either.  And then we got to know each other.”

He had a point.

You grumbled, staring down at your boots.  They were still covered in snow.

“And besides, Ma hasn’t shut up about meeting you ever since she found out about you,” he muttered as he finally found the right key.  “Dad said she’s been obsessively cleaning the house since she found out you were coming.”

As soon as the opened the door, you were hit with a wall of sound.  A woman with the same shade of hair as Bucky rushed forward, trapping the six foot man in a hug.  “YOU’RE HOME!”

“Winnie, come on, don’t suffocate the boy.”  A man with Bucky’s eyes appeared, his hands shoved in his pockets.  He was trying to appear nonchalant, but the second he was free of his mother’s grasp, he was dragging him into another hug.  “I’ve missed you, son.”

“And you must be his wife!” Winifred Barnes said, suddenly turning on you.

“Ma, she has a name.”

“I know that!”

“Winnie–”

You were pulled into a hug, and you were suddenly overwhelmed with feelings.  Maybe it was just the fact that you hadn’t hugged your own mother in so long, or maybe it was just because Winifred was that lovely of a person.  Either way, you were tearing up as she hugged you tightly.  You gave her your name as she pulled back, looking over your face.

“Oh, you’re even prettier than Jamie said!”

Your cheeks flushed as Bucky grumbled out a quiet “Ma…”

It was then that you were swept into the apartment, finding it bustling with people.  You were then introduced to the rest of his family: his younger sister, Becca, who was going to be a senior in high school and was SO grateful to have a new sister, his aunts, his uncles, his parents.  The entire apartment was bursting with people even days before the actual holiday.

It wasn’t until after dinner (which was absolutely delicious) that you were able to capture a quiet moment in the kitchen, helping Winifred wash dishes.

“Thank you for having me over,” you said, to break the silence.  It wasn’t uncomfortable, surprisingly, you just felt like you needed to vocalize your thanks for what was probably the third time.  “It means a lot.”

“Any friend of Jamie’s is a friend of ours,” she said as she rinsed off a plate.  “And we’re so grateful for what you’re doing.  He mentioned that it helps you, too, but…  Our family can’t afford to pay for his housing.  We can barely make his tuition.”  She looked at you with crystal clear eyes that seemed to bore into your soul.  “We’re so happy to have you.”  She then paused, glancing over at the side of the sink, where you’d set your wedding rings just to make sure they didn’t slip off in the water.  “You know, I was so happy when he asked for my ring.  He’s always dreamed of giving it to a girl.”

“What?” You asked, looking at her in shock.

Winifred paused, her brows furrowed in a way that really reminded you of your husband.  “Did he not tell you?  The engagement ring is mine.  But he saved up over the summer to buy a matching band for it.”

Your heart raced in your chest as you stared at the rings.  Bucky had gotten his ma’s ring for you?  But… why?  You two were barely friends at this point.

“I would’ve been spending Christmas alone if it wasn’t for him inviting me,” you said, breaking her stare to look down at your soapy hands.  “He found out I spent Thanksgiving at home and almost shit a brick.”  You rushed to cover your mouth, to apologize, but she just snorted.

An easy smile tugged at her lips.  “Holidays are a big thing for our family, and I guess we passed that down to Jamie.  Everyone comes to town for about a week and we spend it drinking and shooting the shit, baking.  We can’t afford much, so our gifts are usually just spending time together,” she said.

“It sounds nice,” you whispered as you scrubbed absentmindedly at a pan.  “My family… even when I still talked to them, we were never big on holidays.”  Winifred had gone quiet beside you.  “It was always just us.  We’d eat dinner together and sometimes I’d get a present, but mostly it was just spent like any other day.”

She took a deep breath, setting a plate on the drying rack.  “What… happened?  If you don’t mind me asking?”

“I… confronted my parents about the sexual abuse I went through as a kid,” you said slowly, swallowing around the lump that had suddenly formed in your throat.  “My cousin…  He, uh…  He’s only a year and a half older than me.  From the time I was… four or five, I think, to about twelve, he would… you know.”  The kitchen felt deadly silent, and you were so glad that the rest of the Barnses, including Bucky, were in the living room.  Even though he knew the basics of what had happened, you never told him details.  “And my parents would punish me for it when he got caught.  They blamed me.  They’d ground me or spank me or… whatever.”  You let out a weak laugh, trying to lighten the mood.  “They didn’t really take it well.  It doesn’t matter though.  I’m fine.”

You were shocked when you were suddenly pulled into a tight hug.  Winifred’s arms formed a cocoon around you and you could feel her tears on your face.  She was only an inch or two taller than you.  “That was not your fault,” she gasped out, holding you to her.  “That was not your fault.”

Before you realized what was happening, you were clutching onto her as hot tears streamed down your cheeks.

You didn’t know how long she’d held you before she leaned back, wiping away your tears.  Or at least, trying to before they were replaced with more.  “You are not what he did to you, you hear me?” She asked, wiping at her own face.  “You are always welcome here.  We’re your family now.”

“What’s going on here?”

The both of you turned to see Bucky in the doorway, his sea blue eyes wide.  He was holding a few extra plates that had been left behind.

“Nothing,” she said with a watery grin.  “Just… talking.”

“Here,” he said as he walked over and put the dishes inside the sink filled with soapy water.  “I’ll finish up with my wifey here, and you go clean up before dad freaks out because you’re crying.”

She barked out a laugh, nodding.  “Fine.  Fine.  You know how he gets if I’m upset,” she said, kissing your forehead before leaving.

“So… You actually okay?” Bucky asked as he took over rinsing the dishes you washed.

The smile that found its way onto your lips was real, surprisingly, as you said, “Everything’s great, Jamie.”

And even though he let out a groan, he was smiling, too.

It was after that trip that you’d started calling him Jamie.  It just… felt better rolling off your tongue than Bucky ever did.  It was also when holidays in Brooklyn became a permanent thing.  Anytime Bucky went home, so did you.

They were your family.

But now…  Now what?  Did you lose them like you lost your parents?

Granted, losing your parents wasn’t exactly the worst thing.

“Sweetheart?  You there?” Natasha asked, bringing you back to the present.

“Yeah,” you said, shaking your head to clear out the cloudiness of your memories.  “Yeah, I’m–”  You broke off as you heard a knock at the door, a frown tugging at your lips.  “Hold on, Tasha, I’ll call you back…”  You hung onto your phone as you walked to the front door, peeking through the peephole.

Bucky?...  What the fuck was he doing here?

You opened the door wide, shocked to find him crying.  His eyes were puffy and red, his nose running.  “Jamie?  What’s wrong?”  You reached forward to touch his shoulder, shoving your phone in your back pocket.

“Don’t sign those papers.”

“Wait…  What?”  Now you were even more confused.  Your brows furrowed as you pushed his hair back from his face.  God, he needed a haircut.  Maybe you could…  No.  Not the focus right now.

He stepped toward, half inside the apartment that had been his, too, just two weeks before.  His large, calloused hand caressed your face.  “I don’t want to not be your husband,” he said, his voice cracking.

Your heart thundered inside your chest and you were half sure this was some kind of trick of your mind to soothe its aching.  “What do you mean?”

“I want to make this work,” he said as he cupped your face in his hands.  “I… I want to actually have Thursday night Date Nights and take you out and when we go home for the holidays, I want to kiss you under the mistletoe my ma always hangs up, and I want you to wear my ma’s ring.  I want to be your husband.  Please.”

You didn’t realize you were crying–yet again, fucking damn it–until he wiped them away.  “I don’t want to not be your wife, either,” you said, your voice shaking.  “I love you, I love you so much.”

His lips met yours in a blazing kiss, holding you closer than you thought possible.  “I love you more,” he whispered against your lips.  “I’m never letting you go.”

You dragged him inside, shutting the door before kissing him again.  “You’re staying here.  None of this bullshit of you staying with Tasha and Steve.”

“Gladly,” he chuckled, holding onto your waist.  “But only if I get to sleep in your bed.”

“Only if we can shred those divorce papers.”

The moment was interrupted by his phone ringing, and you couldn’t help but giggle when you saw it was Winifred.  He shot you an apologetic look as he answered it.  “Hey, ma.”

She was speaking so loudly you could hear her clearly.  “Well?!  How did it go?!  Did you ask her?!”

“Yes, I asked her,” he said slowly, squeezing your side.  “She said yes.  I’m with her now.”

Both of you flinched away as she screamed in excitement.  “GIVE HER THE PHONE!  GIVE HER THE PHONE!”

You smiled as you pressed it to your ear.  “Hi, mom.”

“BABY!  I’M SO HAPPY!  NOW WE CAN HAVE A REAL WEDDING!”  She was speaking at a hundred miles an hour.  “Do you want a summer or fall wedding?  I think it might be too late to do summer, but I’m sure we could scrounge something together!”

You giggled as Bucky stole kisses from you while she was speaking, distracting you.

“Sweetheart?  You there?”

“A late summer wedding sounds perfect,” you said, unable to wipe the grin from your face.  “Absolutely perfect.”

[geminimoonbeamx]

Ok listen I came here to rave about Of All The Things Unsaid because it broke my heart and also took me deep into my own feelings and was just overall so well written and it was so interesting to see you change things up with your style a bit UGH!! But then I saw that a-z ask and I NEED to know the full a-z from you on Bucky Barnes 👻💕 PS ...... can I be added to your tag list ?? I’m on here at super freak times and I feel like I always miss out on your posts! Keep being amazing ilu 💕

Thank you so much boo💖 I’m so happy you liked my depression manifested in OATLU😂! And okay so why was Bucky A-Z so hard? His sensuality was difficult to peg but I hope I did it justice!

Bucky Barnes sexy A-Z

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Bucky Barnes is one needy man after sex- especially after the rough passionate fucking you usaully receive from him after long missions or emotionally grueling days. He’s grabby and literally octopuses his large body around yours

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Bucky’s favorite body part of his is his flesh and blood arm- he knows its a shitty internalized hatred thing but he still wishes he was on that little farm in Wakanda, he'd gotten pretty good at doing everything one handed.

Bucky loves your middle, loves your soft plush tummy and your waist. Would have his arms wrapped around your middle for the rest of hs life if he could

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

Bucky loves coming on your ass when he fucks you doggy, he loves how it rolls and drips off of your round cheeks.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Bucky loves toys. He loves to put you in vibrating panties and take ou to important dinners.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Bucky has been around the block- lets be real. Back in the 40’s he had a new dame every weekend(sometimes more then one). He even got ass during the war. But since he got out of Cyro you're the first person he’s even kissed

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

Doggy. 100%- he loves your plump ass. But he also likes holding you and fucking you againts walls, just because of your reaction to it, you never thought a man would be able too pick you up.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

Bucky’s actually a funny fuck and genuinely gets joy from intimacy with you. He’s made you laugh while making you cum and that's one hell of an experience.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

He went AU natural for a long time and that man had a BUSH. He trims for you, keeps it nice and tidy. Its still dark and prominent though. You love it.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

He was really awkward about it, it felt weird to let himself get to that place. Now he loves it, the two of you love reading together. Bathing together.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

You love watching him work himself over, he gets so pretty when his fist is wrapped around his cock. Love waiting him writhe and come all over his knuckles.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Bucky loves to be rimmed- it just feels so good when you're blowing him- he totally jumped and almost kneed you in the face the first time you tried it though lol

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

Honestly he’ll fuck you anywhere, but he prefers somewhere cozy and safe-where he’s checked all the exits and windows because it gets him in the right mindset.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

He’s not gonna lie- when you get all dolled up and wear that red lipstick he loves he cant help but grab handfuls of you.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He refuses any kind of blindfold play- Bucky doesn't like his senses being taken away. He likes(needs) to be in control.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Bucks a giver- he remembers being tongue deep under the skirts of pretty girls in the back of dance halls. He’s good with his mouth- and you get to be on the receiving end to that.

P = Pace (Are they fats and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Depends and varies. He loves fucking you slow though, loves watching your body take him, all of him.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

He’s not a fan of quickies- they remind him of the war and the USO sow girls and gunpowder and his first tastes of death/ He especially doesn't like them with you, he wants to take his time with you. Wants to savor it.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Not really, I mean you guys did fuck in a coat closet at the White House but you almost got caught by the CIA and that's always a mood killer right?

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

Three words: Super Soldier Serum. That man has WRECKED you before. Literally 5 rounds back to back. Your thighs shook for days.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

He enjoys toys- he’s always been a techie nerd. He loves when you press a vibrator to your clit as he takes you, loves the way you screech.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

You are the tease in the relationship, and he only does it to get you back. He sucks at it even though he has crazy self control. He doesn't want to be disciplined when it comes to you.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

He’s not the most vocal, but fuck, are his grunts and groans so guttural and perfect.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Cockwarming is a favorite of both of yours.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

MOTHERFUCKER IS PACKING. 10 inches, minimum. That serum amped up everything. He was devastated when he hurt you the first time, but like how could he not? You def weren't used to anything like that.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Um? He didn't get laid for the better part of a century. He’d be buried inside you every second of the fucking day if he could.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He’s on sleeping and anxiety and a whole slew of other mess to get him to sleep- but that pussy of yours? How hard you make him cum? Better them any pharmaceuticals. He likes falling asleep on top of you, your bosom a pillow and your thighs still cradaling his hips. He’s warm. He’s home

[hayleysstark]

The Twenty-First Night of September

Chapter 1

Words: 4654 Warnings: None Summary: The Giver is just the sweetest, nicest, most thoughtful, most considerate troll in the entire village, because Poppy says so, and Poppy is never wrong. She just kind of didn't think maybe the Giver might be Branch. // The AU no one asked for. Pre-film. Multi-chapter. Eventual Branch/Poppy. Dual POV. Extremely slow burn. 

Notes: This idea has come an incredibly long way to tell you guys the truth. I initially thought up the plot right after S1 dropped LAST January ((dfghgfrhgfgb can you BELIEVE this series has survived an entire year)) but I didn't actually do anything with it - I typed up a couple rough drafts here and there, but none of them felt right, and at one point, it even got turned into an RP ((with my buddy @etheriumart, they have an account on here and Fanfiction, check them out u cowards)) and I was pretty much on the verge of abandoning it completely, but I decided to give it one more go. 

Fun fact, this is actually only my third time writing from Poppy's perspective ever (Just Friends and One Night being the first two) so I'm very much still learning. How have I been in this fandom for a solid two years now and only written twice from Poppy's POV? blasphemy. she deserves my respect. Anyway, though, the next chapter should be from Branch's point of view, so I'll get back to my regularly scheduled programming then lmao. Honest feedback's very very appreciated! I know I got lots of room to improve, and outsiders' opinions usually help with that.

Set several years before the movie, by the way, so Branch and Poppy are both in their teens for now!

Read on Fanfiction or AO3 

"Are you sure about all this, Poppy?" Smidge asked, for what had to be the thousandth time, big, deceptively soft-looking baby-blue eyes wide as they could go, apprehension and uncertainty plain on her little face. "Just think about what you're missing!" She swept a small hand through the air, fingers spread, and gestured loosely to the crowd of colorful trolls below, packed shoulder-to-shoulder, bodies swaying energetically to DJ's latest mix—which was amazing, by the way, as always, Poppy was going to absolutely shower the girl in hugs and compliments the minute the party wound down—

Oh. Right. Reassure Smidge. Gotta reassure Smidge. Focus, Poppy. This is too important for distractions.

She pulled her lips up in the brightest smile she could manage, and nodded enthusiastically. "I know, I know, it's all so super-amazing-tastic, I love it, but—but I—" if she let herself close her eyes she knew she'd see the lonely little figure in her mind, as dark and mysterious and unreachable as they always were, lingering nervously on the edge of the village with hungry, unseen eyes fixed on the dancing trolls below, watching and watching and watching and never joining—Poppy felt the grin on her face begin to falter. "—I can't," there was no way anyone but Smidge could hear her over the deafening pound of DJ's music, but she dropped her voice to a whisper anyway—no need to drag the whole party down with her, "I—I can't stand the thought that there's a troll out there somewhere who's not having fun like the rest of us. They deserve to be happy as much as we do, they deserve to be as happy as they've made us."

The words bolstered Poppy, even if they were her own—she even mustered the strength to hitch her smile back on her face. Somewhere out there, creeping unseen and unknown and, worst of all, unthanked, through the gloom of the village was a troll who cared, who cared so much they sacrificed their every Harvest Moon to bring the rest of the town a night full of wonder and laughter and love and happiness—somewhere out there was a troll who cared, who wanted with everything in them to make people happy, and Poppy would spend her whole life, if she had to, making sure they got some of that happiness back.

"But that's just it, Poppy," Smidge spread her hands out helplessly, "what if they're happy the way they are? And even if they aren't, it's not like we can do anything about it! We have no idea who they are!"

"I know," Poppy admitted—God, did she know. The music-playing, confetti-spraying thank-you cards obviously hadn't been special enough for the mystery gift-giver to reveal themselves—she'd even rigged up one to sing a song she'd written herself! Specifically for the Giver! Maybe the title had been too on the nose? "The Gratitude Song" didn't leave much room for imagination, she had to admit.

But the anonymous troll had even snubbed the parties! How many crazy-loud recognition parties had she promised to throw them if only they'd come forward?! Flashing lights! A minimum five pounds of glitter! Disco balls! A special thank-you mix from DJ Suki herself! What more could any troll in their right mind even want?!

Well—Poppy hastily fought off the giggle bubbling in the back of her throat—Branch probably would have snubbed the parties. Would have called them a "safety hazard", or something like that. He was really funny that way. Ooh, just wait 'til she got to tell Branch she'd found out who the Giver was! Of course, she still had to do the actual finding-out part, but when she did, ooh! She couldn't wait to rub his smirking face in it. He was so infuriatingly confident that no one would ever, ever know, and always asked annoyingly pointed questions that made her wonder—"If this 'Gifter' weirdo wants to remain anonymous, shouldn't you respect that?"—and shot her that snarky little half-smile at the end of it. Yeah, she was gonna have some serious fun with Branch, just as soon as she'd unmasked the Giver.

She threw her shoulders back and stood up a little straighter at the thought. If nothing else, she could at least have the satisfaction of giving Branch a big, fat I told you so.

"I'm gonna head out," she told Smidge, and bounced to the edge of the giant flat-topped orange mushroom. "See you later!" She threw herself straight down into the heart of the wildly-dancing crowd, laughing out loud into the breeze rushing past her face, and ripping all the breath from her lungs—countless pairs of gentle hands caught her, seized her by the arms or legs or dress, passing her smoothly from troll to troll—she surfed easily all the way to the back of the crowd, slid neatly from Moxie Dewdrop's arms, shot her a quick smile of thanks, and made her way out of the pod.

She didn't let her feet stop moving until she'd gotten a good way away from it all, pausing to adjust from the bright lights and blaring noise of the party to the sudden darkness and silence of the forest staring back at her—the air, when it hit her lungs, tasted uniquely of autumn, sweet and spicy and a touch smoky, too, like the amazing cider Biggie always made special for the Harvest Moon—ooh, she wanted another glass already—

No. No, this was too important to let herself get distracted. Eyes on the prize.

Right. The "prize" being the absolutely ginormous, record-breaking thank-you she'd finally finally finally get to give when she found out the mystery troll's true identity—ooh, she'd planned it all down to the last detail—the Giver would smile, of course they'd smile, who didn't smile when someone thanked them? Ooh, and she'd bet her flower crown that their smile would be the really nice kind that made their whole entire face light up like the sun and—!

There!

Poppy's heart nearly ripped itself out of her chest at the sight of the dark, hooded figure, smaller than even Smidge at this distance, darting nimbly from one pod to the next, enormous sack slung over one shoulder, cutting an awkward and lurching and hunchbacked figure in the ivory moonlight.

Oh, my God! It's happening!

Okay, okay, okay, stay calm, stay calm, she just needed to stay calm and catch up to them and convince them to tell her who they really were and then she could thank them and together, they could go back to the party and tell the village and everyone would swarm the Giver in hugs and thank-yous and the Giver would never ever have to be sad or alone on the Harvest Moon again, and everything would be all cupcakes and rainbows for everyone! Easy!

Focus. Poppy dragged in a breath, and shook out her hair to its fullest length—she wrapped the bubblegum-pink tips around the nearest tree limb, and swung herself up into the sky, swathed momentarily in a blanket of rich sapphire studded with a hundred thousand sparkling stars, landing lightly in the tree with the rough bark scratching painfully at the bottoms of her bare feet. She winced, and lifted her legs to rub at her stinging toes—no, no, no time for that! Poppy gave herself a shake. She had a Giver to thank!

For what felt like hours she flew, weightless, through the all-encompassing dark, with her heart in her mouth and the blood pounding in her ears—the wood sped by beneath her, moon-dusted, leafless trees gleaming faintly silver under the faint light—one branch, then another, then the next—nearly there now—nearly there—

There, that was it! That was the pod the Giver had disappeared into! Only just up ahead! Poppy shimmied across the last limb on her stomach and leapt, like a cat, through the open window—the impact jolted her a bit, reverberating up her legs—she wobbled lightly where she stood, and smothered a swear—Smidge could have pulled it off better—

Oh. Oh, God. Oh, God, the Giver was right there!

Ooh, she could scream—no, no, she couldn't scream, she couldn't! She didn't want to scare them! The Giver hadn't seen her yet—standing with their back to her, and hood pulled up to hide their hair—ugh, unfair, how was she supposed to try and guess who it was if she couldn't see their hair?

Nope, it'd just be more fun this way! She wanted to look the Giver in the eye when she finally unmasked them!

They'd ditched their sack right by the window—already half-empty? This troll worked fast. Respect!—and without the weight, their motions had become quicker, more fluid, actually kind of graceful—

—bet they're a good dancer, then—

The Giver knelt by the bed to put down the poorly-wrapped present in their hand, reached to reposition the bright yellow bow so it sprang up, arching cheerfully toward the pod's low ceiling, and took a little step back, as if to admire the effect—

A sudden, fierce swell of affection flooded up in Poppy's chest—if the gifts themselves weren't telling enough, the tender way this troll touched them certainly was—the half-second they took to spruce them up, make sure they looked their absolute best for their recipient—ooh, she just wanted to hug them! Right now!

No, no, not right now—plenty of time for hugging later—first she had to find out who they were—

Poppy couldn't keep from bouncing a little, up and down, on her toes, fluffy purple carpet muffling the sound. Finally finally finally! The moment was here! The moment had come! After years and years and years of getting the nicest, sweetest, most considerate and thoughtful gifts ever, and getting to see the rest of the village so happy, she finally got to say—

"Thank you!"

The Giver actually screamed out loud—Poppy really felt a bit bad about it, to be honest. They jumped a mile in the air—they'd even put on boots, she noted in the back of her mind when their feet left the floor—they must be seriously into this whole anonymity thing. She could only assume the dancer's elegance of only a minute ago had completely deserted them, because after a long minute of stumbling and tottering and flailing and just generally tripping all over themselves, they landed in a messy heap of dark cloth on the carpet.

Oops.

"I—I'm sorry!" Poppy barreled from her spot by the window and over to the crumpled form of the fallen Giver, hand rising on instinct to help them back to their feet. "Are you okay?"

"Amazing," The Giver grunted out, in a way that didn't sound like they meant it at all—which didn't make sense, why would anyone say something they didn't mean?

The Giver rolled over on the floor, rudely ignored her outstretched hand, and pushed themselves to their feet—no, his feet, she corrected herself, his feet—the thick hood of the black jacket and the dark glasses completely obscured their face, but what little she could see—broad nose, sharp jaw, hollow cheeks—what little she could see belonged to a man, that voice belonged to a man—no—no, not a man—a boy—definitely a boy, she decided, after a second glance, and a boy not much older than her—it took her a second to wrap her mind around the thought—she'd sort of imagined the Giver as an old man, to tell the truth, with grey-streaked hair and wrinkles, like her dad, but even in the shadows, she could see the dull skin was smooth—dull skin—the revelation jolted her—oh, no, oh, no, no, no! Oh, the poor troll, oh, no, his colors must be dimmed, oh, the poor thing—and his voice, it wasn't a voice she'd ever imagined for the Giver at all, even when she got past the way it had cracked right in the middle.

The Giver's voice was gentle, she'd decided, a long time ago, very gentle and soft and benevolent, like ocean waves lapping at the shore, the kind of voice that sounded nice all the time, the kind of voice that was just made for singing and telling stories and reciting poetry and lulling little children to sleep—the kind of voice that just made you want to keep listening—angelic, almost, she'd told herself, but this—this didn't sound like that sort of voice at all—no offense to the Giver, no, no, she didn't mean that in a bad way, just—well, it was all—rough and uneven and—

—and familiar—

The Giver tugged lightly at the edges of his hood and stepped past her, head down, face carefully averted—no, no, he was—he was leaving, no, he couldn't be leaving—

"Wait!" Poppy pushed her whirling thoughts to the back of her mind, and scrambled after him. "Wait, wait, wait!" She didn't really pause to think about the rest of it—she just sort of. Well. She threw herself at him, wrapped her arms as tight as she could around his black-clad legs, and hauled him back down to the floor. "I don't even know who you are!"

"Poppy—!"

Oh. Oh, God. Her name left his lips, and she froze. There was only one troll in the whole entire village who talked to her like that, with all that—that annoyance, and that exasperation, and that frustration, and—

The glasses slipped off the bridge of his wide nose, and he actually chose to press his face to the carpet before he'd let himself look at her, but—God, but it didn't matter anymore, did it, she didn't need to see his face, she knew, she knew and there was no going back—the dull skin, the dimmed colors, it should have been a giveaway, how had it not been a giveaway?!

The Giver was—the Giver—he—he was—

"Branch?!"

He stiffened and went still beneath her, gloved hands clenching up in fists against the vibrant violet floor. "I—" For half a second, it sounded like he was about to start yelling at her. "—I'm sorry, Princess," he said instead, in a very, very Not-Branch voice, "I think you must be hearing things, because I can assure you, I am not—"

"Branch," Poppy cut him off, and pushed herself up on her palms, swinging her legs over his sides to sit on him more comfortably, "give it up." In spite of the disbelief still roiling through her like a storm at sea, she felt a giggle bubbling up in the back of her throat at her choice of words. "Should be easy for you, huh?" She couldn't suppress the laugh anymore, and it erupted uncontrollably out of her, mirth merging with her shock to make the sound more than a little bit hysterical. "Guess you're pretty good at giving."

And Branch—Branch hissed at her! Actually hissed at her! Between his teeth! Like a snake! Ooh, she wished she could see his face! He always made the funniest faces when he was flustered. "Shut up."

"'Shut up'?" Poppy clamped her hand over her mouth, but the snort made its way out anyway. "A-and here I thought you had a—gift—for language!"

"Poppy, I swear to God—!"

Another loud shout of half-incredulity and half-amusement ripped its way out of her mouth, and she threw back her head—there was no way she could swallow it back anymore—her sides were already beginning to ache in protest, and she clutched weakly for her heaving ribs. Oh, God. Oh, God, Branch was the Giver. Did not see that coming. At all.

It was just—well, it was just—well, Branch didn't care. About anyone, or anything, except his bunker, but that—that didn't count, Poppy didn't count that, because the bunker wasn't real, it didn't have feelings, so it couldn't care about Branch back and—look. Look. The point. The point was this. Branch didn't care about things.

And that didn't mean he didn't have his good qualities, because he did! Sure, if it came down to it, he'd probably leave the village for dead, but he was funny, and he had lots of interesting things to say about the forest if she only waited him out or wore him down, and he was so fun to argue with, he always had a comeback for everything, and just because he didn't care about things didn't mean those weren't all good qualities, so there!

But—but if Branch was the Giver, then that would mean—

—that would mean—

"Branch," Poppy said, and the sound of her own voice in her ears startled her, far more than it should have, and she had to swallow and start again, "Branch, why are you doing all this?"

"God, Poppy," Branch's hands fisted against the floor again, and he shifted a little underneath her, "I don't have time for this. In case you haven't noticed, I'm kind of in a hurry."

"No, why?" Poppy finally had the Giver in her grasp, and she didn't care anymore that it was Branch, she didn't care that he was grumpy and snarky and hated her parties and didn't like glitter and wouldn't let her hug him at Hug-Time and didn't care, she finally had the Giver in her grasp, and she wasn't letting him go, not until he'd told her everything there was to tell. "I mean, if you want to give us presents, why don't you just—give us presents? Without all—this?"

"I don't," Branch growled, "want to give any of you anything."

"Or—or better yet," Poppy decided to ignore that last part—obviously a blatant lie, right? Right? "Better yet, why don't you just—I don't know, not act like you can't stand us? I-I mean, if you care, why don't you act like it?"

"Okay, fine," Branch pushed himself up on his palms, and twisted over onto his back to look at her—she slipped a little with the sudden movement, but grabbed at his shoulder and held on, "I guess I have to break it down for you, huh? Okay. Here we go. I hate every single goddamn one of you."

"But," Poppy knew well the signs of a full-on Branch bitch-rant, and she needed to head it off like, ten minutes ago. The guy could really just go for hours if you were dumb enough to let him get started. "But you don't. Because you're the Giver."

"Oh, my God, Poppy!" He lifted an arm, and shoved her to the floor in one swift motion. "Okay, fine! I admit it! I'm the Giver! Now let me go! I still have about seven dozen of these left to deliver, the party could end any minute, I really don't have time for—!"

"The party!" Oh! Oh, God! Ooh, this was going to be even more fun than chasing the Giver! "Oh, my gosh, Branch, the party! Come on, come on, come on!" She jumped to her feet, and yanked on his arm. "Come on! Up! We gotta get back before it ends!"

"Um." Branch flicked at her knuckles until she let go. "Right. Yeah. Have fun with that." He got to his feet, and dusted off the front of his dark jacket.

"What? No, no, no," Poppy giggled—right, right, her bad! She kind of hadn't really explained that too well, had she? Oh. Well. Fixing! "We gotta tell the village, my man!"

"What?!" Branch tried to spin around to face her, but he really just did that thing again where he tripped all over himself and flailed. "No! No no no no no no no! No!" He clumsily regained his balance, and shook his head wildly back and forth, so hard he looked like he was gonna give himself whiplash.

"Yes!" Poppy countered, and nodded vigorously to prove her point. "Just wait until they hear about you, Branch! Oh, buddy, they're gonna love you!"

"If I did everything so the village would love me, I'd never have done a useful thing in my entire life."

"I didn't hear that!" Poppy clapped her hands over her ears. "Come on!" She motioned, with her elbow, to the open window. "What are you waiting for? Let's go!"

"No," Branch repeated, so firmly she could read the word as it formed on his lips. "The village is never going to know."

"But—" Poppy deflated a little. Her hands slipped off her ears. But didn't he—didn't he want—? "But Branch, how are they supposed to thank you if they don't know it's you?"

"I—I don't—" the pale purple flush crawling up Branch's cheeks glowed like a beacon in the dim light of the empty pod, "—I don't want—" He dragged in a breath, and it sounded painful, like it snagged somewhere in the back of his throat and for half a second, Poppy thought he was going to say—something, she didn't—she didn't know what, but something important, something that mattered, something that meant something and she knew if he did, all the barriers behind his eyes would finally fall and she'd see—

His hands clenched back up in fists. "I don't need," he lifted his head, and stuck out his chin, "I don't need your stupid gratitude."

Branch turned sharply on his heel, and stomped over to the dark, half-empty sack still waiting for him by the window. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I—"

"Wait!" Poppy edged forward as far as she dared, as far as she thought he'd let her get before he stepped back. "Wait! Let me help!"

Branch dropped the sack again. "What?"

"You said it yourself! The party could end any minute!" Poppy jerked her thumb in the direction of the glowing pod, even though she knew it couldn't be seen from here. "If we split the gifts between us, we can get done with the delivery way before anyone comes home!"

Branch snorted. "Right. Yeah. Like I'm gonna do that." He swung the sack back on his shoulder.

Stubborn ass. Poppy was seriously about to stamp her foot. "Why not?! No, don't answer that," she added, when he opened his mouth, because that snarky half-smile was already curling up his lip, and she really just could not deal with one of his smart remarks right about now, "don't. This is, like, super important to the village! It makes 'em all really happy, Branch! I wanna help with that! Let me help with that!"

And—oh, God, here was officially the craziest part of the entire night—Branch looked at her. Just—just looked at her. It wasn't a glare, it wasn't a scowl, it wasn't even one of those tired, dead-eyed glances. It wasn't even a smirk, like when he'd just got in a really good jab at her, and had to show off how insufferably cocky he could be. He didn't do any of that. He just looked at her. Like—oh, God, like he was seriously considering—

"No."

What?!

Okay. Fine. That was fine! Time to bring out the big guns, Poppy supposed. All was fair in love and war, and all of that. Hmm. No. Gifts and war? Giftery and war? Giftery. Was giftery a word? It should be.

Oops. Sidetracked. She shook her head, and lifted her chin.

"If you don't let me help," she jammed her hands on her hips, and tried to look as intimidating as possible, "I guess I'll just—" she lifted one shoulder, and dropped it an instant later in a half-shrug, "—have to tell the village."

Every last ounce of color drained from Branch's face.

"Mm. Well." She headed for the window straight past him, and smothered a smile when he reflexively stumbled out of her way. Ha! She never made him step aside! She should try this intimidation thing more often. It was fun. "Nice talkin' to you! See ya, Branch!" She stepped to the edge of the window, and shook out her hair for good measure. "Ooh," she added, on impulse, "I'll have to help the kids with their thank-you cards tomorrow, that'll be super-fun!" Okay, now she got why Branch smirked all the time when he said something snarky! Ooh, this was so fun! Why had no one ever told her it was this fun to mess with him?

"W-wait!" Right on cue. Branch bolted toward her, stumbling over the clunky, awkward boots, and threw out a frantic hand. His fingers, warm even through the thick gloves, latched onto her wrist.

Poppy arched her eyebrows. Ooh, she was not gonna make this easy on him! Not in the slightest. "Yes?"

"You—you—" He looked anywhere but at her, purple flush returning to his face with a vengeance, "—you can help, okay? Th-there. I said it. Happy?"

"Yes!" Poppy bounced backward into the pod. "Oh, my gosh, this is gonna be so so so so much fun—!"

"Ground rules," Branch said coolly, and jabbed a finger at her, "no singing. No dancing. No running off and telling the village anyway."

"Branch, do you really think I'd break my word?"

"Yes. Without hesitation." He opened up the sack, pulled out a few brightly-colored boxes, and thrust them at her. "Now let's get this over with."

[secrettomesofthedas]

Signup Guide

We heard some people had trouble accessing the signup guide via the app, so here it is again as a regular post. (Under a cut, because it’s lengthy.)

Sign Ups – How do they work?    

Since this is a gift exchange, we need requests and offers to let AO3’s automatic matching system match the recipient to a gift-giver.

What does a request look like?

You have to enter a minimum of three and a maximum of five requests. Every request consists of the following items:

Up to two pairings You can choose up to two pairings per request, meaning you can request prompts for up to 10 pairings total. You can split the request in two if you have two different ships, or request the same prompt for both ships if you like. You can only choose each ship once, but you can put multiple ideas for one pairing within a request.

An optional rating (especially if you do – or do not – want smut).

A prompt You can request nearly anything! Whether you want fluff, or smut, or really dark stuff, or all of the above, be our guest! If you’ve always wanted someone to write that flower shop AU of your dreams, now is the time. Please note: where Wardens, Hawkes, and Inquisitors are concerned, we prefer to see prompts that allow some form of interpretation for the creator. You are allowed to describe your generic preferences, for instance “I prefer a cheeky rogue Inquisitor” or “red Hawke is my favorite”, but not “for this scenario, I want you to use my a 24-year old mage Inquisitor, Kyara Lavellan, who loves nugs, picks her scabs, and has five piercings in each ear”. Also: you are not allowed to specifically request art or fic – keep this in mind when writing your prompts, so both artists and fic writers can potentially work with your request.

Your Do-not-wants: if you have any limitations that your gift-giver should absolutely adhere to, put them underneath your prompt.

A few examples of what a request could look like:

[Leliana/Josephine Montilyet , Leliana & Josephine Montilyet, Teen and Up Audiences.]

I am very interested in how these two navigate the game in Val Royeaux. Whether they are in a romantic relationship or not, I will leave it up to you. Regardless, I’m really interested in what Leliana can do with a twine ball, measuring stick and handkerchief. Bring me shenanigans in pretty dresses and capable ladies being supportive of each other!

Likes: friends to lovers, hand holding, hurt/comfort, these two showering each other with compliments.

DNWs: no smut, please. Small wounds are fine but no gore.

Or:

[Female Hawke/Isabela, Explicit.]

I want smut for this pairing! Go as explicit and as fun as you want. I like to see either party getting tied up, and I’m a huge fan of messy sex, but I like some good aftercare too. Bonus points if the sex happens on a boat. I’m partial to a purple mage Hawke, but any Hawke will do.

Likes: anal play, (magical) toys, tentacles, shape-shifting.

DNWs: watersports, knife play, AUs that aren’t set in Thedas, character bashing.

Or:

[Cassandra Pentaghast/Female Cadash,  Any Rating.]

I want a library AU with Cadash as the librarian who is intrigued by the woman that comes in every week to read romance novels and drink a lot of coffee.

Much like Cassandra, I love schmoopy stories, so cliché’s are very much welcome! Smut is also welcomed, but not required.

Likes:  female dwarves with facial hair, fluff, smut with feelings.

DNWs: hard kink, mentions of hospitals/medical stuff, making characters who are non-human in canon human in the AU.

How do I write an offer?

Offers are what you are willing to write or draw! Be as elaborate as you want to be, especially if there are things that you really don’t want to create. This includes themes, characters, pairings, or ratings – you don’t need to explain your preferences. We won’t judge you.

You need to offer a minimum of three ships, but you can go as far as offer a total of 30 ships. You don’t have to insert your primary offer in every box, unless your offer differs per pairing or per character.

Here are some examples of offers:

I  am willing to create a work of any rating, as long as it involves Inquisition characters. I tend to create works that are on the darker side, so this is my preference, but I am willing to try my hand at something lighter if need be. I’m an artist, but if the prompt inspires me enough I might just find the plot bunny I need to write fic.

My offer is for fanfic, but smut is not something I’m comfortable with. I am also not too fond of writing darkfic, but I write a wicked hurt/comfort! I’m a sucker for AUs, and I can work with all the media of the franchise, including the comics. As far as favorites go, I absolutely love Merrill and I just want her to be happy and surrounded by people who love and appreciate her.

Help, the pairing I want to request/offer doesn’t turn up in the tag set - what do I do? Requests are definitely not limited to the ships in the tag set, but tags that are new and haven’t been wrangled yet don’t show up on AO3. Shoot us a message with the pairing you want to request and we’ll work it out!

Writing a letter

A letter is not a requirement, but it definitely is a fun way to address your anonymous gift-giver. You can put more details about your prompts in your letter, and elaborate on any information that you have put in your requests. It is also always a good idea to repeat your DNWs. If you want, you can also write a word of encouragement for your gift-giver. Let them know that you are excited to see what they will come up with!

You can upload the letter on, say, tumblr, dreamwidth, or google docs, and link the URL in your request.

[todaydreambelieversfic]

The 2018 Todaydreambelievers Klaine Fic Exchange Is Here!

The SURVEY is LIVE

Welcome to the 2018 Todaydreambelievers (biennial) Klaine Fic Exchange

How does it work? 

Participants will both write a fic for someone, and have a fic written for them. Because it’s a surprise, the person you write a fic for will not be the same person who writes one for you. Also, because it’s a SURPRISE! Please do not reveal yourself to your giftee until it’s time to post your fic.

If you want to participate, please fill out this survey. It will take a few minutes to fill out, and it will definitely help if you give some thought to what kind of prompts you might like to have filled, and what you are comfortable writing before you dig in.

If you are looking for ideas, there are a lot of prompt blogs on tumblr with some fun stuff! Poke around a little if you need inspiration.

But first please read the rules!

The Rules:

We ask that you submit three prompts so your gift-giver has something to choose from. That way you get a surprise, and your gift-writer is more likely to find something they can work with.

For the prompts, please be specific, but keep it simple. Simply prompting “wedding” or “vacation” is too vague, but a full outline is gonna be difficult to follow. It’s also helpful to indicate if you prefer canon or au, or if you prefer cracky fic, for example. (If you’re unsure, you can always contact us.)

On the sign-up form there are questions about what you’d like to give in return in terms of rating, fic categories etc, and also what you’re not comfortable with, so that we can match you up with your recipient as well as possible according to both of your preferences.

Once sign-ups are closed, we’ll match everyone up and assign you a giftee, and you will choose one of their prompts to fill. We’ll do our best to match you up with someone whose prompts match your preferences as closely as possible!

Yes you can fill all the prompts if you want and have the time!

You must have an AO3 account, since all fic must be posted to our AO3 Collection for this challenge. If you don’t have an account yet, let us know - We can request invitations from AO3 for our gift exchange. (You can post your fic wherever else you like in addition to posting it to AO3, but you must post it there to the collection that will be set up.)

Minimum word count for all fics is 2,500 words. There is no maximum word count, however we ask that your story be posted in it’s entirety on your assigned posting date. 

All fic must be betaed. If you don’t have a beta and can’t find one, no problem – let us know and we’ll get you in touch with someone.

Gifts must be complete (no WIPs).

We will have one check-in at the midway point where we ask that you confirm your progress on the gift fic you’re working on. We want to be sure everyone gets a fic so it’s better to know early if someone is having any issues with their fic. The details of the check-in will be posted closer to the check in date below.

We are not going to require that final drafts of fics are submitted prior to your posting date, however there will be a final check in date where we will ask you to confirm that you are finished with your fic and will be able to post on your assigned date. 

Posting dates will be assigned 7 days in advance of the first posting date. Because we do understand that everyone’s schedule is different, there is a place in the form where you may request and earlier or later posting date. 

If you need to drop out, please let us know as soon as humanly possible so we can find a pinch hitter who’ll provide the gift for your recipient. Life happens, believe me we understand. Just let us know!

The Schedule:

Saturday, June 8: Sign-ups are open! Signups will be open for ten days, so please spread the word! Here is the link to the sign up sheet again!

Monday, June 18: Sign-ups close

Friday, June 22 - Sunday June 24: Assignments will be sent out over this weekend. How long it will take to get them out will depend on how many people we get signed up.

Friday, July 27 – Sunday, July 29: Midway Check-in.

Week of August 20: Final draft check in

Sunday, August 26: Posting begins! 

If you have any questions, please feel free to ask! And please reblog to spread the word! <3

[f1-stuff]

fuck it we ball WIP GAME

rules: post the names of the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! tag as many people as you have WIPs.

thanks for the tag @unabashedlycasualangel and @c2-eh !

Minimum (Giver AU)

Bi Charles

Mechanic AU

Mallorca AU

Soulmate AU

Daemon AU

Royal Harem AU

All my f1 WIPs are Charlos bc I have a problem...

I'm tagging @effervescentdragon @desomniis @monagasque @rudesses @somethingsgottagive @chubbydino aaand I almost made it to 7 tags, but i've run out of ideas. As always, feel free to ignore!

[quinloki]

Birthday Request Event v2024

Gift Details ♥ Reader Style: cisfem Character: Kaku Vibe: NSFW Yandere / dubcon AU: Canon Prompt: Caught in the Act Gift Giver: @mamaalpha

Summary: Going off to secluded parts of the Galley-La ship yard to deal with your own horniness, turned out to be a bad idea.

Content Notes: breaking and entering, blackmail, dubious consent, coerced consent, forced exposure, outdoor masturbation, dark content, yandere kaku, mdni

This birthday party is 18+, consensual unless explicitly stated otherwise, and BYOB

THIS IS EXPLICITLY STATED OTHERWISE

Your stomach was in knots. The sun was down and the work yard was empty, no one else was around. There weren’t any guards for the Galley-La shipyard. No one would dare, and in the last ten years there’d been nothing to prove otherwise.

It was so quiet.

The reason you were even here was because of a letter left in your apartment. There was nothing in it except a time and place to meet and a photo. Warehouse eight, 11:30pm.

The photo is of you, some days ago, pants down and lost to pleasure back behind the same warehouse. The intentions of the letter had been obvious, and if you didn’t go during the appointed time you were going to be exposed. At the very least you wanted to be able to face whoever was blackmailing you like this.

More than the photo and the threat, you didn’t like that you’d found it inside your apartment. You kept your doors and windows locked out of habit, but nothing had been out of place. That kind of skill unsettled you more than anything else.

Coming around to the backside of the warehouse you glance down at your watch. There’s barely enough of the moon to see by, but you guess you’re a couple minutes early. Stepping toward the middle of the warehouse, deciding you want to be able to see whoever approaches, you look around.

There’s not much open view back here, it’s one of the reasons you’d chosen it when you’d been too turned on to take it anymore. Piles of lumber and rope closed in the small patch of grass, and gravel on the sides of the warehouse were enough of a warning for anyone coming back into the little used area.

As the minutes tick by your anxiety and concern transforms into irritation. You’re starting to expect flood lights and some weird ass surprise with the entire crew gathered around. Which would be utterly ridiculous, and there would’ve been far better ways to set it up. Clicking your tongue in irritation you decide to leave, but as soon as your back leaves the wall of the warehouse someone lands behind you.

Working in the shipyard made everyone there strong, and dealing with pirates made everyone a decent fighter at minimum, and you were no exception. The person behind you, however, was far above you in skill and before you could react your arm was twisted and pinned against your back, your chest and face pushed into the warehouse itself.

You grunt in surprise, and huff when you realize you’re pinned. You struggle, but your assailant locks his leg against yours and leans his weight in, holding you in place.

“You’re late.” You grumble, still struggling. All you need is enough of an opening and you can get free.

The heady sigh that slips over your ear sends a strange chill down your back. There’s need in the sound, and heat in the breath. The kiss against the back of your neck was sweet and gentle and you had to bite your lip to stifle an involuntary noise.

“You had your back to the warehouse,” he says in a voice low and dripping with lust. Despite the unusual demeanor you recognized it. “You’re a good enough fighter I wanted a proper opening.”

“K-Kaku?” You stammer. The idea of it broke your brain. Of all the people in Galley-La you would’ve expected Paulie before you suspected Kaku. He was always so cheerful, and bright, and he seemed like someone who hadn’t even held hands with someone else before. “No. Wait, what’s - haaaah!” You cry out as he places another tender kiss against your skin.

It had to be the adrenaline making you so sensitive. The nerves of having come out here. The distraction of knowing someone had broken into your home to leave that note. The sheer disbelief that it was Kaku.

“Watching you is nothing compared to this.” He murmurs into your skin, pressing against you enough you can feel his desire heavy against your back.

“Kaku, please stop.” You can’t help the gasp from his wandering hand, but no matter how he moves or you move, you can’t break free. “If you… If you liked me you should’ve just said so.”

“Came back here once to confess,” he admits, his free hand wandering under the hem of your shirt. “Found you in the grass masturbating like your life depended on it.” His hand wanders down, fingers dancing along the waistband of your pants.

“Flushed, shivering, and panting. You were beautiful.” He husks into your ear. “I have hours of video.” You flinch, going still in his hands. “But it’s not enough.”

You were caught between several emotions at once. The idea that Kaku had video of you masturbating, and you never even had an inkling that someone had found you and your spot. The fact of him watching you. He was cute, hot even, and you can’t deny that you’d fantasized-.

You flinch and can feel Kaku smiling against your skin.

“Can you say my name like that right now?” He questions, as if he can read your thoughts. “Let me hear it fall from your pretty little lips.” His hand slips a little further down and you shake your head, getting him to stop.

“N-no… not, not like this Kaku. Ask… ask me properly tomorrow, please.” You gasp the words, struggling to keep your voice level.

“Now or tomorrow doesn’t matter, little filly.” He insists. “I’m not going to race you to Iceberg’s office. You’re not that fast.” Kaku moves quickly, pulling your shirt up and turning you around, using the shirt to pull and hold your arms behind your back. His leg is braced between yours, and he’s looming over you.

“You’re so turned on I can smell it.”

“No, I’m - I mean, it doesn’t matter.”

“Your breasts are so cute.” He interrupts, eyes leering over your chest before he looks back to you. The smile he flashes is the same one you’ve seen before. Bright, charming, not a hint of anything behind it. He looks like the boy next door. Harmless. “Say yes, little filly. I’ll make you feel so much better, and if you say yes, no one will ever know.”

The tangle of emotions in you had dropped like a lead weight at the implication. “You… you’re going to tell everyone if I say no?”

“Tell?” Kaku laughs and it sounds so light and clear it’s unsettling. “Golly no.” He insists, still smiling brightly when he looks at you again. “I’m going to share the whole video, little filly. All of Water 7 will see just how beautiful you are.”

His smile doesn’t falter as the icy understanding settles in your stomach.

“Once the whole city knows you’ll be far too embarrassed to face anyone, hm?” He leans down and nuzzles against the side of your face, speaking gently into your ear. “I’d keep all those eyes off you. All to myself. You’d never have to face those knowing stares unless you wanted.”

“You do so enjoy being wa-.”

“Okay.” You say it quietly, but Kaku stops talking. You can feel his eyes on you, waiting patiently for clarification. “You can,” you swallow thickly, “make me feel good. Tah-take me here.” You feel him lean back and you keep your eyes on his as he straightens up. “Don’t let anyone else see that video.”

There’s a dark look on his face, and you look away, trying to look and sound as shy as possible.

“I don’t want anyone else to hear… or see me… except you.” You say softly. There was truth in it. You absolutely did not want anyone else to see or hear you masturbating. Certainly not the whole of Water 7.

“Ah, that’s how it is.” He brightens visibly. “I’m happy to keep you all to myself then.”

Gently he cradles your face, guiding you carefully as he leans in. “Don’t worry, little filly, I’ll make sure you’re so satisfied you’ll never have to spend your lunch break, or your nights, alone ever again.”

[kamisamahajimemashita]

Sign up for this KamiHaji Gift Exchange Winter Event!

Sign up period: October 1 - November 1 

Reveal period: December 22 - January 1

Special Event Blog: https://kamihajisantasurprise.tumblr.com/

[information about this event is underneath the ‘read more’ line]

☛ What is KH Santa Surprise?

This  event is a gift exchanging event where each participant will create a gift for a fellow participant and will also receive a gift from a participant. This gift can be anything like fanart, fanfiction, an edit, gifset, etc. But it can also be something like a plush toy or a hairpin you made, for example. There is no real rule about what the gift should be. The gift must, however, be KamiHaji related and fit one of the prompts of the receiver of the gift. The important thing is that none of the participants know from whom they will receive a gift. The gift creator’s identity will remain a secret, until the gift is revealed to the recipient. Only the moderator will know who the sender is of each gift. ☛ How does it work? ▪ During the sign-up period (October 1 - November 1) you can sign up as a participant, a pinch hitter* or both. When you sign up, you notify me that you want to participate. After that you will be send a participation form. In that form you will be asked about your likes and dislikes as a gift. You will also be asked to give four prompts. Your ‘Santa’ will use one of these prompts to create the gift. It’s important to be very specific about your likes and dislikes. For example, if you don’t like a specific pairing or anything AU. The more specific you are, the more your gift will match your wishes.  You will also be asked if you would not mind nsfw work. If you say ‘yes’ then you must be aware that you can be asked to create something like that (because you can then be matched with a participant who has a nsfw request in their prompts), or that it is possible that you will receive nsfw work of any kind. You can give notice of your preferences, of what you would like to receive. Like fanart or fanfiction, for example. But please keep in mind that not each participant is equally skilled. Of course, I will try to match each participant carefully taking in their skills and preferences in regard. Also, as a mod I will need to know your skills. What you are able and willing to create. ▪ During the weekend of November 2 and November 3, I will match each participant and I will inform you about who your recipient will be. Then you will have about two months to create your gift. ▪ During the reveal period (December 22 until January 1) you are allowed to post your gift and make yourself known to your gift receiver. If you haven’t posted your gift after Christmas and I contact you, don’t sweat. The last day to post your gift is January 1 2018. I’m then merely checking if things are okay and if you are able to present your gift in time. 

If your gift is something that you actually need to send, you may do so earlier, so your recipient will receive his or her gift on time. It is then expected of the recipient to post a photo of the gift received during the reveal period. * As a ’pinch hitter’ it is possible that you will be asked to come to aid to create one or more gifts for other participants. This will occur, for example, when a participant isn’t able to meet the deadline or by circumstances can no longer participate. Therefore you must be willing and able to create something within a short time limit for the participant who otherwise will receive no gift. I must take in account that there will be circumstances where a participant notifies me that they won’t be able to create. That is why pinch hitters are a real necessity! As a moderator I will automatically be a pinch hitter. But I can’t do this alone. If more than one participants forfeits, then I’ll need help!

▪ During the time period of November 4 till December 22, I will regulary check with each participant how things are going. When I do, please respond asap and please be honest. It’s important that I know if I need to call a pinch hitter for aid. 

☛ Are there any specific rules concerning the gift? Some, yes. For fanfiction there is a 500 word minimum. Also, of course, all creations must be finished when presented!

NSFW work is also allowed. The same post rules apply for this as for any other event held by this blog. When you want to submit an nsfw creation, please read the rules concerning this first [x]

If you have any doubt about your creation being okay as a gift, please check with me.

More information about the event can be found here   [x]

Please check this page for the FAQ and RULES and if you have any questions, you can always send me an ask. 

    >>   SIGN UP   

Sign up by sending this blog a message that you want to participate in this event.

Please notify me as well if you volunteer as a pinch hitter. If need be, I will call the pinch hitters for aid. (see the information about this in the FAQ and this post)

Furthermore I will need your e-mail adress. I can guarantee I will not use your e-mail adres for any other purpose than contacting you about this event. I will use your e-mail for:

- Sending you the participation form - Contact you to check in on the progress of the gift creation  - Ask questions that your gift giver may have for you

If you are going to participate then hush, hush to your fellow fans. anonymity is the key to this whole event! 

[dauntlessly-eris]

Hello again!

I’ve garnered enough interest to move into the planning stage of the Summer Swap! Yes, we have a name :D No, it doesn’t quite match the theme but shhh, more on that below.

Currently there are about 5 interested parties and I’m hoping perhaps that with a more clear vision of the event that others will join in as well.

Participation poll: https://goo.gl/forms/nfqQ9Qz19cVUayxz1 Must be filled out to participate

What is this?

The swap is a fanfiction writing event where writers will be posting fics that match a summer-y theme. If writers are interested in swapping prompts with one another, they are welcome to however the intent of this is just to get some fresh blood into the waters with a bunch of new Eris fics~

If you are interested in swapping fic prompts with one another, there will be an option in the poll. This is optional so that no one should feel weird if they don’t want to write a random prompt!

Okay, so what’s the theme?

The theme is Summer Fun! You could write a beach day AU, a summer road trip AU, or just write a bunch about how unfortunate it is to train in the summer because Tris wears a crop top and Eric doesn’t wear a shirt. The world is your oyster. 

The only requirement is that Eris (Tris and Eric) is the main couple of the fic.

Guidelines

All participants must fill out the participation survey so that everyone can be notified of any updates

All fics must be new writing. A chapter update to a pre-existing story is not allowed. 

Fics must be 1k words minimum. This is just so that we’re putting out content that’s got a chance to tell an actual story :3

Rating can be K through E, just please tag accordingly.

Completed fics will be gathered into a collection on AO3. Additionally, cross-posted fics on FF.net will be gathered into a collection there. 

Fics must be posted to AO3. You may post full fics on Tumblr as well (I just don’t see the appeal personally), but that is not required.

Specific to prompt fillers

Respect your prompt-giver’s maturity level. Don’t write someone smut if they just want a casual fic.

Prompts are not anonymous this time. Feel free to chat with your prompter to see what kind of fic they’re interested in!

Be sure to include your prompter as the gift recipient on AO3. If for some reason your prompter does not want to be listed as a recipient, you may ignore this guideline.

Dates: 

Participation poll will close on June 9th at 11:59pm EST. 

Writing may begin on June 10th at 12:00am EST. 

@trashaddendum11 has offered to make a fic graphic for each and every participant! Please get in touch with them before June 17th to ensure that they have time to craft them all in time for the deadline.

Final fics are due June 25th at 11:59am EST. This deadline is so that I can queue up the annoucement posts and coordinate the AO3 collection process to release them all simultaneously. Should everyone finish writing early, I will of course release the collection earlier! More information about the collection process will follow.

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[robininthelabyrinth]

Fic: Trouble on the Way - Chapter 3/4 (Ao3 link) Fandom: The Flash, DC’s Legends of Tomorrow (total AU) Pairing: Mick Rory/Leonard Snart Series: Sequel to Bad Moon Rising Warning: explicit adult content

Summary: It occurs to Len that maybe he’s been willfully ignoring reality when it came to Mick’s new condition. Oh, sure, he’d done the basic research, the public stuff, but he’d been so determined not to make Mick feel like any more of a freak than he already did that he’d perhaps skimped a little on some of the details that were turning out to be more relevant than he’d originally thought.

Time to fix that.

A/N: Will only make sense if you’ve read the first one in the series, as it follows straight on it, but I think the first one is one of my best standalones, so I’m making this a sequel instead

An executive decision was made that (in the spirit of the first one) this series is going to be like a minimum of 70% kinky smut, because we can always use more of that in this fandom, so, uh, mind the full set of warnings on Ao3.

———————————————————————————–

Len’s slow to wake, for once.

He feels good – everything feels good – like the best sort of wet dream, hot and tight and perfect, the feeling of a warm, broad hand on his cock, not urgent but pleasant, a slow build, it slipping away to be replaced by the feeling of something filling him up when he’s lying languid and sleepy and –

Wait.

Len blinks awake.

That isn’t a dream.

“Mick,” he groans, and Mick laughs behind him as he rocks against Len’s ass, his hand low and his fingers sliding inside of Len, crooking a little, his other hand easily hoisting Len’s leg up so that Mick can play with Len’s ass with ease, both of them on their sides.

“Wondering how long it’d take you to notice,” Mick says, voice thick with amusement.

Len just grunts. “We fucked all last night,” he points out, because it’s true. After that first time, getting knotted for the first time, when they’d finally pulled apart – don’t ask Len how long that took, he was high on endorphins and his internal clock decided to fuck off for once in his life – Mick had taken his time, running his mouth all over Len’s body, learning every inch of him with tongue and fingers until Len could be coaxed back into hardness, till Mick could take him into his mouth and get him coming again.

Even now, Len’s not sure he can get it up; Mick’s hand is in him and it feels great, but he’s only half-hard. He’s relaxed, more than anything else, his body soft and open. It's nice.

“Tonight’s the moon,” Mick says, as if that explains everything.

And, hell, it probably did.

“You’re gonna kill me,” Len predicts.

Mick laughs.

“Death by orgasm,” Len says, mock-gloomily. “Not exactly what I expected my obituary would say, but hey, what a way to go –”

“You don’t even need to do anything,” Mick tells him, amused. “Just lie there.”

“I’m gonna be sore,” Len whines, but he doesn’t really mean it.

Also, fuck Mick. Leonard Snart does not just lie there.

Though he's still a bit sleepy, and Mick is doing all the work…

The heavy lifting, so to speak.

Len sniggers.

“I don’t want to know what stupid pun you’ve just thought of,” Mick says, long-suffering.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Len says, and rocks back against Mick.

“I just like feeling you,” Mick murmurs. “You’re still wet and everything – still dripping – god, you’re perfect –”

Okay, so maybe Len can handle one more round. He's such a giver.

Now that Len’s awake, Mick pulls his fingers out and wraps them around Len’s hips, sliding his cock between Len’s legs, not inside, just rutting against him and groaning as Len squeezes his legs together. Mick doesn’t take all that long to finish, which makes Len wonder a bit at how long Mick had been at him before he’d woken all the way up – what a lovely thought, Mick playing with him as Len sleeps trustingly beside him – he really will have to return the favor one of these days. Mick all at his mercy, fast asleep - yes, please.

The feeling of Mick twitching between his legs as he comes is pretty nice, too.

Mick takes a few minutes to enjoy the afterglow, then he rolls out of bed, tucking Len back into the bed and looking down at him with an expression on his face that Len can best describe as ‘satisfied’.

“You’d better be going to get me breakfast,” Len says in his best, mildest ‘disagree-and-I-will-kill-you’ tone.

“Breakfast and a backrub,” Mick confirms. “Possibly followed by a bath.”

“Acceptable,” Len says. “Extra points for alliteration.”

Mick rolls his eyes at him and turns to off to the kitchen, while Len snuggles back into the pillows.

A quick glance out the window shows that it’s already past midday. A bit late for breakfast, but then again, they did stay up late last night.

Mick brings plates with bagels, one piled high with an omelet and the other smeared with cream cheese, and Len ravenously falls upon his own.

He needs the energy, especially since he can see that Mick’s already hard again which – seriously?

Mick shrugs, unashamed, when Len points it out.

“Death by sex,” Len tells him. “It’s a real thing. Look it up.”

Mick’s smile – well, the only word for it is ‘wolfish.’

Len can’t help but reach out to grab Mick by the suspenders he wore to reel him in for a kiss. And then –

Oh, what the hell.

One blowjob later, even Mick looks sated, his eyes heavily lidded. Len smirks and makes to get up, only for a hand to snake around his waist and pull him back down.

“I think a midday nap is called for.”

“We literally just –”

“Shut up. Nap.”

Len snickers, but permits himself to be drawn back down for a nap.

Mick falls asleep quickly – the moon revving him up and drawing him down both, no doubt – but Len only dozes, plans for possible heists drifting through his mind and mixing with equally vivid plans for possible future assignations until he wakes abruptly in the middle of considering what the best way to pick a lock on a Gardall TL 15 commercial safe while avoiding anyone seeing that he’s being fucked by an amorous and slightly feral Mick.

He blinks.

Scratch that one off the plans list.

Or possibly put it on the list. Whatever.

Why’d he wake up?

The soft sound echoes again.

It sounds like – a knock on the door?

Who the hell is knocking on this door? They specifically picked the house on Sullivan Street because the whole damn area got abandoned this time of year.

Len wiggles out of Mick’s grasp and heads to the door, grabbing a pair of pants off the floor and throwing on one of Mick’s shirts – it hangs too large on him, but whatever – and one of his jackets.

He also grabs his cold gun from where they’d stashed the guns for easy access, plus an extra gun of the more regular variety, which he shoves into his pocket after checking the safety.

Holding the cold gun behind his back and standing off to the side in case someone was going to fire through the door, he cracks the door open.

There’s a gangly man there. He’s got blond, short hair, a vaguely facile-looking face, and he’s wearing a terrible pair of beige pants and a horrifically pastel blue polo shirt. Moderately expensive clothing, but not excessively so; he’s not Family, and judging by the expression on his face, he’s not a killer of any variety, either. Not unless he’s the best faker Len’s ever seen.

Possible, but unlikely.

If anything, he looks – excited, Len would say. His face is flushed and his eyes are slightly dilated, like drugs or arousal.

“Can I help you?” Len asks, not opening the door any further.

“Oh! Yes,” the man says, pulling at his collar a little bet. “I – I was hoping you could answer a few questions for me – my name is Dan – might I come inside?”

Hah. Like there’s any chance of that happening.

“No,” Len says, rolling his eyes and putting the cold gun down. This is not a cold gun sort of situation. This is an annoying neighbor sort of situation. “Go away.”

“It’ll only take a minute – just a minute of your time –”

Right, then.

Guess they’ll have to do this the hard way.

Len flings open the door and grabs the man by the collar, stepping out and swinging him against the wall of the house before putting the regular gun he's holding right to the guy's temple. “Let me be perfectly clear,” Len says pleasantly. Normally he’d pull the guy inside for a bit of privacy, but for some reason he’s not inclined to do that, so this’ll have to be quick. This isn’t really that gun-friendly a neighborhood. “You are going to leave. You are going to leave now, and you’re going to go very far away, and you’re not going to come back. This is my home, at least for the moment, and I will not hesitate to defend it. Do you understand me?”

The man’s eyes have gone wide and he’s panting a little, though less in fear and more like he’s trying to – is he trying to sniff Len?

“Am I being clear?” Len tries again.

“You know,” the man says, and his eyes are kinda dazed like he’s turned on or something, “you’re really quite exceptional –”

“Right,” Len says. Guy’s clearly some sort of insane pervert. “I’m going to kill you and stuff you in the backyard with the begonias.”

“I’ll go!” the man squeaks, clearly snapping out of his daze when he realizes that Len means it.

Len considers the pros and cons of just killing the guy.

“Fine,” he says grudgingly. “But only because gunshots are loud and I’m taking care of Mick today, so I don’t want to disturb him. But if I hear any indication that you’ve called the cops on us –”

“No! Definitely not!”

“And you’re going to go away now?”

“Y-yes?”

“Make that more definite.” Len grinds the muzzle of the gun into the side of the man’s head.

“Yes! Definitely yes!”

“Good. Now get moving.”

“Yes,” the man says. “You go – take care of your wolf. While being scary.”

Len rolls his eyes and watches the man scramble away, climbing into a car haphazardly parked in front of the house and burning rubber on his way out.

It’s not until he goes back inside when he realizes –

Len never said that Mick was a wolf.

Then how did the guy know?

Len scowls. He’ll have to look up the guy when the moon is over – what did he say his name was? Dan something?

Wait. Hotline Dan?

Surely not…

“Lenny?” Mick says, poking his head out from the upstairs. He sounds sleepy, but slightly anxious.

“On my way back up,” Len says, putting the guns back in their place and double-checking the safety on each one.

He puts the question of the strange man aside as well. Mick needs him.

When he gets back upstairs, Mick is a few inches taller than he ought to be, and significantly hairier, which isn’t unusual on full moon days. He’s still looking calm, which is a definite improvement over previous months.

Maybe Len should suggest watching one of those Discovery Planet documentaries that Mick’s developed a fondness for.

Mick loops an arm around Len and nuzzles his neck. “I’ve run a bath for us,” he rumbles.

Or they could do that. That is also an option.

Mick always swore by the bathtub in this house, though Len’s never tried it out before. Len’s more of a shower sort of guy. He’s not really comfortable with the idea of bathing – he’s never entirely understood what it is you’re supposed to do, sitting in a pool of water for however long once you’re done with the soap and the shampoo and shit, though Mick’s always been as happy as freaking otter, spending literally hours in there.

It wasn’t until a few months ago that Len’d started taking baths again. Len had been complaining of soreness and stiffness after getting caught in a particularly nasty bout of bad weather, that Mick had more or less picked him up and thrown Len fully clothed into a steaming hot bath, then perched on a stool and glared every time Len had tried to get up until Len had given in and started detailing his plans for their next heist from the bath.

He’d had to admit, he did feel better when he got up. So he allowed Mick to run him baths every once in a while, as long as Mick agreed to sit by the door and talk to him. It was pleasant enough.

But the idea of bathing with Mick, when Mick has that manic expression in his eyes where he’s looking at Len like he’s as precious as the flame that comes from his favorite lighter…

Yeah. That sounds good.

Honestly, Len sometimes can’t believe this is his life.

On the other hand, hell yes this is his life.

“Lead on, Macduff,” he drawls, and follows Mick up the stairs.

“Pretty sure that ain’t how it goes.”

“Pretty sure it is.”

“It’s ‘lay on’.”

“…shit, it is, ain’t it.” Len eyes Mick as he follows him into the bathroom where, in fact, there is a bath so steaming hot that Len’s going to have to wait a minute or two before getting in. “You know you’re too tall again, right?”

“I’m stretching my bones a bit.”

“That can’t be how it works.”

Mick shrugs. “Damned if I know,” he says, which makes Len feel better about his relative state of ignorance. Stupid hotline. “Just, moon stuff. More feral, more territorial –”

“Hornier,” Len says dryly, because Mick’s started nuzzling him again. He’s got the feeling Mick’s concern with this particular bath was less cleanliness or even Len’s abused joints than an excuse to get Len naked again, which Len minds not at all. “You know, if you’re feeling all territorial, I’m surprised you let me go answer the door.”

Mick grins. “I was jerking off.”

“Seriously? Again? Already?”

“You went to answer the door wearing my shirt, smelling of me, with my come drying between your thighs,” Mick rumbles. “It was real inspirational.”

Len shakes his head in amusement. Territoriality and exhibitionism; he should've guessed. “Speaking of which,” he says, stepping out of his pants, so that all he’s wearing is Mick’s shirt, which Mick seems to appreciate if the gleam in his eyes is anything to go by, “let’s get clean, shall we?”

Then he yelps, because Mick just picks him up without any more of a warning. Len automatically wraps his legs around Mick’s body and his arms around Mick’s shoulders, and Mick laughs and kisses him.

Len kisses back.

“I’ll show you clean,” Mick says, which doesn’t even makes sense – wait.

“Don’t you dare drop me in that boiling vat until I give the word!”

“It’s not that hot.”

“Says the arsonist pyromaniac werewolf.”

Mick sniggers. “You need it to be warm enough or it won’t help your joints,” he says reasonably.

“Fine,” Len grumbles. “But I could’ve just gotten in myself. Is there any reason to pick me up while you do it?”

“Because it gets you all hot and bothered?”

Damn Len’s (relative) nakedness.

“…I see you’ve noticed that.”

“I’m a werewolf, boss,” Mick says, lowering Len gently into to the steaming water, which is in fact not as hot as it seems from the outside. “I notice every time. I can smell it.”

“So back before, I should’ve taken my jerking off outside the house, that what I’m hearing?” Len asks, peeling off his now-wet shirt and tossing it aside before relaxing back on the bath with a sigh. This bathtub’s huge. You could throw a birthday party in this bathtub and have space to invite some buddies you don’t know all that well.

Mick strips off and climbs in, grunting approvingly as he sinks into the hot tub. They end up pressed side-by-side in the tub, which is in fact not as large as Len thought when it was just him, but whatever; not like Len objects.

“Nah,” he says. “Smelled nice.”

Len arches an eyebrow at Mick.

“Not in a creepy stalking way! Just, y’know. Smelled liked home.” Mick shrugs and loops an arm around Len. “I remember the first time, just after I shifted all the way for the first time – I was in that vault, with the bars and shit, and I woke up angry as anything –”

“I remember,” Len says. He remembers it all too clearly – the stifling pressure of the night, the taste of vomit fouling his mouth ever since that first, horrific transformation, bones breaking and shifting and all that, but he’d refused to leave Mick’s side even as Mick howled and threw himself at the bars. Thank god they’d held.

“Took me a while to calm back down, that first time,” Mick says, lolling his head back and letting his eyes drift shut. “I was all confused – all the new senses, the moon, the hunger, wanting to chase – but you were there the whole time. I remembered you.”

Len nods. He hadn’t been entirely sure, that first month, bringing Mick meat, setting up a television for him, keeping watch to make sure no one attacked, but after that first transformation, things had been better. Oh, Mick’s temper had been even more fiery than normal, but it could be managed – food, shows, beer, the usual. Sometimes he needed the cage, but usually he could restrain himself.

“You fell asleep,” Mick remembers. “I’d kept you running around half the night, and for most of the days leading up to it, what with my temper and all, but at one point you just – tipped over. Fast asleep.”

“Yeah?” Len says, slightly annoyed at himself.

“I hated those bars so much,” Mick says. “More then than any other time. I wanted to be by your side, even then. You smelled right. Everything about you smelled like home. Like a good fire, making everything in my head just go quiet and happy. Should’ve known all the way back then that you were it for me.”

Len snorts. “Of course you should have," he says. "The fact that you even considered going elsewhere for your pack, Mick...I mean, honestly. What were you even thinking?”

Mick laughs and turns to him, his hands starting to wander, and he’s hard again.

“What the fuck, werewolf anatomy?” Len wonders aloud. “You lot try to get in all your screwing once a month, that how werewolves work?”

“It’s springtime,” Mick laughs, low and dark and purposeful. “Mating season.”

Len lets himself get pulled into position, Mick rearranging his limbs just the way he likes, face to face and rubbing up hot against each other. “Mating season, huh?” he asks, amused. “So I ain’t looking at not walking every month?”

“As lovely an image as that is, I need you strong and healthy so you can run my pack,” Mick says, grinding up against Len as Len languidly rubs back against him. “So no. But now – well. You know why there used to be mating seasons, for werewolves?”

“No, why?”

Mick leans forward and mouths at the marks he’d left on Len’s neck. “Used to be, werewolves would be real protective of their mates, since their mates were the only way they could start a new pack. Break away. But a mate’s important, y’see. A wolf’s only half the pack. So there’d be competition, you know. For the good ones. The strong ones. The ones that could make your pack something to be respected.”

Len nods, moving a little faster. Mick’s gotten off at least three times today, and Len’s got some catching up to do.

Mick’s hand slipping down to play with Len’s ass again helps, too. God, Len won’t need much prepping, between the water and the rest, but he gropes around to find that Mick’s already considerately set up some lube right on the edge of the tub.

Len knew this was a pre-planned seduction. Mick putting into action those planning skills that he always pretends he doesn’t have.

Len approves.

“You’d want to show off your mate, prove to everyone that you’ve got yourself the best one out there,” Mick says, and his voice is so deep it shakes Len’s bones. “But you’d want to keep them to yourself, too, so they’d be safe. That’s where it started. You get the moon to take ‘em, show them you can treat them right, lay out your claim. Feed ‘em. Care for ‘em.”

“Fuck them?” Len suggests. It’s not a subtle hint. The story’s interesting enough, and pretty sexy if only because Mick’s talking about it like it’s the best thing since accelerant, but, well. Len’s here for a reason, and it isn’t to get clean.

Mick’s smile has a few too many teeth. He’s strong enough to pick Len up and slide him into position, taking Len’s weight as much as the water is, and lets Len slowly slide down onto his cock.

Oh yeah. That’s what Len’s talking about.

“The rest of the month,” Mick continues “You show ‘em off, fight other wolves for them. Show how good you are. Show that you’re worthy of them.”

“Yeah,” Len gasps, as Mick bottoms out. He’s so goddamn big like this. Len’s glad this isn’t a monthly event, because god, everyone’s going to know he’s been had the way he’s going to be walking.

“Moon’s different, though,” Mick says. “See, that’s when the competition really heats up. Everyone wants the best mate, and everyone’s blood gets pumping, especially during the mating seasons. You get into a fight during the moon, someone’s gonna die – and then they’ll take your mate, too, and that just drove you nuts even thinking about it. Thought of someone else touching them. Thought of someone else having them.”

“No one else is gonna have me,” Len says, starting to move even as Mick rolls his hips in just the right way.

“Used to be during the moon, a wolf would take his mate somewhere private,” Mick says, and something in his voice makes Len go quiet and listen again. “Somewhere safe, somewhere that could be defended, and then they’d take them, take them again and again and again, till they were dripping with come, till it took, till they were filled up, swollen and heavy with a child – marked up for good –” One of Mick’s hands steal up to press against the flat planes of Len’s stomach. “– see, other wolves would try to come and get in the way, all of them jealous and desperate, and the wolf would fight them for the pleasure of their mate, fighting and fucking – not letting anyone take them – making their claim – till there wasn’t anyone else –”

“You like that, huh?” Len says, leaning forward for a kiss. “You wanna claim me, Mick? Wanna knot me, tie me to you so you’re sure no one else can get me?”

“Yes,” Mick growls.

“Good,” Len says. “‘cause I’m game if you are.”

“I wanted to knot you the first time I saw you, lying asleep right outside my cell,” Mick growls, and his hands are hard and hot on Len’s hips, his back. “Fast asleep, with a monster three feet away from you, ‘cause you trusted me, even then. Wanted to break out right then and fuck you into that goddamn concrete. Never thought you’d let me.”

“I’m letting you now,” Len says. “I told you. I’m your partner. It’s my job to take care of you. You want me, you have me. You want a girl –”

“I don’t want a girl,” Mick growls. “I want you. I’ve always wanted you.”

Len licks his lips. He’s not sure when they went dry. He’s wanted Mick for so long it was just a fact of life; he’d just put it out of his head, the thought that Mick might ever want him back, because Len never got what he really wanted. And yet - there it is. “Yeah?” he says. “You want me, then? Fill me up? Gonna make me love it?”

“I’m gonna fuck you,” Mick growls and he’s moving just the way Len needs him too, fucking up in earnest now. “Gonna breed you up, gonna make it take; I don’t care if it’s the first moon. Gonna have you again and again and again, and you’re gonna love every damn minute of it. We go out tomorrow, every single supernatural in the whole damn city’s gonna know who you belong to.”

“Yeah –”

“You’re gonna smell like me, just me, inside and out. There won’t be one part of you I won’t touch, not one bit. You’re going to be limping to your little meeting with the Flash, and he’s going to know, too. He’s going to go all red, cheeks turning to match the color of that stupid suit, ‘cause he knows you let me have you –”

“Fuck, yes –”

“He’s gonna slink off home, fast as he can, blink of an eye,” Mick growls in Len’s ear. “Rip open that suit of his, jerk himself off, lightning-quick, just thinking about you and me – thinking about what we got up to – knowing that you’re mine, mine alone, and he can’t have you – none of them can – because you’re all for me –”

Len keens a little.

“Best thing I ever stole,” Mick says, and his eyes are gold, and Len knows he’s close. Knows that soon enough – fuck, it’s even better with the anticipation. This time Len knows it’s going to happen, knows Mick’s going to grow large inside of him, swell up until they’re tied together, pinning Len in place to make sure he can’t go anywhere. Hot and hard inside of him, spurting inside of him, bursts of wet heat that will come trickling down his thighs later, painting them till Len looks exactly as ravaged, as taken, as fucked as Mick could possibly want. “Best thing I took away from the world was you, Lenny. They’ll all want you, because you’re perfect, you’re strong, your will is so strong, Len, you’re the baddest sonofabitch out there, and no one will ever cross you – and you’re mine, you chose me, when you could’ve had anyone –”

“Don’t want anyone else,” Len says, and fuck, it’s been true for years, years that he’s been jerking off to thoughts of Mick and then finding someone else to have fun with, but always coming back to Mick’s side. Mick’s his partner; has been ever since they were kids, and no one – no one – has ever challenged that. Not his boys, not his girls; his favorite prostitutes and the marks he picked up at bars. Len’s never wanted anyone like he wanted Mick. “Fuck, you’re gonna do it, gonna stretch me open out on that knot of yours; ruin me for anyone else – I know you are – I want it –”

“You’re so goddamn needy,” Mick says, and Len feels it starting, feels Mick swelling up. Fuck, he feels it. The edge of anticipation is speeding up into a full adrenaline rush, and it’s heady. Like the best heist in the world. “Begging me for it already – you’re gonna be a handful, and there’s only me to put you in your place –”

“Yeah, my place,” Len pants. “Yeah, you do that - put me in my place, my proper place, right where I belong –" He pauses for a heartbeat. "- running your pack.”

Len's still the boss, after all.

One of Mick’s hands clenches on Len’s hip, the other one shoots out to curl on the edge of the tub, and he howls, a full-fledged fucking wolf howl – Len’s a little deaf now, he thinks – and he’s coming, the knot swelling up all the way, yes, and fuck, that’s good. That’s so good.

“You’re gonna come on my knot,” Mick says, and his eyes are glazed over, his hips working mindlessly as he comes again and again. “Yeah, you are – gonna love it – knotted you like the bitch you are, needy little slut, but just for me, all for me –”

“Fuck,” Len says, and scrambles to wrap his hand around himself. He needs to come now.

“Look at you,” Mick says and he pulls his hand free of the (now somewhat dented) tub and presses it against Len’s belly. “Look at you. I can see it now, how you’ll look – you’ll be all mine, swollen and glowing and perfect, and I’ll go mad with wanting you –”

It’s too good. The pressure of Mick’s knot against Len is just perfect, and his cock is twitching inside of him, and it’s better than any sex toy Len’s ever had, it’s so hot and hard and Len loves it, loves the rush of endorphins that are spiraling through his system, the rush that comes from Mick’s knot, the one that keeps the pleasure going on and on and on. It’s too good.

Len cries out something when he comes. He’s not sure what. Maybe Mick’s name.

Mick curls up around him, murmuring soft things in his ear, nonsensical things – things about how good he’ll look, big and heavy and safe, how Mick will feed him and care for him, how Mick will kill his rivals and throw their bodies at Len’s feet – his hands caressing Len and helping him come down from his high, kneading Len’s muscles and working the last bits of tension out of them, Mick’s body rocking against him, Mick’s breath hot on his face.

By the time Len’s fallen back into his body, he’s so relaxed he’s seriously considering going to sleep again.

Possibly here in this tub.

“Moving would be awkward,” he says, laying his head on Mick’s shoulder.

“I’ll get you to bed,” Mick promises. “You just crash.”

Len murmurs agreement. He doesn’t sleep immediately, not quite, just dozes, letting the water and Mick’s strong hands and deep voice lull him into a languid dream.

He’s vaguely aware of Mick pulling him off, cleaning him up – a warm towel drying him off, head, body, between his legs – and he even manages to walk most of the way to his bed on his own two feet.

He doesn’t bother covering himself with the blankets when he crawls into the bed, just falling straight into a heavy, satisfied sleep.

Len wakes up a few hours later feeling hot and a little smothered.

He blinks up at the ceiling. It’s dark in the room, dark outside – he can see the faint light from the window; the shades having been pulled open to let what light from the moon stream in that it can.

The full moon.

Len looks down at his – blanket.

Mick’s in full shift, monstrously large, larger than his human body could ever reach, his bones broken and reformed, layer upon layer of muscle writ on an inhuman scale; the familiar rough skin, toughed with burn scars, replaced by a thick layer of fur. Mick’s a rather handsome beast, if Len has any view on the subject: the fur on his shoulders and arms and back is a speckled, reddish hue, echoing the burns that cover his human body, and the rest is a dark brown, healthy and hale. Nothing like the grey wolf that had attacked them, its mangy slate-colored fur shedding off, yellowed teeth pulled back, drool oozing out of the corners of his jaws, foaming at the mouth with rage and bloodlust.

Mick is also a goddamn furnace right now.

Len tries to dislodge him.

Fucking heavy, too.

Mick just murmurs something in his sleep and curls up closer. He’s – it’s actually kinda cute, now that Len takes a minute to look at him, asleep in the moonlight like it isn’t the full moon. He must have tired himself out earlier.

Probably intentionally. Mick’s considerate like that. People all too often assume that because he’s tough, because he’s violent, because he’s not the best with words, that Mick doesn’t think at all, but it’s not true. Mick’s an enforcer, yes, but he's the best type; the type you give a mission to and they compete it in the best possible way, no matter how vaguely worded the objective is, because they know what you want to achieve and they want to achieve it, too, in your name and for your benefit.

On the full moon, the transformation is inevitable, unlike all the other days. Mick probably hoped that he could wear them both out so that Len would sleep straight through it and have a whole month to acclimate himself to the idea that his decision to offer to help his partner out through a tough spot has resulted in a full-blown sexual relationship with a werewolf.

If that’s the case, which Len suspects it is, then Mick’s being silly. Len’s got no problem with the idea.

This pile of fur and fire is all Len’s.

But he’s still going to have to goddamn move before Len dies of heatstroke.

(Len compromises by wiggling around until Mick’s wrapped around his back and throwing a book through the window so it’ll be open for a breeze. He’ll fix the damage tomorrow.)

[claytons]

We hope that the New Year is treating you right and that you had a wonderful Holiday Season with your loved ones. The last few months have been an extra special time for us as we’ve celebrated the birth of our little girl Malia and shared the Holidays in a brand new way with our family and many friends in the States. We also had the chance to spend time with some of you while we have been here, meeting many for the first time. It has been an encouraging season of transition and regrouping for us, and it’s hard to believe we’re already into the New Year.

It has been a wonderful blessing to be in Indiana to share so many unforgettable family experiences over the last several months, but we are looking forward to returning to Haiti as a family in the coming weeks and diving into a new ministry partnership with STEP Seminary.

When we return for our second term we will be partnering with STEP as we work with students, teams, and residents in the communities surrounding the campus through sustainable housing, discipleship, and community development initiatives. These opportunities are vital to students as they themselves train to become leaders in communities throughout Haiti, equally important to the ongoing reconciliation and transformation within the neighborhoods surrounding STEP through discipleship. We’re excited about the opportunity to join STEP in our collective mission and grateful to be able to do it with you. Check out this six minute video of our Crossworld Team Leader, Luke Perkins, and Wawa Jean-Baptiste, the President of STEP, to hear a little more about STEP’s house building program that we will be heavily involved in. It is also an invitation for you to come see things for yourself!

Our plan has been to return to Haiti in February. The reality for us though, is that in order to continue to live and work in Haiti sustainably, our monthly support level needs to increase by a minimum of 25%. After two years in Haiti, we expected that our financial need would increase, however, the change from a couple to a family of three and the higher cost of living in Port au Prince are just two things making the increase even more of a priority. Going forward there are a few ways you can help us meet those needs:

If you’re not financially supporting the ministry monthly there hasn’t been a better opportunity to start than now. Crossworld has streamlined the process: Sign-up here. Every financial commitment makes it possible for our family to be in Haiti and yours to be a part of the impact. If you have some questions or reservations lets talk some more. Send us an email or give us a call at 317-560-1905.

One time gifts. We have one time expenses to fly to Haiti with supplies and baby necessities, you can help with this by giving online.

Make sure your monthly contributions are still going through. We started doing this thing over two years ago and lots of credit cards have expired in that time. Several monthly donations have stopped at some point without the giver even realizing it. So if you’re already financially partnered please help us out by making sure all of your giving information is up to date!

Tell your friends. We only know so many people! Part of partnering is helping to spread the word about the work we participate in. Individuals, families, small groups, and churches all make up the collective that allows the Claytons to be physically present in Haiti and our greater community to continue having an influence here and there.

Pray. We believe in a Maker that interacts with creation. That’s cool for a lot of reasons, and it means there is definitely something to prayer. To know that there is community of people campaigning for our family - our little girl, our marriage, our hearts and minds, our neighborhood and relationships, our family back home, and the work we do - to their Divine Creator is worth more than words can express. Thank you.

In 2017 we were able to - replace and improve several hand pumps for rural families completely dependent on them for water, increase enrollment and enhance school opportunities for several children, finish the restoration and recommission a well-drilling machine to drill new wells in northwest Haiti, buy a truck that helped us do our job better and enabled us to meet major personal needs for our family, respond to problems created by multiple tropical storms, invest in people and relationships, and join the Haitian Church in transforming communities through Christ oriented discipleship - because of your partnership. Thanks for sharing in this with us. We can’t wait to see what we get to participate in together in Haiti in 2018!