#no one will ever understand this but i think about it at least once a day and have an aneurism

[hcneymooners]

౨ৎ body double.

sugar baby!paige x sugar baby!azzi. men & minors dni.

synopsis: azzi and paige are both sugar babies who have no prior knowledge of each other. they end up meeting when their shared client invites them to the same hotel room. on the same evening.

cw: power dynamics, mentions of drugs (neither p nor a are the ones using), non-graphic & non-fatal overdose, non-sexual intimacy, suggestive content, the eroticism that comes with finding someone almost exactly like you, strangers to maybe lovers.

notes: hello, my loves. this was written as a part of a challenge to help me write more. the challenge was as follows:

work with isolated locations for the majority of a piece. only one place or two, almost like a film. pairing is pazzi. type: oneshot. prompt: body double.  

d.c. can feel exactly like new york city if you drink enough. azzi learns this about two months into the sugaring game. she also learns that people with copious wealth will wield it to test your willingness to receive it. 

azzi wonders if they see something when she looks up at them. if there’s a large question mark that they click onto that asks them: what else can i do for love? and the thing is, it’s not about love. it’s about affordability. but still, the wielding of wealth is exactly what’s gotten her into this hotel room with two women she doesn’t know.

one of them is clearly another baby, sugar. the one with the money, and therefore the most power, is currently in the bathroom getting ready for their “night of fun.” azzi and the other girl are sitting so still, each frozen on one of two twin beds, faces steadfastly turned away from one another. 

azzi is pressing her thoughts down like petals under glass. she’s trying to forget she has a body at all. the other girl seems to be evaluating whether or not this is really worth it. azzi understands. 

the drip of the shower is abysmally insanity-inducing, so azzi turns herself slightly so that she can study the woman who still refuses to look directly at her. she’s beautiful, even from the side.

she’s all-american: blonde hair like wheat tumbling past her shoulders, blue eyes that seem to x-ray anything she’s looking at, skin that’s probably more pale than the tanning spray it’s been painted with tonight, a sharp jawline that leans into a strong neck.

she’s awkward, tall, and a bit gangly. slacks. a collared shirt that doesn’t quite fit right. it looks too nice to be hers, probably the client’s pick. azzi fidgets with the glittered hem of her mini dress, which, too, is the client’s pick.

they fit the profile of what most older women with money seem to need: younger, younger in posture still, bodily desperation or at least the shape of it, wide eyes because it makes them appear more into it than they ever are. 

the other woman turns her wrist over, studying underneath her unpainted nails. azzi catches a flash of a tattoo sitting sweetly on her inner wrist. scales. libra, azzi thinks. she tries to think if libras and scorpios are known to be compatible, and she finds she can’t remember. 

she once had a client so into astrology that he used to check his horoscope before they ever slid into bed. he drove her insane. 

that was a valium heavy year. 

the shower is still running, and azzi belatedly wonders what the water bill for the hotel must look like. it’s how she knows she’s getting bored. next to her, on that other bed, her blonde counterpart shifts impatiently. azzi feels a smile flicker along the curl of her mouth, and she bites down on her bottom lip to keep it captive.

something about that urges the woman to look at her, and as she does, azzi lets her bottom lip slide out from where she’s bitten it bloodless. the plumpness returns to the vermilion, and the woman watches as the skin steadily fills back out. it sits pretty and wet in the low light. 

a pause. then:

“you know about this?”

the words both startle and provide clarity to azzi. she knows almost immediately what the appeal is. her voice is low, deliberately kept that way. azzi can tell. her thing is probably not to talk much unless necessary. the charm is always in what you never say.

“about…” azzi says, tilting her head.

“the alleged threesome we’re about to have,” the other woman says, voice just on the side of dry.

azzi gives a non-answer. “alleged is a great word, because with the size of her pupils and the slur of words, i’m not sure she’s making it out of that shower.”

there’s another pause, and then they both slide off the edge of the bed and stand. they do an odd dance for about five minutes: azzi forward, the woman backward, then stand side to side. all of this and never moving closer to the bathroom. finally, azzi is the one to push ahead and knock the door open with a manicured finger. 

they find their client slumped halfway in the shower, water still cascading down the curve of her back, mascara in twin tributaries running past her temples. azzi is the first to move, toeing off her heels, padded and slow over the tile. the other girl doesn’t move from the doorway, only exhales loudly. there's no scream, no panic. just a long, stunned silence.

“she breathing?” she asks, voice flat.

azzi kneels, checks a pulse she barely remembers how to find. “um, yeah,” she says. “i think so.”

they exchange a look.

“do we…call someone?”

azzi’s lip curls. “what, 911? and say what? ‘hi, our shared sugar mommy did too many muscle relaxers and now she’s unconscious in the waldorf astoria bathroom’?” 

her voice goes high as she does the impression, her cheeks slightly puffing so that she can mock pout as she blows her eyes out to look as innocent as they’re paid to be.

the blonde presses her thumb to the bridge of her nose. “we are not getting paid.”

“not tonight,” azzi agrees.

azzi stands up from where she’d crouched beside the tub, brushing her palms over her thighs like she can shake it off. she doesn’t look at paige when she says, “her lips look a little blue.”

the girl—azzi's coined her blondie— frowns. “what?”

azzi turns, finally, eyes more honest than they’d been all night. “i’m not a nurse, okay? but she wasn’t that color before.”

that’s what makes them check again. blondie steps forward, nudging the shower curtain back with two fingers like it might bite. the woman is still breathing, barely, but her head has lolled too far over the side of the tub, and her chest rises, falls, stutters again.

“fuck,” blondie groans.

azzi’s already moving, digging through the woman’s massive purse like she owns it. lipstick. loose twenties. pills. more pills. 

“are you stealing?” blondie asks, and she knows its the wrong thing to say but she’s shit at this. 

azzi tenses and doesn’t look at her as she answers. “i’m looking for narcan.”

“oh.” blondie's voice sounds steadier than she must feel, less apologetic than she wanted. “well, you’re calling.”

azzi glances over her shoulder, brown eyes dark like a deer’s in the light. she studies blondie for two seconds flat before nodding sharply. there’s hesitation, only for a second, then she dials. the conversation is short and strange: no real names, just room numbers and coded panic. she hangs up and drops the phone face down on the carpet.

“she’ll live,” azzi says, finally. “they said they’d send someone. told me to leave her in the tub. that seems cruel."

blondie says nothing.

paige observes how the other girl tucks a strand of hair behind their client’s ear, how she fixes the strap of her dress so she’s more dignified in her self-designed destruction. then, whatever paige sees? it’s gone. there’s nothing. just the buzz of silence around them, and water still running because neither of them dares to reach in and touch her again. azzi moves again, turns the water off. 

they slink out of the bathroom and sit on the beds again. paige rises, always antsy in conflict, and azzi watches her as she reaches behind herself to grasp her curls in one hand and pin them with the claw clip in the other.

paige leans on the dresser. “guess we’re not going anywhere.”

azzi snorts, then sighs like something inside her unhooks.

she stands, crosses the room, and tugs at the zipper of her dress. it’s glittery and stiff; it could hold its shape without her. 

“jesus, i can’t feel my ribs,” she mutters, more to herself.

the dress peels off like fruit skin. underneath, azzi wears something so worn it’s almost faded: a ribbed cotton tank with a thin daisy print and matching boyshorts, simple, clean, hers. paige is pretty sure it's from h&m.

azzi stretches, shoulders rolling back, head falling to one side in a sleepy waterfall. paige can’t not look. and then can’t stop.

azzi is beautiful. she’s fuller where paige isn’t, hips wide and waning like the moon. her chest is full, the skin glowing with an endless layer of body butter and maybe oiled perfume. her thighs are strong, indicative of an athletic background—her arms too.

paige is helpless to the way her eyes catch on the spill of her ass from her boyshorts, the high rise of them in the front that strip down in a tiny patch of fabric to keep her cunt hidden and alluring. she tries not to look at it for a second time, a third. tries. fails. then begins to wonder.

what does she look like in motion? in your mouth? is it like a flower rising toward the sun?

azzi glances over her shoulder. “are you okay?”

paige nods, too quickly. “yeah. yeah, ‘m fine. i’ve just never seen glitter look so relieved to leave a body.”

that gets a laugh, a bright, real burst, and azzi flops onto the nearest bed, folding one leg over the other. it’s the one paige had been sitting so clinically on before. “you’re kind of funny. didn't expect that.”

“why would you? you don’t know me.”

azzi hums, not disagreeing. “i’m azzi.”

“paige.”

azzi nods, then leans over and yanks a beaded clutch from underneath the bed.

“you’re kind,” paige says after a minute, voice quieter now. “didn’t expect that either. you kind of come off as…”

“a bitch? yeah, i know.” azzi shrugs. “it’s not kindness, it’s survival. but thank you.”

paige wants to sit, but she doesn’t want to take the other bed. it’s too close to the bathroom. azzi looks up from where she’s scrolling on her phone, its delicate skeleton encased in a pink, plastic case with gold lettering airbrushed across it that looks as though it's seen the world. she shifts, makes space. paige climbs up to be with her. 

they sit like that for a while. the wet gurgle of the bathroom, the long shadows, the strange closeness of a night that probably would’ve been later repressed. 

outside the window, the city murmurs on without them. inside, paige’s eyes won’t stop catching on the soft places azzi has let show. not just skin, but still skin.

“what’s it say?” she asks, and azzi looks at her. “your phone case.”

“oh,” azzi says. she flips the phone over, holds it up to the light. “you have all these things inside of you. [i wish] you could turn into something beautiful.” 

“why the brackets?”

azzi brings the phone to the pit of her lap and looks at paige. “without the brackets, it’s a great motivational quote. with the brackets, it’s itself.”

“meaning…”

“it’s the last thing my mother said to me before she kicked me out and cut me off.”

paige lets out a breath. azzi smiles wryly. “we’re kind of okay now. she got comfortable with the liking girls thing when she realized it was technically half of me.” 

the joke makes paige laugh. 

“but still, bisexuality is a large pill for her to swallow. by the time she started to try, i was already thick in the game.”

azzi says it like she’s over it. like it’s a throwaway story she only tells when she’s bored or brave or buzzed off a stranger’s attention. but paige can tell by the way azzi presses the phone to her lap as if it might spill something, by the way she won’t meet her eyes again yet, that there’s nothing throwaway about it.

“that’s kind of beautiful,” paige says softly. “in a fucked up sense.”

azzi's shirt is clinging to her like a second skin, damp where the collarbones dip and the cotton’s gone sheer with sweat. the room smells like sterile panic, like baby powder and bile and something almost sweet underneath. paige’s perfume, maybe. azzi saw the valentino on the nightstand. or maybe it's the city. 

azzi tends to find the skyscape sweet when she has time enough to enjoy it.

paige shouldn’t still be watching her. should’ve turned away after that first scan down her legs, after the boyshorts and the way they cut in at the curve, gave shape to things paige wasn’t supposed to be cataloguing. but it’s like catching sight of your reflection in a window you didn’t know was there. she can’t look away, and azzi doesn’t seem to mind it.

“you always wear them like that?” paige asks. it’s nowhere near as casual as she hopes. she blames the question on adrenaline. on proximity. on whatever the fuck is happening with the allegedly arriving emts and the non-present narcan.

azzi raises an eyebrow, half-lidded, a little mean. “wear what like how?”

“you always wear your favorite underwear under a thousand-dollar dress? then strip down like you want someone to notice?”

a pause. a glint of something dangerous moves through azzi’s expression, then quiets. “how do you know they’re my favorites?”

paige raises a light brow. “baby, those things have seen leagues of better days.”

the pet name hangs between them like a dare. azzi’s mouth twitches.

“bitch.”

“sorry,” paige quips, smiling fully now. azzi can see teeth.

“don’t be.”

that hangs between them, too. 

paige looks down at the bed, at the mussed sheets, and then toward the bathroom where the person who paid for it is still lying. her gaze transfers to azzi, whose mouth is slightly parted like she’s catching breath that won’t come easily. paige feels her own stutter, short-circuit. 

azzi doesn’t look scared. she looks resigned, empty. nothing about this scenario is new to her.

paige thinks: she could be me. if i let go of the wheel. 

azzi catches her staring.

“would you have done it? fucked me, i mean. i’m starting to gather we both didn’t know about this...endeavor.”

it’s the answer to paige’s question from earlier. it’s not coy or flirtatious. it’s almost accusatory, clinical. like she’s calling paige on a secret she didn’t mean to let slip. paige doesn’t answer right away. her eyes flick down, then up again. the air hums.

“since i didn’t know about this whole proposition till we crossed the threshold, i don’t know if i would’ve fucked you,” she says. 

azzi looks at her from beneath her lashes. “do you want to?”

paige leans back on her hands, stretching her body out across the pillows she’s sitting on. she shrugs.

“i think i wanna figure out what happens if i do.”

azzi leans back a little, her head tipping so the tendons in her throat show. her arms are crossed but loose, like she’s considering the confession academically. there’s no warmth in her smile.

“you think it’s something about how we live the same?”

paige swallows. “a bit, yeah. but you’re not that hard to look at.”

azzi laughs again. second time tonight.

there’s a sudden knock, a bang against the doorframe, then rubber soles and clipped voices calling in. azzi rises and grabs one of the satin robes hanging in the room’s wardrobe. she ties it around herself, the belt coming into a neat bow along her hips. she turns, leans forward just enough so that paige can smell the caramelized citrus and musk of her perfume, and pops a few buttons of the shirt paige wears.

“try to look like you’re getting ready for bed,” azzi tells her. paige stands, tries to do her best.

the door opens.

“hi, ma’am. we’re answering an earlier call about an overdose. is she breathing?”

azzi nods jerkily. paige moves up behind her, arms up, closing the space like it’ll prove something. she presses two fingertips to the small of azzi’s back. azzi leans into her.

“she hasn’t woken up,” paige says. “we didn’t want to leave her alone.”

“how do you know her?”

“uh, we had dinner together.”

the excuse makes no sense, and they both ignore the knowing gaze of the team’s head member. a pair of emts flood the space with too much presence, all nylon and light and metal clips. one kneels beside the older woman on the tile, shining a small penlight into her eyes, asking questions she can’t answer. the other reads her vitals off the monitor like a grocery list.

paige backs into the corner, unnoticed, but not unseen. azzi is quiet.

the woman is now out of the tub, a puppet with its strings cut. she lets them touch her, prod and measure, like none of it matters. paige watches the whole time, arms crossed tight over her chest. she should leave. should fade into the background like any good girl caught someplace she wasn’t supposed to be.

instead, her eyes stay trained on azzi’s body, which now seems on the verge of collapse. paige slides closer to her, fits a finger into the hollow under her ribs. the room’s residue of glamour is approaching its expiration date.

“we’ll take her in,” one of the professionals says. “she’ll make it, but just barely. she needs observation.”

azzi finally turns her head, catching paige’s gaze like a hook in the mouth.

“that’s fine.”

it’s not a plea. it’s not a question, even. paige hesitates. then nods. the woman, nothing more than a bank deposit and a shared gps pin, is gone in under five minutes. a transaction cleared.

the silence after is paramount. paige closes the door, latches it. she turns, leaning against it with her arms crossed. 

“want to go to bed?” azzi asks. 

paige huffs out a low laugh. “might as well, mama.”

the sheets are still warm from when they’d sat on them. it makes them both shiver. they don’t say anything about it. 

paige pulls her shirt off first, then kicks out of her jeans, the slow reveal of ink across her shoulder blade catching azzi’s eye in the mirror. sports bra, soft boxers. nothing delicate, but it still makes azzi blink. her gaze stalls on the cut of paige’s abs, and when she’s caught, there’s nothing said.

paige knows she can’t say anything, not when moments before she was thinking about sucking azzi loose enough to make her cry, right through her fucking see-through underwear.

“do you think they have extra toothbrushes in the bathroom?”

“it’s the astoria. of course they do,” azzi answers, already turning toward the phone. “but probably only one. we’d have to call reception.”

they do. two pristine bamboo toothbrushes are left outside the door on a silver platter alongside a slim tube of marvis toothpaste. they wait for the other to finish despite there being two sinks.

azzi climbs in first, wriggles to the far end of the bed to steal the cold side, but paige follows. long limbs, loose breath, the heavy scent of sleep, something like chlorine and money.

they don’t cuddle. this isn’t what this is. not really. they just… end up there. one turn, another. an arm flung out. a thigh slips between the other’s legs. the legs that hold that thigh clench closed, keeping it there.

“it’s too fucking hot, bruh,” paige mutters, peeling herself off azzi—whose thigh is freed—and stumbling to the thermostat. “what is this, dubai?”

azzi laughs into the pillow.

“d.c., paigey.”

paige shoots her a look at the nickname.

“you could’ve asked her to pay for better a/c.”

“i don’t ask for shit.”

“you’re such a liar.”

“sue me.”

“maybe.”

paige doesn’t answer, just flops back onto the bed. azzi shifts, her knee bumping paige’s thigh as if trying to get her to open up again.

“stop moving,” paige mumbles, one hand flattening against azzi’s hip, her voice heavier now, eyes half-lidded.

“don’t tell me what to do,” azzi snaps back. but she doesn’t really mean it.

she moves more. on purpose. wiggles until the sheets shift and whisper in the most irritating manner allowed.

paige sighs, sharp. she presses a large hand flat against azzi’s stomach, just low enough to make azzi’s chest sing. her palm spans the place paige would push if she wanted azzi to cum on her.

“azzi, chill. ‘m tryna sleep.”

azzi only grows more agitated; she hates the pressure. she tenses, rolls halfway over paige with an arm to the side. her other hand sneaks low, fingers slipping just under the waistband of paige’s boxers before pausing.

“no.”

she rolls away, securing the colder side.

paige’s laugh is low, rough around the edges. a warning bell in a dimly lit room. 

she reaches, snaps the band of azzi’s boyshorts sharp enough to sting.  

azzi gasps, half-startled.

paige pulls her back anyway, drapes her arm over her waist, presses their bodies close, spine to chest. the room tilts. azzi goes heavy, steeped in jasmine and amber. she’s a little dizzy. paige’s scent curls around her throat like a loose ribbon. threatens to tighten.

“go to sleep, azzi,” paige murmurs.

and they do.

they don’t wake up at the same time.

paige stirs first, slow and unspectacular. she’s rising from too many layers of sleep, more than she’s had in weeks. her limbs are heavy, eyes gummy, the weight of another body is still pressed to hers like a shadow she can’t fully shake. 

azzi’s hair is a mess against the pillow. her lashes are long enough to cast shadows. her lips, parted. there’s a faint imprint of paige’s chain on her collarbone. paige thumbs over it, then remembers herself.

she does it again and understands—it's time to go.

she slides out from under the covers with practiced stealth. quiet but not quite careful. not tender, but still respectful. she dresses without ceremony: yanks on her jeans, and tugs her hoodie over her head. no perfume. no lip balm. not even a glance in the mirror. she ties her hair in a loose bun at the nape of her neck.

she doesn't take anything but her phone.

as she passes the room desk, she spots a little leather portfolio with the wifi information tucked inside. beside it, a small tray meant for bills, folded sharply, ideally meant for tips for the cleaning staff. she pauses.

pulling a pen from the nightstand, she lifts the thick body of her phone case and slides out her last twenty. scrawls something quick, crooked, onto the face of jackson. she crosses the room again, barefoot. the carpet is plush, apricot-colored, and a little worn out.

azzi has rolled closer to the bed’s edge.

paige lifts the duvet, lifts the underside of azzi’s waistband, and tucks the bill against her skin with a faint twist of her mouth. she presses a kiss to azzi’s cheek. it’s barely there, more breath than lip. 

“see you, mama.”

she disappears. the door closes with a whisper, not a click.

she takes the elevator down to the lobby. nobody looks up. paige keeps her hood on, shoulders loose, head tilted forward like she's dodging the day.

outside, it’s too bright. the city is alive in that expensive, awful way it is at 9 am on a weekday. people in trench coats and bluetooth headsets. black cars. barking dogs. everything important, no time to feel. paige walks a few blocks before finding the metro.

she checks the time, taps her card, and descends.

halfway down the escalator, her phone buzzes. she closes her eyes, mildly irritated, already assuming it's her boss once again requesting that she cover another shift. she fishes it out, taps the screen.

unknown number. a text.

the twenty’s unusable btw.

your number’s all over it.

she stares at the screen for a second longer than necessary. then she smiles, small and stupid.

sorry

was trying to do something nice 

another minute passes, then,

hmm

make it up to me. 

it’s not a request. paige shakes her head, laughs once. it comes low.

course

she tucks her phone into her pocket.

the train screeches into view.

© hcneymooners.

[melodyofmbaku]

Pour me Another Lie [Part 2] (Smoke Moore x Annie x Stack Moore)

Preview: “Look how good you are… how perfect you are. How pretty you sing for me.” 

Word Count: 4.1k

Warning ⚠️: They're a trio. Smut (18+ Material)

A/N I made this chapter thicc for ya'll. I really appreciate your comments/reblogs, it's what keeps me writing. Can't wait to hear what ya'll think! 😘 Pour Me Another Lie Part 1

_____

The smell of wet grass permeated their senses and the moisture in the air dampened their skin. It was early, the sun hadn’t risen yet. The crickets had begun their song and filled the silence that sat between the pair. 

Stack just finished up rolling their cigarette before popping it into the side of his mouth and lighting it. A long drag. 

“So?” he started, passing the smoke over to his brother. 

“So what?” Smoke responded before taking a hit.

“What we bouta do?”

“We really gonna let that nigga Hank be talking bout’ how he employed Annie? Had her working behind his bar?” Stack continued. 

Smoke didn’t answer for a bit, letting the question hang between them.  

“It don’t matter what she was doing, it matters why she was doin’ it.” Smoke looked up into the distance and took a drag of the cigarette once more. 

“What you mean?”

“Annie doesn’t lie to us. So for her to feel the need to do that? We fuckin’ up somewhere.”

He passed the cigarette over, and Stack took it without a word. The tobacco sizzled as he inhaled, the smoke curling around his jaw as he tilted his head, slowly nodding. “So again… what we bouta do?”

“We get her to tell us what’s going on,” Smoke said simply, flicking ash off the side of the porch. “Whatever it is, we’ll fix it.”

It was decided. 

From inside, they heard her voice—soft, questioning, worried.

“Elias? Elijah?”

Stack’s shoulders stiffened. They hadn’t meant for her to wake up alone.

“C’mon.” Stack stamped the cigarette out before opening the screen door with a creak, and the brothers stepped inside.

The lamp in the corner of the bedroom cast a honey-colored glow, bathing Annie in warm light. She was perched on the edge of the bed, wrapped in one of of the boys shirts that swallowed her whole.

“Hey, mama,” Stack said, stepping closer. 

“How you feeling?”

She gave them a weak nod. “Sore,” she admitted, but her eyes flicked toward Smoke with something close to warmth. “But good.”

“We wanted to talk about yesterday.” Stack started. Annie cast her gaze down to the floor. Dreading the fact that they’d have to talk about the situation. 

Smoke rubbed the back of his neck with a sigh. It was stressing him bad. “You ain’t in no trouble, Annie. We just tryna understand what’s goin’ on in your head.”

“C’mon baby,” Stack said, squatting down beside her. “You can tell us.”

She began twisting her fingers in her lap. “Y’all are gonna think I’m being stupid…”

“We ever said that to you before?” Stack asked, gently tilting her chin up.

Annie let out a breath, shaky and honest. “I miss you.”

Smoke moved closer. “Whatchu mean? We right here.”

She shook her head slowly. “Y’all are asleep all day. Most of the day at least. I barely see y’all anymore.” Her voice cracked. “Yeah, we’re fucking, but… a lot of the time after that… it’s like we’re ships passing in the night.”

She picked at the hem of the shirt she wore absently, grounding herself.

“I… sometimes I feel alone.”

Stack reached out to hold her hand. He brought it to his lips and kissed it. 

Smoke’s jaw tensed. “You got two whole husbands. That’s more than most.”

She shot him a look. Stack tipped her chin to look back at him. His brothers attitude was not helping the situation at all. 

“This why you was working at Hank’s?” He asked softly. Still rubbing his thumb over her hand. 

She shook her head affirming. 

“I just wanted to be a part of something. Fill my day up. See other people. Not just wait around for y’all to wake again. Especially ‘cause… well, I ain’t like y’all. I’m not a vampire. I’m up when the sun’s up. I sleep when the moon’s high.”

Smoke glanced at Stack, who avoided his gaze.

There was always that sliver of distance between them — blood and time and unspoken choices. She’d refused when they offered her the promise of eternity together. She chose humanity even when it made everything harder. 

Stack finally spoke, softer this time. “We’ll figure somethin’ out. We don’t want you feeling like that. Not in this house.”

“You ain’t never alone. Never.” 

Smoke sighed before he made his way over and placed a kiss on her head, his hands went to her shoulders to comfort her. 

“Thank you for telling us. For trusting us.” he said.

Annie’s shoulders relaxed just a bit. She nodded. “Y’all not mad?” Her voice was small. It wasn’t like her. 

Smoke’s chest tightened up. God they had really fucked up. 

“Never upset with you.” Stack murmured from below. More kisses placed on her hands. 

“We’ll figure something out.” Smoke confirmed. And she nodded, leaning into him and taking his affections. 

They didn’t say much else that night. Just held her — Stack curled around her back, Smoke’s fingers threaded through hers as she drifted off to sleep.

She hadn’t asked for much. Just to feel a little less alone.

And they heard her.

____

The Next Day - 4:45am

“I can’t believe we doing this shit.” Smoke muttered, cradling a small box gently in both hands.

“Yeah, yeah,” Stack replied, nudging the door open with his foot. “Just don’t drop it.”

The front door creaked open softly. The boys stepped into the darkened house, dew still clinging to their boots, air thick with pre-dawn chill.

“We could’ve done anything else.”

“Nigga. Shut up. You rather have her serving drinks all day?”

Smoke pursed his lips and kept his mouth shut. 

“Plus… if it makes her happy that’s all that matters.” Stack concluded. 

That — the two could agree on. 

The boys had left the house at midnight as always but this time they didn’t go to the juke. 

They had other plans. Something that would take them alot further out. 

When Annie said she was lonely, it damn near broke Stack’s heart.

He wouldn’t have known what loneliness felt like if you'd asked him a year ago. He and Smoke had been side by side their whole lives — womb to world. That kind of closeness made it hard to imagine being alone.

But if he had to name the moment he first felt it? It was the day he woke up a vampire and Smoke wasn’t right beside him. He reached out and his brother wasn’t there.

If that’s what Annie meant — that empty, aching kind of quiet — then no. She wasn’t gonna feel that. Not when she had them. 

Stack pushed their bedroom door open and the two entered. Annie was curled up in the bed fast asleep. 

“Annie?” He tried softly. 

Nothing. 

“Baby girl?” Smoke tried this time. 

Annie stirred at the sound, emerging from underneath the blanket. She looked around a little confused. “What’re y’all doin’ back so early?”

She began to rub sleep from her eyes. 

Instead of answering, Smoke gently set the box down.

A tiny Rottweiler puppy stumbled out, big eyes blinking up at her, tail wagging like it had no idea what sleep was. 

The pup yipped and ran over to the side of the bed. Trying and failing to jump up. 

“Oh —“

She looked at them with shock covering her features. 

“Oh my god, is this for me?” Her eyes were wide and tears had already begun to well up. 

“Just for you baby.” Stack confirmed standing proudly.

She watched as the dog struggled to get up the bed. 

Annie knelt over the bed, and scooped the pup into her arms. It licked at her chin and she laughed — truly laughed — for the first time in what felt like weeks.

She placed a kiss on the dogs little head before correcting her and saying “We are not that kind of household. But imma give you a pass today.”

“Yall… I’m — I don’t even know what to say. “ she juggled the pup as she nipped at her dress. 

She was beaming.

“It ain’t us but, she’ll give you something to do during the day. Someone to hang out with till we wake up. So you won’t feel so alone.” Stacks smile stretched wide across his face. 

Smoke piped in.  Back slightly turned and not meeting her gaze. He was a complex man and guilt was eating him up. How did he not see it? Her unhappiness? The misstep would plague him for a while. 

“Yeah, you can take her for walks and shit. And when she gets older she could even protect you. Y’all can add some extra feminine energy to the space.”  Smoke added gesturing to the area around him lazily. 

She suppressed her laugh — this solution definitely wasn’t initiated by Smoke. 

“How’d you get him to agree to this?” she asked, jerking her chin over shoulder at Smoke but talking to Stack.

“You try to do something nice for someone…” Smoke said dryly.

“I know this wasn’t your idea,” she teased while bringing the puppy up to her nose and breathing in her scent. 

Stack smirked. Smoke scoffed — but he didn’t deny it.

Stack grinned wide, one arm slung around her. “But he ain’t stop it neither.” 

Smoke rolled his eyes. “Y’all bein’ real funny tonight.”

She crooked her finger beckoning for the younger twin to get down on her level. 

“Thank you baby.” She spoke softly into his lips before placing a kiss on them. 

“I wanna do something nice for you, say thank you”

“Yeah?” The man breathed out as his hands went out to grip her thighs.

“Mhm. Not with my words though. You like that idea?” She asked while her hand traveled down his chest to run over his covered member. 

His eyes fluttered shut. He liked the idea, a lot. 

Getting hard from a few kisses and some touching was insane. 

The puppy whined and wriggled in her arms.

“Put her in the crate for a bit,” she said, biting her lip and looking up at him from the edge of the bed. 

He didn’t have to be told twice. He handled the dog and crossed the room to put her away. 

She got up to stretch and glanced over to Smoke. He held her gaze and said nothing as he leaned against the window sill. 

She could tell he was still a little stiff. A bit uncomfortable with everything that had gone down in the past few days. 

She mouthed an “I love you.” to him and the grumpy man couldn’t help but crack a smile. 

“You’re trouble.” 

Now Stack sat on the edge of the bed, watching her — still glowing from the surprise, the love in her chest blooming like a rose.

She walked over and dropped to her knees between his thighs, unhurried.

She turned her head and glanced to Smoke. 

“You not coming over?” The man was now staring outside. 

He glanced at them before huffing “Ya’ll don’t need me over there.”

Annie let out a giggle before focusing on the man in front of her.

Petty. Petty. Either way the show would have to go on. 

She looked up at him and reached up to unleash the dragon. She unzipped his pants and pulled him out. 

“Hi baby.” She said, big brown eyes staring up at him. 

“Hi.” He responded, voice light. 

She had pulled his dick out and stroked him a few times before she moved his tip along her lips. Slightly sticking her tongue out to taste. 

Her eyes fluttered closed. She kept the head between her lips before nippling and kissing it. She was getting in the zone. She loved the build up. Once she took him fully into her mouth, Stack hissed. Then she went to work.

Smoke leaned against the window, arms crossed, watching the way she rocked on her knees. 

One thing about Annie? She got off on sucking dick. Nothing could get her going faster. So yes, the blow job was for Stack but it was also for her. He was looking right at the proof. Smoke focused intently on the essence that slowly oozed onto the floor from her pussy as she sucked the life out of his brother. 

He adjusted himself in his pants, eyes on the woman’s swaying form and the evidence she left behind. She was so sensual. Everything she did made him wanna bow. He wanted to worship at the altar of Annie. 

Right now, he really didn’t deserve it — her. They had fucked up bad. But could he resist her, like this? Right now? She was a picture if he ever saw one. 

He told himself he’d just watch. Let her have this moment with Stack. But when he saw the way her back arched — the soft sounds slipping out her lips — his resolve cracked in half.

“Fuck it.” He’d deal with the guilt after. 

Before she knew it he was crossing the room over to them and ended up right behind her. 

He flexed his knees a bit and she heard him undo his belt buckle, unzip and pull himself out of his pants. Those were some of her favourite sounds. 

She was gonna get it tonight and she was so excited. 

He placed a hand on her hips and slightly angled her body upward. 

“Lemme see that arch baby.” And arch she did. 

Smoke didn’t have it in him to play for long. He was hard as a rock and watching Annie drip onto the floor earlier did his resolve no favours. 

He rubbed his dick along her folds, collecting her essence and watching it glisten on his dick. Fucking glorious. 

He timed his entrance with when she had Stack out of her mouth so he could hear her delicious moan. Fuel for them all.  

Slowly but deliberately he thrust into her. There they set their rhythm, moving in sync. Back and forth — Annie at the center of their world. 

They’d danced this dance time and time again. It never got old. They were a unit. They knew each other's bodies and triggers. It was beautiful for each one of them. Being known so deeply. Being loved so intimately. 

Annie’s eyes had become heavy and lidded from the additional sensation and she set her eyes on Stack. Those eyes coupled with his dick being in her mouth was a problem. 

The man managed to get out a tight “Stop lookin’ at me like that.” Before throwing his head back and letting out a drawn out “Fuck.”

Smoke looked up at his tortured brother and smirked. 

He bent down to whisper comically in his wife’s ear. “Keep going baby. Don’t let him tell you what to do.”

The man could feel the effects of her enthusiasm on him. Every time she came back her pussy would swallow his dick. It was beautiful the way she was creaming on him. It was like an ocean in there and he didn’t wanna stop swimming. 

“If you can make Stack cum, I’ll make you cum. Deal?” Smoke asked.

She bobbed her head enthusiastically and he took that as a yes. 

Annie always felt so sexy when she could have them both at the same time. It was all encompassing and she loved it.  

She grinned to herself and continued to top Stack from the bottom. Licking up and down his thick shaft with her hands twisting at the base periodically. 

She felt the sensation of his dick sliding in and this time she let it slip right down her throat and she held it there. 

“Shit.” Stack exclaimed. 

The man gained the strength to look back down at her and still she looked up at him. Love, adoration and something dangerous in her eyes. 

He made the mistake of glancing even further down and there they were. Annie’s tits were bouncing and jiggling on account of her getting railed by his older brother. 

Oh, the life they lived. 

Stack loved every part of Annie but he went feral for her titties. He was always pinching em, holding em, looking at em, he couldn’t get enough.

His resolve was being tested. He didn’t want this to be over. He wanted to savour this — getting head was a gift. He employed every shred of willpower to hold on. 

He raised his eyes to the ceiling trying to get the graphic image out of his head. He counted 11 planks of wood before glancing down once more. A mistake. 

The man wanted to last, he really fucking did but then Annie took her mouth off him and spat right on his dick. There was a trail of spit still attached to her lip and she held his gaze while rubbing her thumb over his tip. 

She was a wicked wicked woman. 

He watched as her lips enveloped him and she increased her pace and sucked him down her throat once again. 

This time though, she didn’t pull back. She held him tight and he could feel her tongue lapping against the shaft, tickling his skin. Her dark brown eyes stared into his soul. 

She was so heartbreakingly pretty. His hand reached out to cup her face but he didn’t get a chance to. 

She hummed and that's what sealed his fate.  The vibrations created an unreal amount of pleasure. He had no chance against Annie’s prowess. 

His self-control snapped like an elastic band. He was gonna finish. Right fuckin’ now.

At this point he pulled himself out of her mouth and grabbed the base of his dick. 

“Where you want it baby?” He asked his wife, gripping himself tightly. 

She took her hands, pushed her titties together and breathlessly begged “Right here.” 

Her tits then. He let his orgasm rise within him. He was good. 

That was before she dropped her mouth open and stuck her tongue out. 

The man short circuited. 

Annie would save the moan that left Stacks mouth in a box in her mind for later use. 

His internal dialog was overwhelmed. In mere milliseconds he had to make a choice. Her mouth? Her tits? He couldn’t decide in time and shot his thick load somewhere in the middle. 

Most of it landed on the tip of her tongue. She sported a smile as his seed dripped from her mouth right onto her titties. 

It was straight up pornographic. 

The man struggled to catch his breath. He watched the scene mesmerized and as he attempted to recover. 

The little minx that she was, the woman pressed her breasts together spreading his seed across her chest.  

He looked down at her in a flustered accusatory manner. She knew what she did. She fluttered her pleasure laden lashes at him before letting out a breathless “Thank you.”

She continued to smile up at him as if she hadn’t just given him the most insane blow job of his life. 

He had married a wicked woman indeed. 

He cursed under his breath while closing his eyes. “You’re so fuckin’ sexy.” 

Stack was almost in a daze, and he became preoccupied with watching her tits bounce but this time with his cum spread across them. He imagined this was what heaven would be like. 

Behind her Smoke observed their interactions. His measured thrusts were about to become a lot sloppier. 

She turned her head over to look at her husband, her eyes low and lidded and simply said “It’s my turn.”

“I got you baby. You did so good, I’m gonna give you —“ his voice trailed off as she began to fuck back with enthusiasm. 

“Shit Annie.” Smoke placed a hand on her lower back, that arch was doing something to him. 

She was throwing her hips back and letting out soft pants that hit Smoke’s ears in all the best ways. 

Everything was sloppy. And wet. And Annie loved it all. Mentally she was transcending. She felt so special and loved — they paid her so much attention.  There was cum on her lips and on her tits. She wanted it inside of her too. Cover all her bases. 

Stack began pulling at her cum covered nipples, she liked that. 

Smoke reached a hand around her waist to find her clit. 

Slowly he began to tease the sensitive nub. Matching his movements with his thrusts. Back and forth he swiped at her pleasure center.  

“Yes. Yes. That feels so good.” She panted out. 

Her husband was hitting her in all the right places at just the right pace. She met his thrusts with enthusiasm and the stimulation she received on her nipples added to the experience. She was home. 

“I want more.” she let out. 

“More. More. More.” She chanted out breathlessly.

She was getting demanding. This raised an alarm for Smoke. 

How much more could he give?

When she got like this. Hungry for it? He couldn’t control himself. 

“Are you gonna give it to me daddy?” She threw her head over her shoulder, dark low eyes and kiss bruised lips looking back at her partner. 

“Annie — chill out.” He warned, hand placed firmly on the small of her back. 

Annie did not chill. In fact she clenched her walls greedily for a fuller feeling. The very opposite of chilling. 

He gasped. 

“You promised.” She whined. 

Annie wanted — so Smoke provided.

He worked quickly to swipe his fingers across her clit. Leaning over he began to murmur in her ear hard thrusts not letting up. 

“Look how good you are… how perfect you are. How pretty you sing for me.” 

She nodded. A sob building up in her chest. She loved it when they talked her through it. 

“We’re sorry baby.” He continued and she needed to hear it too. 

And he just kept giving — every thrust, every touch, every whispered word. Telling her in the only way he knew how:

You ain’t never alone.

Not while we’re alive.

Not even when we’re dead.

That one final statement did it for her. Her voice cracked as she panted out her pleasure — tears streaming down her face. 

“Yes, yes I’m gonna—” Urgency coated her voice as she reached for Stack’s hand like it was the only thing tethering her to earth.

Stack laced his fingers with hers, grounding her with a steady squeeze. She didn’t have to say anything — he felt what she needed.

Annie always needed a little encouragement to let go. She lived in her head too much — always watching herself from the outside, afraid of losing control. And with the boys? Truth be told, her orgasms scared her. How big they were. How undone they made her.

“Go ‘head, baby,” Stack whispered, voice thick with heat. “It’s okay. You just let go — we right here with you.”

And let go she did.

Smoke watched her — how she shoved her hips back, how tight she clenched around him, how wild and beautiful she looked when she finally let it hit.

She came like a storm breaking open — happy, wild, free.

Stack felt her tremble, felt her trust him — and it stirred something deep in him. If that was loneliness, what she’d felt, then this was the cure. He’d give it to her again and again.

Smoke felt it too. The freedom. Free from last night’s weight. Free from the pressure of always holding it together.

That was all he needed.

He grunted, sank into her one last time, and came with a shout that left him breathless.

____

“Annie?”

“Mhm?” she murmured, distracted as she tickled the puppy’s belly and giggled at its squirming paws.

They were tangled up in bed — a mess of warm skin and lazy limbs. Stack was already out cold, chest rising slow and deep, mouth parted like he’d been knocked out.

Annie rested on his outstretched arm, her fingers drifting up Smoke’s chest, playing with the gold chain that hung between his pecs.

“Next time something’s bothering you…”

“Enough,” she said, cutting him off gently but firm.

He nodded.

“It’s done, baby. We’re good. It’s water under the bridge.”

They were fine. That’s all he needed to know. They didn’t need a hundred words — not when the truth was already pulsing between them.

Stack let out a small snore, body slack.

Annie didn’t know it, but that moment had wrung something out of him too. He’d meant every word — about being there, about her not feeling alone. And when she let go, so did he.

Silence stretched, soft and full.

“You sucked the soul outta him,” he joked.

“He deserved it.” she replied.

Smoke smiled, watching her settle deeper against his chest.

Yeah. They all did. ____ Interested in my future works? Let me know if you'd like me to add you to my tag list. a/n Thank you for every single comment and reblog of Part 1. I was cracking up 🤣 I'm really glad you're enjoying this AU, though a little unconventional. Your thoughts and encouragement keep me writing. Can't wait to hear what ya'll think! My other works can be found in My Masterlist. Thanks for reading! ___ Taglist @chaneajoyyy @pyraomen @browngirldominion @sarcastic-sunshines @goddessofthundathighs @rolemodelshit @bbymuthaaa @boonoonoonus @joysofmyworld @twistedsistas-stuff @blackctrl

@heytemporary

[kabsey]

As Rook finished drying the last plate Lucanis had handed her, he turned to the small coffee station he'd set up and grabbed his mug. A second later, the rolled-up dish towel snapped the back of his hand. As the mug slipped from his grasp, Rook swooped over and snatched it from the air, shoving it behind her back.

"Nope," she said. "No more coffee for you."

"Rook," he insisted, "I'm fine."

"Uh-huh." She raised an unimpressed eyebrow his direction. "And does your definition of fine include nodding off in the risotto?"

"I wasn't nodding off. I was... assessing the flavor palette."

"Uh-huh," she said again. "You're going to bed."

"Rook—"

She cut him off by addressing the rest of the room. "Hey, Spite?"

Spite immediately abandoned weaving his hands through the flames of the fireplace and zipped over to stand in front of her at full attention. "Yes!"

When Rook looked at Lucanis expectantly, he sighed and indicated the space to his left with a slight nod of his head.

"Spite," Rook said, addressing the spot, "I want you to come up to my room once Lucanis is asleep, okay?"

"Yes!" Spite shouted again, and Lucanis winced. No matter how many times he explained that increasing his volume would not allow Rook to hear him, he kept trying.

"You don't trust me?" Lucanis asked.

"With my life? Completely," Rook replied. "With your own health and well-being? Absolutely not."

She stepped forward to poke one finger into his chest. "And if he's not up there within thirty minutes, I'm coming back down with one of Viago's knockout potions."

The feel of her fingertip pressing the fabric of his shirt against his skin triggered an immediate memory of the moment they had almost kissed in the pantry. A second later, Rook seemed to remember it too; after glancing down at her finger, she suddenly pulled her hand back and stepped away from him, then tried to cover the moment with a bright smile.

"Thirty minutes," she said again, and she turned on her heel and began to walk toward the door. She held up the mug, dangling from the fingers of her other hand.

"And I'm keeping this until morning."

"We have other mugs," he called after her.

"But this one is your favorite," she taunted as she pushed open the door and stepped out into the courtyard.

Lucanis shook his head, but he found himself smiling, at least until Spite imposed himself between Lucanis and his view of the door and pointed an imperious finger at the pantry. Lucanis snorted, but he followed the unspoken order, to Spite's laughing delight. He had been sleeping more since they had come to a better understanding of each other, but he still didn't sleep well and doubted he ever would. And on more than once recent occasion, he and Rook had stayed up later than they should simply sitting together and sharing their thoughts and stories and details of their lives. Those moments he did not regret in the least, no matter how tired he might be.

Once inside the pantry, he unbuttoned his vest, unclasped his collar pins, and loosened his cravat. He stripped them off piece by piece and laid them carefully over a barrel that had become an impromptu dressing table. Beneath the bed, he kept a bag of spare clothes, including a worn-soft shirt and pants that were more comfortable for sleeping. But if Spite were going to see Rook...

He tried to remember the last person who would have seen him dressed for bed. Probably Illario when they were children. The thought of Rook seeing him like that was... not bad per se—not bad at all really—but it was a soft kind of intimacy that rarely appeared in any romance book and that stretched his feelings about her into a painful kind of longing. Somehow thinking of kissing her, of touching her, felt less dangerous than thinking of climbing into a shared bed at the end of a long day. So he settled for tugging off his boots and setting them beside his pallet before lying down. Even the sight of his stocking feet felt a bit too revealing.

"Put my boots on before you go outside," he told Spite.

Spite just flapped an annoyed hand at him, preoccupied with arranging a line of a dozen potatoes into an order that Lucanis could not decipher.

"And don't pester Rook."

Spite snapped to face him with a scowl. "She. Invited me."

"I know, but just... don't overstay your welcome. Don't be a bother."

With a sneer, Spite turned back to his potatoes. Lucanis sighed and rubbed his tired eyes with one hand. Lying down made his ever-present exhaustion seem to rise like a dammed puddle in a stream. Within a few deep breaths, it overflowed the banks of his consciousness, and as he slipped under, he heard Spite muttering to himself.

"I'm not. A bother. You're. A bother."

-------

When Lucanis next blinked his eyes open, it felt like only minutes had passed, but even without any windows (not that the light in the Fade changed much anyway), he could tell he had slept for some time. His mouth was dry, and his eyes felt gummy. He rubbed at them as he sat up and then knuckled his lower back with a wince. Maybe Rook was right about him needing a thicker bedroll for his palette. He reached up to comb his fingers through his hair—

—and froze when he encountered an obstacle. Feeling with his hand, he discovered his hair had been gathered in a small bun held by a leather cord.

"Spite?"

Spite appeared with a flash and a wide grin, as if he had been awaiting his cue, and Lucanis stared when he saw that even as a vision, Spite's hair was also tied up in a bun. Lucanis had never seen any part of Spite's appearance change. He hadn't known it could.

"Spite... did you tie up our hair?"

"No!" Spite crowed. "Rook did! Said it. Looked good!"

That statement was too much for Lucanis's sleep-bleary and confused mind to fully process.

"Why?" he asked.

"Handsome," Spite replied with a smug smile.

"No. I mean, why did she put our hair up?"

Spite shrugged. "Her hair down. Ours up."

"She had her hair down?"

At Spite's nod, Lucanis tried to remember if he had ever seen Rook without her hair piled in a messy bun on top of her head. Not a single instance came to mind.

"She looked good. Too," Spite said, which did nothing to temper the twist of a sad sort of jealousy in Lucanis's chest. "Looked pretty. Felt soft."

"You touched her hair? Did she say you could?" Lucanis demanded.

Spite scoffed at him. "Asked me to. Let me. Brush it."

Lucanis swallowed as the stab of longing he'd felt the night before returned tenfold. He looked down at his hands on his knees. Turning them palms up, he rubbed his thumbs against the pads of his other fingers. The nerves of his fingertips knew the feel of Rook's hair, the weight of it, the texture, and yet he had no conscious memory to hold on to. He'd been betrayed by his closest family, and now even his own body kept secrets from him.

He and Spite both looked to the door when they heard someone enter the dining hall beyond. Spite sniffed the air and smiled.

"Jasmine and chocolate," he announced, and then he disappeared through the wall.

That meant Rook, which was surprising; he didn't know what time it was, but he didn't hear anyone else, and Rook was rarely the first one awake. Lucanis stood slowly, plagued by a strange sort of nervousness that he thought he'd put behind him, at least as far as Rook was concerned. He chided himself—it wasn't as if anything untoward had happened—and quickly exited the pantry before he could consider staying hidden.

Rook smiled when she saw him, though as her smile slowly faded, he realized he was staring at her without a word. Her dark-brown hair tumbled down in lazy waves past her shoulders, nearly to her waist. For a brief flash, his mind tried to conjure how she would look clad in nothing but her hair, but he shook the fantasy away before he could become even more addled.

"Apologies," he said. "Your hair. I've never seen it down before."

"Oh," she laughed, and she tugged at it in a self-conscious gesture. "Yeah. I actually came to offer a trade." She held out his mug and pointed at the back of her own head where his bun sat on him. "I let Spite borrow that tie, and I can't find any others in my room right now."

"Of course," he replied, and he hurried to pull the cord loose from his own hair, wincing a bit when he managed to take some strands with it. He held it out to her, and their fingers brushed as they exchanged his mug for her cord.

"Thanks," she said and gestured at her hair again. "This isn't exactly practical for fighting or... anything really. I should probably just cut it, but..."

"But?" he prompted.

They stood close enough that she had to look up the few inches' difference in their heights. From the day he'd met her, the word he had thought to describe Rook was sharp—the way her eyes scanned a room, the way her blades whipped through their enemies, the way a quip or a laugh always seemed poised to pounce from her lips.

Looking up at him now, that honed edge seemed softened somehow. Lucanis didn't know if it was her hair or the early hour or the fact that it was just the two of them (and Spite) in the room. He hoped for the last.

Rook shrugged. "I like it. The way it looks, the way it feels." She smiled again. "I'd say it's vanity, but I'm generally the only one who sees it like this, so I'm not sure that applies."

"It's beautiful," he told her.

Her eyes dropped to the floor for just a breath—another glimpse of the person she was rather than the leader everyone needed her to be—before she lifted her chin with her usual smirk.

"You looked good too. If I find any of my other ties, I'll let you have one."

"Maybe," he hedged, and she laughed.

Then she bent at the waist and let her head hang down as she expertly gathered her hair and twisted it into its normal bun. She secured it with the leather cord and then popped up straight again, hands on her hips, back to the Rook that the rest of the world knew.

"We should start breakfast," she said. "And by us, I mean you. I'm starving."

Lucanis chuckled. "You aren't going to help at all?"

"I brought back your mug. Doesn't coffee help?"

"Coffee always helps."

They fell easily into banter that only picked up as the others arrived singularly or in pairs to start the day. But as he plated the food and she grabbed the dishes to bring to the table, she offered him a fond smile that replaced the ache of longing in his chest with a tenderness that felt deep enough to sink into, one that would put the finest mattress in Thedas to shame.

[adoredaqua]

more things that i think are Sevika coded because I need her so bad that it concerns humanity

NOTE: this (lowkey) got self-indulgent, but idaf. has been sitting in my drafts as well so here we go

CW: proofread (like once), intentional lowercase, fluff, some angst (if you squint)

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

gladly immerses herself in your culture! she would participate in any event or holiday. even wearing traditional clothing. Sevika believes it's important to stay rooted in one's culture and keep traditions going

tries her best to get along with your family. she would bring flowers or any gifts catered to them (earning herself some brownie points, hehe). dad needs help in the garage? she gladly offers herself, and they'll spend half the day together. mom needs help in the kitchen? Sevika is already there, chopping vegetables and stirring the pot. your siblings need advice? she'll sit there with them until they feel better

^overall, Sevika is the best partner ever <3

doesn't understand tiktok trends, will lose her mind each time you try and test her

^"would you still love me if i was a worm?-"

^^"honey, respectfully, shut up"

*continues to give you a very satisfactory answer cause she's not playing around*

as a teen, she wasn't close with her dad. she tried to by taking interest in his interests, but it never really worked. over time, she accepted that her relationship with her father was distant.

Sevika likes to call her parents every once in a while, especially her mom. she's tried to make it a habit at least once a week, but being the workaholic she is, it tends to be once a month or even longer.

likes to read, whether that's a book, a newspaper, or a brochure in the waiting room.

^with that, she knows a lot about random things.

and she'll be really nonchalant and smug about it because she knows you think it's hot

"did you know Venus is the only planet to spin clockwise? it travels the sun- what are you doing?"

"taking your belt off-"

as the years go by, her sight has declined but refuses to wear her glasses (it's a red flag of hers 😔✊️)

is the type to say "i know" when she, in fact, doesn't know

"Sev, please just google where this restaurant is"

Sevika isn't the type to love loudly. she loves you in the warmest, most trustworthy, and consistent way someone can.

gets frustrated with herself when she can't express her feelings verbally. she tries, but she can never find the words, and so she shuts down

[riqomi]

MECHANISM ────ㅤ심재윤

심재윤˖ 𝑓em!r .. g. fluff. university au! ──── BOOKSHELF ( 1334 ) tw: kissing. lmk if there's more.

you sit in the far corner of the campus library, same as always—near the window, back to the wall, headphones in but nothing playing. just enough to signal don’t talk to me. your notes are color-coded, margins lined with symbols only you understand, and there’s a half-empty coffee cup sweating rings onto the wood next to your laptop.

then there’s him.

jake sim. sunshine in human form. or at least, that’s what everyone seems to think.

you’re halfway through rewriting a lecture slide into something actually useful when he shows up again—hood up, backpack slung over one shoulder, that guilty puppy look in full effect. he doesn’t say anything at first, just stands there until you finally look up.

“you need the seat again.”

he nods. “please. just for a bit.”

you sigh but nudge your bag off the chair. he drops into it with a quiet groan, like even existing is exhausting. his knees knock against yours when he gets too comfortable, but you let it slide.

this is the third time this week.

he doesn’t talk much once he settles in. just opens his laptop, cracks open a biochem textbook, and starts highlighting like his life depends on it. you’ll give him that—he works hard. actually studies. doesn’t even look up when someone walks by giggling too loudly or “accidentally” drops a pen near his feet.

until they stop pretending.

“jake,” a voice says, high and sweet and not-so-innocent. “you’ve been in here for hours. want to grab coffee?”

you see the wince before he even turns. “i’m good, thanks.”

another voice joins in. “we could help you study. it might be more fun that way.”

you don’t mean to glance up, but you do. two girls, both clearly more interested in jake than mitochondria. you wait for him to shut it down.

he doesn’t. not hard enough, anyway.

you sigh and go back to your notes, but you feel the heat of his stare after a second. then—

his knee presses into yours. intentional this time.

he leans over, voice low, just for you. “help me out?”

you don’t say anything. just raise a brow.

he swallows, then does something bold.

his arm drapes across the back of your chair. not touching, but close enough to feel the static between you. when you still don’t react, he tilts closer, lets his chin hover just over your shoulder, and in a voice that sounds far too natural, says—

“babe, do you want to go over the quiz together now or after lunch?”

you go still. not because you’re shocked—but because he sounds like he means it.

the girls blink. shift on their feet. one of them forces a laugh.

“oh. sorry—didn’t realize…”

jake doesn’t even look at them anymore. just starts pointing at something in your notebook like it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen. “this part—did you highlight it ‘cause of the mechanism thing or just vibes?”

you deadpan, “mechanism.”

“right. thought so.”

the girls linger for another second. then leave.

you wait until they’re gone before twisting to look at him properly.

he grins. not sheepish. proud.

“that was shameless,” you say.

“but effective.” he shrugs, that boyish charm kicking in. “besides, you looked like you were about to snap a pen in half. i figured i’d save everyone.”

you roll your eyes and push his arm off your chair. “don’t make a habit of it.”

his smile doesn’t dim. “just until midterms.”

you go back to your notes. he scoots half an inch closer. too close. you don’t stop him.

later, when someone else tries to approach, jake doesn’t wait. he slips his hand over yours under the table like it’s nothing. like it’s normal. you freeze for half a second—but you don’t pull away.

he keeps reading, calm as ever.

and when you finally look at him, there’s no smugness. just a quiet question in his eyes, unspoken but loud: is this okay?

you don’t answer out loud. you just shift your fingers to interlace with his.

his shoulders drop like he’s been holding something up too long. his thumb brushes yours once, twice. he doesn't say anything after that. just keeps studying, your hand in his, as if this was the plan all along.

it’s late by the time you both pack up—lamplight golden and soft against the library walls, your eyes sore from too many hours staring at the screen. you slide your laptop into your bag, jake doing the same beside you, quiet for once. not tense. just… thoughtful. the kind of quiet that follows something unspoken.

you sling your strap over your shoulder. he catches your eye, soft and warm. “let me walk you back.”

you hesitate, but only for a second. “alright.”

it’s cool outside, a whisper of wind tugging at your sleeves. the sidewalk is mostly empty, save for a few stragglers murmuring their way toward the dorms. you walk side by side, his shoulder brushing yours every now and then, and for once, he doesn’t fill the silence with jokes or random facts. just walks, hands in his pockets, lips parted like he wants to say something but isn’t sure how.

you glance over, catch the way his eyes linger on you when he thinks you won’t notice.

“what?” you ask, voice low.

he shrugs, but he’s not convincing. “nothing.”

you stop walking. so does he. the moment stretches—quiet, heavy, full of all the things you’ve refused to name.

“jake.”

he steps closer. his voice is low, rough at the edges. “i meant it, you know. earlier. when i called you babe.”

your breath catches. his eyes drop to your mouth, then back up like he’s waiting for you to flinch. you don’t.

“wasn’t just to get them to back off,” he adds. “i mean, yeah—it worked. but i wouldn’t have done it if i didn’t—”

you don’t let him finish.

you reach for him, fist curling into the front of his hoodie and pulling him in until your mouths meet—hard, certain, no hesitating now. he responds instantly, hands coming up to cradle your face like he’s afraid to break the moment. like he’s been waiting for this since the second he first sat across from you with a textbook and an excuse.

it’s not gentle. it’s built from days of stolen glances and brushed knees and shared coffee cups, from the heat of his thigh against yours and the way he says your name like it’s something worth holding. his mouth is hot against yours, open and wanting, and when your hand slips under his hoodie, skimming the curve of his waist, he makes a sound low in his throat that you feel everywhere.

he backs you into the nearest wall, barely breaking the kiss, his fingers threading into your hair, mouth trailing along your jaw like he’s memorizing you one touch at a time. you let him. let him feel the way your breath stutters, the way your body leans into his like gravity’s no longer optional.

when you finally pull apart, barely, your foreheads touch. his hands are still on your waist, yours fisted in the fabric at his chest.

“i’m not good at keeping things casual,” he murmurs, breath warm against your lips.

you nod. “good.”

his eyes search yours. “so this—”

“is real,” you finish for him. “yeah.”

he exhales, like that one word just took the weight off his shoulders. and then he kisses you again, slower this time. sweeter. the kind of kiss that says this isn’t a game anymore.

when he finally walks you the rest of the way, his fingers stay laced with yours the whole time. and when you reach your door and turn to look at him, he’s already watching you with a look that says i’m all in.

neither of you says goodnight.

you just tug him down for one last kiss, and he smiles against your mouth like he already knows he’s not sleeping alone tonight.

likes, feedback and reblogs much appreciated. remember requests are open !!

[peechglaze]

fully agree with your post about non school oriented line. I’ve seen an absurd amount of people saying “they want us to think ellie is dumb!! bad writing!!” the funniest part is that we saw in s1 that she hated school and got into fights all the time. also seen people insisting that jesse implied ellie is an idiot because he said “trust me I didn’t think it was you” about the triangulation. in ep3 we got a whole scene about jesse telling ellie she needs to organize her thoughts in order for people to listen to her. jesse KNOWS her, knows shes not a planner, and knows ellie would never take the time to sit down and do that lol. also he’s pissed at her and being extra snippy. I feel like people are not paying attention to these details bc they’re so focused on comparing every little thing to the game :/

Exactly!!!

I will say this over and over again, but I completely agree that people aren't giving themselves time to actually take in what is being said and shown before coming to conclusions.

I understand and respect that the show is deviating. I always have a brief moment of confusion and hesitation whenever they make a big departure, just like everyone else does. But these changes aren't for nothing. They make sense in the context of everything else that we've seen and heard in the show.

This has been happening all season. Joel going to therapy was a huuuuge thing people were upset about from the moment it was mentioned in an interview, because "Joel would never go to therapy". And you know what? Yeah, game!Joel probably wouldn't. But HBO!Joel is so vastly different, and people were too busy being upset about him being in therapy in the first place that they weren't paying attention to what he was saying. He was saying some of the most Joel shit I've ever heard come from Pedro's mouth, but that was lost on a lot of people.

Just like you said, Jesse knows Ellie. He knows that she's smart, but he also knows that she's angry. He knows that Ellie struggles with her emotions, that she doesn't have the greatest hold on them, that she lets them decide her actions before giving herself a moment to think them through. I'd argue that he's the one who sees this the clearest, since he's the one that keeps an eye on her during her physical training. Him getting pissy with her and being snippy isn't him thinking she's not smart. That's why he's so upset. He knows that she is, but he's seeing her once again let her anger guide her into dangerous territory when he knows that she has the ability to do otherwise. It's going to play beautifully into an argument they have later on (at least in the game).

Nobody thinks Ellie is dumb. But that doesn't mean that they can't disagree and think that some of her actions are-- which isn't just a show exclusive concept.

[duckinatruck]

i am being plagued by Thoughts of stucky and their accents and languages at different phases in their lives. like i don’t know if this makes sense but bare with me here:

edit: this ended up getting super long, so I thought it was probably best to put it under a cut.

so i think that prewar both of them have absolutely wild accents. i always hc them as having THICK Brooklyn New Yawk accents, and Steve’s got a bit of an Irish lilt from Sarah, and Bucky has a bit of a Romanian accent from Freda. (which is what i internally call Winnifred now after reading this incredible post by @highwayfightscene. this thing altered my brain chemistry i swear.) they’re both a messy mixture of their families and their hometown, and it’s perfect.

i think the Barnes household speaks Romanian and Yiddish (Jewish!Bucky my beloved), and so Steve also knows some of both from hanging around there so often.

i also like to think that Bucky learned Italian in like…high school probably. for funsies or maybe to impress someone because he is a dork and i love him for that.

now. during the war, i just have this thought that Bucky would actively try to flatten his accent because he’s afraid that someone won’t be able to understand what he’s saying. (it happened once. kid ended up dying because he didn’t know what he was supposed to do. Bucky isn’t letting that happen again.)

and Steve was trained to flatten his into a Generic American Accent for the USO shows, because Senator Brandt and the propaganda machine would want Captain America to sound “American” (which is fucking stupid but whatever.) He still has his accent but it does soften a little over time.

so when they meet up again after Azzano both of their accents are like faded a little but still there, and they get thicker whenever they’re talking to each other during the war.

Bucky hates Steve’s flat “Captain America” voice, because it doesn’t sound anything like his Stevie.

they both learn French because of Dernier (all the Howling Commandos do. I think Dugan struggles a little maybe but he gets it eventually.) and Steve becomes actually fluent in Italian. they probably learn some other languages too but i’m not sure which ones.

Steve and Bucky speak Romanian together to annoy the Howlies, or when they want to have a private conversation.

Bucky knows more German than he ever wanted to.

after The Fall, i think that HYDRA probably tried to “program” English and Bucky’s other mother tongues out of him, at least at first. One’s native language is a huge part of identity and one’s perception of the world, so taking away Bucky’s first languages would definitely be a possibly method that would assist in dehumanizing him and taking away his previous ideas and perceptions.

the Soldier speaks Russian, mostly, until he’s transferred to the US. he has dozens of others programmed into him.

the first time he uses his perfect, monotone American English, it sounds wrong to him. he forgets about the dissonance soon enough.

when Steve comes out of the ice, he only uses his Captain America voice. he’s careful to cover up every bit of his messy Brooklyn-Irish drawl, because that’s not what the world wants. they don’t want Steve Rogers, they want Captain America. so Steve will be that.

Steve starts using his real voice more often during and after the whole fiasco in DC (catws); he feels the most like himself he has since coming to the future (present?) even though he’s running himself into the ground, because Bucky is alive and Sam and Natasha treat him like a real person, so sometimes it just slips.

HYDRA falls, and Bucky starts to get his memories back slowly. he realizes one day, why his own voice sounds wrong to him.

as time goes on, sometimes his accent shows itself. some days he sounds like he thinks he did Before. some days, though, his voice takes on a Russian accent. some days he can’t even speak English at all.

he moves to Bucharest, starts speaking Romanian again. it helps him remember his mother and his family.

Steve teaches himself Russian, both to read the HYDRA files that Natasha refuses to translate and in case he needs it to talk to Bucky.

when Bucky and Steve finally come together again, they start sounding more and more like their old selves, especially when they’re talking to each other.

they start speaking Romanian with each other again to annoy the Avengers. (though that doesn’t last long because Tony just makes JARVIS translate.)

Bucky builds a better relationship with Russian by speaking it with Natasha.

Steve starts dropping the Captain America character in front of the public, and starts showing them Steve Rogers in all his Brooklyn-Irish glory.

everything has changed, but they’re still just Steve and Bucky, messy mixtures of their families and their hometown, their past and their now. And it’s perfect.

[morningstargirl666]

If Klaus didn’t exist, who would you have wanted Caroline to end up with? I vice versa if Caroline didn’t exist who would you want to be Klaus’s endgame?

I feel that Matt was always wrong with her because she would never live up to Elena in his mind. I liked her relationship with Tyler and agree with Klaus when he said he was her first love, but I always thought they had no real future together. Her relationship with Stefan was interesting and I really liked how he actually promised to be a better man for her and be worthy of her. He married her and some things he said rivaled Klaus. If Klaus wasn’t an option, I’d want her to end up with some like him. It’s the least she deserves.

As for Klaus, I feel like he and Aurora had a nice relationship, but she was always toxic for him and wasn’t good for his mental state. His chemistry with Camille was ok, but I feel like she was just a bland knock off of Caroline so I can’t get on board. I feel like he and Hayley could have been something, since they share many similarities and she’s very different for his usual type. She also is a morally ambiguous and comes from a difficult childhood like Klaus, and she values family and is close in physical age to him. I also feel that her being a werewolf and later a hybrid made her even more similar to Klaus and had they not had that stupid baby drama going on, could actually have become something interesting.

However I’m glad both Caroline and Klaus exist since they are the ultimate TVD Couple!!!

Oh, boy.

Anon, you have no idea of the beast you've just woken. This is such a loaded question and I have such an essay length answer that disagrees with yours, so apologies in advance but---

[cracks knuckles]

First of all, I do agree on the Matt and Tyler front. Caroline would have never ended up with Matt, because not only would she have never been able to live up to Elena, but Matt was also still in love with Elena while he was dating Caroline. In fact, I'd go as far to say Matt was still in love with Elena well into s3 and s4 --- in 3x16 Matt and Elena have a conversation about her and the Salvatores, and when Elena mentions Damon got under her skin, and no matter what she does, she can't shake him, Matt replies with "Once you fall in love with someone I don't know if... I don't know if you can ever shake them." And he says this while looking at Elena. An awkward silence between the two follows, loud enough that Elena actually questions if they're okay, worried talking about the Salvatores is weird for him. A few episodes later, if that confession wasn't enough, he and Jeremy desperately conspire to get Elena out of town and away from Alaric and everyone else, hoping to protect her---not really sparing a thought for Caroline or the others, despite the fact the Council are literally trying to kill them. So, in this instance, actions really speak louder than words, and all Matt's actions point to his continuing affections for one Elena Gilbert.

Caroline and Tyler wouldn't have worked out either, just like you say, but for different reasons opposed to her and Matt. Tyler is the first person to want to put Caroline first, above anybody, and he does try to, god, he tries; he wants to---but outside factors always get in the way. First, it was his pack loyalities: I hate him for not saving Caroline from Jules and her pack, but I also can't really blame him---he's lost and alone, just a teenager whose lost his shit Dad and then his Uncle in quick concession before finding out he's a freaking werewolf. Of course he turned to Jules when she rolled into town---who else was going to help him? Who else was he going to trust? Caroline? Who lied to him about the vampires in town? Who tried to keep him at arm's length, knowing his bite could kill her? Nah, unfortunately, him making mistakes in the beginning and following the wrong people is completely understandable, when you think about his position. Still doesn't excuse it, but you know, such a thing as nuance. Then, of course, it was his sirebond to Klaus that wrecked the relationship, which literally meant he couldn't put Caroline first, even if wanted to. And then once Tyler's jealousy and hatred of Klaus got involved, the relationship turned sour and became way past saving. But to be honest, even if Klaus had never sired Tyler, or not gotten involved in the relationship between Tyler and Caroline at all---I don't think they would have worked out because they've just always been heading in different directions. Unlike what Klaus believed, Tyler was so much more than a "small town boy" and he was always going to end up leaving Mystic Falls, searching for a pack of his own to lead. They had no future together, because their futures were always destined to be polar opposites. The relationship was sweet and hopeful, like any first love is, but it was never meant to last.

Now.

[inhales deeply]

Stefan and Caroline.

I don't get this ship. I just don't. And I'm not just saying this because I ardently ship Klaroline---I understand other ships, and why people might root for them, even if the ship is not for me. I understand the love for Stelena and Delena; I understand why the TO audiences shipped Klamille---even to a certain extent can see why they might have liked Klayley---and it comes down to a simple truth; there was canon development for those ships. Stelena and Delena are the obvious examples, Klamille was obviously the main pairing for Klaus over on TO, and Klayley---although absolutely outlandish to me (we'll get to that in a minute)--- I can understand, as it's more of a fanon ship that didn't really exist in canon, but could have, if TO had decided to go down the road that has the same kind of vibes as arranged marriage aus---but baby mama edition. Basically, what I'm saying is, there always was something to root for.

But what's there to root for with Steroline?

With most ships, even if you don't ship them, you can remember their peak, romantic moments. Stelena? I think of Stefan fighting complusion for Elena, or of him respecting her choice and saving Matt before her. Delena? Kissing Damon on death's door. Maroline? Matt carrying a drunk Caroline home and tucking her into bed, and then staying with her when she asks. Forwood? Caroline staying with him while he turned, refusing to leave, even when he could kill her. Hell, I could even name a few for Klamille and Klayley and I hate those ships.

But I can't remember a single one for Steroline. Not. A. Single. One. Telling, that.

In fact, I'd go as far to say all Stefan did was make Caroline miserable.

The development was rushed from the get go---apparently Caroline had feelings for him this entire time? After he shot her down so badly in the pilot? Stefan going as far to say nothing would ever happen between them??? Oh, but you say, that's the beauty of it---NO BITCH IT AIN'T. Did you not see my question marks?????????? The amount of emotional damage that single interaction probably inflicted is insane. Some of you have never been rejected by a boy and it shows.

If that starting point wasn't bad enough, Stefan had to be convinced he had feelings for Caroline. Like. Yeah. Super romantic, that. Love a man that has to be persuaded into asking me out. What a catch. And THEN, over the course of the show, wherein they actually start dating, Stefan not only repeatedly puts other people like his brother first, but doesn't respect Caroline's decisons to boot. I can't remember what season it is, but doesn't he literally kidnap Caroline to get her out of town and 'protect' her? And they have this big arguement where Caroline is like, you would have never done this to Elena. AND SHE WAS RIGHT. HE NEVER DID DO IT TO ELENA BECAUSE HE FUCKING LOVED ELENA.

And all the bullshit about him promising to be a better man, to be worthy of her. Bitch boy you are a mass murder with your own legendary kill count that rivals Jack the Ripper's infamy. You have have murdered children. No wonder Klaus had the hots for you, you're basically his version of wet dream caked from head to toe in blood. There is no redeeming that. But 'I can fix him'---no, Caroline you can't. It is not your reponsibilty to be his moral compass, or his doting housewife while he fucks off elsewhere on the latest mission to clean up Damon's mess. Have some self respect and get out now. We didn't watch 5 seasons of your absolutely amazing character arc just to see all that development washed down the drain.

So yeah. I am not a fan of Steroline. If Caroline doesn't end up with Klaus, in my head she's finally left Mystic Falls and galivanting around the world, actually learning to love herself. Both the girl that died in a hospital bed and the vampire she had become. If she met and married anyone, it would have to be someone that bestowed her the respect and affection she deserves, and not anyone from Mystic Falls, because they clearly can't.

Klaus, I wouldn't pair with anyone else either. With Camille, it's not just that she was so very clearly a Caroline knock-off, trying to capture what those two had and transfer it to TO---she was also never a well-written character overall. I highly doubt her character would pass the Bechdel test, and she was always written in service of Klaus and his plotlines, not herself. Hayley isn't an option for me, because although I understand the ship, it's not a romantic relationship to me---it's purely sexual. He didn't care for Hayley at all, even tries to kill/maim and/or curse her and that's once she's carrying his child. Aurora, I like as a part of Klaus' backstory; one of the many women he's been with throughout the years, and perhaps, the last he actually loved. Because that's the thing---although I would never expect Klaus to be celibate, and has certainly been in love before... I don't believe he's allowed himself to love before he met Caroline. His experiences with Tatia, Aurora and his parents have tainted his perception of love so badly he believes it to be a weakness by the time we see him appear in TVD---Caroline is the one that changes that. Without her, he wouldn't be seeing anybody. Sleeping with them, sure, but not in love with them.

Except for Stefan. Maybe he'd be with Stefan, if Rebekah hadn't bagged him first (siblings, am I right?).

[hahjsshnanans772]

taking the little part of guest 1337 screaming like a girl in the itrapped hcs and running away with it like an mf...

anyways onto the question!! can i have some guest 1337 headcannons :) /nf

I’m finally finishing this and I could’ve finished this like! A bijillion hours ago

//

GENERAL ;

- 60% Ler | 40% Lee, he’s like noob in a way, but more assertive with his tickling. He’s also MEANER!!!!!

- has tickled everyone at least once, and has been tickled by everyone else at least once!

- attempts to act super serious when he tickles someone. But it’s kinda hard when he’s making people smile in joy

- adamantly tries to claim that he isn’t ticklish. Does not work. Even soldiers are ticklish guest….. stares

—

LEE ;

- HAS THE MOST STUPID FUCKING TICKLISH KNEE PITS EVER. it’s absolutely so hilarious and NOBODY can understand why he’s just so ticklish there. Not that they’re complaining. Easy source to make him all soft and non-serious.

- crazy ticklish legs. Literally both of his legs are unbearably ticklish, the soles of his feet are absolutely killer aswell. And he hates it he wishes he was born as a spatula. HELP

- everywhere else is ehhh. It’s ticklish but not enough to make him absolutely freak out. His hands aren’t ticklish. Noob tried. They were sad at the results. Boo

- squirms, hits, bucks. literally does EVERYTHING to get away, he might be strong! but tickles are stronger!

- speaking of that, he lets out girly shrieks if his knee pits are directly tickled for a long period of time. Actually lost his voice for a bit because of how loud he was laughing. Chance is #banned from tickling him!

- his usual laughter is a deep belly laugh of sorts, but it can rise in pitch if a more ticklish spot is focused on,

- HATES anticipation, he can’t understand why, but he hates the thought of hands lingering over his sweet spots, that’s why it’s always used on him.

- loves spending time with his ler, even likes cuddles if he feels like it… why do half of these guys like cuddle.. it’s okay, they deserve it!

—

LER ;

- NUMBER ONE LER. Shedletsky is just behind him and he is NOT happy about that.

- tickles shedletsky when he starts whining about that, makes the evil evil bird man shut up instantly

- knows every which way to pin someone without hurting them, as well as every technique on how to tickle someone to their giddy demise

- makes sure the lees want it first tho, he doesn’t pin them before asking

- main lees are two time and noob, ones an insomniac cult member who’s been manipulated, And the other is a half nervous wreck who flinches at almost everything… activates the ler dad inside of 1337. Evil father figure gives sad they/thems soft tickles

- even jokingly rubs his hands like an evil villain, literally all seriousness is thrown out the window at that point

- LOVES giving comfort tickles, but he’s usually MEAN first!!! Not nice dude.. you’re so evil.

- can’t help but smile when he tickles others, he finds himself in a safe space, mostly because it reminds him of home, and also because it removes some of the negativity surrounding the situation he’s been forced in. Cough. Spectre. Ew

- his tickles are also dependent on his lees preferences. Sometimes he goes overboard by accident, but quickly corrects himself

- his favourite aftercare is braiding his lees hair. Because. He has a daughter and wife. So he usually braids survivors with long hair to make him feel like he’s at home.

//

sorry. My brain was rotting so badly I couldn’t really think straight for a few hours HELPPPPPPP.. but here it is… comically late. Prays on my hands and knees that you guys forgive me.

also. I am eating up that block of cheese

Thanks for the requests! Hope you guys have an awesome day/night!

[studentinpursuitofclouds]

Hello again and thank you so much for including my idea in one of your previous posts!

I have an angluffy (angsty+fluffy) scenario in my head that’s been sitting there for a while. Disclaimer: it is quite specific, so I totally understand if you don’t feel like writing for it or want to modify this. Also, I would love to read about all the spouses (Vanilla, Expanded and Ridgeside), but this is a lot of people so if this scenario picks your interest feel free to modify the list or publish it in parts.

The idea goes like this:

There was an invasion on Stardew Valley. The Gotoro Empire attacked without giving anyone as much as a chance to escape. All seemed lost, and it would have been, if not for the bravery and quick thinking of the Farmer. They rushed to the hudge battle robot that empire troops were using in the attack and placed a bomb underneath it. The village was saved, but sadly, Farmer didn't run fast enough to escape from explosion. All that was left of them was an arm, separated from the rest of the body. Or so everyone thought.

The numb, limp body was found by Krobus, who managed to save Farmer’s life, but at a cost. Village’s hero had spent year in a coma, got their arm replaced with a iridium prosthetic one (courtesy of the Dwarf) and, patched up with shadow magic, are no longer fully human. [my ida of it: one eye is black, skin is paler, and parts of flesh are replaced with shadowy smoke, but make up whatever visuals suit your vision]. Changed, confused and weakened by a year of sleep, the first thing Farmer does is going to their partner [any level of romantic relationship; spouse, boyfriend/girlfriend, or - my personal favourite - they were about to give Farmer the mermaid pendant just before the invasion started]. How would that meeting go?

Daaaaamn, that's some dark headcanon right here.... Sure thing! ✨✨✨

Hope you don't mind if I write in this ask about the vanilla and SVE spouses. Also this headcanon turned out more angst than fluff, so I hope you don't mind that either. Thank you for the ask, and have a good day! 💖

Warning: angst

_________________________________________

Stardew Valley:

Harvey

Another nightmare that Harvey woke up in a cold sweat. He was breathing hard, trying to calm down and pull himself together, to chase away the bad thoughts. No sedatives or sleeping pills helped him, the same nightmare.... Where his smiling spouse turns to face him and dark flames overwhelm them as Harvey stands there, unable to do anything. The doctor was about to go to sleep again (trying, at least), but he heard the doorbell of his clinic. Who had come to see him at this late hour.... Usually the only person who visited his clinic in the middle of the night was-

"Harvey, it's me..." He collapsed senseless on the doorstep.

Sam:

Sam has never heard his mom scream like that. No, not the kind of scream where a disgruntled Jodi was once again trying to get through to her son, sitting in his headphones, who had promised to clean the house. The soul-crushing, ear-splitting scream he usually heard in horror movies. The guitarist instantly rushed into the living room, where his mother was in, ready to protect her from whoever caused her screaming. And there she was, pale with terror, standing motionless while Vincent stood behind her, crying and trembling. Both looked toward the front door, where stood a strang-

"Sam, is that you?"

Farmer. It was Farmer.... The one everyone thought was a dead hero was standing right here in Sam's house. He was speechless. It can't be...

Elliott

Elliott hardly ever left his little cabin. In the past, the writer could often be found in the Saloon, draining a glass of wine in company. Now he is but a shadow of his past self, ever since Farmer... died defending the Stardew Valley from enemy invasion. No desire to write anything, no desire to do anything, or even to leave the house, just... nothing. When Elliott found out what had happened to them, part of him died that day. It went on like that for six months until the residents stepped in, trying to help him. And the writer seemed to be doing better, but for the last month, as the date drew closer to the day Elliott lost Farmer a year ago, he was getting worse and worse.

Opening the door one rainy day, he thought that once again the residents had come to him almost by force to drag him into town, but what was the point-

"Honey, it's me..."

Elliott stared in mute shock at Farmer standing before him. When he realized that it's not a ghost or a hallucination, he fell to his knees, kissed their hands and sobbed, praising Yoba for his beloved's return.

Shane

First came shock. Shane couldn't believe what was happening, it couldn't be.... Farmer stood before them, alive and well, except for the fact that they had a bandage over their left eye and no right hand at all, it had been replaced with.... Metal? A device? Shane didn't know. He slowly touched their shoulder, looked into their face, heard their voice.

"It's... It's you. You're alive, alive... Where... Where have you been?!" Then came anger and pain. Farmer is alive... And they didn't deign to tell him?! It was later that they could explain to Shane that they were in a coma, but for now the chicken man choked on his own tears and shouted at them.

Sebastian

"Sebastian, it's me. It's okay, I'm alive, I'm okay..." Farmer could feel their lover hugging them tightly with a dead grip, shaking nonstop. He wouldn't let them go, afraid that if he let go of his lover again, he would lose them already forever. Like when he blamed himself for not being more assertive in his argument with Farmer that they should all hide in the basement of his house. That fateful day for the Valley, when he'd let go of their hand and watched them run toward the seashore, to defend his native valley from a robot sent by Gotoro. How heartbroken he was to learn that after the robot exploded, all that was left of Farmer was one severed arm...

"Sebastian..." He was shaking, and his eyes became wet with tears. He didn't let go of their embrace for a long time yet...

Alex

Alex's first meeting with Farmer after a year of separation, pain and trying to move on, ended with the athlete punching his lover in the face, right in their healthy eye, untouched by dark magic unlike the other one. He didn't mean to do it, but he was so badly frightened and confused by Farmer's appearance, who had been presumed dead, triggered his hit-or-run reflex. Thankfully Alex didn't punch them hard, though still weakened from the year-long coma Farmer fell to the floor. Alex looked at them with horror, realized what he had just done, and apologies spilled out of his mouth with sobs. The farmers quickly came to their senses and tried to calm their lover down. But Alex hugged them tightly and cried harder.

They are alive... And the first thing he did was to hit them....

Abigail

Everyone told Abigail it was time for her to stop chasing the illusion. Stop trying to do her own investigation of the place where Farmer was last seen. To stop arguing in raised tones with her father, trying to prove that they hadn't found Farmer's body, which meant there was no proof they were dead. She cried in her mother's arms, who comforted her daughter but tried to gently tell her that it was time for her to move on. But Abigail continued to believe.

And she was right, when Farmer with their face slightly disfigured from dark magic stood before her, she ran up to them and hugged them tightly, sobbing, she was right!

Leah

"Stay away from me!" Leah shouted, her hands that held the sculpted hammer as her only means of self-defense treacherously trembling. The ginger young woman took two steps back, keeping her gaze on.... Farmer? Was that really.... her beloved Farmer? Many features exactly the same as her deceased lover's, but their right eye... A huge hole from which a black as tar liquid dripped, running down their cheek. Their left hand, made of a metal that was unfamiliar to her.

Leah continued to stand there trembling, not knowing where or who to run to for help.

Emily

Strange, but Emily has had practically the same dream.... How she is running after a red bird that leads her closer and closer to the forest, and just as the blue-haired woman reaches the edge, she sees someone who remotely reminds her of... Farmer, the stranger turns around.... and Emily wakes up. She can't figure out what it means. Her dreamers interpret various things: that the spirit of her dead lover is trying to warn her, or that their "coming" is a sign of good news. And that edge of the forest looks all too familiar.... On one such night, she decided to walk towards the forest from memory, and noticed near the sewer someone coming out... A small dark figure that hid in the thicket having spotted her from afar and...

*sob* "It''s a sign... I knew you were alive."

Farmer, barely standing on their feet and weak, looked in surprise at Emily, who ran towards them, hugging them and knocking them down accidentally. Her dream was prophetic, she had found them, Farmer was alive...

Penny

As soon as Penny stepped out of the farmhouse to meet the guest who was banging so loudly on the door, she stood in a stupor for half a minute, trying to realise who or... what stood before her. A stranger whose body parts were completely non-human, but whose facial features were... "Penny... Is that really you?" And... that voice. The voice of the person she'd been mourning for a year now. The voice that had sworn their love to her as they both stood under the wedding archway and held hands. The voice that had made she realise...

Penny let out a heartbreaking scream, and fell to the ground, senseless, only to hear the voice of her frightened spouse call out her name before her vision went dark.

Maru

Maru refused to believe that her lover had died. Yes, she and the others had seen that huge crater where Farmer had last been at that moment. Yes, she had seen with her own eyes their bloody body part, which was lying far away from the crater, thrown away by the blast wave. But their body (it hurt Maru terribly to even imagine Farmer like that) had not been found, which meant that it was impossible to say that they had died. The young inventor continued her search, scouring the valley, trying to find a clue or a logical explanation. Her family and friends thought that Maru's grief had simply caused her to deny reality and cling to this idea, thus trying to cope with the loss of her lover. But...

"I found them!" *sob* "I- I found them!"

...seeing her, with tears on her cheeks, holding Farmer's metal hand, who stood and were very much alive, realized that the young inventor had been right all along.

Haley

Honestly, Farmer knew their lover's reaction would be very strong. After all, Haley (and everyone else in the Valley) thought they were dead (they themself thought they were dead). Until they woke up without their right eye and arm. What Farmer didn't expect was that when he walked into Haley and Emily's house, half the dishes would fly at them. Poor Haley, who was alone at that moment, thought she was being haunted by ghost and was so frightened that she threw plates, forks, bottle and other kitchen stuff, then fell to her knees. Farmer cautiously approached her and touched her hands gently, showing that they were not a ghost, but a living person.

"Where have you been..." No one was to blame for what had happened (except Gotoro), but Farmer felt a prick of conscience when they heard how broken and weak Haley's voice was.

Stardew Valley Expanded:

Magnus Rasmodius

"Magnus-" Farmer didn't even have time to utter their lover's name before they felt that they had lost the power of speech and their body stopped obeying. They stood as dumbfounded, unable to move as the old wizard approached them with slow steps, his left hand making gestures unknown to them, while his right hand was enveloped in flames, ready to sizzle the threat at any moment. The harsh look of Magnus' violet eyes pierced through, but there was nothing Farmer could do. After standing under Rasmodius' gaze for a long and agonizing minute, Farmer felt the invisible ropes finally loosen, allowing them to move again.

"It's really you... You're alive..." Tears streamed down Magnus' wrinkled cheeks.

Victor

Victor's inner voice shouted that he should run. Run without looking back, away from the creature standing right in front of him. From this unknown monster who, either to torture him for their own amusement or to blunt his instinct for self-preservation, had taken the form of his dead lover of a year ago. The one he was about to declare his love to with a mermaid pendant. The one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. Victor must run, run as fast as he could, call for help, run run-

His heart shouted that it was them.

Victor ran towards the Farmer, hugging them tightly. And he couldn't hold his crying when they hugged him back.

Lance

"Name." Striking a fighting stance, Lance bared his spear, ready to defend himself against the possible threat that the mages of the Gotoro Empire had sent him. Their enemies went to the most desperate and despicable lengths, even stooping so low as to use necromancy. "Your name." Reviving fallen adventurers with dark magic that disfigured their bodies, but the overflowing happiness of the fallen man's friends didn't notice until it was too late. He keeps his guard up, keeping Farmer away and demanding answers, buying time until backup arrives

*sob* "I'm... I'm [name]. L- Lance..."

The adventurer's heart clenches when he heard a familiar voice... He need to stay focused.

Sophia

After Sophia's lover fell to the death of the brave, for the sake of protecting her and the entire Valley, she hardly ever left the house, only filled bottles coming out of her vineyard. Recently has she been able to move on after the death of her parents, as she has once again lost the people she holds dear. Gus and Scarlett visited their friend, trying to comfort her, but the pink-haired girl withdrew into herself, unwilling to talk to anyone. One such day, the same day that exactly one year ago Farmer died, someone knocked very insistently on the door of her house, and Sophia, overwhelmed with grief and anger, opened the door and wanted to shout to be left alo-

"Sophia..."

She immediately fell silent, staring in horror at the features of a face so familiar to her. And screamed, running back into the house and huddled in a corner, unable to stop sobbing as Farmer tried to soothe her in every way they could.

Olivia:

Farmer had no sooner said anything to Olivia upon their meeting after a year of separation, than they immediately had to catch the poor woman fainting from shock. And what did they expect - absolutely everyone in the valley believed that their dear friend and Olivia's failed spouse was presumed dead, only a severed arm could be found at the scene of action, which was buried. The former Joja accountant mourned her spouse again, and now they were coming into her house, with a bandage that covered their eye, with a hand that was as cold as ice to the touch, but... alive.

"How did you- What happened... We thought- I thought you were...." Olivia finally woke up and enclosed Farmer in her arms, choking on her own tears and sobs.

Claire

If it wasn't for the lack of job opportunities, Claire would have quit her current job a long time ago and never come to Stardew Valley again. This place has become like home to her, the residents are very friendly, and supportive of Claire as a member of the community. But it's too hard for her to return to this town, to walk past the monument in honour of her deceased lover every time, to look at the place where Farmer was last seen alive.... It's all very hard for her. Returning late from work to the bus stop, she promises herself she'll quit tomorrow.... and feels someone take her hand, calling her name gently.

Claire jumped, as she knew that voice well. The girl looked closely at the stranger's face in the near pitch darkness and wailed in a way that made half the town jump from such a heartbreaking scream.

Scarlett

"AAAAAAA!" As if poor Scarlett could be understood: considering that Farmer had been presumed dead for a year, the girl certainly hadn't expected to see their ghost. At least that's what she thought they were, scared out of her wits and threw the first thing she could get her hands on (some iron tools) at them, causing the Farmer to get an iron kick in the leg, yelp and a bit of indignation. Scarlett realised it wasn't a ghost after all, and upon realising this she was overwhelmed by a whirlwind of emotions. Is that the Farmer?! Yoba, her lover is alive! But... what with their eye? What happened?! And why didn't they contact her sooner?

Scarlett will get her answers (some of which will raise more questions), but... she's just incredibly happy that Farmer is alive and, well, relatively okay.

[lheslie]

Getting Married to Toji

Choosing the wedding Venue and Decorations with Toji is a hard thing to do.

You know for a fact that this man is color blind and doesn't like anything fancy.

You knew that, when you said yes to his proposal. So the person helping you decorate your wedding is your two kids.

Especially Tsumiki, since she's the only one who can understand you.

Toji didn't like the fact that you two had to be separated so it won't 'Jinx' the wedding.

He was kinda excited about seeing you in a wedding dress.

"Fuck those shit, I wanna see ya." Toji said as he was waiting in another waiting room while you try out dresses.

"Toji..." You sighed.

"Alright, make it fast I want this to end. I didn't know there were some kinds of fucking rituals to do before marriage." Toji grumbled as he faces the wall.

He watched the television while he waited for you to choose your dress and Tsumiki's dress.

He thought to himself, 'I'm gonna fucking kill who ever made this, no see the bride before wedding shit.'

When it was time for choosing their tuxedo you had to go to different shops, because none of their tuxedos can fit Toji, so his had to be custom made.

Toji had to endure days and hours just to choose a tuxedo.

"Fuck, Can't I just a shirt and pants to the wedding?" He complained.

"No." Tsumiki and Megumi both said

When Toji got married to Megumi's mom. He did it at the court, so it went fast as you can think of.

He knew, You, Tsumiki and Megumi would be happy so he can endure it, It's the least he can do.

On the wedding day, he hated the long wait, he didn't even see you the entire day.

Not only was he irritated, he was also a bit anxious on how this will go out.

"Fuck" He mutters as he punches the wall.

"Calm down Dad." Megumi said as he was sitting on a chair scrolling in his phone.

"How much longer?" Toji asks

Megumi looks at the clock and stands up.

"Now, let's go to the altar." He says as he opens the door for his Dad to go out.

Toji walks out and goes to stay at the altar.

'Once this shit ends I'm killing the man who made this tradition.' He thought as he saw the door opens.

As every groomsmen and bridesmaid comes in through those doors.

Tsumiki was walking with a beautiful dress accomapanied by a friend.

And for some reason Gojo was a flower girl throwing roses especially at Nanami.

And the very last, You.

You were slowly walking down the isle with your father in tears.

It felt like, the wait was worth it, everything was perfect. You were perfect. He watched as you were walking.

He wanted to pick you up and just bring you home.

He smiled as you walked to him, as the priest started to speak.

You spoke first on your speech, it made Toji melt, chest filled with happiness, sadness and content with you.

And when it was his next, he didn't know what to say.

"Y/N, for as long as I've existed. I never thought I'd ever find someone like you, you understood me, cared for me and loved ne unconditionally even though we both know who I was. I am happy that I have the honor to love and appreciate you for the rest of my life, and in death." He said

You were shocked at his words, tears falling from your eyes, as tears also fell from his eyes.

You both smiled at each other lovingly, you both felt love and safeness at each other's arms.

You were both lucky meeting each other.

*After the wedding*

"Dad, on your wedding speech. Where did you get it from?" Tsumiki asked.

"I also don't know, was kinda in the moment." He said as he was hugging you asleep on the couch.

"Yeah, it was almost like you were possessed by some kind of entity." Megumi added

"We should get you checked Dad." Tsumiki replied.

"Eh, Whatever." Toji replies

[bartokthealbinobat]

Huckleberry Pie- 5

Master List

Castiel had started to think that Dean couldn’t hear him. Not his real voice, at least. He had tried talking to him multiple times, first at the gas station and then at the motel, and all Dean did was cover his ears and cower. Cas had been trying to tell him about how important he was, to tell him he knew that Dean hadn’t prayed in hell. He had wanted to tell him that he was sorry about the handprint, sorry about dropping him and having to put him back together again.

The process to rebuild Dean’s damaged soul hadn’t been pretty. It was essentially a spit and duct tape job, with the soul relying on a lot of luck and a few prayers to keep running. The soul would be able to start repairing itself once it was back in a body and the emotions started flowing again, but the short time before Dean came back from the dead was a little touch and go. 

It was disappointing that after all they had gone through, so quickly, that Dean couldn’t hear Castiel’s true voice. It felt like God was playing a cruel trick on him, stating right from the get-go that he did not have any sort of special connection to Dean. Or that he was saying Dean would never be able to truly understand Castiel. He had a vessel lined up, so he could go visit the human that way, but raising the man from hell had already caused such a hubbub that he was reluctant to do so. 

Cas could feel a pair of spying eyes trying to wind their way towards him. Foolish, foolish humans. They were trying to find him, to figure out what had happened to Dean. It made sense, but Castiel had been counting on being able to talk to the boy before this, to explain what was going on and why it had all come about. Of course, the Winchesters weren’t known as the most patient people on Earth. So they were looking for answers right away. He should have left them a note, tried to talk to Sam too, sent someone else to talk to them. It was too late now, these people were messing with things greater than they understood, and someone was bound to get burned. The woman started to pull at the veil covering his true form, picking at threads one by one. 

“You don’t want to do this.” he tried to warn her. 

“Sorry Castiel, I don’t scare easy.”

“So be it.” he said.

Reluctantly, without a true choice in the matter, he gave in to the woman trying to spy on his true form. Cas could hear the echoes of the woman’s screams as his true form burnt out her eyes, but he was only focused on the whispers of Dean that he had heard in the background. The scent of his fear drifted through the interdimensional space, before the connection abruptly cut. Castiel was left with nothing but a whiff of smoke from burning eyes.

He took a deep breath, wings flexing as he tried to make a decision. The other angels would have a fit if he went to visit Dean, but someone had to explain to him what was going on, lay the groundwork for him to become Michael’s vessel. Beside that, he wanted to see the man now that he had been put back together, to admire his handiwork and the resilience of souls. 

Cas wanted to see if the man would ever pray. 

He didn’t take the idea of disobedience lightly, and he had already yanked himself out of the good graces of heaven by taking a dip in hell. Cas had used the excuse of doing the right thing for the wrong reasons, but still had ruffled a lot of feathers. He had been pulled into a council room with some of the most important angels while they tried to decide what to do with him. 

The whole situation reminded Castiel of when he had been created, of the pearl-clutching that had ensued when he popped out of his egg and into existence with black wings and a strange, piercing gaze. He was, quite literally, the black sheep of the family. He had sat in a room just like this, still wet from albumen, shivering and staring at heaven around him while angels fought about his existence. Some of them had wanted to cast him out of heaven, saw him as a blemish on heaven’s face, others thought it was a sign from God. The last angel, the youngest, born on Holy Thursday. It had to mean something, they had argued, but nobody could say what that something might be. Finally, Gabriel had stood up after hours of listening to the argument grow more and more heated. 

“Everyone shut the fuck up,” he said, “he hatched in heaven just like the rest of us. He is our brother. He is an angel. There is nothing else to say about it, Castiel will stay.”

Wisely, the angels all fell silent, heads inclining in agreement as if the whole congregation of angels was praying. Gabriel was right, and they wouldn’t argue with the archangels even if they disagreed. So the matter was settled. Gabriel had walked to Castiel slowly, wrapping him in a hug.

“Welcome home, baby brother.” He said. 

It was the only hug Castiel would get while he was in heaven. Most of the angels, even the ones that had argued on his behalf, would not touch him. In a realm where almost everyone was exactly the same, any kind of difference sparked an intense, primal kind of fear. The fear of being an outsider. The fear of not belonging. 

No more angels were born after Cas, and communication from God slowly petered to a halt after his birth. Millenia later and he had landed back in the same room, angels around him yelling about rules and propriety, and the horror of a human being yanked out of hell and shoved back into a body. Mostly, they were yelling about disobedience, about the absolute gall of the angel with the black wings. Castiel had simply waited for everyone to tire themselves out before making his case. Not that there was anything they could do to reverse it, what’s done is done. 

“He was chosen. We need him.” was all Cas said. They knew what he meant, that Michael needed Dean, that this was the right thing to do, that the rules didn’t really matter here. They could hem and haw all day about whether it was proper or not, but not a single one of them could tell Castiel that he was wrong. 

There was still angry muttering as they dispersed, some angels sending Castiel dirty looks as they passed him. He stood with his arms crossed, burning gaze fixed squarely on the ground. Sometimes he wondered if the black wings had also come with a different sense of what was right and wrong than the other angels. Orders were important, of course, structure was important, but nothing should get in the way of the overall mission. At least, that is the way Castiel saw it. Some angels seemed to worship order more than they worshipped God. One angel filed by a little closer than the others, close enough that Castiel could hear the word huffed under his breath.

“Diabolus” he said. He had all but spat it in Castiel’s direction, like a stray loogie. It was latin, it meant devil, evil one, disobedient, satan. It meant traitor. The word hit Cas like a sack of rocks, his frame deflating and shoulders sinking. Even if they weren’t all saying it, a lot of them were thinking it. That this was so similar to Lucifer, who had disobeyed God. The original black sheep of the family, even if he hadn’t had black wings. It was an old insult, low hanging fruit for any angel that was mad at Castiel. The term also meant “prince of darkness”, which hit a little too close to home. Castiel had disobeyed orders, but he had been doing it for the greater good, his acts aligned with an angel’s overall purpose. Lucifer had been selfish, they were told, had disobeyed because he believed he knew best. At least, that was the version of the story that Michael told. 

Cas thought about it and shrugged, letting his frame re-inflate as the last angels left the room. If he was going to be called a traitor anyways, he might as well make sure it was worth it. The black-winged angel set off towards Jimmy Novak.

[eldest-fairy-prince]

Joel smiled knowingly at his mother when she told him what he already hoped was true, he was pregnant or at least on the way to being pregnant since he had just conceived hours before coming to the family home in Bogota. Joel smiles at Malik. "Its a pleasure to meet you, Malik. Luca has told me a lot about you in his messages to Jacob and I in Faerie. I wasn't aware the two of you were expecting though, and so soon. Naughty Luca, keeping things." He teases his slightly younger brother who just flushes and rubs his belly as he leans against Malik. Joel grunts softly when he's tackled by Taesun. "Hey Sun, I've missed you too little brother. I'm not going anywhere. Junnie and I decided to move here permanently. When do I get to meet your partner, he's a Kim isn't he?" He asks his little brother. Joel smiles at Tony and awkwardly shakes his hand since Taesun refused to let go since it had been a few years since they saw each other. "Its a pleasure to meet you, Tony. I'm sorry we didnt get the chance to meet when you both came to Faerie to deliver Corinne but I understand why you didn't stay long. You make my mother the happiest I've ever seen her so as long as you continue to do that I think you and I will get along well." The eldest Lee Moon son says. Soon a handsome man, introducing himself as Marco Kim, Taesun's soulmate, pulled Taesun off of him and wrapped a protective arm around his waist. "Its nice to finally meet you Marco. I've known your father a long time." Joel said shaking Marco's hand, to which Marco smiled. Finally free, Joel makes his way to his soulmate's side and smiles at him. "Let's go up to my room." He smiles before kissing his cheek and leading him away as his mother coos.

As Joel leaves with Minjun to freshen up, Sera beams up at Tony. "I have to admit having Joel here is a wonderful surprise. And his soulmate is adorable. Their little one is going to be beautiful." She grins.

Lica wipes his eyes as he leans against Malik rubbing his large belly as their son kicked away inside him. "I can't believe Jo is here." He sniffles, still crying "I can't believe his soulmate is my platonic."

Marco was a little late to the gathering but he wrapped his arms around Taesun once Joel and Minjun left to freshen up. "So that's Joel, huh? He seems nice." He smiles down at his lover.

Joel was in his wing of the palace relaxing after spending the day with Jacib overseeing the new Knight trainees. He had his easel out as he looked out the window overlooking the garden, his paintbrush against the canvas as he painted what he saw. A sudden bright light and thud startled him, making him jump and mess up the stroke he was making with his brush. Turning to look, the eldest prince was shocked to see that he was no longer alone in his art studio. The most beautiful man he had ever seen stood in the spot that was once empty mere seconds before. "Goodness, you startled me." He laughs "But who are you and why are you in my studio?" He asks, genuinely confused.

[kinardnatural]

SOMETIMES I TRY TO LOOK AHEAD, SOMETIMES I LOOK BACK INSTEAD PART 3

READ ON AO3

PART 1 PART 2

He runs into Tommy a few weeks later. 

Conveniently enough, he runs into him when he's dropping off some baked goods at Maddie and Chimney's place.

“I know what this might look like, but I swear to you, Buck, there was no meddling happening this time,” Chimney had explained when he had opened the door and Buck had spotted the familiar shape of Tommy sitting outside in the back, beer in hand. 

Chimney had continously announced his remorse throughout the weeks to the point that it had gotten on Buck's nerves. 

“Of course not. I came here unannounced,” he said, stepping into the house with two filled baskets. “Where's Maddie and the kids?” 

“Stopping by the Wilson's. You know only one or two of those goods will fit into our freezer, right?” 

“So, give some to Tommy. Wait– I'll do it myself.” 

With one basket in hand, he headed out to the back and startled Tommy when he dropped the basket onto his lap. 

“Uh… hi.” 

Buck grinned widely. “Hi!”

He sat down and and grabbed himself a beer from the cooler between them, smile still widened as he eyed Tommy. 

“Nice to see you too,” his ex mused. “What's all this?”

“Some baked goods Chim don't appreciate enough to keep, so they're all yours.” 

“It's still full from the last three times you dropped some off!” Chimney called out from somewhere inside the house. 

“Well, I know I will appreciate them,” Tommy hummed as he rummaged through all the different things inside the basket. “Are those–?”

“Pignoli cookies? Yeah!”

Tommy looked back at Buck in disbelief.  

“And you made these?” 

“Is that so hard to believe?”

“No– no, I'm just. I think I only ever saw you bake once or twice when we were together.” 

“I sort of started to pick it up.”

“I can see that,” Tommy laughed and put the basket aside. “It's good to see you again, Evan.’ His tone was warm. It sent a pleasant thrill down Buck's spine. 

“Yeah, y-you too.” 

They sipped on their beers simultaneously and glanced at each other. Buck let out an awkward laugh.

“So, uh… you're here alone,” he noted, not feeling the least bit discouraged by Tommy's raised eyebrow. 

“Subtle,” he mused. “Yes. I came here alone.”

“So Cole is…?”

“Class reunion. I don't… he usually doesn't go with me anyway.” 

Buck nodded and sipped on his beer again in an attempt to ignore the ache inside his chest. 

“How have you been? Howie told me you got a new captain.” 

“Captain Laurent,” Buck confirmed. “She's, uh… she's cool. Still adjusting. Getting her feel on it. She's not bad.” 

She wasn’t Bobby, but he didn't expect anyone to be. 

“Mmh. I remember what it was like. One new captain after the other.” 

“It doesn’t help that 118 has the reputation of being a danger magnet.”

“I thought that was all you,” Tommy teased, earning him a light tap in his shin by Buck's foot. 

“I think I've had my good share of that,” Chimney chimed in as he joined them. 

“See? It's not just me.”

Tommy raised his hands up in mock defense.

Buck stayed for a while. He stayed as Maddie returned with the kids. He stayed when Tommy was about to leave. 

“We could share an über, “ Buck had suggested, maybe a bit more flirtatious than intended. All thanks to the beer. Mostly thanks to the beer.

And Tommy looked like he contemplated it. His gaze, now somewhat dazed, traveled from Buck's eyes, down to his lips and up to his eyes again before he took a quick step back. 

“It's probably for the best if we don't, “ he said in one breath, almost regretfully, and Buck nodded in understanding. 

“Of course. I-I wasn't… that was a bad suggestion.” 

Tommy stepped forward again. “If things were different, I would have said yes a thousand times,” he confessed. He backed away again, probably realizing that he had said too much and been on the border of crossing an invisible line. “I'll see you around, Evan.” 

—

He did see him around. More often than not, he felt like Tommy was suddenly wherever Buck went. The grocery store, on a big emergency call, at the bar when he was out with Ravi. Sometimes alone, other times with Cole. Buck didn't stick around for too long those times, but he was polite enough to converse with his ex's new boyfriend whilst Tommy lingered around in the background. 

“You're a man of mystery, Buck,” Cole once said with a dramatic, exasperated tone. “Tommy doesn’t say much about you at all.” 

Which was a weird thing to hear. 

“Well, uh… what do you wanna know?” 

“You ever been with a man?” 

“Cole,” came Tommy's warning tone. 

Buck snorted at the irony.

“Yes. Yes, I have been with a man.” It took all of his will-power not to send Tommy a teasing glance. 

“Do you think Tommy is hot?” Cole then asked, and Buck had to admire the boldness of asking it in front of his boyfriend. 

Buck tilted his head, pretending to think about it while now openly checking Tommy out. 

“I suppose he's not bad-looking,” he said thoughtfully, as if he wasn’t constantly thinking about jumping his bone. Tommy made a face of mock offense at him when Cole wasn’t looking. 

“Oh, don’t be so modest about it, Buck,” Cole whined. “You'd fuck him, wouldn't you? Or let him–?”

“Okay, Cole, that's enough. Christ,” Tommy interjected. “You don't have to answer that, Evan.” 

“Why? Don't you want to know the answer?” It was a bold thing to say, especially in front of Cole, but the blonde didn't seem to take offense at all. If anything, he lit up. 

“Yeah, babe! Don't you?” 

Tommy shook his head. 

“I am not entertaining this, Cole. Enough with your games.” 

He went outside and Cole just shrugged at Buck. “Looks like grumpy needs some cheering up. Don't be a stranger, Buck!” 

He received a text from Tommy later that night. 

So sorry about tonight. 

Buck had smiled at the text before responding.

It's cool. 

The answer is yes, by the way. 

He regretted it the moment he pressed ‘send’, but it was too late. Tommy had already read it, and bubbles showed up and stopped, and started again until a response came. 

You menace. Sweet dreams, Evan.

Yeah, it had been a weird night for sure.

—

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

I cannot wait for this Stan to reconnect with his Ford.

I still haven't figured out HOW exactly they'll meet yet, but I do think that Ford would ATTACH himself to Stanley and talk his ears off forever when they eventually get comfortable :] and Stanley would listen because HOLY SHIT, THAT'S HIS BRO HE HASN'T SEEN FOR 40-ISH YEARS, HE MISSED HIS VOICE. Nonstop certified Yapper & Listener relationship <3

Stanley looks dead faced because of his ingrained poker face, but he's thouroughly enjoying it, even if sometimes he has no idea what the fuck Ford is saying. He never interrupts him though, since he knows people usually ignore or interrupt him mid-talk already. So sometimes Stan gets stuck in awkward situations where he has to leave or do stuff, but also doesn't have it in his heart to stop Ford and extract himself out of a (one-sided) conversation.

[burningcheese-merchant]

I think

Didn't Jack's reasoning develop Daddy Issus in him ??

You mean his extreme perfectionism? It contributes to it, yeah. Kind of a chicken and egg scenario tbh, hard to say which came first. Did Jack's fear of disappointing his father predate his perfectionism, and ultimately lay the foundation of its existence? Or was he born believing he always needs to be more than he is, and that impostor syndrome ended up creeping into his thoughts and feelings regarding his father? Who can say? He's not doing himself any favors regardless. In this situation, Jack is his own worst enemy. His feelings of inadequacy are like a perpetual motion machine. Always devising and "fulfilling" its own prophecies

If they would just sit down and talk to each other man-to-man, it would make a big difference. But Burning Spice hasn't been any good at talking to people in a long time (no matter how much better he's gotten as a person, there are just some things you lose that you'll never get back. Not after living a life like that), and Jack, well-intentioned little martyr that he is, never likes to talk about his problems. He buries them deep and focuses on doing right by others instead, all the time and forever. It's not healthy. It would hit a lot closer to home if his father sat him down, looked him in the face and told him he doesn't always need to put himself last, and he doesn't need to be afraid of not being good enough, because he is. He always has been.