#no worries if you are tagged and don't feel like it

[flowersforbucky]

i got it bad

logan howlett x reader (worst!logan x reader)

word count: 4.9k

summary/prompt: logan can't help that he has super hearing and overhears you - wade's seemingly sweet, shy neighbor - telling vanessa what you fantasize about doing to him. believing that you won't ever act on it, he takes matters into his own hands.

or - getting yourself off on logan's abs

warnings/tags: smut, 18+ only mdni, reader is afab, no use of y/n, logan's pov, porn with a little plot, male masturbation, teasing, nipple/breast play, some tit slaps, multiple orgasms, unprotected p in v, cream pie

Ever since Logan first met you, he hasn’t been able to get you out of his fucking head.

Which is really unfortunate for him, considering you seem indifferent to his existence.

Wade says that you're just an introvert, and that it takes you a while to get comfortable around new people, but after living across the hallway from you for the last few months, Logan is sure that you have no interest in him outside of simple, polite conversation whenever the two of you run into each other.

He first notices you from across the room when you enter Wade and Althea's apartment – his apartment now, too, he supposes. The small space is crowded, but you're impossible for him to overlook. He instantly recognizes you from the polaroid picture that Wade had showed him in the Void.

You’re greeted by Vanessa, who kisses you on the cheek and shoves a drink in your hand before dragging you over to where Logan is listening to Wade and Althea bicker about – what were they bickering about again? All he can focus on is the way your dress hugs your curves and the lipstick imprint that you’ve left on the champagne flute in your hand.

He needs to get out more. Go to a bar, get a job, maybe even try out one of those dating apps that Vanessa has suggested to him – something to get him out of this fucking apartment that he's stayed holed up in since arriving in this universe, because he should not be this flustered by a complete stranger.

“Earth to Peanut,” Wade snaps his fingers in front of Logan’s face. He barely processed anything Vanessa had said while she introduced you. Blah blah, neighbor, something something, lives down the hallway. “Jesus, did you get into the white powder under the floorboard? Your pupils are as big as saucers right now.”

“Oh, go easy on him, Wade,” Althea scolds. “It’s natural for pupils to dilate when looking at a pretty girl.”

The expression on your face matches how Logan feels – surprised, embarrassed, slightly mortified.

“You don't even know what she looks like. She could look like me for all you know,” Wade snorts.

“She brings me homemade cookies and she always smells good,” Al retorts. “I don't need to be able to see her to know that she's pretty.”

“Nice to meet you,” Logan finally speaks up with a forced smile. Leave it to his two roommates to make a simple introduction as awkward as possible. “And no, I am not high on cocaine,” he adds with a pointed glare at Wade.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Logan,” you return the sentiment with a chortle and shy smile. “And don’t worry, I never pay attention to anything Wade says.”

Yukio and her girlfriend with the long ass name that Logan has yet to memorize then walk up and gain your attention, leaving Logan wishing he could redo the entire interaction.

He spends the rest of the night hoping for an opportunity to talk to you again, and feeling disappointed when that doesn’t happen.

The next couple of months go similarly. He runs into you frequently – in the elevator, and the communal laundry room of the apartment complex, and when you’re both checking your mail at the same time.

You always greet him with a smile and ask the typical casual conversation questions – how he's liking his new job (he’s not, but he tells you it’s going fine), if Wade is staying out of trouble (no), and how Laura is doing (she’s doing great, actually), but it never progresses much past that.

As soon as the conversation starts to venture into more personal territory, you seem to shut down. You’ll make some excuse about having somewhere to be, wish him a good day, and then you’re gone.

He can’t help himself. He sees how carefree and talkative you can be with Vanessa and hell, even Wade – and he wants that. At least then he may feel a little less crazy for spending so much of his free time racking his brain for ways to get closer to you.

Maybe it’s because it has been so long since he’s had a crush on anyone, but sometimes he thinks he might be losing his mind with how often he thinks of you – your smile, your eyes, your scent, your voice, and the way that having a five minute conversation with you always leaves him feeling for the rest of the day.

That’s why when he’s walking to his apartment one evening, and hears his name come from inside your apartment, he stops dead in his fucking tracks.

God, he knows he shouldn’t listen. He knows he should keep walking, go into his apartment and close the door.

But it’s not like he has his ear pressed up against your door. It’s not his fault that he has super hearing and that the apartment building has paper thin walls.

His brain is yelling at his feet to move but they stay planted firm right where they are.

“He thinks you don’t like him, you know,” Vanessa says. Logan doesn’t need to be able to see to know that there’s a smirk on her face.

He’s tempted to cause some kind of commotion in the hallway and then dash into his apartment, just to stop Vanessa from saying whatever the hell she’s about to say.

“Logan?” You sound appalled. “Of course I like him.”

“I know that you like him,” Vanessa chuckles. “But I can see why he would think otherwise. You act like you can barely stand to be in the same room as the guy for five minutes.”

“That’s not true.” Your voice shoots up several octaves higher than normal.

Logan sends a silent prayer to whoever the fuck is listening that no one walks down this hallway in the next few minutes and sees him standing still as a statue next to your apartment door.

“It’s not that I simply can’t stand to be in the same room as him,” you continue, lowering your voice back down to its normal volume. “It’s that being in the same room as him makes me want to jump his adamantium bones.”

For a second, he really believes that his two hundred year old heart might stop beating.

“I’m fucking pathetic around him,” you huff. “Last week, I saw him pull his t-shirt off in the laundry room to put a clean one on, and ever since then I haven’t been able to stop thinking about grinding my pussy against his abs. Something is seriously wrong with me, Nes.”

But Logan doesn’t hear Vanessa’s response, because he speed walks away while she’s still cackling. By some miracle, Wade isn’t home, so Logan darts past Althea and locks himself in the bathroom.

What the fuck, Jesus Christ, and holy shit all play on a loop in his mind while he tries to ignore the bulge that has quickly formed in his jeans.

The last words he expected to hear anyone say today were jump his adamantium bones and grinding my pussy against his abs – but the fact that he heard those words come from your mouth in your sweet voice has his cock throbbing so hard that he can't think of anything other than you doing exactly what you’ve been fantasizing about.

Images of you straddling him with your bare, wet cunt rubbing against his happy trail, getting yourself off on his body as he plays with your pretty tits –

He let’s out an audible growl and rips the shower curtain open before turning on the water – straight to his normal hot temperature, too. He knows a cold shower isn't going to do him any good right now.

Standing beneath the hot stream, he thinks of what has transpired in the last five minutes and strokes himself in his hand until warm, white liquid follows the water down the drain.

When he finishes, he stills hears your voice in his mind and gets hard again within minutes.

••••••

Logan hasn’t seen you in three days. Three days might not seem like a long time to go without seeing your neighbor, but it feels like a long fucking time for him. In fact, it’s the longest he’s gone without casually running into you since he first met you months ago.

There’s a reason for this, though – he hasn’t checked his mail in days, hasn’t taken any of his laundry down to the basement in days, and has generally tried to avoid leaving his apartment as much as he can out of fear that he’ll see you. He even went as far as to pretend to be napping when you came by with some fresh baked brownies for Althea yesterday.

He wants to see you, of course. Goddamn, does he want to see you. But after overhearing your conversation with Vanessa earlier this week, he doesn’t know if he’s strong enough to look you in the eye and pretend like he hasn't been making himself cum to the thought of you on top of him every time he takes a shower.

But after three days, he finds himself missing you too much to keep up his attempt at distancing himself from you.

What if he’s being ridiculous, staying cooped in this apartment to avoid you? What if you’re just down the hallway, thinking about him at the same time he’s thinking of you?

He's tidying up the kitchen when he sees the pink Tupperware container that you’d brought the brownies in yesterday sitting in the sink. The brownies were long gone – they’d all been eaten by him, Wade and Al within the same hour that you brought them over.

Taking the Tupperware back to you would be the nice, neighborly thing to do, right?

With Al already retired to her bedroom for the evening, and Wade out with Vanessa, he takes it upon himself to wash and dry the container.

It’s a Friday night, so he knows there’s a chance that you’ve got plans and might not even be home, but he still takes a few minutes to fix his hair and swipe some deodorant on before walking down the hallway towards your apartment.

As he approaches your door, he realizes that you are home. There’s light spilling from the crack at the bottom of the doorframe and he can hear low music playing inside. A mix of anxiety and anticipation sets in, but he clears his throat and knocks on your door before he can chicken out.

He hears your footsteps approaching and attempts to wipe any sign of nervousness from his face – he’s just returning your Tupperware, for Christ's sake.

“Logan,” you breathe as you open the door. “I haven’t seen you in a few days,” you greet him. He can’t help but relax at the smile that grows on your face when you realize it’s him. “What are you up to this evening?”

You lean against your doorframe, and Logan has to force himself to maintain eye contact. You’re wearing a matching pajama set – a cute pair of velvet shorts and tank top that shows more of your skin than he’s ever seen before.

“I – uh,” he stammers, holding out the Tupperware container to you. “I just thought I’d bring this back to you. They were great, by the way.”

Your smile spreads to your eyes at his compliment.

“Oh, thanks,” you beam. “I’m glad you got to have one. Wade told me that you were asleep when I came by yesterday so I figured he’d have them eaten by the time you woke up.”

“I’m sure he would have, but Al made him save one for me,” he laughs.

He tries to focus on the conversation at hand, but the fact that you look fresh out of the shower definitely isn’t fucking helping. Bare faced with the scent of your body wash and lotion on your skin, his thoughts begin to stray into dangerous territory fast.

“I don’t wanna interrupt your night, though. I’ll let you get back to—”

“You’re not,” you say quickly as he begins to step backwards. “You're not interrupting. Are you doing anything tonight? I just ordered a pizza and there’s plenty. I was gonna watch a movie, if you want…” You trail off, glancing back and forth between him and your apartment behind you.

He can't help but notice that your voice sounds hopeful.

The invitation excites him more than he cares to admit. Sure, the two of you have hung out plenty of times, but it's always been in a group setting – at one of Wade’s get togethers or movie nights, surrounded by other friends.

But never just the two of you – definitely never in your apartment.

He could never think of saying no to you. Especially not when this is what he's been hoping for since he first me you.

“Yeah. Yeah, I'd really like that.”

You hold the door open for him, letting him enter your apartment. Right away, he notices how different it is from the one that he lives in. Then again, there’s three people cramped into Althea’s – you're the only person who lives here, so you're able to make it entirely your own.

It’s cute, and cozy, he thinks. From your furniture adorned with throw pillows and blankets, to all of your shelves stocked with books, knick-knacks and candles, to the various plants occupying space throughout the living room, it feels endearing and welcoming right away.

“So, where’s Wade at tonight?” you ask as he ventures into the living room. He notes a large cardboard box with an untouched pizza in it on your coffee table. His stomach growls at the sight, and it hits him that he actually is fucking starving.

“He’s out with Vanessa. Fourth time this week,” he answers, turning to find you retrieving two plates from a cabinet in your kitchen. You're angled away from him, and when you raise your arms to grab the plates, your tank top lifts enough to give him a clear view of your midriff. He quickly averts his gaze, pretending to find something on your bookshelf particularly interesting.

“I’m just really glad that they’ve worked through things and seem to be happy now,” you sigh. “He wasn’t in a good place after their breakup. Barely ever left his apartment for the longest time.”

“They’ve got something special, that’s for sure,” Logan agrees.

You hand him a plate, walking past him to your couch. You toss some of the decorative throw pillows to your recliner, making room for him on the sofa. You pat the empty space beside you, an invitation for him to make himself at home.

“Who knows, maybe they'll even get their own place soon and I won’t have to share the living room with him anymore,” he says as he sits down beside you.

It’s a pretty small couch – really more like a loveseat – so it’s a snug fit for the two of you. The skin of your exposed kneecap brushes against the fabric of his jeans as you lean forward to grab yourself a slice of pizza.

“Sounds like you just want Blind Al and Mary Puppins all to yourself,” you tease. You hand him a piece of pizza and close the box before propping your feet up on the table. You lean back, looking at him with a smirk and raised brows.

“If he moves, that dog is going with him and you know it. There’s no way he’d leave her behind,” he shakes his head.

“There’s no way Althea would let him take her. She's grown to be as attached to her as Wade is. I think even you like her more than you care to admit.”

“What can I say? She has a way of weaseling herself into your heart,” Logan sighs.

“Oh, it’s definitely the tongue,” you shrug through a bite of pizza.

Logan grimaces as a vivid image of Mary Puppins French kissing Wade awake flashes through his mind, but he can't help but laugh.

You turn on some action-comedy that Logan has never heard of, and the two of you eat and take turns making comments about whatever is happening on the screen for the first half of the movie.

He tries to stay focused on the film, he really does, but every now and then you readjust your position on the couch, causing him to catch a whiff of your perfume or your thigh will brush against his and he'll have to force his attention back to the characters on the screen.

No matter how distracting he may find your mere presence beside him, he's enjoying himself. This is by far the longest the two of you have hung out together, without the additions of his roommates and other friends. He dreads the moment that the movie ends and he’s obligated to tell you goodnight before reluctantly going back to his own apartment.

During the second act of the movie, he wonders what you’re thinking - if you could possibly be feeling the same way as him – when you randomly sit forward, grab the box of the leftover pizza off of the table in front of you, and stand to take it to your refrigerator.

It's then that he picks up on an odor – not the light floral aroma of your perfume but something new. A scent that answers the question of exactly what you had been thinking about. It’s musky and pheromonal, and even though it’s been a while since Logan has been intimate enough with a woman to smell the scent of her arousal, he recognizes it right away.

When you sit back down beside him, the sweet smell washes over him again and he bites the inside of his lip so hard that he tastes blood. The wound disappears as quickly as it’s formed, but the same can’t be said for the erection that begins to strain against the confines of his boxers.

He eyes the pile of small, decorative pillows that you had tossed to the side and wishes that he could grab one to place over his lap.

The words that you’d said to Vanessa a few days ago begin replaying in his mind for the thousandth time since he’d first heard you say them, reminding him this isn’t one-sided. He may be sitting here attempting to conceal a raging hard-on by shifting his position and subtly adjusting his pants, but Logan’s heightened sense of smell tells him that your underwear are probably starting to feel as uncomfortable as his do at the moment.

Without turning his head, he risks a glance at you. Your eyes are on the movie, and your face is neutral, but your posture gives you away. Your arms are crossed over your chest, the tips of your fingernails digging tiny crescent shaped indentations into the flesh of your upper arm. You have one of your thighs crossed over the other, locked together tightly but that doesn’t stop him from being able to smell how fucking wet you are.

“You know, if my sense of smell is as good as my sense of hearing, then I think I have a pretty good idea of what you’re thinking about right now,” Logan starts, his voice low and gruff. He watches from his peripheral vision as you freeze, your form going rigid.

“But I’d really like to hear you say it.”

You turn to him, your eyebrows quirked but your face otherwise impassive.

“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about. What exactly is it that you’d like to hear me say?” you ask innocently. You give him doe eyes that make his cock finish filling with blood.

He huffs a laugh, picking up on the way that your heartrate accelerates when you look at him.

“I'd like to hear you say what you said to Vanessa a few days ago,” he hums. “I can’t remember exactly, but I think it had something to do with you rubbing your sweet little cunt on my abs. Does that sound familiar to you?”

“Hm,” you feign contemplation. “That doesn’t really sound like something I'd say.”

He knows you’re trying to play it cool, but there’s certain things that you just can’t hide from him – like the way your heart is beating a mile a minute and the way your nipples have pebbled beneath the thin material of your tank top.

“You’re right. It doesn't sound like something you’d say,” he snorts, and leans in so that your face is just a few inches from his. “So imagine my surprise when I walked by your apartment to hear you talking about jumping my adamantium bones.”

He doesn't miss the way your breath catches in your throat or how your eyes flicker to his lips.

“You gonna do it? Or you just gonna keep thinking about it while you're sitting beside me?”

For a second, you say nothing and Logan struggles to read your expression. Then, without taking your eyes off of him, you slowly stand in front of the couch. You reach for the hem of your tank top and pull it over your head, leaving you naked from the waist up.

Logan's mouth goes dry. Suddenly, he's all out of smart remarks.

You hook your thumbs into the waistband of your pajama shorts, pushing them down your thighs along with your panties, and let them both drop to your feet all while holding his gaze.

With you now stark naked before him, he leans forward, grasping you by the backs of your thighs and pulling you onto his lap. You straddle him, gently pushing him back against the sofa.

He tugs his own shirt over his head while you undo his belt buckle and pop open the top button of his jeans, your hands fumbling when he sheds his shirt.

Logan doesn’t typically think too much about his physical appearance. He knows he’s in good shape, and thinks he’s conventionally attractive enough. But he could see himself getting a bit of an ego, if he had someone looking at him the way you are right now on a regular basis.

You help him shimmy his jeans and boxers down far enough for his cock to spring free. You take him in your hand, using your thumb to smear the thick bead of pre-cum across the head.

“You should be careful listening to people’s conversations outside of their doors,” you hum as you pump him in one hand. You hunch over, lowering your mouth enough to spit down his shaft, lubricating the length. You smirk, glancing up at him from beneath your thick eyelashes. “Other people might not react as happily as me.”

Fuck, he knows it’s been a long time since he's even felt anyone’s hands on him, but he feels a little pathetic at the way his balls are already tightening and feeling so heavy just from the way you’re languidly stroking him.

And as much as he’d love for you to keep your hands on him, there’s time for him later. Right now, what he wants more than anything is the feeling of your pussy on him.

He pulls your hand off of him and then tugs you over his erection, trying his hardest to ignore the way the wetness between your legs glides against the tip of his cock, until you’re flat against the hard expanse of his lower stomach.

“This is what you wanted, yeah?” He grunts. You whimper in response, tightening your thighs around his sides and rocking back and forth with the smallest amount of friction. “Don’t be holding back, wanna feel you make a mess on me.”

His words seem to erase any remaining reservation that you may have had. You brace your hands on his chest and begin dragging your center across his lower stomach, your slick coating the thick trail of hair that goes from his belly button to his waistline. With every backstroke, the head of his cock juts against your ass.

You glide across him easily. Soft, wet, and warm, Logan thinks that if you feel this good on his fucking stomach then there’s no way he’ll be able to handle being inside you.

He leans his head forward, capturing one of your nipples in his mouth. You hold his head in your hands, tugging on his hair with your fingers as he teases your nipple with his tongue and teeth.

He pulls his mouth away from your breast with a wet pop. “You like this? Using me to get yourself off?”

“Mm-hmm,” you nod frantically, your answer coming out as a moan. He gives a quick, firm slap to your other breast. Judging by the sound it draws from you, you like it, so he does it again.

He'd pictured this exact scenario a shameful number of times in the last few days, but his thoughts hadn’t done you justice. Every little noise you make, every little whimper and moan as your clit brushes against the thick bulges of his muscles again and again, sounds sweeter than he could've dreamed.

He places his hands on the meat of your hips, guiding you forwards and backwards across his abdomen at a fast pace.

“Fuck,” you gasp, clenching your thighs around him as tight as you can. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum—”

“That’s right,” he coos. “Come on, cum on me.”

You dig your fingernails into his shoulders, drenching the hair on his stomach as you ride out your orgasm on him with a cry of his name.

You collapse against his chest, going still with your face in the crook of his neck as you steady your breathing.

“Look at me,” he whispers after a moment. It hits him that despite the fact that you just humped him until you came all over his abdomen, he somehow hasn’t even kissed you yet.

You pull away from his neck, looking down at him with a dazed expression. He brings your face to his mouth by the back of your neck. He wastes no more time, instantly slipping his tongue past your lips.

He holds you by the globes of your ass, which hovers just above his erection. You grind down, causing the tip of his cock to nudge against your entrance. He groans into your mouth, his cock past the point of feeling like it’s going to explode if he doesn’t fucking feel you.

“We can stop here,” he murmurs against your lips when he breaks the kiss, even though the thought kills him. He doesn’t want to stop kissing you, touching you, tasting you. It’s only been a few months, but it feels like he’s been waiting a lifetime for this and the last thing he wants is for it to come to an end. “Don’t have to go any further if you don’t—”

“No,” you exclaim with a breathy laugh. “No, I don’t want to stop. Do you want to stop?”

He grins up at you, taking his length in his hand and teasing it through your folds from below you. He coats the head in your juices before nudging it against your hole.

“Definitely don’t wanna stop, sweetheart.”

You sink down onto him at the same moment that he tilts his hips up enough to slip inside you, causing the entirety of his length to fill you at once.

You both go still, adjusting to the new sensation of each other. Your walls, velvet soft and so warm, constrict around him like a vice. He knows you’re likely tired from riding him through your first orgasm, so he begins thrusting his hips slowly, the tip of his cock nudging against your cervix.

“You’re big. So, so big,” you moan – something between a whine and a praise.

“I know, but you’re doing so good, honey,” he encourages as he eases himself in and out of you. “Don’t worry, I got you.”

You latch your lips to his again, and it’s hard for him to hold back. The feeling of your tight, perfect cunt around him and the taste of your tongue in his mouth is overwhelming. He wants to memorize every movement, every sound you make.

You snake your hand between your bodies, your fingertips finding your swollen clit and massaging languid circles. He feels you flutter around him as you start meeting his thrusts with movements of your own, and he knows you’re close.

“Not gonna last much longer, honey,” he grunts with a sharp thrust. “Feel too fucking good.”

“Cum with me,” you murmur against his mouth.

Your command causes something in him to snap. He releases a throaty growl, pistoning his hips upwards at a harsh pace as he fills you up from below. You constrict around him, crying his name into his ear as you ride out your climaxes together.

You collapse against his chest once more, his cock still nestled inside you. He loses track of how long the two of you stay like that, neither of you wanting to be the first to move.

“Remind me to eavesdrop on your conversations more often,” he huffs a laugh, still slightly out of breath.

You bring your lips to his, smiling as you give him a light kiss.

“I’ll know if you do. I have a doorbell camera. You didn’t notice that?”

thank you so much for reading <3 comments and reblogs are super appreciated. here are a few more of my favorite logan pieces that i've written ✨️

for always and ever is always for you - old man logan x healer reader

diet pepsi - old man logan x reader limousine sex

lavender and velvet - worst variant logan x neighbor reader

[intrepsa-asylum]

Uhm.... since this one's alterhumanity is being a doll and all of her doll stuff is here, she'll answer this here. She doesn't really feel like making a new blog for this again. She will put it under the read more because it will be very long with so many questions and answers.

1/ Which category of alterhumanity do you belong to?

This one calls herself an alterbeing because it fits better to her than otherkin and alterhuman now. But she guesses in a way that she is alterhuman too because she is plural.

-----------

2/ What/who is/are your type(s)? (if you have any)

This one is a doll, and a witch doll, and a catgirl.

-----------

3/ Do you experience shifts? If so, can you tell us your most common shifts and your strangest cameo shift (if you've ever had a cameo shift)?

Uhhh, this one's not sure what a cameo shift is but she has had shifts yes. This one's most common shifts is just wanting to be cuddled and snuggled and loved on when she is in doll mode. Also she feels her doll joints when that happens too. But also when she is in doll mode she feels kind of dumb and empty and really needy to be put on display.

Uh... this one kind of thinks she gets what a cameo shift is now? This one feels cat ears when she ears things. They get all perky.

----------

4/ How do you experience your alterhumanity in everyday life?

Erm... through this blog. Because this one can't be doll out in the wild. Also she guesses through talking to her system members?

-----------

5/ What do you think of the community?

This one thinks that the parts of the community she's in are very welcoming and friendly! All of the different meanings for all of the labels confuses her though. Too many from different areas for different reasons makes them so complicated.

-----------

6/ What are the things that make you most comfortable and euphoric in your alterhumanity?

Uhm.... this one's not sure. When she gets to express herself here! She thinks...

-----------

7/ Are you experiencing species dysphoria?

Not that this one knows of. She doesn't think so. She wishes she had a doll body instead of a human body sometimes but it doesn't make her super sad. At least... she doesn't think it does anyway.... she's not sure again. ._.

-----------

8/ What advice would you like to say to a young alterhuman who has just awakened?

Hmm... this one would like to say that... erm, they shouldn't worry about labeling themselves right away? There are too many that are the same that means different things and it will just confuse them.

This one will also tell them to maybe ask advice from other beings in the community and maybe write down their experiences somewhere if they are questioning something and not to be upset if the thing they they thought they weren't isn't what what they actually are.

If that makes sense. This one wants to say that they will find themselves in time, even if it takes a long time so don't rush it.

------------

9/ Do you have/want to have gears?

Oh yes! This one wishes she had ball jointed somethings and maybe a kitty ear and tail! She doesn't have those though but she wants them.

--------------

10/ Do you know/have any theories about the origin of your alterhumanity? If so, tell us! (all beliefs are legitimate)

This one is not sure where her origins to her awakening came from. She just knew she loved dolls a lot and then she started to remember things from when she was a homunculus a long time ago then she went BOOM doll.

-----------

11/ Tag someone/a creature to answer these questions!ㅤ

Uhmm... anyone can answer this if they want to. She's not sure who to tag. XS

If you are a alterhuman, reblog and answer these questions!

(don't be afraid to write a lot, do what you want ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯)

1/ Which category of alterhumanity do you belong to?

2/ What/who is/are your type(s)? (if you have any)

3/ Do you experience shifts? If so, can you tell us your most common shifts and your strangest cameo shift (if you've ever had a cameo shift)?

4/ How do you experience your alterhumanity in everyday life?

5/ What do you think of the community?

6/ What are the things that make you most comfortable and euphoric in your alterhumanity?

7/ Are you experiencing species dysphoria?

8/ What advice would you like to say to a young alterhuman who has just awakened?

9/ Do you have/want to have gears?

10/ Do you know/have any theories about the origin of your alterhumanity? If so, tell us! (all beliefs are legitimate)

11/ Tag someone/a creature to answer these questions!ㅤᵕ̈

[angelltheninth]

Love and Deepspace Men + Manipulate, Mansplain, Manhandle, Manwhore

Pairing: Zayne, Rafayel, Xavier, Sylus x Fem!Reader

Tags: fluff, suggestive but no smut, teasing, kissing, manipulation, toxic behavior, developing relationship, possessiveness

Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters

A/N: Feeling silly today. I love these men, they ruined my life!

Mansplaining!Zayne knows you could probably take care of yourself pretty well but he really wants to do it for you. He would do such a good job at it, much better than you, not to say that you're bad at things, he's just a bit better. Stick with him though and you'll be just as good, he can promise you that, don't bother with those other men who try to get your attention because they're not worth it, not worth you, so much as a glace. When you agree to be his girlfriend he will make sure you never need anyone else ever again.

Manwhore!Rafayel flaunts himself at everyone in hopes of making you jealous. And it's working, every time he tells you about a woman he slept with he can see the way you chew your bottom lip and clench your fists in anger. He knows you want to shut him up every time and if you really want him to do that then there is one way, you should just kiss him. Make him yours, let everyone know it, mark him up just like he's always dreamed of you doing, he's always been yours and now you finally realized it too.

Manhandleing!Xavier usually isn't rough with you but when you keep getting into trouble he doesn't have a choice. He keeps telling you to stay out of trouble and you always find your way to it, like you're drawn to it. To keep you out of trouble and harm he always tightens his hold on you, so much so that it hurts and drags you into the bedroom where he throw you on the bed and gets on top of you, kissing you until your lungs burn for air. Always making him worry, maybe he should consider a pair of handcuffs for you.

Manipulative!Sylus wears you down little by little every time he points out an issue with someone you think you could date and it's not him. Really you should see those red flags, but for some reason you don't until he doesn't point them out. It's clear that you need him by your side or else you could get into real trouble with someone who would want to harm you. The best thing for you would be to get into a relationship with him instead, let him do all the thinking and let him spoil you, his pretty future wife.

[bunny-jpeg]

nurse lance

lance stroll

tags: smut & fluff, sick/sweet fic, gentle sex, established relationship, sick!reader, cowgirl position

a/n: i went to visit hare this weekend and came back with a fever & cold. and right before the holidays too!!!

lance was a sucker for when you were sick. he wasn't unfamiliar with a cold and knew his way around a can of chicken noodle soup. he seemed to up the affection when he knew you were under the weather.

you had a habit of playing it off when you felt under the weather, you believed that your partner had more than enough things to worry about. he didn't need you having the sniffles on top of it. but by god does he always find out quickly.

"well, there's three things you always do when you're sick." he said as he pulled up the covers to your chin, he pushed the blankets under your sides effectively putting you into a black burrito, "one, you get very quiet because your head hurts. two, you limp a little because your joints hurt. and three, your eyes looks heavy and tired because your entire being is fighting off infection." he took you by the cheeks and kissed you on the forehead.

"i'm fine, lance. it's just the weather changing." you could barely keep your eyes open as you laid under the covers he tucked you into. you opened your eyes a little more to see his hands on your cheeks once more.

"right, right... and you'll be as good as new tomorrow, eh? you need rest." he said, "and i don't want to see you up until i get you some tea." he pulled away and wagged a finger at you.

you felt the heat in your face from the sickness and you nodded, "of course, honey.." you felt the heaviness in your eyes once more and by the time lance was out of the bedroom you had gotten more comfortable in bed and eventually fell asleep. you hated when he was right, even though you loved him deeply. lance kept close to you, he even brought his laptop to the bedroom to check emails and keep himself busy while you rested.

it was only right of him, you cheered him on. not only him but the whole team! you gave him all your love, so if you were feeling under the weather then he'd simply take care of his love. his everything.

-

however, when you started to feel better. you returned the favour for your lover. nurse lance deserved a raise after everything he had done for you. once the coughing settled and the aches were gone. when you felt a bit more alive and after dinner, you took lance by the hand. left the dishes in the sink before you brought him up to the bedroom you shared.

"we don't have-"

"i'm alright." you said, "much better now, you've been looking after me for days now." you unzipped your hooded sweatshirt and took it off you. you liked how lance looked at you when he was getting turned on by you.

"you promise?" he asked, "you owe me nothing."

you reached out for him and took his shirt by the shoulders, "i mean, i benefit from it too. haven't been able to get pleasure while i was sick. a change of pace from the aches and pains." and giggled when lance pulled the sweatpants off you.

your clothes were soon all over the floor by the bed as the two of you got into bed together. he ran his hands across your sides as you straddled his waist. you placed your hands on his shoulders and admired him. those dark eyes that pulled you in, how he smiled at you. the way the tips of his ears got hot when he was intimate with you. the rush of want made im perfectly pink.

"last chance." he said, he wanted total confidence that you were doing this of your own free will. no questions asked.

you took him by the face and gazed into his eyes, "i want you lance, i want you so fucking badly. is that what you want to hear?" then pressed a kiss against his soft lips. he shuddered and let out a small laugh after you broke the kiss. you looked down at him and laughed in return, "happy?"

"with you? always, babe." then winked at you before he helped you get seated on his cock. the stretch was a bit much at first, but soon you were fully taking him.

your hands on his shoulders as you started to move against him. move at a steady, slow pace. nothing too brutal, only gentleness between you two. you admired him. you loved him. deeply.

you were feeling better, the cough was mostly gone and you didn't have the dull throb in your head. it felt nice to be intimate with him once more. you held onto him tightly as you moved your hips. the pleasure sank down to your core and left you needy for him. you were always needy for him. there was something about him that pulled you in.

he was unlike any other man you ever met. not because he was a racer, he was different from them too. the way he smiled at you, how he seemed to remember all the important dates. that he modified how he worked so he could keep a close eye on you.

"i love you." you said softly, "you are fuckin' amazing, lance." you cupped his face for a moment as you picked up the pace. but lance held onto your hips to slow you down.

you looked at him curiously and he said, "let's take our time. i know you're better, but i don't want you to push yourself so hard until you're totally fine again." then gave you a smile that melted your heart.

you said softly, "fuck, lance. you're so cheesy."

he replied, "only with you." then pulled one of your hands to his face where he could kiss right where your wrist ended and your hand began. he met your pace slowly and kissed across your wrist and hand with a sort of devotion that made your stomach flutter.

the two of you continued to make love, the feeling was electric as the two of you moved against one another. the pace remained gentle, his love for you flowed through your body as you moved against him slowly. you loved the feeling, it left you feeling hot all over as pleasure bloomed in your core. there was something about him that just left you needy.

you could remember almost every time he used those skilled fingers and tongue to use, the videos of himself masturbating he would send. even the sweet text messages, you were wrapped up in his world and you loved it.

"fuck, lance." you said.

"you feel amazing, i'm glad you're feeling better." he said, "i want you not sick, not if i can prevent it. even though you do look rather cute with a runny nose." then gave your hand another kiss before he placed his hands back on your hips. he helped maintain the pace as he gazed up at you. fuck, you were beautiful.

"no need to lay it on so thick, lance." you laughed between heavy, lustful pants, "i know you're obsessed with me."

"how could i not be? not when you're so funny, and cute, and sweet. of course i'll love and take care of you. that's what a good boyfriend does." he remarked as he felt the flutter of lust through him as he moved against you.

you two continued to move, love was said in words and felt in the want between you two. it was hot, erotic in a way that made your toes curl as you continued to ride him. pleasure thumped in your chest as you rode him.

"you're such a sweet talker." you said as you went in for another heated kiss. the pleasure near hit its peak as you rode him. the heat curled in your core as you held onto him a little tighter, "fuck, i need to cum."

he said out of breath, "then cum for me." and groaned when you clenched around him as you climaxed. the pleasure swarmed your brain as you felt your entire body grow tense for a moment. he groaned, "fuck." it felt good, really good.

it was only hotter when you continued to move against him, eager for his own climax. he groaned louder and felt his orgasm wash over him. he cursed under his breath and you continued to ride him through his climax. your legs felt like jelly, but you loved the feeling.

"lance."

"i got you." he said as the two of you slowed down to a stop. you coughed a little from the physical activity. you still weren't a hundred percent. the two of you laid out next to each other on the bed, and lance got the blankets over both of you. he held you face and kissed you some more. you coughed a little bit and he kissed your nose, "alright, let's get comfy. you're obviously still sick."

and you were inclined to agree

-

a few days later, lance woke up to a sore throat and a little too much crust in his eyes, when he opened his eyes slowly the light that streamed through the window felt oppressive.

he rolled over and up against your shoulder. his hands felt cold as he cuddled with you. the iciness of his palms woke you up and you yawned loudly and looked at him.

he looked up at you, his normally big brown eyes eyes partially closed and full of sleep. then he started to cough and you pressed your lips against his forehead. he groaned a little.

you pulled away and looked at him, "i guess it's time for me to take care of you." and then your eyes went wide when he wrapped himself up against you.

"will you, please?" he asked quietly.

you chuckled and snuggled up next to him, "of course." if you two were going to share the same cold over the course of the off season then so be it. because he'll always take care of you, and you'll take care of him <3

[byte-your-tongue]

How They Wrap Your Presents Pt. 1 (Obey Me! SWD Brothers)

(Platonic, GN Reader)

AN: Recently got access to my old obswd account after over two years of not being able to play!! ₍^ >ヮ<^₎ .ᐟ.ᐟ im excited about that + the holidays so here yall go take some sill lil hcs. these are pretty christmas focused but if anyone wants an edited version where i remove that and make it more generic what holiday is being talked about just let me know! part two with the other characters will hopefully be up soon!

Lucifer:

His presents look neat but maybe a little bit boring compared to some of the others on this list

They are tastefully wrapped in a simple solid color metallic wrapping paper with no ribbon.

He wouldn't pick out a wrapping paper with a pattern because he thinks it looks sort of silly or childish or "too much"

He doesn't use sticker labels, instead attaching a small piece of paper or card with his elegant cursive handwriting on it addressing it to you from him.

He will leave your present under the tree in the HOL and look on with pride when you open it christmas day.

He may get onto you if you try to shake it to figure out what it is early, telling you to be patient and that it will be worth the wait.

Mammon:

He could have taken the easy way out and put your presents in a bag but he wants to wrap them himself.

This of course leads to a disaster with wrapping paper scraps everywhere and him covered in tape. He probably also somehow manages to cut himself with the scissors at one point.

Your present may look like a disaster but it's wrapped with love.

Sure he could have asked someone like Asmo to help him out but he selfishly wanted the present to be only from him alone, with no one else helping him.

He would probably pick out a very basic pattern like snowflakes or something.

He doesn't put a tag on it (which is probably for the best, his handwriting is atrocious)

He's sort of embarrassed of how it turned out and doesn't put it under the tree before christmas, choosing instead to hand it to you directly on christmas morning.

If you tell him you like the wrapping despite how it looks he will be over the moon and blushing like a tomato.

Mammon is overjoyed to see you so happy because of him, and commits this moment to memory forever.

Leviathan:

I don't think he would be very confident in his wrapping skills, instead choosing to give you a gift bag instead.

Plus it's just easier that way! No fiddling with wrapping paper and tape.

It's not like a gift bag is an any way less good than a wrapped present, but after seeing Asmo's gorgeous gift to you sitting under the tree he gets worried you won't like his.

So he decides to customize the bag for you, drawing your favorite character on it.

He puts your gift inside, adds some simple tissue paper, and adds it to the small pile of gifts already under the tree.

On christmas day when you finally open his gift he's anxious you won't like it. When you beam at him and tell him you love it and compliment the drawing on the bag he feels like he could pass out from joy.

Satan:

Satan for sure is going to make your gift look good.

He is careful and meticulous with the wrapping, not an inch out of place with perfect folds.

He might pick out a simple pattern that just has holiday colors on it. Nothing too intense but still festive.

He is the first one i've talked about so far who would add a ribbon. Something thin and shiny wrapped across both axis of the present and tied up with perfect curls.

He adds a simple tag that has your and his names on it in neat print.

He will add his present to the pile, admiring the other ones already there.

When you finally get his present you almost don't want to open it, admiring how it looks.

He will be happy if you like his gift, smiling warmly at you.

Asmodeus:

You KNOW Asmo is going all out on wrapping your presents.

Your present is wrapped in the most adorable sparkly paper he could find and topped with a big bow and ribbons.

Your presents from him are very cute without being over the top.

He is very excited for the holidays, picking out your presents and wrapping them before anyone else had even found anything for you.

He spends a lot of time wrapping your presents perfectly and making sure not a single piece of ribbon is out of place.

Beelzebub:

He doesn't really know what do so he goes to Asmo for help. Beel is one of the only people here who doesn't mind asking for help, and he knows Asmo would be perfect for this.

Beel picks out the paper and gets Asmo to help him wrap it so of course it comes out cute looking.

The first paper Beel wanted to use had a cute little pattern with gingerbread men on it, but he did in fact eat some of the paper while Asmo was trying to wrap.

After that the two of them decided another choice of wrapping paper might be better if they want your gift to survive.

Beel adds a sticker to it that addresses the gift to you from him and places it under the tree.

Belphegor:

Belphie is NOT wrapping your present.

He's not even putting in in a gift bag.

The bare minimum he would do is slap a simple bow on it and calls it done.

Since your present isn't wrapped he doesn't put it under the tree, instead waiting till christmas and giving it to you directly.

He may not have put a lot of thought into the wrapping, but he did put a lot of time and effort into picking out your present so he really hopes you like it.

[monimccoythings]

Primal Instincts

I saw that in an alternate universe he, sabertooth and wildchild are feral men called the pack. And I just knew my glorious purpose. For a second I was tempted to name this like one of those supernatural romantic novels from Wattpad like "Hunted by the Alpha" or something like that lol.

tags: as gn!reader as possible (except maybe one little thing that can be ignored), feral!logan, feral!victor creed (brief appearance), feral!Kyle gibney (brief appearence), animal behavior, scent marking, non-con elements, dark!logan, small violence (reader gets grabbed by the neck).

You came for a well deserved holidays to a cottage in the middle of the Canadian woods to relax and draw the wilderness. No signal, no wifi, and the closest town is half an hour by car. Just you and nature for an entire month.

Logan smelled your sweet scent from across the wilderness. And he was immediately entraced by it. He follows the scent towards a small clearing with a wooden cottage in the middle of it. And that's when he sees you.

Oh the primal and animalistic things you make him feel, too complex and strong for his primitive brain to understand and process. You make his mouth water and his cock twitch with raw desire, that's the only thing he needs to know.

Logan starts to scent mark around your house to ward off other predators, and to warn his packmates that you were already claimed; rubbing himself against trees, rocks, and the walls of your house. He got in an ugly fight with Victor because he came too close to his liking.

Kyle tried to approach you too, mostly driven by his own curiosity instead of defiance like Victor, but a single growl was enough to make him backpedal into the wilderness.

Logan also starts to leave at you doorsteps small gifts that range from cute (some flowers he had seen you sniff earlier) to creepy (a bird you had been drawing the day before, obviously dead).

When you leave for groceries he freaks out. Are you gone?? Where?? Why?? He grows frustrated because he cannot match your car's speed. You swore you heard an inhuman howl in the distance when you were driving towards the closest town.

Logan's rage and despair know no limits while you're gone. Not even Victor dares to provoke him in the middle of his frenzy, his destructive behavior could turn the smallest hint of a challenge into a very painful death.

He feels alive again when he sees your car return. Oh? You were just in need of food? He should have noticed, you don't need to worry about it anymore, he will take care of your hunger from now on. And to make sure you never leave him again, he flattens your tires with his claws.

So he starts providing you with carcasses of his hunts, his biggest prizes, only the best for his mate. He won't eat until he makes sure you have taken a bite, which concerns him when you refuse to do so. Isn't that enough? Should he hunt for bigger prey?

Let's just say it freaks you out to open the door and find a dead deer in your porch. It's not the first time it has happened. At first you thought those "presents" as accurate as they had been to your interests, had been left behind by some stray cat, yeah yeah, totally crazy but it was the safest way of thinking. But no cat was strong enough to carry a deer like that towards your house.

Fuck holidays, it was time to leave.

The blood in your veins ran cold when you saw the flattened tires. You couldn't escape by car. Your only options was either run for an hour towards the closest town, or stay there and hope whatever was lurking in the woods, never got bored of hunting just deer.

Either option terrified you, but you couldn't stop to dwell in the pros and cons.

So you ran.

It was getting dark, and cold, and your lungs felt like they were about to explode. Yet, the thought of dying if you stopped to take a breath kept you moving forwards. You didn't stop. Couldn't stop.

Until you literally couldn't take a step further.

There, in the middle of the way, something, or better said, someone, was blocking your path.

It was a man, and what a man.

Hairy like a wild beast and built like the strongest bodybuilder. He was flanked by two other equally naked men, hidden in the shadows to not overshadow the one in front of you. They were larger than him, but lower in their hierarchy, you supposed by the way they trailed behind, with their heads lowered. Their behavior reminded you of a pack of wolves.

You took a step back. Their leader, or at least who you supposed was the leader, slightly bared his teeth at you, showing the tiniest hint of two very sharp fangs.

Your mind went blank. Your entire brain short-circuited. Despite the thinly veiled threath in his actions, you unconciously took a step back.

"No." The man rumbled in a very deep voice. It sounded rough, weird even, like that was the first words he pronounced ever. Still, that wasn't enough to make him less intimidating in your eyes.

So that's why when he took a step fowards, you turned around and run.

It didn't take long for him to catch up to you. Of course he would. He moved like a fish in water, this was his territory after all.

The worst part of wanting peace and tranquility in the middle of nowhere was that nobody could hear your screams. Nobody could hear you trashing and kicking against that wall of solid muscle's strong grip.

You fought, you fought with everything you had inside. Not even when his patience ran thin and snarled at you with a sound that was more animal than man did you stop fighting.

He pushed the door of your cottage and walked in with you struggling in his arms like he owned the place. He made a beeline towards the bedroom and dropped your body unceremoniously onto the bed, wasting no time in getting on top of you when he sensed you were about to bolt.

At least the other two hadn't followed him in. Still, you knew they were out there, lurking, watching. You didn't know what was worse.

Even when he had you pinned in the bed you refused to submit. With an inhuman roar, he grabbed your neck with his right hand and pressed you against the pillow, while from the knuckles of his left hand sprouted three metal blades that sank in the pillow mere inches to your right.

He was so close to your face you could see his sharp teeth glistening. His large erection poked insistently at your thigh. In the middle of that raging cloud of emotions that went from fear to dread, arousal was certainly one you were not expecting. It was faint, yet it was there. As if your body subconciously enjoyed being roughed up by that brute. Shame filled your body.

His hand moved to the back of your neck, where he held you firmly in place. His face lowered to your pulse point, where your scent was stronger, it was driving him crazy, he could feel himself getting dizzy with it. His mouth latched at your neck, sucking, biting, licking and nipping; he couldn't get enough. Everything in him was screaming to mark you, claim you, breed you full of his pups.

But he could smell you. You weren't ready. Not yet. He had to be patient. With a last nip at your neck, he left your trembling form on the bed, muttering a single warning before he exited the cottage.

"Stay."

Stay, because he'd be watching. Stay because he'd know if you tried to escape again. Stay because it wouldn't take him much to drag you back there with him, and next time he may not be so gentle.

Before walking back into the wilderness he made sure to leave his scent all over the cottage and its surroundings once again.

Logan hadn't expected you to resist. He would have liked you had welcomed his courtship with open arms. His instincts were screaming at him to just take you and tie you to him forever. Yet, there was a tiny voice inside his mind, thatwarned him that mating with an unwilling partner would risk their hate. And if Logan craved something, was your love and devotion.

He is a predator, he is the alpha of the pack. He is a very patient creature. He had caught the smallest flick of arousal when he had manhandled you earlier. His chest puffed out proudly. That was a good reaction. In due time, he would make you his mate and you would accept, willingly.

In the meantime, he will keep courting you, catering to your needs, proving himself worthy of your affections. He doesn't need to worry about anything else.

Because in the end, you would be his.

A/N: THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE SHORTER WHAT HAPPENED

[wri0thesley]

the solace of banality - lucas (yandere oc) x reader (6.6k)

your time in the hospital has made you miss the simplicity of a life not held captive by a madman in the woods - and has made you just foolish enough to ask him about it.

cw: dark content, yandere, kidnapped reader. hospital setting. chubby fem reader, references to past dub-con and non-con, references to cannibalism, forced intimacy and domesticity, physical abuse.

a/n: for a primer on lucas, see here or his tag on my blog.

this was a commissioned work.

Lucas had not taken his hands off of you the entire ride from the hospital, back into the woods. He'd mumbled something about needing to make sure he moved the truck later on, as he'd stepped out and helped you down in return, strong arms wrapping around you so that you have to do the bare minimum of exertion yourself. His grip is as assured as ever, but there's a tightness there that you haven't felt for some time - as if he needs to press himself into you, just to be sure that you're still there.

And, too, to make sure that you don't run. 

You suppose he doesn't like the idea of you knowing where the truck is parked, but it's not like you could drive it even if you did remember. Lucas treats it like a spooked animal, a strange little creature whose quirks and foibles he has learned over time - you're almost certain that if you were to get behind the wheel, it would not obey you the way that it obeyed him. So you keep your mouth pressed shut and concentrate on the slow journey from the truck to the front door of the cabin. Your gaze returns to it, just once, parked closer than you've ever seen it - but Lucas coughs, and his brows draw in, and you guiltily return your gaze to your feet. 

It's getting colder. It's the end of November, and the ward at the hospital had been decorated early (to give some festive cheer to the people who were stuck there, you suppose). Frost crackles beneath your feet. The moment you'd been signed off as able to go home, Lucas had rushed you out of there, tension tight in his shoulders - so the sun has barely risen, and there's been no time for the cruelty of winter to be tempered any by what warmth it has to offer. 

"Want you home, sweetheart," he'd grumbled, as he'd signed papers at the hospital desk with a surname you do not recognise. He'd let you keep your first name, but he'd given 'Smith' at the hospital as your surname (are you missing, you wonder? Would your real name have been too much of a giveaway?), calling you his wife, smiling tightly as he'd said you'd wanted to keep your maiden name in a very good imitation of a husband a little frustrated by this. "Sooner the better. This place makes me nervous." 

His hands do not move from you as he unlocks the front door, either. As he ushers you in, as he breathes a sigh of relief at the comfort of the cabin around you. 

He'd gone home, just to tend to the chickens. It was the only moments you'd had free from his stifling company - well, that and the surgery. You breathe out, tight and controlled, counting in your head as you feel the twinges of pain. Cold air. The doctor had said you might feel it in the scar for the rest of your life. You'd had maybe an hour and a half at most a day, to be alone with your thoughts and the room--

You'd thought, only once, about telling the doctors the truth. About begging them to help. Do something. 

But you'd remembered the hissed warning in your ear, when he'd driven you to the hospital with a fear you'd never seen spread over his features. If you did that - if they knew - he'd said he wouldn't hesitate to bring as many people down with you both as he could, and the thought of what he might do in an enclosed space to strangers and doctors with no worries as to who got hurt--

No. Better to keep your mouth shut, and pretend everything was fine. 

"Let's get you on the couch, darlin'," Lucas murmurs, still tightly holding onto your waist as if you don't know every inch of this cabin as intimately as you know the back of your hands. "They said for you to stay restin', didn't they? I ain't lettin' you get worse. Not takin' you back there if I can damn well help it." 

You nod, as he lifts you up with ease and deposits you onto the crease of the sofa, the deep comforting dip that is usually Lucas's space. For a moment, you look up at him, and he looks down at you. 

You take in everything about him. The worry etched into his features, the bags beneath his eyes, the coiled tension ready to snap at any moment if you don't do exactly as he says. You take in, too, that he's been wearing the same shirt for three days, that his stubble has grown out some, that he looks at you like he can't believe you're back here on the couch. 

(He'd been afraid he'd lose you, you think. It's the only explanation you can possibly conjure for why he'd taken you out of the cabin, to a place teeming with life, risked everything he had here in order to make sure you didn't die. You'd been here, in this exact spot, the night he'd taken you to the hospital, curled up and sweating and nauseous and too weak to make it to the bathroom to do anything. You'd thought you were going to die right there too). 

You wonder what he sees in you, in turn. 

He'd brought you new pyjamas from the hospital gift shop. They were cheaply made, pink and white stripes, that kind of satin that pulled if you so much as rolled over in bed. But they were new, and they'd been bought for you, so you hadn't mentioned the pulls under the armpit to Lucas. You're wearing them now (they'd laundered them at the hospital for you), with an old dressing gown wrapped around you that you've only ever seen Lucas wear. It smells like him. 

You wonder if you look wan yourself; if your eyes are shadowed, if your mouth is drawn, if your hair is lank. You'd been able to shower, you'd been able to use the bathroom on your own - but you'd almost . . . missed his cloying presence. The nurse had helped you, when you were still too weak, but . . . her hands lathering shampoo through the strands of your hair had not been as gentle, as slow, as thorough as Lucas's always were--

He lets out a slow, controlled breath. 

"You really gave me a fright there," he rumbles, and summons a smile from the pit inside of him for you. "I really thought . . . Well. Don't wanna dwell on nothin' too dark there, do we?" 

It's a question he expects an answer to, you realise, that stern green gaze stuck on you. You shake your head - and then, trembling, put forth;

"I . . . I was scared too. I . . ." Swallow the confused feelings that come swimming up in you before you say it; you've learnt to play this game. It's better to be alive than it is to be chopped to pieces, and if you weren't so good at this part you're certain Lucas wouldn't have bothered to take you to the hospital. "I didn't want to leave you."

His face softens. 

"Sweetheart," he murmurs, leaning forward, to press a lingering kiss on the crown of your head. "I wasn't about to let you go nowhere, y'hear? Now. Let's get a blanket 'round you. Let's get you tucked in, and I'll bring you somethin' to eat. I don't trust the food they gave you in there."

When they'd done the blood tests, the nurse had said that your iron levels were the most perfect she'd ever seen, and you'd thought about Lucas's meals. The meat bleeding dark juices onto the plate. You'd swallowed your disgust and smiled at her, shrugging modestly, telling her that your husband handled the menu and you just ate what he gave you. 

He'd been sat beside you, and he'd shifted when you'd called him your husband, his mouth twitching at the corners. She'd congratulated him on it, a smile on her face - taken in by the size of him, the dog tags shining around his neck, his obvious care for his poor invalid wife--

If only she'd known. 

It's strange to be back in the cabin again. 

Altogether, you'd been in the hospital for nine days; there'd been some complications, they'd wanted to keep an eye on you, they'd had to do a more complicated surgery type than they'd originally thought-- and those nine days had been . . .

You don't want to call them blissful. Nearly dying is not blissful, oxygen tubes and cannulas and blood tests and the smell of antiseptic are not blissful things, really. But it had been so different from the life you'd been accustomed to living! It had been so different to be somewhere else, to see other people--

You don't know quite how long you've been with Lucas, but if it's November again you think it's been over a year. You'd been taken in September, you remember - and he'd mentioned Christmas, that first year, but you'd still been too scared to really think much of it beyond giving him a trembling kiss on Christmas Eve and letting him dress you up in one of the more scandalous pieces from the wardrobe, as a gift, that night-- 

A year of solitude can do a lot to a person. The only other human being you've interacted with is Lucas - and one lost hiker, once, who'd come limping out of the trees whilst you were feeding the chickens with Lucas in the doorway and had called out to you. You'd been too startled to call back, but you'd waved your hand in greeting - and then Lucas's own hand had been on your shoulder, and you understood in no uncertain terms you were to go back inside, and you'd put the record player on when you'd heard the first scream. 

You don't know if that really counts, all things considered. 

But suddenly, you had found yourself surrounded by people! Nurses came and spoke to you, and doctors, and other patients (though Lucas had insisted that you needed a private room, you'd still come across them in the hallways and the corridors when you'd moved around, when they'd taken you out for walks to ensure that you were recovering well). You'd heard more voices than you had in forever, different accents and different inflections and you'd been bombarded with names you didn't always remember. 

Some of the strangers stuck in your mind more than others. There'd been a nursing student who got all red and awkward and stuttery when Lucas spoke to her. There'd been a doctor who had also been a veteran, who had made Lucas's spine stiffen and his words go clipped and rough. There'd been a mother of a young woman who had her granddaughter with her for visiting, who'd mistakenly barged into your room thinking it was her daughter's - and though you'd expected Lucas to lose his temper at them both, he hadn't. He'd crouched down on the floor and asked the little girl about the stuffed bunny she was carrying with a perfectly serious expression, and for a minute you had forgotten about the axe and the blood and the snarl and the lies, and you'd thought what a good father your husband would make. 

You'd had to give yourself a stern talking to inside your head, when the visitors had been sent to the right place and Lucas had turned back to you to fuss over your blankets and his eyes had still been soft with a longing that you did not want to think about. In a different world, maybe. In a different time. In different circumstances-- 

And there was everything else, too. All of the other little freedoms you'd forgotten about.

Food and television and human contact, being alone, a bed to yourself. 

You'd thought, then, how much you'd taken it all for granted.

"Is your husband not here?" The nurse says, cheerfully bustling into the room with your breakfast on a tray. She looks around for him, before she winks at you and pulls from her pocket a tiny packet of chocolate spread, which she lays on the plate next to the toast and the packet of butter and the tiny jar of jam. 

The first time you'd asked for toast, they'd brought you chocolate spread, and Lucas had shaken his head and taken it off your plate before you could even think about it. 

"It ain't good for you," he'd said, sagely, with all of the assurance of a man who was used to being listened to. "Have the jam instead, if you've gotta. The butter on it's own's plenty rich enough though, I think."

He'd watched you like a hawk, and you'd been too scared to put more than a sliver of the strawberry jam on the toast, so you'd eaten exactly what he wanted. 

"He's gone home," you say to her. Your voice still feels a little rough and croaky - you'd been told that they'd put a tube down your throat for breathing, during the surgery. You haven't had much experience of hospitals before, so all of this is a novelty in more than just the freedom from Lucas. "He has to feed the girls - h-his . . . o-our chickens, I mean."

She shakes her head, smiling. 

"I'm sure he means well," she says, perching for a moment on the chair by the bed that Lucas usually occupies. "I mean! He clearly cares about you - I almost never come in here and see the room without him, he's part of the furniture! - but sometimes a girl just needs a treat, you know?" She winks again, and you laugh. 

A part of you feels guilty about it - that same part of you that occasionally looks at Lucas and does think about him as a spouse, that same part of you that sometimes drives you to press a kiss onto his cheek when you're not thinking because he says something sweet. It's the part of you, you think, that wants you to give in and accept and be what Lucas wants and forget everything else, just to make it easier. 

But it's a part that's easier to quell amongst the hustle and bustle of the hospital. 

"Now," she says. "You're going to be in here for a few more days, so I've brought you the menu - just circle what you want and I'll take it to the kitchens. If he doesn't see it, he doesn't know if you chose the unhealthy options!" You laugh aloud again, and reach for the menu, flicking through to see all of the other options. So many foods you haven't had in over a year - so many things you'd never dare ask Lucas to make--

You feel another twinge of guilt when you circle the roast chicken and vegetables, but you tamp it down as you circle apple pie. You'll give Lucas a bite or two, and he'll forget that he'd said you were a vegetarian--

"Good choice," the nurse says approvingly, as she takes the menu from you and tucks it into the pocket of her uniform. She gives you a conspiratorial nudge. "Honestly, I shouldn't say it, but you'd be amazed how many vegetarians take the meat option in here! Good for them, I say. You need to keep your strength up! Now - where's that remote? Shall we put it on that horror channel you wanted and I'll take it with me, so you can say it's lost and he just has to put up with it?" 

You do war within yourself before you dare ask him. You know Lucas's temper - it's hard not to know it, living out here with him for so long. Ordinarily, you do anything possible to make sure that it doesn't flare too openly; you act soft and sweet and agree with him and avoid any topic of conversation that you think might set him off. It's terrifying to see how the way he stands change, the curl of his lip and the grit of his teeth and the slightest tilt of his brows - it reminds you of all of those other people, out there, who have not been so lucky as you. All of those people who have seen him get angry and then learnt his anger in the swing of his axe instead of in the blade of his words. You could so easily have been one of them, you are usually able to sternly remind yourself when the whisperings at the back of your mind get almost too loud to handle. If you hadn't been soft and sweet and scared and what Lucas had found pretty, if you'd screamed instead of begged or fought instead of cried, you would have met your end in the woods too and your flesh would have been parcelled up into the old chest freezer and none of this would have happened--

But that was before the hospital, wasn't it? 

That was before he'd shown you that he cared about you enough to take you into town if things were dire enough - before you'd shown him in turn that you could be trusted to keep his secret. You'd had so many chances to blurt out the truth, but every time you'd held your tongue and you'd smiled and laughed and called him your husband as if it were real. 

The fourth day, Lucas had come in and had slipped a plain gold band onto your finger as a doctor had watched, taking your blood pressure. 

"Found it," he'd said, gruffly, and you'd seen that there was a matching one on his own. "I know y'don't like to be without it." 

You'd kept it, even when you could take it off and you were back in the truck and were free of the ruse. Now, as you slowly bring yourself to the kitchen doorway with a blanket wrapped around you, you play with the ring on your finger and hope he notices that, and that the little movement wins you points. 

"Lucas?" You ask, to get his attention - but you don't need to. He has already heard, his head up and cocked, and he shakes his head and sucks his teeth when he sees you standing there, bare feet on the cabin floorboards. Of course he'd heard the couch creak, of course he'd heard the pad of your footsteps - this is a man who'd heard you so much as sit up in bed from the couch, back when you'd first gotten here and he'd slept on the sofa instead of intertwined with you. He'd always come, always asked you if you were alright, if you needed him to help . . .

"Darlin'," he says, shaking his head. "You shoulda just called. You ain't s'posed to be on your feet too much. I'll bring you anything you want."

You swallow, still absent-mindedly twirling the ring on your finger. It's perhaps a size or two too big; if it were really your wedding ring, you're sure you'd have lost it doing the washing up or getting it caught in your clothes or something by now. 

(It's not yours though, is it? You wonder if Lucas bought them in a pawn shop - but no, that would have caused whispers around a small town that might have gotten back to the hospital eventually. You know the far more likely scenario is that he's had them this whole time, pried from the fingers of some poor unsuspecting camping couple who pitched their tent a bit too close. You don't like to think of the little metal band that warms your own wedding finger on the cold hand of a corpse. You haven't taken it off since he gave you it. 

You're too afraid there'll be an engraving inside, a name that isn't yours, a promise that only means something to two people who are no longer on the earth. 

At least, you suppose, they died together.)

"I . . . I've just been thinking," you say, gathering all of your courage up to try and screw it to the sticking place. Lucas is still being a little too indulgent with you; letting you get away with things that he wouldn't normally. A later bedtime, a bit of pouting, a VHS he'd gotten for you of a fantasy film that he didn't much like played at night instead of one of his own. He's still too raw and open at the thought that he could have lost you, and you don't think you'll ever get a better chance than this one. 

And he's noticed the ring, still on your finger, and there's the faintest dusky flush up his cheekbones. You let your gaze flick down to his own hands, to see that the matching band is still in place on his finger. 

(Lucky, then, that they both almost fitted. You're certain that Lucas would have taken that as a sign; another piece of proof that the two of you were always meant to be. That thought makes your stomach roil uncomfortably, but you try to ignore it. The more he thinks the two of you were destined, the more attached he is to you, the more he loves you - the more likely he's going to be to agree to the thing you're about to ask him). 

"C'mon then," he says, shaking his head in fond exasperation, moving from the kitchen counter to come and take you by the waist and propel you back towards your comfortable nest on the sofa. "You can tell me just as well in there as out here, an' I won't worry half so much. I bought some ice cream one of the days we were in town, y'know. Been waiting for you to feel a bit better. How's about I go grab it from the freezer and make us a bowl and you can tell me what it is that's on your mind, huh?"

"That would be nice," you say, fluttering your lashes, looking up at him from under them in a way you've learnt makes him swallow, his throat bobbing. "Thank you." 

"Aww," he says. "Anythin' for you, darlin'." 

You wrap yourself back up in the other blankets left on the couch and let Lucas leave the room to go out to the freezer and fetch the ice cream. You force yourself not to think of it nestled in the chest freezer, surrounded by cuts of meat - an incongruous tub amongst flesh and bone, a ropy thigh pressed against the lid, a fleshy cheek pressed against the bottom. 

There's no sign of that when he returns with a chipped willow-pattern bowl full of vanilla ice cream and he passes you a spoon, cuddling up close to you on the sofa. You let yourself be manipulated half into his lap, his chin on the top of your head, the warmth he kicks off enough to make the ice cream melt to a pleasing consistency. He insists on feeding you the first bite, and you do not protest it - all the better, to make him soft and adoring. You even force yourself to giggle like an idiot, in a way that makes him growl in approval. 

"Well then," he says, between spoonfuls, and you're grateful that at least you won't have to look him in the eyes when you ask the question. "C'mon, let's get it outta you. What did you wanna ask?" 

Last chance saloon, if you want to backtrack. If you want to think of some other silly question that might not set him off - for another pair of new pyjamas, a colouring book and some fancy pencils, anything that he'll see as an indulgence but not as a declaration of war. 

But, oh . . .

The freedom of those days. The sound of people around you had made you miss the sound of the city, the smell of antiseptic had made you miss any smell that wasn't Lucas's aftershave and the chickens and the frosty air. Controlling a television, choosing your own menu, seeing other people going about their days and knowing that despite the isolated existence you're now living, people are still out there living their lives in a way you know Lucas will never let you. 

It doesn't matter, you force yourself to think, if you will never get that freedom back. Lucas would never let you go, and you're not foolish enough to so much as think about it, let alone ask. You're never going to fulfil so many of your dreams (you'll never see Tokyo, or Paris, you'll never see the Northern Lights or try that fancy hotel in your hometown and you'll probably never know how your favourite manga ends) - but just a taste of it, every so often, with Lucas's hand in yours and him beside you to watch over you--

That's not too much to ask, is it? 

You swallow again, feeling heat rising to your own cheeks. 

"I've just been thinking," you say to him, careful and calm. "About . . . the town? The one that the hospital was in?"

He stiffens all over, and you feel it where you're pressed against him. Like a coiled up spring, tension in every curve and line of his body. 

"Yeah?" He says, his tone warning - if you were smarter, you'd stop there, but you've opened the floodgates now. Your mouth seems to be operating without the express consent of your brain, and the words come flowing out awkwardly smashing into one another in a rush of noise. 

"It's just - couldn't we do something there? Together? See a movie? Run errands or go shopping or surely they have a bowling alley or something we could go to on a date?"

"Sweetheart."

It's rough and dark and angry, but now you've started you cannot stop. 

"I mean, they've seen me! They know I live with you, they're going to ask questions about me, and I don't mind I'll tell them exactly what you want me to tell them but it would be so so nice to do something with you, even if it's just once every few months, I'd just like to be outside--"

The bowl of ice cream clatters to the floor, the remainder of the sticky yellow-white treat oozing across the floorboards like spilt blood, and your brain finally catches up with you and you go stock-still like a deer in headlights as Lucas eases his arms from around your waist and shifts so that he can be next to you, so that he can look you in the eye before he tells you he's going to kill you. 

His gaze catches yours, stern and forbidding and cold as the frost had been when you'd stepped out of the truck. Your hands start to shake as you desperately try and reassure yourself that, if you're lucky, the first blow will kill you and you won't feel any of the rest--

But to his credit, Lucas doesn't jump straight to blazing anger. 

You can feel it simmering in him, like it's rising off of him like steam - but instead, he says, his voice cold and deep and barely restrained;

"No."

"Lucas--"

"I said no." 

He doesn't soften the phrase with a pet name, and this is a bad sign. His gaze remains affixed onto yours, pinning you in place, as much a captor as the man himself. You feel like you will bow and break under it, but you have gotten this far - your foolish heart cannot resist just one more attempt, as if you will somehow find the chink in his armour that will allow you this one tiny freedom. 

"Not often. Just--"

He stands up suddenly, like a tree being shaken to its foundations, and your heart jumps into your throat. He's going to pull down one of the weapons mounted on the wall in the hallway, you know it - he's going to drag you outside and you're going to bleed out on the frosted grass and he'll prise the ring off your finger and wait for someone else it will fit, he'll bury you in an unmarked grave, he'll spin some story next time he's in town about why you're not there--

"I need some air," he says instead, shortly. "I'll be back home in a bit." He reaches to pick up the bowl, not looking at you now. You can see that his grip is white-knuckled, that the veins in his wrists are more prominent than usual. His mouth is set in a grim line. 

"L-Lucas--"

"When I get back," he says, as if he hasn't heard you at all. "I don't wanna hear another word about this nonsense, understand? I keep you safe. I keep you fed and warm and safe an' loved, and I'm not gonna take you out back into a world that doesn't deserve you just so it can fuckin' chew you up and spit you out." 

He turns away and walks, the thud of his boots heavy on the floorboards. 

"We're gonna have an early night," he says, pausing at the door. "I think all that time in the hospital's scrambled your brain good and proper. But don't worry, sweetheart," he looks over his shoulder, gaze like frosted green glass, words a bladed threat. "I'll make sure t'remind you." 

You know you have gotten off lightly. 

It is hard not to think that if you had been someone else, if you hadn't played your game so well, Lucas would not have suffered the question as coolly as he managed to. Or even if you had asked such a thing a few months ago - he would have taken it as a personal attack, as you saying he was not enough for you. 

The fact that he comes back, that he manages to give you a tight smile when he sees that you haven't moved from the sofa where he'd left you except to pick up a battered old fantasy book from the shelf full of mismatched paperbacks - that seems to calm him. You suppose that he's thinking at least you listened to him, hopefully you've taken everything he's said to heart . . .

But that's not the truth. Not really. 

Despite what you know is sensible, you have been thinking about freedom for every moment whilst you've been alone. 

Or, 'freedom' in a sense. You have been thinking about the laugh of the nurse and the buzz of the television and the food in front of you on a clean white plate that has never before played host to a hunk of meat that was once a person. You've been thinking about the sounds of the city and the feel of warm worn leather beneath you in Lucas's truck. You've been thinking and plotting and rewriting in your head exactly what to say to try and convince Lucas that maybe, just maybe, it might be alright. 

Once or twice a year, even! Christmas shopping, perhaps. A Valentine's Day movie - a sappy romance, or a musical, or something he couldn't object to. Something all romantic and soft and chosen specifically to be done with him, so he doesn't feel as though you're trying to escape. 

Lucas lifts you from the couch and guides you into the bathroom - kisses the top of your head and presses against you wanting and needy in the shower, as the hot water cascades over you both, as his fingers brush oh-so-gently the scar left on the soft roundness of your flesh in wonder. His eyes soften as he looks at it, as you suppose he remembers how close he came to losing you - and it's that look, the soft devotion in his gaze, knowing that despite it all Lucas cares about you enough that he broke his own rules to take you somewhere safe, that makes you think that perhaps it might be safe to bring it up again. 

He brushes your hair before bed; helps you put on one of the pretty cotton nightgowns patterned with sprigs of flowers that he always chooses, when he gets the choice (your pink and white striped pyjamas are in the laundry basket, waiting to be washed, Lucas wrinkling his nose and mumbling about the smell of that place). 

You sit up in bed as he pulls out his own sleepwear, and you clear your throat before you speak. 

"A-about earlier . . ."

"If it ain't an apology," Lucas says, voice tight, his back to you - your eyes are drawn to the scars that decorate his body like badges of honour as he pulls the old shirt he sleeps in down, "I don't wanna hear it."

"C-can't we just . . . talk about it? Like a . . . like a married couple would?"

Lucas turns around now. He does not lower himself onto the bed, as he stares at you with something inscrutable in his gaze that makes you trip over your words. 

"I don't want to run, Lucas! I love you!" That's a lie, but you hope he won't notice, won't care, because you said it yourself and not because he demanded you did so. "I just . . . I want to show you off, I want to do normal things with you! Even if it's just the groceries, even if it's just picking up flour or sugar--"

"I've already said no," he bites out. "I've already said no, and I've already told you to stop askin'."

"Lucas, please--"

"Stop."

You'd been wrong. You feel it slipping out of your grasp - the thought of that tiny freedom, grabbed with both hands, slipping through your fingers like fine sand. His words are horribly final, obviously designed to get you to stop asking, to keep your pretty mouth shut and be the quiet and well-behaved little spouse he wants you to be, but . . . 

The thought of something that is so close just being stolen from you like this is too much for you, and you can't let yourself be cowed.

"Can't we just talk about it--!"

"I think you've done enough fuckin' talkin'." 

He looks at you with murder in his gaze and you cringe back into the pillows. Here it is. He's going to beat you to death. He's going to kill you. You've really fucking done it now, haven't you?

But he doesn't.

He looks at you for one more beat, before suddenly a slow smile spreads across his face. 

"Okay," he says, and the change in his demeanour is scarier than anything else you've seen in months. "Okay, yeah. Get outta bed, sweetheart. C'mon. Let's talk this through in the kitchen like grown-ups."

He doesn't help you to the kitchen, this time. He leaves it to you, and you're slow about it - your body protests being taken from the warm embrace of the bed and back out. The nightgown tangles uncomfortably around your ankles, and you stumble more than once.

Lucas, though, had left immediately. Consequently, you're not surprised to see him up and at the stove when you get into the kitchen. The kettle is on the hob.

"We'll talk it through with a hot drink," he says, pleasantly enough. "The way real married couples do, yeah? Sit down, darlin'. Just let me get this to boilin'."

You can't believe how reasonable he's being. You wonder what it is that you said that brought him to this point - the married couple thing, perhaps? The profession of love, that maybe hadn't pierced him properly until a few minutes later? Whatever it is, you're grateful for it, as you sit down on one of the wooden kitchen chairs and let out a soft sigh. 

"Y'know," Lucas says, from over by the stove. "I thought about just fuckin' cuttin' your tongue out so you couldn't ask me anymore."

A cold shiver down your spine, but Lucas's tone is conversational, and you do not see one of his big knives out in the kitchen anywhere. Maybe he is going to apologise, you think. 

"I . . . I'm glad you didn't," you say, voice soft and thready. "Thank you."

Lucas snorts. 

"Yeah. Thought 'bout what you said . . . People in that town sure do know you exist now. And though I ain't planning on takin' you back, just in case . . . Thought that a missin' tongue might be kinda hard to explain, y'know?" 

The kettle whistles, high pitched enough to make you flinch. You notice, suddenly, that he has not put any mugs or cups on the table, and your entire body seems to feel as though it's made of ice. 

He has one of those old-fashioned kettles; enamel, white and blue, a long spout and a metal handle that needs to be warmed through on a hob. He picks it up by the handle now, and walks towards you. 

"So I thought," he says to you, his tone still pleasant, but his voice rough and low. "How am I gonna stop her runnin' her mouth? How am I gonna teach her that when I tell her to stop bringin' somethin' up, she oughta heed my words?"

"Please don't--" You babble out, as he lifts the kettle up. You can hear it bubbling inside, boiling away against the enamel and tin. You've burnt your tongue on a hot chocolate before, sure, tried to drink a coffee before it was cool . . . But the thought of what Lucas is about to do seems far, far worse than that. 

With the hand that is not wrapped around the kettle's handle, he grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls it back fiercely until his hand meets the back of the chair, forcing your face up and pinning you in place. 

"It's just a lesson," Lucas says, infuriatingly calm. He lifts the kettle up, and you feel the heat radiating off of it as it comes too close to your skin. "I didn't wanna do this, darlin'. But you ain't left me much of a choice."

"I won't bring it up again!" Lucas lets out a snort, and the barest drop of water snakes from the spout. It splashes onto your bare neck above the nightgown's collar, and you swear you hear the flesh sizzle as you squeak out in pain. 

"It's a bit too late for that now," he tells you. "C'mon. We don't want this to get cold now, do we?"

"Lucas, please--!"

"Open your fuckin' mouth," he says, his eyes glittering. "And swallow like a good girl, and I'll only make you drink this one kettleful. I can boil another as easy as pie. I can keep fuckin' going until you can never talk again, y'hear me?"

You're shaking, but he has slowly, slowly started to tip the kettle now. The spout is coming far too close to your lips for comfort. 

"You'll wanna wrap your mouth around it," he says, and you do not miss that it's not the first time he's said that kind of thing to you. Hot tears of fear and frustration well in the corner of your eyes. "If you make me pour it into you like you're a teacup, you're gonna panic and just get burns all over your pretty face too."

The spout nudges your lips. 

"Open your mouth," Lucas coos to you, and you squeeze your eyes shut. "Open your mouth, and we'll just do one kettleful, and I'll get you s'more ice cream once you've learnt your lesson. One kettleful and it'll prob'ly only be a week or so 'fore you can talk again." 

You try and will yourself to think of something to get out of it, but Lucas is getting impatient. He tugs roughly on the hair in his fist and lowers his own mouth close enough to hiss into your ear;

"Don't open it and . . . well. You don't really wanna find out, do ya'?"

Outplayed. 

You open your mouth.

[zigrethsnotebook]

I love your writing! I saw you wrote Stan with a chubby reader- it was great!

Could I request some Ford x chubby/self conscious reader?👉👈

Thank you and have a great day!

thank you so much and absolutely!! have fun<3

Chubby

Ford x Reader

words: 1,009

tags: sfw, fluff, insecurities, talk about weight

"You two are horrible, you know that?" Stan's gruff voice broke the silence in the living room. He was in his old recliner and Ford and you had made yourselves comfortable on the ground with some blankets and pillows.

"What are you talking about, Stanley?" Ford's voice sounded vaguely annoyed already. You stifled a chuckle, knowing he reacts that way because they're brothers.

"You two never go out. Which means! I never get an evening for myself." Now you looked up at him as well, untangling yourself a little from Ford’s arms as you did so. Ford must have frowned at him because he tried to make his words less harsh really quickly.

"Don't get me wrong, I love ya both but come on! When was the last time you two went out to eat, or to the movies or... anywhere, really? I had kinda hoped a partner would get you out of the basement more often, Sixer." As you thought about it, you realized he was right and immediately felt bad.

You never made an effort to go into town for a date because you didn’t like the way people stared at you both. You knew you weren't skinny but to stare at you like that? It hurt and was making you worry if you really deserve to be with someone like Ford.

He was so fit for his age, insanely handsome. Meanwhile you were just... you. Heavier than most people and while you tried to hide it as best as you could, you weren't very successful. Your weight had reached a point of not being able to be 'covered up'.

You had never spoken to Ford about this, your insecurities about your weight, and that that's why you didn’t enjoy going into town that much. Funnily enough, with Ford you had found someone who wasn't big on socializing like that either. He usually kept to himself down in his lab so he never brought it up.

But now Stan did. You swallowed heavily. Meanwhile Ford seemed to light up at the idea. "You're right, we should go on more conventional dates! It could be fun!"

Ford's voice got a little louder in your ear as he turned to you for the next sentence, squeezing your belly a little tighter in the process. "And I would get to show you off to the townsfolk while we're out."

Your expression had turned into a frown and without a word you took his arms off of you, got up and left the living room. Stan and Ford looked at each other in confusion for a moment before Ford got up to follow you.

"Love?" He called out and quickly found you in the kitchen. "What's wrong?" His voice was a lot softer now that he saw how upset you were. You sat at the table with your hands holding your head and eyes squeezed shut.

"I know I'm not much to look at but you don't have to mock me." You spat the words out more harshly then you meant to. "What?" His voice was barely above a whisper now, unable to grasp what you were talking about.

"I'm fat. I know, okay! You don't need to make fun of me for it." You had opened your eyes to look at him, anger flaring in them. Meanwhile Ford looked at you with so much concern, love and care that you felt like something was wrong. But the anger was already there.

"Why would I ever make fun of you for that?" His question was honest and the fiery rage started to flicker. "Wh- Because- You just said 'show you off' while squeezing my belly. I've seen the way the people looked at me the last time we went out together. How was I supposed to interpret that?"

Ford looked down at your belly for a moment and then locked eyes with you again and you could see the pain in his eyes. Making you feel bad was the last thing he wanted! He was only being honest. He loved you and wanted everyone in town to know about it.

"As... an honest sentiment? I... I love you, all of you. You know that, right?" Your anger was barely holding its own against the wind of his words that was trying to blow it out. Instead, his words now brought tears to your eyes.

"I said I want to show you off to the townsfolk because I do! I want to take you into the townsquare and yell: Look at my beautiful partner! They chose me! Aren't I lucky?"

Ford was kneeling in front of you now, reaching one hand out to cup your cheek. You leaned into his touch, a single tear rolling down your cheek and being immediately wiped away by Ford's thumb.

"I squeezed your belly because, well first off all, because that's what I was holding in that moment. But also, because I love your belly! It's a part of you that I love like any other part. And the fact that it's a little bigger is a plus in my eyes! It means that when we fall into another dimension we'll have more time to find a solution before we starve to death."

You furrowed your brows and chuckled lightly. "If... If we fall into another dimension, right?" Ford averted his eyes, his chuckle sounding more nervous than reassuring. "Right. If."

He looked back into your eyes, letting his thumb caress your cheek. "What I mean to say is: You are the most beautiful person in my eyes and I don’t care what anyone else thinks, okay?" His eyes held nothing but honesty and genuine affection for you.

You believed him. "Okay... yeah." You shook your head, the realization of all the stupid things you accused him of setting in. "God, I’m so sorry, Ford." "Don't be."

His voice was as gentle as before and he reached his other hand up as well to wrap you in a tight hug which you happily reciprocated. "Thank you."

[jigamaree-writes]

mouthwashing characters dating headcanons!!

warnings: mentions of alcohol, multiple referenced characters deaths (including suicide)

tags: fluff and angst, confessions, romance, friends to lovers, strangers to lovers, mutual pining, canon divergence, long distance relationship, major character death

includes: Daisuke, Anya, Curly

author's note: this is my first time officially writing on tumblr so apologies for any mistakes, can be read as "x reader", accidentally posted this as a wip and it had one like already so sorry to that user i took it down for some time

Daisuke

i believe he would first meet his yet to be partner either at a party on in an arcade

either way he would be absolutely smitten by their looks alone and would start chatting with them and successfully get their number

he started seeing them more, usually going shopping together, playing games, or just hanging out

as time went on he realized that the feeling in his stomach the very first day he saw them wasn't the alcohol from the party nor the nerves from seeing someone so cool – it was much more than that

he had no idea how to approach his little crush with the intention of telling them his feelings since he was already a pretty good friend of theirs and didn't want to loose that friendship or make it awkward if they weren't interested in him

but somehow during one of the hangouts his tongue slipped and he accidentally outed his feelings towards them!

all his worries washed away when they reassured him that they've been feeling the same way since they started spending more time together

he immediately perked up at that and kissed them on the cheek

when he officially gets in a relationship with them he's over the moon and he acts even more positive than usual

Daisuke's love language would be quality time mixed with physical touch

he just loves hugging, kissing or cuddling with his partner, even handholding brings him immerse joy

he's very fond of using pet names for his partner and overuses them a lot

his favourites include: "sweetie", "baby", "beautiful/handsome" or "my everything" as well as some more snarky and playful ones, often based on his partner's appearance or hobbies

god forbid someone asks him about his significant other because he will rant about all the little things he loves about them in perfect detail

he couldn't stop showing off his partner to everyone he knew, he's just so glad to have someone by his side

speaking of – he's extremely clingy, even if his partner hadn't talked to him for two hours, he already misses them

so when his parents basically force him to leave and work for Pony Express you can imagine this poor boy's heartbreak

not being able to see his one and only for such an extended period of time is like a death sentence to him

he offers that his love goes with him, but due to the fact that working on the Tulpar is not a very satisfying and fulfilling job plus the constant harsh environment (not even mentioning the pay) it's understandable they don't want to be stuck in the ocean of emptiness

and even if they did want to go with him, after giving it more thought Daisuke realized that he wound never want to put the most important person in his life at any danger that might be involved in the outer space

while he is extremely down about leaving his other half back at home, he stays hopeful the whole time, keeping a picture of his beloved in his pocket or on the side table next to his bed in the sleeping quarters

his partner (along with the desire to make his parents proud) becomes a sense of motivation for him

even in his last moments, after being injured from crawling though the air vent, all he can think about is how he was never going to make it back and see his love one final time

Anya

when it comes to first meetings i think Anya would either see her future partner one of the times she tried to apply for her medical school or while she was running to clear her mind two blocks away from her own apartment and bumped into them at a corner

if we're going with the second scenario she would apologize tremendously for her carelessness and to her surprise was met with a very positive answer and an invitation to a dinner the next day

few more dates later and she starts developing some serious feelings for the other person and that eventually leads to them becoming a couple

she used to spend most of her time studying so she might not be very experienced in a relationship and needs to warm up to her new role as a girlfriend but she's the most loving and understanding one ever

for a long time she was seriously struggling with getting into medical school, but her significant other encouraged her to go forward and so she never gave up on her dream

by working three times harder than the last time she was awaiting her medical exams with determination and optimism, but unfortunately she failed the tests to qualify for the school yet again...

she was miserable for some time after that, distancing herself from her partner for a few days

to make up for it she and her partner had a movie night, at first she was very apologetic about her behavior but some reassurance from her partner later and her mind was put at ease

i believe her love language would be words of affirmation although she doesn't mind physical touch

she loves to kiss her partner's forehead while holding their face in her hands for sure

Anya's favorite pet names for her partner would be "my dear" and "sweetheart" along with just their name or a sweet nickname she came up with

however if it's her partner using pet names on her? yeah she's absolutely flustered everytime that happens

her favorite aspects of her partner would be the patience they are willing to give her and the support she so desperately needs

when she decided she needed more money to cover for the exams her partner fully supported her with this decision, which eventually lead to her working for the Pony Express

she keeps little notes her partner gave her before she left on the board in her office

she never really shared with anybody that she had a partner back on earth as well as on the Tulpar unless someone directly asked her, she would describe her partner so tenderly that while the majority would find their relationship to be adorable, some people (Jimmy) would mock her for how much she's devoted to her partner

before her ultimate decision of taking the pills she thought about what could've been if she just stayed home and found a different job

she would have never experienced this horrible fate

she couldn't help but muster a smile thinking about her partner, what a pity they never experienced the joy of seeing her finally making her dreams come true

Curly

if he started his relationship while still on Earth he would definitely miss his partner dearly but couldn't help the growing excitement to see them after coming back home

everytime he saw his other half he was happy like it's the last time he's ever going to see them

if Curly came back in the winter season the two would definitely partake in any snow spots together since we know he's a fan of those

if his partner shared his love for the same activities he would be overjoyed, but if they weren't as much into it that's completely fine – he would try to show them all his favourite pastimes hoping his partner would eventually join him but he would never push them to do it

he would acquaint his partner with his family pretty early on in the relationship but not so early it's awkward, he just wants to show off his partner to the closest people in his life

since it's implied he's been working for the Pony Express for quite some time now, it's possible he met his love during one of the hauls, either as a new crew member or someone from a different team

if they were part of his crew the man's attitude towards his partner would stay the same – sure he might be the capitan and is in a position of power but they're still his beloved

sometimes he takes on work that would be usually assigned to his partner to let a little load off their shoulders but he would keep it a secret from them and the other crew members (although he gets accused of favoritism several times)

while he is extremely busy with all the shenanigans going on during the shipping of whatever is in the cargo hold, he always manages to find time for his partner

his love language is definitely act of service

his partner gives Curly a sense of belonging, and even sometimes when he doubts himself as a capitan he knows his partner is there for him

Curly's room is right next to his partner's in the sleeping quarters, although he wishes they wouldn't have to have separate rooms but for some reason the company doesn't acknowledge their relationship because why would they (he still invites his significant other to his room whether it's to cuddle, talk or just to enjoy each other's presence)

he and his partner are basically inseparable

that doesn't change even after the crash takes place, his partner would visit him every day and stay by his side, often taking Anya's task of feeding him painkillers and while it pains them to see him in such a state they know Curly is the one who's in the most pain at the moment

his partner isn't sure if Curly still recognizes them but he always looks around frantically when anyone from the crew escorts them to the sleeping quarters to try and get some rest

following many sleepless nights and witnessing the death of two of the fellow crew members, Curly's partner decided to ultimately end their life, not being able to witness the love of their life suffer any more

they never got to live the life they imagined together and they couldn't even confirm if Curly would notice their lack of presence after they died, however he acted more distressed and was seemingly shrieking when he eventually stopped seeing them

do not copy or translate my works.

reblogs, comments and likes are appreciated!

[xoxoavenger]

could i request a barista au charles xavier x reader fic?? 🤭 with him being all flirty every time the reader orders something 🫣 love ur writing!!

ahh thank you! this was so much fun to write I hope you like it <3

Early Morning Coffee Date

pairing: Charles Xavier x Fem!Reader

word count: 1618

warnings: none

12 Days of Christmas masterlist main masterlist

"What can I get started for ya?"

Y/N looks up from her purse to see who's talking to her. Yes, she was in line for her local coffee shop, but she knew all the baristas that worked at 7:30 AM on weekdays. And she would definitely remember this man, with his British accent and bright eyes.

"You're new?" She asks, and then wants to hit herself. Why can't she just order?

"Yes." He laughs, his accent making her heart skip a small beat. Small. "But don't worry, I worked at Starbucks before this, so I promise I can make whatever crazy concoction you think of." He smiles, and she wishes today was a good day so she could order something crazy, just to tease him.

"Well, I totally would put your knowledge to the test, but I forgot my wallet." She says with a grimace, because of course the day she meets a cute barista she forgets her goddamn money. She doesn't have time to go back to her house before work, so she'll just have to hope that she doesn't need it again today. She's lucky she can walk to work and doesn't have to take the Subway, like most New Yorkers.

"If you order something easy, it's on the house." He says, and she smiles, mouth widening in shock.

"I can't let you do that." She says, looking at the line forming behind her. "I'll just have to survive with the break room coffee." She said it without a shudder, but the barista clearly knew the break room coffee tasted a little like mold no matter how much she washed the pot.

"I cannot let you do that." He says, shaking his head. "Please, miss, there's a line now. If you don't tell me what you want to order, I will be forced to make you something random that you may not want." He says it with a smirk and shrug, and she feels her heart pick up agin.

"Fine," She says, fighting to keep the smile away. She gives him her usual order, and he takes it down on a cup.

"And what's the name for that order?" He asks, giving her a look that lets her know that he is asking for more than just the order.

"Y/N." She answers, searching for the barista's name tag. "I'm sorry, but you don't seem to have a name tag." She informs him, and he just smirks.

"You'll have to come back tomorrow, I guess." He says with a wink. "I will personally make your drink, Y/N. And I'd love to hear any criticism, as it seems you come here a lot." He says as he moves away from the register, despite the line that is still very much there.

"Charles!" Cass, one of Y/N's barista regulars yells. "What the hell do you think you're doing? Get back on register." She rolls her eyes, and Y/N smiles as Charles' cheeks heat.

"Charles," She repeats, and the barista nods. "Well, now I have no reason to come back." She jests, even though she knows the people behind her must absolutely hate her.

"You still haven't tried my drink. And I know you want to." She cannot deny the way her heart is racing now, especially with how she can feel her cheeks heating up.

"You're right." She gives in, knowing she needs to say goodbye. "Thank you, Charles. Hopefully I'll see you soon." He winks at her as she leaves, and she can't help but widen her eyes as she turns away.

Was that hot barista just flirting with her?

~

"Cass, good morning." Y/N greets the next day. She can see Charles working the espresso machine, and even though she does want to try his drink she also really wanted to talk to him again. She wants to be angry about the crush she's already developed on him, but seeing him working makes her realize that it's basically hopeless. He's hot and nice, which is high expectations in the world they live in.

"Y/N!" Cass greets, seemingly more excited than she's ever been that Y/N's here. "Charles, your customer." Cass turns, and Charles pauses everything to turn and see Y/N. She forgets all about the 'your customer' part of Cass' sentence, which she had been meaning to revisit.

"Hey!" He sounds so excited, and Y/N's surprised by this. "You came back."

"She comes every-"

"I needed to taste your drink." Y/N cuts Cass off, because she wants Charles to feel special. She would have come today anyway, yes, but she also really wanted to try his concoction.

"Yes!" Charles calls, starting to pull a shot. "Cass, don't put this one in. I'm making a special one." He winks before going to work. Y/N immediately shakes her head.

"No, no, please, let me pay." Y/N pulls out her wallet.

"You heard him." Cass shrugs. "Now, please step aside. There's a line." She smiles, and Y/N thanks them before moving away. She doesn't have to wait long by the counter before Charles is there, on her side, holding a hot drink.

"What are you doing?" She asks, looking over to the espresso machine. Someone else is working it in his place, and Y/N turns back at him with a smile.

"I was hoping you had ten minutes? I'm on my break." She's so shocked, because how is this cute guy asking her to talk on his break? "Or maybe you have work, which is fine. I should have figured." He sounds dejected, and as he turns Y/N grabs his arm.

"Don't walk away with my coffee." She says with a small smile. "You got my drink out so fast, I think I have a couple minutes to spare." Charles' face lifts, and she feels her heart skip.

She's so whipped.

~

Of course, Y/N gets sick the next day.

They had talked about everything, from what brought them to the city to what their favorite color was to their favorite childhood tv shows. Y/N was late for work, which she blamed on a headache, and then somehow she manifested it into actually having a headache which she hoped taking a nap at home would cure. The next morning, she woke up with a stuffy nose and a sore throat.

She debated going into the coffee shop, but decided against it, as she didn't want to get anyone sick. So she sits at home for two days, reads her book and watches an entire season of her show while she tries not to think about the coffee shop - about Charles.

It's a weekend when she finally goes in - late, because she couldn't bring herself to wake up early on a weekend even if it meant seeing Charles. She walks into the shop as quick as she can without trying to look like she's rushing and then looks at the people behind the counter as she gets in the long line.

No Charles.

She thinks about leaving, heart falling traitorously. But she talks herself out of it before the idea fully forms, because it sounds stupid. Maybe he's on a break. But by the time she makes it to the front of the line, she realizes that he's still not here.

"Hey, Y/N!" Erik, the cashier today, says, and Y/N smiles, because it's nice that people know her. "Do you want your usual?" He asks with a smirk, and Y/N is just about to answer when someone comes up next to Erik and slightly pushes him out of the way.

"I've got this handled." Charles sends a glare to Erik, so fast Y/N barely registers it, before he smiles at Y/N. "I know what you like. You're good to go." He winks, and Y/N can feel her cheeks start to heat.

"You can't keep giving me free drinks." She says with a small smile, biting her lip to keep it small.

"Multiple offenses? Charles!" Erik says, sounding scandalized, and Y/N feels the heat spread to her neck.

"Go ahead and take someone else's order, Erik." Charles says, before smiling once more at Y/N and walking back to the espresso machine to make the drink.

"You're one special gal." Erik tells her with a smirk. "Have a good day, Y/N." She bids him the same as she walks away, knowing the line needs to continue moving. She goes over to the side of the counter and watches Charles work, waiting for her drink, which clearly has been moved to the front of the line by the way Charles is already done and walking over to her with a smile stretched across his face.

"I was worried when you didn't show up the past few days." He tells her as he leans over the counter to talk. She takes a sip of her drink, which somehow tastes better than the first time.

"I was sick." She says, heart fluttering.

"And here I was thinking your boyfriend found out about our long talk." He smirks, and her stomach did a flip.

"I don't have a boyfriend." She said, taking another sip of her drink.

"Hm," Charles looks down, then grabs her free hand. "Would you want one?" He looks up at her, and her mouth went dry.

He's asking her out. She needs respond because he's asking her out.

"Possibly," She finally says, taking his hand. "If the right man were to ask." She can't help but tease him.

"Well, what are you doing tomorrow?" He asks, and she smiles.

"Probably going out with my boyfriend." She puts her coffee down and leans against the counter, close enough to put the ball in his court.

"Perfect." He smiles back, and then leans in to kiss her across the counter.

//

tags: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187  @one-sweet-gubler @theoraekenslover @thefandomplace @mcueveryday @icequeen1371 @kenzi-woycehoski @multifandom-boss-bitch

[hickeysgodcomplex]

This is just gonna be a "brief" little ficlet of the soft Jopkey idea i had, cuz i don't have the energy to write it super detailed and drawn out. Anyway, soft Jopkey coming in!!! (Gonna tag a few people who seemed interested at the end! Hope that's okay!)

❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

It takes place during Crozier's sobering up. I'm thinking about a week in. Maybe longer. Jopson hasn't slept. Has barely been eating. Just small dozing off here and there before jumping back into caring for his Captain.

He's exhausted. Goes down below to grab something. More towels and clean linen probably. He's leaning down, grabbing new sheets, and as he stands he feels dizzy and then he's out like a light. Fainted. Down there in the dark.

He wakes to something soft and warm beneath his head and water being gently pressed to his lips. He swallows greedily, a soft hand wipes at the side of his mouth where the water overflows and drips down his cheek.

"That's it. Slowly." A soft voice above him says. And he knows that voice. His throat clenches and he chokes, dragging himself away from Mr. Hickey, and his... wandering hands. His... warm lap.

He chokes, coughing and hacking til his eyes are watering. He's so tired and disoriented he can't fight Hickey's hands away. One rubbing at his back as he chokes, the other holding his shoulder, attempting to steady him.

He chokes some more, trying to shove Hickey away for a few more moments before giving up. Hickey smiles, softly, the hand from his shoulder moves to his chest.

"Breath, Mr. Jopson. Deep." He instructs gently, his hand still rubbing between Jopson's shoulder. Jopson tries to do as he's told, sucking in air through his nose, deep, his back straightening, his chest puffing, filling with air. He coughs it out, but just twice, before he's breathing again.

"One more." Hickey says, eyes widening. Jopson does as he's told. No coughing this time. He levels Hickey with what he hopes is a glare, frowning and then gasping as pain blooms in his face with the effort.

"Here." Hickey says, tugs him down, places Jopson's head in his lap again.

"What do you think you're-"

"Relax. You need rest." Hickey huffs, cutting him off rudely. But his hands are gentle against Jopson's head, his fingers moving slowly over his skin, pushing his hair out of his face.

"I don't-"

"Shh." Hickey's finger pressed to his lips, briefly, just a touch to cut him off and then gone again, hand back in Jopson's hair.

"You can't care for our beloved captain without taking care of yourself as well." His voice is barely above a whisper, doesn't need to be in such an empty ship. Jopson notes the condescension in Hickey's voice when he speaks about the captain. He ignores it. Flashes of Hickey bent over a table, holding back screams, float through his thoughts and drift away again.

"Just take a moment. For yourself." Hickey sighs, fingers moving gently through his hair now. Jopson can feel his eyelids drooping, getting heavier and heavier.

"I'll wake you if you're needed." Hickey whispers, nails dragging slowly, deftly, against Jopson's scalp. He drifts. Into darkness. No dreams. No nothing. Still vaguely aware of Hickey's hands, warm agaisnt his skin.

"You're being beckoned Thomas."

Hickey's words in his ear have him nearly jumping out of his skin. He hears the bell. Tries to scurry to his feet and the ship tilts before his eyes. But Hickey is there, after a brief struggle of his own to get up, catches him round the waist and keeps him on his feet.

"Don't." Jopson shoves his hands away, Hickey steps back, hands out in front of him in surrender, but he stays close, eyeing Jopson with what might be worry, on another man. He takes a step and wobbles, pushes away the feeling of missing Hickey's hands on his waist, in his hair.

He steadies himself, grabs the linens he came for, offered to him by Hickey. Their hands brush when he hands them over, Hickey's eyes stay on the floor. Jopson nearly makes it to the ladder when Hickey's fingers curl gently around his elbow.

"Oh Jopson?" He turns, and Hickey is close. Much closer than he expects, he stumbles back a step, to the side of the ladder, Hickey follows, his eyes locked on Jopson now. His face, he thinks, no, his mouth.

"You've got some blood. Just... there." His voice sounds far away, like Hickey has drifted off somewhere. He moves fast, his lips pressing to Jopson's top one quick as a flash, and warm, his skin almost burning. And then he's gone again, back where he was, about three feet away. It seems so far.

"You should get cleaned up. For your Captain." Hickey says, nods stiffly, and then he stomps up the ladder, his movements slower than before, his wounds still ailing him.

But his speed doesn't matter. Jopson doesn't move. Just stands there, leaning against the ladder, heart pounding. He raises his fingers to his lips, feels the dried blood under his fingers, must have hit his nose on the way down, and tells himself that's what he's feeling for. The blood.

Tells himself he's certainly not chasing the warmth of Mr. Hickey's skin against his. His lips. Against his. He suppresses a shiver, rubs at his lip til it's clean. Til it hurts. Ignoring the burning he feels behind his eyes.

The bell rings out again. Sharp and loud. Insistent. He hugs the linens to his chest, squeezes them tightly once, and climbs back up out of the dark.

~

~

~

I don't really do tag lists but im gonna tag y'all this time! 🥰

@sunlaire @strogoff-era @creatureprofessor

[penncilkid]

Been absolutely going through it for the past few months, so I wanted to write something self-indulgent for myself. Consider this a WIP potentially but also could be its own self-contained short fic. I hope you enjoy /pos

///

Pairing: Alexis/Sam [Note: Pairing exists within an AU where post Sam's turning (years later), they both go to therapy separately, start to heal, and realize they see one another in a new light and eventually start up a romantic relationship again.]

Length: ~650 words

[Other Notes]

Maia = "Darlin" clarification

Sam/Maia (or Sam/Darlin) isn't a thing but they do still meet/are friends

Gave Alexis a new surname cause I said so/she's Cuban to me and I want her name to reflect that

Tag List: @pinksparkl / @romirola / (for the many belated WIP Wednesdays you've tagged me in <3) / @angelicaether / @agentplutonium / @nortyourself

///

Sam inhaled sharply, a soft groan leaving the vampire as he reached for his phone buzzing on the nightstand. He clicked the alarm off, sitting up as his eyes skimmed the notifications. 2 texts from Vincent, a voicemail from Maia— Scratch that, a text from Maia asking for advice with Milo. Calendar notification for tonight's meeting.

"What's the traffic lookin' like...?" he mumbled under his breath, eyeing the time as he checked. William hated preventable tardiness, and Sam didn't want to earn a earful tonight. "Usual time, huh? I'm sure I can get Vincent to stall for time if it really comes down to it..."

He set his phone back down, moving the covers back before making his way to the other side of the bed. He looked down, smiling to himself at how little Alexis had on. When did she even manage to snag his button up after this morning? He shook his head with a grin. It looked better on her anyways.

Sam tucked a piece of her hair behind Alexis' ear, "Princess, it's time to get up." The older vampire stirred for a moment but made no moves to get up. "Alexis Guevara, I know you can hear me—"

"Hearing your Southern drawl isn't incentive enough to get up," she mumbled, though she pressed her cheek against the palm of Sam's hand more. Always a brat, he thought to himself as he fought a smile.

"Princess, you were the one who said we oughta set an alarm so we wouldn't be late to the clan meetin'."

"Yes, and I said that before someone here wore every inch of my body out."

"Didn't hear any complaints when I had my—" Sam cut himself off with a laugh as Alexis flipped him off, eyes still closed. He knelt at the bedside, leaning forward to kiss her knuckle. "C'mon, Princess. Y'know Will's gonna fuss if you of all people are late to the meetin'. And I'd feel awfully complicit knowing we're not starting off this livin' together thing with a reputation for punctuality. So," he punctuated with a kiss against the shoulder slipping out of the stolen shirt. "Can you get up for me? Lil ol' Collins?"

Alexis laid there for a few moments, no reaction verbally or physically. Then, with a sigh, she opened her eyes ever so slightly. "For the record, there's not a small thing about you and you know that."

He laughed, and a smile broke out onto her face. "Good evening to you too, Miss Guevara. Lovely being greeted by beautiful eyes and a beautiful smile on this fine night."

"Yeah yeah, scoot out the way so I can find my clothes." Sam stood as Alexis sat up with a quiet exhale, stretching and pulling her hair out of her face. "How much time do we have before we need to leave?"

"Mmm bout twenty or so minutes. Don't worry bout the time though, I'll keep my eye on that," Sam assured, leaning down and kissing his partner.

"Sounds like a plan to me." Alexis tugged on one of the twists Sam had hanging, smiling to herself as she stood from the bed and walked past him.

Sam watched her go, tilting his head. "Don't you think you're forgettin' to leave somethin'? Somethin' on yer person that don't belong to you?"

Alexis looked over her shoulder with faux confusion, tapping a manicured nail against her lips a few time. "Mmm nope. Can't say I have. As far as I'm concerned, everything I've got on right now might as well belong to me. Oh, but maybe you should go find a shirt to wear, Sam. I don't think we need any bold fashion statements at tonight's meeting," she added with a smirk, turning on her heels and heading for his bathroom.

Sam chuckled, shaking his head with a grin. Troublemaker.

[evans23]

RICKMAS 2024 - DAY 22 - SHIVERING CERTAINTY [E2]

Pairing : Colonel Brandon x OC (Marie)

Summary : And if, finally, love could blossoms in the most unusual way ? And if, finally, Christopher didn’t really sacrifice himself ? And if, finally, both of them get exactly what they deserve ?

Tag(s)/Warning(s) : Sadness. Loneliness. Abandon. Rumours. Harsh mother. Unwanted pregnancy.

WRONGFUL PERCEPTION : Part I

Also read on AO3 - Wattpad

At breakfast, Marie stared at her plate without much appetite. Brandon watched her furtively. Her round belly left no doubt: in a few months, they would be parents.

"Marie, is everything okay ?" Christopher asked, worried.

"I... I don't really know," she said without looking up.

"Are you scared ?"

"A little bit," she said, gripping her spoon a little tighter.

He reached out a cautious hand to place it on hers. She looked up at his big green eyes and found only tenderness.

"What if I'm not ready for it ?"

"You won't be alone. I'll be there. And we'll hire a governess," he tried to reassure her.

"But I don't want my baby to be raised by servants," she said softly, "I... I want to be a good mother," she confessed, looking down again.

"And you will be," Christopher affirmed, squeezing her hand a little tighter.

Marie gave him a small smile. She still wasn't entirely convinced that everything would be okay, but Christopher had this gift of making her feel calmer, safer. She still felt bad about imposing an illegitimate child on the Colonel, but he seemed sincerely invested. He never made her feel like a burden and if at first she had regretted their union, she accepted it more and more now.

Maybe, yes maybe if she gave him a chance, she could have a good life and even know love, the real one, the one that is born of deep feeling and not of a fleeting passion.

After breakfast, Marie went to get a shawl to go for a walk in the gardens. Christopher, who was busy in his greenhouse preparing the soil for the future roses that would bloom again in the spring, saw her pass by and decided to follow her discreetly.

As she arrived near an old oak tree, she stopped for a moment, her hand placed on her belly.

"Marie, is everything okay ?" Christopher asked as he approached slowly.

She turned around, a big smile on her lips. Without a word, she approached him and, to the Colonel's great surprise, she took his hand to place it on her belly.

Christopher's eyes widened when he felt small knocks against his hand. The baby was moving.

"Hello, little one," he whispered with emotion.

"Do you think it will be a little boy or a little girl ?" Marie asked as she placed her hand against Christopher's which was still resting on her round belly.

"It doesn't matter. It'll be a darling child," Christopher replied, fascinated by the movements he still felt under her large, firm hand.

Marie closed her eyes, a strong emotion pressing on her heart. She was torn, torn between what she had done, between what she was imposing on Christopher, and the feelings she had for him and the future that could be bright, if only she would agree to let him love her and her baby.

"Do you want to know ?" she asked suddenly.

"Know what ?" Christopher asked surprised.

"What happened. Who is the father."

"No, it's your story, it belongs to you."

"But I want to tell you," Marie whispered.

A gust of wind came to sweep the leaves all around, lifting Marie's dress slightly and revealing her ankles that were not covered by her woollen stockings. They were so swollen that she could no longer tolerate any fabric on her sensitive skin. That little glimpse of skin troubled Christopher more than he would have thought. He remembered his brother once telling him about one of his one-night stands when he was not yet engaged to Eliza that a woman's ankles were the most wonderful thing and Christopher, who had laughed at the time, was beginning to believe him.

"Let's go inside and take shelter. This wind could make you sick and now is not the time with the baby on the way," he said, holding out his arm to her.

She followed him into the living room where they sat down by the fire. A maid came to bring them tea and biscuits.

"At the end of February, I went to London, I..."

"Marie, you don't owe me an explanation. I already know that you met a man, that he cheated on you and left you," Christopher interrupted, "I don't need to know more."

"But I feel like I have to tell you everything," Marie said, struggling to hold back her tears.

"You don't owe me anything, Marie. I know what there is to know, I also know that you are strong and you are not alone. You are not anymore. I am here."

"I am sorry that I didn't love you right away, Christopher," she said in a breath, "I agreed to marry you for my father, to spare him after what I did to him, to spare him the shame of having a slut for a daughter."

"Don't you ever talk about yourself like that," Christopher scolded her, "you're not a slut! You're a young woman who was abused by a man without honour. I didn't love you right away either, Marie. I wanted to protect you, save your honour, but for me, this marriage has become much more than a formality," Christopher declared without taking his eyes off her.

"I think it's more than a formality for me too," Marie whispered, her eyes shining, "but I feel guilty."

"Don't be. Never. Forget all that, Marie. This child is a chance, a chance for true love for you and me. And it will be loved, darling. This child is my child, Marie. And you, you must free yourself from this guilt, from these memories that have broken you. Free yourself from the past that you can't erase and focus on our future together."

"Christopher," Marie whispered as she moved closer to him.

"If you had asked me to walk away, I would have, but not now, not now that you have confided all this to me. I know you were betrayed, but we're not all like that, Marie. Try to trust me."

She nodded softly, sitting down next to him. Christopher placed a hand against her cheek. Marie leaned against his palm, more serene than she had been since she'd discovered she was pregnant.

"You're so patient with me," she said, placing her hand against his, "so good."

"I'm yours, Marie. You have my loyalty, my protection, and my love. Unconditionally."

"And if we ever have a fight, will you blame me ?"

"Never ! I'm not like that, Marie. I would never blame you for making me fall in love with you. And I would never use our child against you. This is my baby, it is mine, mine and it will never have to know the truth, because the only truth is that I am the father," Christopher said firmly in a voice that left no room for contradiction.

Marie nodded with emotion, overwhelmed. She had not chosen this marriage, but this union that she had seen as a punishment could well be a blessing if she agreed to forgive herself.

Christopher took her gently in his arms and she let him do it, resting her head against his chest. He offered her stability, security and she felt happy.

Both were aware that there would be efforts to make, trials to overcome, but together, they would be stronger. Christopher was her new beginning, it was a shivering certainty.

"Let's be a family, a real family," she said, raising her head to look into the Colonel's hazel eyes.

"I would be more than happy."

That night, Marie asked Christopher for her permission to sleep with him, which he gladly accepted. That night was the first of many. She felt safe by his side and she loved that he would lay his head against her belly every night to tell their future baby about his adventures in India as their relationship slowly blossomed into respect and love.

"Christopher !"

Christopher woke with a start at the sound of Marie's voice.

"What's going on?" he asked, getting up to light a candle.

"The baby, it's coming," she said with a grimace.

Christopher noticed that the bed was wet. Her water had broken. He immediately called for the doctor and the housekeeper. The doctor arrived quickly with a midwife who told the Colonel to wait outside.

Christopher paced up and down the hallway, clenching his fists every time he heard Marie scream. Inside the room, the governess was wiping his forehead while the doctor, with the help of the midwife, worked to contain a slight haemorrhage.

"Christopher, I want Christopher," she gasped, her fingers clenched on the blood-stained sheets.

The governess went to get him. The poor man, his hands shaking, silently prayed that everything would be okay. He could not bear the loss, neither her nor the child. When the governess told him she was asking for him, he did not hesitate for a second to go back into the room.

"Christopher," Mary whispered when he saw him enter, "stay close to me. Stay."

He came to sit next to her and took her hand in his, squeezing it delicately.

"I'm here, Mary. I'm staying close to you."

He ran a damp cloth over her forehead before placing a kiss on it. In that moment of extraordinary intensity, he offered her the strength and calm she needed, a rock in the storm.

"The baby is coming," the midwife said, pressing a little on Marie's belly.

It took another two hours for the baby to decide to leave the comfort and security of her mother's womb. Marie was exhausted and had lost consciousness once, woken by Christopher who had patted her cheeks to bring her back to her while trying to control his own fear.

When a shrill cry rang out, Marie sighed with relief, a tired smile on her face. The doctor came to place the child in her arms and congratulated her. A little boy. He was tiny, fragile and so innocent. He didn't look premature either, but the doctor and midwife had seen other things and they knew it was not their place to judge or to tell anyone.

"Christopher, do you want to take your son ?" she asked without even realizing that she was crying with happiness.

Christopher took the child with an exaggerated bow, afraid of hurting him.

"Hello my little boy. My son," he said, looking at this little being so pure that he held in his arms.

"He is so beautiful," he said, smiling, "he is a true blessing."

"What do you want to name him ?" Marie asked, placing a hand on her son's head.

"It's up to you," he answered without looking away of the baby's face.

"No. You're his father, it's up to you to choose your son's name."

"What do you think of Thomas ? Thomas William Brandon ?"

"Thomas William Brandon," she repeated, "yes, I like it."

She looked at her husband tenderly, filled with an inner peace that seemed to erase the pain of her past. There was only love in her once-bruised heart and the shivering certainty that this family he was building, everything she had lived, lost, suffered, had led her to this man who was healing her.

"I love you, Christopher," she said as the midwife took their son away to be washed.

Christopher stared at her, his throat tight. He had believed for so long that he was unworthy of being loved, and now he had a family.

"I love you too Marie," he replied, stroking her damp hair, "and Merry Christmas," he added with a smile.

Two years later

Thomas walked awkwardly in the library, following his father who was putting away books. Thomas was a child full of energy who loved to be behind his father, his hero that he tried to imitate from the height of his two years.

Marie entered the room as Christopher who had just picked him up showed her a book containing pictures of exotic animals that he had seen in India. She walked forward, looking at them tenderly, to Brandon whom she hugged from behind, resting her head on his back.

"Don't give him the wrong idea," she said, caressing Thomas' cheek.

"Believe me my dear, as long as I live, our son will never enter the army."

He turned to place a light kiss on her forehead.

"How are you ?" he asked, placing a hand on her belly.

"I'm happy. But exhausted. I wish your child would let me sleep at night," she said, laughing softly.

"I hope it's a little girl," Christopher said, gently caressing the slightly rounded curve that already hinted at the arrival of a future baby in their home.

"A winter baby and a summer baby," Marie said, looking at Thomas who was fidgeting a little in Christopher's arms, demanding her attention.

"And it's all thanks to you, my son," Christopher said in a soft voice, "you're the one who made us a family."

Marie snuggled a little closer to him. On this Christmas Eve, she couldn't be happier. She had everything she had ever wanted and more. Christopher looked so beautiful with their son in his arms. Together, they had overcome so many obstacles and their love was only stronger, growing a little more each day. He was her strength and she was his.

Marie and Christopher had the shivering certainty that they had always been meant to be together and both thanked the heavens for having pushed destiny to bring them together. Neither of them had understood it right away, but they were soulmates. That was a certainty.

[bruitmoderniste]

ooh, was tagged by @butterscotchpalace for my top 10 songs of the month! mmm... let's see:

Surprise Chef - Daylight Savings

Smokin' Beats - Dreams (feat. Lyn Eden)

Galcher Lustwerk - Overpay, Overstay

Magdalena Bay - Top Dog

Alison Goldfrapp - So Hard So Hot

Tove Lo - I Like You

TripleS - Seoul Sonyo Sound

Double 99 - Ripgroove

Lil Yachty - IVE OFFICIALLY LOST VISION!!!!

aespa - Better Things

curious about what you're listening to, @scopophilic1997, @reamed, @raplele, @fuzzyghost, @billy-one-7, @dapperseoul, @gameover77world, @turbulentornado, @industrialized-dreams, @ultramilkshakeblr, @emoticonal, @magicacain, @phlegmaphoto, @thisaintourhome, @hiddennotions, @its-not-how-it-looks, @bytheeborder

[reds-skull]

(continuation of this)

Okay maybe I lied Soap won't be fine by the time Ghost is done with him

[edit: text bubbles are bigger for better visibility]

[clowningaroundmars]

so many mike chiltons in the motorcity tag!!! here are mine :D