#she helps me through hard days and I hope she knows that

[chelseeebe]

girls on film

18+. mdni! smut, so much smut. p in v, eddie is a munch! alcohol mentions. pornstar!eddie munson x reader. no use of y/n! modern au.

eddie munson makes porn. you make it. only, eddie doesn't much like the sounds of that.

a/n: happy valentines day my loves! spend some time with our favourite nerd eddie instead of a real man that'll only disappoint. i am so guilty of always giving eddie a breeding kink and then just never giving him any children oopsie hehe. i've been writing this on and off for months now, i already have a p2 and p3 the question is whether i'll finish them or not lol

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

when anyone asked, you’d tell people you were a set assistant. 

what they didn’t have to know was that you were a set assistant for pornstars. 

it wasn’t ever a dream of yours, nor something you’d have ever pictured yourself doing, but it paid the bills and hey, sometimes you met cool people through it too. 

today’s no different to any other, waiting for the talent to arrive as you prep the scene. it’s something ludicrous, metal guy meets friends innocent younger sister, something along those lines. 

you never really paid attention to much of that stuff, at some point it just became so much noise and frantic movement that the script never really mattered. 

he’s late. you’ve heard whispers of his nonchalance before. only hoping that you’d still get home on time. 

when the elusive man finally decides to bless you all with his presence, you’re taken back. not ever expecting the lanky guy that had shuffled through the door. all hair and denim. 

his charm makes up for his tardiness. flowing out of his mouth in droves, shaking hands and sharing hugs with the crew until he gets to you. 

“hey,” the man grins, pulling you in for a half-hug, “i’m eddie, super excited for today now that i’ve seen you.” 

you stare back in confusion, you’d be running towels and telling lighting what to do, why would he ever be excited about that? 

“anything you’re not comfortable with?” he asks, squeezing your arm gently. 

“oh.. what? i’m not- sorry, i just work on set,” shrinking into yourself although flattered that he’d thought you were starring opposite him. 

“oh,” sounding almost disappointed, “that’s a real shame,” the thick smell of his cologne and cigarette smoke wafting towards you. 

your cheeks burn, averting your gaze to the ground, finding solace away from his heavy stare. 

“who is the lucky lady?” eyes gliding around the women in the room, choosing to once again settle on you. 

“she’s.. um, she’s getting ready,” gesturing towards the small dressing area you had. 

you were never this bumbling, a thousand handsome men had stood before you and had never, ever had this impact upon you. 

“cool.. okay,” he nods, “where d’you need me?” his leather jacket tightening around his strong arms, knocking the wind out of your chest. 

“over here,” gesturing vaguely at the empty makeup chair, losing any and all composure when he pats your arm on the way past. 

christ. 

you needed to get a grip and get it fast. 

-

a lick of fresh air would help pull you from this disgustingly down bad headspace he’d plunged you into. 

or not. 

eddie’s hand curls around your arm just before you reach the door, “i’ll join ya,” cigarette already poised in between his lips. 

you can only nod, stepping out into the cool air though it does nothing for your flushed cheeks, edging away despite his efforts to keep close. 

you’re a little intimidated by his hardiness and hardness. struggling to keep your eyes above the waistband. 

“you ever thought about doing this?” he asks, blowing the smoke from the side of his mouth. 

“not really.” 

“that’s a shame,” he smirks, “i think we’d make something beautiful,” keeping his gaze steady on your flustered face. 

“stop it,” brushing him off coyly, he didn’t have to be so sickly sweet, his smirk had clearly already worked its magic on you. 

“you don’t agree?” eddie’s eyebrow raises, taking a slow, drawn-out toke of his cigarette.

you shake your head, “there’s a reason i’m behind the camera and not in front of it,” staring out at the bleak, grey parking lot. 

“well i think we should change that,” stepping in front of you, leaving you no room to not look at him, “i’m in town for the week, i’d love to see you again.” 

this didn’t happen to you, ever. the girls you worked with were otherworldly in terms of their beauty, no one ever really paid you any attention at all. 

eddie can sense your hesitation, assuming that he’d scared you away already, “look, take my number. you don’t have to call but i’d like you to,” slipping his cell from his pocket. 

you nod almost on your own, retrieving your own phone to hand off to him. he’s slick in the way he taps the number in, cigarette balanced on his lip as his eyes flicker between phone screens. 

“there ya go,” placing your phone back in your clammy palm, “do what you want with it, i go back to chicago on thursday,” making it clear that whatever this may be, would be temporary. 

“o-okay,” nodding quickly, there was a high likelihood that his number just sat there for the rest of eternity, never to be used or clicked on again. 

you don’t take eddie as the type of guy to pressure you, in fact, he seems quite the opposite. so much so that if you don’t take him up on his offer, you’ll never hear from him again. 

it’s truly an offer you really shouldn’t refuse, but yet you’re hesitant to even accept his advances. mixing work and pleasure like this, especially with someone like eddie, could only end one way. 

“i better get back in, y’ready?” holding the door open, a real gentleman, making you flustered of the most common of decencies. 

you were fucked. 

-

it’s hellish watching him perform. 

not just seeing everything his tight jeans had hidden away but also the way he truly cared about his partner. 

all the gentle touches to her face, cradling her body while completely disrespecting it too. globs of spit leaving his mouth to coat her cunt, making your thighs press together with indescribable want. 

he glances back between takes, making sure to catch your eye every single time. running his tongue over his bottom lip, knocking the air from your lungs without fail. 

you’d bore witness to many overdramatic, frankly fake orgasms in your years on set. very rarely did anything ever make you feel quite like you did today. screaming jealousy at her disappearing eyes, the way his lips brush against her ear, guiding her through her second orgasm of the session. 

it’s not loud, or irritating, just soft mewls accompanied by his soothing voice, making sure you were soaking right through your jeans. 

when eddie cums, his lips fall apart, head thrown back as his hips stutter, using her back as a canvas, jaw gritted together. 

“that was great!” tom yells, your makeshift director. ushering for you to hurry up with the towels and cold water. your fingers trembling as they brush against eddie’s. 

he offers a sweet thank you, quickly slipping back into his robe as you try to regain some semblance of control over yourself. 

you’re ridiculous, a giggly teenage girl more than a grown woman who watches people fuck for a living. this had solidified your position on ever calling him, and simply put, you couldn’t. 

in fact, you’re not certain you can even speak his name again, destined to live a life of perpetual wondering about what could have been. 

-

one glass of wine seemed to have been all it took to get eddie fucking munson back into your head. 

you’d done so well so far, managing to push the disgraceful thoughts way, way to the back of your mind, only for one measly glass of sauvignon blanc to destroy all of your progress. 

it’s not like you were actually going to call him, just toying with the idea, hovering over the button. a little foreplay, if you will. 

maybe you should. 

if one glass of wine was enough to have you already breaking the promise you’d made to yourself, who’s to say what years and years of unknowing would do? 

eddie was interested first, he came onto you first. there’s no doubt he’d be as eager as you were, but you still can’t help the niggling sounds of apprehension. 

the tone is dialling before you can second guess yourself and end it, fingers trembling around your phone, as if it were a ticking time bomb awaiting detonation. 

it rings a couple times before it clicks, connecting the call, “hello?” his voice echoes, thick and as intoxicating as the first time you heard it. 

your lips move yet produce no sound. reluctantly hoping he’ll think it’s a prank call and block the number. 

“eddie,” the first word to form on your tongue, potentially the worst thing you could’ve said. 

“it’s you,” his smile evident, even through the phone, “i was hopin’ you’d call,” you can hear the hustle and bustle of the restaurant now, he mumbles something to a passing waiter about the bill and now suddenly you feel immensely guilty about calling him on a saturday night.

“i’m sorry- am i interrupting something?”

“not at all,” and you can hear him smile all over again.

but what you don’t see is him glancing over at the busty redhead still at the table, waving back at her innocuous wiggle of the fingers. 

“what’re you doing tonight?” he asks, leaning back against the cool brick wall. 

“nothing really.. i mean, if you’re not busy, maybe you could.. or we could do something?” wanting to die the second the words leave your lips. 

“that sounds good to me,” his audible grin unwavering, “how ‘bout i come over?” 

you freeze, looking around at the mess surrounding you, piles of paperwork and clothes litter the floor, resembling somewhat of a dumpster rather than an apartment. 

“..you don’t want me to, that’s okay,” answering his own question. 

“-no!” interjecting before he could change his mind entirely, “you should come over,” turning into a desperate little slut before he’d ever even touched you. 

eddie pauses, his feet shuffling in the background, “okay,” voice intoxicatingly thick, “give me thirty minutes and i’m all yours.” 

all yours. 

christ. 

you can feel your knees buckle, turning into putty in his hands. 

“o-okay, i’ll send you the address,” ending the call before you fumble this any further. 

immediately springing up from the mattress, deciding that the one and only time you’re going to mix work and pleasure must be perfect. you work on grabbing piles of clothes, shoving them back into the closet they belonged in. 

eddie wouldn’t care, would he? 

perhaps keeping stuff to the living room would be better, the tiny couch would make do. 

-

thirty minutes practically on the dot, there’s a knock on the door. 

oh god oh god oh god. 

this was a mistake. 

you should shut off all the lights and just pretend you’re not home. 

don’t be so silly. 

cursing the self-sabotaging thoughts, damned to make you second guess every single thing about yourself. 

your head peaks around the open gap, eyes falling on his chest to rise up and meet his daunting eyes. there’s a bottle of wine tucked beneath his arm, the half bottle you’d downed beforehand completely unbeknownst to him. 

eddie blinks, his lips cocked to the side, “well hello,” dressed far too nicely for a drunken booty call at your apartment. 

“hi,” utterly meek and pathetic, swooning over his suave greeting. 

“you look good,” gaze trailing down to your bare legs. you hadn’t expected him to be so put together, now regretting your choice of what was essentially just pyjamas. 

“tha-thank you,” pulling the door open wider, “come in, please,” stepping back to let him inside. 

the air thickens immediately, your clothes suddenly too tight and your palms clammy. if you ever wanted eddie to stay interested in you, you’d have to get ahold of yourself quick. 

“nice,” he saunters around the room, looking at your pictures and the other piles of accumulated artefacts ok your shelves. settling just before the couch to turn and smile. “you live alone?” 

you nod automatically, the air sucked from your lungs at the sheer sight of him in your apartment. it felt like some strange crossover dream that really should’ve stayed unexplored. 

“that’s good to know,” helping himself into the kitchen, opening cabinets to presumably find two wine glasses. 

you brush off his comments, it was no secret as to what he was here for. “top left,” arm brushing against his as you make your way into the small space. 

musk and a hint of lingering cigarette smoke waft your direction, decidedly not turning to sniff his jacket like you so wished you could. 

“care to join me?” offering the bottle out in your direction. 

if you were even just an inch braver, you’d create some witty come back, some utterly irresistible flirty banter that’d surely have him crawling on his knees for you. 

but you aren’t, so instead you nod, hoping you won’t resemble such a wallflower all night. 

-

“can’t believe a pretty girl like you was gonna spend a saturday night all alone,” eddie gushes, a quarter of his wine sipped away. 

it’s incredibly hard to remain stoic when his eyes are crescent-moons, lashes cascading shadows over his cheeks and his tongue periodically wets his plump bottom lip. a routine he's no doubt mastered the art of by now.

“i’m always..” gesturing into thin air, unfortunately aware that whatever came out of your mouth next would make you look like a pathetic loser, “i mean, i go out sometimes..” making matters worse tenfold. 

“really?” 

why’d you open your mouth? 

“no.. i work a lot so..” clearing your throat in a bid to make him forget you’d ever spoken. “i hope i didn’t interrupt anything..” shrugging softly, though you’d already known you had done. 

“i was out for dinner.. nothing important,” brushing you off, “she wasn’t exactly.. uh, great company,” laughing into his glass of red. 

the cogs turn, sudden realisation that you had interrupted a date. and he’d let you. 

“you were on a date,” cringing at yourself, frustratedly embarrassed for no good reason, “i’m sorry- fuck, you should’ve said,” wanting to die a thousand deaths. 

he looks utterly perplexed, “if i wanted to be there, i’d be there, alright?” patting your thigh, the first of his daring moves, “i wanted to see you,” thumb circling the soft skin. 

already making you melt half an hour in. you were toast. there’s positively no way you’ll make it out of here with your dignity in tact. 

“..okay,” bashfully nodding along to his heavy words, seldom to back down so easily. there’s just something about eddie munson and his doe eyes that turns you into a submissive mess. 

his hand doesn’t move from your knee, tracing circles around the bone, “you’re so beautiful and you don’t even know it, do you?” trying his hardest to meet your averted gaze. 

fuck. 

your cheeks burn, pussy already throbbing and he had scarcely touched you yet. how was it possible for him to be so sweet? his words thick like molasses, dripping, leaving their mark all over you. 

“i’m just..” what has gotten into you? this was pathetic. “you’re very kind eddie,” smiling gently, as if his words hadn’t sent you into cardiac arrest. 

he hums, a deep noise from the bottom of his chest, “say my name again sweetheart,” purring, toying with coming closer, “i like it better when you say it.” 

you’d scream it if he wanted you to. let all your neighbours know who was making you act like such a fool. 

“you don’t have to sweet talk me.. you’re already sat on my couch,” finding the last lingering ebbing of confidence to bite back. 

eddie laughs, deep and rumbling, “but i like seeing you squirm.”

oh god. 

had he trained in this? he’s so quick witted, bouncing off of whatever you say immediately. 

“you’re so..” trailing off into silence as you meet his heavyset gaze, intimidated and fazed all at once. 

“so.. what, sweetheart?” cocking his head to the side, alongside his lips. 

you hate him. 

his overwhelming confidence, his gaze that has your heartbeat in your throat and your fingers clawing at your thigh. there was something so intimidating and yet oddly charming about his presence.

“so annoying,” biting back, only really annoyed that he had successfully woo’d you. and without much effort at all.

eddie looks vaguely hurt for a moment, only for his grin to spring right back onto his face, “i don’t think you mean that,” sucking on the backs of his teeth. 

you’d been caught out immediately, bowing your head to hide the inevitable flush. 

just fucking do it. 

the same nagging voice that had made you call him in the first place starts up again, louder this time. if his brazen flirting wasn’t enough to get you to make a move, what would be? 

choosing to grasp the moment as it is, refusing to allow him any more power over you for tonight.  

you charge forward, chest bashing into his equally as heaving chest, attempting to straddle his thighs until you’re stopped by his large palm groping your thigh. 

he breaks apart, the back of his hand brushing against your cheek, “it’s real sweet that you think you’re in charge,” quickly taking your wrists into his grasp, pushing against your pouncing stance to press your back against the couch instead. 

you let him, sinking into the cushions as he moves atop of you, hands skilfully skirting over your hips, tugging at your loose-fitting shorts. 

“oh darlin’, i’ve been waitin’ for this,” running his hands back up your doughy thighs, squeezing the pliant flesh on their way. 

you just about melt under the pressure of his sweet talk, allowing him the power to manoeuvre your body any which way he wanted. there’s a soft thunk as your sweatpants hit the floor, his hand spreading your legs to give him full view of your sodden panties. 

you’re not sure you’ve ever been as wet as you are now, positively drenched just by the feel of fingertips against your skin. 

eddie hums, large hands skirting your thighs, a soft squeeze to the doughy skin, “i really thought you’d never call,” slowly sinking down, leaving a trail of peppered kisses on his way, the tank top you’d slung on gives him perfect view of your hardened nipples, tugging the fabric until your tits fall out. 

“wouldn’t that have been such a shame?” continuing on, making you squirm with every lick of his lips, every last syrupy sweet word. 

his lips attach to the overly sensitive skin as his free hand palms the other, tongue twisting around the bud forcing the pathetic whimper from your throat. 

you can feel him smile against your chest, mouth popping off just to lock around the other, continuing his descent down between your legs. 

he pries your thighs apart, looking up at your skittish eyes, jumping from object to object as the pressure in your clit worsens. 

his lips startle you, warm and wet on the pliant skin, sucking and nibbling until he reaches the hem of your shorts. “you dressed up f’me,” hooking his fingers into the waistband, a short tap on your hip has them jumping up to help him. 

eddie glides them down your legs, holding onto your ankle as the fabric hits the ground. his pretty pink lips curve upward before pecking the soft cotton clothing your cunt. he’s a genius, a master of his craft. you’re not at all shocked that women were lining up to have their turn. 

you quiver when he pulls away, thighs pressed together in a bid to satiate the ache left in his wake. 

his thumb traces your clothed slit, pressing into your hole just to come right back up and circle your clit. it’s almost as if you can feel your brain chemistry changing with every single touch, destined to haunt every other encounter you’d have after this. 

no one had nor would ever touch your body with such sincerity and care again. it just wasn’t possible. 

arousal seeps out, turning the gray coloured cotton darker, literally dripping with want for him. 

your hands come up to hide your warm face, covering your eyes, mostly as an excuse to cut the weighted eye contact he hadn’t once broken. 

but his hands are fast, faster than yours. coming to pull yours right back down again, scolding you for even trying it. “don’t do that.. please don’t do that.”

you nod, vowing to do nothing to piss him off again. eddie’s a professional at best, a whore at worst. he knows what’ll get you whirring, knows where to lay his fingers and in what tone to whisper his words. 

sickening. 

he smirks, one-sided, “i like that you don’t fight it,” trusting you enough to let go of your wrists, delving back between your plush thighs. 

words fail to form, overcome with such horniness that you can’t think straight. 

enough of the games, you want to bellow. 

touch me touch me touch me. 

you’re aching, clenching around nothing. the hollow emptiness driving you further and further into craziness. 

“can we..” sighing softly, losing your train of thought as quickly as it came, “i need you,” digging your nails into the poor couch. this cruel and twisted routine had to stop. 

“nuhuh,” eddie huffs, his warm breath splaying across your cunt, “i’m takin’ my sweet time with you,” using his middle and forefinger this time to dance tauntingly over your pussy, grinning manically to himself. 

“but-,” cut off when his fingers curl around your panties, the cool, harsh air hitting your cunt, sending a shiver down your spine. 

“wow,” he marvels, looking lovesick at your slick folds, “she’s so pretty,” in awe of the sight before him. 

your self-consciousness had faded, losing to your disgustingly eager lust. he could do whatever, however he wanted to you. he just needed to do it quickly. 

his tongue peaks out over his lips, preparing for his feast, “you’ve been so patient,” stubble brushing against the inside of your sensitive thigh, “i think you deserve this.” 

with that, your panties come down, he doesn’t even need you to move, expertly manoeuvring them from your skin. he cradles the damp fabric between his fingers for a moment before sliding them into the back pocket of his jeans. 

you can’t protest, you don’t even want to. he was welcome to take whatever he wanted or needed. 

eddie wraps a hand around your calf, resting it upon his shoulder, repeating the motion as your feet settle on his upper back. his palm finds your thigh next, looping his arms around for leverage. 

he hums with pure sick, adulterated satisfaction, one last glance at your glistening cunt before meeting your gaze. “keep your eyes on me sweetheart,” kissing lazily at the skin, antagonistically slow to make his way up. 

your fingers lay on the couch, scared for what you can and can’t do. 

his tongue meets your folds, pulling you out of your worry and into the real world. fuck whatever his rules were, you needed to touch him. weaving frantic fingers through the curls on top of his head, receiving an encouraging hum of approval, his throat vibrating against your cunt. 

“oh my.. fuck,” panting into the abyss, unable to stop your hips from moving against his face. you’d fuck his face and any other time, he’d let you, but that wasn’t the plan. 

he clamps down on your wriggling hips, keeping them pressed to the couch, refusing to allow you any control over the situation. 

eddie’s lips attach to your poorly neglected clit, sucking gently at the bud, forcing the not-so-quiet moans out of your throat, fingers curling around the strands just to tug on them with every flick of his tongue. 

the knot in your stomach is tight already, threatening to snap at any moment. especially trying when the tip of nose nudges at your clit, sitting right on top while his tongue makes you see stars, circling around your hole and right back up between your folds. 

you’ve never been this wet in your life, arousal dripping from his chin to your ass and thighs. when he pulls away just briefly, his puffy lips gleam in the dim light of your apartment. it’s only momentary though, quickly diving back in to pull you over the edge. 

his tongue swipes thick stripes over your cunt, aching for something him to just fill you up. “shit,” you hiss through gritted teeth. your eyes struggle to stay open, he’d forgive you, right? it was no fault of yours that his tongue felt too good, drawing you to the edge just to rip it from under you. 

lolling your head back against the arm of the couch, no longer able to abide by his arbitrary rules. your thighs were trembling, fingertips entangled in his locks, nothing except your impending orgasm mattered. 

eddie voices his displeasure through a low grumble, only twisting the knot further as his tongue laps at your pussy. a ravenous dog of sorts, refusing to let up until you came on his tongue. 

“fu-uck eddie- i can’t.. i’m gonna cum,” vibrating against his ears, feeling his smile against your core. a sick, perverted man that had you exactly where he wanted. 

the band snaps, throwing you over the edge with a twist of the stomach, shaking legs that struggle to stay perched on his shoulders and a verse of soft pleas and eddie’s that resemble a hymn. 

“.. jesu- shit,” shuddering breaths and mewls that fill the room, letting him lap away at your spent cunt. your limbs mimic jelly, letting go of your hold on his hair to clasp his face. 

eddie re-emerges, licking his lips like a cat that got the cream. self-satisfied and completely smug. 

coming up to rest his chin on your heaving stomach with inquisitive eyes, his rough stubble catching on your tired skin, “worth the wait?” as if he doesn’t already know the answer. 

you nod, rather enthusiastically, “definitely worth it,” playing with the tufts of hair that make up his choppy bangs. 

“good,” biting down onto his bottom lip just to pull himself back up, “but i’m not done with you yet,” prying your legs open once more before peeling his shirt from his body, a sight you’ve seen and yet can’t behold. 

eddie presses his already stiff cock to your cunt, toying with his prey. there’s nothing left in you to fight it, laying back on the couch with a soft sigh. 

no man would ever live up to this, you were now cursed to an unsatisfactory life with whomever you settled for. 

his pants come off next, your eyes falling to the outline of his length immediately. eyeing the tiny dark patch and certainly not thinking about him cumming in his pants while eating your pussy. 

you’ve seen his cock, and yet, your lips still fall open when he tucks his boxers underneath his balls, fisting his throbbing piece while you go googly-eyed. 

“shit,” he remarks, one hand on your knee while the other glides his leaking tip through your slick folds. “no one’s ever been this wet f’me before,” practically purring, his tone thick and full of an animalistic need you had thought was only reserved for porn. 

the pleasure rumbles around your nervous system, only to land in your stomach, squeezing the already-snapped muscle once again. 

eddie’s hand slides from your knee, up to your thigh, giving your hip a well-meaning pinch before settling beside your head on the couch. your bodies melding into one as he comes down to meet you. 

his cock nestles in between once more, slipping inside with a harsh gasp and a visceral grunt. you settle for a grip of his taut shoulders, fingers curling around the muscles and smudgy black tattoos. 

this time, eddie buries his face into your neck, suckling at the soft skin, daring to leave his mark when his teeth come out to graze. you hope they last forever, marked by him for eternity. 

the sensation is all too much, struggling to stay afloat once more, pushed further and further to edge when his tongue swipes over the violet markings that littered your collarbone. 

“holy fuck princess,” he grumbles, partially muffled, “y’gonna cum again already?” breathing heavy and stuttered, struggling with his own premature orgasm. 

words don’t appear, and honestly, at this point they didn’t mean a thing. 

instead, you nod, squeezing his shoulder in a bid to communicate. you unravel all over again, drawn out moans that get cut off by his lips, thighs shaking around his midriff. 

eddie was drinking it all in, intercepting the sweet noises from your mouth with his own, rolling his hips at a more subdued pace as you cum again. 

you were spent, utterly exhausted though he doesn’t let up. once you’re over this climax, his rhythm finds pace again. soft palm caressing your cheek while his lips attach to your jaw bone, planting a hundred quick kisses along up to your ear. 

with one knee dug into the couch, the other leg holding him up from the floor, it couldn’t be very comfortable for him like this. your pleasure was first and foremost his priority, a real man. 

he grunts, driving into your cunt with little consideration for the creaky old couch or your neighbours just trying to enjoy their saturday evening. 

“oh god eddie,” you cry. tugging at his scalp, pathetically rutting back against his hips begging for your third? fourth? orgasm to take over. 

his carefully groomed pubes catch your clit, dampened by the sheer amount of your arousal. 

you were just about ready to sleep for forty days and forty nights, both exhausted and overstimulated by his cock, the weight of his body on top of you and smooth words flowing from his mouth. 

“one more sweetheart,” speaking between rugged grunts, panting with every sloppy stroke, “gimme one more,” he coos, hand sliding down to find your clit for the last time. 

his cock twitches inside when you buck back against him, fingernails leaving harsh strips on his back, leaving your mark for the next girl. 

“shitshitshit,” you rush, coming completely undone again, trembling around his cock, babbling what must sound like pure nonsense to eddie. no doubt letting all of your deepest secrets loose in your third moment of weakness.

“mhm that’s it,” letting his cock slide all the way out, just to reach the hilt over and over again. “inside?” was all he needed to huff for you to get the message, too incoherent to ask any further questions. 

“ye-yes please,” not quite understanding the weight of your words until they leave your mouth. a problem for tomorrow. 

with that, eddie topples over, his orgasm rippling through his limbs and his cock pumping thick ropes of his release inside your exhausted pussy. your cries intertwining in the hot air to create a chorus line of pleasure. 

“jesusfuckingchrist,” he heaves, collapsing in a fit of exhaustion. a sticky pile of limbs that starts with you and ends somewhere with eddie. 

everything feels surreal, the light is gleaming and you sort of feel as if you’re floating, watching him pepper your skin with quick kisses and slot himself comfortably on the cramped couch. 

eddie cradles your body, fixing your top to give you back the tiniest bit of dignity you had left. 

he hums, contemplating something, “‘m glad you called,” swooning, “i don’t know what i’d have done if you hadn’t,” positioning himself underneath your body, a strong arm coming to wrap around your shaking shoulder. 

“you would’ve just had to live without me,” chuckling into the sweaty skin of his chest, embracing the lingering arrogance. 

eddie hums before shaking his head, “nuhuh, we would’ve met again somehow,” running his finger up and down the length of your arm. 

“oh, you think?”

“no, i know,” oozing with confidence. you simply can’t hate it because he’s right. 

there’s no instance that your soul would’ve let you rest until this had happened.

[natsaffection]

Hey, I love your work especially Vampire!Natasha one shots and I have an idea for a Valentine's Day smut with vampire Natasha (I hope it's not too kinky) but the reader is expecting Natasha in bed covered in blood as a Valentine's Day gift

Happy Valentine’s Day. | N.R

Vampire!older!Natasha x Human!younger!Reader

Warnings: 18+! MINORS DNI! Age gap (N= 100+ r=23), much Blood, oral (r receiving), fingering (r receiving), multiple orgasm, overstimulation

Word count: 1,9k

A/N: Thank you so much for this!! Happy Valentines Day for everyone who is celebrating it. 🫶🏼

You had been planning this for weeks.

Every night, carefully and methodically, you had drawn just enough blood to store away, always hiding the tubes before Natasha could notice. You had gone to painstaking lengths to keep it from her, keeping the scent masked, ensuring she wouldn’t suspect a thing.

Because you knew. You knew if she found out, if she even caught the faintest whiff of your blood, she would never allow it. Not because she didn’t want it. God, no. But because she would lose herself in it..And that was exactly what you wanted.

As the final drops of blood spilled across your skin, you bit your lip, feeling the warmth spread over your body, streaking down your stomach, your thighs, your collarbones. You ran your fingers through it slowly, letting the fresh, thick red coat your fingertips before smearing it just a little more.

Perfect. It was fresh, it was warm and it smelled like a goddamn feast. You took a shaky breath, your heart pounding as you grabbed your phone, sending Natasha a simple message.

Before you panic when you come home, just know that I am fine! I promise!! But I smell like a crime scene. Happy Valentine’s Day, baby. ❤️

The response came immediately.

What?

You giggled, rolling onto the bed, getting comfortable. Oh, she was going to hate this…

Natasha smelled it the second she entered the building. The scent slammed into her like a force, wrapping around her, twisting into every part of her body, curling into her lungs. Her hands gripped the wall, her knees nearly buckling as the hunger roared inside her. For a split second, her vision blackened entirely. She exhaled sharply, tilting her head back, forcing herself to breathe slowly, evenly.

It didn’t help. God, it didn’t fucking help. Her fingers twitched, her jaw clenching violently as she stepped toward the bedroom, her movements slow, strained. Her body screamed at her to run, lunge, to take. But she forced herself to stay composed.

She stepped into the bedroom and she saw you.. You were sitting in the center of the bed, completely drenched in red. Your body was painted in it, fresh streaks running down your stomach, your thighs, pooling at your collarbones.

Natasha froze. Every muscle in her body locked up. She exhaled sharply, tilting her head, her eyes black as the void, her hands curling into tight fists at her sides. “What is this here?”

You giggled, “Weeks of collecting, just for tonight..” Natasha let out a sharp breath, her eyes black as the void, her restraint hanging on by a fucking thread. “Weeks..” she repeated, her voice thick with something dark, something dangerous.

You nodded. “Didn’t want to waste a drop. You always say it’s best fresh.” Her vision blackened for a second, her head tilting, her jaw clenching so hard it ached. Because fuck, she wanted you so bad it was killing her.

“You look very proud of yourself.” Natasha murmured, her voice low, teasing, slightly strained. “I am..” you hummed, tilting your head slightly, looking at her with pure, innocent mischief.

Natasha groaned softly, her nails digging into the doorframe, holding on like it was the only thing keeping her upright. She licked her lips, her tongue barely flicking over the tips of her fangs. “You planned this..” she whispered, stepping slowly, carefully into the room. “Spent weeks collecting all of this blood, just to test me?” You bit your lip, watching her closely, drinking in her struggle.

“Mhm..” you hummed, stretching out a little, letting the blood trail further down your stomach. “I wanted to see if you’d break.” Natasha exhaled slowly, heavily, tilting her head again, trying to shake off the hunger, the desire, the absolute desperation to taste you.

You saw it. And fuck, you loved it. “Come on, Natasha..” you murmured, slowly spreading your legs wider, making sure she saw everything. “Come get your present.” She crawled onto the bed, her hands sinking into the mattress, her body hovering just inches above yours.

You shivered, your breath hitching slightly at the sight of her, so close, so predatory, so completely wrecked. “You’re trouble..” she whispered, her lips grazing your jaw, barely touching, just enough to tease.

“I know.” you giggled, your fingers dragging over her shoulders, her arms, feeling the tension in her muscles. She was shaking. She was trying so hard. And fuck, it was adorable.

Natasha moved lower, her lips skimming down your neck, your collarbone, her breath hot, shaky, uneven. Her tongue flicked out, barely tasting the blood smeared across your skin. And fuck, she groaned. “You taste so fucking good.” she whispered, her hands gripping your sides, keeping you still.

You moaned softly, feeling her lips press against your sternum, her tongue licking up the red stains, slow and deliberate. She wasn’t just cleaning you. She was worshiping you. Her tongue trailed down, swirling over the dip of your stomach, lapping up every drop of blood she could find.

Her breath came heavier, her grip tightening, her fangs aching, but she still held back. Her lips lingered lower, kissing over your hips, your inner thighs, licking up every last bit of red.

Your breath hitched, your fingers tightening in the sheets. She smirked, flicking her eyes up, watching your face, drinking in every reaction. “Such a messy girl..” she murmured, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh, swirling her tongue slowly. You whimpered, your thighs trembling slightly. “Did you do this just for me, baby?” she whispered, her voice sweet, taunting, full of love.

“Y-Yes..” you gasped, shivering as she kissed higher, closer, teasing. Her tongue flicked out again, slow, sensual, dragging up your skin. You moaned, your thighs tensing around her. And fuck, she loved that sound. Your hips jerked slightly, your fingers grabbing onto her hair, tugging.

She groaned against you, the vibrations making you shudder. “You wanted me desperate, Darling?” she murmured, her tongue just barely flicking out, teasing, tasting.

“N-Nat..” you whimpered. Her tongue was relentless, circling, teasing, flicking, tasting, her hands keeping you spread, still, completely at her mercy. Your moans turned into gasps, whimpers, cries, your body trembling beneath her, already falling apart.

Her grip on your thighs was tight, bruising, possessive, keeping you pinned to the bed, keeping you right where she wanted you. Her mouth was hot, relentless, consuming, her tongue circling, flicking, pressing, lapping up everything you gave her.

She was lost in you. And fuck, you were falling apart. “Nat! G-God..!” you gasped, your back arching sharply, your fingers gripping the sheets in desperation. Natasha growled against you, the vibrations sending sparks of pleasure straight to your core.

Her hunger wasn’t just for your blood anymore. It was for you. For your moans. For the way your body writhed under her, for the way you trembled, gasped, begged. And fuck, she wasn’t done yet.

Her lips moved to your other thigh, lingering, her tongue trailing slow, teasing circles against the soft, sensitive skin. You whimpered, already knowing what she was about to do. Already aching for it. “You can take it..” Natasha whispered, her breath hot, heavy, wrecked against your skin. “Can’t you?”

You nodded frantically, your voice nothing but a needy whine. “Say it, Malysh (Baby).” she murmured, her fangs ghosting over your thigh, teasing, taunting. “I-Ican take it..” you gasped, your legs quivering beneath her hold. “Please, Natasha!!”

That was all she needed. With a low, primal growl, she bit down. Your loud moan echoed through the room, your body arching sharply, but Natasha held you firm, steady, pinned beneath her. Her fangs sank deep, just enough, enough to let your blood pool into her waiting mouth, but not too much, never too much.

She would never hurt you. And God, she moaned as she drank, her body shuddering at the rich, divine taste of you. Her hips pressed into the mattress, rolling instinctively, as if she needed something, anything to relieve the throbbing ache between her own legs.

Her tongue swirled over the puncture marks, lapping at them, soothing you, her lips kissing over the fresh wound before she moved back between your thighs. Her mouth latched onto you instantly, her tongue circling, pressing, curling, her fingers joining in, pushing inside you, filling you completely.

“Tasha- fuck!!” you gasped, your hands gripping her hair, pulling, trembling. She groaned against you, the vibrations sending you spiraling as the pressure coiled tighter, tighter, ready to snap.

“Come for me.” Natasha commanded, her voice low, wrecked, demanding. You had no choice. Your body gave in completely, your release crashing over you, shattering you, pulling you under, under, under and Natasha? She took everything.

She swallowed your moans, your trembles, your pleasure, her tongue still working you through it, dragging out every last wave. She moved up your body, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your stomach, your ribs, your throat.

Her fingers never left you, still circling, teasing, rubbing slow, steady strokes against your already overstimulated clit. You whimpered, your hips jerking, twitching, already sensitive, already on the edge of another release.

“One more..” Natasha whispered, her lips brushing against your pulse. Her fingers pressed harder, faster, pushing you right back to that breaking point. She smirked, her dark, blown-out eyes flickering over your body, taking in the way you looked beneath her, wrecked, spent, perfect.

“T-Too much…” you gasped, your back arching, your body still sensitive, but already aching for more. Natasha groaned, watching you with hunger, her fingers rubbing slow, deep circles against your clit, keeping you on edge, keeping you squirming.

“Look at you..” she whispered, her voice thick, reverent, worshipful. “So fucking pretty when you’re like this.” Her other hand slid up, trailing across your stomach, over your ribs, cupping your breast, rolling your nipple between her fingers.

You whimpered, your thighs trembling, your hips chasing the movement of her fingers. “You’re so perfect.” Natasha murmured, her eyes locked onto you, her lips parting slightly as she drank in every reaction.

The way your eyes fluttered shut, the way your lips parted, the way your fingers clutched at the sheets. Her fingers never stopped moving, never stopped building you up, never stopped circling, teasing, pressing.

She felt the exact moment your body tensed again, felt the way your thighs shook harder, the way your stomach clenched, the way your moans turned into desperate little whimpers. You were close. So, so close. And that’s when Natasha leaned in.

Her lips brushed against your throat, right over the place where your pulse pounded beneath her touch. Her fangs ached. Her entire body trembled as she inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of your blood, your sweat, your pleasure.

She was so fucking starved for you. “Give it to me, Y/n..” she whispered, her voice low, thick, dripping with possession. “Come for me, and let me taste you while you do.” The second her fangs pierced your skin, your body shattered completely.

You sobbed her name, your hands gripping her shoulders, your thighs clenching around her waist, your hips jerking desperately as the pleasure crashed over you, wave after wave, unstoppable, overwhelming.

She moaned into your throat, the sound deep, primal, wrecked, her tongue lapping at the fresh punctures, drinking you in, devouring every drop. Your blood rushed into her mouth, hot, perfect, intoxicating, sending a sharp, violent pleasure through her own body.

Her hips ground down against the bed, the taste of you pushing her to the brink of madness, consuming her completely. She couldn’t stop. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. You had ruined her. And she would spend forever ruining you in return.

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[florencebirdsong]

Happy Valentine’s Day!

I just saw you’ve opened your requests for this day, so I have a request ;)

Witch!agatha x innocent!human!fem!reader, after AAA, Agatha falls in love with an ordinary human and for the first time in her life she is clumsy when flirting and approaching reader - that's how special her crush on this human is-

I ADORE your writing

Happy Valentine's Day! Thank you so much for the request!!

This is less clumsy and more awkward and stiff but I hope you still enjoy. She's just a silly billy who doesn't know how to handle her emotions :)

And thank you!!! That means so much <3

Valentine’s Day Event 2025

Tags: very slight angst, hint of dominating Agatha, ficlet

Agatha’s presence fills a room. Her eyes see through everyone she meets. She skilfully navigates everyone that’s thrown at her. There isn’t a person who’s properly met her who hasn’t been left with a strong impression. Except you. She barely looks at you. You’ve only ever managed to catch her in the corner of your eye, but even then it could just be in your direction.

You can’t figure out why and any one you’ve been brave enough to ask hasn’t either. Some have even said that it’s a good thing. You don’t understand how. You ache with longing every time you see her sharp smile directed at someone else.

It takes the sixth social gathering in a row where she has interacted with every one but you to find the courage to ask. It’s one of the rare occasions where it’s held at her place and you take advantage of the fact that everyone seems to leave all at once.

It feels strange to linger when the host doesn’t acknowledge you but you draw on every bit of courage you have to stay.

“Not rushing out?” Agatha says from behind you.

You jump in surprise and whirl around. Her face is emotionless. Not even the usual amusement from scaring someone displayed.

“I wanted to talk to you,” you say, gaze stuck firmly on the floor.

There’s a very long pause before she says,

“Alright,” and gestures at the purple lounge.

Instead of choosing another chair she sits next to you. You sit ramrod straight in your nervousness and you can’t help casting a quick glance at her every few seconds. She’s so close. 

She has been before, technically. When talking in or group or accidentally brushing up against you but that never lasts long and it’s never been just the two of you.

Her gaze has wandered over to the window. A curtain has curled back just enough for a peak at the moon.

“Agatha?” you ask, valiantly trying to hide how nervous you are. She hums vaguely, eyes still looking out the window. Swallowing hard, you make yourself continue. “Why don’t you like me?”

Her head snaps towards you. “Excuse me?”

You try not to cringe. You knew it had been a stupid question and yet you asked anyway. Now you have to try and survive her sharp words. One of the few times she looks directly at you and you can’t even meet her eyes. It’s a major loss, especially with what’s about to happen, but you don’t think you’d be able to survive seeing the annoyance or hate in her eyes when she insults you.

You flinch in surprise when she grips your chin and forces your gaze to meet hers.

“Me liking you isn’t the problem,” she says. Her voice is low and you try to brace yourself. “The problem is that I like you too much.”

Her nails dig slightly into your skin and your eyes widen in surprise. You don’t even get a chance to think of a response before her lips are against yours. It’s not a feeling you’re familiar with but you lean into her warmth eagerly. Agatha makes an encouraging sound that has you melting. It’s not long until her hands go from supporting to pushing and you find yourself being slowly lowered to lay down on the couch. You follow happily until you realise where this is going. You put a hand on her shoulder to stop her. She pulls back with a raised eyebrows.

“Have a different position in mind?” she asks with the hint of a smirk.

“Yes- I mean no- I- ,” you force yourself to take breath. She’s overwhelming enough from across the room. Having her so intensely focused on you is disorientating. “I haven’t…done anything like that before.”

You swear her eyes darken.

“That’s alright,” she murmurs as she leans closer. Your eyes drop to her lips. “I’ve waited this long for you. I can wait a bit longer.” She moves her hands again but instead of pushing you to lay down she pulls you into her. “I’ll take of you,” she promises.

[reccyls]

The Robin Who Grazed the Reaper’s Secret Eagerly Awaits His Words (Epilogue)

My translation of Victor’s 2025 birthday story.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Epilogue (Victor’s POV)

---

Rain dripped down her hair, running across her slightly reddened cheeks and down to her lips. Every inch of that was as precious as a gemstone, because I’ve come to know Kate. Slowly, my mouth formed my next words. Kate waited for what I was going to say next with an earnest look in her eyes. As if she was straining to hear my words over the sound of the relentless rain.

Kate: -Achoo!

Victor: Huh?

Kate: Um.

That moment that seemed to stretch on for eternity was abruptly broken. Kate’s sneeze brought me back to my senses.

Kate: Uh, ah- that wasn’t–

As Kate frantically shook her head, her face reddening in embarrassment, I could not hold back my building laughter.

Victor: Ahaha!

It was loud enough to drown out the sound of the rain.

(To sneeze at such a time… it’s as if fate did that on purpose.) (...And what a relief it was.)

My true feelings that were close to escaping me were forced back down.

Victor: You’ll catch a cold if you stay out any longer.

Pretending as if nothing had happened, I tugged my coat up over Kate’s shoulders so that it covered her head as well. …So I did not have to see what expression she was making now. Kate wouldn’t be able to look up without dislodging my coat, so I extended my hand towards her.

Kate: Huh?

Victor: Shall we make a run for it?

Her small hand reached out for mine. I intertwined our fingers together tightly, so that there was no gap between them.

Victor: Let’s go!

And we began to run in the rain. I’m certain that the reason that the freezing cold rain that fell on my head still felt so pleasant was all because of Kate.

Victor: It’s been a while since I went for a run in the rain. It’s fun. Victor: I think I understand how William feels now.

As we ran I turned to look at Kate. And she nodded, but–

(She’s decided not to ask.)

There was a somewhat uncertain look in her eyes that seemed to pierce through me.

(It’d be for the best if you pretended you never noticed anything.)

Kate was earnest, and kind. I’m sure she wanted to ask how I killed that man… …What I was about to say just now. But she knew that I didn’t want to answer, and so she chose to never ask.

(You have no idea how much more that makes me adore you.)

When would be the day that I could explain everything to you? A part of me wanted to say that day would never come, but another part was saying, “Never say never”...

Kate: …I’m going to do my best.

Victor: What?

I found myself stopping where I stood, looking back at Kate’s brilliant smile.

Kate: I’m going to do my best, work as hard as I can. So that when you’re hurt, or need help, I’ll be the first person you turn to. Kate: So keep watching over me, Victor!

(Ah, that’s right.)

And now it was Kate who took the lead, and ran ahead while pulling me along with her.

(I think that someday, surely. Someday you’ll know everything there is to know about me.) (Somewhere along the way, I’ve even started to hope for it.)

The sight of Kate running forwards was dizzying in its brilliance. As if she was lit from within by an undying, unchanging radiance.

Victor: I will. Victor: Always.

…

(Where is Kate?)

The next day, after we had returned to the castle, I was searching for Kate.

Kate: The plan was a complete failure. I’m so sorry!

The door to the lounge was left slightly ajar. As I heard Kate’s voice through the gap, my feet came to a stop.

William: It wasn’t your fault. Letting that man slip away back then was my mistake.

I peered through the gap. I could see William seated on a chair, And then there was Kate, looking downcast that their plan had not worked. I knew that William had deliberately let the man who attacked Kate escape during his mission. But he would certainly not sit idly upon hearing that the man had gone after Kate.

(If I hadn’t killed that man while rescuing Kate back then…) (I’m certain an equally unfortunate end would have come to him regardless.)

Kate didn’t ask William how I killed the man, and I felt my mouth curving into a smile.

(Still not prying. Always so considerate.)

As I basked in that warm feeling, William raised his gaze.

William: Victor probably had another reason for dealing with that man, you know.

Kate: Did he?

His eyes met mine through the gap in the door. An amused smile settled on his face.

William: Who would be able to stomach having someone else lay a hand on what they consider theirs?

His grin was blatant provocation. I returned with a smile of my own, and…

Kate: Ah!

Victor: What are the two of you talking about?

Kate startled as I hugged her from behind.

William: We were just talking about you, about how our grand plan failed.

Victor: Regardless of whether things went according to your grand plan or not, knowing that the two of you wanted to celebrate my birthday makes it count as a success in my book!

And then, I looked to Kate, explaining my reason for looking for her in the first place.

Victor: But I was wondering if we could have a redo of my birthday.

Kate: A redo?

Her large eyes blinked rapidly, making her look like a startled little animal.

(Adorable…)

I met William’s gaze. After a moment, he suddenly chuckled and looked away.

William: I don’t have any interest in stealing people’s things, so feel free to do as you like.

Victor: I’ll kindly take you up on that.

Taking the stunned Kate’s hand in my own, I put on my best look. Just a little.

Victor: Kate, will you go on a date with me?

Kate: Ye– …Huh? Kate: A date!?

…

Kate still seemed bewildered as I led her to a recently-opened coffee shop.

Victor: Liam told me that Harrison recommended this cafe. Victor: Their cakes are delicious, apparently.

As Kate looked around the cutely-decorated shop, she smiled.

Kate: Thank you for bringing me here.

Victor: You’re very welcome. I’m glad I can see you look this excited, too.

(I knew this was the right choice.)

Kate still looked a little dejected, likely because she wasn’t able to properly celebrate my birthday yesterday. But I didn’t bring her here to lift her spirits. Kate looked puzzled as a cake with candles on it was brought out. I found myself smiling in response.

Victor: Maybe you might be thinking I chose this place to try and cheer you up. Victor: But I’m not kind enough for that.

(No, I’m not a kind person at all.)

Victor: I brought you here due to my own selfishness. Victor: Because I want you to celebrate my birthday again.

I had thought that just holding hands with her was enough.

(That as long as you were by my side, I would be satisfied.)

But somehow, without my notice, a desire I thought I had long-since lost had emerged once more. I wanted her to think of me. I wanted her all for myself.

Kate’s eyes curved into crescents as she beamed. Seeing how happy she looked, I made another request.

Victor: Will you sing ‘Happy Birthday’ for me?

Kate: Of course!

In high spirits, Kate jolted as she remembered something. She grasped my hand which was resting on the table.

Kate: Happy birthday, Victor. Kate: Let’s celebrate your birthday together again next year, and the year after that, and all the years after that, too.

She spoke so freely about the notion that our lives would still be woven together in the future. Unable to confirm her wish, I could only smile back at her. After Kate’s lovely singing and I had blown out the candles, perhaps she thought that this redone birthday would soon come to an end. However…

Victor: After this, we’ll head to Harrods and get you a dress.

This was only the start.

Kate: For me?

Victor: And after we pick out matching shoes and accessories for you, we’ll take a carriage to a restaurant just outside of town for dinner. Victor: And when we get back, let’s drink and chat in the lounge until midnight. Victor: You will celebrate my birthday with me, won’t you?

At my last request, Kate beamed. Her smile was like a blooming flower, and I couldn’t look away.

Kate: Of course I will!

(If someday, I find someone who will never let go of my hand…)

…Perhaps it would be her. At the gentle touch of her hand, I closed my eyes.

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Take Care of Her

Part 5 of the Uncaged series

Sam and Dean Winchester & little sister!reader

Requested by Anonymous (x2)

Synopsis: Sam learning to be a big brother—inside and out of the cage

Warnings: torture, mentions of torture, I tried to include some of the actual show plot in here

“You will never be safe.”

Sam pretended he couldn’t hear the voice—it was all he could do to keep it together. He knew Dean needed him, and more than that Dean needed something to go right. If that something needed to be Sam’s mind, then Sam would fake that he was ok and hope that it just happened.

You fell asleep about halfway through the movie, and Sam could feel Dean’s eyes on him after Bobby got up to go read through more lore books. Dean had been eyeing him ever since they tried to bind Death, and Death had revealed that Sam was having hallucinations.

“Hallucinations?” Dean only spoke when he was sure you were asleep. “Really? I gotta find out from Death?”

“I…” Sam sighed. “I didn’t want to put more on your plate. I’ve got a handle on it, really.”

“On what?” Dean snapped, freezing when you stirred.

“I know what’s real and what’s not,” Sam assured him in a softer tone.

“And what about her?” Dean nodded his chin at you. “She getting these visions?”

“I don’t think so.” Sam swallowed. “At least, she hasn’t said anything to me. She’s having nightmares, but I think that’s it. I think that’s part of why I know the hallucinations have to be fake—because if it was real, she would see it too.”

“Ok.” Dean sighed, getting to his feet. “I’m gonna go help Bobby. I need you to tell me if things get worse, ok?”

“I understand.”

Once Dean was gone, Sam watched as your face started to twitch, your body squirming around in a fitful sleep.

“She’s thinking about me.” Lucifer’s voice had Sam flinching, his head whipping around to see Lucifer perched on the edge of the couch. “Thinking about that first day in the cage. Do you still remember that day, Sammy? Remember our first day as roomies?”

Sam closed his eyes tightly, hoping to will away the sight of Lucifer, but instead he got bombarded with the memories of the day his life changed forever.

You were still holding onto Sam when the two of you landed in the cage.

Sam had physically felt his soul split as he fell—an excruciating experience that ended with Lucifer’s soul now separate from Sam’s body by the time they hit the floor. He still wasn’t sure how that worked, but somehow Lucifer’s soul—essence?—showed itself in the way that Sam’s human mind comprehended Lucifer; as Nick. There was no way Nick was in the cage, and Sam knew right away that it was only Lucifer.

He didn’t know why Michael didn’t split from Adam—maybe they were more in sync than Sam was with Lucifer, more in tune to the same purpose—but to Sam, it didn’t matter.

Nothing mattered except you right now. Sam had resigned himself to the fact that he would spend eternity in the cage with Lucifer, and though he hadn’t expected Adam to be forced to join him, that wasn’t nearly as awful as this. His baby sister, latching onto him at the last minute in a desperate attempt to save him, only to end up in damnation with him.

Sam found himself holding onto you tightly while Michael dropped to his knees in utter defeat, and Lucifer shrieked in anger and despair. The human-sounding shriek quickly turned into something unearthly, a high-pitched ringing that got louder and louder. Sam slammed his hands over his ears, watching you do the same. He held his hands tightly over his ears for a long moment, until he noticed that blood was starting to drip down the sides of your face the louder the ringing got.

Sam didn’t hesitate—Dean wasn’t here to look out for you anymore. Despite the pain, Sam moved his hands from his ears to you, grabbing hold of you and tucking you against him, wrapping you into an embrace and using his own hands to cover your ears.

Finally, the ringing stopped, though it was hard for Sam to tell at first since it echoed in his head for several minutes.

Sam made a decision, in those seemingly-endless moments of pure agony as he protected you from the brunt of the pain.

Sam never saw himself as much of a big brother before—sure, he knew he was older than you, but he’d deferred to Dean when it came to taking care of you. Dean had been the one to give you the monster talk, Dean was the one with the mission to protect his little siblings, Dean was the one who took over the father role when Dad died.

But you didn’t have Dean, and you needed someone. So Sam was going to step up.

He’d had moments like this before…

Like when he was 14, and John and Dean had been out on a hunt when someone knocked on the motel door.

Sam, whose instincts had already been carefully honed, snatched up his gun and checked the peephole. Seeing nothing, he eased the door open—but it wouldn’t open more than a foot.

Still wary, Sam’s eyes flickered down and widened when they landed on a basket with a moving bundle in it. His eyes snapped back up, and he glanced furiously around for someone to take the bundle back—because with only a glance, Sam knew exactly what it was.

But no one was there.

When the bundle started to cry, Sam finally made a decision. He eased himself out the door, lifting the basket into his arms and carrying it out of the cold and into the safety of the motel room.

“It’s gonna be ok,” he whispered. He eased the pink bundle out of the basket and started to rock her. “Dad and Dean are gonna be back, and their gonna take care of you. I’m—“ Sam caught sight of a note peaking out of the basket, and he scanned it quickly. “I’m your big brother, I guess. My name’s Sam.”

Or like when he was 18, and you found his stash of college fliers. You were only 4, and Sam probably could’ve gotten away with lying to you…

But he felt like he had to tell someone.

“I’m gonna be going away pretty soon,” he told you in a whisper—Dad and Dean were out on a hunt, but he still couldn’t bring himself to speak louder, just in case.

“You can’t go away,” you argued, tears already forming in your eyes. “Whose gonna play with me when Daddy and Dean go to work?”

“C’mere…” Sam scooped you into his arms, happy when you wrapped your arms around him; that meant you weren’t mad. “I’ll bet Dean will spend some more time with you. Dad too, maybe. They’ll make sure you’re ok, I promise.”

“But I want you!” The tears were flowing now, and your words were interspersed with sobs. “Don’t go away Sammy!”

“I have to,” Sam said. “I’m gonna go to college. It’s like—like school for grown ups. They’re gonna teach me how to be a lawyer.”

“But—“ you sniffled. “But I thought you worked with Daddy and Dean.”

“I do.” Sam swallowed. “But—“ he hadn’t admitted this since he was thirteen, and his teacher asked him. “But I don’t want to do what they do. It doesn’t make me happy.”

“I want you to be happy,” you insisted.

“Thanks, kid.” Sam smiled—just a little. “But…but for me to be happy, I’ve gotta get out of here.” You didn’t say anything, so Sam kept going. “But Dad and Dean can’t know yet, ok? I haven’t told them.”

“Why not?” You rubbed at your eyes, your breaths still shaky.

“They wouldn’t understand. Not like you do. So do you promise not to tell?”

You held out your tiny hand to Sam, pinky extended. “Pinky swear.”

Or like when you didn’t keep your promise.

John was screaming at Sam, waving a fistful of brochures and Sam’s Stanford acceptance letter. Sam wasn’t about to take the fight laying down—he never did. He was toe to toe with his father, screaming right back. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he registered that Dean was sitting on his bed, looking dazed, and you were nowhere to be found.

When Sam couldn’t take it anymore, he threw his few belongings into a bag—John stormed up to him and tossed the papers into the bag, yelling “Fine, go!”—and headed for the door.

“If you go out that door, don’t you ever come back!” John yelled.

Sam froze in his tracks, his hand halfway extended. He took a single glance back—his eyes met Dean’s, and all Sam saw was his big brother’s pleading expression. He looked away, wanting to say goodbye to you, but you weren’t there. So he grabbed onto the handle, stepping out into the night and slamming the door behind him.

“Sammy!”

Sam was halfway into the cab when you came running out of the motel room—you must’ve been hiding.

“Hey…” Sam pulled you in for a hug. “You gotta go back inside.”

“I’m sorry,” you cried. “I’m sorry I told Dean, I didn’t mean to tell him! I’m so sorry, please don’t go!” It was hard to make out your words between the sobs, but Sam understood enough.

“It’s ok, it’s ok,” he soothed, though he didn’t know if that was true. “That’s not why I’m leaving, but I have to go. Go back inside.”

“I don’t want you to go,” you sobbed.

“I—“ Sam faltered. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“I’m gonna miss you.”

Sam kissed your head. “I’m gonna miss you too. Now go on, go, it’s ok.” Sam waited until you were safely back in the motel room before he climbed into the cab.

He didn’t look back.

He’d had big brother moments…

…but none of those moments had ever had such finality and meaning.

It was a good decision—it kept him grounded for some of his time in hell, and gave him purpose. Even if it caused a lot of pain.

“You do remember that day!” Lucifer’s voice dragged Sam out of his memories. “You remember how you begged me to stop? And I told you all you had to do was step out of the way and watch while I had some fun with your baby sister. But you just wouldn’t do it Sammy.” Lucifer clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “You just had to be so darn protective. Not that it ever did her any good. I got plenty of torture in without your help, isn’t that right little N/N?” Lucifer’s hand ghosted over the side of your face, and Sam flinched.

“Don’t touch her,” he spat through gritted teeth. Your face twisted, as if you could feel the devil’s presence, but your eyes stayed closed. “Stop giving her nightmares.”

“Nightmares?” Lucifer grinned. “Oh, no Sammy, she’s with me. You’re the one in a dream right now—yeah, all this? Your perfect little life?” Lucifer gestured around them. “It’s a dream—it isn’t real. And what you’re seeing now is your baby sister sleeping, but what I’m seeing—“

The room around Sam snapped away for a split second before returning, then disappearing again. In its place, he saw the room of his waking nightmares.

He saw the cage.

And he saw you, in a position that was all-too familiar. Hooks sticking through your arms were holding you to the bars on the walls of the cage. Lucifer was standing near your hanging form, a curved blade in his hand as he cut into you again and again and again and again and—

“No!”

Bobby’s house returned in the blink of an eye, and you sat up with a gasp of terror, awoken by Sam’s outburst.

“I told you.” Lucifer grinned at Sam. “You never got out. Either of you. And you never will.”

…

He was here. You could see him. The dream was over, but Lucifer was still here.

Looking at him—sitting there on Bobby’s couch—was too much. You turned away, seeking solace in Sam’s arms—he’d stayed with you when you fell asleep on the couch.

“Bad dreams?” There was a quaver in Sam’s voice as he asked, and you wondered if he’d fallen asleep and had nightmares too.

“Yeah.” Your voice was muffled against Sam’s shirt, and you hoped he wouldn’t notice the nervous tone in your voice. You had promised never to lie to Sam, but you couldn’t tell him about seeing Lucifer—you just couldn’t. You didn’t want to scare him as much as you were already scared. You didn’t want him to start thinking what you were already afraid of; that you’d really never left the cage.

It wasn’t a lie, anyway—you really did have a nightmare. You were dreaming about that first day in the cage, and watching Sam get tortured for protecting you.

Until Lucifer got bored with that and tortured you anyway, when Sam was too bloodied up and weak to stop it.

“You’re not gonna talk about me?” Lucifer’s voice sent a shiver through you, and you burrowed further against your big brother. “You’re just gonna pretend I’m not here?”

“Sam?” You choked out. “Do…do you ever wonder if we’re still in the cage?” You held your breath, desperate for Sam to take away your fear. You knew you wouldn’t stop being scared no matter what he said, though.

“Ladies and gentlemen, give the girl a prize!” Lucifer taunted. “I think she’s got it! Of course you’re still in the cage!”

“We’re not—“ Sam’s voice caught, and he hesitated. “I…I don’t know. I really don’t.”

“Sometimes I don’t know if I’m dreaming or awake.” You whispered the words, as if afraid to shatter the tense air.

“It’s too good.” Both of you knew Sam was trying to convince himself as much as you. “He would never let us feel this happy. Right?”

“That’s what makes it fun!” Lucifer insisted. You turned your head into Sam’s chest, trying to pretend the devil wasn’t there.

You had no idea that Sam could see him too.

“I got your message.“ Cas’s voice startled you, and you pulled away from Sam to look for the source; he was standing in the doorway, and Lucifer was gone. Cas was covered in sores and blood, and he was staring right at Sam. “I need your help.”

…

It turned out that Sam had prayed to Cas, pleading with him to see reason and get rid of the souls that were consuming him from the inside out. Once Cas started to fall apart, he decided to listen to your brother.

Seeing Sam—not only ok, but solving the world’s problems—made you feel even more crazy, and ashamed that you couldn’t seem to keep it together.

“We’re ready.”

The five of you were back in the warehouse where it all began, waiting for an eclipse to open purgatory.

“We need the blood,” Dean said. “Sam, it’s on a shelf in the back hallway. Take Y/N.”

You trailed behind Sam—you were so happy they didn’t leave you behind, you didn’t care what they gave you to do.

“I think that’s it—“ you we’re just pointing to a long shelf that had a jar of blood sitting on the center of it, when a figure appeared in the hallway.

“Hey Sam.” Lucifer’s voice sent a shiver down your spine, but what surprised you wasn’t his presence; it was who he chose to speak to. Sam didn’t see him…right?

Your gaze switched to your brother, but he wasn’t looking at you. He was looking right at the devil.

“Sam?” You tried to get your brother’s attention, but he wouldn’t look away from Lucifer.

“I thought I told you to shut up.” Lucifer’s eyes were suddenly on you. That caught Sam’s attention, and now he was staring at you.

“You can see him?” Sam’s voice was barely above a whisper, as if he was afraid of his own words.

“I—I’ve—I’m—“ you were still trying to process that it wasn’t just you—that maybe you weren’t crazy. That maybe you were still in the cage after all. “I’ve been seeing him since this morning,” you admitted. “And hearing him longer. I didn’t want you to worry, I—I didn’t want it to be real.”

“Aww,” Lucifer cooed. “Both of you going mad, and neither one telling the other.”

“Shut up!” Sam snapped.

“Except—“ Lucifer continued as if Sam hadn’t spoken “—You’re both just finally realizing the truth. I never would’ve let you go, especially not both of you. You think I woulda lost both my toys like that? I mean, the fact that you believed it this long is just embarrassing.”

“Sam?” You stared up at your big brother, wanting more than anything for him to have the answer to the question you didn’t dare ask. Instead of an answer, you were rewarded with Lucifer’s hand around your neck as he shoved you around the corner of the hallway and up against the wall.

“I don’t like being ignored,” he growled.

“Stop!” Sam rushed at Lucifer, but a backhand from Lucifer’s free hand sent Sam flying back against the shelves.

“Now doesn’t this feel real?” Lucifer’s hand tightened against your throat, and your gasp for air was cut short.

“It’s…it’s not real.” Sam got to unsteady feet. “It’s just—it’s just our memories of hell leaking through. Y/N, it’s not real.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Lucifer scoffed, dropping you and turning to Sam. “But you’re about to see just how real I am.”

…

By the time the devil was done with you, you weren’t sure how much hope was left inside. But when Dean rounded the corner calling your name, you still ran to him. You still wrapped your arms around him. You still clung to him like a lifeline.

Because even if he wasn’t real, hugging him was still the best thing you’d felt for as long as you could remember.

“Hey.” Dean’s voice was gruff and on the edge of panic. “We gotta move, let’s go.”

You didn’t speak as Dean and Bobby led you and Sam outside. You lingered behind Dean, letting Sam catch up to you. As you took hold of his hand, you realized that the bloody marks and bruises Lucifer had left on the two of you were now gone.

You weren’t sure if that helped or not—Lucifer had healed your injuries countless times before, because he always thought it was more fun to give you a moment of pain relief before starting in again on the torture. As soon as your hand was in his, Sam met your eye and squeezed your hand. You squeezed his back twice, and the ghost of a smile lifted his lips.

The two of you had no idea if you were safe in the real world with Dean and Bobby, or if you were locked in eternal torture with the devil and his crazy brother.

But for now, you could hold onto each other, and it was almost enough.

…

“Sam.

“Sam.

“Sam.”

Sam jerked awake with a gasp to find Dean leaning over him. You stirred in the chair next to him, blinking your eyes open slowly—not in a tired way, though; it was more like you didn’t want to know what you would see once your eyes were open.

“Twelve hours, I’m calling that rested,” Dean went on, ignoring the terrified glance Sam shared with you. “Here.” He tossed a water bottle to you, then Sam, then followed it with a granola bar. “Hydrate, and—uh—proteinate.”

Dean then grabbed hold of Sam’s hand and peeled the bandage off—you weren’t sure when Sam’s hand got hurt, or why it was the only injury that he kept when the two of you walked away from Lucifer. But you didn’t question it—you had too many questions already.

“Aww.” You flinched when Lucifer appeared on the couch next to Sam. “He wants to hold your wittle hand.”

You watched as Sam forced his eyes on Dean, ignoring the devil completely.

“You’ll live,” Dean decided, moving aside to let Bobby rebandage Sam’s hand. “Now, I need you two to tell me what happened back there. You disappeared, and you looked pretty freaked when we found you.”

Sam couldn’t meet Dean’s eye as he spoke up for the two of you.

“It’s not just me,” Sam admitted. “She…she sees him too.”

Dean steeled his features quickly and took a deep breath.

“Him?” He asked.

Sam nodded, swallowing hard.

“It’s not just flashbacks anymore,” Sam said. “It’s—I’m having a hard time telling what’s real and what’s not. And I can see…him.”

“And you see him too?” Dean was looking at you. “You can see Lucifer?”

You nodded mutely, keeping your eyes trained on the carpet.

“So…so you guys are seeing the same thing? Every time?” Dean looked from Sam to you.

“I…” Sam tried to look at you, but you didn’t look up. “I think so.”

“Hey, any time you wanna chime in here kid,” Dean snapped.

You flinched, glancing at Dean before your gaze turned to Sam.

“Easy,” Sam told Dean. “She…it’s a lot.” Sam met your gaze head-on, and the two of you shared a near-psychic moment.

Lucifer was watching. Lucifer—whether he was real or not—could make you feel pain. Even if it didn’t leave a mark, you could still feel it.

“It’s not her fault,” Lucifer taunted. “She’s just being a good, silent little toy, just like I taught her. Right kid?”

Your gaze had returned to the floor, and Sam watched as your breathing became faster and you curled in on yourself.

“So he’s telling you that you’re still in the cage? That all this is fake?” Dean asked.

Sam nodded for the both of you.

Dean was quiet for a moment, and Sam knew he was trying to come up with some way to convince you and him that Lucifer was wrong.

“Ok,” Dean said. “Why would he give you this? Why would he make you think you’re happy when he can just kick you two all over the cage?”

“You can’t torture someone who has nothing left for you to take away.” Lucifer piped in, nodding at Sam. Sam swallowed hard, and repeated the words to Dean. “Very good Sam,” Lucifer crowed, and Sam looked away quickly.

“What about each other?” Dean pointed from you to Sam. “I mean, that seems like something he could take away.”

“It felt like we were there for a hundred years, Dean,” Sam admitted. “I…I guess we got pretty used to seeing each other tortured, and Lucifer got bored with it.”

He was right; it had been Lucifer’s favorite game to torture the two of you with each other.

Ever since the beginning, he always knew it was the most effective tactic…

“How about this?” Lucifer was wiping blood off his hands as he spoke. “My arms are starting to get a little tired. So how about—Sam, you torture your little baby sister, huh? Is that a genius idea or what?”

Sam was choking on his own blood, but he still managed a couple of words—

“Screw you.”

“Well that’s not very nice,” Lucifer scoffed. “You haven’t even heard my deal yet—you torture the kid, or I’ll rip her to shreds. Now, obviously, none of us can die down here, but I promise you; my methods of torture will be much worse than anything you could think of in your wildest nightmares.”

Sam turned to look at you—he didn’t want to make this decision.

As soon as you saw Sam looking at you, you shook your head immediately. Sam understood—he wouldn’t want to make you do that, either.

“I see you’re having trouble deciding,” Lucifer cut in. “I’ll let you two have a little chat about it, before the fun starts. But you’d better hurry up before my offer expires, and I tear you both apart piece by piece.”

Sam rushed to you, never one to waste an opportunity to talk to you.

“No, don’t,” you whimpered. “Sam, don’t. I’d rather let him rip my bones out then it be you, please. Please Sam.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Sam insisted.

“It-it’s not just that,” you told him. “I…I don’t want to look at you and think about—“

“Ok…ok.” Sam breathed a sigh of relief—the last thing he wanted to do was torture you, but if it would save you from more pain he would do it, if that was what you wanted. But you didn’t want that; you wanted—needed—Sam to be a safe person in your mind. Sam needed the same.

As long as the two of you could look at each other and see something safe, maybe you would be able to hold on to your sanity.

“But this is way more fun, right little toy?” Lucifer was tugging at your arm, trying to get you to look at him. Your breathing got even more panicked, and Sam couldn’t tear his eyes away from the scene.

“Hey, are you seeing him now?” Dean demanded.

Sam nodded mutely.

“You know he isn’t real, right?” Dean said.

Sam finally turned to look at his brother. “He says the same thing about you,” he said.

Dean’s mouth closed suddenly, and he blinked in surprise. He didn’t have anything to say to that.

“Ok.” Bobby spoke up for the first time. “It’s back to the books.”

Sam watched Bobby and Dean walk out, and when he looked back at you, Lucifer was gone. He didn’t waste the opportunity—Sam rushed to you, pulling you into his arms and holding you until your breathing evened out again.

“We’re gonna be ok,” he whispered.

You looked around, making sure Lucifer wasn’t in the room before choking out a few whispered words.

“Why didn’t you tell me? Me, Sammy?” Your lip was quivering and your eyes were scanning his face, searching for an answer he wasn’t sure he had.

“I wasn’t trying to lie to you,” Sam promised. “I just…I didn’t think it was real. I didn’t want you to think we were back there, because I didn’t want to think we were back there.” Sam brushed your hair behind your ears. “What about you? You kept this from me, too.”

“I didn’t mean to,” you mumbled. “It was only dreams at first. Then I—I couldn’t tell if I was asleep or awake sometimes. Then you seemed to be handling things so well, so I—I just thought it would go away.” You sought out Sam’s hand with your own. “I don’t know how I didn’t see it. I thought we knew each other inside and out by now.”

“I guess we were both going through so much, it was hard to see straight,” Sam said.

“Don’t do that again,” you pleaded. “We should…we should tell each other stuff like this. We went through—“ you swallowed. “Through—through everything together already. We shouldn’t have to hide anything.”

Sam smiled, and instead of responding with words, he gave your hand a gentle squeeze. You smiled back, responding with two squeezes of your own.

“Well I think this is a swell idea!” You and Sam flinched at the same time when Lucifer reappeared. “Now, where were we? Oh yeah—eternal torment.”

Taglist:

@nyotamalfoy @mrvlxgrl @chocorade @aestheticdaisies @inlovewhithafairytale @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl @casmustdiee @987coley @deadlymistletoe @wayward-impala83 @whump-loverz @johannelis2302nely @studiogrimm810 @tell-elle

Uncaged Taglist:

@redbird-tf @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @o-birdseed-o @hopefuldreamers-world

[funnyjb]

Can I get a Joe Burrow imagine where his wife works in a hospital as a doctor and she had a tough day. Joe sees it when she comes home and he’s by her side when she tells him that she lost a patient at work.

You are an amazing writer!!!!

Hi yes of course!! Thank you🩷

……………………………………………………………………….

16 hours. 16 hours in the hospital. 16 hours running around and checking on patients. During those 16 hours you lost a patient. One that you have know for a pretty good time. It was hard. You had a moment in the storage closet, but you decided to finish out the work day and come home to Joe. All you wanted was to cuddle up in bed.

You locked your car and closed the garage door. Your feet ached. You were carrying your big bag, your lunch box, water bottle, and some files to look over. Your arm felt like it was about to come off.

As you stepped inside you took off your shoes disregarding them next to the cabinet near the door. Set your bags down and took your lunch box and water bottle to the kitchen. Then you saw Joe. He was sitting on the couch in his cream hoodie and Nike sweats.

Joe turned to look at you.

“Hey! How was your day?”- joe said as you sat your bags down.

You didn’t answer. As he asked that question you felt tear prickle in your eyes.

“Babe?”- Joe

He stands up and comes over.

“Hey, you ok?”- Joe opens his arms

You start to sob into his open warm arms.

“Shh…it’s ok. I’m right here.”- Joe

He runs his fingers through your hair.

“I..I lost a patient today.”- you

“Oh…I’m so sorry y/n. No one should experience that. What happened? If you don’t mind me asking.”- Joe

“Um..she uh..she seized and it was too late.”- you cry

“I’m so sorry. It’s not your fault, you know that right? You did everything you could.”- Joe

You nod

“Let’s get you out of scrubs. Maybe take a hot shower? Then we can cuddle.”- joe

“Yeah. ok.”- you

You head upstairs.

Joe decided you need some space but also needed to do something to cheer you up.

Right when he heard the shower run he ran out the door and into his Porsche. He drove to the market not too far from you guys. He picked up some beautiful flowers that he thought reminded him of you. Some baby’s breath, pink roses, peonies, and some carnations. Along with a “it will be ok card” and obviously some chocolate.

He checked out and headed home.

When he stepped inside he could hear you upstairs. Probably finding some comfy clothes.

You came downstairs not shortly after to see a beautiful arrangement on the kitchen counter.

“Joe, did..did you do this?”- you ask

“Yeah. I wanted to cheer you up after such a hard day. I know this might not fix all the feelings about today but hopefully it will help out.”- joe smiles

“Joe. This is beautiful. Thank you, truly, thank you.”- you come up and give him a big hug

“Anything for my girl.”- joe kisses your head

………………………………………………………………………..

Hope you enjoyed!🩷

[ramp-it-up]

Answer Love’s Call

Summary: James Bucky Barnes WAS an avowed bachelor and one night stand artist. You came along and he fell in love. He is about to propose. But something is off. You need time to come to terms about what this love will mean in the future. And how in the world you will deal with it.

Pairing: Art Dealer (mob boss) Bucky Barnes x Reader

A/N: Okay, we're at Christmas. 😅 Hey guys. This one is close to my heart. Some of this is very personal to me, as a high functioning person who might be a little bit different. I hope you enjoy this.

This fic is in the Knock You Down AU, and comes immediately after both Worth the Fall and the Steve Rogers fic Peach VII.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. Read at your own risk. Smut! LOTS of angst, Frumoasa is spiraling, y'all, running away, a sexy ex, jealous, spiraling Bucky, a doctor's visit surprise, Frumoasa realizes she is not nero-typical, a beautiful mountain chalet Christmas, Steve x Peach, extended family, an icicle surprise, and Bucky helps Frumoasa relax, hard. Dom/sub elements, references to bdsm, use of 'Daddy,' oral (m receiving) spanking, anal play, attempted edging, raw p in v, praise kink, breeding kink, yeah. :)

I no longer have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

------

The day after the gala, you woke up with your head pounding. You were over warm, and your heart was beating fast, although you could hear Bucky’s steady breathing beside you. 

You turned and watched him for a moment, his handsome face relaxed and also, strangely, confident.

He looked so sure, so steady.

But the day before proved that you didn’t necessarily know what was coming next and that made your stomach rumble and twist in knots.

It might have been too much champagne, or it might have been the rollercoaster of emotions from the entire day before.

Your thoughts were all over the place about you and Bucky. Next week, you would be at the cabin in Vermont for the holidays, and he was planning to propose there.

Maybe? Maybe not?

The uncertainty was eating at you. Your mind was swirling.

Bucky stirred, his hand instinctively reaching for you. You let him pull you close, and you kissed him lightly on the lips.

“Morning,” he murmured, his voice thick with sleep. 

Your body, as always, responded to him. Hell, the day before you’d practically attacked him. Something about the way he looked lately was making you feral. 

“Morning,” you responded.

He opened those beautiful eyes still heavy with sleep and peered at you through his eyelashes.  

“You good?”

You hesitated. You could tell him, you thought. You could spill every crazy thought running through your mind. But you didn’t

So you gave him the easy answer.

“Yeah, I’m good.”

He smiled, content with your answer, and closed his eyes again. 

You two had tumbled into bed after the gala, very much under the influence. If Bucky had been fully awake, he would have noticed that you were not, in fact, good. 

You kissed his forehead and whispered that you were getting up to pee, which earned a grunt, a nod, and side smile.

You went to the kitchen and some tea to soothe your headache and some eggs for your stomach and then sat at the bar and ate, staring out onto the landscape of New York City at Christmastime.

You had time to really sit with your thoughts. You hadn’t lied to Peach. She and Steve were perfect together; and they’d done what felt right, what made sense for them.  

But what they did made you spiral, because in your head you had more time to get used to them really being together. You’d give a million dollars to harness what Peach had, that spontaneity. 

Bucky Barnes pulled that out of you, but right now you were feeling unsafe, out of control.

You were wrapped up in too many feelings: the drug of loving Bucky, the extreme high of sex with him, and then your own anxiety and intrusive thoughts.

Steve and Peach were headed to Atlanta today and then on to Vermont to spend a few days on a mini-moon before everyone arrived on the 23rd. 

Your phone, which had been plugged up on the bar, started to vibrate, and you saw that it was your mother. You also saw that she had called twice before. 

You knew she was calling about Steve and Peach and you just couldn’t do it at the moment.

You silenced the call and then walked through the bedroom into the closet and grabbed one of the expensive luggage pieces that Bucky’d bought you.

Maybe a few days at your place would help you sort things out.

—---

In the middle of packing, you turned to see Bucky leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, his expression pure frustration.

Your eyes skimmed down his bare chest, following the trail of happiness between his pecs and down those abs that you ended up licking the day before, down his delicious belly button to disappear under the waistband of the grey sweats slung low on his hips.

There was more deliciousness in there, of that you were certain.

Suddenly, you wanted to fuck him stupid again, and you wiped the corners of your mouth to make sure you weren’t drooling.

“Frumoasa, what’s going on?”

His voice was tight, controlled, but barely.

You shook your head, feeling crazy. You gripped the t-shirt (of his) you’d been packing in your hands.

“I just... I need some time,” you admitted. “Before Vermont.”

His jaw clenched and those eyes blazed. 

“Time for what?”

“To think,” you said simply, not looking him in the eye.

Bucky exhaled sharply, stepping forward, crowding you. 

“If something’s wrong, just tell me. We’ve got to communicate.”

You swallowed, finally meeting his blue, blue eyes. 

“I just need to figure some things out first.”

His frustration emanated from him for a minute, and then, suddenly, he reached for you, pulling you against him. You melted against his hard body, like always.

“Do you want to go to Connecticut? Right now?… Because if so…” 

His voice was softer now, his fingers carding through your curls. But what he said made you panic.

“No! It’s not that, Bucky…”

“If you’re doubting us….”

His voice was plaintive now and your breath caught as his scent and his warmth surrounded you. You wanted to fall into him, to let him chase away every uncertainty. 

But you needed to stand on your own two feet.

“I just need space,” you whispered, even as your hands reached up and clasped around his neck, unwilling to let go.

Bucky’s forehead rested against yours. 

“You say that, but I can tell that you don’t want to leave,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple.

Your heart thundered. 

“Bucky. I need to. Please.”

His grip tightened for just a moment before he released you, stepping back. 

“Then go,” he said, voice emotional. 

He turned and walked out of the door, giving you a wide berth as you finished packing. 

You cried as Nico drove you to your brownstone, and went straight to bed when you got there. You were emotionally exhausted.

—-

Bucky sat in his living room, spiraling, not knowing what to think.

Bucky agreed to you leaving, because what else could he do?

It didn’t make sense. The day before had been so much fun. You’d had great sex, and you looked amazing for the gala. Then there was the happy surprise about Steve and Peach.

He knew that you were over the moon for those two, but something was going on.

Had he taken too much time to propose?

But you’d only been together for a little over three months. He couldn’t help that Steve and Peach were crazy people who did crazy things.

Bucky was surer than sure that he and you belonged together. 

Now you just needed to come to the same realization. 

And he wasn’t going to force you.

—--

You stayed inside the entire next day, Sunday, feeling lethargic. Normally you’d be brunching or cooking with Bucky, relaxing and doing something fun.

You missed him and wondered why you weren’t with him.

At that moment, your phone rang. It was Bucky. 

“Hey,” you said softly, tucking a knee up to your chest as you curled up on the couch.

“Hey,” he echoed. Damn, his voice did things to you. 

“How are you?”

A lump formed in your throat at the longing in his voice.

“I’m okay...”

Silence. 

Then he asked, “Are you eating?” You blinked, surprised. 

“What?”

“You get caught up in your head when you’re stressed,” he said, his voice quiet.  “I don’t want you forgetting to take care of yourself.”

Damn you loved this man. He knew you so well.

“I’m fine, Bucky.”

“I sent something over.”

Before you could respond, there was a knock at your door. You opened it to find Nico with a delivery bag, the scent of thai food in the air. Your chest tightened as you looked up at Nico.

“Bucky...” you whispered into the phone.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he murmured. “Just eat. And call me anytime. I love you, Frumoasă. I miss you. I’ll see you on Friday.”

He hung up and tears slipped down your cheeks as you took the food from Nico. You gave him a hug and said goodbye and then held the warm container in your hands behind a closed door. 

One thing was for sure, James Buchanan Barnes still knew exactly how to love you, even when you were running from him.

—-

The next few days were busy. You had to tie up year end things at the Center to prepare for the three week holiday shut down. You threw yourself into it and tried not to miss Bucky too much even though you two shared brief check-ins.

But your thoughts were scattered, your headache wouldn’t go away, and your stomach was unsettled. Plus, your emotions were on a rollercoaster. 

You made a doctor’s appointment for Thursday. You didn’t want to bring a bug to the cabin to spread to everyone.

On Wednesday you got a visit from an old friend.

Around noon, you turned around to a different version of blue-eyed and tall, dark, and handsome.

“Terry!”

Your last ex-boyfriend was standing in your place of work. 

“Hey girl. You looking good.”

You flushed at that smile and the way he eyed you was reminiscent of times gone by. And that voice. That was a thing once upon a time.

“Terry, What are you doing here?”

He sucked his teeth and shook his head at you.

“I can’t get a hug?”

You swatted at his arm and obliged, as Nico pulled out his phone to call Bucky outside.

—--

As soon as you walked in your door that afternoon your phone rang.

“Is that why you’re pulling away from me? You have another man?”

You pulled back and stared at your phone. Then you realized. Fucking Nico.

“Bucky, what the hell–”

Bucky interrupted you.

“I had to know you were safe, and then I’m told that you had a date with this guy Richmond.I wavered between coming to kill him immediately and letting you make your choice and tell me yourself, but I couldn’t wait.”

“Bucky…”

“Just tell me the truth, Y/N!”

“You gonna let me talk?”

Bucky was silent.

“The truth is I had lunch with an ex who also was a good friend to talk about his upcoming wedding.”

There was silence on the line. Bucky cleared his throat.

“Oh.”

“Yeah. ‘Oh.’”

You sucked your teeth.

“Anything else you wanna know, James?”

“Frumoasa, I’m sorry, I–”

“Don’t Bucky. I’ll see you in a couple of days. Bye.”

You hung up and cried, yet again.

You didn’t know what was happening.

—---

The next day, you sat on the crinkly paper in your Doctor Phillips’ office in complete shock.

She reached out and shut your mouth for you because it was hanging open.

“But….I’m on birth control.”

You looked at her as if she had three heads. She smiled indulgently at you. 

“You know that’s not 100%. Have you had unprotected sex with anyone?”

You giggled, thinking just how much unprotected sex you’d had with Bucky. Then you started crying. She handed you a tissue, used to emotions with things like this.

It all made sense now.

The nausea you’d brushed off, the exhaustion, the moods, the uncertainty, the fear knotting in your stomach. You should have known. 

It wasn’t just about you and Bucky.

It was about this.

A baby.

“Well, speaking of sex, I have a kind of... A delicate question.”

When you asked, you’d managed to shock doctor Phillips, but she soon recovered.

—-

Your mother was silent for a long time before whispering, “Oh, sweetheart...”

“Please don’t tell Peach,” you added quickly. “I don’t want to interrupt her honeymoon.”

You also knew that she would tell Steve and he would tell… 

“Bucky doesn’t know yet.”

Another long pause.

“What are you going to do? Are you going to tell him?”

You swallowed. 

“I don’t know how. We argued the last time we spoke. And I don’t want him to marry me just because I’m pregnant.”

“Honey, he’s gonna marry you no matter what. And you’re never going to get away from that man now that you’re carrying his child.”

You chewed your lip, still unsure.

“You think so, Ma?”

“Baby, I know so.”

As you spoke, you received pics of Steve and Peach looking deliriously happy in Vermont, glowing with happiness. They’d sent it to both of you. You cried on the phone with your mother and came to a decision. 

When you hung up, you started packing. 

—--

On Friday afternoon, you landed in Stowe and Nico was there to pick you up.

You were glad to see him despite the drama with Terry. The 30 minute drive was quiet and serene, beautiful on snow plowed roads. 

When the chalet came into view, you gasped.

It was picture-perfect, nestled deep in the Vermont mountains, blanketed in fresh snow. Twinkling lights lined the porch railings and they made Bucky, who was standing on the front porch waiting for you, look mysterious.

It was idyllic.

As you exited the SUV, Bucky came down and extended his hand to help you up the snow covered stairs. You looked up at him and he was staring at you with those ice blue eyes. 

—-

You stood there, looking up at him, and and Bucky thought, fuck, she’s gorgeous. It was like he was seeing you for the first time again. His eyes traced the thick curves that made his blood run hot, and those eyes that are wide and still uncertain made him a little weak.

He couldn't tear his eyes away from you and it felt like the air had been knocked out of his lungs. 

He didn’t know why you ran from him earlier in the week, but damn, he was certain that he would run through any wall for you. 

Bucky bit his lip and his hands instinctively balled into fists as he took you in.

Your sweater accented your full breasts and he swore he saw the thick, stiff peaks of your nipples through it, making him thirsty. Your jeans molded thick thighs and wide hips that make his cock throb. 

There was something about you today that made him want to take you down, but he was going to follow your lead. He needed to see where your head was at.

—

Bucky’s breath made vapors in the cold air and his eyes locked onto yours as he grabbed you, pulling you into his arms.

“You came back to me,” he murmured against your hair, his voice rough. “I’m sorry about the other day, Frumoasă. I’ve been crazy since you left.”

You pressed your face to his chest, a lump forming in your throat. 

“Yeah, that was crazy, but I get it, Bucky.”

You pulled back and looked up into his eyes.

“I had to come. I love you, Bucky Barnes.”

His hands cupped your face, his lips brushing yours, slow and searching. 

“Then don’t leave me. Ever again, Frumoasă.”

You nodded and clung to him, sniffling. 

He pulled back and looked down at you.

“Let’s get you out of this cold.”

Inside, the scent of pine and cinnamon filled the air, and the chalet was decorated for the holidays with a huge tree with a massive stone fireplace. The view in the waning afternoon sunlight was of the mountains, and it was gorgeous.

“Wow, Bucky.”

He was taking your coat as you took in the sights. Of course the place was top notch.

“Where are the happy couple?”

Bucky chuckled.

“Their chalet is down the road. Rebirth owns this property and there are three other chalets just like this.”

You thought you were used to how rich Bucky was, but this rocked you. This was quite a world you might be committing to.

“Yeah, they need privacy. Probably fucking each other on every available surface.”

Bucky laughed. And then raised his eyebrow at you, eyes dark.

“It seems the thing to do.”

You grew warm and cleared your throat as he licked his lips. 

“Where is my room?”

Bucky gave you an ominous look and moved closer.

“Oh, we have more than enough rooms for everyone, Frumoasă. But I’m not spending one more night away from you.”

Your body reacted despite you, causing you to stutter.

“B-but my mother–”

“--Almost insisted on it when I spoke to her earlier this week. She told me she spoke to you the other day. They are only here for one night, it will be fine.”

You followed him into the master suite, your wheels turning.

“What all did Karen have to say?”

Did Bucky know? He couldn’t know. Your mom wouldn’t do that.

“She just told me you’ve always had a habit of pushing people away when you feel like you’re losing control.”

You sighed in relief. She hadn’t told him.

“I wasn’t trying to go behind your back,” he murmured. “I’m just trying to understand. Because I love you. And I want to fix it.”

You sighed and relaxed a little. Bucky still wanted you. You took his hand.

“Nothing is broken, Bucky. I’m sorry I ran from you. I was questioning myself. Not you.”

“Okay.”

But he looked uncertain. Could you have decided that you didn’t need him after all? That you didn’t want him?

You started to walk away to find the bedroom and Bucky pulled you back to him by catching one of your hands. He pressed himself against you and looked down into your eyes.

“Frumoasă,” he said, his voice almost pleading. 

“Tell me you still want us.”

“I still want us. I need us, Bucky. You’re right. I was feeling out of control, but yesterday I realized that what may be coming for us is some beautiful chaos. And if you’ll help me, I’m ready for it.”

You looked into his beautiful eyes, and then your fingers pulled on his sweater and your lips met his.

The kiss was almost brand new, the tension between you arcing like electricity. He kissed you back with everything he had, his hands roaming all over your body.

It was heated. It was urgent as a motherfucker. 

And it was everything you two hadn’t been able to say.

“Later, we will talk about control.”

Bucky ran his thumb over your lips as he looked like he had delicious sensual plans for you later. He let you go just as your panties got ruined.

—--

That afternoon, your mother and Ray arrived just after Steve and Peach came over to make pizzas in the custom pizza oven for dinner. After that, you all decorated the Christmas tree around the fireplace. 

It was picture perfect, with you and Peach drooling over Bucky and Steve in their fair isle sweaters. You had a lot of fun, and you drank water all night long. You caught up with Peach, warm in the glow of the love of everyone most important to you. 

Bucky watched you, curious about what was different about you, but didn’t say anything. 

By the time the night was over, you crashed, sleep overtaking you almost before your head hit the pillow. Bucky didn’t complain, he just held you close, thankful that you were back in his arms.

On Christmas Eve morning, some ventured out to ski and snowboard. You pleaded a headache and Bucky didn’t question you, but he filed that away for later. You and your mom stayed inside as you warned everyone else to be careful. You shook your head at Peach’s daredevil antics, but Peach was gonna Peach. 

Nico was celebrating the holidays in another chalet with his family and had the week off.

You and your mom talked about a lot. And a lightbulb went off in your head. Your mom was teary and you were amazed that it took over 30 years for you both to realize. But it was going to be okay.

That night snow blanketed the trees outside, and the fireplace crackled as everyone gathered around the fireplace after dinner. Bucky stayed close, touching you almost always, even if it was just his hand on yours. The proximity to him was what you needed, and you wanted to just burrow yourself in his chest. But you had to tell him.

Steve and Peach were in their own world, stealing kisses by the fireplace, by the tree, lost in their honeymoon bliss. You watched them, their happiness so effortless, so light, and you knew that you could be there too, with Bucky. 

Every time his hand brushed against yours, you felt the pull. Every time he looked at you like you were his whole world, you wanted to close the distance.

For the first time in days, you felt like maybe you were exactly where you needed to be.

After Christmas Eve brunch, you curled up with your hot cocoa and a book by the window by which Bucky and Steve built a snowman earlier. 

Peach wouldn’t let you live your life in peace, because she insisted on recounting the time you two got into a fight over homework when you were eleven. Your mother was joining in, supplying details to Ray and Steve and to Bucky, who was paying attention, stealing glances at you and absentmindedly fiddling with his phone.

“And then she says, ‘How dare you ask me if I need help, I don’t need your help—’”

A loud CRACK interrupted Peach’s story, and a resounding thunk echoed from the eaves of the cabin.

Everyone jumped, looking toward the porch as a massive icicle snapped from the roof, crashing into the snow.

“Whoa,” Peach said, blinking. “That thing could’ve killed someone.”

You looked at Bucky. And he looked pleased with himself. You were instantly suspicious. 

“Oh, wow,” he said, standing up and walking toward the door. 

“That’s crazy. Totally random.”

Steve scoffed and Peach shot him a look. They knew something. 

“Bucky…”

He ignored you, opening the door and crouching down in the snow, picking up the icicle like it was some priceless artifact. 

He brought it inside and placed it, dripping wet on the table. Everyone gathered around to see that there was something inside that looked like a lump of coal.

Bucky looked at you gaping at it, and then: he broke it in half.

You gasped. Because inside, tucked into the hollowed-out core, was a small black velvet box. Your stomach dropped.

“Oh my God,” you whispered.

Bucky turned to you, his eyes soft, full of something so deep and certain that it stole the air from your lungs. Your entire body went still. And it was just you and Bucky. 

His warm smile and the way the love in his eyes as he popped the box open to reveal a breathtaking and huge emerald cut diamond ring that looked like a block of ice and sparkled like the snow.

Everybody went silent.

Bucky exhaled, then spoke, his voice steady but thick.

“For years, I thought I had everything I needed,” he said, the words warm despite the crisp night outside. 

“But then you came along. And suddenly, nothing felt full unless you were in it. Not my house, not my days, not my arms.”

Everyone leaned in, watching and waiting.

Bucky took a deep breath, then, finally, sank to one knee.

Your heart stopped.

“You are… “ Bucky stopped, choked up. “…The love of my life,” he said, pulling out the ring and looking up at you with that devastating certainty. 

“And I want forever with you.”

You let out a choked laugh, “You hid my ring in an icicle?,” you whispered.

Bucky grinned up at you. “Damn right I did.”

“Y/N/L/N, Will you marry me?”

A half-laugh, half-sob escaped you. And then, without thinking, you threw yourself at him, knocking you both back onto the floor.

“YES!” you shouted, kissing him senseless as the entire family erupted into cheers.

“That was the most ridiculous, perfect Christmas proposal ever!” Peach was full on sobbing with joy as she said it.

Steve clapped Bucky on the back and gave him a hug as he helped him up.

You and Peach and your mom were cooing over the ring as the men watched.

“You better take care of that little girl, James. She’s special.”

Bucky looked at him, emotional.

“Yes, Sir. That’s my mission in life.”

——

After Bucky and Steve drove your parents to the airport to be in Brooklyn for Ray’s grandkids’ Christmas morning, you and Peach had a good long talk about everything but the baby. You had to tell Bucky next.  

But you did tell her about your other realization.

“I always knew you thought differently. It is just so cool the way you can see things from different angles. But yeah, you don’t do surprises well.”

“It just feels so freeing to finally be able to name what I was feeling sometimes. Being labeled as gifted didn’t help anyone from noticing that my mind probably is atypical.”

“Girl, none of us is typical, but yeah. Being labeled as gifted sucked sometimes. But sometimes it’s kinda hot. Tell me about your praise kink and I’ll tell you about mine.”

Peach grinned at you as you laughed. Bucky and Steve walked in right at that moment.

“Oh shit, Steve. Seems like we came back just in time.”

You shook your head as Bucky came and sat on the couch between you two and reached into the bowl of popcorn you’d been sharing. Steve just reached for Peach and she floated up into his arms.

“On second thought I think I’ll let Steve tell me about it in our chalet. Oh!”

Peach was up and over Steve’s shoulder as he hauled her out of the door. You giggled and waved at her as she swatted his ass with one hand and waved back at you.

Bucky was looking at you with a scorching hot gaze, and you leaned over to kiss him, licking the butter off of his lips.

“What were we saying about a praise kink, my beautiful good girl?”

You shivered and bit your lip, but scooted away from him on the sofa. You couldn’t be distracted.

“Can we talk about that later? I’ve got something to tell you.”

Bucky’s stomach dropped, then did somersaults. Had you been too embarrassed to tell him no earlier? Were you going to dump him? He nodded and took your hand, twisting the huge rock on your finger. He was unable to form coherent words, he was so worried.

“Bucky…I’m pregnant.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. He pulled back slightly, mind spinning as the room seemed to shift around him. 

Pregnant. Buck stared at you, unable to process.

“I didn’t know until yesterday,” you whispered, your eyes filled with emotion.

“It explains a lot about what I’ve been feeling. And I didn’t know how to tell you.”

Bucky dreamed of getting you pregnant, but this was a detour from his plans. And he knew how you felt about surprises. 

“My sweet, sweet angel Frumoasă. I’m sorry I didn’t realize…”

Bucky took your hand again and pulled you toward him so that you rested in his arms. He kissed you on the top of your head. He knew one thing: it was you and he and your family for the rest of his life. He wasn’t going anywhere.

“You okay with this? I know this wasn’t in your plans–”

He cupped your face, his thumb brushing across your cheek. And he smiled. That’s when you knew everything would be alright. 

“Okay? I’m over the moon, Baby. I love you. Nothing changes that. We’re starting something new. A family. And I’ll be by your side for every step.”

He looked into your eyes and saw relief, but anxiety was still there.

“Whatever comes next, we’ll face it together. And this time, I’m not going to let you go anywhere.”

“Are you sure?” you were breathless at his certainty.

He leaned in, kissing you softly but passionately. 

“I’m sure,” He whispered against your lips. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

“There’s something else, Bucky…”

You told him your suspicions and Bucky was unmoved.

“I wouldn’t be surprised. But you have a beautiful mind, Love. I told you that I love the way you think the first time I met you.”

The way Bucky beamed at you with acceptance was so fucky sexy. You need him inside you like your next breath. Your kiss told him that.

“I see.”

Bucky stood up, you in his arms. 

“Let’s go to bed.”

He walked into the beautiful bedroom with the huge picture window looking out onto the winter night. There was lots of moonlight reflected into the room from the snow, even with the lights off.

He laid you on the bed and you rolled away from him, reaching for your phone on the nightstand. He gave you an incredulous look as you fiddled with it.

“What are you doing?”

You bit your lip, a little bit afraid. God you needed that feeling. To turn your brain off. 

“I asked Dr. Phillips a few specific questions about sex during pregnancy.”

Bucky stared at you.

“About rougher sex…” You gulped as he raised his eyebrow. “I forwarded an article.”

Bucky walked around the bed and took his phone in hand, glancing at it, and then at you, a smirk on his face. You scrambled backward and scurried into the bathroom.

“Gonna take a shower, be right back.”

You tried to turn your brain off as you went under the hot water jets. But what you truly needed was in the next room.

You came back in and Bucky was standing by the bed, in just his jeans, shirtless. The fire was roaring and he looked cold. You shuddered as he pointed to the furry rug by the bed.

You obeyed, shedding your robe and kneeling, eyes cast down. You saw his bare feet come to stand in front of you.

“You are trying to control things again, Frumoasă, sending me an article about BDSM during pregnancy. You need to learn that there are times that I’m in control in the bedroom. And I decide what happens and when.”

He reached down and tipped your chin up, looking at you with narrowed steel blue eyes.

“Now, I will teach you that lesson so that you should remember it. And although this room is sound proofed, and we are alone in this house, you need to keep quiet.”

You just stared at him, mind going almost completely blank.

He tapped you on your jaw lightly.

“Do you understand?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

Bucky smiled at that, but then the sunshine went away. His smile dropped.

“And you don’t cum until I tell you to.”

Holy fuck.

“Yes, Daddy.”

Bucky’s eyes shuttered at your hoarse tone, but he stayed strong. His hands went for his zipper and you wiggled, your wetness seeping down your naked thighs. He smacked you in the face with his cock and you suppressed a giggle.

“Stay still.”

You looked up at him, eyes twinkling now.

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Now be a good girl and open your mouth. Let me see that throat.”

You do as you’re told, opening wide and saying, ‘ahhhhh.’

Bucky stroked himself right there in front of you as you drooled for him.

“That’s a sweet little slut. Suck me just a little bit, baby. That mouth last week was heaven.”

He rubbed the tip of his flared head along your lips and then groaned as those lips closed around him. You sucked it like it’s the best lollipop you’d ever had. 

“Fuck!”

His voice was deeper now, and it made you even wetter.

Your eyes fluttered closed and you hummed around his cock because you were in heaven. There was just this. 

Just now.

You tried to take him deeper, but he didn’t let you, dragging you up gently by your arm. You stood as he sat on the edge of the bed, and then reached for you, gracefully depositing you across his lap due to his strength. Your breasts just happened to end up atop his hard cock as his large hand caressed your ass.

“You deserve a spanking for leaving me, Frumoasa. Three on each side. Count. And that is the only sound I should hear.”

You were disappointed at so few, but you knew he was going easy on you. Yet you didn’t try to push him. Not tonight. 

Bucky spanked you hard, three times on each cheek, and you counted dutifully, your voice growing more ragged with each crack on your ass.

“Goood fucking girl. You took those so well.”

He reached down into your wetness with two as you squirmed on his lap because of his teasing. You wanted him inside you so bad.

“Fuck, you’re soooo wet.”

His voice was full of lust and you felt his cock pulse pre cum onto your nipples. You pussy was clenching and pulsing like crazy.

Bucky smeared your juices up and around your anus, careful not to penetrate, but driving you mad as the rough pad of his fingers played outside. You wantonly tried to push back on him, but he didn’t let you.

Bucky tsked.

“Remember, you are not in control right now. I am. That is what you need, my Love.”

His words hit you like a mack truck and your orgasm came without warning, crashing over you as your sensitive cunt clenched down around nothing.

“Damn, Frumoasă,” You could hear the smile in his voice. “I barely touched you. But I told you to ask permission. You’ll answer for that later.”

You shivered as Bucky shifted, picking you up and depositing you on your back, spreading your legs and looking at your glistening center. A thin web of his precum connected his cock to your tis, and he took himself in one hand as he smeared his fluid around your nipples. 

You shuddered and bit back a moan. You were so sensitive.

His eyes were glued to your wet center as you watched his hand almost blur on his cock. You arched your back.

He tilted his head as that tongue snaked out against his lips.

“…Are you…?” His eyes slid down your body and back up to your eyes.

“Cum for me again, Frumoasă.”

You did are you were told, arching as he rubbed your nipples and twisted them gently.

“Damn. So responsive. For me. So good.”

He was climbing on the bed, kneeling between your open legs now. Then he was on top of you, kissing you, his tongue twining with yours as his cock rubbed against your cunt. Finally, he plunged inside you. 

“Yesssss,” you hissed. Every thrust made you writhe beneath him. Bucky’s cock was perfect, filling you just right. 

Your eyes sought his. 

“Can I make noise now?”

Bucky covered your mouth in another deep kiss. 

“Yes, Frumoasă. Let me hear you.”

His hands slid down to cup your ass, holding you close as he increased his pace. 

“Tighter,” you whimpered. “Harder.” 

“All for you,” Bucky promised. Your pussy fluttered around him. 

“Don’t let me go,” you pleaded.

 “Never,” Bucky soothed, stroking your thighs. “I’ll never let you go.”

You writhed as he held you down firmly, driving faster. 

“Bucky!” 

You grew more frantic beneath him, and he lengthened his strokes, anchoring your arms to the pillow. His cock throbbed inside you, causing you to cry out.

He leaned down and blew on your nipples and you keened, then he captured your lips, and you kissed him back like you were starving. 

“I’ve got you,” he whispered. “You deserve everything I give you. I’m going to tell you again and again how good you are.” 

You squirmed, thrashing beneath him, and his grip tightened on your wrists. 

“You’re my favorite girl. You’re beautiful and perfect. You’re so good that I’m going to give you all my cum.” 

“Say it again,” you begged. 

“My good, good girl,” he whispered

“I’m going to come inside you, because that’s where I belong. We’re going to make lots of beautiful babies, Frumoasă. Now cum around my cock.” 

You let out a wail. Your mind went blank as Bucky thrust deep inside you, pouring all his cum into you.  

All you could see and feel was him. 

Finally, he pulled out, looking utterly dazed, and kissed you on the forehead. 

“I fucking love you, Bucky.”

His arms came up around you.

“I love you too. I love everything about you. You’re going to make a wonderful mother.” You were sated, excited and calm now.

“We should tell Peach and Steve.” 

“Later,” you said at the same time, and burst out laughing. 

“But let’s not wait too long,” you said. 

“Tomorrow,” Bucky murmured. 

“After I make you breakfast?”

He kissed you on the nose.

“Yes, that’s perfect. Daddy.”

You climbed on top of him, resting your head on his chest. He stroked your back as you felt his cock perk up again.

“Daddy…”

You sat up on him, rolling your hips. Bucky looked at you, his eyes on your swaying, and yes bigger breasts.

“You’re gonna be the death of me…”

You moved to get off of him.

“You’re right, you can’t have a heart attack now, we’ve got a child to think of.”

Bucky grabbed you and hauled your leg over his so that you were straddling him again. His grin was wide.

“Get that ass back here…”

It was almost Christmas morning, and you had every gift you wanted, right there in that bed.

[imsofreakingtired]

I saw a request about anorexia comfort and I just wanted to ask could I possibly ask for sevika x reader bulimia comfort? That’s what I struggle with so I just wanted to request that.

If not that’s totally okay and thank you!

-🖤🖤🖤

all my love and support to you 💙 please let me know if any of this is inaccurate, offensive, or upsetting - i drew from a combination of my own past experiences with an ed and external research. and thank you for the request; i know struggling with an ed can be an isolating experience and i really hope this brings at least a little comfort 💙 💙 💙 💙

disclaimer: not meant to be an alternative to therapy obviously!! please reach out for support, i know it's hard but i believe you can do it loves <33 and as always if this content may be triggering to you, please scroll away and take care!!

breathe

content warning(s): depictions of an ed, body dysmorphia, heavy angst, hurt/comfort

"days pull you down just like a sinking ship memories swim and haunt you but look into the lake, shimmering like smoke rises the moon oh, close your weary eyes, i promise you that soon the autumn comes to darken fading summer skies breathe, breathe, breathe."

~~~

Sevika is not alarmed when you tell her about your eating disorder, which you reveal after you have been seeing her for nearly a month. she does not judge you. she has noticed the signs already, but didn’t want to assume anything, bring it up before you did. Sevika remembers the darkest period of her life: sixteen and feeling like the world played her like a marionette, when the stress of her environment triggered her binges. then the guilt. then the self-loathing. then the desperate need to erase what she had done. she remembers lifting for hours until her arms gave out. running 5 miles a day in a sweat suit. tracking calories. balancing food on scales. when you tell her you are going through the same thing, her heart sinks. she had been hoping her instincts were wrong. she had been hoping against hope, because she knows how hard it is.  

⟢🖤⟢ her fear for you, her worries about your health, sometimes manifests in ways she doesn’t mean to. she has never backed away from honest conversations. she asks you up front: have you eaten? have you thrown up? she can tell immediately if you lie to her about it, and it hurts her to think that you’re unwilling to tell her the truth, be open about it to her. sometimes her frustration at herself for being unable to help you causes her to be harsher. she tries sitting you down and telling you that what you’re doing will hurt you badly. she can’t stand being away from you for too long, she can barely sleep at night, wondering if you’re binging again, wondering if you’re punishing yourself again.   

⟢🖤⟢

she silently keeps track of the physical signs. she sees you sizing up every plate of food. she sees you obsessively reading the nutrition labels. she sees how you avoid going out to eat with people, how you always opt for something different for date nights, anything that isn’t eating together. she sees your exhaustion, the swelling in your face. you can hide it from everyone else—you can hide it from the world—but Sevika loves you too much to let a single detail escape her. 

⟢🖤⟢

beats herself up honestly, especially after realizing that sometimes she could be a trigger—an offhand word, a change in her tone, a spike of irritation. you don’t blame her for this: everyone has their bad days, and sometimes the two of you argue. she wishes she could do more for you, wishing she could take away the thoughts that cause you to spiral and hurt yourself. 

⟢🖤⟢

Sevika is confounded at first when you tell her candidly about your issues with body image, because to her you are the most beautiful perfect being who ever existed. it makes her furious at whatever caused you to think otherwise. maybe it was a history of bullying at school. maybe it was your mother’s thoughtless comments on your body. maybe it was the media, constantly telling you that your body is imperfect. maybe it is not your body at all, but the sense of control and discipline that comes from regulating the food, the erasure of food. Sevika’s first response is always to fight. she’s sworn to herself that she will protect you from the world, that she can keep you safe by the strength of her fists. but when the threat is something untouchable, something inside your head, she feels helpless. so she becomes more physically protective than ever. calling you several times a day just to hear your voice. kissing you, touching you, holding you more often, as if to reassure you of how much she adores you.   

⟢🖤⟢

she picks up on your triggers for b/p cycles and does her best to interfere with them. she notices that your routine is to restrict throughout the day, return home, where the stress and hunger of the day triggers a binge. so she shows up at your door around the same time you return home and asks if you want to go on a walk. if you’re too tired, she stays with you and makes you soup. if you say you can’t eat it, she will not pressure you. but she stays, thinking maybe if she’s there to watch over you, she can keep you from going into the cycle again.

⟢🖤⟢

there are stretches of time where you leave the cycle. Sevika marks the days on slips of paper to keep track of your progress and gives them to you with a proud look in her eyes. you don’t want to relapse for her sake, but you’re also terrified of recovering completely. you’re scared that if you let yourself recover, your body will change—it will gain back the weight you have been controlling, and you’re scared Sevika will not find you attractive anymore. one night you give into the thoughts. and when Sevika finds you on the bathroom floor, hovering over the toilet bowl, she says nothing but pulls you into her arms. 

i’m sorry, you whisper. 

shh. it’s okay, sweet thing. just breathe. 

she brings you water and rubs your back as you drink it. you wonder what you look like to her. you wonder if she is already planning to leave. another apology rises to your lips but you swallow it. Sevika doesn’t say anything for a long time, she just sits with you. then in a low voice, she speaks. 

i used to have the same habit. 

you look at her in surprise. 

yeah, she says, with a deep sigh. god, it was a million years ago, but i still remember those days. i’d sneak down into the kitchen when my parents were asleep. ate anything i could find. then punished myself the next day. 

her hand finds your knee, bent against your chest as you curl into yourself tightly. her warm grip grounds you. i’m telling you this because i want you to know… she pauses. …that i get it. 

you tell her, i’m scared. 

i know, baby. 

you say, i might change. you might not want me anymore. 

she looks you in the eyes. brushes the hair away from your face, leans forward, and gives you a long kiss on your forehead. you’re perfect, she says, her voice rough. you hear me? i will always, always want you. every shape. every side of you. 

a sob breaks from your lips. you lean into her, and she cradles your body with her own. kissing your hair, she gives you a promise. 

it’s not easy. but i’ll be with you the entire way. every damn step.

⟢🖤⟢

-thank you @hexthathoe for the req <3

-divider by @enchanthings-a

[evermoreness]

moonlight and mending | remus lupin

pairing: remus lupin x reader

summary: since it's your seventh year at hogwarts, you have to choose a path for a future job, and you chose to be a healer and help madam pomfrey. you just didn't know remus lupin was a regular patient.

obs: i am thinking about turning this into a series, if you want to, please let me know

masterlist

The hospital wing was quiet, bathed in the soft glow of the morning light filtering through the tall windows. You were already up, sleeves rolled to your elbows as you organized a tray of healing potions. You had been helping Madam Pomfrey for a while now, and despite the occasional sleepless night, you loved every second of it.

This was where you belonged.

Every student at Hogwarts had to choose their paths on future jobs by the seventh year. Some would go with the professors to learn a specific path, like aurors or politics and others would go with Hagrid (if they had interest in magical creatures). It was fun.

You would not spend all your days at the hospital wing, since there were other students helping around Madam Pomfrey. But sometimes you would ignore this fact and just stay around for more hours than needed.

You had just finished restocking the dittany when Madam Pomfrey entered, her expression tight with concern.

“Another patient?” you asked, reaching for a clean cloth and a basin of warm water.

She nodded, already moving toward one of the empty beds. “Yes, and he’s in rough shape. A regular of mine, unfortunately.”

Before you could ask what she meant, the doors swung open, and Madam Pomfrey levitated a limp figure onto the bed.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Remus Lupin.

He looked terrible—his school robes were torn, his face pale and slick with sweat. Bruises and scratches covered his arms, and there was a deep gash along his collarbone, seeping blood onto the sheets. His hair was messier than usual, strands sticking to his forehead.

You had seen Remus around, always in the company of his friends, always with a soft smile and warm eyes. He was quieter than the other Marauders, more reserved. But this—this was a side of him you had never seen before.

“Will he be alright?” you asked, stepping closer.

Madam Pomfrey sighed. “He always is.”

She glanced at you, her sharp eyes softening slightly. “I’ll leave you to clean his wounds. Be gentle with him.”

You nodded, rolling up your sleeves further as she walked away.

Gently, you dipped the cloth into the warm water and pressed it against a cut on his cheek, dabbing away the dried blood. He stirred, a soft groan escaping his lips.

“Remus?” you said gently. “Can you hear me?”

He let out a breathy sound before his amber eyes fluttered open. They were hazy with exhaustion, unfocused at first, but as he blinked, they found yours.

“You’re awake,” you said with a small smile, hoping to reassure him.

His brows furrowed slightly. “Where…?”

“The hospital wing,” you answered, still carefully cleaning the wound on his cheek. “Madam Pomfrey brought you in.”

His eyes flickered with something unreadable before he huffed a weak chuckle. “Must be bad if I don’t even remember getting here.”

“You look like you got into a fight with a troll,” you teased lightly.

He smiled faintly. “Did I win?”

“Hard to say. The troll might be in better condition.”

That earned a soft laugh from him, though it ended in a wince.

“Stay still,” you scolded gently. “I need to clean these properly, and that won’t happen if you keep moving.”

“Alright,” he muttered with a small smile, but he did as you said.

You continued working in silence, carefully dabbing at the scratches along his arms. His body tensed slightly under your touch, but he didn’t complain.

Then, your gaze landed on the wound on his chest—a nasty gash running diagonally across his ribs, partially covered by his torn shirt. You hesitated before clearing your throat.

“Um… I need to get to the wound on your chest,” you said, a little hesitant. “Can you…?”

His tired eyes widened slightly as he realized what you meant. “Oh. Right.”

There was an awkward pause before he weakly reached for the buttons of his shirt, his fingers trembling slightly.

You quickly stopped him, your hands gently brushing his. “Here, let me.”

He stiffened under your touch but didn’t protest as you carefully undid the buttons of his bloodstained shirt. As you pushed the fabric aside, your breath hitched.

His torso was littered with scars, old and new, crisscrossing his skin like a map of past battles. The fresh wound along his ribs was deep, still oozing.

You swallowed hard, trying to push aside the questions burning in your mind. What had done this to him?

Instead of asking, you dipped the cloth in the warm water again and gently pressed it to the wound.

He hissed through his teeth.

“Sorry,” you murmured. “I know it stings.”

“It’s alright,” he said through gritted teeth. “You’re gentler than Pomfrey, at least.”

You smiled softly. “She believes in tough love.”

“That’s one way to put it,” he muttered, his voice slightly strained.

Wanting to distract him, you asked, “So, what do you usually do when you’re not getting yourself nearly killed?”

His lips twitched. “Read, mostly.”

You knew that the best way to distract the patients was by talking to them, about anything, so they could think about something else besides the pain.

“I could’ve guessed that,” you said with a small laugh. “Any favorites?”

He relaxed slightly at the question. “I like Defense Against the Dark Arts. And anything to do with magical creatures.”

“Magical creatures, huh?” You carefully applied the healing salve to his wound. “You don’t seem like the type to go wrestling with a dragon.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “No, definitely not. But I like learning about them.”

You smiled, tying off the last bandage. “Well, you’re all patched up. Try not to move too much.”

Remus let out a long breath, his eyelids growing heavy. “You’re… really kind,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

You brushed a stray strand of hair from his forehead. “Get some rest, Remus.”

His eyes lingered on you for a moment longer before they finally closed.

And as you sat beside him, watching over him as he slept, you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more to Remus Lupin—something hidden beneath the scars and the quiet smiles.

You just didn’t know what it was yet.

The morning was long.

You didn't have any classes this morning, despite still being Tuesday.

You figured it was best to stay by his side.

At least, until lunch, because after that you would have some charms classes.

You sat beside Remus, watching over him as the hours crept by, the hospital wing bathed in moonlight and quiet. His breathing was shallow, his forehead damp with sweat. A fever had settled in not long after he had fallen asleep, and you had spent the past few hours placing cool cloths on his forehead, ensuring he didn’t overheat.

Madam Pomfrey had come in once to check on him, nodded approvingly at your dedication, and left you to it.

You didn’t mind.

There was something about watching over him—something that made you feel… protective. Maybe it was the way he had looked at you before drifting off, like he wasn’t used to someone being this kind to him.

Or maybe it was just that he seemed to carry too much weight for someone so young.

You sighed, dipping the cloth in cool water again and pressing it lightly to his forehead. He shifted slightly in his sleep, brow furrowing, but he didn’t wake.

A soft murmur left his lips—too quiet for you to catch.

You leaned closer. “Remus?”

He didn’t respond, just turned his head slightly, a faint crease between his brows. His fingers twitched where they rested by his side.

“Nightmare?” you whispered, watching his expression.

You wanted to reach for his hand, to soothe him, but you hesitated. Instead, you gently ran your fingers through his damp hair, hoping the touch might calm whatever dream he was trapped in.

Slowly, his features relaxed again.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

And so, you sat there, watching over him, making sure he didn’t shift too much in his sleep or try to tear off the bandages in unconscious discomfort.

You kept taking care of the other students there, it was almost lunch time when your eyes glanced toward Remus—only to find his amber eyes already on you.

You came closer, staying by his side on the bed. “You’re awake.”

His lips curled slightly. “Yeah, unfortunately” His voice was rough with sleep.

You gave him a small smile. “How do you feel?”

He hesitated, as if he was actually assessing himself. “Like I got into a fight with a brick wall and lost.”

You smiled. “Well, you look better than some hours ago”

His brows lifted slightly. “Was I that bad?”

You gave him a look. “You had a fever, you were shifting in your sleep, and I had to stop you from undoing your own bandages twice.”

His eyes widened slightly. “I… did that?”

You nodded. “You don’t remember?”

“Not at all.” He looked both embarrassed and surprised. His gaze flickered toward the bowl of water and the pile of damp cloths beside it. “You stayed all morning?”

You shrugged, trying to play it off. “It’s part of the job.”

He studied you for a moment before shaking his head. “No. Madam Pomfrey would’ve done it if it was just ‘part of the job.’ You chose to stay.”

You hesitated. “…I didn’t want you to be alone.”

His breath hitched slightly. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, just looked at you as if trying to figure out how to respond.

Then, softly, “Thank you.”

Your heart warmed. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“I do,” he said, holding your gaze. “No one’s ever… done that for me before.”

The weight of his words settled between you.

You frowned slightly. “What about James? Sirius?”

“They’re great,” he said immediately, but then he hesitated. “…They don’t see this part of me. I don’t let them.”

Something in his voice made your chest tighten.

Carefully, you reached out, brushing your fingers over the bandage on his arm. “You don’t have to hide when you’re hurt, especially not from me or what else i won't know how to help.”

His breath caught, and for a long moment, he just stared at you, as if he wasn’t quite sure what to say.

Finally, he smiled—small, but real. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

You returned the smile. “Good. Now, do you think you can eat something, or do I need to force-feed you porridge?”

He chuckled. “I’ll eat. If only to avoid that fate.”

You grinned. “I’ll go get you something.”

As you walked away, you could still feel his gaze on you.

Remus was still staring at the doorway where you had disappeared when you returned, carrying a breakfast tray in both hands.

“Alright, hospital food isn’t exactly a feast, but it’s warm, and you need it,” you said as you placed the tray on his bedside table.

Remus sat up a little, wincing as he adjusted his position. He looked down at the tray—porridge, toast, and a steaming cup of tea.

You noticed his hesitation and raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you’re picky.”

He smirked faintly. “No, just… hospital food isn’t usually something to look forward to.”

You rolled your eyes. “Just try a little bit, alright?”

With an amused chuckle, he picked up the spoon and took a tentative bite of the porridge. It wasn’t terrible, which was the best compliment he could give it.

As he ate, you had already moved on, fussing over the other students in the ward.

“Drink more water, Gabe, you’ll feel better faster.”

“Maggie, you’re supposed to rest, not reread your Transfiguration notes.”

“Barty, don’t poke at your stitches, I swear to Merlin—”

Remus found himself watching you, a faint smile playing on his lips.

You were different.

It wasn’t just that you were kind—you loved this. He could see it in the way you moved, the way you spoke to everyone, the way you cared. It was like second nature to you, tending to people, making sure they were comfortable.

And yet… you were also a normal student. That much was obvious.

It hit him suddenly—he’d seen you around before. Not just in passing, but in the places he liked best. The library, tucked away in the quietest corners, flipping through thick medical textbooks and advanced Potions guides. The Astronomy Tower, where the view was the clearest. The courtyard, always with a book in your hands.

You weren’t just here. You were everywhere.

How did you balance it all?

Remus was still lost in thought when a hand appeared in front of his face.

He blinked and looked up.

You were standing there, a familiar-looking chocolate bar in your hand.

“Madam Pomfrey sent this,” you said with a smile. “She said it would help you feel better.”

Something warm settled in his chest.

He took the chocolate from you, running his fingers over the wrapper before glancing up at you. “She actually let you give it to me instead of forcing it on me herself?”

“She’s busy,” you said, shrugging. “But I think she knows I’d make you eat it either way.”

Remus chuckled, unwrapping the chocolate and breaking off a piece. As soon as it melted on his tongue, he sighed.

“Better?” you asked, tilting your head.

“Much,” he admitted.

You smiled in satisfaction before sitting on the edge of his bed. “So… I have a question.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

You leaned in slightly, lowering your voice like you were sharing a secret. “How do you do it?”

Remus blinked. “Do what?”

“Everything,” you said, gesturing vaguely. “I mean, you’re top of the class, always reading, and somehow, you still have time to get into whatever mischief your friends drag you into.”

Remus smirked. “I could ask you the same thing.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m serious.”

He considered you for a moment before shrugging. “I guess… I don’t really think about it. I just do what I need to do.”

You hummed thoughtfully. “Yeah. That sounds about right.”

There was a comfortable silence between you.

Then, Remus glanced down at the chocolate in his hand. “You know… I’ve never had someone take care of me like this before.”

You tilted your head, curious. “Not even your friends?”

He hesitated. “They try. But I don’t let them.”

“Why not?”

His fingers tightened slightly around the wrapper. “Because… I don’t want them to worry.”

You frowned. “That’s a terrible reason.”

He huffed a soft laugh. “Maybe.”

You would say something else, but some other patient called. You smiled before turning around and going around to help others.

Hours later, the hospital wing was quieter. Most of the students had left, and Remus, finally feeling somewhat human again, was sitting on the edge of his bed, stretching his sore limbs.

You stood in front of him, holding a neatly folded set of fresh Hogwarts robes.

“Well, you look better,” you observed. “Still a bit pale, though.”

“I’m always pale,” he said dryly, though he smirked.

“Fair point,” you said, handing him the uniform. “Come on, get changed. You can’t walk around looking like you just wrestled a hippogriff.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You say that as if it’s a bad thing.”

You smiled, rolling your eyes playfully. “Just change, Lupin.”

He chuckled but stood, wincing slightly as he moved. You turned around, giving him privacy as he carefully removed the old ripped uniform he was using from earlier, and pulled on his new uniform. His movements were slow, careful not to aggravate his still-healing injuries.

After a few moments, he let out a small sigh. “Alright. You can turn around.”

You turned, scanning him critically before nodding in approval. “Much better.”

“You sound like Madam Pomfrey,” he said, amused.

You gasped in mock horror. “Take that back!”

“Never.”

You huffed but smiled, grabbing your bag from the chair. You had already changed into your uniform earlier, ready to head to class. “Come on, I’ll walk with you.”

Remus blinked in surprise. “You don’t have to—”

“I know,” you said, giving him a pointed look. “But I want to.”

His lips parted slightly, but no argument came.

He liked your company.

So, instead of protesting, he simply nodded. “Alright then. Lead the way, healer”

You rolled your eyes at the nickname but walked beside him as you both left the hospital wing.

The corridors were bustling with students heading to their next classes. You and Remus walked side by side, keeping a comfortable pace.

“So,” you started, adjusting the strap of your bag, “what’s your favorite class?”

Remus hummed. “That’s an easy one—Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

You grinned. “I should’ve guessed. You do always get top marks in it.”

He shrugged. “It’s practical. Useful.”

“Okay, but what about for fun?” you asked, tilting your head. “Not just what’s useful—what do you enjoy?”

He hesitated, then said, “I like Charms.”

You brightened. “Me too! It’s so satisfying when you finally get a spell just right.”

“Exactly,” he said, nodding. “And you?”

“Besides Charms? I love Potions,” you said. “It’s precise, methodical… and it helps with Healing. I like that.”

Remus smiled. “That makes sense. You’re really good at it.”

You looked at him, surprised. “You noticed?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Well… yeah. I mean, you’re always top of the class, and I have seen you brewing in the library before.”

You chuckled. “Guilty. I like experimenting.”

“What’s the best potion you’ve made?”

You thought for a moment. “Probably a modified Wiggenweld Potion. I adjusted it to work faster without causing side effects.”

Remus raised his eyebrows, impressed. “That’s incredible.”

You shrugged, but his praise made you warm inside.

“What about books?” you asked. “I know you’re a reader.”

He smirked. “What gave it away?”

You laughed. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the fact that I always see you in the library with your nose buried in a book?”

He chuckled. “Fair enough. I like anything about magical creatures, honestly.”

You nodded. “I can see that. You seem like the type to befriend a werewolf or something.”

Remus nearly tripped.

You didn’t notice, continuing, “I love medical books, obviously. But for fun? I like Muggle literature.”

He recovered quickly, forcing himself to focus. “Muggle literature?”

“Yeah,” you said, grinning. “There’s this Muggle author—Stephen King. Have you heard of him?”

Remus’s eyes lit up. “I have! The shining is brilliant.”

Your jaw dropped. “You’ve read it?”

He smirked. “I grew up in a half-Muggle household. My mum had loads of Muggle books.”

“Oh, I love that,” you said excitedly. “Okay, tell me—what do you think of Jack Torrance?”

Remus chuckled. “Misunderstood, the man was literally being controlled by evil spirits”

You gasped dramatically. “Correct answer. I knew I liked you, Lupin.”

Remus blinked, caught off guard, but you just laughed, nudging him playfully.

He laughed too, shaking his head. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this light.

Before he knew it, you had reached your classroom.

You stopped at the door, turning to face him. “Well, this is me.”

He nodded, suddenly wishing you had a further walk.

“Thanks for walking with me,” you said with a smile. “And take care of yourself, okay?”

Something about the way you said it made his chest tighten.

He nodded. “You too.”

With a final smile, you turned and disappeared into the classroom.

Remus stood there for a moment before shaking his head with a quiet chuckle.

Then, with thoughts of you still swirling in his mind, he dragged himself to his own class, already looking forward to the next time he saw you.

Getting closer.

The days passed, and somehow, without either of you truly realizing it, you and Remus had begun to gravitate toward each other.

It wasn’t a conscious decision—at least, that’s what Remus told himself.

At first, it was small things.

You’d see each other in the library, sitting a few tables apart, until one of you would move closer—always under the excuse of needing a book the other was using.

You’d pass each other in the halls, exchanging small smiles, sometimes stopping for a brief chat about classes, assignments, or whatever book you were reading that week.

Remus, always more reserved, didn’t say much in the beginning. He would listen as you talked, and surprisingly, he never got tired of hearing you speak. You had this way of filling the silence without overwhelming it.

And what fascinated him the most?

You never got bored of him.

Most people—besides his closest friends—didn’t have the patience for his quiet nature, for his habit of getting lost in thought, for the way he preferred books over crowds. But you never seemed to mind.

If anything, you enjoyed talking to him.

And Remus liked listening to you.

Slowly but surely, Remus began seeking you out.

If he saw you in the Great Hall, he’d wave you over. If you passed each other in the corridors, he’d slow his steps so you could walk together. If he spotted you alone in the common room, he’d sit beside you, pulling out a book without a word.

And you? You found yourself looking for him, too.

One evening, you sat at your usual table in the library, a thick Potions book open in front of you. You were muttering ingredients under your breath, trying to memorize an antidote recipe, when a familiar figure slid into the seat across from you.

“You talk to your books a lot,” Remus observed, setting his own book down.

You looked up, smirking. “And yet, you still sit with me. What does that say about you?”

He chuckled. “That I’m patient?”

“Or that you secretly enjoy my rambling.”

He shrugged, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Maybe.”

You grinned, flipping a page. “What are you reading?”

“Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them,” he said, holding up the book.

You raised an eyebrow. “Planning on running off to become a Magizoologist?”

“Not quite,” he said, amused. “I just like creatures.”

You hummed, tilting your head. “If you could be any magical creature, what would you be?”

He hesitated for a second. “A werewolf.”

You blinked, surprised. “A werewolf?”

He nodded slowly, studying your face. “Yeah. They’re misunderstood. People assume they’re just mindless monsters, but… they’re not.”

You frowned slightly, considering his words. “You’re right. They don’t choose to be that way.”

Remus swallowed hard, watching you carefully. “You don’t think they’re evil?”

You shook your head. “Of course not. I think… I think most of them are probably just scared. And lonely.”

Something in Remus’s chest ached. He had never heard anyone say that before.

“You’re… different,” he said softly.

You gave him a curious look. “Different how?”

He shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You just… are.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “That’s a very vague answer, Lupin.”

He chuckled. “It’s the best you’re getting.”

You sighed dramatically. “Fine. But I’ll figure it out eventually.”

“I’m sure you will.”

You eyed him suspiciously but let it go. “Well, I’d be a phoenix.”

Remus raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“They heal people,” you said simply. “And they always come back.”

He stared at you for a moment, something unreadable in his expression. Then, quietly, “That suits you.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the softness in his voice.

For a brief second, neither of you spoke.

Then, he cleared his throat, turning his attention back to his book. “You were mumbling potion ingredients earlier. Studying for something?”

You exhaled, shaking off the strange warmth in your chest. “Yes. Madam Pomfrey’s quizzing me tomorrow, and I cannot mix up the bezoar antidotes again.”

Remus smirked. “Do you want me to test you?”

Your eyes lit up. “Would you?”

He nodded, and for the next hour, he quizzed you, throwing in the occasional joke just to make you laugh.

The Marauders.

Of course, being friends with Remus meant that you were friends with the Marauders now.

One evening, you sat cross-legged on the Gryffindor common room floor, surrounded by parchment and books. Remus sat beside you, his own notes scattered around. Across from you, James Potter and Sirius Black were sprawled on the couch, watching you both with lazy amusement. Peter Pettigrew sat on the armrest, nibbling on a biscuit.

“So, let me get this straight,” James said, stretching his arms behind his head. “You spend your free time—voluntarily, I might add—working in the hospital wing?”

You looked up from your parchment, raising an eyebrow. “Yes.”

“And you enjoy it?”

“Yes.”

James exchanged a look with Sirius, who smirked. “Merlin’s beard, Moony, you’ve found your twin.”

Remus rolled his eyes. “Because enjoying something that requires effort is such a crime?”

“No, but we just assumed no one else was as much of a workaholic as you,” Sirius teased.

You snorted. “I love what I do, thank you very much.”

Peter perked up. “Does that mean you’re good at Potions?”

“She’s brilliant,” Remus answered before you could, flipping a page in his book.

Sirius grinned. “Oh, that’s good to know.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Why?”

James leaned forward, an eager look in his eyes. “Because we need a potioneer for our next prank.”

You stared at him. “You want me to help you prank people?”

“Yes,” Sirius said smoothly, “because you’re cool.”

Remus made a sound like he was choking on his own breath. “Cool?”

James ignored him. “Think about it. You brew us something—nothing harmful, just a little mischief—and we execute it.”

You tilted your head, considering. “Would this be used on everyone or just specific people?”

“Filch,” Peter answered immediately. “And Snivellus.”

You hummed. “No harm, no permanent damage?”

James put a hand over his heart. “On my honor.”

You smirked. “I could make an odorless dye potion that only reacts to moonlight.”

Sirius gasped in delight. “That’s genius.”

“Imagine Snape walking around, thinking nothing’s wrong, and then—BAM—his face turns green under the full moon,” James cackled.

You smiled sweetly. “You’ll owe me chocolate.”

Sirius clapped his hands together. “Deal.”

Remus sighed, looking at you with an exasperated but amused expression. “You do realize you’re enabling them?”

“Oh, I know,” you said innocently. “But it’s fun.”

James grinned. “She’s one of us now, Moony.”

Remus looked at you, then at them, then sighed again, rubbing his temple. “Merlin help us all.”

[mouserthefirst]

HELLO DARLINGS i'm back after god knows how long for a very late valentine's day fic for you!!! it's currently almost 12 a.m. for me but WHATEVER anyway i hope you enjoy this, i was literally screaming while i wrote it teehehe (also this is my gift to you in apology for the evilness i'm cooking up rn this is as sweet as you get for a while /j)

word count: 1.5k unedited 🤍

ʚ‎‏ ͜ ̩͙ ︵ ̩͙ ୨ ♡ ୧ ̩͙ ‏︵ ̩͙ ͜ ɞ

Caitlyn Kiramman prided herself on being observant – she was the Sheriff, after all, and even her punch first think later cop instincts had yet to wash out her detective roots. Separating work from life was something foreign to Caitlyn; her work was her life and her life was her work except for the few things close to her, a list that some people would find miserably short:

1. Violet          2. Violet’s scrappy cat Ripper 3. Violet.

She was of the opinion that those things were all she really needed in life. She liked keeping her life as simple as possible; it made it easier to keep an eye on things. One person can only notice so much, even if that person is the Sheriff of Piltover.

It makes sense, therefore, that Caitlyn is currently at her limit. There is simply too much work to go around – no one has been particularly difficult in either Piltover or Zaun, and yet the reports are piling up and Cait finds herself fretting over even the mere idea of tackling the small mountain on her desk. Still, she wasn’t made Sheriff for nothing, so she cracks down on it as hard as she is able.

It’s the long days and nights spent at the station that Caitlyn blames for the fact that she hasn’t noticed a significant lack of Violet – no more fresh tea when she comes home, no warm grey eyes and rough hands with bruises that are tattooed into worn knuckles at this point. She dismisses it at first; Vi is just as stressed with work as Caitlyn is, perhaps more so with her hands-on role on the streets, roughing up whoever doesn’t listen to the Sheriff. Still, she misses it and cannot help but wonder if it’s something she’s done. Perhaps she forgot Violet’s birthday or a date they had planned or-

But no, when Caitlyn hurriedly flips through her planner in between interviews with a new batch of prisoners, there is no such forgotten event anywhere near the date. Just Valentine’s Day the next day, which Violet has never expressed an interest in. Perhaps Zaun doesn’t even have a Valentine’s Day; Caitlyn never thought to ask.

Regardless, she feels rather rotten for being relieved that she has no obligations with Vi. She loves her, of course, more than life itself, but there is just so much to do and so little time…

Still, when she arrives back home that night with a hopeful smile and three of the largest containers Jericho had available, Caitlyn is horribly disappointed to find a note in Vi’s rough-and-tumble handwriting saying simply,

Still out, be back by 10:00      - Vi

After Caitlyn has changed into a lacy, silky purple nightdress, she curls up on the couch and stares at the fire, trying to remember the last time they went out together. Surely it wasn’t that long ago; Caitlyn prides herself on being someone who does not let her relationships fall to the side (ignoring the majority of said relationships). She digs contemplatively into one of the takeout containers, sloppily filled with something Caitlyn would prefer to go unnamed. There was that time Violet brought them to a flower market she had thought Cait would like; and the time Violet brought her out to dinner at her favorite restaurant. That had been several months ago, before Caitlyn and then Vi had been swamped by work. Still, no matter how hard she tries, Cait can’t remember the last time she brought Vi somewhere.

How could she have forgotten such a thing? She prides herself on being observant, on never forgetting a thing, and yet something so important as Violet absolutely slipped her mind.

Caitlyn jabs her fork conspiratorially at her food. It’s almost Valentine’s Day, and whether it’s a Zaunite holiday or not, Violet would appreciate it, she knows. Cait grins. If there’s one thing she’s good at, it’s making plans.

♡

When Vi walks back home, it’s dark. It took her ages to get back to the station and even longer than usual to peel off her uniform and get back to Caitlyn’s penthouse. Vi knows Enforcer blues are better accepted in Piltover, maybe even liked, but she still doesn’t like strutting around in them. Makes her feel sort of like she doesn’t deserve them either way.

She gets back later than anticipated; when Vi ran back to the penthouse for lunch, she left a note for Cait that turns out being three hours off on her return time, give or take a few minutes. Vi’s not entirely sure Caitlyn is even home yet – after all, she could still be at the station, lording over her little flock of rookie recruits and sifting through paperwork for something meaningful.

Vi doesn’t like to begrudge her girlfriend of anything, but there’s something distinctly tired about them now. Vi’s been trying, but every day she has to put on her gauntlets means another day she has to focus on criminals rather than the one person who never treated her like one.

She slips as quietly as she can into the penthouse and locks the door, knowing Caitlyn is probably asleep. She always has atrociously early bedtimes, Vi thinks fondly.

Vi creeps up to their shared room and sets aside her bag, knowing Cait would probably shout at her for not putting it away. She’s too tired, so she merely tugs off her boots, jacket, and shirt and slips into bed beside Caitlyn’s immobile form.

She settles her arm around Caitlyn’s waist and wonders selfishly for a moment if she went to bed missing her. What kind of stupid question is that? Caitlyn’s said multiple times, made a point out of it, even, that the Kirammans aren’t sentimental people. But Vi isn’t a Kiramman, not yet and maybe not ever, fully, at least. And she’s nothing if not sentimental; sentimental like a sinking ship, she always said.

♡

Caitlyn spends the next day full of nervous anticipation. She’s excited in a way she hasn’t been in quite some time; it seems that she needed an excuse to spend time with Vi in more ways than one.

She knows Vi would insist that she needs no excuse; they are dating, after all. The way she says that kind of thing so easily makes Caitlyn’s stomach get all fluttery, always said in the same warm, proud tone as when she calls Cait her girl. Even now as she sits in her obnoxiously opulent office, she feels like a little girl with her cheeks flushed and her heart close to bursting out of her chest.

But duty calls, and today Caitlyn’s duty is to make Violet’s Valentine’s Day her most special yet. She places calls and walks to stores in between her shifts, and soon she’s booked a fancy restaurant (rather self-indulgent since Vi couldn’t care less about propriety and second salad forks), placed an order for a towering stack of gifts to arrive after they return to the penthouse, and of course purchased a large box of premium Zaunite chocolate. Caitlyn considers her job fairly well done.

She manages to get Vi to walk home with her at the end of the day. Violet seems unusually smiley and nervous, but that might be the twisting in Caitlyn’s own stomach. She twists her hands together and tucks them behind her back. “So, how was Zaun today?”

“Good,” Vi says. “Good. Very, um…yeah. Good.”

“Did you catch the criminal?” Caitlyn asks, attempting to make a joke but just succeeding in sounding horribly nervous.

Still, Vi has the decency to laugh. “Not yet, but we will.”

“Well, I suppose I will have to take your word for that,” Caitlyn says, a little lighter this time.

They stay quiet the rest of the way, though it’s not uncomfortable. Silence never is with Violet; Caitlyn is willing to bet that it’s a struggle for the girl to make anyone ill at ease – unless she’s waving her fists at them, that is.

They get back to the penthouse and Violet shifts away to put away her coat; Cait pulls out her neatly wrapped box of chocolate and sidles over.

When Caitlyn works up the nerve to go over (there’s really nothing to be worried about, Kiramman, she’s your girlfriend already, what is she going to say, no? Well, quite possibly), she finds Vi blushing furiously with a messy little bouquet clenched in one fist.

“Um,” says Vi. “I know today is a Piltie holiday, so I…” She gestures with the bouquet. “Will you be my valentine, cupcake?”

Caitlyn’s heart seems to melt out of her chest. “Yes, I – yes, Violet.”

Vi grins. “Good. That would be really awkward. I’m sorry, I planned for this to go a lot smoother – ”

“It’s all right,” says Caitlyn. “And I was going to ask you, as well, actually.”

She laughs. “Beat you to the punch, huh? Well, here – sorry they’re a bit sweaty.”

They are, but Caitlyn can’t find it in herself to mind. She doesn’t mind anything that night; all she can focus on is Violet’s luminous grin and stupid jokes and ridiculous hair. That’s all that ever matters, and Caitlyn was a fool to forget it. But she swears to Vi that she’ll never forget it again, and she means it more than she has ever meant anything in her life.

[hexb0nes]

Sugar, Spice, & Everything Nice

I. COFFEE BEANS & UNSATSIFED DREAMS

word count: 5k

pairing: sugar daddy!jayce x sugar baby!reader

contains: the brutality of working in the food/beverage industry, karenism, alludes to depression, social and physical isolation

summary: life as a barista is fine when the customers are, but a terrible exchange between you and a demanding customer leaves you upset and angry. billionaire jayce talis emerge from his solitude to get his life back on track. your hard days lead to an unlikely meetup.

author's note: chapter one is here!!! many thanks to my beta reader @bb-enablefreebuild for her help <3 i hope y'all enjoy this, i know a few folks in @madschiavelique's discord server were craving some sugar daddy jayce ;D

The aroma of coffee beans and freshly warmed pastries wafts through The Last Drop, a local café in the heart of Piltover City. Chattering customers of all sorts fill up the shop, some awaiting for their drinks while others partake in their sweet treats. It’s a busy day, the third busy day in a row for the week. Busy days mean more tips, but–

You run through the backside of the café, sweat sticking to your forehead from the heat emitting from the various equipment. The morning shift is down by two workers, leaving you and your remaining coworkers Gertude and Mylo to man the ship, a rapidly sinking ship.

“We need a medium flat white! Oat milk and medium roast!” Gertude yells to you from behind the cash register. The amount of customers waiting to order barely fits inside the queue belts, some grumbling about the long wait. Remember, busy days mean more time.

“I’m on it!” you shout back in confirmation and make a mad dash into the back of the shop. 

With the grace of a bull in a china shop, you throw yourself at the espresso machine and dump some coffee beans inside the chute, turning the machine on and adjusting the setting until you pull out an adequate espresso shot. You hastily steam the oak milk and with the ingredients ready, you pour a flat white as best as your trembling hands could.

“Flat white with oat milk and medium roast!” you pop out to the front with the coffee in hand. An older woman with a quilted jacket appears before you, “Thank you, dear,” she takes the coffee from your hands. She pulls out a five dollar bill from her pocket and hands it to you, “Good luck to you and your friends!”

“Thank you so so so much,” you thank the customer profusely. She tips her head and walks off; you turn around to get back to the coffee machines when an annoyed voice calls out to you, “Excuse, ma’am.”

You spin back around to the front and come face-to-face with a middle-aged man in business attire. His face is so red, you fear that he’s having a stroke. Unfortunately, Mr. Not-Having-A-Stroke thrusts his to-go coffee cup towards your face, “This coffee is the worst thing I’ve ever tasted! I want a refund!”

You attempt to placate the businessman with a well-trained smile, “I’m sorry, sir, but we have a no refund policy because all of our items are perishable.”

“What?!” he screams. The businessman snatches the cup from your hands, “That’s ridiculous! I demand to speak to your manager!” 

Fucking Karen. You let out a small sigh from under your breath and slip into your default customer service voice, “Yes, sir. One moment, please.” 

Mr. Karen gives a grunt of approval, “Good, I don’t have all day.”

You piece of shit. “If you’d just give me a moment,” you shout for your boss from the back of the shop before turning towards the customer, “He should be here momentarily.”

Less than a minute goes by when Mr. Tomato-Face starts tapping his foot.

Two minutes pass, still no sign of your boss. The businessman glares daggers into your soul, “Shout for him again.”

“Sir, he’ll be here in a few. Please be patient,” you grit your teeth.

Another minute goes by.

“Shout for him. Again,” Mr. Karen demands.

“Sir, like I said, he’s—”

Splash!

You fail to shield yourself from the splash of coffee chucked at you from the angry customer. Lukewarm coffee hits your chest and your face, drenching your apron and shirt in muddy brown. A hush falls upon the café patrons, most witnessing the volatile exchange.

“Sir.”

The deep but calm voice of the café owner—Vander Gallagher—breaks the silence of the room. He towers over Mr. Tomato, his muscular biceps on display with his fitted shirt. The businessman cowers pathetically under the massive figure of your boss, “Oh— I—”

“I’m asking you to leave the premises,” your boss states. He shoots you a glance and asks, “Would you like to press charges for assault?”

“No need,” you wipe off some coffee droplets from your face, “I’m not gonna waste my time on a lowlife like him.”

“Very well,” Vander looks down at the businessman and places a large hand on his shoulder, “How about you pay my kind barista over here so she can replace her uniform, alright? A fifty dollar bill should do, then you can be on your way.”

“O– O– Okay,” the businessman stammers, opening his leather wallet and pulls out the requested bill. Vander smiles at the coward’s cooperation and pockets the money, “Say smile!”

In a flash, Vander snaps a photo of your assaulter with his phone. The businessman winces at the sudden flash and retreats from the café once released from Vander’s hold. A few café patrons trade concerned frowns while others mumble among themselves. 

“Apologies, folks!” Vander puts on a cheery smile, “Please continue with your meals and drinks! All is well.”

Chitchat resumes in the café, whispers about the earlier scene reaching your ears. Vander enters the back with you and pulls you into a side hug. Defeated, you accept his touch and crumble.

“Take the rest of the day off,” he informs you. Shaking your head, you reply back, “I can’t, we’re already low as is– Don’t worry about it,” Vander cuts in, “I’ll take over for you and don’t worry about the pay, I’m still paying you for your whole shift.”

Tears prick in the corners of your eyes and you sniffle, “You sure?”

“I’m positive,” your boss confirms. He passes you the fifty dollar bill, “Here’s your compensation for that asshole. I’ll give you a new apron.”

“Thanks,” you offer Vander a weak smile and shove the bill in your pocket.

“Of course,” he chuckles, “

You strip yourself of your ruined apron and pass it off to Vander. He waves you goodbye and you leave for the small break room in the far back of the café. Wiping away any escaped tears, you approach your locker and crack the combination lock to open it. You toss your visor and name tag inside before removing your satchel and jacket from the locker, slamming it shut with an annoyed huff. 

Fucking asshole, you steam your anger out in your thoughts, as you exit the café, This was one of my favorite shirts, the stained shirt is of your favorite cover album of your favorite band, The Firelights. You plop down outside the café and hug your knees to your chest, I hate it here. I hate working here. I hate, I hate, I—

“Hi.”

A husky voice greets you. Peering up from your ball of sadness, you see the owner of the voice. It’s a bearded man dressed in a baseball hat and dark sunglasses, paired with a plain white T-shirt and blue jeans. His bomber jacket appears weathered from use; you narrow your eyes to get a closer look and notice a familiar symbol on the breast pocket, a tilted hourglass. 

“Can I sit here?” the man inquires, his broad stature blocking the blinding light of the sun.

“Sure, be my guest,” you mumble indifferently. 

The man takes a seat beside you and rests his head against the concrete wall, “Bad day?”

“Very bad day,” you reaffirm, pulling out of your sadness ball and stretching out your legs. 

The man beside you raises his eyebrows and points at your shirt, “You’re a fan of the Firelights?”

“Oh,” you nod and cast another look at his bomber jacket, “Yeah, I am. You are, too, yeah?” you gesture at the Firelights’ symbol on his jacket, “Judging from the jacket.”

“For sure,” he smiles at you, a pearly white and toothy grin. Despite his Goliath form, the strange man radiates oddly comforting energy, “What happened to your shirt, though?”

Your expression darkens at his question, “Some asshole threw coffee at me ‘cuz I wouldn’t give him a refund,” your words are sour like a lemon, “I doubt I’m gonna be able to get this stain out...”

“Want a new one?” the man asks.

“Want?” you furrow your brow, “Of course, I want a new one, but I don’t have room in my—” you cut yourself short. Why am I telling this man my life story?

“Let me get you one,” his voice is firm, “No ifs or buts.”

You run your hands through your hair, already exhausted enough from the day’s events, and relent to the stranger, “Fine. Deliver it to me the next time you come to The Last Drop.”

“Will do,” the strange man extends a large hand to you, “By the way, it’s nice to meet you, even though it was under not so great circumstances.”

You take his hand and it engulfs your own, as you two shake hands, “Nice to meet you, too, stranger,” you answer back.

The man before you removes his sunglasses and reveals his bright, hazel eyes. His eyes stare into yours and for a moment, all is silent. Pretty, you think to yourself.

“Jayce, actually.”

“Mm?”

“My name’s Jayce. What’s yours?”

You tell your name to Jayce and he grins.

“What a beautiful name.”

Your face warms up at his compliment, a contrast to the autumn chill. 

Noticing your flustered expression, Jayce simply smiles back.

“I’ll see you soon.”

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The Man of Progress. Golden Boy. The One Who Revolutionized the World.

Jayce Talis has many names in reference to his extraordinary work with Hextech and other inventions powered by  new, once unknown sources of energy. He’d been dreaming of changing the world ever since he was a child.. In his heart, Jayce knew he could and that the Universe would guide him to achieving it. 

In elementary school, Jayce discovered such a strange crystal, abandoned in the fields outside his house. It was unlike anything he had ever seen before, with its unnaturally vibrant blue color and rigid texture. That crystal would become the key to Jayce’s quest of bettering the world.

Years went by, as Jayce grew up from a chubby cheeked boy to a handsome, grown man. He sped through high school, college, and graduate school with the help of a lacrosse scholarship, but Jayce felt no fulfillment with his fancy degrees. His free time was dedicated to toying with the crystal. Hours were consumed by his non-stop research in his university’s lab, but no answers would come about.

Then Viktor Novak entered the picture, the second key to revolutionizing the world. 

A scrawny, vampirically pale man, Jayce would encounter him infrequently during his time at graduate school. As assistant to the Dean, Viktor had to be everywhere and juggle everything. The two would have the occasional conversation, but nothing bloomed beyond that; not until a chance meeting in the engineering lab that exposed Viktor to the allure of solving the mysterious crystal. 

Viktor shared the same dream as Jayce, to make the world a better place. With his cane in tow, Viktor climbed from the pits of the small subsector of St. Zaun to the skyscrapers of Piltover City; a brilliant man who wanted more in life than to be an assistant and to give power to his community. A dream that would come to fruition with the help of that little blue crystal. 

The night that changed the world involved the pair running through more equations and analyses than a stockbroker with cocaine. They were running on fumes and an empty coffee pot. In the midst of their sleepless delirium, Viktor suggested the impossible, “What if it’s from space?”

Jayce laughed his head off at the mere idea, his head throbbing from caffeine withdrawal and the desperate need to sleep. Yet, the steely glint of seriousness in Viktor’s eyes made the scientist quiet down. He never considered the possibility of the crystal’s origin being from space…the crystal’s structure was more similar to quartz than anything else. 

While Jayce pondered the possibilities, Viktor set down a streak test plate and filed the crystal against it. It sparked. At the same time, the lights in the lab flickered for a brief moment. 

Curious, Viktor rubbed the crystal against the plate again, inciting the same reaction from the lab lights. No material on Earth has ever done that. 

A crazy idea exploded inside Jayce’s head. 

He grabbed the crystal off the streak plate and secured it inside the lone centrifuge in the corner of the lab, much to Viktor’s horror. He scolded Jayce for such a reckless act, but Jayce fired back with the notion that if the crystal was an unknown material from space, they couldn’t operate under Earth rules. 

Unable to argue with his logic, Viktor handed his fellow scientist some eye protection and stepped far away from the centrifuge. Jayce strapped goggles firmly around his eyes and steadied himself with a deep breath. He d turned  on the centrifuge and history unfolded before their very eyes. 

The crystal spun like a gymnast on steroids. It spun and vibrated and spun some more until– 

The centrifuge exploded in a flash of blue light, energy rippling through the lab. Lights in the lab intensified for a moment before blinking out, engulfing the room in darkness. Jayce and Viktor ran to the windows and stared outside in a mix of awe and concern. The power grid for the entire campus was fried, shrouding the university in pitch black. Viktor hobbled back to the damaged centrifuge and brushed off some debris, picking something up. In his hand, the crystal laid unharmed.  

Jayce Talis and Viktor Novak, a pair of terribly exhausted and somewhat deranged scientists, discovered renewable energy unlike anything the world had ever seen.

They secured the funding of sponsors like Medara Industries, the potential of getting their grubby hands on potent energy was too powerful to resist. Jayce and Viktor developed a wide variety of inventions powered by the energy of the crystal, which they dubbed as the Hex Crystal. From engines for cars to prosthetics, the two’s inventions soared them into the stratosphere of fame and glory. While Viktor preferred to be in the shadows and tinker away in the lab, Jayce was made for the spotlight; he enchanted the nation with his charm and smarts, cementing his place as America’s Sweetheart and The Man of Progress.

Jayce Talis achieved his dream of changing the world… but the cost of such victory would catch up with him eventually. 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Seven years had passed since the discovery of Hextech and the founding of Hex Energy Incorporated. A board of directors and investors was established and managed a bulk of the corporation, such as marketing and finances. Viktor Novak, one of the two founders, became the CTO—chief technology officer—but still dedicated his time to hiding in his personal lab and creating schematics for new inventions. As for Jayce Talis, the other founder, he maintained the position as chief executive officer, the CEO and smiling face of Hex Energy.

Jayce had everything, billions to his name. When the money from Hex Energy started rolling in, his first “purchase” was spent on his mother, Ximena. He ensured that her retirement would last for decades; she deserved it, after all, as she spent a good decade or so raising Jayce by her lonesome after his father’s passing. 

After setting up his mother for a life of comfort and security, Jayce’s later financial decisions were much more impulsive. He indulged himself in a playboy lifestyle with yachts, international trips, and mansions galore, brimming with the smooth and the sexy. Jayce lived it up like Bruce Wayne without a care, drowning himself in the thrills of fame and fortune. 

The appeal of such a life wore off eventually by the time Jayce entered his late twenties. There weren't enough fancy suits or round trips to Rome in the world that could compensate for his desire to do better for humanity. 

So, Jayce lit his playboy persona on fire and sold off his frivolous purchases for charity, turning a new leaf as a philanthropist. Like his co-founder and partner Viktor, who vowed not to be a millionaire, Jayce channeled his money into a variety of charities to lighten the load of his bank account, even creating a few of his own to invest funds in. With his new image, Jayce became America’s Favorite, a man who could do no wrong. In the eyes of the public, he was a hero.  

Truth to be told, Jayce Talis was a loser.

Or at least that was how he felt. Viktor was his only friend and his last—as well as  only—romantic relationship fizzled out after a year of courting. Of course, so many people wanted to be friends with the Jayce Talis, but no one wanted to be friends with Jayce Talis. Vultures, these fake friends Jayce had the misfortune of making during his stupidity in his mid twenties. Those stabs from those he trusted most took its toll on Jayce and little by little, he withdrew. In the blink of an eye, he vanished, hidden away in the comfort and safety of his penthouse. 

With Jayce out of the public eye, rumors sparked about his health and wellbeing. Gossip magazines ran article after article on the reclusive billionaire while paparazzi were on the hunt for a photograph of him in the hopes of a lucky break, to get the golden ticket from capturing the Jayce Talis. 

By the third month of “living up” as a hermit, Jayce received a wake-up call from none other than Viktor Novak. 

“Jayce,” his friend’s accented voice crackled from the speakerphone. Jayce’s phone rested on the glass coffee table, its owner preoccupied with scrolling through cable TV, “Jayce, you need to go outside.”

“I’m fine here.” Tombstone? No. Jumanji? No. God, there’s nothing but shit on cable.

“No, you’re not,” Jayce could hear his partner pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration, “You haven’t left your penthouse in months. It’s unhealthy,” Viktor sighs, “and that’s especially bad when the man with the terminal lung disease says so.”

“No matches yet?” Jayce powered off the TV and picked up the phone, taking it off speaker and holding it against his ear. 

“No, not yet, but I’m still top on the list,” answers Viktor, “But this isn’t about me, Jayce. I’m calling you as a warning.”

“A warning?”

“Yes, a warning. The board has been talking. There have been… discussions of your absence and your role with the company.”

Jayce’s grip on the phone tightened, “What have they been saying?”

“That they want you to resign.”

Within Jayce’s hand, the phone screen threatened to crack from the pressure.

“I’ll be in the office tomorrow morning. Bye, V.”

“Wait, Ja–” the CEO hung up the call with a huff. Jayce collapsed back down against the plush sofa and stared at the ceiling fan. His eyes followed the spinning, Resign? Are they insane?! They wouldn’t have jobs if it wasn’t for me and Viktor! 

Jayce pushed himself off the sofa and dragged himself to the bathroom, What assholes. When I get back tomorrow– Jayce’s train of thought vanished, as he took sight of his reflection in the bathroom mirror. No longer did a clean cut and shaved Golden Boy appear in the mirror, but rather a dishevelled beast of a man. His hair reached just above his shoulders, paired with an unkept beard. Depression beard, huh?

Jayce made a quick call to his stylist Margot, who was surprised to hear from him—I thought you died! was how she put it—and scheduled an appointment for later that day to address his beauty emergency. With the appointment confirmed, Jayce entered his Spotify app and turned on whatever ‘motivational’ playlist he could find.

Pumped up music played throughout the bathroom, as Jayce showered for the first time in weeks. Lathering him with bourbon-scented wash products, Jayce relished in the relief that the hot water provided him. He exited the shower back into the steamy bathroom and dried his body and hair, finally clean after weeks of bed rotting. Jayce hated to admit it, but showering did help his mood. 

Once dried, he left the bathroom and threw on a makeshift disguise. Jayce knew that the public wouldn’t recognize him with such long hair and a beard, but he couldn’t take the risk. He dressed as generic as possible and topped it off with his bomber jacket from his college days, the tilted hourglass symbol from his favorite band The Firelights stitched on the breast pocket.

Sunlight greeted him when he vacated his penthouse and outside the apartment complex. He winced at the brightness and covered his eyes with a pair of sunglasses. Jayce wedged his way into the foot traffic, making his way to Margot’s studio. 

A sudden pang of hunger hit Jayce’s stomach, accompanied by a loud growl. Guess I could go for a bagel and some coffee. He continued walking until he caught sight of a café, one surprisingly close to Margot’s. Exiting the bustling sidewalk, Jayce made a beeline for the café, with the words The Last Drop written on its sign.

He reached out for the door, ready to go inside–

Jayce hears a sniffle. 

Close to the entrance of the café, he sees a young woman hugging her knees to her chest. Jayce takes a step closer and the pleasant scent of coffee hits his nose, unsure if it’s from the café or the woman. He hears more sniffling and frowns. Poor thing.

“Hi,” the greeting stumbles from Jayce’s lips without thinking.

At the sound of his voice, the woman lifts her head from her knees and looks around the area, her eyes landing on Jayce. His chest constricts like a boa had wrapped itself around it. The hunger in his stomach is replaced by the sensation of nervous butterflies. The woman before him couldn’t have been more than 25 or 26, but the dark circles under her eyes age her. Poor thing, she looks overworked.

“Can I sit here?” Jayce asks in a gentle manner, not wanting to frighten or come off as creepy. 

“Sure, be my guest,” the woman mumbles. 

Jayce plops down beside the woman and rests his head against the concrete wall. Eyes hidden behind polarized sunglasses, Jayce casts a sympathetic look and smiles at the poor lady, “Bad day?” he inquires.

“Very bad day,” she answers, exhaustion and sadness evident in her tone. The young woman stretches out her legs and lets out a defeated sigh. Jayce opens his mouth to offer reassurance when he notices her shirt, it features the album cover of Misfit Toys, one of the earlier albums from The Firelights. Near the neckline of the shirt, there’s a prominent brown stain splattered on it. 

“You’re a fan of the Firelights?” Jayce points to your shirt. It’s a rare sight to see someone wearing such early The Firelights merchandise unless they had been a fan since the beginning. 

They complimented their merchandise and the familiar feeling of awkward silence begins to sneak its way in. Jayce, desperate to keep it going, blurts out a question about the prominent coffee stain on her shirt. And there goes your opportunity to be a normal guy, ‘Golden Boy’.

The woman’s expression soured at his question and Jayce bit the inside of his cheek. Shit, did I piss– “Some asshole threw coffee at me ‘cuz I wouldn’t give him a refund,” she spits out to Jayce, “I doubt I’m gonna be able to get this stain out,” her eyes glisten with tears. 

Jayce’s instinct is to embrace the woman and comfort her, but he restrains himself from being overly affectionate with the stranger. Don’t come off as a creep, don’t come off as a–

“Want a new one?” Don’t be a creep, Jayce! Damn it!

“Want?” the woman perks up at his offer and furrows her brow, “Of course, I want a new one, but I don’t have room in my–” she shuts herself up and lowers her gaze. Don’t have room in your what? Jayce ponders, In your budget? What has the world come to that someone can’t buy a shirt without worrying about their finances?

“Let me get you one,” Jayce reasserts, unrelenting, “No ifs or buts.” You deserve it after the horrible day you had.

The woman runs her hands frustratedly through her messy hair and concedes, “Fine. Deliver it to me the next time you come to The Last Drop, I work the rest of this week until Friday,” Jayce does an internal fist bump of victory.

“Will do,” he takes a mental note of the T-shirt design. To Jayce’s surprise, he extends his hand out to the woman, a gesture of good faith, “It’s nice to meet you,” he smiles, “Even though it wasn’t under not so great circumstances.”

The woman takes his hand and intertwines it with hers, so small and dainty in comparison. She shakes his hand and returns the good regards, “Nice to meet you, too, stranger.”

Jayce relinquishes his hand from the handshake and takes off his sunglasses, no longer bothered by the sunlight. He locks eyes with the woman, the world around them suddenly silent. Why do I feel so nervous? Jayce questions himself, God, guess I really have been a hermit that I’m getting all flustered just from looking at a woman. The woman bats her eyelashes and slightly parts her lips, likely a subconscious response. Nonetheless, it sends arrows straight into Jayce’s heart, his pupils engulfing his hazel irises. 

“Jayce, actually,” he breaks the silence.

“Mm?” the woman tilts her head at Jayce.

“My name’s Jayce. What’s yours?”

And she, you evidently, answer his question. Jayce grins. A beautiful name for a beautiful woman, “What a beautiful name.”

Your eyes widen a bit and you avert your gaze to conceal your flustered face. Jayce can’t help but smile. Adorable. His phone buzzes with an alarm notification, alerting him that his appointment with Margot is in five minutes. Jayce springs up from the ground and bids his farewell, “I’ll see you soon.”

He walks away from the café, purposefully slow. Jayce takes a few sneak peeks from behind to see if you’re still outside the café. There’s no sight of you, you probably left to take care of your soiled shirt. 

The bell above the door jingles, announcing Jayce’s arrival to Madame M’s, Margot’s studio. It’s uncomfortably empty, no sounds of blow dryers or chitchat between stylists and customers. Why is it so empty?

High heels clicking against hardwood floor signals the arrival of a blonde woman with green makeup, “Jayce, baby!” the blonde–Margot–embraces Jayce and gives him a smooch on each cheek, “I’ve missed you so much!” she leads him to a salon chair and drapes a cover over his front, “Where have you been, darling? You vanished off the face of the Earth!”

“It’s a long story,” the CEO awkwardly chuckles.

“Wanna get into it?” the stylist hums, as she rummages through her styling tools. 

“I rather not,” he answers. 

Margot sets down a range of hair clippers and scissors on the table under the mirror, “No worries, just curious. Are we doing your usual today?”

“No, just a clean-up,” Jayce interjects. 

“Very well!” Margot claps her hands together, “This shouldn’t take too long then,” a small smile graces her lips, “Something’s different about you, Jayce.”

“Besides the long hair and beard?” Jayce snorts. 

“Besides that,” Margot grabs some hair clips and scissors, “You look like you went through Hell and I take it that this is your first day in public since your…” she sections off parts of Jayce with the hair clips, “...Your disappearance from the public eye a few months ago. You sort of look like a sad lump of shit..”

“Geez, thanks,” the CEO huffs. 

Margot runs a section of black hair through her comb and snips off the dead ends, “You ran into something,” snip snip snip, “Or someone.”

Jayce’s blood turns cold at her deduction and masks his shock with a cough, “Ah! Well, uhm… I did encounter someone, yes. You’re not wrong about that.”

A boisterous laugh rings in Jayce’s ears, as Margot continues to cut his hair, “Oh, darling! It’s written all over your face. That someone left a mark on you.”

“I was heading to get some coffee when I saw her outside the coffee shop, crying. She was having a bad day and I was trying to cheer her up, that’s all.”

“Mhm… I doubt that. She lit a spark in you. I can tell, of course. I’m French, after all.”

Jayce goes quiet and the earlier events play back in his mind; a toothy grin forms on his face when he remembers your honeyed voice and your beautiful eyes, “She was– is pretty, but that doesn’t constitute ‘lighting a spark’ in me.”

“Think about it deeper, baby. After months of your absence from the public eye, what did the one person you encounter today do?”

It clicks.

“She… didn’t recognize me?”

“Bingo!” Margot cheers, snipping off the last necessary strands from Jayce’s hair, “And isn’t that such a relief? To be unknown?”

Jayce mulls over Margot’s words while she touches up his beard. It is a relief to be unknown, Jayce had not been so since his college days. Talking to you had been the first normal conversation he had with someone in months—no, years—beyond Viktor, his mother, or his de facto sister Caitlyn Kiarmann. I have a chance to be normal. Glee and excitement bubble up in his stomach. 

“Look at your face, darling,” Margot whispers, “You look happy.”

Jayce focuses his gaze onto the salon mirror. He’s now cleanly groomed with a stylish haircut and beard, no longer a Sasquatch. The expression on his face is one of simple content, not too strong and not too weak. 

For the first time in months, billionaire CEO Jayce Talis looks happy.

All because of you, a disgruntled barista whose ruined day led to your paths crossing. 

[kiatheinsomniac]

. * ⋆  . · 　. ⋆ :₊ 𝒗𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒆'𝒔 𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒄𝒉-𝒖𝒑 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ♡ ‧⁺ . ♡ ⋆ . · 　. 𝒔𝒖𝒈𝒂𝒓! 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

sugar! she/her, bi (with a male lean), and i love to draw and online shop !! my style is everywhere, but i usually dress very cutesy while staying comfy. i also love bunnies, plushies, and sweets. i dislike anything gross like bugs, being ignored, and being scared/pranked. one of my biggest pet peeves is a condescending individual, but i find a little bit of teasing cute. i'm very reclusive and anxious, but can mask really well in basic situations. i'm very clumsy and sensitive, i tend to fumble and tear up in unexpected scenarios. i like to be as kind as possible !! i find it easier to defend others compared to defending myself. while i like to be taken care of the most, i often find myself taking care of others. my way of showing love is through acts of service and physical touch, and the best way for me to recieve love is through words of affirmation. i'm also a nightowl and nott a morning person whatsoever. (fandoms: genshin impact, the kid at the back, homicipher, howl's moving castle, bungou stray dogs) i hope this was enough info !!! tysm for the opportunity btw >_< ♡ –anon

˚ ༘♡⋆｡˚𝒔𝒐𝒍 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒗𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒆!❀

♡ Sol absolutely adores the cutsey vibe you give off. It's so sweet and we know he absolutely has a soft spot for his darling (as wrapped up in infatuation as that may be).

♡ He's seen how you can easily tear up and find it hard to stand up for yourself despite being defensive on behalf of others and being so kind. He feels the need to be the one to protect you from such scenarios.

♡ Sol is a night owl too so, if you're willing, he could spend the entire night on the phone to you or messaging you. His every waking moment is absorbed by thoughts of you so why not spend his nights talking to you for hours on end too?

ᯓ♡ 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒊𝒕 𝒂 𝒅𝒂𝒕𝒆?𓂃 ࣪˖𐀔

♡ Sol had a date of his own in mind and told Hyugo about it... Hyugo immediately scrapped the entire plan for what we'll call guessable reasons and helped him to plan a real date instead.

♡ He brings everything needed to your place for a cosy night in, including films and fun activities. He's got some coloured polymer clay for you to make cute little figures with, some legos to build together, and all the ingredients to make some pizzas to eat while the two of you can cuddle on the couch and watch some films.

♡ Even when making the figures with you, he puts his artistic skills to use to create cute little figures for you to keep - bunnies, kittens, sanrio, whatever suits your tastes most. He chose the lego sets with the same idea in mind.

𝒑.𝒔.  Happy Valentine's Day! Thank you so much for entering my event!

♡   : · missed the event? Try ships instead! ☾ ⋆ ﾟlike my work? why not: ∘ buy me a coffee? ∘ comms. ∘ taglist ∘ follow/reblog

[torpidgilliver]

Sure, I'll bite.

I'm aro/ace. I figured out the asexuality fairly early on, around high school or so, but kept dating because I was cripplingly afraid of dying alone. I threw myself at a couple of really solid friendships that opened themselves up to romance, and after the initial limmerence period wore off, I started to hate the partners whom I'd loved as friends. I broke up with my last partner after we hung out with my cousin and his then-boyfriend, because after a rowdy night of wandering the darkened city streets, it was clear to me that "enjoying a relationship" didn't look like anything I recognized. I told my ex that I needed to be alone because I was fairly sure I was aromantic and he responded in a way that still ticks me off to this day, by saying that he loved me and would wait until this phase passed. Every few years he texts me, usually in February, to briefly ask how I'm doing. Conversations with him usually peter out quickly after I tell him that I'm happy.

I was single through most of college, and living in a place where I had dozens of friends within walking distance purged fears of loneliness from my mind until I dropped out in senior year. I cannot stress this enough: regular in-person contact with people who make you smile is vital to your wellbeing. I'm an introvert who does a poor job of making friends, and this is true even for me. If I don't see humans who aren't my family or coworkers at least a couple times a week, I start to wilt like a sunless plant. I don't even notice until it becomes bad.

Where I am now, I've kind of fallen into. My best friend and roommate (and technically queerplatonic partner, though I'm allergic to any language that's associated with romantic relationships after all the bullshit I dealt with to get to accepting being aro) is polyam and pan, and damn near my opposite in every way that doesn't matter. She's disabled and autistic and needs patient help with things that might seem trivial to an allistic person. She's also a steady presence in my life who can handle situations that frustrate me to tears, and she's the only person I trust completely with every thought in my head that I might otherwise be ashamed to share. And we met by accident; we were both looking for roommates and the guy who connected the two of us with the intent of us being a group of three wound up getting muscled out of the picture because we were too close and he was too useless.

She helped me break through my anxiety to uproot from Florida and escape to the midwest. Her encouragement eventually got me to quit my last terrible job and find one that I'm happy in. And every evening when I come home, she's got the curtains thrown open for me (even though she likes to pretend to hate the sun) and the biggest hug I've ever had ready for me to walk into. I can't imagine life without her, and I'm not expected to sleep with her—or anyone—in order to keep this incredible gleaming light in my life.

If you're lonely and scared, I see you. Know that wherever you are right now, physically and/or emotionally, isn't where you will always be. For me, reaching happiness meant getting on an antidepressant regimen, linking arms with my favorite person to escape from a sinking hell to what we hope to be solid ground, and being pressured so hard at a job I hated that I finally quit and went to my dream job: admin in a small specialty clinic. Your path to happiness will be yours, and I promise that if you keep moving ahead slowly, eventually the fog will clear and you'll be able to see at least a few steps ahead.

Looking for some insights from the aro community...

If you're an aromantic person who is not in a romantic relationship but who feels like they are abundantly (or at least sufficiently) loved... can you talk a little bit about what your situation is, and how you found the people you did? It would really help me to hear some happy stories right now...

[math-rocks-and-lizard-bats]

Things @quiddie says frequently that have entered my speech patterns (gm and non gming) (and that I constantly quote):

“Let me be very clear”

“What you don’t see”

“I mean….”

“That’s really good for me actually”

“Wet fire!!!!”

*throwing things that don’t work*

“Tell me that little something extra.”

“Applebees soulcycle”

“Guardian of Faith Kill me first”

“Oh no! My immersion”

“Like a lil bit as a treat”

“I do have alert I can’t be surprised”

Aabria if u see this these so make me so happy I hope you know. You help me so much I love all your work. (As you’ve seen bc you’ve reblogged my stuff) college is hard but getting to watch you to help me destress makes me so happy.

[deoidesign]

.

[lilworms]

so