#this is me keeping it simple. physically. incapable

[peapod20001]

Them but small

[kidsomeday]

My fanfiction writing process:

think of a single cute and/or sexy little scene

decide to write cute and/or sexy little scene

oh wait maybe I should add a little context

why is this fic 15000 words

i haven't even gotten to the original scene i wanted to write

there's 5000 more words now someone please send help

oh gods what has my hubris wrought

curl up into a ball and cry

to cope think about another cute and/or sexy little scene

[dollfacefantasy]

kenny. omg. hear me out. being rick’s stress relief during the alexandria arc of s5 😵‍💫 like omg yeah he’s clean shaven now but can’t go two days w/o fighting w someone from alexandria, got restrained by michonne n everything… figures he needs smth else to keep the group in alexandria’s good graces and settles on smth along the lines of free use w you!! can’t be too shitty of a day if you get fucked into the mattress by the end of it ♡

hnghhh em omg i love you so bad. ur genius for this. i put a little backstory because i'm physically incapable of not being longwinded lol <3

rick grimes x fem!reader

rick needs a little stress relief with all the new responsiblities at alexandria

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, age gap (early 20s/late 30s)

You always thought stress was supposed to decrease someone’s sex drive, but now that you were getting fucked dumb every single night, you were sure that wasn’t true.

Rick had to be the most wound up person you’d ever known, constantly up in arms about something. Ever since he and his group arrived at your once peaceful community, there’d been nothing but conflict. At best it was petty drama, at worst guns were drawn and brains were about to be splattered all over the pavement.

The worst it got was that day you saw him in the middle of the street hunched over the doctor like a rabid dog. You’d stayed back, keeping your distance from him as he waved his gun around and rambled on about control. Crimson blood dripped from his hairline all over his face. You couldn’t tell whether it belonged to him or the incapacitated man beneath him.

You’d never seen anyone like him. Living in Alexandria since the start of the outbreak meant you were pretty sheltered. The people here rarely raised their voices let alone tackled each other through windows. He looked like the physical manifestation of what everyone warned you life outside the walls was like.

It was scary, but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t turn you on.

Needless to say, you were pretty eager to offer yourself up to take the position watching him while the others decided what to do going forward.

You entered the room while he was still asleep. He was as peaceful as you’d ever seen him. Taking a seat in the chair beside the bed, you looked at him almost as if he was encased in glass, a specimen for your examination. His skin still had the scarlet tint of blood. His brown curls lie stuck between his temple and the ratty old pillow on the bed.

It startles you a bit when his eyes flutter open and connect with yours. Awkwardness sludges through your veins, but he looks you over like it’s nothing. You know you’re one of the least threatening people he’s come across in the new world. 

“You’re the one they got babysitting me, huh?” he rasps.

“I guess so,” you respond with more timidness than you would like.

His tongue slides out between his lips and licks the chapped skin while he continues to stare you down. It’s hard not to squirm in your seat, to shift your thighs against one another and make your desire known. Before you have a chance to think through your course of action though, he speaks again.

“Are you nervous?” he asks, his tone not looking to provoke a reaction but simultaneously wanting you to recognize your inferiority.

You shrug. He wasn’t gonna get the satisfaction. Not yet anyways.

“Are you scared of me?” he continues.

“No,” you answer.

“Good,” is all he says in response.

That was the last thing he said to you that day, but you could still hear the simple syllable in your mind. He might have been done talking to you. You weren’t through with him though. Under the guise of being assigned to watch him, you continued to linger around him as he went about his tasks in the community.

You tended to follow him around like a puppy. You were curious about him, watching him with inquisitive eyes, peeking over his shoulder as he cleaned his gun or tuned his transceiver. Your gazes were adoring too. It was obvious that you admired the way he could take control of a room with his words, how his people looked to him with reverence when he spoke.

He intoxicated you. In a world lacking things to do, observing Rick became a hobby for you.

He noticed of course, but he couldn’t say he minded. At least someone in this fucking place had an interest in survival and saw the value in listening to him. Plus, it didn’t hurt that you were pretty cute. He didn’t mind your company, didn’t mind teaching you things here and there. In his eyes, you were the least annoying out of all the new people here.

You both were on watch when you got a little promotion from least annoying. The two of you were sitting on the platform attached to the wall. It was night. Neither of you could sleep. Instead of telling you bits and pieces of the nightmares that kept sleep from him, he decided to teach you how to put a scope on a rifle. Nodding along to each thing he says, you watch his fingers and take note of every little thing he does. He gives you a few tries with it, but you’re still struggling to get the thing attached.

That’s when he looks at you, his expression unchanging, and pats his lap.

“C’mere.”

It’s out of your control really. You don’t even have a second to think about it before your legs have pushed you across the platform to the spot he beckoned you. With your back against his chest, his arms encase you and come around front to show you up close how to fasten the scope. When he’s done, he detaches it and makes you try.

His hands slide down your arms, lingering on the skin for longer than needed. They trail down to your sides then your hips. You bite your lip and try to focus on the task he wants you to perform rather than his touch. But then he leans forward to watch your hands work. His chin hovers above your shoulder. You can hear his breaths next to your ear. Once you’ve got it, you can essentially picture his subtle smirk in your mind.

“Good girl,” he croons teasingly.

You turn your head slightly, looking at him with your wide, innocent eyes. He chuckles and reaches up to stroke your cheek. Neither of you know what you’re really doing but one thing leads to another and you’re kissing. Then he’s got his hand up your shirt, groping your tits. It all comes to head and ends up with you straddling him, sinking down on his cock and burying your head in his shoulder.

Biting the fabric of his t-shirt to keep quiet, you begin to rise and fall. It felt so good as if it was what your body had been aching for. You felt the most alive you ever had in this shitty new world, and if the way he was gripping your hips and returning your thrusts were any indication, Rick felt the same way.

You both grunt and moan quietly as your bodies rut together with a primal desire for satisfaction. His lips glide over your collarbone and up your neck to the spot behind your ear. You let out a sharp whine which causes him to grin.

“Need you to be quiet, sweetheart,” he chides, “Don’t want to wake any of the others, do you?”

You’re quick to shake your head and cover your mouth with your palm, but you don’t stop bouncing. You needed him deep, rearranging your insides to a perfect mold for him.

“Then again,” he breathes, “They could stand to learn a thing or two from you. So obedient, eager to please…”

His words trail off as he helps you ride him. You’re so tight and warm, and for the first time since he set foot through those walls, his mind feels clear. He doesn’t hear the constant jabbering for his attention. His head doesn’t throb with the sensation of being pulled in five different directions. It’s like each thrust into your heat clears away a worry. By the time he cums, he feels drained of all his stress.

He needed more of that feeling. He couldn’t get enough of it. It was the start of a routine for the two of you. Everyday at least once, you were getting fucked till you were a drooling, dazed mess. And sometimes it was more than once. Sometimes he had you on your knees in the armory in the afternoon or pulled you into a storage closet on a morning supply run.

He had fifteen years on you, but most of the time he was the one leaving you exhausted.

And today had been a particularly bad day for Rick. Everything that could go wrong did. Alexandria was running low on a collection of different things, walkers were gathering at the East wall, one of the gate’s locks was rusting, a sprinkler broke, and on top of everything, he had to deal with everyone’s constant bitching.

The only thing that kept him from losing his shit was the thought of you laid in his bed at night waiting for him, batting your long eyelashes over those pretty doe eyes as you sat there in nothing but his t-shirt and a pair of panties. The end of the day couldn’t come soon enough.

He grits his teeth and dashes all across the community to try and get everything solved by sundown. The workload keeps him busy which fortunately makes the time go by faster. He also tries his best to keep his cool with people. There was no use starting petty conflicts when he had something much nicer to screw with now.

As soon as everyone’s headed off to bed and all the perimeters have been checked, he can’t get home fast enough. He’s quiet coming in. He didn’t wanna wake anyone. If someone got in his way now, he’d flip his lid worse than any of them had ever seen.

He’s up the stairs in seconds, taking them two at a time. Whisking the bedroom door open, a deep sigh seeps from his lungs as he sees his daydreams become realities of the night. Your pretty legs are on display for him as you lounge in the bed reading a book. He crosses the room and grabs you by the ankle to pull you closer to the edge of the bed. You already know what time it is and feel a dull tingle in the pit of your belly.

“Stressful day?” you ask as you finish the page you were on.

“Is the sky still blue?” he grumbles as he presses a kiss to your calf then another further up against your knee.

You smile at the quip, placing the book on the nightstand just in time as he flips you over onto your stomach. He climbs on top of you, squeezing your waist and nuzzling his face against your neck.

“Those people don’t even know how much they should be thanking you, baby,” he mumbles, “They don’t even know how many times a day you save their asses.”

You squirm a little beneath him as his fingers hook around your panties and tug them down. The sound of his zipper follows and it’s no time before you feel the weight of his dick against you.

“Needed you so bad all day,” he says.

“I needed you too,” you whimper as you feel slick gathering between your thighs.

He nips at your earlobe and rubs his hands up under his shirt you have on to tease the sides of your breasts.

“S’cute, honey,” he whispers, “Thinking about me while you did your little chores, hm?”

“Yeah,” you whine as he starts to line himself up and slot himself in the correct position.

It was such a familiar feeling, but each time it still made a chill run through you. Your insides ached with the pleasure that came from being filled up by him.

“Perfect girl. That’s just the way it should be,” he mutters.

He wastes no time before he starts thrusting. It only takes a couple before he starts groaning too. On nights like these, he was in no mood to take his time or savor the moment.

“So tight for me, Christ,” he chokes out, “There’s nothing like you.”

You moan softly too, putting your head down to muffle your sounds with the blanket. His hand rests around your neck for leverage as he fucks into you faster.

“That’s right, pretty baby. You’re so good for me. Givin’ me what I need. You’re the only one who can,” he grunts.

He snaps his hips harder, trying to find the limit of how hard he could go without being too loud or smacking the headboard into the wall. You claw at the ratty blankets on the bed as your toes curl. Your head turns to the side a little to peek up at him, and his eyes roll back.

“Everyone’s always fucking looking to me for something. No one can look at me like you can though. Those gorgeous eyes, all glossy for me. Not a thought behind ‘em right now,” he pants.

You nod weakly while digging your teeth into your lip again. It was getting harder to suppress the noises with the blanket alone.

“Rick…” you whimper, “Oh fuck, Rick.”

You gasp as he starts hitting the perfect spot. His stiff cock slips effortlessly in and out of you over and over and brushes that nook each time.

“Mhm. You’re the only one I wanna hear calling my name. Everyone here’s always whining for me, bitching for something. Not my girl though. The only time I hear you whining is when I’m balls deep, fucking you like you deserve,” he whispers.

You nod against the mattress. Your body rocks with the momentum of each thrust. Every stroke was working you closer to the edge, and Rick could feel his own impending as well.

Both his hands slide down to your hips to grip them hard. He keeps grinding and rolling his hips into you.

“Give it to me, princess. Lemme feel it. Gotta get my fix,” he says just as you start to tense up and jerk around below him.

You cum with a high moan into the plush fabric beneath you. Your body trembles and twitches as it handles the rush of euphoria. He keeps fucking you through it. His own noises start getting needier, closer to whimpers than groans. He grunts for a second as he finally feels release. He pulls out quickly and lets it spurt all over your ass. He’d so much rather do it inside, but he really didn’t need something else to worry about nine months from now.

With his release, the both of you are able to settle down for the night. He rolls off of you and quickly gets you cleaned up, so he can crawl into bed and hold you against his chest. The second most soothing thing to your pussy was the warmth of your body against him.

“So good for me, sweetheart. Always make things so good for me,” he sighs and lazily kisses your head, ready to drift off with the comfort of knowing this little scene would repeat itself tomorrow.

[avocado-writing]

Kinktober #28

28. Fucking Machine // Phone Sex // Impact Play (Wade Wilson x Reader)

“How’s it going?”

“Boring,” sighs Wade, his voice crackly on the other end of the line. “You’d think the people I’m waiting for would have the good grace to appear after like, ten minutes. I’m freezing my nuts off up here.”

Yeah, you don’t envy him for having to be on stakeout tonight. At least he was allowed to take his phone so he could have something to do. He didn’t need his mouth to watch somewhere, he reasoned, meaning he had time to talk to you too. 

You have him on loudspeaker as you cook, preparing macaroni - simple but a favourite in your little household. Wade hums at the sound of you stirring cheese through pasta.

“Wow, pookie, didn’t realise just talking to me made you that wet… man, if I ever went on public radio I’d ruin panties all over the state…”

“I’m making dinner, you goofball.”

“Likely story.” A beat. “Hey, what are you wearing?”

“What do you think I’m wearing, Wade? You saw me this morning.”

“Sure, but I want you to describe it to me.”

You laugh as you top bechamel sauce with breadcrumbs. “I’m wearing those jeans that make my ass look great and one of your shirts. The one which says ‘I love my slut dad’.”

He laughs at his own taste in casual wear and you can’t help but feel oddly sentimental towards him.

“And your panties?”

“From a bulk five-pack I got from Walmart. Not sexy, I’m afraid, baby.”

“They’re sexy if you’re in them.”

“Well that’s very sweet.”

“Do you wish I was there? Give me something, pookie, I’m dying here.”

Macaroni in the oven, you set the timer for twenty minutes and chuckle.

“I do wish you were here, Wade. I wish I was bouncing on your cock instead of watching Hawaii 5-0 all night, is that what you wanna hear?”

From the breath he takes in, yeah, it is. You laugh again. 

“Wow, you’re that horny, huh?”

“Well I’m sat on a rooftop with nothing else to entertain me but my imagination! So yeah, it turned dirty pretty fast. If you were here I could bend you over the balcony and fuck you while still being on lookout… but you’re not. The universe conspires against me, god’s bravest warrior.”

You pause for a moment, considering. When you talk again your voice is lower. Sultry. 

“You hard in your suit, baby?”

“Oh fuck.” You can picture his face lighting up. “You know I am. Fuck. Been hard most of the goddamn day.”

“You can touch yourself. Nobody can see you, right?”

You hear the sound of hands moving on spandex, then the unmistakable slap of skin on skin from the other side of the phone line as he starts to fuck his own hand. 

“Spit on it for me, Wade.”

“Holy fuck, babe…”

“You gonna behave?”

From the other end of the phone you’re able to pick up the welling of saliva in his mouth, and can imagine the way he spits a globule of it onto his cockhead.

“Good boy,” you whisper and Wade makes a strangled noise.

“Oh shit… baby you’re gonna make me cum so hard I’m gonna be ejected off this goddamn roof… they’re gonna find me splattered over the pavement in a mix of blood and cum…”

“Hmm. I’m willing to take my chances.” You slip your hand between your legs and give an exaggerated moan. 

“Holy shit Wade, I wish you were here. Keep me busy while the macaroni is cooking. Or maybe I could just cockwarm you for a little while, hm? Feel you struggling under me…”

“Y-you already did that on day eight…”

The desperation in his voice suggests he won’t last much longer. You grin to yourself.

“We could even ask if Logan wants to watch.”

Wade comes with a whimper. You know it, it’s a whimper he only emits when he’s so horny he’s physically incapable of making any other noise. You let him ride out his orgasm for a moment before asking: 

“So, did you splatter on the pavement?”

“No, but my suit is now covered in jizz, which is arguably worse.”

“Arguably…” you snort affectionately. “Do you feel better now?”

“Well, for like, ten minutes. I’ll call you back? I’ve got a uh, sticky situation to clean up.”

“Sure baby. Have fun.”

“How can I not have fun, cleaning up my own ejac—”

You hit the hang up button before he can finish. But it’s with fondness.

[remlionheart]

Can you do a Chuuya x fem reader where her bra can be shown from her white shirt?

pov: you request a simple spicy lil fic from me, but my manic brain is physically incapable of not giving it an entire backstory and plot and making it at least 4k+ words (thank you so much for this idea tho, it was super fun to write! ღ)

* ˚ ✦ MDNI ✦˚ *

Sex, Money, Feelings, Die

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ My first attempt at Chuuya smut (and goddamn, do I love that angry lil man ★~(◡‿◡✿). New to the city, you're coerced into working for the PM after a drunken night out. Scared and now in the heart of one of Japan's most notorious criminal organization's headquarters, you decide to reclaim some of your power by ~*teasing the absolute fuck out of Chuuya Nakahara~*. 4.8k words. Porn with a plot. I can't even lie, this shit had me giggling and kicking my feet while writing, lemme know whatcha think. luv u ღ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

When you'd first moved to Yokohama 2 months ago, you had promised your parents that you'd be safe. That you'd find yourself a decent office job to afford you a lofty apartment and that you'd be settled in relatively quickly. You'd pictured yourself walking amongst tall buildings on your days off. Exploring the city with your coworkers on the weekends. Living instead of just existing in your small hometown.

You thought you had your future all mapped out and maybe you did, but those dreams of normalcy were all but destroyed the night you crossed paths with Koyo Ozaki.

She had noticed you from across the bar, quietly observing the way you'd been drinking by yourself all night. It was odd to see a girl with your beauty and lack of abilities so confidently roaming downtown alone. She wasn't sure if you were brave or naive, but the moment you took a seat next to her to thank her for the whiskey and coke she had ordered you, she realized you were the perfect blend of both.

She'd spent the next hour chatting you up, effortlessly coaxing information out of you without you realizing it. She'd offered you an administrative assistant role for the group she worked for, describing it as a "lucrative" and "underground" organization. You were in no position to say no, especially after spending the last month relentlessly applying to jobs with little to no luck.

You woke up the next day musing about silly things like fate and serendipity as you raided your closet for the perfect first day outfit. You felt like this was your big break. The first stop on the roadmap of adulthood that you'd created for yourself. You ironed a pair all black slacks, pairing it with a white-button up quarter-sleeve shirt, and your favorite suede Mary-Janes. Optimism swirled through your head as you eyed yourself in your bedroom mirror that night. You were determined to be so good at this job.

You showed up freshly showered and prepared when you arrived at the sleek, high-rise building. Ozaki waited for you out front with a rather intimidating dark-haired man who introduced himself as Mori, head of the fucking Port Mafia.

Your anxiety rose with each step you took behind them, quickly realizing that this was not the run-of-the-mill clerical job you had envisioned while hazily chatting with Ozaki over whiskey-neats. This was an underground criminal organization full of some of the strongest ability users in the world. You had absolutely no idea why you were here. Why you'd been selected, let alone trusted, to work alongside these people.

You were given your own small office, equipped with a bare desk and landline phone. Mori told you to stay put, explaining that you were to stay out of sight until further notice. You were essentially there as a cover-up.

Apparently, they'd been scouting for girls like you. New to town and completely clueless. They wanted to bring in a handful of these 'administrative assistants' to help keep up the illusion that this was just another ordinary building in the business district of Yokohama and nothing more.

Mori left you with a curt warning about the temperament of the other Mafia members and a haunting, "Welcome to the team." as he closed the door to your office and disappeared down the long corridor. Your heart was slamming into your chest, your anxiety growing the longer you sat. You were angry. Disappointed in yourself for being such an easy target.

You sat for at least an hour staring at the wall in existential dread, wondering what you'd done to end up here. Wondering what you were going to have to do to get out now that you were here. Even if it wasn't necessarily a "job", it still didn't seem like something you could just casually walk away from.

You were in the middle of the Port Mafia's headquarters and you were rightfully, terrified.

The sound of two muffled voices pulled you away from your thoughts while you froze in your chair, realizing that they were right outside your door.

"You're fuckin' with me, right?"

"No, that's really where they're keeping her. She's going to be a fulltime member."

"A member?" it was the first man again, his voice full of shameless snark and volume as he laughed at the idea. "A Mafia member with no ability? C'mon, Akutagawa. Even Mori isn't that stupid."

"There's going to be more, she's just the first to show up."

Tension crept along your spine when both voices came to a curious stop, one quietly scolding the other before the heavy wooden door began to creak open.

A pair of azure eyes stared back at you, disheveled shoulder-length red hair draping off of one shoulder as he mumbled, "Holy shit."

The taller of the two, draped in a long black coat, tried to pry him away, but he shrugged him off with an irritated. "Chill out, I just wanna introduce myself to her."

The dark-haired man scoffed and continued down the hallway while his ginger companion closed the door behind him, leaving just the two of you looking back at each other skeptically.

Despite his height, he had a powerful demeanor. A blend of apathy and cockiness that exuded off of him as he carefully made his way towards you. "So, you're the new girl, huh?"

Your eyebrows furrowed when you looked back at him, your words suddenly stuck in your throat as his foot made contact with your desk.

You managed a nod, remembering the way Mori had advised you not to engage with the other Mafia members, but what were you supposed to do when you were suddenly locked in a room with one?

"God, we really can't just have one normal day around here, can we?" He sighed, almost seeming embarrassed as his shoulders dropped and he leaned against your desk in the spot next to you. "Stealin' girls out of bars? Tch, the hell are they thinkin'?"

His opposition to his boss' plan made you relax a bit. It was the first time all day that you thought you might make it out of here okay.

He picked up on your apprehension rather quickly, taking his hat off and setting it down before extending a gloved hand out to you. "Chuuya." He said simply.

You stared at him for another moment or two before introducing yourself, trying but failing to mimic his nonchalant tone.

"Hey," He said, lightly nudging your foot with his, "You're gonna be alright. I'm sure this gig will only last for a couple of weeks until they move on to their next big, idiotic idea."

"You think so?" It was the first time all day that you felt like you could breathe.

"Trust me, Mori's plans are always changing. He'll probably cut you a fat check for hush money and then send you on your way sooner than later. Just lay low in the meantime, yeah?"

Your eyes were still locked as you nodded at him again, giving him a feeble, "Okay... Yeah, I can do that."

"Good." He smirked, pulling himself away from your desk.

You watched him pause just before exiting the room. He turned around to face you again, his gaze landing a bit lower than your eyes this time.

"And maybe uh -" If you didn't know any better, you'd swear that you saw a flash of red flare across his cheeks. "Maybe don't wear that bra with a white shirt next time."

Out of all of the anxiety and fear that you'd been drowning in over the last few hours, your choice of outfit had been the very last thing you'd considered worrying about until just now.

You looked down, noticing what he meant as you saw the dark, lacy fabric of your Victoria's not-so-secret peeking through the white of your blouse. Your tits were pushed perfectly together, nearly on full display through the sheerness of your shirt.

He flashed you another faint smirk before clicking the door shut, once again leaving you to your own crippling thoughts as your head dropped into your hands.

What an absolutely mortifying first day.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

The next few shifts were a blur.

You'd clock in. Sit for what felt like an eternity in your bleak little office. Leave mid-day to grab lunch at a cafe across the street. And then head home 9 hours later despite the fact that you’d hardly done anything.

You'd learned to bring in books and cross-stich patterns to keep yourself busy throughout the day instead of rotting away at your desk. It wasn't an ideal situation, but if Chuuya was right and there really was a big check waiting for you around the corner, you'd decided that it was worth it to see this through. Because no matter how nervous you got each morning, the painful truth was that you couldn’t afford to turn down easy money.

By the end of the week, you found yourself doing more than just sneaking in romance mangas to make the job more bearable though. You were doing everything you could to gain back even a semblance of power.

If you had to be here, you had decided that you were going to make it everyone's problem.

With the ginger's words still fresh in your mind, you made it a point to wear darker bras. Tighter blouses. Shorter skirts that barely covered your ass. It had almost become an inside joke with yourself at what a distraction you'd become to the Port Mafia. Maybe couldn’t make these men fear you, but you could certainly make them trip all over themselves any time you entered the building.

You'd hardly been able to keep a straight face yesterday afternoon when Akutagawa's coffee fell from his hands and cascaded around him after he saw you walking down the hall in black knee-high stockings. You'd finally managed to make everyone here as uncomfortable as they'd made you and it felt good.

You were half-way through the iced matcha you'd picked up on lunch, sitting with your feet propped up on your desk as you continued to embroider the word "fuck" in pretty, cursive letters next to a pink and yellow flower when a knock arrived at your door.

You quickly stashed the circular cross-stitch pad in one of the desk drawers and straightened your back as Tachihara poked his head into your office. "Yo, new girl. Nakahara wants to see you."

Your brows knitted together as you looked back at him in quiet confusion.

No one had ever requested to see you in the time that you'd been here. Even in your attempts to disrupt their daily tasks, they'd still not bothered to learn your name. But now... you were expected to go see Chuuya... in his office?

"Why?" It was the only question you could think to ask.

"Dunno," Tachihara shrugged. "but I wouldn't keep him waiting. He's kind of an asshole." And with that, you were once again left alone and anxious.

You took a breath, standing up to smooth down the fabric of your skirt before venturing down the hallway.

You did your best to push Tachihara's warning out of your head, reminding yourself of the kindness Chuuya had shown you on your first day while your heels clicked across the marbled floor.

Maybe he wanted to tell you that he'd talked to Mori and that your time with Port Mafia was finally up. Maybe he wanted to hand deliver the check you'd so desperately been waiting for. Maybe he just wanted to see how you were doing. Whatever it was, you were holding onto hope that there wouldn't be any more bad news.

You let out a sharp exhale as you rounded the corner and found yourself standing in front of his office. You gave the door a light tap, fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve when he finally appeared.

His eyes traced over you slowly, his tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth as he counted not one, not two, but three undone buttons along your blouse that revealed the deep-purple push-up bra decorating your chest.

"Get in here."

His tone was clipped, dripping with what felt like vexation as he closed the door behind you.

His office was much bigger than yours, adorned with high-rise windows that overlooked the city and pristine black marble flooring that matched his leather furniture. The room was dark, just barely lit by a lamp on his desk. You wondered how it was possible for him to get any paperwork done in here but then promptly realized that with his ranking, paperwork was probably far beneath his paygrade.

Still not entirely sure how to approach the situation, you hesitantly took a seat on the over-sized armchair across from his desk.

"Quick question," he said, standing in front of you with his arms folded over his chest, his voice still riddled with irritation. "What does the phrase 'lay low' mean to you? Because I can tell you right now, this ain't fuckin' it."

Your pupils widened, his words hanging heavily in the space between you.

Your mouth opened and then closed again, too focused on the way he was staring at you to form a proper response.

"Is it -" you wavered, mustering up all the courage you had to try and play this off as innocent confusion rather than what it actually was: sarcasm. "Is it my outfit?"

If looks could kill, you would've been 6 feet under.

Chuuya's eyes darkened, a flustered hand rubbing feverishly over his face as he struggled to keep his composure. He wasn't sure if you were trying to piss him off or if you were just genuinely the dumbest girl he'd ever come in contact with.

"Yes," He said with all the restraint he could possibly manage, his teeth nearly grinding together with each syllable. “The outfits are getting out of hand. You've gotta stop."

You were playing a dangerous game, but you were slowly starting to realize that you were... winning.

"What's wrong with them?" you asked, pretending to cover your chest in embarrassment.

You wanted to hear him explain it. Hear him tell you in his own words that you couldn't wear short skirts anymore because it was causing too many unexpected erections around headquarters.

"I -" The poor redhead looked as though he was going to have an aneurysm if you kept this up much longer.

He snapped his eyes shut and let out a frustrated exhale, his hand now bawled into a fist at his side. "Listen, a lot of the guys around here have... noticed you, okay? And I can't take one more day of hearin' those fuckin' assholes talk about how they caught a glimpse of your ass in the break room. Got it? I'll buy you some new clothes if I have to. Just please, no more shirts like this, alright?"

He was actually bargaining with you. Entering the third stage of grief as he tried so hard to keep his cool. To keep his eyes locked with yours and nowhere else. To explain all of this in the nicest way he could.

It was in that moment that you realized where the real source of his trepidation was coming from.

Hearing his coworkers ogle over you was probably annoying for sure, but the more damning, infuriating fact of the matter was that he was ogling over you too. And he was fucking tired of not being able to get any work done when he knew that you were right down the hall. He was pissed that he had to come into his office every morning and lock the door just so he could jerk himself off to the idea of you.

He was in so many words begging you to stop because he wasn't sure how much longer he could take seeing so much of your body without being able bend you over his desk like he did in his mid-morning daydreams.

He was losing - both his resolve and this game at an alarming rate.

"Hmm," you hummed, toying with a pen you'd found wedged between the cushion of his chair. "Well, I'm sorry. I just like feeling pretty before I come in. I didn't know it was creating such a problem for everyone."

The wheels in Chuuya's head were spinning.

Emotions weren't his strong suit and doing these mental gymnastics with you was making him need a cigarette.

"It's -" he sighed, groaning as he forced himself to backpedal. "It's not your fault. I mean, you do look pretty, y'know. It's just... distracting, is all."

It was hard to hide your smirk.

You'd be lying if you said you didn't think he was a bit distracting himself, but he didn't need to know that. Not yet anyway.

"Okay, well," you conceded as you began to stand up. "I’ll wear a turtleneck or something tomorrow then.” You shot him a small smile as you got to your feet, "Promise."

He looked marginally relieved by your understanding. "Sounds good." He huffed, rubbing at the back of his neck while following behind you as you made your way out of his office.

But just before you reached the door, you accidentally dropped the pen you'd been fidgeting with. Bending over without warning so that your ass was right in front of him, peaking out of your skirt as he walked straight into you, his hips suddenly meeting yours.

You thought he might actually kill you this time with the guttural noise of frustration that escaped him.

He grabbed you by your shoulders the second you were upright again, spinning you around so that you were forced to face him.

“Okay, seriously." He said between gritted teeth. "Just what the fuck do you think you're doing?"

Your heart pounded in your chest, your breath hitching in your throat as you watched the unfettered anger flicker through his blue eyes.

It was a stupid move, you knew that before you did it, but you didn't expect it to draw this much of reaction out of him. His restraint was lost. Composure long gone while he waited for you to say something with his face mere inches away from yours.

"Sorry," You lied, "It slipped out of my hand so I -"

"Bullshit." He snarled. "Enough with this innocent act. What do you want out of this, huh? For every guy in Port Mafia to want to fuck you? Is that what you're gettin' at here?"

"No." Your head shook before you even had time to think about what you were about to say. "Not everyone..." Your eyes were still glued to his. "Just you."

You didn't know what you were doing anymore or where all of this recent shamelessness had come from, but there was something about being here that made you feel like you could do anything. Be anyone. You weren't sure if it was the power or the crime or the ungodly amount of money that Port Mafia was raking in, but the collective feeling of chaos that these walls housed was finally latching onto you too.

You didn't even flinch when you said it, instead continued to stare at him unapologetically, noting the way his grip had tightened around your shoulder the longer he looked back at you.

"What?"

If the wheels in his head had been spinning before, they were now fully off the ground, exploding into the air as his gaze drifted along your face. Searching intently to make sure you were actually being serious this time before he went any further.

"You really want me to fuck you that bad?" he asked, the warmth of his mouth now ghosting yours.

The question went straight to your center, wetness seeping between your legs as you nodded back at him.

Truth be told, your midmorning fantasies while cross-stitching the last few days hadn't been much different than his.

The gravity manipulator's fingers were suddenly tangled into your hair, his body forcing your back against the door while his lips collided with yours.

"Y'know you could've just asked instead of doin' all this bratty shit, right?"

His mouth was warm, his movements somehow urgent and careful at the same time as his hands wandered along your curves.

You smiled against his lips, letting out a breathy, "I'm sorry." as his palm began to graze the inside of your thigh.

"No, you're not." He smirked, sucking your bottom lip in between his teeth before biting down with just the right amount of pressure. "But you will be."

You let out a small whimper as he placed his free hand under your chin, moving your head to the side so that he could continue his descendent down your neck.

His leg wedged itself between yours, brushing against your clit while his mouth worked along your collarbone.

You were too lost in the feeling of it all to realize that he'd been leaving a trail of meticulously placed bites down the nape of your neck. Bruises in the shape of his mouth that he knew everyone would see.

"Chuuya -" you tried to protest, but it was more of a moan than an objection. "You - fuck, you can't -" You grinded helplessly against the firmness of his leg. Hips rocking back and forth, desperately trying to gain friction while he kept on nipping away at you.

"What's wrong, babe?" he purred against your sensitive skin. "You're wearin' a turtleneck tomorrow anyway, remember?" his breath fanned across your chest as he ripped the remaining buttons off of your shirt. A gloved hand palming at your chest, sliding your bra down so that your tits were fully exposed for him before you felt his tongue glide across your nipple.

Tachihara was right, he was kind of an asshole. But for some terrible reason, you were living for it. Almost embarrassed by how bad you wanted him. Wriggling against him and riding his leg. Whining while you let him leave visible marks on you and destroy the only clothing you had.

"C'mere." He pulled his head away from your chest, swiftly grabbing you by the arm and leading you back to his desk. He picked you up with ease, shoving a binder aside to sit you down in front of him.

"Spread your legs for me." His voice was heady, eyes glossed over with lust as you complied with his demands.

He held his hand up to his mouth, removing his black glove with his teeth before pushing your skirt up and sliding your underwear to the side. He bent over slightly, running two rough fingers along your clit as he watched your nails dig into the edge of his desk.

"Fuck," he groaned, still not taking his eyes off of you. He'd barely done anything and you were already soaked, your pussy practically throbbing for him. “You really do want me that bad, huh?"

“T - told you.” You whimpered, your head tilting back as he drew slow, blissful circles around you.

He kept up the same pace, basking in the way you were so easily falling apart for him.

“Chuuya, please.”

A smirk tugged viciously at the corner of his mouth, slipping a finger into you this time as your walls swallowed him. "Please what, baby?"

You may have had him in the first half, but you were now on the losing end of this game. Forgetting how to speak altogether as you watched him part your legs even further, bending all the way down to rest his head between your thighs.

You moaned at the feeling of his tongue pressing against you. The heavenly lines he was drawing uppp and downnn your center with his middle finger still sliding in and out of you. He was generous in the way he handled you, making sure he didn't miss a single spot. Lapping and slurping up every bit of cum he could as he added in another finger. Groaning against you the louder you got for him.

The only word you seemed to be able to remember was his name, repeating it over and over while your nails lodged deeper into his mahogany desk and your body shamelessly grinded against the warmth of his mouth.

You were in a delirious daze, losing yourself completely to the way he was devouring you.

He could feel you getting close too, noting the frantic rhythm of your hips. The gorgeous, fucked-out noises you were making for him. The death grip your walls suddenly had on him. He knew you were right there, right where he wanted you.

"Chuuya, 'm - I -"

Your legs were locking around his head, shaking uncontrollably as your hand ran through his hair.

He'd never admit it, but he almost could've came at the sounds you were making alone. The pouty way that you called out his name each time his fingers plunged into you was almost enough to drive him over the edge. You were so pathetic and adorable and he was determined to make everyone in Port Mafia hear just how needy you were for him.

As much as he wanted to edge you for what you'd done to him, as much as he wanted to make you beg and plead for him to let you cum, he couldn't fucking pull himself away from you. He was just as lost as you were, drowning in your cunt and not at all wanting to be saved.

His tongue didn’t leave you until he was absolutely sure that you'd ridden out every last wave of your orgasm, still pumping his digits in and out of you until you couldn’t take it anymore.

He came up for air with an exhausted smile, wordlessly coaxing your lips apart with his thumb before bringing the two fingers he had fucked you with into your mouth. Letting you clean off the blend of slick and salvia the two of you had created together.

"See how fucking good you taste?" he panted. "I think this is gonna be a real problem for both of us."

An enamored shade of pink brushed across your cheeks as he dropped down onto the chair across from you, running a tired hand through his hair.

"At least I won't be here much longer, right?" You said, playfully kicking his leg with your foot.

"Oh yeah," he smirked. "That actually reminds me..." Your eyes widened as he shifted around to dig an envelope out of his pocket. "Mori wanted me to give this to you."

Your hands trembled, opening it as delicately as you could to make sure you didn't rip anything when a check for 1,490,200 yen fell into your lap.

"Think that'll be enough to buy yourself a shirt that fits?"

Your eyes snapped towards him in disbelief, your pulse ringing through your ears as you tried to process that you'd somehow made this amount of money in a little over a week.

"Is this -" You stammered, thinking back to what he had told you when you first met. "Is this like a severance check then? ...Hush money or whatever?"

"Tragically, no. Mori wants you to stay."

Your hand instinctively flew up to your neck, covering the love-bites that the redhead had left you with, horrified at the realization that everyone was going to see them. Even more horrified at the fact that they had probably heard how you’d gotten them.

"What?"

"Yeah, he said somethin' about you how you've been 'boosting the morale' around here."

Your head felt like it was going to explode.

You had not only been marked by Chuuya Nakahara, but you were now being asked to stay in Port Mafia.

You couldn't decide which was worse.

"So... that means..."

"Yep. We'll be seein' a lot more of each other." He confirmed while checking his watch. "But hey, you better get outta here, Rando and I have a meeting in 10 minutes."

You looked down at your lack of clothing, the spit and cum that was still stuck to your skirt, the obscenely noticeable bruises that he'd so proudly gifted you with.

"Give me your shirt." you demanded.

"Nah."

The grin he shot you was so cocky, so vile, so... hot.

"Chuuya." You whisper-shouted, biting back your own stupid smile. "Be so fucking for real right now, I can’t go out there like this.”

“Shoulda thought about that before you put on that skimpy-ass outfit I guess.” He shrugged.

You hopped off his desk, straddling him in his chair as you forcefully began to undo the buttons along his collar.

The room filled with suppressed laughter, neither one of you able to contain it anymore as he finally conceded, wrestling you off of him. "Alright, alright, chill. I have extras in here, hang on."

You both stood up, your eyes locked on him while he walked over to an expensive looking armoire in the corner of the room.

He pulled a white shirt that resembled the one you were wearing earlier off of a hanger and brought it over to you, guiding your arms up so that he could put it on.

His movements were calculated, almost thoughtful as he dressed you, adjusting it so that it covered up most of the damage he'd done.

"There." He said, double-checking his work. "Now get out of here before I decide to rip that one off of you too.”

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ Part 2! ˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

[jacevelaryonswife]

Hiding all of our sins from the daylight | Part Two

pairing: jacaerys velaryon x reader

summary: Even if you were willing to forget what happened, when you saw the prince that morning you knew that your relationship would never be the same.

word count: 3.191

tags: slight angst and adult themes

masterlist — previous part

A bond germinated between the prince and you as the days went by. There was no sin in your conversations, but a servant could never be friends with a nobleman, and above all: a woman could never be friends with a man. Although you believed that the existing dynamics with Jacaerys Velaryon did not fit into any of the previous options. It was your duty to be available to the prince of Dragonstone for what he wanted, and at the time, he needed a thoughtful listener.

"I don't want to fill my mother's head with my worries, even though I know she would listen. She is the queen and we are at war, it’s not time for this," was his justification.

The trust between you has developed slowly.

How are you feeling? Do you want to say something? Do you need anything?

It was the questions that guided the days following the incident with the wine. Over time, the prince began to report his dissatisfaction with the black council, either because of the way the queen didn’t let him act or how the other lords did not respect her enough.

"I just want to be useful for her cause, but she sees me as an incapable little boy," he shouted one of the times that the queen did not allow him to guard with Vermax.

"The queen cares about your safety, my prince. She suffers enough from the death of Prince Lucerys, she doesn't want to risk your life.”

“I'm not going to die!”

"You can't guarantee that, my prince."

And despite sometimes regretting not being formal enough in your answers, the prince showed satisfaction in the sincerity of your words more than once. Obviously no mention of your conversations with him was made for the other girls, you found it too dangerous.

And if there was anything beneficial for you, it was the opening that Rhaenyra Targaryen's heir gave so that your thoughts and feelings were also exposed. Superficial at first, experimental, but that became more intimate over the weeks.

"I try to keep myself constantly busy to ease my concerns about the war, but it's not working as I would like. Every night before bed I think about the worst,” you confessed a day after dinner, during the hour of the bat.

“Me too.”

The conversations became routine during breakfast while you cleaned his chambers and after dinner when you helped him sleep. Secretly, those were your favorite moments throughout the day, although you didn't want to admit it for a while.

The only problem with intimacy was to make you forget your place.

Sometimes, almost, an unweighted response was almost directed to the prince. Other times the physical comfort seemed to extrapolate while you smoothed his dark curls, although he did not manifest discomfort. He never did, actually. Maybe that influenced your behavior around him, especially when he began to reciprocate the attempt of comfort, touching your hand with nothing but respect and delicacy, although firm enough to be felt while you confessed your fears to him.

It was dangerous to allow such closeness to the prince.

You were no stranger to the stories of servants who fell in love with their lords, reciprocated or platonic, it was not something you sought to fantasize, promising yourself that you would immediately move away in the first different twinge in your heart. Although, dealing with feelings was not that simple.

That night, the prince was enthusiastic about the diplomatic experience with the Freys, telling every detail of the conversation accurately. He seemed quite proud to be useful, even the frown present in his feature in the last few days had disappeared.

“When I was a child, Viserys told me the Iron Throne would be mine one day,” Jace commented with a rare smile these days.

"He told?" You asked, knowing very well that it was true.

"A long time ago, before his health got worse, I think I was six years old," he replied on the other side of the table, keeping his smile open.

"Have you ever imagined yourself there?" A silly question, you thought.

“Sometimes, especially before war. Now I feel like I'm cheating on my mother,” his face hardened softly as he looked down.

"You are the heir of the Queen, it is not wrong to imagine your future," you tried to comfort him with the obviousness of the situation, although you understood what was going on in the prince's head and heart.

“I know, but just seems wrong,” he countered, looking at you. “How about you?”

“Me?”

"Have you never imagined yourself being the Queen?"

That made you chuckle. "There is a barrier that people like me should not overcome, even in thoughts," you almost laughing at him.

"Please, everyone has thought about sitting on the iron throne," he leaned totally against the chair, watching you with frowning eyebrows and a smile on his lips. as he totally leaned against the chair.

"I never thought such a absurd," you reinforced.

"I doubt it, have you never thought about being a noblewoman?"

"Of course I thought! I would be pleased to be the ugly daughter that no lord wants to marry, so I could enjoy my position without having only my side a decrepit old man as lord husband. But the Queen? I've never dared so much."

He laughed loudly and his eyes almost closed. "Well, I think it's a good plan, but I believe you would be a fine Queen."

That took you by surprise.

The absurdity of the statement made your eyes widen and your cheeks warm up. "And you will be a fine King," you replied with a giggle, doing little of what he had said - even you believed faithfully in your own statement.

Suddenly, you felt his gaze endure on yours in a different, more intense way, as if... he was seeing you, totally seeing you.

And that made your heart warm.

No, no!

“I must go, my prince. It's late,” you stood up immediately. "Do you need anything?"

He took a while to respond, shaking his head negatively. "N-no, I don't," getting up to accompany you to the door. "Listen, I- I have to say something to you."

Your heart was beating faster than usual and continuing in the presence of the prince did not improve the situation. You didn't know why you felt so suddenly affected, but you imagined that it was the ideal time to reassess the proximity to him.

“I would like to thank you for the support in these weeks, for listening to me,” he said.

"You don't have to thank me, my prince, it's my duty," you exhibited a restrained smile, holding your hands in front of your body.

“I know it's just-“

The previous look that made your heart warm returned, however, more nervous, afraid as he approached you. His hands held your face gently, not giving you time to move away before he leaned over to touch your lips. You froze in place, not being able to move a single member, even after the prince had moved away with terror in his eyes.

"I... I'm sorry, I didn't want to disrespect you, I promise," he said in despair, faster than he intended. "This is not going to happen again, I-

"It won't," you said, heart almost coming out of the chest, "We can't do that, Jace, I'm your servant- that-"

"It was my fault, I'm the one who has to beg for your forgiveness, I dishonored you," he almost spoke too loudly, almost.

"You didn't dishonor me!" You exclaimed as if it were obvious. "But that can't happen again. You are the heir to the iron throne and I am just a servant of low birth, there is no hope for us," your voice almost failed.

When Jace's eyes found the ground, his posture changed, the nervousness turned into something you didn't know how to identify, even though your own anguish was still very vivid while your heart beat fast.

"It's unfair," was all he said when he looked at you again.

“Indeed.”

A squeeze formed in your chest every second that your eyes remained connected, along with a restlessness that you did not know resided in your body until now. No, no, no...

In a bold attitude, you held his hands, uncertain of what to say, uncertain of what to do and uncertain of what you felt for him. It wasn't possible. Nothing, not a single word came out of your mouth while your heart beat faster and faster.

You shouldn't, you knew that, but maybe... maybe...

It was your turn to approach him, cautiously, absorbed in the brown of his iris and the way he mirrored your look.

There was no hurry to meet your lips this time, nor does it take long to be reciprocated. It was the kind of affection that women should have only with their lords husbands in the intimacy of their chambers, not with the prince of the kingdom whom you served and could harm yourself if you were caught.

But it seemed so right.

Your heart pumped soft fire through your body as the kiss gained layers, encouraging you to intertwine your fingers with his. It was not lascivious or obscene, but it involved your body during the act and made you float in the sweetness of his lips before it came to an end mutually.

Your hand slid to the side of his flushed face, smoothing his cheek gently. Even though part of your mind dealt with the turbulence of the situation, the other was delighted with the fullness of serenity.

"I've never been with a woman," he murmured about your touch, reluctantly. "I never wanted to ruin a woman outside of marriage."

Oh. That took you by surprise.

In fact, that brought you to reality again, but without the previous panic.

"You did it right," you comforted him with a restrained smile, feeling nervous. "There is no shame in that."

"I know, but I don't feel secure thinking about it."

Honestly, you didn't know what to say, but you knew that that situation could take a dangerous turn if it were prolonged. He could not consider such an act even for a second, so you just said goodbye to him immediately.

"It's late, you should rest, my prince."

The storm in his eyes almost snatched you together, but there was still prudence in your mind. There was no dispute on his part, allowing you to be involved by the coldness of the corridors until your rooms shared with the other servants. Although sleep wrapped around your body quickly, the prince stole your dreams with memories of what had happened.

When the nightingale time came, his image seemed almost palpable to your eyes. All you could remember were the lips of the princes against yours, the proximity, the softness of his hand, the way he looked at you.

It was dangerous.

All that was dangerous.

Especially for you. Nurturing an additional affection for the prince of the kingdom was a path of no return for ordinary people. There was no hope for you. There was no future between you. He would marry a lady of a important family and have little princes while you would perform your duty serving the next royal generations.

Even if you were willing to forget what happened, when you saw Jace that morning you knew that your relationship would never be the same.

"Good morning, my prince," was all you said when you entered his chambers.

Judging by the way the prince's gaze found yours, you believed he thought the same. “Good morning,” he replied in front of the window.

You left the breakfast on the table and went to organize the luxurious bed - unkneading the sheets and squeezing the pillows without looking at him while doing your work. Even though it was a rational attitude, the smell that emanated from the fabric transported you directly to last night, to the warmth of his lips, to the comfort of your hands and to the soft fire that warmed your veins.

Suddenly, you found yourself wanting more.

The subtle spark quickly turned into a fire, making you want to dive into bed and be surrounded by his smell, wanting to be kissed again in a sweet way, wanting his body pressed above your...

Wanting to make love to him.

Seven hells. No, it couldn't be.

The realization of the fact clouded your mind.

You felt nothing but the burning between your thighs, not even the repetitive call of your name by the prince. You wanted it, you wanted it, you wanted it.

You shouldn't, you shouldn't, you shouldn't.

In all these years you have performed your duty to the kingdom without any ambitions. Now, you believe you deserve enjoying a great pleasure and a great sin.

That's when the hand on your shoulder along with a call brought you back to reality.

"Are you okay?" The prince asked behind you.

There was nowhere to escape. And honestly, you didn't want to.

Taking him by surprise, you held both sides of his face and leaned over to capture his lips in a sweeping and demanding kiss, contrasting with the softness of the night before. Jace immediately corresponded, tying your waist and bringing your body closer to his. There was no fear in the way your lips moved or with the lack of distance between your bodies, on the contrary, you deepened the kiss and wrapped a hand behind his neck, breaking any space between you.

He reciprocated the vigor with the same intensity, savoring your lips as if they were the only thing that lacked him in life, almost pulling the air out of your lungs. You felt surrounded by the dragon fire and silently prayed to the Mother for your body to burn.

“I dreamed with you all night,” he whispered close to your lips, holding you close.

“Me too,” you slitted the apple from his cheek with your thumb. His lips were red, swollen, shiny and so tempting...

When you were about to lean again, knocks echoed from the door and made you jump back immediately, resuming your attention to the bed while the prince went to the breakfast table.

It was the Queen herself, talking to the prince of Dragonstone at the same time that you made a greeting to her.

“I wish to speak alone with prince Jacaerys.”

No other command was needed. With one last greeting, you left Jacaerys' chambers with a racing heart and trembling steps, as if walking on embers. The consequences of your actions would be disastrous if discovered, you were not foolish, but you couldn't help but want more. And can't you help but think about how that happened?

When did such a feeling arise and develop?

It was the questioning that guided your rest of the morning, the whole afternoon and the beginning of the evening. The duties kept him away from you, fueling concerns about a possible worsening for the queen's cause. Because of that, you decided to occupy yourself in the only way you knew: working.

You swept, cleaned, aired and washed until you were tired and coughing because of the dust.

At the end of the additional service, you went to the rooms shared with the other girls to clean yourself and be presentable to him, hoping to be able to see him during dinner.

It was insane, you knew that, but you couldn't help it. You wanted it, despite what it would imply.

And when thinking about what to enjoy with the prince would result, you realized something too serious to be ignored. What if you generated a bastard? Oh gods. Where were you with your head? How did you consider losing your maidenhead with a prince of the kingdom? It would be a scandal! You would be ruined! The queen would send you away, maybe to Essos at worst.

Nothing was effective to keep those thoughts away from your head, especially when you held his dinner with trembling hands. Everything got worse when he offered you a wide smile when entering his rooms, making you freeze briefly before walking to the table and greeting you with a reverence.

“Good evening, my prince,” you forced yourself to say.

“Good evening, my lady,” he replied humorously. "I missed you."

No, no, no.

You smiled insecure and looked down, unable to answer back.

“What's wrong?” He asked when he went to your meeting.

What should you say?

“I can't do that,” you chose to be brutally honest. "I can't get pregnant, I can't have a-" you couldn't say such a word, not in front of him, and you prayed that he wouldn't feel offended.

Unfortunately, his jaw closed and the posture hardened. Heavens.

"... a bastard?" He asked in a strangled voice. "I would never impute such a burden to you."

Your heart squeezed while remaining silent, too nervous to say anything. He seemed angry, creating a fear in your mind about the dragon's fury.

“And I would never dishonor you,” he added, holding your hands as his brown eyes warmed up. But that was Jacaerys, your prince and your friend who would never hurt you.

“I know,” you agreed with a nod and intertwined your fingers with his, being able to breathe relieved at last.

"Are you hungry?"

"No, I'm fine," you assured him with a soft smile.

"Eat with me, I don't have a big appetite."

You knew how to identify an order when you heard it. Of all the sins done and thought of in the last hours, sharing the meal with a prince was not so excruciating.

Sitting in front of him, you took a piece of bread and soaked it in the mushroom broth, watching him drink a generous sip of mead. None of you said anything for a while, leaving the noise of the violent sea wind that crashed against the walls of the castle being the only sound so far.

"What are we going to do?" He just asked.

"I don't know," you replied sincerely. "I think we should go back our dynamics, we can't be more than we are," your voice was lower than usual.

“I like being with you,” he said.

“Me too, Jace, but there's no hope for us,” you held his hand. "This will only break our hearts."

Although painful, that was the only truth that existed. He would never be yours. He would never abandon his duty to the kingdom for you, the opposite was just daydreams and songs invented to make ordinary life less gray. You were and would continue to be a servant and Jacaerys Velaryon would be just a sweet memory of something that could never happen.

Because that was just the order of things.

——————————————————————————

taglist: @hxtd @fkanitta @ladyofvelaryon @llynx7 @briarrainsstuff @jhepolie @dani-says-stuff @vavafaure1994 @fallenangel161 @naive-daydreamer @uhnanix @yrcbhu5wdv

a note: I know it take a while, but I really put all my efforts in here!

[finniestoncrane]

Hey Finnie! I was curious, do you have any headcanons about the Riddlers being pussydrunk?

Riddler Headcanons hi hello this took me so long to get to i am so sorry anon lmao BUT ANYWAY i am back with headcanons!! i very much could see this happening to the boys (and it annoying them a lot) 💚 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: oral sex, vaginal sex, hate-fucking, mention of anal sex

zero year

kind of loser who gets pussy drunk just glimpsing your cunt

kind of dork who presses two fingers in and sucks on them for ten minutes just for your taste

kind of dweeb who gets fully erect and close to cumming just from the smell of your pussy

kind of asshole who hates being pussy drunk because it makes him seem like he lets himself be controlled by it

which is NOT the alpha male attitude he's trying to cultivate

kind of idiot who might decide that since being pussy drunk isn't the vibe he wants for himself

that maybe anal is the way to go from here on out

gotham

pussy drunk is the only kind he'll tolerate since he doesn't particularly like losing control of himself or his thoughts

(all too easy to either... strangle your crush to death or hallucinate your frienemy/soulmate singing to you otherwise)

anyway he's the kind of guy who could spend 30 minutes eating pussy and then come away actually feeling kind of drunk

complete state of happiness, absolute ecstacy

thinking he's king of the world

not making very much sense

but determined to keep going to chase that feeling

arkham

he's the kind of guy who blames it all on you when he starts forgetting what he's doing

which, to be fair, is correct since it's your pussy he's thinking about

unable to go longer than three minutes without thinking about you and drooling when he's supposed to be working hard

so don't be surprised if you're happily minding your own business hours or even days afterwards

and are swiftly interrupted by him coming in to yell at you

for fifteen uninterrupted minutes mind you

before he asks rather sheepishly if you'd maybe just give him a little bit more of what he's got a taste for

just to see if that helps get it off his mind

telltale

oh he hates the effect you have on him

the notion that a simple, very human act that he's performed with multiple partners before could be so different

could make him completely incapable of stringing together a coherent sentence

could impair his reasoning, his general functions, both mental and physical

that his infatuation with you specifically could have him laying on a bed, drooling, empty mind

it's not going to stop him from going through it all again next time though

he's completely addicted

unburied

he'll pretend that he's not affected at all

pull out of you with the same nonchalant attitude as he would have after brushing his teeth or making a coffee

but buried beneath the sarcasm and the dry exterior...

he's losing it completely, and he secretly likes it

the ability to just let himself be kind of stupefied, with an excellent excuse for it?

no wonder he keeps coming back for more, even if he pretends that it's for your benefit more than his

twojar

absolute fuckin hound for pussy, and will go completely catatonic after sex

needs a good few hours of just holding you while he lays there completely still

just contemplating the world and trying to remember how to walk

keeping at least a finger on your body to keep the room from spinning and to make sure he stays grounded

because he over exerts himself, a lot of frantic, passionate, extremely physical work

and afterwards he needs time to recover from it or he'll do himself an injury

dano

he's literally one good pussy away from being cured

like the minute his dick is wet and you're moaning his name he's a changed man

what plans for revenge? what bombs? what weird traps that he built by himself?

who the fuck even is batman?

you're on the news the next day getting the medal of honour from the city of gotham

you saved lives. your pussy saved lives

your mailbox is filled with little homemade greetings cards afterwards

they're addressed to your pussy, not you

btaa

guess who's in a much better mood for the rest of the week?

as much as she tries to ignore it, miss tuesday can always tell when eddie has been with you

because he is far less grumpy and frustrated for quite a while afterwards

it's nice that you have that kind of power over him

but it does make him insufferably optimistic

which means more work for her when he decides that the grand schemes he thought were terrible and too complicated before he got his dick wet

they're now suddenly completely viable, because he is the greatest man to ever live

young justice

get that man to REHAB he is ADDICTED to pussy and he CANNOT handle it

talk about a lightweight, he's ten seconds inside of you and already unable to form a single though

it's a miracle he knows to keep breathing let alone remembering to thrust

he remembers nothing about anything else in life when he's in the zone, either fucking you or eating you out

basic maths? the ability to speak in sentences? gone

it's a good thing you're moaning his name because he might not remember it otherwise

btas

if he gets a particularly good fuck in then you can guarantee that he is out of commission for at least a couple of days

cheerful, whistling, humming tunes, dancing around his office

and the best part of it is that he knows he's happy, but he can never remember the details of why

because he can get blackout drunk on your cunt

all inhibitions lost

he's muttering words and phrases that he never would otherwise, far too lewd for someone classy and intelligent like him

doing things to you that you'd never expect from him, but definitely welcome the next time he decides to partake

[mousy-nona]

Headcanon that Lucifer and Alastor have two different date nights each week, one is for them to have alone time, while the other is a family date night.

“Uno!” 

“No, Dad, you still have two cards!” 

“Oh.” Lucifer dropped a +4 onto the pile. “Now uno!” 

“Hey, Big Daddy, it ain’t your turn anymore. It’s Tall, Dark, and Creepy’s turn to go.” Angel Dust peered at Alastor who, despite his trademark smile, looked like he was in physical pain. His left eye was twitching rather alarmingly. “You hangin’ in there?” 

“Yes, fine,” Alastor snapped. “I’m simply at a loss at how such a simple game can defeat Lucifer’s intellect. You would think he would have learned something after a few million years.” 

“Hey!” Lucifer threw the cards in his hand at Alastor – which, being a grand total of one, wasn’t very impressive. The sad little +4 gently tapped him on the nose before fluttering to the ground.

Alastor sighed, very loudly. “Great. Why do we bother with this again?”

“Because it’s game night!”

Lucifer was referring, of course, to the weekly tradition that had started because Lucifer had insisted if you date me, you date my daughter too, and Alastor had shuddered and agreed just so he wouldn’t have to hear him say that atrocious sentence, ever again. Then Charlie had insisted on bringing Vaggie along, because she was her partner, and therefore family.

Then Angel Dust had overheard there was a weekly game night going on, and dragged Husk into coming along. Niffty was the only one that Alastor had personally invited, although none of them knew that (it was their little secret). 

“Can we have just one game night where we actually finish a game?” Vaggie complained. “I actually have a good hand this time!” 

“I don’t know why y’all put yourselves through this,” Husk called out from the bar. Ice cubes clinked as he poured himself another stiff one. “They’re going to start trying to kill each other in five minutes.” 

“We will not,” Lucifer sniffed as he collected his card and sat back down. “And we do not try and kill each other every time.” 

Angel Dust started ticking off incidents on his fingers. “Let’s see. We never got to finish that game of Monopoly, Clue, Yahtzee, Catan –” 

“Family Feud,” Vaggie added, staring hard at Alastor. He sniffed and looked away. 

“You cannot ask a gentleman from my time to guess what you barbarians from the 21st century think about things. That was a poor choice of game.” 

“Scrabble, Secret Hitler–”

“Alastor was cheating that time!” Lucifer burst out.

“I was not,” Alastor said smugly. The rest of them shuddered at the memory. Alastor had been surprisingly good at Secret Hitler – so good, in fact, that it and any other political manipulation games like it had been banned from the halls of Hazbin Hotel.

“Apples to Apples, Sorry!, Hive Pocket–”

“That one was Niffty!” Charlie broke in, desperately trying to keep the peace. “She stabbed the game board, remember?”

Niffty started vibrating and jabbing at things. “Bugs!”

Angel Dust sighed. “My point still stands, toots. These two are physically incapable of ending a single game without flirt-fighting in the middle of it.”

Alastor snarled. Lucifer turned red. And everyone else nodded. 

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

What none of the others knew was that Lucifer and Alastor had another weekly tradition. A secret they kept hidden from the others. 

Every Sunday, after Alastor had finished his script for the next day and Lucifer had put the finishing touches on his latest invention, Lucifer summoned a golden portal and whisked them off to the far reaches of Hell. 

It was a different wonder every time. A hill near the Greed Ring, the toxic plumes of smoke creating a beautiful emerald mist over the dilapidated city. The very top of the skyscraper that towered over the Lust Ring. A relaxing dip in one of the lava pools of the Wrath Ring, which made Alastor hum and stretch like a cat as the boiling liquid lapped at the scar on his chest.

One day, Lucifer took them to a bustling street packed with street vendors and shops selling the exact same merch. The smell of caramel and popcorn and cotton candy was heavy in the air. He looked uncharacteristically nervous, his face paler than usual, and his hands were constantly picking at his hat, his coat, his staff.

Alastor peered at him. “Whatever is the matter with you?” 

“I have something to show you.” 

Lucifer led them deeper into the colorful, fantastic clutches of Lu Lu World. Past gaggles of hellborn children and their exhausted parents, past lines for rides that looped at least ten times before disappearing into the buildings proper, past storybook houses and little animatronic villagers.

“Business must be doing well,” Alastor noted.

“Terrific. Our newest ride is a hit.” 

“Newest…?”

Lucifer stopped abruptly, staring at something above them. He was sweating slightly, his feet shifting this way and that. “I hope you don’t mind,” he said, in a tiny voice. “I got, well, inspired.”

Alastor looked up, and his eyes widened. Towering above them was…him. A flawless version of him. The demon grinning at the top of the ride was perfect in every way, his smile hiding a million secrets that both enthralled and frustrated the viewer. Enthralling. Alluring. The shadow coat he was wearing created a natural barrier between him and the audience, but his outstretched hand seemed to beckon you closer, to touch what was forbidden.

Can you defeat the enigma? Was the tagline stamped at the bottom of the board.

“It’s an escape game,” Lucifer said hurriedly. “I thought of it during one of our dates, and I couldn’t get it out of my mind. You don’t mind, do you? I was so nervous about it, but I thought I’d –”

“He’s a bit perfect, don’t you think?” Alastor said, his voice gruff.

Lucifer squinted at the display. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said, sounding honestly confused. “It looks just like you.” 

Alastor groaned, unsure how to handle the unfamiliar, powerful feelings batting at his too-small heart. This is how he sees me? 

“You don’t like it,” Lucifer babbled. “I’m sorry, I’ll take it down–”

“No, it’s fine.” Alastor said. “It’s…good.”

“Really?” Lucifer relaxed, all the tension leaving his tight shoulders. 

“Really.” 

They stood there a while, simply breathing in each other's company as the muse and the artist stared at the work they had created together.

Finally, Alastor spoke. "May I suggest a game for our next game night?"

"You? Have a suggestion?" Lucifer nodded warily. "Go ahead."

"Secret Hitler."

"No!"

[kastlequill]

iii/v. ‘til my pulse loses time: pulsus paradoxus

pairing: kyle gaz garrick x f!reader word count: 1.7k synopsis: the third time you save gaz tags: whumptober, infection, wound tending, hurt/comfort, medic!reader, 4+1, no y/n warnings: none ao3: read here ← prev | next →

III.

You had lost count of how many times you’d warned him about the risk of infection, which was already quite high given the sheer frequency at which he acquired open wounds.

Best keep that thing covered, soldier, had been your soft-spoken command to close out his fourth visit in the span of a month and a half. That time, a stabbed forearm, and the time before that, a nasty gash down his spine, and so on. I don’t want to see you back in my infirmary for a long while, copy?

But it seemed your cautioning had gone in one ear and out the other. It wasn’t that Gaz didn’t know how to protect himself, nor was he incapable of mitigating the damage he sustained in combat; the sergeant was a competent man, something that you greatly appreciated when it came time to patch him up.

Rather, it was more so the case that he treated his life recklessly. Surviving was one thing, but exiting the fray unscathed? That was an altogether different and separate objective which, in his mind, warranted far less concern than completing the mission.

To him, the game plan was very simple: successfully execute orders, then get the hell out of there. Bonus points if he kept the majority of his body intact and functional.

For a soldier, this logic made total sense. Such a thought process was to be expected from someone who had spent over a decade honing his physical form into a weapon and had thus learned how to mentally detach himself from his personhood whenever necessary. During the firefight, his muscles and limbs moved in accordance with years of conditioning and training, acting on autopilot. Gaz, the man who brought you lunch on your busiest days and made damn certain none of your rowdier patients were giving you shit, faded into the background; what he did became exceedingly more important than the fact that it was he who did it.

For a medic, however? The stunning lack of self-preservation irritated you to no end.

And today, that irritation spiked to a record peak the instant he walked into the medbay with unfocused eyes and beads of sweat on his brow bone, jaw slightly loose, chest heaving for air.

“Hey, Doc,” Gaz said with a wince, the greeting sounding more like a croak than anything else. He pressed the palm of his hand to his forehead. “I’m not feeling too good. You mind if I. . ?”

Those were the last words to leave his lips before he all but collapsed into your waiting arms. Ignoring the worry that had begun to churn in your gut, you immediately helped him stumble to a nearby cot then gradually sat him down. Instinct took over, spurring you to quickly gather your medkit, don a pair of surgical gloves, gently open his mouth, and stick a thermometer under his tongue.

High body temperature, difficulty attending to external stimuli, fast pulse—textbook signs of an infection.

You were thankful that the nurse was too busy checking on another admit to notice how you cradled his face in your hands for a beat longer than was necessary after removing the thermometer. “Gaz, I need you to stay sharp, you got that? You have to show me where you’re injured so I can do my job.”

Blinking a little more awake, he gave a curt nod and lifted up the front end of his shirt to reveal what looked to be a knife wound slightly above his left hip. If the accumulation of dried pus was anything to go off of, it must have been at least a week old.

That’s definitely infected, alright.

“Why didn’t you call this in?” You lightly pressed into the inflamed flesh around the problem site, assessing its tenderness, but stopped when he let out a low, pained hiss. “We could’ve gotten it squared away in less than half an hour and saved ourselves the trouble.”

His half-lidded stare locked onto your alert, wide eyes. “Y’told me you’d rather I not come around for a bit, yeah? Can’t have you getting sick of me already, Doc. It’s bad form.”

It took everything in you not to flinch.

Of course a soldier would interpret an offhand joke in its most literal sense. Your playful tease had been intended to disguise genuine concern. Instead, the man had gotten the impression that you were annoyed by his insistence, which couldn’t be further from the truth.

In reality, you damn near prayed to any and all deities for them to shorten the time between his visits and lengthen his stays.

“That isn’t—” You swallowed an overwhelming wave of mixed emotions. “That isn’t what I meant, Kyle.”

He grinned, suddenly very coherent and present. “So it’s Kyle now, is it? Well, if I’d bloody known some measly infection is all it’d take for you to call me by my name, then I would’ve fuckin’ done this ages ago.”

Heat rushed towards your face, mostly pocketing itself in your cheeks. Some reassurance followed suit; Gaz couldn’t be too bent out of shape if he still had the energy and mental faculties to. . . to flirt with you.

As you cleaned the oozing gash, flushing it out with cool water and dabbing on a topical antibiotic with a Q-tip, the sergeant lowered his head to watch you work, eager to witness you in your element. Perhaps it should’ve annoyed you because of how frequently his forehead bumped into yours, but you understood his curiosity well. It was only fair, considering how often you wondered about him in the field; what he did, how and why he did it.

Who he became.

The occasional graze of your fingertips along his ribcage made the skin there to ripple, and he released a shaky exhale. “What’s the verdict, then?”

“Nothing that oral antibiotics and proper wound care won’t fix. But I want to keep you here overnight for observation and rehydration.” You stuck on a lopsided bandage and used your hand to smooth out any crinkles in the adhesive. When you lifted your face to address him more directly, the slight brush of his nose against yours caused a hitch in your breathing, and you jerked backward, startled by his closeness.

A pleased hum emanated from his throat. “Always lookin’ out for me. Soon as I get this blasted thing sorted, I’ll thank you properly.”

“There’s no need,” you assured him, stepping further out of reach. “Just focus on getting better, will you? This prescription is over the course of seven days. Don’t let me hear you’ve been skipping your meds.”

Needing to put several meters between the two of you, the shelves at the backend of the clinic were the perfect escape. There, no longer in view, you sifted through various supplies until you found an open box of penicillin, counted fourteen tablets in total, then funneled the antibiotic into a standard orange prescription bottle. By the time you returned to his cot with the medication, the sergeant was already munching on a couple of crackers, courtesy of the nurse.

He visibly straightened at your arrival and softly said, “Thank you. I mean it.”

Just doing my job, was what you should have replied. Nonchalant; not the slightest bit personally vested in your patient outside of the clinic.

“If you really want to thank me, you’ll stop getting hurt all the damn time,” were the words you muttered instead, sounding like a petulant child. Or perhaps you simply sounded like someone who gave a shit.

Because you did. You, a tested combat medic who should honestly know better by now, cared deeply about him, a special operator who risked his life daily so that the rest of the world remained relatively out of harm’s way. And given the horrors you’d seen both on the battlefield and in the infirmary, to care for someone like him was a terrifying notion.

What a nuisance, these matters of the heart.

His eyes dulled at your response, and you were consumed with the desire to bring back the light in those brown depths. “You know I can’t.”

The confirmation, though expected, still stung. Knowledge was such a curse, you decided. On some occasions, it benefited you to wield it, but on others, it only brought inescapable suffering. Regardless of the consequences, the possessor of said knowledge was forced to carry it within them always, robbed of a chance at blissful ignorance.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” you sighed, lips settling into a resigned smile. “It was worth a shot.”

From then on, the remainder of your tending to him was spent in silence. Not an awkward silence, nor an angry silence; just silence. A neutral, comfortable silence—your favorite.

All that was left to do could’ve been passed off to the technician or even skipped entirely, but you felt compelled to go the extra mile where he was involved. You wet a rag to rid his forehead of sweat and used a tissue to gently dust away the crystallized mucus in his tear ducts. Before you had the opportunity to assist him in laying flat on the cot, your pillow-fluffing was interrupted by the slight weight of cold metal meeting the warm skin of your neck.

A dog tag. His dog tag.

Your brain momentarily short-circuited. The gravity of the action was not lost on you, nor was its heavy implications. Not in the least.

“I’ll try. For you,” he clarified, resolutely holding your gaze, an oath on his lips, “I’ll try.”

Good enough, you thought. Because it had to be.

This would have to be enough, whatever this was. This, a fledgling, precursory thing. This, stealing moments with him during the brief lapses of warfare, hidden behind the plastic tarp covering the infirmary. This, assuaging your anxieties by catching sight of him from afar, the distance between your clinic and his barracks too vast. This, an invisible threshold, a nonexistent white line that warned do not cross. This, the space decreed by professionalism somehow both too much and too little.

This would have to be enough.

tbc.

[spoilmesweetieforficssake]

hii, i love yours stories

I would like to make a request. melissa/reader.

Where the reader is in a toxic relationship with a guy, but she and Melissa are visibly in love with each other, but only they don't see it.

The reader had tried to break up with him many times but never succeeded, so one day Melissa decides to work it out.

That's it, thank you, I hope you understood♡

Thank you! So kind of you to ask for more of my writing (I know I've said it before but it will never not surprise me!)

Okay...so I hope I understood what you were looking for? This took me a while and wasn't an easy write, but I hope it comes close to what you were hoping for!

~*~

Melissa isn’t trying to eavesdrop.  She’s actively trying not to, actually, but when she hears the strained tone to your voice, she can’t just walk away.  She’s seen you with your guy before.  Seen the way he treats you, always wanting you at his beck and call, too busy spouting off his own opinions to listen to anything you ever had to say.  To say she’s never liked him would be an understatement.

“I just…I don’t like who I am when I’m with you,” you say honestly, your gaze firmly fixed on your feet.  You don’t dare look up.  You know he’s not going to like those words.  You hadn’t asked for him to come here today.  But then again you hadn’t messaged to say you were staying late to set up a few things for your lessons on Monday, so his appearance shouldn’t have come as a surprise.

“But I like who you are with me.”

You close your eyes, taking a deep breath.  “That’s not the same thing,” you breathe, shaking your head.

“So what are you saying?”

There’s a hardness to his tone that scares you.  You’ve been here before.  You’ve had this conversation before.  You can’t have it again.  You need to do this.  To see it through.  “I’m saying I’m done.”

“We’re not done!”

You look up at his raised voice in time to see him reach out to grab your arm.  The next thing you see is a blaze of red.  Melissa, you realise.

“Hey!” she snaps, coming to stand by you, a half step ahead so you’re partially hidden behind her shoulder.  “She’s saying she’s done, so you’re done.  You wanna walk away now.”

“Or what?”

At the threat in his tone Melissa steps fully in front of you, creating a physical barrier between you and him.  “You don’t want me to answer that.”

He scoffs, shaking his head.  “You’re gonna regret this,” he snarls at you over the red head’s shoulder before storming off across the car park. 

You watch him go, the car door slamming behind him before he takes off with enough speed to leave tyre marks.  You don’t realise you’re trembling until Melissa places a gentle hand on your arm.  Turning to look at her, you find your vision slightly blurred by the tears in your eyes.  “Sorry,” you manage in a whisper.  “I didn’t mean to make such a scene.  I just...I wanted out.”

The red head gently guides you into her arms, holding you firmly against her as your breath comes in stuttered hiccups.  “He’s gone,” she says softly, her hands rubbing up and down your back.  “You’re safe.”

She must feel you stiffen in her arms, as she pulls back, looking at you with concern.

“What if he tries to come over,” you admit.  You want to believe her words.  That he’s really gone and that you’re safe, but you know it’s not that simple.  Not with him.

“He got keys to your place?” she asks, a frown developing on her features as you nod.  “Okay, then the first thing we do is go get those locks changed, then you pick up some stuff and you stay at my place tonight.”

You immediately shake your head.  “No, I can’t ask that.”

“You’re not askin’,” she says softly, her hands rubbing up and down your arms.  “I’m tellin’ ya,” she smiles.  “Come on, I’ll drive.”

You feel like such an incapable idiot.  You can’t even break up with your shitty boyfriend on your own and now she’s helping you clear up the mess you’ve made.  The hand that takes your own feels too much like a lifeline to let go, though. 

You keep trying to apologise on the drive over to your apartment, but Melissa is having none of it.  She tells you there is nothing to apologise for, but you’re pretty sure she has better things to be doing than sorting out your mess.  Still, she acts as if it’s nothing as she calls a locksmith, waiting with you while he changes the locks.  She waves off your attempt to pay the guy, telling you he owed her a favour anyway.

There’s a huge part of you that wants to tell her that she’s done enough.  That everything she’s already done is too much, even.  The other part of you, the selfish part, you fear, however, doesn’t want to be here if he comes back.  With the locks changed you know he can’t get in, but you also know how persistent he can be. 

As you disappear into your bedroom to pack a bag, Melissa finds herself restless.  She doesn’t want to snoop, but she figures she’s allowed to wander through to your kitchen.  She frowns as her eyes land on the photos on your fridge.  There are plenty of them, some clearly of you and your friends and family.  There are a few too many, however, for her liking of the asshole from the car park.  Glancing over her shoulder to make sure you’re still busy, she quickly removes those from the fridge, tossing them into the trash. 

Pleased with her work, she returns to the living room, her eyes scanning for any more pictures she might need to get rid of.  The pictures she finds here, however, are all in frames and it seems more time and thought has gone into choosing them.  She finds herself smiling as she takes in the images of places you’ve visited, pets you’ve clearly loved, friends you look happy and comfortable with, family gatherings, and to her surprise, a recent photograph of the two of you.

The last staff night out, she realises, recognising her outfit.  You’re grinning at her as she looks to the camera that she’s clearly holding.  You look happy, she thinks.  Happier than you did in the photos with him. 

*

“You hungry?”

You shake your head.  You don’t think you could stomach anything right now.  That and you don’t want her to go to any more trouble than she already has. 

Melissa pauses for a moment.  She’s heard your stomach growling so he knows you’re lying. “Well I could do with something, so I’m just gonna put a few bits together.”

It’s when she’s in the kitchen that your phone starts ringing.  You know without looking it’s going to be him.  You ignore it.  And the next one.  And the one after that.  When your phone rings again, you turn it to silent. 

You don’t want to speak to him.  You know if you do he’ll only either be angry or try to persuade you you’ve made the wrong decision. A few moments later your phone screen as it lights up with another call.  You look away from the screen, taking a moment to appreciate the soft sounds of Melissa moving around in her kitchen.  To be thankful for the fact that you’re not home at your apartment where he’s probably making a scene and hammering on the door. 

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Melissa is making quick work of putting together a plate of nibbles she hopes she can entice you to share.  She jumps when her phone rings, cursing as she sees Barb’s name flash up on the display.  She had meant to call to cancel her plans with the other woman at your apartment.

Barb, ever gracious, quickly accepts the red head’s apology, reassuring her that she had barely even begun to get ready.  There were always other evenings. 

“Yeah, shit went down in the car park,” offers by way of an explanation.  “That guy she’s been seeing was outside waiting for her.  She finally broke it off with him.  Well, sorta, with a little help.”

“Let me guess,” says Barb, the smirk audible down the phone line.  “You were the knight to her damsel in distress?”

“What?” scoffs Melissa.  “No!  I just did what anyone would do.”

The older woman lets it drop.  “Well, I’m glad you did.  I never did like that man, or the way he treated her.”

“Yeah, me neither,” grumbles Melissa.  “Good riddance to him.  Anyway, she’s staying here tonight.  She didn’t want to be at home in case he came over.”

“Schemmenti to the rescue,” smiles Barb. 

“What was I meant to do?  Let her stay at her apartment terrified he was gonna come kick the door in?”

“Like you ever would,” says the Kindergarten teacher softly.  “I hope she’s okay.”

“She will be,” nods Melissa, her tone certain, even as she looks through the open doorway to see you sitting with a sullen expression.  “I’ll make sure of it.”

“I’m sure you will.”

There’s something in Barb’s tone that makes Melissa blush.  “Anyway,” she says quickly.  “I’m in the middle of putting together something to eat.  I’ll call soon though, we can rearrange?” 

Quickly ending the call she tucks her phone away and picks up the plate she’s made.  It’s nothing fancy, just tasty little bits and pieces she hopes you might find the appetite to pick away at.  Entering the living room, she finds you with your phone in your hand, a male voice blaring through the speaker even though it’s clear you haven’t set the device to speakerphone. 

“Maybe we’d still be a thing if you weren’t so in love with fucking Jolene!  You know what?  I hope the two of you are fucking happy together, you little bitch!  Better off without you!”

You knew he’d be vicious.  There’s probably worse to come.  You sniffle, wiping at the tears in your eyes.

“You okay, hon?” asks Melissa as she sits on the sofa next to you, placing the plate on the table. 

“Yeah,” you answer honestly.  “I’m not even sad,” you admit.  “Just…angry it took so long.  That it took you being involved.”  Letting out a long sigh, you turn to the red head.  “I guess you heard that, huh?”

“Kinda hard not to,” she shrugs.

“He used to call you Jolene.”

That takes a moment to sink in.  For both of you.

“I’m never going to be able to pay you back for this,” you say finally.  “All of it. Any of it.  Breaking up with him when it’s all I’ve wanted to do for months.  I kept trying but I just…I couldn’t…I wanted out and I just couldn’t make it happen.  Thank you for helping make it happen.  For making me feel safe.”

You don’t resist as she slips an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into her side.  “You don’t need to thank me.  I’m just glad I was there to help send that idiot packing.”

*

“Nope!”

“But-“

“Not a chance!”

You sigh.  You’d asked Melissa to take your phone the night before, not wanting to succumb to a moment of weakness and reply to one of his increasingly saccharine messages.  He’d moved on from the angry voicemails around midnight.  She was now refusing to give you it back.  It was perhaps not surprising now she knew what she knew. 

You hadn’t really told anyone the truth of your relationship.  Had been too embarrassed.  Too scared he’d find out and punish you for it.  Tucked into Melissa’s side, however, her arm wrapped around you, you’d finally found the courage to admit it out loud.  She had stayed silent, held you close and when you were done, calmly told you that if he ever came within six feet of you ever again he was a dead man.  Apparently some crimes were worth the time.

“You know you really should password protect this thing.”

Looking up you see her waving your phone in her hand, a devilish smirk on her face.  “You didn’t!”  You’re not entirely sure what there was to find on your phone, but it made your cheeks flame scarlet regardless.

She doesn’t reply for a moment, instead devoting her attention to flipping a pancake.  “I didn’t.  Not really…I just deleted all his messages and voicemails.  Oh, and blocked his number.  And gave you a better screensaver.” 

You watch as she places your phone on the counter in front of you, her hand still holding the device. 

“We’re still going out and getting you a new number today,” she tells you.  “But I’m sure you have other people worried about you so…”  She lets go of your phone, turning back to the stove.  “You try to message him though and I swear I’m throwing that thing in the blender.”

Tapping the screen, you can’t help but smile as Melissa’s face greets you, blowing you a kiss from the screen.  A huge improvement on the awkward selfie of you and him he’d always complain if you changed. 

*

“I’m telling you, it looks great,” grins Melissa from across the table.  “You look amazing!”

It seemed the red head was intent on keeping a blush on your cheeks permanently.  She’d barely left your side the whole day and your smile had barely left your lips as a result. 

Looking down at the new dress you’d bought today in celebration of your newfound freedom, you let yourself believe her words.  It’s something he’d never have let you wear.  You love it. 

*

You lie in bed that night in Melissa’s spare room, the smile still on your face.  You could barely recall the last time you’d had quite so much fun.  Saturday plans were not usually yours to make.  After working all week, he had always wanted you to spend the day with him.  Inevitably, this meant doing precisely what he wanted.  Today, however, the red head had insisted you were to choose. 

You’d never quite realised how little freedom you’d had before Melissa set you free. 

*

“Fancy meeting you two here.”

You turn at the familiar voice, smiling up at Barb.  After Melissa had made you breakfast the day before you had insisted on taking her out today in thanks.  She had protested that no such thank you was required, but after much pouting and puppy dog eyes you had managed to persuade her. 

“Hey!” smiles Melissa.  “I didn’t realise you’d be here.  You should come and sit.”

“Oh no!” Barb shakes her head.  “I wouldn’t want to interrupt.  I’m just here picking up a little treat for Gerald and I.  We’re going on a little drive, get out of the city for a while.”

“You’d hardly be interrupting!” you reassure her. 

“Yeah, go get Ger,” agrees Melissa.

Barb holds up her hands.  “It’s very kind of you to offer, but I already ordered to go.  Besides, you should enjoy this,” she smiles, gesturing at the two of you. 

She looks up as the server calls her order.  “That’ll be me.  I’ll see you both tomorrow!”

You both watch as she collects her order and leaves with an odd little wave at the two of you. 

“I don’t know what she thinks she’s interrupting,” you shrug.  “It’s breakfast.”

Melissa shakes her head.  “Honestly, she’s too polite for her own good sometimes.”

*

By the time Monday morning rolls around it almost feels normal to share your morning routine with Melissa.  It’s not that you weren’t friends before the events of Friday, but spending a solid 48 in her company, it’s served to make you more comfortable in each other’s presence than you ever were before.  There’s a deeper understanding, an ease in each other’s personal space. 

After checking your car is indeed still in the car park, and that it remains intact, you both walk to the break room.  You’ve barely had a chance to make a cup of tea before Ava comes charging in the door.

“Whoa, where’s the fire?” you ask. 

“Yeah, what’s got you in so early?”

“Well somebody gotta clear this up,” she exclaims, gesturing between you and Melissa.  “Because I am hearing things.  Girl, you were single for all of ten minutes?”

“What?” you ask, frowning.  “No.  I am single,” you tell her, pleased with the fact.  “Have been since Friday after school.”

“So you?” asks Ava, gesturing at the red head.

Melissa shrugs.  “I was just there.  Helped sort a few things out, made sure she wasn’t moping around in her apartment all weekend in case he came over.”

“So when Janine saw you two out for dinner you weren’t flirting?”

You and Melissa frown at each other, earning an exaggerated eye roll from Ava.  Neither of you even realised Janine had seen you out for dinner, never mind understand how she’s been able to apparently tell everyone before the bell has even rung.

“Girl, from what I heard you were dressed to kill, and you,” she turns to Melissa.  “Were dying for a piece of it.”

“So I paid her a compliment?” says Melissa.  “You would too if you saw her!”

*

“Hey.”

You look up to find Melissa leaning in the doorway of your classroom.  “Hey you,” you smile.  “What’s up?”

“Funny thing,” she says, slowly making her way to your desks, her hands tucked in her pockets.  “I keep hearing from people that apparently we’re in love with each other.”

She doesn’t look repulsed by the idea.  “Yeah, I heard that rumour too.”  You’d been hearing it all day, in fact.  It had come to light that there was a rather gossipy group chat that neither you nor Melissa were part of, and yet seemed to be the subject of more frequently than either of you could have guessed. 

Standing in front of your desk, she shrugs.  “You maybe wanna, I don’t know, grab dinner?”  She plucks up the courage to look up at you, the apprehension on her face clear.  “Maybe you could wear that dress again?  And I’ll try more than a friendly compliment?”

You feel the blush creep up your cheeks, aware you’re grinning like an idiot, your heart hammering in your chest.  “That…sounds great,” you finally manage.  You want to say more, but your brain can’t seem to organise the thoughts in your head enough to let your tongue put them into words.  Instead, you gaze up at her in wonder.    

“You know, I usually think this lot are a buncha idiots.  But maybe they got this one right?”

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

The Boy with the Thorn in his Side [Part 2]

Part One

Steven Grant X F!Reader Rating: M Masterlist | ao3 | want to be tagged?

Warnings: TYPOS, swearing, SELF-INDULGENT, lovey dovey syndrome, fluff, pinning, brief mention of sex, please let me know if I’ve missed a warning!

A/N: Just wanted to say a big thank you to everyone that enjoyed the first part and convinced me to write the second. (Also to @romanarose for gently bribing me with another chapter of their wonderful fic.)

Summary: After the events on Sunday night, you can't get Steven out of your head. But with no way to contact him, you form a plan to see him again.

Word Count: 3864

Taglist: @pleasurebuttonwrites @jake-g-lockley @raven-rk @campingwiththecharmings @alexxavicry @mystinky-butt @cocodiem @oscarisaacsspit

____________________________________

This was a bad idea. This was such a bad idea. An awful, terrible, horrendous idea. You were bordering on stalker behaviour. He would take one glance at you and call the police, ‘hi, there’s this person I saw one time who basically invited herself into my meal and now she’s at my workplace.’ He would get a restraining order. You’d go to jail. This was the worst thing you have ever thought of.

Your hands shook a little as you set foot into the museum, your heartbeat echoed in your temples as nerves seemed to eat you from the inside out. 

You had cursed yourself Sunday night on the bus ride home, going over countless possibilities of how you could have done things differently. On Monday morning all you could think of was Steven’s kind smile and why you didn’t ask for his number. Even if he had said no, at least that would be something. A full stop to the whole thing, you could draw a line under it. Get on with your life. 

You hadn’t even spoken to your flatmates or your friends about it. Flitting between embarrassment of how you had just rushed off onto the bus and the mortification of your crush. You were an adult for god’s sake, it was completely fine to fancy someone – but you had still blushed and hidden the flowers Steven had given you in your room, away from your flatmate’s prying eyes. (After putting them in the nicest vase you had.)

By Tuesday you had a plan, a very poor plan. 

Steven had told you he worked in the gift shop at the museum. Just go, just say hi. Be casual. Normal. (Things you were unfortunately incapable of doing it seemed.)

On Wednesday, one of your days off, you had woken earlier than you normally got up for work. Showered and spent a little longer than you would want to admit choosing an outfit that was nice but casual. Flattering, but didn’t look like you were trying too hard. Oh god. You held your head in your hands. 

As you shuffled out of your room, finally happy (ish) with how you looked, Michael, one of your flatmates, was sitting eating cereal at the kitchen table. He was, without a doubt, one of your closest friends. 

“You look nice.”

You gave him a weak smile back. 

He frowned. “Thought you didn’t have work today?” 

“I don’t, just, just heading out.” 

His eyes narrowed even more. “We-”

“No Jason today?” You quickly changed the subject looking around for Michael’s boyfriend. 

“Late shift, he’s still asleep.” 

“Oh, okay, well,” you pulled on your shoes as quickly as you physically could. “That’s nice. See you later!” And practically threw yourself out of the door before he could get another word in edgeways. 

As you travelled into central, all you could think of was how stupid this was. 

You stopped and bought a couple of vegan crosstown doughnuts on your way. You would just see if he was there, say hi. Give him the doughnuts, say it was a little thank you for him paying. Ask him out again. Easy. Simple. Just casual. You could do that. Definitely. One hundred percent. 

You walked further into the museum, trying to keep an eye out for the gift shop. What if he wasn’t working today? This was so stupid. If-

You spotted the gift shop and your heart sank into the ground and crushed under the weight of your feet. There was a blonde woman behind the till. No sign of Steven anywhere. Your shoulders slumped. 

Fate had decided. You let out a deep breath and turned to walk back out the way you had come and smashed right into someone. 

“Oh fuck! I’m sorry!” You grabbed hold of their forearms to steady them.

Luckily they didn’t drop the pile of boxes they were holding. 

“Woops, no, my fault.”

That voice. 

Your heart sprang up from the floor and slammed back into your chest. 

“Steven?” 

He lowered the boxes, poking his head around the side. His whole face lit up when he saw you. 

“Hello, hi, what are you, what are you doing here?”

“Obviously trying to make you drop things.”

He laughed, his smile blinding.

“I, erm, here,” you thrust the doughnuts at him, completely forgetting every suave line you had rehearsed in your head. He stared at your hands for a second before you realised he obviously couldn’t take them with his hands full. Fuck, fuck, fuck. “No, fuck. I-” 

“It’s so good to see you!” He took a small step closer.

“It is?” Relief flooded your veins, the sudden rebound from absolute mortification to a slight ease made you lightheaded.

“Of course.” 

You stared for a second too long at his large brown eyes, your chest warm. 

“I, I got you some doughnuts, vegan,” you quickly added and raised the bag. “Just as, erm, like a small thank you.”

“You didn’t need to do that.” His voice was so soft as he readjusted his hold on the boxes so that he could see you better. He lent his head to the side, a small hint of pink dusting his cheeks and the tips of his ears. 

It was your turn to talk, “I…” The realisation that you had got lost just looking at him, again, smacked you hard in the face. “No, I just, I didn’t say thank you really, and I just rushed off and…” You shrugged. 

Steven opened his mouth to speak.

“Stevie! Those boxes!” Blonde woman behind the gift shop counter motioned exaggeratedly with her hands, though she did not move to help. 

Realisation clicked into your mind as you turned back to Steven and whispered. “Oh no, is this the famous Donna.” 

“The very same.” He said, completely deadpan.

You pull a face and Steven laughs before giving Donna a thumbs up and a fakest nod and smile you had ever seen. 

“I don’t know how busy you are, obviously I don’t want to get in the way of any plans, but, I have a break at one.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I know that’s a bit of a way away-”

“I can meet you here?” You said a little too quickly. 

Steven grinned. “Yeah.” 

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll see you here,” you said again and pointed to the ground as you both move around and walk backwards. “One.”

“One.” Steven nearly trips over someone behind him but sidesteps quickly. He mutters a polite sorry before you both look back at each other and share a little laugh.

“See you later!” 

Steven gave you the best wave he could, a wiggle of his fingers, without letting go of the boxes.  

“Stevie!”

Steven rolled his eyes and you grinned back at him. 

“Coming!” He turns and looks back at you over his shoulder.

You can feel the most ridiculous, dopy lovesick smile that you’ve ever had plastered over your face. And you can do absolutely nothing about it.  

.

You realised pretty quickly that you could just walk around the museum while you were waiting for the time to tick slowly onwards, but it just seemed impolite somehow to hover around Steven’s place of work, despite the fact that the museum was massive.

It wasn’t like you standing a few metres away from him and just staring.

Nevertheless, you found yourself walking out and wandering around some shops until around 12, looking at the time on your phone every thirty seconds. You had to stop when your battery got to fifty percent, worried you would run it down to nothing. 

At just after 12 you sat on the museum steps and read, pulling out your slightly battered paperback from your bag. 

Not that you took anything in. You had to keep restarting the page. The words started to get lost in your head about two paragraphs in. You bit at your thumbnail as you read the same words for the umpteenth time and bounced your leg up and down. 

Nerves twisted in your stomach, a giddy thrill. The only comparable sensation was to performing on stage in a long ago school play, the fear you would make an absolute fool of yourself combined with a rush of excitement. 

You checked your phone again, 12:34. Okay, that was definitely too early to go in. Far too early. Quarter to, you could go in at quarter to. 

Your bouncing leg was making it even more impossible to keep your place in your book, the words jumped in time with your leg. You could easily fix this by not resting your forearm on your leg. 

But moving your arm would mean moving your hand, and moving your hand would mean that you could move your hand, and knowing you could move your hand meant you could move your hand to check your phone for the time again, and doing that-

“Hello!”

You turned around so quickly it was a miracle that you didn’t give yourself whiplash. 

Steven gave you a nervous smile, holding onto his bag strap with both hands. “Got out a bit early, hope that’s alright, I thought, I mean, I saw you headed out earlier... So I just, well, you know, thought I would check and see if you were out here. Sorry, I’m speaking too much, aren’t I? Yes.” 

He ran a hand through his hair as you quickly climbed to your feet, shoving your book in your bag.

“No, no,” you grin at him. 

There was a moment where both of you just stared at each other, forgetting how to speak. 

“Are you hungry?” Steven asks.

You nod.

.

Steven leads you to a little vegan burrito restaurant near the museum. 

“It’s really nice there.” He seemed excited to show it to you, his enthusiasm infectious. 

The shop was small, with just two tables outside and one inside. The queue wasn’t too long, but because of the size of the place it’s trailing outside. However it’s moving quickly.

You both chat easily as you wait. The built up nerves in your chest morphing into just the giddy thrill of being around him. 

You scan the menu board as you enter.

“I’ll get you one.” Steven said off handily. 

“Steven, I should be getting you one, I owe you from Sunday.”

“Nah,” he smiles and shakes his head.

“Listen,” you laugh and can’t help the rush of fondness for him that briefly clouds your mind, “I don’t mean to get all in your face, but I will physically fight you on this.” You nudge him with your shoulder as you speak.

Steven chuckles. “Okay.” 

He recommends ‘The Ultimate Burrito’. You let Steven go first in the line.

The people there recognise him, calling him by name and asking after Gus, and if ‘Donna has got that stick out of her arse yet’. 

When the cashier hands over his food and asks for payment, Steven quickly adds, “hers as well.”

You open your mouth to protest, but Steven taps his card and gives you a beaming smile before you can say anything.

He hands you your brown paper bag. 

“Steven,” you begin. 

“You can get the next one.”

You tut, but there’s no malice in it. “You said that last time.”

“And now there’s a this time, yeah? See, it worked.” 

You nudge him in the arm again as you both walk out. “You know you don’t have to pay for my food for there to be a next time, right?”

He nods, he’s smiling, but there’s something about his expression, something in his eyes that don’t leave you convinced.

“Well, that’s two times I owe you. So I guess you’re going to have to put up with me at least twice after today.”

His shoulders seem to relax a little.

You walk to Russell Square to sit and eat. The burrito is excellent. You give Steven the doughnuts, he promptly offers one to you and refuses to accept no for an answer. 

“And that’s where I hid the override key.” Steven ends his story with a grin.

You laugh loudly, “Donna still hasn’t found it?” 

“Nope.”

“Oh my god!”

“Yep, every time she needs to do a till check or cash up she has to ask me for my key. I make a big deal out of it, you know.”

You continue to laugh, imagining the gentle disruption Steven has caused his manager. 

He leans a little closer to you, all conspiratorial. “I tell her I keep it in my locker, for ‘safety’, it’s in my pocket the whole time.”

“Does she get annoyed?”

“Oh yeah,” he grins, “‘Stevie, you need to keep it on you!’”

You lose it at his impression. 

“‘Stevie, I need the key!’” He switches his tone when relaying his side of the conversation, putting on an extra layer of sincerity and bewilderment. “‘But, Donna, I’m just a shop assistant, only the managers have to keep their override key on them? That’s what it says in the guidelines isn’t it? Where’s your key?’ Then,” he motions animatedly with his hands. “She’ll huff and mutter and wander off and then ask for it again after five minutes. Usually slightly more politely, which, let me tell you, is a big deal for Donna.”

“Has she said anything about her key?”

“Nope.”

You leant forward, shifting closer to him without realising it. “So she hasn’t even admitted she can’t find it?” 

“Not at all.”

You laugh again.

“I mean, I thought she’d ask. Actually no, telling tales, I thought she would actually look in the back office for it. It’s literally on her desk, right under her nose! But, no. So then, I thought she’s gonna say, ‘Stevie, have you seen my key?’ in which case I could go, ‘oh yeah Donna, it’s right here.’” He shrugged, grinning. “Can’t ask for help apparently.” 

You threw your head back as you giggled, your knee brushed against his thigh, and for a moment the brief touch sent an electric shock up your spine. 

“I know it’s mean.” He said, chuckling a little. 

“She deserves it.”

“I’m sort of Matilda-ing my way around.”

Your eyes lit up, “you are! Does she wear a hat?”

He shook his head, confused for a second. 

“Shame, you could glue it to her head.”

Steven broke out laughing, remembering the scene from the book where Matilda does exactly that to her father.

He pauses before speaking again, his voice a little quieter this time, a little less sure of himself. “I’m really glad you came by, like really, really glad.”

You bite your lips together, trying to control the rapid and sudden increase in your heartbeat. “Yeah?”

“Oh, yeah. I was feeling like a right numpty, I practically threw you on the bus.” 

You shake your head at him, but don’t interrupt. 

He looked down at his hands, worrying the skin around his fingernails. “Didn’t even say goodnight properly.”

Your brain short circuits at his words. Blanking out to nothingness for a moment, error screen – restart. What did he mean? What did saying goodnight properly mean? 

You stare at his lips, taking in the chance to truly look at him now that he wasn’t looking at you. Thoughts of how soft they would be, how sweet, filling your mind. What sounds would he make? Would he sigh or moan? Would there be a little hitch of his breath just before you-

“I was worrying, you know, is this boarding on stalker behaviour?” He smiled to cover his nerves and glanced back to you. 

“Steven,” you shook your head and lightly placed your hand on his forearm. “I was literally thinking the same thing. With me being the stalker, I mean.”

“What?” There is a small laugh that accompanies the word.

“Literally, I was thinking, is it crazy just to turn up at your place of work, and be like ‘hi’.”  You waved your hand with the motion, pulling a face and missing the small look of lament that flashed across his face when your hand left his arm. 

“Well, I’m so glad you did.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” 

You both stare at each other again, there’s a build of pressure in your chest. Maybe you could-

“How was your burrito?” Steven asks, speaking a little too quickly. 

You smile. “Very good.”

You both continue to talk and finish off the doughnuts. It only seems like you have been there for a few minutes when Steven’s phone buzzes, the faint sound of his alarm going off. 

You don’t miss the way his face drops when he sees the time. 

“How long’s your break?”

He quickly looks up, shaking his head slightly. “No, I’m- don’t worry!”

“Steven?” You give him a kind smile, even though you would quite happily let him stay here with you for the rest of the day.

He pulls a face. “I’m a bit late actually.”

“I should let you go…” Even to your own ears you don’t sound convincing. 

“Nah,” he shrugs, “I’m always late, it’d be a bit out of the old character if I went back now. Donna would die of shock I’m sure.”

You chuckle. “Is that a bad thing?”

Steven laughs. “Well, knowing my luck her replacement would be even worse.”

Another pause falls between the two of you.

“It was really nice to see you again.” You blurt out.

He sits up a little straighter, turning his body even more towards you. “You too.”

“I’d like to, I mean,” your tongue is too big in your mouth, too slow for the words that want to pour out of it, “if you want, to see you again-again?”

“Again-again?” He raises his eyebrows playfully.

“Again-again.” You grin.

“Yeah, no, I’d really like that too.”

You nod, quickly becoming a little lost in his eyes before you remember to get his number this time.

“Erm, here,” you unlock and pass him your phone. 

Steven takes your phone while still holding his own. His warm fingers brush against yours and you lean into the touch for a second longer than completely necessary.

He quickly puts his name and number in, and to your absolute endearment he also adds his last name. 

You send him a quick message: ‘hi’.

There is a buzz of vibration as his goes off. He sends one back ‘hi!’ 

You both grin at each other. 

Slowly, you walk back to the museum entrance, both of you dragging your feet a little. 

Naturally you come to a stop just outside and out of the way of the people coming and going. 

Steven shifted his bag on his shoulder. “Maybe next time we can go somewhere that serves something other than steak?” 

“Sure,” you nod, “sounds good.”

There’s another pause. But this one is painful. Even in this short time it’s like you both had become attached to each other, that pulling apart now would only cause wounds in the places you had touched.

“I should,” Steven motions with his hand behind him to the museum, he doesn’t move to go, his eyes fully fixed on you.

Your heart is racing, burning up and exploding like a comet too close to the sun.

The adrenaline makes nausea burn in your throat. Oh fuck it. 

“Can I kiss you?” You blurt it out, so rushed it’s a miracle that the words are coherent. 

Steven’s mouth opens slightly, a blank look of confusion on his face.

You were wrong, you were wrong, oh god, you were so wrong, this was absolutely the worst thing you could have done, the most terrible-

He swallowed, his throat bobbing with the movement. His voice is barely a whisper. “Yes please.”

You don’t remember moving closer to him, don’t remember your hand gliding around the nape of his neck to guide his lips to yours. Your body moving on autopilot. 

You don’t care that you’re in public. For once you couldn’t care less about what anyone else thought of you, your mind so caught up with just him. 

His lips are softer than you imagined, warm and lush. His nose bumps against your cheeks before you tilt your head more to the side and then it’s perfect. 

You kiss him once, twice, innocent and chaste. You feel his throat bob again under your hand, your nails just scraping over his skin as you sink your fingers into his hair. 

He whimpers, a small, delicious sound that buzzes along your lips. You never want it to stop.

Instinctively you step even closer, gripping at his shoulder with your other hand as his press against your lower back, guiding you towards him until your chests are flush against each other. 

The tiny moan that escapes him at the contact makes your head spin. Giddy with how responsive he is, you can’t help yourself as his lips part. You slide your tongue into his mouth and Steven groans. 

His grip tightens as he sucks on your tongue, strokes it with his own. 

There’s a quickly growing fire in your belly as Steven’s shy kisses quickly become bolder, demanding. 

Your head feel light, intoxicated almost, part of you would happily push him down and fuck him against the museum steps.

He kisses you back with a fevered vigour that-

Steven’s phone buzzes. You pause, but he doesn’t, using the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth. You moan and he growls, low and vibrating in his chest. You can’t help the way your breath catches at the sound, heat pooling in your lower stomach. 

You wrap your arm more fully around his neck and-

Steven’s phone buzzes again, this time a sharp ringing accompanies it. He continues to kiss you for a moment before groaning.

You pull away slightly and press your forehead against his. His eyes are closed, a small look of annoyance pinching at his features as the phone rings. 

You kiss him again, quickly, once, twice. He smiles.

Still keeping you close he looks at his phone, even though he knows whose ringtone it is. 

You see Donna’s name flash along the screen. 

“Oh fuck, I actually am really late now.” Steven says, but he’s smiling. “Worth it though.” 

You chuckle, and push him playfully in the arm. 

He lets the phone ring, putting it back in his pocket, and kisses you again. Once, twice. His tongue traces your bottom lip but he manages to pull himself away before he gets too caught up again.

Reluctantly, you both untangle yourselves from each other. 

The bottom of Steven’s hair is a mess from where you had pulled it. His lips are red, eyes dark and he is smiling so widely. 

You say your goodbyes and Steven walks up two steps before turning back and kissing you again, ‘for the road.’

You manage to keep it together, until he is out of sight. And then you can’t help the small squeal of excitement that escapes you before heading back home. 

For the rest of his shift, much to Donna’s annoyance, nothing can even come close to touching Steven’s good mood. It’s like he’s floating on clouds.  

[bonefall]

The recent post really made me realize just how much I love your version of Clearsky.

Dude was super religious while at the same time basically being in a pissing contest with it.

They gave him the most on the nose lesson on humility possible, and he doubles down on everything in an act of stubbornness that's almost admirable in how awful and stupid it is.

And out of all the BB villains bar Mapleshade, he wins. He is such a fucking menace that he forces his own religion to bribe him and then becomes a patron deity of said religion, and irreversibly changes his entire society for the worse through sheer force of will.

He believes that the world revolves around him and only him, and to be honest, I kinda see why he thinks that

Thistleclaw and Tigerstar wish they were half as successful as Clearsky, and he didn't do it through plotting or magic, but by refusing to learn his god damn lesson no matter how many times it came back to bite him.

I feel like, especially in the Current Day with the Events That Occur around us irl, it's a shame that we never get villains who win through SHEER force of will. It's so, so rare in fiction.

BB!Skystar isn't scheming, he doesn't have a master plan, he doesn't even really have an end goal at the height of his power. He just lives in his own head and does whatever the hell he wants.

That's it! So simple! No self-reflection, absolutely incapable of taking criticism, refuses to grow and change. He has a beautifully simple mind. And it is that very lack of conscious that leads to his strength. You can't shame the shameless. You can't convince him to amend his ways.

There's one way to overcome him; to defeat him, physically. To remove his power. Nothing else will work; he will keep coming back until he is stripped of it. In BB he is the first leader to die, because of that.

Even after Thunderstar refuses to kill a helpless opponent, Skystar took his last chance and went right back to war with it.

And he'll deliver a speech about everyone having one life to give, and about the goodness and righteousness of dying for a cause, but that's all just his rationalization. He can't confront the truth, so he never will. If he did think about it for more than a second... he would be the bad guy.

But he can't. He can't be the bad guy. Because then he would be wrong. So he will simply never think about it.

In the end, what does him in is the fact he got out-bullied by a bigger tyrant. He realized that his power would be threatened by there being less warfare, and he flinched first. His invulnerability was compromised, in that last moment, because it was the ONLY moment where he entertained self-doubt.

I just think he's neat

[pyjamacryptid]

me: make it simple. greyscale. nothing fancy.

also me, hours later: idk why you keep fighting this, you’re physically incapable of ‘simple’

[veronicaphoenix]

Chapter tags & trigger warnings: swearing, talks about physical abuse, implied depression, anxiety. | Word count: 1.4k | Cross posted on AO3.| Series masterpost. ✧.*

General trigger warnings: This work addresses and depicts issues related to addiction and violence, contains explicit sexual content, and explores themes of childhood trauma. Reader discretion is advised.

The sound of the doorbell ringing through the house startled Lia and set my alarms off.

It was nearly noon when the sound flooded the house. Lia, Jolly, and I were in the studio. Rather than spending the morning overwhelming her with further discussions about what had happened, I suggested diving into the details of our upcoming tour, hoping that it would ease Lia’s mind a bit.

It did, until someone rang the doorbell.

As I opened the door of the studio to cross the hallway, Jesse stopped me in my tracks, his face contorted in alarm. He raised a hand and put it level with my chest, as if to stop me.

“It’s Mitch. He’s outside,” he announced, his words rushed and fraught with tension.   

Lia, mere steps behind me, went stiff. Her tension and anxiety reached me as she rose from her chair. The color drained from her face.  

“No violence,” Jesse continued, pleading. “Please. Let’s avoid it if we can, all right?”

I glared at him, my look laden with anger.

Turning lightly, I reached out to gently stroke Lia’s hair, a feeble attempt to comfort her before chaos unfolded.

“Stay here,” I told her. Then, turned to address Jolly, “Jolly.”

He nodded in understanding, falling into step behind me. Jesse trailed behind, murmuring about keeping it civilized. Yeah, just like Mitch had with Lia.

Seeing Mitch at my front door was the last thing I wanted, but I would lie to myself if I said I hadn’t been waiting for the chance to confront him.  I had spent the last days thinking about how I was going to tear him apart when I had him in front of me. However, imagination was sometimes far from reality, and even more so when it came to a situation where there were so many emotions at stake.

Wordlessly, we locked eyes, weighing what we were carrying, because it was obvious that we both knew how it was going to go.

“She's here, isn't she?”

His audacity was astounding, his attitude betraying no hint of remorse or accountability for his actions. It was as though he believed he could waltz in, unscathed by the consequences of what he had done, indifferent to my righteous anger.  

“You've got some balls. To come here and hope we don't break your face,” Jolly’s words cut through the tense air, igniting the smoldering fury within me. The urge to lunge at Mitch, to unleash my pent-up rage, threatened to overwhelm my restraints.

Mitch merely raised an eyebrow and snorted.  

So, that’s the way it was? He was going to fucking laugh at the situation? The never he fucking had.

“What do you want?” Jolly asked. His question simple, yet Mitch’s answer would fall short, incapable of satisfying any of us. Whatever he had to say wouldn’t matter.  

With a chuckle, Mitch’s shoulders twitched as if to shrug off the gravity of the situation,

averting his gaze for a few seconds.

“What do I want? For my girlfriend to go home.”

Was he really that stupid to believe that Lia would go back? That I would stand idly by, allowing her to walk back into his toxicity?

“That's not going to happen," I interjected, finally finding my voice.  

“You'd better turn around, Mitch," Jolly interjected, maintaining a firm tone and a neutral expression that was unmatched by my own.

Mitch narrowed his eyes and tilted his head slightly in our direction.

“I'm not leaving here without Lia.”

“Lia doesn't want to go with you. She doesn’t want to talk to you, let alone see your face.”

“That's for her to decide, don't you think?” Mitch countered, arrogance filling his voice and etching his expression.

I couldn't believe his attitude. Stepping forward, I loomed over him, using my height to assert dominance. Behind me, Jesse looked at Jolly with growing concern all over his face.  

When I spoke again, my voice was ragged, “You've got some nerve coming all this way to ask Lia to go back with you," I spat. I could no longer hold back everything I wanted to say to him.

His countenance changed immediately.

“You better shut your mouth, Noah” he snapped, jabbing a finger in my direction. “This is all your fault," he accused. “Lia!”

“Get out," I shouted, seizing his hand and forcefully pushing him away.

“I said I'm not leaving until Lia comes out,” he retorted, barely restraining himself after my physical assertion.  

“Mitch, get the fuck out,” Jolly ordered.

“Shut up, Jolly," Mitch shot back.

“I won't shut up. Lia is here by choice and doesn't want to leave, so you shut your fucking mouth and get out of our porch before we call the cops.”

I wanted to tell him that he was lucky Lia hadn't already done so.

“What's the matter, now you're going into bodyguard mode because she called you whining?” Mitch taunted, goading me.

My hand twitched. I was about to seize him by the collar of his shirt, to throw a punch.  But Lia's voice behind me stopped me.

“Go away, Mitch.”

Jolly turned his head to her. Lia’s presence obviously drew Mitch’s attention like a moth to a flame.  

“Well, look at you,” he sneered, a smug grin creeping back onto his face. “The princess finally deigns to show up.”

I stood my ground, determined to shield Lia from his reach.  

She stood several feet behind me and Jolly, Jesse standing at her side. I didn't even look at her; my focus remained fixed on Mitch, hoping to intimidate him enough to make him finally walk away. I refused to give him the advantage of diverting my attention from him, leaving an opening for his movements to reach Lia.

“Pick up whatever you've got here and let's go,” Mitch demanded, his tone laced with entitlement as he looked at her with loathing.

“No," Lia replied.

I felt a swell of pride at her tone, unwavering and defiant.  

“We're done, Mitch. Just… go.”

“What?” He asked, incredulous at Lia's command. Was he really that mental to think that after everything he had put her through, she would just follow him like a lost puppy? He was more deranged than I thought.

“Get out of my way,” he said then.

He tapped me on the shoulder and made a gesture to push past me. The gesture would have escalated into a physical confrontation had it not been for Lia, who interceded by positioning herself between us quickly, her arm extending protectively over my chest.  

She was too close to Mitch…

“Mitch, get out. It's over. If you don't leave, I'll call the police.”

“Now that you're with these three you're feeling feisty, I see,” Mitch spat, his words obviously attempting to provoke her, to make her feel small.

Lia didn't answer.

All four of us were staring at Mitch.

He must have realized he wasn't going to get anywhere, anything, because after a while —which felt like an eternity to all of us—, he said, “You're wrong if you think this is over, Lia,” his words punctuated with an accusatory finger.

We watched as Mitch turned on his heel and made his exit, getting into his truck and disappearing down the street.

With his presence far away, a heavy sigh of relief escaped Jesse’s lips. Jolly let his shoulders drop. It seemed as if calm had suddenly returned to the house. Yet, the echo of Lia’s heartbeat echoed in the walls.

Jolly and I stepped away from the door. I shut it, still feeling like getting in my car and going after him.  

“Jesus Christ,” Jesse muttered, his hand anxiously raking through his hair.

Turning my attention to Lia, I found her standing silently in the middle of the living room, her gaze fixed on the closed door, a blank expression veiling her features but her lower lip trembling and her breaths growing rapid.  

Jolly gave me a gentle pat on the back before quietly retreating to the back of the house with Jesse. I reached out my arms to Lia and enveloped her in a comforting embrace, allowing her to let out the tears she had been holding back, breaking the silence of the room.

“It's over, Lia. You were so brave," I murmured soothingly into her hair, unaware myself that it was far from over.

“I'm sorry,” she choked out between sobs.

 “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

[hearthouses]

hello!! happy wincest wednesday! I'm not great at coming up with questions but-- are there any aspects of wincest or any tropes or angles you've been thinking about recently that are making you go particularly nuts???

This is a good and fun question!

So... I'm kind of an intense nerd who has people pleasing syndrome as well as fun traits like issues with choice paralysis, so picking one of my many many many ideas is very difficult, so in order to keep track of things I am interested for me, I have a document that is called "iddy ideas" which are essentially concepts that speak directly to my id. I'm gonna use the headers as way to answer this because otherwise I will forget something and it'll bug me, so things that live in my psyche re: Winchesters are:

→ DEAN & GENDER: I have a few asks in drafts that need answering about this topic, so I will keep this sort of brief—I am really into how Dean and his relationship to gender, and how the roles he plays in life force him into one box or another. I tend to headcanon him on the nonbinary/genderfluid spectrum, even if he’d never personally identify as either. I love exploring how he often uses toxic masculinity as a shield and how he uses it to cover up the more vulnerable aspects of his desires and identity. As for the Sam/Dean angle, I really love Sam figuring it out and using lingerie kink and feminization kink as a way for Dean to explore in a way that doesn’t completely freak him out. There’s a long fic in my head that I’ve been too nervous to write about this.

→ OMEGAVERSE & PREGNANCY: I have come up with so many ways to get Dean pregnant because I think about this topic so often. I won’t bore you with the list. I am unfortunately a sucker for pregnancy and kid fics as a trope. I don’t often read them because I prefer realism in the sense that the kid has to feel like an actual kid to me and not a symbol of happiness and completeness. For Sam/Dean, I enjoy the fucked up aspects of having a kid with your brother and how they would be so into that because it’s combining themselves into another living being, that they made together, ultimate symbol of their intense incestuous love. I also think Dean very much wants kids, but didn’t think he could have them with Sam, while I think Sam would really only want to have kids with Dean. I have many AUs where it is also the worst possible time for this to happen because I live for the melodrama. I also like post-pregnancy and seeing the kids grow up to be fucked up in their own special and unique ways.

→ DOMESTICITY & DISABILITY: I am simple and sometimes I want to force Sam and Dean to retire and live in a little cabin or cottage in the woods somewhere so they can grow old. Often, I think for the only way that makes sense for them to do so is if one or both were physically incapable of hunting anymore. I love them being forced to slow down and take care of one another. Given their lives, permenent injury is pretty likely and I love exploring the ways in which they'd have to grow and adjust to their new realities. Also, I kind of just want certain ideas presented in canon explored? Like Sam's issues with his sense of reality and hallucinations, or both of them having chronic pain. Plus, there should be more finale AUs where Dean lives, but he has mobility issues now.

→ WINCHESTERS & RAPE RECOVERY: Both Sam and Dean are rape survivors who repeatedly are sexually assaulted throughout the narrative, but they both react so differently to similar traumas and I would like to have this explored since the show wouldn't. Hell trauma also goes under this umbrella. I am fascinated by the ways in which Sam and Dean are mirrors and foils, and would like to explore the interiority of that. I’m also very into concepts and ideas that explore how their respective trauma informs some of their kinks i.e. I think post-s7 Sam especially wants more pain kink and D/s where he submits to get out of his own head and Dean struggling with the dom role due to his trauma from hell where he was put into the position of torturer and rapist, and them having to figure out to make that work without sending Dean into a tailspin.

→ CONSENT ISSUES: I love fuck or die, sex pollen, curses, and all related tropes. I also like "dark" versions of Sam or Dean (Demon!Dean, Soulless!Sam, Shapeshifters, Leviathans, etc.) menacing and putting the other in situations. I will never tire of this.

→ BOY KING SAM & MAGIC: Sam should be able to always have his powers as a treat. He should be able to be a little evil as a treat. Sam should get to go full on witchy as a treat. I love the demon blood arc, I love psychic wonder Sam, I love Sam who puts hex bags in witches mouthes and tells them he learned from the best. I am from the ancient times and watched the season three finale live, so my formative years were shaped by so many Sam becomes The Boy King and rescues Dean from hell fix it fics and AUs, and so it's always a favorite. I am currently writing one that is very slow going, but as a general vibe check I am calling it Sam's Moving Castle and "suiteverse but nice".

→ WEREWOLVES & MONSTER WINCHESTERS: I love werewolves and I want Sam and Dean to be werewolves and be a pack of two. But I'm not picky and would like them to be any sort of monster. I think the show was too scared of upsetting the status quo and permanently transforming them into monsters, which is a shame, but now it is now my hyperfixation when it comes to fic for them.

[positivelybeastly]

X-Force #50

All right, well, we finally did it, gang. We hit the big 5-0, and it's all done. And guess what?

It's all up hill from here! Wednesday spoilers below the cut, and . . . quite a lot of rambling? If I'm honest?

So, we open up on X-Force trying to kill good Hank and Simon, because they are dumb, despite Kid Omega and Sage asserting their genius. They blow up their little gay boat of love, and our intrepid heroes get pitched into the drink.

So . . . this is . . .

Why is Simon wearing a rebreather/oxygen tank?

Dear reader, I implore you to open this link, and scroll down to Simon Williams' powers and abilities.

Immortality: Williams is functionally immortal. Because of the ionic energy that empowers him, he no longer ages and is immune to disease and infection. This same energy sustains Williams' physical vitality far more efficiently than the biochemical process that sustain ordinary human life.

Self-Sustenance As a result of his transformation he no longer requires food, sleep, water or oxygen to survive. Simon is now a fully energized entity who can sustain himself indefinitely without nourishment, easily able to live outside habitable planet orbit.

Benjamin Percy, writer; Drew Baumgartner, Assistant Editor; Mark Basso, Editor; Jordan D. White, Senior Editor.

All four of these men are incapable of Googling basic facts about a character that Marvel has owned and been using since the 1960s. Basic facts that are available if you do so much as a basic skim of the man's Wiki page.

So, why is Simon wearing a rebreather/oxygen tank? So that evil Beast can destroy it and send Simon up to the surface, and good Beast and evil Beast can talk uninterrupted. That's the only actual reason. This is laziness from both an editorial and a writing standpoint, since you could have easily just had evil Beast use some kind of gadget to achieve the same effect, but don't worry! This won't be the most egregious lack of attention to detail this issue!

Yaaaaaay . . .

"My Beast," huh, Simon?

Gay.

Also, this scene makes X-Force look fucking pathetic, because Simon could literally wipe the floor with every one of them and not break a sweat. Simon 'my fists are LITERALLY as strong as Thor's hammer' Williams has nothing to fear from fucking Omega Red. His pacifism is the only thing keeping you from looking even stupider than you already do.

Orchis attacks to give the rest of X-Force something to do. I don't care.

But we do get this funny fuckin' shit.

Tie him up?

Logan, did you forget the last time you fought Simon? Or the time before that?

Anyway, the Beasts talk. It's not a particularly interesting conversation, for the most part.

God, this plan is just so fucking stupid.

But.

There is one moment that actually kinda works.

It's really funny to me that two of the worst Beast writers of all time, Brian Michael Bendis and Benjamin Percy, both managed to grok this essential fact - Hank McCoy loved being this version of Hank McCoy.

He was happy.

He was comfortable.

He was loved.

Feline Hank, as much as I love him, as much as he's my favourite iteration of the character, was never happy in his skin. How could he be? It wasn't something he chose, it was forced upon him. To save his life.

Well, what if he didn't want to be saved? What if he felt his life was so miserable that he might've thought, perhaps I should just let it all end?

He had moments, sure. But he never really escaped this feeling. This fear, this anxiety, this trauma, this pain. He carried it with him for the rest of his life. Just constant trauma, death, misery, regret, mistakes, chances not taken, failures.

But he would never be the same again. It's funny. He's the version I love most, but he's the version of Hank who could never love himself.

Which . . . is partly why it bugs me when people say Hank has internalised mutantphobia. Like, he kinda does, but I honestly don't really feel like it's quite that simple. He's comfortable in his simian form, he loves it, he only very occasionally angsts about it, he is happy. It's when he turns feline that he hates his mutant 'gift,' because now he has to worry about what might come next.

This is not the same as, I hate my mutant powers because they make my life inconvenient, because it means people hate and fear me. He can deal with that. He's been dealing with that since he was seventeen and nearly beaten to death by an angry mob for saving a child.

This is, I hate my mutant powers because they are turning me into something less than human or mutant. Because I am a danger. Because I am in danger.

And his fears are validated. He nearly kills Blindfold and Armour. He eats Logan's leg, tastes human flesh. He spends the last seven issues of Whedon's Astonishing X-Men with the taste of human skin and meat on his lips. How the fuck is he meant to be happy like this?

Anyway, back to X-Force. The two Beasts fight. Orchis shit happens.

Fuck off, Logan. Stop acting like you're at all relevant to proceedings.

Gay.

"X-Force ain't the ones you root for. But we get the dirty jobs done."

You didn't fucking do anything.

Hank and Simon could have fixed this entire mess without you. The only reason you were fighting a Sentinel was because you drew it to your location with your jet, firing at a gay little blue man and his fruity ionic boyfriend! You didn't contribute anything!

And then, as if to cap it all off . . .

What a self-aggrandising load of wank.

Hey, what was Colossus' plot arc through this series?

He spent 5 years being mind controlled and killed his girlfriend.

What was Domino's plot arc through this series?

Well, she got hurt a lot. There was that one time she got skinned. That was fun.

What was Laura Kinney's plot arc through this series?

There were entire issues where she didn't speak a fucking word.

You had.

50.

ISSUES.

And this is the best you could come up with?

"The plan was always for the war without to lead to the war within these two characters."

Is that why Wonder Man was more important to the climax of your book than Logan?

Go step on a fucking Lego, Ben.

This was allegedly a run all about black ops wetwork, the sacrifice of your soul to the harsh work that protecting your country requires, the inexorable slide towards moral degradation that comes from compromise.

It ended with a blue man in a stupid plant suit sacrificing himself to save a D-list actor from a bomb that would have crushed Mars into a pocket dimension, all so that his clone can go and become roommates with said D-list actor.

Ben Percy, of all the writers the X-office has welcomed into its midst, you were certainly one of them.

I just . . . this was what was worth jettisoning 40 years of Hank McCoy's personal history for? This cockamamie bullshit? This excuse for you to whip your dick out and pretend you're Larry Hama, when you can barely measure up to Chuck Austen?

Also, Jonathan Hickman, you're kind of on my shitlist for this, too. You may write a halfway decent comic book every now and then - and make no mistake, they're mostly halfway decent, I think he scrapes greatness with his ideas, but his execution is. Dry.

But that's better than his eye for talent, clearly.

I hate being negative. I feel guilty every time. I don't enjoy it. I hate to dwell. I hate to spiral. I hate to obsess over things.

But X-Force is just . . .

X-Force was, just shit. I will go to my grave telling anyone who'll listen that it's not worth reading.

"It'll read better in trades!" No, it won't.

"It has such a good team!" If you burn a pie made of good ingredients, you still have a burnt pie to eat.

"The art is so good!" And if you put sprinkles in a toilet bowl, it's still a toilet. It just looks prettier now.

Oh, and just in case anyone from Marvel ever reads this - they won't, they only hang around on Twitter so people can jerk off about the panels they write explicitly to be shared by the X-stans - I've pirated every comic I've read in the last 10 years. Every issue of X-Force? Pirated. All these caps? Pirated. Every time someone asks me where to read comics, what to read? Pirate links.

I didn't pay a dime for this series. I still feel like I got ripped off.

I almost can't believe it's over . . . what am I going to do with my life now that I don't have X-Force to complain about?

Oh, yeah. I can just read good comics. Nearly forgot about that.

But hey. That leads me to . . . I don't know, I guess, the end of an era.

Because Hank didn't get his memories back. Maybe he will in the future, but I don't have faith that there's anyone at Marvel that feels this strongly about Beast, so I doubt it. I need to write this down, anyway, for the catharsis. It'll help me say goodbye.

Rest in peace, Hank McCoy, 1985-2018.

You were the Beast I fell in love with. You were the man who taught me to be gentle when the world was unkind. You were the man who taught me that sometimes you don't have to love the body you're in, you just have to want to keep on going, because it can get better. There's always that chance. You were the man who led me to my boyfriend of 12 years, who I love more dearly than anything else on the planet. You were my friend when I didn't have many, and you've helped me make a lot of friends I quite appreciate. People I'm proud to know.

You're gone now. A lot of people aren't going to mourn you. They don't appreciate what was lost. But that's okay. I'll tell anyone who'll listen how brilliant you were. I'll try not to hold it against the version of you I'm left with, that he isn't you. He was you once. He could be like you again. Maybe better. I'd like that. I hope that's the case.

I'll keep writing you. I honestly don't think I could ever stop.

I'll try my best not to be sad that you're gone.

I'll try my best to instead be simply glad that you happened.

I'll give the past its due.

Which is all you can do, in the end, for the dead and for the past.

Well.

That, and live.