#those. I just don’t think I’d do well

[cowboybeepboop]

Brawl

"That's it, doll. Take what you need from me." 

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem! Reader 

Genre: Smut

Word count: 3.8k

Summary: You’ve been tasked with watching over Bucky, or at least attempting to keep him under control. But something about that metal arm sends your mind reeling. 

You’ve been given a new assignment. Watching over the infamous Bucky Barnes. Aka punishment because you’ve kept screwing up every little thing for your partner. Obviously not purposefully, but either way he somehow got you on babysitting duty for one of the most frustrating of the Avengers. 

You enter the room where he’s standing with Captain America, Steve gives you a small nod, earning a sweet smile from you. “Buck, this is Y/N. She'll be keeping an eye on you for a while.” 

Bucky glances between you and Steve with a slight frown. He seems less than thrilled with the arrangement. For a moment, he remains silent, sizing you up with his piercing blue eyes.

"You're my babysitter, huh?" he finally says, a hint of skepticism in his voice.

You shrug in response, “Looks like it.” Steve presses a reassuring hand to your back, knowing how difficult his friend can be. Bucky watches as Steve touches your back, a hint of something possessive in his friend's gaze. He shifts his weight slightly, the metal plates of his arm shifting with a slight whir.

"And what exactly are you supposed to do, watch me take a shower?" he quips, his attempt at humor laced with a hint of irritation.

Your cheeks flush brightly as you wave your hands in disagreement. “N-no of course not.” your eyes are wide, body tense as Steve chuckles at your side. 

“Buck, come on. Leave her alone.” he gives you a soft hug before heading to the door. “Don’t let him get to you Y/N. I’ll be back in the evening, just give me a call if you need anything.” Steve gives you a sly smile paired with a wink as he exits. 

Bucky watches as Steve leaves, a mix of annoyance and relief on his face. Once the door clicks shut, he turns his attention back to you, his eyes roaming over your flushed cheeks.

He takes a step closer, his gaze challenging as he towers over you. "Looks like it's just us now, doll," he says, the pet name rolling off his tongue effortlessly.

“Right,” you nod, turning away from him and wandering the room. “So what do you usually do at this time?” Bucky watches as you wander the room, a small smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. 

"Usually, I'm not being babysat by a pretty little thing like you," he teases, crossing his arms over his chest. He leans against the wall, his eyes never leaving you as he responds. 

“Pretty?” you question, turning to face him. “But that doesn't quite answer my question Mr. Barnes.” your arms cross over your chest. 

Bucky's smirk widens at your question, his eyes roaming over your form. "Oh, doll," he purrs, his voice low and rough. "I can't deny it. You're quite a sight for sore eyes.” He pushes off the wall, taking a few slow strides towards you. "You want to know what I do in my free time, right? Well, let's just say I like to blow off some steam."

“So where do you train?” your head cocks to the side, “I can help you, rather than just watching.” 

Bucky's eyebrow arches at your suggestion, surprised by your eagerness to help him train. "You think you can keep up with me, doll?" he challenges. 

He studies you for a moment, considering your offer. "The training room's down by the locker room. I could use a sparring partner."

“Perfect, I’d like to be useful.” you grin at him, following as he leads you out of the room. 

Bucky leads the way down the hall to the training room, his steps slow and steady. As you walk beside him, he occasionally glances over at you, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. "You sure you can handle me? I won't go easy on you just because you look good in those tight little clothes."

“My clothes aren’t that tight.” you protest, eyes narrowing at him. “Bring it on, I’m only a little rusty.” 

Bucky's smile turns into a cocky grin, his eyes roving over your body. "Oh, they're tight enough," he retorts, his gaze lingering for a moment too long before shifting back to your face. "Rust just means you'll get all the more practice when I knock you on your ass, babydoll."

“Let’s just get started already.” you groan, rolling your eyes at the overuse of the nickname.

Bucky grins at your groan, clearly enjoying getting under your skin. "Fine then, doll," he says, stepping into the training room. "You want a show? I'll give you a show."

He shrugs off his jacket, leaving him in a form-fitting black tank top that reveals his impressive physique. His metal arm glitters in the dim light as he moves, his movements fluid and precise. "Ready?" he smirks, eyeing you expectantly.

“Anytime you are, princess.” you tease him with a soft grin. The training room is filled with the sound of squeaking shoes and heavy breaths as you and Bucky circle each other, your eyes locked in a silent battle of wits. 

Despite his challenging words, you're holding your own, each of his lightning-fast strikes met with a swift dodge or block. Your movements are graceful and calculated, a dance of anticipation and reaction as you stay in sync with the rhythm of his combat. 

His punches are powerful, aimed with precision, but you anticipate each one, slipping away like a ghost. The smirk on his face never wavers as he watches you, impressed by your skill yet determined to push you further.

"You're good," he concedes, his voice a mix of admiration and amusement. "But you're not fighting to win, are you?"

You grin back, your eyes never leaving his. "Just making sure I don't get hurt," you reply cheekily, still not throwing a punch.

Bucky's eyes narrow slightly, his grin turning into a predatory smile. "Is that all?" He feints left, then lunges right, his metal arm flashing in the air.

You pivot on your heel, barely evading the blow. "So far," you add your voice light and airy, a stark contrast to the tension in the air.

The dance continues, your reflexes keeping you just out of reach of his attacks. His frustration grows, but so does his respect. 

You're not just a pretty face; you're a skilled operative capable of holding your own. The challenge in his eyes ignites a fire within you, and you know this is only the beginning of a very interesting assignment.

Before you know it, the playful sparring turns into a heated wrestling match, your bodies entangled as you both fight for dominance. In a sudden twist, Bucky's strength overpowers you, and you find yourself pinned to the mat with his metal-covered hand hovering just above your face. 

His grip tightens, and for a brief moment, you catch a glimpse of the ruthless soldier he once was. But then, using a clever move you learned in your training, you leverage your hips and twist your body, reversing the situation so that you're the one with the upper hand.

Bucky's smile turns into a chuckle, the tension between you morphing into a thrilling mix of competition and playfulness. "Impressive, doll," he concedes, his eyes shimmering with newfound respect. 

"But don't think this means you've won just yet." He winks, and you know the real battle is just about to begin.

The weight of your hips pressing into his sends a jolt of electricity through your body, making you aware of every inch of him beneath you. You sit on top of Bucky, both of you breathing heavily from the intense sparring session. 

Your eyes lock onto his, and you can see the playful challenge in his gaze. The air around you crackles with energy, a silent conversation playing out between the two of you. Bucky's chest rises and falls rapidly beneath you, the muscles of his arms flexing as he supports your weight. 

The smell of sweat and the faint scent of metal fills the space around you, a testament to the exertion of your bodies. 

With surprising agility, Bucky flips you both over, his metal arm gently pressing into the crook of your neck, sending a shiver of cold and pressure that makes you gasp. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, trying to regain dominance, but his strength is unyielding. 

His eyes gleam with the thrill of the challenge, and his smirk widens as he feels your pulse race under his touch. "Looks like you're the one who's caught now, doll," he murmurs, his breath warm against your cheek. 

The pressure of his body against yours, the heat of his skin against yours, and the unmistakable tension in the air have you fighting both the urge to continue the playful battle and the sudden, intense attraction that's taken you by surprise.

You moan involuntarily as the cool metal of Bucky's arm presses into the warm, sensitive skin of your neck, the sensation sending a shockwave of heat through your body. Your eyes widen in surprise, and for a moment, the playful banter between you fades into something much more intimate. 

Bucky's smirk widens as he presses his metal arm a little harder against the sensitive skin of your neck. The feel of his arm against your neck causes another moan to leave your lips, your eyes fluttering shut with the sensation. 

Bucky revels in the sound of your moan as it fills the air, the metal of his arm cold against your flushed skin. 

He looks down at your closed eyes, a primal sense of satisfaction coursing through him as he pins you against the mats, his breath hot in your ear. "You like that, doll?" he whispers, his voice a low growl.

“Bucky,” you practically whine his name, body arching up to meet his. Bucky's smirk widens into a devilish grin as he feels your body arch up towards him. The sound of his name on your lips, coupled with your neediness, sends a wave of desire through him. 

He applies a little more pressure with his arm, his metal digits digging just slightly into the soft flesh of your neck, pinning you beneath him. 

"You're needy, doll. Desperate for more, aren't you?" he purrs, his eyes darkening with lust.

“Quit teasing me.” You gasp, hands wrapping around his metal wrist, eyes wide as you gaze up at him.

He looks down at you, his gaze intense and ravenous. "Teasing?" he mocks, "This is just the start, doll. You ain't seen nothing yet."

He leans down, his face just a breath away from yours, his lips hovering just out of reaching distance. "Say please," he whispers, his voice a low, commanding purr.

“Please Bucky.” You moan, legs pulling his hips to meet yours. “More, I need more.” 

Bucky's eyes darken at the sound of your needy plea, his grip tightening on your neck just a fraction. He leans down, his weight pressing firmly against your body as he whispers in your ear, "More, huh? You want more?"

He slowly rolls his hips against yours, his movements deliberate and agonizingly slow, the feel of his obvious arousal against your hip eliciting a low, needy moan from you.

"You sure you can handle it, doll?" he teases, his lips just millimeters from your ear. "I can be rough." Your face contorts in pure pleasure as his hardness presses against your warmth. 

“Fuck, I need you.” Bucky's breathing is heavy, his chest rising and falling in quick, shallow pants as his self-control slips further and further away. 

You flip your position once again so you’re straddling his hips and press a hungry kiss to his lips. Bucky lets out a surprised gasp when you flip the position and find yourself straddling him, his hands gripping your hips like a vice. 

The kiss takes him by surprise, his eyes widening for a moment before a low, throaty moan escapes him. His tongue darts out, seeking entry into your mouth, while his hands begin to wander over your body with a possessive touch.

As you deepen the kiss, Bucky's metal hand roams down your body with surprising gentleness, slipping beneath the waistband of your pants. The sudden coolness of the metal against your heated flesh sends an intense shiver down your spine. 

His touch is deliberate, his thumb pressing and circling the sensitive area, sending waves of pleasure crashing through you. You gasp into his mouth, your hips moving instinctively against the pressure he applies. 

The sensation is alien yet exhilarating, a blend of cold vibranium and the warmth of his desire. His other hand tangles in your hair, pulling you closer, as he expertly teases and caresses you, setting a rhythm that matches the erratic beating of your heart. 

The world around you fades into a haze of pleasure and need, leaving only the sound of your muffled gasps and the heavy thud of your pulse in your ears.

Breaking away from the kiss, you throw your head back, a guttural moan escaping your throat as you rock your hips into the foreign sensation of his metal finger. Your eyes roll back in ecstasy, the coldness of the metal contrasting with your feverish skin. 

Bucky watches you with hooded eyes, his thumb circling your clit with unerring precision, as he pushes his finger deeper, stretching and filling you. Each movement of his hand sends shivers through your body, and you can feel yourself getting wetter, your arousal coating his metal digit. 

The room spins around you as pleasure builds, your breaths coming in quick, shallow gasps. "Bucky," you whine, the sound a mix of pleasure and desperation as you ride his hand, his touch sending you spiraling towards an edge you hadn't known existed.

Bucky's smirk widens as he watches you take over the rhythm, using his hand to seek your pleasure. The sight of your passionate face, contorted in ecstasy, is almost too much for him to handle. He can feel the wetness of your arousal coating his metal finger, and the way you're grinding down on it is driving him wild. 

His thumb continues to circle your clit, pressing harder with each moan you emit, while his other hand tightens in your hair, tilting your head back even further. He leans in to kiss along your jaw, his breath hot against your skin as he whispers, "That's it, doll. Take what you need from me." 

The power dynamic shifts as you dictate the pace, using his hand to chase after your release, and the knowledge that he's the one providing it only fuels his own desire. His cock is straining against his sweatpants, desperate for the same sweet agony he's inflicting on you, and the control it takes not to rip off your clothes and take you right there on the training mats is immense. 

As the climax hits you like a tidal wave, your body convulses, and a loud moan, filled with satisfaction, echoes through the training room. You feel the warmth of your release coat Bucky's metal hand, which he pulls away with a grin, watching the way your eyes glaze over with pleasure. 

He brings his glistening, slickened finger to his mouth and tastes you, his eyes never leaving yours, a silent declaration of his claim over your body. His smirk turns into a full-blown smile as he licks his lips clean, the metallic taste of his fingers mixing with your arousal creating a heady aphrodisiac. 

After a moment, to let you come back down from the intense climax, Bucky chuckles lowly, his hands moving to rest on your hips. The smile on his face is a combination of smug satisfaction and pure need.

"Feeling good, doll?" he asks, his voice roughened with desire. He slowly sits up, his eyes roaming over your body. "I think it's my turn now." His meaning is clear.

“Think so?” You question, sliding off of him and onto the mats beneath you both. You slide out of your shirt, a small smirk on your lips as Bucky intently watches your every move. 

Bucky's eyes fix on your every move, the way your body twists and moves as you slide out of your shirt, his gaze like a heated caress. His eyes roam over the exposed flesh, drinking in every inch of you.

"Oh doll," he says, his voice hoarse with desire, "I know so." He reaches out, his touch a mix of gentle and possessiveness as he runs his fingers along your side, trailing from your hip to your ribcage, tracing the curves of your body.

You slide your hands underneath his shirt, fingertips brushing over his muscles. Leaning forward you press a soft kiss to his neck, one hand moving to his waistband. 

Bucky shivers under the light touch, his body already responding to your every move. His muscles flex slightly beneath your fingers as he groans, the sound a low rumble in his chest.

The feel of your hands playing with the strings of his sweatpants sends a jolt of desire through him, and he can't help but lean into your touch, his hand finding purchase on your waist. 

"Y/N," he whispers, his breath warm against your skin, "You're gonna drive me mad." You pull away the strings, eyes flashing with desire as you free his length from his pants. 

His eyes are dark, filled with a mix of need and possessiveness, his gaze locked on your face, watching for every reaction. 

"Y/N," he groans, his voice ragged, "This ain't playing fair. I'm supposed to be the one in control here." You press a kiss to his lips, teeth digging into his bottom lip as you pull back. 

Bucky moans as you bite his lip, the small twinge of pain only adding to the fire already burning through him. His hand instinctively grabs your hip, pulling you closer to him, as his tongue darts out to soothe the spot where your teeth just were. 

You push his chest, letting his back fall against the mats. Straddling his hips once again and kissing his lips hungrily.

Bucky lets himself be pushed down onto his back, a look of pleasant surprise on his face as you take control. His eyes darken as you claim his mouth in a hungry kiss, a low growl rumbling in his chest as you straddle him. 

His hands find your hips again, his grip firm as he pulls you down, grinding your hips against his arousal, the feel of your body against his driving him wild.

You reach between your bodies, wrapping your hand around his hardness. Slowly moving your hand up and down jerking him off. 

As you take control, Bucky's eyes flash with surprise and excitement. He groans into your kiss, his hips bucking upward to meet your hand. His breathing becomes ragged as you stroke him with increasing pressure, and his grip on your hips tightens, urging you to move in sync with his movements. 

The sensation of his metal arm beneath you is a constant reminder of the powerful being you're with, and it only fuels the fire building between your legs. You can feel his need for you, the pulse of his cock in your hand, and the way his body responds to your touch sends thrills of power and desire through your veins. 

You break the kiss, panting, and lean back slightly, watching the passion play out on his face as you continue to pleasure him. 

With a groan that's half-pleasure, half-frustration, Bucky breaks the kiss and sits up, his hands moving to the waistband of your pants. In one swift movement, he pulls them down, revealing your bare, wet sex to the cool training room air. 

His eyes are dark with need as he positions himself between your legs, his metal arm a stark contrast against the softness of your skin. His cock nudges at your entrance, and the anticipation is almost too much to bear.

With a final, desperate look into your eyes, Bucky leans back and slams into you, his hips moving with a fierce, primal rhythm. You cry out, arching back as he fills you completely, the feel of his length stretching and claiming you sending waves of pleasure through your body. 

His movements are strong and unrelenting, each thrust punctuating the air with the sound of your bodies colliding.

The coldness of his metal arm against your fevered skin sends a thrilling shiver up your spine, and you find yourself grinding down onto him, meeting his rhythm with your own need. 

Your nails dig into his shoulders as he takes you, his breath hot against your neck as he whispers sweet nothings and dirty promises into your ear. The room spins around you, the only constant is the feel of Bucky's body inside yours, the delicious pressure building.

As he moves, the metal of his arm slides against your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. The mix of pleasure and pain sends you spiraling closer to the edge, your moans growing louder, more desperate with each passing second. 

Bucky's eyes are locked onto yours, his gaze intense and focused as he watches the ecstasy play out on your features, his own pleasure etched deep in the lines of his face.

The tension builds, the air thickens with it, and suddenly, you're there, falling over the precipice as an explosive orgasm rocks through you. Your body convulses around him, tightening in a vice-like grip that makes him groan deeply. 

Bucky's eyes widen, and with a final, powerful thrust, he releases his climax, his body shuddering with the force of it. For a moment, you're lost in the sensation, your bodies joined in a dance of passion that leaves you both breathless and panting.

As the aftershocks of pleasure slowly fade, Bucky's arms wrap around you, his head dropping to your chest as he catches his breath. The metal of his arm is warm now, a testament to the heat of your shared passion. 

You lean into his embrace, the reality of what just happened settling in as your heart slows to a steady beat. The silence is broken only by the sound of your breathing, a soft symphony of satisfaction that echoes through the training room.

You both lay there, tangled in a mess of limbs and discarded clothing, the scent of sex hanging heavy in the air. Bucky's metal hand runs gently over your skin, tracing patterns against your sensitive flesh.

[thrashdxll]

Here are some of my favorite quotes I got from Metal Sludge.TV in their "Penis Chart", where they talk about what rockstars are like in bed according to groupies.

Quoted below: Dave Mustaine, Peter Steele, Lars Ulrich, Izzy Stradlin, Slash, Axl Rose, Paul Stanley, Jon Bon Jovi and Billy Idol.

"Dave Mustaine / Megadeth: Dave is of average size and is very romantic, at least until he is done. Likes to cuddle, but might not be so friendly in the morning."

"Peter Steele / Type O Negative: About an 11 inch dick and very thick!! But he doesn’t like to use rubbers and says he doesn’t like groupies, yet will use them when he gets a chance. Sort of weird as well, plus he looks like a steel worker from Iowa!"

"Lars Ulrich / Metallica: Lars is about 6 inches and has a HOODED MONK, meaning he’s uncircumcised! That’s to be expected because he was born in Denmark, or some foreign country like that. He’s a quick shooter and likes multiple girls. He’s also fond of blow (what a shock) and that might result in his MONK to not wanting to come out and play. And he constantly talks. Shut the fuck up already! Also he’s losing his hair, but that’s another chart."

"Izzy Stradlin / Ex-Guns ‘N Roses: Our source reveals he is a VERY good lay! Sometimes those guys who aren’t the pretty boy of the bad are better lays than the good looking guys. The pretty boys sometimes think they don’t have to put any effort into anything. Just look at Vince Neil!"

"Slash / Ex-Guns N Roses: average in size and nothing to write home about."

"Axl Rose / Guns N Roses: Temper tantrum boy has only an average cock but above average sized balls. We heard he had one of his famous models (Seymour) take a dump in a kitty liter box!!! I don’t know about you girls, but my pussy ain’t going anywhere near a litter box."

"Paul Stanley / Kiss: About 7 to 8 inches and he’ll treat you very nice! He loves his hairy chest. One girl told me, “The only problem is when you’re having sex with him you get the impression he’s performing for 20,000 screaming fans. I have honestly never seen anyone look more retarded while having an orgasm. I thought he was having a seizure. Overall I’d give him a 9 in the sack, even though it was all I could do to keep from laughing when he came."

"Jon Bon Jovi / Bon Jovi: Back in the day Jon was a huge slut but he’s chilled out a little. Jon has an average size cock and like a lot of guys prefers to receive oral than give it. He has good rhythm though and will even wear 2 condoms if you ask him to."

"Billy Idol: He’s no Leviathan, but he definitely knows what to do with the 6″ he has. He likes you to put on a show for him, and make sure you leave your stilettos on. He’s the type that will feed you strawberries from the nightstand and might growl during sex. He’s also drunk a lot, so be warned."

[supernovafics]

meeting steve at a bar

wc: 1k

a/n: here's something short because i can't seem to finish anything else lol

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

you sat in the first open stool you saw, and the second the bartender walked over to you and asked what you wanted to drink, you laughed and smiled at him like you two were long-time friends.  

given the fact that you actually did not know this guy at all, his immediate confused look at your antics made complete sense.

“i know this will probably sound so weird, but can you pretend that we’re having the best conversation ever right now?” you asked him, the same forced smile on your lips. and when the look on his face only became even move confused, you continued. “the guy on the other end of the bar has been looking at me for the past few minutes and i really don’t want him to come up and try to talk to me.”

the bartender finally started going along with what you were doing, throwing on a smile equivalent to yours, but he still took a quick look in the direction of the random guy and then said, “i can say something to him if you want.”

“no, i don’t wanna make it a big deal,” you said and then considered your words. “but maybe me doing this right now is making it a big deal too. sorry.”

“no, it’s fine. we’re having the best conversation ever, remember?”

hearing him say those playful words made a real smile tug at your lips.

“oh, yeah, exactly,” you nodded, playing along. “we’re like old friends. first time catching up in years type of thing.”

he let out a laugh. “well, i’m a shitty old friend because i don’t remember your name.”

“and i don’t remember yours either, so i guess i’m a bad friend too,” you responded, enjoying the joking banter happening between you two right then; you liked how easy it felt. 

“steve,” he told you and you nodded and then responded with your name. “so, what do you want to drink?”

you shook your head. “i’m okay.”

steve’s head tilted a bit as he gave you an amused smile. “so you came to a bar to not drink?”

“i didn’t wanna spend my first friday night in this town alone in my apartment, so i thought i’d come here and try to make friends or something,” you said with a shrug. “which, i know probably sounds like a lie because i did just fully avoid having a conversation with that guy over there.”

“no, avoiding him makes sense. he has creepy eyes.”

“right?” you said, laughing a little. “thank you for also thinking that.”

he gave you a small smile that seemed as real as your own one felt, which was nice to see. “so, you just moved here?”

you nodded and gave him a brief “rundown” of your situation— where you moved from, why you moved to hawkins, etc. 

“is it the coffee shop on oak street?” steve asked. 

“yeah,” you answered with a quick nod. “my aunt’s had it for years and i always loved going there when i was younger and would visit town with my mom. it was kinda the only thing i liked doing here. so, my aunt also figured that i’d love to be the one to run it when she retires at the end of the year.”

“do you wanna do that?”

“i didn’t think i would, but i actually do,” you admitted. “and i wasn’t doing anything special in indianapolis anyway, so when she asked me to come here, the timing felt kinda perfect.”

you decided against going into how your first week in hawkins had sort of felt the opposite of perfect. working at maggie’s was great, but it felt like the only good thing about being here in this new town. and maybe you were getting too ahead of yourself because it had barely even been a full week, but you were already overthinking everything. 

instead of voicing any of that to this guy you barely knew, you said, “so, how long have you been bartending?” 

“oh, this is kind of a fluke,” steve answered. “i’m just helping a friend out tonight because someone called out last second.” 

he then pointed to a guy with long curly hair at the other end of the bar handing over a freshly made drink to a customer. “eddie.”

you gave steve an amused smile. “so, i guess it’s a good thing i didn’t ask for a super complicated fancy drink, then?”

“a really good thing. i barely know how to make a long island iced tea,” he told you. “most people here order the basic stuff; beer, rum and coke, just a shot. it’s that kind of town.”

“how long have you lived here?”

“my whole life.” 

“okay, so if you’ve been able to be here forever, then i’ll probably like it here too, right?” 

he was about to answer your question, but then he was getting called over by his curly haired friend. 

“sorry, i’ll be right back.”

you were about to tell him that there was no need for him to apologize because he was just doing his job, but he was gone before you could say anything. 

you watched him talk to his friend for a second and then proceed to help him make drinks for the few people that were waiting. the bar only got more crowded as time passed, which in turn made steve busier. you had enjoyed your conversation with him, as short and brief as it was, and you wondered what he was about to say to you before he got pulled away. but with how busy things were, you didn’t think you’d get that answer tonight.  

a part of you wanted to wait and find out, but after ten minutes of sitting alone— surrounded by happy groups of people who seemed so settled with one another that it felt like there was absolutely no way you could break into any conversation— it felt right to just call it a night and head home to your apartment.

before you headed out, though, you grabbed a pen that you noticed behind the counter and left your number on a napkin because you really wanted to have a friend in this new town. and maybe you were only kinda lying to yourself by inwardly saying that you simply just saw steve as a potential friend.

[pencil-n-pen]

PLUSH

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masterlist | kofi

alexandria! rick grimes x fem! reader

summary: after settling in alexandria, you’ve put on a few pounds. you’ve never really been all that skinny, but rick is quick to set you straight on just how he feels about your tummy.

cw: reader isn’t like the biggest fan of her weight (rick is in FULL and INTENSE favor of the tummy!) but reader is otherwise not described

a/n: hey i don’t rlly know what happened to me while writing this little blurb. i just feel like rick is one of those guys who goes crazy over a woman’s pouch n stomach fat ESPECIALLY in the apocalypse

brought to you by the weight i’ve gained while recovering from knee surgery

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۫ ꣑ৎ

Alexandria is nice. Comfortable. Safe.

You might not feel safe all the time, but well. Does anyone, with the constant, looming threat of the undead? Alexandria has walls- good ones, but still.

Though it seems your comfortability has gone directly to one place.

It’s the end of the day, and you’ve taken off your usual outerwear and now stand in front of the mirror in the bedroom, the tank top you usually wear under your clothes a little tighter than usual.

You turn to the side, eyes ever critical as you trace the new curves you’re sporting.

Back and forth, side to side, sucking it in, raising your arms above your head, squishing it with your hands. Pulling your tank top off your body a little bit. Now, you have always been on the squishier side, having retained some of it even when food was especially scarce, but now you look more like you did before the world went to hell.

Funny how that works. How there’s hordes of undead not too far away, how society has collapsed, and you’re still staring at yourself in the mirror, wondering if you should try to lose some weight.

Someone clears their throat behind you, and you drop the plush flesh in your hands.

Rick’s leaning against the bathroom doorframe, eyeing you up and down with a certain heat in his eyes.

You haven’t been together for very long. Not long enough for you to know how he’ll react to the sight of the roll of flesh hanging over the edge of your pajama bottoms.

You’re not entirely sure how you managed to capture his attention in the first place, let alone move in together once you reached Alexandria. You were just a loner the group had picked up not too far from the safe zone, desperate for protection and safety in numbers.

And well. Who can look at Rick and not want his arms around you in every conceivable way?

“What d’ya have there?” He asks, pushing off the doorframe and making his way over to you.

You avoid his gaze (it still makes you nervous) and turn back to the mirror.

“Nothing. I guess I’ve been eating better since getting here.”

“Mm,” He hums, deep and throaty. “I like it.”

You frown. “You don’t have to—“

He comes up behind you, chin hooking over your shoulder and hands coming around the squeeze and roll the fat between his hands.

“You don’t like it?”

You make a non-committal noise.. “I think most girls don’t, really. Well, maybe not. I can’t speak for all women. But,”

You shrug. “I’ve never really been skinny, so. I don’t know.”

Rick’s hands are warm and hot where they hold and squeeze your tummy.

“Do you not like it when I do this?” He murmurs, lips against your neck.

It’s a conflicting feeling. On one hand, Rick is ridiculously attractive, and his hands feel amazing on your body.

On the other hand, the squeezing and rolling accentuates and draws attention to the fat there.

“I don’t know,” You decide to answer honestly. He hasn’t responded negatively so far. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy the weight I lost when I was alone. Kind of a fucked up thing to think, I know.”

You sigh. “I appreciate what my body does for me.”

Rick just hums, arms around your waist. “You look healthy. Makes me happy to know my woman,” He mouths at your neck, “Is provided for. I’m a man, sweetheart. The only thing I want to do with this here,”

He rolls the fat in his hands for emphasis. “Is bury my fuckin’ face in it.”

Your skin feels hot and cold at the same time, and you squirm in place at the attention.

He holds you in place. “You know what it means? Means my woman is taken care of. Means I’m doing my job. What kind of man would I be if you were all skin and bone? Couldn’t call myself a man.”

You huff, leaning back into his chest a little. “I thought flat stomachs were the beauty standard.”

“Sweetheart,” He groans, “I don’t fuckin’ care what the standard is. You think the Greeks were carving women with flat stomachs?”

“No, but—“

“No, nothing. You look sexy as hell. ‘Sides. It’s protecting an organ I happen to like very much.”

You smack his arm. “You’re terrible.”

He kisses your cheek. “No I’m not. Come on. It’s too late for you to be worrying about anything.”

He turns off the lights while you get comfortable, then quickly settles in bed with you, arms circling your waist and pulling you flush to his chest, hands sliding under your tank and immediately resuming their ministrations.

“Rick.” You say warningly.

“What?” He murmurs, voice already rumbly and slow. “M’ just getting comfortable.”

“You’re such a tease.”

“Is it a crime to love on my woman? All of her?”

“It is when we’re supposed to be sleeping.”

“Fine, fine,” He grumbles, burying his face in your neck, hands stilling but remaining where they are.

“Can’t believe you don’t like it. S’ so soft. So nice to hold. One of my favorite things.”

“Oh really?”

“Mmm,” He gives it one last squeeze. “Yeah.”

Well. In the face of dedication like that, who could deny the man?

You let out a long exhale, relaxing into his hold and allowing him the comfort he so clearly desires. Rick makes a happy noise in the back of his throat and rubs your stomach a few times before well and truly settling into sleep.

With his warm hands held fast around you, you follow soon after.

۫ ꣑ৎ

[gomzdrawfr]

Ghost: The recipe says we need American garlic Raven: I only brought these from Nik’s place Ghost: So those are Russian garlic? Raven: Idk... Ghost: Well, what do we do now? Raven: Can we call Price? Ghost: No, we already did that trying to differentiate jam and purée Raven: ...right

Both of them stares at the bowl of garlic in silence

Ghost: If we sing the American national anthem to the garlic, do you think it’ll become American? Raven: Ghost: Raven: I don’t know how to sing their anthem Ghost: Neither do I Raven:

Ghost, slowly takes out his phone Raven: What are you doing? Ghost: Calling someone. Presses a contact. Raven: Who—wait, how do you have Alex’s number? Ghost: I don’t. Raven: Then who did you just call— Ghost: His emergency line

Alex, with gunfire and explosions in the background: A LITTLE BUSY RIGHT NOW, BIG GUY! Ghost: Alex, sing the U.S. national anthem for us. Alex: WHAT?! You want me to SIN— line cuts off Ghost: Raven:

Raven: What the hell- what if he was in danger?! Ghost: But we need to eat. Raven: …how did they let you into the SAS? Ghost: Scrolls his phone and grimace. That left one American… Raven: Ghost: Raven: I’d rather starve.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Pent Up 4

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, virginity loss, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you seek validation through online correspondence with incarcerated men, only for one to lock you down in turn.

Characters: convict/excon!Thor (silverfox)

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You can sense the reluctance as Thor drags his finger around the crumbs on his plate. You cannot mirror the sentiment. You are desperate to get away. You wipe your fingers with a napkin and cough. 

“Thanks, uh, again, that was really nice but I should probably go.” You look around evasively. 

“Oh?” He utters flatly. “Should? We could go for a walk? See a movie? I must admit, I didn’t get to see much when I was away. I have much to catch on.” 

You make yourself look at him. Despite his size and strength, even his age, there’s something very puppyish about him. That twinkle in his eye gleams with hopefulness, a stark contrast to your own doom. 

“Well, you know, I gotta get back to the house. My stepdad’s super paranoid and I did say I’d hold down the fort, so... yeah.” 

He nods as his brows arch curiously. 

“They’re off on vacation and he thinks the neighbour’s been dumping grass trimming in the back...” 

“Away? Without you?” Thor wonders. 

You have to keep from visibly cringing. Again, you said too much. Just like online. Just like how you got yourself into this mess. You give a sheepish smile. 

“Well, I have work so... just couldn’t make it work.” 

“But you have the house to yourself?” He asks. 

You stare at him and nod. Shit. 

“If your stepfather worries, would it not be better for you to have some protection? My queen, I must admit, to think of you all alone, it makes me worry,” he taps on the edge of his plate. “All those months in prison, I worried. I could not wait to be out, not only to look upon your beauty in the flesh but to make sure that you are safe.” 

Your breath clogs in your chest. You squirm. Your lies always just compound into a trap. This is why honesty is best yet you know telling him the whole truth won’t help you now. 

“Well, maybe you can walk me home?” You shrug. “Like I said, my stepdad. Super controlling, I don’t think he’d be okay with me having company.” 

He narrows his eyes and sits back, puffing his large chest as he strokes his beard thoughtfully. “Mm, yes, this stepfather of yours, he does sound as controlling as a prison guard. Well, my queen, you needn’t mind the peasants. Your king is here.” 

“Thor, please, it’s fine. I... he’s not that bad and I... I live there so... it’s the least I can do,” you shrug. 

“Not for much longer. You should not live with him if he cannot trust you. If he cannot see you for the treasure you are,” he crosses his arms, his muscles bulging in the flannel. “You deserve a castle of your own.” 

“Right, uh, that’s so sweet but really, I’m tired. I need to go,” you cautiously stand and put your empty mug on the small plate. 

“Yes, my queen, you have blessed me on this happy day, when at last we are together,” he stands and gathers his own dishes before reaching for yours. “Do not trouble yourself. Allow me to serve you as you deserve.” 

You let him take the plate. You watch him go to the counter and leave them there. You hurry for the door. Not quick enough. He’s there to meet you. He opens it in his gentlemanly way and you step out. 

“I have to catch the bus, you know? So you don’t need to come all this way.” 

“The bus? No, my queen, I have a vehicle,” he assures as he catches up to you. You wince as he wraps his arm around you, his hand firmly on your cushy hip.  

You touch his knuckles as you squeak. “Oh.” 

“Forgive me, queen, I cannot help myself,” he growls. “I finally have you near...” he squeezes as he leads you the sidewalk, “and you are softer than I could know.” 

“Please, er,” you look around. “I... not in public.” 

“Yes, my queen,” he recoils, dragging his hand across your back with a huff. “I understand, you would save our love only for us.” 

“Um, sure, yes, exactly,” you agree frantically. 

“This is me,” he points to a big red truck.  

You slow and eye the bright paint. It’s not what you expect. It looks brand new. You eye him warily. He wouldn’t steal on day one? Well, you know his record. He’s done worse. You shiver at the thought. 

He opens the door once more. He helps you up into the lifted truck. You’re dizzy, not just from the height. This whole situation is disorienting. 

You stare through the windshield. Pedestrians trawl by lazily, ignorant to your predicament. If they knew, they’d judge you anyway. Stupid girl. 

You should’ve left it alone. You should have stayed alone. Nope, you just needed to feel special. You needed to let these dirty old criminals tell you the same things they’d say to a forty-year-old. It was never real. Or never should have been. 

“My queen,” he snaps in his seat belt. You glance over at how it stretches over his thick torso. “You must secure yourself.” 

Your eyes flick back and forth. You cough and nod. You click the seat belt in and fight to release the air trapped in your chest. 

“Do you work tomorrow, my love?” He asks as he turns the engine. 

You brace the interior of the door and force the breath through your nose. Your blood is boiling. You can’t think fast enough to lie. Haven't you done enough of that? 

“Nope,” you gulp. 

“Perfect, then I shall plan us a wonderful day,” he proclaims. “And we will be together and happy.” 

“Thor, I... I have chores,” you eke out. That’s not a lie. You told your stepdad you’d take care of the place and you slacked on the vacuuming and laundry. 

“Hm, yes, a very responsible woman. It is how I know you will make a good wife. Well, I could assist--” 

“Wife--” You squeak and curl your fingers around the handle of the door. “Thor.” 

“Yes, well, we will take it one step at a time,” he grins at the road as he steers. Somehow, he seems too small for the gargantuan vehicle. “I’ve not yet kissed you as I’ve longed to. Held you. Worshipped you from head to toe.” A breath rumbles up from his chest and plumes from his nose in a growl. He shifts in the seat. “You cannot know how you’ve saved me, queen. You kept me good. You got me out.” 

You press yourself to your seat and pray for spontaneous combustion. He stops at a light and hums. His large fingers tap the ridges of the wheel. 

“Which way do I go, my queen?” 

You point. Your voice is stuck deep down in your gut. He turns and you blink away the horror. You manage to pluck out a sliver of courage. You use it to guide him to your stepfather’s house. The thought of being away from him is what gets you through. 

He stops at the curb as you declare your arrival. He reaches and grips the seat above your shoulder. You pause as your hand rests on the seat belt. Your heart pounds. Is he going to do something? 

“My queen, I hate to part so soon after waiting so long,” he slips his hand free and strokes your cheek. “But to look upon your beauty, to have you near at all, will soothe me for a time.” 

He cradles your face, his thumb rubbing your cheekbone. His touch alone dwarfs you. Your brain swirls like overcooked soup. You’re going to pass out. 

“I-- thank you, I... that’s-- thanks for the ride but I...” You cautiously look away. 

“Yes, yes, I promised to deliver you unscathed.” He retracts his touch and inhales deeply. 

He undoes his seat belt as he puffs out his reluctance. He gets out and you unbuckle. He opens your door and lifts you out before you can resist. You yelp, once more startled by his easy strength. 

He places you on your feet and you don’t think before you grab him for stability. Your legs are hollow and shaking. The longer he’s around, the more dire, the more real it all is. 

“Allow me to escort you to the door. For safekeeping,” he hooks his arm through yours and guides you up the walk. 

You move on instinct alone. The instinct to get away. You stop at the door and pull away to find your keys. You feel his gaze on you. 

“Before I leave, my queen, a kiss?” He sounds as nervous as you are.  

You look at him, stunned by the vulnerability in his voice. You make a noise and wet the roof of your mouth. Your chest fills with sand. Your lips open and close. 

“Okay?” You utter. 

His cheeks pinken slightly. You stare at him. Why did you say that? 

He smiles and puts his hand on your shoulder as he makes you face him. You quiver as he bends and his other hand comes up under your chin. You squeak as his mouth meets yours. His tongue flicks across your lips but does not delve deeper. 

He parts with a hum. You stare wide-eyed. His tongue glides out to taste his lips. You babble. 

“My queen? Are you unwell?” 

“I never...” you trail off and shake your head. 

You yank your keys free of your bag and face the door. He stays close, “you never kissed a man? Only me?” He wonders. “You saved yourself for me, my queen. I am honoured.” 

You choke and struggle to open the door. Heat encases your body. You push the door inward and it hits the side table just inside. 

“Uh, yeah, er, bye,” you flit through and quickly swing the door shut.  

You lock it and lean into the wood for good measure. You blink and press your back to the door. The smart screen on the side table shows Thor on the doorbell cam. He runs his hand down the door before he goes, his steps heavy. 

You blow out a breath and sink down onto the mat. You sit and stare down the hall as you listen to the engine turn. You stay there until it rumbles off down the street. 

Your daze is broken by the jitter of your phone. You blindly take it out. It’s Andy. Shit. 

You swipe the call away and get up. You leave your shoes by the door and head up to the guest room. You toss your bag on the bed and pace around with your phone. 

Do you call the cops? What did Thor do? You’ve watched those TV shows on stalkers. You’ve seen the horror stories of indifference. Take notes. That’s what they say. What good are notes going to do against a man like that? 

You yipe as your phone shakes again. Andy, leave me alone. You answer, just to get him off your back. 

“Hi,” you answer sharply. 

He sighs. “What did I say about guests?” 

“Huh?” 

“I said none, didn’t I?” He challenges. You blink, confused. 

“What?” You stop and frown at the wall. The door cam. He checks that app incessantly. “No, they just drove me back.” 

“Is that all?” He scoffs. You know he saw it all. You want to throw up. 

“Andy, please, he’s gone--” 

“Bit old for you,” he snorts. 

You shake your head, “I’m an adult.” 

“Could’ve fooled me,” he clucks. “You’re lucky your mom took the kids for a hike. I’m sure she’d be less than impressed to see you doing that.” 

“I...” you shrug. He hates everything you do. 

“I didn’t think you were that kind of girl,” he says. Your stomach knots. What does he mean? “You always were so nice.” 

You sniff, “it won’t happen again.” 

“Hm,” he tisks, “not any of my business. It’s just my house.” 

“I get it. Okay?” 

“Do you? You know exactly what you’re doing with that old man?” He sneers. 

“What do you care?” You blurt out. “You hate me.” 

He tuts again, “I don’t know where you got that from.” 

You wallow in silence. You can’t handle this right now. “Okay, Andy. I’m sorry.” 

“Hm, was that so hard?” He sighs again. “Don’t forget to mop the kitchen.” 

You hold back a heave of your own. How does he always know? You nod as your hand shakes around the phone. Your stepdad is nothing compared to your real problem. 

“Yes, sir.” 

He hums, “don’t be like that.” 

“Okay, Andy, I’ll mop right now.” 

“Good,” he preens victoriously. “And I’ll keep this little secret between us.” 

“Right, er, bye.” 

You hang up before your skin melts off your bones. Something about his tone has your nerves roiling. He always talks down to you. Like you’re stupid. A burden.  

Well, you’re just the baggage your mother brought to the marriage. He’s ready to offload you completely, and it might just happen sooner than he knows. The more you think about it, you almost prefer the criminal to your own stepdad. 

[the-meme-monarch]

telling this to you because you’re the only one who likes the human characters in dandy’s world. but

Sam (sprout’s handler) is the only non-binary character in all of dandy’s world. which had to be weird for them! considering the time it takes place I doubt they were out. with your headcanons of Delilah being loveless aro & Arthur being aro it makes me think that maybe there were a lot of lgbt workers there. maybe they attracted each other to work in this nice place where there’s less judgment. idk I’m thinking

i’d like to start off with this post of mine before i start my damn Dissertation HDHSJSN

and yeah i think working at gardenview was very generally very nice ! i just like to think arthur is very kind, he wanted to make a good kids show that teaches good lessons. and like, assuming the universe of dandys world is otherwise realistic to real life; he’s a black man born maybe the 60s, growing up in the 70s and 80s. he would have witnessed discrimination or had it enacted on him, and Certainly not saying racism just Doesn’t Exist Any More, but he would’ve grown up while segregation was still very prevalent and racism was. louder. in the general -especially white- population. and then w my headcanon of him using mobility aids he would’ve likely dealt with a lot of ableism. and being aroace(though likely just identifying as asexual, as it seems aromantic wasn’t coined until 2005? according to google at least) likely dealing with amatonormativity/allonormativity/heteronormativity/aphobia/or even homophobia bc Well If You’re Not Straight You Must Be Gay. also while he maybe wouldn’t have had direct experience to the aids crisis, he was still Around For It. and then also my hc of him being mixed race. and then All the ways these things intersect with each other. i think he’s shaped by his experiences and just wants Better and to create positive change !

i also have a little headcanon that he used to be a teacher’s aide ! i think he’s always been into drawing and making characters, and so this job is where he decided he wanted to do children’s edutainment :’] my sibling and i have talked about what we think the cartoon may have been like, and i think we figured “somewhere between animaniacs and bluey”

delilah ofc would’ve dealt with sexism, and amatonormativity/etc and shitty comments about how she acts or doesn’t really care to make friends, “being a loner”, or not being “lady-like enough” or god forbid being friends with a black kid. i think she would be queer friendly maybe more because more plainly “what difference does it make/why should that bother me, they’re not hurting anybody” but also bc “they’re still people too” ! I think it’s very likely both her and arthur were raised christian, arthur probably still identifies with it, but i don’t think delilah does. i think she thinks her religious upbringing was a prison NDNSJSNSJ

sam may not have come out to either of them, but i think they felt safe there that maybe they could to at least the other main toon’s handlers <:] and also with them being presumably irish, with their last name being mclaughlin, they would’ve been dealing with bigot shit for that alone i wouldn’t fault them in the slightest for not coming out to anyone ever. regardless i think arthur and delilah try to make sure that gardenview is a welcoming and kind environment that doesn’t tolerate That Shit. i can only imagine the smear campaigns the show wouldve gotten for having a rainbow flower boy protagonist.

also iirc sam is Stated to be nonbinary and using they/them, while looey and teagan we don’t know the specifics of their gender labels but we do know they use he/they and she/they respectively, and i do picture them deciding on those pronouns was a later development, and not a since-creation thing. idk if they would’ve come out to anybody either, or if they did I don’t think they would’ve even thought it was a big deal at all. i think toons in general are sorta just inherently silly little guys that don’t really adhere to human strictures, they think bigotry is stupid they don’t Get how someone could actually think that way

[hrrtshape]

omg. emma. HOGWARTS????!!!!

con😭gratu😭lations😭 i adore your post about it. beautiful. perfect. i’m on the floor. i’m a sucker for the little things. i have a few wonders. no pressure to answer. u must be buzzing with excitement still. i’d love to know about the people you spoke to, who you connected with, are they anything like how they are in the fanfics? is regulus cruel or is he just a moody teenager? …. and does he look like timothée chalamet? the classes!!! i’m so fascinated by what you learnt. the learning may be the thing i’m most excited about. is history of magic just an interesting as our history? what battles were fought? are there witch princesses? what potions did you make? i’d love to know what the school timetable is like, things like that interest me so much, like is there a school bell? i could go on and on asking about the shops in hogsmede and house parties and quidditch and oh have you met your slytherin coryo 😍 thank u for even reading this and i hope u had such an amazing time😚😚

oh, you want details ???!?!?!!??!?! you want the flesh, the bones, the marrow of it all. you want me to unravel the threads of time and give you the full, rich tapestry. fine

okay. the people. the marauders, the orbiters, the glittering constellation of chaos that made up that era. james potter is exactly what you'd think. louder than the gryffindor common room on a match day, but with that rare, golden sincerity that made you forgive him instantly. sirius is practically draped in rebellion, a walking, talking, leather-jacketed paradox of aristocratic disdain and desperate yearning for freedom. loves cigarettes....that wasn't just fanon. remus, who looked at you like he’d already read the footnotes of your soul, who spoke in margins and half-smiles, who never quite said everything he was thinking. peter DID NOT EXIST. ew.

and the girls, OH MY GIRLSSSSSS. lily, my looooove, the kind of person who made you want to be better just by existing. pandora is my favourite person ever actually i love her i admire her i adore her.

OKAY.......regulus. not cruel, not really. just a moody teenager. he isn't his brother, and it's obvious that he hates when pity him that he isn't. he's quiet where sirius is loud, calculating where sirius is reckless. did he look like timothée chalamet? yes, obviously. dune 1 timothée, with that hollow-cheeked, sharp-boned beauty that made him look like he belonged in a tragic french novel. a cutie, ngl......

now, the classes. history of magic, my beloved. i won’t pretend to be unbiased, but it was fascinating. the battles alone. AHEM. (i hate that i shifted there because now i know all of this unnecessary information?????)

the goblin rebellion of 1612, which was somehow wilder than the 1752 one, despite the latter ending in an actual siege

the wizard-muggle conflicts of the 14th century, where a rogue faction of witches nearly turned england into a magical monarchy (witch princesses? yes. it was real, it was dramatic, it was the blueprint for every medieval fantasy you’ve ever read.)

the giant wars, brutal and barely documented because no one wanted to admit how much damage had actually been done.

hogwarts itself had layers, secrets upon secrets. there was indeed a school bell!!!!!! it was enchanted.

the paintings do indeed gossip about students with startling accuracy. and the library...... the restricted section wasn’t even the real danger. the books in the regular section were sentient enough to judge you for your choices.

potions was… an experience. brewed a sleeping draught that worked a little too well (slept through an entire afternoon), attempted amortentia but abandoned it halfway because the idea of bottling love felt too much like a greek tragedy waiting to happen. learned that most poisons have antidotes except for the ones that don’t, and those are the ones people are most interested in.

and oh. coryo. yes. yes, of course??????

i had an amazing time. ask questions if you dare

[tonycries]

The boxer Gojo fic FAWWKKK sometimes I don't even stay for the horny anymore, I just like the way to write.

But also imagine journalist reader interviewing Sukuna after losing to Gojo. I feel like they’d banter a lott.

"How does it feel to lose to the Gojo Satoru, oh great King of Curses?”

“Ouch, no introductions huh? If I knew any better I’d say yer trying to hurt my feelings.”

“Well don’t you just love dodging questions, kinda like how you barely dodged those punches last night.”

“He just got lucky.”

“Nah, you just got sloppy.”

“And how would you know? Were you watching me that closely? Couldn’t take your eyes off me?”

“I’m just doing my job.”

“Mhm, whatever you say ma.”

“Don’t call me that.”

ERMMM excuse me where do you think you're going after dropping such a banger like that?? ☝🏽😤 Now this will be 24/7 on my mind, I NEEEED to write it 👀👀

[littelovelunette]

Sevika x reader who is a huge Pokémon fan? Sorry, I know this sounds childish...

Betting

Sevika x Pokémon Fan!Reader

Zaun wasn’t exactly a place for childhood dreams. You had learned that young.

But you had always held onto one thing, one constant in your life—Pokémon.

Even in the depths of the Undercity, you found solace in the games, collecting cards when you could, and sketching your favorite Pokémon in a battered notebook.

Sevika, on the other hand, thought it was a little ridiculous. “You waste time on those little creatures when you could be training your real skills,” she often scoffed.

But you knew better. She liked watching you play, leaning back in her chair with a cigar between her fingers, occasionally peeking at your screen with mild interest.

One evening, you sat cross-legged on the couch in The Last Drop, your Switch in hand. Sevika was beside you, watching as you muttered about strategy.

“What the hell is taking so long?” she grumbled.

“I have to make sure my team is balanced,” you replied, eyes locked on the screen. “I can’t just throw my strongest Pokémon out without thinking.”

Sevika rolled her eyes. “Sounds like a fight. You either win or you don’t.”

You shot her a playful glare. “That’s how I know you’d be a terrible trainer.”

She scoffed. “Oh? And why’s that?”

“Because you’d just brute-force your way through every battle without strategy.”

Sevika took a sip of her drink, her smirk never fading. “And I bet I’d still win.”

You grinned. “Wanna bet on that?”

Her brow arched. “What, you’re gonna make me play?”

“Unless you’re scared.”

Sevika laughed, deep and amused, before snatching the controller from your hands. “Fine. But if I win, you owe me your ass.”

“Same goes for you.”

“Deal.”

You spent the next hour explaining type advantages, move sets, and battle strategies. Sevika learned quickly, though she kept complaining about how "annoying" some Pokémon looked.

“Why the hell is this pink little thing so strong?” she growled, pointing at a Chansey.

“Because it’s got bulk for days,” you replied, suppressing laughter.

Sevika narrowed her eyes. “Tch. If this was a real fight, I’d crush it.”

“That’s why you’re learning, babe.”

She paused for a second, giving you a side glance. “Babe, huh?”

You flushed but didn’t take it back. Sevika just smirked and focused on the game.

When the battle began, Sevika played aggressively, just like you predicted. She was reckless, throwing out her strongest moves without thinking of long-term consequences. You countered each time, wearing down her team with strategy and patience.

Sevika didn’t take losing well. The second her last Pokémon fainted, she groaned, tossing the controller onto the couch. “Bullshit.”

You laughed. “Nope. Strategy.”

She leaned back, exhaling through her nose. “Alright. You win.”

You smirked. “Which means you owe me your ass.”

Sevika turned to you, eyes dark and amused. “And what exactly do you want from me?”

You pretended to think, tapping your chin dramatically. Then you grinned. “You have to watch a full Pokémon movie with me.”

Sevika groaned. “Not this shit again.”

“You agreed to the bet,” you reminded her, wiggling your eyebrows. “And you know you wanna see if Lucario could take you in a fight.”

That made her pause. “…Hmph. Fine.”

You beamed and grabbed the remote. As the movie started, Sevika pulled you against her side, an arm draped around your shoulders. “You’re lucky I like you,” she muttered.

You just grinned. “Yeah, I know.”

By the end of the movie, Sevika was frowning.

“You liked it,” you accused.

She grunted. “Didn’t hate it.”

“You’re so full of shit.”

Sevika sighed, shaking her head. “Fine. Lucario was badass. Happy?”

You grinned. “Ecstatic.”

Sevika just rolled her eyes and pulled you closer. “Tch. Nerd.”

And you knew, without a doubt, that she’d let you teach her more. Even if she’d never admit it.

[baroquepopcorn]

To add on my experience, I agree thrift stores are great. Ideally you should look for the right ones (the best are the charity shops run by old ladies, avoid anything with boutique in the name or that looks too trendy, it’s overpriced and the selection is boring)

First of all, I’d suggest finding the coolest things you currently own and trying to wear those things casually,

then you’ll want to find a nice statement staple: a leather jacket, denim jacket, wool coat, sweater, cool pair of pants. An article of clothing that you feel really really good about and would be excited building outfits around. Look for natural materials when you’re at the thrift store

Wool is wonderful (just don’t machine wash it or put it in the dryer)

Cotton is versatile (but it’s best to avoid it in things like knitwear, doesn’t keep you warm or look that cool)

Silk is gorgeous if you can find it

Linen is good for summer wear

Rayon/viscose is fine for summer wear as well

Avoid things made from polyester, acrylic or a blend of three or more textiles that includes a plastic fiber

A few percentages of nylon or spandex in a pair of pants is acceptable

The most important tips I can give you are to always keep looking around you. Make an effort to notice what other people are wearing and compliment people who are really doing something you think is impressive.

Look at people you think are cool, feel free to take inspiration and learn about those aesthetics, but don’t bother trying to copy those outfits one to one

Don’t be afraid to experiment and try things that don’t work, for a while you’ll look worse before you look better

And remember, you don’t have to compare yourself to anyone but you. Have fun with this and keep in mind that this is a fun hobby

Sorry to ask anonymously this just feel like a stupid question that I don't want to be attached to

I just want to kmow where to get started making a style similar to the ones you posted about, because I have worn nothing but blue jeans and flat colored shirts my entire life and have zero clue how to even start any other style without looking like I'm a teen in 2000s.

Isn't y2k the trend right now? Looking like a teen in 2000s is surprisingly fashionable at the moment.

Anyway, to answer the question, if you want to do a dramatic style change, I'll recommend the quick and dirty trick: Buy your first outfit from a (respectable!!) alt/goth fashion shop (no shein! no temu!), and as it starts falling apart (they will), start scavenging flea markets and thrift shops for replacement parts and stuff you can add onto them. Don't be afraid to take your stuff apart and see how to reverse-engineer it.

So while DIY and thrifting is the spirit of the game, starting entirely from scratch would be really daunting, so I don't think getting your Baby's First Training Wheels Outfit from a store is a crime. I got my first studded belt from Cybershop, but once the material started falling apart, I found a plain black leather belt from a flea marked, pried the studs out of my old belt, and put them on the new one in the same arrangement.

[live-laugh-legolas]

Hi! For a request could you do The Fellowship as parents? Like reader has a kid with them what would they be like? Have a great day!

Cute! This has just been sitting in my drafts

The fellowship as parents

Aragorn:

-This might be controversial

-Because ik we know Aragorn is daddy (hehe)

-But

-He’s not the best father of those on this list

-He’s a great dad don’t get me wrong

-He’s very patient and guiding

-But he’s also not the uttermost hands on

-He wasn’t raised like that

-He kind of lets his kids figure stuff out on their own while supporting them and making sure they don’t die

-Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing at all; just compared to the others I’d rank him lower

Legolas:

-I have a hard time picturing him as a dad; more like a cool uncle

-But he would be the dad that’s kinda on the same level as the kids

-I think elves are kind of feral growing up so his parenting reflects that

-Yes they are elegant and poised; he is a prince so his kids need to know manners

-But he will join them in eating things they shouldn’t

-Climbing places probably not good for a child to be

-I don’t get the vibes that he particularly dreams of being a father; but he would take on the job to the best of his ability should it happen

Gimli:

-Father of the year right here

-I just think dwarves are generally good parents and if we consider his father; well let’s just say he’s got a good relationship

-Won’t stop talking about his children

-Will go to all the tea parties and talk to the plushies

-Yes he is wearing a tiara; obviously

-A goofy dad; no problem embarrassing his children for his own entertainment and to keep their egos in check

Boromir:

-A very good father

-He doesn’t take after his father; and instead treats his kids kinda how he treats Faramir

-Literally the most love and pride

-Please give this man a daughter

-He would spoil the shit out of his little princess

-He would also be sooo excited to be an uncle

Frodo:

-Another one I can’t picture as a father; but he would take a kid under his wing

-Let’s kids tag along with him for anything

-Talks to them the same way he would anyone; which makes the kids think he is the coolest

-Like he doesn’t coddle anyone and is very honest (with maybe a bit of cheek)

-He kind of co-parents with all his friends

Sam:

-Another top tier dad right here

-It’s always been his dream to have kids (a lot of kids)

-I’ve been living for the bunny comics made by @rutobuka2 and Sam literally embodies a bunny in the sense of family size

(I’m a definitely more a LOTR person than Hobbit but damn it if this isn’t some of the cutest art I’ve ever seen)

-Anyway; I’ll stop fangirling and get back to the hc’s

-He is super gentle with his kids; but also is very good about discipline

-Definitely teaches his kids to take care of their mom

Merry:

-Super involved with everything

-Gets his kids whatever they want but they do have to work for it; more like rewards and gifts

-Loves to build things for his kids; like a treehouse or wooden boats

-Takes his kids on rides and fishing trips

-Makes sure they know basic life skills

Pippin:

-He’s a fantastic dad

-I feel very repetitive in saying that but it’s true; the fellowship of good dads

-So engaged with his kids

-Will go above and beyond in their games

-Takes dress up very seriously

-I imagine him also being very scheduled with bed time

-He probably riles his kids up before bed with silly bedtime games (which is what my dad did)

-Seems counter productive but it made me excited to go to bed so I never really fought it; genius

Gandalf:

-Grandpa energy

-But chaotic

-We know he is good with kids; or at least that kids love him

-Can keep anyone entertained

-You can trust him to babysit

-This is in moderation though

-He will grow tired and want a break so he will dump them on someone else for a bit

[austriannia]

Soldier Boy x Castiel Banter

TLDR: Soldier Boy sees Castiel’s wings and has an existential crisis (with a side of unwanted feelings)

A desolate road at midnight, the air thick with static from a recent fight. Soldier Boy is sitting on the hood of a wrecked car, chest heaving, bruised but grinning like he just won the damn lottery. Castiel stands a few feet away, wings out "fully out" spanning wide, dark and ethereal, shifting like they belong to something outside the realm of human understanding. The moonlight catches on them just right, making him look—well.

Like something Soldier Boy should not be feeling things about.

Soldier Boy: [running a hand down his face, exhaling] Okay, so.

Castiel: [watching him patiently] So?

Soldier Boy: [gesturing vaguely] You’re just gonna whip those out and act like it’s normal?

Castiel: [tilting his head] I am an angel. This is normal.

Soldier Boy: [grumbling, shifting in place] Yeah, well, normal ain't supposed to make me wanna drop to my damn knees and ... never mind.

[Castiel takes a slow step forward, wings still half-extended, the air practically humming with something heavy and unspoken.]

Castiel: [calmly] You seem… unsettled.

Soldier Boy: [snorts] Yeah, no shit, Sherlock. You’re out here looking like a goddamn revelation, and I’m supposed to what? Shake your hand? Buy you a beer?

Castiel: [deadpan] That would be a reasonable response.

[Soldier Boy drags a hand down his face, looking absolutely exasperated.]

Soldier Boy: [muttering] Right. Sure. Lemme just ignore the fact that you’re standing there like something outta one of those creepy old church paintings. All you need’s a choir and some dramatic lighting.

[Castiel's wings shift slightly, the edges curling inward like they’re reacting to the conversation.]

Castiel: [musing] I could summon a choir.

Soldier Boy: [pointing at him] Don’t you dare.

[A beat. Soldier Boy leans back, rubbing his temples like this is personally offensive.]

Soldier Boy: [muttering, dragging a hand down his face] Man, I had issues before you, but this? This is some on-my-knees, begging-for-mercy, mind-wrecking type shit.

Castiel: [blinking] Do you require assistance?

Soldier Boy: [dryly] Yeah, Cas. Call up heaven, see if they’ve got a hotline for unexpected celestial attraction syndrome.

[Castiel just stares at him. Soldier Boy looks back. Neither of them move.]

Soldier Boy: [grumbling, looking away] …This is your fault.

Castiel: [mildly amused] Is it?

Soldier Boy: [gesturing vaguely at his entire existence] Look at you. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to mess with me.

Castiel: [stepping just a little closer, voice lower] I wouldn’t need to try.

[A long pause. Soldier Boy inhales sharply, scrubs a hand through his hair, and mutters something under his breath that definitely isn’t a prayer but feels like one. Then he lets out a rough, tired laugh.]

Soldier Boy: [grinning, shaking his head] If you weren’t already God’s problem, angel, I swear to hell, you’d be mine.

Castiel: [quietly] Perhaps I already am.

[Silence. The wind shifts. Soldier Boy swears he feels it in his chest.]

Soldier Boy: [muttering, more to himself than anyone] Yeah. That’s what I was afraid of.

[fiamat12]

RE: Prevalence and use of NDAs

In the movie Red, White, and Royal Blue NDA’s are mentioned as a standard course of action for hook ups among politicians and families.

The president’s adult son is found with someone his room and the assistant who is in charge of monitoring the campaign/PR/cleaning up messes says, “I’ll bet you didn’t even have her sign an NDA!”

The implication was that for this high profile individual person, the NDA would be signed prior to any funny business as a standard course of action.

It makes sense to me that actors and anyone else in the private eye, especially those who work for a large production franchise (Like SL/Bton) would be instructed to follow the same precautions to avoid any scandals or public relations faux pas.

We don’t know how it all played out, but since A has already revealed enough to cause a scene in the fandom, and I assume L wouldn’t want to sabotage his own career, I’d imagine something went awry and she either didn’t sign one initially, and then ended up with more information/leverage that she could use to her advantage, and/or she didn’t stick to it or tried to get around it to serve her purposes by using anonymous tips to gossip writers, ghost written articles, and posts that imply things without outright stating them, often which are deleted later to maintain plausible deniability. If they (L&A) started out as friends, I’d can’t imagine them continuing to be friendly unless this was all a subterfuge that she was in on, and if so it was very messily done.

☝️I think you meant public eye Anon but private eye is funnier since Lukola has been so secret lol

Interesting thought on the blind items. I will say the People intern who kept writing adjacent articles of "packing on the PDA" lol seems to be in A's peer group 🤷🏼‍♀️

Imo, I don't think L & A had a relationship of any note, perhaps went on mostly group dates at best. I do agree that he prob. didn't have her sign an NDA, let her into the friend group prematurely and she had way too much info. to leverage about his personal life. Perhaps it isn't anything super scandalous in the big scheme, but seeing as fans were already touchy about Jade and his HBS and even brothel Colin, having A run her mouth just as S3 came out AND w/ him & N newly committed/ expecting, it could've been a PR disaster (which sadly it ended up being anyway).

My partner's take: "She's a vindictive B" (enough said lol)

Comments from the Discord peanut gallery ⬇️

"I can imagine that NDAs wouldn’t have crossed his mind with his friend group at the time since he’d known most of them since childhood. (Well, at least the guys.) I think it has certainly turned into a lesson in trust for all of them as they navigate becoming and living as celebrities"

" I don’t think he necessarily slept with her. Not because I don’t think it’s possible for him to have casually hooked up with her. But instead, because of what he did after that, and that is the awkwardness and disrespect to Nic of letting her be around so much after that. Don’t let your booty call turn up at the London press call or be around at the Valentine’s Day event, etc. Imagine letting her still go on the March LA trip while you're already dating Nic again [about to get engaged!]. He wouldn’t do that to Nic. Instead, that suggests to me that he kissed her a few times and she started to hope she could turn it in to more, but he never saw it as more. I do think he messed up by not getting her to sign an NDA from the start. I think he was modest and naive about the level of fame he was about to achieve."

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

On Good Behaviour 5

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, threats, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: after release, you try to get on the right track but your new boss isn’t much help. (ex-con reader)

Characters: Loki

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

As the day winds down to close, you steel yourself for the inevitable. It doesn’t come. Laufeyson remains in his office as you pack up your bag. Your lunch is untouched. You’ll have that for dinner, though your appetite is fleeting. 

You shut down the computer and check that everything is tidy. You get up and approach the door. You linger there until five minutes after the hour. You go but cannot leave the dread behind. 

You get home and leave your bag at the door. You step out of the creaky heels and go to the couch which makes up the bulk of your furnishing. You sit in silence. Just like those days in your cell. The air crackles in your ears, buzzing through your skull. 

You’ve done worse for less. It’s more bitter now because you thought those days were behind you. No, you hoped they were. Whatever optimism you’d clung to is gone. You’re back where you started even if you’re on the other side of the walls. 

Your phone rings. You get up and dig it out of your bag. It’s Dina. You better answer. 

“Hello,” you stand by the door, an arm across your churning stomach. 

“Well, hello,” she trills in her pretentious way, “I’ve only had a rather long conversation with your employer.” 

You falter and uncurl your arm, placing your hand flat to the wall. You lean as your legs shake. After all that. You should’ve known better than to trust a snake like him. 

“He gave a shining review of your work,” she says. Your ears ring and you shake your head. You don’t believe it. You can hardly understand. “Punctual, attentive, thorough. I’m only just sending in your monthly report. The board will be happy.” 

“Oh,” you utter. “Right.” 

“They will be inclined to review your conditions. Granted you stay within them,” the edge returns to her churlish voice. “And who wouldn't be good for a man like that.” 

You frown. 

“Thank you,” you sniff. 

“Oh no, you be sure to thank Mr. Laufeyson. Had you another disappointing report, I think there may have been a bit of reversion. I hear the ankle monitors are not very comfortable,” she warns. You were lucky to avoid that at least. 

“Yes, Dina.” 

“Don’t lose sight of the end goal. We both know the rates. I’d hate to see you back in orange,” she chides. 

She hangs up. You’re happy she does before you can respond. Your lip curls as the grey humiliation blazes to white hot rage. You black the phone and drop it on top of your bag. It falls to the floor. You don’t give a fuck. 

You strip off your clothes as you head for the boxy bathroom. There’s not enough room for a tub, only a shower. All your time in lock up and you looked forward to that final soak. There was so much you wanted when you got out. As usual, you’re wrong. 

You stand under the stream of hot water until it turns cold. You don’t notice the difference. You get out and dry off. You pull on your green swears and a black shirt. You unfold the couch, the frame squeaking beneath the thin mattress. It’s as stiff as a bunk but bigger. 

Your phone goes off again. You want to scream. You want to break every single thing in this place, not that there’s much.  

You retrieve your phone from the floor. It’s him. Laufeyson. You hesitate but answer. You left without saying goodbye. Would he be unhappy? Hardly concerned. You won’t fool yourself. 

“You’re welcome, darling,” he begins the conversation as you put the phone to your ear. “Now, don’t think I can’t hear you huffing like some rabid dog. Speak.” 

You inhale and cross the apartment. You stand by the window. “Thank you, Mr. Laufeyson.” 

“I am not in the habit of lying. Especially for felons,” he slithers. 

“I understand, sir. I am... grateful.” 

“Are you? Because you sound rather angry.” 

“No, sir,” you counter. 

He snickers. You huff.  

“Oh, do not fear. I will assist you in refraining from your worst instincts. I have no doubt I will break you of those unseemly habits,” he tuts. “I will make a lady of you. Or a facsimile of one.” 

You grit your teeth. “Yes, Mr. Laufeyson. Thank you.” 

He laughs again. 

“I shall allow you to get your reprieve for surely you will need your energy tomorrow,” he taunts. 

“Yes, sir.” You mutter.  

He only finds it amusing as he chuckles. “Good night, darling.” 

The line clicks. You squeeze the phone and spin. You hurl it at the wall and it pings off the corner. Fuck it all. 

You stomp to the mattress and fall onto your stomach. The frame jars you through the narrow cushion. You bury your face in your arms and growl. 

You’re a fuck up. You always have been, you always will be. You hear your mother’s voice; I told you so. 

💼

You walk into the office. You wouldn’t say you’re ready. You’re resigned. It’s a familiar feeling. It’s how you got through those years. Alone. 

Mr. Laufeyson sits at your desk, leaning back, one long leg crossed over the other, arms bent behind his head. His nonchalance is a bit too performative. You put the cortado before him. 

“Ah, like a well-trained dog,” he smirks. “Let us see what else you’ve learned.” 

He’s completely prepared and you are anything but. You put your hand on your bag and dig your nails into it. Your anger aches in your knuckles. 

“Let us see,” his eyes flick down, “did you attend to your work attire?” 

You stare at him. You slip your bag from your shoulder and place it next to your feet. You didn’t change anything. You were too paralysed to do much more than hate yourself. It’s better to do nothing than to fuck yourself any more than you already have. 

You pull up your skirt. He sighs. 

“Off,” he commands. 

You let the skirt fall slightly as you reach under it. He clicks his tongue. 

“Pull it up and take them off,” he orders. 

You swallow your disgusts. You roll the skirt above your waists and clutch it with one hand. With your other, you tug down each side of your panties. You step out of them. You ball them up and near him, holding out. 

He pinches the seam and pulls them free of your grasp. He unfurls them and turns them around. He runs his thumbs along the back of the panties. 

“This. None of that. You will not show up again unprepared. I haven’t the time for you to waste,” he reproaches. 

You drop your skirt. His green eyes flash but he says nothing. He tosses the panties in the bin and pushes himself out of the chair. 

“I pay you well, you will meet the standards I set,” he sneers. 

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson. Thank you.” 

He comes close and stares you down. He’s not as intimidating as Jenny who used to steal your shampoo. Not scary, but a problem nonetheless.  

“I’ve been told that employee appreciation is... important. You’ve made it this far so why don’t you book us in somewhere for lunch and I will show my...” his eyes skim up and down you. “Appreciation.” 

“Mr. Laufeyson.” 

He rolls his eyes and swipes up his coffee. He leaves you. You grab your bag and round the desk. You sit and tuck it beneath. You leave your cracked phone inside. Best not to get distracted. 

You login and get started. You go into the deleted folder and search out anything you can find. You don’t know many places for lunch that aren’t selling burgers for two bucks or pizza and wing combos. You don’t expect he’ll be pleased with that. 

There’s nothing in the inbox. You revert to the shared drive and review the receipts and cost reports. Several business lunches later. There’s a place he’s been to several times and written off. Well, that seems a safe choice. 

You don’t think you’re passing his test but you’re doing enough. You’ll never be good enough. He’s made that clear. It’s what he gets off on. 

As if you haven’t been through that before. He thinks that he’s the big bad. You’ve dealt with assholes your whole life. You just wanted to try not to become one. 

You make the reservation online under his name. That will feed the ego. You forward him the confirmation. No response. That’s perfect. 

You get to work. The stuff in your job description. Emails, filing, all that boring, safe stuff.  

Your Teams bings. He’ll have some gripe about the booking. You click on the chat. It’s a hyperlink. You click without thinking. 

The image of the lingerie surprises you. It shouldn’t, really. He’s not very subtle. 

It’s not really your style. You don’t have much of that. You wear what’s expected. Years of the same uniform every day made you less concerned about clothing. Coming out, you just tried to match what was normal. You could laugh at the teenage rebel in her band shirts and striped leggings. 

The style is much too refined. Too elegant. That ever-present sense of inadequacy grows suffocating. He’s winning. 

You’re not a lady. You’re never going to be like him. You’ll always be another cog in the machine. Just doing what needs to be done. Even after your through your probation, you’ll have that stain for life. 

You send a thumbs up. What else can you do or say? You’ll look for something like that. The thought of walking into a lingerie shop makes you shrink further. If it’s anything like the boutique, you’ll be lucky not to be chased out by security. 

There’s always online. 

Sigh. Back to work. Think of anything but that. But him. Not so easy when everything around here is stamped with his condescending touch. 

💼

Laufeyson struts out as he checks his watch. He clears his throat and you’re on your feet. He waves you ahead of him. 

“I would guess you haven’t a car?” He wonders as he locks the door. 

“No, Mr. Laufeyson.” 

“No, you wouldn’t,” he sniffs. 

You’re patient and placid. You count up to ten and back down in your head. Let him say whatever he likes. Reacting is what got you into this. 

He strides ahead of you. You follow him outside and to his car. A sleek silver luxury sedan. You only get it as he buckles his seat belt. You will not presume. Especially with him. 

He turns the engine as you click the seat belt in. He checks his blind spots before he pulls out. He exhales heavily. 

He joins traffic and stretches his arm over to tap along the headrest behind you. His touch crawls along your hair and he extends his finger across your skull.

“It is a mess today,” he drones. “Come, let’s pass the time.” 

He wrenches you away from the seat. Your neck pangs with his strength. You grip the edge of the seat as you resist throwing a punch. 

You hold air in your chest and bend awkward between the seats. He shoves your head over his lap as you push the top of the seat belt behind you. You brace his leg as you twist awkwardly. 

You pick at his fly as your vision hazes. He’s already hard. You can’t help the shudder as it rolls through you. You take him out and stroke his length. Your jaw locks up and you take several breaths to loosen it. 

“You must sing for your supper,” he teases. 

You put your lips to his tip. Slowly, you open and slide down his length. You close your eyes and recede into yourself. Like you did when Shanna bashed your head into the top bunk. Everything after that was black. 

It’s not much different than that. Reality shifts and time whirs by. It all comes back in a sickening tide.

You choke as Laufeyson spurts down your throat and you pull off him with a cough, covering your mouth to catch the mess. Your spit is smeared down him and across your palm. Your face is wet with it, your tongue salty with his cum. 

You blink and look around. You don’t recognise this area. It’s far from the office. You’re shaken by the blip. 

“Darling,” he pets your head and lets you sit up. You gag as his cum gathers behind your tongue. 

You reach for the door and open it. You spit out onto the tarmac. There's a car right beside you, and to the other side of the car. You’re in a parking lot. The restaurant marquee greets you as you sit up. 

“Mm,” he tugs his pocket square free and wipes himself clean. You swallow down the dregs and drag your hand across your mouth. You check yourself in the side mirror. 

You’re silent as he gets out. You follow. You can only mirror him as the shock slakes away piece by piece. 

You enter the restaurant behind him. The hostess takes his name. It’s all a blur. 

As you’re led into the dining room, a squeal cuts through the din. 

“Loki!” A woman’s shrill cry stills your feet. Laufeyson stops and grumbles as you nearly hit his back. “Oh, what a surprise!” 

[valkierrie]

𝙻𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝙰𝚝 𝙵𝚒r𝚜𝚝 𝙿𝚑𝚘𝚝𝚘

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Warning(s): Swearing.

Plot: Y/N is hired as Blur's photographer for their tour and catches the eye of the lead singer.

Word count: 1.8K

A/N: Hope the person that requested this enjoys it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The passion for photography had returned sooner than I’d anticipated.

One second, I was wallowing away in my bedroom after the funeral, staring at the last gift my father had given–his very own camera, a relic that acted as the glue to our relationship through common interest had simply brought me painful feelings and unwanted nostalgia.

Then one afternoon, it was picked up. Perhaps it was curiosity or just boredom, but before I knew it, I was taking small polaroids of the springtime butterflies at a park just outside my flat.

When I had touched it, a wave of feelings came rushing–the flash and the fantasy, it was all coming back to me–those weren’t the only feelings I felt, but the good ones overpowered the ‘bad ones’. 

Slowly, my relationship with photography had grown back and stronger than before. When I was offered a job to photograph a band–Blur, I think that was their name–I couldn’t pass it up. 

I’d heard of them briefly in passing–small snippets of Parklife, Girls & Boys, and whatnot, other than that, they were strangers.

I knew myself well enough to know that I didn’t fair well around strangers, but this was my job.

What was talking to a few strangers if I was getting paid for it?

Absolutely nothing was what it was.

I stood outside a run-down building. The brick walls were covered in green ivy that was slowly inching throughout the entire perimeter, green’s sticking out through the cracks of the bricks with chipped cement. 

Nature was slowly reclaiming what was hers. It was a slow process, but it was evident.

I pulled out the small camera I had tucked away in my small knitted bag. I brought the small technology to my face, snapping a wide shot.

A picture like that at face value could have easily been passed off as nothing too special, but it easily entailed millions of words–not necessarily forming a cohesive story, but enough to put the pieces together and allow you to come up with various interpretations. It was poetic.

I sighed softly. As much as I would have wanted to stay there and lament over the meaning of time, I had a job to do.

I stepped inside the building, immediately enveloped in an atmosphere of warmth. The interior looked like the exterior’s anthesis.

It was gorgeous and well adorned.

The saying, Don’t Judge A Book By A Cover couldn’t have been more applicable in this moment. 

I slowly paced around, trying to make sense of my surroundings.

“You lost?” A voice rang out. 

I turned, met with the sight of a shaggy-haired, dirty blond pretty boy. 

‘Pretty boy’, not as an insult, merely stating facts.

The lad was gorgeous, paired with a set of ocean eyes that most attractive people were blessed with.

“Excuse me?” I said, raising a brow.

The man chuckled, a small raspy sound that made it known that whatever was going on was already amusing him. “Sorry, you just look lost.”

I shook my head. “I’m meant to be meeting with a band–uh, Blur.”

The gentleman’s face fell into a charming smile, one that emphasized his best facial features.

My goodness, the man could have easily passed as a model. Maybe he was.

“Oh, Are you the photographer?”

I nodded, stating my name. “And you are?”

“Damon Albarn.” He extended his hand towards my direction. 

I shook his hand. 

“C’mon, I’ll show you where to go.” Damon said, his hand losing its grip on mine, nudging his head towards the direction of a corridor.

He didn’t wait for a response before walking off, I quickly trailed behind him. He moved quickly, knowing every turn and room in the place. There wasn’t an ounce of shyness or anything of the sort between us–the aura simply lacked it.

I was led to a small room, equipment scattered about like the people occupying the room. Puffs of smoke shot up in the air before it dispersed. From the few equipment I could recognise like mixing boards and microphones–also the large glass window dividing the room–it was obvious this was a recording room.

Damon quickly gathered the room’s attention, introducing me to Blur and vice versa, quickly and casually adding that he was the lead singer.

I was sat in a small chair in the middle of the room, getting to know everyone in the room. When the tour manager had arrived, procedures were gone over talks of pay and other factors we’d managed to correspond over.

I’d been allowed to travel with the band. The only responsibility I really had was taking great photos, which I was very well certain I was going to do.

Throughout the first few days of the tour, everything went smoothly. The band played and I took photos. I couldn’t lie, they weren’t arse. I even found myself moving along to some of the music. After the gigs, Damon even invited me to the pub with the lads.

He was great. He was really great. 

Being around him had slowly began increasing the amount of butterflies in my stomach whenever he was around.

It wasn’t some spur-of-the-moment thing. It was one of gradual development, slowly creeping in like a song stuck in my head. He was a charmer to the core–even when he didn’t want to be. 

When he smiled at me, placed his arms on or around my shoulders, I knew I was a goner.

There were no issues–really there weren’t. At least that’s what I was telling myself.

My ‘struggle’ came with the photos. They were there and they were by no means terrible, but…

Something wasn’t right. I couldn’t quite capture the band in the way that I’d wanted to. The problem wasn’t with the band per say, but with my inability to capture Damon the way I captured the other members.

I scrolled through the camera’s gallery, disappointment flashed across my figure. It was well past midnight and I knew I wouldn’t get any sleep unless I got this done and dealt with. 

So, I did the only logical thing I knew I could do.

I stood in front of Damon’s hotel door, knocking lightly. 

A disheveled and very visibly tired Damon opened the door, wiping at his eyelids and blinking rapidly to adjust to the corridor lights. 

“Bloody hell,” he groaned, his voice no louder than a mutter, “It’s two in the bloody morning. You better be on fire, or I’m going back to bed.”

“Yeah, sorry.” I spoke quickly, nervously toying with my fingers. “I just–I need you for something. It’ll be quick.”

Damon just stared at me, there was an expression on his face I couldn’t decipher. With a sigh, he pushed his door open wider, revealing a sleeping Graham on one of the two beds in the room. “D’you wanna come in or…”

I shook my head. “Don’t wanna wake Graham, we can go to my room.”

Damon let out a tired sigh, but followed me anyway scratching the back of his neck. 

“This is spacious.” Damon stated, sarcasm laced in his tone as he looked around at the smaller room I was meant to enhabit. 

“It’s a room for one, not exactly something you’d expect to look like a penthouse.”

Damon chuckled at the unexpected bite back, plopping down on my bed. “Alright, what do you need?”

I turned on the small lights I had displayed, pointing them straight at Damon. He winced at the abrupt startle.

“Sorry.” I picked up my camera, adjusting the lenses’ focus. “I need you to pose.”

“Pose?” Damon’s brows knitted together. 

“I’ve been having an issue with the photos, mainly with you.”

“What?” Damon blinked.

“They’re good, but they’re not great.” I explained. “You’re the common factor in that predicament.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you, Damon. Would you like me to repeat what I’ve just said again?”

“No, sorry.”

“It’s not intentional. I just…I’m not capturing you as well as the others. So I need to take a few more shots of you.”

“That’s why you called me here?”

“Sorry,” I winced. “I couldn’t sleep unless I at least cracked down on what I’m doing wrong. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Nah, If I did, I would have gone back. D’you know how early it is?” Damon moved around on the bed, striking different ridiculous poses. “Does this work?”

I wanted to give him a look, but an involuntary giggle escaped my lips. “C’mon, take this seriously.”

“Right. Right, sorry.”

My camera was brought up to my face. 

Snap.

A few more shots later and still…I wasn’t satisfied. 

I scrolled through the gallery.

I had no idea why the fuck my brain acted up like this sometimes. It was either perfect, or it would never see the light of day. 

“Still nothin’ good?” Damon tilted his head.

I shook my head, grunting in frustration.

Damon chuckled, “Quite the perfectionist, are you?”

You have no idea.

“Comes with the job.” I responded without looking up at him.

“How’d you come about becoming a photographer anyway?” 

The question caught me off guard. 

“My dad was a photographer. Followed in his footsteps.”

Damon nodded, absorbing the information. “Do you like it?”

The answer was very clear in my head. Pictures told a million words and millions of stories. With pictures, there didn’t need to be much said, it was a simple and easy form of connection.

Saying it out loud, however, there was only a simple, “Yes.” stated. 

“It’s a bit like music for me.”

“Is it?” I turned to him, finally facing him. 

Damon’s hands were stretched out behind him, holding him up as he nodded. “With music, everything clicks in a way that you just can’t put into words. You don’t have to say it, you just…get it.”

I did.

“You really like music, uh?”

Damon smiled fondly. 

That was it. 

“Don’t move.” I instructed, moving my camera up. 

I snapped the shot. 

I’d finally caught it, captured him. It was perfect.

I finally understood him, through the photo, I could understand him.

I sat on the bed beside him, showing him the photo. 

“Does that make the cut?” He asked.

I nodded, smiling. “Thanks for helping me out.”

“It was nothing.”

My heart fluttered, as it had been doing so often when I was around the band, around Damon. The slow, but increasing feelings had finally surfaced. With minor hesitation and before I could overthink it, I left a soft peck on his cheek. 

“Thank you, really.”

Damon froze, his blue eyes locked onto my own eyes, my stomach flipped–did I misunderstand.

A slow and knowing smile crept onto Damon’s face. His hand reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear with his soft yet calloused fingers. 

“You’re welcome.” He murmured, his voice a lot less sleepy and more just soft and tender.

He leaned in, his lips hoving over mine just enough to allow the anticipation to build before I finally made contact. His lips were warm against mine, moving along with it at a nice and slow pace. It felt like we had all the time in the world despite both being in very need of sleep. 

When I pulled back, our eyes remained on one another as a silent dialogue was transferred.