#but that's the most logical reason I could come up with to this surge

[inkykeiji]

Ehmm hello! I don't know if I can ask this but how do you see akutagawa in a romantic relationship? What kind of boyfriend would he be hehe. I'd just like to hear your thoughts and headcanons on him , I guess. Thanks in advance and sorry for my English, it's not my mother tongue

hi hi!! you’re totally allowed to ask that! i don’t take requests, but i do welcome suggestions/prompts, and while i don’t answer all of them, any of the ones that make my brain n heart go !!!!!!!!!! get stashed and stored safely in my drafts hehe c: 

AH okay i am in love with this question!!! i have many, many thoughts on this topic hehe <33

warnings: toxic traits/relationship, mention of rough sex and kinks at the end (marking, dom/sub dynamic, dacryphilia, degradation + dumbification, etc).

words: 1.9k of me literally rambling about aku

akutagawa in a relationship is very interesting because i think there’d be multiple layers to the whole thing; it would be quite complex! i also don’t think a 100% healthy relationship is possible with him, for reasons i’ll get into below! 

and of course, keep in mind, these are just my personal opinions and interpretations of him!

𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐢𝐧 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥: 

- at the beginning, he is awkward, clumsy, and standoffish. these are all very new, very intense feelings for him, and while he likes them—likes the way warmth seethes pleasantly in his chest whenever you smile at him or call him baby, likes the way his ribs expand with bubbles of sunshine whenever you gaze at him with such pure, potent adoration—they do still frighten/unnerve him to an extent, and he does not know how to properly express + process these emotions of lust and love and compassion. as such, he truly doesn’t know how to act in a romantic relationship, and will most likely end up unintentionally stepping on your toes or hurting you with his actions and his words, purely out of ignorance. he’d feel horribly guilty for these mess-ups, and would learn from them extraordinarily quickly (could also see him researching relationship things on like, google or something lmao). 

*a side note here: i believe when akutagawa feels, he feels very intensely; he is apathetic towards a lot of things, but when his emotions sprout, they fucking surge, they take over his body and invade his mind, they are extremely powerful and he cannot ignore them, though he can sometimes reign them in enough to get shit done and momentarily dull them to a constant tugging at the back of his mind

- the possibility of him unintentionally hurting you with his words is particularly large, considering he is incredibly blunt and says exactly what he thinks and means without any regard for the feelings of others. he is extremely honest, and he doesn’t ever sugarcoat his words. the fact that he is quite logical and technical in his thinking patterns only adds to this and his emotional ineptness.

- he is selfish! he feels very possessive and protective over you, well past the point of normal or healthy. it almost bleeds into yandere territory; he’s greedy with you and will get jealous extremely easily, extremely quickly. he likes to know where you are at all times, whom you are with, and when you’ll be back, and you can expect constant texts from him while you’re out. 

- on that note, once he finally comes to terms with his feelings for you and fully accepts them, he will be incredibly clingy in both the literal and metaphorical sense of the word. 

- he doesn’t like your friends. in fact, he doesn’t like anyone who gets to spend time with you and takes you away from him for even a few moments. he is generally cold towards the friends he plainly dislikes and downright hostile towards the ones he hates, the ones who cause his envy to flare and sprout talons and claw at his ribs, the ones he disapproves of, as well as previous exes, if you have any. he genuinely does not see anything wrong with this behaviour and truly believes himself to be doing the ‘right’ thing and what’s best for you (and he knows what’s best for you better than you do, duh).

- he’s touch-starved, and at the beginning any sort of skinship makes him flinch—not because he doesn’t like it (he very much does), but because it’s quite new and unfamiliar to him. he wouldn’t be incredibly interested in PDA, partially because he’s shy and partially because he thinks that’s special and private and just for the two of you to experience, but you can expect his hands on you, or his body touching you, somewhere, someway, all the time when you’re out and about. this could manifest as a hand resting on your lower back, just above the swell of your ass; or an arm twined tightly around your waist, large palm resting on your hip, wrist curled around you; or his thigh slotted up against yours at any event; or his ankle linked with yours beneath the table at a dinner; or your pinkies intertwined; etc.. he just likes to be touching you in these small, soft, subtle ways; it makes him feel calm, it makes him feel grounded, and it makes him feel like he’s visually staking his claim on what’s his for everyone in the immediate vicinity to see without drawing too much attention to himself.

- his starkly defined black-and-white philosophies are immovable and unbreakable, and he holds steadfast to his world views. to me, this steadfast devotion would bleed into other important areas of his life, such as a romantic relationship, which means that he would be incredibly loyal and faithful to you. he’s with you for life, through thick and thin, no matter how angry you make him or how many fights you have, he will not let go of you, and he will always, always defend you against others (aka he’s the only one allowed to criticize you lmao). he may be the mafia’s dog, but he’s your fucking dragon (ew cheesy as heck i know!!! but it’s true!!!).

- he definitely gets in Moods. sometimes you’ll be able to offset these Moods or dispel them (ie. the way gin did with tea n figs), but there will be times where you just have to accept that he’s in a Mood and leave him be. 

- on that note, he genuinely does value his space and his alone time. this is of utmost importance to him and he needs you to understand that, as well as understand that it’s nothing personal. he is an introvert in all respects and doesn’t really enjoy being in big crowds or conversations, or loud and hyper spaces. this is just another inherent trait to who he is; he needs his own space to recharge, even from just you. 

- his moral compass exists in some vague form, but it is extremely weak. he will take disproportionate revenge on anyone he believes has wronged you. 

- he most definitely holds heavy respect for you and holds you in high esteem, but i don’t think he’d think of you as his equal, necessarily. he’d probably consider you to be ever-so-slightly below him; someone who is strong, but needs his guidance and control. someone who would do satisfactorily on their own, but does even better with him. it is because of this that he doesn’t feel inferior to you, irregardless of the fact that he feels inferior to those above him (and, deep inside, himself). 

- he’d hate you trying to take care of him when he’s sick or when he’s experiencing a particularly acute flare-up of symptoms, because it makes him feel weak. as far as he’s concerned, it should be him taking care of you, always.

𝐢𝐧 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐬’ 𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬:

- he has a hair-trigger temper, and you will have to learn how to expertly avoid not tripping it up at any given moment, not accidentally snapping that thin thread. this will take some practice and trial and error, but the thing about akutagawa is that while he is quick to anger and give into the sharp flashes of fury in his chest, he is also fairly easy to calm, as long as the offense wasn’t a serious one. this may just be me thinking wishfully HEHE but i do think that his temper would be subdued by and dulled down in your presence because he truly doesn’t want to get angry at you, hates hurting you over inconsequential things, but has severe difficulty controlling his wrath. this is something i think he’d attempt to work on for you.

- he is extremely stubborn and resilient, especially when it comes to his own personal views, beliefs, ideals, and opinions, and this makes me think he would be absolute hell to be in a fight with because of his sheer willpower; he just absolutely will NOT give up. if he genuinely and wholeheartedly believes he’s right about something, his belief will be unshakable. he’s right, you’re wrong, no ifs, ands, or buts about it. as such, he won’t let things go, especially if you haven’t given into him yet and agreed with him, meaning he will continue to pick at and pull at and press the issue until you really snap, break into pieces and allow him to put you back together his way, the right way. 

- he holds grudges. he will, without a doubt, bring up your past mistakes committed against him—things he knows you feel awful about—and wield them as emotional and psychological weapons in a fight, irregardless of how long ago those mistakes were made, irregardless of if you thought the two of you had forgiven and moved past the issue. he plays dirty, and he doesn’t care; it’s all about him winning, him coming out on top, him proving that he was correct all along. he’ll use anything at his disposal to do so. 

- he won’t compromise, either. i genuinely think this is just one of his toxic traits, a flaw inherent to who he is as a person, and it’s pretty much non-negotiable. it’s a harsh truth you’d have to accept if you were to date him.

- on the contrary, very rarely, he may back down if his views on the topic or issue at hand have not yet been fully solidified. but once they are, there’s no changing them. 

𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦:

- he fucks viciously, hips pounding hard and rough and fast, with such force that they shove your body up the mattress with each snap, his hipbones slapping your skin so hard it causes your flesh to ripple. he’s always leaving marks across your body, too; with the harsh drag of his teeth over your neck and collarbone and shoulder, or the sharp sinking of his nails and fingertips into your hips and thighs, marring your skin with crops of red streaks and rapidly developing smudges of navy and violet. there’s definitely an element of sadism here but it isn’t nearly on the level of, say, dazai’s sadism.

- i think akutagawa is a dom-leaning switch. he doesn’t like to be told what to do unless it is from a VERY specific person. otherwise, he likes to be in charge, not because he necessarily has those dom caretaker urges but simply because he likes to be The Boss; he likes to have all of the power and the control over you and your body.

- we know he isn’t fond of meaningless torture (which is why i don’t think he’s as sadistic as dazai), however i think his sexual punishments would be absolutely fucking brutal (because these are not meaningless; these have a very important, very specific purpose, in his mind).

- he really enjoys praise and admiration; he wants to hear how good he’s doing, how good his cock feels, how pretty it is, how much you love it, etc.. such compliments tug the most gorgeous little whines from the back of his throat, and are often followed by a jagged growl of more or again.

- his favourite kinks include: marking, bondage, breathplay, cumplay, impact play, dacryphilia, degradation + dumbification (HEAVY), discipline/punishment, cock worship, praise, dry humping, power play (bdsm dom/sub dynamics), orgasm control, and humiliation!

#akutagawa x reader #akutagawa x you #akutagawa headcanons #akutagawa smut #akutagawa ryunosuke x reader #whew that is a lot huh HAHA #i just have so much to say about him!!! he is so interesting!! #anyway anon thank u very much for ur question! #please have a wonderful day and stay hydrated! #inky.bb #clari gets mail #inky.bsd #inky.akutagawa

[alloftheimaginesblog]

It's Getting Hot In Here {Steve Harrington x Plus Size Reader NSFW SMUT}

Plot: It's the middle of summer and Steve makes sure you know that you don't have to hide your body from him.

Character: Steve Harrington x Plus Size Female Reader

Note: 18+, mature, SMUT, NSFW, virgin reader, first time sex, vaginal sex, oral (female receiving), body worshipping, praise kink

He runs his hands through his hair, blowing out a long breath, "Jesus, it's hot." It's the middle of summer and Hawkins is reaching hell levels of heat. You and Steve are lying on the floor of his bedroom, using various objects to try and cool yourselves down. Music plays softly from the radio next to his bed the tune swirls around the room being carried by the soft breeze.

"Why are we lying on the floor though?" You ask, wiping your forehead that's got a slick layer of sweat on it.

"Heat rises, doesn't it?" Steve asks, propping himself up on his elbows to look at you, "so if you think about it... the hottest point of the room is higher so if we stay low doesn't that mean this part is the coolest?" For once, you kind of agreed with his logic, it was a rare occurrence when that happened.

"Why are you wearing those?" He asks, pinching the flares of your jeans, "It's so fucking hot and you're wearing jeans."

"They're not that hot." Lie. Your legs feel like they're on fire. You feel like you're sweating in places that you just never be sweating. There's a reason for why you're wearing jeans but it's not one that you want to share with Steve yet. It's no secret that you're fat; everyone can see it. You carry extra weight and for the most part, you've always been okay with that; you've always kind of liked it. There were parts of your body that you loved, you loved your chest, your smile, your bum, your hands, your eyes... but like everyone, there were parts of your body that you hated such as your stomach and your sides and your thighs. You always did hate the warmer months where you'd be forcing yourself to wear clothes that were far too heavy and hot just to stop people from commenting on your body.

From a pretty early age, you'd experienced the judgement and the rude comments or stares of people who saw parts of your plus size body. Wearing tank tops or tighter fitted clothes or a short dress always provoked people to comment on a body that wasn't theirs; on a body that wasn't hurting anyone. Although you'd grown to love yourself more and you were at peace with being bigger, you still harboured a lot of those worries and a lot of those insecurities especially around Steve.

You and Steve had been friends long before the supernatural world of the Upside Down forced your friendships groups to be shoved together. For as long as you could remember, you'd had a crush on Steve. I mean, who could blame you? He was handsome, funny, could make you laugh pretty easy, he was damn sweet... Safe to say, the crush only grew and grew until you were fairly sure you were in love with the boy. He didn't know; you hadn't told him. You thought Steve only saw you as his friend, the fat funny friend...

"Bullshit!" Steve yells, breaking you from your thoughts, "We're going to go to the pool."

Panic surges inside of you, "I-I don't have a swimming costume-" and if I did, I certainly wouldn't be wearing it around you!

"So?" He asks as he sits up and tugs his own shirt off, "Underwear's a built in swimming costume!" Your eyes go straight to his unclothed torso which has a slight sheen from the sweat. Usually sweat grosses you out but my god, Steve Harrington makes it look good, it highlights his toned chest, his strong arms, the shadows of his abs... "You ready?"

You swallow hard and let him pull you up to stand, "Steve, I-I can't."

He rolls his eyes, "Yes you can, come on." He pulls you a few steps until you rip your wrist from his.

"I said no." Your voice is strong but there's a waver of something else in there; a slight wobble to your voice. Steve frowns, he asks if you're alright, and despite yourself you find your eyes welling with tears, "Fuck, I didn't want to do this." You shake your head, moving back from him, "I'm okay."

Steve's usually pretty clueless but he pauses and thinks before he speaks, "If it makes you feel more comfortable, I have my old jersey top in my wardrobe, you can wear that to swim. It'll cover you up." He's never really known you to be self-conscious but come to think of it, you've never really spoken about issues like that and he's never asked, "You want it?" You nod quickly.

Steve goes to his closet and grabs it from it's hanger, "Here," he says handing you it, "you can change in the bathroom. I'll be in the pool, okay?" You nod again, internally kicking yourself for crying in front of him though you appreciated that he realised what was happening rather than you having to say it. Sometimes saying it made it worse, voicing those insecurities to the world was a very vulnerable thing so you seriously appreciated that he'd kind of caught on first. He's hesitant to leave, hesitant to leave when he knows that you were at the very least upset but he also knows that he didn't want to force you to tell him so with one last glance, he leaves.

A little embarrassed, you go into the bathroom and wipe your eyes before getting stripping off your sweaty t-shirt and jeans. You keep your underwear on and pull on Steve's jersey. At first you were worried it wasn't going to fit but it was actually pretty baggy on you, hitting mid thigh so you felt pretty comfortable in it. Before you left, you looked in the mirror one last time, smoothing out the material and giving it one final pull down before you went to meet Steve in the pool.

Steve was floating atop the water of the pool, singing something to himself quietly, when you reach him, "You look better than I do wearing that!" He grins, lifting his head to get a proper view of you, "I mean seriously, I look great in it but you... woah..." You roll your eyes thinking he's complimenting you out of pity but he's not. He truly means it, he means every bit of it. You look phenomenal to him, he's always thought that you looked leagues better than any of the other girls your age.

You wade into the water, "Fuck, it's freezing!" Your laugh is loud, making Steve smile.

"Doesn't it feel good though?" It does, fuck it feels incredible. The cold water cools your skin, washing away the sweat and soothing the much too hot skin. It feels amazing as you submerge your whole body, dunking your head beneath the crystal waters, before resurfacing with a deep breath, the water seems to breathe life back into you.

"Thank you for your jersey," you say as you relax into the water floating on your back, "I do look better in it than you, don't I?"

Steve laughs, "You seriously do." You look over at him, smile fading when you see the honesty in his eyes. You've never noticed the way he looks at you, so happy and so... is that awe? You don't get to find out because as you're trying to figure it out, Steve scoops his hands in the water and chucks the freezing pool water over you.

You squeal as the water hits you square in the face, "Oh my god, you jerk!" You say through laughter, jutting your hand out to hit the water causing it to splash up to soak his head.

"My hair!"

"Your hair was already soaked!" You say with a roll of your eyes.

Once the two of you were sufficiently cooled down, Steve leaves the pool to grab you both some towels and a drink. It's as you're getting out of the pool, choosing to walk out using the steps rather than hoist yourself up and out, that Steve catches a glimpse of you as he's making his way back through the kitchen, "Holy shit..." He whispers, stopping in his tracks at the door.

You're standing besides the pool, his dripping wet jersey clinging to your body perfectly. It hugs Steve's favourite parts of you, it hugs your hips and your stomach, framing the curves so deliciously and it's stuck to your chest and your butt. There's a familiar stirring in Steve as his blood rushes elsewhere.

It's then that you notice him and you see that he's staring at your body. Fuck, your hands scramble to pull the t-shirt so that it doesn't cling to you but so it hangs off of you. Your mind whirs, assuming he's thinking the worst, assuming that he's judging you, "I'm sorry- I-" you don't know why you're apologising as you awkwardly hug your body.

Steve shifts, holding the towel that he brought for you low so that it hides his semi-erect cock, "Why are you apologising?"

You shrug, staring at the concrete of the tiles, "Because you saw me."

"Why are you apologising for me seeing you? Do you- Do you think I'm staring at you because I'm disgusted by you or something?" When you don't answer, Steve scoffs, "You don't really believe that do you?"

"Can you just- Can you just give me my towel please?" Tears are burning in your eyes but you're refusing to let them drop.

"I- I, uh," Steve shakes his head, "I can't."

"Why not?" You ask, frowning, "You're holding the towel right there."

"But (y/n)... I can't. I wasn't staring at you with disgust... Quite the opposite." His cheeks are flushed and he can't look at you in the eye. You're his best friend, that's it, but best friends don't cause that kind of reaction.

"What the-" it clicks, "Oh." The tears are long forgotten about and all you can do is let out a nervous giggle. Steve Harrington's hiding an erection from you which was caused by you?! What the hell? Your heart pounds in your ears as the two of you stand there, refusing to move or speak to each other.

"Maybe I should go dry off upstairs," you suggest after a few pregnant moments, "and you can... get that- that situation under control." Steve nods, "Maybe jump in the pool since it's cold." You say as you walk past him, giggling all the while. Once you're gone, Steve's head rolls back onto his shoulders as he puffs out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. He didn't think anything would cool down the burning that he felt when you were near.

It was a while later when Steve appeared in his bedroom wearing dry boxers and nothing else. You lay on his bed playing with a ball you'd found laying about. You'd not stopped thinking about the way he'd looked at you. Instead of putting your clothes that were way too hot on, you'd raided his closet and found an old baggy t-shirt of his. It didn't cling to you but it was a smaller fit that the jersey, "Oh Jesus," he breathes out as he sees you laying there, "you kill me wearing my jersey when it's tight on you and now you're lying in bed wearing my shirt? Are you trying to kill me?"

"You're the one wandering around in boxers, you think that's easy for me?!" You hit back without even thinking about it. As you say it, you realise that it's a mutual confession hanging there, dead in the hot air in front of the two of you.

He blinks. Once, twice and then says, "I was wondering when you'd admit you were attracted to me." He lands on the bed beside you, hand behind his head and you can feel the heat radiating from him. He plucks the ball from your flabbergast self and smirks as he stares at the ceiling, tossing the ball up with one hand and catching it easily.

"I-I never said that-"

"Are you?" He asks, discarding the ball off the side of the bed, as he turns to you, eyes curious and alight with something else, "Are you attracted to me, (y/n)?" He dips his head as he whispers it, breath tickling your skin.

Your skin burns but you don't cave, not so easy, "I should be asking you that, Harrington," you say, rolling onto your side so that you're mere inches apart, "you're the one who got a boner after all... So, are you attracted to me?"

Steve rolls his eyes as a playful smile pulls the corners of his lips upwards, "So what if I am?" He asks, "Would that be so bad?" You falter then, your defences cracking as you stare at him. Is he being serious? You go to speak but the words get caught in your throat, Steve smirks triumphantly, "If I'm being honest, (y/n), I've been attracted to you for years."

"R-Really?"

He nods, "Big time. You're the full package; you're funny, you're dorky, cute, so freaking kind and my god you are beautiful, so damn hot." You pull a face and Steve frowns at you, "Stop it."

You roll your eyes, "Oh I'm so sorry if I find it a little hard to believe that the hottest guy on the planet has a crush on me. I mean, why me? I'm hardly your type, I'm not like any of the other girls you've dated, I'm-I'm... I'm fat, I'm not stick thin-"

"Why do you say that like it's a bad thing?" He questions, "Why do you say that as though it somehow makes you less attractive or less worthy? Cause I gotta be honest, sweets, I think it makes you ten times more attractive. I love your curves. I-I mean I saw you wearing my jersey when it was wet and the way it clung to you, hugging that perfect stomach and that perfect ass... God damn." He breathed a long breath through his nose, "I can't get you out of my goddamn mind."

You and Steve were in such close proximity that your knees were touching, pressed together, and then you realised that something else was touching you at your thigh. You looked down and your jaw dropped. Pressing against your leg was him, Steve's cock creates a tent in his boxers, pushing against the thin fabric so desperately wanting to be unleashed.

"You're fucking perfect," he growled lowly, "and I know you're my best friend but why can't you be both? Why can't you be my best friend and my girlfriend? I've stayed away because I didn't think you cared about me like that but-but I can't stay away from you anymore, (y/n). You drive me insane." His cock twitches, making you gasp. With wide eyes, your head snaps up to him. There's still a large part of you that feels like he'll break into laughter and tell you it's all a big joke but it never happens, "Say the word," he breathes out, "and I'll prove to you how goddamn perfect I think you are." He leans in, pressing your foreheads together, "But you better be sure because if I kiss you (y/n)... I'm never going to stop."

It doesn't seem real that just this morning the two of you were laying on the floor of this very bedroom and now, here you are in Steve Harrington's bed, "I-I don't want to be just a fling, Steve."

"Oh baby," he croons, "can't you see? You're it for me. You're not another notch on the bedpost, you're it, you're all I want; all I need... Guess the question is, what do you want?" He reaches his hand out and ever so slightly grazes your cheek.

His touch is electric, sending shivers through your whole body. You've never really been touched by another person never mind being touched by Steve Harrington. Without a second thought, you nod, "You," your voice is a rushed whisper, "I want you, Steve."

"Good answer." Steve knows that you've never been kissed before, never done anything more with a guy than hold their hand, so he knows that this is important to you; he knows that despite his every want to rip your clothes off and fuck you senseless, he's going to take his time and he's going to make you believe how perfect he thinks you are.

He leans in slowly before capturing your lips between his. It's slow and it's sweet and you appreciate that he's easing you into it. He must know that you're a bundle of nerves so after a few seconds, he pulls away and presses gentle kisses down your neck making you gasp at the new sensations, "Relax, princess," he whispers as he lays you back so that he's hovering over you, "let me take care of you..." He trails his way back up to your lips, "Tell me if you want to stop, I'll stop, okay?" He needs you to know that this is just as important to him so if you were uncomfortable, he needs to know. You nod and he's kissing you again, deeper but still slow, allowing you to get used to the sensations.

You'd never allowed yourself to even imagine doing this with Steve. You'd firmly believed he'd never see you as anything other than a friend but now you wanted to scream from the heavens 'he likes me! He really likes me!'. It was a little awkward at first, learning on your feet how to kiss but you'd practiced on the back of your hand way too many times when you were younger so after a few tries, you seemed to get the hang of it as your tongues swirled. Steve's hands were on your sides, slowly edging the sides of his t-shirt off of your body.

Your hands moved to his, stopping them in his tracks, and he pulls back, eyes scanning your face, "Are you okay?"

"I... It's silly," you whisper, scared to break the mood, "no one's ever seen me naked before."

Steve's face softens and he leans down to kiss from your jawline to your neck, "Baby, I don't mind if you keep it on," he whispers amongst kisses, "but if you let me take it off I promise, I'll show you, I'll make you believe that you're beautiful because you are." There's no ulterior motive here, Steve wants you to choose, he won't force it but he wants you to know that you can trust him.

Your grasp on his hand loosens and you nod, murmuring a 'take it off'. Your stomach's a jumble of nerves but take a leap of faith and you decide to trust him. Slowly, Steve pulls it up and off of you. He leans back and you're entire body feels tingly and hot, almost as though you're in a full body blush of embarrassment. He drank you in, I mean drank you in; his eyes darted all over your body and that few seconds felt like it took an eternity. You'd never shown anyone yourself ever; you'd always avoided going in pools or sunbathing... Always chose to cover yourself up so that people didn't need to get uncomfortable seeing your fat but now, now you were on display and it was terrifying. You'd known Steve for years, been with him through various break ups and now here you were, lying under him ready to give your entire self to him.

Your hands move to your stomach, trying to block his vision of seeing your plump, overhanging stomach, but Steve's brows furrow into a frown, "You don't have to hide," he whispers, "Baby... you're beautiful," and he means it. No one's ever really taken his breath away like you have right now, "You're so damn perfect." From the hair on your head to the soles of your feet, he means it. Your hands move away and he leans back down, hovering over your stomach, pressing such gentle kisses to it, "Every inch of you, every freckle, every scar, every stretch mark, everything you think is ugly is so damn perfect." The way his breath tickles your stomach sends your brain into a frenzy and makes heat pool between your legs. You've never experienced anything like this; like him and my god, you don't want him to stop.

He wants to make sure that by the end of all this you understand just how perfect you are. His kisses trail over your stomach, over the places you swore no one else would ever touch, but here he was absolutely worshipping you, murmuring the sweetest things against your warm skin, "Wanted you for years, babygirl," he croons as he moves up to your chest, "So effortlessly gorgeous."

"Yeah?" You ask, voice breathy.

He moans, "You drive me crazy, (y/n)." It's then that he runs his tongue over your nipple causing a soft moan to escape your parted lips as your back arches. You slam a hand over your mouth, you've never made a noise like that before so it shocks and simultaneously embarrasses you. Steve smirks, "You sound so good, don't hide it... Just enjoy it, baby... It's okay." He takes your nipple in his mouth, sucking it gently. Your mind is racing until all you can do is tangle your hands in Steve's hair and let out soft moans, "There she is," Steve grins as he releases the sensitive bud, "Just relax baby, I'll take real good care of you. Show you how you're meant to be treated."

You relax into his touch feeling that with him teasing you and pleasing you, there wasn't much room in your head for your worries. Steve's palms your other breast as his tongue swirls lazy circles around the other, he pinches your nipple between his thumb and finger, a sensation that earns another moan from you. You're sensitive, he thinks to himself, of course you would be having never had experienced any of this before, hell you'd barely touched yourself the way Steve is touching you right now.

You huff when he moves away from your nipples and moves up to kiss you, hot and deep. His kiss is warm and hungry and it's then you really feel his erect cock pressed against your thigh. He's rock hard and it's all for you, that thought makes the butterflies swarm in your stomach, heat pooling to your cunt. You want to feel him; need to feel him deep inside you, you need to know what it feels like but not just anyone you need to know what Steve feels like when he's inside you. You shift, trying to get his cock to press against you but he pulls back, "So desperate already," he breaths hard as he grins, "You have to wait."

"I want to feel you, Steve," you pant and oh my god, it takes everything in Steve to not cream his pants then and there. Hearing you vocalise your need and want for him, hearing that you're just as desperate for him as he is for you almost makes him tip over the edge.

He buries his head in the crook of your head, kissing and sucking on the sensitive skin, "Not yet, baby... Gotta make you feel good. We have all the time in the world to get straight to it. I gotta treat you right, make your first time one to remember. Gotta do it proper." As he speaks, he's rubbing against you, massaging his boxer clad cock on your inner thigh and it's driving you crazy. It means just as much to him as it does to you that he treats you right and that he makes this special for you.

He kisses your neck once more before moving down your body, kissing over your stomach and then even further. Your legs tense, all of a sudden aware of how naked you are and how intense this situation is, "Hey," he whispers, hands trailing up and down your legs, "It's okay... If you don't want to, just say the word and we'll stop." He litters kisses from you kneecap to your thigh and then back down, "Just wanna make you feel good, baby."

You relax into his touch, allowing him to part your legs, and to trail gentle kisses up to your inner thighs. You can't stop the giggles that erupt as he gets closer to your aching sex. The feeling of his hands touching your thighs, touching you in places you'd barely touched yourself was ticklish and strange, "Sorry, sorry," you say between giggles.

Steve props himself up as he looks at you with a grin, "By all means, just keep laughing."

It takes you a few seconds to calm down, "Okay, go." Steve rolls his eyes playfully and moves back down to kiss your thighs but immediately, your giggles start back up again. Steve can't help but laugh with you, "I'm so sorry... I've just never been touched like this before... It's ticklish."

"It's okay," Steve says, "Maybe this will help." He takes one of your hands in his, intertwining your fingers, "Lay back." You comply and once again he parts your legs and dips his head low using his tongue, he parts your wetness. He hums into you as he realises how wet you are for him. Your body shudders beneath him, twisting and convulsing at the sensations of his tongue flicking your clit, slow at first but pace building with every passing second.

"Holy shit, Steve," his name falls from your mouth like a prayer. He groans against you, the vibrations of his moan making you gasp. He loves the way you say his name, loves the way you sound as you're falling into the depths of pleasure. Your moans are growing louder but you're not self-conscious of them anymore, it feels too good to care. He's never done this with you before, this is his first time meeting your body and yet, he seems more in tune with your body than you do. He's figured out that you react more to him flicking your clit with his tongue and he's figured out that when he sucks on your clit, your thighs clench around his head. He's got you sussed in just a matter of minutes and he uses this to give you that oh so sweet release you've been craving this entire time.

With his spare hand, he begins to tease your opening with his finger, coating it in your slick wetness before slowly sliding it inside. Your back arches as your moans are growing louder and louder and soon, your animal instincts are taking over as your fingers tangle in Steve's hair, pushing his face into your cunt as your hips grind on his tongue. His cock twitches in his boxers as he marvels in being able to make you feel this good. He slides another finger inside of you, pushing into your wetness gently. He feels your walls contract and pulse around his fingers and he knows that you're about to cum.

"Holy- Steve- Fuck-" You're a mess; a panting, moaning, jumbled mess. All you can think is Steve, all you can breathe is Steve and his tongue moves faster as do he fingers and soon, you're losing all control. Your thighs have his head in a vice like grip and he doesn't care that his lungs are burning for oxygen because he's giving you your first real orgasm and he's going to ride it out completely. Your moans are loud and with the windows open the neighbour's can probably hear you but you don't care, you're too far gone now. You've never felt anything like this before and you love it.

Slowly, you release a long breath as you tumble from your high, slowly riding the end of your orgasm out. Your hips cease their rocking into Steve's face and he comes up for air, panting and grinning at you. Words don't form in your mouth for a few seconds but when they do, they make Steve laugh, "Fucking hell, Harrington."

"That good, huh?" He asks with a smirk as he presses kisses to your inner thighs.

"That was..." your head falls back on the pillows as Steve makes his way back up to you, "Fuck."

"You think you can handle more?" He asks, genuinely curious, "If not, we can stop-"

"I'm ready for you," you whisper back, "I need to know what you feel like... inside me." Steve groans, pushing his boxers down with one hand and kicking them off the rest of the way. He asks if you're sure and you kiss him in response. You can taste yourself on his lips, a tangy sweetness that makes you moan against his mouth. He leans over you, grabbing a condom from his top drawer, and pulls it on. He lines up at your entrance, "I want to- I want to please you." You hope that he catches on. You want to feel him and taste him; want to make him feel as good as he'd made you.

"I'd love that but it's all about you. Pleasing you pleases me, I swear to you." He kisses you again, "There'll be lots of time for you to please me, baby, okay?" You nod, "I'll go slow, I'll be gentle but tell me if it's too much."

He readies himself at your entrance and slowly, so slowly he pushes into your warmth. You gasp as he fills you up, a sensation so overwhelming and mind-blowing. Steve stills as he pushes fully into you, allowing you to adjust to his length. Your grip loosens on his biceps and you nod against him, he leans down and catches your lips in his as he begins to slowly thrust into you. It takes a few moments for you to relax and grow fully comfortable with the new sensations. Steve spends those few uncomfortable moments kissing you and whispering words of praise into your ear, "You're doing so good, baby." Steve's words of encouragement help to fully relax you and when you're relaxed, that's when the fun begins, "You're taking it so well... So fucking good."

He kisses everywhere that he can, sucking on your delicate skin leaving large purple marks all over your neck and shoulders, as his pace increases ever so slightly. He loves the way you react to him, loves your parted lips and the way your eyes roll back into your skull but most of all he loves that it's him that's causing you to feel like this; he's the one making you feel this good. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, nails scratching his skin, as you chant his name like a prayer, "You feel so good," Steve murmurs, lips on your neck, "Feel so good around my cock."

That now familiar feeling of the coil twisting in your stomach, winding up tighter and tighter, ready to explode is coming back as your hips match his rhythm, rocking back and forth to help him fill you to the hilt. One of Steve's hands moves to the back of your neck, pulling your head up to press your foreheads together, "Doing so good, baby," he croons, "Feel so fucking good. I love seeing you like that, I love the way you lose control." The way he talks to you is filthy, praising you for taking his cock so well and so good. You never knew you'd be into filthy praise but my god, it's incredible, "I love the way you sound, baby... Love the way you feel... Love the way you react... You're taking it so good." His thrusts are faster and deeper but not painful, he makes sure of that, "Cum for me pretty baby. Cum for me; all mine."

With those words, it doesn't take long before you're convulsing beneath him, moans turning into pleasure filled yells as your hips lose the steady rhythm and instead quickly clash against Steve's, "That's it, baby," he whispers as you're a writhing mess under him, "let it all go for me. Good girl." You didn't think you could feel better than your first orgasm but this... this is ten times more intense. It feels like every single nerve and atom in your body is on fire, alight with the pleasure that's coursing through your veins. You hear your heart beating fast and hard in your ear as Steve whispers word of praise in the other. Your walls are tight around him as you ride out your orgasm together and then soon, you're gasping for air, clutching onto him for dear life as you tumble down from the high.

"Good girl," he whispers, pressing soft kisses to your face as you pant, "Such a good girl for me."

"S-Steve," it's all you can manage. For a moment you think you might pass out from the sheer pleasure but Steve kisses you and it reignites something deep within your stomach. When you pull apart, you're asking him to cum, "I-I want to make you feel good. It's your turn to cum, Steve."

"Have I earned it though?" He asks, teasing you, "Have a I fulfilled your every need and desire?"

"Y-Yes!" You gasp, "Please Steve, cum for me." His pace quickens as you hold on tight to his broad shoulders, "Fuck, Steve, please I want your cum." It doesn't take long until his thrusts grow sloppy and with a loud groan, he pushes the full length of himself inside of you. You love the way he loses it, the way he moans for you; you love that he's not quiet, you love that he's not afraid to be vocal too. You feel his warmth filling the condom and with one final thrust he stills, leaning over you, hair everywhere as he grins down at you.

It takes the two of you a minute to recover but when you do, he's grinning at you, "Hi," he whispers, pressing a gentle kiss to your nose. Gently, he pulls out of you, clambering off of the bed to take off the condom and drop it in the bin before pulling on his boxer shorts. He slides back into bed and you're suddenly aware of how exposed you are, you grab his t-shirt draping it over yourself. It'll take you a while to get used to being naked around him, one step at a time, "How you feeling?" He asks, sweeping a piece of your hair back into place, "Not sore or anything?"

"I feel..." you stretch out your tired limbs, "incredible." You roll into his arms, both of you hot and sweaty but you'd rather be in his arms than anywhere else, "That was... You were... wow."

"Did you enjoy it?" He's almost self-conscious himself as he asks the question. He'd had sex before and he knew that he was pretty good at it but the sex before you was never that important, not as important as you and as this.

"Enjoy it?" You ask with raised eyebrows, "Steve, I loved it. I-" you trail off, fingers playing with the hair on his chest, "I'm so glad that it was you."

He presses a kiss to your forehead, "I meant what I said, (y/n)," he tells you quietly, "you're it for me. I don't want anyone else, I don't need anyone else... I just need you."

"Is that your way of asking me to be your girlfriend?" You tease, waggling your eyebrows at him.

Steve rolls his eyes and shrugs, "So what if I am?"

"Then I say-" you lean up and kiss him, "Yes."

#smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington #steve harrington x plus size reader #reader insert #plus size reader #plus size series #one shot #os #stranger things imagine #stranger things one shot #stranger things #imagine #steve harrington x you

[krisdreaming]

Only You

Pairing: Miya Atsumu x gn!reader

WC: 849

A/N:  I'm exposing myself, but I actually don't use twitter 🙈 so I don't really understand how it works lmao.

You stand from the couch with a soft groan, stretching your arms above your head. Atsumu still isn't home from practice, but your movie is over, so you decide there isn't much left to do besides going to bed. By the time your teeth are brushed, Atsumu texts you that he's on the way home, so you settle in under the covers to wait for him.

It isn't often that he's so late, but every now and then practice runs over. You've gotten used to it. It's just one of those things that comes along with dating a volleyball player. You bite back a smile. If someone had told you ten years ago that you'd be dating a professional athlete, you probably would have laughed in their face. Still, you wouldn't have things any other way, most of the time. Somehow, Atsumu makes it all worth while.

Reaching for your phone, you pull up your twitter feed to pass the time until he's home. After a few minutes of mindless scrolling, you come to a post on the Black Jackals' official account. It just so happens to feature your boyfriend. It's just one of those quick player highlight posts, using the staged photos they all have to take in their uniforms, so it isn't really anything special, but you still can't help but smile. Even looking at the fake smile pasted on his face, you feel a surge of warmth. It's a mixture of adoration and pride. That's your boyfriend.

Curious, you tap on the post and begin to scroll through the replies. Mixed in with the normal replies from fans of the team (and one from his mom), there's another type of comment you begin to notice. It starts out tame enough.

Miya is so handsome.

You chuckle wryly to yourself. There's no denying that, you suppose.

Definitely the hottest guy on the team. For sure.

You're starting to feel the smile fade from your lips. Part of you knows that you should just close the app right now, but a bigger part of you wants to keep scrolling.

I'd sell my SOUL for a night with Miya Atsumu.

Slowly, the pride you'd felt is turning to a jealous prickle. There are dozens of comments just like those, and you're beginning to feel a sinking in your gut. It's pretty sobering to think that Atsumu could have any of these girls any time he wanted.

"I'm home!" You'd been so absorbed that you hadn't even heard the front door open, and now your boyfriend is standing in the doorway to the bedroom. Quickly, you turn off your phone screen and shove it down next to you on the bed.

"Hey, Baby. Sorry practice was so late." He leans in for a quick peck, and you return it mechanically. "Won't happen again fer a while, I promise," He assures, rifling through the dresser for a pair of clean pajamas. He goes into the bathroom to change, and you bite down on your lip. For some stupid reason, you feel tears starting to burn at the backs of your eyes.

Too soon, he's back in the bedroom. You haven't had time to compose yourself. "How was yer night?" He asks lightly, and finally glances at you. It's only then that he truly looks into your face, and the twisting in your gut must be evident there, because his demeanor instantly changes.

"Hey," He quickly gets into bed beside you, "What's wrong?"

"It's stupid," You say thickly, trying to brush it off. Logically, you know you just need to forget it.

"Maybe, but it's clearly upsettin' ya." He rests his chin on your shoulder. "You can talk to me, ya know."

"It's not a big deal," You say softly, but you reach for your phone, turning on the screen and reluctantly handing it to him. You watch as he scrolls through the comments, brow furrowing into a frown. "See?" You try to lighten your voice. "Told you it was silly."

"Ya know I love you, right?" He says, so firmly it takes you by surprise. "Only you." You nod slightly. "These girls-" He gestures at your phone screen, "They're annoying. Just like those girls in high school I told ya about. Squealin' pigs." Despite yourself, you release a chuckle.

"'Tsumu, that's not very nice," You chide automatically, but there's a small smile growing on your face.

"Well, it's true. All the guys get that crap, ya know?" He slides his arm around you, pulling you close against his side. "But none of those girls are in bed with me tonight. You are." He punctuates it with a kiss pressed to your temple. "And I wouldn't change that fer anything."

"Neither would I," You say softly, snuggling a little closer into his side.

"Yer the only one for me, ya know that?" You tilt your face up to look at him then, and the tenderness in his expression dissolves the pit in your gut completely. He leans in to press a kiss to your lips. "I love you," He murmurs. "So much."

#Haikyuu #Haikyuu fluff #Haikyuu x you #Haikyuu x reader #Miya Atsumu #Miya Atsumu x reader #Atsumu x reader #request

[dominusrerehepf]

Traveler Rework

Despite their honorable status of a 5* character, the Traveler is currently at the level of rather unpopular 4* characters in terms of relevance, not counting the Dendro-element. It’s easy to understand why: if the standard character is already good, why do you need to get others? But even taking this into account, they must be worthy of being called a 5* Legendary. Let's look at the specific problems of each element, what are they and what should be improved so that the character become comfortable enough to play with.

Let's start with general things and then move on to each element specifically.

The very first thing that should be changed in Travelers' skills is to stop resetting the level of normal attacks with every new element. The name may change, but the level itself remains the same as when you leveled up the skill for the first time. Even from a logical point of view, this reset is meaningless. It would be justified, If with every new element came a new fighting style, but with the same one it simply looks absurd. (If this ever happens, return the spent materials, please, or just the same amount in mora equivalent)

Secondly, it’s burst costs. Make them all 60pt, like Anemo and Geo ones.

Now let's move on to skills. The order will be as follows: starting with the elements in which minimal changes are needed, and progressively to those most in need of change.

Dendro and Electro are quite good; if bult correctly, Traveler can act as a worthy support for different teamcomps. Electro is largely unpopular only because there are too many good alternatives. The only things that could be improved are the values of the restored energy using the “Amulets of Abundance” of the Electro-traveler - From 3-4 to 6-8 energy/amulet at maximum skill levels (9-10).

Anemo

The very first element that helped many beginners at the very start of the game.

In general, all skills and passives are good, except for the elemental burst.

The "Gust Surge" has one unpleasant feature - it flies in a straight line, often carrying enemies far away, and deals minimal damage to resistant enemies, as it most often flies past them.

How I suggest to fix this:

Let tornado move for a while and then stop in place, continuing the action. Thus, when burst is launched into a cluster of enemies, it will suck in all the light ones, but at the same time cause sufficient damage to more resistant targets.

Geo

The second element in Traveler's possession and one of the most ignored.

One of the biggest problems is the "barrels" created by Starfell Sword. They block not only damage, but also the movement of characters, especially when they are placed too close in the heat of battle.

I have a suggestion on what to do with this: let the passive skill “Frenzied Rockslide” deal damage not only to enemies, but also be capable of destroying “barrels” when it hits them. Together with the second constellation, this will create a fairly effective combination with good amount of geo-damage.

The second problem is elemental burst. The wall pushes enemies away, which is not always good. What you can do here: push enemies inside of the area instead. There is nothing better for a close-combatant than enemies within hand's reach, that can't escape, or for ranger to have enemies contained in one place.

Hydro

The newest and, alas, the most disappointing element. This happened for two reasons: first, there were already enough good, and even great, hydro-characters in the game and at the time of Fontaine’s release, and second, because the skills were very poorly developed and provide few advantages to the player. After dendro, hydro feels really lazy and inspired. So, let's begin: Firstly, Elemental burst. It's even more useless than Anemo one, because its entire essence comes down to dealing hydro damage. No buffs, no debuffs, no control. Just a bubble that deals damage, and also requires C2 to float a little slower.

There is a solution, but it is so labor-intensive that, most likely, no one will do it (although all solutions, except those related to numbers, are exactly like this): Let the bubble spin around the active character, dealing hydro damage. (Preferably in such an orbit that doesn't block the view).

In this case, the 2nd constellation can be changed: “Increases the duration of the skill by 3 seconds and when hitting enemies, reduces the hydro-resistance of enemies by 30%.” Hydro damage + hydro status on enemies + debuff = big win.

Secondly - Elemental skill cooldown. This problem affects not only Traveler, but also Lynette - due to arkhe, their tap and hold skill variants have the same cooldown - 10 and 13 seconds respectively. As the arkhe-aligned attacks of other characters show, such dependence is quite useless. There is Charlotte, who has a Pneuma on charged attack, that has a certain cooldown, while not blocking the cast of further charged attacks. Therefore, why not decouple one cooldown from the other and make separate cooldowns for tap and hold: 5 and 10, 7 and 13 seconds respectively, for example, but keep the arkhe cooldown at 10 and 13 seconds.

That's all I have to say. If you have anything to add or argue about, feel free to comment. Thanks for reading!

P.S. What other platform can I post this material?

#genshin impact #genshin traveler #aether #lumine #theorycrafting

[ofduskanddreams]

Warmth Lingers in the Smoke

For @woibbelywobbegong. The request: Regency AU Azris with forbidden love where it's the last time the two get to see each other before something happens.

A/N: Though I recieved this drabble request after the deadline I set, I couldn't resist ending this lil event on an Azris note :) I hope you all enjoyed this drabble series, the masterlist is coming soon! Yes, this drabble contains a shameless RWRB reference and I regret nothing.

⁓In this drabble I said homophobia has no place in this, fuck historical accuracy we're only here for vibes⁓

Azris ✦ Rated T ✦ 783 words ✦ on AO3

Eris’s eyes are closed, but he is not asleep. The sheets underneath him are warm. The arms around him, the cheek resting on his shoulder, are warmer.

This place, right here, where Azriel’s heart beats mere inches from his own was once what terrified him most. To be in this place was all he wanted. To be in this place was everything he could never have.

Yet here, against all odds and sound logic, Eris lies. As he has during so many stolen moments before. 

Azriel is not asleep either. His breaths are soft puffs on Eris’s neck. 

Maybe if they don’t move, if they do not speak, they can make this moment last indefinitely. Maybe this thing that feels like the sun in his chest will be enough to change the flow of time.

It’s a fool’s hope. Delusion. It’s fingers scrabbling for a hold and finding none. It’s a pair of waxen wings too close to the light.

Eris’s fingers trace the knobs of Azriel’s spine, memorizing the topography of him, mapping out the well-known valleys where he’d prefer to linger the rest of his days and the ridges he’d gladly die climbing. 

Azriel tenses against him, a long exhale following. “I hate this.” He pulls closer to Eris, like he wishes to climb inside and make a home for himself within the cage of Eris’s ribs. 

Eris hasn’t told Azriel that he already has a place there. 

“I do too.”

“It’s unfair.”

“I know.”

In the morning Eris would leave for London and take up his rightful place as the new Lord Vanserra. His late father is scarcely a week in the ground but the man’s absence is already a marked improvement. 

“I’m being selfish,” Azriel mumbles, lips snagging on Eris’s skin.

“I wish you would be more often.” Ink-colored waves slip through Eris’s fingers like corn silk. 

Silence reigns for several heartbeats.

“We don’t have a ‘more often’ anymore, Eris,” Azriel whispers. Eris wishes he would yell.

Rage he understands. Anger he can handle. But this? He doesn’t know what to do with the regretful gentleness that Azriel’s handing him. It’s a fragile sounding thing, and yet it unbalances him, shakes his foundations with a bright surge of hope. 

Hope, the feeling Eris has forbidden himself. Hope, the very thing he dared not bring with him to Azriel’s cottage this evening. 

Hope. Eris extinguishes the flame as soon as it appears, but its warmth lingers in the smoke. 

“Azriel, I—” he breathes, but the air is suddenly thick and it catches in his throat. “Were there anything I could do to shift the strings of fate I would. But you know I need to do this for my family, for my mother.”

“You know I understand.” Azriel flattens a scarred palm over his heart. 

Azriel does understand, maybe better than anyone, Eris’s need to give his mother all the safety, security, and happiness he can possibly provide. It’s the least they can do for the women who did everything for them and did it while surviving their fathers.

Azriel understands because it’s the same reason he must remain on the Knight’s estate when Eris leaves. Though Azriel’s mother is a lady’s maid living in the manor and Azriel manages the family’s horses, he still can check on her daily here. Just as it’s Eris’s duty to find a spouse with land and title, to take up his father’s mantle. 

“Eris, I do not resent you for this. I don’t regret us. I… I needed you to know that.” Azriel’s voice is barely louder than the softly crackling flames behind the grate across the room. 

That fickle beating thing may reside in Eris’s chest but it belongs to this man beside him. Eris fears (desperately hopes) it always will. He doesn’t want anyone else to have it. 

“I don’t regret a single moment,” Eris tells him honestly, pushing up onto an elbow to look at him properly. 

Neither of them is particularly forthcoming about what they feel, but it seems as if the nature of this moment possibly—likely—being their last has torn down all the usual walls and left them bare. It’s right there in the unguarded hazel eyes blinking up at him. 

Eris cups Azriel’s jaw, stubble prickling his palm. “I will be forever grateful to have known you.” He swallows, but forces himself to complete the thought, “To have known this.”

And then he’s kissing Azriel like the fervor of their lips will mend his shattering heart. 

Love begets heartbreak. Eris knows this, has known since before they began, and was still hopeless against the fall. He never stood a chance—doesn’t think he ever wanted to.

✦ ✦ ✦

tagging: @ablogofsapphicpanic @damedechance @iftheshoef1tz @panicatthenightcourt @moonpatroclus @octobers-veryown @foundress0fnothing @krem-does-stuff @melonsfantasyworld @lady-riel @queercontrarian @asnowfern @valkyrieassassin @brokeneveningstars @catboyjamesbond @xtaketwox @itsthedoodle @areyoudreaminof @melphss @fieldofdaisiies @the-lonelybarricade

if you wanted to be added to or removed from my azris tag list just let me know in the replies!

#azris #azris fanfiction #eris vanserra #eris acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel #acotar au #regency au #eris x azriel #azriel x eris #kate's celebratory drabbles series #acotar fanfiction #acotar drabble

[michaelectras]

family dinner

Wherein food is had by all, and tears are shed by most

Written for @midamappreciationweek's day three prompt: family!

A few minutes past midnight, and they’re awake again. 

Baby hadn’t been crying this time, per se, but Michael seemed to be attuned to every single snuffle she made, so as soon as she began to whine lowly in her bassinet, he was awake to scoop her up and hold her against him. That, of course, meant that Adam woke up too, blinking blearily at the two of them. 

“Is she—” he begins, worried, but Michael’s sleepy silence is enough to calm him instantly. He’s holding her up, patting her back as she’s snuggled in her little orange blanket and Adam can see that her eyes are open.

“Oh,” is the only thing he can say before all his breath instantly deserts him.

And— here’s the thing. All newborn babies, Adam thought, looked the same. They were all red, wrinkly, scowly (though, Adam supposes, any child of Michael’s was doomed to be scowly) with no discernable features, and they all depended on the hormone soup made-to-order in postpartum parents to, like, survive and stuff because there was no way that they’d be able to attain that level of attention with their ‘cuteness’ (and lack thereof) alone. Three days ago, Adam had thought that that same logic would apply between him and his daughter— that she’d be little and ugly and red, and the only reason he’d think she was cute or special in any way appearance-wise (as a newborn, at least) was because of the parenting chemicals buzzing through his veins.

Adam of right now wanted to punch Adam of three days past in the face.

Because his baby is fucking adorable. She had a full head of soft black hair that tickled whoever she was laying on, and her face was fat and round and a shade of red that was giving way to a russetty tan. Her eyes— when they were open, like right now— were blue, deep blue, and they were massive, looking at Adam and— and even though he knew, objectively, she wasn’t seeing anything she’d remember, or recognise, in an hour’s time, it still sent tingles to the tips of his fingers to think that she was looking at him. One day, she’d look at him and know him, know that he’d always be there for her, that he loves her so, so fucking much and—

“You haven’t blinked in a while,” Michael observes sleepily.

And— oh, he’d forgotten to do that. Adam blinks, and, doing so, he feels something warm running down his cheeks. Tears, his mind informs him after a second. 

He redirects his gaze to Michael, and feels his heart leap, jumping through his ribs to his throat, clogging his throat up all over again. He blinks again— more tears— and meets Michael’s gaze, and a surge of affection rushes through his body, threatening to crash over his very being and drown him in a feeling he wishes he could convey to Michael. A feeling that, if Michael were with him properly, nestled up against his soul, grace spilling out from under every layer of his muscle, every layer of his skin, he’d be able to push towards him, envelop him in, making a cocoon out of his gratitude and his joy and his love, love, love, that he could lay over and around and into and beyond Michael, and then— only then— would his point adequately come across.

But they aren’t together. Not like that. Not anymore. And all Adam can do is get up, reach over to Michael and trace his thumb over lips bitten raw and skin that shone with historic radiance, and use one of his few breaths to whisper, “I love you. I love you, I love you so fucking much, I—” more warmth splashes down his face, and he feels his own lips tremble “—I love you.”

He plants a quick, chaste kiss on Michael’s bottom lip, just over where his own thumb was, and draws back to look up at Michael. Dark eyes (large, shaped like the baby’s) drift drowsily down to meet his gaze, and they shine with a sentiment that Adam knows would feel infinitely better wrapped around his soul.

“I love you too,” Michael murmurs, in the absence of his ability to do that, of their oneness, “I love you.”

Then— Baby, who had been content and semi-quiet until then, begins to whine again, scrunching her little face up and turning her head, lips tracing Michael’s collarbone as her squalls threaten to turn into wails. Michael’s own face settles into a deep weariness that, to Adam, seemed to have become his default expression for the past week or so.

“And she’s hungry,” he sighs, and begins to shuffle himself further up, reaching an arm out to feel around for his water bottle in the dark.

“Oh, wait— here—” and Adam grabs his own “—use mine.”

He passes the bottle to Michael, who flashes him a grateful look before taking a large swig of it, all while Adam supports the baby in his arms, shifting Michael’s shirt about and positioning her the way they’d been taught to do at the hospital centuries (a day) ago.

(“Remember,” the nurse had said, grey hair pulled back, wrinkles entrenched in her face and eyes twinkling in a manner that betrayed her to be infinitely younger than Michael and Adam both, “you guys are a team now. You have to learn how to work together, pull each other up by the bootstraps.”

And, Adam and Michael had looked at one another then, skin-to-skin and hopelessly far away. We know how to work together, Adam had wanted to cry, the problem is we aren’t together.”)

When Baby latched on, it was Michael’s turn to cry. 

“You okay?” Adam asks, propping himself up on both arms and shifting to sit on his legs. “Michael?”

“Fine,” his voice is hoarse, he’s definitely not fine. “I— I don’t know why I’m crying. I just am. This— I—” and Michael chokes, for a second, and closing his eyes doesn’t halt the flow of tears “—I didn’t expect to feel so much all the time.”

“Oh, Michael,” Adam breathes, and something deeper than his heart aches. Hormone soup, his med-school mind provides, and it makes him feel a bit better knowing that nothing was seriously wrong, but that doesn’t mitigate the shattering heartbreak of realising he couldn’t do anything to help. “I— I don’t—” I don’t know what to do, he wants to say, but stops himself at the last second, just as his tongue began curling around the words.

“I,” he tries again. Michael sniffs, and Adam runs his fingers through his hair. “What we’ll do,” he says, slowly, eventually, and Michael blinks at him, “is that I’ll give you some more water, and I’ll go refill your bottle and grab us some food. It’ll be like— all three of us eating. Family dinner.” Michael gives a small snort at that, and Adam mentally whoops triumphantly.

“Family dinner,” Michael repeats, a stray sniff ruining the deadpan tone he was clearly aiming for. 

“You okay with that?” Being alone for a bit?

“I—yeah. Yeah, I’m— I’ll be okay.” Be back soon.

And Adam makes good on that. He brings his water bottle up to Michael’s mouth, tilting it, letting Michael drink his fill, before leaning over and grabbing for Michael’s water bottle. Then he’s up, he’s out, padding about their apartment and tracing phantom footsteps in the dark until he reaches their little fridge, peering inside, pulling out the leftover chicken and rice and depositing it on a plate to put in the microwave. While it’s heating up, he grabs a pack of Oreos (hidden at the back of the top shelf of the corner cupboard, where Michael can’t reach and, ergo, can’t know of it’s presence inside his ostentatiously healthy home) for himself, and gets through one or two by the time the microwave goes off, its beeps ringing out in what startles Adam to realise was an otherwise still night, calm despite it all. The constant, urgent roar in his ears must’ve been the sound of his own blood in them. Outside, it’s pitch black and silent, and the quiet rush of solitary cars rushing down midnight roads is nothing but a faraway whisper, drifting into their apartment through the blackness surrounding them. 

Suddenly, Adam feels very, very alone.

So, he takes Michael’s plate out of the microwave and grabs a spoon to set down with it, and refills Michael’s water bottle with filtered jug water, and not the stuff from the tap (because, nowadays, Michael conserved energy by not complaining, but Adam knew him, and knew he hated the taste of tap water, so the jug had proved itself to be a wise investment). Gathers all the stuff— food, Oreos, water bottles, cutlery, and the mental checklist’s all ticked off— into his arms, and pads back down the hall and into their bedroom, where Michael’s still sitting up, staring into some distant nothing, and Baby’s still clasped to his chest. 

“Hey,” Adam says softly as he climbs onto the bed, careful not to spill anything.

“Hello, Adam,” Michael replies, sighing, leaning his head back to bump gently against the headboard. “Hunger is an entirely foreign concept to me, but from what little I do know about it, she shouldn’t still be hungry. It’s been fifteen minutes.” A pause. “And forty seconds, so almost sixteen minutes.”

Adam shrugs, passing Michael his own water bottle and pulling the duvet up around himself. “I heard that twenty minute feeds were pretty standard at this stage. Plus, she’s just come into a big, scary world, and newborns nurse for comfort too.”

Michael doesn’t respond, and Adam supposes he doesn’t need to. It’s a jarring shift, to go from a weapon, someone whose presence brought with it whispers of war and chaos and destruction, to something comforting. To have a being, so, so small and fragile and completely helpless, suddenly thrust into a strange world, depend entirely on you for survival, not for orders. For comfort, not for war.

“Hey,” Adam says again, just to get Michael to snap out of the world in his head, to look at him. He holds up the plate. “Do you wanna be comforted too?” Michael rolls his eyes, and that inspires Adam to scoop up a spoonful of rice, and move it around. “Here comes the aeroplane!”

Another eyeroll, but Michael opens his mouth, and Adam almost hollers in victory.

They continue like that, for a while. Adam having his oreos, feeding Michael, Michael taking frequent sips of water and feeding Baby, and Baby oblivious to the world (even as Michael has to swipe fallen grains of rice from her hair). It’s… peaceful. Surreal, definitely— the room is dark, and even when Adam’s eyes adjust all he can make out are stray silhouettes masked by the night, and the world is quiet beyond them, no noise daring to breach the tranquillity that envelops the three of them. It’s almost as though nothing dares to exist where it could disturb them.

When Michael finishes the rice and chicken, he switches the baby to the other side and his stomach audibly rumbles.

“Need more comfort?” Adam teases, leaning his head on Michael’s shoulder.

“I don’t know why I’m still hungry. I shouldn’t be.” Michael sounds sluggishly frustrated with himself.

“Hey, if you’re hungry, you’re hungry. Who cares about anything else.” Adam pops an Oreo into his mouth, then holds another one up to Michael’s lips. “Say ‘aah’,” he says around the Oreo, getting tiny crumbs all over the bedsheet and making Michael wrinkle his nose.

“Manners,” Michael chides halfheartedly, before taking a small bite of the cookie.

“See, when I get crumbs over things, it’s over the duvet, and it’s a problem. When you do it, though, you get them over the baby, and that’s perfectly fine.”

Michael dusts the little cookie crumbs out of Baby’s hair.

“No crumbs on her now. But your awful manners still exist. Who’s the problem, again, kid?”

Adam puffs out a laugh, and settles down to nuzzle his head against Michael’s shoulder, using a finger to smooth away their daughter’s dark, downy hair away from her face.

“She’s asleep,” he notes.

“She’s still eating,” Michael rolls his eyes.

“Ooh, hungry baby.”

“Baby’s been alive for less than four days and she’s already proven to have gotten her appetite from you,” it might be a teasing jibe, it might be a sleepy, halfhearted attempt at his signature sardonicism, tainted by the weight of his fondness, but whatever Michael means by it, Adam can’t help but melt.

She’d gotten something from him. She’ll have gotten traits from Michael, too. Because she was theirs, and she was real, unexpected and somewhat unexplained but so, so real, and their life together was shaping into what Adam thought, a thousand years ago, would be nothing but a bittersweet fantasy. 

She’s real. They’re real. Michael’s real, eyes heavy with sleep, sharing his exhaustion but so incredibly, irresistibly real that Adam can’t stop staring into them and—

“Are you okay?” the sudden alarm in Michael’s voice snaps Adam back into something resembling reality.

At first, he isn’t sure what Michael’s talking about. A split second later and he feels it; the sudden heat against his cheeks, the faint taste of saltwater against his lips. His hand lifts to trace down his face and it’s wet.

“Well, shit,” Adam chokes out a laugh, “guess we’re both emotional messes.”

“We can’t be blamed for it,” Michael attempts to justify (or, perhaps, it’s a statement more than anything). Then, he sniffs, “Stop crying, or I’m going to cry again, too.”

“Family dinner’s turned into family cry-time. Amazing. Well,” a pause. Adam looks down at Baby, whose eyes are half-open again, “almost family cry-time. She’s not crying.”

“And praise whatever power that exists in the world, now, that she isn’t. Don’t worry, she’ll cry her fill in an hour’s time.”

“She’s got terrible team spirit.” Adam pokes his daughter’s cheek (gently, of course; it’s more a stroke than it is a poke, really), and the skin is soft and warm and solid. “Hear that, Baby? Your poor old dads are here sniffling up a storm over you, and what’re you doing?”

Michael shuffles himself— and the Baby— closer to Adam, and lets his head fall atop the latter’s. “She’s eating dinner” he sniffs, ever the pretentious archangel of old, “don’t be critical. She’s doing so well.”

Adam can’t find it in him to tease Michael at that, can’t find the space to squeeze it through the lump in his throat. “Yeah,” is what he manages to murmur eventually, “she’s doing so, so well.” Then, he tries, “We’re doing so well.”

“We are,” Michael placates him, or affirms, and nuance is lost on Adam as songs of lines, and words, and worlds blur into a cacophony of right now. Into the weight of Michael’s head on his, into the smoothness of their baby’s hair, and into the chasm Michael left inside of him when he was forced into another form, a chasm slowly being filled with love, and terror, but love all the same.

Moments aside, Adam knew this wasn’t going to be easy. Hormones would wear off, life would settle in, and he was scared of the day where he would take this for granted, where this would become ‘normal’ and displace the years, the centuries of agony and the crushing loneliness of being alone in his body, that it took to get here. To get her. He wondered if the novelty would wear off quickly— he hoped it didn’t, hoped he could stay floating in a castle of cribs and sleepless nights forever.

Even if it did, though… Adam closed his eyes, felt the rub of Michael’s hair against his. At least they’d be together. They’d always be together, now, and there was proof of that. 

Yeah, they were here. They’d always be here. And, perhaps naively, that was all he needed to know things would work out just fine.

#my first girlverse fic to breach containment #also second fic to be posted to ao3 and first midam fic!! #eenyway. i love them so so much #fuck #midam #spn michael #adam milligan #midamap2023 #posting before i need to go do work rip

[the-eyes-of-andyserkis]

Bringin' Home the Rain - Chapter 4: "Flames"

Masterlist

Fandom: MCU - Age of Ultron, Black Panther Pairing: Ulysses Klaue x F!Reader Word count: 5.1K Chapters: 4/5 Rating: Explicit

Chapter Summary: You're not sure what's going to happen now, but you know that you've crossed a line, one there's no chance of coming back from.

Warnings: Explicit Rating, Alcohol, Blood and Injury, Minor Injuries, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Age Difference, Masturbation, Smut, PWP, But a bit of Plot if you squint, Dirty Talk, Praise, Teasing, Oral (M! Receiving), Teasing, Reference to Predator/Prey, Vaginal Fingering, Soft Dom, Hair pulling, Begging, Finger Sucking

A/N: I'm back! Thank you so much for your patience, it feels a bit silly that 5.1K took me this long but I just need to remind myself that everyone writes differently, and there's also there's that pesky full time job and all. I really thought this chapter wasn't going to take too long because it was the one I had the most written for, but it didn't quite work out that way! Ah well, we still got there. I hope you enjoy! ❤

Title is from the song "Bringin' Home the Rain" by The Builders and the Butchers.

AO3 Link

All your kin have all gone on  to fields all bathed in sun And the only things left in your possession  is an empty bottle and a gun

Your heart is racing and blood thunders in your ears as you quickly make your way back to your quarters white trying to process not only what you had just done, but how good it felt.

Once you sensed that Klaue was past the point of no return, when he was growling and panting and desperate, your own desire, deep and liquid took over and the look in his eyes when his hand wrapped around his cock gave you everything. Molten blue and roiling at the edges with relief and lust and something else akin to a promise.

When you walked out of the room it had been with a feeling of satisfaction, of finally having the upper hand, and it was a heady sensation. But as the distance between you and your workroom grows you start to regret leaving and find yourself hoping that he’ll follow you, a surge of nervous exhilaration spreading through your rib cage with that realization. Unfortunately you have no idea whether he will, and if he doesn’t how long will you have to wait before you see him again? He had mentioned that he was only at the compound for a few days, and once he leaves it's possible he could be gone for weeks.

You're surprised by how disappointed this thought makes you feel.

You think about turning around, but at the same time you know that you probably need to give yourself a chance to cool off and just think about these last couple of days and to try to figure out what, if anything, you actually want from Klaue. 

Even as the logical part of your brain tries to throw reason at you, you can’t help but glance back over your shoulder in the vain hope that you’ll see him, but because you’re not paying attention to your footing the toe of your boot catches on an uneven tile causing you to stumble, and while you manage to catch yourself you decide it’s a sign that you definitely need to take the cool down option. 

Leaning against the wall you press the flat of your hand against your diaphragm, focusing on the pressure while taking several deep inhales until your breathing, though still too fast, starts to even out, and while you feel calmer when you start moving again your thoughts continue to spin. 

You’re still perplexed by the fact that Klaue didn’t get up and grab you as soon as you had walked in and found him on your couch. Thus far he hasn’t struck you as the kind of person to be particularly patient, to not simply take as soon as he had the opportunity, and after your argument that afternoon you can't imagine he was any less on edge than you, especially not after the text he had sent you.

Did he simply enjoy watching the tension on your psyche ratcheting tighter, getting a thrill from watching the threads of your sanity fraying one by one right in front of him? 

But then your thoughts wind their way back to yesterday’s encounter and something else occurs to you: That even though Klaue had sought you out, had moved so close you could feel the heat of his body, it wasn’t until you had pressed your ass back against him that he reached for you with a desperate grip.

Absently you pass a hand over your hips where his fingers had dug into your flesh and realize that you can feel a slight ache that hints at the whisper of a bruise below your skin, and the thought of Klaue marking you even faintly has the heat that he stokes so easily in you flaring up again.

And you think you know what I need? 

Yes, I think I fucking do, darling.

There’s something inside you that you can’t suppress, can’t reason with, when you’re around Klaue. A part of you that stirs and blinks its eyes in response to his presence, a part that has been sleeping fitfully while denying how desperately it wants to be woken up. 

In the past even when you had been with men who turned you on and could make you feel good you still instinctively held back, because in those moments when you started to feel comfortable and your desire for more drifted to the surface you could feel them start to pull away, suddenly uncertain of what to do with you. So instead you wrapped yourself up tight and tucked yourself away in the dim corners so that they wouldn’t have to think about you so much, just the parts of you that benefited them.

So you found satisfaction in other ways, and it never really bothered you that you spent most of your time alone in your search for the next precipice that would give you that rush. It was easy and uncomplicated, and you were content enough in the adventure of moving through the world on your own that you rarely noticed any lack. 

Then, unexpectedly, Ulysses Klaue had found an edge that you didn’t think was meant for you. He drew you towards it, coaxed your eyes open and encouraged you to peer over into the abyss while relishing the need that he was building in you, that seemed to bloom and swell to fill the crevices you thought were cemented over with disuse and resignation. You had tried to deny it as long as you could even when you became overwhelmed by how badly you ached for him, because then you wouldn’t have to admit that you needed anything (anyone) at all.

Shaking yourself free of your thoughts you try to keep your face neutral as you reach the busier common areas where you start to see others heading to and from their shifts or picking up something at the canteen.

When you reach the main passage connecting the workshops to crew quarters you suddenly hear your name, and even though you subconsciously know that it’s not his voice your heart still jumps with anticipation until you actually register that it’s just Tom walking towards you.

“Woah,” he puts out a calming hand. “You alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” 

“Yeah!” You say a little too loudly at first. “Yes, I’m fine really, I just..” Scrambling to come up with a reply, you decide to go with the simplest explanation. “It’s just been a long day, I had to do a job for Klaue this afternoon with no warning.” Fortunately Tom’s frown of concern quickly softens with understanding.

“Ah, yes that’ll do it. Did everything go okay?”

“Pretty uneventful, I guess? But I really wanted to get some other things done today so it wasn’t ideal timing. Didn’t really have much choice though, I guess,” you shrug, you think you’re doing a pretty good job of keeping it together, but when you absently lick your lips you realize with a jolt that you can still taste him there. The sound around you fades out as the memory of how Klaue’s cock felt against your tongue overwhelms you, and it takes all of your willpower to force your concentration back to what Tom is saying.

“-not really how this whole thing works, is it?” 

“Yeah, no, I suppose not,” you reply, shifting your bag and jacket from one arm to the other and trying to sound nonchalant. “Anyway, I’m really tired so I’m just going to head back to my quarters and try to decompress.”

“Of course. Get some rest,” he says as you start to walk away.

Thanks, but not much chance of that right now, friend.

“Thanks, I will. See you tomorrow!” you say in a rush with a wave over your shoulder.

The number of people around you slows to a trickle until it’s just you again when you reach the main warren of apartments, but after making the last turn down your hallway you freeze when you see a figure waiting outside your door. 

Klaue is perhaps fifteen feet away from you with his back against the wall, arms crossed against his chest and a look of anticipation shading his features. He has the decency to look disheveled at least, shirt half tucked in and belt not properly fastened, but when his head swivels towards you at the sound of your gasp his eyes instantly fix on you like a predator sighting his prey.

“Klaue! How did you..?” you start but then trail off, trying to work out how he beat you here even with your brief stop to chat.

“Maintenance tunnels,” he replies simply, pushing himself away from the wall and turning to face you. “I told you I own this place, and I know every inch of it.” A flash of gold glints with the smug curl of his lips, and you’re reminded of how wet you still are as a fresh ache blooms through your core under the heat of his gaze.

“Ok,” you breathe. “And how do you know where my room is, specifically?” Trying to keep a relaxed expression on your face you start slowly walking towards him.

He tilts his head and you watch as his eyes flick down and back up the length of your body.

“You don’t think I’ve known since you got here?” The implication has your pulse racing and your steps falter briefly. 

Klaue may not be the one moving but even in his stillness you can’t shake the sensation that he’s stalking you. The hunched set of his shoulders and arms held stiff at his sides makes it seem as though he’s bracing for something and your chest tightens, the prey instinct to run tangling with anticipation as the distance between you quickly shrinks.

“And even if I didn't”, he continues, his voice dropping a dangerous octave, "Did you really think you could do something like that and I would just let you walk away?”

Your breath hitches in your throat as you finally come to a stop in front of him.

“I mean, it kind of seemed that way,” you manage to reply, once again shocked at how being near him entirely decimates your sense of self preservation.

“Well, you certainly tried, didn’t you?" Klaue growls and then suddenly he’s moving, his broad frame crowding you until your back thumps against the door causing you to drop your things. He doesn't actually touch you yet but he’s close enough that your breasts nearly brush his chest with every breath and the partially unfastened belt buckle brushes against your hip, metal jingling softly in the empty hallway. 

Looming over you Klaue once again seems to be waiting for something, so as badly as you want to touch him you decide to test the limits of your theory (his limits), determined to wait him out this time.

“So you followed me to what, give me a piece of your mind?” Your voice is defiant even as you throb at his proximity, hands clenched into fists at your sides.

“No. Not quite.” he says, teasingly.

“So then you’re just going to stand there and glare at me? Again?” Your intentions to keep calm are rapidly evaporating as frustration bubbles up through your words.

Klaue raises a questioning eyebrow at you.

"In my workroom. Why didn't you- ?” You’re not really sure how to work out how to say everything that you want to and his eyes searing into you makes it difficult to find any words at all, so you only manage to stammer, “You just..sat there.”

He gives you an infuriating smirk. 

"Well, I was enjoying the show,” he says, lowering his gaze at you. “And you were enjoying giving it to me, weren’t you?" You flush, surprised at how easily he could read you.

"So, I wanted to see what else you would do.” The look in Klaue’s eyes is dark and self-satisfied, his voice a rumble of thunder over a distant horizon. ”And you certainly didn’t disappoint me.”

So he had been waiting, had been patiently watching while you showed him the corners where you were weak, where he could tease you open.

“Yes, you certainly got what you wanted,” you say, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

“I did,” Klaue acquiesces. “But not the way that you think.”

“And what do I think?”

“That I just wanted you to suck my cock.” He says, clearly enjoying the effect of his words when your tongue flicks out to lick your lips.

“You..didn’t want that?” Your eyebrow arches in mock confusion.

“Oh, I certainly did,” Klaue chuckles deep in his chest. “I’ve thought about how your mouth would feel around my cock since the first night I met you.” 

You feel a dark sting of pride at his admission, but you’re coming to the end of your patience.

“So then, what?” You implore.

Unexpectedly Klaue reaches a hand up to your face and you’re startled by how gentle his fingers are, barely ghosting along the line of your jaw.

“I got to give you something that you needed.” Klaue hums, a shiver rippling through your body as his thumb traces down the curve of your throat.

“Ah, of course,” you say, frustration prickling in your veins even as you fight to control your breathing. “Because you know what I need, right? Well, why don’t you tell me what that is since you seem to be so sure,” you challenge, voice laced with defiance.

“To stop holding back.” he says sharply. “To admit what you want. So be honest,” Klaue’s blue eyes seem to glint with a strange hidden light, like the inward flames of a secret obsession. “Why do you keep pushing me?"

"Because I want you to push me back!" This you punctuate by bracing your hands against his chest and shoving hard.

Klaue only stumbles back at all because you caught him off guard and in a flash he recovers, hands suddenly gripping your arms and pushing you against the door hard enough to knock the wind out of you and you gasp to catch your breath. His fingers dig into your flesh sending a deep twinge through your healed arm causing you to instinctively jerk your shoulder in a useless attempt to loosen his hold on you, yet the sound that you make isn’t one of pain, and when you meet his eyes you can see that he knows it.

You feel euphoric at the fact that he’s barely even trying to restrain you, that all of your strength means nothing against a fraction of the weight of him. You bite your lip in an attempt to suppress the giddy smile that’s threatening to surface, thighs pressing together as the ache between them becomes unbearable

“Don’t bite your lip, darling. Keep going,” Klaue demands.

“I want you to fuck me," you say in a rush, yours words low and desperate as you finally give voice to the thoughts that have been haunting you for weeks. “And I don’t want you to be gentle. I want you to make me take every inch of your cock. I want it so badly it makes me feel insane and, god, I can’t stop thinking about you and I just want you to make me forget how to think.”

Dark satisfaction colors Klaue’s eyes and when you’ve finished he leans in close, so that the tip of his nose brushes the crest of your ear.

“Very good,” he purrs. “You used your words so well.” His voice is barely above a whisper but you’re certain that you can hear a tremble in his words. “So, you want me to make you come on my cock, is that right?” 

All that comes out of your mouth is a tortured whimper as the dark timber of his voice makes your cunt clench.

“That’s not an answer,” he taunts.

“Yes,” you pant. “Please.” His fingers tighten around your arms at that. 

“Good”, he sounds pleased as he pulls back to look you in the eyes again. “But first, you’re going to come on my fingers,” he says matter-of-factly, your eyelids fluttering at his words. “Then, I’m going to feel you come under my tongue.” 

"What? N-no, I don’t-'' Feeling dazed you start to stammer a protest that that’s not something that happens for you, but then one of Klaue’s hands is gripping your jaw and the sudden pressure of his fingers cuts your words off with a startled cry.

“Oh darling, it’s sweet that you think you aren’t going to come as many times as I want you to."  Klaue leans down so that he’s right in your face, the lilt of his words swirling directly to your center. “Because once I have you a dripping mess for me, I’m going to fuck you to within an inch of your life.”

Finally Klaue presses his mouth roughly against yours, swallowing your moan as you clench at his promise. The hand on your jaw moves to grasp the back of your neck, his other arm wrapping around your waist to pull you against him and you arch in response, wanting to find as much contact as possible. Your arms move to hold onto his shoulders and you thrill at the firm curve of the muscles that move and flex under your fingers as he grabs you.

The string of tension in your body has finally snapped and with relief you willingly supplicate yourself, opening your mouth to allow him entrance as the kiss quickly consumes you, all tongues and teeth and desperate greedy flames seeking ever more oxygen, wanting nothing more than to burn.

You fumble to pull the keycard out of your pocket, managing to break away from his lips long enough to pant, “Door.” He grabs your wrist and holds the hand gripping the key up to the sensor, and you’re relieved when you hear the distinct beep as the lock releases. Klaue releases you, allowing you to grab your things from where you had dropped them before unceremoniously pushing you inside and slamming the door shut behind you.

A single lamp illuminates your small apartment and once inside you blindly toss everything into a corner, barely hitting the floor before you feel Klaue’s arm encircling your waist and he’s hauling you back, lifting you with one arm as though you weigh nothing and then he’s pushing you against the door again, trapping you with his body.

“So, I take it you like that idea?” he teases, strong hands sliding down your waist to roughly massage your hips and ass.

“Yes,” you rut against him to punctuate your reply, hands moving down from his shoulders to find the buttons of his shirt, reveling in the feeling of his chest hair under your fingers as you work one free.

A hand moves to your face to guide your mouth back to his but he’s more controlled now, dragging his lips across yours, igniting every nerve, and you give in to him with no hesitation. He coaxes your mouth open further with his tongue, your own need welcoming his demand for more, making pleased sounds as he licks deeper into your mouth, alternating teasing and devouring until you’re breathless.

Both of Klaue’s hands move to your waist before sliding slowly higher until they’re skimming along the sides of your breasts, thumbs coming achingly close to your nipples. Klaue rasps a deep chuckle when you gasp and arch your back trying to press yourself more firmly against his palms, but they’re already moving back down to your hips and you thought that you had ached for him before. 

“I need you,” you pant against his mouth. “Need you to fuck me so bad.” Your fingers are trembling as you fumble to release another button.

“Hmmm,” Klaue’s hands brush across the front of your hips and he smirks when the muscles of your stomach tense, and then he's dipping his thumbs just beneath your waistband. “I will, darling, but here’s the thing,” he sighs, almost sounding resigned, as though there was nothing he could do about it. “I said I was going to make you come, but I didn’t say I was going to do it quickly, did I?” 

You can only whimper, becoming more fervid with every word. “I promised you two orgasms before I fuck you, and you did me a favor by sucking my cock earlier because now I can take my time with you.” His voice is dark and rough as granite.

“Please,” the word is steeped in desperation. “I need you now.“ Giving up on the buttons you tighten your fists around the fabric of his shirt. 

“Not good enough, I'm afraid,” he taunts, and you try to swallow the tears that are starting to prick at your eyes. “Just because I enjoy seeing you greedy doesn't mean there aren't going to be consequences to your actions. But that's what you wanted, isn’t it?”

You moan as another surge of dampness floods your core and you start to lift a leg to wrap around his hip, trying to open yourself up so that you can grind your center against him for some relief, but his hand stops you.

“Stay still,” he commands sharply, pushing your leg back down, forcing you to keep both together and waiting until he’s satisfied that you’re going to listen. 

Then, keeping one hand on your hip Klaue moves the other under your shirt, the leather cuffs on his wrist catching on the fabric before sliding his palm up and over your breast and you gasp when he finds your nipple, brushing a thumb over the hard nub through the thin lace of your bra. Klaue continues this for several moments, before moving to your other breast for the same treatment until you’re glassy-eyed and writhing, your need growing unbearable and made even worse by the fact that you can feel the thick ridge of his cock once again stiffening against your abdomen. Suddenly he rolls and pinches the sensitive peak between his thumb and forefinger causing your entire body to tense with a startled cry as your cunt clenches desperately around nothing.

Dropping his head Klaue dips his tongue into the hollow of your shoulder between your carotid and clavicle, the wet drag of his tongue across your skin contrasting with the scrape of his beard and the teasing pinch his fingers all adding to the way he's already overstimulating you. 

Pulling back slightly he fits his other hand between your bodies so that it can make its way beneath the waistband of your pants, your own hands moving to try to push them down somewhat to give him more room.

With a gasp you buck into his touch as his hand slides over your sex and down between your legs, and when he feels how you’ve soaked through the fabric there he groans, the hand on your breast faltering in its ministrations.

“Christ, I could bend you over and let you have my cock right now and you’d take me perfectly, so fucking wet already.”

You can’t form meaningful words, can only let out a thick “Yes” as you try to press your mound more firmly against his hand.

“Of course, you know that’s not going to happen,” he teases.

“God, you’re such an-”

Your words are cut off when Klaue’s hand suddenly pushes under the edge of your underwear and then his middle finger is sliding along your cleft, just barely parting you but you’re so wet that even with the slight pressure he can feel your arousal. Continuing a teasing slide along your slick sex one of his booted feet nudges yours apart, widening your stance just enough so that when his finger slides down again he can reach your soaked entrance and you tilt your hips, trying to encourage him to sink his finger inside of you.

“Been like this since you sucked my cock?” Klaue grits out.

"More like since this afternoon", you admit with a wry laugh that turns to a stuttered gasp at the stretch when he finally dips his finger into your slick heat.

“When I reminded you that you need to do what you're told?" 

You can only whimper in response when his palm finally presses against your aching clit and he curls his finger deeper inside of you, and the relief from the stretch of even one of his fingers has your hips quickly finding a satisfying rhythm of their own accord, but just as you start to feel the edges of your climax gathering deep in your belly he suddenly pulls his hand away. 

“I said stay still,” Klaue growls.

Crying out at the loss you grab frantically at his wrist as your hips continue to move, desperately seeking the friction again but he’s stronger, and while he lets you scrabble at him he easily keeps his hand just out of reach of where you need it. 

His other hand reaches up to slide into your hair and you gasp when he tightens his fingers around the strands, dark mirth shining in his eyes as he watches you panting and trembling. It takes all of your willpower but once your conscious mind understands that struggling is going to get you no closer to him touching your cunt again, you manage to regain some control.

“Shhh, ” Klaue murmurs. ‘That’s a good girl.” 

With that he returns his hand to your sex, sliding two fingers through your cleft to spread you open but keeping them on either side of your clit, stroking and slipping against your folds but not getting close enough, dragging his fingers around the sensitive nub, and every time you start to move your hips he stops and waits for you to be still before continuing. It doesn’t take much of this before you’re shaking again and so on edge that it takes a moment to register what he says next.

“So, are you going to do what you’re told now and come for me?”

Your eyes fly open and you're furious when you meet his gaze because he’s taunting you. You had already been so close before, and now he’s deliberately keeping the pressure of his fingers light and indirect.

“I want to,” your voice is thick with barely restrained tears. “But it’s not enough.”  

“Hmm, and you don’t think that I wanted to come in your mouth?” Klaue growls.

“Fuck,” you let out a frustrated sob

"Try again,” he says, a finger sliding down to gather more of your slick before drawing back up to circle just around where you need him to touch, and if you could form thoughts right now one of them might be that this must be what going mad actually feels like.

"Yes,” you pant. "I should have let you. God, I wanted to swallow your come." Your words are desperate and true and they seem to please him because his fingers finally press down on your aching clit and you moan, still trying to move as little as possible as he continues to swipe over the sensitive bud, the deep pressure in your core finally starting to reach a crest.

"I'm so close,” you whimper.

“Then what do you say?” Klaue growls, 

Your mind is spinning but the words still form, barely more than a whisper when they slip from your throat, "I'm sorry.” 

His hand tightens in your hair, the sting in your scalp mixing with the edge of your climax. 

“What was that, darling?” 

“Please don’t stop, oh god I’m sorry- !" Your body goes stiff and you gasp, hanging breathless for an endless moment and then you're gone, crying out as your orgasm finally crashes through you. In freefall you cling to him, fingers of one hand twisted in the fabric of his shirt, the other still on his wrist where you can feel the muscles of his forearm flexing under your fingers as he continues to rub rough circles on your clit, only dimly aware of his whispered praises, "Yes, just like that klein mot."

You moan in breathless relief as waves of pleasure overwhelm you and you're no longer able to help it as your hips roll and jerk against his hand until the intensity of each wave starts to wane, and you feel like you can finally breathe again. You’re so slick now that even though you’re not prepared for it there’s almost no resistance when Klaue suddenly thrusts two fingers inside you, both of you groaning as you clench around them and ride out the last of your climax on his fingers.

“Christ, you came so well, darling.” Klaue murmurs, softening his grip on your hair, and as the euphoria starts to ebb you become aware that he’s watching you intently, his soaked fingers still inside your fluttering cunt.

Only when your body finally goes limp does he withdraw his hand now shining with your juices, and then bringing it up to his mouth you watch mesmerized as starts to clean you off of his fingers. You moan at the sight and when he sees that you’re watching he instead presses two fingers against your lips which you part without question, making a pleased sound when you start to suck them.

“Don’t you taste good, darling?” He drags his fingers in and out of your mouth, pressing down on your tongue, making sure that you taste yourself. “So nice, cleaning me up like this,” he says, but his teasing smile goes dark when you slide your lips all the way to the base of his fingers so that they touch the back of your throat, your eyes staying fixed on his.

Something shifts in his gaze and he suddenly pulls his fingers out of your mouth which you release with a soft pop, and then moving both arms around your waist to support your still shaky legs he guides you across the small room to stand at the foot of your bed. 

A hand reaches up to cup your cheek and you look up at him with a pleased expression but it’s short-lived when his grip suddenly tightens and you gasp in surprise but he holds you there, not allowing you to look away.

"It’s still my turn, and I'm nowhere near done with you yet.” Klaue’s smile is feral as he releases you and steps back, leaving you cold and swaying on unsteady legs as he starts to unbuckle his belt.

"Now, take your clothes off for me," he commands, and even though you just came, his words reignite the embers of your arousal to a low burning flame.

Thank you again for reading! I make no promises about the timeline of Chapter 5 (because clearly I have no idea about these things 😂) but it's definitely in progress, I promise! ❤️

#bringin' home the rain fic #ulysses klaue #ulysses klaue x f reader #ulysses klaue x reader #ulysses klaue x you #mcu #mcu fanfiction #fanfiction

[mike-haters-dni]

Cool Buffs El Should Get in the Next Stranger Things Patch (Season 5)

Also a discussion of how El's powers work, because they're really fun to think about. If any of these actually happen in the show I will spontaneously combust. Anyway, here are my ideas:

Learning hand-to-hand combat/martial arts and incorporating it into her powers.Ok, so the theory goes like this: what is El’s most consistent weakness when it comes to combat? Overtaxing herself and then being unable to continue fighting—barring some intense surge of emotions to act as an emergency energy burst, which is neither a dependable nor healthy thing to rely on in the long term. No, what El needs to do to mitigate this weakness as much as possible is learn to be more economical with her psychic attacks and incorporate more physicality into her moveset. Think of it as having both a mental and physical battery. So far in the show, she has pretty much exclusively utilized her mental battery when doing anything. I mean, she literally stances up to stand completely still while using her powers most of the time, which works if she can take every enemy out at once, but every other time it ends either badly or extremely badly. The worst example of this is during the cabin mindflayer fight where she just stands still after fucking up a couple tendrils (which took like, waay to much effort btw), and then gets grabbed very easily due to her legs being completely stationary along with her subpar reaction time (probably not helped by being overexerted). She then panics and doesn’t do anything to try to free herself from its grasp, which is fair enough, but still. There’s room for improvement here. Of course, this is good storytelling because it would be really boring if she was super op, flicking every threat out of the way, but I think s5 should get to be the late-game, full-build, onslaught arena season. El (and everyone else) is at full power but so are her enemies, who attack in hoards. Anyway, this is all to justify the first powerpoint that I will be giving to the Duffers: Reasons why El should learn hand-to-hand combat and also incorporate physical movements into her powers Avatar:TLA-style:

1. She’ll get tired less easily. Being economical with attacks means instead of squeezing a dude’s body to death for like 5 seconds, maybe just snap his neck? Or throw a sharp object at him? Or break his kneecap? She could break a lot more kneecaps in a row than she could squeeze dudes to death, and if she had a weapon to throw around? Forget it. And that’s not even bringing the combat training into the mix. She could throw a knife across the room into a guy’s neck, while ducking under another guy’s attack, kick him in the knee (with a little extra psychic force), and then call the knife back in time to stab him on the way to the floor. If she fights half-physical half-psychic that means neither battery gets depleted too quickly, and she could take down an entire squad of npcs and walk away with nothing but a light nosebleed. Also, 2. It would look really cool. Like really super fucking cool. Go ahead and imagine how cool it would be. Listen, the stand-still hhnng-ing really hard psychic fights are cool and all but I mean, we can do better than that. She does already do the hand thing most of the time, but I want like full-body motions here. Big dramatic sweeping martial arts motions that perfectly match the force she’s applying to objects. Her powers are clearly emotion/perception-based, so by that logic, anything she does to make it feel like her attack should be stronger will actually make it stronger. i.e. she should swing her body around harder, and coincidentally land in really cool anime poses while doing it. 3. It would demonstrate mastery over her powers. Having to stand still to concentrate is really giving training wheels vibes. Although, I do have a theory on why she does that: I imagine her powers require her to use either her whole body or a part of it as a sort of anchor that she moves the thing she’s telekinesis-ing in relation to. Or alternatively, she can apply more force to an object the more of her body she’s using as a conduit for her powers. So like, standing still to concentrate while moving a heavy object is still easier, especially if we aren’t using the physical motion augmentation method. When she’s got her arm outstretched she’s directing the power from her brain down through her arm, making it stronger and easier to direct, which make it actually feel like the power is flowing out through down her chest into her arm vs if she uses her powers without conducting them it feels like they flow straight out of her brain, which is harder to control because it's completely thought based. When she really has to use 100% power it fills up her entire body, which makes it harder to her move in any way that isn’t related to whatever she’s doing with her powers. Does that make sense? Let me know if that makes sense. Anyway, I don’t think she would ever stop needing to stay kind of still to use her powers, especially while expending huge amounts of energy, but that urge could be mitigated as much as possible to allow for her to dodge a little while in combat.

Learning to move herself with her powers, in order to do things like jump really far or dodge out of the way really fast, or break her fall from a really high jump.If my power anchor theory makes any sense (or even if it doesn’t because whatever), El could learn to direct her powers back towards herself by using something solid in the area as an an anchor and then instead of moving that thing, pulling herself towards or away from it. This might lowkey be canon already since that seems like what was happening when she started levitating while closing the gate in s2, also s4 did mention her having to learn to fly so...I guess we'll see 👀.

Gaining/honing the ability to sense things within a radius through passive diffusion of her powers. So, in the show its demonstrated many times that El can move/feel things she can’t see with her powers, like in all the times she unlocks doors from the outside. So I’m thinking, we take that ability, amplify it, and make it a passive thing that only requires a very small use of energy that she can keep it up to feel everything that's going on around her in a room-sized radius. It wouldn’t be something that she can do permanently—like it would still take some degree of concentration to keep up, but her powers could become strong enough that some part of her is always feeling around just a little. Like regular human perception, she could be more likely to notice any sudden movements when not concentrating at all. Basically, she would become immune to being snuck up on, and she could also specifically train to get good at stopping any projectiles (or otherwise) that enter a 3-foot or so radius around her. She could also use the power to see in complete darkness or into rooms from the outside, and not have to rely on sight or hearing to locate any threats in fights, allowing her to attack enemies behind her without having to turn around, anticipate attacks, etc (in my mind, there's a scene where El practices this blind-fighting by sparring all the boys at once, who only have the goal of hitting her once with any attack, which they fail spectacularly after she takes them all down in like 5 seconds lmao). She could also specifically use proficiency in her voidwalking ability to passively sense any humans in an even larger radius, without knowing what they are doing exactly but maybe being able to vaguely sense whatever emotion their feeling. Also, speaking of sensing emotions: it’s just canon that El can feel/manipulate people’s organs, so she could totally sense when people suddenly get nervous in a conversation…or literally anything else physical going on in someone’s body. Kind of a disturbing thought, actually. It’s shit like that that makes me want her to lose her powers at the end of the show lol.

Gaining the ability to perfect parry. Alright we’re entering pure self-indulgent gamer ideas now but—While practicing her projectile catching and throwing one day (with a pitching machine), she accidentally deflects a ball so precisely that it goes flying back in the opposite direction without losing any force, with the deflection itself taking almost no mental energy at all. She’s surprised by this, and then spends a couple scenes trying to do it again, but can't figure it out. Until, of course, the climatic scene where she manages to do it again in a last act of desperation and is able to save the day against impossible odds. Or something something.

Getting a bunch of knives. If I could make Duffers do one thing in s5, it would be to give El a bunch of knives that she floats around to fight with Irelia League of Legends-style. This is a fantastic idea ok listen. As I mentioned already, they would take minimal effort to fight with, and also be super deadly, work against the demogorgons, look cool as hell, and also they could make menacing halos behind her head when she gets angry at people. Is this too anime of an idea for the 80s monster show? Who cares, give El a bunch of knives. Other random cool shit she should do:

Matrix a bunch of machine gun fire from a bunch of soldiers that were finally ordered to just kill her before she takes down the entire government (or whatever other reason), creating a giant cloud of bullets around her and pushing her back from the sheer force of the momentum she's countering. Then when they finally empty their magazines she sends all the bullets back in an epic display of raw power, fucking murdering every solider at once and emerging unscathed and unbothered. I just think that would be cool.

She hasn’t done the psychic power cyclone thing yet. There’s still time to fix that.

I think it would really enhance her powers if she had some kind of like dirty, smudged eyeliner look going on. You know like its makeup irl, but styled to kinda look like its apocalypse grime, but it still looks really cool and menacing. idk it's an idea. character design.

Insane this hasn't happened yet but she should at some point like absent-mindedly spin something above her hand with her powers. Like a bunch of marbles or pen or something. Just to flex a little.

Anyway hope you enjoyed reading leave a comment and make sure to like and subscribe for more s5 pipe dreams :)

#sorry for being so gamer coded #but that's the vibe #stranger things #el hopper #stranger things analysis #st5 headcanon

[talesfrom2hearts]

Isabeau inhaled deeply, the scent of freshly brewed tea and damp moss tickling her nose. She perched on the windowsill of her London flat, the morning mist clinging to the rooftops like a lover's embrace. Despite the quaint charm, the flat was far from the opulent Parisian palace she'd called home centuries ago. Blame the French Revolution, or perhaps her own insatiable appetite for luxury, which had dwindled her once vast fortune. Although Isabeau was never one to take blame herself, it was unmistakable that part of the reason for this was outside of her own control, as had many aspects of her life up to this point. Even her residence here wasn’t her choice.

A knock on the door startled her. Isabeau smoothed her silk nightgown, a relic from a bygone era that still managed to turn heads, even in this strange, swinging London. "Entrez," she called out, her voice a husky purr honed over centuries of practice.

The door creaked open, revealing a man who looked as out of place in this dingy building as she did. Tall and broad-shouldered, with sun-kissed hair and eyes the color of the summer sky, he seemed burdened by an invisible weight.

"Miss Dubois?" he asked, his voice laced with a hesitant British lilt.

Isabeau arched an eyebrow. "Indeed. And you are...?"

"Cyrus," he mumbled, shifting his gaze to the floor. "Your landlord."

Landlord. The word tasted foreign on her tongue. In her time, men had been her playthings, not the other way around. But times, as they often did, had changed. Despite her having lived in his building for some time, he had dealt with someone else regarding rent payment. The man had never so much as asked for a new lightbulb in the flat. Cyrus himself was an introvert, so he didn’t think much of the reserved nature of him, but did find it odd that Isabeau seemed to be around much more often than him. 

"Ah, yes," she said, feigning delight. "Come in, come in. I was just about to enjoy my breakfast. Perhaps you'd care to join me?" she asked. Of course, Isabeau had on heard the man’s voice before, banished to stay within the confines of the apartment. 

Cyrus hesitated, then nodded stiffly. He entered the room, his eyes widening at the sight of the ornate tea set and the single, perfect rose nestled in a crystal vase. It was a stark contrast to the threadbare furniture and peeling wallpaper.

Isabeau poured him a cup of tea, her movements deliberate and graceful. "So, Mr. Cyrus," she began, her voice dripping with honeyed seduction, "tell me about this... landlord business."

Cyrus cleared his throat, avoiding her gaze from below. "Please, Cyrus is more than alright,” he tried to correct her. Even so much as that was rather difficult to do, the thought of telling her his surname was Jones never even crossed his mind. The woman may have been much smaller than himself, but Isabeau had a rather intimidating aura about her. “It's just... Mr. Harrison left last time we had met before he could sign a document regarding building upkeep," he explained to her.

Isabeau raised an elegant eyebrow. "And is that all, Mr. Cyrus? Or is there something else troubling you?"

He met her gaze for a fleeting moment, his eyes swirling with a hidden emotion she couldn't quite decipher. Then, he looked away again. "No, that's all. I should be going then, if he’s not around." Cyrus looked past her, trying to see if the man he’d been looking for was also home. He placed the document down on the small table next to his teacup.

He rose to leave, but Isabeau reached out, her touch sending a jolt through him. Her fingers brushed against his wrist, sending shivers down his spine.

"Mr. Cyrus," she murmured, her voice a low whisper, "sometimes, even the most reluctant demons need a taste of pleasure."

Cyrus's breath hitched. He stared at her, mesmerized by the glint in her emerald eyes, a predator sizing up its prey. In that moment, a strange, exhilarating mix of fear and desire surged through him. He knew, with a certainty that defied logic, that this encounter would change everything.

As her hand lingered on his arm, he could feel her distinctly cold grip growing more and more frigid by the second. But he didn’t flinch at it or try to pull away. Instead he continued to study the woman’s soft facial features. 

Isabeau could sense exactly who he was the moment he walked through her doorway. While a vampire had an icy energy about her, an incubus had the exact opposite. A warmth emanated from him that she could sense, although duller than some others of his kind she’d embraced previously.

#RP #isabeauxcyrus:1 #isabeau #cyrus #romance #roleplay #selfpara #story #open rp #closed rp

[tigerliillly]

What is hybrid cannabis?

I continue to find out about marijuana half and halves. What are they precisely?

Crossovers, or mixture strains, contain indica and sativa hereditary qualities. Indicas, known for their consequences for the body, and sativa, known for their impacts on the brain, can be consolidated to make a strain that gives physical and cerebral responses.

Crossovers fall into three classes: sativa prevailing, indica predominant, or 50-50. Sativa dominants might be inspiring, yet logical make less articulated actual impacts. Indica dominants ordinarily make actual impacts, similar to body unwinding, yet might be more invigorating than an indica. A 50-50 half breed has equivalent parts indica and sativa, and is adjusted and quieting.

A few well known mixture strains incorporate Blue Dream, Pineapple Express, and Wedding Cake.

Half breed pot strains are plants that have the consolidated attributes of Marijuana sativa and Pot indica plants, contingent upon its hereditary genealogy. Truth be told, most pot today is a kind of crossover set apart as either indica-or sativa-predominant, as opposed to unadulterated indica or sativa. This is on the grounds that "landrace strains," or unique marijuana strains that keep up with their local qualities, are difficult to find in the present cross-reproducing, worldwide market.

The present half breed pot plants might be tall with bushier leaves, short with dainty leaves, and have various one of a kind characteristics that make it clear they are a more current cultivar than a landrace strain.

How Could It is not quite the same as Indica or Sativa?

While we have been utilizing indica, sativa, and cross breed orders in the pot business for quite a while, we've come to understand that it's really not right. This is on the grounds that on a sub-atomic level, indica and sativa are all essential for the Marijuana sativa L. species. This implies we can't ascribe any impacts to indica or sativa, but instead, to the company impact that happens with all kinds of pot when they enter the human body. The company impact is the conviction that cannabinoids (not simply THC), terpenes, and flavonoids all work together to make a remarkable involvement with every one of us.

So what's the significance here for cross breed pot? It implies that it's truly not exactly not the same as indica or sativa. It is a blend of the two distinct strains and can have novel impacts from one individual to another.

What Is Sativa, Indica, and Half breed Weed?

Sativa is a kind of cannabis which has a high THC content and gives clients what is known as a "head high." all in all, it provides the mind with a surge of energy, prompting an animating impact. Along these lines, individuals will generally smoke this sort of maryjane to attempt to be useful. In any case, the transitory energy that one could feel right now does not merit the negative secondary effects that accompany it.

The Sativa strain fills in Africa, Focal America, Southeast Asia, and a few western pieces of Asia. Its actual qualities incorporate tall and slight leaves that look like fingers and their size — Sativa plants can develop to 12 feet tall.

Indica, then again, is utilized to unwind on the grounds that clients feel a "body high" while utilizing it. Nonetheless, the Indica strain likewise causes your appendages to feel weighty and makes you drowsy, which is the reason a many individuals use it prior to heading to sleep. Tragically, these purported pleasant aftereffects likewise show up with the negative secondary effects, including dry mouth, uneasiness, distrustfulness, discombobulating, and considerably more.

What Are the Secondary effects and Dangers Related with Utilizing Sativa, Indica, and Half breed Pot?

Albeit many individuals will more often than not make light of them, there are many aftereffects to utilizing Sativa, Indica, and cross breed weed. You might be utilizing it to alleviate one issue, yet in all actuality; you are simply exchanging it for another.

The absolute most normal symptoms of utilizing maryjane are:

Diminished circulatory strain

Expanded pulse

Dry eyes

Dry mouth

Suspicion

Torpidity

Tension

Disturbance in the lungs

This large number of side effects could deteriorate or join with other previous circumstances that might destroy the individual utilizing. Clients with asthma, for instance, may find that they have much harder time breathing if partaking in maryjane.

Individuals who experience the ill effects of nervousness may likewise encounter deteriorated tension impacts brought about by cannabis, in spite of the medication being promoted as a method for unwinding and ease pressure.

What Are the Optional impacts and Perils Related with Using Sativa, Indica, and Crossbreed Pot?

Yet numerous people will as a general rule downplay them, there are numerous eventual outcomes to using Sativa, Indica, and cross variety weed. You may be using it to lighten one issue, yet truth be told, you are essentially trading it for another.

Indisputably the most typical side effects of using hashish are:

Decreased circulatory strain

Extended beat

Dry eyes

Dry mouth

Doubt

Slowness

Pressure

Aggravation in the lungs

This huge number of incidental effects could break down or get together with other past conditions that could obliterate the individual using. Clients with asthma, for example, may find that they have a lot harder time breathing if participating in hashish.

People who experience the evil impacts of apprehension may moreover experience weakened strain influences achieved by marijuana, notwithstanding the medicine being advanced as a strategy for loosening up and ease pressure.

#cannabis hybrid #hybrid #hybrid strain

[volleychumps]

« Insecure S/O Reacting to a Confession 2

part 1 here 

format: scenarios

genre: fluff

- includes: Iwaizumi, Tendou, and Matsukawa

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

Iwaizumi Hajime

The sun wasn’t helping his flared cheeks in any way. 

“Stop interfering.” 

“Stop stalling then.” Oikawa grins, rubbing his best friend’s shoulders as if he were about to enter a boxing ring. The dark haired ace rubs his eyes in irritation with one hand, ignoring the flare against his cheeks as Iwaizumi attempts to shake his childhood friend off. The sight of you kneeled down in the school garden, hair pinned back away from your face as you tended to the flowers, made the heat surge through Iwa’s cheeks even more. 

“I’m not.” 

“Really? Because every day you approach her creepily from some distance, and then disappear. C’mooon, I already owe Hiro like fifteen bucks-” 

“You’re betting on this, shithead?”

“Nope.” The answer comes out a little too quickly as Oikawa dodges a second swat. “She’s so pretty I might have to approach her myself-” 

“Not another word.” Iwa grits out, Oikawa slightly smirking at the tick in his jaw and the way his onyx eyes harden. “I just...don’t wanna mess this up.” 

“There’s nothing to mess up until you confess. Ah, young love.” Oikawa sighs dreamily, Iwaizumi ignoring his dramatic friend’s swoon before making a decision. Today was the day. 

You wipe sweat from your forehead, attempting to ignore the beating sun down on your face as you tried to hurry the process a long, ensuring the flowers were getting just enough water. The touch of an icy can of tea against your cheek startles you, almost making you drop the watering pot before you hold a hand up against the bright sun rays, tilting your head in confusion at the broad-shouldered man in front of you. 

“Iwaizumi?” You smile in greeting as Iwaizumi shuffles his feet, breath catching in his throat at the sight. He was so screwed. 

You laugh a bit awkwardly, the cold touch of the can beginning to numb. “Um, is this for me?” 

“Yes.” He curses himself at how stern it comes out, but you gently take the can from his grasp, nodding in thanks. “I-I know you like this one.” 

“You do?” 

“No.” He didn’t want to sound creepy, yet somehow made it worse. 

“Oh.” 

Iwaizumi was ready to kick himself. He was hoping you would understand, the day you shyly maneuvered your way through Oikawa’s fanclub to get to him to offer him an ice cold drink was the reason he became so infatuated in the first place. 

“Well, thanks for the tea-” 

“I like you.” 

This time, you do drop the watering pot, eyes widening like a deer caught in the headlights as Iwa’s heart sinks at your reaction. 

“I get it, alright?” You mumble, sadness swimming in your stomach as Iwaizumi fought the need to dart off. “You’re the handsome volleyball ace all the girls want, and they put you up to ask me out as a joke again. It’s getting old.” 

Ah. 

Iwaizumi sighs, knowing that the other girls preyed on you for your beauty and soft heart, finding ways to hurt you in the most immature ways possible. 

“Oi.” His heart tightens at the look of sorrow on your face, making him click his tongue before reaching a hand out before he can stop himself, smudging his thumb along the streak of dirt on your cheek. You look up at him in a doe-like manner, and your wet eyes are enough to make the ace want to hurt anyone who ever made you feel this way. 

“I’m not kidding.” 

“Iwa-” 

“Hajime.” He cuts you off, hiding a smirk when he feels the heat rush to your cheeks. “You can call me Hajime. Only you.” 

“Hajime.” you try it out, clapping your hand over your mouth once in shyness as Iwaizumi smiles a genuine grin, elated when you shy away into his touch. 

“Then...please take care of me.” You manage, condensation running down to your other hand holding the can as Iwaizumi slips it out of your grasp, taking a heavy sip of it before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. 

“I finished this one. Can I take you to a cafe?” 

“I’d love that.” You slip your gardening gloves off, Iwa slipping his hand into yours casually as you trail behind him, smiling when his grip tightens ever so slightly.

Surprisingly, the sun suddenly didn’t feel too hot today. 

Tendou Satori

“Today’s the day fellas!” 

“Oh, is it?” Shirabu mocks his surprise. “It’s not like you put ‘ask y/n’ out in huge block letters on our team calendar or anything.” 

“Bingo!” Tendou points finger guns at his teammate as Semi shrugs at a disgruntled Shirabu. “I’m about to get myself a Miss Tendou Satori-” 

“That’s not how that works-” 

“Hush, Ushijima. Your logic won’t ruin my day today.” Tendou bounces on the balls of his feet, waiting for practice to let out as he tugs his last shoe on, his other teammates still in the process of changing. 

“Is she waiting for you?” Semi tugs his shirt overhead as Tendou hums happily in answer, Shirabu snarkily making a remark from the other side of the locker room. 

“She’s out of your league.” 

“I know she is! Which is why I’m going to treat her like the queen she is, since I myself am but a lowly peasant beneath her-” Tendou perks up at the time. “Gotta go, I’ll text you the outcome boys.” 

“Please don’t.”

“Tendou-senpai-” But the redhead had already darted through the door as Ushijima glances at his worried kouhai, tilting his head in question. 

“What, Goshiki?” 

“Isn’t Y/N L/N the one who had that mean prank pulled on her last year?”

You bit the inside of your cheek as you rocked on the balls of your feet, fidgeting with the ends of your skirt as you wait for the rambunctious redhead on the volleyball team. No way a cute guy like him was actually- 

“Did I make ya wait long?” A pair of sneakers appear in your view, making you lift your head as Tendou Satori casts you a wide grin, school shoes hanging in his other hand. You tilt your head, wondering if he rushed here.

“Did you need something from me, senpai?” You blink, swinging your legs lightly on the bench you were sitting on, fearing the worst. Tendou clears his throat, suddenly feeling the nervousness he had been outrunning catch up to him. He can’t mess this up. Ever since you had adorably asked him to reach something for you at the snack shop for the school, he hasn’t been able to get you off his mind. He made sure to wait around during the same time during lunch hour, your usual snack already in hand and plucked off the highest shelf. 

“Go out with me.” 

You flinch. There it was. 

His smile fades slowly with every beat of silence that soaks in the atmosphere between the two of you, and you swallow back a sob. 

“How much are they giving you to do this?” 

Tendou’s shoes hit the floor, his eyes blinking rapidly in confusion as you refuse to meet his questioning gaze. 

“What?” 

“I um, can help you if you want. Go out with you for a few days so they really believe-” 

“Hey, hey!” Tendou’s arms begin to flail around as he shakes his head no. “I mean it Y/N, you’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever met. I really wanna date you for real-” 

“You do?” 

Tendou’s chest felt heavier at the crack in your voice and insecurity swirling in your eyes, and he nods his head, kneeling in front of you carefully before asking to take your hands with his eyes. 

“I 100% do. You can strip me of my honor if I’m lying.” 

This makes you crack a smile, making Tendou breathe out a sigh of relief through his nose. He thumps his forehead against yours, making your eyes glint in a way they haven’t in awhile.

“Can this lowly senpai please take you out on a date this weekend?” 

“No, my lowly senpai cannot.” You say, turning your palms over so he can hold them properly. Tendou quirks an eyebrow, but he’s slightly smirking as you offer a shy smile. 

“But my boyfriend can.” 

Matsukawa Issei

“You’re staring again, ya creep.” 

“I think the term you’re looking for is skillful admiring-” 

“Just ask her out.” Hanamaki yawns, getting comfy on his best friend’s desk as Matsukawa leans into his palm, eyeing the way you pout when your friends steal your snacks. So cute. “What’s the worst she’s gonna do, say no?” 

“Yes.” Matsukawa sighs, hanging his head slightly as Hanamaki arches a brow, crossing his arms in pure amusement. 

“Wow, Matsukawa Issei hung up over a girl?” 

“Who the hell is hung up-” 

Hanamaki arches a brow when his friend visibly tenses up, looking over only to smirk when he sees another boy in class shyly offer up his pocky to you, you gladly accepting and smiling widely in thanks. Issei rests his head on the desk, stubbornly looking out the window as Hanamaki withholds a laugh over the hold you have over your classmate. 

“Oh just ask her out.” Hanamaki uncaps his drink. “You’re so into her dude, it’s making me sick.” 

Issei shifts in his seat. Maybe his adoration for you wouldn’t have begun if it hadn’t been for the way your much shorter legs pumped to catch up to his figure, who had pretty much reached his home.

“Matsukawa-san!” You had gasped for breath, the messy-haired boy guiltily slipping his headphones off at how tired you seemed. Before he could profusely apologize, you shoved his notes in his hand, bright hue to his cheeks at the act of kindness. 

“Um, you left this in the library!” you manage out, Matsukawa seeming to freeze in the moment. “I added some notes in there, I hope you don’t mind. It seemed kinda empty-” 

“You wrote notes for me?” He finds his voice again, cursing himself at that being the first thing that came out. 

“I was bored during free time anyways.” You scratched the back of your head before turning on your heel again. “Anyways, bye!”

And then you darted off again as Matsukawa Issei stayed still in his spot, wondering just why the hell his heart was beating at the pace it was going, colorful notes hanging from his grasp. 

“I’m gonna do it.” Hanamaki almost falls off the desk at Matsukawa’s revelation and the way he suddenly stood up. “I could kiss you right now, Makki.” 

“I’m praying to god, please don’t.” 

You lean against the shoe lockers, humming to yourself as you wonder just what your classmate would need from you, figuring he wanted to properly thank you for the notes. You would accept it and go, knowing that Matsukawa Issei was favored among the girls- 

“You’re here.” 

“This.” You smile softly, holding up a folded note between your fingers as Matsukawa shoves his hand in his slack pockets, suddenly feeling embarrassed. “This made it hard for me not to be, you know?” 

You eye him carefully, stomach sinking at the familiar situation in front of you. 

“You might have already guessed,” Issei breathes, trying to steady the pounding in his ears. “Or Makki might have already told you because he’s a shithead like that-” 

You tilt your head.

“-but I’ve got this killer crush on you. And if you could help me out, I would thoroughly appreciate it.” It comes out business-like, and you almost laugh if it hadn’t been for the weight in your throat. 

“Help you out how?” He doesn’t notice the crack in your voice as he pulls his sleeves up to his forearms, swallowing tightly. 

“I think a date would begin to ease the pain.” 

You really do laugh this time, but it’s not the kind of laugh of amusement. It’s forced, awkward, and makes Issei falter in his smile and movements. 

“Do they ever get bored?” 

All playfulness drains from the middle blocker’s face as his tone hardens. “What are you talking about?” 

“Sure, get the hot guy from the volleyball team to try and ask Y/N out, are you getting it on video?” 

“Y/N-” 

“I’ve gotta go.” you try to step away, eyes widening when he stops you with his much bigger frame. His lidded eyes widen at the tears prodding the corner of your eyes, carefully lifting a hand to swipe at them before looking at you seriously.

“You think I’m hot?” 

You can’t withhold the giggle that escpaes you, sniffling slightly as Matsukawa smiles gently, wrapping his arm around you to touch the small of your back. You yelp a little when you find yourself crushed against his chest, your upper back touching the lockers. 

“I don’t know what the hell happened to you in the past, but-” you look up at the handsome tall boy you had hand-written notes for, hoping your crush on him wasn’t too noticeable. “I can tell you right now that you’re really fuckin’ pretty, and I want to brag to my friends about how hot my girlfriend is-”

“Do you ever stop talking?” You cup his cheek in question as his grin widens. 

“Make me your boyfriend and I’ll show you.” He winks, and you raise both eyebrows in amusement before practically speaking against his lips. 

“I think we can arrange that.” 

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

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[spencersmagic]

a knife twists at the thought - SR

Prompt: a knife twists at the thought that i should fall short of the mark - Arctic Monkeys

Summary: Spencer is new to this, and the poor boy is terrified

Couple: Fem! Reader x Spencer Reid (i picture season 2/3 Spencer but y’all do you)

Category: angst

Word count: 3086 words

Warnings: general criminal minds stuff, mentions and descriptions of torture, descriptions of loss, HAPPY ENDING!!, my 3am writing, tooth rotting love, uhmm spoilers for Orwell’s 1984 (if anybody hasn’t read it), humiliation, Spencer crying and breaking my heart (lmk if you need anything warned or trigger tagged).

A/N This is very loosely based on 2x15 (VERY LOOSELY). I’m quite proud of this one :)

masterlist // 505 series taglist

*****

They say you never see it coming.

When a tragedy occurs, and someone’s life is turned upside down forever, they never see it coming. It just... hits them. Like an oncoming car ramming into a bystander who was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

No one has time to prepare. In our time-starved lives, there is no place for such a warning.

One day, you just wake up. And they’re not next to you. They’ve disappeared, leaving the stickiest, most unforgettable parts of themselves behind for others to grieve to: the smell of their shampoo in the pillows they used to share, the seconds just as you wake when you still feel like you have them - only to gain full consciousness and realise they left you behind - even the fucking jars, which never seem to be open because he’s just not there to do it.

And you feel your heart breaking all over again as your soul sticks to the parts that couldn’t be erased with the rest of him as he left. Because you needed him, you had him, and now he’s gone. No warning, no letter, no signs which could’ve helped you foresee such a tragedy, because how could he? He didn’t disappear on purpose.

She doesn’t understand why he's so absent. So unequivocally missing. And the person she would turn to to ask these riddled questions isn’t there to answer. Because he’s gone.

But they’re not there yet.

And she feels so close to that feeling - the helplessness, the pain, the empty cups next to her bed because he always carried them to the sink when she was finished with her tea the mornings of those rare days they got to sleep in. Those days when they had time. She can practically touch, with the tip of her fingertips, the waves of pain that would surge over her if he was gone for one more fucking minute.

She has to remind herself, over and over again, like a mantra. He’s not gone yet.

The “yet” at the end of her mantra just breaks her all over again.

She was always the one to tell Spencer “if you worry before something happens, in case it goes wrong, and then it does, you’ve managed to suffer twice through something painful for absolutely no reason”. It usually worked. Needless to say, she felt like a hypocrite right about now.

Because Spencer is gone. And she doesn’t know how to bring him back.

She knows only to watch the monitor, never once blinking, taking in everything that happened in that damned livestream - every word, every sound, every reference. She can only try to hear anything over the whimpers and sobs her love was letting out as he’s tortured by that man. She can only hear the cracks of his knuckles against Spencers soft skin, the same soft skin she had kissed mere hours ago before telling him to “be careful”. Her own way of saying the three little words the couple was too young to hear. She can only see his lips parting, sobs rumbling out of his body as the unsub abuses his frame over and over again - same lips which had kissed her forehead before telling her “i always am”.

Then again, she isn’t sure if its his voice which is filling her head with painful sounds or if her mind is playing tricks on her, memorising the horrifying vibrations coming from his chest for her to ever consider anything else. She hasn’t stopped hearing him since she turned on that damned computer.

She isn’t sure she’ll ever stop hearing it.

**

As a man of great intellect, Spencer always recurred to knowledge to understand difficult occurrences in his life. Burying himself in textbooks, novels, poems, and even music to understand pain, and himself having a life filled with it, he was an incredibly knowledgeable man.

He knew much. But right now, he only knew one thing.

In Orwells’ 1984, as Winston was being tortured (much like Spencer is right now), Orwell described the following:

“Never, for any reason on earth, could you wish for an increase of pain. Of pain you could only wish one thing: that it should stop. Nothing in the world was so bad as physical pain. In the face of pain there are no heroes, no heroes”.

And, as a man who had acquired most of his intellect by immersing himself in trivial content in the face of pain, he found himself doing the same thing as the unsub hurt him over and over again, each blow seemingly more painful than the last. As his skin bruised, a causality of his abusers torment, he analysed the seemingly logical quote.

It must depend on the person, he was sure. In fact, a number of factors must be taken into consideration at this statement. For starters, Winston lives in a society incapable of any human feelings. There is only dominance, and those who attempt, in vain, to challenge it. Surely, if he had felt happiness, like the one you feel when the first day of spring rolls around, or like the one that creeps up on you as you look into the eyes of your loved one, surely, he would understand that some things can outweigh pain.

Love.

If Spencer’s mind could make sense of what he was feeling right now, he would understand, something he would figure of were he to leave this damned place, that he was thankful to the Gods, were there any, for having the unsub kidnap him and not Y/N.

Winston hadn’t understood emotional pain because emotions weren’t dealt with regularly. They were discouraged. That’s why he believed that there are no heroes in the face of pain. Because he doesn’t understand emotional pain.

He knew he was suffering. He also knew that Y/N was at the other side of the blinking camera suffering more than he could ever imagine.

**

They say emotional pain lasts 12 minutes. Anything one feels after this would be the aftermath of the cause of the pain in question. Pure emotional pain, the one you practically feel in your chest, the one that says “i can’t think, feel or be. not until this feeling dissipates”.

She had learned this from Spencer.

And she wished it were true. As she watched that damned monitor, she wished that all the venom the unsub was spewing at Spencer, all the verbal abuse, was long forgotten. She wished he could only feel the physical pain. Because the mind is incredibly stronger than the body - it could keep him awake, alive, for just enough time for the team to rescue him.

The entire team had huddled around the monitor around her. She was painfully aware that other people were seeing this. Which meant it wasn’t her imagination. It wasn’t another one of those damned dreams she would have when she slept a little too far away from Spencer’s touch.

They had only been together for two months, but his touch was all that could get her to fall asleep.

She jolted as the unsub landed another slap on Spencer’s cheek, swiftly grabbing his hair for him to look into the camera. He had a cut above his right cheek, just where she would kiss him in the mornings, and bruises all over his neck, jaw and left eye.

“Say hi to your team!” he mocked Spencer, chuckling darkly as he moved his almost lifeless body around for the team to watch in horror. Spencer let out a heartbreaking sob, feeling so vulnerable.

“Why don’t we make this interesting?” he jumped, as if he had gotten an idea. The unsub reached behind himself to grab a pistol, clicking off the magazine safety to put one bullet in one of the eight slots, leaving the other seven free. He pointed it at Spencer’s temple.

Her entire body shook the thought of seeing Spencer’s lifeless body, held up only by the ropes and that sick man’s grip around his curls. The same curls she grabbed as she kissed his face when she wanted his attention.

“I’m going to ask you some questions...” he said, voice dripping with sickening sweetness as he turned the roulette, “and if i don’t like your answer i’ll pull the trigger! Let God decide what I do with you. Sounds good?”. He wanted to humiliate Spencer.

However, Spencer made the mistake of not answering him. He was quickly reminded as the barrel of the gun pointed right between his eyes, pulling the trigger, a loud bang! sound expanding through the barn.

“I asked you a question!” he suddenly yelled into Spencer’s face.

“Y-yes, Sir” he whimpered, shaking at the ease at which the man pulled the trigger.

“Good, you’re learning”.

**

She experienced it by bits. Hotch’s hoarse voice. “Talk to me Garcia”. “We’ve got coordinates”. Everybody rushing to the SUVs. Tripping over her own feet on the way to the car. Morgan’s voice. The iPad, which still carried Spencer’s whimpers and the man mocking tone.

“I’ve got your diary, Spence” his sing-song voice didn’t match the disgusting man she was looking at. Nothing made sense.

“And I wanna know why...” he drew out the ‘y’ as he looked for something between the worn pages between his hands.

Of course she knew Spencer owned a diary. But she was mature enough to keep her hands to herself and her eyes on her own pages as he wrote on his, eyebrows creasing as he recalled all which he had experienced during the day. His face would twitch slightly at the memories, both good and bad, as he basically described his day word by word.

“...why did you wait until you were 24 to lose your virginity?” he asked in a clear attempt to humiliate and ridicule Spencer in front of his team.

“I-I didn't-” he could barely finish a word before a sob wrecking through his body at the humiliation, chest rumbling and voice wavering. “I didn’t want to lose it before, i w-wasn’t in a hurry” he rushed out. The man brought the pistol to his own chin, tapping it as he thought. “Hmm... I’m satisfied with your answer. Let’s dig deeper, shall we?” he asked as he went back into the pages.

“ooh! This one is new” that sick bastard was having fun with this, completely unaware that the team was less than 5 minutes away from their location.

“Care to read what you wrote three days ago? Right here” he turned the pages so Spencer could read them, though he was painfully aware of that entry he was talking about. His body shook violently. “P-please. D-don’t ma-make me do t-this” he whimpered, body feeling defeated.

“Wrong answer” the unsub said before pointing a gun at him and pulling the trigger.

A shriek was heard from the iPad. The SUV went silent.

“He’s alive” she whispered, unable to speak up. “He-” she swallowed. “He’s alive. We’re not there, yet” her mantra became a reminder that she hadn’t been quick enough to help him. She had the tools to save him. Every second she had the knowledge to save him and didn’t was another second she remained impotent at the risk of losing the love of her life.

Spencer’s voice spoke from the iPad.

“C-can you at-at leas-st turn off t-the ca-amera?” he said between sobs.

And it hit her.

What hurt him the most wasn’t the memories he had to relieve, but the fact that the rest of the team would have to hear his most intimate thoughts. His deepest secrets.

He could bare the pain. The humiliation? That broke him.

“Aww” the unsub chuckled mockingly, “are you embarrassed?” he said, slouching down to look into his eyes. “Well too fucking bad!” he screamed into his face, spitting with every word he spewed at him. Spencer’s sobs got louder.

“O-okay okay!” Spencer caved, accepting the journal that got shoved into his face.

“Read, pretty boy” the unsub sang. That son of a bitch was having fun.

“We’re two minutes away, Y/N” Hotch said. Maybe it was he sobs, which were barely audible to herself, having accepted them as second nature after all the heartbreak she was experiencing, but Hotch needed her to be okay.

His own heart thumped into his chest, feeling as helpless as he’d ever felt. Seeing a member of his team - someone he was supposed to take care of, someone he was supposed to keep safe - was sobbing as he was physically and emotionally tortured. But he was painfully aware of the feelings Y/N was experiencing. The sheer fear that was running down her veins at the idea of them running out of time.

After a few sobs, Spencer started reading, interrupting himself occasionally with his whimpers:

“It’s been three months. Today, three months, seven hours and forty-six minutes ago, she did what I didn’t have the courage to do. She asked me out. “I’ve been wanting to ask you pretty much since the day i met you” she had said. Those words keep ringing in my head like a beautifully written symphony, intrinsically designed to make me face my deepest fears. Opening my scars one by one, dissecting them and reaching the simple conclusion that i was a coward.

She didn’t say it, but what she meant was “i’ve been waiting for you to do it, but you never did, so i had to”. We wasted time - a time so precious and sacred - because i was a coward.

I’ve never felt like this before. I never understood a love so deep as to move something so stubborn as the human spirit. I’ve read textbook after textbook, and novel after novel, and still I’ve never learned more than with her. But I was a coward. And i wasted her time. I fear that I still am.

A knife twists at the thought that i should fall short of the mark. It’s impossible for me to ever be enough for her”.

Her heart broke at this confession. Even worse at the thought that he wouldn’t’ve told her, instead inhaling fear and exhaling rejection at every breath he took next to her.

“We’re here” she heard Hotch, looking at her. She grabbed a bottle of water and dropped the iPad, not hearing the teams objections at the lack of vest and preparation and ran into the barn.

She isn’t sure if she’ll ever stop hearing his whimpers. As she runs closer, she hears them louder and louder, decorated with sobs and cries, and small, meaningless replies to his abusers’ mocking words.

She kicked the door down, the loud bang booming across the room, only helping in raising Spencer’s sobs as he feared the sound had been the result of a certain trigger being pulled. As she looks at him, she realises just how much pain he’s been put through.

She remembers Orwells words, much like how Spencer had remembered them mere hours ago. And disagrees, wishing over and over, praying to the Gods that she would be the victim of such atrocious abuse. She wished she could take his pain. Morgan joined her at her side mere seconds later, yelling. “FBI! Put the gun down!”.

Spencer used the last bit of energy to lunge forward, hitting the unsubs stomach with his head, successfully getting him on the floor for Morgan to apprehend. Y/N rushed to Spencer’s side, untying him, as his now nonexistent sobs grew louder and louder, not only at the prospect of getting out of that horrible place alive, but also at the knowledge that Y/N had heard what he had so dreadfully recited.

Spencer collapsed into her arms, crying into her in the same way she was crying into him, and she wondered just how to take away all his pain. So they cried into each other, desperately grasping each others hair, skin, clothes, anything that would make them feel like they wouldn’t have to spend another damned second without the company of each other.

Spencer was the first to break the silence.

“I need-” he stopped, coughing. She reached for the bottle of water she had brought with her because she knew he would need it. She always knew what he needed.

He chugged it desperately, stray drops falling down his chin at his eagerness. He took a deep breath trying to steady his lungs.

“I need to get out of here” he choked out.

She grabbed him under the shoulders, careful not to hurt him - not being successful, realising that there wasn’t much of him the man hadn’t hurt. Y/N pulled him out, sitting down on the grass with him. Their legs intertwined, pulling each other impossibly closer. They kissed, over and over again. Not as an act of any sexual relevance, but as a reminder that they had each other in any way, shape or form. That they weren’t out of time.

The team was certain they would stay there, never letting each other go for another minute.

After what felt like seconds in their time-starved little world, she broke the silence, which had only been filled with their own cries and occasional sobs.

“Spence” she grabbed his chin to look into his eyes. They were dull, red and hooded. He was exhausted. “Mhmm?” he let out, looking into hers. She was his solace.

“How could you ever think you were anything but completely and unequivocally enough?” she whispered the words he dreaded.

But as Spencer looked into her eyes he knew, better than he had ever known anything, that he was enough. And she was enough. He realised that which she had known for the past three months (possibly longer). They fit like two marvellous puzzle pieces.

Her hands grabbed his cheeks slowly, as to not hurt or startle him, pulling his forehead into hers. “Baby, I can’t imagine anybody else waking up to me every morning. You’re so much more than enough”, she planted a small kiss on his forehead before resuming her position. “I’ll remind you every day of the rest of my life if that’s what it takes for you to believe it”.

And with their eyes closed, foreheads and noses pressed together and legs tangled between each other, pulling each other close, closer - around grass and voices and his abuser pressed into the hood of a police car, they only felt each other. With their shaky breaths, even shakier voices, fearing any words that would leave them in case they triggered a cascade of tears down their oh so vulnerable cheeks, they were more than enough.

***

I hope y’all liked it!! Feel free to let me know by liking, reblogging, or sending me a message :) 

super cool kid taglist: @lady-anon-x​ @spencerreid-mgg​​ @eoupe​ @inlovewithbabygirl​ @galaxydefenderjulia​ @username2002​

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[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

49%

Title: 49% 

Summary: If there’s one thing that Spencer hates more than rejection, it’s spontaneity. But sometimes the things (and people) we love outweigh the things that we hate.  AKA a series of events leading up to a weekend wedding between the BAU’s finest Dr. Spencer Reid and his partner in crime, Y/N. 

Word Count: 1365 

Warnings: none 

Author’s Note: I hope that you enjoy reading this! I really appreciate all of the support and kind words :) 

49%

Spencer Reid is terrified. Nothing could compare for the pure fear that courses through his veins in this moment. Not even the times he’d run into hostage situations without wearing a Kevlar vest or even in the most lonely parts of his life. He figures that he’s terrified because he has so much to lose. Never in his life did he have someone that loves him as much as Y/N does. And that terrifies him. Somehow, when Spencer is with Y/N he’s simultaneously a man numb with love and a little boy shaking with fear. He knows that he should have gotten over this fear of rejection years ago. He knows that Y/N would never intentionally hurt him. He knows that she loves him more than anything. 

So why? Why is he so terrified to ask her to marry him? Logically, there’s no reason for her to say no. They’ve been together for 3 years, which is long enough at their age to enter into an engagement. It’s not like she doesn’t want to get married; he’s seen her Pinterest wedding moodboard. She talks about their children, almost like they're already here. She wants to get married and she wants to have kids, but the question that bounces around in Spencer’s mind is does she want that with him? 

“Next!” the barista calls Spencer forward to the counter to order. 

“Hi, I’ll have an extra large black coffee with 6 Splendas, and uh, a large iced green tea with honey,” Spencer orders, pulling out his credit card to pay for the drinks. Coffee is probably not the wisest choice, but what can Spencer say the heart wants what the heart wants. 

Spencer awkwardly waits for his drinks, trying to ignore the small box that burns a whole in his pocket. He’d bought the ring a couple of months ago, right after a case that both of them almost didn’t come home, or worse almost came home in a casket. 

“Two drinks for Spencer!” a barista from behind the counter calls, telling him that his drinks are ready. Spencer takes a sip of his coffee, the sweet liquid burning his tongue. Taking a look at the time on his watch, Spencer decides that it’s time to head to the park. 

It’s a short walk to the park, but it seems like it’s the longest walk of his life. Maybe if he wasn’t so nervous or terrified, he'd be able to enjoy how beautiful was. Spencer might be a complete ball of nerves, but he’s a romantic at heart. He wants this to be a perfect start to their perfect life. He finds the park bench that he told Y/N to meet him at. He sits there, waiting for her to show up and waiting for their life to start. 

Spencer’s leg bounces up and down. He should have worn a different pair of shoes. These Converse are so old and ratty, he thinks. He thinks he looks ridiculous in his cardigan and corduroy pants, what was he thinking? He can’t actually expect that she’s going to yes to him. 

While his thoughts are occupied by the constant inner commentary of rejection and ridicule, he fails to her the leaves crunch behind him. His vision goes black when his eyes are covered by a pair of familiar feeling hands. Y/N’s laugh gives it away instantly, but Spencer’s constant vigilance does cause him to yelp in a high pitched squeal. 

“Spencer! It’s me honey,” Y/N says, wrapping her arms around his neck and peppering his cheek with quick kisses. It’s the kind of kisses that say “I’m happy to see you” and “You’re the only one I want to see”. It’s at times like these that he doubts his doubts; maybe he can have faith and hope and lean into the romantic side of himself. The side of himself that sees them walking in the park with a baby stroller, playing on the playset with their children, teaching their kids how to drive in the parking lot and sitting on this bench when their backs hurt all the time and their faces have a few more wrinkles.

“I’d know that laugh anywhere, Y/N” Spencer says, watching her move to sit next to him on the bench. 

“Ohh, thanks for the iced tea!” She says, taking a sip of the cold drink. Even though it’s barely winter, Spencer still can’t believe that she can drink iced beverages in any kind of weather below 50 degrees. He nods and kisses her on her cheek, which causes a small giggle to emerge. Spencer is still kind of surprised that his affections can elicit such happy responses from her. 

“So,” Y/N starts. “Why did you leave our house at 7:00 AM and text me to meet you here?” 

“Umm,��� Spencer says, the nerves bubbling to the surface. You can do this, Spencer, he thinks. You can do this, she’s not going to say no. She can’t say no. At this moment, Spencer is really wishing he had his passport with him and a getaway car to jump in, just in case Y/N says no.

“Did you know that only 3% of weddings happen in a courthouse?” Y/N asks at a completely stunned Spencer. 

“Yeah,” Spencer says timidly, not entirely sure where this is panning out, but grateful to listen to his girlfriend. It beats the alternative, him saying something stupid and her laughing at him; him fleeing the state and ending up a magician in a Las Vegas casino. 

“Yes, courthouse weddings are a great alternative, they’re affordable and efficient for couples who just want to get married without all that fuss,” Y/N adds, looking at Spencer. 

She’s profiling you, Spencer thinks. Don’t make eye contact. He knows (and she knows) that the moment he looks into her eyes, he’s done for. Las Vegas here he comes….

“And 51% of marriages end in divorce,” Spencer tells her, before he can even think about what he’s saying. Great he thinks, the day that he’s supposed to propose to her, he’s talking about divorce statistics. 

“You know that I failed statistics in college, Spence?” Y/N asks him. 

“I think I remember you mentioning that,” Spencer says, now thoroughly confused as to where this is going. 

“I have an evil plan to seek revenge against statistics, so I think that it’s my life mission to prove them wrong,” Y/N finishes, pulling something out from her bag. 

Spencer can feel his heart beating in his chest. He’s even more terrified than he was before. Suddenly all those songs that Y/N made him dance to late in the middle of the night make complete sense. 

“But, I also think that it’s my life mission to spend the rest of my life with you, Spence. So, I know that it’s not alway the case for the girl to propose marriage, but I think that you deserve someone to propose to you,” Y/N says, very quickly. 

Spencer sits there on the bench with Y/N sitting right next to him, utterly speechless. Did she just….

“You want to marry me?” Spencer says, dumbly. 

“Of course I do, Spencer! Give me your hand, I got you an engagement ring and-”

Spencer, suddenly fearless, cups her face in his hands, effectively making her quiet. He works on the surge of confidence, leaning in and kisses Y/N on the lips. It’s like he’s kissing her for the first time in his life. It’s like his first kiss ever, but it’s the first kiss of all the kisses of the rest of their life. 

“So I’ll take that as a yes,” Y/N says, breaking apart from Spencer. 

Spencer lets out a laugh, completely forgetting why on Earth he was so scared to propose. 

“So you’re not the only one who had this idea, Y/N” Spencer tells her, reaching into his cardigan pocket. He hands her the velvet box and reveals the vintage ring that he picked out from the second hand jewelry store. 

“Spencer? Is this why you told me to come here? Oh God, I ruined your proposal!” Y/N says, embarrassed that she messed with Spencer’s plans, knowing how nervous he can get. 

“On the contrary Y/N, I’m sure that this is the best possible proposal,” Spencer tells her, as she lays her head against his shoulder. 

“Spencer,” Y/N says, suddenly serious. 

“Yes, fiance?” Spencer teases. 

“How would you like to be in the 3% of marriages? Like as soon as possible. Like tomorrow? I don’t think I can wait another second not being married to you,” she confesses. 

“As long as we’re in the 49%, I’ll do anything you want.” 

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x reader fluff #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid deserved a happy ending #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds self insert #criminal minds #spencer reid x y/n fluff #spencer reid gets a happy ending #mgg

[kellinrk800]

my thoughts on episode 11 of wonder egg priority

tw// neglect, possible abuse, murder, human experimentation

holy SHIT is there a lot to unpack.

first of all, everyone except ai and neiru have now experienced the truth of what happens when you complete the total amount of people to save. at the end of episode ten we saw momoe’s breakdown and panic’s death and at the beginning today’s episode we saw rika find out and mannen’s death. (i previously wrote that neiru and pinky had experienced it but after someone kindly let me know after a rewatch that it was in fact momoe, not neiru. sorry for the error)

however, ai is now the only one who knows about frill and what happened to her. speaking of, there are a RIDICULOUS amount of parallels between the two. i’ll be reblogging some posts that explain it a lot better than i ever could right after i post this.

what i really want to focus on is frill. despite her fairly questionable and downright evil actions, i can’t help but feel a shred of pity for her.

born out of quite literal boredom and under strict surveillance, she was almost destined to be unloved. she was not made to be a human, but simply something for acca and ura acca to love. in the way you might buy a doll for a small child. their mistake was adding such severe jealousy and stubbornness to something they had created to be perfection.

stuck at the age of 14 permanently, it’s no surprise her mental state was damaged. imagine the jealousy, the intense emotions, everything you go through at that age.

she is at least somewhat aware that she is artificial intelligence considering how open those who are around her seem to be about it. however, she does not seem to be keen on accepting it or believing it. after all, she is not programmed to. she is programmed to sense things in the way a human would. and that opens a whole world of other doors about how anyone could be an ai and not know it but i doubt wonder egg priority would get that meta this close to the end.

time to tie up all these loose ends. around midway through the episode we are introduced to a love interest (who i have forgotten the name of, apologies) who causes a split in acca and ura acca’s relationship (marriage), and she soon becomes pregnant with a child. a human child.

frill was programmed to be able to understand her parents in the way a daughter would. she begins to taunt ura acca about his husband cheating on him with the woman he loves and once she finally finds out that the baby is a girl, she decides to kill the mother.

the motivation behind frill’s mental deterioration is slowly becoming clearer and clearer. i strongly suspect that she felt she was being replaced with a human child and realised the inherent inferiority she was going to have once the child was born, and became overcome with jealousy. not only would she now have to take on the role to be a big sister (which she was not programmed to accept or do. she was programmed to be stubborn and jealous in the way a 14 year old girl would be) but she would lose the ability she had to be perceived as a human daughter by the parents who raised her.

imagine being created for the sole purpose of being the perfect daughter for somebody to love, and then being replaced. i am by no means excusing murder, but it’s hard not to see her motivation.

as punishment and as relief of acca’s grief, frill was then locked away with nothing but her ai machinery for anywhere between 12 and 15 years*.

enter himari, the child that survived despite frill’s attempt at murder of both mother and child. she is described as having “saved” ura acca and acca from their state after the mother’s murder and the abandonment of their artificial daughter. when we see her able to talk, she is shown asking ura acca to marry her once she is older to make up for the pain of the loss of her mother. she is stated as being in junior high at the time (*my timespan reasoning for the time frill was locked away). while this scene made me greatly uncomfortable, it might be to show frill’s impact and influence on himari. if they had come into contact, frill would arguably do anything in her power to gain back control of her parents.

perhaps himari asked this purposefully to anger frill, which is supported further by the fact himari was found dead (cause of death suicide) the night later.

suicide. what’s the entire theme OF the eggs? i don’t know about you but i can hear lightbulbs beginning to flicker.

ura acca and acca began research into girls suicides at that age, and found a steady surge around the same time as himari’s death.

acca and ura acca are trying to bring back himari, possibly their wife, and maybe, maybe just maybe frill as well. i think that is the real purpose of the wonder egg project.

we also finally have our answer as to why girls and boys suicides are different with wonder eggs! acca and ura acca are indeed sexists, just not about suicide.

i’ll let you do the rest of the theorising.

now for the loose ends that i don’t think can be tied up.

why are hyphen and dot named after punctuation? is their goal to bring frill back to life?

what was neiru’s family’s involvement in the wonder eggs? in fact, where is neiru?

is frill alive or dead? is there even a way to distinguish with someone in her state?

what happened to acca and ura acca to make them.. well, to make them like that? last i checked, turning into mannequins isn’t a symptom of grief. are they even alive?

MOMOE. WHERE THE FUCK IS MOMOE. GIVE ME MOMOE OR GIVE ME DEATH.

there are a shit ton of new, unspecified entities we’re learning about. what actually are hyphen and dot? are they AIs like frill? perhaps not fully formed? and thanatos and eros?

where do the girls go once they’ve been freed? is “freed” even the right term?

what did mr sawaki say to ai about koito? why did koito die? is mr sawaki going to have a bigger role than a consistently fucking annoying red herring after all?

rika’s father? why have that as a big factor in an episode conflict if it’s never going to be addressed again?

the sketchy lesbian representation compared to the consistent positive trans ftm and gay representation? why have the only canonically wlw character be a product of a harmful stereotype after treating everything else so respectfully?

and most importantly, how the FUCK is this going to get cleared up in one episode?

i don’t even think that’s possible. if it is, i’m really disappointed. after consistent excellent pacing, writing, storytelling, and everything else, cramming everything into the last couple of episodes is just cheap and annoying. if i wanted to drone on for an entire series before an explosion of poor plot points for shock factor, i’d just go watch the second season of the promised neverland (/hj).

the only somewhat reasonable explanation would be a second season, but it is a terrible media decision and i can’t imagine much, if any, good coming from it.

in conclusion, what the fuck. how the hell is this going to salvage itself in one episode?

also i wrote this entire thing while on my sleep meds. if there’s logical, grammatical, spelling or just general errors i apologise and i’ll fix them when i’m not half conscious.

#wonder egg priority #how the fuck are they going to salvage this #wonder egg priority spoilers #wep project #wep #i really don’t know how to feel about frill #wep frill #a moment of silence for mannen and panic

[anonymousfiction211]

Handcuffed together: 10 Leave

You sat on the bed and watched Loki devour his pancakes. He looked awful, but you didn’t comment on it. He hadn’t said anything to you, yet. You didn’t know how to start a conversation at this point, so you stayed quiet. After a few moments Loki was done with his pancakes. He took the tray and sat it on the stand besides his desk. ‘How are you doing?’ he asked.

‘I’m fine, worried about you. How are you?’ you answered.

‘I’m okay, does your throat still hurt?’ he asked.

You shook your head, it was a lie. Your throat still hurt, but you didn’t want to make him feel worse about the whole situation. As soon as you shook your head Loki looked angry at you. He moved closer to you. He slowly moved his hands towards your throat, like you would approach a scared animal. You saw the scared look in his eyes. Scared that you would flinch, scared that you would be scared of him. You didn’t, as long as his eyes were green, you trusted him. A green glow emitted from his hands and the pain in your throat subsided.

‘How is that?’ he asked.

‘Better’ you answered.

‘Why did you leave last night? And what have you been doing all day?’ you wondered.

‘I needed to be alone, to think. I searched all night for a spell to protect my mind, but wasn’t successful..’ ‘I’m sorry’ his voice croaked.

‘You don’t need to apologize. It’s not your fault’ you argued.

‘I- let’s not get into it.. did Thor sleep in your room last night?’ he said.

‘Yeah he did, a bit weird but it was sweet’ you answered.

Loki looked relieved that you weren’t alone last night. You saw him supress a yawn, he really must be tired. You laid back on the bed with your back against the headboard. You grabbed his arm and felt him stiffen. For a moment the two of you didn’t move. He looked in your eyes, searching for something. You didn’t know for what. When you tugged on his arm he moved closer to you. You pulled his head on your chest and started to stroke his hair. After a while he relaxed and put his arms around you.

‘I think you should leave’ he finally said.

‘What?’ you were shocked.

‘You should leave. Take Thor with you, Natasha or maybe even Steve’ he said.

‘I’m not leaving you’ you said without hesitation.

‘You should’ he said.

‘I shouldn’t’ you were doing your best not to get angry at him right now. ‘Why do you want me to leave?’

‘The further away you are from me, the safer’ he said.

‘If you really believed that, you would have been gone by now’ you argued.

‘Maybe I tried’ he said softly. He looked up at you, for a moment the both of you were completely silent. You wondered if he was lying or if he really tried to leave last night. And if he did, why he hadn’t. Before you could answer these questions he moved closer and kissed you. The kiss was slow, but deep. He didn’t stop kissing you and crawled on top of you. He broke the kiss to undress you completely. He maintained intense eye contact the entire time, like he was waiting for you to protest against his actions. When you were naked underneath him he undressed himself slowly. You wondered why he didn’t magic the clothes away, he did it most of the time.

‘Because I’m low on magic’ he suddenly said.

‘Wha- are you in my mind?’ you asked.

He kissed you again and hummed yes in response. That’s when you felt him. You felt him in your mind. It wasn’t painful, you didn’t hear him, it felt weird. You wanted him to kiss you more passionately and tell him to get out of your mind. That’s when he did kiss you more passionately. No way you heard his voice in your head. You slapped him against his chest, but he didn’t react. He kept kissing you and it was becoming harder to concentrate. He was making every move you wanted him to. When you wanted his hands on your breast he did, the moment after it popped in your head. He slowly kissed you down your neck, towards your breasts. At this point you could tell him to get out of your head, but you didn’t want to anymore.

He slowly circled your nipple with his tongue, while pinching the other. The only sounds that left your mouth were moans and his name. You wanted to feel his tongue on your clit. He kissed downwards and you spread your legs for him. Without any teasing you felt his warm tongue circling your clit. You felt your orgasm build up, but felt empty inside. Two of his fingers entered you and immediately started to stroke your g-spot. It didn’t take long, before you came hard. It was intense to have Loki act on everything you thought. He retracted his fingers and replaced them quickly with his hardened cock. He was thrusting in and out of you in a quick but still intimate speed. He laid his forehead against yours and started into your eyes. Your hands went to his hair and you pulled him in for a kiss.

You hooked your legs around his waist, so he could go deeper. His pace quickened when you wanted to. He didn’t stop kissing you. You were running out of air but you didn’t want him to stop. He was now slamming into you, hitting the exact right spot. You felt like passing out, but urged him in your head to go on. When your walls clenched around his cock you felt his seed spill inside of you. He then broke the kiss you moan your name aloud. After a few more thrust he pulled out and laid down beside you. He was completely out of breath, and so were you.

You hugged closer against him and he held you tightly in his arms. You wanted to ask if he was okay, but when you looked up you saw him sound asleep. You thought it was better to let him sleep. When you had wriggled out of his arms you went to the bedroom to clean yourself up. Then you joined Loki in the bed, where he unconsciously grabbed you and pulled you close. He mumbled something incoherent in his sleep, you couldn’t understand it. You listened to his heart rate and to the soft breathing. The rhythm made you feel sleepy and it didn’t take long before you closed your eyes and drifted away.

Startled by loud knocking on the door you jumped out of the bed. You were completely dressed and noticed that Loki sat on the bed.

‘Just give me a minute’ he said to whomever was knocking on the door.

‘Loki?’ you asked. ‘What’s happening?’

You sat down beside him. He looked better and more rested now, but you didn’t like the look on his face. He looked sad, it broke your heart.

‘Love, I know you will be mad. Just remember to keep training and I will see you very soon’ he started.

‘What?’ you asked, confused. Was he really leaving?

He put his fingers and either temple. ‘Forgive me, and know that I love you’ he said. A green glow emitted from his fingers and everything went black.

You woke up in a room you didn’t recognize. You laid on a comfortable bed. Scanning the room, you didn’t see anyone. You were on your guard. Leaving the bed, you walked towards the door and slowly opened it. The door led you to a living room. The tv was on and you heard someone in the kitchen. You slowly stalked around the couch and peeked inside. That’s when you saw Thor. The moment he saw you the smile on his face faltered.

‘Relax sister, this is just temporary’ he began.

‘What? Where is Loki? How? Take me back!’ you yelled at him.

‘Loki is safe at Stark Tower. They are going to come up with a plan. Tony is going to up his security system, so Thanos’ minions can’t get in. After he is finished you have my word, I’ll take you back’ he said.

‘TAKE. ME. BACK. NOW!’ you yelled, ignoring all his reasons.

‘This was the only way Loki agreed to stay’ he said.

That’s when you realised that Loki was the one to knock you out. Many emotions surged through you. You were angry, sad, hated him, missed him, wanted to hug him, punch him. You didn’t really know how to feel at this point. In your head you knew that this plan was logical, but it didn’t feel right to be away from Loki.

‘At least tell me where we are’ you said.

‘I’m under clear instructions not to. In case you escape and go back. You are stuck here with me and I will continue your combat training’ he said. ‘Don’t worry. After training we will have lots of fun. There are movies and board games. And I’m sure Tony will have the system updated in now time’ Thor smiled brightly at you.

You weren’t as happy as Thor was at the moment. You were just hoping that he was right.

Tags: @delightfulheartdream @the-best-phineas @theaudacitytowrite @pescadoavocado @l0nelyasian @mrsdarcyinlovewithbuckybarnes @ragweed98 @oh-my-gerd @morganmofresh​ @saiyanstars​ @thehornytitties​

#loki #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #loki of asgard #loki marvel #loki mcu #loki god of mischief #loki god of lies #loki x y/n #loki x reader #loki x you #loki x ofc #loki x original female character #loki smut #loki story #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #marvel x reader #marvel x you #mcu x reader #mcu x you #loki fanfic #loki fanfiction #loki fic #loki fluff

[maddiewritesstucky]

Snare Me His Shadow

Pairing: Steve/Bucky

Rating: Explicit 18+

Words: 4.5k

Tags: Primal Play, Prey/Predator Kink, Fighting As Foreplay, Rough Sex, Biting, Choking, Dom/Sub Undertones, Come Swapping, Anal Sex, Overstimulation, Fucking Outdoors, Storm Sex, Poetry As An Aphrodisiac, R18 Hide And Seek

So a million years ago, @howdoyousleep3 passed on an ask from her inbox that read:

[I dont know if you’re familiar with primal play, but it’s so fucking hot. Yeah, I know, Steve is all muscle and ability, he’s strong he’s fast, he’s smart, he is not prey. Usually. But Bucky - the winter soldier - is a hunter. The best, in fact. He loves a good hunt]

...This one possessed me. Please heed the tags, this is an entirely consensual and agreed-upon game between Steve and Bucky, but it is very much a hunter/prey type situation 😈

It’s electric, like this.

Barefoot on the damp earth, navigating by muscle memory more than sight, because darkness settles that much denser beneath the tree canopy.

Steve could move faster, could take this barely-worn path through the woods behind the compound at a sprint. But fast is loud. 

Fast is leaves cracking and branches splintering, and the muted thud of footfalls on the forest floor. It’s eyes fixed only ahead so you don’t stumble, and nothing but the sound of your own exhales in your ears.

‘Fast’ gets you caught. 

The in-rolling storm crackles humid in the air, sparking against Steve’s skin as he weaves through the underbrush. He throws his every sense outwards, searching and sifting through those faint currents of movement around him, those quiet signs of life. But it’s all life out here; birds and insects and creatures who can’t bear the light, all just playing the same game he is, and every last one of them pricks at his awareness. 

Every last one of them kicks at his pulse and drip-feeds new adrenaline into his bloodstream, because experience echoes a warning way down in his cells - the apex predator comes silent as a spider. 

There’s so many eyes on him, the weight of being watched pressing down on him from all sides. He digs the heel of his hand into his arousal and pulls in a lungful of air on the cusp of rain; feels himself splintering between his warring desires to put up a worthy chase, and to drop down belly-up in the dirt.

It’s a choice that will be made for him, eventually. 

He might be strength, and speed, and strategy. But out here, he is prey. 

Out here, in these weeping woods that stretch endless into the night, Steve is achingly, exquisitely outmatched by the hunter who lies in wait; biding his time, unseen, and slipping ever closer. 

Dressed in black from head to toe, or skin bared to the shivering pulses of the forest; empty handed, or palms laden with the urge to grab and pin and possess…

The Winter Soldier is out there, and Steve’s blood runs so much hotter for the knowledge that he won’t see or hear or feel him coming until it’s too late. 

He winds his way amongst the weathered trunks, hugging the shadows and pawing at the lines of his own body; stroking his thighs and pulling at his nipples, raking fingernails over the bare skin of his stomach. It’s rough and absent and frantic all at once, a weak precursor to what he’s evading.

The dissonance of it is dizzying, hiding from the thing he wants most. He wants to cry out, to make for the clearing in the middle of the woods and sprawl shameless in the open until he’s found, but he knows the rules - run, hide, don’t make it easy.

Pursuit is the purpose, and capture is a pleasure that must be earned, no matter how raw his skin is screaming for touch. And it is screaming - he’s a copper wire stripped bare, and he shivers for every stinging snap of branch and damp drag of leaf against his body as he picks his way through the darkness. 

Hard limits apply, he’d told Bucky, the rest is up to you. 

He shudders for it now, those words and the way Bucky’s eyes had darkened for them; the way he’d leaned in to kiss his sugar-laced threat right onto Steve’s waiting lips - I will find you.

It’s only a matter of time. The forest is vast, and countless months have passed since they last played this game, but Bucky is a blade that never dulls. 

Bucky is razor-sharp, in wit, beauty, and battle; made up of midnight and silent strides when he so chooses, and he will find Steve. 

He might have had eyes on Steve this entire time; ten soundless steps behind, watching Steve’s slow descent into desperation with a smile on his face, and the mere possibility has Steve’s cock weeping through the thin fabric of his shorts. 

His fingertips dip beneath his waistband and sweep through the wetness beading at his tip; stroke that sensitive spot just beneath the head. His palm slips to press at the heavy throb in his balls and it makes his breath catch too loud in the confines of his chest, has a moan slipping out past his gritted teeth. 

He knows it’s foolish, knows he’s only making himself easier to track. But every step he takes is winding the hunt toward its inevitable climax, and intellect is giving way to instinct. 

His consciousness is beginning that steady downward drip, sinking from logic and reason to settle and swim with the dense heat pooling at the base of his spine. Soon, he’ll be nothing more than the urge rippling under his skin, the tight-squeezed air in his lungs and the thrum of blood between his thighs, and every brush of his own hands is permission to slip a little further to it. 

So he doesn’t stop. 

His feet and his fingers keep moving; his body acting now on his mind’s behalf to draw towards the river's edge, where his desperate sounds will be swept away by the unending rush of water over rock, because this is about preservation now.

It’s about surviving the voracity of his own need until he is found, until Bucky catches him, and then…god, then...

The rest is up to you.

The beginning of rainfall winds its way down through the tree canopy, and it does nothing to quell the heat radiating off Steve. He’s burning so hot for this, so hungry for it; his need only growing sharper as the atmosphere curls in thick and charged with the promise of thunder. 

It’s rumbling in the distance already, too faint for non-enhanced ears but creeping closer; a rolling bass beneath the surge of the fast flowing river up ahead. He can see the diluted black of open space through the trees now, can hear the clack of wet-tumbling stones, and it’s nothing short of delusion, the way it feels like he’s headed for sanctuary. 

Logic knows it’s a weak veil of auditory cover at best, and an outright plea for ambush at worst.

Steve knows, down in his gut, exactly which one he’s hoping for, and he sprints for it with the last of his tactical thought seeping out through the soles of his feet. 

He breaks through the tree line, hitching a gasp as he stumbles out into the full force of the downpour. It’s coming down heavy, sluicing at the fever-sweat clinging to his skin, and he tilts his face up towards it; lets his eyes drift shut and his shoulders drop as he bares his throat to the purple-black sky. 

His pulse riots for the sheer abandon of the gesture, of shifting his posture to one of invitation in the midst of evasion. It only spurs him on, makes him want to find out just how shrill that siren in his cells will wail when he refuses to curl in on himself. 

He forces his hands open at his sides, turns his palms outwards and walks further out onto the exposed riverbank. He stands ankle deep in the river with his heart in his throat, soaked to the bone and all but shaking with the desire to drop to his knees in submission.

And that’s when he hears it. 

The slow-whistled high note, followed by a low; the signal that shivers from the top of Steve’s spine to the cradle of his hips.

Found you. 

It’s a question as much as a warning, that signal; a chance for Steve to respond in their shared language of gesture whether he wants the chase, or the fight. 

As if he hadn’t made up his mind the moment they agreed to play tonight.

As if he’s not done for either way. 

He pulls in a shuddering breath, his skin prickling with the presence he can sense now off to his left. Survival instinct begs him to open his eyes, to scour his surroundings and prepare for what’s coming, but he only shuts them tighter. 

He grins up at the pelting rain, curls his quivering right hand into a fist, and beats it against his drenched, heaving chest.

Take me down where I stand. 

Thunder rumbles overhead and shakes the stones underfoot. Steve’s blood beats frantic in his ears, one heartbeat stumbling over the next, and he waits, waits for the blow he doesn’t want to see coming.

A foot to the back of his knees, an arm wrapped around his throat, a strike of unyielding metal between his shoulder blades...it’s never the same twice, and it’s always better than the time before, and he can’t stop the desperate whimper that falls from his parted, rain-slick lips.

“Bucky!” he pleads, hurling it into the current of the storm raging around him.

“Steve,” comes the answer from directly behind him; the word falling across his skin in the split second before teeth sink deep into the meat of his shoulder.

It’s nothing short of wanton, the way Steve cries out with it. 

Five fingers curl a punishing grip around the column of his throat and a soaking wet body plasters against his back, and Steve doesn’t even try to hold his centre of gravity as he’s wrestled down to the riverbank.

It’s a messy takedown, raw force over skill; dripping all the same desperation that’s been twisting hot in Steve’s gut all night. Bucky pins him belly-down against the stones at the river’s edge, the full weight of his body draped over him, and Steve knows the tremor he can feel humming through Bucky’s muscles has nothing to do with the cold.

“The river,” Bucky growls; metal forearm jammed against the back of Steve's neck, “of course you came to the river.”

Steve squirms giddy beneath Bucky’s mass, beneath that deep-thrumming power crushing down on him. 

The storm-swollen current reaches up the bank to wash shallow and frigid beneath Steve’s cheek, his chest; against his nipples and his thighs and his cock inside his drenched shorts. It’s cold enough to draw gooseflesh across the bared expanse of his skin, but fuck if that persistent rush doesn’t feel like getting tongued; like every single time Bucky’s ever slipped an ice cube in his mouth and sucked him off just to see him hit the ceiling. 

“Buck...” 

It’s the only word that makes sense anymore. Steve gets his elbows under himself and pushes his body up, but only so much as to feel the stifling weight of Bucky on top of him. 

Bucky’s hand slips to the front of his throat and grips him tight up under the line of his jaw; tips his head back to get his lips and teeth pressed hard against Steve’s ear.

“Steven...did you even try?” 

The rain and the river aren’t enough to sweep away the mockery in his tone. He’s shifting himself on top of Steve, putting scant inches of space between their bodies, and Steve knows this cue; grins bright and breathless for it.

He digs his hands in against the riverbed, plants his knees and shoves upwards. He heaves his weight forward and Bucky’s grip loosens just enough to let it happen, to let Steve crawl and clamber a few meager feet forwards.

Steve knows it’s a false freedom but he laughs half-hysterical for it anyway, and even more so when Bucky’s hands are catching him again, clamping bruising tight at his hips and grappling him onto the flat of his back. 

He winces at the battering strike of rain against his face, but it’s just as soon blocked by the cover of Bucky caging him in; replaced by the tepid drips rolling off Bucky’s perpetually warm skin. 

Steve’s body reacts the way it thinks it’s supposed to, going through the motions of trying to throw Bucky off - strength funneled into a forearm arm pressing here, a knee striking there. But it’s pointless; sabotaged by the underlying truth that the only place Steve really wants to be is stuck exactly where he finds himself - pinned pliant beneath his predator.

He lets himself look, then; lets his gaze slip down between them to drag over the length of Bucky’s body. He’s bared to the elements just the same as Steve - not a stitch on him save for running shorts that barely hit at mid-thigh. His hair is pulled back, and he’s soaked to the bone, and when lightning splits the darkness in two and catches on the angles of his face, that raw perilous beauty strikes a blow all of its own to the center of Steve’s chest.

“You win,” Steve rasps, dragging his voice up from the pit of his billowing lungs.

Bucky’s answering laugh is darker than the wet-ink midnight pressing in on them, and it shudders all the way to Steve’s bones when Bucky sinks down to purr ominous against the vulnerable stretch of his neck.

“Not yet, I haven’t.”

The ravenous clamp of teeth on his throat sends Steve’s body bowing, writhing for that merciless bite that doesn’t break the skin, but makes purpled ruin of what lies beneath. Fascia and blood vessels and Steve’s sanity, all broken down in the transcendent grind of Bucky’s jaw, the heat of his mouth; all over Steve’s neck and his chest and his belly, and it’s so feral, the way Steve wants it. 

He wants the shred of busted stitching and the shock of rain against newly bared skin as his shorts are torn from his body.

He wants the red welts raked down his rib cage, the kiss-split lip and the deep set imprints of Bucky’s teeth all up the insides of his thighs. 

Bucky’s touch is heavy and he means it to be; his shifting, squeezing grip claiming handfuls of Steve’s willing flesh wherever he can get it. And he can get it everywhere - every last inch of Steve’s body splayed out for him in tribute to his prowess, and Steve wants him to take it. 

He wants Bucky to make sacrilege of it out here under the split-open skies, until it feels like heaven itself is sobbing for it. 

“Fuck me,” ruin me, desecrate me, arch-backed and bleeding-lipped in the dirt, “Bucky, fuck me…” 

Steve begs with all of himself, legs split and arms thrown above his head; dripping sweat and storm and half-crazed surrender. Like he actually has to plead for this, like Bucky’s not already stuffing searching fingers up between his cheeks to grope for the base-end of silicone that says Steve’s body is primed for the taking.

Bucky bites taunting denial into his skin, over and over. ‘No,’ even as he pulls the plug from Steve’s body and replaces it with his fingers. ‘No’ growled against Steve’s body every time he begs now, and please, and I’m ready, just to fray that tenuous thread of Steve’s resolve. 

Steve’s delirious with it, crying out high and sharp for the stretch of cold metal inside him and the drip of remnant lube. He chants Bucky’s name and reaches out with clinging, clawing hands that only get batted away; that get caught at the wrists and pinned down, and Bucky’s laughing at him. 

Bucky is toying with him, leaving him empty and climbing back up over his body to graze teeth over Steve’s cheekbones, to whisper sweet mockery against Steve’s lips before he kisses them bruising-hard.

“Tell me you want it,” Bucky coos, clamping his hand over Steve’s mouth and pushing the clothed head of his cock up against Steve’s hole. 

Steve sobs against his palm. He forces the words out wet and incomprehensible onto Bucky’s skin; again and again as Bucky tuts and tells him to speak the fuck up. 

Tears are streaming free from the corners of his eyes and his legs are hooking desperately around Bucky’s waist, and he knows that Bucky wants this just as bad. He can feel Bucky shaking and shuddering under the strain of holding back and holding out, trying to push Steve closer to his breaking point just because that’s what Steve wants; devotion at its most deranged.

“Don’t cry, baby,” Bucky laps at the tears tracking down Steve’s face, letting up his hand from Steve’s mouth only to settle it heavy on his throat. 

He slips his other hand down between them to shove at his shorts, fighting the clinging fabric down far enough to get his cock free, and then they’re both groaning for the rub of naked skin on skin. 

“Buck,” Steve chokes out a half-strangled cry as Bucky sinks his whole weight onto him, dragging his stomach over Steve’s weeping cock and rocking his own into the crease of Steve’s hip. 

“Tell me you want it?” Bucky says again, a question this time instead of a taunt. 

Steve’s rasp of yes, fuck, do it barely makes it past his lips before Bucky’s cock is pushing into him.

There’s no hesitance, no pretense of patience to it. Bucky doesn’t finesse it and Steve doesn’t want him to - he didn’t spend half the night skulking through the woods in the middle of a fucking thunderstorm just to get taken the way he would be in the sanctity of their bed.

Steve came out here to get fucked vicious, and Bucky knows better than to pull his punches.

He shoves brutal and punishing into the tight heat of Steve’s body, knocking the air from Steve’s lungs and the sense from his psyche. 

He’s tucking words up against Steve’s ear, something lilting and familiar, and the roar of Steve’s own blood and the groaning sky above don’t drown out Bucky’s voice so much as darken it’s edges; slip a rumbling bass beneath it’s baritone. Steve loses himself in the well-worn rhythm long before the words catch up to sink hooks into his ribcage.

“O Hunter, snare me his shadow,” Bucky hums, “O Nightingale, catch me his strain…else moonstruck with music and madness...I track him in vain.”

Steve would weep, if he had it in him to do anything other than lay there flat on his back and take it. 

Bucky grinds in blinding-deep and stays there, rocks there; drips poetry all over the side of Steve’s neck like he’s not fucking him fit to kill.

He squeezes Steve’s throat until his eyes roll back, swats at Steve’s cheek and pulls merciless on his hair. He stuffs fingers into Steve’s gaping mouth deep enough to gag on, and hinges Steve’s jaw open so he has no choice but to set loose every raw, wrecked sound Bucky knocks out of him. 

It’s fucking flawless.

“Give me one,” Bucky growls. 

Steve needs no clarification beyond the spearing of Bucky’s cock into his prostate, and he reaches down between their bodies to jerk himself frantic and heavy-handed. 

It should be pitiful, how little it takes. But it’s been mounting for what feels like hours, and when Bucky wrenches himself abruptly from Steve’s body to slap a hand down square over Steve’s balls and his slick, aching asshole, that orgasm crests with near-painful force.

“Fuck!” Steve’s wracked with it, shuddering and flinching from it like it’s not the makings of his very own flesh and blood. 

Bucky doesn’t even wait for it to be over before he’s dipping down to lap at it; rubbing his cheek and his chest and his belly through Steve’s release on his slow crawl back up to spit it into Steve’s mouth.

“Don’t you fuckin’ swallow it,” he warns, pressing his thumb to the seam of Steve’s lips, “I want it back.” 

Steve’s body is sparking chaotic, crying too soon and too much just as loud as it’s screaming too good as Bucky grips him by his sodden hair and buries his cock back inside him; falling into rhythm like he never stopped thrusting in the first place.

He wants to moan, wants to cry out for that welcome knifepoint of forced pleasure building within him, but the desperate sounds creeping onto his tongue are every bit as caged as the come he can’t swallow. 

Which is the whole point, Steve flushes submissive to realize - Bucky’s got him gagged without even touching him. 

He twines his limbs up around Bucky’s body, groping and pulling at him like there’s still an insufferable distance left to close. The guttural moans Bucky’s spilling into the crook of his neck only render Steve’s own noises even more pathetic; huffing high and reedy the longer they remain trapped in his throat. 

“Christ, listen to you...”

Bucky pushes up onto his elbows to stare down at Steve, to watch the play of desperation on his face. 

He’s no less transparent himself in how affected he is, a lifetime of ceaseless want spelled out in his gaze; hunger and rapture and the kind of adoration Steve doesn’t think he’ll ever fully earn, not really.

But it’s all right there, in the way Bucky’s looking at him; the way he’s bearing the howling force of the storm against his back just to give Steve this, and Steve is sunk.

Steve is nothing more than the sweet ruin of his body and the near painful swell of his heart for the multitudes that Bucky contains. A death sentence if you ask the history books and still the better half of Steve’s soul, Bucky is the boundless shadow and blinding light of Steve’s entire existence; his every reason for being and doing and fucking trying, after all these years. 

It would be terrifying, if Steve weren’t bone-deep certain that he’s the axis Bucky’s world spins on, too.

“You found me...” 

The words are almost a sob hitching off Steve’s tongue, pitched fuck-drunk and slurred around his mouthful of himself. 

He’s breaking the rules and he knows it; half hopes for the crack of an open palm against his cheek for it. But the look Bucky hits him with lands harder than any physical strike could hope to; taking Steve’s face firm between his hands and staring down at him like there’s never been a truth so vital, so dire.

“I will always find you, Steve.” 

And that’s just it, isn’t it? The one thing their shared existence will always narrow down to. There’s nowhere either of them could go that the other wouldn’t tear the world apart to get to, and the scant inches of distance between them right now might as well be oceans for all Steve’s burning inside to cross them. 

He cups his hands around Bucky’s neck and arches up, pulls him down; pleading with everything but words for Bucky’s mouth on his, and Bucky doesn’t make him wait. He meets Steve right there in the delirium with lips and tongue and moans that rival the swelling thunder; sucking the taste of Steve off his tongue and dripping a starved groan into his mouth in its place.

“I wanna make you come,” he says, like he hasn’t already dragged one out of him, “tell me you’re gonna come.” 

“Fuck, I am, I’m gonna come...” 

“Say it’s for me, Steve, tell me it’s mine.” 

Steve nods so hard, he can feel a bruise bloom at the base of his skull where it grates against the riverstone. Of course it’s for Bucky, everything’s for Bucky; every breath in his lungs and every beat of his stricken, obsessed heart. The sensations within him are mounting too immense, too desperate to be named pleasure, but they’re careening all the same towards the one thing Bucky wants from him, and it will only ever be Bucky’s, this perfect agony of coming undone.

“It’s yours,” he sobs, voice weak and body shaking. "Just—fuckin’ take it from me, Buck.”

He gives up all conscious hold on himself; submits entirely to the relentless drag of Bucky’s dick against his insides and the wet rasp of rock against his back as Bucky drives deep into his surrendered body, chasing that climax for the both of them.

It burns so bright, when it hits Steve; wrenched from his core and rolling sharp through the splay of his trembling frame. He cries out with it, but the storm cries louder, Bucky cries louder; moving ceaselessly through the spasms of Steve’s orgasm and drowning in the give of Steve’s body beneath him. 

“Fuck, Steve, I—” 

“Do it,” Steve slurs, needing nothing more than the tell-tale shudder of Bucky’s body and the way he gasps Steve’s name like a warning. “In me, Buck. Do it.” 

Bucky cusses sharp, pulsing his hips as he lets go inside Steve like he can bury that seed deep enough to stick. And fuck, Steve wants it to. It’s all raw nerve on the inside but Steve never wants this to end; possessed by the slick grind of Bucky’s twitching cock and the heaving half-moans of Bucky’s breath. 

“Don’t stop,” he pleads, reaching fingertips down to where their bodies are joined, where Bucky’s stuffed into him and leaking out of him. “Keep fucking me, just—just keep—” 

Keep coming. 

Be that monstrous entity in the woods who fucks me like it’s a haunting, ’til not even an exorcism would rid me of you. 

He prods at the stretch of his swollen rim, drags his fingers through the warmth seeping out around Bucky’s cock. He wants it everywhere; brings those slick fingers up to smear over the pulse point on his neck, down the line of his throat, and Bucky heaves a moan dragged right from the marrow of his bones. 

“I won’t stop,” he grits out through clattering teeth, rocking into Steve graceless and starving. “Not gonna stop, Steve.”

It sounds as much like threat as it does promise. 

They’re both quaking with it, overstimulated and frigid cold and too achingly, crushingly lost in each other. For all the serum may have made them both to defy science and probability, to withstand war and stall the ravages of aging, it still couldn’t create a vessel vast enough to contain this - this raw, insatiable need for one another. 

“Bucky…” 

Steve looks up from the flat of his back; tips his head to offer up the stretch of his throat as he offers up a tremulous verse — a challenge — into the space between them. 

“The woods are lovely, dark and deep...” 

Recognition sparks dark and joyous in Bucky���s gaze. He catches Steve’s hands in his and threads their fingers together, palm against palm in a too-tight grip.

“But I have promises to keep,” he grins, “and miles to go before I sleep…” 

His lips are turning up wolfish; the roll of his hips turning to something liquid and long-haul, and the rain beats down just as violent as it ever did. 

Steve lets his eyes slip closed, lets the final refrain slip from his tongue before he surrenders, smiling, to the slow closing of Bucky’s teeth around his windpipe.

“...And miles to go before I sleep.” 

If you’re at all curious, the poems they quote are ‘In The Forest’ by Oscar Wilde, and ‘Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening’ by Robert Frost 😘

#steve/bucky #stucky #stucky fanfic #Steve Rogers #Bucky Barnes