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deanbrainrotwritings · 4 months

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— GIMME HALF

REQUEST : “hi!! I was wondering if you could maybe write an age gap (legal obv) with female!reader × dean winchester where the reader is like in her 20s and dean's in his 40s :) just some rough smut with choking and hair pulling and spitting (if you're comfortable with it) and dean being like super "hungry" for her, like he's waited a long time for it to happen. also lots of dirty talks cause i absolutely love them hahah :) anyways im in love with your writing and all your stories! thanks a lot! <3” — anonymous

PAIRING : dean winchester x professor!reader (f.)

CHARACTERS : miracle, sam winchester

WARNINGS/TAGS : explicit(18+), angst, enemies to lovers, age gap, voyeurism, smut, oral sex, p in v, praise kink, choking, hair pulling, dacryphilia, rough sex, spitting

WORD COUNT : 8.4k

A/N : devil wears prada song title. @spnkinkevents : #12daysofspnkinkmas2023 — chair sex and food play. I wrote this half-asleep while listening to ASMR, like… that’s how I write most of my stories, plus, they’re always written between 00.00-02.40. Doctor Who references, ‘cause I’m a nerd. I got carried away…. Cliffhanger bc I’m cruel.

There were countless pros and cons to having houses built so close together with windows facing the same direction.

Pros: Accidentally seeing your hot neighbour walk around naked in the living room and kitchen. Accidentally catching your hot neighbour jerk off when they think that everyone’s asleep.

Yup, she’s seen all of that and more. All from that nameless, freckled, green-eyed man next door.

Even wholesome things, like him playing with his cute dog, babying the little rascal and spoiling it. Him cooking and baking, being wholeheartedly content with feeding it to the tall, Hazel-eyed puppy dog of a man, the tall man’s gorgeous deaf wife, and his tiny adorable son; the blue-eyed, dreamy dude in a trench coat; and that endearing young boy with blue eyes who looked like a combination of all three of the men.

There were times where she’d seen the green-eyed man dressed as a cowboy and even a princess to entertain the little baby boy—his nephew. For sleepovers with him, he’d read him bedtime stories while being completely animated. He’d build a bunch of forts, with sheets, the couch, pillows, and some Christmas lights. He'd talk to the little boy and hold serious conversations despite neither of them being able to understand each other. He’d teach the young boy and the baby boy how to fix cars—at least he tried to. He’d pack his best friends' lunches every morning with his hair unkempt, half asleep, while sipping on some coffee. He’d even take naps with the baby, treating him as his own son.

He’d do ridiculously endearing things, too, such as baking bread at night when he couldn’t sleep. He'd read books only when he was alone, as if he’d be made fun of by his friends, and she finally understood why. They were either romantic, erotic, or completely nerdy and abstract. He had range. He’d watch cheesy soap operas and rom-com k-dramas when he did chores. He loved to collect things such as Pokémon cards and even legos.

There were a million things he did that she thought were cute. The windows into his house were like the screens of a television, like her favourite character, she got to see him when he’s relaxed and surrounded only by those who love him

As for the cons, we’ll get to that…

When they first moved in, it was about three and a half years ago. She’d been visiting her family in Kansas City for her oldest brother’s birthday in June.

When she returned to Lebanon, they had already settled down. There was a brown and beige Ford pickup truck, a black Subaru—both parked in the front, and a sleek black Impala in the driveway.

The youngest, Jack, waved at her one day when he returned with Cas after buying groceries. Then, Cas awkwardly introduced himself and Jack, and gave her the names of the other two men who were brothers, Sam is the tall one and Dean was the freckled one.

Sam was the most social one. He’d spark up conversation with her whenever he saw her, dropping bits and pieces of information about himself, his brother, his fiancée, Cas, Jack, and Dean’s loyal dog, Miracle.

After seven months of living together, Sam moved out with his wife, Eileen. They’d just gotten married, and they both invited her. She’d gone, the wedding was pretty, cute, and modest. Y/n had spoken to a few of their close family and friends. Dean, however, kept to himself the whole night as if he were grieving. He’d smile occasionally if any of his friends came to him, he was enthusiastic, and then he'd go back into himself.

Four months later, Sam and EIleen returned; she was pregnant. It was a boy, he’d planned on naming him after his big brother, which Y/n thought was adorable. He hadn’t told his brother, but planned on telling him the day his son was born.

Y/n could tell Dean had mixed feelings about his brother’s departure, mostly negative feelings. He loved Eileen and his nephew. But when it was just him, Cas, and Jack, he'd often drink, despite concerned, useless interventions with Cas. Unless Sam, Eileen, and his nephew were there. He’d never even glance at that top-shelf cupboard.

The good thing was that at least Dean was a happy drunk.

The first time she interacted with Dean was a few weeks after she’d returned from Kansas City, she assumed two things: his heart was closed off to new people, and he’s one hot, irritating, grumpy, sour, old man.

It was the spring semester at Kansas University. Y/n was grading her students’ creative, personal essays in the office downstairs. She was perplexed by the small percentage of her students and their inability to use proper grammar or follow the thorough, detailed checklist she created to get them to pass easily.

Just when she thought she’d gotten great at making their lives easy, they return the shittiest, half-assed essays. She felt bad for the bad grades, but since the rest of her students managed to get perfect scores or at least proficient scores, she couldn’t just let them pass.

Loud banging on the door startled her from reading an impressive essay. Her blood ran cold and she scrambled up from her rolling chair, ignoring that she pushed it halfway across the room.

Her socked feet were quiet on the wooden floor, making her way quickly down the hallway until she got to the shelf where she kept her gun. She pressed it against the door and looked through the peephole, then relaxed when she saw Dean.

She was irritated by the loud knocking, though, regardless of how cute he looked when he was clearly pissed off. She opened the door and set the gun down on the table where she usually placed her keys.

“Lady, have you seen the mess you made outside?” Dean asked her, pointing behind him. She stared at him, stunned by how much prettier he looked up close. Her cheeks turned hot, but she looked past him trying to see whatever he was pointing at.

She looked at her red Mustang parked in the front as a reminder to restock the kitchen, then looked close to where his house was. She winced at the mud and the running water from her hose going into his nice lawn.

“Shit,” she murmured, toeing her socks off before moving past Dean to turn the hose off. She got distracted by the mud and the puddles as she pulled the hose, and coiled it back where it should have been. It’s been a while since she last let her bare feet feel this beneath, the smell of wet dirt was amazing, even when it wasn’t caused by rainfall.

“Do you always do shit like this?” He asked from behind, his tone harsh.

She frowned when she turned to look at his furious face, careful to not touch her forehead with her muddy hands when she used her wrist to move hair away from her face.

“I’m sorry,” she apologised, tilting her head at him. He just rolled his eyes at her, then he stared at his lawn, and ran his hand down his face. “Did I do somethin’ else to piss you off?” She asked, looking around to see if there’s anything else she may have forgotten.

“One, your cat’s too damn loud, crying and meowing for my damn dog when you let him out,” he started, which made her blink in confusion. She didn’t expect something like that to get on his nerves. “And B, why the hell do you have cameras facing my place?”

She narrowed her eyes at him, her ego being injured fueled her anger and defensiveness. “Okay, listen, Doctor Who, I said I was sorry, okay?” She could tell her words stunned him by the furrowing of his brows in bewilderment, disarming him and shutting him up. “It’s not my fault your dog likes my cat, too. And the cameras are off, they’re there to scare people, so fuck off,” she snapped before she stop herself.

Dean scoffed at her, “fuck you.” She rolled her eyes at him this time, staring daggers into his back when he turned around to get to his home.

“If you’d fuck me, maybe you wouldnt be such an asshole.” Her snide words made him freeze. He laughed dryly and he turned to face her once more, her arms crossed over her chest.

“Pretty sure I’d still hate you, sweetheart,” he chuckled, crossing his own arms. That stung, even if she didn’t know him personally and half the time she spent romanticising him based on the little bit of information she had. “And I’d rather go fuck some other chick.” She clenched her jaw and breathed in slowly, angry heat began rising up her neck the faster her heart started to beat.

Entirely unintended, she venomously spat, “according to your brother, you haven’t been lucky enough, and you’re not going to be.”

“You talking to my brother about my sex life?” He stepped closer to her, his nostril flaring in anger. Betrayal and hurt crossed his features and she realised her mistake.

“No, just overheard him ‘cause you’re an overbearing douchebag,” she lied smoothly. Truth was, Sam and Eileen did accidentally—drunkenly—tell her how hard it was for Dean to maintain a serious relationship for more than three months. They don’t remember sharing that information. It was easy for her to casually ask about Dean’s love life and availability, masking her attraction to Dean as mere surprise as to how the younger brother got married before the older one. “Makes sense now why no one will sleep with you,” she laughed mockingly, stepping closer to him defiantly.

His face was red now, too. Angry, offended, he rolled his eyes at her smug face and body language. “You don’t know shit about me.”

“Sure, yeah, if that makes you feel better,” she snorted, patting his very nice, broad shoulder with her muddy hand as she made her back into her house. Preoccupied by the small mud-print on his beige Henley, he couldn’t get the last word in or stop her from leaving him flustered in her swampy driveway.

That was the start of a horrible relationship with her neighbour. The neighbour she had a crush on.

He found all kinds of reasons to complain. Big and small. And she secretly did things to piss him off, occasionally sabotaging his plans.

The thing was that deep down, she still liked him, but he made her so angry and frustrated. And it felt good to see him angry and frustrated by things she caused either on purpose or accidentally. Any attention was better than no attention.

Eventually, that all changed. The fun, the it’s-better-than-nothing feeling, it didn’t last. Fourteen months later, she stopped the cruel games and decided to avoid him completely.

When her friends offered to take her out, she agreed, even if she wanted to stay home. If Dean was home, she made sure to never say no to them, and sometimes she’d offer to take them out. Wherever.

She’d started to grade at the cafe, library, or the diner, even if Dean went to all those places often. At least he wouldn’t say anything there around all those people.

When she grew closer to Sam, Cas, and Jack, she’d find excuses not to go over to Dean’s when they offered either food, game nights, movie nights, or random hangouts. They started to notice too—the tension, the avoidance, the hostility—and they’d go over to her place instead, often without Dean, who’d choose to go out to avoid staying home alone.

It was awful. The rejection started to hurt, yet, he had her heart in the palm of his hand. Deep down, she knew that Dean wasn’t a bad person; he just didn’t like her.

Eventually, Dean ended his animosity, too, and everything went back to ‘normal’. She slowly started to reject offers from her friends to test the water, stayed home to grade, and didn't permit her cat to leave even if it cried for an escape. If she took him out, it was with a leash she eventually got him to get used to.

They ignored each other when they crossed paths—in the driveway, at the grocery store, at diners, at the cafe. They acted like complete strangers. She’d keep her curtains closed, at least she did for the windows that face his house. She made her presence as unnoticeable and as invisible as she could to prevent causing more damage to each other.

Then, about two months ago, on Halloween, Sam, Eileen, Cas, and Jack went to her house to collect candy. Sam made a point of staying back while the rest of them walked to where Dean was waiting—looking anywhere but at her house—to convince her to go to his and Eileen’s place for Thanksgiving.

He was honest, cute, wide hazel eyes attempting to convince her to try and make amends with Dean. She didn’t doubt it, when he told her that Dean felt guilty, but her pride was bruised, and her heart was broken. She told Sam she would be visiting her own family for that holiday. She omitted that she’d be going to her mother’s house a few miles away, still in Lebanon. And she easily convinced her mother to let her stay the rest of the week until she had to go back to work.

Now, Christmas was near—in four days, to be exact. It wasn’t the holiday spirit that made her change her mind, it was the hurt and the exhaustion of planning her life around avoiding Dean.

So, she called Sam, she asked if he could do anything to get Dean alone tomorrow.

For the rest of the day, she would start to prepare everything—even though it was Dean who created the mess—she was willing to make the first move and hopefully meet him halfway.

She couldn’t lie that she felt embarrassed by how excited she was to see Dean. She couldn't even differentiate the meaning of the butterflies in her stomach, but she powered through her fluttering heart and her shaking hands as she prepared everything before going to see him.

She considered not doing it at all, calling it quits—but the consequences of that quickly made her miserable. That would just mean more avoidance, more hiding, more changing everything about herself to make him happy.

All of this over one little misunderstanding. One bad day where her mouth ran without consulting her brain first ruined what could have otherwise been a good friendship—perhaps even a romantic relationship.

She was twenty-six and just like Dean, she hadn’t had a serious relationship since… Well, ever. The last time someone convinced her to date them was in highschool, and even before that, it took her a month—or less—to figure out she wanted nothing to do with them. She didn’t like the people she dated. She realised quickly that she didn’t even want a future with them, she didn’t even allow them to kiss her or touch her. So she figured that if she didn’t want to marry them, what was the point of wasting her time?

For so long, the first thing she thought of when she felt attracted to someone was: can I stand the thought of their touch? Can I see myself kissing them, letting them kiss me? Can I stand the thought of the fights and staying with them through thick and thin? Can I picture myself with them in the future, permanently?

The answer was always ‘no’ and the attraction died immediately after the realisation.

With Dean, the answer was different. Not for some stupid reason, like fate, or the boy-next-door trope. No. This was reality, and the real reason was the fact that she got to see who he was before she was attracted to him.

It was the selflessness, the love in everything that he did, the gentleness of his heart, the kindness that radiated from him, and the ease in the way he did chores, the way he made his friends laugh, his playfulness, the loyalty, the way he was clearly protective.

It was the open windows of her house into his open windows that let her see through him, down to his very beautiful core. It was the lack of hidden things, the openness of his soul because he felt safe, unwatched. It was real because Cas, Jack, and Sam were proof that even though Dean wasn’t perfect, he was worth it.

The Doctor did say once: the good things don’t always soften the bad things, but vice-versa, the bad things don’t necessarily spoil the good things and make them unimportant.

For the first time, she was willing to take a chance.

She smoothed down the silky emerald-green dress. It was pretty, flowing down her body perfectly, stopping at the middle of her calves…. Actually, now that she looked at herself in the mirror, her curls perfectly maintained, the light touch of makeup, the heels… was it too much?

She ignored those anxious thoughts and made sure she had everything she needed and everything that she prepared before stepping out into the cold.

The spaghetti straps didn’t stop the cold, but the heat of her nervousness at least did something as she walked up to his door and waited after knocking gently.

When he opened the door, he was stunned to see her.

“What?” He asked bluntly.

She could tell that the way she was dressed caught him off guard. His eyes moved from her face, up to her hair, back down to the boxes in her hands, and lower to her feet.

“I’ve got pie,” she said the first thing her mind thought of. Yes, it was blunt, yes, it disarmed him further… It was not smooth, but Dean looked behind him, and then he looked at her once more while biting his lip before opening the door wider, and stepping out of the way for her to enter.

She exhaled shakily as he scratched the back of his neck. Out of habit, she slipped out of her heels before stepping inside his home, planting her bare feet on the soft, long rug he had. He kindly, wordlessly, took her heels from outside and placed them on the shoe rack he had inside before shutting the door behind her.

She felt so… warm. Finally, she was inside the place she longed to be in. Right where Dean was. Along the walls there were dozens of pictures, but she didn’t go too far, she waited for him.

She felt his presence behind her and it made her shiver, but she couldn’t bring herself to look back at him. Instead, she stared at photos of him with Cas, Sam, Jack, and other people she hadn’t met. Women and Men. Dean was smiling in all of them. And in a large majority of them, they were looking at him while he looked at the camera.

What a funny thing.

“Here,” he said from behind her, his deep voice sounded soft, gentle, unlike the last time they spoke to each other. It made her shudder. “Let me help.” She slowly braced herself when she turned around, staring into his beautiful green eyes, illuminated magically by Christmas lights.

“Thanks,” she whispered, carefully loosening her grip on the objects in her hand for him to take what he wanted—which was everything.

She stepped to the side when he murmured, “no problem,” and started to walk off to the kitchen. She followed him slowly, took a look around, respectfully, curiously, just when she heard the clicking of nails and the thump of paws on wooden floors, and the bark of his dog headed in their direction.

“Miracle,” Dean grunted, setting everything down on the table, “not inside.” While the fluffy dog did stop its excited running, his enthusiasm was not lost as he wagged his tail, and playfully got down on his stomach in front of her feet. Still on his belly, Miracle approached Y/n slowly, paws and tongue at her toes, as if testing the waters.

“Hey,” she greeted softly as she squatted slowly and laughed quietly, gently scratching Miracle’s head as he nudged her hand with his wet nose, staring up at her with adorably wide eyes—much like Sam did. “You’re so cute,” she cooed, her heart warming up when Miracle barked quietly.

He then jumped up and turned towards Dean, who was watching them—perplexed, happy, conflicted.

“You were asleep,” Dean scolded, but sweetly took Miracle’s head in his hands and kissed him between his ears. Miracle whined and stepped away, sitting in front of Dean as if saying ‘I’ll be good if you let me stay’. “Whatever,” Dean groaned with a smile, which made Miracle happy, because he laid his cheek on his paw and stared up at Dean, resting.

Now, it was awkward.

Dean caught her staring at him, her expression inquisitive. She cleared her throat awkwardly, but she couldn’t form words. She only now noticed that he was wearing a faded black shirt and hotdog pyjama pants.

“So…” Dean began instead, “pie.” It wasn’t any better, but it’s as she always said: it was better than nothing.

“Yes,” she confirmed, “strawberry… you weren’t getting ready for bed…?” She inquired, tipping her chin in the direction of his attire.

“Not to sleep,” he reassured her, taking a few steps toward the cupboards to pull out two plates, glass cups, and then some utensils from the lower drawer. “Why are you doing this?” Dean asked quietly from where he was across the kitchen, everything still in his hands.

“I deserve better that’s why,” she snapped. He blinked at her, guilty, but she paused and took a deeper breath. Careful to not smear her eyeliner, she rubbed her temples instead. She reached behind her to wrap her ankle around the leg of a chair to pull it out and sit down. “Sorry, I don’t like… being angry,” she breathed out, looking out his kitchen window into her dark living room. She switched the Christmas lights off. “It's very stressful because I…” She turned to look at him and forgot her words as he came closer.

He looked cuter in person and prettier, still. Three years and nothing has changed, he still had her heart right in his hand.

“Why?” He pressed, placing everything down on the table in front of her. Looking up at him felt intimidating, so she averted her gaze. He was much older than she was… it made her… feel dumb. See-through. Like he could figure her out in seconds.

“Because I’m friends with your friends,” she admitted without looking at him, then she reached out to arrange the plates, cups, and utensils. He sat down thoughtfully, and watched her unstack the small boxes she brought over.

“You’re doing this for them,” he laid out flatly, but he took a seat next to her and stared at her. His eyes on her made her self-conscious, flustered. She bet he could see everything, all the ugly and the weird in her.

“I’m doing this for me,” she corrected him gently, “I just want to be happy,” she sighed, removing the plastic wrap she placed over the pie she baked. “Is that selfish?” She wondered out loud, taking the knife, she stared at it.

“No,” Dean sighed, wrapping his hand around hers to take the knife. She inhaled sharply at the warmth of his touch, his calloused palms brushing against the back of her hand, sending warmth over her chest, pressing into her wrist with her heart excitedly pounding against her ribs.

She released the knife into his hold, trying to hide how much he affected her, but she doubted she could fully do that with the Christmas lights exposing the blush she could feel on her face. She could feel her veins pumping blood faster, caught up with the heavy beating of her heart. If he looked down at her neck, he could probably see it in her veins.

She looked away, down at Miracle who was still peacefully laying on his belly, and Dean looked away towards the beautiful pie to start slicing into it.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, taking her plate to give her the first slice. She looked up at Dean, taking the plate with a generous slice of strawberry pie.

“I wanted to be the first to say it…” She complained playfully, trying to maintain eye contact with him, but his beauty was intimidating, forcing her to look away, “soon as my ego stopped being sensitive,” she added.

Dean laughed softly, placing his own slice on his plate. The sound of his laugh made her smile, her stomach flipped with elation, at the crinkles by his eyes. Her breathy exhale made him look at her.

“Well, I’m forty-four, my ego’s been bruised enough times,” he told her, “I don’t care much for it when…” he trailed off and chewed on his bottom lip thoughtfully. She bit her lip, too, trying not to stare too long at his pretty mouth.

“Well, thanks,” she murmured, her jaw twitching as she looked away from him.

“I’d consider all this an apology,” he told her, gazing at her as she opened two rectangular boxes. She smiled, shaking her head. She pulled out a bottle of homemade eggnog along with a decorated jar filled with white frosting, and a small container with crushed peppermint candy. “This isn’t… poisoned, right?” He teased, still watching her while she opened the bottle of rum eggnog, she tilted her head at him, amused. “Just making sure… you did make all this…” he trailed off, impressed.

“Taste the pie,” she encouraged as she started making the drinks.

“You’re just trying to shut me up,” he chuckled gruffly, but he picked up his fork and started to dig in. The strawberry filling barely touched his tongue when he moaned, she watched him not even begin to chew. His brows furrowed and he closed his eyes, savouring the pie.

It made her blush, but she focused on covering the rim of the cups he brought with the whiskey frosting she made and the peppermint candy shavings before filling it with eggnog.

“You made the frosting, too?” He asked, tipping his head towards the jar. His mouth was full, some strawberry filling dripped down the corner of his mouth, but he picked it up with his tongue. She licked her lips, trying to stop herself from breathing airily, and passed him the eggnog with a nod and slid the jar of frosting towards him to serve herself some eggnog.

Dean dipped his finger into the frosting, collecting a large amount before wrapping his lips around his finger to suck the frosting off. She forced herself to look away from how hot he looked and ate her own slice of pie instead.

“I’ve seriously been missing out,” he murmured regretfully. “I was real childish,” he told her, “I never should’ve gotten pissed over… everything-”

“Dean,” she interrupted him, giving him a sheepish smile, “you already apologised and I forgive you. Besides, I did things, too.. on purpose… so, I’m sorry.” She pursed her lips and took a sip from her eggnog, swiping her tongue along the sweet frosting.

“You did things on purpose?” He repeated, a smirk on his face. She breathed out a laugh and nodded bashfully. “Why?” he wondered, leaning into her curiously, subtly moving his plate of food towards her. She considered being blunt, but she chose to test him instead.

“Probably the same reason you got pissed at everything I did and didn’t do,” she laughed, pulling a piece of strawberry out of the pie to put it in her mouth.

“I doubt that,” Dean muttered, picking up his own drink, and taking a large gulp. She eyed him closely, her eyes becoming hooded when he licked across his lips after drinking to collect the thin layer of sweetened alcohol on his mouth.

“What was your reason then?” She wondered flirtatiously, her voice low and seductive. She pushed her plate away with her arm., and mimicked his body language, scooting forward in the chair.

She watched as his eyes darkened and his jaw clenched, his hand tightening around his fork before he dropped it. She’d never quite been stared at that way before, but it suddenly—almost, made her laugh. Her legs felt weak, her stomach heavy, almost fooling her into thinking she couldn’t get up, but she did.

With a rapid heart and shaky knees, she pushed her chair back, and Miracle lifted his head in alarm. Dean leaned back in his chair, sliding his palms up his thighs, and watched hungrily as she lifted her dress up her legs, squeezing in front of him and part of the table to sit on his lap.

“Seems like we’ve both been missing out on a lot of stuff,” she whispered, her stomach fluttering for a variety of reasons, but mostly from excitement. He bit his lip, eyes twinkling as he placed his hands slowly on her thighs. She sank her teeth down on her lip, too, breathing heavily when his hands began sliding up her thighs, lifting her dress higher, and higher.

“You look beautiful,” he whispered, continuing to move her dress up until his hands were wrapped around her hips where he could realise she wasn’t wearing any underwear. “I thought I should tell you, before I ruin you,” he rasped, tightening his hold on her hips.

“Fuck,” she moaned, moving forward in his lap until their hips were pressed together. She brought her hands into his hair, and pulled it gently, bringing her mouth close to his, but she never kissed him. She breathed against his lips and when he leaned forward to kiss her, she pulled back teasingly.

“You’re seriously gonna make me wait?” He whispered, slowly rolling his hips up into her, his hard cock pressing into her wet core. She gasped softly against his mouth and laughed breathlessly.

“You feel good,” she praised, flushing as she ground against him harder.

“I’d feel better inside you,” he smirked, sliding one of his hands farther up her dress, his warm palm flattening up her stomach reverently, stopping beneath her breasts..

“I bet,” she moaned, arching into his touch before finally pressing her tinted lips against his. Dean moaned softly against her mouth, pressing against her hungrily, then lifted her up, carefully moving his plate and cup aside to lay her down on the table.

“Miracle, bed,” Dean ordered when he pulled away from her lips. The dog obediently stood up and excitedly made his way to where Dean’s room was. Dean kissed her once more, drawing her attention away from Miracle and back to him.

She’d never been kissed the way Dean kissed her or touched the way Dean touched her. His hands were everywhere, testing, learning, skillful. He scratched her skin sending sparks down to her already soaked core, kneading her body roughly until she moaned against his mouth. He squeezed her and made her wet. He dug his blunt nails into her and made her nerves ignite. His hands smoothed across her, sailing over her body like she were an ocean and he was a sailor.

He was desperate, devouring her mouth with his tongue and his teeth, putting his all into the kiss, licking her lips, teasing the inside of her mouth, brushing against her warm tongue. He yearned to memorise the taste of her mouth, to feel close to her, pressing and moaning against her the way he’d done when he ate the pie and frosting. He nibbled on her lips, tugging, biting, claiming, taking the air from her lungs and pulling away at the perfect time.

He rolled his hips into her frantically and finally started to move away from her now-swollen lips, the colour of her raspberry tint robbed and replaced by the redness of his kiss.

He dragged his teeth teasingly along her jaw and licked his way down her neck, pressing his stubbled face into her neck, kissing and sucking softly, searching. She rolled her head to the side, giving him all the access he needed, until finally, she moaned loudly when he sucked into her sweetspot. He smiled against her throat, feeling her take handfuls of his shirt, her hips wiggling impatiently beneath him.

He kissed lower still, then back up to the other side of her neck, and bit her collarbones, kissing every inch of her skin, her shoulders and her sternum. She loved every second of it and slipped her hands beneath his shirt, touching and scratching his skin, pulling him closer as he bucked into her bare core.

“Did you know your shirt was see-through when we first met?” He whispered into her cleavage. She laughed and replied with a breathless ‘no’. “Well.. your tits on display, legs bare in those tiny shorts, all pissed as hell… it was hot,” he chuckled, lowering the thin straps of her dress until the top started to reveal her breasts.

“Is that why you jerked off that night?” She asked, gripping his hair and tugging hard. He grunted and laughed, staring into her lustful eyes.

“You saw?” He teased, bringing his hand to her breast, squeezing roughly. “The answer’s yes.. And everytime after that, it was also ‘cause of you,” Dean confessed, “couldn’t stop thinking about you, every day and every night. I thought I hated you, but I guess I just needed to fuck you.”

She chuckled, gripping the hem of his shirt, dragging it up his body as he latched onto her nipple. She hummed softly, tugging hard at his hair, in complete bliss as he wrapped his mouth around the bud, licking, sucking, and biting until she whimpered for him to give her more—which was impossible. He moved onto her other breast, savouring her warm skin with his hotter mouth, tugging her neglected nipple with his fingers, twisting and pinching.

“Please,” she moaned, yanking his hair so he’d pull away. Dean growled against her flesh and bit down hard on her breast, before pulling away, drawing a mewl from her of his name.

“You could be nicer,” he muttered, allowing her to lift his shirt up off his body, but he continued to kiss her breasts, sucking gently around the flesh to leave red marks. He lifted her feet up on the table and pressed her thighs close to her chest, opening her up to admire her soaked sex.

“We’re long past nice, pretty boy,” she teased blushing and biting her lip when he stood up straight. She didn’t look at him, too insecure to watch him as he brought his hand to the inside of her thighs, teasing her vulva.

“You think I’m pretty?” He grinned, circling her entrance, moaning at copious amounts of arousal on his fingers. “So wet… you that needy for my cock inside you?” He asked smugly.

She looked at him now, heat flooding up her face at his obscene words. Before she could say anything about it, the tattoo on his chest drew her attention away from the adorable pride on his face.

“You’re a hunter,” she stated, stunned, blinking at him with a smile. He looked down at himself then at her, speechless. She lifted her hips and hitched her dress up higher to reveal her ribcage where she had the same tattoo, twice as small.

“You’re a professor,” he remarked with arousal on his face, pushing his finger into her. He lowered himself down her body and wrapped his arm around her legs, holding her open as he breathed warmly against her wet cunt.

Before she could close her legs to him demurely, Dean dove in, his mouth hot on her pussy. He ate her out the same way he kissed her, teeth making her whimper, his tongue parting and tasting, picking up the flavour of her wetness as she moaned.

He salivated on her, humming in satisfaction while he sucked her clit into his mouth while he fingered her. Her hands found his hair once more, pulling hard and almost painfully, but his cock jumped each time inside the thin material of his pyjamas. Dean added a second finger as he moaned against her swollen clit, knuckles deep, pressing against the front of her textured walls, drawing silent moans from her, making her squirm more and more.

“Fuck,” she panted, “you’re so good,” she praised, flexing her hand above his head before gripping at the honey strands. He slurped lewdly, devouring her pussy, squeezing her hips desperately holding her close to his face while she pushed him harder against her cunt. “Dean… I’m close,” she moaned, closing her legs around his head.

He moaned again, adding another finger, shoving deep as he circled her swollen clit with his tongue, drawing figures on her clit possessively. She gasped loudly and cried out his name, tensing up when she orgasmed, her walls clamping down on his three fingers. The rapture of her orgasm seemed endless as he continued to tongue at her clit, it made her writhe uncontrollably, and he smirked against her pussy.

Her whiny laugh and the way she squeezed his head to stop him made him chuckle, and he tapped her thigh once he pulled his fingers from within her pulsing walls. She released him, melting into the table while he licked his fingers clean of her release.

“You taste good,” he told her earnestly, “so fucking good.” She bit her lip, giving him a look of disbelief. He narrowed his eyes at her, leaning down to lick a long stripe up her pussy, then down, pushing his tongue past her clenching, wet hole.

“Dean, fucking…” she moaned, “oh, God, why does that feel good?” She snickered, then he pulled away hovering above her. She opened her eyes to his smug face, his clean fingers squeezed her cheeks roughly until she opened her mouth. She furrowed her brows, whining out with her hands around his wrist so he’d release, but she shut up when he spit in her mouth.

“Taste yourself,” he ordered, licking his lips. Her pupils dilated as she looked into his eyes, the tangy taste of herself made her mouth water and she swallowed. “D’you know how hot you are?” He asked rhetorically, kissing her roughly once more, ravenous and stopped only when he felt her hands pushing his pants down his legs.

“I want you, Dean,” she whispered against his mouth, biting his lip before returning the passion of his kiss.

“Where?” He asked teasingly, wrapping his arm around her waist, he sat her up on the table and gently held her face in his hands, before releasing her to strip completely.

“I want you inside me,” she told him coquettishly, hopping off the table to slowly let her dress pool around her feet. “I want to ride you, to feel you stretch me open…” she walked towards him, watching him completely aroused, a look of pleasant surprise on his face, “I want you to fill me up, and make me cum on your cock…” she licked her lips, staring down at his cock, erect and leaking precum. “... I’ve never seen a dick this nice,” she told him, wrapping her hand around the base and stepping closer to him.

He grunted, “suck it then.” She laughed through her nose, releasing his cock to fondle his balls. He moaned, stumbling slightly. “I’ve been wanting to shut you up with my cock in your mouth,” he told her, a smirk on his face, “now, I’m just thinking how pretty you’ll look with your lips wrapped around me.” Dean reached up and curled his fingers around the back of her neck.

She looked behind him, removed her hand, and tipped her head to the chair, “sit.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he grinned, kicking the chair towards him like she had earlier, then he sat, legs wide and tempting. “You’re sexier than you were in my imagination,” he told her, watching her get down between his legs, kissing his thighs while looking up at him through her curled lashes.

“Keep talkin’,” she grinned up at him, taking his heavy cock in her hand once more. Dean gave her a sexy look, smug and aroused.

“I wanna finish in your mouth,” he told her, “want to see you swallow my load.” Pleased, she moved forward and began kissing and licking the length of his cock, teasingly and experimentally feeling the velvety, veiny texture against her hand, tongue, and lips. “I want to hear you choke on my cock, and see what you look like with tears in your eyes as I fuck your pretty face.” She moaned softly, intrigued by the description of his fantasy.

She dipped her tongue into the slit, moaning at the taste of his precum, drooling over the soft head of his cock before sucking him into her mouth.

“Fuck,” he moaned, tangling his fingers in her hair. She slowly took him deeper, pulling him out of her hot mouth teasingly, then swallowing inch by inch of his hard cock. “You’re so good at that, baby,” he panted, letting her take her time at her own pace, but he gripped her hair tightly. “Don’t stop,” he moaned, staring into her eyes as she continued to take his cock, bobbing her head, not stopping until he hit the back of her throat. She swallowed around him, and he bucked his hips up, releasing a whispered curse, attempting to keep his eyes open to watch her suck him off.

She got comfortable between his legs, taking his freehand to put it in her hair. He took her hair, put it together, and waited for her permission before slowly lifting his hips, pushing his cock slowly into her throat. When she gagged, he slowly pulled back, then pushed back into her, lips parted, releasing quick breaths.

Eventually, he started to fuck her face in earnest, lifting his hip up off the chair, pulling her hair hard to guide her on and off his dick. Her spit dribbled down her chin in a mixture of his precum. She swallowed as much as she could, moaning and blinking tears that tickled her eyes and her jaw.

“You look so fucking…” he chocked on a moan, “so damn sexy.”

She ignored the soreness of her jaw, relaxing it as best as she could as he fucked her near mercilessly. Her pussy throbbed with every sound of his pleasure, clit aching for attention at the way he gazed down at her with burning desire, but she refused to touch herself, enjoying the build-up, the desperation for another orgasm, for his touch.

He throbbed in her mouth, turning to mush beneath her mouth. He even began to whimper and moan her name, praises and dirty words becoming scarce in attempts to hold back his orgasm, edging himself with her mouth. It didn’t take long for him to hold her with her nose against his pelvis breathlessly.

He pulled her off his cock, and released her hair to wipe tears tenderly from her hot cheeks with his thumbs, trying to get his mind off the near-pleasure of her mouth around his cock while catching his breath.

“Yummy,” she rasped, pulling a breathless laugh from him. She wiped her chin with her shoulder and smiled up at him, slowly getting up on her knees to get rid of the ache of sitting on her legs.

She got up, leaning back against the table, admiring him in his red, flushed, somewhat sweaty state. His hair was a mess from her hands and he had a blush around his neck to his ears. She knew the hardness of his body accounted for the fact that he was a hunter, as well as the scars she felt beneath her soft hands, bite marks, bullet wounds, and healed slashes.

“Come closer,” she told him and he laughed, bringing himself and the chair closer, stopping when she sat on his thighs, fixing herself over his strong thighs. “Gonna cum if I tease you?” She asked, tapping the head of his cock. It twitched instantly and he moaned.

“Depends,” he replied breathily, sliding his hands up her body. She hummed softly, spreading her legs, positioning his cock near her soppy folds.

“On what?” She cackled playfully, parting her folds with one hand, circling her clit with her fingers. He watched her lustfully, the wetness that made her pussy shine coated her fingers.

“How wet and warm you feel on my cock,” he replied truthfully. He grabbed her hand and moved it out of the way anyway, taking his cock to push it between her folds, pressing the tip against her clit.

“Fuck, Dean,” she moaned softly, grasping his shoulders, “you feel… I need you,” she whimpered, rolling her hips along the length of his cock. He moaned with her, moving her hips closer to him, her wetness coating his cock.

“I’m gonna fuck you so good, sweetheart…” Dean moaned, watching her lean back against the table, positioning the soft head of his cock to her entrance. Completely enthralled, he watched himself slip inside her, and she watched him, biting her lip hard in concentration, the stretch of her walls around him almost painful. “Fuck… I can feel how bad you need me… I need you just as bad,” he panted, flexing his hands on her thighs, desperately trying not to thrust up into her warmth. He dug his nails into her flesh, his head tipping back, his hips rolling up.

“Dean,” she moaned again, starting to lift herself up and down his cock, reaching up to cup her breast. “Shit, you feel amazing,” she breathed out, grinding her hips against his until he was fully inside her.

“You okay?” He asked, one of hands drifting up to knead her breast comfortingly. She nodded, buried her fingers in his hair and brought him in for a kiss as she bent her knees, and tucked her feet in between his thighs.

“I could cum like this,” she mumbled against his lips. His chuckle rumbled through his chest and he shook his head, her pussy clenched at the sound and she started to lift herself up again.

“Don’t worry,” he told her, sucking on his lip momentarily. “I’ll make you cum so hard…” He paused to moan, thrusting up into her slowly, meeting her hip. “...you’ll never want to fuck anyone else,” he promised her, building up the pace of his thrusts until she stopped moving with him altogether, letting him fuck up into her needy cunt.

“You’ll only wanna be fucked by me,” he continued, watching her lean back with her elbow on the table, her hands roaming his warm body, “and I’ll be there, ready to fuck you hard.” He looked over her shoulder, at the jar of frosting. “Pounding into your sweet cunt,” he swore breathlessly, reaching behind her, dipping his fingers to gather frosting, “makin’ you beg, makin’ you impossibly wet.” He smeared frosting over her nipples, over her collarbone, her sternum, until he had no more while she moaned his name needily.

“Makin’ you feel things you’ve never felt before.” He gripped her hip with frosting-coated fingers, leaning forward to lick and suck the whiskey frosting from her body. “I’ll fill you up as many times as you want,” he vowed, smoothing her hand up her back, into her hair once more, pulling until she whined his name. “I’ll fuck you wherever you want.”

Her pussy continued to gush over Dean’s cock the more he talked—his breathless, husky voice taking her over the edge. Each rough pull of her hair made her mewl and whimper as she rolled her hips desperately against his.

“Dean, please,” she whispered, scratching down his back, digging marks into his skin the harder and faster he thrusted into her. Loud skin slapping, the wet sound of her pussy being penetrated, with every push of his cock in and out of her, squelching and driving her crazy. She dug her nails into her palm, making obscene sounds that made her self-conscious.

“I’ll fuck you all over your house, all over mine.” Another moan of his name, another rough pull of her hair. “I’ll fuck you in my car, in your car, anywhere and all over town.” He pulled away from her sticky chest, licked his lips at the sight of her, so she screwed her eyes shut. She felt a warm pool of wetness on her pelvic bone, opened her eyes to him spitting between their bodies, watching his saliva drip down her folds to her clit.

She’d never heard of or experienced sex quite this raw and dirty.

“I’ll make you scream my name, make you forget how to talk, how to walk…” She leaned back into him, panting into his ear, keeping him close while rubbing her clit. He yanked her hair, forcing her to look at him.

“Dean…”

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” he whispered, closing his eyes, he breathed against her lips, “and I want you forever.”

As he promised, she cried out his name when she came, squeezing his cock hard, coating him in her release. He grunted her name, cursing loudly as he came inside her, his hot seed spurting into her, filling her as he said he would.

He circled his arms around her as she writhed once more, releasing her hair as she put her arms around his neck, panting and catching her breath until the pleasure subsided.

“I want all of that,” she murmured after a few moments of silence, kissing his cheek. He squeezed her and moved back, bewildered. He moved hair from her face and tilted his head at her, drawn to her nakedness, her flushed beauty. “First, I want to shower…” Slowly, carefully, she climbed off his lap, her legs shaky, her pussy releasing the mixture of their pleasure.

“That’s a good start,” he told her softly. “Son of a bitch,” he mumbled when he stood up from the chair and looked around at the mess in the kitchen. “No one’s coming home anytime soon… thanks to Sammy…” Dean trailed off, smoothing his hand over his head to fix his hair.

“Thanks to me,” she came clean with a shy smile, bringing his gaze up to hers. His eyes twinkled and he laughed loudly, tugging her towards him again by her arm, his lips pressing against hers.

➥ sempiternal

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iamasaddie · 4 months

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hangry

paring: Tim Rockford x f!Reader rating: explicit (18+ minors DNI) word count: 3k~ summary: You and Tim get stuck in a shitty motel in the middle of nowhere with only one bed to share.

warnings: one bed trope kinda but it's not the center of the fic; explicit sexual content (don't wanna ruin the surprise with too descriptive tags); talk of food, mentions of eating; age gap (Tim is twice the age of the reader, but reader's age is not specified); no use of y/n.

a/n: an absolute gem @beefrobeefcal once (last fucking year but i'm as fast as a snail in a coma) suggested to write fics using the prompt "Wait, why didn't you tell me you had a bag of those?" and I rolled with it. Here's the result! also it wouldn't have been as pretty as it is without the help of the loveliest @noxturnalpascal who helped me correct all of my silly mistakes!

MY MAIN MASTERLIST

“This is some fucking bullshit.” Detective Tim Rockford threw his case to the floor, still catching his breath from climbing four floors up.

“Don’t be so negative, Detective Rockford, at least we have a bed.” You chuckled, looking around the poorly furnished room. Wallpaper that was yellow from time, and not because of a designer’s choice; two uncomfortable looking armchairs with a small coffee table straight from the 70s between them; a TV with a “not working” sign attached to it with a sticky tape; and the bed, that caused most of the controversy between you and your new partner. The bedspread was a tacky shade of orange, causing you to scrunch your nose and pray that it was at least changed once this week.

Apparently, a small town in the middle of nowhere couldn’t keep a cafe open in the middle of the night even if it was a crime scene, and yet it had a fully booked motel straight from Lovecraft’s novels. The yellow glow of the bedside lamp cast a sickly light over the room, adding to the stark feeling of isolation. You did suspect that the bookings were a total lie and the tired looking owner just didn’t want to clean two rooms after your inevitable check out in the morning. You didn’t tell Tim about your suspicions, though.

The man was still standing next to the front door, both of his hands on his hips and a frown on his face.

“No fucking cars in the parking lot, and yet they’re fully booked. They think I’m that stupid. Fucking lazy ass people.”

You just groaned in response and kicked the armchair before throwing yourself on the bed.

“Oh for Christ’s sake, Rockford, stop being such a wuss. If you’re so scared about your virtue I can sleep on the floor.” You pointed at the raggedy carpet, but hoped he wouldn’t accept your offer. After spending 6 hours in a car you wanted nothing more than to take a shower and slip into bed. In some ways, you were even glad you had to postpone your crime scene investigation until the next day.

Tim just huffed and shook his head. He picked up his case where he’d thrown it and placed it on one of the armchairs instead, disposing his trench coat on top.

“You wanna head to the shower first?” The man asked, easing his tie with one hand and pointing to the only other door with his head.

“No, you go,” your stomach grumbled and you remembered something that made you curse inwardly with annoyance. “I forgot something in the car, gonna run down and back.”

“Poor thing,” he said plainly, his intonation not showing an ounce of care, “I would leave it there, if I were you.”

“Of course you would,” you looked him up and down, his broad shoulders tightly bound in the gun holster, following lower where his white shirt was straining along his soft, slightly protruding belly, and lower still to his thighs in his usual black slacks. Tim cursed every living and dead being on his way up, and when you heard his knees pop you felt genuinely sorry for him, even though you felt your mouth fill with saliva as his buttocks flexed right in front of your face.

Tim coughed, and as your eyes came back to his face you saw one of his eyebrows almost disappear into his hairline. His raised brow revealed his bemusement, making you realize that your hunger, that went beyond just food, had been so consuming that you had become lost in your thoughts and your lingering. He shook his head and disappeared behind the creaking door that led to the bathroom.

The only thing that rained on your parade as you ran to the car Tim drove was exactly that - rain. You tugged your thin jacket tighter around yourself, feeling the cold wetness already seeping through it.

“Bingo! Here you are.” You drew two celebratory fists in the air and then tugged the crinkling bag from under the car’s backseat. It must’ve fallen while you were on the road and for a moment you had a scare that you just imagined taking the thing with you. You pressed your treasure to your chest as you quickly returned to the room you left moments ago.

Rockford was nowhere to be seen when you sat on the edge of the bed, your soaked through jacket and jeans disposed of on the vacant armchair. Your much less formal attire that you wore to work finally did you good, and you tugged your oversized t-shirt a bit lower as you rummaged the plastic bag you brought for the thing you wanted most. A brightly colored pack of mini-waffles warmed your heart almost as much as the memory of your first kiss with your high school crush. Anticipating the sweetness on your tongue, you opened the pack in a hurry, fully tuning out everything else. You didn’t hear the water in the shower stop, or the wet sound of Rockfords bare feet closing in on you. A sudden wave of relaxation washed over you as you bit into the soft, buttery waffle, indulging in its delightful sweetness. Just as the flavor exploded in your mouth, a voice startled you from behind.

“Wait - why didn’t you tell me you had a bag of those?”

Your head snapped in the direction from where the voice was coming, and you almost choked on the sweet delight. Tim was wearing a big towel wrapped around his hips, letting the water droplets fall from the curled strands of his hair and travel down his chest. You followed one drop that slowed down on the slope of his belly, and then went even faster over the soft curve, hiding into the soft fabric.

You weren’t sure if you already forgot what Tim asked or you didn’t hear it from the beginning, so you just made an uncertain sound between ‘huh’ and ‘why’, still chewing on your waffle.

“I asked you if you had anything to snack on, and you said ‘yeah, there are some mini waffles left in the bag.’” Your partner looked way angrier than the situation called for, confusing you even further.

“So?”

Tim looked at you like you had grown out a second head. His eyebrows couldn’t decide whether to frown or to jump up, making him look funny. “So I did the gentlemanly thing and left those for you because I thought you’d get hungry again pretty soon!”

“Aww, you’re so sweet when you want to be, Detective.” You didn’t think a grumpy old man like Tim Rockford would be so attentive to small details like that. You felt your cheeks warm up, teasing him was only a way to not embarrass yourself, because you knew that you were two or three sentences away from making a lovesick fool out of yourself. Well, you didn’t love love him, but it was hard not to develop a crush on the man.

“I was fucking starving and you had a full bag of snacks that you didn’t tell me about?” He stepped closer to the bed, his eyes dropping to where your naked thighs were pressed together.

“Uhh… I just didn’t think?” You shrugged your shoulders, feeling the wave of fresh warm smell coming from Tim. Was he still hot after the shower or was it his normal body temperature? It was definitely higher than a normal human’s. You felt the urge to stretch your hand and place it where his tummy moved with his breathing until you heard stern muttering.

“You never fucking do.”

“Hey!” Your hand dropped to the mattress, pushing you out of your trance. “That’s not true!”

“Give it here,” it was Tim’s turn to stretch out his hand, pointing towards the opened bag of waffles clutched in your left hand.

“Not until you say you’re sorry and that you were wrong.” You didn’t actually need him to apologize, you knew he was tired and you were quite used to him being mildly rude and snappy when he was in a bad mood (which was 95% of the time you spent together). But having something that he so desperately wanted - even though it was something as ridiculous as a half-empty bag of mini waffles - made you giddy with power.

“Not in a million years, now give me the mini waffles.” His knees bumped into the edge of the bed, his hand almost gripping your arm, but you were quick enough to pull the snack away. “Stop being a child.”

“Stop being a dick,” you said nonchalantly and shrugged your shoulders. “That's all you did for the last seven hours.”

“Give me the goddamn waffles!” He surged forward, miscalculating his movements and his size and ending up falling on top of you with his whole body, pressing you into the bed with his chest and stomach while his hand traveled up, finding the waffle that spilled out of the opened bag on top of the bedspread. He shoved the tiny snack in his mouth, moaning in satisfaction as the sweetness hit his tongue. You could barely stop yourself from accompanying him with your tiny whimper.

“Oh, so you were just hungry,” you whispered, breathless. Your eyes watched as his jaws clenched and unclenched savoring the food before he swallowed soundly. You were very aware of his curious eyes searching for something on your face and you hoped he would find it. The heavy weight of him on top of you was pleasant, and you moved your hips up, your already moist panties crushing into the stiffness beneath the towel with the motel’s initials on it. Apparently it was the only thing Tim needed, the sweet smell of waffle that still lingered on his lips and tongue becoming more apparent as he brought his face closer to yours.

“Yeah, and I’m not full yet.”

His lips crashed into yours before you could even process it. The gentle vanilla flavor of the waffles made Tim’s taste sweeter than you could ever imagine. Your tongue as if having a mind of its own found a way between Tim’s lips, collecting every bit of sweet taste mixed with something very Tim. Your lips fought for dominance, as he squeezed both of your hands in one of his above your head. Your kiss was akin to a science project, the chemical reaction when both of your tastes mixed caused your brain to shut down. It wasn’t something you dreamed about every night, but as soon as you got it you knew you wouldn’t be able to leave.

Tim’s lips freed yours, hasty kisses covering your jaw and neck as he hiked up your t-shirt, leaving you in a sports bra that didn’t match your panties neither in color nor in style. He didn’t seem to care, eyeing your tits with hunger.

“Up,” he growled, and you didn’t need to be told twice. You awkwardly slid up until your head hit the pillow. You waited for Tim to join you, but he had other plans. His hands grabbed your ankles, almost throwing your legs apart as he laid between them, getting comfortable with his face right in front of your pussy. You knew he could feel the hotness exuding from you, he didn’t take his eyes from the wet spot between your legs as he let his thick thumb travel up and down your slip, teasing you through the damp material.

“Never knew I had such a sweet tooth,” he grinned, before replacing his finger with his nose, the tip pushing into you harder and eliciting a moan from somewhere deep inside of you. Tim moaned in response, inhaling lungs full of your smell. He swiped his nose up and down a few more times before you couldn’t handle the teasing anymore, deciding to get rid of your panties yourself.

When your hands traveled to do just that, Tim noticed it, biting your thigh and humming in disapproval. “You need to learn how to be patient, sweetheart.”

“You’re the one to talk,” you huffed out of breath, still remembering the fit he threw over the waffles. Tim’s head lifted up and he looked into your eyes, for a moment you were ready to apologize, unsure if you said something wrong. However, that night detective was full of surprises. He nodded, giving you a little smirk.

“You’re right,” his eyes never left yours as his hands made quick work of ripping the simple cotton of your panties apart and throwing what was left of them somewhere to the floor, “I am quite impatient.”

Instead of reply, a ragged moan dripped from your lips as his tongue licked a fat stripe along your slick pussy. Tim’s movements were confident, and didn’t lack the hungry passion that you saw in his eyes a moment ago. His tongue concentrated on your clit, flying around it in tight circles. You felt like the warmth of his mouth on your pussy made even your bones feel like red-hot iron. With trembling hands you gripped still damp strands of his hair, unsure if you wanted to press him harder into yourself or push him away with the amount of unfiltered pleasure he gave you. When the tip of his tongue played with the hood of your clit, exposing the throbbing bud to the pleasurable torture, your legs clasped together, thighs crashing Tim’s head between them. Though the man devouring your pussy was clearly happy with it, his hands quickly pushed your thighs apart. As he lifted his head up for a moment, you saw that the lower part of his face was drenched with his saliva and your arousal, and your thighs twitched again when he licked his lips with a pornographic moan.

With his left hand still squeezing your right thigh and pressing it into the mattress, his right gave your burning pussy a slap, that ripped a choking breath out of you.

“Keep ‘em open, you don’t want me to tie you up, do you?”

You weren’t sure because there wasn’t an immediate ‘no’ in your head, instead, you felt a new gush of arousal seeping from your pulsing hole. Noticing your visible reaction, Tim raised an eyebrow, “interesting. But not tonight.”

He dived back into your pussy without any other comments, his fingers pushed your pussy lips apart and his mouth found your clit once again. His tongue slid further down without letting the pressure off your clit when the tip found your entrance.

You wailed shamelessly when the thumb that was helping keeping your pussy spread open replaced Tim’s tongue on your nub as the wet muscle fucked into your hole. He lapped and licked into your welcoming cunt, the more of your arousal seeped on his tongue the deeper and more animalistic were the sounds he made.

In your desperate attempt to reach pleasure you didn’t notice Rockford’s hips rut into the mattress beneath him with cruel abandon. He moved his hips in perfect sync with the push of his tongue and the circling motion of his fingers. The pressure on his cock wasn’t ideal, but with the accompaniment of your taste and smell enslaving his senses it was enough to drive him further and further down the road to his own orgasm. You threw your hands to your face, squeezing your eyes shut and biting your fist under the relentless abuse of Tim’s mouth and fingers. Every grunt he made resulted in vibrations that started at the soft skin of your pussy and traveled straight to your brain, spreading the pleasure all over your body in shocking impulses. You felt possessed as your body thrashed with upcoming orgasm, every lick to your core was akin to an electrical charge. Your hands fell apart, hitting the mattress as a cry left you hoarse and breathless when one of the most powerful orgasms you’ve ever felt hit you. You were half out of your mind to stop Tim from continuing grinding his face into your pussy and licking up your release without the previous finesse as his body started shaking as well. When the grunts stopped shaking the room, his head fell limp between your legs, hairs tickling the naked skin of your sensitive pussy.

“I need to take a shower again,” he murmured, before placing a wet kiss on your sweaty thigh.

“So, when am I getting my treat?” You laid together in bed, now on the same face level. Your body was still recovering from your orgasm, but your mind was greedy for more. Your hand lightly caressed Tim’s soft belly on the way down. The fresh towel was hiding his cock that wasn’t fully hard yet. Tim shuddered with oversensitivity when you gently squeezed the promisingly fat shaft.

“Give me a few moments, darlin’. You’re undeniably sexy, but my body’s twice as old as yours.”

You kissed his shoulder, placing your head on the same spot afterwards and letting your finger trace patterns on his skin. You were satisfied, and happier than you’ve been in a while, you didn’t care how long it took him to recover as long as he’d still want to fuck when it happened.

“Maybe we’ll both wake up for a midnight snack,” you murmured in Tim’s neck, biting the soft spot a little.

Tim’s voice was a bit out of breath, and he tried to keep it even-pitched as he spoke. You felt his hand travel to your buttock and squeeze the meat. “I always crave something sweet in the middle of the night,” he half-whispered, placing a kiss on top of your head.

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#iamasaddie fic #tim rockford x female reader #tim rockford x you #tim rockford x reader #tim rockford fic #tim rockford smut #pedro pascal fanfiction

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ijuststareatstuffhereok89 · 6 months

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*SPOILER FIC FOR LOKI S2 FINALE*

Do not read until you have watched or are otherwise ready to be spoiled. THIS IS YOUR WARNING!

Idunn & The Golden Apple

In the village of Time’s Ridge, they say when a little girl is sacrificed, she is adopted by the gods and granted any wish she makes. When the orphan Idunn is driven over the side, she blinks and finds herself before a mysterious entity known as the God of Stories. Luckily, in order to gain his favor, she brings a small sacrifice of her own before his glowing throne.

Characters: Loki, OFC (child), cameos of Thor and Mobius Genre: Tragedy, Comfort, Found Family Word Count: 3.3k Content Warnings: SPOILERS FOR LOKI S2 FINALE!, Loki gives off dad vibes, child sacrifice

This time, the annual sacrifice at Time's Ridge was almost a scandal. Woeful Idunn was only ten-years-old.

She stood on the precipice, overlooking the glowing green abyss she’d once played beside thoughtlessly, unaware at the time that it was about to become her grave. Her thick red hair was woven into two braids, laced with daisy blossoms. Idunn was wearing a gray frock meant to symbolize her mortality and humility, she kept her hands in the pocket of her simple, tattered pinafore, her left hand curled around a small ball hidden away.

Instead of weeping like most sacrifices did, Idunn was choosing to go with at least a little dignity (not that anyone was there to be awed by her maturity--being an orphan, no one really cared how she looked anyway). Perhaps she wasn’t even all that upset about being picked by the Leader to die on behalf of Time’s Ridge. A less-brained individual might be flattered by being selected.

Of course, Idunn knew better. The only reason she was here was because no one would miss her.

The green glow of the bottomless pit was somewhat new, and that was when The Ritual began, some two generations before Idunn was born and left to die by a helpless mother. No explanation was given, but the green aura of the trench appeared, and suddenly: the perpetual storms plaguing the fields ceased. People stopped disappearing mysteriously…at least until things began getting worse again. Then, only a few years before Idunn was born, a child fell into the trench and disappeared, but time and the weather stabilized again, and so it was accepted that only the gift of a child’s wish brought personally to whatever god watched over Time’s Ridge, the sad little village at the end of the universe, would bring safety back.

It was always such an honor to be picked to die, until it was your turn. Then, if you were fortunate enough to have a parent of means, your only hope to live to see the following year was to have them bribe the Leader to pick someone else.

“Idunn, Blessed Daughter of Time’s Ridge!” The Leader began his ceremonial monologue, which was surprisingly ho-hum for being the prologue to child homicide. “Today, you are being sent into the Higher Worlds to seek out aid for our small community--”

I’m not waiting for this, the little girl thought. Let’s just get it over with. I have nothing to stay for. She covertly pulled the golden ball from her pocket and held it up, slowly turning before the crowd.

“May I eat before I jump?” she asked. Gasps rang out.

“Where did she get one of those?” someone called out.

The Leader smiled sadly, shaking his head. “You may, Little Idunn. Though I am not sure as to where you found one. But be aware, silly girl, even one of those won’t save your conscious life now.”

Idunn twisted her lip, looking at the golden apple in her hand, shrugging and taking a large bite. The taste was as if the Creators themselves invented the perfect sweet. The crisp skin snapped between her teeth, and the delicious juices felt almost like a cool, gentle tea rolling over her tongue.

I just hope the weird peddler who sold it to me was right, Idunn thought bravely, looking down at the apple as the bite mark she made instantly healed itself, creating a perfectly full piece once more.

A bolt of lightning broke overhead, causing the little girl to jump backwards, startled, her courage failing her for the first time.

“An honorable sacrifice should not be afraid of a little lightning,” mocked a cruel adolescent from the crowd.

Idunn looked back over her shoulder at her glowing tomb. “I’m not overly fond of what follows,” she replied, deciding to turn around, the juices and magic sugars from the golden apple beginning to fall into her stomach and move around inside, warming her core.

Work quickly, work quickly…come on…

She breathed in and raised her voice, which boomed many times larger than her petite body would suggest she could utter. “I hate you all, and I would live forever with no guilt at all if it meant each one of you got to fall into the pit in my place. I hope the timeline frays and swallows you all whole!”

The disapproving murmurs from her assembly of executions gave her a small pinch of satisfaction. One last victory for the condemned. She couldn’t delay it any more when the cruel Leader signaled for the pounding, rhythmic drums to sound.

Fine, even if this is it for me, I don’t want to be here anyway.

The only regret Idunn had in the moment before she fell forward into the abyss was that she was born in Time’s Ridge, a place so afraid of the shifts in time and space that were otherwise so natural around their realm that they would throw children off cliffs in order to make the gods happy.

Gods, Idunn thought. Good thing gods aren’t real.

Idunn decided not to give the Leader the satisfaction of reciting the poetic Final Prayer of the Sacrifice, and instead did a graceful twist of her small body, her red braids flying about her face and standing out even in the twilight suns, falling over with just enough time to wave goodbye to the village before meeting her fate at the bottom of a fraying timeline’s abyss.

The little girl felt the sensation of falling…more falling…even more…then a blinding green light followed by the feeling of being lifted by a thin arm or branch---

Gods aren’t real. Gods aren’t real. Gods aren’t real. Gods aren't--

Infinite branches of time, universes, were binding Loki to his throne amidst a sea of green matter and light, where he would be sitting until time itself decided to rip his duties from him and end existence.

That…that would be soon, right?

Worse than the eons that were beginning to pass before his eyes without him, promising adventures he would never have, romantic nights he would never see, were the whispers, the noises. Loki could hear every spoken voice in every timeline, but they were all a low, maddening hum that rang in his ears as he sat, legs apart, in his supernatural throne room, nothing but the years for company. Of course, the voices of those he knew in life were the loudest and hardest to hear.

And he was hungry. So. Damn. Hungry.

Even Gods needed to eat, but what was there to find in Loki’s palace of emerald and gold, buried underneath countless layers of timeline branches, ensnared in the prison of Yggdrasil? Loki couldn't die of starvation, but the hunger pangs would frequently send surges of pain through his core, out his arms, and as a result, a few timelines would flicker for a moment before regaining normalcy. It was likely these places would only see inclement weather or a few years of time skipped over as a result.

It was painful, but the only way Loki could check on his few allies was through the branches tying him to his noble seat. Sometimes, he would follow the sound of Mobius’ slow voice and find his favorite timeline: where Mobius was happy, retired, living with his adult sons and their spouses and children on a cabin by the beach (three jet skis and an ATV in the garage, of course).

He smiled as he saw OB’s TVA manuals and novels being stored away in a timeproof capsule for posterity, ensuring his legacy. The little man was never taller.

He’d even caught a glimpse of Thor from time to time, and Loki had spent countless hours following him from afar as he traveled with a small band of space brigands. He even managed a chuckle upon seeing what Thor was getting up to: “Father would be embarrassed…and that music is terrible.”

Not that it mattered.

He was forever burdened with glorious purpose, just as he’d prophesied as an arrogant youth. Now, I’m gloriously burdened, Loki thought. He nearly smirked at the poetic irony, or perhaps it was justice for his past transgressions that fit the same meter. A Loki with freedom would have enjoyed the twist for what it was.

A tear formed at the corner of his left eye at the thought. Forever. Here. No food or love or friendship to keep his heart from slowly eroding away with the millennia.

Suddenly, the branches around Loki’s wrists began shaking, writhing in his grip, as if a blustery wind disturbed them. He looked up, his eyes following one of the timelines furthest away from his immediate sight: a gray and lethargic piece of the Tree of Life. As the other tendrils of time began shaking furiously at some invisible disturbance, this branch suddenly exploded into a thread of white hot light before curling in on itself and returning to its original state.

Loki attempted to get to his feet, but he was still bound by the thousands of other timelines he protected. No matter, the odd shift in the air quickly subsided, at least until a brief ‘pop’ was audible from somewhere ahead of Loki’s line of vision, buried behind the twisting strings of time.

“Odd,” analyzed the God of Stories, “but amounting to nothing.”

Alas, he was wrong. For almost immediately after his declaration that the anomaly was of no concern: a small, high voice cooed from beyond the branches.

“H…hello?”

Loki felt his heart still, his skin cool, and a strange current in the air moved about the green chamber, rustling the hem of his cape where it met his boots. It was the first time since he took his place on the throne that it did so.

No, it’s a trick.

“HELLO?”

No one, no mortal could survive being here. It’s why it had to be me…

“Is there someone here?”

No, that’s certainly another’s voice.

Loki dared to hope after all this time. He opened his mouth to reply…but nothing fell out other than a few sharp notes and breath. Had it been so long since he’d used his vocal chords?

Out of the tangle of time streams before Loki, a diminutive, pale figure stumbled over herself, gripping something yet unseen in her hand, wearing a disgusting, dirty gray slip. A little girl, no older to existence than a spring lamb.

Norns, it’s a child!

“Is this heaven?” the little girl asked, brushing a fiery red braid from her shoulder and walking hesitantly into the throne room. “Or somewhere else?”

Loki’s mouth hung open, but his words still somehow failed him.

“Are you The Creator, or some God? Are you real? I didn’t think you would be. I guess I’m glad you are.”

The questions were pouring out of Idunn’s mouth so quickly that Loki was reminded of himself as a child, when he’d ask his mother one too many questions.

“Maybe I should--”

“Who are you?”

Idunn was so startled at the Green King’s first successful words to her, she leapt backwards, tumbling over a branch that her ankle met by accident. Loki nearly attempted to rise again.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m Idunn,” said the girl, regaining composure remarkably quickly.

“...Loki.”

A moment of awkward silence went by before Idunn took another step back toward the throne. “Are all those a part of you?” she asked, her thoughts as aimless and unorganized as any ten-year-old’s.

Loki looked up into the time vines, feeling smaller and more alone than ever in the surreal presence of this little creature who’d managed to survive an entrance into open time without being torn into tiny threads and scattered across space.

“I suppose they are.”

Idunn sighed, shrugging and positioning herself at his feet. “I didn’t know gods were real. I thought they were just an excuse to--”

“--oh, gods are real, little one--”

“--get rid of me.”

Loki fell silent again, this time stunned at the bluntness of the child, and the darkness of her admission.

“What kind of miniature sorceress are you, Miss Idunn?” he asked, his voice starting to lighten in an attempt to alleviate the child’s fears. “Your powers must be fearsome if you stand before me now fully intact.”

“I’m not a witch,” Idunn conceded. “They just chose me for the sacrifice this year, and I had something to help myself survive.”

Loki didn’t know what part of this distressing declaration to address first. “Sacrifice?”

Idunn nodded, looking about the branches above her head, pointing to the one that was still recovering from the intrusion. “Time’s Ridge. They call it The Village at the End of the Universe. They sacrifice a child every year to stop the storms.”

The God of Stories was aware of the histories of many of his burdensome tethers by now, but even Time’s Ridge was a mystery to him.

“Sacrifice?” he repeated as the oblivious blatherskite before him went on, her fears quickly alleviating into a more normal enthusiasm that suited a youth her age.

“Yes,” affirmed the girl, “but the night before they took me to the abyss, a strange man came by my cell window and offered me this.”

She showed Loki the golden apple, causing his jaw to drop again. The girl was unfamiliar, but the apple was unmistakably Asgardian. A rare delicacy, the Golden Apples of Asgard gave the Gods their eternal youth and immortality. Every god had a single one on their person, for sometimes one could find themselves pulling back from the edge of oblivion by virtue of one bite.

They were so rare because they were so difficult to cultivate. Any one mistake during the process would render the apples lethal to even the Allfather. The only grower Loki knew to be alive was an elderly Asgardian somewhere out in the cosmos. How he made his way to this little urchin teetering at the edge of everything and knew to offer her the last apple in existence, Loki couldn’t even guess.

“Did he say where he got that?” Loki’s eternal hunger suddenly caught up with him again upon seeing the golden apple in her small hand.

“No. All I can remember is that he was very strong and handsome for a peddler. Only other thing I can remember is that he was blonde. Oh, and he had a big hammer with him, too. I think he was looking for me directly, like he knew who needed this.”

Loki’s cold skin shot back into a warm heat that made two more tears stain his cheeks.

Idunn looked regretful. “Oh, no, I didn’t mean to make you cry! Did you want a bite?”

Loki looked sadly off to his sides. “I cannot eat. I cannot let go of even a single one of these timelines, little one. I couldn’t hold an apple or a spoon.”

The child looked from Loki to the apple, and back. “So then I’ll help!” she said as simply as if it were the answer to 1 + 1.

Before the god could protest, or even ask, Idunn had taken it upon herself to climb Loki’s throne and sit in his lap, holding the unbitten apple before his lips. “Don’t you want--?”

Loki didn’t wait, his hunger overriding any sense of decorum, and accepted a large mouthful of fruit, almost unhinging his jaw like a snake to consume as much sustenance in a single crumb as he could. As a result, Loki had accounted for half of the apple with his bite. Idunn giggled at Loki’s accomplishment.

The food was not only the single most delicious morsel of food he’d ever consumed, but he felt it travel down to his stomach before warmly blossoming, artificially filling his stomach for the time being. The pains subsided almost immediately, and a surge of energy filled Loki’s veins.

Then, something remarkable happened that he didn’t expect. The timelines glowed gold instead of green for a moment, and each one that was even remotely loose or frayed was repaired and made stronger than it had been before. Small orbs of gold began appearing above their heads, looking as if golden apples were growing on the branches of the World Tree. Idunn gasped.

“Pretty!” she whispered. “I didn’t know these could do that!” she declared excitedly, looking down at the apple.

“Nor I,” said Loki, his gratefulness to the strange girl present in his tone. I wonder if this is affecting the beings within?

“Do you have children?” asked Idunn, suddenly. Loki shook his head, his large, horned diadem nearly whacking the girl off her perch.

“No. Do you have…parents?” he asked hesistantly in return.

“No. No one wanted me.”

Loki’s heart went out to the child. “I know the feeling.”

Idunn sighed. “Why do you think they picked me to jump at Time’s Ridge?”

Loki looked sadly down at the apple in Idunn’s fist, already repairing itself.

“I’m alone,” Idunn continued. “I had to come here in order to save everyone else while they move on with their lives without me. No family, no reason to expect to find one.”

Norns, am I looking into a mirror? Loki smiled, feeling an odd new sensation one could only describe as paternal. “Perhaps…when two unloved, unwanted people find each other, there’s a family to be found there, little one.”

Time passed, how much neither the entombed god nor the condemned child knew, but this was because neither cared. It was here that The God of Stories was able to share his own tales for the first time, and once he and Idunn moved past the initial shock of discovering one another here, in the darkest and least likely of places, his long stretches of details quickly became libraries’ worth.

Idunn may have been young, but her maturity was at least partially Asgardian. Loki suspected her heritage could have been closer to his own peoples’ than one would expect of one of the lowly residents of the edge of time. As such, Loki found his paternal instinct toward Idunn grow, and as infinite measures of time began to pass, he began encouraging her to eat and rest in between stories and songs. After all, she was only as immortal as the apples made her. She was not a god, nor a full Asgardian.

Before long, Loki felt compelled to say what had slowly begun to creep into his mind once she appeared: it’s so wonderful having someone to talk to.

Instead, he addressed what he least wanted to. “Idunn,” he said. “Unlike myself, you are free to leave here at any time.”

She sighed. “Are you tired of me now?”

He quickly denied her with a sad face and a headshake. “I suppose I just wanted to inform you that you could probably enter any one of these timelines and find a better world to live in than the one you knew…and the one that is here.”

Are you mad? thought Idunn. Why would I leave you, the first person to ever listen to me?

“No, I think I’ll stay here a while. You need someone to help you eat, and I need…”

Loki smiled and completed her thought. “...a glorious purpose?”

“Exactly.”

She nodded. “As long as I have this, and as long as you won’t tell me to jump off a ridge, then I will be here for you, King Loki.”

“Sweet daughter Idunn,” Loki whispered in relief, “just know one final thing: please don't call me King Loki.”

Idunn giggled and threw her arms around Loki’s shoulders in an embrace of perfect love and trust. For the moments she couldn’t see his face, Loki allowed the tears to fall freely.

Thus, the Goddess of Youth took her place alongside the God of Stories, giving him the strength and companionship he needed to hold reality aloft on his shoulders for however long the whims of fate would have him there.

For as long as she stayed there, Loki never knew loneliness again.

Yeah, this fic is basically "a wild daughter appears!" like Thor: L&T was for Thor, but Loki just can't and shouldn't be alone on top of the multiverse like that. Come on, y'all.

MY MASTERLIST

TAGLIST: @acidcasualties @coldnique @fictive-sl0th @gigglingtiggerv2 @gruftiela @holdmytesseract @holymultiplefandomsbatman @itsybitchylittlewitchy @joyful-enchantress @loopsisloops @lokisgoodgirl @mochie85 @muddyorbsblr @michelleleewise @mischief2sarawr @peachyjinx @anukulee @queen-chaos-of-hell @purplegrrl27 @ozymdias @smolvenger @mrs-illyrian-baby

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cellarspider · 2 months

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9/?? What remains

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⛬

We return to the movie that I’m not giving a jokey intro to this time, Prometheus.

When I was in archaeological field school, we were digging in an area that had been continuously inhabited since the Neolithic period. Untold numbers of people had lived there through the ages.

And so it wasn’t entirely unexpected when someone told the professors that a construction crew across the street had just dug up a human skull.

(https://www.standard.co.uk/news/uk/work-begins-to-excavate-45-000-skeletons-from-hs2-site-at-london-euston-a3972926.html )

One of the grad students slapped on a dayglo vest and hard hat, and ran over there to speak with the crew. Undergrads were not allowed anywhere near the site, simply because of the liability risk. But the bones themselves? We weren’t allowed to touch them. They went right into boxes for a specialist to take care of.

All told, remains from 18 skeletons were found, twelve of them children. They’d been there for about eight hundred years. The professors said the construction crew was diffing on top of a medieval churchyard. They’d dug a hole to connect up the utilities, and their trench went right up to the wall of the former church. You could tell that, the professors said, because unbaptized children would’ve been buried under the eaves of the church: rainwater falling from the eaves was thought to be sanctified, so they’d be blessed every time it rained.

The construction crew wasn’t actually obligated to tell anyone about the bones. There was no legal requirement–the dead were everywhere there. As long as there was no reason to suspect a murder, people could just dig.

But because they did stop, just long enough for the bones to be retrieved, those skeletons would be examined, cataloged, and would either be held in an osteoarchaeological collection for further research, or reburied. There was no strong legal or social pressure one way or the other. That’s not universal–some peoples forbid the practice of handling and studying human remains, or require that remains be reinterred with the most culturally appropriate religious rites that can be provided. There is a lack of international or even regional consensus on what to do in these situations.

(https://railuk.com/rail-news/the-archaeology-of-hs2/)

And there are a lot of places where the wishes of descendants and local cultures have not been honored by archaeologists. The twenty year fight over custody of the bones of Kennewick Man (or the Ancient One) is one notable, hard-fought win for repatriation and reinterment of human remains, and there are many, many cases that have been far worse, that are still worse.

But where we dug, the relevant ethical standards for osteoarchaeologists stressed that “[b]iological remains, particularly human remains, of any age or provenance must be treated with care and dignity.”

We students never saw the bones. We didn’t need to, frankly, it would have been incompatible with those values. Is this how it’s handled everywhere? No. And most of the time, our dig was a very casual and lively place. But these professors were trying to start us out with the best ethical standards they could, which I am grateful for.

That’s the context that was running through my head as I watched Prometheus. Movies tend to treat dead bodies with far less reverence. They often carry some sort of emotional weight–fear, disgust, grief, or even excitement or humor. In violent movies, they’re set dressing, less important than the main characters–unless one of them was a main character. I chafe at that distinction, sometimes, but I’m not squeamish about movie violence. Two of my favorite movies of the year prior had been The Raid and Dredd. Two serendipitously similar action movies where death was relentless, graphic, and cheap–content warning in both links, by the way.

Both movies had carried me through because they were consistent on what they were throughout. I didn’t expect anything more sensitive from movies about action-fantasy cops. Prometheus had already lost me, and it was about archaeologists. Ones who professed a belief that they were there to meet their makers.

And so I found the way they treat the discovery of an alien body to be utterly galling. Despite the fact that I didn’t expect anything better from them by this point, I still wasn’t willing to meet the movie where it wanted me to be. I wasn’t feeling their excitement, trepidation over what else they were going to find next, or any voyeuristic excitement over how screwed they obviously were–any of those might have been the intended emotion, I’m honestly not sure what sort of horror movie Prometheus was trying to be at this point.

I was just seething that they were touching the body. Sticking probes into it. That was bad enough.

We haven’t even gotten to what they do to the head yet.

⛬

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Citations for alt-text:

All links listed in-line below the images this time.

#prometheus 2012 #prometheus (2012)#I'm trying to analyze the movie from within its own goals and parameters when that's most useful #but I also want to give space for topics like this #my takeaway was definitely not what they intended #but people often don't think carefully about the bones of strangers #and what their treatment means

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tin-tweezers · 1 year

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read “Ninefox Gambit”

I’m dead serious. the “Machineries of Empire” series - buy and read them immediately.

Do you like intricate genderfucked sci-fi world building powered by arcane mathematical space magic

Do you like raw characters careening back and forth between despair and mania, who want to make the world a better place, but commit atrocities and sacrifice the lives of millions in the name of that dream

Do you like piercing analysis of imperialism, empire manifested both in violence and in culture, the ways entire cultures are swallowed by empire but also resist and thrive in hiding and exile

Do you like mind control

Do you like characters who crave mind control and the security of conformity, a found family that would die for you, and have it taken all away

Do you like people being made into weapons, objectified to the point they can’t conceive of themselves any other way

Do you like immortals playing games of mutually assured destruction, cat and mouse enemies-to-allies-to-I-would-kill-you-but-I-need-you-you-are-the-only-one-who-understands-me-and-I-love-the-way-you-hurt-me

Do you like quiet little green onions growing in quiet little pots, kept on the desks of dictators to remind themselves that they are human

Do you like questioning the definition of human

Do you like unreliable narrators

Do you like conflicting factions and political alliances and backstabbing and assassins

Do you like canonical edge play dubcon sex scenes that expand the reader’s understanding of the characters’ emotional topography and motivations, and which ALSO scratch a deep and vicious Dead Dove Don’t Eat itch deep inside you

Do you like cats

Listen to me. This series is 50 content warnings in a trench coat. I read all the books and short stories in two weeks over the summer. I think they rewrote me on a chemical level.

You need to read “Machineries of Empire”

I am extremely normal about this

#machineries of empire #ninefox gambit #yoon ha lee #ajewen cheris #books #scifi #garach jedao shkan #shuos jedao #shuos mikodez #Kel Cheris #hexarchate

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snailsgoingdowntown · 10 months

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Blade x fem! Reader

Part 6 of writing for blade until he comes home

Warnings: mention of blood, implied murder, suggestive, toxic relationships (both familial and romantic) (I swear it gets ‘better’ later on, Blade is just a bitch), reader indecisive as fuck. Probably slight yandere, idek anymore, I’m tired.

Minors/blank blogs dni

Blog contains/creates/interacts with dark content. Dni if uncomfortable.

Written from 9pm to 1am with no break, constantly changing it, I’m sorry if it’s all over the place, tone never the same, and doesn’t make sense.

In which you wanted to try your luck with Blade

Sometimes, you’re scared by how much you’re attracted to him.

He’s easy on the eyes, fair skin tagged along with raven black hair, tips fading to red, and red eyes with specks of gold. He’s toned and built, easily able to lift a sword like nothing. Often times you find yourself staring at him, his side profiles more interesting than your blind date in front of him. He always sat behind them, blending in with the crowd, disguise casual but… suspicious.

And often times, you find yourself wondering how soft his lips are. If his hair is as silky as it looks, or body as firm. How scarred his body is, how his hands felt under those bandages and gloves. If he smelt of slight musk or something more ‘elegant.’ If he was capable of being gentle despite the stoic expression he bears.

His interests and disinterests, likes and dislikes, hobbies, fears, what makes him smile –

Your daydreams end before you allow them to begin. He’s shown little interest in you as a person alone – a romantic view of you would be ridiculous. And while you’re an avid reader of romance novels, you’re lucid enough to realize that most of them would happen in real life.

Especially with him, when he’s known for his violence. You’re not sure what else he does, but from nights when returns with bloodied clothing, you can only guess. Maybe you do have bad taste in men.

The expectations would only let you down, and besides, you think he would be a better fit with that coworker of his. She’s lovely, dreamy eyes and soft painted lips, purple hair that’s always stylish along with her clothes – she doesn’t have to try to be elegant. She already is.

Unlike you, who’s still unused to upper-class life, your brother took you in a few years ago. Prior to that, you had lived with your roommate in a dingy little apartment in the shady part of time – your family did not come from money. And yet, somehow, your brother managed to earn enough within a few years.

You push the thoughts of how away.

So here you are now, barely listening to your date – Adam – choosing to look at the attractive man behind him. Your companion sat behind a table, close enough to keep an eye on you and listen in. In the beginning, it annoyed you, being watched like a dog. But now… it gives you an opportunity to look at him. Even when your entire body tells you to look away, you don’t.

It made you feel like a creep, so usually you would zone back into the conversation, scolding yourself mentally. Your companion would not appreciate being stared at like arm candy.

But today… was different.

Today your blind date was interesting, more so than the others. He listened to you, smiled, tone polite, clothes fixed, and hair styled.

He was everything your ‘crush’ was not.

“- and therefore, the theory of – “

You keep zoning out. You listen enough to know what the conversation is, engage whenever needed, kept your shoulders straight. Everything you should do, taught through many stressful nights. “Hm, I see. But have you considered – “

Your eyes trail back to him. Black beanie and trench coat, mask pulled up and shades covering his eyes, they do little to hide his looks. Hell, the ‘mysterious’ factor brings even more attention, girls glancing at him and giggling. But that aura he gives off keeps them at arm’s length. You’re almost grateful for it.

“Oh, that reminds me, are there any books you want? I mean, there’s a bookstore across the street…,” you almost giggle at how cute your date is. It reminds you of when you took care of your brother when he was younger.

“Ah… I’m not sure, but it wouldn’t hurt to check it out.”

When he grins so brilliantly, your gut twists in guilt. You wish you could consider him as a potential boyfriend. But instead, the brooding man on his phone behind him already took that place.

‘Theory of Evolution’ was the book Adam presented to you. You took it from his hands, if only to calm the poor boy down, his nervous smile relaxing. You also suggested one for him, and he took it, not bothering to read the title. That was fine. This was out of curtsey.

However, what you were not fine with was your companion stalking you through the rows of bookshelves. From the corner of your eye, you would see him pick one up multiple times, flip through the pages, and either nod his head or scoff. He would then put it back, straightening the entire roll if it were not to his liking. It was cute the first few times.

Until he kept at it for twenty-minutes straight. It was like he couldn’t make his mind up. He would follow behind after a few minutes once you went to a different area. At first, you thought he did so to not attract attention – until you circled around the roll he was in, his face still buried in a book.

You waved, whisper-yelled, flipped him off once – no reaction. Not even a huff. How endearing. It would such a shame if you didn’t use this golden opportunity to finally try something you’ve been meaning to, slipping away like a ghost.

Despite your… ‘crush’ on him, you have always wanted to see if you could manage to disappear from his sight. You’ve tried a few times, only to be immediately caught not even a minute in. He was like a bloodhound.

But…

You have a better chance right now. Why waste it? Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back.

And, admittedly, the childish and romantic part in you wanted to see what his reaction would be. Pissed that you made his job harder? Jealous or worried you’re with another man alone? Or annoyed that you interrupted his reading time for a game of cat and mouse?

You grab Adam by the shoulder. “Hey, how about we go to a different spot? I saw some food vendors, and even a toy shop. Just to check things out, ya know? We’re both new to the area, right?”

He’s hesitant, at first. “Ah… are you sure? I mean… the toy shop is childish, and we already ate – “

“Please? I’m barely allowed to leave the house alone. I just want to explore.” You give him your best puppy-dog eyes, and he gives him after you whisper one more ‘please.’

“Alright… just make sure to stick close to me.” He offers his arm like a true gentleman, cheeks and ears flushed. Your gut twists in guilt again, but you still take the offer, wrapping your hands around it. “I’m not… used to escorting young women. Not even family members.”

Ah. This works for you.

He’s drawing a line while indirectly telling you he’s not romantically interested.

Good, you weren’t either.

Looking over your shoulder, your companion’s figure gets smaller and smaller the further you walk. He doesn’t react, not even looking in your direction. He flips the page.

Turning your head to the front, you feel all giggly inside. Even if your crush is unrequited, or if he doesn’t care about your well-being at all, it feels nice to slip under his thumb. Just once.

And besides, what’s he going to do? Kill you?

The toy shop is your first stop. Dolls, miniature trains, kites – name it and they’ll probably have it. The highest quality, everything from the actual toys themselves to the shelves polished. Your fingers glide across some of them, not even a speck of dust clinging to the flesh.

“Everything is so detailed…,” your date mumbles, clearly invested in the toys. Eyeballs painted so realistically it scares you, none of the paint chipped, the fur as soft as the real thing – stuffed animals that either look too realistic or the damn cutest thing ever. You might buy one.

“Yes… I’m not too surprised, considering this is one of the highest rating shops in town,” you pick up a stuffed wolf, raven black in color with red eyes. It reminds you of a certain someone, and you almost give into the urge to hug it. You quickly place it back, making sure not a piece of fur out of place.

“Hey… I have a question,” Adam turns around with a worried expression. “That guy at the café… and the bookstore… do you think he’ll show up here to?”

… you’ll make it a point to tell said man to be more careful from now on.

“What man?” titling your head, eyes round and big, you question him. Look as clueless as possible, as innocent. He’s going to get the wrong idea otherwise – or maybe even drag him along if he were to find out the truth. It would ruin the fun, the small independence you currently have – as said before, just a moment of being able to slip away was ideal, wanted. It made you feel like your actions were not constantly being reported.

“The one in the… strange outfit. Black coat? Beanie? And the sunglasses… it just makes him stand out more…” Adam runs a hand through his hair, either annoyed or stressed. Or perhaps both.

“That’s… casual fashion though, is it not?” You’re happy that someone finally agrees with your take on it. It makes him look handsome, yes, but it brought more attention than needed. The only thing keeping people at bay was that brooding aroura of his.

“I… suppose it is, but in the bookstore… he always showed up in the same roll as us. We couldn’t go to a different section without him showing up a few minutes later.”

That fucking bastard… ah, what does it matter?

“Maybe he just has the same tastes as us?”

“Maybe…”

Thirty minutes in and he still hasn’t shown up. Either he’s watching from the shadows or just leaving you to your own devices as he stays behind. The latter wouldn’t make sense, your brother blowing a fuse the first time it happened. But the former is also off the table because he would show himself in some manner, be it by ‘accidentally’ bumping into you, or getting in your direct area of sight.

Neither has happened.

It’s also the third time you hopped around, entering a clothing store this time. It was… decent, compared to the rest. Unusual for you ever since your brother demanded that you dressed better – a notion that gives you a headache. Even so, the quality was still good, just not as flashy or daring as the other clothing stores.

“Do you plan on buying something? Or just looking around?” Adam eyes a jacket, waiting for your answer.

An idea hits you.

One of your friends had asked you for a favor not so long ago… her family stricter than yours despite being in her mid-twenties – rich parents have a hard time letting go. And besides, you know her measurements (something you both shared on a drunken night, giggling like mad women). And besides, her birthday is around the corner… she’s also bragged about her… ‘activates’ with her boyfriend…

Fuck it.

“Yes, actually. But I’m getting it with my own money.”

A sheer babydoll would probably fit her. Pastel oink, maybe? God, this already feels awkward, but a favor is a favor –

“Are you sure?” His attention is back on you, and thankfully he’s not insistent on buying it for you. Maybe it’s because it’s a clothing store, and with clothing stores comes… spice. Not for him nor you.

“It’s a gift.”

“Ah, alright.”

You both go to different sections, and once you get to the women’s section, you’re met with dresses that have slits, coats with puffy sleeves (winter is coming), and much more. You walk deeper in, until you finally reach your destination – the underwear section.

You look at the different options, from a lacy panty and bra set to garter belts attached to underwear. When you finally find the set, you were looking for, you head to the register.

An hour and fifteen minutes.

That’s how long it took for your companion to find you, roughly grabbing you by the arm the moment you leave the store, getting some fresh air and bag in hand.

You bite back the whine of pain from his grip. You just hope it’s not going to bruise. Keeping your mouth shut would be the best choice right now, especially when you notice how tense his body is – fuck, you won’t be surprised if you end up dead tonight.

Either by him or your brother.

“…”

No words were exchanged as he drags you to an empty alleyway, his phone buzzing away in his pocket. It’s probably your brother. You’re definitely dead.

“Where were you?” He doesn’t release your arm, simply turning to face you the moment you step into darkness. His grip doesn’t loosen either, and once more, you’re reminded of why you shouldn’t be interested in him. If looks could kill, you’d be six feet under right now.

“On a date,” you should really watch your tone right now. His shades and mask may hide his expression, but you feel the bloodlust. “Getting to know him, the usual stuff.” You’re shaking in your knees. What are you trying to accomplish here? You already got a reaction out of him – he’s pissed, furious even, most likely thinking of ways to murder you in your sleep. Your mouth seems to disagree.

“The stuff my brother told me to do – “

“He didn’t tell you to sneak away with him. He told you to stay within my sight.” His fingers dig further into your arm. “I’m going to ask again; where were you?” There’s an edge to his voice. Its anger mixed with something else. It’s a really bad time to get your hopes up right now. Make up your mind – are you scared or hopeful?

“First, let go. If he saw us like this, he’ll think I’m a cheating girlfriend or something like that.” He lingers a bit longer before letting go. While you would have welcomed his touch in literally almost any setting, you want your arm unbruised. Sometimes it feels like he wants to hurt you.

“We went to a toy shop across the street, then a street food vendor, and finally, this clothing store. The one you almost broke my arm at.”

“I didn’t ‘almost’ break your arm – “

“I think you’re forgetting just exactly how weak I am compared to you.” You want the ground to swallow you whole. His phone buzzes again, and with a pointed look at you, he answers it. He says some stuff, the usual ‘Yes everything is fine,’ and ‘Alright, I’ll make sure she won’t leave the house for a while.’

Wait.

What?

By the time you reached for his phone, it was already ended. He lets you have it, scoffing when you get the password wrong. You resist the urge to lock him out of it. “… I’m twenty-five.”

“Yes, what about it?”

“And I’m being treated like a child. I didn’t ask for this – “

“You were the one who took his hand. And you also were the one who decided to run off… what’s in the bag?” He tilts his head, gesturing to it. A pink paper bag, the loops made of silk. Oh right. The underwear.

“Underwear. A babydoll set, if you really want to know, tell my brother that if you want to.” You shove it into his arms, any and all fun gone for the day. You should apologize and say goodbye to Adam before you’re dragged away. You turn on your heel, groaning when he asks:

“Were you going to fuck him?”

“No.”

You hear the bag rustle as he pulls it out. “It’s see through, and expensive… if it wasn’t for him, then who?” You don’t answer, walking ahead. You just hope he doesn’t follow you into the store. Otherwise, you’re going to be one killing him.

“No-one. And besides, if I was planning on sleeping with someone, it wouldn’t involve you. As a matter of fact, I feel sorry for you – to think, no-one would show a little bit of skin for you… how sad.” Was it out of spite? Frustration? Eagerness to see his reaction?

You give up on yourself. Whatever is said, is said.

“Like you’re don’t,” you’re not sure of when he got so close, or how his hand encloses itself around your neck, palm pressing against it. His breath hits your ear. “I see the way you look at me.”

“… Do you have nothing better to do with your time? Like, I don’t know, fucking off?” you don’t make a move to push him off, and he doesn’t move away. But his grip is light, extremely so that you could easily get out of it with just a twist of your hand.

You’re usually passive. You don’t get an attitude with him, if anything, you usually tend to be nice to him. Smiles and forced laughs and genuine giggles – but the fact you’re grounded like a child… no.

Maybe it’s because he finally hurt you.

“There’s a hotel nearby if you’re so desperate to wear this thing,” he bounces the bag midair. Where the fuck was this coming from? There’s never been any sexual tension, nor has he expressed or shown any interest in you. And after you just had an argument? On your date?

“I thought you said you don’t date.”

“I don’t,” a single kiss to your nape, “and neither do you.”

Sometimes, you’re scared of how much you’re attracted you are to him.

#hsr blade #hsr x reader #hsr #honkai star rail blade #honkai star rail #yandere hsr #yandere blade #yandere blade x reader #blade x reader

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stranger-fanfiction-n-things · 25 days

Text

CHAPTER 5: THE FLEA AND THE ACROBAT

This is an Original Character fanfiction. All Stranger Things characters and content are owned by Netflix and The Duffer Brothers.

a/n: I try to include Erica as much as I can.

Warnings: None.

Word Count: 2053

Masterlist

PART I || PART II || PART III

ROANE CEMETERY

Dad didn’t say anything to me when I came downstairs wearing lipstick, but I didn’t miss the look he gave Mom or the warning look Mom gave him back. Me wearing lipstick was the least of our troubles when we have a funeral to attend. The drive to the cemetery was quiet once again. Lucas hadn’t uttered much of a word since we left the house and Erica was unusually quiet as well. It must be difficult to navigate how to move when your two older siblings both lost their best friends at the same time. I reach for Erica’s hand kissing her knuckles before entwining our fingers to show that I’m here, even when my world is crumbling beneath my feet. I’m here. Erica leans on me in acceptance and I sigh contently knowing she doesn’t feel like I’ve neglected her. Erica, Lucas and I are all hyperaware of each other’s feelings without having to ask. Call it sibling telepathy or what not, but our relationship though sometimes rough around the edges, especially between Lucas and Erica, but when it comes down to it, we are always there for each other, no matter what.

When we get to the cemetery, I am surprised at how many people are already there in support of the Byers. There had to be 40 people here at maximum. Most of them I assume are fellow classmates showing their regards to the loss. I’m warmed by the outpour of support from everyone who showed up today to pay their respects. Over the past few days, the town has come together to find Will, even though the search came to a tragic end, the love still showed. I follow closely behind Lucas who still hasn’t spoken much of a word. All of us are still following Dad’s rule of leaving Lucas alone to grieve and process. He’ll come to us when he wants to.

The air is brisk yet refreshing and the sun shines weakly in the sky. Brown leaves rustle in the wind, swirling around us in haste. I brush my hair away from my face and look down at the uneven ground under my black sunglasses in effort not to trip and fall in the damp grass. We approach the group, sending small smiles. I immediately notice Nancy standing beside Mrs. Wheeler. She is dressed similar to me in a black dress, nylons and kitten heels. Her black trench coat is open despite the mild winter chill. I wave at her before I am handed a white rose and walk down the row towards her and the Wheeler and Henderson Family. Mike and Dustin look at me; Mike sending a small wave in my direction. Dustin smiles a toothless grin at me but it quickly fades to a scowl when Lucas elbows him in the side. I scrunch my nose to hide my smile, happy to know my brother isn’t completely gone.

Only a few minutes pass before the Byers approach the cemetery. Jonathan guides Ms. Byers to her seat and is followed by a man I haven’t seen in a while and who I can only assume is Jonathan’s dad. He looks done up in what looks to be an expensive suit meanwhile, Jonathan and Ms. Byers look plain. I notice Jonathan’s dad has a tie on but Jonathan doesn’t and I think about Dad teaching Lucas how to tie a tie in the mirror. I am aware of Jonathan and Will’s home life. Living with a single mom proved itself to be difficult especially in a religious town like Hawkins. I purse my lips thinking about everything and it occurs to me that Jonathan has not once mentioned his dad in any of this which makes me wonder if his dad cared at all about Will and if so, why did it take so long for him to care about his own child.

I stare at Ms. Byers. When I briefly saw her yesterday at her home when Nancy and I were looking for Jonathan, she looked how I expect any parent who has a child missing; worse for wear. I didn’t pry or stare at all the Christmas lights strung up on the ceilings and walls or even the alphabet written across the far end of the wall. If I learned anything at all this week is that people grieve in their own way. She looks more presentable today, though she moved slowly, barely aware of her own movements. Ms. Byers didn’t look at anyone or even smiled. Just sat down on the chair in front of the casket. Jonathan told us yesterday that she didn’t believe Will’s body was real and now she has to sit through a funeral she deems unnecessary.

Pastor Charles approaches the front of the casket and begins his sermon. Not too long after the ceremony is filled with silent tears, muffled nose blowing and soft sniffles. My hand is on Lucas’s shoulder for the entire time. He doesn’t cry which surprises me a little bit because he was bawling his eyes out when news about Will’s body being found in the Quarry broke out. Maybe he was numb to everything now.

“Fear not, for I am with you. Be not dismayed, for I am your God.” Pastor Charles says. “I will strengthen you. Yes, I will help you. I will uphold you with my righteous hand. It’s times like these that our faith is challenged. How, if he is truly benevolent could God take from us someone so young, so innocent? It would be easy to turn away from God but we must remember than nothing, not even tragedy, can separate us from His love.”

The sermon ends and it’s time for everyone to throw their flowers onto the grave site. One by one we all let go of our flowers. Mom and Dad approach Jonathan’s dad who is nothing but smiles and charm thanking us for coming. I send him a tight-lipped smile, feeling slightly put off by him and his mannerisms. I look over her shoulder and see Ms. Byers frowning and shaking her head. I want to pay my respects to her, but she doesn’t look like she’s in the mood for any interaction. Her eyes were empty, lacking any hint of emotion, though with just enough focus to know she was still there.

Nancy is waiting for me outside the crowd. I excuse myself and I hug her tight hooking my arm with hers.

“You look like a movie star with your sunglasses,” she teases. I lay my head on her shoulder as we walk to a more secluded area. “Also, I can’t believe you’re wearing lipstick right now.”

“I know I can’t believe it either. My mom gave me one of hers to wear today.”

“Have you told her anything? Y’know about…”

I lift my head, shaking it. “No, I haven’t. Have you told your mom?”

“Definitely not. Things have been…” she exhales. “Tense between us since the whole Steve thing. She still brings him up. Even after our talk with the cops, she never once asked about Barb.” Nancy scoffs rolling her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “If it makes you feel any better, things between my mom and I were…different to say the least yesterday too.” Nancy’s eyebrows raise to her forehead. I nod my head rubbing my lips together. “Yeah, the lies caught up with me, I guess. From going to Steve’s to getting a ride home—”

“You got a ride home?” Nancy interrupts. “By whom?”

I wince forgetting I haven’t told Nancy about Eddie yet. I open my mouth to speak but thankfully, I am distracted by Jonathan standing on the far end of the cemetery. He raises his hand to let me know he wants to talk to us about something. I wave back and glance at Nancy who looks at me pupils twinkling under the bleak sun and pat her hand. “I’ll tell you about it later.”

The three of us sit on the ground behind a wrought iron fence in the cemetery. Jonathan holds out a makeshift map with red x’s making a triangle. I lean in close pushing my sunglasses over my bangs to see clearly. Jonathan points to the map. “This is where we know for sure it’s been.”

Nancy furrows her brows, pointing an x the farthest to the left. “So, that’s…”

“Steve’s house.” Jonathan confirms. He moves his finger to an open space on the paper. “And that’s the woods where they found Will’s bike and…that’s my house.”

“It’s all so close.” I say, hugging my jacket closer to my body.

“Exactly. I mean, it’s all within a mile or something. Whatever this thing is, it’s not traveling far.”

I study Jonathan, squinting against the sun. His newfound eagerness was suspicious especially because of what was happening right now. He buried his little brother today and his family dynamic seemed way more intense than usual. I sit up straighter twisting my body. “You want to go out there.”

Jonathan perks up as if he’s been caught doing something he isn’t supposed to be doing. “We may not find anything.”

“We found something.” Nancy chimes in. “And if we do see it…then what?”

“We kill it.”

My eyes pop out of my head. “Kill it? How are we going to do that?”

Jonathan stands up dusting dead grass off his pants. He looks determined and a little crazed. I blinked with incredulity. “Follow me.” He says marching to the parking lot. I look at Nancy wondering what’s going on. He leads us to an expensive looking sports car. He opens the door not before telling us to keep look out. I cross my arms above my chest shifting from side to side on my feet. My eyes dart back and forth around the cemetery. Everyone was walking back to the church for the reception. Mine and Nancy’s parents are talking to each other while Mike, Dustin and Lucas huddled in a circle. I tilt my head to the side wondering what they were talking about.

“Just give me a second.” Jonathan says, pulling out a pocket knife from his jacket pocket. My eyes again pop out of my head.

“Are you serious?” Nancy exclaims.

“No, absolutely not!” I shout, watching him wiggle the end of his knife into the lock of the glove compartment. I can only hope and assume this car is his dad’s and even though his dad gave me bad vibes, I still do not approve of stealing. I am already on the police’s radar for Barb, I don’t need to add theft to my list.

“What?” Jonathan snaps, opening the glove compartment. He sifts through taking out a gun. My mouth falls open. “You want to find this thing and take another photo? Yell at it?”

“No, but…”

“This is a terrible idea.” Nancy intercepts.

“Yeah, well, it’s the best we’ve got.” Jonathan tucks the gun in his back pocket before closing the car door. “What? You can tell someone but they’re not going to believe you. You know that.”

That was true and I wasn’t going to tell my parents anything, but Ms. Byers believed something was happening before Nancy and I knew Barb was missing. Hell, she doesn’t think Will’s body is real. It made sense to tell her about what was happening. Maybe she can help us somehow.

“Your mom would.” I point out.

Jonathan takes a deep breath. I see how tired he looks, the bags under his eyes deepening in colour. There’s a hint a sadness in his eyes that disappears as soon as I see it. “She’s been through enough.”

“She deserves to know.” Nancy adds.

“Yeah, and I’ll tell her when this thing is dead.” He says with finality. It’s enough for me and Nancy not to push anymore.

I think about Barb and the looks on Officer Callahan and Powell’s faces when I told them about what I saw in Steve’s backyard. I pull my sunglasses down tucking my hair behind my ear. Determination bubbles in my body. If Jonathan is certain about this, I’m in through and through. Like I said. My brother and I deserve to have our best friend’s back.

“When do we start?”

Taglist 🤍: @tinydramatist

#stranger things rewrite #black fem reader #stranger things fic #stranger things #dianasinclair #eddie munson x black!reader #steve harrington x black!reader #sinclair!reader #eddie munson x female reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #eddie munson x reader #steve harrington x reader

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adelaidedrubman · 8 months

Text

wip wednesday....... LOSERS’ edition.

(that’s every day with my characters but) i decided to kick off wip wednesday, and use it as an excuse to belatedly post the sentences written for the losers of the wip poll from a while back. in part because i lost the post with who wanted to be tagged in the losers post yeah. so, decided to share as a wip day buffet to the usual suspects instead (on that note, this is always a no pressure tag with no expectation you have to read in order to tag me back, but an extra bonus no pressure disclaimer please nobody feel obligated to read every excerpt even if you want to read one.)

sending tags TO my beloveds @henbased @florbelles @unholymilf @belorage @socially-awkward-skeleton @corvosattano @inafieldofdaisies @direwombat @roofgeese @shallow-gravy @derelictheretic @strangefable @8bitpizzacoupons @stacispratt @orionlancasterr @v0idbuggy @jackiesarch @nuclearstorms @strafethesesinners @firstaidspray @clicheantagonist @simplegenius042 @miyabilicious @ladyofedens-blog @nightbloodbix @poetikat @voidika @ishwaris @confidentandgood @ri-a-rose @cassietrn @wrathfulrook @schoute @bluemojave @afarcryfrommymain @trench-rot @blissfulalchemist @shellibisshe @roberthouses @indorilnerevarine (+ open invitation + psa i am moving to an opt-in tag list soon so if you would like to keep/start being tagged please like or comment here.)

without further ado, the wips that just couldn’t rise to meet the #HANKSWEEP. these are in descending order of number of votes, so longer excerpts towards the top. credit to @derelictheretic for the text dividers i used here to break it up + make it visually easier to read your excerpt of choice.

HOOK, LINE, AND SINKER: 8 VOTES. the john/jestiny fake dating post getting dumped by their respective polycules au. here’s 8 sentences i wrote for chapter three following the poll, which i’m hoping to be able to post in full sometime this week.

“You crashed my boat.” “No shit!” she spat back, butting her forehead against his. “You shouldn’t have been fucking distracting me!” His brow twitched, his body tensing further. “You crashed. My. Boat!” “And did you get some kinda fuckin’ head injury during it or something?!” she barked. “The boat crashed —” “You crashed —” “— you have sufficiently fuckin’ established that.” She shoved her hand harder against his collarbone, digging her nails into the mass of his shoulder. “So how about instead of sitting around goin’ off like a broken record you get the fuck off me and help me shove this thing back into the water? I’ll even give you the honor of driving the piece of junk back to the marina, since you have such a minnow up your ass about me doing it.”

FIELD NOTES: 8 VOTES. working title for jenna’s canon, set pre-reaping. i’ve had trouble getting this one started beyond stray excerpts because i want to format it in a style that’s new for me, epistolary storytelling through research notes, emails, etc. mixed with traditional narration. on that note, i played fast and loose with tallying the sentences here due to the first part being in segmented shorthand, so it’s technically over count.

8:14 PM - Luggage Inventory, Convent Living Quarters. -Small but visible damage to zipper on inner pocket of main suitcase. Bending of teeth bent at approx. two inches from base. Zips with minimal effort, contents of pocket accounted for. -Approx. 10ml fluid missing from water bottle clipped to handle, visual estimate. Check for leaks/transfer remaining fluid for lab analysis to be added to agenda. -Slight tears to lining at A gentle series of knocks drew Jenna from her journal, eyes settling on the peeling eggshell white paint and warped wood of the exterior door opposite the foot of her bunk. She flicked her eyes to the open doorway at her left to confirm that none of the women in the adjoining cabin appeared to have intentions of crossing the invisible barrier of privacy given to her as a ‘special guest’ with a ‘room all to herself’ and answering the knock themselves before climbing down from her bed to cross the short length of the room. She left the journal open with cover flat atop the mattress and pen tucked into its gutter. It would just as easily read as an accounting of damage done by the airline on the flight over, were John to keep up the established pattern of indirect but relentless restless prying. Jenna admonished herself for the intellectual laziness of making assumptions as she peered through the crack in the door she opened, finding it wasn’t John who stood there at all. “I just wanted to see that you were settling in alright,” Faith greeted with a soft smile, dropping the hand that had knocked to fold into the one hovering at her waist, lacing the fingers together with palms pointed towards the ground. She seemed careful not to touch the frame of the door, to do anything to tangibly intrude into Jenna’s space, but rocked forward on the balls of her feet to lean just past the threshold, in subtle elicitation of an invitation to enter.

INFERNO: 3 VOTES. a simple lil role reversal au, baptist!jestiny/deputy!john.

He was sure if there were any onlookers watching as he stepped gently and deliberately along the slick mud of the riverbank to weave himself into the throngs of faithful, they would think he looked less like a Deputy County Attorney approaching a potential key witness, and more like a moth drawn to a flame. All the better, he thought. He knew how to carefully craft a misleading image, too.

AMERICA’S SWEETHEART: 3 VOTES. i never really planned to write anything in this verse or make it a cohesive story, but if i were going to i would want to do it exclusively through the pov of people just trying to do their job being forced to interact with johnjess. so here’s me playing with that, and with trying to use present tense for something besides the opossum fic. also i did lines instead of sentences because there were lots of short ones oops.

“They were national news. Were,” Penelope corrects with a hiss of derision. “When they were tried. I’m not driving four hours to Hope County every time the court has to deny the habeas corpus petition of the month! I mean, for the love of god, Stuart — I was a Peabody nominee.” He shrugs as he folds in the temples of his glasses, carefully placing them on the desk beside his tea. “Was,” he grants flatly. “A nominee. You didn’t win.” The stiff leather of his chair creaks in complaint beneath his shifting weight as he pauses a beat, tacking on, “The paper will be generous with reimbursing travel expenses, of course. There’s a new little resort that popped up at one of the marinas I’ve heard is actually quite nice. Has a spa and everything.”

MINE’S BIGGER: 2 VOTES. a verse vague john/jestiny silly little oneshot that is nsfw adjacent (excerpt fully sfw).

John swatted away the hand attempting to puncture the delicate silk lapel of his robe with the point of the badge, knocking the bronze star down to clatter against the hardwood. “It doesn’t exactly require high-caliber deductive reasoning to see how desperately you’re trying to deflect right now,” he huffed, pulling up the neck of his robe with a protective grip.

JOIN ME IN THE SKY: 1 VOTE. a silly little john/jestiny airline crew au, john is a pilot and jestiny is a flight attendant. (ft. suffering crew members nick rye and mary may fairgrave.)

“What I’m doing is my duty as the Captain of this crew to see that its members are in line and following orders,” he bit out, shoving past Nick to take his place in front of the door to the absent flight attendant’s room. “Kindly see to it that you’re not the next subordinate in need of attention.”

…seriously? who the fuck was the one person who voted for wildfire? turn on your location i just wanna talk. but here. ““chapter 19””” or whatever

It had never been her particular habit, but as she watched billowing black smoke rise from the short, torn and twisted metal remnants of the frame of the silo with the heat from its explosion flaring hot on her cheeks, Jestiny thought she could understand now why some people enjoyed smoking after sex.

#also if the sentence count is wrong places i didn’t mention blame the sentence counter site i used not me.#wip #fic: hook‚ line‚ and sinker #v: field notes #(new tag added. maybe that will shame me into writing it.)#v: inferno #v: america’s sweetheart #v: join me in the sky #fic: wildfire

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mysterious-ocarina · 11 months

Text

As The Dust Settles

Dazai Osamu x reader

please give me recommendations for books to use as abilities or just abilities in general for bsd content

Main Masterlist BSD Masterlist Requests AO3

(2.9k words)

You were being followed, you could feel it. Each time you turned around, there was no suspicious person trailing you, but when you faced forward you could feel the chill of eyes assessing you.

You wiped the tears from your eyes to focus where you were walking, making sure to not make a careless mistake again. You were cruelly reminded yet again, by touching your face, that you were not wearing your gloves. The reminder brought fresh tears to replace the ones you wiped away. You had a feeling that whoever was following you witnessed what happened a few minutes ago and was watching as you silently cried.

You were simply walking along the roads of Yokohama, a book in hand not paying attention where you were walking. A lone man walked in front of you and bumped into you, forcing you to drop your book on the ground.

“Shit, I’m so sorry. I should’ve been watching where I was going,” you hastily apologized.

“It’s okay, it was an accident,” the man replied.

You both bent down to pick up your book but unfortunately for the man his hand had grazed yours. You watched as he immediately shriveled away into dust that flew away with the wind.

As the tears in your eyes started to form, you hastily looked around to see if anyone had seen what just happened but everyone seemed to be too consumed in their busy lives to notice.

Completely forgetting about the book on the ground, you walked away as fast as you could, just wanting to be alone in bed. You tried not to think about the man, like you always did when this kind of thing happened. Was he married? Is there a girlfriend at home waiting for him? Or a mother that he’s taking care of? A sister who worries about him? A child that depended on him?

Still making your way home, the guilt consumed you until you almost forgot about the person trailing you.

Eventually you were near the cafe that you sometimes frequented. It was quiet, most of the time, and was a good place for you to get out of the house without seeing too many people.

Forcefully, you were pulled by your long sleeve shirt into a nearby alleyway.

“Don’t touch me,” you screamed, backing as far away from your assailant as possible.

“Now now, Belladonna. I’m not going to hurt you,” a soothing voice said. You finally looked up to see who dragged you into the alley. It was a handsome man in a big trench coat with bandages covering all his skin except his face and hands. Speaking of hands, you noticed the book in one of them and you visibly stiffened.

“You dropped something, and I wanted to give it back to you,” he smoothly offered. It was obvious to you that he had ulterior motives.

“It’s not mine. I’ve got to go,” you hastily told him. You tried your best to get away from him but he simply grabbed your arm preventing your escape.

“Don’t lie to me, belladonna. That was certainly an interesting sight to see,” he said, confirming that he had seen what you did.

Fresh, guilty tears started to form in your eyes as you looked up at the man. For some reason, his heart broke at the sight of your puffy, tear-stained face.

“Well, now what? I didn’t do it on purpose, you know,” you replied, voice cracking. You thought the day finally came where you were justifiably punished for your ability. You would be wrong.

“I know,” he responded, studying your face. “I have a proposition for you.”

–

That’s how you found yourself working for the Armed Detective Agency. For awhile, you didn’t have it in you to go on missions and use your ability on purpose so you were a desk clerk alongside Naomi Tanizaki. Eventually, with a lot of encouragement from Dazai and your other coworkers, you ended up helping out on a lot of cases. You eventually warmed up to everyone.

Your relationship with Dazai was a weird one. Despite the jokes and unprofessionalism he displays, he was the main person in the agency that you felt most comfortable with. You weren’t sure if it was because you knew your ability wouldn’t work on him, not that you’ve ever tried to test that, or if it was because he was the one who found you.

Anytime the guilt of your victims weighed on your shoulders, Dazai was always there to comfort you and assure you that you weren’t a psychopath. He’s seen firsthand the care, love, and joy that you provide to the world, it’s what he admires about you. The fact that despite having such a destructive ability, you wake up everyday with a full heart.

Sometimes when you walk into the office and offer everyone one of your angelic smiles, Dazai doesn’t feel like he deserves to be graced by your presence, the blood on his hands keeping him from going too far with his feelings with you. That doesn’t stop him from pestering you even more than he pesters Kunikida.

“Belladonna, it would mean the world to me to be touched by your lips and fade out of existence,” Dazai begged. He was sitting across from you desk and as usual wasn’t getting any kind of work done.

You tensed but rolled your eyes, used to his antics, “Like I’ve said, each time you say this, my ability probably won't work on you and I would never want to kill you.”

He simply pouted at you, “Well then, why don’t you give me a kiss to test it out. It’s a win for me either way.”

“How is it a win for you either way?” Atsushi chimed from his desk, next to yours.

“Well young apprentice,” the title makes Atsushi roll his eyes, “First, I get a kiss from the most beautiful woman in the world. That’s enough by itself but if it kills me, it would be the perfect suicide, to die by a powerful kiss from a wonderful woman.”

You and Atsushi shared an exasperated look. This wasn’t the first time either of you have dealt with his suicidal antics, except this time you were starting to feel sick.

“Excuse me,” you choked out, pushing back from your desk to leave. You made a hasty retreat to the bathroom to empty your stomach.

“Is she okay?” Atshushi asked, worriedly. “She looked a little pale.”

Dazai sighed, “I’ll go check on them.”

After you were done in the bathroom, you made your way downstairs to the cafe. Upon entering, you were greeted by Dazai who was now standing in front of you with two drinks in hand and a soft smile.

“I got your favorite,” he offered one of the cups to you. You were not surprised to find out that he actually did know your favorite cafe order. You softly grabbed the cup and sat in a booth towards the back of the cafe, Dazai following close behind.

“Thank you,” you whispered, gazing out the window.

“Would you like to tell me what happened upstairs? I couldn’t find you, but I knew you would come down here eventually,” he asked. He was speaking softly to you, understanding that something was indeed wrong. There was no need to lie to Dazai, he knew you too well.

“I just got stuck in my head, it’s fine,” you responded.

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” he laid his hand on the table, inches away from yours.

Upon noticing how close he was to you, you pulled your arm further from him. To this day, you were still too scared to touch Dazai. What if you got too comfortable touching him one day and had to watch as we withered away?

“I had a bad dream last night and I was reminded of it,” you eventually responded. Dazai sat in silence, waiting for you to continue but not pressuring you. “In my dream, I was at the office and as everyone faded into dust you came up in front of me. I went to cry in your arms but then you faded away too.”

Your face was wet but you didn’t bother wiping the tears away. Dazai knew that your biggest fear was killing everyone you loved. He could feel your anxiety from across the table and he knew he would do anything to quell your nerves.

“Do you trust me?” he asked, looking right at you. His gaze was so intense you couldn’t look away. You couldn’t respond so you nodded your head, shortly. You trusted Dazai with your life, the both of you knew this.

Dazai inched his hand close to you, softly grabbing your gloved hand. You wanted to pull away but the soft smile he was giving you froze you in your spot.

With one hand on your clothed wrist, he pulled your glove off and whispered, “You could never hurt me, Belladonna. You don’t have to worry about anything.”

With your glove off and hands exposed, you both just sat there. He still didn’t touch you, letting you calm your racing heart. His grip on your wrist was also light so you could back out if you truly felt too uncomfortable. Frozen in place, you couldn’t pull away.

Eventually, Dazai let his fingers trail from the sleeve of your shirt. Your fingers twitched at the attention. When he reached the skin of your wrist, he confidently and without pause kept his fingers trailing down. His fingers tingled in your palm but felt warm to the touch. He brought your hand up and let his hand rest against yours, like a high five but without the motion.

You almost cried at the feeling of skin on yours. Dazai just sat with you, fiddling with your fingers.

“Your hands are bigger than mine. I never noticed,” you sniffled with a small laugh. You let your fingers wrap around his, enjoying the feeling of skin to skin contact. Dazai chuckled at your comment and stared at you and your joined hands in utter adoration.

From that day forward, the relationship you had with Dazai would be very different. No one in the agency seemed to notice or care about this change, but Dazai could and he was not going to complain one bit.

You would often find yourself touching Dazai. Mostly, you would be holding onto his arm as you walked beside him. Sometimes after a long case, you would even lay your head on his shoulder. You would only hold his hand directly if you two were alone, nervous of the comments you might get from your coworkers.

Dazai had always been a comfort for you, but now it’s only increased tenfold, making your feelings for the maniac also grow.

You were lazing around your desks with your coworkers (minus Ranpo and Dazai, thank god), taking a break from the long work day. Though, you regret joining them, for they were currently teasing you about your obvious feelings for the bandaged bastard you guys work with.

“Come on, you should totally tell him how you feel. What’s the worst that can happen?” Dr. Yosono asked with a shrug.

“Well the worst that can happen is that he declines, doesn’t feel the same way, and then kicks me out of the Agency for my unprofessionalism,” you listed, raising a finger for each point.

Naomi gave you a big smile, “None of that would happen. He’s clearly in love with you too and he would get bored here, if you were kicked out.”

You could only roll your eyes. You tried to not let the jealousy in your voice show, when you asked, “Well if he truly wants me, then why does he flirt with every woman he encounters?”

Atsushi piped up from his spot, “I’ve seen the way he acts around other women that arent you and it’s different.”

“How?” you questioned, dubiously. Why was everyone so intent on this subject?

Kunikida, of all people, pushed his glasses up and spoke up, “Atsushi’s right. The way he flirts with other women is mindless and meaningless. Just a way to entertain himself because he’s bored. But with you, he interacts with you with intent. I can tell by the stupid look on his face when he talks to you, that he cares about what you have to say.”

You could only stare at everyone, crimson dotting your cheeks. You didn’t know what to say. There’s no way that Dazai’s partner could be wrong about the way he feels towards you.

“You know he’s right,” Naomi chimed, with a little wink in your direction.

Speaking of the devil, Dazai walked into the office. He made his way to your desk, “What are up to, Belladonna?”

You blushed, recalling the conversation that took place barely minutes ago. You raised your eyebrows, teasing, “My job.��

Dazai laughed at the look you gave him, “Want to join me on a case? I actually have work to do.”

You gave him a confused look, “You can solve a case on your own, what do you need me for?”

In the corner of your eyes, you watched as some of your coworkers facepalm or release a disappointed sigh.

“Well, it will be a lot more fun if you came with me. I’ll even get you food after,” he gave you a charming pout.

“How can I say no to that?” you replied before getting up. You grabbed his arm and made your way out of the office with him, pointedly ignoring the looks that everyone was giving you.

Walking down the streets of Yokohama arm in arm with Dazai was perfect. You both slipped into comfortable conversation and chatter.

Eventually you brought up, “Where are we going, anyways? Are you going to tell me about your case?”

Dazai looked confused for a moment, like he didn’t know what you were talking about, and then laughed.

You pouted, “What’s so funny, Dazai?”

“There is no case,” he finally got out once his giggles had subsided.

“Then why did you say that?” you asked, genuinely confused with the way this man’s brain worked.

“I only said that so I could get you out of the office, to hang out with me, without Kunikida getting mad at us,” he giggled again. “I also knew you wouldn’t leave to hang out unless I made it sound like we would be getting work done.”

You slapped his arm, laughing along with him, “He will kill us, if he ever finds out.”

“OOh, I like the sound of that,” Dazai said, face covered with a smug smile.

You simply giggled before replying, “I don’t know if I should kiss you or push you into oncoming traffic.”

Oh god, where did your filter go? You really did not mean to let that slip.

Without a second thought, Dazai replied, “I suggest both,” followed by a flirty, “please.”

You just stared at Dazai in shock, unsure what to say.

“Don’t play with me, Osamu,” you whispered, suddenly feeling very vulnerable.

Dazai grabbed your hands, pulling your gloves off. “I’m being serious. I’ve wanted to kiss you for a long time, Belladonna.”

He was holding onto your hands like you were about to run away from him.

“I think I’ve been in love with you since the first time we touched. Hell, maybe even before that,” you claimed. You looked up at Dazai and flushed at the adoring look that he was giving you.

“I care about you so much that I may or may not have gone behind your back about something. Don’t be mad that I didn’t tell you,” Dazai sighed.

“I won’t be mad at you. You can tell me anything,” you said, worriedly.

“For a while, I’ve been doing a bit of research on the side, with the help of the President. I’ve been trying to figure out if there was a way to control your powers. So that they only worked when you wanted them to and not all the time,” Dazai explained.

With tears in your eyes, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He looked at you, eyes filled with love, “I didn’t want to tell you and give you false hope if I didn’t find anything useful.”

“Then, why are you telling me now?” you asked.

“The President and I found a lead. It’s very likely that we found a way for you to control your powers,” Dazai replied, a wide smile covering his face.

You had no response to what he said so you did the only thing that came to your mind. You kissed Dazai Osamu. You kissed him like he was the oxygen you needed to breathe and he kissed you back with equal if not more passion.

You kissed under a lone streetlight, feeling as if you were floating on top of the clouds. Dazai never failed to remind you that you deserved to be loved and that you deserved to be held.

Under the gleaming moonlight, under the warm streetlight, in the arms of Dazai Osamu, you have never felt more happy.

“I love you, Osamu,” you whispered for only Dazai and the stars to hear.

“And you, my Belladonna,” he whispered back.

#bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #dazai osamu x reader #fluff #dazai osamu x you #dazai osamu x y/n #dazai osamu #dazai fluff #osamu dazai #osamu dazai x reader #osamu dazai bsd #osamu dazai x you #fanfiction

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heyiwrotesomethings · 1 year

Text

Photos

ShinoMitsu Week 2023 Day Three

A/N: Modern AU for this one. I know they had photography in Japan by the time Demon Slayer takes place, but I had a very specific idea in mind. Hope you like it, thanks for reading! Word Count: 2,000

Mitsuri hadn’t meant to arrive so early, but her mom had sent her on her way because she was digging a trench into the floor with her anxious pacing. Now she found herself sat on the couch of the upstairs apartment where the Kochou family lived above their family pharmacy, stuck between Shinobu’s sisters with Shinobu herself nowhere in sight.

Apparently she was helping her dad with some sorting and wouldn’t be back up for a other hour or so, and that was how Mitsuri became the hostage of Kanae and Kanao, but honestly she was more so trapped by the older sibling than the younger who seemed content to simply watch her eldest sister cook.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you Mitsuri!” Kanae had smiled, pulling Mitsuri around wherever she saw fit, taking full advantage of Shinobu’s absence. “I was beginning to worry that Shinobu had made you up!”

“Ah, nope! I’m real. I’m sorry for not finding the time to introduce myself sooner.” Mitsuri apologized contritely, but Kanae would have none of it.

“Oh, it’s not your fault, I’m sure. I know how Shinobu is. She can be such a handful sometimes, always overcomplicating and overthinking and so, so stubborn.” Kanae took Mitsuri’s hands in a gesture of gratitude, “She is very thoughtful and sweet underneath all of the angst, so I’m very glad you gave my grumpy baby sister a chance, you really are a saint, Mitsuri!”

“I- I don’t know about that!” Mitsuri blushed, hoping Kanae couldn’t feel how sweaty her hands were becoming.

Then Kanae got an evil glint in her eye that Mitsuri had seen Shinobu herself have on occasion, usually when she was about to verbally destroy someone who absolutely deserved to be taken down a few pegs. But whereas Mitsuri grew to love that cunning look on Shinobu, on Kanae she felt a measure of fear. Mitsuri gulped.

“Speaking of my grumpy baby sister, I know just the thing we can do until she comes back,” Kanae grinned, pulling Mitsuri to sit on the couch beside her, “Kanao, could you bring over Shinobu’s photo album, please?”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Kanao was right to be a little hesitant, but Kanae promised to take full responsibility for whatever happens. Whatever that means.

So that was how Mitsuri found herself in the middle the her girlfriend’s sisters, Shinobu’s photo album on her lap while Kanae shared stories and turned each page, making sure to point out the cutest and most embarrassing pictures as if Mitsuri hadn’t already been guiltily burning the images into her brain to forever hold and cherish. She prayed that Shinobu would spare her life for her transgressions.

Shinobu had been premature baby, and needed extra oxygen in the hospital. There were a couple photos of her with her head beneath a plastic dome that provided her with the extra oxygen she needed.

“I thought it looked like she was going to space,” Kanae chuckled, “so I started calling her the astronaut baby.”

Shinobu had been so tiny that her father’s arms nearly engulfed her in one picture. Her little hand too small to fully encircle her mother’s finger in another. Even in the arms of a four year old Kanae she looked like a doll.

A little further along was Shinobu at three in mud-caked overalls with the biggest grin, hands full worms and pill bugs.

“Shinobu has always liked bugs a lot, I see.” Mitsuri smiled, “On our walks, she always stops to put the worms back in the grass after a rainy spell.”

“Some things never change.” Kanae shook her head fondly, looking down at another picture of Shinobu chasing her with the same handful of bugs.

So many pictures, so many stories. Shinobu with her sisters, making a sandcastle at the beach, playing in the bathtub, cute Halloween costumes, first day of school, cute scribble-y drawings that Shinobu’s drawing style still matched to this day, missing baby teeth, friends and extended family, track meet ribbons, report cards, science fair projects, family camping trips, all the way up until the day of the science club’s first place win at the regional academic conference a few weeks ago.

“Thank you for sharing this with me. It’s been a lot of fun.” Mitsuri was positively glowing with happiness, “I feel like I know Shinobu even better now.”

“The pleasure was all mine. If you want, you could save any of your favorites to your phone.” Kanae offered.

“Really?! I’d love too, thank you so much!”

“I think you two are playing with fire.” Kanao cautioned, eyeing the clock.

“You’ve been enabling us, Kanao. You have just as much a part in this as we do.”

“Shinobu won’t get mad at me. She always knows who the true mastermind is.”

From the entrance hall they could hear the door begin the rattle before swinging open, a familiar tired groan followed the closing of the door soon after.

“It’s been nice knowing you, Kana-nee. It was nice to meet you, Mitsuri.” Kanao settled comfortably on her portion of the couch, watching the two older girls try to speed through the album while Mitsuri snapped several photos, unwilling to go without them even at the possible cost of her own life.

“It’s always like ‘If You Give a Mouse a Cookie’ with mom and dad,” They could hear Shinobu gripe as she kicked off her shoes, “They ask you to do one thing, and then another and another, there’s always something else! They have two other daughters sitting upstairs who aren’t expecting company, you know.

“Speaking of which, when Mitsuri gets here, you can make your introductions or whatever, but if you try to embarrass me in any way, I will…” Shinobu paused at the doorway to the living room.

Her eyes fell on Mitsuri first, how could they not? She wasn’t worried about Kanao, but long had she been exposed to Kanae’s terrible influence? For a moment, she stared back at the owlishly round eyes of her older sister and her girlfriend, before she heard a rustle. Mitsuri’s eyes flicked to her lap and Shinobu heard several clicks of a camera shutter before Mitsuri’s eyes darted back up to meet hers.

Slowly, Shinobu’s stare lowered to Mitsuri’s lap and she blanched when she saw the thick book resting atop her thighs. Her gaze then dragged upward to Kanae’s.

“Careful Shinobu,” Kanae chuckled nervously, “we wouldn’t want you to pop a blood vessel… again.”

“Start running.”

Kanae squealed, flipping over the back of the couch as Shinobu lunged for her. She crawled over the couch as Kanae ran to her room, Shinobu probably would have caught up if she didn’t stop to snatch the photo album from Mitsuri’s lap along the way. Instead she ended up running into the door just as Kanae closed it.

“You’ll have to come out of there at some point!” Shinobu warned, smacking the door with a threatening thud.

“Please, Shinobu, show your sister mercy!”

“The only sister I have is Kanao. You will be dead by morning!”

“Shinobu, please don’t kill her!” Mitsuri pleaded, “She was only helping pass the time until you could come back.”

“She could have suggested a game or turned on the tv! She deliberately chose to humiliate me!” Shinobu countered, now very red in the face.

Mitsuri jogged over to Shinobu, cautiously touching the shorter girl’s tense back, “You shouldn’t feel humiliated, Shinobu. I love every part of you, and being able to see so much of your life laid out so plainly for me to see is something so precious to me that I will treasure it until the day I die.”

A muffled ‘aww’ could be heard from Kanae’s room and Shinobu pounded her fist against the door in warning before slowly turning to face Mitsuri, though her eyes still fluttered over the ground and her cheeks were still beet red.

Mitsuri coaxed Shinobu’s gaze upward with soft fingertips to her chin and jaw. Then she kissed away the vein that strained so visibly against Shinobu’s forehead that it was borderline concerning.

“I am sorry that I looked at your photos without your consent. Could you ever forgive me?”

Shinobu bit the inside of her lip and nodded meekly softly after. She could never be mad at Mitsuri, try as she might sometimes to put her foot down. Mitsuri had a her wrapped around her finger since day one and she was lucky that Mitsuri seemed to use her power over her sparingly.

“It’s strange,” Kanae hummed, “It’s pretty quiet out there, but I swear I just heard the crack of a whip.”

Shinobu pivoted quickly towards the door, “You’ll be hearing the crack of your door getting pulled off of its hinges if you don’t shut the hell up!” She warned.

“Hey, Shinobu,” Mitsuri wrapped her arms around Shinobu from behind, tugging her away from Kanae’s door, “If you promise not to kill your sister, I’ll let you look through all of my baby pictures the next time you come over. That way we’ll be even, right?”

Shinobu exhaled, relaxing against Mitsuri’s chest. She would really, really, really like to see Mitsuri’s cute little round face…

“It’ll take a lot more than that to atone for all of Kanae’s transgressions against me, but I suppose this deal will stave off her execution a bit longer.”

“You’re a real life saver, Mitsuri!” Kanae praised, “When the time comes that you want to get married, you have my blessing.”

Before Shinobu could lunge for the door again, Mitsuri easily pulled her away, “Hey Nobu, why don’t you show me your room! I’ve been looking forward to meeting Fugu personally. Kanao told me about the caterpillars you guys are raising in there too, I’d love to learn all about them.”

“Yeah? Okay, let’s go.” Shinobu thought about it briefly before untangling from Mitsuri’s arms, taking her hand instead, she lead her to the next door that was her and Kanao’s room.

Once Shinobu had some cuddle time with Mitsuri to help her cool off, and the Kochou parents closed shop for the day and came up to make dinner, Kanae felt it was safe enough to rejoin the family. But she did use Kanao and Mitsuri as body shields just in case Shinobu got any ideas.

Mitsuri had a lot of fun getting to know all of Shinobu’s family over dinner and games. She was already looking forward to spending more time with them in the future. As Shinobu was getting ready to walk her home, Kanae sidled up to her and whispered in her ear,

“Next time I’ll bring out the home videos. Just wait until you hear what her first word was, you’ll just die.”

Mitsuri really couldn’t wait to be invited back and she would be sure to arrive extra early.

“Kanae didn’t say anything weird to you just now, right?” Shinobu asked, eyeing Mitsuri suspiciously as they walked down the sidewalk hand in hand.

“Nope!” Mitsuri squeaked, her tone and sweaty hand giving her away.

Shinobu groaned, bumping her head against Mitsuri’s bicep, “You’re going to owe me a lot more than baby pictures if I ever find out what she’s plotting.”

“Every bit of me is yours. You can ask for whatever you want from me as penance in return for whatever trouble Kanae gets us into.”

Shinobu smiled shyly before she sighed and shook her head, nuzzling Mitsuri’s arm, “Just remember that you owe me baby pictures. In fact, I think you owe me every cute picture and video of yourself that you can find.”

“I will have them all laid out for you tomorrow.” Mitsuri promised.

That night when Mitsuri had crawled into bed, she practically had to smother herself to keep her squees of delight quiet as she rolled around beneath her covers and scrolled through her phone, trying to decide which of Shinobu’s precious photos to change her home screen to.

#demon slayer oneshots #kny oneshots #shinomitsuweek2023 #shinomitsu #shinobu x mitsuri #shinobu kochou #shinobu kocho #mitsuri kanroji

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chambersandfogg · 4 months

Text

June 11th, 1917

My dear Mr. Fogg,

I was surprised by the contents of your last letter, to put it mildly. I expected some discussion of the war—an inevitable subject these days, even before taking into account the focus of my letters to you. So, yes, I expected to hear your thoughts on the matter, but I never could have anticipated that you’d write to tell me you’d joined up.

Do not misunderstand me; it is an admirable thing that you’ve done, but it is perplexing to me all the same. Just a few months ago, you wrote that the theater had extended your contract. When I was in London in November, it seemed just as packed a house as it was at the start of the year. And you seemed to be enjoying yourself as much as you always have. Why the change of heart?

I confess, I feel a sense of…failure may be too strong a word, but at the very least a disappointment alongside my confusion when I read your note. Were my own words on the subject not deterrent enough?

I hadn’t realized that was what I was trying to achieve in our correspondence, but it was. You know better than anyone what I’ve experienced. What I’ve seen. What I’ve done. Putting those harsh realities to paper has been daunting, but I wanted you to know it all. As it turns out, I wanted you to know because of a secret hope inside me that you would want to stay as far away from the whole business as possible. I know I am not the only person you are hearing these dire stories from, so what is it that has you running directly into the flames?

I don’t regret writing all those truths to you, even if they ultimately did not have the effect I unknowingly desired, but I do regret revealing my own methods for forging identification papers. You are a clever man, no doubt about it, so I am certain that you would have found a solution on your own, but I detest the idea that I may have helped you appear young enough to fight. We are, both of us, too old to be out in these trenches and yet that is where we find ourselves. I hope we never meet each other out here. I hope this war ends before we have the chance.

It was only a matter of time until America entered the war, and sometimes I wish I had waited until we had before volunteering. The British forces have been bright and brave compatriots the past fifteen months, that isn’t from where the remorse originates. But perhaps if I had waited for our nation to join before offering myself up, I wouldn’t have “accomplished” what I have over the last year.

Perhaps it is wrong of me to write such things, or even think them, but that doesn’t lessen their truth. It is truly horrible, what I’ve created, and I will live in shame for the rest of my life. It causes me to wonder if our shared state is, in fact, a punishment after all, at least for me. That I should live forever with the knowledge that I helped create such terrible toxins. That I’ve choked men to death with my creations, left them disfigured and in pain, resigned them to a daily terror of gas creeping toward them. It matters not one whit who these men are. We are all the same in death and I have ensured that death is a thing that blisters and strangles and drags its victim across hot coals.

I know what you’ll say, because you’ve written it to me before—that if not me, some other poor, arrogant fool would have come up with it. That chlorine and mustard gases were already plaguing the battlefield, that it is only a matter of time before our enemies uncover an even more horrifying compound. But save your ink. None of it, however true or well reasoned, changes the fact that I’m here, that I’ve done what I’ve done.

Why couldn’t you just be selfish, John? Why couldn’t you do what you do best and hold yourself above all other considerations? Are you already so bored of your illusions? Do you feel the need to prove that Fogg the Fearless can escape a war so few have?

Promise me this: treat your gas mask as if it is the heart that beats in your chest. Go nowhere without it. Do not test the limits of our unnatural existences, lest you discover you really are unable to be killed and wind up in a perpetual state of misery for the rest of eternity. Do not be too proud to run.

I am currently far afield, huddled below no man’s land and dripping mud onto this letter, written on the very last of my current paper supply. So I will not chastise you further except to say: I have known too many good men who have died. Indeed, I have not allowed myself more than a passing cordiality with the men I fight with, lest I gain affection for a fellow only to see him killed in the way I have seen so many killed. I would ask—I would beg you—to reconsider your decision if it isn’t already too late, but I suspect it is. All I can ask then, is that you put that impressive brain of yours to good use and look out for yourself. I could not bear to lose

Please be careful. I am, reluctantly, now your brother in arms,

CXC

[a letter received by J. S. Fogg, in a medical tent in France]

[listen to New Year’s Day wherever you get your podcasts. to read the pre-1917 entries, join atypical artists and get access to the archive of 24 entries (5,000+ words), as well as ad-free episodes. to receive future monthly missives straight to your inbox, sign up for free here]

#letter #chambers #new year's day podcast #chambers and fogg #lauren shippen

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use-your-telescope · 4 months

Text

When Everything's Made to be Broken - Chapter 12: Shiny Celebrity Skin

Summary: Theo makes her celebrity debut, with some unexpected results.

Author's Notes: Okay, I grappled with this one for a while - I tried for so long to figure out how to make a certain plot thread work without a certain celebrity appearing at least once or twice, and well… I couldn’t do it. So, uh, I feel weird doing this, but there is a brief interaction with a fictionalized(!!!) version of Taylor Swift. This is almost guaranteed to be the only chapter where she actually appears in a scene - there are a few mentions of things happening “off-screen” that she’s a part of later on in the story, but it’s not anything that would involve her actively appearing in a scene.

Obviously I do not know her, I do not own her likeness, and I absolutely do not own her music (I’m team Taylor’s version - WE DO NOT LISTEN TO STOLEN MUSIC IN THIS HOUSEHOLD!). And more obviously, Theo is a fictional character who did not help record any of Taylor’s music. And to make it painfully clear, Taylor is not a villain or a hero in this story, and this isn’t meant to be a commentary on her as a person in any way, shape, or form.

And look, I know some people are not a fan of Taylor. If you’re in that camp, don’t worry! The interaction is brief, and it’s not meant to make you change your mind. Just hang tight - I *promise* this will be worth it in the long run.

If you enjoy, please reblog!! I'm a lil' blog and reblogs really help me out <3

Content Warnings: alcohol consumption. Discussions of hooking up.

Word Count: 5,644

Read on AO3 | When Everything's Made to be Broken Masterlist

Song: Celebrity Status - Marianas Trench

I look around, round, look around and look it over, I take it up- up, take it out and, take you nowhere, Trading in who I've been for shiny celebrity skin I like to push it and, push it until my luck is over It never stop stops, never stops, well you better, Think it over prima donna you don't want to sever, All the work to impress, charming girls out of their dresses, And smiling pretty, well pretty will swallow you forever

The celebrity status that came with being an Avenger was exhausting.

Between their public relations team micromanaging every interaction with the press and the constant appearances, it was a wonder there was enough time to actually go on missions. Even if Theo was well-versed in interacting with people in positions of power and putting on a show, it wasn’t how she really wanted to spend her days off.

They had been on a roll - last week, Theo did interviews and cover shoots for two different magazines. The day before, she recorded a 73 questions video for Vogue. In a week, she would fly out to Chicago and feature on Hot Ones.

But before she flew to Illinois, she had a late show appearance to get through.

It wasn’t until after she arrived and they had a meeting with the production team to run through the order of the show that Theo discovered she was not simply doing a live interview, but she would also be chatting with Chris Anders, an A-list actor who was promoting his newest movie in which he played a combat medic.

Normally Theo wasn’t thrown off by meeting other celebrities, but even she had to admit she was a bit starstruck. He always looked dreamy in pictures, but in real life he was gorgeous. Like, earth-shatteringly stunning. Bright blue eyes, blond hair, and tanned skin made him the epitome of an all-American guy; if Steve ever traded in his shield for an acting career, he’d probably look like Chris. Theo didn’t typically have a thing for blond guys, and frankly the resemblance to Steve Rogers should have made him appear less attractive, but well… There was something about him that she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

At least Theo knew she was dressed to kill. The outfit she chose was a far cry from her scrubs: a black cropped tee with a cropped lace bustier underneath paired with an asymmetric leather midi skirt, all Alexander McQueen, and black Louboutin pumps. The confidence boost that came from looking like a badass was much needed, because even Avengers could get nervous when talking to attractive celebrities, particularly when those Avengers were single.

In real life, Chris was every bit as funny and charming as he seemed. He laughed at Theo’s jokes and asked questions that made Theo wonder if he had taken the time before the taping to learn more about the sorceress. On camera, the conversation was effortless, lighthearted, and just a bit flirtatious; far from what Theo was used to, but it was fun. Chris was a hit with the audience, but it’d be hard not to be with a smile like his.

So when Chris stopped by Theo’s dressing room after taping and asked for her phone number, she was only slightly surprised. Surprised, because well, A-List Hollywood dreamboat who could have anyone he wanted, and he was asking Theo for her number? Theo, with scars on her face and knobby knees and perpetual bags under her eyes? But not as surprised as she could have been, because the conversation was fun and besides, giving him her number didn’t mean there was any commitment. For all she knew, he simply wanted to keep her number handy in case he was cast as a doctor in the future and needed to ask someone about how to approach the role.

Of course she gave it to him - that was a no-brainer. Not long after, Theo found her heart fluttering when Chris texted her before she even made it back to the tower, asking if she would be attending the Stark Industries charity gala the following evening.

After such a successful day, there was an extra spring in Theo’s step when she entered the living room. She nearly didn’t notice Loki, lounging with his feet propped up on the sofa and a book in hand, but when she approached one of the chairs so she could sit down and kick off her heels she spotted the prince.

Loki glanced up from his book, offering Theo a weary smile and nod; if the bags under his eyes were any indication, he hadn’t been sleeping much lately.

“You’ve returned from your interview; how was it?”

“It was fine,” Theo shrugged, ducking down to tug off her high heels. “I mean, it’s one thing to give an interview, but they also asked me to do a segment with Chris Anders - the Chris Anders.”

“Ah, yes - if memory serves, he is a well-known actor.” Loki absentmindedly replied, closing his book and setting it aside. “I take it you are a fan of his work?”

“It’s impossible not to be a fan - he's been in just about every major film from the last few years.’ Theo lightly scoffed at Loki’s apathy about the situation. “We watched one of his movies the other day.”

“Did we?”

Before Theo could answer, Wanda, Sam, and Bucky strolled into the living room, deeply entrenched in a spirited debate.

“— his performance is so nuanced - a video game could never capture that level of emotion!” Wanda huffed, crossing her arms in front of her chest as both Sam and Bucky rolled their eyes.

“Nuance, Schmuance—“ Bucky retorted, “—the whole point of the game is to shoot aliens! The story didn’t need emotions - all it needed were more aliens!”

“Are the three of you still arguing about your animated game?” Loki interrupted them with an exasperated sigh, massaging one temple with his index finger. “I thought the debate had been settled after viewing the film.”

“Well it was,” Wanda replied, “until they tried to say that the actor playing Tom was probably an asshole. But he couldn’t be - he seems way too nice!”

“Remind me, Maximoff - which actor are you fawning over now?” Loki begrudgingly asked, as if he dreaded the answer.

“—Chris Anders.” Theo rolled her eyes, though she softened the gesture with a smile. “He’s probably the most popular actor in Hollywood right now.”

At that, Loki perked up rather suspiciously. “The one you met today?”

“Oh my god, that’s right—“ Wanda exclaimed, turning to Theo. “— You were on the late show with him! How was it? Is he nice in real life?”

“I think it went well?” Theo answered. “I had just finished telling Loki that I ended up filming a segment with Chris and didn’t bomb it, so I’ll call that a win.”

Loki nodded, flashing Theo a small, timid smile. “Well, I’m certain you charmed the actor just as you’ve charmed the rest of us.”

“Wait, wait, wait - you not only met Chris, but you interviewed with him?!” Wanda nearly squealed, her mouth agape as she processed the news. “I would have died!”

“You know he’s just a guy, right?” Bucky grumbled, looking wholly unimpressed with Wanda’s fangirling.

“Look, I’ll settle for not putting my foot in my mouth on national television.” Theo chuckled, before coyly adding: “Chris may have asked for my phone number though... And he already texted me to ask if he would see me at tomorrow’s gala.”

In a tale of two reactions, Wanda looked like she was about to spontaneously combust from the shock and excitement, while Loki looked like someone just told him the sky was blue.

Then there were Sam and Bucky’s reactions in-between, which involved whooping and wolf whistles.

“It seems as though he was rather enchanted by you, then.” Loki cocked an eyebrow, jade eyes narrowing slightly as he studied Theo. “You certainly dressed to impress.”

The comment had some sort of undercurrent that, combined with his piercing stare, made the words seem as if they were not meant to be taken as a compliment. Theo’s heart went from fluttering to stuttering in her chest, her confidence faltering as if she were about to be knocked down from a pedestal.

“Is it too much?” Theo asked a bit too quickly for her own liking; she grimaced as she glanced down at her outfit.

“No, not at all.” Loki slowly shook his head, tongue darting out to lick his lips. If Theo didn’t know better, she would have sworn his eyes darkened as they roved up and down her body. “It’s different from your typical attire, but pleasantly so. You look… ravishing.”

“Yeah, you look hot.” Sam agreed, elbowing Bucky in the chest as he smirked at him. “She looks hot, right Bucky?”

“Yeah, doll —“ Bucky smirked, “— You keep it up and you’re gonna end up with every guy in this city dreaming about all the things they’d like to do with you.” Despite speaking to Theo, Bucky’s attention and smirk were pointed directly towards Loki.

Theo’s cheeks flared with heat - partly from Sam and Bucky laying it on thick, though mostly she was relieved that Loki was not criticizing the look.

When his approval started to matter, Theo wasn’t sure, but she also hadn’t given it much thought. Then again, the prospect of Loki not liking her outfit stung more than the idea of her potential date not being into her outfit… If she was honest, Theo was nowhere near ready to try and make sense of that.

“You can’t leave us hanging - what did you tell him!?” Wanda, having regained her composure, asked the inevitable question.

“That I was going to be there and a drink sounded nice?” For a moment, Theo wondered if Wanda was going to freak out again. Instead, a smile crept up on Wanda’s face, and Theo could tell something was up. “… Wanda, what are you planning?”

“Well if you’re meeting a movie star for a drink tomorrow, we should probably go shopping so you have something cute to wear…” Wanda perked up, winking at Theo. “Oh! We’ll get Nat to come too - she needs a break from the mat anyways - and make it a girl’s day!”

Before Theo could point out that she already had a dress, Wanda rushed down the hall shouting for Natasha. Theo glanced at the others — Sam wore a shit-eating grin, while Bucky offered no sympathy. Loki just shrugged, though a glint of amusement reflected in his smile.

Meanwhile, Theo tried not to scream what the hell did I just get myself into?

Either way, it didn’t matter - she had a date to get ready for.

When the mirrors and the lights and the smoke clear I’d never guess how we ever could’ve gotten here You can say what you say, when the lights go down So shake, shake, shake and shut your mouth

“Champagne?” A waiter came around with a tray of champagne flutes, offering them to guests throughout the event.

“Yes, thank you.” Chris took two glasses, handing one to Theo and keeping the other for himself.

Across from her, Chris Anders leaned up against a cocktail table. Dressed in a navy slim-fit tuxedo, Chris looked every part of the charming A-List actor that Wanda hyped him up to be. The same charming, boyish grin from the night before was on full display as he drank in the sight of Theo in a black lace gown with beading that glistened and shimmered in the low lights.

Even if she hadn’t been trying to charm an A-List actor, Theo would have felt like a million bucks. The dress, though more suggestive than what she initially picked, hit her in all the right places and really helped her embrace her more feminine side. The stilettos she wore gave her a precious few inches that made her less likely to feel like everyone towered over her, increasing her confidence.

In some ways, it felt like revisiting her first night in the tower, but this time she knew what to expect. The lack of constant scrutiny from Avengefs and reporters may have also helped. Then again, at the end of the day it turned out that charming people and rubbing elbows with the rich and powerful was pretty much the same, regardless of the realm.

The idea of spending the evening at Chris’s side was both nerve-wracking and exciting. Theo’s consistent presence and conversation was enough to capture the interest of people she didn’t know, allowing Theo to flex her conversational skills and build her own connections, which in turn made the room full of socialites less surreal.

Chris was more than easy on the eyes. He said all the right things to pique Theo’s interest. He didn’t ask too many questions, which was certainly a plus, and he easily kept the conversation flowing. With that in mind, Theo wasn’t opposed to cozying up a bit more with him.

Yet, something in her stomach felt… off.

Maybe it had to do with the non-existent privacy at the event. Wanda, Sam, and Bucky had made a game of lurking nearby, spying on her as the actor talked Theo’s ear off about the film he just finished shooting. Focusing on Chris proved to be a challenge when her friends seemed hellbent on reminding Theo that someone was always watching. They weren’t even subtle about it – all Theo had to do was glance over Chris’s shoulder to see the three of them making kissy faces at her.

Theo started to wonder if her teammates were going to walk up to Chris and start talking about their movie versus video game debate. She prayed they wouldn’t.

Then again, her friends were far from the only people who kept a close eye on the couple. Frankly, Theo hadn’t truly comprehended just how well-known Chris was until they spent the first two hours of the night constantly interrupted by people trying to get even a moment of the actor’s attention. Even Loki had been observing, though he was far more subtle than her other friends - subtle enough that Theo never noticed that she was the consistent focus of the younger Asgardian’s attention.

The sensation of everyone watching her was incredibly different from the bars from her first night out with her teammates, when it was easy to fly under the radar. Between being seen with Chris, her rapidly growing social media following, and the recent interview spree, Theo certainly had no shortage of positive attention over the last few weeks.

Chris caught the attention of someone from behind Theo, gesturing for them to come over and join the pair. “Theo, I want you to meet–”

“I was wondering when I would run into you!” Even though it had been years, Theo recognized that voice anywhere.

Then again, the fact that the voice belonged to the one person at the gala more famous than Chris meant that even if Theo hadn’t known her, she would have recognized the voice. “It’s been ages!”

“Taylor!” Theo spun around, arms already open to greet the popstar in an embrace. “How the hell are you?” In some ways, it was like Taylor hadn’t changed a bit since they worked together: the trademark red lip that highlighted a cheshire grin, long, blonde hair with perfectly disheveled blunt bangs, and an outfit that would undoubtedly sell out the moment pictures were posted online. At the same time, all it took was one close look into her crystal blue eyes to see that she was far different from the Taylor that Theo worked with all those years ago.

“I’m great,” Taylor leaned back, still half-embracing Theo as she took in Theo’s appearance. “Tell me about you - Clearly you’ve been busy since we last crossed paths!”

“Oh you know, I finished med school. Joined the Avengers. Nothing too wild–”

“--You two know each other?” Chris interrupted the reunion, one brow arched in confusion while he wore a half-scowl as he quickly realized that this was not the introduction he anticipated.

“Oh yeah, Theo played on Red – we go way back,” Taylor answered, barely paying Chris any mind before returning her full attention to Theo. “Speaking of, you’ve heard I’m re-recording my first six albums, right? Would you be willing to re-record your parts on Red?”

The question caught Theo off guard, though in some ways, the request made sense; after all, the goal was to make the re-recordings sound like the originals so whenever someone wanted to license a song, they would have no reason to choose the old recording over the new one.

But Theo’s parts on the original record were pretty small, all things considered. And up until Theo stepped into the limelight as an Avenger, it would have been much easier to find someone else to record those parts than it would have been to track her down. Besides, Avengers were busy, and so were international pop stars - Theo would have understood if Taylor didn’t want to bother trying to coordinate schedules so they could record together.

“I– uh, yeah – as long as the timing works out, I’m in,” Theo tried to play off her surprise, covering it up with a (hopefully) bright smile. “Just let me know when and where I need to be and I’ll do my best to make it happen!”

“Perfect.” Before Taylor could say anything else, someone waved Taylor over to join them. She held up a finger, mouthing “just a moment” before returning her attention back to Theo. “Hey, we should grab a drink soon and catch up. Clearly you’ve been busy and I want to hear all about it, ideally when I’m not being dragged around to make appearances.” Taylor winked, taking hold of Theo’s shoulder as she leaned in and whispered in Theo’s ear. “I might have a separate proposition for you, as well…But we’ll save that conversation for another day.” She leaned back, smirked, and cocked an eyebrow at Theo.

“You know where to find me,” Theo reminded her, returning a wry grin and a wink of her own. It was probably for the best that they didn’t go into catching up at that particular moment, since there was plenty to discuss and in front of Theo’s date was not the best place to do so.

With that, Taylor waved at another person trying to get her attention and slipped away into the crowd.

“I wasn’t aware you already knew Taylor Swift.” Chris remarked, his attention still focused on the space where Taylor had vanished into the crowd.

“I’m full of surprises, what can I say?” Theo teased, taking a sip of her drink.

“Well, I look forward to being surprised by you in the future.” There was something about the way Chris spoke that seemed a bit too smooth, too practiced.

Then again, he was an actor. Performance was at the core of his work, and like Theo he probably reverted to his own acting skills in social situations, especially when he wanted to seem confident. And trying to impress someone on a date was certainly one of the times any sane person would want to feel confident.

“Hey, let’s go dance,” Theo suggested, gliding her fingers down Chris’s arm and taking his hand. As if a switch flipped, the dazzling grin returned as Chris gestured towards Theo to lead the way. Weaving between the couples on the dance floor, Theo waited until they were in the middle of the group before she turned back to Chris, who held his arms in a silent invitation to dance.

“You look stunning this evening,” Chris complimented, pulling Theo close as they moved to the music. “I’m lucky to have such radiant company.”

Theo’s cheeks burned as she replied with a shy smile. Sure, she trusted her friends’ judgment about what to wear, but that wasn’t what left her flushed at his remarks. He was new, and the intensity of his gaze felt both intoxicating and dizzying amidst the crowd. When Theo looked closely, she spotted a hunger in Chris’s eyes that left her wanting more.

The night flew by. One moment, they were spinning and laughing among the crowd; the next, the DJ announced to guests that it was the last song of the evening. Whether they were ready or not, it was time for the festivities to draw to a close.

The end of the evening did little to dampen the conversation between Theo and Chris as they followed the crowd out the door; if anything, they both slowed down as they approached the exit, stretching out their time together for as long as possible.

Just after they passed through the exit, Chris took Theo’s hand and pulled her aside.

“Do you want to get out of here?” Chris whispered in her ear; his breath tickled, sending a delicious chill down Theo’s spine. “Go back to my place?”

Behind Chris, Bucky smirked at Theo and Wanda gave her a thumbs up; if Chris hadn’t been watching her so closely, she would have rolled her eyes at the pair. Inevitably, they wouldn’t be the only people who noticed; after all, a plethora of eyes followed them all evening.

A yes sprung to Theo’s tongue, but just before she said it out loud, she stopped. Realistically, Chris was a stranger to her - sure, she knew the basics about him — the kinds of things someone usually knew about a celebrity — but she didn’t know enough about him to comfortably let her guard down. Being a high profile celebrity was different from being an Avenger.

For all she knew, he wanted to use her for something; after all, fame wasn’t all people made it out to be. Besides, people frequently sought after Theo’s magic.

Restraint was best in the situation.

“I appreciate the invite, but I have to work in the hospital tomorrow morning,” Theo covered, her tone light and casual, but quiet enough that any eavesdroppers wouldn’t hear. “This was fun though - I’d love to go out with you again!”

Out of the corner of Theo’s eye, Loki slipped out of the party with dark eyes and a devilish grin. Trailing close behind, hand linked in his, was a woman who had to be a supermodel, based on her absolutely flawless figure, perfectly tanned complexion, and perfectly styled outfit.

A pang of jealousy unexpectedly shot through Theo at the sight.

“Of course.” Chris immediately masked the split second of surprise on his face with a polite, albeit benign smile. “It’s probably just as well, because I have to fly back to California tomorrow morning.”

Despite the rejection, Chris bid Theo goodbye with a kiss on the cheek, which certainly was a surprise. After all, she just turned him down; the last thing she expected was for him to be so… affectionate?

Once Chris disappeared from view, Theo took advantage of her familiarity with the tower’s layout to take a quieter route to her suite. quickly slipped away through a back hall The second she was out of sight from prying eyes, Theo let out a breath she didn’t even realize she was holding.

While Theo waited for the elevator, she couldn’t help but play the evening over in her mind. Chris was charming, handsome, and there was nothing wrong with him — why was she so hesitant? And what was up with her reaction to Loki?

Of course the silvertongue would be able to woo and bring home anyone he wanted without having to think twice about it. Maybe that was the cause of her jealousy — Loki didn’t have to overthink every interaction like she did.

Shaking her head, Theo dispelled the thoughts of Loki hooking up with some random person; it wasn’t her business what or who he did in his spare time.

Which brought Theo’s attention back to Chris. Her hesitancy around him didn’t seem like it was just because she didn’t know him very well; something else lurked underneath that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. But as she thought about it, the only reason she came up with was that everything about Chris just seemed too perfect.

In the end, it wouldn’t matter; playing the role of an Avenger was supposed to be nothing more than a means to an end. At most, it would be temporary. Theo needed to remember that.

I wonder why, why, I wonder why, why I oughta, Let you wreck, resurrect whatever you want to I can't depend, in the end you know I thought you were my friend Just stop, just stop, just stop I think I got it Sorry you, sorry me, sorry every in between, Sorry everybody here will never be somebody clean There's a piece of me they're throwing back at us, And they will buy you and sell you for celebrity status

Despite the knowledge that it was smart to not bring a guy home after the first date, Theo woke the next morning and immediately wondered if she played it too safe. Chris was friendly, charming, good looking, and didn’t act weird about her being an Avenger - how often would she encounter guys like that? Probably never, but Theo essentially turned Chris down. As Theo laid in bed and stared at the ceiling, she debated whether she should reach out to Chris or not.

On one hand, he made her laugh; on the other hand, they wouldn’t see each other often with conflicting schedules. He was hot, but probably had fans who would hate on Theo for dating him. He was used to the spotlight, but dating an Avenger might put his safety at risk. They had a lot of common interests, but they hadn’t talked about any serious topics - what if he secretly believed in some kind of cult? He was an accomplished actor, but Theo couldn’t promise to be there for awards shows because monsters and criminals don’t believe in days off.

Ugh, she did not miss dating.

After mentally making the pro-con lists in her head for the third time, she decided to hold off. If she texted him too soon, she might seem clingy; besides, even if he was perfectly nice and charming and fun to be around, that feeling of something being off still lingered.

Theo rolled onto her side and snatched her phone from her nightstand to check the time, only to find a message waiting for her.

“Had a great time last night - want to grab a drink next time I’m in town? - C”

Though pleasantly surprised, Theo held off on replying. If nothing else, she needed some coffee and to wake up more before deciding on how to respond. Outside her window, the sunrise covered the skyline in a golden glow – it seemed like it was as good of a time as any to head up to the roof and enjoy her morning coffee.

Stillness permeated the tower as Theo made her way to the kitchen. With the incredibly early hour and the event that took place last night, she fully expected to be the first person awake. However, a full pot of freshly brewed coffee indicated that someone else claimed the title of first person awake. Theo wasn’t going to complain - that meant all she had to do was find her favorite mug and fill it up before enjoying some peace and quiet outdoors.

Upon arriving on the roof, Theo discovered just who woke up before her: Loki. He sat on one of the sectionals with his back to her. Loose black curls tumbled past his shoulders, swaying slightly in the cool morning breeze.

“Great minds think alike.” Theo greeted him, taking a seat on one of the other sectionals.

Loki simply hummed in acknowledgement of her greeting before returning his gaze off into the distance.

For once, Loki didn’t have a book with him. Hands wrapped around his own coffee, he sat back in his seat, soaking up the relative peace of the morning. Like the morning on the balcony, the silence held no weight, no pressure to force conversation or entertain the other. In the city that never sleeps, something about early mornings - those moments between where one day ended and the next began - felt almost sacred. Speaking, it seemed, might ruin that.

Amidst the stillness, Theo caught herself studying Loki’s facial features, contrasting the difference from when he slept to how he appeared in the soft morning light.

Of course, there were things that Theo noticed before – Loki’s sharp bone structure certainly topped that list. But that morning, she couldn’t help but notice new things: the hints of worry lines that crossed his forehead, the crease from furrowed brows (an expression which she imagined he’d perfected at this point, along with the eye roll), the way his lips pulled across his teeth when he was close to smiling, but wasn’t quite ready to commit.

Theo knew Loki, besides being Aesir in form, was technically a frost giant and a god, but Loki looked shockingly human as he relaxed on the rooftop. Even in his Aesir form, Loki often looked more divine than mortal. But here… Some was different here. He seemed softer, less guarded. Perhaps it was the way his shoulders relaxed, or the way he stretched out in the morning glow.

“How was your evening?” Loki struck up a conversation, taking a sip of coffee.

“It was good,” Theo smiled, looking out across the roof. “How was your night?”

“It was alright…” Loki trailed off, glancing briefly at Theo before returning his gaze to the skyline. “You were certainly the center of attention last night.”

“Me, or the A-List actor that I spent the night with?” Theo’s attention returned to the god sitting next to her.

Loki chuckled, and Theo caught herself appreciating the way his eyes crinkled at the corners. “I suppose both would be a fair answer. He was rather attractive, I must admit. If I had been in your position, I certainly would have brought him back to my quarters for the evening.”

Theo let out a gentle laugh, biting her lip. Yes, Chris was good looking, and he certainly piqued her curiosity… but she couldn’t shake the feeling in her gut that something just wasn’t right.

“Are you going to see him again?” Loki finally turned to focus on Theo. His sea-glass eyes held her gaze with surprising openness. A hint of sadness colored his words; it was subtle enough that Theo couldn’t quite place what sounded off about his question.

“Why, do you want to hit him up if I don’t?” Theo teased, offering Loki a wink. “I wouldn’t blame you.”

Loki gave her a wry smile, shaking his head. “Simple curiosity.”

“He asked if I wanted to get a drink next time I’m in town…” Theo shrugged, finding herself less enthusiastic about the idea than she was when she first awoke. “I haven’t given an answer one way or the other yet. It was hard to really get to know him with so many people vying for his attention, so it would be nice to do something that wasn’t so… public? Then again, if we ended up dating, I doubt I would ever get any privacy again, so there’s that…”

Loki let out a breathless laugh. “Privacy is already in short supply when one is an Avenger.”

Nodding in agreement, Theo took another slow drink of her coffee.

“That’s true, but at least I can set boundaries and choose what I share with the world,” she pointed out, “I can shape the way people see me, how they see my role as an Avenger.”

“That is what we do in some ways, isn’t it?” Loki mused, his brows drawing together in thought. “Play roles?”

“All the world’s a stage and all the men and women are merely players…” Theo took a big swig of coffee, relishing the bitter taste that coated her tongue. “… Or some shit like that.”

Loki doubled over from laughter, eyes wide as he nearly spit out his coffee from surprise. It took a moment to return to his more composed self before he sarcastically replied: “Yes, or some shit like that.”

The way he mocked her wording brought a grin to Theo’s lips. “Okay, but think about it — how much of our lives are spent playing roles? How often do we get to be ourselves without altering our behaviors because of others’ opinions? Even putting on a brave face or being diplomatic is playing a role.”

Loki pursed his lips, studying Theo carefully.

“How much time do you spend playing roles?” Even if the question wasn’t out of left field, it still felt much more serious than the conversation up to that point.

“More than I’d like,” Theo admitted, glancing down at her cup and swirling her coffee around. “But it has saved my ass enough times that I will never hesitate to do it if I think it will help me.”

Theo bit the inside of her cheek, cursing herself for saying too much. The answer would probably come back to bite her in the ass, most likely in the form of Loki asking her a million follow up questions.

Note to self: more coffee before any early morning personal conversations.

“I suppose we have that in common, then.”

Much to Theo’s surprise, Loki left it at that, and returned his attention to the city around them. While Loki was known to be cunning, Theo got the sense that at its core, Loki’s answer was not rooted in cunning or manipulation, but survival.

And Theo understood that all too well.

Step one, step two, step three, repeat And I pray at the church of asses in the seats To disappear behind the beat…

#loki #loki imagine #loki fanfiction #loki marvel #loki slow burn #when everything's made to be broken #wemtbb #loki x ofc

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