#i think when you approach something like a series of drabbles in one fic that gets a little more difficult to explain but

[elytrafemme]

one day i might want to make a master post with all of my AO3-user tips because (and this is a toxic trait of mine ik) i get REALLY irritated with a lot of ‘advice’ posts that just repeat the same basic information in a patronizing way without offering like... actually specific input. 

and i think ao3 as a whole is a relatively easy site to use you just gotta get the hang of it. in a sense i would really liken it to tumblr because one of the things about tumblr is that you can’t just join the site and then hit an explore page directly, that’s not really how this place works, you usually have to populate your dash with blogs. with ao3 it is significantly harder to just search up ships and works imo, it’s best if you already have favorite tags and how you do that is finding specific fics and then going from there and exploring in a branch off method. so once you use it for a while it’s extremely comfortable and remarkably convenient it’s just not really the easiest from the get go.

#nightmare.personal #i think a LOT of people talk about like. don't over tag. but idk do people know when they should and shouldn't overtag? #that's a specific thing i think about because. i mean TLDR i think when it comes to characters and ships #you tag them if by removing them from the fic you would lose a substantial portion of the fic's content #like a fleeting mention to a background character eh you don't need that #but if a background character is not directly pictured but is repeatedly referenced then yes i do say you tag that #though you can note them as being mentioned and i think that's a tag that filters into their main so #just helpful as an indicator #also as i was saying earlier you can tag pretty broadly #bc ngl there are a Lot of Really Specific Tags on ao3 but they honestly lack a LOT of tags that i at least commonly use #derealization and dissociation iirc aren't formal tags there so i kind of do my best to tag that anyway and then #clarify in the beginner's notes. notes are SO useful #i think when you approach something like a series of drabbles in one fic that gets a little more difficult to explain but #i think you can find a way to manage that too #it would just mean only tagging the most critical components of the fic or things that are sweepingly occurring #so like a several chapter dump of drabbles might warrant a whump tag if like 4/10 are whump centric #but if like 1 character appears in the background of only 2 of them i wouldn't say tag that #also having a table of contents chapter or very descriptive (non artsy) chapter titles + beginner's note is super helpful

[cinnaminsvga]

🥀 | yoongi

the sleep deprived series (n.): drabbles that i write when i’m sad and tired

→ vampire!yoongi ft. lots of miscommunication (all because newly-turned yoongi doesn't know how to talk to women lol) | 2.6K words → a/n: SURPRISE i am miraculously alive and well (?) back at it again with some weird monsterfucker propaganda... it's been months since i've written a fic so pardon the lacking quality but i Am Trying... also i added ghost!maknaeline bc i think they'd be cute... umm this might become a series if anyone is interested but i think it works as a standalone... enjoy!!!

When Yoongi first agreed to being turned, he never imagined being so tired all the time. Even as a mortal, Yoongi had never been the most energetic soul. He preferred loafing around at home or reading a nice book by the fire. He rarely left his drafty villa, always isolated despite the nearby town. The most cardio he would ever do was when he’d take the few steps needed to get to his piano and play a few soft songs for the ghosts wandering down his halls.

He knew the neighbors liked to whisper about him, liked to refer to him as a local boogeyman to scare naughty children. “Beware the man who sold his soul to the devil,” they warned, though Yoongi supposes their silly rumors weren’t so far from the truth. Although, it was only a month ago that he did “sell his soul,” just not for the reasons that people might have expected.

Still, being a vampire was still very strange and new to Yoongi. He’d known about spirits and ghosts for as long as he can remember, but even he thought that creatures of the night were nothing more than an urban legend. All it took was one high-stakes game of cards and an empty promise to pay back a debt for Yoongi to realize that it probably isn’t smart to make deals with ghoulish-looking men in strange clothing in the first place.

It wasn’t all bad, save for the never-ending fatigue and deathly pallor to his skin. He was still Yoongi, just… worse, if you will.

For safety’s sake, he hadn’t told anyone about it. He was a bit embarrassed, to be honest. If his brother found out, he’d surely get an earful (or a stake through his heart, though Yoongi hopes his Seokjin hyung would remember all the good times they had together). Most importantly, he could absolutely NEVER tell you about his turning. That would be absolutely humiliating.

You were a witch doctor he had met just a few weeks prior to his turning. You had just moved into his sleepy town as a “pharmacist” who could “magically” make any ailment disappear. You had decided to move there on a whim after being exhausted from the high-paced nature of the big city.

You had spotted a small line of ghosts trailing after him on the night you had moved in. He had been on the way to the convenience store for a caffeine fix, and you had been on the way there to grab a couple of toiletries you had forgotten to pack.

You were so sweet, shyly approaching him under the guise of asking him if he could reach for a snack on a high shelf. But he could see your worried gaze fixed on the three spectral children climbing on his back, though he did nothing to shoo them away. After all, they had no mass, so as long as they didn’t lick his neck or something weird, he was fine with letting them be menaces.

When he had his back turned away from you to grab your snack, he could hear you quietly telling the ghosts to get off of him. They only laughed in response, their giggles always sounding a little muffled and distorted.

Yoongi plucked the bag of chips from the shelf and turned back to you, catching a glimpse of your annoyed expression before you could school it back into something more neutral.

“Is something the matter?” Yoongi asked smoothly, handing you the bag. He amusedly watched as your brows furrowed, not even hiding that you were glaring pointedly at the little gremlins making faces at you from his shoulder.

Jungkook, the youngest of the three ghosts, climbed on Yoongi’s head before proceeding to pull down his pants, mooning you with his spectral ass.

“Uh, nothing,” you eventually said, huffing indignantly as you stomped away. Yoongi caught you discreetly poking your tongue out in annoyance before you turned to another aisle.

Thus began your cautious attempts at exorcising him without trying to “alert” him to it. It was amusing to watch you try to “save” him from the three little ghosts that decided to cling onto him, and it was even more amusing to watch you fail repeatedly every time.

Yoongi made no comment when you were suddenly bumping into him everywhere he went. There was always a terse grin on your face as you performed as many anti-ghost spells as you could, but none of them ever seemed to work. The truth was, ghosts could only be exorcised if the haunted person in question wanted them to leave, but Yoongi had found himself a little fond of these stupid little kids. They might be slowly sucking the life force out of him, but Yoongi didn’t really care. They were just kids, and he’s always been too soft for his own good.

Your many encounters with him created a subtle friendship of sorts, one that Yoongi found himself enjoying. He was never been one to foster friendships with living beings, but perhaps your sweet attempts to save his soul might have defrosted his little grinch heart. But he wouldn’t ever tell you that, of course.

Plus, it didn’t hurt that you were very pretty, for that matter. He certainly would NEVER tell you that as well.

Was he feeling guilty for not telling you about his ability to see ghosts? Slightly. But was it cute watching you trying to outsmart three little ghost babies to no avail? Very much so.

So, Yoongi stayed quiet and enjoyed your company, even if you had no idea who he was or what type of things he was capable of.

That was until he got into that damn bet with the stupid bloodsucker.

Probably shouldn’t call him that, given that I’ve become one myself, Yoongi groaned internally. He’d been hiding in his house for a month now, and your “random” visits were surely on the horizon. He wasn’t sure if you’d immediately clock that he’d turned into a vampire, but he wasn’t going to risk it. If you found out, then you’d find out about everything, and that wouldn’t be a good impression.

Yoongi knew he wasn’t great at interacting with people, let alone people he had a crush on. But at least he knew that lying to someone for extended periods of time was probably not in his favor.

Little Jungkook fluttered close to him, his smoky form twinkling from the moonlight streaming through the living room windows. “When is the pretty witch coming to visit?” he asked, a little forlorn. Among the three ghosts, Jungkook was the one who’d grown attached to you the most. “I miss playing with her…”

Yoongi sighed, rubbing his face. “Hopefully never,” he responded, voice muffled by his hands. He peered through his fingers and saw the two other kids floating by his doorway.

Jimin, the older twin, nudged Taehyung forward to speak. “Y-Yoongi… I think she’s coming soon,” Taehyung whispered, a tinge of excitement evident in his tone.

“You can’t keep hiding from her forever… She's sure to find out anyway,” Jimin warned, uncharacteristically stern.

Yoongi stretched his tired limbs, his aching back cracking as he pushed himself off his sofa. Time moved weirdly ever since he turned into a vampire. This month had felt like a day, so it was hard to tell how long he'd been sitting so still. His creaking bones gave him an idea though, that's for sure. “I know… how much do I have to bribe you three to scare her away?”

Jungkook giggled, floating over to sit on Yoongi’s shoulder. “Nothing. We do that all the time for free,” he snickered.

Taehyung nodded in agreement. “It’s true… but she never seems to go away even when we do.”

“In fact, I know she thinks we’re cute,” Jimin said, and Yoongi couldn’t help but agree. Your cat and mouse game with the three idiots was probably past the point of annoyance and more towards the territory of playfulness. You likely noticed how they weren’t exactly the malicious ghosts that people feared, so you humored their antics.

(Yoongi hoped that you stuck around for him, too.)

“How much longer ’til she gets here?” Yoongi asked, walking to his bedroom. The air was stale inside the room, not having to use the bed as much as he once did. He opened his closet, trying to find some better-looking clothes than the threadbare robe he had decided to live in. He plucked a nice button-up shirt, before thinking better of it.

Am I really going to look like a stereotypical vampire when I meet her? What’s next, a cape?

“She’s a few blocks away,” Taehyung responded. The ghost paused, looking at the shirt Yoongi had put back. “No, wear that. She likes it when you wear that shirt.”

“She thinks you look regal in it,” Jimin agreed, grabbing his only pair of slacks. “These, too. She likes your butt in them.”

If Yoongi were still human, he’d probably blush. “I told you boys it’s rude to eavesdrop on her thoughts,” he scolded.

“You like the reassurance, though…” Jungkook muttered, but Yoongi ignored him.

“Two minutes away…!” Taehyung reminded him before disappearing. The two others followed suit, likely going to meet you before you arrived. Yoongi sighed, a headache slowly forming by his temple.

As promised, after two minutes, there was a knock from his front door. As Yoongi reluctantly approached and reached for the doorknob, he could hear you arguing playfully with his little friends.

“Taehyung, no pulling! I just got my hair fixed,” you whined. Despite your words, Yoongi could hear the affection in your voice, plain as day.

“You look really pretty today, noona…” Jungkook giggled, and Yoongi could imagine Jungkook placing a chaste kiss on your cheek in greeting. “Are you finally gonna tell hyung about your crush on him?”

“What are you talking about?!” you yelped. Yoongi heard something fall, then a string of curses from you. “Oh gosh, the food! I hope nothing spilled…”

“Don’t worry, noona. I doubt Yoongi hyung is hungry,” Jimin giggled slyly. “Unless you count how he’s hungry for you…”

Before you could reply to Jimin’s out-of-pocket comment, Yoongi swung open the door, an alarmed expression on his face. “H-hey, Y/N,” he began, a little awkwardly. He cleared his throat, trying to appear as if he hadn’t heard anything at all. “What do I owe this pleasure?”

You froze when Yoongi suddenly appeared. You were in the midst of rearranging the plastic bags of take-out food with your jaw agape, likely about to chastise Jimin for his rudeness. You floundered for a second before straightening up quickly. Your cheeks were a cute shade of red.

(Yeah, maybe he was a little hungry…)

“Yoongi! Oh god, sorry, I was just…” you stumbled for a moment, trying to figure out a way to explain yourself. Behind you, the three stooges grinned evilly, full of satisfaction.

“Do you need help?” Yoongi asked instead, bending down to gather your bags. The smell of take-out Chinese wafted into his nose, and he had to hide his growing smile. His favorite food, you had remembered. If he could eat, he’d be salivating.

“Yoongi hyung is salivating for a different reason…” Taehyung muttered, reading his thoughts. Yoongi and your eyes widened in alarm, causing the three kids to guffaw in response.

“Sorry, I was on the phone with somebody and the bags slipped,” you coughed, quickly grabbing the rest of the bags. In your haste, your hands accidentally touched, making you gasp in surprise.

“Gosh, Yoongi! Your hands are terribly cold! Are you alright…?” you asked, trailing off. When you tore your gaze away from his pale hand, you slowly turned to face him fully. Due to the uproar caused by the kids earlier, you hadn't been able to look at Yoongi properly since you arrived.

Yoongi braced himself, a terse smile on his lips.

You observed him silently, a mysterious emotion flitting through your face. Yoongi saw the way your gaze shifted to the injury on his neck, which he had recklessly forgotten to at least try to cover up. The dots were connecting, and Yoongi waited for you to make the first move.

To his surprise, you started by staring inquisitively at the kids. “Did you guys…?” you asked, suspicious. This was the first time you had openly addressed them in front of him, and Yoongi was shocked. Not only for that, but for also potentially thinking that they were to blame, somehow. Didn’t you trust them by now?

Jimin looked affronted, scoffing at your train of thought. “Us? Of course not! Why on earth would we do that to hyung?”

Jungkook huffed, wrapping an arm around your waist with a sad pout. “Yeah! Why would we hurt hyung on purpose? You don’t think we’d do that, right?” he asked, eyes watering with hurt tears.

Immediately, your expression softened. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean…” you trailed off, sighing. As if remembering where you were, you snapped back to reality, staring incredulously at Yoongi as if he’d grown three heads. Well, or turned into a vampire, he supposed.

“Yoongi! What on earth happened?” you asked, terrified for him. Or perhaps, terrified of him? Yoongi knew he should be feeling guilty, or embarrassed, or maybe a little ashamed, but all he could see was your worry for him, and his dead little heart would have skipped a beat if it still could. God, he was pathetic.

Instead of answering you truthfully, Yoongi chose to run away from his problems, like he always did. “It’s just a mosquito bite,” he explained lamely. He rubbed the very conspicuous marks in question, wincing slightly. It might have been a month since he turned, but it still felt as tender as it did the day it happened.

You stared at him, unimpressed. “In the middle of winter? When you rarely step out of your house?” you asked sarcastically. You gave him a steely glare. “Be serious with me for a second, Yoongi.”

But Yoongi couldn’t. He couldn’t tell you, or else he’d literally die a second death, from embarrassment or heartbreak, he couldn’t tell.

“I… I don’t actually know,” Yoongi lied. It was sort of true. He didn’t know that the stupid bet would actually mean he’d give up his soul to pay for an impossible debt. He had been swindled, that was it. He still didn’t understand how he could’ve been so stupid.

“He didn’t know he was stupid… what a joke,” Jimin murmured, causing the others to giggle in turn. You and Yoongi ignored them.

When he didn’t explain further, your shoulders slumped, defeated. You likely didn’t believe him one bit, but you were never the type to push. You were probably as shy as he was, which had caused its fair share of misunderstandings in the past. Most of the time, those misunderstandings helped Yoongi, though he often wished that he didn’t need them. One day, he’d be honest with you, but for now…

“May I come in, Yoongi? There’s something I have to tell you…” you started, eyes shifting behind you. The kids hovered closer, watching you with curiosity.

Yoongi felt the air turn colder, though he wasn’t sure if it was just him, the wind, or the ghosts doing it. Or maybe it was you.

Yoongi opened the door wider, gesturing for you to come in. “Please, make yourself at home…” he whispered before closing the door gently.

Outside, the three boys didn’t make a move to come in.

“Now… we wait,” Jimin whispered. The other two nodded, faces determined. They floated to the second floor of Yoongi’s villa, still keeping their ears to the floor. As much as they wanted to interrupt, they knew this was an important development for the two of you. They wanted to give you a false sense of privacy, but they could never stop themselves from hearing the gossip. God knows that these rascals would be bored without their daily dose of real telenovela romance.

In the living room, Yoongi took a seat as far away from you on the couch as possible. He laced his hands with an iron grip, forcing himself to stop any fidgeting.

Breaking the silence, you sighed tiredly. “So… where do I begin?”

#yoongi scenarios #yoongi imagines #yoongi x reader #bts scenarios #bts imagines #bts x reader #min yoongi #the sleep deprived series #this has been IN MY DRAFTS for months now.... #god i am so stuck in my monster phase #i want to write more... MORE... #is this what it feels like to be inspired #idk who i think i am but man... love this guy #kinda obsessed with this au tee bee aych

[sugaredrhubarb]

Reading with Ru: Aug/Sept Fic Recs

I know I'm certainly in need of some positivity and escapism lately, so I'm gonna try to do semi-regular fic and book recs! Starting with a retroactive what I've been reading from the past couple of months with this account! (I might go back in time and make an all-time rec list later)

COD

starting with cod because i know most of you go here

Sergeant Squeaks by @charliemwrites - (series of one-shots ghost x reader and price x reader separately) both one of my favourite reader characters and my favourite canon setting depictions of Ghost and Price. their own weird brands of showing love are wonderful; the tension leading to getting together is fantastic, and the sex is super enjoyable.

Ghost Stories by @kneelingshadowsalome - (ghost x medic!reader) I'm repeating myself, but I love Salome's writing. This is where I was first introduced to it, and I think it's really special. Ghost POV as he struggles with developing and then accepting love. felt so real and grounded. angsty and then fluffy, and you can't help but adore the reader as well.

saltwater by @ceilidho - (ghost x reader) It's pretty unlikely any of you don't know Ceil, but on the off chance you haven't given this one a read yet, it really is a must. I lump praise on her pretty regularly, but I don't know anyone who is able to portray their character's emotions as intimately as Ceil. her ghost feels really grounded in all his complexity. there is a common theme in these recs of really enjoyable reader characters, and this is not an exception; the reader feels like a full but still ambiguous character who is vulnerable and strong and really great.

don't leave me locked in your heart by @ohbo-ohno - (ghoap x reader dark!) we all know bo, we all love bo. I always love the way she depicts ghost and soap's dynamic changing and evolving to include the reader. the descent into dark territory in this is really really fun. It's also just hot and well-written! if you haven't read it before, go read it, and then go read all of bo's drabbles and asks on here. genuinely one of my favourite dark but still fun writers. I think she balances it really well.

body electric by @yeyinde and Afterburn by @sprout-fics - (141 + Los Vaqueros x reader) a classic. I've returned to these so many times. sometimes you just want to read dirty, filthy, well done, smut and then warm cozy aftercare. not to wax poetic about pure sex (except that's exactly what one should do), but I think it can be really hard to write group sex like this and still have such insightful and individual glimpses into each character and dynamic, and Lev does it wonderfully. and then it's also hard to find good aftercare fic, and Sprout's feels like literal aftercare for both the reader character and the reader.

other fandoms

tried to curate to themes i think overlap in some of the cod works! and I think most of these can be read fandom blind.

i revisited @winterrose527's fic in August, and even though she already knows how much I love her work, I won't skip a chance to repeat it. Anna writes for asoiaf and is pretty much the queen of Robb Stark/Myrcella Baratheon, but I would say the modern AUs (my favs) can be read almost completely fandom blind. Any contemporary romance enjoyer would love her work. I'm really partial to her kid/single-parent fics. I think it's so hard to get right, and I always adore reading her kid characters and how she approaches love stories when kids are involved. anna's works are always brimming with love and incredible platonic, familiar, parent-child, and romantic relationships (if kid fic isn't your thing she also has a ton of other great fics). personal favs: We Could Be a Little Something, And There They Are, All the Same

Lawless by @goldcranes - (arthur morgan x ofc) age difference, cowboy love story, essentially a romance novel. if goldcranes has no fans, I'm dead. I encourage you to explore her work; very few people write as strongly across multiple fandoms as she does, and each of her works feels like a really strong love story with special characters.

The Odyssey by @sunlightmurdock - (bradley bradshaw x reader) 1980's roman literature prof x virgin student - no need to know top gun. katie's work is another entry in the 'feels like it stands really strongly separately from the source material' category. she has multiple ongoing AU's that I really love, but this one is a favourite. i think she does complex characters really well - their actions always feel intentional, and as flawed as they are, I always love them.

Wouldn't it be Nice by allyoops - (m/f captive A/B/O) if you aren't reading original works smut on ao3 you are missing out and allyoops is a great place to start for noncon, dubcon, age gap, taboo etc. enjoyers. they have a ton of works; usually one shots with lots of really delicious dynamics and different settings and tropes.

An Intoxicating Presence by FormerlyIR - (mob a/b/o haladriel) MOB. A/B/O. HALADRIEL. picks up with Halbrand in prison thanks to undercover FBI agent (and his mate!) Galadriel. does that sound crazy and awesome? well it is. mix it with Gal's internal struggle, the added complication of omegaverse, and overall great writing. really fun and really damn good.

civitas terrena by banalityofweevil - (darklina) angel Alina on an exploration of love in immortality with fallen angel Aleks. honestly, it's just a must-read for enjoyers of writing. incredibly creative with divine (literally and figuratively) imagery. i think one of my comments was on the precision of lulu's diction and I really stand by that.

tinsel into gold by ribbonedhare - (darklina) ddlg and cnc friends, this changed me. it is so warm and soft and my god, is it good. just scrumptious.

Be My Babydoll by KittyDruthers - (darklina) ddlg dollification need I say more

check the reading with ru tag for more!

#reading with ru #if you read any of these and wanna yell about em with me my asks are open! #fic rec #ao3 #fanfiction #fanfics #cod #darklina #fanfic recs

[randomshyperson]

Breaking Rules - Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: Limits on darkhold consumption must be respected. If not, the punishment can be quite unpleasurable. Or the one where you tell your witch girlfriend that she shouldn't read the book of the damned so much, and the scarlet witch says she can take it. || This Love Drabbles/One shots (can be read separately)

Warnings: (+18) heavy smut, brat!bottom wanda (i think), top!reader a bit dom too, rough sex, breaking the bed, strap on use, a lot of overstimulation (wanda), some praise, fingering, nipple grabbing | Words: 2.386k

A/N-> When I started doing these stories separate from the main fic I thought I would have dozens of ideas, but now I'm doing other things. Anyway, I hope you like this one too and drink water!

General Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad | Series Masterlist

--//--

Working at New Asgard may have looked fun, but it was sure exhausting.

Besides keeping you busy for hours - or days as was the case on this special occasion - you were away from your girlfriend, which should be considered a crime.

You trusted that Wanda would respect your request for her not to overdo the darkhold use while you were away, and were planning a movie night with her in the comfort of the bed you shared when you arrived at a dark and cold cabin.

And so you immediately understood that Wanda hasn't put the book down since you left.

With your jaw tensed and in determined steps, you made your way to the bedroom and had your confirmation. 

There she was, the Scarlet Witch in all her glory, floating in the air with her eyes closed. The red glow around her made your skin prickle.

You sighed tiredly, approached the bedside bench, and lifted the object without difficulty. You positioned yourself so that it wouldn't hit your beautiful girlfriend's face, and threw the seat into the darkhold - Effectively knocking the book to the floor and breaking Wanda's hypnotic state, who fell to the mattress sitting up, frowning in confusion that soon turned to indignation when she understood what happened.

"Have you gone fucking crazy?" She questioned irritated, but no more so than you.

"Go eat and drink something now." You retorted ignoring her question with an order. Wanda shuddered with the tone but lifted her chin not to show it.

"I'm not hung-" Your hand gripping her face tightly made her shut her mouth, she whimpered next because you kissed her so hard she barely had time to grab the sheets for some kind of support. You pulled back before she could properly respond, a bite on her bottom lip as you did so, sent a wave of heat through her entire body.

“Do I have to repeat myself?" You questioned and Wanda almost whimpered again, her face burning as she bit her tongue to hold the sound in. She liked it when she was in control, but she was never going to complain about when you did that - not when you got so hot when you're angry. - Wanda didn't trust her ability to respond properly, and shook her head in the negative, stumbling away from the bed when you gave her room to stand up.

She could feel your irritation even in another room, while she was having her first real meal since you left. Wanda could also feel the book, her cells itching on a spiritual level to keep consuming the pages, but all she could focus on was your presence.

You, on the other hand, seemed quite comfortable ignoring her. You came into the room after your shower and were clearly upset. Wanda made dinner for you both, in an attempt to improve your mood, but you merely thanked her with a kiss on her cheek that made her grip her fork tighter, before turning your attention to the food.

She tried to ask about work, but as soon as you reflected the question back to her, and she had to answer that she was studying, your irritation seemed to worsen.

You washed the dishes, and Wanda went to the shower. Once she left the room, accidentally (as if) wearing your favorite nightgown, she found you locking the book with your magic.

"Wow, what are you doing?" She questioned in a mix of confusion and desperation, but you just nodded to the completion of the spell and turned to her with a neutral expression.

"You know the rules, sweetheart." You replied. "If you abuse it, you need a week's cleaning."

"B-but I didn't...."

"Lying adds days." You cut in, and Wanda bites her tongue, shutting up. You sigh wearily, sitting up in bed as you mutter, "And they increase my migraine."

She takes a step forward. "We should talk about this. I've been meditating while you've been away. I don't need those rules anymore."

You give a dry laugh, looking at her. "Is that so?" But Wanda doesn't flinch, having a hard time ignoring the darkhold fading in the containment spell in the corner of the room.

"As a Scarlet Witch, my abilities are exceptional." She begins her speech, just like them-no, her. She thought about this, right? - "The limitations of ordinary witches do not apply to me. I can resist influence. A few hours is nothing."

"You really think so?" You ask in a false tone that you were buying this whole story, and Wanda, in all her frenzy to get her book back, nods frantically.

"Detka, please trust me on this one. A few extra hours is nothing."

"How many?" You question as you stand again, and Wanda flinches a bit from the proximity, almost losing her line of thought. "How many extra hours did you stay reading?"

"Um... I haven't stopped since last night." She confessed almost embarrassed, looking down at the floor. You used your finger to gently lift her chin, and Wanda felt her face heat up at the intense way you stared at her.

"That's almost 17 hours, my dear." You spoke in a low tone, caressing Wanda's face with your hand. "Do you understand how absurd your request is? When do you plan to sleep or eat if you study all day?"

Wanda swallows dryly but does not give up.

"I-I could project!" She says, and you hum, raising one of your eyebrows. 

"You really don't think seventeen is too much?" Wanda quickly denied it, and you sighed. "Okay, since you don't think so."

Wanda let out an excited little hop, jumping on your neck, and you wasted no time in deepening the kiss she started, surprising her a little. But she wasn't complaining. She missed you after all.

Your hands moved downward as the kiss became more hungry and passionate, and soon you were grabbing Wanda's ass and pressing it forward, drawing gasps from both of you.

You commented about her choice of clothing, complimenting her for being so considerable, but Wanda could barely take in anything with your fingers dancing over her covered clit.

Her legs threatened to give out as her orgasm approached - almost too quickly for her to be embarrassed, you hadn't even touched her properly yet. But it made you smile against the kiss, pressing your fingers harder as you drew patterns on her wet intimacy and a moment later, getting her first orgasm of the night.

Wanda grunted in satisfaction, mentally thanking you for the grip on her waist or she would have slipped to the floor.

"Lie there, pretty girl. We're not done yet." You whispered in her ear, and Wanda broke apart still dreamy from her climax, lazily crawling onto the mattress. 

The sight of her ass inclined toward you made you grunt impatiently, and grab Wanda's waist tightly, eliciting a surprised moan when she felt the hard bulge against her - definitely magically placed there.

"Fuck, malysha." She grunted aroused, following the rhythm of your tugging and grinding into the strap-on. She was soaked in no time, dripping down her thighs. 

Your mouth kissed her body until you leaned over her, reaching for her ear. "Grab on to something." It was your only warning in a panting whisper before you pushed the fabric of her panties aside, plunging three fingers in at once. Wanda moaned loudly, one hand gripping the headboard tightly and the other the sheet. She was so wet that you had no trouble sliding out and in again, trying to find your rhythm. She almost cried out in pleasure, her knees threatening to give way on the bed.

"You always feel so good, my love. So warm and tight." You praise almost as affected as she, loosening her waist to open your pants. You raged at the trembling of your own fingers and used magic to vanish the clothes. Wanda shivered through the cold air but was more occupied with the strokes of your fingers inside her, her climax approaching with speed. "I thought I needed to stretch you out, but look what a hungry pussy you have, baby. Taking three fingers so well."

Wanda moaned arousingly. She loved it when you engaged in dirty talk to her - It wasn't so often, you both hold on to a nature that was more playful, and she loved that too of course. So when it happened, it never failed to turn her on completely, which you could tell too, by the new wave of wetness that swarmed your fingers and made you giggle mischievously against Wanda.

"Please, dorogoya." She managed to gasp, trying to press harder against your fingers. You denied nothing, sinking deeper and allowing Wanda to reach her height the next minute, her back arched and her mouth open in a deep moan as she squeezed your fingers. 

Wanda barely had time to come down from her high, still in a trance from the intense orgasm, when she felt the tip of your strap at her entrance. Her body jerked, the sensitivity strong and causing her to move away on instinct, but you gripped her waist tightly.

"Where do you think you're going? We're just getting started." You questioned with a mischievousness in your voice that made her shudder. Soon, the fake cock slid inside and Wanda had to grip the sheets tightly, a moan ripping through her throat as she felt you fill her whole. Your gasping moan made her understand that the object was enchanted for you to feel it too. "You feel so, so good, Wanda. Fuck, you have no idea."

Well, she surely did feel good herself. Despite the sensitivity, she was full to the bottom and soon your hands grabbed her breasts, the extra stimulation on her nipples making her whimper with pleasure.

"D-detka, please!" She moaned, not knowing exactly what she was begging for. Wanda only knew that she needed to feel more of you and she needed the knot forming again to be broken soon. You were not gentle - Holding her breasts tightly for some kind of support as you thrust roughly inside her, the headboard slamming against the wall as you moved. Wanda became a mess of moans and whimpers, and the way you were pounding inside her, she didn't have to look to know her eyes were glowing red, her climax approaching.

You were in ecstasy. Wanda's pussy was squeezing your cock tighter and tighter by the second - and despite the limitations of magic, it felt fucking good. Her wetness dripped between you, and the sounds of your thrusts were mingled with your moans of pleasure echoing through the room. You left her breast to grab her hair, arching her back a little and improving the reach of the strap-on further, and Wanda practically screamed, bouncing against the toy in a frantic rhythm in search of her high.

"Yes! Fuck, detka, r-right there!" Wanda came high-pitched, a small red explosion escaping her hands and destroying a part of the headboard. You slowed the pace but did not leave her, fucking her beyond her orgasm until it was too much.

Wanda let out a groan of satisfaction, moving one of her hands back in a quiet warning that she was too sensitive but to her surprise, you picked up your pace again.

"B-babe, I need, oh, a break." She tries between gasping breaths, and you grunt softly, sliding out and spinning her on the bed to be on top. Wanda smiles as she feels your lips on hers, but just as she's about to reciprocate the kiss, you slide back in, and she gasps out in a loud moan that makes you giggle mischievously. "N-no... it's too much...." She tries in a whimper, but she's copying the rhythm of your intense thrusts as she throws her hips forward, the knot in her belly ready to explode again.

"Too much? But you said seventeen was nothing..." You tease back before sinking into her hard, one hand gripping her thigh open and giving you even more access. Wanda arches her back, and you can't resist marking her neck with hickeys.

Despite the hidden innuendo in your words that made her shudder at the possibility, she manages to give an affected chuckle.

"That's... not even humanly possible." She tries to ration between moans, you never failing inside her and her orgasm approaching. 

"Good thing you're the Goddess of Chaos, right Scarlet Witch?" You mock, sinking into her at a more brutal and faster pace.

–//-

It was almost morning when you had mercy. Wanda couldn't feel her legs, the delicious tingling as you thrust inside her one last slow and breathtaking time.

Half the bed and the sheets were destroyed, and your back was scarred with several red scratches.

Your hips moved against hers, and Wanda gasped with each movement, her hands clenched in yours.

She came with a deep moan, muffled by the bite she took on your shoulder, which only made you gasp as you came inside her. Wanda almost came again as she felt your hot cum inside but she doesn't even think she can do it anymore.

"Please...I can't...not anymore, detka...." She murmured exhausted, and you kissed her cheek gently, moving out.

"It's okay, baby, you did so well." You complimented, releasing your hands to hug her. "Almost fifteen, I'm so proud." You continued, and as you straightened up, you hugged her sideways and Wanda breathed deeply into your grip, only to jerk a bit when one of your hands moved downward and your fingers slid in. She whimpered.

"N-no, please."

"Shush, darling, just three more. You can give me, I know you can, baby." You coaxed in her ear, drawing patterns on her swollen clit, and despite the overstimulation, her hips moved on instinct. Wanda cried out in pleasure, hiding her face in the pillow and trying to escape, but your hand on her waist held her tightly as your fingers found a rhythm. "Fuck, so tight..."

You wanted to make sure Wanda would regret breaking the rules. But will she really? ‘Guess you gonna have to keep tearing orgasm after orgasm until she can't even remember her own name, let alone what the darkhold is. Not that Wanda is complaining.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #elizabeth olsen x reader #marvel imagines #This Love

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Ange I was thinking about your latest Ettore drabble, maybe, canon Ettore would’ve turned out differently if he had met the right person. If he had met someone who is as depraved, desperate for some escape, maybe just as unknowingly craving that genuine human touch, he wouldn’t have hurt someone else, he would’ve had something warm to hold onto in that hellhole he lived.

Hopefully I don’t sound like I’m defending canon Ettore’s action, he is a scumbag. But maybe had two scumbags who are just as desperate to comfort each other through canal pleasure been left alone, they might have had something beautiful, something genuine blooming between them.

Im not joking when I said you’re singlehandedly making Ettore one of my favorite characters, Ewan played a scumbag, and a lot of Ettore fics hammered his predator side through and through, I like your approach to the character in fanon writing exploring the other possibility if he met someone and started connecting with them in the end. I would love to read the “I love you” drabble you teased if you have time and ofc feel like writing it one day.

Sorry this has taken me so long!

Warnings: Implied smut, mild violence, heavy angst, character death, mentions of grief, trauma. Word count: ~2k

Main series masterlist

Author's note: No gods, no masters, no tag lists. Only scabs community label fics. If you find yourself tempted to slap a label on this, please block me instead.

Ettore stares after Boyse’s retreating form, a feeling of unease settling into his gut. It’s not a feeling he is accustomed to and he hates it. This would end badly. The sudden spike in adrenaline directly opposes the post-sex haze he was expecting to bask in for a moment, and his jaw clenches in anger, simmering hot and unforgiving beneath his skin.

He considers going after Boyse, silencing her, making sure she doesn’t ruin the only good thing he has to look forward to on this miserable ship. But then he looks down at her, the woman he is currently buried inside of, her eyes large and reflecting the same anxiety he currently feels. His fury slowly dissipates as he is brought back into the moment; her warmth enveloping him, how soft she feels against his body.

“Shit.” She breathes out shakily, pushing him away and straightening up.

A hollowness expands within Ettore’s chest at the sudden loss of contact as he slips out of her. There is something about it that feels so final, it has him longing to press her back up against the wall and keep her there forever.

Slowly, he adjusts his clothing as she does the same to hers. His eyes move between her and the door, unsure of how to handle the situation.

“Fuckfuckfuck.” She murmurs, raking her hands through her hair and starting to pace. “That was so stupid of us.”

“You think she’ll say anything?” He asks, standing perfectly still in spite of the nervousness that rolls in his gut.

“I dunno.” She says with a shrug, chewing absentmindedly at her thumbnail. “Hard to tell.”

“We could stop her…”

She ceases her pacing and looks him in the eye, her tone serious. “You’ll do nothing, not after what you did to Monte. I’ll talk to Boyse. Just go back to work, okay?”

He nods. She has a point, but he hates the lack of control he has over the situation.

As she turns to leave the laundry room, he is struck once more by the overwhelming sensation of finality. He reaches desperately for her, pulling her to him and kissing her fiercely, as though he is trying to breathe the very air from her lungs. He feels her relax into it, moving her lips against his for a few seconds and his grip on her tightens.

She pulls away eventually, breathless and eyebrows raised in surprise. “You trying to get us caught again?”

“No, I just…” The words die in his throat, unable to articulate the fact that he wants nothing more than to live in this moment forever, and he shakes his head. “...doesn’t matter.”

She slips out of his grasp and walks off. He doesn’t turn away until she rounds the corner and is out of sight

He spends the rest of the day on edge. His ears prick up at every sound, his shoulders never fully pulling away from his neck. The ship doesn’t make for the most relaxing environment in the first place, but he’s feeling especially tense. The impending sense that something is going to happen refuses to leave him, but he’s unsure of what to expect.

Perhaps Monte will seek him out, intent on getting him back for his attack earlier? Maybe Dibs will formulate some sort of punishment, having been informed that he’s involved sexually with another member of the crew when it’s strictly forbidden?

When sleep mode is activated later that evening, he anticipates relief washing over him as there is seemingly no fallout to the events earlier that day, instead his mind continues to race.

He passes her in the hallway on the way back to his cell, and raises his eyebrows at her in question. She shakes her head and he sighs in frustration, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her around a corner.

“You’ve not sorted it?” He asks in a whisper.

She sighs. “I couldn’t. Haven’t been able to find Boyse most of the day and whenever I see her she’s not on her own. I’ll try again tomorrow.”

“Fuck.” He tuts, pulling back from her.

“I think it’s best if you don’t come to my bunk tonight.” She tells him. “Can’t risk it.”

He knows it’s for the best, that what she’s saying makes total sense and yet he can’t help the crushing disappointment that settles heavy and unyielding in his chest. When his mind won’t quiet there is nothing that soothes him more than to sink inside of her, and feel the way she shudders and falls apart against him. He needs that now more than ever, yet the riskiness of their current predicament will not allow it.

He quirks his lip, looking away from her and stalks back towards his cell.

Sleep does not come for Ettore that night; he lays flat on his back, eyes fixed on the door to the cell, waiting. For what, he is unsure, but his gut feeling tells him something is wrong and he is powerless to stop it. He is always the hunter, never the hunted, and yet the tables have turned and there is nothing he can do about it. His grip on the blankets beside him turns his knuckles white as he lays there, trapped and frustrated.

He has no idea how long he lays there for, just watching, but at some point the lights on board brighten, signaling the start of another day. He climbs from the bed, raising his arms above his head to lean on the doorframe as he peers out.

The first few members of the crew begin to exit their cells, sullen faced as they head towards the showers. Ettore looks at them impassively as they pass, not really seeing them. His gaze focuses, zeroing in when he sees a familiar head of long, dark hair heading in the opposite direction; Dibs. He suspects where she is headed, and waits a few moments before following.

Lurking around the corner, his suspicions are confirmed as she goes into her cell. He wishes he could hear what they are saying, it’s not common for Dibs to visit any of the crew in their sleeping quarters and seeing this makes his chest feel tight. There’s no way this isn’t related to them being caught together.

He flattens against the wall, as he sees Dibs leave, striding purposefully back towards her lab. He can’t see the expression on her face, but there’s something about the way she carries herself that leaves him longing to punch her. He flexes his fingers to suppress the urge and then heads into the cell that she’s just exited.

She’s pulling on her top when he enters and is clearly startled by the sight of him as her head appears through the neckhole.

“Christ! When did you appear there?” She asks, smoothing the material of the scrubs over her midriff. 

He ignores the questioning, jutting his jin towards the doorway. “What was all that about?”

She sighs, her gaze downcast. “Dibs says I missed my last check up. Wants to see me this morning.”

Bile rises in his throat, his eyes narrow. “You know that’s bullshit, right? Boyse has dropped us in it.”

She nods, looking up at him in resignation. “Yeah. Yeah, I know. But what choice do I have? Gotta take my punishment.”

“Don’t go!” He tells her angrily, his heart feeling as though it will thunder straight out of his chest. “You don’t have to go!”

“The longer I leave it, the worse it’ll be.” She shrugs. “I’ve lashed out at her before and all she did was up my sedatives. Can’t imagine this will be any worse.”

“But what if it is?!” He shouts, feeling his face grow hot as he surges forward to grab her by the upper arms. “What if she hurts you?”

“Then she hurts me.” She fires back, scowling. “You’ve hurt me before, it heals.”

He lets her go, stepping back, but never shifting his focus from her face. “I’m not letting you do this.”

She scoffs. “She’ll drug me up, I’ll come back, I’ll sleep it off. Why are you being so fucking weird about this?”

He speaks before he has time to think, the words leaving him in a burst of exasperation. “Because I love you!”

Freezing when he realises what he’s said, the air hangs heavy between them as she stares at him in shock. Why isn’t she saying anything?!

His fists clench as he feels rejection begin to pierce at him, eager to lash out, until her face softens and she speaks, barely a whisper.

“What did you just say?”

He exhales, not realising he’d been holding his breath and looks away from her. “I just…I don’t want anything to happen to you, alright?”

She cups his face, urging him downward so that she can rest her forehead against his. “I know. I know. I’ll be okay, promise.”

He relaxes in her embrace, eager to keep her with him. He leans in, pressing his lips to hers, disappointed when she pulls back with a playful smile.

“Let me owe you that one.” She says softly. “My guarantee to you that I’ll come back.”

He watches silently as she walks away, in the direction of the lab, dread gnawing at his insides.

Ettore is slamming closed the lid of a washer when Tchemy enters the laundry room. “We’ve been summoned.” He calls out to him.

“What d’you mean?” He asks, turning to face him.

“Dibs needs something put out of the airlock.” Tchemy says with a casual shrug. “It’s me and Mink on maintenance today, but she asked for you specifically. Must be heavy if Mink can’t help me.”

Ettore feels as though all the air has left room, his heart lurches painfully in his chest. He pushes past Tchemy, ignoring the other man’s joking pleas for him to slow down as he storms quickly towards the airlock.

Time draws to a standstill, the blood rushing in his ears when he sees the gurney and the sheet covering the figure that lays upon it. His knees feel like they’ll buckle beneath him, everything sounds far away.

“This is a body…” Tchemy says apprehensively.

Dibs nods solemnly, her expression grim as her mouth presses into a tight line. “She bled out during a routine procedure. Tragic, but unavoidable, these things happen. We have to dispose of her”

Ettore barely comprehends the exchange, his eyes drift downwards to the hand that’s hanging from beneath the sheet. Her hand. The same hand that had cupped his face earlier that day as she’d told him she owed him a kiss. A kiss he’d never get to have, because she’d been taken from him. She was his and they’d taken her away.

His hands tremble, his eyes sting painfully and he swallows thickly, he won’t give Dibs the satisfaction of a reaction. She’d taken enough from him already. He’d been right, why hadn’t he done more to stop her? He’d let her go and now she was being discarded like rubbish.

He bristles with anger as Tchemy claps him on the shoulder, pulling him out of his painful reverie. “Need your help, man.” He says.

Dibs had done this on purpose, she’d wanted him to know, to see, to punish him by having him help dispose of her. His heart shatters when he lifts her, how cold and void of her usual softness she is against him is too much to bear. His mood shifts, becoming darker, angrier, more predatory as they seal the airlock back up. His resolve hardens. Something inside of him has died alongside of her, and he wants to make them pay for what they’ve stolen from him. They’ll all feel every bit of the pain he’s enduring, he’ll make sure of it. And he’ll start with the person who ratted them out in the first place; Boyse.

Post script author's note: I have set the ending of this up for events that lead directly into canon, and we all know how that ends, so this is the end of the road for our star crossed lovers. I am currently accepting requests for Ettore, but no further requests which relate to this series. This instalment is its final part.

#ettore #ettore x reader #high life #ettore smut #ewan mitchell #ettore fan fiction #ettore fanfiction #ettore fan fic #ettore fanfic

[raccoon-eyed-rebel]

Connection

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Pairing: barista!Mike (Hellraiser) x reader (you)

Summary: Mike makes good on a promise to take you somewhere nice for the weekend.

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: SMUT, NSFW, 18+, MINORS DNI!!! (I know, it's real!) fingering, oral (m receiving), (protected) p-in-v sex (spooning, doggy and proneboning, god, these sluts don't even look at each other), a little too-soon-moment (though not the one you would expect) and Mike being silly and referring to himself as a horny slut.

Now that you're all thoroughly warned... Enjoy!

A/N: Alright! I had this done DAYS ago. Weeks, possibly, at this point... But I kept forgetting to post it because uni and life and laksdjfalsdkf why must it be like this?

This is formally the last part of the Coffee + Cats saga. I know, sad right? (I'm a little sad.) And I just want to thank everyone who's followed along for their love and support and the overwhelming amount of cat pictures and videos I have received! ❤️ A very special thanks to @geralts-yenn for putting the idea of barista!Mike in my brain that marked the beginning of this incredible journey of cockblocking Mike.

And because I am me, and I had such a blast writing this... Is it a surprise to anyone that I have 2 bonus chapters/drabbles planned?

If you like this fic, please let me know 🥰 and reblog so that others may see it too! <3

@deandoesthingstome @geralts-yenn @mayloma @ellethespaceunicorn @summersong69 @peyton-warren @livisss @ylva-syverson @sweetandgentlecreature

You’ll have to take Mike’s enthusiastic lips latching on to your neck for an answer, because you’re fairly sure it’s the only one you’re going to get. As he sucks, licks and nibbles on your skin, his hand travels down your body.

You don’t mind that this is where you win: Mike’s patience runs out as soon as he feels how wet you are, and you can’t help but chuckle when he softly swears under his breath. He immediately slips two fingers into your pussy, curling them up to find that sweet spot that makes you see stars. It only takes you seconds to figure out that he’s good, paying close attention to your reactions, teasing you with soft kisses to your neck and those nibbles on your earlobe that make you go just a little wild. Apparently, he also knows that ‘don’t stop’ means ‘keep doing exactly that’ and not ‘please change your approach to the most violent thing imaginable’.

For a minute, you think you hate him for his skill, but how could you ever really hate a guy who makes you cum like that, within minutes?

“Fuck, Mike,” you sigh as you melt into his arms, your walls still clenching around his fingers, “that was amazing.”

If it hadn’t already become glaringly obvious throughout the day, it would have been impossible to miss now: Mike thrives on praise and validation. He contently buries his face in your neck, humming softly as he keeps kissing you – he’s truly adorable, and sweet, and kind, and handsome, and… he deserves a reward.

Sharp teeth sink into his soft bottom lip when your fingers wrap around his cock. Now you’re the one not wasting any time, giving him a few gentle, slow strokes before dragging his sweatpants down as far as you can while you get on your knees. Mike is right there with you, helpfully offering assistance in the ‘getting him naked’-department.

With a grin on your face that you don’t doubt is entirely unsexy, you drag his sweatpants all the way down – still helped along by Mike, who helpfully scoots up a little – and sit in between his legs. Carefully, you lick the salty bead of precum off the tip of his cock – it’s enough to make his abs twitch, making you chuckle. Then, you lock your eyes on his and revel in Mike’s blatant, wide-eyed shock as you swallow him all the way down without hesitation.

“F-fuck, Sweetcheeks!” It’s almost a protest, the way he sputters and stammers something about taking it easy. He doesn’t want to cum, he wants you to feel good, this was supposed to be about you. Yawn. You are enjoying this, does he know that? “Baby,” you say, a warning hidden in your tone, “shush. I love doing this, especially if you get a little loud for me, okay?”

It doesn’t look like he believes you; he looks at you with confusion and suspicion in his eyes. By now he really should have caught on to the idea that you’re nothing like those horrible exes he has… Right? Maybe you should just ignore that look in his eyes and keep going. Would that work? Eh… Only one way to find out.

You slowly move up and down his length, reveling in the delightful moans that escape Mike. He’s easy to tease. His soft whines as your mouth leaves his cock and your hand takes its place while you lightly kiss the inside of his thighs are proof of that. The featherlight touch of your lips makes him squirm and beg to take him into your mouth again, but just as you’re about to do that, he stops you and pulls you up until he can plant a firm kiss on your lips again.

“I want you,” he mutters against your lips, “right now.”

“You wanted me twenty minutes ago,” you chuckle. Before you know it, you’re on your stomach, with Mike pinning you to the mattress.

“I wanted you six weeks ago.” He bites your earlobe, making you shriek. When he does it again, it sends a shiver down your spine. “Besides, I don’t think I’m the only horny slut in this room.”

“Oh, please refer to yourself as a horny slut more often!” you laugh as you move against his slacking grip on your wrist, taking his hand in yours.

“Yeah, yeah, I promise,” Mike says before kissing your neck, “now turn around, please?”

“Actually,” you say hesitantly, “I’m kinda comfortable like this.” Mike doesn’t seem to think that the depraved thought you considered it to be, and he wraps his arms around you tightly. As he pulls you closer, you feel his cock against your ass, and you wiggle your hips against him. To tease him? You’re beyond that at this point. For good measure? To make him finally hurry the fuck up? You know what? That last one actually sounds plausible… And it makes Mikey’s comment from before one hundred percent right: He’s not the only horny slut in the room.

“Forgive me for asking,” Mike mumbles, “but do I have to grab a condom, or…”

Now, the correct answer to that question is ‘yes’. “I’m on the pill.” The correct answer to that question is ‘yes’. “And I’m clean.” The correct answer to that question is ‘yes’. “And if you are, too, then…” The. Correct. Answer. To. That. Question. Is. ‘Yes’. “But the real question is…” Oh, just tell the man to grab protection! “Are you going to last without?” Mean and unnecessary…

And somehow incredibly effective. “I feel that shouldn’t be the primary concern,” Mike chuckles, with no sign of embarrassment to his voice, “but it’s a valid point, unfortunately.”

You whine when the warmth of his body disappears for a second, and you watch Mike as he pulls a box of condoms from the drawer in the nightstand.

“You’re fast,” you laugh when it only takes him a few short moments to put the thing on.

“I feel ‘years of practice’ would be totally the wrong answer here,” Mike says as he joins you on the bed again, spooning you like he did before. “For what it’s worth, now that I’m here with you, I regret everything else I’ve ever done.”

“Don’t,” you whisper. “I’m just glad I’m here with you now. After everything else. You know… Those years and years of practice.” The chuckle you let out turns into a soft gasp as Mike lines up behind you.

“Finally here with you,” he corrects you as he slowly pushes forward, leaving you gasping, moaning louder in his arms as he inches his way into your drenched core. Mike softly kisses your neck and shoulders until he stops moving, then nestles comfortably against your back for a while. “This is comfy.”

You have to agree; it’s extremely comfy and so, so sweet, and you are so crazy about this silly guy and… and you’re completely impatient to finally feel him move. He laughs triumphantly when you tell him that. “I told you I was going to make you beg for it.”

He did. He really did exactly that and now that he’s kept his promise… Only he doesn’t feel he’s kept his promise just yet, because what you just did wasn’t quite begging as far as he’s concerned. Oh, for fuck’s sake! “Fuck me, Mike. Please!”

“That’s more like it,” he says – no doubt with a massive grin on his stupid, stupid face. When he moves, you gasp loudly. He’s rough, possessive, digging his fingers into your hips, and his teeth briefly into your shoulder. In no time, you’re turned onto your stomach, and he leaves you for a second, dragging you onto your knees before slamming into you again from behind, a hand between your shoulder blades pressing your chest down onto the mattress as he grinds his hips into you.

Holding back your moans is impossible – and unnecessary. There’s no one around to hear you. Even the neighbors aren’t within earshot! And any unlucky passerby’s that manage to hear what you’re up to are likely trespassing, anyway, so screw them. Almost every moan, squeal and whine makes Mike chuckle softly under his breath.

You shriek in surprise when Mike stops and pulls your legs out from under you, and he flops on top of you before littering your neck and shoulders with kisses.

“Mikey!” you laugh when he starts what you first think is a game of footsie, somehow – it turns out he’s just trying to reposition legs, and you’re not helping.

When he finally manages, and slips back into you, you let out a long moan. There’s no reason to be disappointed because he’s slowed down. In fact, every move he makes feels like it’s exactly what you need – and you don’t have to say a word. It’s like…

“God, it’s like you were made for me, Sweetcheeks,” Mike moans into your ear. Yes. That’s exactly what it feels like. All of his insecurities about not being good enough for you seem to be gone now, and rightfully so.

“I love you.” No. What? You didn’t mean to say that – but that doesn’t mean you don’t mean what you say. Get it? Maybe ‘within six weeks of your first date, during the first time you have sex with the guy’ is a little early – but that doesn’t matter anymore because it’s out now. You can’t even convince yourself he didn’t hear it, because he freezes. Well… Not quite that. It’s a fairly recognizable stutter-y kind of movement, actually. So not only do you say something utterly stupid, but also at the worst possible moment.

“Impeccable timing, Sweetcheeks,” Mike laughs softly as he pulls out. “I know I’m kinda leaving you hanging here, but I need one tiny little moment, okay?” You reluctantly agree because he’s right, he does need a moment – not that he’s wrong about the other thing.

You use the time Mike spends in the bathroom to overthink everything, and by the time he gets back, you’ve almost managed to work yourself completely into hysteria.

“Babe,” Mike says as he crawls under the covers with you and wraps his arms around you. Your brief moment of meditative overthinking has made sure your heart is racing and you’re struggling to control your breath. “Come here, look at me.” His hand on the side of your face is reassuring, but you still can’t help but think you’ve fucked it all up. “I’ve never said this to any girl who wasn’t either my mom or a… cat,” he says softly, his voice a little unsteady. “I love you, too.”

#mike hellraiser #mike hellraiser fic #mike (hellraiser) #hellraiser mike #mike (hellraiser) x reader #hellraiser mike x reader #mikey x reader #henrycavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill characters #mike hellraiser smut

[scifrey]

Cling Fast: Prologue

Read below, or read the updated/edited version over on AO3.

by Loysark

The Sandman (Netflix with some sprinkling of comics canon and Gaimanverse)

Dreamling (Hob Gadling x Dream of the Endless | Morpheus)

Unfinished

PG-13 (for now)

Unbeta'd

Hob Gadling is a clingy bastard, and he's not ashamed to admit it. He clings to life. He clings to hope. He clings to his love of humanity. He clings to his Stranger. He also, unfortunately, has a habit of clinging to his name.

Which means, when the BBC is looking for a new pet history expert to appear in their educational docudrama series "Elizabethan Manor," they're overjoyed to find a professor of domestic history who, according to their meticulous research, is actually descended from the Master of the National Trust building they're filming in - Gadlen House.

Only Hob knows how right they are.

Picks up a few hours after the end of Episode 6.

*

Author's Note: I don't know what I'm doing. New to this fandom, new to this ship, and this is the first fanfic I've written in over a year. I am just coming back from a creative burnout so bad that I ended up leaving my literary agent. I haven't written anything that isn't loosely connected drabbles in literally years. So, I don't know what's going to happen with this fic. It may get written, it may fizzle. I have the idea plotted out, but I'm trying to approach it cautiously, with my eyes averted, in case it spooks and bolts.

That's why I'm posting this here instead of AO3, I guess. I want to see if it's something that resonates with people, and me, before I commit to posting it there.

*

"One hundred years, then?" Hob's Stranger asks, hours later, when Hob's talked himself hoarse and his business partner is flipping chairs onto tables to mop. Hob's marking has been jammed unceremoniously into his briefcase and completely forgotten, and there are three empty pint glasses at his elbow. The wine glass in front of his Stranger is still full.

"2089 or 2122?" Hob asks, through disappointment like broken glass on his tongue. Hob's stomach sinks when his Stranger rises from his chair.

Hob's Stranger seems to mull this over. "'89," he says at length. "I believe it is customary for friends to meet more frequently than a century."

"Then why wait even that long?" Hob asks, both startled and completely unsurprised with how desperate he sounds. "Or is that some sort of… of supernatural law? That the terms of our bargain have to be adhered to and we can't… I don't know," he confesses helplessly. "Renegotiate?"

Helpless.

Yes, that's how he feels.

Helpless and desperate for his Stranger to stay, to not abandon him again, to not leave Hob wondering if he may miss another meeting on a whim. If his Stranger was getting tired of playing with his little mortal toy and Hob would be left to eternity with no friend, no through-line, no continuity, no foundation—

Unavoidably detained, what does that even mean? Hob thinks viciously, brain spinning in circles between despair and hurt, elation and greed. Is it an excuse? Did he even want to—

His Stranger frowns, a fearsome, dark expression that Hob's never seen on the man's face before. Hob flinches when his Stranger makes an abrupt flicking motion at Hob's shoulders, as if shooing off a housefly. All at once Hob's breathing eases, the panic and surging loneliness retreating.

"What?" Hob asks weakly, when he realizes that… that somehow that single gesture from his Stranger has banished decades worth of crushing loneliness and anxiety. Hob had grown so used to bearing the ever-grinding worry that he'd forgotten what it felt like to be without it.

"A waking nightmare," his Stranger says. "And a bold one, too, to cling to you so persistently in the face of its king's displeasure."

King.

Well.

Hob had always figured that his Stranger had to be some sort of nobility. It was in the way he dressed at the peak of fashion each century, the softness of his skin and hands, the cleanliness of his hair, the way he spoke and held himself as if he'd never been denied anything his entire life. And the giant ruby of course, which, Hob had noticed a few hours ago, was nowhere to be seen this time around.

But a King.

"My friend," Hob whispers, mindful of the staff closing the New Inn around them. He swallows hard enough that his throat clicks. "Forgive my boldness, but… what are you? Who are you?"

"It… it is not important," his Stranger hedges, hesitating for the first time since Hob's known him.

That's unusual.

That's a crack Hob can get his fingers into.

"It is, though," Hob says, rising to his own feet. He dares to reach out, to pinch the fabric of his Stranger's coat cuff between his fingers in an old-fashioned, petitioning plea. The way you would kiss a queen's hem, or a king's ring, Hob pinches the cuff and hopes his Stranger understands. "It is to me. You are important to me."

"Hob," his Stranger says, but it's not a rebuke or a dismissal. It sounds awed, and humbled. Mercury shimmers along his bottom lashes, mouth pulled tight, a display of emotion that Hob never thought to garner from his Stranger, and not one he's sure he knows how to read, just yet.

What has him so upset?

"When you didn't come, I waited," Hob whispers, daring to press closer, so the words are little more than a puff of air between them. "I waited hours. Days. I returned every day for weeks. Where were you?"

"Rest assured, I did not want to miss our appointment."

"Then why?" The Stranger hesitates again. "Please. Please, if you're really my friend, please don't…" Hob trails off, not sure what he's really trying to say here. Don't shut me out. Don't treat me like a servant who only needs to do as he's told. Don't run away from me all the time.  "Please don't go without telling me how to reach you, at least. I couldn't bare it if you…"

Without his meaning it, Hob's grip on his Stranger's cuff slips, and his fingers brush the cool, smooth back of his Stranger's hand. The Stranger hisses as if he's been burned.

"Sorry, sorry," Hob says, jerking his hand away. "I'm—"

"That is the first kind touch I've had in…" his Stranger's eyes drop to where their hands meet. Slowly, he reaches out with one shaking finger to stroke it along Hob's knuckles.

Understanding and rage flash through Hob like a lightning strike. The little hints that his Stranger probably hadn't realized he was even dropping come together, all at once, into a horrible picture.

You can be hurt. Or captured.

Hob seizes his Stranger's hand in his own, enraged further when his Stranger gasps, cheeks flushing pink and lips parting in a soft 'oh' that might have sounded lewd if it wasn't so obviously overwhelmed.

"Who did this to you?" Hob growls, low and dangerous. "Where are they now? I'm going to kill them for—"

The Stranger jerks his head up so fast that one of the quicksilver tears shakes free and rolls down his gaunt cheek.

"Hob," his Stranger chokes, and Hob is sure he would have said more, maybe even leaned closer, except that Dennis at the bar shouts:

"Fuck's sake, Gadlen. Take your booty call upstairs. I wanna close!"

"Sorry!" Hob calls back, leaning to the side and  modulating his volume so he doesn't shout in his Stranger's ear. "Sorry Dennis, right. We're going."

Hob tugs on his Stranger's hand, and is absurdly grateful when the man allows himself to be led toward the back of the bar. Hob snags his briefcase from the banquette as they pass, and heads straight for the door marked "Staff Only." He punches in the keycode and within a few quick moments, he's gently pulling his stranger over the threshold and into his flat.

"You live above the pub?" his Stranger asks, looking around with curiosity as Hob toes off his shoes and drops his briefcase by the door. The Stranger has neither released his hand, nor wiped the moisture from his own face. When Hob looks down to see if his Stranger has taken his boots off, Hob is startled to be met with a pair of bare, moon-pale and delicately arched bare feet.

Okay.

Well.

Hob knew he wasn't human.

Apparently that includes vanishing clothing at will. Which probably means making it, too. Which definitely explains why his Stranger has always been in the pits of fashion.

Absolutely 100% not a Vampire, Hob adds to his mental List Of Things I Know About The Stranger. It's a very short list.

"Live above it, own it, built it," Hob says, pulling his Stranger gently into the living room and toward the sofa. "When I heard they were going to tear down the White Horse, I did some financial juggling, dug up a few treasure caches, and bought it. The building, the land… I mean, really, the whole area. I own most of this side of the river, all the green bits at least. I couldn't stand the thought of losing all the parks and the trees and… I wanted to save the White Horse itself, but the… well, the restoration is tricky. Time-consuming and costly. Cheaper to knock it down and start over but…" he shrugs as he encourages his Stranger to sit. "I'm not into bulldozing the past because it's cost efficient. Is it okay if I let go of your hand?"

His Stranger looks down at their entwined fingers and blinks as if he hadn't realized he was still holding onto Hob. "My apologies," he says softly, and lets go.

"Don't apologize," Hob says, even as he retrieves his arm. Touch starved, his brain screams, adding it to the list of sins that his Stranger's… captors must have perpetrated. "I'm making tea. Do you drink tea?"

"I could… I could drink tea, yes," his Stranger ventures, as if he's unsure if he actually can.

"I'll be right back."

You can still be hurt. Or captured, his Stranger in his memory says again, and Hob waits until he's turned away and headed to the kitchen before he lets his face transform into a scowl.

Behind him on the sofa, the real-life Stranger makes a wounded little noise, as if he'd heard the memory.

As he fills and sets the kettle to boil, Hob tries to dissipate the frisson of tenseness hanging between them with nonsense. 

"The National Trust is both amazing and a huge pain in my arse," he laughs, but it sounds strained even to him. "It's half the reason I'm a history professor now. I wanted to preserve the White Horse right, you know? I spent so much time in historical architecture lectures, buried up to my eyebrows in library books and research grants and… well, when it came time to establish this identity I thought, why not? Fudged up an undergrad degree in Medieval History, breezed into University of York for a Masters and spent it focussing on the lives of the common folk, you know, hearth and home kind of archeology. Wattle-and-daub construction, wooden nails and cooking fires, sellswords and home remedies, the beautiful mundanity of the everyday. And now here I am. Professor Bob Gadlen, with a PhD in my own bloody life."

The kettle whistles and Hob leaps to pull it off the hob when his Stranger flinches at the sound.

I'm going to stab them through the earhole, Hob snarls to himself. When he tells me who they are, I'm going to—

"Justice has already been delivered, Hob Gadling," his Stranger says softly, as Hob pours the water into a teapot. There's not a lot of modern conveniences that Hob eschews—humanity invented new and exciting things all the time for a reason, and that reason is usually that it's better—but he has never managed to get on board with tea bags. Looseleaf all the way. "And revenge has been, as they say, dished out."

Hob sets up a tray with two mugs, some biscuits, and the teapot under its hand-knitted cozy from the 50s. He's done this so often over the last few hundred years that muscle memory takes over, even as his brain stutters to a fizzy halt as he registers what his Stranger has said.

And what it means.

"Oh," Hob says, setting down the tea tray on his coffee table. He drops into his armchair beside the sofa with a thud. "Uh. Can you... Can you read my mind?"

"Only your daydreams," his Stranger confesses. "And only those on the surface of your thoughts. You dream of doing violence to people who, I assure you, are already dead."

"My daydreams. And my waking nightmares," Hob echoes, feeling like his brain is slogging through molasses. There's a… there's a confession in there, somewhere. A truth that his Stranger is trusting him with, if he could only work it out.

And then he remembers, suddenly, what he had been daydreaming about in 1789 when he'd caught sight of his Stranger's extremely shapely calves in his silk hose, and Dear Lord above. Hob has a sudden and humiliating urge to be swallowed up by the ground. A glance at his Stranger makes it very clear, by the smug little microexpression around his eyes, that his Stranger also remembers Hob's fantasies from that particular evening.

Hell.

"You're a King," Hob says slowly, pouring out a measure of tea for each of them to hide his blush.

"Yes."

Hob dollops milk into his own, and invites his Stranger to doctor his own to his liking with the sugar and milk he'd left on the tray. His Stranger only holds the mug between elegant pale hands, and simply inhales the steam instead.

"A King of… Dreams and Nightmares?" Hob ventures.

"Yes," his Stranger says.

"So you're a, a what… a god?" Hob asks, feeling both giddy and foolish to be saying it out loud. But then, he's been alive for six hundred and seventy-two years. That's a long time. He knows for certain that while his Stranger is not the Devil by his own admission, there are more things that walk the earth than are dreamt of in anyone's philosophies.

Hob scowls at himself for letting Shaxbeard's drivel cross his mind, and hides his pout in his mug.

"No," his Stranger says slowly. "And yes." He pauses.

Hob leans back, and lets his Stranger work through what he's trying to say. His Stranger sips his tea and seems to find it lacking, because he pauses to dump four cubes of sugar into it.

Sweet tooth, Hob files away, right under the entry on the list that says God. 

"I am a being beyond gods," his Stranger goes on once he's tasted his tea again and found it satisfactory. "I am older. I am more powerful. I am… simply more. I have existed since the moment the first sentient being closed its eyes and sought its rest, and I will continue to exist until the final one slips away to the Sunless Lands in its sleep. And yet, the version of myself that you see before you was once worshiped as a god."

"That explains a lot," Hob says, redirecting the buzzing adrenaline from his lingering, now futile rage into sarcasm.

The Stranger blinks again, as if unused to being teased. Being a… whatever he is, he probably is.

"Endless," his Stranger corrects. "I am Dream of the Endless. I am…" he gestures in an elegant arc with his free hand. "Limitless. Everywhere. Unchanging and ever present. I am every Dream of every creature, across all of space and time. I am both master of all dreams, and I am the dreams themselves."

"Bit like a TARDIS," Hob says, trying to wrap his head around what his Stranger, Dream of the Endless, is saying.

Dream blinks, head tilting like a corvid, a far-away look in his pale eyes as if he's shuffling through a mental rolodex. His lips curl up into, what is for him, a very wide, expressive grin when he seems to hit on the right entry. His face brightens with mirth.

"Yes, Hob Gadling. I am indeed bigger on the inside."

Hob laughs, if maybe only to contain the slow creep of existential horror. He has some sort of cosmic entity sitting on his squashed, unhygienic sofa that he hasn't cleaned properly since the day he moved in thirty years ago. Yeah. Hob's totally fine.

What's the bigger leap of understanding, anyway? Illiterate peasant sellsword in 1389 to university professor who taught the last two years through Zoom in 2022, or normal boring human with a bit of an Immortality thing to God's teeth there is a celestial creature in my apartment, and he is my friend.

"But that is the… the whole of me," Dream goes on, seemingly amused by Hob's quiet panic. "And the facet that sits before you, this particular anthropomorphic personification, is the one born of a worship and naming on this world, several eras ago."

"Oookaaay…" Hob says slowly, not entirely sure what Dream is getting at.

"Humans create gods," Dream says, filching a biscuit and crunching on it delicately. "Not the other way around."

Even spilling crumbs across his black teeshirt like stardust looks deliberate and elegant when he does it. Hob shoves down a new daydream, as far as it will go. If Dream catches it, he doesn't let on.

"Didn't God create mankind and all the world in seven days, though?" Hob asks, dragging his treacherous brain back on topic.

"In one story," Dream allows. "And in others, Zeus sculpted humanity from clay, and sundered the pieces to create soulmates. In yet another, Skywoman fell through a hole she dug through the world, and landed upon the back of a turtle. There are as many origin stories as there are gods, and there are as many gods as there are humans to imagine them. This—" Deam gestures to himself, and only then seems to see the crumbs on his shirt. He whisks them away with a flick of his wrist. "This embodiment was thought into being by what you would call the Bronze age cultures of the Mediterranean. To them, I was the God of Sleep. I have other names, but the most appropriate and widely remembered in this day and age is Morpheus."

"Morpheus," replies flatly.

"Yes," the creature on the sofa says, preening. "I desire that you call me that, Hob Gadling."

"Not Dream of the Endless?"

"Dream of the Endless is… Dream belongs to all sentient beings, of all kinds, on every planet and plane of existence. That creature has as many names, and faces, and physical embodiments as there are species to sleep. But here, the man who sits before you, whose form and face you know—"

Thank god he said 'know' and not 'desire', Hob thinks frantically.

"--this is Morpheus."

"The God of Sleep," Hob repeats, because is bears repeating.

"And you built me a temple."

"I… what?" Morpheus flicks a look around the room. "The New Inn? No, I built it for you so you could find me." Hob clocks what he just said. Then he thinks about the libations, the singing on karaoke night, the offerings and toasts, the way everyone totters away to pass out after last call. "Fuck me, I built the god of sleep a temple."

"If that unsettles you, you may alternately call me The Prince of Stories. The Shaper of Forms. The King of Nightmares. The Sandman. The—"

"Okay, okay!" Hob laughs. "I ask for one name and I get a hundred. Careful what you wish for, eh?"  Hob scratches his fingers through his stubble and heaves a sigh as Morpheus helps himself to another biscuit, munching peevishly. "So if I'm understanding this right, Dream is… is like a diamond. And Morpheus is just one facet. And there are hundreds of facets of you."

"Millions of millions," Morpheus agrees.

"And it's Morpheus I have my agreement with? And my… friendship?"

"Yes, Hob Gadling," Morpheus says fondly.  "Though I can assure you that the whole of all I am considers you a friend, not just this facet." 

Something in his posture that changes then, something that relaxes a little. Relief, that's what it is. Did he think Hob would be scared of him?

Overwhelmed, maybe. Confused, a little. Intrigued, definitely. Attracted to? Hob's mind shies away from that one. But scared? Never. Except for when he was worried he may have condemned his soul to Hell, Hob has never been frightened of Morpheus. And even that fear was of purgatory itself, not of the man-shaped thing that may end up dragging him there.

"Then it's Morpheus I'd like to… see more of," Hob decides on, tripping over confessing something maybe a little bit too intense for just now, and sidestepping it as politically as possible. "More than once a century. If that's okay."

"Why?"

Hob blanches. "Are you not allowed to? Or… or do you not want to?" Hob asks, wondering if he's completely misunderstood the point of Morpheus' confession.

"I did not say I was opposed to it," Morpheus says gently. "I simply wonder why my company is that which you would… choose."

Hob wonders, in turn, who it was that made Morpheus feel like his company was a burden, as he clearly thinks it is. He carefully does not daydream of doing them any violence. He wants to, though.

"Listen, I…" Hob says, and stops to lick his lips, wet his throat with tea, and choose his words carefully. "Before I explain, I want to make it clear that I don't regret, or rue, or am bitter about this… this gift you've given me."

"My sister gave you," Morpheus corrects him gently. 

"Sister?" Hob asks, derailed. "It wasn't you who… made me like this?"

"You and I have but an agreement to meet every hundred years. No more, no less," Morpheus explains. "My sister is the one who granted your request to never die, and traded a boon with our father to ensure you that you and I could keep our appointments."

"Uh. And who is this sister of yours I need to thank, then?" Hob asks.

"The woman who accompanied me at the White Horse that first night, do you recall her?" Hob nods. "She is Death."

"Death," Hob warbles, heart kicking in his chest. "Oh. Okay. Yeah. Makes sense. Death. I called her stupid to her face."

"She thought it charming."

"Fuck. And… your father?"

"Time."

"Time," Hob squeaks. The mug in his hand trembles and Hob sets it down before he sloshes on himself.

Morpheus frowns. "My sister did not think that the terms of the agreement between you and I would be fair if you continued to age, but did not die."

"No, no, makes sense," Hob says, heaving in a breath and trying not to freak out at the idea that Death and Time know who he is, and granted him his greatest wish simply because he was a loudmouth braggart in the right pub, on the right night.

"But you were speaking of the terms of our friendship," Morpheus prompts him.

It's a kindness, and Morpheus must know it, to be distracted from the existential crisis that is creeping up on Hob. Maybe Morpheus can see the waking nightmare hovering behind him, who knows.

"Yes, as I was saying, I don't regret being, uh, like this," Hob starts again, pointing at his own heart. "But it gets… well, it's hard. Maybe you know what I mean, being you know, Endless. Maybe you don't notice the passage of time, or maybe mortal lives are so fleeting that you don't care—"

"I care. And I notice."

Hob swallows hard again, and plows on, because if he stops to unpack the utter misery with which Morpheus just said that, he thinks he's going to have to get up right now, race out into the early morning dawn, and dig up whoever did this to his friend and kill them all over again.

"Right. Okay. Yes, you care, so you understand that… you have to let go. Do you know what I mean? You have to walk away. You have to… let things, let people, slip through your fingers. It doesn't matter how tightly you hang on to someone or something, change is inevitable. Time… ah, your father… has its… his way with us all. Except me. And you."

Morpheus watches him carefully, intensely, and Hob can't read what that expression means, hasn't seen it before. But if it was on a human, he'd call it intense and focussed affection.

"And I love life. I love humanity. I love the weird shit we come up with, and the ways we change, and grow, and at the same time stay exactly the same. I love people. I love love. But it can be…" he spreads his arms wide, clutching at the empty air, wishing he was better at putting thoughts into poetry. Then maybe he could explain himself better to the Prince of Stories.

Oh, so that's why that bitchy little twink Shaxbeard—no, focus, Gadling. Not right now.

Morpheus smirks at Hob's line of thought, but otherwise doesn't interrupt.

"The point of what I'm saying is that…" Hob takes a deep breath and plunges in. "You're my anchor. And you pull me through the years, and I follow along the tow line and… no, no, that sounds like you're dragging me down." Hob scrubs a hand through his hair, the beer and the adrenaline and the late hour catching up with him. He feels giddy and tongue-tied and stupid. "Maybe, you're a kite, then? And our meetings is the string, and when it's wound around my wrist, when I know what direction my life is being pulled by you and the wind, then it… it's full. It's taught. It's exciting. But when that string was… was slack… when you didn't come, when I thought I'd driven you away, I… I couldn't… there was no direction, and there was no point, and I—" Hob laughs flatly, false. "I had to build myself a fan, I guess. An Inn to fill the sail of the kite, and just hope that my breeze would come back and—"

And he doesn't talk about the years in the middle. The years between when he bought the White Horse, and before he threw himself into his schooling. The years when the misery of being forced to shut down the one place he needed more than air and food and water, because it tied him to his Stranger, the years when the White Horse continued to deteriorate and there was nothing he could do, except maybe sleep until 2089 and hope. The years when he put anything and everything down his throat, into his veins, up his nose just so that he didn't have to feel it, the wretched passage of time, the despair, the isolation and loneliness, the—

Morpheus' hand on his knee brings Hob back to himself. He huffs and wipes the moisture away from the corner of his eyes.

"What I'm saying is… I lost who I am, without you," he says slowly, covering that moon-pale hand with his own sun-browned and sword-calloused one. "And I'm not saying that you have to spend time with me. But I thought I ruined everything. And learning that instead you were captured and suffering, and I had no way of knowing and no way of helping, that's just so much worse. I need you, Morpheus. And more than that, I like you. These last few decades were awful without you, and I… I don't want to force you to spend time with me to keep me sane, that's not what I'm saying. I don't want to drown you in order to keep my own head above water."

Mixing metaphors again, Gadling. Get to the point.

"I guess what I'm saying is that I want to spend time with you. More than once a century. I want to be your friend, and I want to know when you're hurt, or in trouble. I want to be there for you, the way that you're there for me. I want to be the solution to your loneliness, the kind that only people like you and me know. The people who go on, and on, and on, when everything around you is always changing or withering away. Because you are the solution to mine. You're…" Hob decides that six hundred and seventy-two is too old to speak in euphemisms. "You're all that I get to keep. So, please. Can I keep you?"

"I too find that I thrive when I am seen," Morpheus says, summing up Hob's rambling with eloquence and sincerity. "And I am more than satisfied with your explanation. I find that I… share your sentiments. So yes, I shall give you a way to contact me, and a way to know if I am in distress. And I will be happy to meet with you more often."

"Once a week too much?" Hob asks, sniffling with pent up emotion and swift relief. "God's bones, I sound like such a clingy bastard. I guess I am. I won't be ashamed of it."

"If that is the case, then I find I am one as well. Will every Tuesday evening be acceptable?"

Hob didn't teach Tuesday afternoons, but Morpheous probably already knew that.  "More than."

"Excellent. It is done."

Hob huffs out a weak laugh, flopping back into his chair and feeling like he's just gone a hundred rounds with a heavyweight champ. Or sold his soul to Morpheus all over again. Morpheus releases his hand and pours them both more tea, though when Hob takes a drink, he finds it's become a sweet, cool wine, the kind he'd once had in Greece, centuries ago.

After they sip for a few moments, Hob screws up his courage, and asks, "And was it Morpheus who was… 'unavoidably detained'," Hob says, putting the finger-quotes around the phrase. 

Morpheus goes silent for long enough that Hob worries again that he's offended his friend again.

"We don't have to talk about it," Hob assures him. He reaches out his hand for Morpheus, offering support and understanding, just as his friend had offered it to Hob. He is relieved and flattered when Morpheus takes it again, without a moment's doubt.

"I… do not think I could bring myself to speak of this again, if I were not to unburden myself now. You have confessed so much this evening, and I feel I must honor your truth with my own, no matter how… infuriatingly painful and humiliating the confession may be. I was, as you surmised, captured."

"How can someone capture a… a concept?" Hob asks softly. "A literal, actual force of nature?"

"How indeed," Morpheus says, rueful and bitter. "While most magic is insubstantial nonsense," Morpheus begins slowly. He lifts his free hand and spreads his fingers wide, and on his palm a whirlwind of golden sand swirls into the shape of a small glass cage, with a tiny, prone man trapped inside. Hob's heart clenches when he realizes what he's looking at. "There are some immutable laws of existence that can be harnessed and twisted to entrap even one such as I. But it was not Dream of the Endless that Rodrick Burgess sought to enslave, nor even Morpheus the God of Sleep, but Death her very self…"

NEXT

#Dreamling #Dream of the Endless #Sandman #Morpheus #Hob Gadling #Losyark #Fanfiction #Fanfic #Sandman Fanfic #Sandman Fanfiction #unbeta'd #I don't know what I'm doing #I just want to write something worthy of being illustrated by #fishfingersandscarves #dreamling fic #dream x hob #hob x dream #centennial husbands #centennial boyfriends #morpheus x hob #morpheus #matthew the raven #the dreaming #hob x morpheus #get together fic #Cling Fast

[garbinge]

Country Shit

Gilly Lopez x F!Reader (Soldier Reader) Summary: Pre-canon fic where you think the worst as a black town car approaches your home but are pleasantly surprised by whose home.

A/N: Posting this fic I've had in my docs finished for a while now. I hope to start getting back in the swing of things soon. I know a lot of people have been commenting/messaging/reaching out about my Bear series and I promise I'll update that soon, but for now enjoy my first Gilly fic from Mayans :)

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: All my fics are 18+ regardless of content. Cursing, mentions of war, bootcamp, training, army, army rangers, PTSD, trauma, death, grief, dishonorable discharge. Lightly angsty? Or maybe I'm numb to angst and its like medium-angst level lol. Light fluff.

Mayans Taglist: @drabbles-mc @justreblogginfics @narcolini @danzer8705 @keyweegirlie

The clouds were rolling in, you heard the thunder in the distance as you sat on the back of your wrap around porch staring out at the ranch in your backyard. You pulled your cardigan tight around you out of instinct as the breeze from the storm on its way in, blew past you. The dark clouds casted a shadow on the large land of property that made up your backyard, the free-range chickens you owned had retreated into their coup, the two horses you took care of were nestled safely in the barn you had just 500 feet away from the house, and your dog was alert on your left hand side as he stared up at the rumbling sky. 

“Come on, boy, let’s get inside before it starts coming down.” You stood up and opened the back door and nodded for your dog to go inside. 

Your timing was impeccable, just as you closed the screen door, the rain started. The living room walls were filled with windows, you could see the droplets throughout every window on every window that surrounded the room. The sound of the water pelting against the roof and the deck filled the house, it was loud and mixed with the rumbling of the thunder. It needed to be drowned out, so you moved over to the record player you had set up by the front of the living room. 

The memory of the last time you used the record player was coming up short, but seeing the Sam Hunt record in the player made you smile. Placing the needle on the record, it scratched for a minute before the music started playing. It brought you back to a time in your life, there wasn’t much other way to describe it besides a time. It wasn’t something you’d describe as the best time in your life, not in the slightest, but there were some moments that weren’t completely horrible. 

“Come on! Grab your drink!” 

Those were the famous last words your bunkmate said before she dragged you onto the dance floor. You remember the beat of the banjo playing so loudly as you moved to the beat. It was the last night of Ranger School, you had graduated earlier in the day, your friends and family had come and gone already to wish you well before they shipped you off to your assignments.

You weren’t alone on the dance floor, you were in Georgia, so when Sam Hunt was playing, the crowd tended to thicken up a bit. The noise got louder from people singing along, and although it wasn’t your go-to selection, it was fun in comparison to everything training had put you through. You remember feeling beer dripping down your jeans as you jumped up and down with the mix of Ranger graduates and town locals, but you didn’t mind one second of it. You just loved having the excuse to wear something other than your green service uniform. 

As the song reached its last minute, you had started to sing along to the lyrics, your laugh was contagious by those around you as you enjoyed the celebration. You were drunk, there was no two ways about it, and you weren’t alone in that, everyone around you was too. Some people attempted to line dance, because choreographed moves were the perfect thing for a bunch of drunks, but everyone seemed to make it work. Except him. And you heard his voice in your ear as you were trying to keep up with those around you in the last moments of the song. 

“Can you show me how to do this shit so I don’t make a total fucking ass of myself?” 

You smiled at the comment, and turned to him. Lopez. You had worked with him over your summer of training, but to say you knew him well would have been an exaggeration. 

“And you think I know what I’m doing?” You chuckled as you looked back at him. “I’m just following everyone else. It’s like a kick kick step step turn thing.” 

“Right.” Gilly was trying to catch up as he moved next to you. It was hilarious to watch but it was also nice, having someone else with you that didn’t exactly know what was happening. “Man, I wish they’d turn this country shit off.” He whispered to himself as he tried to follow along with his feet.

As the song came to a close, you spoke up to him. “Didn’t peg you as the line dancing type.” 

“I’m running a bet with the guys.” He pointed back to his group of friends. “Longest one to stay out on the dance floor, actually trying, gets their tab taken care of.” 

“You do realize we’re in a bar full of locals who love buying drinks for anyone in the service?” You frowned at him. 

“Yea but there’s just something really fulfilling about Timmer paying my tab off for me, you know?” He was laughing back with you. 

Now that, you understood. Timmer was a real asshole, said things that got under everyone’s skin so if that was what was on the line, you’d help Lopez out. The song changed, it slowed down. A crowd of people left the dance floor, while a new crowd also filled it. Gilly looked around and saw just one person he was in on the bet with left on the floor with someone in their arms. 

“Need a partner?” You spoke up, hand extended out to him. Out of nerves, he laughed and took your hand in his, your other arm moved to hang around his shoulder loosely as you both began swaying to the music. 

“Thanks for helping me out.” Gilly said to break the silent tension. 

“Look, anything to make Timmer get the shit end of a stick, but I’m thinking I should negotiate something out of this deal for myself.” You made a face as if you were thinking. 

“I mean, fair is fair.” Gilly said as he took the lead and moved you around the dance floor. “What’d you have in mind.” 

It was a tactic, but it worked, it had you shocked for a minute that he had taken the lead. 

“I want my tab covered, too.” There were likely a million other things you could have negotiated from this, his dessert during meal time, laundry, literally anything but you were so caught off-guard you just said something quickly. 

“Deal.” He agreed quickly. 

Both of you stopped talking and continued to move slowly, swaying back and forth, the silence between you both allowed you to hear the lyrics of the song. 

“You and me, wild and free. Way out in the woods, nobody for miles.” 

Those lyrics brought you back to the present moment, in your shared home with Gilly that way out in the woods, nobody for miles. Now, some probably would have said that was the night that started it all between you, but after those dances, and a few drinks, both of you went back to your respective bunks and didn’t speak to each other until a week later when you were both deployed to the 2nd battalion in the 75th Ranger Regiment, and well, that bonded you two differently. Those two months on the home base in Washington is where the both of you fell in love, whatever that meant for two active duty Rangers. After those 2 months, they shipped you out to your tour assignment, where things got dark. 

You stood there, getting lost in your thoughts as your brain wrapped itself around a new set of memories, ones that were heavy and hard to even think of. The memories of being on combat duty, seeing things that were burned in your mind as a souvenir of your two tours, and the one that constantly replayed in your head. The memory of being dishonorably discharged because you refused to follow orders. Before you could think further on it, you jumped at the sound of your dog barking. Your eyes moved to the driveway, the sound of the gravel crunching was mumbled under the music and the rain but it was still prevalent. The rain distorted the view out of the window, but you could see the black town car rolling down your driveway, which was otherwise empty. You lived easily 30 minutes from town or any person, neighbor, or establishment, and that was purposeful. When you got discharged, Gilly got sent backshortly after on leave with you for a week. The two of you were already married but had no place to call home and with you being done with the military, it was time to set down roots. Roots that wouldn’t push you into a PTSD fit constantly, you liked being off the beaten path, you liked being unbothered, on your own. On your own. Those three words instantly meant something completely different now as you stared at the black car in the driveway. Everyone knew the black town car pulling up, unexpected, to the home was the news. The news no one wanted to get, but being deployed yourself prepared you for it in a way that explained the solitude in your heart and lack of panic. You moved away from the window before anyone exited the car, you took the few minutes you knew you had before someone rang the bell to kneel down and be eye to eye with your pup. 

“I wish you were going to understand what was about to happen, buddy.” Your hand scratched behind his ears. You saw his nose wiggle as he sniffed the air, and he let out a little whine while looking at you. 

You let out a sigh, and closed your eyes. That’s when the doorbell rang. As your dog ran to the door, you knelt there for 30 more seconds, preparing yourself mentally to hear the news. 

The words rattled in your brain before anyone even said them to you, it was your brain's way of preparing you before you got up to answer the door. The commandant of the Army Rangers 75th Regiment and Second Battalion has entrusted me to express his deepest regrets that your husband, Gilberto Lopez, was killed in action. It was then that you realized you’d find out when and how, and that’s when you held your breath. It’d affect you differently, because you knew the logistics of things, how to read between the lines of what was told to you. Before another thought filled your head, you were standing up and making your way to the door and opening it wide. 

Immediately your dog was out the door whining and jumping on the person in front of you. You thought you felt your breath hitch, I mean you were seeing a dead man, or what you convinced yourself in the last 5 minutes was a dead man, standing in front of you but you were frozen, until he spoke.

“Hey buddy boy, I missed you, yea, hello.” He spoke to the dog, his backpack still on but the other bag was discarded to his right as he let your dog greet him joyfully. “You been takin’ care of our girl, right?” He said as he stood back up and you felt the breath you were holding release and suddenly you were launching into his arms. 

He let out a woah mixed in between a chuckle as he steadied himself and wrapped his arms around you to embrace you back. You both hugged for what felt like eternity, eventually he moved both of you into the house to avoid getting anymore wet from the rain. You still had your hands wrapped around his neck, your heads were next to each other when he whispered something to you.  

“What happened? I’m gone for a few months and you got that country shit playing?” 

When the laugh left your mouth it’s when you realized you were crying. 

“Hey, you’re not allowed to say that when it’s our song.” You pulled away so you could look at him now.

“See, country music’s got you crying.” His thumb moved to wipe your tears away, the smile on his face was big, he was happy to be home, happy to not be thinking about everything– anything. 

“I thought you were dead.” You said as his hands cupped your face. 

“I’m surprised I’m not.” His face hardened almost immediately as he shifted to talk to you seriously. 

“You back for good?” Staring into his eyes, you looked for an answer, but were only coming up with pain and exhaustion. 

“I’m back for good.” He nodded and moved to place his backpack down.

“It’s hard being home.” You said, hating to break the moment but you knew it was inevitable to talk about. 

“It’s hard being deployed.” Gilly answered.  

You looked into his eyes again, it was obvious to you that they were eyes that had seen a lot. You knew that since your eyes looked the same when you were sent home. The difference between him and you was he was there longer, whatever happened when you weren’t there was going to haunt him.

“Back for good.” You repeated his statement, trying to wrap your brain around what that meant, what you both were in store for but you were quickly interrupted by a kiss. 

As your eyes closed, you melted into the touch. His lips on yours brought you back in time, to your first kiss, your wedding day, then the day you were sent home, saying goodbye to him. But now he was home, and he was kissing you hello. 

“You and me, wild and free.” He said the lyrics from the song that brought you two here as he rested his forehead on yours. 

“I thought you hated country music.” 

“I fuckin’ do. But I also fuckin’ love you.”

#mayans mc #mayans fx #mayans mc fanfic #gilly lopez #gilberto lopez #gilly mayans #gilly lopez x f!reader #gilly x reader

[writingfics-passingtime]

Song: Fahrenheit - Azee

With Marc Spector x fem reader

(I think this may fit well with the Outlaw fic 👀)

Lovely anon, thank you for this request! Definitely feels like Outlaw and that tough-guy reader, and I had fun writing that type of reader character again.

I completely failed at writing something drabble-length but my house, my rules to break. The urge to turn this into such a long fic was and is so fucking strong… sorry for how I left this one 😅 I hope you like it 💜

Compromise

This one-shot is part of JJ’s Mixtape - a mini series based on my followers’ favourite songs and characters. You can read more of them here!

Song prompt: Fahrenheit

Pairing: Marc Spector x female reader

Words: 2450

CWs: Some swearing, mentions of violence

There’s a light on in an upstairs window.

A shadow ebbing through the soft warm glow tells Marc that it wasn’t left on by mistake; there’s someone else inside. But another intruder wouldn’t have turned a light on, unless they were dead stupid, so whoever’s inside is allowed to be.

He’ll have to be careful.

It’s a little past two in the morning when Marc sticks a pick into the keyhole of a maintenance entrance and enters the great stone building. As to be expected in this old library, no alarm or security camera pings the signal detector on his watch. He relaxes, still keeping his steps quiet, and hopes that this strange directive from Khonshu would remain simply strange and not complicated.

“Why do you need me to steal an old book?”

“It’s not a book in the way your human mind is limited to understand,” Khonshu explained. Marc didn’t pretend to look interested or unbothered, but some secret place found relief in the lack the command to end another evil life.

“The Ennead Codex contains matters of great importance, and it is in danger of falling into the hands of those who wish to access the underworld.”

Whatever that means, Marc thought. He didn’t question it further. Really, he didn’t care all that much. It was just another task from his master.

Without many more words, Khonshu told Marc where the sacred manuscripts had been hidden for the past several decades. They’d been moved to this seemingly insignificant library in a small town.

Hidden in plain sight.

As Marc lifts a brass handle and slips through a dark walnut door into the main chambers of the library, he doesn’t bother donning the suit. He’d probably slip in and out undetected, harnessing his years of covert ops.

For a small town, the room is towering and impressive and beautiful. Filtered through a expanse of glass in the ceiling, moonlight casts its judgement across the carved stone pillars of the rotunda. Patches of dark blue carpet are dimly aglow with the help of the night sky, until Marc casts his own shadow across them.

He walks past the circular desk that sits in the dead centre of the room, now having clocked the sign for the Reference section where Khonshu said the Codex may be hidden.

The shelves are shrouded in darkness as he approaches and searches for the number “202.” He doesn’t get very far before the hairs on the back of his neck pique his fight or flight.

His right hand meets the gun at his side, pointer finger itching to meet the strength of the trigger, and a small clicking noise on the other side of the room sends him slipping behind a pillar.

He waits, listens, tries to discern where the sound came from. Footsteps. Coming towards the centre of the room.

Towards him.

Marc slows his breathing to keep it quiet. He wonders if the other presence in the library can sense him in the way he could sense them. Sure, years of tactical training hone the senses, but there’s also a distinct human instinct that tells someone when they’re not alone. He swallows hard when he remembers that it’s possible this other presence is not human.

“I know you’re in here,” a voice echoes through the aisles and up to the ceiling. Sounds human enough. She doesn’t sound afraid so she probably has a weapon. Marc tightens his grip on the gun, readying to draw.

“Come on out,” you command, sounding a little impatient.

You don’t declare a weapon. He doesn’t hear the safety of a pistol disengage, or the cocking of a shotgun, so he emerges from the shadows with a hand on his holstered gun.

You look sharp and powerful, standing in the centre of the room. Empty hands hang by your side - no visible weapon - you tilt your head, intrigued when you see the intruder. The light of the early morning moon chisels harshly against your features, projecting something familiar and severe towards the man who’d broken in.

“What are you doing here?” Your voice is accusing. You take a step towards him, head lowering to show him an unwavering, disarming stare. There’s a flicker of hostility and a glint of gold in your eyes that numbs his tongue just long enough to be too long. “English?” You stop walking and set your jaw. You look like a normal person.

“Yeah, English,” Marc finds his words and quickly assesses you, your stance, the outline of your body. There’s no bulkiness to your clothing, there’s no tension that gives away a readiness to strike; you’re no threat to him. There’s time to grab the book and get out before the small-town cops arrived.

“I’ll be out of your hair in a minute. No one needs to get hurt.” He says it as he turns away from you and you immediately call out after him.

“I won’t let you take it.”

He turns back and narrows his eyes in question.

“I know what you’re here for,” your fingers begin to curl into fists, your chest rises with a breath of preparation. “You need to leave. Now.”

Marc’s eyes flick to your growing battle posture, and he begins to summons the suit.

The exhales of the old pages lining the bookshelves glitter dust through the streams of moonlight. The same moonlight from which Khonshu’s vessel draws the power he begins to feel pulsing through his fingertips, through his chest and the back of his head. He lowers the hand from his gun and looks you dead in the eye. Marc sees another glimmer of gold. It was so fast, if he’d been blinking he’d have missed it. He juts his chin in challenge. “Who are you?”

“Leave,” is your only answer. “I won’t tell you again.”

The room fills with a gentle thundering the second your hands close into fists. Books, across every shelf, buzz with a strange power. The light fixtures are barely swinging, there’s no dust falling from the ceilings, but the shelves are alive with a ferocity you held. No more time to waste.

Lunar silver fills Marc’s vision as the sacred suit fixes tightly around him. He can’t leave here without that Codex. He’s fully prepared to fight you for it.

He positions himself into a stance ready to defend and to attack, watching with bated breath as you see his suit take place. The moment the ceremonial garb fits the last swath to Marc’s skin, you raise your fists.

The room falls quiet. The books fall still.

Marc waits, he listens, he watches as you determine he’s a bigger threat than you’d thought. It looks like you’re bleeding energy to hold your fists above your head, like you’re holding great power. Then, he notices the stream of moonlight begin to dilute. A warm, golden light begins emanating from the bookshelves. From the books themselves.

In a move too swift to predict, you draw your arms down towards your chest and fall to one knee.

A thread of light shoots from what looks to be every page in the room, blasting towards you before he has the chance to blink. Marc has to shield his eyes and again duck behind the pillar to protect himself from a glare so bright he was sure it rivalled the sun’s surface. It’s overpowering, debilitating, even through his tightly shut eyes, he throws his face against the crook of his elbow until he can sense the light begin to wane.

He emerges from the pillar fully prepared to attack, but stops in his tracks when he sees you rise to your feet.

You had transformed.

In a way that was all too familiar.

Golden cuffs circle your wrists, upper arms, your collar adorned with twists of gold and ivory. The breastplate of your armour is blanched leather bordered in the bones of an ancient being. A white cloth drapes around your waist, falling halfway down your legs. Your shins are wrapped in the same cloth, down to where your ankles are cuffed in gold above your bare feet.

Marc hold up his hands in surrender when he eyes the long golden staff in your white-knuckled grip. Not because he thought he couldn’t win, but because it looked like something he’d seen before. “I think we’re on the same side here.”

You smirk, scoff through your nose and point the staff at him. “Anyone attempting to steal the Ennead Codex is on no side of ours.”

“I’m not trying to steal it,” Marc drops the hood and lets the cloth peel back from his face. To show you his eyes in an appeal for trust. You didn’t waver. “I was sent to retrieve it.”

A raised eyebrow tells Marc that, to you, it’s the same fucking thing.

He holds his breath and asks, “Who do you serve?”

He watches you examine him. His suit. He watches as you realise you have a lot more in common than you’d care to admit; somehow, somewhere along the way, your lives ended up in the hands of beings too powerful to comprehend.

You don’t lower your staff as you say, with pride and strength in your voice, “I am the Scribe of Seshat. Tasked with protecting the Ennead Codex, and any knowledge those would seek out to use for destruction.” Marc takes a step forward and you don’t like that. With a single nod up, you counter, “Your turn.” Your grip on the hook-ended staff tightens. He doesn’t flinch.

“I am the Fist of Khonshu. Tasked with protecting travellers of the night.” He only stops when he’s a step away from the end of your staff. “Khonshu sent me to retrieve the Codex.”

You pull the sharp hook away, planting the lower end back on the floor beside your feet, and the books thunder for half a second. Again, Marc doesn’t flinch.

After several moments of tense, insular processing, you fix your eyes on a shelf behind your intruder and you begin to look nervous. “Seshat said this day would come.” You then meet his eye with an openness he hadn’t expected. “I just didn’t think it would be this soon.”

“Seshat doesn’t sit on the Ennead Council,” Marc subtly probes, keenly watching the way you’d react.

“No,” you confirm. “Never wants to. The only reason she has an Avatar is to keep them at bay. Seshat wants nothing to do with the Council…” you begin to walk past him, pausing at his side to add, “Especially Khonshu.”

You keep walking so Marc turns his body towards you, and don’t tell him to stay or back off so he follows as you enter the darkened rows.

Your barefooted steps are automatic and confident, carrying you to near the end of a nondescript shelf of reference material. After a moment of pause, reverence, and reflection, you place your hand on the spine of a thick book and chant a few words under your breath. It glows gold for a moment before changing appearance and sliding out into your hand.

Marc watches you caress the edges of the pages and look at the Ennead Codex as if it were something you truly cared for. Truly believed in.

He holds out a hand and promises, “I won’t let anything happen to it.”

Your head snaps towards him and he sees a startling intensity in your eye, along with those flecks of gold. “I know you won’t,” you start, “because the Codex isn’t leaving my sight.” Marc opens his mouth to protest but your protective grip tightens and you set your jaw. “I am the keeper of this Codex. I go where it goes.”

Marc shakes his head once. “Not gonna happen.”

“It’s not up for debate.”

“Don’t make me take it from you.”

A new low rumbling begins all around. Your eyes don’t leave each other as a smirk peaks into the corner of your mouth. “A sliver of waning moonlight versus a roomful of knowledge… do you like your chances against me in my domain, Moon Knight?”

Marc’s stomach lurches, though he gives no outward indication. Moon Knight. He didn’t tell you that name.

Your eyes burn gold, brightening every moment you build the power you’re pulling from the sources around you. Marc bites his tongue and assesses the situation as the library fills with the show of the ancient being you carry the mark of.

Marc arrives at the conclusion that, if you are indeed a vessel for Seshat, fighting you here would be a losing battle. He has no advantage. So, like a good Marine, he knows when to call the retreat. He knows when to compromise, and he does so with a gentle lift of his hands in surrender.

Your eyes return to normal, the books stop readying themselves for battle, and you brush past him with the Codex in your hands. He turns, recovering quickly, and starts after you. “How d’you-”

“Know that name?” You suddenly stop and turn. Marc’s body almost crashes against yours but he stops on a dime and plants one foot behind him, giving you two at least a little bit of personal space. You look him up and down before levelling him with a single look. “How do I, Avatar of the great Goddess of Wisdom and Knowledge, the goddess who invented writing and record-keeping… how do I know who you are?”

Your rhetorical question hangs in the air like the smirk lingers on your lips. After a few moments, Marc nods and sticks his tongue against the inside of his cheek. “We’ll go together to Khonshu, then go our separate ways.”

After, in silence, you reminisce on what Seshat had told you about this day that would come, you nod. “Fine. But if you try to take this from me, I’m gone.”

He gestures around and tries to look unimpressed. “Do you need to do a little light show to change outfits or…?”

He drops the suit in a matter of seconds, before showing a forced and sarcastic smile. Without breaking eye contact, your own garb seamlessly transforms back into the simple clothes you’d been wearing when you first walked in. Your height lifts by an inch when the sneakers finally form around your feet, and you don’t waste a second to turn and begin walking back towards the door from which you and Marc both came. “Keep up, Moon Boy.”

Marc huffs a low grunt, takes a deep breath to ground himself, and sets his jaw before following after you.

This was supposed to be a simple in-and-out, not a full-on extraction. He was here for the Codex, and now that you’ll be leaving your power source he’ll have to look after you until gods know when.

U.S. Marine to glorified fuckin’ babysitter…

Khonshu owes him. Big time.

#Marc Spector x reader #marc spector angst #marc spector moon knight #moon knight #moon knight x reader #moon knight one shot #marc spector x you #no y/n #marvel reader insert #marvel fanfiction #marvel fic #My mind ran wild with this one #Obsessed with the idea of them discovering the library of Alexandria had never burnt down #But that Seshat had hidden it underground #Like that library from the last airbender #And there’s some big final showdown in there #And the reader is way too powerful #How fucking sick #Maybe I’ll write it someday

[darlingvernon]

bitten | 01.

↳ a series of non-chronological drabbles + one shots about crown prince wonwoo and his lover

◇ wonwoo x female reader ◇ vampire au ◇ 912 [1/?]

Author's Note: As I said in the short summary, these will not be in chronological order and I don't know how many parts it'll have. If it generates enough interest, I may open either requests or suggestions on what you would all like to see next from vampire!Wonwoo. Also, I write these differently to how I normally write my fics. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy and please let me know what you think!

Disclaimer: In case someone does catch it, this is a repurposed work from a different fandom I wrote for. If there are any concerns, please don't hesitate to reach out!

Stirring, you awaken from your slumber, feeling far too hot for your liking. Usually, a regular person finds the feeling of warmth welcoming in the middle of a winter night, but you don’t. For you, the warm feeling means that something, or rather someone, is missing. It means that the person you care about most in this cold, cruel world, is not by your side.

With eyes still shut, you stretch your arms to their limit, fingers searching the king size bed for your lover, only to find nothing but empty sheets. Releasing a groan, you begrudgingly open your eyes and turn to lie on your back, taking a moment to stare at the snowflakes falling on the glass ceiling of your abode. As you sit up, the thick blanket slips down your torso, exposing your nakedness to the chill night air.

Without a single care in the world about your current state of undress, your eyes search the room until you find the familiar set of red orbs that are set on you, watching in anticipation from the moment that you stirred. “Why are you awake?” you whine, not missing the way his eyes turn a shade darker.

“My love,” he sing-songs your name and chuckles in amusement. “I don’t, nor can I, sleep. Why do you always forget this?”

“I forget my own name when it comes to you,” you mutter under your breath, but of course, he catches it. 

Laughing wholeheartedly, he approaches you and sits on the edge of the bed beside you. “Did I wake you?” he asks tenderly, cupping your cheek. 

As always, you lean into his touch, relishing the stark contrast of his cool skin against your warmth. “Yes, I was too hot.” You reply and plant a kiss on his palm.

Sighing, he gently coaxes you back to lie in bed and pulls the blanket up to your chin. “It’s the dead of winter and you’re not getting sick on my watch,” he explains before you can protest. “I have taken enough from you, my beloved. I will not be taking your good health whilst you still have it.”

Rolling your eyes, you shift and allow one of your hands to escape from under the confines of the blanket and reach out to hold one of his own. A soft squeeze of his hand is all the warning you give him, before pulling him with all of your might and dragging him onto the bed, thankful that he chooses not to use his incredible strength to fight you. Knowing that you’ll stay awake if he doesn’t appease you, he compromises by laying next to you over the blankets, hoping that it’s enough to sate you. 

Even though it’s not what you had in mind, you accept his gesture, not wanting to disregard his effort. Cuddling into him, you bury your face in his chest and wrap your arm around his middle, drawing him into you as close as the blankets allow. He stiffens in your hold but you take no offense to it, knowing that your lover is preparing himself for a multitude of outcomes from the simple gesture alone, like he often does. Planting a kiss on his chest where his beating heart would have been had he had one, you take the chance to pull him away from guilt and sorrow.

“Wonwoo, you haven’t taken anything from me that I haven’t freely given,” you remind him, hoping that your words don’t fall onto deaf ears. “You are, always have been and always will be, the love of my existence. We are already bonded, even without you taking that last step to make it so. With all that I am, I love you. All that I am, is yours.”

Wonwoo shuts his eyes, praying to the heavens for the strength to resist you, even if just for tonight. He’s spent centuries waiting for you and the gods know that he is willing to wait for centuries more if it means that you are safe. Conjuring up the stored memories of you in his mind, he sifts through them in search of the ones that will aid him. The memory of how warm your skin is against his and the sound of your beating heart that he always longs to hear. With a sigh, he runs his tongue to sooth his incisors, continuing the motion until they retract.

Gods, he doesn’t deserve you. Even though he knows it, he continues to be selfish and always chooses to have you by his side. In doing so, he vows to not do anything that will cause you harm and will do anything in his power to keep you precious, for as long as he possibly can.

Tenderly, he kisses every inch of your face — apart from where you want his cool lips the most — to answer your earlier confession. You relent, knowing that you’ve pushed him far enough this time.

“Sleep, my beloved,” Wonwoo coos. “The Queen has requested your presence at the Council meeting tomorrow. You need to look somewhat presentable.”

A yawn escapes you as you shift to cuddle into him once more, too tired to take his bait, which he’s eternally grateful for. “Rest well, my prince,” you exhale, letting slumber consume you once more.

With his eyes closed, Wonwoo places a soft kiss on your forehead and settles next to you, enjoying the peace he has with you while he still can.

© nonrevblr 2022

pls do not copy/repost my work

#seventeen #svt #wonwoo #jeon wonwoo #seventeen scenarios #seventeen drabbles #seventeen fanfic #seventeen x reader #wonwoo scenarios #wonwoo drabble #wonwoo fanfic #wonwoo x reader #svt scenarios #svt drabbles #svt fanfic #svt x reader #kpop #kpop fanfic #kat: writings

[leighsartworks216]

20 Questions for Fic Writers Game

Tagged by @shenanigans-and-imagines! I don't usually do these, but hell why not

1 - How many works do you have on AO3?

I have 56 individual "works", but that doesn't count how many chapters/actual fics I have posted there

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2 - What's your total AO3 word count?

373,417

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3 - What fandoms do you write for?

So many, oh god. Markiplier Egos, Marvel, The Witcher, Star Wars, Jurassic Park, NCIS, Lord of the Rings/The Hobbit, The Arcana, For The Love Of The Gods, Ace Attorney, Indiana Jones, Breath of the Wild/Tears of the Kingdom, Howl's Moving Castle, Enola Holmes, Doctor Who, Star Trek, Baldur's Gate 3. These are just all the fandoms I have characters I will write for in, so even though I don't have fics for all these fandoms, I will write for them

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4 - What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

You Have A Type, Don't You? - Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

I Come With Knives (series) - Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Designated Lockpicker - Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Astarion Drabbles - Astarion x Tav/Reader ficlets

You Hate Me - Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

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5 - Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

It depends on the comment, but I don't respond all the time. If someone has a question, or I feel I need to correct them/steer them in the right direction, I'll answer, but I don't respond to most of the ones gushing/aweing over the fic, not to say I don't still appreciate them all immensely.

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6 - What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Rom, My Beloved is my saddest/angstiest from my individual works, but there are some really angsty fics in my Loki and Markiplier Ego compiled works. I wrote it because Rom is my favorite Bloodborne boss and I just loved her lore, but tragedy abounds when you talk about a Soulsborne game

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7 -What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

A lot of my fics nowadays have happy endings, but my favorite of my completed individual works is probably The Rescue of Magistrate Ancunin, because it's open-ended as to what could happen next but it takes a devastating moment from Astarion's life and makes it nice and a little silly

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8 - Do you get hate on fics?

In recent memory, no, but I'm sure I have at some point. I usually delete it and move on

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9 - Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Very vanilla but very emotionally-charged. I have a tendency to focus more on the emotions of those involved and how they feel about their partner over how the sex feels

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10 - Do you write crossovers?

No, but I have thought about doing a Witcher and Bloodborne crossover, because I think it would be very interesting

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11 - Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of. I did check through the major sites when AI bots started scraping fics off AO3, but I didn't see anything then. If anything does come up though, absolutely let me know

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12 - Have you ever had a fic translated?

No, but! Back when I wrote on Wattpad, I had some very lovely person ask to read my fic on Youtube. I agreed and I wish I could find it, because I just remember being so elated by it

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13 - Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Nope. I don't really know how to approach co-writing, and it's just not something I'm too interested in rn

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14 - What's your all time favorite ship?

Uh uhm pass (I can't think of any 💀)

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15 - What's a WIP that you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

I have a Breath of the Wild fic planned out, with notes and even a first chapter written out and future ones with little bits drabbled out, but when I tried revisiting it again, I was just so lost in what I had planned. I hope one day I can finish it, but it's not gonna be soon

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16 - What are your writing strengths?

I've been told that it's the little details I add that ground it more into reality, ie hair getting caught on earrings or a voice cracking while trying to sing

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17 - What are your writing weaknesses?

I feel like I don't describe things complex enough. I can describe emotions or scenery and dip in a little bit, but I can never get it deep *enough*, but I know that comes mostly with neurodivergences and comparing myself to others

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18 - Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I hate when writers have foreign words/phrases in the middle of a fic and don't translate them until the very very end. That means I have so pick up the context clues around it, translate it myself, or risk getting spoiled trying to find the translation

Also, if your character uses sign language, don't put it in italics or ' ', just write it out like if it was verbal dialogue. "They signed, '[fill in the blank]'" Describe the way the gestures are formed (sloppy, sharp, indecipherable, fast) to get across emotion, and also the expressions on their face, since sign languages are very heavily reliant on facial emotions to ass meaning to the signs themselves

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19 - First fandom you wrote for?

Hard to say. I first started my writing on Wattpad, and have since been locked out of that account, but it was probably Doctor Who, knowing me

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20 - Favorite fic you've written?

I have a hard time picking favorites! And I like a bunch of them for a variety of different reasons, and always have things to nitpick about them

I will say I am really really enjoying my work on I Come With Knives so far. It's a passion project and I have some very big, angsty things planned for the future that I can't wait to get to >:3

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I don't really know who to tag for these things ever, so if you want to do it, go for it :)

#fanfic #fanfiction #20 questions

[jinkookspencil]

jungkook watches the red wedding

in which jungkook watches the red wedding from game of thrones

description/tags/author's note: self-explanatory as per the title / ~1.4k words / fluff but also a bit angsty? is this what everyone calls hurt/comfort? / contains spoilers for the red wedding in game of thrones (season 3, episode 9) / just a quick little drabble i wrote / finally sharing to celebrate the follower milestone i hit and also jk at the world koop! so proud of him. / if you like this you'd love this - this fic was born out of that post!

tw: it’s a reaction to the red wedding scene from got so mentions of fictional deaths including the death of an unborn baby, blood/bloodhsed, stabbings, but none of that occurs IN the pic - they’re just watching the episode that portrays all of that. 

“Okay Jungkook, let’s do this. Are you ready?” you ask your boyfriend, who made his way over from the kitchen, two big bowls of popcorn in his hands.

“Baby, we watch an episode almost every night, of course I’m ready,” he says. “What’s all this fuss today? I’m not complaining but it seems extra cozy.”

“I just feel like we need it.” You readjust the extra pillows and spread open the fleece blankets you had brought over to the mattress Jungkook laid out in front of the living room TV. “Are you okay? Are you sure you want to watch it today?”

“Baby, yes. What’s wrong? Do you not want to? Is it a bad episode? Tell me the truth. You’re a terrible liar, anyways,” he says before sipping from a cup of chamomile tea you had just poured for him. 

“No, Jungkook, let’s just watch!”

Right as the HBO logo fades away, Jungkook begins singing along to the theme song of the show, as he did with every single episode. He did not care when you told him that each opening theme showed the locations we’d visit in the episode (he considered them spoilers). He preferred singing or humming along to the theme song in a variety of ways. Today, it was operatic. Your poor boy had no idea what was ahead of him.

As the episode played on, Jungkook became too focused to continue cuddling and sat cross-legged right next to you on the mattress, sipping at his chamomile tea whenever you refilled his cup. With his eyes still glued to the screen as the wedding approached, you were able to position your phone at the perfect angle to capture his reaction….

“Jungkook, what do you think of Robb?” you ask.

“Hmm?”

“Robb. Do you like him?”

“Yeah. I think he’s admirable, he’s trying to be a leader, he’s inspired by his father, and he just fell in love…. He had the guts to follow his heart. It takes guts, to follow your heart.”

“True, Robb or Jon?,” you ask, feigning it as one of the many random questions you asked him while he watched GoT, wanting to know his opinion. 

“Hmm… maybe Robb,” he answers as the wedding scene begins. “Ay, baby I don’t feel too good.”

“About what?”

“I don’t know, I feel… tense in my stomach.”

“Weird, do you want me to get you something for nausea?”

“No, no, baby.. sssh. Hold my hand,” he whispers, and you gladly take his hand in yours, rubbing the area between his thumb and index finger.

You catch Jungkook smiling at Robb and Talisa’s kiss just as Catelyn did in the scene, but his smile vanishes as fast as hers.

“Ay, baby…." he says, noticing the Rains of Castamere play in the background of the scene. “The music… Arya’s so close!”

Knowing how fast the scene plays out, you stay silent in fear you’d distract him, and Jungkook doesn’t say a word either until he lets out a scream at the sudden sight of Talisa getting stabbed, followed by a series of noises the bloodshed continues, all the while his grip on your hand grew tighter.

“HIS WIFE. THE BABY,” he says in disbelief as the scene cuts to Arya, his eyes still glued to the screen, tears pouring out when Robb crawls to Talisa’s body.

“Oh! Oh! Oh!” he hopes when Catelyn takes Walder Frey’s wife hostage. 

But he doesn’t say anything else. His mouth remains agape, his eyes fixed on the screen until Robb gets stabbed and Catelyn gets slashed.

And the scene cuts to black.

“Baby,” you say, half a minute later, a tiny laugh escaping at the end of it, staring at Jungkook frozen in his spot. “….You okay?”

He breathes deeply, staring into a void.

“You. Knew…… You knew this would happen?”, he asks, his voice stern and angry despite the tears bubbling up in his eyes and the pout on his face.

“Well, yes, baby, I saw the show a couple of times already.”

“AND YOU LET ME WATCH IT?”, he screams, looking away. “You let me get attached to these characters, this show and….”

Jungkook rarely got angry, it was one of the many things about him that amazed you…. He always had reasons to be, but it was never as though he was concealing his anger… It was as though it was an emotion entirely unknown to him…. And now with his back turned towards you, you can’t tell if he was fuming, heartbroken, or worse, both…. When he got up and paced the room, you felt a pang in your heart, guilt at putting him through any pain…. 

“That’s why you asked me about Robb,” he realizes, glaring at you. “Fucking hell, I’m never getting attached to any fictional character ever again - you know about the Iron Man incident!”

“Yes, baby, and I love you for it! It’s okay to get attached! You know I’m the same! It’s okay to love! To care!”

“If you really cared about these characters you wouldn’t rewatch this show and suffer this pain. Oh, baby, I’m angry. I’m sad.” Jungkook’s shoulders slump. “He had just gotten married, he was going somewhere and starting a family…. And ARYA WAS JUST ABOUT TO REUNITE WITH HER FAMILY AFTER ALL THOSE YEARS. FUCK. YOU KNOW HOW MUCH I LOVE ARYA.”

“I know, baby, I know.”

“Tell me NOW if something happens to her later on, I need to know now.”

“Jungkook…. I can’t spoil the show - are you so upset that you want to stop watching?”

“N-no. I still like Arya and Daenerys. And Jon kinda, I guess….” He murmurs. “But Robb. His wife. His MOTHER….. The Starks…..”

Tears pour from his eyes, and you suddenly remember your propped-up phone. Hitting the big button on the screen, you stopped recording, overwhelmed with guilt. This was too much. Though it was still emotional for you, going through the journeys and emotions with fictional characters was second nature to you. You knew he could get emotional too - Jimin kept telling you how upset he was after Avengers: Endgame…. But you didn’t expect this. 

“Aww, baby come here,” you say outstretching your arms, and he crawls down onto the mattress and into your embrace. Feeling him nuzzle against your chest, you rub his hair and kiss his head.

“Aww, my baby, it’s okay,” you whisper against his hair as he hides himself in your body, crying.  “It’s okay….”

“Just promise me the show ends well….” he whispers.

You bite your lip, and kiss the top of his head more times than you can count in hopes he thought you didn’t hear him… He suffered enough heartbreak for a while.

It’s so hard to look at his puffy, tear-streaked face when he stares up at you, and the now adorable little pout his lips formed, which you kiss as you hold his face in your hands. “Awww. My baby survived the Red Wedding episode.”

“Can we go to bed?” Jungkook sniffles before kissing you again, his teeth softly tugging at your lips for a brief moment.

“Sure, baby…. But let’s watch something fun before that?” you suggest. “We’ll both get nightmares if we won’t.” 

“You’re right,” he says, turning to face the TV, still cozied up against you as you found something to watch on YouTube that you knew would entertain Jungkook.

“The chamomile tea in the thermos is still warm, drink some in a bit, Kookie, it’ll help you relax.”

He scoffs. “So that’s what that was. I can’t believe I didn’t see all this coming.”

“No one did, Jungkook, don't feel bad for not predicting it. I couldn’t sleep when I watched it. I'm just glad you didn't see any spoilers, that's a rare thing. Don’t forget the tea, though.”

“It didn’t stop me from crying, baby…. But I guess needed it. I need something to make me laugh too. And I need you,” he says, rubbing your leg and kissing your skin. 

“You have the tea and you'll always have me, Jungkook. I promise I'll make you smile so hard to make up for this,” you say, kissing his head when he giggled either at your comment or the show you put on, the sight of his bunny teeth peeking out from his lips engulfing you in relief and happiness. 

Because what could be better than cuddling up with the love of your life with a cup of tea, crying over fictional characters? Traumatic as the shows may be…

This was home.

#jungkook fic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook scenario #jungkook one shot #jungkook oneshot #jungkook fluff #jungkook scenarios #jungkook drabble #bts drabble #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts fic #bts fluff #bts scenario #bts scenarios #bts one shot #bts oneshot #jungkook reaction #jungkook reactions #jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bts drabbles #bts fics #bts fanfics

[thisismysecondrodeo]

okay now we need you to write that (if and when you want) CAUSE IT'D BE SO GOOD. and it'd hurt but we know he'll do whatever it takes to make sure his love never feels like that again

i just need one chance with this fictional man, i swear

AN: I’ve been holding this one in my inbox because I knew I was going to write at least a little drabble in reference to this ask so thanks for being patient! I think I’m going to post a little tumblr drabbles series on ao3 just to keep things organized! (but as usual all my fics are on the masterpost)

Rating: Teen

Tags: Minor appearances of other Ted Lasso characters, Angst, Romance, Established Relationship

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You yawned as you approached your boyfriend’s table at the Crown & Anchor. Ted had been at a series of away games for a few nights and you were excited to see him, even if the yawn said otherwise. 

“Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he stood and smiled, kissing you briefly before pulling out a chair for you. Mae was over immediately with a pint for you and you murmured your thanks before turning your attention back to the handsome man in front of you. 

“Ditto,” you tried to say, mid-yawn yet again. 

“Not that you don’t look lovely, but you also look very tired, have you been up burnin’ the midnight oil?”

You looked at Ted sheepishly and thought, briefly, about lying so he didn’t worry, but the two of you didn’t lie to each other. 

“Actually no, I’ve been going to bed at 9:30 like a toddler, trying and failing to sleep without you.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Ted gave you a look that was equal parts affection and distress. He had offered to come back early but you told him to stay and celebrate the win with the boys. “If I had known—”

“I know, I know, but I told you not to and I meant it. I’m a big girl, I’ll get over my fear of the boogieman someday,” you were deflecting with humor and he knew it but he let it drop and you were thankful. “So, tell me all about Amsterdam.” 

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A few weeks later, you and Ted were out with the entire team for a raucous winning streak celebration. One-too-many turned into two-too-many, and you were wobbly on your feet and slurring your words. Ted beamed at you when he saw you letting loose. 

You and Keeley had just finished belting another round of “Richmond ‘til we die” and you tripped over your own feet trying to sit back down next to Ted. There was a sharp pain in your ankle and you grimaced but said nothing, realizing it might be embarrassing to Ted how sloppy drunk you were. He didn’t notice your injury but he did suggest it was time to get you home and you agreed. 

The walk home was stumbly and painful but you covered up the hurt by leaning heavily on Ted who accepted your weight easily. He leaned you against the wall to unlock his door and you mumbled a quiet, “‘m sorry.” 

Ted’s brow furrowed, “What are you sorry for darlin’?” He helped you inside and onto the couch before sitting next to you.

“I got too drunk. It was a lot, and in front of you friends, I’m so—”

“Baby, do I look bothered? I love seeing you cut loose and enjoy yourself, I love how much you get along with my friends, who I should mention, are just as much YOUR friends. I love you, you don’t embarrass me, okay?”

You wanted to cry, and you almost did but you held it together. Only letting your eyes get a little misty before you nodded and hugged Ted close to you. “Now,” he said, I’m going to get you some water and you’re going to get ready for bed.” 

“No it's okay I got it!” You pushed yourself up with a groan and started limping towards the kitchen but Ted caught up to you easily, “woah hey there, what hurts? Something’s wrong with your leg?”

“Ah,” you waved your hand dismissively, as he sat you back down on the couch. “Classic drunk injury I’m okay.” Ted was ignoring you as he rolled up your pants leg revealing a clearly swollen ankle. 

“Baby why didn’t you tell me?! You walked home like this. We could have called a car. I’m going to get you some ice.” 

You acquiesced but only because Ted was using his no-nonsense voice. He also looked a little angry, which made you feel childish even though that was the whole feeling you were trying to avoid. You didn’t want to cling, or be too much, or need too much from him, especially because Ted was the kind of man that would give you the shirt off his back or an organ if you let him. 

Ted helped you ice your ankle for a while before bed and the air between the both of you was tense, but when you went to sleep he wrapped his arms around you as he always did and you thought that that was the end of it. 

In the morning, you joined Ted in the kitchen to a stack of American pancakes, coffee, bacon, eggs, breakfast potatoes, and fresh fruit. In other words, a veritable smorgasbord which meant only one thing: Ted was stress cooking and that was not good.

You sat down with a nervous smile and Ted sat next to you and sighed. “We need to talk about last night.” 

“I—,” you wanted to cut him off and apologize but he held up a hand and you nodded, letting him finish. You just hoped he wasn’t breaking up with you. 

“I need to know why you don’t trust me. I’m not mad, I just want to get to a place where you trust me to take care of you and I need your help to do that.” 

Your eyes widened in shock. Of course this kind man would think it was all his fault. “Ted, love, I trust you more than anyone in the world. More than I trust myself probably.” 

“Then why don’t you let me come home when you miss me and can’t sleep? Or tell me when you’re hurt and need help? Or let me get you a goddamn glass of water?” You knew he was serious because he cursed and he never cursed. You hung your head in embarrassment, but you knew he deserved the truth. 

“I don’t want to be too much for you, Ted. I don’t want to need you too much, because you’re so selfless and I know you’d do anything for me. Everyone in your life needs things from you and I want to be easy. I want to be the one thing you don’t have to worry about.” 

You didn’t realize you had shed a tear until Ted reached over and brushed it from your cheekbone, leaving his hand to rest on the side of your face. He had an understanding, but sad smile on his face. 

“Sweetheart, I know exactly how you feel. After Michelle…I know my personality, the “Lasso Way” can be a lot. I care a lot. And that can be overwhelming, but I don't want to hold myself back from you and I don’t want you to hold yourself back from me. I think the best thing we can do for our relationship is be 100% real with each other.”

You nodded and smiled, even as tears continued to fall. “You’re right. I know you’re right. I love the way you care about me, Ted. And I don’t want you to stop, as long as you promise to take care of yourself too.” 

“Deal. Does that mean you’ll start tellin’ me when you need me?” 

You smiled. “I’ll start right now. Can I have a kiss, please?”

Ted grinned and stood, leaning over you to kiss you deeply. “Any time. Anything else, sweetheart?”

You looked around the table and smiled. “Maple syrup?”

Ted laughed and went to retrieve it from the kitchen as you piled breakfast food on both of your plates. Both of you may be a little too much, but you were the perfect amount for each other.

#ted lasso #ted lasso fanfic #ted lasso x reader #ted lasso blurb #ted lasso fanfiction #ted lasso reader insert

[stellamancer]

niku niku niku!!!! i am dropping by with a few things i find pretty bc april is so very pretty to me! 🍞🌻💭🌷☀️🫧✨🌱💗🍓 how are you?? i hope the month is lovely to you 🥺

i also come back with a curious sel question 🤓 a more technical writing one but, what is your anchor point to writing a character like gojo or deku (or bakugo)? what part of them do you like exploring and what quality of theirs stays the same to you across any universe you put them in? 🥺

I AM OKIE. very full from the breakfast i just ate (some steamed shrimp dumplings hehe). i hope you are well lil selsel. i know you have been a very busy girl lately. LMAO

please be prepared for my very long answer. because i will be addressing all three.

let's start with deku since i think he's the most straightforward. i'm actually not entirely what you mean by anchor point but in terms of what i like to explore with writing deku. it's like. this is honestly all on a very... hypothetical scale since my one deku fic is. well not like this (in fact i read it last night and you know it's about three years old now and the bits of my writing i think have changed... lmao).

anyway. i'm getting off track. for deku i like... i really like to explore how adamant he is about... helping people LMAOOO. with the exception of one wip. deku is very dedicated to helping reader in some shape or form (in that other wip is more that the reader is working to save HIM). but as much as i love writing how sweet and kind he is, i do actually like giving him a change to quip a little. he's a smart lil guy.

but the one thing i like to have (generally) be consistent is that earnest goodness that basically defines deku. it doesn't always have to be at the forefront, and it might even be buried but. you know. so i like writing fics where that gets to be highlighted.

next. bakugou. it's a little hard to talk about bakugou because i, despite what you might think, have not really thought of many fic ideas for him. it's really just my kitchen adventure neighbors series and the one shot i will maybe finish one day 'surface of the sun' and they're actually pretty similar in terms of theme. i guess i have those emotional support bkg drabbles too. but those i've really just wrote on a whim.

i think, and i suppose i said this with deku and i will say this with gojo, it's very important to keep the core of the character in mind when you write them in any au. for bakugou specifically it's his roundabout way of being kind. he's not straightforward in his kindness like deku, but a little more... harsh about it. i suppose. like deku will get you lunch and smile at you and say he hopes you like it (but knows you will because he knows it's your favorite) bakugou on the other hand might just shove it at you and tell you to just eat it LMAOO. which is probably a very general way of saying it.

with bakugou there's a balance you have to maintain: his actually legitimate good heart and his attitude. bakugou seems mean at a glance, but he's really just harsh. which also seems like the same thing. that being said, if you make him too soft then... it feels like something's missing, but make him too harsh and he's just outright mean. i think. i'm not sure bakugou is more willow's expertise LMAO (willer do NOT LOOK AT ME TALKING ABOUT BKG)

and finally gojo.

it's hard to say with gojo. i think also because i approach writing from a scenic standpoint (so i see scenes a little less than character traits). i think similarly to deku, outside of infinite loop!verse which i regard a bit similarly to the emotional support bkg drabbles. I guess i like writing being a menace but not like. in a mean way? idk. but when i think of the like... non infinite loop!verse fics i've written/have planned i think that similar to deku there's a desire to help people but he's not as... straight forward about it and there's a bit of serving his own goals too. haha. he's nice as nice about things as deku.

similar to like. bkg. whenever i write gojo i have to try and keep a balance. but just replace harshness with frivolity. LMAOOO. that's why i've said to you before that i think that if you write gojo you can write bkg, because i take a similar approach to both. too nice is just not gojo and too frivolous is not gojo either. i think there's also a bit more of a complicated blend with gojo especially when you take to account other factors. for that reason for one of the aus it was kind of hard to figure out how to write him but i think i figured it out.

....damn i yapped a lot. i don't even know if i actually answered your questions LMAOOO.

#sel tag

[personasintro]

Mimi so I've been reading mh like from maybe 5th chapter? I think so. And then I started Mono. I've read a few of the drabbles. And finished your already completed stories. I like your long chapters, your style and approach. I have already told you what an amazing writer you are. But please let me waste a min of yours to tell you again what an incredible author you are.

I have a hard time waiting(only when it comes to reading), otherwise I am a very patient person I can wait for series episodes or movies but just not books. Now I know it sounds like a petty excuse but only books make me so impatient yet some how I've never felt that way with a webtoon and your stories. I oddly am not bothered a bit by the wait time. There is this other fic of jungkook i really like and that author updates like after 3-6 months.

So I've promised myself I will wait for your stories to finish before starting. Mono and Mh are the ongoing ones I really love. Recently I've been in a slump. I have a hard time doing anything and am going through a bad space, so I decided I'd read Away from you and broke the promise I made. Lol. And I'm totally gald I did it.

Woman you make me weak in the knees. I'm so so wipped for Yoongi the more I read your stories. (I'm pretty sure my bias would be pissed)

On my knees for you bowing. Handsdown to the most amazing fanfic author. Mimi Im so glad I've known you.

I never understood when Seokjin (My Beloved Bias 😇) said he likes Namjoon's sexy brain.

I'm totally in love with your sexy brain, the way you think.

I love you so freaking much!!

If I were your Man(speaking biology

=not possible), I'd never let you go.

And so imma settle for bestie. 🫂

I learnt a lot about you the way you answer your asks. Your personality. Your humour and boy you are naughty!

Ha sorry if that sounded inappropriate. 😳

Now I sound like a teenager. And this is turning into a love letter.

So to my cutest snowflake, thankyou for your words, your time and sharing your art with us.

Imma call you snowflake❄!

Tk.

Promises are meant to be broken 🤙 hahaha

Thank you for loving my stories! I’m sorry you’re going through something, I really hope you’ll feel better asap! Fingers crossed 🤞

Yeah, I understand how waiting can be painful, especially when you like the story a lot. Every writer has a different schedule, but I do think there’s still a lot to choose from for ppl who don’t wanna read ongoing stories. You’re right, there are writers who update one chapter once in six months or more. And that’s absolutely fine :) Trust me, all of us (the writers) appreciate when readers are patient and understanding! 🦋

Thank you again! 💘

#ask

[eoieopda]

blog info

⇢ how tf do i pronounce your username?

oy-OPE-da. it’s the romanized version of 어이없다, which is one of my favorite korean words. listen to hoshi scream it here.

⇢ why do you have a problem with minors and ageless blogs?

i discussed this here. as of summer 2023, i am no longer blocking ageless blogs and am instead ignoring their interactions unless and until i have some reason to believe they're an adult. see here for some ways that i (and other creators) approach this.

⇢ can i request to be tagged for new stories or new parts?

i don't do fic-specific tags (with the exception of force quit) because it's a massive hassle. instead, i have permanent taglists which include fics/chapters + drabbles:

multi (for all of the groups listed below)

bts

seventeen

stray kids

ateez

⇢ can i tag you in xyz?

i track #eoieopda archive (and also #eoieopdaarchive because some people use that instead). i don't like to be tagged outright in fics if:

i didn't sign up for a taglist or otherwise consent to be tagged

i didn't beta it or have anything to do with its creation, and/or

we don't know/talk to each other (because i can't vouch for whatever it is you've tagged me in — or you, personally — and don't want to be explicitly linked to it).

⇢ when is xyz being posted/updated?

when i have the brain juice and time and i want to 😌

⇢ why is xyz on hiatus/discontinued?

likely because i, icarus, have flown too close to the sun. sometimes, the idea part of my brain moves faster than the follow-through part; and i need to take a silly little break before i’m able to pick up a story. sometimes, i lose interest entirely and will then remove something from my masterlist + make it very clear that a series is discontinued.

personal

⇢ your real name was leaked — can i call you that?

it doesn't bother me if people use my govt. name when they talk to/about me! my whole tagging system uses my nickname (jade) because my actual name wasn't supposed to get out, so that's (primarily) how i'm going to refer to myself on here.

⇢ you said you were adopted —can you tell me xyz about this entire process, what you know of your birth parents, what you remember about korea, etc.?

no thanks! i know very little about the whole thing because i was literally 18 months old. i've also had experiences on here where users' entire communication with me has been to ask/talk about these things, which is icky at best and fetishistic at worst (whether or not it's intentional).

⇢ i’m not korean — can i call you unnie/noona/hyung?

i don’t have a problem with this, and i actually find it pretty cute. keep in mind that my opinion here isn’t universal amongst koreans; and i did not grow up in my own culture, so koreans that did are entitled to feel differently.

⇢ can i come into your inbox and ask very invasive questions about your personal life and/or spew racist garbage and/or erase your identity and/or tokenize you?

thanks for checking — absolutely not! playing stupid games will win you stupid prizes (aka being blocked and/or reported).

⇢ i’m confused by your pronouns — which should i use?

my gender identity is essentially the ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ emoticon at this point, so i use both she/her and they/them. and by that, i mean: pls don’t stick to one or the other (exclusively she, exclusively they) because i am not exclusively either.

i’m comfy with almost all “gendered” terms (sis, bro, dude, girlie, sir, ma’am, gworl, etc.) because i think gender is fake, lol. i do not vibe with “queen”, though, and i don’t know why. #kingjade

⇢ is it cool if i pop into your ask box with random thoughts, memes, tiktoks, non-k-pop stuff, etc.?

hell yeah, brother! let’s be friends.

⇢ you talk so much and it’s clogging up my dash — what do?

check my tag index here and filter shit to your heart's content!

requests (read the rules here before submitting)

⇢ who will you write for?

bts, seventeen, stray kids, and ateez.

i don't write for han jisung, kim seungmin, yang jeongin, or choi jongho as a personal preference. i adore them, but i don't see them in a romantic and/or sexual light.

⇢ are there any requests you won’t take?

i’m open to trying most kinks, dynamics, and AUs, depending on what's being requested of me (and the weather, what i ate for breakfast, the lunar phase, etc.) i'm down with poly!member x reader; and member x reader x member (etc.) dynamics, but i don't currently write strictly member x member.

hard passes:

non-con

anything involving minors

harry potter AUs

⇢ did you get my request? are you done yet?

pleeeeaaaaaaaaseeeee don’t. i did get your request. i’m a full-time attorney with fibromyalgia & ADHD and therefore cannot make any promises that my brain and/or body and/or schedule will allow me to finish things quickly.

i don’t complete every request i receive! sometimes, the requests are too similar to what i’ve done already, they don’t spark anything for me, etc. i reserve the right to pick and choose what i spend my time on.

rev. 12/9/23

#frequently asked questions #jade’s faq #faq