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thomase1 · 28 days

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Two broken make a whole; chater 6

Series masterlist Main masterlist

Yup, back again.

Please be aware, this is the first smut i have ever written (yes its been in my drafts that long) and one can only do so much to save a catastrophe. :,) The foreplay is way too detailed for my taste, but somehow i just couldnt cut it. Lots of kissing omg, this rlly is kinda mid, sorry.

Warnings: Smut, masturbation, fingering, ¿loss of virginity?, probably some corruption, awkwardness, fluff, worried reader, tender Loki, big time jump

Wordcount:~4.300 of pure filth and brainless fluff (oops)

Or in other words: that escalated quickly

Its now been a little over 6 months the gods have been living here. While you enjoy Thor being here and notice Loki settle in as well, one thing becomes clearer with each passing day.

Loki is your kryptonite. You have never felt such a strong attraction to anybody. His constant flirting and teasing do not make it any easier.

Its like hes been pestering you on purpose after that unfortunate mission months ago. Everywhere you went, he just casually appeared or was already there. Hell, even the helipad wasnt safe.

And the cocky demeanour and ambiguous statements really have been takeing down your walls one brick at a time. Its quite embaressing how quickly one god can wreck the walls youve built up for as long as you can remember.

So now youre here, late at nigh, lying in bed after an eventful, tiring, day. But of course, you couldnt sleep.

You didn't mean to, but you thought of Loki. You've never had relations with somebody before, at least not that you remember of, which is problematic at your age and with your stress level.

Maybe thats why your body is reacting so ferociously to Loki. The thought of him is makeing you all tingly, you cant help but sigh in pent up sexual frustration.

You are engrossed in finding relief and relaxation, which doesn't always work for you. Actually never, yeah, you've never managed to climax before. Or maybe you just expected more of a feeling? You are not quite sure. But it defently isnt satisfying your need.

You concentrate on your movements, in your imagination you see Loki in front of you. You've seen him shirtless a few times, which worsened your interest even further. Damn why must he be a hot villain too.

Well, he is an ally now, yes, but he is still Loki Laufeyson.

You keep concentrating, attempting to avoid thining of him, trying to picture hot actors or just anybody but him.

Suddenly your dark room brightens with a green shimmer.

Loki appears and you quickly hide under your covers.

"I know you're awake Y/N," the intruder says. You don't answer and pretend to be asleep.

"I heard your rapid breathing as I passed your door. I know what I'm interrupting." he teases in a singsong voice.

Damn how embarrassing, your breath catches in your throat.

"Oh, don't be embarrassed. Unless you were thinking about me Y/N, of course that would be a rather peculiar situation, huh?" he purrs provocatively, his voice getting even closers.

He can read minds, you know that, but you didn't think he could do it without even seeing the person.

"Oh, so you're not even denying it. Interesting. There's quite a bit I can do that you don't know about, kitten.", he continues.

Goosebumps form all over you, leaving you to shiver under the covers. He's right next to your bed.

"So Y/N, are you in need of assistance?", you can hear the smirk in his voice.

You try to think of nothing which is near impossible when consciously trying. Especially in the middle of getting yourself off.

"I heard your thoughts before, about you finding it hard to get a high. I just want to help you."

"How long were you listenig you little shit?!", you snap, throwing the blanket off your face huffing.

"Long enough to know how desperate you are."

"Cant you just leave and forget about this, please?", you mumble ashamed.

"But where is the fun in that? Come on now, its a win for both of us. Promise I wont tell.", he sits down at the edge of your bed.

Should you just accept? As soon as that thought crosses your mind, you get nervous. Cheeks burning, hands sweaty and heart racing.

"Do you fancy me that much, getting nervous like this?", he asks grinning.

You dont know if you should punch him or fuck him right now. He is so infuriating.

"I dont fancy you! Its just my hormones going crazy ok? Dont flatter yourself!", you hiss. Why must he torture you like this?

"Yea sure it is.", he says sarcastically.

You dont respond.

"Oh come on Y/N, do you really think you can finally reach your high this time? Just take it as a favor."

He sounds so sincere all of a sudden, what the hell? Well, god of mischief and lies, aint he?

"A favor? Dont act like you dont just want an easy girl for a night, but i am anything but easy.", you scoff bitterly. If there is one thing your job taught you, its to be suspicious of everything and everyone.

He sighs, "No, I dont think of you as easy. I admit I havent engaged in sexual activities for quite some time either, but what of it? It would stay between us, we would both profit from it."

He really sounds thruthful and his tone is kind of... tender? And for a moment the though of just accepting the offer crosses your mind again. It sounds simple enough, but you just dont know if you can trust him.

"Listen, I am entirely truthful right now. What would I gain by bragging about having sex with you? I am no school boy seeking validation Y/N. I believe here on Midgard you say, 'A gentleman doesnt tell.'."

"Will you please stay out of my thoughts?!"

"I can do that.", he smirks.

It actually makes sense though, he isnt friends with the others, why would he tell them? "Ok Loki, just promise me again, this stays between the two of us.", you awkwardly reach out your hand to him, attempting to seal the deal by a handshake.

He, however, grabs your hand and places a gentle kiss on your knuckles, "I promise. I know the past has not been kind to you either, I wish no harm to you.".

This gesture throws you off completely, you are not used to such tender affection. Your worry about trusting him eases a bit, a smile crosses your lips.

But now when you think about it, what if only he gets a profit out of it? When you cant get it yourself, what makes him so sure he will? You already expect a response from the god, but it seems he is keeping his word.

"On another note, what makes you so sure you can even help me with my *you gulp* struggle?", you ask with shaky voice.

He gives a deep chuckle, "Because I've gained some experiece in over a thousand years of living. So, shall we start?".

"Uhh, yea I guess.", as those words leave your lips, he gently sinks his lips onto yours.

You are surprised for a second, but return the kiss after a few moments. Its been some time since you kissed or made out, but you get into it pretty quickly. He leans forwart to you, one hand on your cheek. The kiss is deep with passion, his tongue asking permission to explore. You grant him entrance and he begins his route of discovery.

You grab the back of his neck, pulling him down so he is closer to you. He nibbles at your bottom lip and you cant keep a gasp from escaping you. Your tongues start to dance with each other, fighting for dominance. As you break apart for air her stops for a moment.

You hear him takeing off his shoes and crawl into your bed, now hovering over you. You cant help but giggle, seeing his determined expression lit by only the little light to your right.

You expect a cocky comment but instead your lips meet again. The kiss now just as determined as Lokis expression. It sends a warm feeling through your stomach, down to your core.

You lay your hands on his shoulders, traveling down his firm muscular arms. His hands start to wander too, from your back, over your ribs down to your waist where they stay with a firm grip.

You suck at his bottom lip and he takes a surprised breath. You smile into the kiss which leads him to lay his hands on your bare bottom and give it a hard squeeze. You let out a small yelp of surprise. He gives you a low chuckle and trails his lips off yours, down your cheek to your ear.

His hand moving up to steady himself again, the other one stroking a strand of hair from the path of his lips, he kisses behind your ear and starts nibbling at your earlobe, feeling his warm breath. You are overwhelmed with these new sensations.

Your hands travel to his chest, down his sturdy stomach, sixpack apparent to the touch. Then you wander further to the hem of his shirt, under it and up his torso again. His skin is soft. As he is assaulting your neck, he stops, "Like what youre feeling?", voice full with pride.

"Not bad, I must admit.", you giggle to which he only smirks and takes off his shirt.

Instantly your eyes wander down his bare chest and stomach. Wow. Pure eyecandy. He goes back to kissing your ear, but now the other one. The way he lets you feel him up so extensively while only gently kissing you, it feels like he wants to show you he is no threat to you. Maybe you are just imagining that, but it does make you more comfortable with the god.

As he does just that, you feel around his sides to his broad back and shoulders. And for the first time, a man above you with strong muscles does not make you panic. No, its hot. It feels strangely safe. He starts to trail down your neck, pulling down your shirt collar to reach your collarbone. You let out a tiny moan, you didnt know you were so sensitive in that spot.

You can feel your middle getting, shamefully, damp.

Lokis hand reaches the bottom of your shirt, starting to pull it up a bit. You grab his hands, stopping his movement. "What is it?", he asks hoarsly.

You swallow, "I- I was just getting a bit nervous, sorry.", you say shy.

You have quite a lot of insecurities lurking under the fabric of your shirt, accompanied by many scars, ugly reminders of past battles. While you feel more comfortable with him not harming you, letting him see all of you is still terrifying.

"Dont apologize, I'm glad you told me about it but I am without my shirt too, its only fair!", he grins.

"But then I'm completely naked!", you protest. Honestly, you are just afraid he is going to say sometehing hurtful.

"I do apologize for breaking my word but I was curious. Come on dear, I am sure you look beautiful. You can trust me.", he says so sweet, you think honey may start to drip from his lips. You blush at the sweet remark.

"Ok, just dont tell me if I prove you wrong.", you say, removing your hands from his.

"Oh nonsense my dear, even I wouldnt stoop so low. Especially when it isnt true, you are stunning.", Loki says waiting for you to trust him it seems.

You smile softly at his words, cupping his face and kissing him, leaving him gasping for air. He deepens the kiss again as you feel him slowly pulling your shirt back up.

Bare before him, you can feel his eyes before you even see them and your heart begins to race. You feel so exposed and vulnerable under his gaze, starting to move your arm to cover yourself. "Gorgeous. Ravishing, as I told you darling.", he coos.

He starts feeling up your stomach, to your ribs, settling on your breasts. Your stomach explodes with butterflies as relief washes over you.

As you start feeling around his wall of torso again he starts kissing your collar bones and boobs. You play with his hair, you always wanted to, it just looks so nice and it is as soft as it looks, smelling like lilac and mint.

You start to fondle with his scalp and can feel his shoulders relaxing. He definitely likes that. He showers your whole body with kisses and is slowly moving south, his long hair tickling you down his path. You keep massaging his head as you grip his shoulder with your free hand.

To say it pretty clearly, you are horny as fuck right now.

He is trailing down your hip, slowly moving your covers away as he is kissing down your thigh, takeing his sweet time which is, quite frankly, driving you insane. In the best way possible. As he kisses more and more to the middle of your thighs, you cant help but grip his hair firmly and letting out a small moan.

You feel your sex getting hot and twitchy. His hands are moving towars your middle and you feel a finger sliding over your lips. "So wet for me kitten, you want me to make you feel good now?", he purrs from between your thighs.

You feel his breath fanning agains your skin giving you goosebumps all over. "Yes, oh god yes.", you plead, urgency obvious.

"Say please.", he taunts, finger still stracing up and down.

"Please Loki. Please.", you plead with even more urgency.

And then finally he does; tongue caressing your most sensitive spot, hands pushing your legs apart. Your grasping at his hair harder again as you cant hold back a moan. It feels incredible. You claw into the sheets but keep your other hand in his hair, frankly, you have no control over it right now.

You let out a breath of surprise as he sinks a finger into you and starts moving it, makeing you whine in pleasure. He reaches a spot which feels so good, its unlike anything you felt before. And you think he knows that you feel good, keeping his movement exactly on that sweet spot of yours. Its sending waves of pleasure up my stomach. You move your hips feeling so good, arching your back off the bed as he takes a second finger.

"You taste exquisite.", he purrs as he gets some air into him.

Just as you think of an answer to that, he starts again. He sucks at your bundle of nerves, pushing you to arch your back again. Your whole body feels hot with lust.

You just wish you could touch him too right now, this feels a bit selfish letting him pamper you like this while he gets next to nothing. Arent you surpossed to give him something in return? And then he stops all of a sudden which you comment with a sad face. "Stop overthinking dear, just enjoy it. I will take care of you first, I'll have my fun soon enough.", he assures you, obviously having listened to your thoughts again.

He shifts and kisses you gently. You can taste yourself which somehow turns you on even more. He starts moving his fingers, thumb now rubbing your clit. The kiss gets heated as you lay your arms around his neck, pulling him close. He moves his fingers faster and faster as you claw at his back out of pure arousal.

He sits up, moves his lips from yours and uses his second hand to stroke your clit now. You let out a moan, you think you are nearing a climax.

He moves faster and faster as you cant hold back little croaked mewls. He watches your face like his life depends on it, feeling Lokis clothed cock press into your thigh which turns you on even more.

You swear you are so near an orgasm, you no longer hold control over your body, hips pressing into your helpers hands looking for further friction. Your crys of arousal growing more and more, Loki starts cooing sweet encouragements at you.

"Thats it dear. Dont hold back."

"Come on kitten, come undone for me."

"Dont resist it. Let it all out darling."

Those sinful words spoken so sweetly tumble you over the edge. "Oh g-od, Loki, I think I'm gonna com-e", you say with a sharp cry.

"Thats it Darling, come for me. Give into it.", he supports.

Just like that you reach your high. You claw at the sheets, head jolting back as your body arches into his hand. "There it is. Beautiful.", you hear Loki from a distance.

You feel your whole body shiver. While still in the process of climaxing, Loki keeps moving his fingers inside of you. Your hips are moving on their own, rubbing against his hand. You feel your body quake as you hold onto him and he pulls you closer into a sloppy kiss.

Just as you relax and lean back, body done twitching, he pulls his fingers out of you. You lay down catching your breath and he lays down next to you. He snakes his arm under your back, pulling you into his chest. His hand hovers over you back, softly raking against it.

"Held my word, didnt I?", he whispers into your ear sending shivers down your spine again.

"You certenly did.", you mumble into his chest on which you are drawing circles with your fingertips.

He lays a hand on your cheek and lets it stay there. You close your eyes and enjoying a kind of relaxation and peace youve never felt before.

"Would you like us to go further today?", he asks while stroking your head.

"You know what, yes, I trust you.", you say turning to him with a smile.

He shifts so he can meet your lips. Its not a passionate kiss, it feels more... loving? No, that can't be it. You cant describe it but it makes your heart flutter for a moment.

"I just remembered, I dont have a condom and I dont have one in my room either.", he says, surpising you of beeing so responsible in his excitement.

Said excitement beeing very noticable, urgendly pressing into your side. The question of how he even knows about eartly forms of contraception is a question for another time, you think to yourself.

"Oh, its alright, I'm on the pill.", you say, which surprises him apparently.

"Why are you on the pill when you dont have a partner?", he asks suspicious.

"Ive gotten it because of my acne and symptoms of my period.", you explain kind of hurt he is so suspicious of you.

"Very well then.", he says and gets up.

You sit up too, blanket clutched over your chest. "You think its gonna hurt?", you ask the question every girl has.

"What do you mean? I wont hurt you dear.", he says dubfounded.

"Oh, so you didnt hear that part. Well-", you stop, so embarassed you wish to vanish from earth.

"Are you trying to tell me you actually never slept with someone?", he asks soft but also curious.

"It just never- got to that. At least not to my knowledge, if you remeber the mystery about my name.", you mumble bashful.

"Right, sorry darling, that is fine.", he says softly, "I dont think it will hurt, at least not badly since you already had the pleasure.".

You smile dumbly, your mind racing back to other, filthier, thoughts. Hot breath makeing your mind foggy as tongues collide once again. He pulls you closer, so close you feel his cock nudge up at your stomach. You wander down to his waistband, wanting to feel him.

He smirks and snaps his fingers, suddenly naked in front of your very eyes. Well, you cant exactly see but defently feel his excitement. Your hands basically wander on their own, touching his hips and sliding to his sex, leaving him gasping as you stroke him once.

He lays his head on your shoulder and lets his fingers meet you most sensitive spot again, giving him a appreciative moan. You keep your fingers around his throbbing cock, pleasing him as you like. He lets out a tiny moan which makes you quite proud of yourself.

You sink your head back into your shoulders, enjoying his skilled touch. You quicken your movement, makeing him stop for a second to catch himself, it appears like. That may be because you are not stopping with the teasing. You enjoy seeing him off his high horse. His tense face is a nice sight as well. "Y/N- should we takes this further now?", he groans.

"What do you think we are working towards?", you taunt with a giggle.

He looks into your eyes a little more seriously, "I am asking your consent, kitten-".

You only mouth an "oh". You stop your motions, makeing him relax against you slightly.

"Am I right to take that as a yes?"

You nod, biting your lip.

"Oh my sweet, you dont even know how crazy you drive me. I will make you write in extacy.", he whispers against your shoulder, pressing himself against you. You barely hold back an audible gasp, instead sinking your hands down his back, "And you dont even know what kinds of sensations you bring me.".

"Oh I think I do." He slides down your sloulder, feeling him spreading sloppy kisses all over your cleavage, you grip his hair thightly as he moves his hips to meet yours. You feel him throbbing against your wetness.

"Ready darling?", he asks attentively, lightly pressing against you.

"I think so.", you say anxiously.

He leans forwart and gives you a chaste kiss, swallowing your lips as he sinks into you slowly. The kiss breaks from the vulgar sounds now echoing off the walls. You grimace a bit because it does feel a bit weird, but after a few seconds you get used to the feeling. He stays still for you to adjust, his jaw flexing in concentration.

That jaw... Oh lord that jaw.

"It doesnt hurt. I dont know if thats good or bad.", you whisper against his lips.

The question you had for years starts to resurface. Scenes that picture your own personal horror movie start to plague your imagination.

"Dont overthink it too much sweetheart, just enjoy the moment.", he soothes.

You exhale, calming your mind down from the scary szenarios almost takeing over. You are here, you are safe, nothing you dont want will happen.

"Are you alright?", he watches you and cups your cheek. He looks concerned. You lean into his touch, finding comfort in his caring demeanour.

"I think I am.", you whisper, looking at him, his eyes.

"Is it ok if we continue then? Excuse my blunt choice of words but it is rather difficult to withhold me fucking you into this matress right now.", he says calm, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Insatiable bastard. You shut him up with a kiss, figuring that counts as an answer. He smirks and starts lightly thrusting his hips. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer.

Gradually, his speed increases and now, every time he reaches that one spot deep within you, you get pushed up the mattrass a bit more. By now you are pressed against the headboard. "Where do you think your going?", he asks, gripping your hips and yanking you down to him again with one firm pull, "I'm not done with you yet.".

You whine as he pounds into you ruthlessly, bis tip barely off that spot before he crashes into it again. Your toes curl and your fingers grip a fist full of his hair as he cups the back of your head, pressing you into his chest.

The room is filled with the sounds of sex.

You feel yourself nearing a climax, heatwaves coursing through your body. "I- think I'm... cl- close-", you croak hoarsly.

"Me too darling.", he growls.

You pull him down by grabbing his neck, wanting more of him. You press yourself into him as much as you can, earning a low groan as reward.

"Come for me Y/N! Say my name as you come for me!", he commands, thumb harshky stroking your clit.

You scratch at his back...nearing... nearing... "I'm gonna co-", you whimper.

Your back arches and your body errupts into a shudder as every muscle of your body goes rigid. Only croaked crys of pleasure are able to leave your throat.

"S-ay my name Y/N, gods let me h-ear yo-u-", he groans, about to climax too.

"Lok-i, oh g-od, fuck.", you let out with a cry as him still trusting into you prolongues your high. With a low, beast like, growl he thrust into you hard one last time, feeling him spill into you.

He pulls out and falls next to you. The thick smell of sweat in the air is somehow really comforting to you. You nestle against his chest and he sneaks an arm around you. You come down from what you just did together, his quickened heartbeat just under your ear.

About to fall asleep on him, he suddenly moves and sits up. "What are you doing?", you ask, kind of sad the cuddles ended so soon.

"I saw you were falling asleep so I figured I'd leave now and let you rest.", he explains softly.

You hate to admit it, but something inside you doesnt want to be alone right now.

"Could you maybe stay? If not an inconvenience of course.", you ask shy.

"Of course dear.", he says with an understanding nod, smiling warmly. Loki slips back into bed, taking you into his arms once more. You pull the covers over you two and soon drift off to sleep.

Tbmaw: @fictive-sl0th @vbecker10 @fictional-hooman @mischief2sarawr @maple-seed @mochie85 @holdmytesseract @theaudacitytowrite @gigglingtiggerv2 @marygoddessofmischief @goblingirlsarah @oceandeepthirst @lokisgoodgirl @fallenlostarchives @kalinaselennespeaks @sid-prescottx @assemblingavenger @loki-n-hvitserk @crzyplantladyvibes @yoongissidebitchh @cakesandtom

Everything: @slytherclaw1227 @their-love

@vickie5446 @buttercupcookies-blog @peaches1958

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#loki laufeyson #loki x y/n #loki x you #loki god of mischief #avenger reader #avenger loki #tbmaw #loki smut

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valaruakars · 1 year

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Let's Get Physical (Part 7)

Viktor/F!Reader || 6.3k || Modern!AU + Gym!AU || SFW

Bitches hate you for your overzealous approach to supporting your friends and deeply anxious behavior. Viktor is not bitches.

A/N: Omg. We're here. We're back on our bullshit. Thank you to everyone who beta'd and/or provided me free therapy about this for that past um... seven months. Oops. Thank you to everyone who reached out over the (unintentional) hiatus with encouraging comments and asks. I hope you'll understand why I took so long to handle this with care and unpack some of my own issues. Very cathartic. Would recommend.

Part 1 → Part 2 → Part 3 → Part 4 → Part 5 → Part 5.2 (nsfw) → Part 6 → Part 7 (Ao3 Link)

Before you know it, two weeks and a day have passed. They make no palpable difference.

Except maybe in your quadriceps.

The same weights you’ve been using feel almost effortless, too easy. You don’t fatigue as quickly into heavy breathing and the urge to cheat yourself a rep or two—not lunging with the dumbbell gripped at one of its wide ends, not squatting while it’s clutched close to your chest. It’s suddenly not enough.

Nobody’s around to see it, but progress is progress. Turns out, you’ve finally graduated to heavier weights on this lonely leg day you’ve committed to.

That’s a bit of a misnomer, though. The day is mostly past you now. It’s evening—crisp and wispy, sky like striated fire outside the garage—and as the sun sets, you’re reminded of the late start you’re up against. All because you forgot something.

A good attitude is optional. A scrunchie you can live without. But your shoes? Leave them forgettably kicked off in two different directions on your bedroom floor and you’re fucked. It’s a small miracle you’re here, dragging around weight plates, setting up a barbell. There was a very real danger of tripping and falling into bed—totally by accident, never to get up again—when you drove home and stomped upstairs to grab them.

But whether or not he knows it, likely the latter, Viktor keeps you accountable when no one else can. It’s because the only running you truly love is the risk of seeing him, which still requires proper footwear. And for you to leave the house.

Though by the time you whipped into the driveway and thrust the gear shift into park, it’s empty. He’d left already; you didn’t get to see him off on his reluctant shuffle through the garage. But lucky you—he tends to come straight home after physical therapy. Call it friendly concern that you’re paying attention.

It’s probably an odd way to think about a friend. You need to work on that.

Your phone vibrates dully on the padded bench beside you. Nearly knocking your water over in the process, you grab it to find a text from Jayce—the usual culprit. You slide it open, accidentally brushing the top of the screen with shaky fingers. It catapults you to the beginning of your most recent messages before you can read the new one.

Mon, Oct 10

[Jayce Talis, 5:56am]: Did you leave the back door unlocked last night? [Jayce Talis, 5:57am]: And the pool lights on? [Jayce Talis, 5:57am]: Was Viktor in the pool?

[7:32am]: Holy shit. Good morning. [7:33am]: No, no, and why do you think I know these things??

[Jayce Talis, 7:45am]: Sorry, it’s all good. He’s alive.

[7:46am]: ???????

[Jayce Talis, 7:49am]: You guys didn’t hang out after I left?

[7:57am]: Idk if you would consider it that. [8:02am]: But has anyone invited him to cards on Saturday??

[Jayce Talis, 8:17am]: He already said no. [Jayce Talis, 8:18am]: Although… [Jayce Talis, 8:19am]: You could try telling him it’s strip poker. Haha :)

[8:20am]: Blocked. Reported. Banned. NOT DOING THAT.

[Jayce Talis, 8:21am]: No wait! I was kidding. He’s not a creep :(

Tue, Oct 11

[Jayce Talis, 3:38pm]: Wait did you actually block me?

[3:50pm]: Yes.

Sun, Oct 16

[Tayce Jalis, 8:00am]: Can I have my t-shirt back today?

[8:31am]: Oh the really old anime one? I left it with some stuff to be washed, ask Viktor. [8:32am]: Maybe the dryer did you a favor and ate it.

[Tayce Jalis, 8:34am]: Hey! Naruto is timeless.

Today

Tayce Jalis unsent a message

Not fast enough to scroll back down, caught revisiting those unremarkable little messages, and now you’ll never know what Jayce’s butt managed to text you this time. Oh well. Keep your secrets.

You toss your phone down behind you with a leathery slap. Back to working on the whole stop pining after Viktor thing.

Right, and your legs.

The barbell bites into your hips as you roll it into your lap and adjust it, the bench presses into your shoulder blades. It’s heavier and harder to manage, but you do, driving down into your heels to get your ass off the ground, hefting yourself into a nice, solid bridge. From there it’s as easy as dipping your hips, which isn’t quite easy at all. No, it’s brutal.

It burns from your core down to your thighs; has you clenching your jaw, gritting your teeth with the strain. Even your biceps are active, lifting some of the steel-hard pressure off your hip bones.

You’re so zoned in—no thoughts, head empty except for the number six over and over until it’s seven—that you only hear the hiss of your breath in and out, the hammering rush of blood behind your ears. You don’t hear Viktor come home.

Not until he’s standing above you.

He had the heinous metal on metal sound in his old beige car fixed—that grinding, grating death knell in its engine. One of several potentially life threatening reasons the check engine light was always on—maybe still is. And though you much prefer him living, it’s harder to hear him coming over the steady music without paying attention.

Bad timing for Miss Carly Rae Jepsen on your Upbeat Workout Jams playlist, considering you do really, really, really like him. Him and how he stands at the end of the bench, staring down; how he fixes you with that sliver thin smile, a manila folder tucked under the arm of his long cardigan.

You seize with embarrassment, frozen on the upswing of your hips. “Hi,” whispers out on the end of an exhale, caught ragged in your throat.

You can’t do pelvic thrusts in front of him.

You just can’t.

It’s bad enough that you’re sweaty in every skin to skin crevice and certainly flushed, t-shirt sticky and legs trembling as they hold your awkward position, but then there’s him.

He wears that same look much better. On him, it’s healthy color across the cut lines of his cheeks; it’s still-damp curls at the nape of his neck and the jump of his lean throat when he swallows, dry when he must’ve forgotten a water bottle again. It’s suggestive. It’s hot.

And it’s the endorphins that make you feel that way, surely, more than any affinity for men in gray sweatpants that are far more revealing than they must realize.

You clear your throat, finding your own parched voice. “Watch your feet,” you warn, on the side of caution, dropping butt and barbell to the ground with a metallic thud. You let your head drop back against the bench pad, staring up at him with the dazed satisfaction of calling it quits. Only for the moment, of course, as you blindly feel around for your phone to turn the music down.

And good fucking god is what you see unholy. Viktor shifts his weight before you can look away, and the ache in your core redoubles—different, deeper than any lactic acid buildup. Did his pants shrink in the wash or is it really that m—?

Nope! Absolutely not!

You can tread no further with that thought because, really, there’s no such thing as having a platonic appreciation for your friend’s dick. Not when the friend is Viktor.

“You’re not finished yet?” he asks. Innocent. Oblivious to your mental struggle out of the gutter.

Typically you would be by now. Equipment racked, the citrus scent of disinfectant on your hands, picking at innocuous conversation while you walk inside together. How was your day? Did you hear they’re demolishing the old physics building? There’s a guest lecture next month that might interest you.

“About another thirty minutes,” you breathe, “and then I’ll be done. I’m running behind.”

“Ah, interesting. That looks to me more like sitting,” he says, which is terrible enough to earn an eye roll, and snarky enough that your lips wobble and break into an insurmountable smile.

“It’s called resting, thanks. This would go faster if you stopped distracting me,” you huff, muscles loose, lips looser.

The little spark of mirth in his eyes, so bright and awake, makes your stomach clench vice tight. “Mm. There’s no rush,” he shrugs, “but… Rio might enjoy a visit.”

Your smile is skeptical as he pulls the file folder from beneath his arm. “Oh really?” It widens as he starts to fan you from above—chilly in the garage, but you’re still sweating buckets. It’s futile, although he’s sweet to try and help.

He nods, gravely serious, “She told me herself.”

You crane your neck unconsciously to let it cool the sweat that lingers there, sighing as little wisps of loose hair billow feather light and tickle your feverish skin.

He isn’t holding it right, though. His grip is too loose on the edge.

At once, a flurry of white comes raining down on you. It’s instinct that your eyes clamp shut against the onslaught.

“No, no, no,” he hisses as if begging could stop gravity.

It doesn’t, of course.

His papers flutter and scrape across the floor. An unlucky one sticks to the sweat on your scrunched up cheek. He’s quick to dip forward and snatch it back first, the easiest to reach.

You blink off the surprise and snicker, “Oh, how the tables have turned. Who’s the clumsy one now?” Rolling the barbell away over your outstretched legs, there’s nothing in its path to be crumpled beneath the weight.

But Viktor doesn’t answer with a crooked smile or a quiet laugh, no dry wit to be found. His dark, heavy brows furrow and he insists, “No, just—just let me,” while he crouches to the ground, distributing his weight between his cane and the end of the bench.

“It’s okay,” you insist, reaching to gather what’s scattered between you, “I’ve got it. No big deal.”

“To you,” he mutters, snatching two away before you can turn them over. Makes him lose balance. He narrowly catches himself before he can veer face first into your spandex lap,, blunt, bony fingers digging into your thigh at the hem of those skin tight biker shorts. It crushes the papers all the same.

“Top secret nuclear codes?” you tease, drowning his muttered apologies. It sounds stupid and obvious that you’re trying to distract from the fumbling tension when his hand stays put for moments too long. Yours, too, on his shoulder to brace him.

Just until he’s able to sit himself solidly on the ground beside you.

He purses his lips, “My work is with reactor cores, not weapons.”

It’s only been a week since you got an impromptu lecture about nuclear fusion in the kitchen. It’s not like you’d forget so quickly. “I know—”

Impatient, Viktor reaches over your lap, too close for comfort. Whatever you were about to say is struck from your train of thought.

His cardigan drags soft and pilled with wear across your beat up knees. Beneath it, his sweat smells sharp and strangely appealing. It’s fascinating, that draw to something so base and human. It’s unsettling, the way your heart responds like it beats between your legs.

You follow his hand, unabashedly curious, and watch him pick up another overturned paper. Below it, the next sheet is stuck face up to the floor with what you cringe to assume is a drop of your sweat, bleeding the ink of a diagram. Multiple diagrams, actually.

Of stretches.

The familiarity sparks excitement.

By the time he peels up the corner of the page with his fingernail, you’re sure of what you’re looking at. It’s common ground, of a sort; the excuse to end all excuses.

“These are from the physical therapist?”

He sighs, sitting back in an awkward fold of spindly legs. Looks wearier, now, with his shoulders collapsed like the exhaustion of going has finally caught up. “Yes,” he admits, because you’re smart and he’s smart, and any other answer would be an obvious lie.

You’re doing it again—digging your fingers into a soft spot that feels as ripe as it does intrusive. We do not talk about it much, he once said, but it’s hard to stop once you’ve started. You just have to know: “Do you do them?”

His eyes cut down to the papers in his hands. “When time permits.”

“How often does it permit?”

“Occasionally,” says Viktor, which might mean somewhere between rarely and never.

Early mornings, late nights; classes to teach, lab hours to log, projects, papers, and a dissertation that looks done to you, but he laughs bitterly when you suggest it. Still has to find time to eat and shower and sleep, but his eyes are always restless purple and there are wrappers from meal replacement bars scattered around the house, too high calorie for Jayce to be the culprit.

You wonder what will happen when it all catches up with him. Worse, you worry.

Beseechingly, you reach out. Your grip is gentle as you take hold of the printouts at their edge. “Can I see?” you ask, not grabbing or pulling or taking, just there and ready.

His lips form a tight, considering line. “If that is the last of your questions,” he slowly replies. Prickly, but relenting, he lets go before you can ever agree.

So you don’t.

His eyes are on you as you flip through the stack—you can feel it as a strange, shy tension like bated breath, watching and waiting.

Page by page, it’s nothing you haven’t seen before. Some you’ve even done yourself, but with simple modifications. Hell, bridges are just hip thrusts performed flat on the floor, without the weight. Nothing he’d need help with, which is ideal when you’re not qualified to do anything but make space for him; to emphasize that he’s welcome and wanted, maybe offer up a sweaty-palmed high five if you’re feeling spunky.

You peel your legs off the floor and resituate, tucking them as your turn to face him, direct in every sense. “You could come do these with us on Sunday mornings after we run, before you get started on work. It would make Jayce happy, and Vi has a really funny way of being encouraging—”

He pulls a face—a nose scrunched up, barely concealed, abso-fucking-loutely not sort of scowl.

“Or…” you’re quick to try, “Just with me, when I’m here. It’ll take, what—fifteen? Twenty minutes?”

“It’s a poor use of time,” he says. It’s as avoidant as it is clumsy, with a dismissive edge still dull enough to bruise.

And that’s because: “You stop and talk to me for longer than that sometimes,” you remind him flatly.

He sighs sharply, toying absently with the cane laid across his lap. “That is different.” He says it like it’s obvious; like it’s frustrating that you don’t know how obvious it is.

“Well, what if we could do both at the same time?” you propose. After all, he’s got such a hard-on for efficiency, if that’s what’s stopping him. “I know you’re a good multitasker…”

His jaw works, trapping his thoughts behind imperfect teeth.

“And we probably keep this floor cleaner than the carpet…” you prod, because the silence of a man who can and has talked your ear off is disquieting; because you don’t always know when to stop; because this feels like a negotiation.

“My bedroom suits my purposes just fine,” he says, eventually.

But you never said which carpet. The thought of him sequestered in there, even for this, is fucking depressing. Arguably disgusting when you’ve walked across that rug and felt the grit of dirt, crumbs, and debris that the pattern hides through your socks. And worse: It’s a choice, so why is he making it?

Abruptly, the rubber tipped end of his cane meets like against the rubber tiled floor. He pulls himself up on it with difficulty you can’t ignore, but shakes his head when you move to help. The only thing you do is hand him up the battered stack of papers, tucked back into the folder from which they came, when he stands up fully. You won’t hold them hostage, even if part of you wants to. It wouldn’t keep him from leaving, his back to you such a familiar sight.

You just want to understand, though, if nothing else. To crack him like a cipher.

Softer, you try: “I wouldn’t judge you.” It’s the last, desperate little thing you can think of. They’re like magic words to you.

But the problem is: They don’t work on everyone.

To his credit, his tone isn’t harsh. It’s indifferent, like stating a sterile fact. “This has nothing to do with you,” he says. “I haven’t skipped an appointment recently, and that should be enough.”

Indigence might suit you in those moments you grow a seedling backbone, but it doesn’t suit this. You can’t help it though. His frustration has bled into you, caught like kindling. “Is it?”

“You and I do not share the same sense of priorities,” he replies, but it’s not an answer. Not really.

The urge to turn him upside down and shake him until something definitive comes out is overwhelming—so straightforward until he just… isn’t. “If you’re not going to say yes or no, can’t you just lie and say you’ll think about it?”

He looks you over inscrutably, sitting there in his shadow. “Why would you assume it’s a lie?”

“Oh, I don’t know…” you huff. But you do. Experience and a certain friend who actually bothers to text you back have given you the answer. “Jayce says you’re stubborn and I’m starting to think he’s right.”

Viktor nods conclusively, but doesn’t care to share what’s going through his head. As evasive as ever when he cares to be, just murmurs,“You should finish this.”

And then, for a reason that is simply beyond you, says: “I will see you later.”

But for once, you’re not sure if you want to.

—

You rap your knuckles against his open door.

Seriously—who were you kidding, thinking for even a second that you wouldn’t be here, doing this?

Yes, it’s well after eight now and you’re pitifully hungry, but it wouldn’t feel right to leave without saying anything. In writing a note or sending a text, you’d simply be spelling out, ‘I’m a coward!’ in far more words. It’s best, you decide, to be polite and mature and just say goodnight despite the awkward taste in your mouth that is very reminiscent of your own foot.

And you get to say it to his back, which should be easy.

But then there’s Rio on his desk like a pissed off paperweight, swimming the foggy side of her holding tank—sorry, prison—without any hope of escape. They’re the angriest, most pathetic wiggles you’ve ever seen. Habitual, given how tongue-smudged and abraded the plastic has become.

“You see?” he says, gesturing to the sound of her scrabbling in his bright rubber kitchen gloves. “It’s just as I said.”

“I think it’s more about you ignoring her.” Rio pauses, slipping down the side. Her little face conveys it perfectly: “Father is cruel? Father is… unyielding? Father hates Rio?”

“No, no… Although, eh, yes, I suppose she does sound like that…” he muses, nodding. “I think she must wonder those things about you, actually.”

Your shoulder hits the door frame, shrugging against it where you lean. “I probably don’t matter much to her.”

There’s a heavy pause, enough for him to breathe in and hold it. Breathe out, softly: “You do.”

And suddenly, you can’t find it in you to leave. Did you ever truly have the will?

The truth is there on your feet—those perpetually mismatched socks. You’d hoped for this, secretly, else you wouldn’t have left your shoes off at the door.

It’s warm when you walk in. A space heater that’s been running too long glows electric orange on the floor near his desk. Makes the smell of churned earth and vinegar cleaner that much stronger. And while the clutter is clearly endemic, it seems the fuzzy, stagnant mugs are not. They’re all gone from his desk and the bedside table, replaced by sticky notes, pill bottles, and an avalanche of papers.

You come up and give Rio’s tiny, clawed foot a high-five through the plastic. “Has she been doing this all night?” you ask, looking over.

Knee on the desk chair for leverage, he’s elbows deep in her tank, rooting those waxen, fake plants back into the substrate with unnatural posture. It’s that stiffness you’ve always noticed—ramrod straight from the mid-spine up. It’s easier to see in profile, in a thin shirt that clings to his back, that there’s nothing visibly forcing it.

“On and off. She tires quickly now,” he says, arranging a broad-leafed plant near her favorite rocky shelter—scrubbed clean, still damp. “When she was younger, it would go on much longer while I did this.”

“How old is she exactly?”

His sigh is almost lost beneath the hum of the space heater. He answers, “Fifteen,” in the soft, subdued way of someone who hates to be reminded.

There’s many things you’re too afraid to ask him. Such hits as: Why did you dig yourself a hole this deep, does Jayce text everyone about you, and would I even stand a chance if things were different? But right now, most of all, it’s how long do geckos live?

You don’t think you’re going to like the answer.

Viktor clears his throat. “She’s very, eh… spritely for her age,” he adds, fondly this time.

You hum a soft sound in agreement, too shaky through the legs to squat down to eye level with her. When you bend your knees to try, you realize you’ll probably never get up again.

He glances over as you straighten up. “You can sit,” he offers without really saying where. It’s obvious, though. The only option—his rumpled bed, never made, with all its mismatched pillows. One has definitely been stolen from the couch, three are yellowed and missing pillowcases which is… ew.

But you’re not going to refuse. You’d like to hold Rio, after all.

You swallow hesitation and tuck yourself onto the end of his mattress, balancing on the firm edge. At least the intrusive thoughts are fleeting. Only briefly do you wonder what he thinks about at night. What he does. What he wants for.

Not you. That’s for sure.

Your elbows lock out where you grip the ridged edge of the bed. The weight of things gone unsaid, of things left unresolved bears down; it prickles warm at the back of your neck and you can’t stand the waiting silence.

“So…” you drawl, letting your voice fill the void.

“Hm?”

“Are you going to hand her to me now, or…?”

“Ah, no, I’m finished,” he says over his shoulder. “She needs to go back in the tank.”

“Then why am I sitting here?”

“Because I have something to ask you.”

Straightforward. Right. You forgot just how terrifying that can be.

“That sounds just as bad as saying we need to talk,” you mutter, heart twisting into a suffocating, arterial knot.

“We do, though,” he says, too literal, too preoccupied with placing Rio back in her clean terrarium to notice your soul leave your body—preemptively abandoning ship.

But he’s merciful, at least. He doesn’t keep you in suspense.

“I just want to understand at what point you developed such a vested interest in, eh… fixing me, I suppose,” he asks, like wondering what the weather will be tomorrow or what the dining hall might serve for lunch. Conversationally. “Did Jayce put you up to this?”

Your eyes narrow in thought. “No…?” you reply. It comes out too shifty as you toy with the serged edge of his blanket. Jayce put you up to something alright, though that hardly matters anymore. But, in a way, does this count? Would Viktor think that this counts?

“A sure answer, please.”

Fuck.

“It’s just that I would lump that in as part of being friends with you—except I’d call it, y’know, caring?” You draw your leg up onto the bed, closer, tucking your foot beneath your thigh. “That’s all I’m trying to do.”

Viktor flips the grate down with a finality that lights your nerves like a beacon to flee. “So he asked you to do what, exactly?”

“Nothing,” you squirm.

He pivots, solidly on two feet. Doesn’t sit down in the desk chair quite yet. “It wouldn’t be the first time for this behavior, and, with you, I’m sure it was not the last. Do you know that he once provided Caitlyn with a written list of topics not to bring up to me?”

You shrug, “He’s a good friend...”

Now you’re staring down the barrel of being just the opposite—of throwing Jayce under the bus.

“What did he ask?” Viktor presses.

And you break. Made brittle by your desire to put him first, of course you do.

“All he wanted was for me to give you a chance, which was pretty reasonable after you called me annoying—” that word comes out with a bite to it you didn’t intend; sensitive, sore, “—but I never told him about that. He’s just… worried about you in his own way, I guess.”

Viktor quietly raises an eyebrow, and that’s all it takes to snap you into fours next. It practically falls out of your mouth: “He keeps texting me to make sure you’re still alive. Sometimes I think he’s joking, but then one time he told me he had a nightmare that you drowned in the pool, so part of me actually thinks he’s being serious.”

“He is.”

“Wait, really—?”

“Is that why you come so often now?”

Wednesday. Friday. Sunday. Monday too, sometimes, if the day before hasn’t left you sufficiently sore enough. The pain means progress. It must.

“Well, no,” you blink, “that’s mainly because I have a lot to work on.”

“Do you?”

You gesture to yourself. All of you. The way your stomach folds and rolls and fucking exists unappealingly beneath your sweatshirt when you slouch—it could be better. The way your thighs pancake out, smushed against the bed—not getting better, but discipline and toning might shape them into something near desirable. “Yeah, obviously.”

He treads lightly. “I… would not say it’s obvious.” But his eyes are cast down as he carefully removes his rubber gloves and discards them in a bucket of cleaning supplies. He’s not rude enough to agree, but you worry, in all those moments you can feel him looking at you, that he’s thinking it. After all, he’s willowy, sharp and elegant in a way you’ll never be. Soft and fleshy. Never quite right.

“And that’s because you’re, what, zero percent body fat?” you sigh, gesturing to him incredulously. “I’m not implying that’s healthy or ideal—honestly, I’d share some if I could—but…” Your hands curl to your chest, clasped tightly in one another when there is no one else to hold them through the indignity of admitting, “I’m the one that needs fixing. Not you.”

He was right, though, when he said it earlier. This isn’t about you. “Where did you come up with that, anyways?” you ask.

The lines on his face, those deep, concerned creases between his brows, spell out what the fuck. You don’t understand what’s so hard about that question—what he can’t figure out, why the confusion lingers in his eyes. “This… This is the second time you’ve offered to help me.”

“I was trying to be supportive. Encouraging, even—that’s also a good word for it.”

“It all feels the same,” he tells you, taking his turn to sigh. “Which is to say patronizing, sometimes.”

And that was not what you intended. “I’m sorry, I’m not trying to be a saint or anything. That’s not entirely it.” You fight the turtle-like urge to retract into your sweatshirt, which would arguably be more stupidly embarrassing than admitting: “I was just looking for… common ground, I guess. Ways to hang out without dragging you out with us.”

“Are we not doing that right now?”

“Sure, but I feel bad about it.” There’s the silvery peek of his computer, buried on the desk. “I’m keeping you from more important things.”

“You’re not,” he says—no, placates, but the disbelieving press of your lips makes him reconsider. “Well, eh, perhaps, but I can manage. I’ve dealt with Heimerdinger’s high expectations and, mm, sadistic deadlines for years. The weekends work well to make up for lost time, and there is all night after this too.”

“You should sleep.”

“I can’t. Not well.”

You give a creaky little bounce—not much of one, no spring to it—to demonstrate: “Maybe because your mattress feels about as hard as sleeping on the ground.”

“One problem of many, yes.”

You count yourself among them, in one way or another. You’ve been leaking these awful insecurities all night.

Is it any wonder that another slips?

“It’s just—the last thing I want is to bother you. Everyone, really, but especially you.”

“Is that because of me?” he asks quietly. “Because of what I said?”

Oh, you’ve carried this around since day one. Let it color his tone and his words and his actions. Let it haunt you trying to reach for others, the freshest nick in a line of scars that was never stitched properly. That’s what you get for letting all those little anxieties run wild with knives in their hands. That’s what you get for forgiving him before he ever asked for it, as if that would make things easier. For you. For him. For everyone.

It hasn’t.

Viktor crosses the three steps between you on bare, nobby feet. His weight dips the bed beside you ever slightly, like he’s hardly there. But he is, by the way his leg bumps your knee, and you scoot over to give him space.

He doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands, grasping at some distant thread. They’re as awkward as he is in saying, “I can’t recall what I meant at the time, but it… it wasn’t that. It would’ve been fine if you thought less of me for it, but not of yourself.”

You shake your head. “It’s—don’t worry, it’s not all you,” you say, softening his guilt, perhaps at your own expense. “I have a lot of anxiety, and that’s a long running thing, okay? It’s mostly… me.”

“That’s… good to know. About you, I mean. Not that it’s—it’s good. Just, eh, helpful to know.”

“I guess that’s generally the benefit of being upfront about things,” you shrug as if it comes easy.

“I would prefer that, I think.”

It doesn’t, but the light, fizzy feeling of relief makes you want to try, if only to have more of it. Maybe more of his shy little smiles too. This time with more intention, and less leaky word vomit.

“Okay…” You shift to face him fully, mirroring his posture in leaning back on your hand for support. “Then in no uncertain terms, I want you to know that I’m not trying to fix you.” Been there, done that, got the shitty dunce hat. People don’t change unless they want to. You know that. “I just wish you were kinder to yourself, but that’s on you. So if you ever decide you want better, whatever that means, I’ll be there. Only if you want me to and only on your own terms—no physical activity required.”

“I might want to consider it, you know…” His voice lowers, softer and softer with hesitation, to the point that you find yourself leaning in. Noticing, as he seems to have noticed, that your hands are a hair’s breadth apart. “As a future prospect, if anything. But you have to understand, I don’t enjoy being watched.”

“I get that.”

“Mm, no, I imagine people stare at you for very different reasons,” he mutters. “Not pity. Envy, perhaps.”

“I promise, most people don’t want these thunder thighs,” you huff, resisting the urge to slap them like a used car salesman. These babies can fit so much soul-crushing insecurity, which is a terrible pitch, really. The occasional bouts of self-loathing are not your strongest selling point.

He lets out the strangest bark of a laugh, so dry it’s almost ugly, as if he can read your mind.

But you didn’t mean to derail. “Sorry, continue.”

“Right…” Viktor draws in a long breath, quiet for a moment before he figures out how to word it. “It’s as simple as that I would rather go unseen. It’s very, ah, personal. And painful, sometimes.”

You think of the age old adage: If it hurts, don’t do it. “Um, not a doctor, but I don’t think it’s supposed to be?”

“So they say,” he nods pensively, eyes ticking over some distant thought, maybe a memory. “It wasn’t like this before. The discomfort wasn’t… serious. That’s how I was able to ignore it for so long.”

“Ignore what?”

Not the brutal slam of the garage door across the house, for one thing. The pictures on the wall must be hanging crooked now.

Viktor sits straighter—if that’s even possible—and calls out: “Jayce?”

Footsteps—softer, distant.

His eyes snap back to yours. “It’s been a week since he’s come home,” he tells you in a quick whisper. “Mm, well, in the evening. He’s here in the morning—”

“To work out at the ass crack of dawn? I know.”

“You were invited?”

“He knows better than to think I’ll get up that early. I saw on his Instagram.”

Footsteps—louder now.

Viktor nods sagely. “Ah, yes, the stories. By my count, he has written, eh, ‘rise and grind’ forty three times since the first of the year.”

“That’s…” Your math isn’t great but, “More than once a week,” you whisper back, on the cusp of giggles as Viktor nods. And then, it hits you. “Wait—”

But the footsteps have stopped.

And instead, there’s Jayce’s stoop-shouldered figure braced in the doorway. He sniffles loudly.

He’s still dressed in the khakis and blue button down he wears to work—rumpled, sleeve cuffs smeared darker. His eyes have that red, raw, burning swell of someone who's tried very hard not to cry, and failed spectacularly.

Viktor finds the words you’re looking for with immediate precision. “Has something happened?” he asks, voice tight, hand tighter on your shoulder as he leans around you to look his roommate over. “Jayce?”

They spend a lot of time apart. Sometimes it’s easy to forget that they’re best friends too.

He swipes at his nose as it runs into the raw little divot above his lip. Beyond sadness, there’s a guilty cast to his dark, hazel eyes, turned down to the floorboards, but you can’t find your voice to tell him that this isn’t what it looks like.

“Are you… injured?” Viktor tries again.

Jayce shakes his head. No.

“Is your mother alright?”

“She’s fine,” he rasps. “Um… Can I just—?” he asks, gesturing weakly to the two of you.

Which you think must translate to: “You want to come sit?”

“Yeah.”

Viktor’s of course comes without apprehension, without judgment. Only with the apparent surprise that he even needed to ask.

But Jayce, in several long legged strides, doesn’t come sit. No, he collapses face first onto the bed behind you, all broad, shaking shoulders and quiet sniffles seeping out from behind his arms. They hide his face and nothing else. Hands curling, clenching into his shirtsleeve, there’s the thick band of a tan line striped across his middle finger.

You turn yourself around, scooching closer, folding up cross-legged to face him.

You’ve never seen him like this—laid so low. A sweat stain blooms dark at the small of his back, up between his shoulder blades, but sweat is sweat and Jayce is Jayce. You reach out to rub his back despite it. “It’s alright…” you whisper. Feels like putting band-aids on a bleeding heart, but it’s all you have.

Soft cotton weave catches the peeling skin of old blisters as you soothe your hand in circles. His shirt leaches the vetiver smell of cologne, but somewhere beneath it, there’s an elegant, cloying perfume still lingers. It’s no secret where he spends most of his time these days.

You meet Viktor’s searching eyes and mouth: Mel.

He nods gravely as if to say he drew the same conclusion.

Say something—that’s your next silent suggestion, canting your head toward Jayce.

But instead, Jayce takes a deep, wet, shuddering breath and asks, muffled into the mattress, “Can… Can we go to Taco Bell?”

“Sure…” you murmur. He could’ve asked you to drive him two states over to bury a body and you would’ve agreed just as thoughtlessly. Anything he needs. “We’ll take you.”

He doesn’t move. Just sniffles at a prompting little scritch to the nape of his neck, where his hair fades out to shadowy, peach-flesh fuzz.

So you ask, “Do you want to go change, and then I can drive us?”

“Can I just have a minute? Please?”

“Why?” demands a perplexed Viktor, still soft spoken. Desperate for an answer that isn’t made of cobbled assumptions; blunt in its pursuit.

And worried. You can tell that he’s worried.

As if you’d been the one to ask, the personification of wet, doleful misery lifts his head and looks up at you. His face is a ruin of dark, clumpy lashes and tear-tracked skin. His lip wobbles, the pressure of withholding little sobs building, building, building. But speaking it aloud makes it real. Speaking it aloud breaks the levee.

“I think we just broke up,” he finally whispers.

And cries face-down for another hour after that.

#arcane #viktor #viktor arcane #viktor x reader #reader insert #arcane x reader #my writing #literally beating tumblr with a stick i've been formatting this for fOURTY FUCKING MINUTES #GOD.#negl crying like a little bitch from the relief of finally posting this #pour one out for heraldeez who has to listen to me #just like jayce fr fr

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leighlew3 · 5 months

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I've been thinking about this a bit lately, and there was a small misunderstanding when I dipped my toe (and then whole body 😂) into the SC / SG fandom, i.e. a few people unfortunately thinking I was trying to mislead or exploit fans in some way, because of others from this industry who used and lied to fans in the past re: a different show. And while that was unfair to paint me with the same brush without knowing me, I can understand where they could’ve had concerns because of wounds caused by others.

Hopefully people understand by now though that wasn’t the case. As I’ve said so many times before, if nobody around here ever consumes anything I write? Cool beans! But I’m both a professional in this industry and a lifelong fan girl and that’s not gonna change. And I’m going to talk about both my career and fandom stuff. 🤷‍♀️

Anyway, I do hope people know by now that I’m here for the right reasons, and always have been. And I always will be. But if I ever did anything that made it come across otherwise — I truly apologize. I mean it, seriously. Any misunderstandings that I might’ve inadvertently caused through making a dumb math joke or expressing that fans should always have hope and fight for what they believe in, etc — if it upset anybody in any way or wasn’t expressed properly by me at the time — I feel awful.

While I can’t do anything about a couple people who twisted my words or intentions or even flat out lied about stuff being said or done that never happened — I do want to own any part I had in it by not more quickly clarifying or shutting that stuff down. I really do feel bad about all that, because all I’ve ever wanted to do was show love and be understood and connect with people and fight for the ship and fandom, and I’ve done that online (and behind the scenes in ways that I can’t even talk about) for years now.

I adore y’all, and I will always be a Supercorp fan. I’ve always been (brutally) honest and an open book, but I’ve also just been passionate (and sometimes sadly misunderstood) by the occasional little pocket of people. And that sucks. But I don’t hold it against them, and I hope nobody holds that stuff against me.

I'm posting this now, because after losing my mom this year and with the holidays coming up, I've been reflecting a lot. And I realize that life is too short for grudges or misunderstandings that can be corrected or made amends for, so I hope people know that I love y’all and appreciate y’all and any past minor conflicts or accidental misunderstandings — even if it was just with a few people — really sucked, and I hope there can be mutual forgiveness.

Anyway, I don’t expect everybody to like me or agree with my perspectives, or even approve of how I go about expressing myself. But we can’t control anybody else in life. All we can do is control ourselves, self reflect, and work towards growth. Thus, if I ever did anything to make anybody — even just 2 or 3 or 10 people — feel any kind of negative way, that's a big oops on my end, and I'm sorry.

And if some of those people still feel like it was entirely justified to target me so intensely the way they did — hey, bygones and I forgive it — and I still want to offer nothing but love and hope that the future brings better things for us all. For real.

TLDR: The last 5-ish years on a personal level have been incredibly difficult, and the last 6+ months have been emotional hell, but the ship between Kara/Lena and the SC fandom as a whole has been there for me in the most incredible of ways (through humor and fan art and fanfiction and friendships and lions and tigers and bears). And I’ve tried to be there in return, as much as humanly possible, and as authentically as possible.

And that’s why the little percentage that didn't like or trust me — I hope we can metaphorically hug it out and move forward and I hope I’ve made some progress in your perception of me over time, but even if not — or hell, if it’s gotten worse for some reason, I’m going to continue to show love and support towards this ship / fandom and fight for our LGBTQ community. Because I truly care. Even if I’m human and make some mistakes along the way, past or future. Even if people misunderstand me sometimes.

All I can do is my best. And that’s all I’ve ever tried to do...

Love y’all. 💜

P.S. If you’d like to chat or seek to be unblocked or whatever, send me a message via a burner or on Instagram DM or somethin’ and we’ll chitty chat and hopefully hug it out. I’m down. Cheers. 🤙

#supercorp #supergirl #reflection #big hugs or high fives or whatever you’re comfortable with

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fayes-fics · 2 years

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Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, Modern AU

Summary: Modern AU, friends to lovers, it’s very distracting when a Bridgerton becomes a triathlete…

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, dirty talk, exhibitionism, masturbation, oral sex (m to f), smidge of intercrural sex, vaginal sex. Lots of Benedict skin in a tiny towel, yes that needs a warning label.

Word Count: 6.3k (oops)

Authors note: This is a birthday request fill for @chaoticcalzoneranchsports. Request in essence is a Modern AU Benedict entering a triathlon and becoming a total menace to reader’s hormones lol. I hope you enjoy this wonderful human, sorry it’s a little late <3. FYI, this might be the most teasing modern Ben ever invented and all responsibility for this fall squarely on them not me hahah. This could be the first in a TRI-logy of triathlon Ben fics. Oh and there is a recurring theme of 3s (and multiples of) in this fic, TRIathlon etc., cos I think I’m so clever. (I’m not.). Thanks as always to my beta @makaylan :)

“A triathlon?” Your laugh is interrupted by a hiccup, “are you serious?”

“Yes,” he throws his hands up to emphasise his point and knocks over his beer, “…whoops.” The delayed, muted reaction to the spill all over his jeans tells you everything about how inebriated he also is.

“Gonna need better coordination than that, especially on the bike part,” you quip, patting his shoulder, part in sympathy, part to steady yourself before wandering to get a towel from the barman. Luckily this is your local; they’ll take pity on you and your drunken friend.

-30 minutes later-

“Ssss fa charityyy,” he slurs as you wander down the street half an hour later.

“What is?” You’re currently staring at a weird-looking patch on your coat. What is that? Beer? Dammit Ben

“Triathlon,” he says emphatically, looking at you, disbelieving that you aren’t following his apparent internal monologue.

“Lovely,” you answer, distracted.

“Be more supportive,” he whines and grabs your shoulders shaking you gently, “I’ve only got six months to get into shape,” he says, miming pumping some iron.

“Fine. I’ll sponsor you, hmm, three hundred million pounds,” you reply, kicking a stray kebab shop chip into the gutter.

“I’ll hold you to that,” he challenges, “better empty all those offshore accounts.”

“Naaah, I keep that kind of chump change in my knickers drawer,” you counter with a giggle.

“Well, I know where I’m looking next time we need money for pizza,” he cackles triumphantly.

“Keep your hands out of my knickers,” you protest, only realising how it sounds after it’s been spoken.

He raises an eyebrow at that, but in his drunken state, it’s more Donkey from Shrek than James Bond.

You just shrug. What does he want with your knickers anyway?

-6 weeks later-

“What are you doing?”

“Shopping online,” he says idly, looking up from his phone as you hand him the carton of popcorn and take your seat next to him, “need new clothes.”

“I haven’t seen you in a new item of clothing in more than two years, Ben. Why change the habit of a lifetime?”

“They don’t fit anymore,” he shrugs, “need some new t-shirts.”

You just frown; it doesn’t look like he’s put on weight lately. Difficult to tell in winter, with all the layers. If anything, his jawline is even more defined recently than before, definitely growing into his looks.

“Switch that off,” you grouse, waving at his phone, “the film is starting.”

“Fine,” he sighs. “Luckily, I can have this on my eating regime,” he happily stuffs a large handful into his mouth, shooting you a goofy popcorn-filled grin.

Eating regime?

-3 weeks later-

“What is that noise?” You frown into your phone, putting down your buttering knife.

“Oh, it’s the music, I guess,” he responds, sounding a little winded.

“Wait… where are you?”

“The gym.”

You snort. “C'mon, seriously, it’s Saturday morning. Don’t lie; you just haven’t made it home yet from a night out, right?” You take a bite of your breakfast.

“No,” he says slowly, as if explaining to a child, “I’m at the gym.”

“Wait… really?” You have to brush away the toast crumbs you spit out onto your pyjamas at that one.

“Yeah,” you can hear the confusion in his voice, “did you forget? Triathlon? You’re sponsoring me the GDP of a small nation, remember?”

“Hah,” you exhale, “really didn’t think that would stick.”

“Well, it is, I mean, I hate it here, but it is,” you can hear his breathing is a little heavy, making your stomach feel funny, being right in your ear like that. “So what did you want?”

“Hmmm,” you respond, distracted by his low voice.

“…You called me?” He prompts.

“Ohhh… was just curious if you want to hang out later. Pizza and a movie?”

“Yes, to a movie. Sadly, no to pizza. Despite the promise of raiding your knickers.” He gusts a laugh.

Your gasp is audible. “What?”

“You…. You, joked that night? Remember? Keeping your money in your knickers drawer?” He sounds embarrassed.

“Oh yeah, sorry… too early for me,” you attempt to laugh it off. “I’m sorry, but what are you actually doing? Cos, you sound in pain, frankly.”

“Bike. I’m on kilometre 33” he sounds proud; bless him. To be fair, that’s quite an achievement for 9 am.

“Wow,” you look at your cup of tea and plate of toast and feel very lazy, “Well, see you later? 6ish?”

“I’ll be there,” he pants.

You have to hang up. That breathing and his slightly gravelly voice when he kept saying knickers is a bit too much.

-3 weeks later-

You’re out at a Thai restaurant, and he’s eating the spiciest soup ever, based on the sweat beading on his brow, at least.

“Why the hell did you order it at level 3?” you question, “you know that’s crazy hot.”

“Spice is good,” he counters, “revs up the metabolism.”

“You look like you’re suffering.”

“All for a good cause,” he shrugs, “but might need to take off the woolly jumper.”

You curl some pad Thai noodles onto your fork and idly watch him fight off his thick fuzzy top.

Oh.

Underneath, he’s wearing a white t-shirt. You are taken aback by how filled it looks. And his arms? Why is there so much definition? You find yourself staring without even realising it. He wasn’t kidding about those gym visits—clearly.

A noodle unceremoniously plops back into your plate, splattering tamarind sauce onto your jumper and hand.

“Shit!” you busy yourself attempting to remove the stain with your paper napkin but glance up to see him looking at you with a smirk on his face. “What?” Your voice is a touch defensive.

“Nothing,” he singsongs, “just didn’t think you that type, you know?”

“What type?” You’re not looking at him again, pawing at the sweater, hoping it won’t stain.

“A perv,” he breezes

“Excuse me?!?” Your head shoots up.

“You heard me,” he answers, “you have no leg to stand on. You literally dropped your dinner staring at my body.”

You squirm in discomfort, “I was simply taken aback, that's all,” again too defensive. “Gym seems to be paying off,” you add, aiming for nonchalant.

“Based on your reaction? Yes, I’d say so,” he chuckles.

“Eat your bloody fire soup, Popeye,” you grouse, knowing your cheeks are blushing; he just laughs louder.

-6 weeks later-

You walk down his street peeling off your jacket; so glad Spring weather is finally here. He said to come over at 7 pm for film time. You’re a little early; the bus was on time for once. It’s only 6:30 pm, but you figure he won’t mind, especially as you’re clutching a bottle of his favourite wine.

His building door is wedged open by someone moving their stuff out, so you just skip in and take the lift to his floor. He won’t mind you just knocking on his front door; you’ve been friends for so long and visit each other so much that you really should just exchange keys.

You knock casually on the door, checking your hair quickly in the gleaming ‘603’ of his door plate.

There’s a longish delay, then a “Who is it?” His voice sounds far from the door.

“Who do you think, Sherlock?” you laugh back.

“You’re early.” He says, a little harried-sounding.

“Let me in,” you grumble.

“Fine, but beware.” That sounds like a strangely ominous warning.

Then the door sweeps open. And you forget quite how to breathe.

The first thing you notice—acres of toned skin. Dripping wet. You've obviously interrupted his shower. A towel is slung low on his hips, a little trail of glistening hair from his belly button (god, it was made for a tongue) down into the towel. Otherwise not much body hair, just lean muscles everywhere. A quiet ridiculous iliac furrow and flat washboard stomach sweeping up to a surprisingly well-toned chest. Not huge pecs but lean, toned. Broad, muscular shoulders. Exactly how a triathlete would look. As your eyes sweep down again, there’s an outline of something against the towel you definitely shouldn’t be looking at.

“Why not just take a photo? It will last longer,” he teases quietly, with a raised eyebrow.

“Bloody hell Ben,” is all you can say, finally looking at his face.

“Better come inside. Can’t have you glitching in the corridor.”

He steps aside with a smirk and gestures you in. You walk almost on autopilot, silently handing him the wine as you pass and catching a whiff of delightful woodsy clean shower gel as he closes the door behind you.

“I can’t be drinking at the moment, but thank you,” he says quietly, placing the wine on the hallway table.

“I’m sorry I’m early,” you find your voice, “I should have buzzed, but the door was wedged open downstairs, so I just came up.” You know you are rambling slightly, not quite wanting to look at him again.

He smirks as you go to sit in his living room still on autopilot, and he follows, leaning in the doorway to his spare room opposite you, a pull-up bar above his head.

“Please, go finish your shower, get dressed,” you encourage, taking off your shoes as you usually do when you get comfy on his sofa.

“Oh, I’m done,” he assures. “Just didn’t get around to drying yet, but that’s ok. I can air dry, always nice after I get back from the gym,” he says drolly and reaches up to loop an arm around the pull-up bar, the other hip dropping slightly. He’s deliberately showing off now, goading, teasing you. “Sometimes I don’t even bother to get dressed again, just go to bed naked; feels good after a workout.”

Well, that's a thought your traitorous brain didn't need. Your mind is a jumble of inappropriate thoughts of him naked as you watch his torso as he gestures, fascinated by the movements, the play of supple damp skin over lean muscle. Wondering what it would feel like under your fingertips, your lips, or your skin as he presses you into the mattress. The last lingering thoughts seem to coalesce into the strange question of contemplating what he might do if you walked over and ran your tongue over him right now.

“...Y/n?…” he’s looking at you expectantly.

It’s patently obvious he has asked you a question, and you have utterly zoned out, your focus purely on his body and what you want to do to it, to him.

“Did you hear a word I said?” He asks teasingly.

“Sorry, I…” you feel embarrassed.

“How long?”

“How long what?”

“How long since you last had sex?” he smirks.

You inhale sharply. “That’s none of your business.”

“One, you are my friend; you can tell me.” A finger around the pull-up bar extends out as he counts the reasons with his fingers. “Two, you are looking at me like a hungry man looks at a triple-stacked burger.” Another finger. “And three, I can help with that,” he shrugs as the third finger unfurls.

Your eyes fly to his face, lips parting in shock. Did he just… proposition you?

“So I ask again… how long?” His voice is pitched low, the feel of it almost buzzing around your ribcage even at a distance.

“Six months,” you exhale, looking down at the ground, your mind flashing back to your last drunken awful one-night stand.

“My god,” he sounds genuinely shocked.

“I know,” you lament, still staring at the wooden floor, “I swore off one-night stands after one too many disappointments, and I haven’t met anyone since, so…” it’s your turn to shrug as your sentence trails off.

“Stand up.” His voice takes on a tone you’ve never heard before, and you’re on your feet before you quite register what’s happened.

Feeling nervous, you start rambling, “I suppose I should be more active in the dating apps, maybe? But I just find them so artificial, and honestly, I’d prefer a random bar meeting than this weird swipe-right culture. I feel like a dating dinosaur for saying that, but….”

“Y/n,” his timbre is velvety.

“Yes,” your response is soft, almost silent.

“Shut up.”

He prowls over to you with a look in his eye you have never seen before; it’s dangerous. Is this what Ben is like to all the people he sleeps with, you wonder? It’s very different from the friend you know and, yes, love. Platonically. Or at least you think it’s just that. Right now, you are honestly not sure.

He stops in front of you, his eyes glittering. “I’ve thought about you,” his voice is silky, pitched low. “What it might be like to cross that invisible line, to give in to temptation.”

Your breath is uneven now, your pulse speeding up as your good friend messes with every sense in your body. His smell is intoxicating; you can feel the shower warmth radiating off him. You daren't meet his gaze; he is too close. You keep your eyes cast down slightly, staring at the constellation of tempting freckles smattered across his breastbone.

“Look at me,” he orders quietly, two fingers curling under your chin and pushing your face up to look at his. Fuck, he is devastatingly handsome, so close-up. All cheekbones and hazy eyes. Rivulets of water from his freshly washed curls running down his neck, pooling above his clavicle and in his suprasternal notch. Your tongue almost feels heavy. Desperate to track the journey of those droplets.

“I can’t even see the colour of your eyes anymore,” he rumbles, “your pupils are blown so wide.” He moves the fingers from your chin, trailing them up to run over your lips. “Your lips look almost wine-stained, so flushed. God y/n, you look devastating when you’re aroused.”

You are shocked you are still standing. Who does this? Many men would just have stuck their tongue into your mouth by now. Not this tease; he is determined to ruin you. Slowly. He drops the hand from your face, but your knees feel strangely jelly-like as he leans his whole body closer, ghosting a breath over your cheek.

“No perfume today, hmm,” he murmurs, “just you and your tempting smell. You have no idea how good you smell without it, just a touch of body wash and a lot of,” he takes a deep inhale, “...you.”

How can one syllable be so devastating?

“Ben,” a single word escapes your lips.

“What?” The ‘t’ is a staccato against the shell of your ear.

“What’s happening here?” Your whisper is a little desperate.

“Whatever you want to happen,” he replies, his voice right against your cheek, “six months is too long for anyone, but especially someone as special as you.” He opines, and a single finger draws a line down the skin of your sternum to the first button of your shirt. “I’m counting to three; then I’m undoing this button,” he murmurs. “You have until then to get away from me, and we can just pretend this never happened.”

“One….” You inhale and stay very still.

“Two…” The tension is palpable as you pull back slightly and meet his molten gaze.

“Three…” His deft fingers flick open the button as his lips hover over yours but never touch.

This is the Benedict Bridgerton you’ve heard rumours about, the one you’ve listened to women whispering about in the bathroom at parties that you could never quite fathom or reconcile to the goofy friend you’ve always known. It’s like he’s hidden a part of himself from you and only now is revealing it—this devilish, devastating seducer.

“Ben,” you stutter, feeling the warmth of his fingertips trace gently over your skin to the following button, feeling his breath on your lips.

“Yes?” you feel the word as much as you hear it.

“Kiss me,” he has you begging.

His lips finally capture yours, but it is still just a tease. Surging forward, then pulling back, goading you with just a glimpse of opened lips, a peek of what his tongue is offering. He wants you to take from him; you’re not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

As his fingers find the next shirt button, you throw your arms around his neck and dive in. Trapping his hand between your bodies. The dewy, dampness of his showered skin seeps into your cotton shirt as you press against him and run your tongue into his mouth, grabbing a fist full of his hair and growling slightly into him.

“Oh, there it is,” he teases into your open mouth, “the wild thing hiding under this witty, intelligent exterior. I just knew it.”

His touch of arrogance should be off-putting, but he’s being so complimentary with it, it’s just plain hot. You make a desperate noise in the back of your throat and smash his lips back to yours, this time goading him to plunder your mouth. Another button pops undone under his fingers as you surge against him, feeling something hot and insistent pressing through the thin towel and the waistband of your jeans.

He is down to the last button now. He flicks it loose and then tugs the shirt down over your shoulders but doesn’t pull it off completely, just leaves it there, trapping your arms in the sleeves taunt, slightly behind you.

He moves to run his nose over your cheek, “I know all your secrets. I’ve watched you so closely over the years. What makes you bite your lip, squirm in your seat.” His lips tease against your jaw as he keeps talking. “I’ve seen your gaze linger on people making out. You couldn’t look away from that couple fucking in the Barbican stairwell.” His mouth is on your neck now, a hot slide of kisses. “I’ll never forget the look on your face. I could tell how much you craved it. It took all my strength not to throw you against the wall and take you right then. But no, I chose to remember it. So that one day I could tell you what I know for certain. You love to watch and be watched, don’t you?” His voice should be illegal.

You breathe heavily, slightly ashamed he can read you like a book, as he holds you steady, arms still ensnared.

“I’ll fuck you against the window,” his tone sinful against your ear, “that’s exactly what you want, isn’t it? To have the whole neighbourhood watch you.”

You don’t have to say anything; he knows the answer from your reaction. Your body quivers as he yanks the shirt off, tosses it away, and then takes a step back. The obvious tent under his towel makes you bite your lip hard. He looks like the definition of sin.

“Come with me.” He pulls you by the hands, walking backwards, and you follow, your eyes on him the entire time. Nipples pebbled hard, and underwear flooded. He stops before his floor-to-ceiling window and whirls around, crowding into your back.

“Take. It. Off.” Each word is a sentence.

“What?” You don’t even hide the panting in your voice.

“Everything,” he exhales, “every last stitch you are wearing. Strip right here.”

Your hands move to your jeans as you shakily exhale and unzip. You are so relieved you wore matching lingerie today. Perhaps subconsciously, you did so on the off chance of this outcome. Large hands land on your hips and assist the push of denim until it hits the floor, and you flick it away with your foot. You are just in underwear now.

His hands sweep over your torso, the slight callouses he has developed from the bike snagging on your skin as he nuzzles your cheek. His lips find yours in another heady, passionate kiss. As your tongues dance, his hands cup both breasts. He teases your nipples with swipes of his thumb over your bra.

Longing to feel those fingers on your flesh, you push each bra strap down until they hang loose.

“Unhook me,” you whisper and a hand trails around and plucks open the clasp effortlessly.

You peel away the bra and throw it aside, feeling his heated gaze slide down your skin over your shoulder.

“So perfect,” he whispers; his fingertips are so warm and teasing on your nipples.

You moan and curve your chest out, chasing his touch, causing your bum to push back against his cock.

“Look at you,” he growls, “look at yourself in the window.”

You gaze forward, and in the reflection, you see a wanton tableau of your breasts trapped in his large hands, his body pressed against yours from behind.

“Fuck, Ben,” you whisper and stare, hypnotised as you slowly undulate your hips. Watching your body move sinfully against his as he groans.

“Yesss,” he hisses in encouragement, pushing against you, just his towel and your underwear separating your bodies as you move slowly in unison.

“I believe I told you to take everything off,” he rasps, grabbing your hips and running fingers over your underwear.

“You do it,” you murmur back challengingly.

“Oh, that's how you want to play, is it?” His voice is low and dangerous. “Fine”. He walks you forward. “Put your hands on the window,” he commands.

You do so; the cold of the glass contrasts with the heat of his hands on your body. A thrill runs down your spine at the thought of someone in the surrounding windows, maybe a few people, watching this happen.

Ben’s hands hook into the fabric at your hips, and he inches the material lower as he leans over your back. Warm lips press against your upper spine between your shoulder blades, and you groan as he runs his tongue down your back as his hands push the underwear down your legs. He’s crouching behind you now as he kisses the swell of your bottom, his hands throwing aside your underwear.

“Open your legs wider,” he orders softly, and you stutter a breath, feeling one of his hands sweep up your inside leg and quests against your mound. You gasp his name. He chuckles richly and finds your clit, nudging it lightly with a fingertip, making you cry out and clench down.

“You have no idea how much you’ve driven me crazy over the years, do you?” he groans, his mouth open against your butt cheek, lightly grazing your skin with his teeth, fingers teasing in little circles. “Being my wonderful sweet friend when all I’ve ever felt is guilt about what I truly wanted. To bury myself between your legs,” he inhales lewdly. “Your bewitching smell drives me insane. Jesus Christ, y/n, you have no idea how many times I've taken myself in hand after spending time with you, desperate for you. How long I’ve waited for you to see me the way I see you.”

You crest a moan, unbidden, incapable of words, as he soliloquises his adoration for you in filthy precise detail. You had no idea this is how he feels; the thought he has come multiple times fantasising about you is something you can't comprehend, but you want to hear about it. You want him to tell you in precise detail about every time he has fucked his hand and thought about you.

“Tell me about it,” you blurt out before you can censor it.

“What?” he teases, his fingers circling your clit slowly, his lips kissing across to your other cheek.

“Touching yourself,” you squeak timidly, knowing you are blushing.

He stands up suddenly and spins you around to face him, the glass cool against your shoulder blades as he shoots you a molten look.

“Why don't I show you?” he whispers, and your eyes fall to the towel as it drops away under a flick of his hand.

Oh, Ben.

Nestled in a neat patch of trimmed hair is the nicest cock you've seen in a long time. Not so big as to be scary, but just delicious looking, more than a handful, and you are suddenly so utterly mindless for him to fuck you. Instead, he takes his cock in hand and leans close to you, not touching but millimetres apart. He makes a noise in the back of his throat that makes your breath hitch as his hand begins to move up and down, squeezing his shaft; a little bead appears at the head that your tongue longs to taste.

“Y/n,” he moans, his voice so resonant it vibrates through your very being, settling into a pulse between your legs as you feel a trickle of moisture escape and run down your skin.

“Ben,” you stutter.

“Y/n,” he repeats, moving his hand faster, his gaze piercing yours.

You rub your slick thighs together and bite your lip, hands flexing against the glass, nervous to touch him and break this heady spell.

“Please…” you plead quietly, “please fuck me.”

“God, I love it when you beg,” he groans and releases his cock, grabbing your hands and pulling them above your head, your watch tinking against the glass as his fingers sink between yours and he leans his whole body against you. The head of his cock slides hot against your belly button.

“Please,” you repeat as he thrusts slowly against your body.

“Not yet,” he murmurs, “I want you so mindless for me that you are shaking.”

No one has ever teased you like this. It's maddening.

“Now, where was I, hmm?” his voice a light teasing thing as he sinks to his knees right in front of you, still holding your hands, placing them on his head before pulling your left leg over his shoulder. “I think I was just about to…” he stops mid-sentence and buries his face between your legs, the stubble on his jaw rasps against your inner thighs as his tongue delves into you, his nose bumping your clit.

He growls right into your cunt as you cry out, and your hands flex on instinct, pulling on his hair, nails scraping his scalp.

“Watch me,” he orders, and you make searing eye contact as he moves to suck hard against your clit, tongue rolling in surging waves, making your knees want to buckle. He senses it and grabs your hips, pushing you back against the glass.

You keep your eyes on him, but your thoughts flit to whether someone is out there amongst all those other windows watching this. Him on his knees, face embedded between your legs, as you lean your back against the glass but thrust your hips forward, gyrating and riding his tongue. Making the neediest sounds, chasing your high with no thought to anything but this and now and oh god, yes. He is relentless, thorough and certainly the most enthusiastic you've had in ages, possibly ever. Talking filth right against your sodden flesh - about how good you taste, how much he has dreamed about this, how he can’t get enough and pleading with you to give him more noises and cries and everything. Lashing you with his tongue. But it’s when he moves a hand, slides two fingers inside you, and instantly finds your weak spot that you scream his name.

“There it is,” he grunts and pushes you quickly towards the edge; no one has been quite this dedicated to ensuring you come intensely. Your legs start to shake, and he has to bear some of your weight on his shoulder as you lose coordination, the invisible string holding your body tight snapping, your nerve endings on fire, your vision whiting out, yelling and crying and convulsing against him. You breathe in heavy, sharp inhales as he gently kisses your folds and holds you up. The cooling glass is a wonderful balm against your heated flesh.

“Holy fuck Ben,” you exhale shakily as you finally find your voice.

“How do you feel?” he gloats quietly, tenderly placing your foot back on the ground with a quick squeeze of your ankle and a kiss on your knee.

“Shaky and amazing,” you answer honestly, closing your eyes and swallowing hard.

“Good,” is the silky reply as he gets to his feet in one swift motion and leans into you again, his cock searing against the dewy skin of your belly, and he grabs your face. “Now, where would you like me to fuck you? I can do it anywhere you want. You want right here? The table? The couch? The bed?” As he lists each spot, he softly kisses your cheeks, ears, forehead, and even lightly on your eyelids.

“All of them,” you exhale.

“I’m not sure I have quite that much stamina,” he chuckles “you are so very…” he presses hard against you, his cock trailing moisture onto your skin as you gasp “...intoxicating.”

“I don't mean tonight, Ben,” then you get a sudden swooping feeling in your gut at your assumptions. “Wait, is this just a one-night thing?” your voice wavering, failing at the neutrality you hoped for.

“I just told you I have come fantasising about you for five years, and you think I'm letting you go after one night?” he gusts a laugh, fingers tracing delicately over your lips and cheeks.

“Five years?” you twist your mouth into a little playful pout, your confidence surging at his reply.

“Yes, you little tease,” he smiles, that crooked smile that always gives you butterflies. “Now answer the damn question before I go get a damn condom.”

You make a show of looking over his shoulder as if assessing your options, and he chuckles again, stooping his hips a little and sliding his cock between your thighs instead.

“Ohhhh,” you stutter, eyes fluttering closed and hands flexing against his back.

He thrusts lightly between your thighs, and on instinct, you close your legs a little, giving him more friction, the movement easy from your skin still soaked from the orgasm he gave you.

“You don't need to get a condom Ben,” you say quietly, “I trust you are clean, and I'm protected.”

He stills his movement and cups your face tenderly, “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” you nod, then smile with a flirtatious edge and move to whisper against his ear, “I want to feel all of you.” He makes a noise that has you buck against him, sliding his cock between your thighs again. The motion glances again at your clit, and you raggedly inhale. Oh god, you could just do this all night.

“C'mon y/n,” he teases, rocking gently, “pick somewhere before I just slide right into you here.”

You raise an eyebrow at him, and he mirrors the expression.

“Oh, you asked for this,” he gloats and stuns you by picking you up, wrapping your legs over his slim waist and sliding right into you, pulling you down onto his cock in one visceral, swift, plunging motion.

“Fuckkkkkkkkkkkk…..” you cry out, breath stolen, feeling so very invaded in the best possible sense. His cock holding you open, a sold hot weight deep inside.

Oh, god, yes. This.

He holds still for so long that you pull his face from its spot, buried in your neck and nudge him to meet your gaze.

“Ben, are you ok?”

“More than ok,” his voice is rough. “You feel amazing; I… I need a moment before I can move; it’s been a long time since I was skin on skin, and well, it's you….” he admits, his tone is reverential.

You smile and kiss him on the forehead, tasting the tangy salt of his sweat.

He pulls back slightly, his lips find yours as he surges back in, and he swallows the noise you make. Slowly he builds a pace, and you close your eyes, tilting your head towards the ceiling, concentrating on the sensation of him dragging against your walls, pushing you open with each move, the stretch so enthralling.

Oh god, we should have been doing THIS for the last five years, you think indulgently to yourself.

“I agree,” he murmurs, his mouth hooked over your chin.

“Shit, I didn't realise I said that out loud,” you admit sheepishly, tipping down to meet his gaze.

He gusts a laugh and spears into you a little rougher than before, your soft cry catching against his stubbly cheek.

“I think I see someone watching us,” his voice suddenly dangerous and velvet, hot against your ear.

You inhale sharply and clench around him at the illicit, electric thrill that runs through your body.

“Fuck,” he groans.

“Tell me about what you see?” your voice is thready, somehow the thrill heightened by knowing you are totally at his mercy, legs around him, back against the glass.

“I think it's a couple,” his voice is gravelly. “At first, it was just a woman I saw a glance of; now there’s a man too.”

You moan and bear down onto him harder the thought you have an audience of this debauched tableau. You move an arm to wrap around his shoulder and pitch forward to bite his neck.

“Fuck y/n,” he exclaims, pulsing deep inside you.

“Tell me more, Ben, please,” you take his earlobe between your teeth, pulling it taut as he thrusts into you.

“Oh god, they are…. they are kissing,” he moans, his breathing becoming a little more ragged.

You clench hard again, and he growls long and low, pulling his face back to rest his forehead against yours.

“We did that,” he sounds feral. “We fuck so good we make others want to do it too.”

“Yessss,” you writhe on him, “fuck me hard, Ben, make them jealous, make them all watch as you ruin me.”

“Keep talking to me,” he pleads and hitches your legs onto his arms, pressing you higher on the glass, pounding into you now, his pubic bone surging against your clit with every stroke.

“Yes, Ben, make me come again, please; I want them to see me impaled on your cock, screaming your name,” the filth tumbling from your lips unfiltered as he spirals you higher.

“Oh god, yes,” his voice stutters as he thrusts hard. “Please do it; I've come so many times wanting to hear you scream my name, fingernails scratching my back, your cunt convulsing hard around me; god, please come for me again, please.”

His words and pleading and harsh movements is just the cocktail you need to push you over the precipice. Body going completely stiff, legs battling against his hold, so you scramble against the glass, smearing sweat and fluids as you fight the convulsions. Screaming his name, uncaring of his ears, the neighbours, anything but the feel of the snapping, blinding sensation and waves of bliss pulsing out of your core across your whole body. A static hum in the base of your skull at the release of every fibre of your being. You barely register the words and noises he makes as you feel his whole body stiffen, his mouth hooked on your shoulder, curled against you, as he holds you speared deep as you feel him coming powerfully inside you, a blooming warmth coating your insides.

“Fuck,” you pant in unison. Which makes you both giggle, faces pressed together, a light and intangible moment shared, as he lowers you slowly to your feet, his lips finding yours in a chaste kiss.

You keep your arms snaked around his neck and lean your head on his shoulder, listening to his thundering heartbeat, the shaking in your legs subsiding slightly.

“I can’t believe you held me up for that long,” you smile.

“Made every hellish gym visit worth it,” he returns, laughing gently,

“Oh yes, the triathlon. When is it?” You sway gently in his arms, enjoying the easy intimacy you have.

“In about six more weeks,” he calculates, kissing your temple and slowly turning you both around, so his back is to the glass.

“Can I help with any training? I’m not a bad swimmer, you know,” you offer with a shrug.

His eyes glitter as he leans his forehead against yours, walking you back towards his bedroom. “I have to be in the pool first thing tomorrow; I would be delighted to have you join me.”

“I don't have a swimming costume with me,” you pout.

“I’d be happy for you to skinny dip,” his eyebrow shooting up in a way that makes your stomach somersault.

“I’ll do it if you do it,” you tease.

“Hmm, tempting y/n, but I doubt we would get any actual training done,” he says pointedly.

“Fair,” you concur, squinting comedically, and he chuckles as he backs you into his bedroom.

“Are we going for round two already, Mr Bridgerton?” Your tone is coquettish.

“Hmmm, I’m not Superman,” he replies playfully. “But I am now in need of another shower, so I thought perhaps we could do that together and then let’s see, it's still early after all.”

He spins you around and walks you forward into his ensuite bathroom, wrapping his arms around you tight from behind and kissing a line down your neck. He only breaks away to flick on the shower, then leans back against his sink cabinet, pulling you into his arms as you await the warm water.

You glance over, and you spy a pair of tiny black Speedos on a towel rail.

“Is this what you wear in the pool?” You ask, snagging them between your fingers and twirling them around.

“Of course. Why?” his voice laced with intrigue.

“Fuck it; I’ll borrow a costume if I have to. You in these? That I have to see.”

He laughs.

“It’s an early start. 6 am.” His lips warm on your shoulder. “I was just going to leave you sleeping in my bed then return to ravish you at a more decent hour, perhaps with some coffee and a croissant for you?”

“I changed my mind. Fuck yes, that please,” you declare. “But I will need you to model the Speedos for me at some point, Ben,” you warn with mock sincerity.

“Duly noted,” he chuckles and pulls you under the warm spray of water.

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @wysteria-clad @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports

#benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton smut #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #benedict bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton

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benevolenterrancy · 2 months

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Fic author interview!

Thanks for tagging me @morporkian-cryptid I'm taking a leaf out of your book and being a bit late responding, oops ;;; (also, like my last one, posting this on my art/writing blog despite getting tagged on my other blog :P)

@meso-mijali @rose-of-pollux @yarrayora @sorrel-scribbles @auxiliarydetective @pazithigallifreya

1 How many works do you have on AO3?

76!

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

667,467 apparently, which feels like way more than I expected. Then again, I also didn't expect to have seventy six fics on there either...

3. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Lost In Translation (7,256 kudos) An Overwatch fic. I was baffled when it did as well as it did while I was actively posting it and frankly I'm not sure how to deal with the fact that it's still head and shoulders above every other fic I've written. I think it must be from people sorting by kudos and creating a weird positive feedback loop.

How To Torment Cats (And Witchers) (2,124 kudoes) A very light-hearted Witcher one-shot with Ciri and Dandelion

Standard-Issue (1,143 kudos) Another Overwatch fic, this one about McCree's recruitment into Overwatch

Sunlight and Sea Foam (1,102 kudos) A Witcher mermaid!au. This one I'm still pretty pleased with, it was a lot of fun to write.

Mark My Place (952 kudos) A post-canon MDZS fic in which I get to lavish love on Wei Wuxian! A pretty impressive kudo count given that it's only a few months old

4. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Generally I try to! I really appreciate getting comments and I want to let people know that <3 Fandom is the most fun when it's a community and the only way to get that is to actually connect with people. Also I personally appreciate it when an author responds to comments when a new chapter drops because it helps me keep track of fic updates, so I often do that too for on-going stories :3

5. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

I don't really go in for anything without a happy ending ^^;; Maybe In My Hands I Held The World purely because I didn't finish it and stopped writing in the middle of the all the hurt and never made it to the comfort? Or Promises Misconstrued just by virtue of it.... well, being what it is.

6. What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

We only believe in happy endings here!! I really couldn't narrow it down, I like a happy ending... The Celestial Shell Game was a pretty recent one MDZS fic that was just pure post-canon fix-it and reconciliation and lightly bullying the juniors

7. Do you write crossovers?

I do from time to time, but most aren't ever cleaned up or completed to the point of posting -- they're just Fun For Me fics.

My only completed crossover is a Torchwood/MASH fic called An Officer's Guide to Surgery, Shelling & Pterosaurs. It was honestly just a wild ride to write. Very proud of how that one turned out

8. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

A bit, but not for years. The only one I specifically remember was someone who was very unhappy that I wasn't including individual chapter content warnings, I guess because they've never read a novel?

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

Not often, I am Very Ace, but it does happen occasionally. Bound and Held was my most recent one, which was really just 20k of pure kink exploration because Geralt and Dandelion just have the vibe

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I don't think so...

11. Have you ever had a fic translated?

One! An old Les Mis fic got translated into Chinese years back :3 that was very flattering that someone would want to go to that amount of effort

12. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Me and @meso-mijali will co-write stuff from time to time, but nothing that's ever made it to completion. I do use her relentlessly to help me solve plot dilemmas (or make new plot dilemmas, depending on how things are going)

13. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

Could not tell you, 100% depends on sort of mood I'm in sorry xD I bounce all over the place. At the moment I am deeply into wangxian, to the surprise of no one following me on tumblr at the moment

14. What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

Well, any of my three current fics I'd love to make some progress on >:/ but I'm still hopeful about getting them finished, albeit slowly and painfully. I have a Hogan's Heroes dating sim that me and @meso-mijali have been working on but the longer it goes undone the more I suspect it never will be *sigh* it took so much planning but it's hard to pick up again in the middle. I also had a Lupin soulmate au called Mosiac that I feel bad about dropping. I still quite like the concept but I'm stuck on where to go next with it...

15. What are your writing strengths?

Uhh... I dunno, there must be something because people seem to enjoy my work well enough but I'll be damned if I know what it is. I think I write high intensity, sensory-based scenes pretty well? At least I like doing them a lot. And I get complimented on my character voices sometimes, so hopefully that!

16. What are your writing weaknesses?

Pacing >:/ I will ramble and ramble and ramble and then need to go back and cull things until I have a fic that's even halfway readable. It's so hard to get good pacing down.

17. What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

Big fan, I'm always here for a bilingual bonus. Either I understand it and get a little thrill out of it or else I just google translate it real quick. As for me writing it I generally don't because I don't want to fuck it up beyond reason... sometimes I might dabble with French if it's character appropriate.

18. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Les Mis! I'm too terrified to reread anything from my Les Mis era because god only knows what my writing was like back then, but it was such a warm and welcoming fandom it's what finally gave me the nerve to starting engaging in fandom space as more than observer

19. What’s a fandom/ship you haven’t written for yet but want to?

...I'm not sure I have one, if I want to write about something I generally do, even if I don't get it to be "publishing" worthy... Maybe Hogan/Kinch? I really like that ship, but I've never written much Hogan's Heroes fic to begin with, I think I only have one published work, and I find it a hard one to write shippy things for

20. What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

Huh... I'm not sure. There a number of fics I've written that I still really really like and will reread (the author's amazing! she knows exactly what I like!) I'm really proud of my Torchwood/MASH crossover, it's my longest fic and took the highest level of technical skill to write. I also tend to reread A Poet Under Pressure fairly often because I do love tormenting Dandelion u.u

#i had these from ages back and kept forgetting about them orz #thank you for your patience kind mutuals who tagged me #so now dear followers you're getting spammed with them #as i desperately hope that this convinces my brain to make some progress on my actual wips that i want to actually work on #bene speaks

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lotusprotocol · 2 months

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dreamcatcher devlog: past 3 months (oops)

(screenshot from current wip level, out of orbit)

full devlog below the cut!

long time no see! really sorry for missing the past two months; i never ended up getting started and by then it was too late to post. i'll try my best not to let this happen again, though i can't make any promises.

anyways, there's been a lot in the past couple months! without further ado, here's everything(?) that's happened since the last devlog:

i started off in december by getting some of the core mechanics working, such as the camera, level transitions, etc. the visuals aren't completely done yet, but my main priority is getting the mechanics to actually work, and i'll make them look good later.

i did a lot of work on optimizing the performance and build size of my game, which i made a few posts about (big one about build size here)

i made another track for one of the levels, and i think i've been improving at music! here's the audio:

(i also tried making album art later in december but it didn't turn out good so i'll redo it at some point)

one of the most important things i did in december was get playtesters! i made applications open from the 15th to the 22nd, and chose 6 people who submitted. it was hard for me to leave people out though, but applications may be open again sometime in the future.

i set up a daily goals list to put 5 things on every day, and hopefully stay focused. admittedly, it's been a while since i used this list, and i lowkey forgot about it until i looked through my post history before making this devlog, but i think i'll get back into it this month.

i also set up a twitch channel! i'll be streaming over at https://www.twitch.tv/lotus_protocol if you want to check it out!

i was on break for the last week of december, so i was able to get a lot more done in that time. i also got a stylus, which is a really nice upgrade from drawing with my finger before, and did a lot of practice with it.

january didn't start off great, and i barely got anything done over the first couple weeks. i was eventually able to get back in the groove, but i had a sucky feeling during that time since this game's a big part of my life and my mood depends quite a bit on it (in a healthy way though, it's not out of control)

when i came back to working on the game, i polished some stuff up before pushing the first playtester build! i got some valuable advice, and it went pretty good.

i wrote down the outline for the entire story! there's still some wiggle room if i want to go back and change anything, but it's nice to have it down instead of only in my head, and i've wrote the dialogue for a few scenes already.

i've been improving my art a considerable amount over january and february! i've gotten a lot more confident in my art as well, which motivates me more to make it!

(pencil sketch from mid february; there's quite a few mistakes here and there but i still really like it)

i continued working on one of the levels, which was what i did for the rest of the month. not much i can say here, but it's been shaping up pretty good so far!

to be honest, february wasn't a good month for development. i had a lack of motivation and a lot of work to do for other things in my life, and there was barely anything new from last month.

the main thing i did in february was work on the tas tools for the game more, which are coming along nicely. i've been having an issue with consistency and don't know exactly what's causing it, but i'll figure it out eventually.

(unrelated to dreamcatcher but) during february, i took some time to make a side project i had been wanting to do for a long time: an upgraded level editor for red ball, a flash game that i enjoy. there's still plenty of work to do on it, but so far it's pretty nice, and it's not my main focus right now.

(screenshot of the tool, you can find it here it you're interested)

i've also been delaying the next playtester build for a long time, and it was originally supposed to come out at the start of last month; if there's any playtesters reading this, sorry again! i'll hopefully have it done this month.

i finished off february by making some more music! here's a wip from a few days ago:

and that's it for the past 3 months! with all that being said, here's what i plan on doing next month:

get the current wip level done, and hopefully do another full one

finish all story scenes for the demo

push at least two new playtester builds

do some story art if i have time

enjoy the process :]

that's all for this devlog, and if you made it this far, thanks for reading! right now, i'm trying to get the demo out by august this year, so expect to see something done by then. also feel free to join the discord server, where you can get more regular updates, ask me questions, or chat with the community! anyways, signing off now, have a great day!

#dreamcatcher game #devlog #gamedev #indiedev

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sardonic-sprite · 11 months

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June of DOOM

Here we goooooo

9 fics, 30 prompts, currently about 50 pages and 18k words, and 6 NDEs... 5 of which are Jason. Oops. Anyway, here is the schedule, as well as titles, prompts, and a preview paragraph

June 3 - Help (Just A Kid Ch2)

Prompts: Day 3 - "I can handle it" | Day 12 - Fainting | Day 28 - Knife

Jason didn’t know how he stayed on his feet as long as he did. How he held the knife still when the hilt and his hand kept growing slicker with his blood. How he crawled up the two stairs to slump against the rail, or how he raised one fist to thump it weakly against the door. How he’d even made a loud enough sound to be heard. But he had.

June 4 - Yea, Though I Walk

Prompts: Day 4 - Delirium | Day 16 - Stairs | Day 18 - Blankets | Day 24 - Illness

Tim only hummed, unsure, but Father slipped behind him and carefully lifted him up, bracing him against his chest. He was warm, and Tim pressed closer, and it chased away a tiny bit of the chill. A cup pressed against Tim’s lips. He opened his mouth and sweet, cool water flowed in, taking away the awful taste and calming the raging fire in his throat.

June 7 - priceless

Prompts: Day 6 - Duct Tape | Day 7 - Disoriented | Day 13 - Rescue | Day 21 - Choke

But Jason wasn't arrogant enough to think he could rip free from the mummifying layers of tape and take down Allen before the man could suffocate him again. He needed someone to tell Allen he'd get his money so that he'd leave Jason alone until rescue came or he devised a way to escape on his own.

Jason mentally groaned. So fucking much for keeping this a secret.

June 10 - bane

Prompts: Day 2 - Sobbing | Day 10 - Shackle | Day 23 - Poison

This was a risk any time any one of them went out, and Bruce knew that, and he struggled with it every day. This was a relatively common occurrence, a drugged out, chained up bird or bat, and Bruce might’ve thought he’d be over the rush of pure terror by now, but no. Every damn time someone hurt his kids, or even got close, he completely froze, for a split second, stomach twisting and mouth going dry, remembering rattling breaths, cold skin, still chests, whispered pleas, spreading bloodstains.

June 11 - hey, brother

Prompts: Day 5 - Handcuffs | Day 11 - Firearm | Day 14 - Slurred Speech | Day 30 - Failed Escape

“Goddamnit, brat, I’m not leaving both of you behind,” Tim snapped, finding his pace and striding down the hall. The main entrance was out. He’d have to find a back door. “I came with one brother, and I’m not leaving with any less.”

June 15 - phantasm

Prompts: Day 1 - Fear | Day 8 - "Breathe, damn you!" | Day 15 - Scream

It was too far to make out the words, but Jason knew Damian’s voice when he heard it. That kid could scream, but he wasn't supposed to, not in pain, not for any reason other than attracting Bruce and getting the rest of them into trouble.

But Jason could hear laughter, too.

June 22 - big brother

Prompts: Day 19 - Guilt | Day 22 - Rage | Day 27 - "I'm so sorry"

He shouldn’t be doing this. Aiding and abetting another little boy taking up a flag that always seemed to be cut to bloody ribbons. But it was too late to stop it now. All he could do was pour everything he had – every skill, every trick, every tactic and stratagem and all of his will – into catching Tim, and forcing him into more months of training. Stalling him.

Playing for time. Like there was a bomb about to go off that he couldn’t defuse.

June 25 - underneath the undertow

Prompts: Day 9 - Defiance | Day 25 - Drowning | Day 26 - Numb

Dick remained still and silent, knowing that to play dead was the best way to let Slade's passion fits ebb. Sure enough, in another minute the pressure on his arms let up and he was allowed to stand. He returned his hands to his sides, refusing to rub his throbbing wrists. He kept his gaze on the floor as Slade fisted a hand in his hair.

June 29 - no good deed

Prompts: Day 17 - "Don't lie to me." | Day 20 - Cage | Day 29: Secret

Antonin Laur rolled up the newspaper once more, using it to tilt Jason's face up. He jerked back, glaring, as much as the men holding his arms would let him.

"Wayne has a real gift," Laur mused, "always finding boys that are both pretty and smart."

#sprite said #sprite's plan #sprite wrote #june of doom #batman #batfam #jason todd #tim drake #dick grayson #damian wayne #bruce wayne #ao3 writer #fic writing

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lena-rambles · 6 months

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nano update, days 4–6

daily goal ; 800 words

weekly goal ; 4800 words

month goal ; 20,000 words

one rest day per week accounted for

current count ; 5050 words

excerpts under the cut :)

also yes this is a day late bc i forgot to finish and post it, oop. sorry

sat 4 - 536 words

“how has life been since our last luncheon?” priscilla asks quietly, face drawn with acrylic concern. “i imagine you and your mother have been quite occupied with solstice preparations.” i close my eyes for a brief moment, slotting my next words together. “i am still growing accustomed to my role in such events,” i say slowly. “I am still learning to fit in my brother’s shoes.” my voice tightens at that last sentence. cold pride lurks in cadmus’ eyes. “certainly large shoes to fill,” he says, “moreso if you go the distance for your people as he did.” my stomach shifts unpleasantly and i take a shallow breath. “only time reveals such matters,” i say evenly.

i needed something to go down in this conversation, but cadmus saying erin should sacrifice herself?? not what i expected, cadmus. you don't surprise me, but damn.

sun 5 - 1343 words

“i should ask them to play one of sobol’s pieces tonight,” i murmur, eager to move on to a new topic. theodore twirls me away, then pulls me close again. “that’s not why I requested fulgencio.” “i know. you’re sweet as honey on me and expect wasps in return.” he shakes his head. “princess, i trust that you would never sting me in such a way.”

!! my average is 250 words in 20 min, i've been doubling that today, what the hell!!

also i'm just really proud of erin's line so that's why i'm sharing this excerpt. i hope i'm as creative as i think i am lol

mon 6 - 1040

“father wants me to be engaging more, be a proper son like ezekiel was before he went off to school,” cousin hugo says. “lucky for me, papa has convinced him not to push too hard.” i groan. “lucky you. unfortunately, the duties of a crown princess are of higher importance than a noble son, classy as you are.” i say that last part dubiously. “we can’t all be like ezekiel, either,” he continues. “papa doesn’t know what lord and lady evander did, but it worked. he may be a friend, but he sets an impossible standard.” he swirls the champagne in his tall glass, then drinks the last few sips like a commoner would beer. it doesn't surprise me anymore; theodore has heard from his brother a number of stories about cousin hugo’s escapades. “all that aside, cora and i had started to talk about tonight’s dresses.”

another bigger word count again?? ahhh very happy

i hit 5k!! 25% to my goal and a bit early to boot :))

also cousin hugo is. huh. interesting, not what i expected, and probably won't have any speaking past this scene. he lives on the other side of the country, so the only other reasonable time for him to show up is at the coronation, but there's other plot stuff that's more important than him lol. still, he's fun to write

long live the taglist

@memento-morri-writes, @sarandipitywrites (ask to be +/-)

#nano 2023 #nanowrimo #wip. long live the queen #own work #llq. writing #writeblr #prose #excerpt #ch. erin #ch. cadmus #ch. theodore #ch. cousin hugo

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turojo · 1 year

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General RP style and preferencesRepost, don’t reblog.

Bold what applies. Strikethrough what does not. Elaborate on any points you’d like with a *

Please be honest, we all want to find the people who work best with how we RP.

𝐓𝐘𝐏𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐑𝐏 & 𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐈 𝐃𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐒

𝐏𝐋𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒

| Wing it | Get a general idea ooc and then run with it & plot further if need be | Long expansive thought out story arcs |

Plotting really comes once the characters are properly introduced. Though if you have a clear idea of what you'd like then feel free to DM me. Not to say I hate plotting but most of the time its just us starring at each other blankly oop-

𝐓𝐘𝐏𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐒 𝐈 𝐃𝐎 & 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐅𝐄𝐑

I just reaaally like to type a lot but don't feel the need to follow suit! At the same time please don't give me one liners in return either : [ One liners are more for crack or quick dash ic moments.

𝐑𝐄𝐏𝐋𝐘 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐒 & 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐘 & 𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐒

But always if you're jiving for a particular thread and want it right away!! Lemme know! I know how it feels to be excited for a certain thread or a plot!

𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐂 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏𝐒

| I don’t do these ships (specify reason if you would like) | I’m not against them happening but it is not the main point of my blog | All ships will have to be super slow burn & discussed a lot OOC, super chemistry based (Mutuals and friends only) | I love doing ships, HMU I probably already ship it just ask! | I ship really quickly | I autoship or ship within a few interactions | I mainly RP for the cute ship fluff |

All they really need is some chemistry, a little bit of discussion of why a and b go well together and some interactions! I'm medium? paced with ships depending mostly on muse so always feel free to ask ahead and no need to be shy, I quite like it! And remember across my blogs on multi single ship meaning I only ship with one of a muse and want that reciprocated.

I dont do slow burn, sorry, Im really busy and unless there's a plotted timeline in order Im p bad in keeping track or keeping progress 🧍‍♀️

𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓

| I do NOT do smut at all (this muse is a minor!) | I’m very selective about it | I only do it on a separate (blog/discord/specify here) | I mainly only do asks relating to nfw headcanons on Sundays | I write it a medium amount | I write it all the time and love to | 𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒 [ GMT+5 ;; North America ]

I work really late into the night because of my job so it's definetly evening based, weh

𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐃𝐔𝐋𝐄

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒

| I don’t do starter calls | I want to do starter calls but often don’t have time | I do selective calls (ask calls) | I don’t do calls, but always fee free to ask me for one! | I do starter calls rarely/regularly/often |

Though the fastest way to interact with me is through memes or quick plot of their relationship or idea. 𝐀𝐔𝐬

| I don’t do AUs | My blog is an AU but outside of that I don’t do them | I sometimes do them but only with a lot of plotting | I have a couple of AUs already feel free to request them! | I have AUs coming out of my ears please interact with them! | I love making AUs HMU to plot if you think of one! | There are some AUs I won’t do (specify here) |

Once I get ideas for an AU anyways! But do read up on the AU once they're available in the about sections, some are private for only a few mutuals.

𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐒𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒

| I don’t do crossovers | I’m selective with crossovers (specify reason if you’d like) | I love crossovers! |

I love the idea of crossovers of two different medias meeting without one neccessarily having an AU counterpart for the other! It's cool to explore! That being said I prefer crossovers only with fandoms or media I'm familiar with or can gleam from an about section.

#ooc. » .001 ✦#memes. » .011 ✦#stolen from the dash yeh

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drkcnry67 · 1 year

Text

series/general masterlist

A/N: this is the list i am compiling of EVERYTHING i've written. so its all easy to find later on or if anyone is interested... the series dont have a general series title so i will kinda go by pairing or just use the title of the first part if there is multiple of the same pairing for multiple series. If the story is apart of a different challenge I will mark it as such... And at the bottom of this list of series is the masterlist for the rest of my stories. enjoy and happy reading. Also it's not finished yet no links have been inserted yet... I will add links as I go along...

JUST TO BE SAFE DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER THE AGE OF 18 CAUSE I CAN'T FOR THE LIFE OF ME REMEMBER WHAT THE HECK I WROTE... ITS BEEN TOO MANY STORIES TO REMEMBER WHAT EACH ONE IS...

total number of stories written and composed=

legend:

if marked with a star☆ its apart of a challenge

if marked with a diamond◇ its part of a bingo

◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇

~twisted supernatural fairy tales~

red riding hood

cinderella

sleeping beauty

aladdin

beauty and the beast

snow white

~MCU~

The proposition

want to do something crazy? -part 1 -part2

confessions while on vacation

i'll always save you

teaching time

you're my barista

thunderstorm wedding

is it him or me

what do i get if i win

you fight well & i like you alot, lets bang

i will find you and be with you evermore

living the elevator fantasy

one guy, one girl, one voice, one song

i have loved you forever, let's see where this goes.

~DC~

you are -part 1 -part 2

united as legends -part 1 -part 2

dark arts -part 1 -part 2

reveal for the sake of love

is it true

take it off

the canary and the siren

omg im on fire

☆3 little words i love you

☆i did this to protect you

☆my sister my submissive

~SUPERNATURAL~

◇That was the best night of my life

◇your demons are my darkness

scratch'd or bitten?

do not stay late with your boss

to find what you were missing

are you the other half of my tattoo

you are my alpha

you are in my heart forever

how to recognize the other half of your heart

summertime blues, love and hunts

submit to us B**** or die

you killed my love

what happens when you bring home an unknown substance

all i wanted is for you to be happy

oops sorry wrong boy toy

my alpha my omega

is this where you spent 6 months

when you call my name

from siren to professor

this choice affects not just your present but your future as well

◇thunder like a gunshot

◇please dont make me do this

◇you always save me, let me save you

◇you know i'm pretty sure guns and water dont mix

◇your breathing makes me weak

◇show and oops you dont have a choice

◇let me be your saving grace

◇come back to me

◇age doesnt matter, i love you for you

◇you're the other half of my soul

my secret is

◇you're me+i'm you=sexual desires

◇Our beginning

◇Show me

◇You don't have to do this

◇i want you to be my queen

i dont mind if we share clothes

◇how embarassing -part 1 -part 2 -part 3 -part4

castle full of legend -☆part 1 -part 2

☆should something happen to me -part 1 -part 2

☆Do you have any clue -part1 -part2 -part3

i know not who you are but dance with me -part 1 -part 2

☆I think we are meant to be -part1 -part2 -part3

☆Unexpected love -part1 -part2

Just an ordinary girl -☆part1 -☆part2 -part3

At long last I found -☆part1 -part2

☆supernatural christmas part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8 part 9 part 10 part 11 part 12

the bite

the vow

good doggy

i did it

i figured it was time for this

be unknown to rise the phoenix

arranged to keep her safe

rebellion

when you call my name

take our place

not here, not now, this is too public

are you the other half of my tattoo

christmas teasers

christmas truth or dare

christmas role reversal

~HARRY POTTER UNIVERSE~

together forever -part 1 -part 2 -part 3

You think I want to -part1 -part2

☆hogwarts christmas -part 1 -part 2 -part 3 -part 4 -part 5 -part 6 part 7 part 8 part 9 part 10 part 11 part 12 part 13 part 14 part 15 part 16 part 17 part 18 part 19 part 20 part 21 part 22 part 23 part 24 part 25

~OTHER~

☆one night -part 1 -part 2

we have a secret -part 1 -part 2

Never let me go -part1 -part2

princess in the wrong place -part 1 -part 2

do not stand at my grave and cry (DC/SPN)

#masterlist #series #compilation

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atmilliways · 1 year

Text

Ao3 First Lines

Rules: Post the first lines of your last 10 fics posted to ao3. If you have less than 10 fics posted, post the first lines of all your fics.

Thanks for the tag, @xirayn!

Sorry anyone who followed me for Stranger Things content, I only have one published fic so far and I forgot how unhinged some of my Metalocalypse fics are.

~~~

1. The Five Noels

Fandom: Stranger Things | Rating: Teen | Pairing: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson | 5 + 1 Christmases fic

“Said the night wind to the little lamb, “Do you see what I see?” What Steve saw, as he alternated holding the caroling book in one gloved hand and shoving the other into his armpit for warmth, was yet another drooping trailer with one sad string of lights dangling from nails jammed into gaps in the rusty siding. If it weren’t for Nancy dragging him here with a joint group of high schoolers and middle schoolers, he’d be at home seeing a cheerfully roaring fire instead.

2. Hondaklok 🔞

Fandom: Metalocalypse | Rating: Explicit | Pairing: Nathan Explosion/Charles Offdensen | Sex pollen fic

The door to the office burst inwards with an excited bellow of, “CHARLES!” There had been a time, years ago, when the door had opened out instead of in. At the time, the band’s manager and CFO hoped it would afford him a little extra warning before interruptions; a few seconds more to steel himself against whatever or whoever was about to disrupt his work day.

3. The Other Threesome 🔞

Fandom: Metalocalypse | Rating: Explicit | Pairing: William Murderface/Pickles the Drummer(/Melmord Fjordslorn) | Starts with dick jokes and goes downhill from there

There was a rule in Dethklok that ran almost as deep as the No Showing An Interest rule, but deeper than the Call It Hamburger Time rule they would come up with later on. Skwisgaar had invented it. You didn’t get upset, cry, or sulk. You “got high.”

4. Hair of the Dog, Paw of the Monkey 🔞

Fandom: Metalocalypse | Rating: Mature | Characters: Magnus Hammersmith & Blues Devil, pairings to come | Possession fic, not finished

Twenty-two months after losing his band, his career, and the sight in his left eye, Magnus sells his soul at the crossroads under a stormy and thundering sky. The Devil has dark gray wrinkled skin and red eyes, and wears a black silk string tie and old man suspenders that hike his pants up past his natural waist. “There,” Magnus snaps, carelessly stemming the flow of blood from the finger he just signed with on his jeans. “Now when do I get my revenge?”

5. Bridesman

Fandom: Metalocalypse | Rating: Teen | Characters: William Murderface, Toki Wartooth | Murderface can be a little GNC, as a treat

“Thisch whole thing schickensch me.” Toki rolled his eyes. “Don’ts know whats you expecteds when you makes a big cries-baby scene abouts beings in the weddings party.”

6. What Matters

Fandom: Metalocalypse | Rating: Teen | Pairing: Lavona Succuboso/Trindle | Oops all side characters, amnesia, and angst

The late evening air of Paris is clear and crisp as the two women exit the small museum shop that marks the end of the Catacombs tour, arm in arm. “Well, Liebling?” the taller of the two asks in German as they cross the street. “Did you like it?” “It was fantastic.” Her companion, who has a definite American accent, is absolutely beaming beneath her black, touristy beret. The studs in her nose and bottom lip glint silver in the streetlight. “I’ve never seen so many femurs and crania in one place before. Thousands of human skulls and bones. Skeletal remains of more than six million people. You could just . . . feel the dead, all around you.” She sighed. “This entire trip has just been perfect, Lavona. I’m so happy you were able to take the time off.”

7. Rorschach Kiss

Fandom: Metalocalypse | Rating: Teen | Pairing: Abigail Remeltindtdrinc/Skwisgaar Skwigelf/Nathan Explosion | The last short thing I wrote at 707 words

The pen hadn’t been worth stealing, but Abigail has had it a long time now and she’s grown attached to it. She owns better pens—ones with those touchpad compatible squidgy ends on the top and one with green ink, her favorite color. This one has bite marks in the plastic from where she’s chewed absently on it while working on the trickier bits of high stakes projects, like this one. The cap is long gone and sometimes the ink (black) comes out a little gloppy. Really, she knows, she should just throw it away. . . . And yet she keeps it.

8. Call Out Names

Fandom: Metalocalypse | Rating: Teen | Pairing: Amber/Seth (Metalocalypse) | Oops all side characters again

“Why not? God, what’re you being such a bitch about this for?” To Seth’s credit, he actually looks like he regrets the word as soon as it’s out of his mouth, before she even puts down her phone. Because he knows the story.

9. It's Not A Lap Dance If It's Christmas & You're In A Santa Suit 🔞

Fandom: Metalocalypse | Rating: Mature | Pairing: Charles Foster Offdensen/Pickles the Drummer | Exactly what it says on the tin

The dreaded Dethklok Inc. office Christmas party was coming up—dreaded not by the band or most of the employees, who typically had a blast, but by the CFO who had to arrange and organize everything before and after, up to and including the inevitable handful of resulting funeral arrangements. Charles was looking forward to it even less than usual, because the band had thrown an absolute shitfit to get him to agree to play Santa this year. He didn’t know why they wanted him to do this. The party didn’t even normally have a Santa.

10. Mistle-No

Fandom: Metalocalypse | Rating: Teen | Pairing: Magnus Hammersmith/Pickles The DrummerNathan Explosion/Pickles the Drummer, William Murderface/Pickles the Drummer, Pickles the Drummer/Skwisgaar Skwigelf | Four counts of "pretend to be my boyfriend so this lady stops hitting on me"

The open road is great for thinking. Pickles has composed entire songs in his head with the exact heaviness that he’d been craving since before Snakes N Barrels had gone down in flames. He can’t play them (not enough instruments) or sing them (voice couldn’t go low enough) or write them down (had to keep both hands on the wheel, or at least one on the wheel and one on his beer), though.

~~~

Well that was a journey.

If you wanna be tagged, be tagged! Fly, my pretties, fly!

#jean rambles #my fanfic #my fanfiction

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ack3rlady · 2 years

Note

Mor college au hcs just because.... 😍😍 imagine if we were roomies and Erwin and Levi are also roomies. Fast forward to a few months after we started dating, we're having ideas of switching dorms 👀

Erwin kicks Levi out of their dorm and helps you move all your stuff into his because his dorms is nearing to the engineering block where you all are studying. Erwin's 'glad' to kick Levi out because a) Levi nags too much, and b) Levi always does work at night and the lights keep Erwin up. Erwin loves having you over at his dorm because you sleep for 8hrs and so does he. He also appreciates the healthier meals you prepare, especially Indian food and curries, although he can't really take spice hehe 🤭

Levi is also glad to move into my dorm because he can't stand Erwin's snores and sleep talking. Also, he loves the fact that I have food all around the house. Erwin and him are used to buying takeout all the time, and he's used to feeling hungry when he's studying in the middle of the night. But with me around, he always has freshly cooked meals to eat, and a late night snack ready when he needs it. Also, not a good thing but, I'm also a night owl, and now he doesn't have to worry about someone complaining that the lights are too bright 😂

Erwin's kicking Levi out? Oops, I'll keep the first aid kit handy😂

Also, poor blondie is going to be in for a shocker. I nag too hahahaha. There's no winning for him lol. Something that's totally new for him is the amount of long, wavy black hair that he finds everywhere now X) On his desk, in his bag, in the shower, on the floor, his clothes, and even his own head 🤭 It baffles him, the places my hair manages to get to!

He was mortified after Levi plucked one out of his stubble during class HAHAH! He's so close to buying a lint roller like people have for their pets 🙄

Erwin and I are both early risers when it comes to studying. So that's something we'd match on. But, I gotta go to bed by 10 PM if I have to wake up at 6. Erwin doesn't sleep enough. But I'll get him to :3 A minimum 8-hour sleep is a must in the Smith-Dorm now! We both introduce discipline in each other's lives in different ways haha!

.... I'd guess this is where him getting used to eating spicy meals would fall in our life's timeline hahahah! My mum sends 'dubba' sometimes that I share with Erwin and he's a sweaty mess because of how spicy he finds her cooking.

I cook him less spicy food so that his stomach doesn't entirely give up on him, and to slowly build his chili threshold :P He absolutely loves the flavor profiles though! Even our go-to cuisine to eat at restaurants is slowly becoming Indian. My parents will be proud!

Ay! Tell Levi that I find Erwin's deafening snores, rather cute. I can't fall asleep without them anymore. A strange lullaby.

And I'm sorry ugh, he pretty much survived on protein bars and coffee before I moved in. And like Levi, I too prefer fresh food over the stuff that comes from packets :') If you two visit anytime now, there'll be some edible food in the fridge :P

#This college AU is keeping me sane :')#Erwin x Mia #TheDevilSmiths #Levi x Rei #Reivi #askmrssmith

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theodorevg923 · 2 years

Text

Chixy Week!

Day 1: Cooking Together

Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 6 | Day 7

Based off my werecreature au so again, so it's a bit different in history and lore. Setting up Roxy's past was a bit difficult, but I hope y'all enjoy! ♡

OOPS posted this a day early, sorry! My brain thought it was Monday. I no longer have a sense of time.

This took forever to edit in the italics.

Master List!

⚠️ suicide attempt, 15 yr old runaway teen, language

- 3,500 words under the cut!

July 8, 1996

Roxy huffed as she stood in the kitchen and glared at the burgundy fox beside her. She had only known Foxy for a couple weeks, living with him on his ship during that time, when she was dragged to his home and to his quirky family. Which only happened just a few days ago. She glared at Foxy as he spoke to a chicken, Chica, about what Roxy could do to help in the pizzeria she now called home, though she refused to say that out loud. She let her eyes flit over to the bright white and cheery chicken before they returned to glare at Foxy. She had zoned out to the conversation until a couple words caught her attention.

"Cooking? I am not cooking, I'll ruin the best manicure in this place." Roxy snorted in disgust.

She turned away from Foxy and Chica to storm out of the kitchen. She shoved the kitchen door open and barely missed Monty, another stray brought into the quirky family just a couple months before her. She snarled at the alligator as she passed by him and headed to the back hallway. She slammed open the hidden doorway, not caring she left a few grooves in the wallpaper. Roxy stomped up the stairs to the room she was designated to share with Chica as the only other girl in the pizzeria and Roxy herself was only fifteen.

She threw herself onto her brand new bed and sobbed into a pillow. She hated herself for letting Foxy pull her out of her attempt at suicide. Roxy rolled onto her side and hugged her pillow as she continued to sob into it. Her ears and tail drooped as the recent memory tugged on her mind.

Roxy stood on a pier that overlooked the Pacific Ocean in the small town she was raised in. She pulled her eyes from the setting sun to look at the bite mark on her upper forearm as fresh tears pooled in her eyes. She had just been bitten a couple months before and it had destroyed her physically and mentally. Before her bite, Roxy was the most beautiful prep in high school. Every girl at school wanted to be Roxy with her beautiful platinum locks, unmarred skin, and exquisite body shape that she kept in top peak. Then she met the biggest jock of the school and fell into a childish love for him. They had been only dating for a couple months when her boyfriend had been bit. She was disgusted by it and broke up with him the moment rumors started at the school. In revenge, her boyfriend had tricked her into meeting him at the makeout campsite near her hometown and bit her.

Roxy had been devastated, no longer the prettiest girl in school. Over the past couple months, she tried to ignore the whispers and glances in school, but she couldn't take them anymore. Roxy switched her attention to the bottle of pills in her hand, a bottle she had stolen from her parents' bathroom. Her parents, they had tried their best to reaffirm she was still the best daughter they could have, but she heard their late night conversations. Tears pricked at Roxy's eyes as she twisted open the bottle of pills. Just as she tilted both her head and hand back to pour the pills into her disgusting wolf jaw, a hand grabbed her wrist.

"No need f'r that, lassie."

Roxy let out a low growl at the thick Irish accent before she ripped her hand away, nearly spilling the pills in the bottle. "What the fuck do you care!"

She looked at the person beside her, a burgundy fox dressed in a simple outfit of board shorts and a sleeveless band shirt. The look on the fox's face told her something she didn't want to know, that he did care. The fox grabbed her hand again and poured the pills onto the pier.

"Ain't no need f'r that." The fox spoke again in his thick accent.

Tears pricked again in Roxy's eyes as she turned away from the empathy in the fox's eyes. "What the fuck do you know about my pain. You're a disgusting fox."

"Me was where ye are before, lassie."

Roxy dropped the bottle in her hand as a few tears slipped from her eyes and soaked her fur to ruin her perfect makeup. How the fuck did a fox know her pain? And one dressed so casually for a cold ocean. Roxy snorted as she cleared her mind and smothered the pain in her chest. She'll just have to find another way to kill herself when the fox wasn't around.

"Lassie?" The fox spoke again to her.

The fox let out a sigh before he yanked on Roxy's arm. She fell behind the fox as she attempted to pull her wrist out of his hand. The fox dragged her off the pier, incredibly strong despite his thin physique. The fox stopped and turned to look at her when they stepped off the pier.

"What happen' to cause ye so much pain, lassie?"

Roxy turned her head away, the wounds in her heart reopening from the soft tone of the fox. "I…"

She broke off as a sob escaped her throat. Not even a second later, she nearly crumbled to the ground except the fox caught her before she hit the ground. Roxy sobbed into the fox's chest, uncaring that her makeup was ruined. Her ears and tail drooped into the wet sand of the beach as the fox wrapped arms around her.

"Let ye tears fill me sea, youn' pup."

Roxy let out a low painful howl in reply as her tears continued to soak her fur with mascara and eyeliner. The fox stayed beside her as she howled and sobbed in pain until long after the sun had set and the moon rose high above the ocean's horizon. Slowly, the pain in her chest eased as did her tears. Roxy pulled away from the fox as disgust with herself started to fill her mind. The fox grabbed onto her arm again and pulled her back in.

"Don' be ragin' ye sea o'er ha'in' pain in ye chest."

Roxy snorted as she smelled the sea salt that soaked the fox's fur. "How do you know that I'm disgusted with myself?"

"Me can see it in ye eyes lassie. Me was fif'een when me got me bite."

Roxy looked at the fox in shock. "So then you do know. At least I look better than you."

The fox let out a rough laugh. "That ye do lassie. As beautiful as ye sirens of me sea."

"A siren!" Roxy scoffed and shoved the fox away. "I am more beautiful than a siren!"

The fox laughed again. "Got ye ta smile, lassie."

Roxy snorted and turned away from the fox to hide her smile. "No you didn't, and quit calling me lassie, name's Roxy."

"Cap'n Foxy, cap'n to me La Vulsutus."

"Um, thank you, Captain Foxy."

"Jus' Foxy, lassie."

Roxy snorted as she sat down on the sand. "What were doing so near the pier? No one comes out here this late."

Foxy chuckled and pointed to a boat docked a short distance away. "Me came ta port ta restock me ship."

Roxy's ears pricked up at a thought. "Take me with you."

"Nay lassie. Ye ta youn'."

Roxy snorted and turned her head away, maybe she could try another way. "When do you plan to take off?"

"Two sunrise, why lassie?"

"Can you spend those two days with me, to help me figure this out?" Roxy looked down at her paws. "I've only been like this two months and I need to be back at my best soon, not that I'm not already at my best, but I could use some of your shabby help."

Foxy let out another thick laugh, "aye lassie."

"And stop calling me lassie! I already told you my name." Roxy huffed as she rolled her eyes, the disgusting feeling with herself gone.

"Aye Roxy, me'll help ye while me on land."

"Thank you, Foxy."

A knock on the bedroom door startled Roxy from the memory. She quickly grabbed a tissue and dabbed at her eyes to hide her tears. She sat up and turned away from the door before she answered the knock.

"It's open."

"Roxy, ye ship tossin' on me ragin' sea?"

Roxy's ears twitched at the sound of Foxy's rough voice. "No, I'm at my best like always."

She heard Foxy chuckle as her bed dipped slightly. Roxy kept her face turned away as she continued to dab at her eyes with the tissue.

"If me stow'way regrettin' gettin' on me ship, me can take ye back, lassie."

"No, I don't regret it." Roxy snorted as she shook her head.

"Hand me ye brush."

Roxy leaned over to her bedside table to grab her brush and handed it to Foxy. She sat still as Foxy brushed her hair out. She knew it would seem weird to the others if they saw it, but she didn't care at that moment, it was something Foxy picked up during their two week together that soothed her. As Foxy continued to brush her hair out, her body and mind calmed down from the frustration she felt. When Foxy finished, she took the brush back from him and set it back on her bedside table.

"Thanks, you old fox."

"Anytime ye need this ol' cap'n, sing ye song 'n me be 'ere."

With that, Roxy felt the bed shift again as Foxy left her bedroom. She let out a heavy sigh as she stayed on her bed for a few minutes. As she sat still, the sensation of Foxy brushing her hair still tingling her scalp, she thought of any other ways she could help in the pizzeria. Without anything coming to her, she swung her legs over the edge of her bed and stood up. If Roxy had to learn how to cook, she would give her best effort.

Roxy left her bedroom and headed downstairs and to the kitchen. Thankfully the pizzeria was closed for the day so only her new family would see her mess up, not that she would as she was the best at everything she did. Roxy stopped in front of the kitchen doors to compose herself before she entered. Chica was still in the kitchen cooking dinner for the family when the chicken paused to chirp happily at Roxy.

"Are you up for trying to learn?"

"Yeah, whatever." Roxy snorted as she crossed her arms to feign disgust.

"I've already got the bread rising, all that's left is to bake. So do you want to help me with the spaghetti and meatballs?" Chica chirped as she pointed at the packages of spaghetti. "I could really use some help cooking all this for the boys and their monstrous appetites."

"Yeah, whatever. What do you need me to start on?"

"I already have a pot of water set to boil so all that's left with the spaghetti is to cook and drain it. Do you want to help me with the meatballs?"

"Sure." Roxy huffed.

She never learned to cook herself, her mother had always done it. Roxy watched as Chica gathered a variety of ingredients onto a metal table. She followed Chica's lead and washed her hands before Chica showed her how to mix the different ingredients together. The feeling of the cold ground meat in Roxy's hands forced a shiver down her spine.

"This is disgusting."

"After you've been cooking for so long, you get used to it." Chica chirped in laughter.

Roxy turned her head as she snorted and quickly finished mixing the meat and other ingredients. After Chica showed her how to form the meat mixture into meatballs, which wasn't easy for her, but she tried her best. Once done, Chica placed the meatballs in the oven to bake as Roxy washed her hands from the disgusting sensation.

"I don't think I could ever get used to that disgusting feeling." Roxy's nose wrinkled as she continued to scrub her hands.

"It's not for everyone, but I am proud you did your best." Chica chirped before the chicken rubbed a cheek against Roxy's.

Roxy nearly pulled away from the soft touch until her tail started to slightly wag from it. It was the first time anyone other than Foxy and her parents had attempted to give her physical affection since her bite. Slowly, with hope that Chica wouldn't notice, she leaned into the soft touch. Roxy snorted as she yanked herself away from the touch before her tail gave her away anymore than it already had. She quickly finished washing her hands of the meat mixture and dried her hands off.

"What do you need me to do better next?" Roxy snorted to cover her excitement.

"We need to start on the sauce so when the meatballs are done, we can mix them together. So much tastier that way."

Roxy waited as Chica gathered everything together before showing her how to measure out spices into the sauce. Despite her disgust of making the meatballs, the sauce was much easier and she started to enjoy it, but only a little bit. There was no way Roxy was ever going to come into the kitchen again, or so she thought. With the spaghetti sauce on the stove to simmer, there wasn't much left to do until it was time to cook the spaghetti and finish everything else. Chica started to wash the dishes and Roxy reluctantly joined beside the chicken to dry dishes and put them away in places Chica pointed out.

As Roxy was putting the last pan away, Chica started to rub against her cheek affectionately. Roxy's tail started to wag at the affection until her ears picked up the sound of footsteps coming to the kitchen. She quickly yanked herself away just as Freddy, the owner of the pizzeria, came into the kitchen. Roxy stepped away from Chica and headed out of the kitchen to let them talk as she headed for the bathroom. She had a bathroom up in the room she shared with Chica, but she quickly ducked into the public restroom in the back area instead. As Roxy stood in front of the mirror, she quickly smoothed her fur and hair down. She scoffed at herself for letting herself relax around Chica. She didn't exactly mean to, but the affection she'd received from the chicken was surprisingly soothing. After a few minutes, she left the bathroom and headed back for the kitchen. She stopped just outside the doors as she heard Chica chirp to Freddy.

"Give her some time Fred, we both know how hard it has to be on her. Monty had a month to settle in, she deserves the same."

So, Roxy didn't have to keep cooking in the kitchen with Chica. She grew excited at the thought of not having to enter the kitchen again, but why did her heart hurt a little at that thought? As quietly as she could, Roxy headed back to the bathroom and locked herself in before she sunk to the floor. She held back her sobs as her throat burned from the familiar sensation in her chest. She was unwanted here just as she had been back home, the familiar pity in the others' eyes. She didn't want pity or sympathy, she wanted that touch of affection from Chica back. Roxy sniffled as tears pricked at her eyes when she heard a knock on the bathroom door.

"Roxy, chickadee?"

Roxy's ears pinned to head in fear at the sound of Chica's voice, she didn't want the chicken to see her like this. Quickly she stood up and grabbed a paper towel to dab at her eyes and fixed her hair one more time before she unlocked the door. Roxy expected to see more pity in Chica's eyes, but what she saw nearly had her breaking down. Chica reached out to her before she stepped into the chicken's embrace. Fresh tears pricked at Roxy's eyes as Chica combed through her hair.

"I didn't mean that I didn't enjoy cooking with you, I just want you to be sure of your place here. I enjoyed cooking with you Roxy, would you like to help finish dinner?"

Roxy's tail started to wag at Chica's offer to continue cooking together. She didn't mean to give her excitement away, but her stupid tail refused to listen to her. She snorted as Chica began to rub against her cheek again.

"Only because I'm better at it than Monty."

Chica chirped happily before the chicken pulled away to grab Roxy's hand. She let Chica drag her back to the kitchen and noticed Freddy was setting up the dinner table. Chica chirped as a timer went off.

"Just in time! Meatballs need to be mixed into the pot of sauce while I get the bread in the oven and the spaghetti cooking."

Roxy nodded as she pulled her hand from Chica's. She wasn't exactly sure what to do next, but she did at least know how to pull hot pans out of the oven.

"I'll get the meatballs out and mixed in." She spoke hesitantly as Chica started to pull a couple trays of what looked like bread rolls off a rack.

Chica set the trays on the cooking table as she chirped in reply. "That would be lovely! Thank you so much Roxy, I've really enjoyed cooking with you today."

Roxy huffed as she grabbed a couple kitchen towels to use as oven mitts. The smell of the meatballs enveloped her nose as she opened the oven and set the trays at the other end of the cooking table. Roxy used the spatula Chica handed her to scrape under the meatballs and loosen them from the pans. She quickly dumped the meatballs into spaghetti sauce and mixed it together as Chica got the spaghetti cooking. Roxy set the dirty pans in the sink as Chica chirped at her.

"Can you knock on the upstairs door four times? It's the signal that dinner's nearly ready."

Roxy nodded at Chica before she left the kitchen. She found Freddy back in the office and stopped to let him know dinner was almost ready before she knocked on the upstairs door. Barely a couple seconds later, she heard movement upstairs. She jumped out of the way as Monty slammed the door open.

"Watch it you stupid lizard." Roxy growled at Monty.

With a huff, she headed back to the kitchen to help Chica get the food to the table. Chica was pulling the rolls out of the oven as she walked in. With instructions from Chica, Roxy moved the rolls to a couple deep dish pans that had kitchen towels in them to keep the rolls warm. She carried the rolls out to the table afterwards and smacked Monty's hand away from them.

"Quit it, stupid lizard, Chica hasn't said dinner's ready yet."

Roxy ignored the glare her way from Monty before she headed back into the kitchen. She carried out the spaghetti sauce next and again smacked Monty's hand away as she growled.

"What are ya doin' in the kitchen anyway? Ya can't cook any better than me."

"I am better than you, damn lizard. That's why I'm the one in the kitchen." Roxy snorted as she turned away in a huff.

Chica had the spaghetti drained and into a couple serving pans which Roxy carried out next as Chica followed behind with serving utensils. She sat down after she got herself a drink and quickly made herself a plate. As she took a bite of spaghetti and meatballs, she had to pin her tail between her back and the back of her tail to stop it from wagging. Roxy felt pride growing in her chest at the food she had made with Chica and she hoped she could do it again, except for the making meatballs bit. As she ate, she kept her focus on her food and mostly ignored the nagging she got from Monty. She wasn't going to let the stupid alligator get under her skin.

"Thank you, Chica, Roxy." Freddy spoke up from the head of the table.

Roxy snorted to hide her embarrassment as Chica chirped up.

"Roxy did her best and I'm proud of her."

"Wait, Roxy actually cooked this? No wonder it tastes horrible." Monty hissed in shock.

Before Roxy could snap back, Bonnie, the lead guitarist, smacked the back of Monty's head.

"Behave unless you want to starve. And you can't say anything bad about it as you've had three helpings." Bonnie snorted at Monty. "Keep it up and I'll hide the playstation."

Monty gawked at Bonnie before he turned his head away and grumbled. "Yes'm."

Roxy snorted as she turned her head back to her plate of seconds helpings. She scarfed it down as politely as she could. Maybe things wouldn't be so bad here, hopefully better than the last place she called home. Maybe she had found a place where she could truly be her best, in this quirky group of weres she wanted to spend her life with. The best quirky family she could ever love.

Stay Cruel Until The End - Theodore

Posted May 29 '22

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