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heich0e · 1 year

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take it easy baby, make it last all night - iwaizumi hajime/f!reader (1.5k) tags: cali!iwa, college!iwa, tit worship, dry humping, mentioned cumming in pants, no actual sex (sorry fellas), bi iwa is canon and if you disagree you're a coward xo!

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT - 18+

iwaizumi's biggest culture shock when he moves from japan to california for school isn't the different language, the heat, or even the party culture at UCI.

it's the SKIN.

hajime has never stopped to consider the conservative conventions of his home country at any great length, since it's all he's ever known. but suddenly he's in sunny SoCal, and everywhere he looks he's met with glimpses of exposed skin—of parts of strangers' bodies he never thought he'd see.

it flusters him at first; never quite sure where to look when he's speaking to a girl in a low-cut crop top, or a guy he meets out on a jog who'd forgone a shirt. but he acclimatizes to it eventually. comes to appreciate it in many ways, too.

take the humble tube top, for instance.

sure he likes bikinis, and mini skirts, and those skimpy skin-tight dresses girls wear on nights out. he likes those tiny running shorts that ride up on the track teams thighs when they go out for runs on campus near the athletics building, muscle tees cut low under the arms that the guys at the gym wear, or those grey-sweatpants whose infamy hajime has come to understand.

but there's something about tube tops that he just adores.

or, at least, something about you wearing one.

he's been watching you quietly for most of the night, flitting around the party like you normally do, nursing your drink in small sips to make it last. your tube top clings snugly to your chest, and fuck he's pretty sure you're not even wearing a bra underneath it. he watches the way your body moves, the way the top moves with it. the way your tits lift and settle again, pretty and soft, each time you subtly adjust the top with a little tug.

you gravitate towards him in intervals throughout the night, like a moth to a flame.

that's another thing hajime's come to like about america: no one bats an eye at PDA.

you sit comfortably in his lap on the sofa at the house party, playing with his fingers where his hand rests on your thigh. your body is warm. his body is warm. the party's crowded, the little house off campus jammed with students and driving the temperature up, but still he keeps you exactly where you are with his arm looped around your waist.

"hey," you say, peeking back at him over your shoulder after a while of idly tracing your fingertips along his knuckles. "you having fun?"

he is, but probably not for the reasons you think. he couldn't care less about the merriment around him: the happiest he's been all night are the moments where you've drifted back within arm's reach. he nods anyway.

you pout a little, and it surprises him.

"you wanna get outta here?" he asks curiously, picking up on your unvoiced disappointment. your eyes watch his lips as they shape the question, and then flicker back up to his.

"yeah."

the first year hajime spent in california, he lived in a tiny UCI dorm. the second, he moved into a small apartment off campus with some friends he'd met at school. the apartment isn't luxurious by any stretch of the imagination. it's austere; spartanly decorated; and with four college-age boys living in it, it isn't always the tidiest place. but one thing he appreciates about his living arrangement is that on a friday night, the place is usually empty.

not to mention it has a double bed.

hajime has you sprawled across it almost as soon as the two of you stumble through his bedroom door. you laugh a little at his eagerness as you tip back onto the mattress, bouncing lightly atop the padded springs, and then he's crawling in overtop of you, pressing his mouth against yours.

he's greedy as he kisses you, like he's making up for all the times he thought about it while he watched you that night from afar. his hands are just as intrepid, drifting along your body in careful but keen grazes and gropes. everything about you is so soft—it makes his head spin how delicate every part of you he touches feels. the soft swells of your curves, the silkiness of your skin, the little sounds he pulls from you when the presses against the places you like most.

he leans back on his knees, poised between your parted thighs as you lay flat on your back underneath him, and finally—after hours of praising its very existence—hajime tugs down the neckline of your tube top.

your chest spills out as the thin material is drawn away by a single finger looped under the edge as leverage. as your skin, all of your skin, is bared to him, hajime finds himself once again so so pleased with his decision to study abroad.

god bless america has never rung so true.

"fuck, you're so pretty," hajime groans, cupping a hand around each of your tits and pressing them together. you laugh but it's a breathy sound, more air than anything. his thumbs skim gently against the edges of your nipples, working them into stiff little peaks. after a moment, he dips down and catches one in his mouth, closing his lips around it so his tongue can take up the task.

he continues like this for a while, alternating between each breast, switching from his hands to his mouth as he lavishes your skin with attention and sates the thirst that had built throughout the evening. when he opts to use his hands, his mouth quickly finds its way to somewhere else, keeping itself occupied—your collarbones, your throat, your jaw, your lips. he kisses every inch of you that he can reach, but pays special attention to any little freckle or mark he finds along his way, dragging the tip of his tongue against them like he's savouring the taste of them most.

the two of you have been grinding lazily against each other while he devours you. iwa’s straddling one of your trembling thighs, his knee pressed firmly against the seam of your tiny denim shorts, and his painfully hard cock is pinned against your hip as he holds himself up over you. your tube top is still rucked down around your ribs, and iwa’s own t-shirt had been hastily tugged off over his head at some point during the excitement.

"hajime," you pant, tugging against the short hair at his nape as he suckles a bruise into the top of your left breast. he draws back only enough to meet your eyes, though his are unfocused and heavy-lidded, and his warm breath catches on the wet mark of spit left where his lips had just been attached. you look similarly wrecked: lips swollen and kiss-bruised, your stare glassy, your skin dewy with the flush of perspiration. your lips are still parted after having uttered his name so desperately.

that’s another thing iwa likes about it here. he likes being called by his name.

especially like this.

hajime rocks his hips against your own again, pressing his knee against you a little harder, groaning and he dips down and nips at your skin once more.

“i think i’m gonna cum,” he admits through gritted teeth, half-embarrassed and half-recklessly chasing the high he feels cresting in the pit of his stomach. he’s barely even touched you yet—at least not in any way that counts—but seeing you like this in his bed, tasting you in the way he has been, feeling your body react underneath his own, it’s all just a bit too much.

you could chide him for his clumsy eagerness and he wouldn’t even blame you for it, he feels like a pent-up teenager when he gets like this. but you don’t tease him, or reprimand him. instead, you take his cheeks in your hands and guide his lips back up to yours, letting his tongue slide—hot and wet and indecently noisy—against your own.

“cum then,” you whisper into his mouth, canting your hips up to meet the next roll of his. “wanna feel it, haji.”

and fuck if it’s not the hottest thing he’s ever heard.

iwaizumi moans brokenly, his hips picking up a steadier rhythm as he ruts against you. he’s being greedy, he knows that, but how could he deny you your request when you posed it so sweetly?

but he’ll make you feel good afterwards, just like he always does. unclasping the button at the waist of those tiny shorts, peeling them down with the same reverence he’d paid to your top and turning his rapt attention to what he bares there in just the same way too.

it’s friday night in sunny southern california, after all. and hajime intends to make the most of every minute.

#iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi hajime x reader #hq drabble #hq writing #writing

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kaycrowley · 4 months

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Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy

You are a Saloon Girl in the lawless town of Xetas, and you have caught the eye of a certain mischievous outlaw.

(Cowboy Loki X Saloon Girl Reader)

(ADULTS ONLY 🔞: Semi-Public Sex, P in V Sex, Doggy Style, Bondage, Gagging, Clothed Sex, Sex in Front of a Mirror.)

Tags: @prince-ben-solo @lokischambermaid @lokisgoodgirl @holdmytesseract @high-functioning-lokipath @glitchquake @lokisstarlight

It was a typical afternoon in the Saloon, the patrons were all enjoying their drinks, conversing and laughing with each other. In the corner, a group of patrons were playing Poker, while the ragtime piano was playing as the Saloon Girls danced on stage. All was well until the doors swung open, the afternoon light casting an ominous shadow across the floorboards. Everything came to a stop when the patrons and workers alike saw the tall man at the double doors. He was known by many names; "The Menace of Mischief, Silver Tongue, The Frost-Hearted Foe, but the one name he truly went by was Loki Laufeyson.

His icy blue eyes scanned the Saloon as he made his way towards the bar. The only sound that can be heard was the tinkling of his spurs and the thumping of his boots across the floor. He took a seat on the stool at the bar, his gaze meeting that of the intimidated bartender. "I'll have ma'self a base burner." He finally spoke, his voice deep with a strong drawl. The bartender nodded and poured him a glass of whiskey and slid it over to him. Loki caught the glass and tipped his hat before taking a swig. Sensing that he wasn't here to cause trouble, the Saloon slowly bustled back to life, the conversations flowing, chips clacking, and the ragtime piano playing. Loki swiveled in his seat to watch the Saloon Girls on stage, smirking at the flirtatious display. One particular girl caught his eye, a girl wearing a green dress with black lace and a black feather in her headband. You were that girl, dancing in the center with your peers, Natasha, Carol, Wanda, and Janet, who were each dressed in their respected colors; black, blue, red, and gold.

After the little stage show, you headed for the Powder Room to freshen up. Loki slowly got up and made his way after you, looking behind his back to make sure that nobody was watching. You were in the Power Room, powdering your nose, when you suddenly heard a man's voice say "Howdy there, Missy!" You yelp and jump, placing a hand over your heart. Loki chuckled. "Didn't mean to scare ya, I jus' wanted to say that you look mighty fine up there...and up close too." You blushed at his forwardness, but you forged a smile. "Why thank ya, Stranger." You replied, but Loki got closer. "Oh I ain't no stranger, sweetie. You know damn well who I am, don't you?" You gulped and nodded slowly. "O-of course, Sir..."

"Then say it..." Loki cut you off. "...say my name."

You looked him in the eyes and said. "Y-you're....you're....Loki....Loki Laufeyson, the fella wanted by Sheriff Stark in Yorktown."

Loki smiled and chuckled at your answer. "Good girl."

"What do you want from me?" You queation.

"Don't 'cha worry, I ain't here to hurt ya." Loki reassured. "I just wanna show you mah Ace in the hole." You back away, a little scared. He chuckled again. "Oh no, it ain't no barking iron...well, not the kind ya think." He winked, unbuckling his chaps to lower his pants, revealing his member to you. You gasped and blushed, looking down at the thickened rod. You look up at him and lick your lips. "I guess I can be friendly~" you purr. Loki smiled and grabbed his lasso. "Atta girl~" he tied your wrists together, before wrapping the rope around your torso, tying your arms to your chest. You bit your lip, being tied up to get fucked by a notorious outlaw excited you. Loki bent you over in front of the vanity and lifted your skirt up, pulling your pantaloons down to reveal your ass and quim to him. He took a step back to look at them in all their glory and whistled. "I tell ya what, that's a mighty fine lookin' pussy ya got there~" You couldn't help but blush at that statement. Loki reached over and gently petted your awaiting lips, causing you to gasp and let out a little moan. Loki smiled and continued to rub his long, dexterous digits against your lips, wanting to make sure you were good and ready for him.

Once you were wet with arousal, Loki removed his kerchief from his neck, and wrapped it tightly around your mouth, gagging you. "I'm sorry, Huckleberry..." he said. "...as much as I love to hear ya sing, I'm afraid I'm gon' hafta keep ya quiet so ya won't get caught bein' a floozy." You nodded understandably and you felt his large hands gripping your hips. You anticipated his grand entrance, which he did smoothly. You moaned into the kerchief as he slid inside you, letting out a soft groan. "Oh mah stars..." he whispered, trying to contain himself. He gripped onto the lasso with one hand before he started to buck, keeping a firm grip onto your hip with one hand. Your moans were muffled by the kerchief, and Loki can be heard making restrained panting sounds. He wanted to be louder, but alas, he couldn't chance it, what he was doing was already too risky. You lifted your head and looked into the mirror of the vanity, seeing yourself with the green kerchief around your mouth and Loki behind you, pistoning his hips into your supple ass. He looked into the mirror at you and smiled with a breathless chuckle. "Now ain't that a sight?" He said, referring to how you two looked in the mirror. You weren't going to lie, watching yourself being bound, gagged, and fucked by this man only heightened your arousal, making yourself slick enough for him to pick up the pace. The Powder Room was filled with the sounds of your muffled moans, his panting, the clacking of his bullet belt, and your skins slapping. It was all so erotic and thrilling.

Loki was so close, his panting was increasing, switching his gaze back and forth to the mirror and his cock sliding in and out of you. He leaned forward, pressing his torso into your back and began fucking you vigorously, causing you to moan louder into the kerchief. "That's it..." he huffed. "...come on, girl." After a few good thrusts, Loki gritted his teeth and grunted, pushing his cock as deep as he can before releasing. You moaned into the kerchief and came around him, your walls squeezing his cock as if to milk it of all he's got. Loki shuddered and his cock throbbed at the sensation, giving you a few good extra spurts before slowly pulling out with a wet pop. He huffed and looked down at the results of his hard work, your cunt was now dripping with the man's semen, which was heavily erotic for him. Loki tucked himself back into his pants before removing the kerchief and untying you. You slowly stood up, looking down at the marks the rope left on your bare arms. Loki chuckled and ran his hands along the markings. You saw his hands glowing and the markings disappearing. You gasp and turn around, mouth agape in awe. "How did you...?!"

"Now, now, you know that a magician never reveals his secrets..." Loki grinned. "...now, perhaps you could be my little magician and never reveal our secret to nobody." He winked, causing you to blush. "I won't, Sir!" You reply, earning yourself an even bigger smile from him. "That's a good girl~" he purred before tipping his hat and slowly exiting the Powder Room, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the realization of what you've just done. You smirked at the thought...this was going to be a dirty secret that you're sure as hell taking to the grave with you. You began to wonder if by chance you ever encountered Loki again, perhaps he could show you another reason why he's been nicknamed "Silver Tongue"...

#marvel loki #loki x reader #loki fanfic #loki laufeyson #what if #what if...?#cowboy loki #spicy content

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joshlmbrt · 5 months

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Request: Gator x injured!reader. Whump/fluff.

Maybe Gator is usually an asshole to reader (enemies to lovers?) but then reader gets hurt and Gator not only saves reader but also reveals he cares. <3

I OWE YOU.

warnings; its slightly mentioned that r & gator don’t get along - but short! i was too excited to write this. a slap, small mention of blood, & a gun. i’m basing this before the events currently taking place in the show! use of doll and pretty once.

an; the photo of joe SUCKS because i had edited it 😭 so sorry for the blurry image. BUT, thank you for the request!!!! its slightky different from the request, but not much - i don’t think- but i hope this is okay and you enjoy it! if you have anymore request, leave as many as you want!!!

(also if anyone else has a request for gator - or anyone else i write for (check pinned post!) - please always feel free to leave as many requests as you want!! i love seeing your ideas. but please be sure to read what im uncomfortable writing about!)

special special tag; @hollandweather !!!

𖡡 FARGO, NORTH DAKOTA. 2018

CASPER’S BAR & GRILL.

The night was going well.

Until that one boy stepped in, in his stupid cargo, camouflaged pants, boots laced up, with his gun strapped to his thigh and the black compression shirt steps in, as if he owned the place.

Your face was set in a grimace, Andy smirking at you. His hip bumps into yours. “There’s your fella.”

“Oh,” You roll your eyes, your eyes turning to him sharply. “In his dreams.”

You made a show of gagging as the aforementioned boy sits at the bar, lifting his brows at your actions. Andy chuckles, shaking his head, curly blonde hair shaking at the motion as he goes and tends to a group at the end.

“Your drool is going to end up in that shot glass you’re cleanin'.” His finger lifts, pointing towards the mentioned glass held in your hands.

“And I’ll be sure that you’re the one who gets it.” You smile at him, a sickening, sweet, smile.

He narrows his eyes at you, slumping forward as his partner slaps his shoulder roughly. A scowl takes over his face as he looks over at him.

“Hey, doll,” Your eye twitches, holding back a look of disgust, eyes glancing towards the man. “I’ll take a whiskey.”

“Are you even supposed to be drinking on the clock?” The glass is placed on the counter in front of you, arms now crossing over your chest.

He hums, shrugging his shoulders. “As long as we don’t get plaster,” He turns to Gator. “Right?”

Gator hums, shrugging. “Sure.”

“Wow. What great sheriffs ya both are!” You place your hands on the sticky bar, leaning down slightly. “Drinking on your job.”

The brunette man narrows his eyes at you. “Just. . . get the drink. Top shelf too.”

“I can deny serving you.”

“Then get Andy,” Eric - you believe his name was, although you didn’t care - nudges his chin towards the boy dancing with a group. “He’ll give it to us.”

“No he won’t. Because if I deny you both,” You are sure to quickly look at Gator before looking back. “You have to leave.”

“I’m sure Roy won’t be happy hearing you’re denying service.”

“I don’t care what Roy says. This isn’t his bar. Now, please. Leave.” You nudge your chin towards the door, before standing straighter, grabbing the glass once again.

“You’re serious?” Gator pinches his brows

“As a heartattack.”

There’s a sense of relief that floods you as you lock the back door and a deep sigh leaves deep from your chest.

Andy had offered you to stay, but you told him to go home, you had it.

The rocks crunch under your boots as you make your way towards your car, rubbing your eye with one hand, before unlocking your car with the other hand and slide in.

You shiver from the cold seats, turning the car on and quickly turn the heat onto the highest setting.

Backing out and towards the exit, your eyes cast a glance towards the door, groaning loudly as your eyes land on the BUD LITE sign still on and flickering from inside.

You dig into your purse, pulling the keys out and quickly get out. Jogging towards the doors, unlocking them as you look around the dark area.

“Don’t move until I tell you too.”

Your breath hitches in your throat, hand immediately stopping after hearing the click.

There’s a deep chuckle from behind you, before heat licks up your neck. “Go on,” There’s something pressed to the back of your head. You do not want to think about what exactly it is. “Go inside.”

You gulp, pushing the door open, the jingle of the bell seemingly echoing through the bar. Your boots click against the wooden floor as you slowly walk inside.

He follows behind you.

“Behind the bar. Now.”

You step in behind the bar, eyes meeting a pair of green ones and an evil smile.

“Now. . . That drink,” His gun stays pointed up, elbow resting on the clean bar counter. “Whiskey. Top shelf.”

You nod, turning and grabbing a glass and the top shelf whiskey.

You slowly turn back, pouring half a glass and sliding it in front of him before standing back, arms to the side.

Your eyes watch as his closes in delight at the first sip.

“God, that’s so good.” He hums, pulling the glass away, looking down at it.

Your eyes stay on the gun pointed at you.

“I wished you would’ve just done what you’re meant to do. . . Serve me,” His eyes look over at you again, placing the glass down, pushing it toward you. “Pour some more.”

You step forward, grabbing the whiskey bottle and pouring some more into the cup. Theres a deep chuckle from him, watching you as you slide it back towards him. “See. You look pretty listening and not speaking. You should do that some more.”

“And maybe if you weren’t creepy, you’d find someone who wants to be with you.”

There’s a moment where you felt satisfied with the words.

Then the sharp sting to your lip makes you quickly regret it.

“Watch your mouth.”

“You watch where you throw your hand.”

Your eyes are quick to dart over Eric’s shoulder, landing on the one person you didn’t expect to see pointing his gun at the boys back.

Gator Tillman.

And, maybe you didn’t expect to see his father step inside as well.

“Dixon, get up from that stool and place your gun and badge down,” Roy’s voice causes the boy to tense up, eyes looking down at the gun he was still holding in his hand. “Now.” There’s a cutting edge to the older man’s voice that has him immediately standing from the stool, placing the gun onto the counter.

“Hands behind your head.” Gator holsters his gun, pulling the cuffs from his back, watching as Eric places his hand onto his head. His hand grips his wrist, roughly pulling them down, making sure the cuffs were too tight and too uncomfortable for him.

He pushes him towards his father, Roy’s hand shooting out and gripping his bicep and pulling him away.

Your eyes follow quietly, still shaken up from the ordeal, cheek still stinging.

The sound of the floorboard creaking behind you has you flinching and quickly turning.

“Sorry,” Gator is quick to lift his hands by his head. “It’s me. Just me. Are you okay?”

You could only nod, staring at him quietly.

His eyes quickly glance down to your lips before looking back up. “Your lip,” He points at his own lip for emphasis. “It’s bleeding.” He’s then on a search for something before he walks towards one of the tables and pulling a couple of napkins out from a dispenser.

“How. . .” You clear your shaky voice. “How did you know that he-”

“Would be here? I had a hunch. Especially after he kept saying something about you.” He makes his way back towards you, turning on the small sink and wetting the brown napkin.

“What was he saying?” You watch him.

He pauses a moment, before switching the cold water off and stepping closer. “You don’t want to know.”

You leave it at that.

Well. . .

You were actually lost at words.

Especially with him this close that you could faintly smell the cologne that he had chosen from this morning that had only faded slightly and. . .

“You know Mnt. Dew is bad for your kidneys, right?” You want to bash your head against the counter, or even allow Eric to throw another slap your way because maybe you should’ve just kept your mouth shut.

He lifts his brows, golden browns glancing up at you, hand dropping at his side. It wasn’t necessary for him to clean the small cut on your bottom lip. Maybe he just wanted to be close.

“How did you know I was drinking Mnt. Dew?” He questions.

“Well, you are in my personal space,” You point out. He really was. The tops of his boots touching your own. “And I could smell it.”

He smirks a bit, glancing away eyeing the trash can under the counter as he tosses the wet paper into the bag.

“Well, I’ll walk you out.” He clears his throat, stepping away from you and out from behind the counter.

You watch him quietly before stepping away as well, flipping the BUD LITE sign off, before walking out and locking the door once again.

He walks beside you to your car, wishing you a goodnight before heading to his own.

Your hand grips the door before you quickly turn. “Gator!” You watch as he turns quickly. Your eyes glance around before you sigh, making your way towards him. “Thank you for saving me tonight.”

He rocks on the balls of his feet, grinning softly. “Of course. Anytime.”

You smile softly, eyes glancing at the one strand of hair that had fallen against his forehead from a long day.

You lift up, lips pressing at the corner of his mouth before you pull away. You grin as you watch his cheeks flush and lips parting.

“I owe you.”

His lips curl into a soft, pretty smile as his eyes twinkle.

“I’ll remind you.”

thank you for reading! comments, likes, reblogs, and feedback is always welcomed and deeply appreciated!

#gator tillman x reader #gator tillman x you #gator tillman fic #gator tillman #joe keery x reader

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wellofdean · 30 days

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I read your post about Supernatural being queer somehow from season 1 and I have two questions.

1. Don't you think it straight-appropriates the word "queer" to say it just means "not normal"? That argument seems disingenuous to me, and a lot of us want representation, and to see that word applied to explicit depiction of queer sexuality, and it's a cheat that they don't. Queer studies did start as the study of queer sexualities and the experience of queer people.

2. Are you saying that the makers of Supernatural intended for it to be "flesh on queer bones"? Do you think they intentionally sat down to tell a queer story?

Those are good questions my anonymous friend. Thank you for asking. Here are my thoughts:

To answer your first question: no, I don't think it appropriates anything. Here's why: firstly, if we're talking about sexuality and gender, it's queer 101 that no one owes anyone a justification of their queerness, and not everyone who is queer is interested in labeling it or making it legible to you, and they have no obligation to do so, and not doing so doesn't make them any less queer. Furthermore, some people who are queer are not interested in sex, so what about them?

All of that together is why, for me, the entire queer project is much more deeply about non-compliance with hegemony, and specifically with hegemony around gender roles, sexuality and to put it under a big umbrella, patriarchy, than it is about who you fuck. Those things extend into so many other aspects of life that I think you can easily talk about "queering" a very wide range of topics, and possibly? ANY TOPIC.

You are responding to this post, I think, and in it, I made a choice to talk about family and hunting, and our heroes roles and characterizations in that, and did not talk about gender shenanigans or sexuality, because my point was that even before we get to anything to do with it, Sam and Dean are immersed in a queered world in a fundamental, structural way. That said, I assure you that if you go back into season 1 of Supernatural, you will find LOADS that could be said about gender and sexuality, too. As well as other things, and a particularly important area, as @ironworked pointed out in the tags, is blue collar/white collar class issues.

As I said, the depth of queerness in Supernatural is actually dizzying just in terms of the story's BONES to say nothing of how they flesh it out. Queerness is about deviation from the norm. It's about rebellion and disobedience against hegemonic systems for the sake of personal authenticity and love.

Think about Cas for a minute. Cas's whole story is that he rejects his role in a hegemonic heaven. He rebels for love, and that is pretty explicit as early as season 4 when he tells Dean "We're making it up as we go". Fellas, that is THE QUEEREST SHIT EVER even if he didn't do it for Dean, and like... HE DID IT FOR DEAN. Cas did not have to tell Dean he loved him for me to know it, and for Cas to be a deeply queered character. When he DID say it, I wasn't the least bit surprised he was in love with Dean, because seriously, we been knew. I was only surprised I got to have the immense pleasure of hearing him say it and looking at Dean's face while he took it in. Jesus. I will NEVER RECOVER.

This is my perspective on representation in Supernatural: It's excellent, and I relate to, and feel seen by it as a queer person. Nobody needs to get fucked on the maps table for me to do the math that this is a queer story. It is very, very, very thoroughgoingly canonically queer in so many ways, and not all of them are to do with sex. I think some fans will only allow it to be called queer if dudes make out in it. I am not one of those fans.

As to your second question, I think there is a wealth of evidence in the filmic oeuvre of Eric Kripke to suggest that as an artist and a writer, he is concerned or maybe even preoccupied with masculinity issues and issues around family, and around the way patriarchy fucks men up. So, yes. I think he knew what he was doing and he knew that queerness was part of the mix. For fucks sake, it's a family of men who hunt monsters. That is very fucking on the nose. Do I think he kicked off Supernatural in 2005 planning a 15 year operatic queer romance between Cas and Dean? No. I don't think anyone planned for it to go as long as it did, and it's a matter of record that some things were influenced by fan response, actors' chemistry, different writers and showrunners' preferences and etc. What I will say is that when they had a choice to "straighten shit out" or lean into the queerness, they fucking leaned in, nearly EVERY TIME. Like, it's pretty amazing how consistently they lean the fuck in.

I'll admit -- I wasn't watching it with those eyes the first time, and I didn't give it much real estate in my mind when I watched it as it aired from 2006 to the end, but the last three episodes reshaped it for me and made me angry, and also made me need to watch it all again, this time with an explicitly queer lens, and BOY HOWDY let me tell you this: the Supernatch rewatch journey is a wild and wonderful trip to Queertown. It is legit more difficult to argue that Dean is straight than it is to argue that he is queer. There is a full on CORNUCOPIA of story evidence to support that read and relatively little that convincingly counters it on the straight side, and that starts right at the beginning, when they bend pretty baby Dean over a police car in episode one, and he smirks insouciantly in his lip gloss. Do I think everyone involved knew how that looked? Sexy, submissive and a bit gay?

YES I DO.

#supernatural #spn #dean winchester #Eric Kripke #watching with queer goggles #I recommend it #it's just queer yo #anti-trashnatural agenda

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adobe-outdesign · 1 month

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Kung Fu Panda 4 Thoughts/Liveblog Thing

Just caught this at the theater for a grand total of five whole dollars, so I thought I'd do some quick opinions while it's fresh.

Non-spoiler opinion: It was Okay(TM), but the movies were considerably stronger as a trilogy. It's worth seeing one (1) time if you're a KFP fan (and really, who isn't), but I wouldn't bother paying full price for it or anything

SPOILERS FOR ALL 4 MOVIES UNDER THE CUT:

A list of things that slap:

The animation is stunning and fast-paced. Really loved the use of Chinese-style paint brush strokes to accentuate the action

Also I'll talk about the 5 later but I also really liked the animation change when describing where they are—all KFP movies have at least one animation shift and I'm glad this one kept up with it

Some of the fight scenes were super good, I liked the one that uses the tilting bar on a cliff in particular

(side note: the Missing Link did something similar, just on a ship. Go watch the Missing Link)

The Chameleon served straight cunt the entire time she was on screen and I kind of loved (almost) everything about her. Character design was incredible, voice was perfect, palace design was amazing, abilities were sick

Also the way she rides up chilling in a golden tree branch of all things? Fellas, we have no choice but to stan

Also I just appreciate the choice to both do a female villain for a change and to get a reptile in here after having only mammals and one (1) bird as villains previously

Speaking of character design there were a few really good ones in there, like a pangolin that moves Sonic the Hedgehog-style, a cool looking female boar, and a bunch of Komodo dragon henchmen. Good stuff

The jokes were a very mixed bag for me, some hit and some didn't. I will say that Zhen just going "that's great for you" in response to Shifu stating he's a red panda got me for some reason

If anyone hurts Po's gay dads I'm killing everyone in this room and then myself

Jack Black's cover of Baby One (1) More Time is unironically better than the original

A list of things that Do Not Slap:

Pacing/Plot:

This movie lacked a color scheme? KFP 1 was blue (also some gold), KFP 2 was red, KFP 3 was green. These colors weren't subtle either, there are entire scenes in each movie drenched in these colors and it was really obviously missing here

The whole first half the movie feels really breathless and too fast-paced. Apparently it was a studio mandate to have it not go over an hour and a half which is A) stupid and B) hurts the pacing

As much as I love Po's two gay dads we REALLY should not have been wasting time on their journey when the runtime is so tight

Also them tagging along felt off? Mr. Ping was worried sick about Po in KFP 2 but he doesn't tag alone because obviously he needs to let his son have his space. It's more in-character with Li Shan but it doesn't come across like he's talking Mr. Ping into it or something

In general there are so many plot points in this movie that feel under-developed. You could've made an entire movie out of the previous villains returning, Zhen and the Chameleon's relationship (see below), etc.

Po's Character:

People not knowing Po is the dragon warrior is weird, I'm pretty sure he would've been more well known than that

The entire thing with Po needing to give up his role as the Dragon Warrior doesn't really make sense? The Dragon Warrior is literally a made-up title. There's no need to have a Dragon Warrior because there is no such thing technically, it's why Oogway denied Tai Lung the title and then waited years and years to give it to Po. Like it's not a role that needs to be passed down, that's missing the entire point of the Everything

Also Po's only been like Dragon Warrior for a few years? I don't think we're ever given a time scale but it wasn't that long

The jokes about Shifu and Po having trouble with inner peace/mediating feels off given that was the entire plot of the second movie

It felt like Po regressed a bit character wise. He acts like he has no idea how to be a teacher in this movie but he already was a teacher by the end of the third, that was the entire point??

Also he seemed like he was more gullible in this movie but I could be wrong

Why is Po so impressed with Juniper city. He literally spent most of KFP 2 in Gongmen hello?? I think(?) Juniper is bigger but he shouldn't be acting like he has no idea what a city is

Zhen/Chameleon:

Zhen's character design doesn't match anything else, which is weird because most of the new characters in this film keep the distinct style in some form or another

Her wanted poster shows her with the bold markings KFP is known for and it looks SO much better

The plot twist with Zhen working for the villain was so obvious I did not realize it was supposed to be a twist at first

Also, the entire thing with Zhen was entirely unneeded? The Chameleon could've just just stood up and announced her plan to take over and Po would've shown up on her doorstep with the staff

I guess the idea is that Po needed to hand over the staff willingly for it to work? But if that's the case the Chameleon could've just impersonated Tigress or something and gotten it that way in like 1/3 of the time

Originally she was supposed to have kidnapped Shifu which would've been a much better plot point as it would've given Po extra motivation

The other problem with treating Zhen as a plot twist is that it hampers the relationship she has with the Chameleon effectively being her mom, which is FASCINATING. They had some really interesting chemistry together (the whole "stand up straight" thing as one example) and I could've seen it as a Mother Gospel from Tangled kind of deal, but we barely get any interaction between the two and it's like AAAAAAA

Fanfic writers fix this shit. I believe in you

I'll have to chew on it more but my pacing thought would actually be to start with Po finding out about the Chameleon's "take over everything" plan very early due to Shifu's kidnapping. He breaks into the lair like at the 1/3 mark or earlier and he meets Zhen inside which then leads into why she's doing what she's doing and the mother angle, etc etc blah blah

The Chameleon needed to just straight-up murder someone, comically shoving them down the stairs isn't good enough. I know stairs are Po's greatest enemy but I don't think that applies to everyone

Shen was allowed to stab someone on-screen so I think the Chameleon should be a allowed to strangle someone or something. as a treat

If violence was the concern just keep it off-screen like Master Rhino's death in KFP 2

The shapeshifter turning into a giant monster trope is overrated and I'm glad it was just used briefly here and not even for her defeat

Also the Chameleon's thing with her being rejected from Kung Fu because she's too small makes no sense b/c Mantis, which I'm pretty sure everyone's pointed out already. She does say "lowly" I think but was she ever poor? Could make a very interested parallel to Zhen if that was the case but it was never brought up again

I've heard some argue body image parallels w/ Po in KFP 1 but if that was the intent it's not explored, like, at all, which is a shame because it could've been an interesting angle

Also If they wanted a better excuse related to body image just say she was too frail instead of too small. I haven't owned chameleons but I've heard from people who have that they are very frail and very hard to keep alive, which would be a much better reason to turn her away

Cameos:

Yes I'm devoting an entire section to five second cameos don't judge me

I have mixed feelings on the Five not being present (save for the end cameos). On the one hand they are sorely missed but on the other hand they would've just made the plot bloat even worse

Lack of speaking was also bothersome. Part of me is glad they weren't recast with cheaper VAs because it's disrespectful to interchange them, but on the other hand that might've been better than just not having them speak and not paying anyone anyway

Tai Lung had all the best lines and was also the best used out of all the cameos, even if it would've been nice to have him on screen for longer. Also if they stuck with Shifu being kidnapped those two could've had some much-needed dialogue

Side note, while I don't think it contradicts anything from KFP 3 the spirit world having only kung fu masters in it feels off? It makes it seem so small and limited

Kai being there is weird. He's like. dead dead. Deader than dead. I guess you could argue that you can't kill something that's already dead but there's nothing even acknowledging this

Trying to take Shen's kung fu is really weird because the entire point of the fight with Master Rhino in KFP 2 is that he is not? a master?? like he's GOOD but he's not amazing, like if a master is like a 10/10 he's like an 8/10.

"The Chameleon has the powers of all my old nemesises!" WHAT'S SHEN'S POWER EXACTLY. HIS ONLY POWERS ARE GUN AND MOMMY/DADDY ISSUES

She does summon him way later than Tai Lung and Kai so maybe she was just camp spawning every single person she could think of regardless of skill level? she also uses his wings at one point so maybe she just wanted those, I don't think(?) there were other birds summoned

Though speaking of which she claimed she was using his wings but very clearly wasn't? not only were they black but they were raggedy and lacked the five longer feathers on the tips

Also Shen's model was super off, it looked way too fluffy and like an entire row of eyespots were missing from the edge of the train (which might have been a clipping error? unsure) it's been said the new models were made out of glue and popsical sticks and I believe it

Tai Lung has a habit of just like Grabbing anyone that's smaller than him and it amuses me

It's honestly really weird that everyone would just agree to go back into the spirit world willingly?

Like I think it works for Tai Lung because he's a noble person who just goes into a disassociative state and commits atrocities. Like I think he'd be willing to accept his death

Also it checks out for Shen because he killed himself and given his "dead belong in the past" mentality I can't imagine him wanting to stick around, he'd probably think it was unnatural

But Kai?? Kai was FURIOUS at being dragged back into the spirit world at the end of 3, like hell he'd just go quietly

Also I can see Tai Lung maybe respecting Po enough to bow to him but everyone else is pushing it unless they have therapists in the spirit world. Po offered Shen some nice advice at the end of KFP 2 and his response was to kill himself on the spot, I don't think him or Kai would be bowing

All of them were definitely in the middle of a mahjong match and were experiencing the equivalent of being woken up in the middle of a nap so they were just going along with things

Chameleon: I'm going to steal your kung fu

Everyone:

Misc:

I did like some of the more subtle callbacks. Stuff like Po seeing his reflection in the blade the way Shifu did or the "I can't even beat you to the stairs" scene were nice and not overly overt or in-your-face

If Po actively refers to himself as the "Kung Fu Panda" one more time I'm going to end it all

anyway that was not supposed to be a 12 page essay but it's too late now, goodbye

#kung fu panda #kfp #kung fu panda 4 #kfp 4 #liveblog #outdesign posts things #don't get me started on kfp or I won't shut up about it

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falmerbrook · 4 months

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WIP Whenever thing

(unfinished friday maybe?)

I was tagged by @youthroad (TY so much!!!)

Tagging (idk if any of you have been tagged already, but either way don't feel like you have to!): @apollinariafh, @snowy-weather, @angiemaniac

I've had these Vivec and Nerevar moments sitting on a canvas for awhile, I just haven't gotten to finishing them. There's a bunch of other rougher sketches too, but those aren't decipherable enough to post (I just like these two fellas a lot!)

---

Also, I don't post fic much, but I went on a bit of a spree and started a few small ones yesterday, so I thought it might be fun to share one of those too. Miraak and LDB fight:

Miraak was supposed to be fighting for his life—his freedom—but the thrill of battle had gotten to his head. Every fireball that whiffed by his head, every shout that was countered by an equally powerful cry, and every soul of a dragon he felled that surged into his own soul energized him in ways he hadn’t been energized in millennia. Hell, in ways he hadn’t been energized ever. He’d fought hundreds of battles over his mortal life, many against his fellow priests with a perfect mastery of the Thu’um, but none had ever felt like a true equal. A challenge, sure, but never someone who could match Miraak in his understanding of the Voice. They had treated it as a simple language, a skill to practice, a tool to use for their gain, but for Miraak it was a fundamental part of his world. It shaped him and everything around him. Face to face, spell to spell, with another Dragonborn was different. While her skills were obviously less refined, her use of the Thu’um held a natural, instinctual punch. She wasn’t shouting out of strategy, but out of frustration, arguing with Miraak in the way only a Dov could. Her sharp eyes dug into his with the same hatred that he looked at her, but the smirk on her face as she paused and steeled herself for his next move betrayed she was equally as exhilarated as him. While he had the experience over her to pummel her with his Thu’um, he couldn’t help but respect her as an equal.

He never wanted the fight to end, but he knew he would eventually have to draw it to a close and slay the young Dovahkiin. The thought of losing the opportunity to keep around someone who mirrored himself, even as a rival, sent a sour pang up Miraak’s chest, but the threat of losing his millennia of planning and his freedom was too great. He had grown up the only Dragonborn, and he could continue to live that way.

For now, though, he was in control. Her lack of experience reflected in the way she overexerted herself too quickly while he had been largely holding back. He could let this dance play out for a while longer. Her upper hand was in her magic, a skill Miraak had admittedly practiced little in during his imprisonment in Apocrypha, but while powerful, she was sloppy, and was already starting to slip up and fail her casting. He, however, was as strong as he’d ever felt in Apocrypha.

#mine #my art #my writing #tes #morrowind #skyrim #miraak #vivec #nerevar

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valrnyx · 4 months

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Forever Discourse: Link to Original Thread + More

This post contains links to the original Twitter thread as well as other posts that provide evidence or context to the situation. (This post will continually update with anymore information that is found)

January 10th Update: Forever has been kicked from QSMP. He has made a third and final? video in response? to the situation. There are English subtitles. (I have not watched the video yet beyond the first minute)

https://x.com/forevitao/status/1745104252672856501?s=46

With this post, I'm gathering evidence both for myself and others. In my opinion it's best to gather as much evidence and context as you can and form your own opinion rather than just listening to what others say. Get as many sides as possible.

TW: Pe*ophilia (it truly varies between posts but most have their own tw’s)

To start, here is a post that I think sums up what’s happening (from what I can see and what I’ve read so far): https://www.tumblr.com/anachronistic-falsehood/738711971942334464/hi-sorry-i-dont-have-twitter-but-do-you-know-why

I think I managed to stumble my way into the original Twitter thread. For any interested, here’s the link… (it’s all in Portuguese obviously) (if this is not the original thread, let me know): https://x.com/diaboier/status/1743153136523472904?s=46

I also found another thread that seems to add more evidence or summarizes the thread? Yet again, I don’t speak Portuguese so I’m not entirely sure: https://x.com/morningcriw/status/1743164198928978127?s=46

Someone sent in a Google doc with a lot of Forever’s old tweets translated (this seems to be accurate. I started Google translating some of the screenshots from the original accusation post and they match up with the translations in the doc): https://docs.google.com/file/d/16RKc9968cA8Ybc8Hw7Dl2cevO3w52mZx/edit?usp=docslist_api&filetype=msword

I also just saw this pop up. It’s discord screenshots translating a tweet of the supposed victim. I say supposed as there’s no real evidence to show that it’s really the victim (All the twt screenshots have the usernames and pfp’s blacked out, for good reason): https://www.tumblr.com/magicalmanhattanproject/738731128507285504/id-discord-screenshot-the-first-messages-from

Here are two tumblr posts translating what Forever said in response: https://www.tumblr.com/imnotasweetie/738727736369102848/a-friend-of-mine-who-is-a-portuguese-speaker-did

https://www.tumblr.com/pamela-lntt/738713715054116864/translated-statement

I originally took these off as an anon said that it’s not great and that cultural context doesn’t apply to these kinds of things but after looking around a little more I think it is. Cultural difference is not an excuse, but nonetheless it’s an explanation. It still absolutely does not excuse his actions though. I have no way to verify if any of these are true though. Please keep that in mind: https://www.tumblr.com/thesmpisonfire/738775397927469056/that-one-brazilian-person-in-the-tag-with-the-very

https://www.tumblr.com/anachronistic-falsehood/738780432119808000/the-forever-situation-is-lacking-a-lot-of-context

https://www.tumblr.com/lonelyspacedragon/738779192959844352/the-one-and-olny-thing-i-will-say-about-this-as-a

https://www.tumblr.com/valrnyx/738784381189144576/cultural-differences-are-absolutely-not-an-excuse

As of January 6th, Forever has gone live to address the allegations again. Here is a a overview of what he said (I have no way to verify if what is written here is true): https://www.tumblr.com/dumblemonade1/738790758479527936/so-he-hadnt-seen-all-the-tweets-about-the

https://www.tumblr.com/imnotasweetie/738807755379474432/alright-fellas-here-is-the-full-translation-of

Please give Quackity and his team time to decide how they’re going to handle this. They’re human too. This post says it better than I can: https://www.tumblr.com/trashfangirlsworld/738796977181032448/i-dont-have-much-to-say-about-the-situation-with

https://www.tumblr.com/54625/738805511556939776/im-not-gonna-talk-about-the-whole-foreve

Apparently a host of CC’s have unfollowed Forever on Twitter: https://www.tumblr.com/magicalmanhattanproject/738802843036844032/more-developments-on-the-forever-situation

https://www.tumblr.com/weallpartyatybcpatricksfuneral/738805954396798976/hi-i-bring-you-context-some-people-on-twitter-dug

A post that’s close to my own thoughts about the after effects of what’s happening: https://www.tumblr.com/murky-tannin/738809119351390208/there-are-a-lot-of-bad-things-about-this-situation

If your are an English speaker, take a step back as well as a deep breath. Let’s not jump to any conclusions or huge actions. If you are able and willing, take your time and do your own research. Don’t believe the first thing that’s said. Misinformation spreads like wildfire. Especially when the discourse isn’t in your native language and are relying on others and Google translate.

Be mindful of your words and support victims. Words can have a huge impact on someone even though you can’t see it. This post says it better than I can: https://www.tumblr.com/cupsmp/738692732272394240/also-once-again-in-any-situation-please-support

Everyone please be careful with your mental health. Take a break from social media if needed, get some water, something to eat, and take a deep breath. Go outside or talk with your friends. We will make it through this.

#forever discourse #forever situation #forever player #qsmp forever #qsmp discourse #qsmp

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ohmystaxk · 5 months

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Goodbye, My Dear Stranger (7)*

[PREVIOUS] | [NEXT]

Pairing(s): (Jake Lockley x Reader, Steven Grant x Reader) (Marc Spector x Reader later on) [Pre-Moon Knight show]

Chapter Character(s): Steven Grant, Jake Lockley

Content/Tags: SMUT +18, morally grey main character, one sided non-exclusive relationship, Steven just being the nicest man in the world and deserves a hug, Jake being a fucking jealous menace, PinV, praise kink, dirty talk, jealous talk, too many pet names, hair pulling, ass slapping, DISASSOSIATING.

Word Count: 3.7k

Summary: Things between you and Steven seem to be going smoothly. And yet, something seems to plague his thoughts.

Hi everyone! My birthday happened recently (Nov 26!). I had planned on making this chapter WAY longer than my others, but I decided on making the next one the biggest chapter I can cook.

Q&A's are happening, so if there are any questions you have about the story, characters, the process, or the future of this fic pls comment here or on my post and I would love to answer and interact more with you guys!

ENJOY!

It had been a long day, Donna had forced Steven to work an extra-shift given the fact he had not shown up yesterday suddenly, all thanks to Marc and Khonshu. Of course, Steven didn’t know that, and neither did he know of Jake taking the body around town. Steven had immediately headed to bed and passed out, Marc didn’t even try to take over, allowing Steven the rest needed, the rest the body needed. So, after a couple of hours, Jake woke up in Steven’s bed.

It was quiet, except for the white noise coming from Gus tank that filled the noise of the apartment. The night had set already, cold shades of blue filling the dark of the place. Silent creaks of wood were heard, old foundation setting in, Jake stood up, the floorboards immediately came to life, creaking under the weight.

As he walked away from the bed, Gus swimming in the tank caught Jake’s attention. The little fella had been fed in the early morning when Marc had arrived, having not eaten enough throughout the day. He walked towards the tank and grabbed the fish food from the book case that sat right above it.

“Parece que a Steven se le olvidó darte de comer, Gus.” Taking off the lid of the food container, he sprinkles enough for Gus, the little guy swimming with all his might to get a bite. “A este paso no me sorprendería si un día te encuentras boca arriba.” (Seems Steven forgot to feed you, Gus. At this rate I would not be surprised to see you face up one day.)

Jake closed the container and placed it back where it was. It was then the flick of a light made him turn towards one of the windows. He backed away from the tank and using the dark of the apartment he moved closer. As he did, he found his eyes on the window across the street, sheer drapes making the inside of the place slightly hard to make out. He could see a kitchen, even what seemed like a living room. Then a person walked into the kitchen, their back facing Jake.

He clicked his tongue as he watched the person turned around, still not seeing Jake standing near his own window. It was you, in your own apartment having just arrived from who knows where.

“Ay, si tan solo supieras.” He said as he tapped the frame of the window, finally backing away. Tonight, he would not see you, Marc would know, Jake had the feeling Marc was itching to wake up tonight. (Oh, if only you knew.)

You bounced, your hands gripping Steven’s shoulder tightly. Head fell back as you felt the man’s lips on your breast, running circles with his tongue around your nipple. Steven squeezed your waist, breathy wines left his mouth as you continued to fuck yourself with his cock. You slapped his hands away, making Steven yelp as you pulled his hair with no effort, making him rest against the back of your couch.

“What did I say, Steven? No touching until I tell you so.” You feel his hip jerk as you lower all the way to the base of his shaft and slow down your movements. Purposely clenching around him, he looks at you through half lidded eyes, mouth agape as you start grinding in slow circles.

“I need to feel you, need to touch you, please.” Steven begs, you had almost forgotten why you were given him this punishment, but of course, you remembered quickly.

“Should have thought of that when you made me wait 3 hours at the pub.” You spat, starting to move your hips up and down again.

“I’m sorry! Love, I’m so sorry, please let me make it up to you, please.” At that you speed up your movements, making the both of you whine at how good it felt.

“This is the fifth time in less than two weeks, Steven.” Your hands travel from his shoulders to his hair, pushing it away from his face, burying your fingers on the strands.

You lean forward, your nose brushing against his as his hips jerk once again, trying everything in him not to thrust into you.

“I know, I know . Use me, but please just let me touch you , that’s all I ask for.” You smile at his words, placing a sweet kiss on his lips.

“How can I refuse you, Steven? Come on honey, you can touch me.” Your voice softens as you feel his hands grab your cheeks, he didn’t even let you finish your sentence as he was already pulling you closer to him, nose brushing yours as he closed his eyes.

“Thank you, love.” He whispers to you.

As the two of you lay on the couch, Steven underneath you as you try catching your breath, you feel him rub your back. Gently kissing your hair, you look up. He is staring at the ceiling, gaze seemingly lost there.

“What’s the matter?” You ask softly. Steven shakes his head, a frown appears on his face.

“I am really sorry about being late.” He explains, there is a heaviness in his words. “Again.”

You shift, laying on your side with a hand on his chest.

“Steven,” you bring your hand to brush the curls away from his face. “It’s okay. I am not actually mad at you, I know you are trying your best to keep up with the doctor’s treatment. I can not relate with your sleep problem but I understand, I do.”

He sighs, leaning in your touch.

“I just want to be normal, being able to go out with you without having to make you wait.” You moved to straddle his thighs.

“You are normal. I don’t want to hear you say that again.”

He gives you a weak laugh. Nodding as he looks into your eyes.

“Thank you.” He says to you, his fingers brushing your thighs. “I should head home.”

You sigh at that, rolling your eyes as you lean down, hugging him.

“Can’t stay a little longer?” You whispered to him. He embraces you, arms wrapped around you.

“Got to wake up early.” He grunts with disdain as you bury your face between his neck and shoulder. “I promise to stop by on my lunch break.”

“You better do, Mr. Grant.” A hand reaches your hair, brushing it.

“I promise, my love.” At that, Steven feels you tense. He moves his head in hope to look at you, but your face is still buried on his neck. “Love?”

“You,” you paused, Steven moved your hair and tucked it behind your ear. His thumb caressing your cheek. “You have never called me that before.”

He frowns for a second, trying to recall his words.

“Love?” He sees you shake your head.

“My love.” Your voice is hard to hear, but he understands. He feels his pulse quicken, cheeks burning up as he gulps.

Things were supposed to be slow between the two of you. That was how you wanted it, but one night you suddenly called him to your flat. You had prepared dinner, telling him you had accidentally cooked too much and asked him to eat with you. Next thing, the two of you were making out in your kitchen, too worked up to even make it to your bedroom.

That night then turned into more dinners at your flat. Sometimes you would show up at the Museum to bring him something from the café. Then you suddenly asked him on a date. Steven was over the moon seeing you wanted to spend time with him, feeling like he was walking on clouds whenever he got to see you.

In his mind, the two of you were together; except nothing had been made official. And now, he guessed he was just too in the moment, allowing himself to slip off.

“I-I did? Oh, I’m sorry about that.” He lets go of your cheek a little too fast. The movement made you finally look at him.

When he stared into your eyes, he saw a spark in them. With your cheeks blushed you smiled at him with such a gentle smile he felt his heart jump.

“Don’t apologize. I actually like it; it just took me by surprise.” You looked away, trying to hide away from his gaze.

“Are you blushing?” He says with a smile, he can already imagine he looks like a fool.

You look at him, rolling your eyes while trying not to smile.

“Don’t laugh!” You slapped his chest gently, hiding your face on the crook of his neck.

“I’m not!” He laughs, making you huff as you sit back on his hips.

“You are!” Steven pulls himself up, bringing the two of you to sit eye to eye. His hands find your hips as he smiles brightly at you.

“Only a little, but not at you! I would never laugh at you, my love.” You blush again, trying to look away. “Don’t do that.” He grabs your chin, with both hands he carefully brushes your cheeks.

You look at him with soft eyes, lips pulled in a smile. He wishes he could look at you till his dying breath. You looked tired, makeup messy, hair undone, a love mark on your shoulder; you looked gorgeous.

He wants this, more nights like this, just the two of you next to each other. He wants you, he needs you in his life.

“Would you like for me to be your-.” His words are stopped by a phone ringing. Your eyes widen, quickly getting off him.

“That’s mine. Sorry Steven, one second!” You hurry to your feet and jog towards your purse by the kitchen.

Steven huffs, his heart is pounding so loudly he feels he might throw up. He sees you bend down on the floor, looking inside your purse for the phone.

He swings his legs and sits correctly on the couch. He hears you answer the phone and start a conversation. Steven runs his hands on his face before he starts fixing his shirt, standing up to zip his pants and buckling his belt. He grabs his jacket from the other couch.

You are still on the phone when he walks up to you, his hand coming to lay on your back. You turn to look at him, but he kisses your cheek.

“Gonna head off.” He whispers and you frown.

“You sure?” You whisper.

Steven gives you a quick smile and nods.

“Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow. Good night, love.”

You nod and kiss him, waving at him as he heads to the door. Steven makes it to the elevator, the doors closing. He lets his head fall, a heavy sigh escapes him.

He finally makes it to his flat. He tossed his keys on the kitchen counter, he dropped his jacket on the couch as he started undoing his shirt. Steven noticed your light was off, you probably went to bed, he thought.

Steven gets dressed for bed, well, if he was. He walks towards it, sitting down as his gaze lands on the wood post next to it. He had gone with a sleep specialist, you had gone with him. He had done the treatment, followed each and every instruction, but to his disappointment it wasn’t working. If anything, he seemed to realize he was starting to sleepwalk. He tried doing research of his own, looking for alternatives, but this one, it was the only one he could think of.

He dragged his hands down his face as he sighs one more time. With no other option he leans down, hand gripping the ankle restrain, fasting it. He laid on the bed, eyes staring at the old wooden ceiling.

“I can’t tell her.”

“I think he was going to ask me to be his girlfriend.” You blurred out. Feeling your face heat up at the memory of you sitting on Steven’s lap. The way he looked at you so lovingly.

“And you decided to answer my call instead?” Deanna questions you as the two of you lean on the counter. “Why would you let him simply go home?”

“I don’t know, Deanna!” You close your eyes, holding your head in your hands.

The woman simply sighs as she watches the customers that are sitting at the furthest corner of the shop. Then she turns to look at you.

“And I am guessing he still has no clue about your little escapades with Jake?” You groan, burning your face in your hands. “His unknown twin brother.”

“You don’t have to put it that way.” You complained, your words mumbled.

“Listen babes, you do you. Got a sweet guy, and a hot fuckbuddy. But you can’t keep things hidden forever. Especially if you think of starting something with Steven.”

Of course, Deanna had to be right, but even when you found reason, it was hard to hear it, well want to hear it.

“What if?” You stopped yourself, pausing in thought. Deanna raises an eyebrow, immediately shaking her head.

“No, no!”

“What?” You raised your eyebrows, confused by her sudden change of tone.

“Babes, you need to pick one.” As she said that you snorted.

“I wasn’t gonna say to keep both! I just, well, I don’t know if I can choose Steven that easily.” At your confession, Deanna’s face softens, exhaling as she closes her eyes. “I adore him, I really do. But-.”

The door of the shop opened, allowing the cold air of November to hit your skin. You looked up, ready to give your best smile when you immediately felt your face heat up.

“Speak of the devil.” Deanna whispers as she sees Jake walk towards the counter.

“Hey Jake.” You greet him with a smile, which he returns. “Haven’t seen you in a few days.”

The man shrugs, tilting his head to the side, keeping his eyes on you.

“Good to see you, angel. Been too busy to pay you a little visit.” He grins as you nod at his words, he then moves his gaze to look at Deanna, he gives her the tiniest smile alongside a frown. “Deanna, hey.”

“Jake, what a shock to see you around.” Deanna turns around and leaves, heading to the storage room.

“She sure loves me, huh?” Jake leans with one arm on the counter. You shake your head, waving him off.

“It’s nothing. Don’t mind her.” Jake scoffs at that. “What are you doing here?”

“To get my usual.” He eyes you up and down. “And my coffee, muñeca.” He gives with a wolfish smile.

You hold onto the edge of the seat for dear life, your throat hurts at how dry it is, your constant panting and moaning drying it completely. Jake’s hand on your hips are hurting you, the sting from the palm of his hand fresh on your ass as he pounds into you with such force you think you might pass out.

“Mírate, tan desesperada.” He spits out as he slaps your ass again, the pain making you jolt. “Que patética, me das lastima.” (Look at you, so desperate. How pathetic, you make me pity you.)

You rest your forehead against your arm, sweat already forming due to the closed space of the limo. But you quickly yelp, Jake’s hand grips your hair, forcing your head back towards him.

“Don’t fucking do that.” He grits, you feel him press his chest against your back, the angle making him thrust in deeper. “Come on, don’t act like you can’t take it.”

“Fuck you.” You say back at him. Your response makes him laugh, immediately followed by a sharp slap on your ass. You hiss in pain, your pussy clenching tightly around him.

“There we go, that’s my fucking girl.” Jake kisses your left shoulder, his teeth teasing the skin.

“No biting.” You quickly say, but this only seems to excite him.

“Of course, sugar. We don’t want Stevie knowing I’m fucking his girl; I think having my cock so fucking deep into you should be the biggest problem.” To make his point clear, he pulls all the way out. “Mía.” He thrusts back in with such harshness that you cry out, feeling tears forming in your eyes and your yelp dies on your throat. (Mine.)

Your clench again, your body feels so stretched you fear you might snap at any second. Something you come to learn from Jake is that he seems to fixate deeply in your secrecy; the quick fucks in the limo. He enjoys bringing up Steven every single time as he is fucking you, always promising not to leave a mark, only to do it over and over again.

The first time it happened, he had left marks on your ribs and thighs. You had to get creative and fuck Steven with the lights off, or simply suck him off for a week until the hickeys were gone. After that you told Jake to not do it, so his solution was to fuck you from behind, leaving as many marks as possible.

“Fucking hate how he gets to mark your pretty tits, angel.” You clench again, the memory of Steven’s lips around your nipples, his stupid pretty eyes all full of lust. “Oh there we go, you fucking like it, don’t you? Fucking love it when I say his name?”

You shake your head, feeling Jake sneak his hand down to your mound, fingers finding your clit. You moan as he starts touching it, you feel your head spinning.

“I bet you have dreamed of having him watch as I fuck you. Oh, I bet you have.” His touch is torturous, the tightness on your belly is becoming unbearable. “But who are we kidding?”

You felt it, your orgasm starting to peak, your grip on the seat the only thing that could ground you. It was hard to even pay attention to Jake’s ramble. He pushed your head towards him once more, his breath next to your ear.

“He almost came on your couch just because you didn’t let him touch you.” You frowned, the scenario he was selling you a little too familiar. “You are no angel, sweetheart. You are cruel for doing that to the poor guy. That’s why you are gonna come on my fucking cock tonight and not his.”

“What are you-?” His finger started working faster, the sudden orgasms making you choke on your own words. You were able to bob your head when Jake let go of your head, your forehead resting against the cold leather of the seat.

You were now on the passenger seat, Jake silently driving you home as the radio played a song in spanish. You had already fixed your appearance to the best of your abilities.

“Jake.” You started, looking at his profile as the man adjusted his cap.

“Sweetheart.” He gave you a quick glance, a smirk on his lips as he then focused ahead.

“I think Steven wants me to be his girlfriend.” The sentence felt weird in your tongue. You felt yourself cringe, not because of the implication, but because of who you were saying them to.

Jake’s eyes narrow, jaw tenses.

“So little Steven finally got the guts to ask you, huh?” The scenario strangely gave you deja vu to the night you had confessed to Jake you had slept with Steven.

“Well, I said, I think. I got a call when he was about to, so I had to answer.” That seems to catch his attention.

“So, you ignored him, to take a call?” He turned to you during a red light. He looked at you with a glint in his eyes and a shit-eating grin. “Fuck, you are a little cruel.”

“I didn’t know that’s what he was about to ask! I realized after he left.” You turned away; hearing Jake laugh in amusement.

“Oh, sweetheart.” You frowned, turned to face him again. Jake clicked his tongue and shook his head. “Better give him the best night of his life to fix the damage then. How about you take him on a nice date, buy him roses, tell him how pretty he is. That should do it.”

Jake laughed once more. But you, you could not believe him. The mockery in his words should not surprise you anymore.

“You do know that if I say yes, we can’t meet up anymore, right?” He stops laughing.

“Says who?”

“I do, Jake.” Of course, you had yet to actually think things over, but you were sure you wanted Steven. He was the right one for you. “It’s not like I can see a nice happy life by only being fucked in the back of your limo every other week.”

“Not like you can have one with him.” He throws at you, you could clearly tell he was upset, the tone making you wonder for a second.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Steven is not someone you can actually have a life with.” You scoff, rolling your eyes trying to suppress the laugh that is threatening to slip.

“And I can with who? You? I barely see you, all we do is have a quick fuck and then you take me home. I don’t even know you outside of this fucking car! And to be honest, it makes me worry you are cheating on someone with me.”

Jake grips the steering wheel tightly, simply shaking his head slightly. You see his eyes gaze off at another red light. “Every time I’ve tried to ask you anything you immediately distract me. Do you have kids? Are you dating someone? Are you married?”

It’s then you see it again, the same thing that happened the first time you slept with him. He seems to stare too far away, his body tensing before he relaxes, his gaze lost as he seems to take in his surroundings. He frowns, not from anger, but confusion?

“What’s wrong?” You ask softly, your voice seems to startle him.

His eyes fall on yours, his eyes widened as he seems to just realize you were even there. You feel a lump form at the pit of your stomach as you hear him speak again.

“What’s-. Love, what’s happening?” It’s Steven’s voice that makes you want to vomit, you feel your heart stop as he glances at you, he looks confused, scared.

Add yourself in the taglist!

Taglist: @22carolina08 @wandasupremacy @jesusbussy420 @ninebluehearts @whitearmsredhands @silversweetpea @siimiasoi @stuckybarton @jbearre85 @virgin-mojitos @theking-arthur @btsluvr1 @belladri @amasdaydream @bt21tatakeyakey @l0ki3000 @kittytiddywinks @yuukiyoko @laaundromat @fanfichotel @insomniacfigure @philiasoul @magicwithaknife @spidey-3 @chaimantis @username21mk @yoshidoes-stuff @deadbirdcz @the-rabbit-king

#jake lockley #steven grant #marc spector #jake lockely x reader #steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #moon knight #moon knight fanfic #marvel #fanfic

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kaipotato · 1 month

Text

Announcement regarding my Hermitcraft AU

hello fellas! I am happy to announce the start of the fic writing for my Hermitcraft AU, which is currently dubbed the merger au, but the name is subject to change

there is a public doc with the lore, species, and introductory stuff which can be found here

canon designs will be posted over the coming week(s), starting the day this is posted

i will try to be consistent with chapters and im planning for once every month or sooner if possible

this is also my first ever fic so it WILL have flaws

the fic will contain light shipping with NO nsfw content, possible gore, and horror imagery so if any of that makes you uncomfortable DO NOT INTERACT

all shipping is of the characters, not ccs

and for the people who are new to the au, here is the intro which is also avalible on the public spreadsheet:

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[The fic would follow the pov of Scar but may alternate sometimes. It is set in season 10 and Scar is still suffering the effects of Secret Life.]

Since Scar never died in Secret Life, he was pulled out of the loop manually by the secret keeper and was almost coaxed into becoming one, but he escaped in time before any major damage was done.

Except the secret keeper follows him.

When Scar fled the watchers' realm, he accidentally led the secret keeper to the Hermitcraft S10 world, giving them access to it and every other Hermitcraft world before it. In an attempt to communicate with Scar and bring him back to the watchers,the secret keeper uses this new “tool” to mess with reality and merge the different worlds. Some days, a random building from season 8 might show up in a crater, other days Larry may return because “the snails built him on the cart” (lie), and sometimes this even affects the hermits themselves, causing sudden wardrobe, personality, and motive changes.

Like how Joel randomly grew a Tanooki tail when joining the server.

Many people blamed the servers' already weird aspects in terms of species, but others suspected it was caused by the transition to becoming a “hermit.” Joel himself claimed it was caused by too much time around Etho and that it was because “Etho is so obsessed he used his mind to give me a tail so that we had something in common.” No one believed him.

And we can’t forget Etho somehow getting a glass monopoly, which was also pointed out by some when the permits were handed out, and is also not possible since every hermit only got 6 shopping permits. The keeper seemed to favor Etho in this way.

Maybe it was Magic Mountain’s looming presence and mystic powers, but Scar felt that many things were off this season. From the weird references to past seasons, Etho’s odd luck, Joel’s mutations or…..

…..was it the feeling of not being alone?

---

aaand thats all you get for now ;)

all content will be under the hermitcraft merger au tag and any ideas or fanart is welcome! <3

#hermitcraft #hermitcraft merger au #hermitcraft au #hermitshipping #hermitblr #gtwscar #goodtimeswithscar

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melanieathene · 1 month

Text

Mr. Wonderful

This is a love story.

I'd like to say it was a classic case of love at first sight, but I don't know if that's true.

All I know for certain is that it's a love that was meant to be.

We don't get many quality folk in this dump that calls itself a diner. Truckers who haven't seen a washcloth in days – weeks maybe. Bums who stumble in to get out of the cold, taking up table space long after they've drained the last drop of coffee in their cup. Old folks on a tight budget looking for a cheap meal. Cheaters looking to score, streetwalkers looking to oblige them. Impatient, forlorn, pitiful people. Losers, every one.

He stood out like a sunbeam slicing through a cloudy sky. Clean, well-dressed, and handsome – god, he took my breath away with his movie star good looks. He was way prettier than the models you see in those fancy magazines – the ones I leaf through in the grocery line, but can never afford to buy.

“I'm gonna to marry that man,” I murmured.

Rhonda snapped her gum as she turned her head to follow my gaze. “Him?” She snorted. “Honey, he's out of your league. Married. Or gay. My money is on gay. Look at the long-haired fella he's with. There's something going on between them.”

“I don't care. I want that table. I'll trade you for the party of six.” I hitched my thumb towards table three.

The cackling old biddies sitting there were fussy, but they were surprisingly good tippers. Regulars who liked to meet up after church, or their book club, or whatever. Normally, Rhonda and I butted heads over who got to serve 'em.

“Your loss.” Rhonda shrugged and sauntered away. I saw the good-looking guy shoot a glance at her ample bosom as she walked by.

Gay, my ass.

I popped a couple of buttons on my blouse, the better to display my cleavage. If he liked boobs, mine were an even bigger eyeful than Rhonda's. The rest of the package wasn't bad either.

The green eyes that turned my way as I approached the back-corner booth set me in mind of an emerald I once saw in a store window. Dazzling. No other word for it.

“What can I offer you, gentlemen?” I asked in as sultry a voice as I could muster.

“Well, I don't know,” Mr. Wonderful drawled – and damned if he didn't sound just as good as he looked. “What do you have to offer?” The suggestive smile that accompanied the question set my pulse racing and my cheeks ablaze.

“Dean!” the tall one barked.

Oh-oh. I quickly suppressed a sigh. Jealous boyfriend alert. Abort! Abort!

But it would appear luck was on my side, because the next words out of his mouth were:

“You'll have to excuse my brother. He... He's...” Mr. Tall flung up his hands, as if giving up on trying to explain the unexplainable.

His (hallelujah!) brother grinned unrepentantly.

“I'll have a salad – the house dressing is fine,” Mr. Tall continued, obviously deeming it better for all concerned if he changed the subject. “He'll have the double cheeseburger with fries. And, uh... two coffees, please. Make mine decaf.”

“And pie,” Dean added. His eyes caressed my name tag, before straying over to the curve of my breast. “Apple if you've got it, Sherri with an 'i'. With whipped cream –”

“And a cherry on top?”

“Ahh, a woman after my own heart. Thank you, darlin'.”

I could feel the weight of his stare as I walked away. Who could blame me if I put a little extra wiggle in my walk?

“Not gay,” I whispered as Rhonda and I crossed paths. “With his brother. And he's a first class flirt.”

“Hrmph,” she muttered. “That don't mean nothing. I might bump him from gay to bi, but that's the best I can do for you. My gaydar's never wrong.”

Have I ever mentioned how much I hate Rhonda? She's my best friend and I love her to bits, but she can be an insufferable pain in the ass when she thinks she's right. Which is all the time.

I wasn't going to let her be right this time. Mr. Wonderful – Dean! – was the kind of man I'd been dreaming of for far too many years. I was through with settling for Cracker Jack toys! I wanted a real prize. And there he was... not ten feet away.

A glance over my shoulder at the booth showed Dean frowning as Mr. Tall shoved his laptop towards him. They both seemed pretty engrossed by whatever was on that screen. Real serious, like. So it would appear that I had a little competition after all. Digital competition. Pfftt! I wasn't worried about that. With my looks and bubbly personality, most men easily sway the way I want them to go. I fluffed my hair and unfastened yet another button. Hey, when you're going for the gold, you gotta give it all you've got.

I picked up the tray containing their order and called up my best smile. The megawatt one that best shows off my dimples and pearly whites.

That smile dimmed considerably as I turned to face them.

There was a third person in the booth. Another man. Another looker, with dark, wind-swept hair and heavy five o'clock shadow on his chiseled jaw. Dean had scooched over to make room for Mr. Trench Coat, but they were sitting close. Really close. In fact, they were pressed together from shoulder to hip to knee.

Dean caught my eye as I approached and hissed, “Personal space!”

“My apologies,” Mr. Trench Coat replied in a low rumble that rivalled Dean's for the honour of sexiest voice ever. Though why he was apologizing wasn't clear to me. Dean was the one who hadn't moved over far enough in the first place. The bigger question was where he had come from, though. I hadn't heard the bell ring to announce his arrival. It was a mystery that didn't sit well with me.

“Would you like to place an order, sir?” I said, polite and frosty in the same breath, as I set plates in front of the two brothers.

“No.”

No, thank you. Lovely manners you have, there.

Blue eyes lifted to meet my gaze, staring at me – through me – as if they could see into my very soul.

“No, thank you,” he intoned.

And just like that, I was dismissed. I mattered less to him than the cockroaches in the kitchen.

His eyes turned back to Dean. Dean's gaze fell to his plate. Mr. Tall choked back what could have been a chuckle – or maybe he just swallowed funny.

I beat a hasty retreat. But I wasn't done with table nine yet. Dean was clearly a dessert man. And I had pie as my secret weapon. Homemade pie, too. None of that pasty store-bought stuff most dives like ours serve. I baked it myself twice a week to squeeze a few extra bucks from our skinflint boss, and I wasn't beyond letting that little fact slip when I brought a slice over to Dean. So, take that, Blue Eyes.

Confidence restored, I felt almost generous towards the poor guy. I even brought him a glass of ice water – which he didn't touch. Nor did he thank me for it.

It was a fairly busy night, but I kept glancing over to that corner as I hurried about my tasks. Dean had once again inched closer to Blue Eyes – or maybe Blue Eyes was crowding him? Either way, their knees and elbows were knocking. Mr. Tall noticed this too. Judging from the knowing little smirk he wore, it wasn't the first time he'd seen it happen. But even his eyebrows rose when Blue Eyes casually swiped a fry from Dean's plate, and Dean didn't so much as blink. He'd slapped Mr. Tall's hand when he'd tried that trick not five minutes before, hard, growling something along the lines of, “if you insist on eating rabbit food, don't expect me to share the good stuff.”

Blue Eyes dove in for another fry. And then a third. And then he snagged Dean's coffee and took a tentative sip.

Apparently, that wasn't much to his liking. I had to turn away from the sourpuss face he pulled, just so I didn't laugh out loud. When I turned back, Dean was doctoring his coffee – pouring in creamer and adding tons of sugar – all without taking his eyes off the computer screen or his mind off his ongoing conversation with Mr. Tall. He removed the stir stick from the mug and licked it. Blue Eyes took advantage of his distracted state to grab the coffee and cautiously sample the results. He smiled and took a second, deeper drink. And a fourth fry.

It was with considerably less enthusiasm than I had originally planned that I delivered the pie and declared it was made by yours truly.

Oh, I hovered in the vicinity, ready and eager to reap the rewards of my labour, but I had a sinking feeling that Rhonda – once again – was going to be proven right.

Sure enough, I wasn't the one Dean sought out after the first bite. The look of bliss that crossed his face was all I'd wished for – and more – but it was Blue Eyes he turned to. Blue Eyes on the receiving end of an ecstatic smile. Blue Eyes who obligingly opened his mouth when so prompted, and thus received the second forkful of my pie.

What Blue Eyes thought of it, I'll never know. For at that very moment, the bell that had been faithfully announcing arrivals and departures (except for Blue Eyes', of course) blasted from its place above the door, followed by the door itself. Shattered glass flew in all directions, and the metal frame embedded itself in table five. I heard Rhonda scream, saw her limping for the kitchen with blood seeping from a gash on her left leg. Customers who jumped up, preparing to follow her example and flee, were trampled as a horde of people poured into the diner – fifteen – twenty – maybe more. They looked like a biker gang, all dressed in black leather with dangling chains, all tattoos and piercings and unkempt beards. We've had a lot of bikers pass through. Most of 'em never cause a spot of trouble, though a couple of times we've had rival gangs rumbling in our parking lot. But I'd never, ever before seen black eyes like this lot had. Black. So very black. Like the gates of hell must be...

I'm a little hazy on what happened next. There was a lot of hollering and pushing and crashing. Things flew through the air – tables, chairs, even people.

I slipped in a puddle of what I sincerely hoped was ketchup, and felt myself falling... but, somehow, Dean was there to catch me. He scooped me up in his arms like the hero in one of those stupid romance novels Rhonda likes to read. He carried me through the mêlée, shoved me into the restroom, and told me to lock the door and keep it locked.

He didn't have to tell me twice. I didn't have to see any more to know that whatever was happening out there, it was bad. Really bad.

I just prayed the bathroom door was strong enough to keep it from happening to me.

If there had been a window, I would have climbed out of it and run away.

But there wasn't a window. And I would never have known the end of the story if I had skipped out at the middle.

Two clear voices rang out, rising above the continuous chorus of furious shouts and frantic cries. A sudden wash of light crept under the door, almost blinding me with its intensity. The silence that followed was almost worse than the horrible noise that preceded it.

I'm not ashamed to admit I screamed like a little girl when a quiet knock sounded on the door. I was bawling like one too, I was that scared: snot and mascara smearing my face, breath hitching and heart hammering fit to burst.

“Sherri? Sherri, it's Sam. It's over. It's okay to come out.”

“I don't know you, Sam.” I sniffled and drew closer to the door, but I wasn't about to open it. “Why should I trust you?”

“I'm Dean's brother.”

“Where's Dean?”

“He was injured in the attack. Cas is... uh... patching him up. Don't worry, Dean's in good hands.”

“Is Cas a doctor?”

“No... not exactly. He's... It's hard to explain. Sherri, will you open the door? We have to get you out of here.”

“Dean told me to stay put.”

“Oh, for Christ's sake,” I heard Sam mutter. And then, louder, “Cas! Can you help Dean over here? I need him to convince Sherri that it's safe.”

Slow, shuffling footsteps made their way across the floor. It felt like an eternity before the voice I wanted to hear finally spoke my name.

“Sherri,” he said wearily. “It's Dean. Open the door.”

Blue Eyes was standing there scowling at me when I cracked the door open. His arm was snugly draped around Dean's waist, clearly supporting most of his weight. Dean's arm was slung around Blue Eyes' shoulders, further steading himself. I suppose I should have felt guilty for making Dean come to me in his condition, but I didn't. I flung myself against his chest and hugged him tight. But not too tight, and not for as long as I really wanted to hold him. His quick gasp let me know how much his ribs were hurting him.

“Thank you,” I said, reluctantly stepping back. “Thank you for saving my life.”

“It's what we do. Besides, how could I deprive the world of a five star pie maker like you?” The cocky grin was back and (damn!) it looked good on his face. Even bruised and bleeding, he was one fine looking man.

Blue Eyes' fingers twitched, knotting into the fabric of Dean's shirt. His little finger brushed against bare flesh where the shirt had rucked up. Dean shivered and turned a questioning gaze his way. “Sam will take you home,” he said absentmindedly, as if he'd already forgotten I was still standing there. It was obvious he was trying real hard to fit a puzzle together, as if he'd just found a missing piece and the picture was finally making sense.

Sam ushered me away, his giant hand hovering near my face, ready to shield me from the worst of the carnage, or so I believed at that moment. We were almost to the door when a thought struck me.

“Rhonda!” I exclaimed, suddenly stopping dead in my tracks. “She went into the kitchen. She was hurt.”

“Wait here.” Sam righted a toppled chair and gently but firmly insisted I sit down. I bit my lip as I looked around. Carnage? Where was the carnage? There should have been bodies. Lots of bodies. But there were none, just a strange, dark ash that coated every surface. As if the people had been burned away.

I remembered the blazing light.

Just before it flared, I remembered a voice calling, “Dean! Dean!” Desperation filled the cry. The anguish of a man about to lose all that he held dear. The voice of a blue-eyed man who liked his coffee overly sweet.

And I remembered Dean's voice crying out in reply. One single word: “Cas!” As if the name carried with it a thousand conversations they'd never had – should have had – might now have.

The kitchen door swung on its rusty hinges, and Sam came towards me carrying Rhonda as if she weighed no more than a kitten. She was unconscious, but alive. I felt my heart blossom in relief as I rose from the chair and rested a hand on her arm. Sam led us out the door. Out to the blessed smell of fresh air, where a hint of rain lingered like a promise on the breeze.

I don't know why I turned around for one final look at Mr. Wonderful.

He didn't look back at me.

He and Blue Eyes were too busy staring into each other's eyes.

Slowly, Dean leaned forward. Just as slowly, Blue Eyes tilted his head and leaned in to meet him halfway.

All love stories should end with such a tender, yearning kiss.

And, like I said at the beginning, this is a love story.

It just isn't mine.

Originally posted 2015-03-03. Just thought it might be fun to post some old stories here. :)

#supernatural #spn #destiel #dean winchester #castiel #sam winchester #original character #destiel fanfic

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nine-of-words · 2 months

Text

Something Borrowed (Part Ten)

M Gargoyle x M Reader

PREVIOUS || STORY TAG

Wordcount: 5127

Content Warnings: Discussion of a Breakup

The horrors have been numerous and persistent for me lately, so this part took its sweet time getting written. Not much else to say about this chapter, other than I’m very excited to write the next one!!

It seems that things are determined to go sideways today.

“Sorry to drop all of this on ya so early, but I knew you’d be awake.” Your sister’s voice comes through the speaker of your device.

You are indeed awake. You haven’t been sleeping well lately, despite it feeling like what you do the most these days- no idea why that would be- so you were already up and slowly trudging through your morning routine. But now you’re distracted with the call, going through making yourself a desperately needed cup of coffee mostly by feel in your dimly lit apartment kitchen.

“It’s okay- So, how exactly did this happen?”

“She took a wee tumble down the stairs. Got up in the middle of the night to get water, fell ass over kettle.”

“Oh, spirits. But you said it wasn’t serious, right?”

“Eh. Fractured her wrist, or so the doctor says. Right, Ma?” You hear a bit of noise in the background that sounds remarkably like your mother being quietly muttering in a displeased manner. “She’ll be right as rain soon enough. But she’s going to be in the cast for a tick.”

“Do I need to book a flight?”

“Hmm. You know we love to see ya- but nah. It's really not all that dire. Think she's tired of all the fuss by now, really.” She explains, before immediately switching into compulsory older sibling teasing. “Plus won't your new fella miss you? Unless you want to bring him along to meet what he's got to look forward to joining up with.”

“Haha… Yeah, you’re right. I suppose you’ll just have to wait…” You haven’t told them he’s not exactly your fella at the moment. What would you even say?

After a bit more conversation, Emer puts your mother on, and you speak to her for a short while. It assuages your worry a little, but not nearly enough to take the edge off. Though she's adamant you don't let her little mishap scare you into making sudden travel plans, you can't help but let it add to your ratings worries.

Maybe… you should go home?

You hang up your voci and look down at the brewed coffee that’s just started to drip through the filter. In your absent minded state, you’ve managed to put the exact mug you’ve been avoiding into the machine.

But there it is, the pink and white curves of ceramic reminding you of everything you're trying to push out of your mind.

You let out a long, frustrated sigh, pausing to stare vacantly at the mug.

Maybe putting an ocean between you and here will help you forget what you could have right now instead, if you weren't cursed.

You have all day to sit on it, you suppose, and can make a decision later. But you do have a business to run in the meantime, so you return to the process of adding your usual milk and sugar.

It doesn’t help the bitter taste at all today.

Things don’t really go much better for you the longer the day progresses.

“This is too sweet,” The older woman across the counter says, brandishing the mostly eaten cupcake in its paper lining. “I want a refund.”

“Well, it's a cupcake, m’am. It is mostly sugar…” You don’t even have the energy to muster your usual level of pleasantness. You barely keep from grimacing as you ring up the refund, just to get this person out of your hair.

Your customers are usually not this problematic, but you’re beginning to think that no one is having a good day today. You can deal with grumpy or picky people, but usually they’re not quite so many of them in a concentrated blast. Every little interaction is finding its way under your skin, and that’s not even taking into account how hard it is to concentrate and get any meaningful progress done.

Though, this is a task you’ve been pointedly avoiding that you’ll have to start sooner or later, today.

You’ve got to finish putting together Devin and Trevor’s cake- if you want it to be solid enough to put flowers in before delivery tomorrow night, which is rapidly approaching the longer you dawdle.

As in, nearly can be measured in hours instead of days soon.

It was different when it was just… anonymous cake layers you were cutting out and leveling. That could’ve been for anyone’s cake! But the more personality that goes into it, the more the subtle, nagging grief makes it difficult to work on.

You sigh and glob a stabilizing dollop of the vanilla buttercream- Trevor's choice- onto the base with your offset spatula.

It’s not as if you’re jealous that your ex is getting married at this point. You’re far past the stage of wanting him back by now. It just… all seems so unfair. Hopeless. He was able to wound you so deeply when he left- and just when you thought you had healed and moved on, carved out some new happiness for yourself- that got taken away, too.

Why should he get to be happy when you’re on the short end of the stick again?

You center a cake layer, then slather some more buttercream, spreading it out to make a glue for the next layer to adhere onto.

You’ll just have to think about it as Devin’s cake. It’s for your friend. That’s how you’ll get through this. You’ll do a good job, for your friend. Even if she’s marrying your ex, she should still get the best cake you can make for her, like you’d do for any other client.

Another layer of cake. A layer of elven berry compote that you made fresh yesterday- also Trevor’s choice, naturally. Another layer of cake. Then, repeat it all again.

As much as you try to rationalize that to yourself as you work through applying the crumb coat, you can’t help but realize you’ve been white-knuckling the spatula handle by time you’ve finished applying the buttercream.

Eventually, you have all of the crumb coated tiers ready on cake boards, to be given another coat and assembled after they’ve firmed up for a bit.

You mercifully shut the disassembled cake in the cooler, relieved that you don’t have to look at it for another few hours. Though, you have to hand it to yourself, even when your life is falling apart, you can make a bang-up gorgeous cake.

The demands of your business don’t stop just because you’re having a bad day and have other things to do, unfortunately. You’re not sure what portal to Hell has opened nearby, but it seems like all of the most awful customers have all decided to come to your shop today to take out their anger on you.

“No, we don’t do tiered pies here. I don’t even know if you’d be able to do that without making a mes- Well, okay. Have a nice day-” You say, though the person on the other end of the line has already hung up on you.

You turn to face the customer waiting at the counter, but before you can even greet them, they interrupt you with a snapping of their fingers.

“Where’s our waiter? I put our order into the kiosk twenty minutes ago and no one has even been by to so much as pour our water!”

“Oh, well, you can eat-in here, that’s what the seating is for, but we’re not a full service-”

“Ugh, fine! Just get me my order already, then.” The customer barks and you have to bite your tongue to restrain yourself from snapping back.

By time you reach another lull in activity and get back to work on Devin’s cake, your jaw and shoulders are fully tensed.

Since it’s slow, you take out the gumpaste. You have another tray of roses to sculpt so they can dry on time to place them tomorrow, so you might as well knock it out sooner than later.

Maybe none of this would be getting to you so much, but the full weight of the wedding being tomorrow is bearing down on you. The one saving grace is that Kirby will be there to distract you- at least you won’t be alone. You’ll deliver the cake, you’ll get through the ceremony, you’ll stay for a brief yet socially acceptable amount of time at the reception, and then you’ll go home and this whole excruciating ordeal will be over.

You just have to finish this cake and get through tonight first.

Only a few more hours until close.

You can do this.

You make it another hour, rolling thinned pieces of sugary paste into delicate petals, before the bell door rings, and the person you see walk through the door gives you pause.

It’s not Carlyle, as you’ve been hoping it was every single time you hear the shop bell jingle since the last time you saw him. But it certainly looks like him, in everything but personal styling, and of course, the shape of the quartzose horns protruding from his brow.

Today it seems he’s left his body glitter at home, however. He’s dressed in relatively casual clothing; a hoodie (midriff still intact), untied slim joggers, immaculately clean sneakers. The difference is so staggering you might not have even recognized him as the same person, compared to his last visit, if he didn’t have Carlyle’s face; which you can now see clearly underneath his loose brown curls, this time not covered by the shadow of his hood.

“Hey.”

He gives you a tilt of his chin in acknowledgement and smiles an uncannily similar, fanged smile to the one you’ve grown accustomed to seeing. It’s a stab of pain, how sorely you miss it right now, and seeing it again, but just different enough to not be it.

“Uh. Hi, Marcus?” You say in a stilted manner, not really sure how to proceed. “You are… looking less gilded today than last time.”

“Hahahah, yeah. I didn’t have work last night, dude. No hangover!”

“Hah. Right…”

“But good to see you again, man! …I was wonderin-”

“Listen, if you’re here to deliver a message or something, I really can’t do this right now.” You cut him off, begging more than anything at this point to not have another thing go wrong or a twist of the knife today. You scrub at your face with your forearm to keep your hands sanitary, the deep pit of frustration starting to bubble out of you unintentionally. “And he knows to not-”

“Hey, no man, listen! It’s nothing like that.” He pats his curls down, the same way that his brother occasionally does with his dreadlocks when he’s smoothing out a misunderstanding. “He’d be PISSED if I knew he was here, hahah. He told me never to come here on my own after last time!”

“Well, maybe you should follow his instruction on that matter.” You say dryly and continue to roll the soft substance in silent judgement. “He usually knows what he’s talking about.”

Marcus seems to take this as a bad sign, his face twisting into a look of exasperation.

“Fine! Gimme a dozen cupcakes then. Fuck, make it any flavor, dude, I don’t even care.” He starts rifling through his pants pockets, finally pulling out his wallet, and then a card that he puts on the counter. It’s got his name printed on it, rather than Carlyle’s, so you suppose he’s gotten it replaced since the last time. “You’ve gotta talk to me if I’m a customer ‘n shit, right?”

“You know I do have the right to refuse service to you…?”

“Yeah man, but I don’t think you’re gonna! You’re too nice, from what I’ve heard.” Marcus says with the sort of shit-eating grin on his face that absolutely makes you want to refuse service to him, but with a vengeance.

“Well if you’re not here on your brother’s behalf…” You sigh in your own matching exasperated look and set down your gumpaste project to start boxing a dozen cupcakes. “Why are you here, then?”

“I’m gonna be totally honest with you, dude. He didn’t send me, but it is about him. I’m like, super worried about him.”

“Oh…” You can’t help yourself, you have to ask. “Is he alright…?”

“Hell no! He’s all fucked up, man! The other night, I left at 8pm and he was still in the same spot at 11am when I got back in. Same book, same fit, same stale cup of coffee. He had sat still in the same place reading whatever nerd shit he was reading for so long that he deadass went half solid.”

You can’t find the words to respond to that. The guilt gnaws at you like you gnaw at your bottom lip, but in a strange way, you feel validated that he’s still as messed up about things as you are.

“Look, whatever he did, it can’t be that bad, right? It’s Lyle!! He like, never fucks up like that.” He leans over the counter, talking with his hands in another show of familiar, yet foreign-in-this-context expression. He taps his chest with the fingertips of a spread hand for emphasis. “And I would know, ‘cuz I’M the family fuck up here. So, maybe you could like, just forgive him and junk? Make up or whatever?”

“It’s not…” You take a second to steady your breath. You’ve been trying to suppress these feelings for weeks, and now they’re getting dragged up so suddenly. “It’s not something he did. It’s… outside circumstances…”

You hesitate for a brief moment before you pick out the last of the random assortment; an orange and mixed spice flavor you found yourself trying out.

“That’s it? There’s no gettin’ around it, huh?”

“No. I'm sorry. It's complicated. I just can't.” You say with weakened conviction as you tape the box up, and then hoping to persuade yourself once again, add; “It’s better this way.”

“Right-” Marcus straightens up and rocks back and forth on his feet, his sneakers squeaking slightly against the tile with the motion. “Sorry if pushing was out of line, dude.”

“Don't worry about it- honestly, I'm sort of glad you showed up.” You smile, bittersweet. “It’s good that he has someone looking out for him.”

“Yeah.” Marcus smiles a conflicted smile back, then takes his cupcakes to go. “See you ‘round, dude.”

You find yourself having a silent argument with yourself as you finish the rest of the roses.

There’s the guilt, of course. Are you a bad person if you know that this separation is hurting you both, and yet you’re continuing to enforce it? Maybe you should have just let Marcus convince you to reach out?

Seeing someone with such familiar features has only made your heart ache that much more for what you’re missing.

Perhaps it’s for the best that you don’t have any customers in the shop at the moment, because they’d be able to clearly see you sneering at empty air and grumbling to yourself.

By the time you finish the last petal on the last rose of the tray, you’re no closer to having resolved your internal disagreement.

You put the roses away, and pull out your fully set, crumb-coated cake. Now just to put the final layer of frosting on, and then you’ll be done for the night.

As you set the tray down on the counter, your voci starts ringing in your pocket. You remove your gloves and answer the call, seeing that it’s Kirby. They’ve been checking in on you a lot more often lately, like you’re a sickly pet needing constant supervision. They're not entirely wrong.

You greet them as you put them on speaker. Then you wash up, and reglove as their voice comes through on the other end.

“So! How is your day going so far?”

“Oh, you know. Typical weekend customers. Ma broke her wrist.” You say flatly, smoothing out the buttercream on the top of the lowest cake tier with a spin of the stand with well-practiced motions.

“Oh no! That’s terrible! Is she okay??”

“She’s fine, but it’s still stressful that I can’t be there to help out.”

Once you’re finished getting a perfectly even, level surface on the lowest tier, you begin the process again on a slightly smaller scale on the next largest cake tier.

“Mmm. Yeah, it must be, being so far away.”

“And Carlyle’s brother came into the shop earlier.” You continue, now lathing more buttercream onto the sides.

“Whaaaat??? No!! Glitter Boy?! Oh my SPIRITS you’ve gotta tell me all the details right now!”

“There’s not a lot to say, really. Told me Carlyle’s not taking it well either, and now I feel like a villain.”

“You’re not a villain,” Kirby sighs. “Sometimes things are just. Y’know. Messy.”

You continue to make your way through doing the final coat on the cake tiers, each one going progressively faster as they diminish in size.

“Oh, and how could I forget- I’m making a cake for my ex’s wedding that social pressure is forcing me to attend. So you know. The usual.”

“Hahah- Ooh, bummer. Well, when you put it like that, it does sound like, toooootally miserable! You’re having a pretty horrible day, and I’m… definitely not about to make it worse, hahah!!”

“Oh no.” You hiss through gritted teeth. “Something’s wrong, then?”

They laugh nervously, a little giggle-whimper that you can’t possibly be irritated with.

You’re silent as you begin to fill a piping bag with buttercream, waiting for Kirby to divulge their information.

“I MAY have some bad news.”

“Oh. Lovely. Just grand! More bad news is exactly what I need at this current moment.” You say, dripping with sarcasm.

“I know!!! Believe me, I know! But I wanted to tell you as soon as I found out.” Kirby sighs. “I just got out of a meeting with my boss and they’re sending me out of town on a case. I have to get on a red eye in a few hours.”

“But… the wedding is tomorrow…”

“Yeah, that would be the problem! But I can’t exactly tell my boss to fuck off and still have a job, y’know??? Soooooo. We are in. damage. control. mode!”

“It’s okay.” You say, it not really being okay at all, but not wanting to lash out at your friend who’s only ever tried to help you in any given situation. You’re simply too stunned to even start to panic.

“Nope! It’s ABSOLUTELY not! But I’ll be there in like, an hour!! I’ll bring dinner and we can totally figure out a plan B, okay? Or I guess plan C or D by now- But bestie, I don’t care if I have to HIRE an escort to take you to that wedding, you’re not going alone! Especially not because of stupid work interference!!”

“Hah- A-Alright.” You laugh weakly and speak through a sharp intake of air, but manage to not sound like you’re about to burst into tears, even though you desperately want to. “See you soon.”

The call ends, but you continue working, despite the rapidly expanding pit of terror in your gut and the sting at the back of your eyes.

This news, surprisingly, does not help your ability to finish this cake.

You keep going, but not without roadblocks. Your eyes screw closed in frustration and pain. Your teeth grit. Your hand clenches around the bag, nearly squeezing the frosting out of the back end of it.

As a small mercy, closing time finally comes and you turn off the light, though you leave the door unlocked, given you’re expecting Kirby sometime in the next hour or so.

You need to move on to piping some of the finer details- But you can't even think about piping an even line right now, not with the way your hand is trembling.

Still, you persist, pushing the bag back taut and re-twisting the open end.

“Stop. Shaking.” You hiss out loud at yourself, your body refusing to obey even your own verbal instructions.

You just need to get this cake done. Is that so much to ask?

Kirby is coming over and you’ll find a solution for the wedding. You won’t have to go to your ex's wedding alone. It will be fine.

The tremor in your hand nearly causes you to stab through the layer you’re working on with the piping tip, so you take a moment to straighten up your posture and try to loosen your locking muscles. You take a few calming breaths, then go back in and manage to finish the last few filigree details on the tier you're working on.

Your hand is already shaking again. You ignore it. You’ll get through this. You have to.

But every time you regain focus, the thought of Carlyle as a miserable and inert statue keeps creeping back unbidden into your mind.

It’s all too much. Too much. Too much.

The lights above you flicker. A buzz of energy ripples through the room.

The pressure on your chest is unbearable now. Blood rushes in your ears.

You can’t deal with this anymore.

You can’t even think-!

POP-

In an instant, something cold and cloying splatters across the side of your face and the bridge of your nose, the front of your shirt, your clenched hands and outstretched forearms.

You bring a hand to your face in shock, blindly testing the sudden change in texture.

Your fingertips come away coated in sticky, sugary goop, and bits of shredded vanilla sponge cake.

And where the cake tiers were sitting on the counter, there’s a conspicuous absence of a cake, only the sparse large chunk of shrapnel- a bloodless crime scene, the mostly empty, frosting smeared cakeboards evoking the essence of a chalk body outline.

Well. You’ll be damned.

The cake exploded.

Hoarse, incredulous laughter escapes your throat- first in disbelief, then in bitter resignation. No other reaction really seems to suit this situation more.

Because your life is a joke. A bad joke.

Your laughs thin out, turning into choked sobs. You sink down until you’re sitting on your cold shop floor with your back against a cabinet, and bring the lower clean edge of the apron up to cry into.

Eventually, the unrestrained weeping quiets into silent tears Time has passed, as evidenced by the sky beginning to darken outside.

“Heeeeellooooo~! I’m heee-” You hear a familiar voice call out and then equally familiar hoof falls on the tile. There’s a rapid change in their tone, making a 180° turn into hushed concern. “Oh. Well fuck, that doesn’t look good-”

After a few moments, Kirby rounds the counter, an inquisitive look on their face.

You can’t even muster the embarrassment to be seen like this, too tired and emotionally drained and just simply done with it all.

You expect a look of pity or maybe some awkward fussing, but instead, Kirby simply gives you a knowing smile.

“What a mess!!” Kirby shakes their head, curls tumbling as they assess the damage. “You’re not hurt, are you, honey?”

You shake your head weakly, rubbing at your eye with your inner wrist.

“Good! Well then, let’s get this all cleaned up!” They chirp and reach out their hand, palm up.

After the moment it takes to recognize the gesture, you take their hand. Kirby’s grip is surprisingly strong for being such a petite faun, and they easily manage to help you to your feet.

“You don’t have to-”

“Well I’m NOT going to let you sit here and cry covered in frosting all night.” Kirby laughs, beginning to roll up the sleeves of their work shirt. “So. Yes I do~”

“...Thank you.” You sniffle.

“Don’t mention it!!” They laugh. “You go get cleaned up and I’ll start tackling this absolute disaster zone!”

You trudge upstairs and debate on the benefits of a full shower before deciding that it’s worth it, even if ten more cakes explode. You’re uncomfortably sticky down your neck and arms.

Maybe you can wash this day away, while you’re at it…

Before long you’re redressed and coming back downstairs- if not feeling completely refreshed, you at least now have it in you to face the (suddenly much longer) list of tasks ahead. Kirby has gotten most of the cake into a trash bag, and is wiping down the counter.

“There, you look much better! Now, come tell me what was happening when this happened, will you?”

You join them, grabbing a sanitizer rag and beginning to help wipe down the closest surface. You describe as best you can exactly what you were doing, feeling, and thinking about when the cake exploded, just as you’ve explained to them about the previous incidents that you weren’t physically present for.

“Hmm.” Kirby hums quizzically. “Well, the good news is I’ve got a potential solution for the wedding dilemma.”

“Oh?” You’d be lying if you said that the promise of a stressor being removed didn’t sound divine.

“Actually, I’ve already convinced Rosario to go with you, if you want, while I was on the way over. Did you know that she’s surprisingly easy to bribe?!” Kirby giggles. “But to be honest- I didn’t even need to bribe her!! She agreed before I offered anything in return. Apparently wedding cake and an open bar is enough reason for her to turn up, or so she said. But I think it’s because she likes you.”

“That’s… very kind of her.” She wouldn’t be the worst companion for the event- you’ve grown quite fond of her presence in your shop, prickly attitude and all.

“Yeah! She’ll easily make your ex just as uncomfortable as I was planning to, all on her own merit, hehe!! BUUUUUT, I think you know what I’m about to say-”

“Don’t…”

“You should call him!” Kirby says in the most obnoxiously sing-song sweet tone they can, and you wince hard.

“I can’t-”

“But you can~!!”

“But I don’t think I should-”

“Well, maybe you should think again, sweetie!! You absoluuuuutely should! Because if this-” Kirby motions to the partially cleaned up buttercream splatter still coating the vicinity. “Isn’t proof enough that it’s not a him problem, I don’t know what would be!!”

You drag a palm across your face, overwhelmed, and heave a sigh.

“At the end of the day it’s your choice! I can’t make you call him. But you miss him, and he misses you! I know this for a fact! And SPIRITS is he being SO insufferable about it!! And so are you!!!! And it’s just a BIT silly to keep drawing this out like this.”

“But… I don’t want him to get hurt…”

“Listen. We know there’s something attached to you- Rosario’s exorcism attempt confirmed that much. But there’s no like, actual indication that any of that is related to what’s happening with the curse. It’s just not how this kind of magic works. We’re almost certain we’re dealing with two unconnected, non-standard issues complicating each other at this point- some sort of spirit attached to you, and some sort of ley-based magical compulsion in play- but we don’t know the source of where either of those things are coming from. Yet.”

“Right.” You say, pausing your cleaning work to take in the new information.

“Though, someone has some very promising ideas about the later being some sort of messed up geas, and Rosario seems like she has a hunch on what is in the shop.”

“But… it just feels like it’s getting worse. Not that I don’t appreciate your efforts, of course…”

“I know it feels that way. But I am good at my job! And I’ve been keeping track of the numbers this whole time, y’know?? I’ve got the DATA. Do you know what I’ve noticed the most as a trend over the time I've been working your case?”

You simply shake your head to give them time to build dramatic tension before they continue.

“The cakes explode more when you’re upset!! Like, a whole, whole lot more! And quite frankly at this point, in my professional opinion, you being separated from him is making it WORSE!!”

“...You really think it’d be okay to ask him-” To go back to how it was before, to be with me again; you want to say, but end up continuing instead; “to come with me to the wedding?”

You have the feeling Kirby understands what you wanted to say, anyway, based on their pleased expression, like they’re finally getting the message through to you.

“You’re my friend!! And as your friend, I am HEREBY giving you the permission that you’re not giving yourself! I wouldn’t be suggesting this to you if I didn’t think it was safe.” Kirby squarely lays their hands on you on the shoulders, though they need to reach up slightly to do it. “If anything, having him there might keep you from getting bent out of shape at your ex and blowing up the second cake, like, at the actual wedding.”

“That would be horrible.” You rasp and find yourself genuinely smiling for the first time all day, trying to blink back the sting of more tears threatening to spill, though this time more out of a sense of appreciation than despair.

“It. Would. Be. HILARIOUS.” Kirby says with a mischievous grin, patting your shoulders with each word for emphasis. “And if it were to happen, I would hope you were recording it. Y’know, for data collection purposes, hehehe!! But it would also be, let’s say: bad for business.”

You manage to finish getting things looking clean, as if nothing bad had happened at all, Kirby has called their ride to the airport.

“Now, I have to go or I’m going to miss my flight and my boss will probably-actually-literally murder me.”

“And I have a cake to remake.” You quietly lament. “If you want, I can get on the plane and you can make the cake…”

Kirby lets out a string of giggles, picking their carry-on bag off the seat at the counter they stashed it on..

“Hahah- No thanks!! But- Call him.” Kirby repeats as they give you a squeezing hug goodbye. “Or Rosario, if you must. But don’t make yourself go alone. And keep me updated!! All of the juicy wedding gossip, please. I’m definitely going to be bored out of my mind otherwise, hehe!!”

Then they release you from their grip to head out the door with one last wave and a jingle of the shop bell.

You, on the other hand, let out a long, withering sigh and pull out another set of white cake layers from the cooler.

…It’s going to be a long night.

>> ✨ MASTERLIST >> ☕ KO-FI

#exophilia #monster lover #monster romance #monster x human #monster x reader #gargoyle x reader #gargoyle #male x male #mlm #mxm #male monster #male reader #series: something borrowed #oc: carlyle #oc: declan #nine of words

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