#ALSO this has all the trigger warnings right in the beginning!

[blu3-ja3]

Please note I'm not good at writing drama, I can write tension all day but drama isn't my strongest so I'm trying.

Also learned some Irish slang from a friend so hopefully I wrote it well.

!TRIGGER WARNING! Minor Violence, Manipulative Ex, Cheating, Panic Attack, Domestic Abuse.

Temporary leave was making the 141 jittery, Soap was sitting next to Ghost watching Roach and Gaz playing with Ripley (Roach's dog). Soap has a sketch book on his lap, the page was filled with sketches of Gaz, Roach and Ripley, one sketch of Ghost's side profile. The two men looked up as two people walked towards them, neither of them soldiers. MacTavish could feel Ghost tensing next to him as the figures approached. One was a tall brunette man and the other was a short ginger woman.

"Hello lads, got a question for ya? Have either of you seen Maevis O'Connor, gotta talk to her." The taller man asked looking only at MacTavish, he seemed pretty miffed but trying to seem friendly.

"And who are you, to Doc?" Ghost rumbles.

"That's not your concern, mate. We know she's here, we just want to chat." The taller man glared at Ghost.

"Sorry mate but we don't know where the good doctor is, if I see her I'll let her know you two are looking for her. So I'll ask again who are you?" MacTavish tensed knowing the tone Ghost was using wasn't one of a kind intent.

"JOHN PRICE!" The short ginger woman shouted as Captain Price stepped around the building walking towards Gaz and Roach. Price turned as the brunette man began to charge towards the captain. Ghost got up quickly moving towards the stranger charging his captain. The tall man towered over the captain glaring down at him with hatred.

"Where is she, John? Where's my wife?" The tall man hissed.

"Shes your ex wife you muppet, you couldn't keep your pecker out of some slag while Maevis was pregnant with your son." Price glare at the women as he said the last bit. "I don't know where she is, sorry mate."

"It was a mistake John, we just want to see Maevis. I know she's here." The ginger woman pleaded.

Soap felt awkward hearing the conversation but didn't want to leave Ghost's side. He looked over and watched Gaz and Roach begin to approach with Ripley.

"A mistake that lasted 2 years Bridget? Then you went and slagged off about Maevis during the divorce. You're stupid if you think I'll tell you where she is." Captain Price growled, his fist balling up at his side.

" We just want to see her John, we'll leave right after." The woman, Bridget moved to touch Price's arm before Ghost's hand shot out and grabbed her arm. The man grabbed Ghost by shoulder shoving him back. Ghost released the woman as the man started wailing on Ghost. The lieutenant never once threw a punch either blocking or dodging the punches.

" FOR FECK SAKES OLIVER! STOP!" They all turned to see O'Connor running towards them. She grabbed the man ripping him away from Ghost and shoving him against the outside wall.

"Here for 5 minutes and already beating up my soldiers, not a good look Ollie." Price rumbles as he moves to get in front of O'Connor. Doc turns to glare at Bridget as she moves to comfort Oliver.

"What do you snakes want? I thought I made myself well clear I don't want to see either of your faces didn't I?" O'Connor was shaking, she was shaking hard. Soap wanted to hug her, comfort her the way she'd comforted all of them.

"We heard you were on leave, got blown up and didn't even bother to call your father?" Oliver seemed so smug. MacTavish watched Price move before O'Connor put a hand up to stop him.

" I've told you, Dad, and everyone who acted a fool at William's funeral, that you will never hear from me again! I meant it, so why after a year have you come to talk Oliver?" O'Connor had stepped forward getting into the man's face.

"Maeve, love, we came because you were hurt. Baby girl I wanted to call but I couldn't get through. Please I know you have leave, come home. You're Da misses, Bridget misses you, I miss you." Oliver says as he steps closer and moves to put his hand on her hips. Soap moved before thinking, grabbing the man's hand before it could touch her. It seems Ghost had the same instinct as he had the man's other hand. "Oi, Maeve, mind calling off your hounds? Really boys can't handle a bloke touching his las?"

" I'm not your las, Oliver, and I'm not going back to that house. Not until I get my apologies." O'Connor looks to her sister before stepping back forcing both men to drop their holds.

"I told you Maeve it was an accident! It was only meant to be once" Bridget yelled

"Two years, Bridg, two. The two years I came crying about my love life, telling you my suspicions. Telling you about my fertility issues and asking how to fix things with him. Telling you how I was worried he was cheating, seeing another behind my back. You know what you told me? It was impossible, Oliver loved me too much to cheat. So I stayed with his manky ass, then got the wonderful news..." O'Connor was shaking again and this time MacTavish placed a hand on her shoulder, hoping it brought some comfort.

"Only for you to show up and announcing you were also expecting from my husband. Had the gall to say it was a good thing, we could be a happy family together. Had the nerve to ask if I'd be willing to let you move in with me. You got mad at me when I left in tears, saying I ruined your day, YOUR DAY? You ruined my life." Tears were rolling down O'Connor's face.

"And then you had the nerve to question every step and choice I made when Will came. You had no right, none, putting me through all that you did. I should have cut contact long ago, but I didn't because I wanted William to have his family. Only for that family to make a mockery of his funeral. So no I won't be coming with you. Now feck off and I don't ever want to hear from you again." O'Connor turned around and they boys split letting her move pass. Bridget was crying it seemed but it wasn't noticed or cared for.

"Maevis! Look at me!" Oliver called out as he pushed up behind her. She kept walking

"Maevy baby please, I just want to talk." He got in front of her walking backwards.

"Maevis, I'm just asking for one chat it's not that difficult so stop making this difficult!" He stopped directly in front of her path, she didn't stop and just pushed past him rather hard.

"Oi! Cunt! I'm talking to your slag ass now listen to me!" He turned around and grabbed her arm, yanking her hard backwards. O'Connor yelped in surprise and pain. (She's still recovering from their previous mission where she severely hurt her back and ribs.)

Before Oliver could do or say anything, all five of the 141 men were on him. Ghost grabbed the man by his hair pulling him back with help from Price and Gaz who had him by his arms. Roach got between O'Connor and him with Ripley barking and growling furiously at his side. Soap had O'Connor behind him before turning to check on her.

"Don't touch my Captain ever again if you want to keep your hands." Ghost growled.

"I'd listen to the man Oliver, he's not the one for empty threats." Price warned.

All three men let go of him as O'Connor moved forward towards the man. "Leave, I have nothing for you. Go feck the bitch of a woman who was my sister and leave me alone! The only connection we had to each other is gone! William would have never been there if he wasn't waiting for your sorry ass to actually step up and be a father! This man was more of a father to him than you were!" She screamed as she pointed towards Price.

"That's not fair and you know it. I was distracted and I couldn't get there in time!" Oliver countered. "And if he was such a father to William why wasn't he at the funeral?" He looked almost smug when asking that question.

CRACK!

O'Connor slapped the man hard enough that he stumbled to the ground.

"More than you ever will, now get the feck out of my sight, both of yous!" She spat breathing heavily. She turned and marched away being followed by the rest of 141.

They all moved into Price's office it was the closest private place for them to talk. O'Connor was not doing well, she was shaking, tears were streaming down her face and she was breathing really fast. Soap knew what a panic attack was, he remembers his oldest sister getting them a lot when he was a child. He has no idea what to do when she collapses into a crouch, her hands on her head. She was whispering and rocking back and forth. Price crouched in front and grabbed her hands.

"Maevis breathe, he's not going to hurt you. He can't hurt you. You've got to calm down or you'll make yourself sick." He smiled softly as O'Connor looked up to all of them.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I don't know why I thought I'd never see him again. I have no reason to see him again. I'm sorry..." She looked towards Ghost and fresh tears began to run down her face,

" Your arms Simon... Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, I'm so sorry." Soap looked over towards Ghost and saw several bruises blooming across his forearms .

"It's fine Doc, I'm fine I promise... Are you alright that bastard grabbed you pretty hard." Ghost asked and Soap could hear the concern he tried to hide.

O'Connor seemed to just register something, she gasped in pain as she tried to move her arm. She looked around to all of them studying their faces.

"Does anyone know how to reset an arm? I think my arm is out of socket." She grimaced as felt around the area in question.

"Sit down Doc, do you want something to bite onto?" Ghost asked, moving towards her as she sat in Price's chair. O'Connor shook her head no and just sat waiting. Ghost placed a hand on shoulder, then another of her elbow before making a rapid movement and popping her arm back into the socket.

"Please tell me we have full permission to beat that bastard's ass if he shows up again?" Gaz asked looking at Price.

"I won't stop you." O'Connor said shrugging her arm and rotating it. Price looked at her shocked before she continued. "I'm tired of him picking fights with you John and your men, Simon wasn't the first soldier he attacked and he's always going to try to pick a fight with you. So yes if you see Oliver you can throw the first punch I won't stop you." O'Connor looked tired.

"Will you patch us up?" Ghost asked

"Always, you're my boys. No matter how you get hurt I'll be there to patch you back up." O'Connor smiled looking around at all of them. "Thank you for defending me, I'm not sure how differently that would have gone but I know it wouldn't have been pretty."

"Why did you ever marry him Doc? He seems like a real wanker." Roach piped up, he was crouched next to Ripley petting her head.

"I was young and was freshly recruited into the military. My Da convinced me to marry Oliver, said I needed a man to take care of me if something went wrong and I was sent home." O'Connor shrugged

"I don't know how to feel about Oliver, he gave me the best thing that ever happened to me but on the other hand he's the reason Will was waiting for that tube. I honestly hate the man more for that than I do for everything he put me through." O'Connor seemed sullen looking down towards her left arm.

"I hate him for what he did to you Maevis, that muppet put you through more hell than being in active duty combat did. And that was before the divorce." Price grumbles.

O'Connor nods before standing up, she walks over towards Price and pulls him into a hug. She pulls back and smiles at each other before Roach joins in. Gaz shrugs and joins as well, Soap grabs Ghost and pulls him over as the brit rolls his eyes but joins.

[violetrainbow412-blog]

Decoy [S. R.]

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

word count: 6.9k

summary: when you go after an unsub who catches students making out, the unit is called upon to resort to desperate measures. Or in other words, where you and Spencer become the decoy to catch a voyeur.

warnings: +16. Making out, mentions of alcohol, mentions of violence, insinuation of smut, sexual tension

Do yourself a favor and imagine Spencer in these clothes during the case

You sighed, completely frustrated, while you looked for the thousandth time at the blackboard with some information from the profile that you had made for the criminal in this case.

You believed that the unsub was a Caucasian man between 30 and 35 years old, whose motive was to spy on and photograph university students who were escaping in their cars to make out at night, then force them to have sex in front of him and finally kill them cold-blooded. You imagined that he was a person with a mediocre job, that he felt insufficient, and that his voyeuristic behavior probably came from sexual frustration, something that could be corroborated by the violence that he inflicted on the genital area of the students whom he stalked using a knife, his mark on all homicides. You also believed that perhaps the rejection or abandonment of his last partner (preceded by a bad streak from his youth) due to his impotence had been the triggering event for all his repressed impulses to come to light.

All the psychological analysis was fine, it wasn't something you hadn't seen before, but the hard part of all this? Because he only threatened and killed people, he didn't rape them, at first it was almost impossible to tell who it was. He already had 20 victims in total and you weren't even close to catching him. In the last scene he had made the mistake of leaving a fingerprint and Garcia had been able to trace his true identity: Oliver Davis, a guy who fits the description perfectly. Unfortunately, this turned out to be useless because beyond the accusations of being a pervert, the man didn’t have much information that would give a clue to his whereabouts, you had even called the job that he had registered and all you had obtained was that he had several months without working there, which coincided with the beginning of the murders. After that Rossi suggested that he probably lived in a trailer (old, due to his lack of employment) where he developed the photographs and kept his trophies. That only made more sense when you thought that it would make it easier to transport or escape in case things got messy.

But words on paper and intelligent conclusions were of absolutely no use to you. You needed a plan to catch him.

"Do you have something, Reid?" Hotch had asked. You had already interviewed some students, you had set up guard duty to look for any suspicious behavior and you had even shared the photograph of the suspect in the media, but nothing had worked; The only thing left was to carry out the geographical profile to know the area in which he was attacking and thus be able to search for possible targets.

“I triangulated the locations we have of his previous homicides and I'm guessing he hits in this specific area,” he muttered, pointing to a space on the map he had on his blackboard with his middle finger. “Considering it's an area frequented by the age group due to its proximity to the universities and that it has several parks that the students told us they use to drink or go out as a couple”

"So what?" Morgan said from his spot. "We just wait until he kills someone else and hopefully we're near the scene to hear the screams?"

“Maybe we can ask the cops to patrol the area for the unsub's car,” JJ suggested.

“He's smart, there's a trailer park right here. It wouldn't be strange to find one on the streets as well.” Reid was visibly frustrated like everyone else and he ran a hand through his hair with some despair.

Your options were running out and frankly you couldn't think of anything else.

“And if we give him a target?” Emily murmured. Noticing that none of you said anything, she went on to explain her plan, “We ask police officers to send any young people they see around to home so we force our unsub to get close to who we want”

"And what are we going to do? Hire a couple of college kids to stalk them?”

“We can use our own team”

"Not to offend you, Prentiss, but we are no longer in the prime of youth"

"We don't, but Y/L/N and Reid do" when you heard your last name you were surprised, but when you heard your friend's you practically froze. First you looked at her and then at the doctor, whose gaze reflected the same stupefaction as you "You two are young, you might look like students"

"Are you saying you want to send us straight into the hands of a sexual predator?" you couldn't be offended, after all, those risks were part of the job, but you did feel somewhat reluctant about the idea.

“Do you have a better suggestion?”

“It doesn't sound so bad” Rossi murmured “It's a smart move”

“Besides, we would be watching around and we would intervene before that madman got close to you. Once we catch him, the photographs and personal items that he probably has in his trailer will be enough evidence, in addition to the fingerprint from the last crime scene” to your surprise, Derek was also pretty convinced of the plan that Emily had just devised.

"Reid, Y/L/N, would you guys be up for it?" Hotch exclaimed with his usual serious tone, looking at you and then at your partner.

Thinking objectively, the suggestion was very good. But thinking about it personally, you felt worried about the danger you two would be running into… oh, God. It wasn't until then that you realized that the plan to catch the suspect involved the two of you making out like a couple of hormonal college kids. 

You knew that the options that remained wouldn’t be as opportune as that and taking into account the temporary nature with which Oliver operated, in addition to the fact that he was already deteriorating as a murderer, it was most likely that he was already looking for new victims, so if you did that same night the chances of success were quite high. You were between a rock and a hard place and all you could do was look at him while the gazes of the rest of the room were divided between the two of you.

“I… I'll only do it if you say yes” you exclaimed in his direction, with a cautious voice and a fearful look. You knew your friend and you didn't want to make him feel uncomfortable in any way, even though you knew that both you and he knew that your personal interests would take precedence against the possibility that another couple of victims would lose their lives if you refused. It was your job, you had to do it. 

"Are you sure you guys are going to catch him before something happens?" Spencer asked your boss. You thought that with his background the last thing he wanted was to end up kidnapped or seriously injured again, even though the truth was that he was caring just as much about himself as he was about you. He had seen the photographs and knew that women were the most affected by the murder weapon… he didn't even want to imagine something like this happening to you.

"Of course. You will have communication with us and if something goes wrong we will get you out of there immediately" Aaron answered and your friend sighed nervously and then looked for your approval. You nodded slightly and he delivered the verdict, to which everyone agreed.

He was still standing, but after that he slumped into the nearest chair as he listened to everyone brainstorming ideas for setting up the scene, distributing the crew, and what they would tell the local police to do to make the decoy effective.

At some point you lost the whole point of the conversation, to start thinking about what was implied by what you were about to do.

The feeling of attraction for your co-worker had been latent in you for a couple of years, but you had never confessed it to anyone to avoid creating tension in the team or suffering the humiliation of certain rejection. Also, you knew that a crush meant distractions from what was truly important and you had tried, in vain, to eliminate it completely. But even if it hadn't completely gone, you had known how to control it, only allowing yourself to look at him with loving eyes from time to time and avoiding being too confident with him during group drinking outings. You even limited physical contact, not because you didn't like it but because you knew your greed would demand more and more of you until it became inevitable to beg for his touch. But now all that good work holding you back was screwed because in a few hours you would have to be passionately making out with him.

Still with the internal crisis, you raised your head to look at him and realized that he too had been submerged in his own tide of thoughts, which you hoped would be more positive than yours. At some point Spencer felt you watching him and when his eyes met yours he gave you that tight-lipped smile that was strangely comforting, to which you responded with the same gesture. After that it didn't take long for everyone to leave the room to fulfill their respective tasks, but you stayed seated because you honestly didn't feel enough energy to move. Besides, you had nothing entrusted to you, you were the bait.

"Hey, are you sure you're okay with this?" Spencer asked you, once everyone else had left. He looked so tired of everything, but at the same time there was a kind tone in his voice about him that made you smile.

“It's just kissing, Spence. I think we'll be fine" you assured him, trying to swallow all your embarrassment and nerves "And you?"

"I agree. I just hope we get lucky today or we'll just have to keep trying” 

"Reid, I need you to tell the cops what area we'll be in," Hotch interrupted you from the door. "You still have time to regret it," he added, looking at the two of you.

You immediately denied and after that Spencer withdrew from there in the company of Aaron. When you were about to drop you exhaled, completely concerned about the last thing your partner had said.

We will just have to keep trying. You didn't know if the idea excited you, or terrified you.

As night fell, Spencer drove the old pickup truck the unit had managed to rent for the two of you to drive into the park, with you in the passenger seat and a six-pack of beer in the backseat.

Although you were sure that it would be cold, you had decided to wear shorts and a button-down shirt that you normally wore for work, but that you had adjusted to make it look more youthful. Spencer was wearing an outfit that Morgan had gotten for him from a department store, simple jeans with a rather baggy cotton shirt and some nice boots that you didn't know where he got from, since in Quantico you had never seen him wear anything like that.

Both of you had showered at the hotel (separately of course) and you had made sure to brush your teeth and put on a good amount of deodorant and perfume before getting in the car. You had paid special attention to your appearance, not because it was necessary, but because you wanted to look perfect for him. Even with all this, you were a nervous wreck next to him, not saying a word along the way and only soft music from the radio filling the air.

When you stopped, the two of you put your headphones on to the channel the team was supposed to be on, and Morgan answered in the affirmative.

"Remember, he doesn't have to see the communicator or your weapon," Rossi spoke, who was also in the van, along with Prentiss and Hotch. "García will be watching with the security cameras and he will warn us if the trailer is coming"

"And meanwhile what do we do?"

"Pretend to be a couple, sit on the tailgate and drink beer, laugh, I don't know"

“Did you ever run away like that in college?” you asked, directly at Reid.

“Do you remember that I was like 16 when I studied at the university, right? I wasn't even old enough to drive, much less a car" he muttered and you gave a short laugh "I guess you did"

“I was too busy being the best in the institution to even think about going out and making out with idiots,” you replied, proud of yourself for that. “I mean, it's not like you're an idiot, but they were. You're very smart," you rambled, still twiddling your fingers, "Hotch, you guys will tell us when we're going to start kissing, will you?"

“When the suspect approaches, yes”

"Okay, well... then we have to go out, huh?" you muttered to him as you reached for the beers and tried to open the door to get out. You turned, expecting to see Spencer do the same as you, but noticed that he had lingered in the car for a moment, checking himself in the mirror and applying his lips with chapstick.

My God, could that man make you more nervous?

When he finally caught up with you, you went to the back of the pickup, where you opened the tailgate to sit down with a little hop. Spencer was tall enough to keep up with you just by leaning over the edge, where you watched him cross his arms. You were silent for a few moments, listening to the sound of crickets and cars in the distance.

"Do you think it's a good idea to drink?"

"Only a little. I'm having a hard time thinking while sober, I don't want to ruin the little reasoning I have left” you exclaimed as a joke. Or maybe you weren't joking so much "Just empty a couple of cans and leave them on the floor so he'll think we're really drunk." Spencer was about to do what you said when you noticed an important detail and called him over to look at you "Come here, let me fix your hair."

"What's wrong with my hair?"

"You're very well combed, it's not the image we expect" you carefully took his hand until it was close enough to pass the other through all his golden locks, messing them up enough to give him that relaxed touch that he should have. He looked so handsome, but not in the style of a fancy FBI agent but just like a young intellectual who went to parties and smoked weed “Like this. Perfect"

“Do you think we have to think of some backstory?” he asked and you looked at him with a frown. “You know, something about us. What degree are we studying, what are our names…”

"This is not a play"

"It's rude to eavesdrop on conversations, Prentiss," you said visibly annoyed, although looking at your partner that expression softened "As you wish, Spencer. Although being honest, I would say that you study… literature”

"Really?" he exclaimed with slight enthusiasm. You knew that his mother had been a teacher in the subject and you wondered if he had ever considered it.

“Morgan wasn’t wrong to choose those clothes for you. It suits you” you complimented him and Morgan whistled from the other end of the line. You felt like you were having too much fun for the situation you were in, but you needed to talk about something else to put off the reminder of what you had come to do for as long as possible. “I think you would have that hopeless philosopher/romantic vibe who flirts by whispering memorized poetry in your ear.”

“I actually know some good ones”

"Sure you do" you smiled gently, suppressing the thought of him sighing close to your neck at Bécquer "I'd probably study science or something."

"The unattainable scientist with whom the captain of the soccer team has a secret crush, but she is completely unaware"

"Where did you get that? From a 90s movie?

Spencer's laugh was one of your favorite sounds and today that was precisely not helping your situation. You felt intoxicated by how handsome he looked, like you'd discovered a side to him that no one else had, and the thought of kissing him made you tremble a little with anticipation.

“Do you want to share a beer?” he murmured, carefully opening the can and offering it to you first. You knew your partner wasn't the most enthusiastic about doing anything that involved germs, so it made you feel good that he took the lead. You took a big gulp of the drink to gather something of value and when it was his turn to drink he kept looking at you intently, you would even say that he seemed entranced.

You had made sure you were in a strategic position, with enough light for the unsub to see you and quite lonely, except for the patrol cars and the van that had been positioned at a safe distance.

“How does voyeurism develop?” you asked quietly, with genuine interest, as you shifted a bit to get closer to him.

“Voyeurism usually begins in adolescence and since during that age it is usually seen with greater tolerance, there are people who continue with these behaviors until adulthood. When voyeurism is pathological, they spend considerable time looking for opportunities to watch, often at the expense of not fulfilling important responsibilities in their lives, and people reach orgasm by masturbating during or after watching. Although if you think about it a bit, everyone is a bit of a voyeur."

"Why you said so?"

“Many men and women enjoy viewing pornography, which can be classified as voyeuristic behavior. It's not a worrying thing, but it's interesting to think about it” he explained, with those expressions on his face that he had every time he shared knowledge with you. He liked that about you, that you were always willing to listen to his data and statistics even at the most inopportune moments.

"I'm still a little scared that Oliver is trying to do something to us."

“I have my gun. If he tries to do something to you, I'll use it" you knew that killing the unsub was always the last option Reid considered, so you widened your eyes a little to show your surprise "All lives are worth, but when that life has already taken so many and it puts you at risk, I would not doubt it. You have nothing to worry about” he assured you and your heart warmed a little at feeling so protected.

"Do you know if Oliver attacks at a specific time?"

"No, he doesn’t. Just as we can be here for ten minutes, we can also be here all night."

You exhaled loudly, before taking another gulp of beer.

“Drink some, boy. I feel kind of selfish around here."

"I am nervous"

"And why do you think I'm drinking?" you exclaimed wryly, still holding out the can to him, and when he finally agreed he drank a little more than you expected “Have you ever…” you started to say, but suddenly remembered that literally the whole team was listening to you. If the answer was embarrassing, you didn't want to hear Morgan and Emily taunting you all week, so you covered your microphone for a moment and spoke again, but so quietly that only he could hear you. "I suppose you kissed someone, did you?"

"Yes," he said quickly and you sighed with relief. It comforted you a little to know that it wasn't his first kiss, because you didn't want him to have such a bad memory “Do I look so inexperienced?"

"No, that's not what I meant" you smiled "You're handsome, I know you've probably kissed a couple of girls"

"You don't need to tell lies, you know I'll kiss you anyway"

"But it's not a lie. I really think you're handsome" you confessed, gathering all the courage in you, while you smiled at him in the most serene way possible "And if we weren't literally waiting for a murderer, you know I'd be happy to do this with you"

"Smooch me?"

"Having this bad date attempt, Reid," you hissed, flushing red, as you slammed your palm into his forehead with just a little bit of force. Spencer seemed quite pleased that he made you nervous, rather than the other way around, so he grinned, “Though I think we should have brought food. I'm starving,” you pouted, swinging your dangling legs back and forth.

"That's not a picnic, Y/N"

You hated for a second that everyone was so intent on the conversation. A part of you wanted a moment alone with the brunette, even if it was in the midst of such a strange situation.

You began to talk pleasantly about things completely unrelated to the case for a couple of minutes, staying where you were, until Hotch's interruption made you jump a bit in place.

"Garcia intercepted an approaching trailer, get ready” your heart immediately sped up and you noticed him tense beside you, too, probably with the same thought flooding his head.

"Okay, come closer," you exclaimed, trying not to panic, as you spread your legs a little to allow the man to step into the space between. He wasted no time and just as you wrapped your hands around his shoulders you heard the sound of another car pulling up.

"Is that our unsub?"

"It is"

You were about to turn your head to peek when Reid grabbed your cheek and stopped you.

"He's smart. If you look at him, he'll realize it” he reminded you with a serious voice. You were so worried about everything that you were forgetting about your training “Okay, so I… Is it okay if I put my hands here?” he asked with a different tone, nervously placing both hands on your waist. You had always admired the size and anatomy of those hands, but until now you had not had the pleasure of feeling them on your body in this way.

“Tonight everything you do is fine. I promise"

"It would be a good time to start, he'll see you" Emily reminded you and you could only sigh shakily.

You two were adults, why were you so scared about kissing?

"Close your eyes" Spencer whispered to you, masking his nerves better than you "I'll kiss you, just close them," he asked you and you did.

You felt his body lean against you a little until his chest almost touched yours and then his lips shakily pressed against yours. You would always remember your first kiss, which in essence was such a brief caress that you didn't even know if it could be counted as one, the one where he wordlessly asked your permission to explore your mouth. Still with your eyes closed, you pulled him by the neck towards you and started a new kiss, a little more confident and deep this time, allowing you to savor the beer mixed with strawberries and that strange flavor that each person has.

“We…” you started to say, once you separated “you have to do it slowly, what he wants is a show” you exclaimed. Spencer felt unable to say any words and your hands caressing him so deliciously wasn't helping at all “Slow,” you repeated.

You arched your back a little to get even closer and when you finally looked up you met his caramel eyes. You needed a moment to recover and you unconsciously licked your lips, as if you needed to pick up and savor his presence in your mouth again, something that didn’t go unnoticed by his attentive look at your movements. 

It didn't take long for you to give up, as beginning the third kiss you felt that you no longer had any control over your body, your heart, or your mind. And while it was true that neither of you were experts on the subject, you guys managed pretty well as the seconds ticked by. Spencer gasped as he simultaneously felt you pull the hair from his neck and caress his lips with the tip of your tongue, while you were taken by surprise when his hands left your waist and lowered to the height of your hip, where his thumbs gripped firmly on the clip of your shorts.

There was a kiss, then another and another; they became too many to count. You didn't want to touch him anywhere and at the same time you wanted to touch him completely, in the grip of the fantasy that this was real and not just a performance. And even if you were aware that it was all fake, that would probably only have encouraged you to enjoy something to the fullest that you knew would never come back. Amid everything you didn’t know which of the two situations would be worse.

The sound of your lips colliding became so obscene that you were embarrassed, but you had no plan to stop. Your hands slid gently down the length of his neck until you reached his chest and cupped the soft cotton of his garment in your fists to make sure he didn't move away from you. The heat of the moment just went up and up, but a voice on the intercom brought you back with a jolt.

“He started the trailer. He's going to go"

Spencer closed his eyes in frustration, and you sighed. From the position he was in it wasn’t possible to get around him without being seen, so keeping all his attention was on you and him.

Maybe you weren't doing it right? You wondered what the hell this man wanted to see if you were practically eating each other, but suddenly you remembered that his motivation was even more sexual than a couple of wet kisses. Maybe he was getting bored because he needed to see that you were about to… well, do it.

"Take off my shirt," you said immediately, still too close to his swollen lips and looking right into eyes that seemed to be pitch black.

"Take... what?"

"Take off my shirt" you repeated, with a tone that made the man shudder completely. With the hands that were still holding his shirt you pulled him to you and he held his breath “And kiss me better. Like you really want me"

But Spencer didn't need to pretend that he wanted you. 

He made you completely dizzy when he began to kiss you so hungrily and you managed to keep enough composure when you felt one of his warm hands travel under your blouse, limiting yourself to letting out sighs that were drowned against his lips. But what finally caused you to let out an indiscreet and unwelcome moan was when he pulled you by the hip until you were on the edge of the tailgate and you could feel the growing bulge in his pants pressing against you. Spencer had almost managed to suppress his, but in the end, you having your own situation down there didn't help one bit. 

His trembling fingers fussed with the buttons on your shirt until it ended up somewhere on the floor at incredible speed, leaving you half-naked before him and the collection of FBI agents standing around. You might have been embarrassed if your brain could connect two coherent thoughts, but you'd lost that from the moment Dr. Reid first dared to kiss you.

You carefully guided his hands to the beginning of the curve of your breasts and now you both sighed in unison, feeling goosebumps on every inch of your skin. You pushed yourself forward just for the satisfaction of hearing that guttural sound again and your prayers were immediately answered, for it was enough for him to feel the slightest friction and he would go crazy. It was inappropriate to need him like that, but you couldn't help it.

Holding your lower back, he leaned over you and at the same time pulled you towards him until your breasts collided with his chest. In that position, your neck was exposed and your partner’s hot lips didn't hesitate to go down there, while you sighed agitated just at the height of his ear. Spencer asked you, between each kiss, to look in the direction of the trailer to see if he was still there and as you could you answered yes, which was victory enough for both of you.

As he could, he maneuvered to lay you down carefully on the cold metal of the truck without stopping kissing your neck, and by inertia you wrapped both legs over his hip. When you were hidden by the panels of the pickup he finally looked at you.

"I hope it's enough to get his attention," he said, sounding as agitated as expected, and although the circumstances meant that you two would be taking a break you flatly refused, pulling him back to kiss him.

That kiss did take Spencer by surprise and it was perhaps the sincerest of the night. It wasn’t as passionate as the previous ones, but rather it was loaded with softness and you would even say that a hint of supplication. You were begging for him not to stop, for the night to get stuck in an infinite loop where the two of you could kiss for eternity. And suddenly you felt how he, who had been so tense the whole time, completely relaxed against you, as if he understood exactly what you wanted to say. His hands came to rest on the sides of your head to be able to kiss you more comfortably and you dared to take him by the waist with the same care that you were kissing him, feeling even above the cloth the softness of his skin. 

And then he broke up with you. You feared you had done something wrong due to the suddenness of the movement and your frightened eyes searched his gaze for a sign of the reason, without finding anything. He just looked at you with something you couldn't describe, but that made you feel butterflies fluttering all over your stomach... and he stayed like that for a few seconds: just looking at you, as if he wanted to memorize all your features.

You opened your mouth to say something, but your words were drowned in a new kiss, totally different from the previous ones. Spencer was taking time with him, trapping your lower lip between his and sucking on it gently, pressing himself a little more against your body, sighing heavily into your mouth.

Your hand was already running up his side to make its way to his cheek just as screams filled the silence and you hugged him reflexively. The screams had come from Morgan, who had already moved across the park to take down the unsub and was now wrestling with him to get the knife out of his hand. Spencer hesitated for a moment if he should come over to help, but he preferred to hold you better against his body to protect you and wait for Emily to place the handcuffs on the man under her partner's knee.

From a distance you saw that he only brought with him, in addition to the knife, his camera, and a small backpack with some other murderous instruments that they managed to confiscate without any problem.

"All clear, we've got him," Hotch spoke over the radio. As you exhaled in relief too many emotions washed over you, combined with the adrenaline coursing through your body and the arousal still flowing into your crotch.

"Are you okay?" Reid's gentle voice called to you, as he pulled away to check with his eyes that everything was in order. His hair was messy and his lips were so swollen that it was almost painful to look at the image without launching yourself to kiss him again "My God, your shirt..." he said, completely embarrassed, as he bent down to pick up the garment. You looked him up and down and blushed when you noticed how tight his pants were, feeling your stomach turn a little. When he got up, he took the opportunity to look at your chest covered only by the black lace bra and a big gulp of saliva went down his throat.

You thanked him quietly and put your shirt back on, feeling the sneaky glances Spencer was giving you, just before Hotch walked up to you.

"How are you?"

"Very good, excellent" you stammered.

You could perfectly feel your swollen lips, the light sheen of sweat on your face, the heat flowing from all the places Reid's fingers had been, and the abundant moisture between your crossed legs.

After Hotch congratulated you on your performance, the two of you walked as best you could toward the rest of the agents, who were already placing Oliver on patrol. Another group was analyzing the trailer and they managed to pull out enough evidence about the murders that would be very useful in prosecuting the man.

"All good?" Emily asked in your direction, once things had settled down and the rest of the team had gathered in a circle by the van. You and Spencer just nodded at the question.

“I honestly think I'm going to need therapy after what I heard,” Dave murmured, so serious that you couldn't help but burst out laughing.

"Don't you even dare make fun of this"

“No, we won't. I'm just saying you guys seemed to be enjoying it there."

"That's supposed to be the plan, right?" Spencer said nervously, finally daring to look at you and looking away almost immediately as he smoothed his hair back.

Once your boss said you could retire you escaped in a patrol car as fast as you could, wanting to get home so you could take a cold shower and soothe what wasn’t satisfied by the man. You could hardly sleep that night, still haunted by the ghost of the kisses you received from your gorgeous coworker, and the next morning you hoped that double coffee would do the trick. But apparently you weren't the only one who thought so, because at the same time that you arrived Spencer Reid crossed your path.

"Hey," he said, in that high-pitched voice that came out when someone caught him off guard, "How are you?" 

"Fine, and you?"

"Fine too"

You knew that the two of you wanted to talk about what happened, but it only took one of you to have the courage to speak first. At the same time your phones rang indicating a message and you mistakenly assumed that it was JJ contacting you to announce a case. What was your surprise when you opened the file and found a collection of photos from the night before. You knew from Spencer's face that he had received the same thing.

"Garcia did you… did she send you the same evidence?"

"That's right," he said nervously. You had to admit that if Oliver had one quality it was that of a photographer: you were sensual and perfectly captured the desire that had existed between you. Well, the one you had pretended to feel… right?

Spencer held his breath as he came to a picture of you topless in which his hand was practically on your breast, immediately remembering how that had felt. He just hoped his memories didn't affect him too much or it would be embarrassing enough to walk into the boardroom with a boner.

"They're good," you said to the air and he suppressed a laugh "But I can delete them if that makes you feel uncomfortable"

“No, no, I… I think I want to keep them too. After all, the bureau will have them in the files as evidence of the case, I prefer to have access too”

"I just hope she doesn't send them to anyone else, I wouldn't want to see my bra photos going around."

“I'll tell Garcia, don't worry,” Spencer murmured, rushing to type something on his phone.

While you waited for him to type you took another look, feeling your whole body heating up again at the memories. A part of you was grateful to have such material in your custody.

"I never thought of being the protagonist of an erotic photo session and here we are," you said ironically.

“Speaking of which…” Spencer started to say, “Not the erotic sessions by any means, don't think I'm planning on inviting you to one or that, because it would be super weird and inappropriate, but I was thinking if… huh…”

“Sell them online? I thought so too, but it depends on how much profit there is. Garcia can help us find the highest bidder and not get charged for tampering with evidence."

"What? No!" he said, completely shocked, and you laughed because you got the reaction you expected with your joke "Why would we do that?"

“Just kidding, Reid. Those photos are something I prefer to keep to myself" you clarified and your smile made him feel shy "Seriously, sorry for interrupting you. What did you want to tell me?"

"What…? huh, yes, right. It's just that this morning I was thinking about what you said yesterday, about how under normal circumstances you would have liked to have a bad date with me, right? and it just kept spinning in my head, so I was asking if you wanted to go for a drink sometime. Not like a date, of course, I'm not saying it is if you don't want to. I can just be like… well, go get a drink. As friends"

Yesterday Spencer had practically eaten your mouth and now he was nervous about asking you out. So adorable.

“You're not doing this just as compensation, are you? because you know that it is not necessary…”

“I do it because I want to. And I want to believe that… that I didn't misunderstand what happened yesterday."

You no longer even cared that it was unethical to date team members, or that if things went wrong, you would probably go into the worst of depressions. What mattered to you was that Spencer was interested in you, even if he had implied it, and that he was asking you out alone with him. Just the two of you, with fun and alcohol involved, without gossipy colleagues or mortal danger.

"Then I'd love to, Reid."

“Wow, excellent then” he smiled, feeling lucky that you agreed “I know a great bar near here, the atmosphere is generally calm, I like it because they don't play loud music. What day is right for you?"

“I'm available any day you want” you responded genuinely, grinning from ear to ear just being around him. That was the effect Reid had on you.

It was stupid to try to deny that you were still attracted to him, especially since now you had a taste of what he could do with you. You wanted to kiss him again, of course, but you were also anxious to earn that completely adoring look you'd received the night before.

“Today?”

"Yeah, why wait?" you responded, more excited than you wanted.

“Hey, I didn't ask you, but I wanted to know if I didn't go overboard with you last night. I mean… did something bother you?”

It was a smart move, you could see it clearly. It was obvious that Spencer cared about you, but you also picked up on his intentions to find out if you were interested in him too. Well, that's how it was from your perspective, because that probably would have been your motivation being in his place.

Even if it wasn't the case, you weren't going to miss the opportunity to take a little advantage of the situation.

"The kisses on the neck were something he definitely didn't expect, but they weren't unpleasant at all," you assured him, feeling your cheeks heat up again. "Did it feel good to you?"

"It did"

"So everything's perfect," you murmured, shrugging off the matter. But you both knew you couldn't see each other in the office and acted as if nothing had happened.

Something had happened. Those kisses had only fueled the tension that had always existed between you but that you wanted to ignore.

"Do you want to go after work, then?"

“Sounds good to me”

Spencer gave you one last smile and then went to prepare his usual cup of sugar with a dash of coffee. All day you were thinking about him and more than once he caught you looking at him, but you didn't even care.

So, at nightfall, with a few drinks on you and more courage in your body, you finally confessed that kissing was something you had wanted to do for a long time. You almost didn't believe it at first, coming from him, but when you finally accepted it, it wasn't hard at all to rush at him and kiss him feverishly. And this time there did not impede for you to give free rein to your desires, which led you to the soft mattress in your friend's house and kept you awake until a few hours before dawn.

[depresssant]

Shades Of Cool

NEGLECTFUL!PLATONIC!YAN!batfam x GN!reader

synopsis : growing up with a shit mom and constant step-dads and mom's boyfriends, your view on life has grown pretty bleak. you just want to die, since it doesn't seem to get better than this. things can't get any worse, can they?

so reader is very flawed ppl. i’m trying to make this as gn as possible for pls bear with me. asks and requests r open. reblogs are also much appreciated. now that i’ve gotten my e-begging out of the way, enjoy this pathetic excuse of a story

warnings : child abuse, past sexual abuse, yandere, etc

you want to die.

you always do.

staring at the wanna be thug pointing a gun at you, you sigh and roll your eyes in exasperation. perhaps pissing him off will the best way to get him to curl a finger around the trigger. or judging by his temperament, you won't have to do much.

"you? i should give my money to you?"

"who the fuck do you think you are, bitch?" the thug screams at you angrily. his grip gets tighter and clammier. he's not experienced with this. he's probably ganged up with a bunch of thugs to pull shit like this. it wouldn't take much to disarm him. "give me the fucking money before i blow your head off!"

"to a junkie like you?" you are a junkie, too, so you're not too sure about making fun of him for that. "i don't give money to hobos."

that is wrong, too. but you want to piss him off.

"that's it, you stupid bitch!" the thug's stances becomes defensive. his hateful glare is pointed at you while he musters the courage to actually press the trigger. he doesn't look like he'll do it. you've seen countless like him roaming the streets, holding you at gunpoint. he probably won't do it. then again, this is gotham. you don't expect much. either he'll shoot you dead, forcibly take your stuff, flee the scene out of fear, or be dismantled by one of the city's vigilantes. perhaps he'd shoo—

"stop right there!"

damn it.

you think too soon.

a young robin is quick to have the wanna be thug tied up and beat down. you would've questioned why a kid who seemingly looked twelve can do such a thing, but you've learned to not question most things in your life. you merely sigh in disappoint and pick up your dropped backpack before beginning the journey to hell.

"excuse me? wait! where are you headed?"

gosh, his boy-ish voice grates your nerves. makes you clench your teeth. your gaze narrows, but you know better than to react. reaction gains a reaction—one that will never be in your favor. it'll lead to a fight—one that will never be in your favor. you'll end up broken, bleeding, and bruised. now that isn't something in your favor. now you're thinking of favor too much. forcing a smile, you turn around to face the pre-teen vigilante. "yes?"

"are you alright?" he asks with practiced concern. he doesn't actually care. it's probably just protocol.

"a-okay!" the words are hollow. they lack depth. like you. "thank you for your help. i don't know what would've happened to me if you weren't there."

you do know. you wish you wouldn't.

"you're welcome," robin replies with polished words like he's not exactly convinced. "would you like for me to walk you? the city hasn't been safe for some time now."

"when is it ever safe? but that's okay. i live just around the corner, so i think i'll be fine."

"are you sure—"

"completely."

please. why won't he just leave you alone? there goes your plan spoiled by him again. every time you've been in an attempted robbing, he's been there to destroy your chances of getting shot. of escaping. he always does this. this is a repeated cycle between the two of you. he's a flying bird until you shoot him down. your name clearly wants to escape from his lips, but robin nods his head in understanding.

"this seems to happen to you all the time. my wish is for you to be safe."

"this is gotham." the grip on the straps on your backpack tighten. "everyone's gotta go through this. anyways, i gotta go, you know. thanks for savin' me."

"of course."

you don't spare him a single glance. the sky is wrapped up in black clouds heavy with the burden of rain. icy cold wind sings a melancholy tune through the stiff air. the door to your apartment looks like the gates of hell. it's all futile. no matter how many sighs you sigh, how many wishes you wish, and how many curses you curse, you'll still land up in the same fate. without escape.

that is the summary of your life.

taking a few seconds to prepare yourself for the incoming session, you open the door to be met with radio silence. silence is never good. half the time, it means something is brewing for you, and they're taking their sweet time to scare you into thinking nothing will happen. sometimes. not all the time. the other time, it just means he need to rise from his pile of misery first.

the hand of your mother's boyfriend is instantly wrapped around your neck before you can even register why the hell the apartment looks like a tornado hit it. he squeezes so tightly you feel like blood is gushing out of your ears with how loudly they ring. white spots dot along your blurry sight as you struggle to breathe. you can hear a frantic voice telling him to let you go, but you're pushed up more against the wall. this is the norm. doesn't mean it hurts any less. he'll let you go, give you some time to regain your breath, and then rain down bullets upon you.

that's exactly what happens.

your hand goes straight to your neck as your raspy and shaky coughs wreck your chest. he squeezes hard enough for it to hurt but it not show. and then the kicks and punches come. with how much your chest and ribs are struck, you're a bit surprised at how you haven't broken a bone yet. your potential step-father screams at you, but you can barely hear it over the repetition of words in your head. he grabs your bloody face and shout something incoherent before letting you go to kick you.

leaving you in your own pile of misery.

it's normal. yes, it's completely normal. you're used to this. it'll get better. it always does. but you've got the crushing idea it never will.

gotham heights high school—the school you're forced to attend.

the class division is insane to look at, because it's there even from a short and near prospective. how the richest kids got put in a school with the poorest—you'll never know. the only thing you do know is that every one of these kids are pieces of shit. even the ones that pretend to be nice.

tim drake—or shall you say tim wayne—is no different.

even as he helps up the girl who just got roughly pushed to the floor, causing all her textbooks to scatter, you can only eye him with disdain. if he really cares, then he would've beat the shit out of those athletes. but he doesn't. they're all the same—privileged and all. sympathy shouldn't be given to them. not to drake or the wealthy yet somehow bullied girl.

"but y'know what i heard?" your friend drags your attention back to him. zarian leans against a locker lazily, but excitement practically buzzes off of him. "the bruce wayne is coming to our track meet today!"

your other friend, jaylene, rolls her eyes as she applies her eyeliner using the mirror hanging up on the inside door of her locker. she speaks exactly what you're thinking. "only because his beloved son is gonna be there."

"well, still. think about the connections we can make! all the famous people that'll be there."

"keep dreaming. asshat. i put all my money on the attention being on rich the kid. i don't even know why he joined track. varsity, at that, too. there has to be some sort of bribery going on."

an incoming argument is clearly brewing up, so you take in a deep breath to say something, but a new voice beats you to it.

"excuse me?"

you and your two friends turn to face the guy standing in front of you. charismatic, intelligent,  and optimistic—he's an enigma that shines on everyone. tim drake. his black, messy yet somehow in place hair does no justice for his good looks. he's the complete package. rich, good looking, tall, and empathetic. the mere sight of him annoys you.

zarian is the first to speak up. he quirks a brow and offers tim a grin. "what's up, man?"

"you're leaning against my locker." tim rubs the back of his neck. he smiles awkwardly in the presence of the three of you, and it takes your friend a beat to understand what he's saying before moving away.

"oh yeah. my fault," he says as he moved to stand next to you.

the school's very own bruce wayne only shakes his head and tells him it's okay while opening his locker and grabbing a few things. people flock around, waiting for him to be done with whatever the hell he's doing, so they can be back to his side like leeches sucking on blood. he surely can't be this dumb, no? these people don't want to be his friend...

well, it's not as if it's your problem. you wish it is. you and your friends turn to make way to first period, but drake clearly has other plans. he sandwiches himself between you and zarian with a grin of his own plastered on an unblemished face. one carefree of any worry or pain. "so," tim begins. "first track meet of the year, huh? aren't you guys nervous?"

jaylene merely hums in amusement and shrugs. "it gets better. when you've spent four years in track—in front of all those judging people—it wears off. hopefully, you'll get used to it soon."

that is jab, though, rich the kid doesn't seem to catch on. he laughs casually, but even you can sense the anxiety like it was radioactive. ""i hope so. i've sprinted so much i feel like i'll get shin splits again."

you zone out while he has a conversation with your friends. as if drake has ever had experience with track. it took you all of freshman year to just prove that you can actually be a part of the track team, and here tim drake is, parading around about getting on varsity without a single grain of hard work. he's a naturally talented person. good at everything. that's what makes you hate him so much. people like him get everything handed to them just because they're good at it first hand and leave behind people that actually work for it. you want to tell him to buzz off—that he can't talk about how much he's practiced and how nervous he is, but you keep your mouth shut. that is, until he directly addresses you.

tim's eyes narrow at you with comedic suspicion. "you know, you look like someone i know. a lot. the resemblance is crazy."

"eight billion people out there. you never know." your tone is flat, stoic, lacking any bit of emotion.

"gosh, you even sound like him! that's really terrifying."

"well, whoever, it is, i hope i never meet him," you murmur.

your two friends leave for their classes soon, and you and drake find your seats at the back of high school economics. exhaustingly so, you sit together in one of the many desk pairs, and drake uses this opportunity to annoy you any chance he gets. you give off the vibe that you don't want to talk to him. he doesn't get the hint. you don't tell him, though. maybe that's the problems. his shit-eating grin ticks you off when you look in his direction. "what?"

"let's be friends!"

"no."

"what? come on! don't be so cold!" he whines like a petulant child being told no.

"no."

"too bad! you're my friend now."

"tim," you sigh. it's wrong to scream. it's bad to scream. screaming leads to fights. fights lead to you laying in a pool of your own blood. laying in blood leads to missing practice. missing practice leads to less skill. less skill leads to less of a chance of getting the hell out of here. just smile. forgive and forget. know your persona. know who you are. kind. happy. funny. "fine." so you smile with gritted teeth. you smile like you played a cruel joke on him. "we can be friends... i guess."

his face brightens at your fake words like he is just given the the world.

tim drake wiggles his eyebrows playfully and nudges you with his elbow. "you know, i've been trying to get you to say that since school started?"

"really now?"

"really. i'm glad we're going to be friends. oh! should we go out to eat with zarian and jaylene after the meet?"

... there's a chance your mom's boyfriend will get pissed off. he'll probably beat the shit out of you since the track meet would have happened, and you wouldn't need to have an unblemished body for meets. he'd scream, yell, and punch... like his life depended on it... fuck it.

"yeah," you reply shortly after with a firm nod of your head. "we can go to this diner near the theater. i'm sure you'll love the food."

this doesn't mean you hate him any less. he's still rich scum⏤how you're poor scum. he's stuck up, pretentious, and sickeningly sweet. exactly what you hate. you just hope you can have a good time after the track meet. the mischievous glint in his eyes told you otherwise.

"and this is my dad, bruce wayne."

what the hell are you doing?

the sun is setting along the horizon, the air is getting cooler again, and you want to sink into the floor. the plan was to head straight to the diner after this, but rich the kid somehow roped you into meeting his dad?

nausea pools in your stomach from both hunger and the feeling of thousands of eyes staring at you. cameras are flashing at gotham's billionaire as he smiles and firmly shakes your hand. confidence drips off of him disgustingly. his high-tailored suit radiates wealth and money. his stoic demeanor gives off an aura of mystery. you want to lay on a railroad track with an incoming train speeding along the way.

"it's nice to meet you. tim has ranted about his track teammates quite a lot."

there's an eleven year old standing next to him. his eyes are on you like that of an owl's but you neither glance at him or bother to acknowledge him. you just want to eat some food before meeting your doom at that apartment for not placing first like your mom's boyfriend wanted you to. like a goat getting stuffed before slaughter. it always leads down to that. no matter how many times you try to wish it was different. no matter how many times you imagine it to be different. no matter how many times you try to make it different.

"nice to meet you too." you shake his hand as well with a polite smile on your face. polite. calm. gentle. proper. "and yeah, he seems very eager to be on the team."

"of course, of course. well, it is getting late. why don't you come over for dinner some time?"

"maybe tonight?" tim suddenly adds in. at your hesitant expression, he groans in exasperation. "who do you think we are? blood-sucking bats? come on, we can go to the diner some other time!"

you have just met him... you've just accepted being his friend... you aren't the most social person. you've never had much friends, but even you can understand that dinner with the family doesn't happen until the friend and person have come close in a long period of time. jaylene and zarian have other matters to tend to, so it's going to be just you and tim at a diner. not⏤

ding!

your phone's notification's alarm chimes, and when you check who has sent you a message, you feel like getting on the ground to pray to whatever deity for letting you have a moment of peace.

mom: ⏤he's heavily drunk. don't come home.

a part of you is hit with a strong current full of guilt. this is your mother. you're supposed to be there for her through thick and thin. you're supposed to protect her and be her wall of defense against monsters like him. family look out for each other. you have to take care of her... but she doesn't take care of you. this makes you a terrible person. you know that. she'll probably get beaten to an inch of her life and hide her heavy bruises under makeup that was terribly done in a rush. and then, she'll throw whatever object is in sight at you in a fury of anger.

telling you she made too many sacrifices for you. telling you that you're ruined her life. telling you that she should've aborted you like your father had told her to. telling you exactly what you believe yourself. a curse that should've never been born... she'll be beaten within an inch of her life. but you have already lost yours.

after pretending to text her and sliding your phone into the pocket of your sweatpants, you nod with a sigh of joking resignation. "sure. i asked my mom, and she said it's okay."

"wonderful." mr. wayne nods and gestures to the limo you can see in the parking lot. a bit of overkill, perhaps.

honestly, you're still surprised that gotham's billionaire is inviting you to dinner. this man is the topic of magazines, and you're about to take a ride in his limo. how the hell have you ended up in a situation like this? fate is still fucking with you, isn't it?

you find yourself seated next to tim while mr. wayne and his youngest son, damian, sit on the seats to your right. they're talking about something, but once again, you find yourself half listening and zoning out, staring at nothing until mr. wayne's questions pulls you back to reality.

"so how has school been faring for you?" mr. wayne asks in a cool and collected tone.

you laugh lightly and smile as politely as ever. "pretty good. i hope to leave gotham after graduation to study somewhere else."

"who would want to stay in gotham?" tim rolled his eyes, rolling the first place medal between his fingers. "by the way, remember when i said you looked like someone i know? i was talking about my dad?"

your brows rise in both exasperation and annoyance at his claims. now he's just plain, out right trying to make fun of you in front of a billionaire. your shoulders tense, ready to refute his claims, but mr. wayne surprisingly chuckles and rubs his chin while taking a good look at your face. "well, i can see it, but there's eight billion people out there in the world. i'm bound to look like someone. though, i didn't expect for it to be someone as talented as [name] here."

you force a quiet laugh along at the sound of his tone. foreboding. you know tones like this. like he's hiding something that they all know except for you. it means you've made a mistake in even giving in to tim drake's constant begging. why the hell was he so eager to have you become his friend? why is he so eager to maintain a friendship with you? why the hell has mr. wayne invited you to dinner when he's rumored to be mysterious, secretive, and a literal brick wall that nobody can get past?

"you've achieved so much for a child your age." mr. wayne sets his gaze dead on you. "your father must be so proud."

and his eyes glimmer with that same shine you saw in tim's.

ewwww

this was not proofread so forgive me and uh, i will be turning this into a series

um also making a tag list if anyone wants to be a part of it

[starstrike]

Mithrun's desire as an SA analogue

TW discussion of SA and detailed breakdown of aesthetics evoking SA. The way I discuss this is vivid in a way that may be triggering, though there is no discussion of actual sexual assault. Just survivor's responses to it.

People relate to Mithrun and see his condition as an analogue for a few different things, like brain injury or depression. And I think all of them are there. But I also see Mithrun's story as an SA analogue, and Ryoko Kui intentionally evokes those aesthetics. I think it's a part of Mithrun's character that a lot of people miss, but I very much consider it text. This is partially inspired by @heird99's post on what makes this scene so disturbing; so check out their post, too :)

So to start off with, the demon invades Mithrun's bed, specifically. There's even a canopy around it, which specifically evokes this idea of personal intrusion; the barrier is being pulled apart without consent or warning. The way the hand reaches towards Mithrun's body from outside of the panel division makes it almost look like the goat stroking over his body. It's an especially creepy visual detail; similarly, the goat's right hand parts into the side of the panel as well. It's literally like it's tearing the page apart; but gently. So gently.

Mithrun is in bed. It is his bed that the demon is intruding on. He's in a position of intimacy. The woman behind him is a facsimile of his "beloved" that he left behind; the woman who, in reality, chose Mithrun's brother. He is in bed with his fantasy lover, who is leaning over him. While this scene isn't explicitly sexual, it is intimate. And it is being invaded. The goat lifts Mithrun gently, who is confused, but not yet struggling.

The erotics of consumption and violence in Ryoko Kui's work(remember that the word 'erotic' can have many different meanings, please) are a... notable part of some of her illustrations. I would say she blurs the lines between all forms of desire: personal, sexual, gustatory and carnal, in her illustrations in order to emphasize the pure desire she wants to work with and evoke to serve her themes. Kui deploys sexual imagery in a lot of places in Dungeon Meshi, and this is one of them.

In this case, horrifically. The goat's assault begins with drooling, licking, and nuzzling. The goat could be enjoying and "playing with" its food. But it can also be interpreted as it "preparing" Mithrun with its tongue as it begins to literally breach Mithrun's body. The goat also invades directly through his clothing; that adds another level of disturbing to me. There's nothing Mithrun can do in this moment of violation. Mithrun is fighting, but he is fighting weakly, trying to grip on and push away when he has no ability or option to. All he can do is beg the goat to stop. And it doesn't care. This all evokes sexual assault.

The sixth panel demonstrates a somewhat sexual position, with Mithrun's thighs spread around the goat's hunched over body. In the next, the goat pulls and holds apart Mithrun's thighs as he nuzzles into him. The way the clothing bunches up looks a bit as if it has been pushed up. It has pinned Mithrun down onto the bed, into Mithrun's soft furs and pillows. It takes a place made to be supernaturally warm and comfortable, and violates it. It's utterly and intimately horrifying. To me, this sequence of positions directly evokes a rape scene. I think Kui did this very explicitly. These references to sexual invasion are part of what makes this scene so disturbing; albeit, to many viewers, subconsciously.

This is also the moment the goat takes Mithrun's eye. Other than this, the goat seems exceptionally strong, but also... gentle. It holds Mithrun's body tightly, but moves it around slowly. It doesn't need to hurt Mithrun physically. But in that moment, it takes Mithrun's eye. Blood seeps from a wound while an orifice that should not be pierced is penetrated. This moment, the ooze of blood in one place specifically, also evokes rape. That single bit of physical gore is a very powerful bit of imagery to me.

Finally; it is Mithrun's desire that is eaten. After his assault, Mithrun can find no pleasure in things that he once did. He is fully disassociated from his emotions. This is a common response to trauma, especially in the case of SA. It's not uncommon for people to never, or take a long time to, enjoy sex in the same way again; or at all. They might feel like their rapist has robbed them of a desire and pleasure they once had. I think this makes Mithrun's lack of desire a partial analogue for the trauma of sexual assault.

Mithrun's desire for revenge was, supposedly, all that remained. Anger at his assaulter, anger at every being that was like it; though, perhaps not anger. Devotion, in a way. To his cause. I don't know. But the immediate desire to seek revenge is another response to SA. But on to Mithrun's true feelings on the matter.

This is... So incredibly tragic. Mithrun feels used up. Like his best parts have been taken away. Like he's being... tossed aside. This certainly parallels the way assault victims can feel after being left by an abuser. Or the way assault victims feel they might be "ruined" forever for other partners. These are common sentiments for survivors to carry, and need to overcome. In the text, it's almost like Mithrun feels the only being who can desire him is a demon who might "finish devouring" him. That that's his only use. It's worth noting that Mithrun trusted the demon. Mithrun's world was built by the demon, and Mithrun, in that way, was cared for by the demon. I think this reinforces Mithrun's place as a victim.

There's also something to be said about Mithrun as a victim of his own possessive romantic and sexual desire. The mirror shows him his beloved just dining with his brother, and it infuriates him. He doesn't know if the vision is real, nor if she has really chosen his brother as a romantic partner. The goat then creates a whole fantasy world where she loves him. As Mithrun's dungeon deteriorates, she is the only person that continues to exist. Mithrun continues to have control over her. And that is the strongest desire the demon is eating, isn't it? There's something interesting there, but I don't know what to say about it.

In conclusion, I think Mithrun's story is an explicit analogue for sexual assault-- though, certainly, among other things! The way the scene plays out and is composed explicitly references sexual violation and invasion of the body. His condition mirrors common trauma responses to sexual violence. And, at the end, he finally realizes he can recover.

Let's end on a happy Mithrun, after taking the first step on his journey to recovery :) You aren't vegetable scraps Mithrun. But even if you were-- every single thing in this world has value. Even vegetable scraps.

[f1goat]

kinda hot tho ; lando norris + part one

In which your brother has the most awful new teammate, but you keep finding yourself closer and closer to him. It's only sex - right?

lando norris x fem!verstappen reader trigger warnings: offensive language | player!lando | smut (eventually) | not proofread

a/n: this story is based on another story of mine (his teammate), in the beginning it'll have a lot of similarities, later on this will become less.

3.5k words

masterlist | playlist

It’s hard to forget about the day your older brother, Formula One driver and three time champion, Max Verstappen found out about his new teammate at RedBull. When he first heard the name of his new teammate, he laughed and thought it was a joke. However when he noticed that the team was serious about it, his mood shifted. You remember that afternoon easily. It was filled with angry phones calls, many curse words - even so many that it surprised you, and many, many complaints from your brother. 

At first, you didn’t really get it. What could possibly be the problem? Max always wanted a teammate who could challenge him on the race track. Earlier he always complained about previous teammates who weren’t any competition. So, what could the problem be? Eventually, after Max told you to Google his new teammate, his reaction started to make sense. Your first impression of his newest teammate? Trouble. Maybe even with a capital T. Or wait, probably with every letter in caps lock. 

Lando Norris seems to be the kind of driver that cares about no one. He isn’t like Lewis Hamilton who’s putting effort in all kind of good deeds for society. He’s nothing like Yuki Tsunoda who helped cleaning the streets after the flood in Imola. He’s not like Pierre Gasly and Charles Leclerc who always seems to be hanging out with each other in their spare time. He’s nothing like your brother who tries to have a good relationship with everyone on the grid. Lando Norris doesn’t seem to care about things like that.

After even more searching around you were quick to find out that Lando Norris seems to care about a couple things next to himself. Racing, of course. But, not a big surprise, he also seems to care a lot about girls. Or maybe you should rephrase that, he cares about sex. There are many stories online about him with different girls. He’s photographed with many women while making out or taking them home. Next to those girls, it seems that he mostly cares about himself. You heard from different people on the grid that Lando Norris is one of the most egocentrically drivers on the grid. He cares about himself, but nothing about others. 

There was one surprise during your stalk session online. Some guy named Max Fewtrell. It took you a lot of digging but you found someone Lando Norris really seems to care about. It looks like they’re friends. Slowly you start to find out more about the friendship. You find a couple videos of them streaming together. It’s the first video you see in which Lando Norris actually seems to have fun. Then you notice the older age of those videos. A lot must have changed in the last years. 

After stalking him online like that you feel like a proper FBI agent. Eventually you decide that your brother has spend a long time as the villain of Formula One, but it’s safe to say that Lando Norris took that title from him. He’s an arrogant ass. Media don’t know a lot about him, only about the player facade that he seems to have settled with. His socials are done by social media workers from his previous teams and now RedBull. He doesn’t post anything himself, not even a story. It seems like he has walls as high as the Mount Everest all around him.

You haven’t formally met him yet, but now with the first race happening right in front of you, that won’t be long anymore you guess. Even without meeting him, you do understand your brothers reaction. It seems like Lando Norris won’t be a nice teammate for him. Max has been complaining since he first formally met him.

“He doesn’t care about team results at all.” “He doesn’t even greet me.” “It seems like he is mean to everyone on the team.” “He doesn’t give a fuck about anything else then himself.” 

You can dream about Max his complains. It’s a shame, really. On paper it seemed like they could have been great teammates. Even a match for a friendship maybe. Your brother has put his reputation aside and is well liked by his friends, co-drivers and many fans. At first you thought that Max could get Lando to be a bit more open, but it didn’t work like that. 

Some pretty frustrated sounds awake you from your thoughts. You almost forget that you were setting in the RedBull garage and there’s a race going on right now. It’s your first race in a long time. It’s also the first race of the season. You wonder what those sounds caused. Multiple team members are making annoyed sounds in the mean time. You watch at the screen. When you look at it, you’re quick to notice what’s going wrong. There are two cars of the track. Two cars who previously drove on top. Two drivers who are going down in the ranks with three small, but feared, letters next to their name. DNF. When they play the replay, you see what everyone else already saw. 

Lando and your brother pushed each other off the track. 

Fucking idiots. You can’t think anything else than that right now. You’re tempted to say that it’s Lando his fault, that the team should blame him. But, you can’t. You don’t know enough about the rules to make such statements. And, how longer you look at the replay how more you doubt. It almost seems like a racing incident in which the both of them take too much space from each other. Were they testing each other? Wondering which of them would back out first? Apparently neither. They would both rather crash. What a great team. 

It’s your brothers teammate who’s first to arrive back at the motorhome. This race week you’ve barely seen him. You have only seen him from distrance. That seems to change now. Of course, you’ve seen photographs, video’s and even TikTok edits from him before, but it’s only now that you realize how he actually looks. You can’t help yourself and stare at him. The angry look on his face is hard to miss. You want to say that it’s a shame that he looks so angry. You’ve seen enough ‘normal’ pictures in which you found yourself liking the looks of him. Yes, you don’t like him - but even you can’t deny that he’s beautiful. You like the way his curls seem to have a mind of their own. You like it how he always seems to be dressed in a casual hoodie, no matter the temperature. Something about him breathes calmness. At least, normally. 

You want to say that it’s a shame that he looks angry. But you can’t. In some weird and twisted way you can only think about how hot he looks when he’s angry. Fuck. 

“What the fuck was that Norris?”

It’s Christian Horner who is the first one to say something. You shiver from the harsh tone he uses. Max told you before that Christian is pretty good at getting angry, but it almost never happens with his own team. You start to fear for his reaction to Max. 

“I told you to keep it clean!” Christian continues to shout when he doesn’t get a reply from Lando fast enough. This time Lando is ready to react. You notice the way his eyes darken and how he clenches his jaw. Why does he look only hotter like this?

“Tell that to your other driver,” Lando sneers, “The fucker crashed into me.”

You can actually hear the frustration dripping from Lando his words. You don’t like it. Neither do you like the way he tries to paint your brother as the bad guy here. They both did it. 

“I don’t care if you have any plans for the rest of the day, you can cancel them all. Max, you and me are going to talk until we’re sure this won’t happen again,” Christian states.

“Oh fuck off,” Lando sighs with an angry tone in his voice, “We’ll fight it out on track like actual race drivers.” You notice how his volume is getting higher with every word he speaks. He’s almost screaming by now.

“Like you did today?” Christian asks annoyed. Lando nods. “Oh great! That’s such a great fucking plan. Let’s just crash every race and ruin the whole season. Don’t you think?” Christian continues sarcastically. It seems like Christian has more to say, but Lando is already walking away from his teamboss. He storms off to his drivers room. 

And apparently just in time, it’s your brother who’s just walking in as well. Christian is quick to see Max as well. He’s even quicker to start shouting at him as well. It’s the same things he told Lando before. You’re not in the mood for another screaming match. You know your brother well enough to know that this one will take a while. Max isn’t the type to walk away from them like Lando just did. Plus, you guess he’s pretty frustrated and ready to tell Christian all about that. That’s why you decide to walk away from all the screaming that’s going on. You rather spend some time in Max his drivers room until it’s a bit more calmed down. 

There’s only one small problem. Max did show you his driver room. He did tell you that you could be there whenever you wanted. However, it was during a whole tour that he showed you where his drivers room was. So, you aren’t really sure where it is anymore. A bit clueless you do however start your search. 

You wander around for a bit. You wonder why they haven’t gotten name tags around the different rooms. Eventually you’re pretty sure that you’re in the right hall way. Only one problem left, which one of the two doors is the one you should have? You’re well aware that if you chose the wrong door, you’re going to meet Lando Norris. And it doesn’t really seem to be the right timing for something like that. 

Eventually you do chose one of the doors. 

“Fuck off.”

Of course, you chose the wrong one. That must be your luck. You barely dare to look up right now, you’re sure that Lando is already sending you angry looks right now. His tone said more then enough. When you do look up, you’re quick to meet Lando his angry eyes. You should be worried about that. However, you seem to find yourself distracted when you notice that Lando isn’t wearing more then his underwear right now. 

“Shit, sorry,” you stammer nervously, “I thought..”

You can’t even finish your sentence. Lando is quick to interrupt you. 

“You thought what?” He asks you. “Did you thought that you could come here to talk to me about how I fucked up your dear brothers race?” He continues to sneer. 

You actually don’t know what to say right now. A small part of you is surprised that Lando even seems to know who you are, or at least that your Max’s sister. But every other part of you is getting more mad with the second. What did he just say? How does he even come up with things like that? What a dick.

“Are you fucking deaf?” Lando asks you annoyed. “I don’t care about you, your brother or what happened on the track so don’t try to make me.”

You start to get angry as well now. Who does this boy think he is to talk to you like this? Doesn’t he know the word respect? He’s even worse then you already thought. Lando keeps looking at you. For the first time you focus your gaze on him as well. You feel a small trial of shivers over your back when you have eye contact with him, but you don’t break the contact.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You ask him with an annoyed tone in your voice.

“You’re in my fucking room,” Lando reacts.

“I’m not,” you argue, “I’m standing in the doorway, trying to apologize for even opening the door because I thought this was Max his room.”

“Then why are you still here?”

“Because someone here started to talk to me like I’m some sort of idiot,” you sneer.

“Save it princess,” Lando sneers at you again. 

“Don’t call me that,” you grunt.

“Oh sorry,” Lando sarcastically states, “princess.”

“Stop acting like such a dick,” you sigh annoyed. 

“Not an act babygirl,” Lando tells you, “It’s just how I am.”

“Compromising what you’re missing?” 

That seems to annoy him. “What the fuck do you mean?” Lando asks you annoyed. 

“Do you have to say fuck in almost every sentence?” You sigh. 

Lando steps closer to you. He seems to be waiting for some sort of explanation. You wonder if he doesn’t get the joke or that he thinks you’re serious about it. The only thing you did is implying he has a small dick - and with the way he acts, it’s not like he can’t blame you for saying something like that. You’re getting more and more mad. Lando is even getting closer to you then he was. You can barely stop yourself from taking a step backwards. You don’t want him to know that he’s intimidating you. 

In the mean time Lando wonders about you. Why aren’t you backing down? He takes another step closer to you. He’s feeling the air you’re blowing out on his skin by now. You still don’t take a step backwards. You keep staring at him. It amazes him. 

You look at the frustrated glance in his eyes. It’s a shame you’ve only seen him angry, frustrated and annoyed today. Not a good day to meet with him apparently. 

“What am I missing?” Lando continues to ask you with the same mad tone in his voice.

“I guess that if you feel like you have to act like such a dick, that’s because you’re having a rather small one,” you eventually tell him. 

Lando lets out a low chuckle. “You think I have a small dick?” He asks you.

“Yeah, but I also think that you’re arrogant, don’t have a lot of friends and that you’re a massive player who doesn’t know how love feels,” you slap back. You don’t know where those words came from. The frustration is getting to you. 

Lando is silent for a couple seconds. This is new for him. It’s been a long time since someone said things like this to him. Things he might deserve, but he won’t say that. Eventually he sends you another angry glare. This time he actually takes his time to look at you. Of course he knows you’re the little sister of his new teammate. He has seen some pictures of you before. Yesterday he saw you in your brothers side of the garage. At that point he was trying to get some courage to flirt with you, but eventually he didn’t. Now he’s just surprised about the things you’re saying. Why does he like your attitude?

“I don’t have a small dick princess,” Lando eventually states confidently.

“Great to fucking know,” you reply annoyed, “maybe you can start acting like it.” You don’t wait for another reply from Lando. You’re not in the mood for endless discussions. “I just wanted to say sorry for entering the wrong room, but forget it. I’ll gladly leave you alone Norris,” you tell him. 

With those words you turn away from him. You quickly walk towards the other room, this time finally entering Max his drivers room. You feel Lando his eyes burning on your body. 

Before you can close the door behind you, you hear Lando his voice once more. “Just wait till you find out how big it is,” he tells you. Why does he sound so serious? As if he’d want that. His words sends shivers through your body. Fuck, why have those words such an impact on you?

“I bet you’d beg for it,” Lando adds.

You still feel his eyes on your back. His stare burns on your body. But that isn’t your main concern right now. His words are doing all kind of things to you. You can’t stop thinking about him making you beg for his cock. Fuck. You remind yourself about his awful personality. How you only tried to apologize to him and this is the result of it. He’s a dick. You should be thinking about that, not about his dick. 

But, you still can’t deny that he’s hot.

You slam the door shut before Lando can say anything else. What you don’t see is how he’s still staring at the closed door with a small grin plastered on his face. He wonders when he’ll see you again. Suddenly his new teammate doesn’t seem so bad anymore, at least if he continues to take you to races.

+++

Later that night you’re standing in a short white dress in front of your mirror. Max is sitting on your hotel bed. He lets out a soft sigh when he continues to complain about his new teammate. You try to focus on his words, but also do your make up in the mean time. While applying some mascara, Max complains further.

“He’s just the absolute worst,” Max sighs, “I’ve spend hours in that small office from Christian so we could talk it out. But he didn’t apologize for anything. Even I apologized for going a bit wide, but he didn’t say anything. He just acted like I wasn’t there.”

It pains you to see how much trouble your brother has with his new teammate. You’re not used to this anymore. “How further?” You ask your brother, “I can’t imagine that RedBull will drop him, so you have to find some way to make this bearable. Right?”

“Yeah,” Max sighs annoyed, “but I have no idea how.”

You’re doubting to tell Max about your own small encounter with Lando. Max is already mad at the guy, so it might be stupid to make it worse. On the other hand, it would be nice to talk about it with your brother. You’re in the mood to vent about what happened. And, who’s better to vent to then someone who also hates Lando Norris? 

“You know,” you eventually start, “I also met him.”

Max is quick to give you his attention. You spray on some perfume before continuing with your story. The only thing you’re still doubting about is telling Max about the later subject from your encounter with Lando. It seems weird to tell your brother that it was about his teammates dick. Right? 

“He’s the absolute worst,” Max tells you after you told him the story globally. You did let out the part about you calling his dick small and how Lando told you that you’d probably beg for it. You nod at your brother as a form of agreement. However, now you think back about the last part of the conversation with Lando you feel shivers over your body all over again. 

“I don’t like asking things like this from you, but please keep your distance from him,” Max eventually speaks up. You show Max a small nod. “I don’t trust him,” Max continues to sigh, “and I just know he’s going to use me to annoy me even more.”

“I get it Max,” you quickly speak up, “I’ll keep my distance.”

You search for a pair of shoes in your suitcase in the mean time. You’re sure that you packed that one pair that match with your white dress. When you find them, you’re quick to put them on. After that you look in the mirror again. You feel cute. Maybe it’s because of the white color on your sun tanned skin, but you feel yourself getting confident. 

“Thanks,” Max tells you in the mean time, “I’ll try to become better teammates with him, hopefully this won’t too long.”

“You realize that when you’re friendly with him, I can’t really keep my distance right?” You ask Max.

Max nods. “Just watch out around him,” he tells you, “I’ve heard enough stories about girls who did trust him and that didn’t end nicely for them. He’s a massive player.” Before you can reply again, Max is continuing to speak. “Let’s get going,” he says, “I’m ready for some drinks after today.”

You chuckle. After the weird day you just had, you more then ready to let loose in the club tonight. You can’t wait to forget all about Lando Norris after drinking a couple cocktails and having fun. However, that doesn’t seem to happen.

Not even an small hour later you’ve enjoyed one cocktail and trying to order the second one at the busy bar. It’s your brother who’s interrupting your peace. “He’s here!” Your brother yells at you. You wonder about who he’s talking. It doesn’t take you long to find out.

It’s Lando Norris.

Of course it is.

part two

a/n: let me know what you think! and if you want to be added to the taglist :)

[flowersforbucky]

higher than heaven

bucky barnes x reader

word count: 5.5k - my masterlist

summary: bucky's first time smoking 🍃 since the 40s. bucky finds you smoking alone one night, leading to two of you growing much closer.

warnings/tags: use of marijuana, language, brief use of alcohol, nightmares, ptsd, anxiety, pining and tension, heated kissing, friends to lovers, pretty fucking fluffy, no use of y/n, fem reader, 18+ only

author's note: no smut? gasp! everything else i've written for bucky has contained smut so bare with me, i just wanted to take a break for some fun and fluffy (but still tension-filled) toking.

a/n 2: bucky and reader smoke in this, but i wouldn't say that's the main focus of this fic, just something that brings them closer together. i tried not to focus too much on that aspect, and also tried not to give too vivid of descriptions of being stoned so hopefully readers who don't smoke 🍃 can still enjoy this fic for the fluff and feels. however, if this is a triggering topic for you in any way, please be careful and read at your own discretion 🖤

The Avenger's compound truly has everything you could ever need. A state of the art gymnasium and training center, indoor and outdoor pools, beautifully maintained grounds with walking trails and lake access.

And, one of your favorite things, no shortage of secluded smoking spots.

Tonight's choice? The roof directly above the living quarters. This is likely the spot that you frequent the most, out of sheer convenience.

You keep a couple of extra folding chairs stashed in the stairwell, for the rare occasions that you can convince Natasha or Wanda to relax enough to join you.

Tonight, like most nights, you're by yourself. You don't mind - you enjoy this alone time. You usually come up here after missions to unwind before passing out in your bed.

It’s a chilly night, with temperatures finally dropping down into the low fifties as the early days of fall approach. You're bundled up in an oversized hoodie, sipping on oolong tea to warm you from the inside. In your left hand you clutch the warm mug, and with your right you pinch the tail-end of a burning joint between your thumb and index finger.

You've been up here long enough to have already burnt through one joint, and you now take slow, heady hits of a second as you wait for the meteor shower that's expected to begin over the northeastern United States any minute.

The creaking of the large metal door that leads to the roof startles you, causing you to break your gaze away from the stars littered above you in the New York sky. All the times you've come up here to watch the sunsets over the lake, no one has stumbled upon you. You're surprised by who emerges from the doorway a second later.

Bucky freezes in his tracks when he notices you sitting just a few yards in front of him.

“Oh, sorry,” he pauses, seemingly glancing around the roof to see if there's anyone else here with you. “I didn't expect - I didn't think anyone would be up here right now,” he stutters out.

“You're good,” you smile at him over your shoulder before turning your attention back to the sky. “Trying to get a good view of the meteors?”

“Yes, actually,” he says, surprised. You hear his boots scratching the pavement of the roof as he walks closer to you. You look up at him when he comes to a stop right next to where you're sitting.

“Well, you've come to the right place.” You gesture towards the scenery in front of you - the endless inky sky overlooking the lake next to the compound. “There's some extra chairs stashed in the stairwell, if you'd like one.”

“I didn't know that you smoke,” he says curiously, eyeballing the blazing joint still clutched between your fingers. He visibly sniffs a couple times, as if to confirm that he is indeed smelling what he thinks he is. He doesn't acknowledge your offer of a chair, instead choosing to sit directly on the cement, criss-crossing his legs at the ankles.

“Are you going to tell on me?” You ask as if what you're doing isn't perfectly legal and your friends don't already know.

“Your secret is safe with me,” he smirks up at you, eyes flicking between you and the joint.

“Want a hit?” You offer, extending your hand towards him. He hesitates, uncertainty blooming across his features.

“I haven't smoked since the forties,” he starts with an awkward laugh. He reaches up, carefully taking the joint from you and pinching it between his own two fingers and inspecting it. “I still remember the last joint I smoked before finding out that I had been drafted. If I had known it was going to be my last, I would've appreciated it a lot more.” There's a hint of nostalgia in his words.

You picture it - baby-faced Bucky, in his early twenties, with glossy blue eyes and a lazy, content smile. The thought makes your cheeks warm, and a small, sad smile spreads across your own face. That was a literal lifetime ago, and you didn't know if he had felt as carefree since then.

“Well,” you begin after a sip of your tea. “You're no longer property of the United States Army, or HYDRA, or any organization. So if you want to smoke, then smoke. And if not, that's okay, too, but give me my joint back because you're burning perfectly good weed right now.”

He chuckles at your scolding before bringing the joint up to his own lips and taking a slow, long puff. There's a sharp inhale before he erupts into a coughing fit, smoke billowing out in a cloud in front of him. You give him a few awkward pats on the back while he works through the burn that he is undoubtedly feeling in his esophagus.

“Damn, I've missed that,” he sighs once he has regained his composure. He holds the dwindling joint back up to you.

You shake your head. “Finish it off,” you insist. “I've already had one tonight. It’s all yours.”

You expect him to argue but to your surprise, he takes a second hit. And a third, and fourth, while you sit next to him in an amicable, comfortable silence. Soon, there's nothing left but a small roach that he stubs out against the cement next to where he sits.

“How're you feeling?” You ask, knowing that his tolerance has to be in the negatives if he hasn't smoked in over seventy years.

“If twenty-two year old Bucky knew that I was this stoned off half a joint, he'd never let me hear the end of it,” he says with an amused smile, propping back on the palms of his hands to stare up at you.

“Well, I think one-hundred and six year old Bucky is doing just fine for himself,” you muse. “Twenty-first century weed has got to be more potent than whatever dirt weed you were smoking in the forties, so cut yourself some sla–”

“I did not smoke dirt–”

“Look!” you exclaim, cutting him off as you point up at the sky. He goes quiet, following your gaze.

You both watch in awed silence as flashes of bright white-blues and purples begin to dash across the sky above you. At first, there's a bolt here and a bolt there - but before you know it, there's dozens - too many meteors to count, here and then gone in the blink of an eye. Where one disappears, another takes its place.

You lose track of how long the two you sit there, on the roof, under the shower of the shooting stars - and it has nothing to do with being stoned. They are just that mesmerizing.

“I think we’re supposed to make a wish,” you murmur after a long while, remembering the old legend about shooting stars. You watch the last few meteors as they burn out, and then the sky goes dark once more. When he doesn't respond, you glance down at where he sits to find that his eyes are closed.

You smile to yourself - you didn't actually plan on making a wish, and you definitely didn't expect him to. You figure that he is just humoring you, but you can't help but think how adorable it is nonetheless. You can't stop yourself from snorting a laugh, causing his eyes to snap open and up at you.

“What? Did you make your wish?” he demands, his tone serious.

You hum. A familiar, glowing warmth grows from your lips and down to your toes despite the chilly night air as you stare at him. You tell yourself it’s a physical effect of the marijuana.

“I think I’m good, actually.”

••••••

Every year, a different member of the Avengers chooses a charity to hold a gala in honor of.

Sam's choice last year, Homes For Our Troops, build specially adapted, custom homes for severely injured veterans. Natasha's choice the year before that, Children of the Night, is a non-profit organization dedicated to rescuing and rehabilitating children who have been victims of prostitution.

Always funded by the Stark Relief Foundation, always held in the most high-profile and illustrious venues that money can buy, and always filled to the brim with every philanthropist and major news reporter in the state of New York.

This year, for the first time, it was your turn to select a charity. You decided on Women For Women International - a noble and worthy cause that you are proud to raise awareness and donations for. However, now that three hours into the gala, you are fucking burnt out. From the moment that you and your teammates arrived at the venue, guests and reporters began forming lines for their chance at interviewing you or getting their picture taken with you. You feel like you’ve talked to every person in the building, except for the one person that you truly wanted to. Add in a ten minute long speech addressing five hundred plus guests, you are drained. Physically, mentally, and socially drained.

“You did incredible with your speech,” a soft voice says from behind you. “All that worrying for nothing.”

You're exhaling a sigh of relief at the familiar voice before you've finished turning around to meet his dimpled grin and deep blue eyes. You think he might just be as ready as you are to get out of here with the way he's already loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his tux. His hair is tousled - though you haven't had a free moment to speak with him since the car ride over here with Sam and Steve, you have no doubt that he's ran his fingers through the short locks a few dozens times throughout the evening - a habit that flares up every time he's out of his element. With this being the first gala he's attended as an Avenger, and possibly the first gala he's ever attended, you're surprised he has any hair left.

“I wouldn't say for nothing,” you turn back to the bar in front of you and wave a singular finger to the bartender, signaling your desire for another drink. “I stuttered at least eight times, and lost my place on the page twice. I felt like I was going to puke shrimp cocktail and espresso martini all over the podium.”

You can see him grimace from your peripheral vision. He pulls out the barstool next to where you stand, and then takes a seat. You're pinned between the chair on the opposite side of you and his thigh, the cool silk of his pants tickling the bare skin of your leg where your dress cuts off just above mid-thigh. Close enough that you can feel warmth radiate from him and smell the essence of his piney aftershave. Subconsciously, you relax for the first time all evening.

“You are your own worst critic,” he reminds you, repeating the sentiment that he’s been saying to you for the last few weeks, anytime the gala or your speech would come up in conversation. “No one else noticed if you stuttered. They’re all too full of liquor, or too concerned with getting their photo op with Iron Man or The Hulk..” he trails off, glancing over his shoulder at where Tony and Bruce are both striking signature poses for some selfies with guests.

“And what about you? Have any of your fangirls begged you to take a picture with them?” You smirk at him as the bartender slides your martini across the countertop. You angle your body so that you’re now turned to face him, leaving practically no space between the two of you.

“More than I can count,” he exhales, and you force a laugh to not roll your eyes - not that you were surprised or that you could blame them for wanting their picture taken with him.

“Well, I’m glad that we were able to raise so much money,” you sigh into your drink. “But I would be lying if I said I’m also not glad that it’s over with. I’m ready to get these shoes off, submerge myself in a hot bath, and then sleep until tomorrow afternoon.”

“Always the introvert,” he murmurs, a sly grin appearing on his face. He carefully tugs the lapel of his jacket to the side and reaches his flesh hand inside, pulling out a tin of wintergreen Altoids. You look at him curiously as he gives the small container a shake. It makes no sound, seemingly empty of mints. You cock an eyebrow at him, about to ask him what the deal is, when a familiar, earthy scent wafts towards you.

“What’s in the tin, Buck?” you ask rhetorically, as if the odor isn’t a dead giveaway.

“Just a little something I’ve been saving for when I could finally get you alone tonight,” he shrugs, slipping the tin back inside the interior pocket of his jacket. Your heart skips a beat at the possibility that maybe he’d been wanting to talk to you, see you, spend time with you as much as you had him.

“I’m just happy to see that you finally have your own weed,” you tease, trying to polish off the remnants of your drink so that you can get the fuck out of here. “Now you can stop smoking all of mine.”

You’re just giving him a hard time, of course. You’d lost count of how many times the two of you have smoked together since the night of the meteor shower just two months ago, and you were more than happy to share your supply with him - he gives you a lopsided grin that tells you he knows you don’t actually mind.

“Hence why I have pre-rolled three joints just for you,” he quips back. “One for how much time and effort you put into this event, one for conquering your fear of public speaking, and one for how much of your weed you have let me smoke.”

Your cheeks warm at the thoughtful gesture. You swallow the last swig of the brown liquid and slide the glass back across the bar.

“What are we waiting for, then? Let’s go get a cab.”

Half an hour later, you and Bucky are in the backseat of the taxi that drives you away from bustling downtown Brooklyn and towards a park that Bucky had instructed the driver to take you to. You didn’t object, trusting that he knows this area of New York better than you do.

The driver comes to a stop next to a nearly desolate sidewalk that appears to lead to a waterfront walkway. Bucky hands the driver a handful of cash, tells him to keep the change, and hops out of the cab before extending a hand to you as you scoot across the seat to follow his exit. You mumble a quick thanks to the driver as he helps you onto the sidewalk and shuts the door behind you.

You pull your coat tighter around you, attempting to shield yourself from the chill of the November air. Fall is now in full swing in New York, and the short cocktail dress that you wore to the gala does little to protect you from the night air.

“Me and Steve used to come to this park all the time,” he tells you as he pulls the Altoids tin and a BIC lighter from his jacket. ���I vividly remember having to break up a fight he got into just past that fountain when we were teenagers,” he motions towards a large granite fountain ahead of you, “when some asshole stole a kid's frisbee.”

You laugh as he passes you a joint and the lighter, able to picture the memory he describes clear as day. It's far from the first time he's told you about a time that he had to get pre-serum Steve out of trouble.

“I don’t doubt that for a second,” you mumble as you pinch the tail of the joint between your lips, inhaling as you hold the flame up to the opposite end. A wave of smoke instantly fills your esophagus and lungs with a familiar, comforting burn and you pass the blazing joint back to him. “He’d still do the exact same thing, too,” you add as you exhale the thick cloud of smoke that mixes with the cold air. “Only difference now is that he can handle any fight that he gets himself into.”

“Some things never change,” he says before bringing the paper up to his own lips. You follow as he guides you across a small grassy area and to the walkway that runs alongside the river. Truthfully, it’s too chilly to be on a park stroll at this hour in your current attire, but with Bucky’s body heat radiating from directly beside you and the buzz you feel from the weed, you’re surprisingly comfortable.

“One thing that has changed however,” he continues as you’re inhaling a second hit, “is how well I’ve started sleeping on the nights that we smoke together. On those nights, I don't wake up over a dozen times. Hardly ever even have nightmares anymore.”

Your skin tingles at his admission - a whole flight of butterflies erupting in the pit of your stomach that you push down. You know that he means this because of the weed, not because of you, but for some reason - maybe it's the way his arm keeps bumping against yours or the way the moonlight reflects in the pools of his blue eyes as he glances over at you - you let yourself believe, even for just a split second, that you're aiding in bringing him peace on those evenings spent together. On the roof above the living quarters right before bed, or at the edge of the lake's water when you stop after a late run to watch the sunset, or -

“I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm grateful that I found you up on the roof the night of the meteor shower,” he continues when you don't respond, his voice now possessing a nervous edge. Your mouth suddenly feels dry - the worst cotton-mouth you've ever had times ten. “For more reasons than one.”

You both gradually slow until you've come to a complete stop in front of a boat dock. Between the martini you had before leaving the gala, the effects of the marijuana, and the way he's looking at you while standing so close, you think it's a miracle that you haven't tripped in these ridiculous chunky heels and fallen into the East River. You clear your throat, hoping that you don't sound like a lovestruck teenager when you speak.

“I'm really glad too, Bucky.”

••••••

You stare down at the picture displayed on your phone screen as you and Natasha take the elevator up to the compound's living quarters.

Rolled and ready for you to be home reads the text attached to the picture of the joint pinched between the thumb and index finger of his flesh hand that Bucky had sent you ten hours ago, before your flight from Arizona to New York was supposed to depart.

Our flight has been delayed due to a thunderstorm. No current ETA your reply reads with a frowny face emoji at the end.

Now, at 2:16 in the morning, you are finally back home hours later than originally expected.

You were sure that Bucky was asleep by this point, and you didn't blame him. You wished you were asleep right now, too. Natasha slept the entire plane ride back to New York.

You, on the other hand, may or may not have spent the plane ride reading back over recent text messages between you and Bucky and zooming in on the picture he had sent you because for some reason you really like his hands. Both of them.

You were acting like a goddamn fifteen year old.

“What are you grinning at?” Natasha's voice snaps you out of your trance. You quickly shove your phone into the pocket of your duffel bag.

“I'm not grinning,” you lie, but it's Natasha - of course she sees right through you.

“You were grinning,” she shrugs with a knowing smirk. “But it's okay. We'll chalk it up to sleep deprivation.”

“I am sleep deprived, actually. Someone snored the entire flight back home.”

“For someone who wasn't grinning you sure are being defensive right now,” she retorts with a shit-eating grin as the elevator dings and the door slides open. You roll your eyes as you both step out into the hallway that leads to the living quarters. You turn to the left, towards your bedroom, and she takes a right but then comes to a sudden stop, calling your name. You freeze, turning to look at her with a raised brow.

“For what it's worth, I think you should go for it. It's obvious to everyone around you two.” She looks at you expectantly.

“Get some rest, Nat,” you huff a small laugh under your breath, and try not to smile. She doesn't press the subject any further.

Before reaching your bedroom, you pause at the door to Bucky's room. You don't knock, but wait to see if you hear any movement from inside. All that you hear is a loud static from his white noise machine.

Although you expected him to be asleep at this hour, you couldn't help but feel a small pang of disappointment that you hadn't been able to get back earlier. You knew you would see him tomorrow (well, technically later today), but you hadn't gone this long - a mere three days - without seeing Bucky since the two of you had become close months ago.

You quietly make your way into your bedroom and toss your duffel bag onto the end of the bed before stripping off the dirty, sweaty tactical suit that you'd been wearing since the early hours of the previous morning.

In your bathroom, you turn the faucet handle to the hottest setting and watch as the small room fills with steam before stepping under the showerhead.

You think about what Natasha said as you scrub your body clean and let the harsh but satisfying stream of water relax your aching shoulder muscles.

You wanted to go for it. Goddamn, you wanted to go for it. Every time you are alone with him - whether he's helping you train with target practice, or you're paired up together for re-con, or you're just simply eating breakfast together in the common area - you want to go for it.

All you have to do is stare at his stupid, pretty pink lips for a split-second too long and you're thinking about going for it.

But for so many reasons, you don't.

Though your heart wants more, you love your friendship with him, too. And you would be devastated if you tried for more and it didn't work out and you lost that friendship altogether.

You also don't know if Bucky wants more. Natasha says that everyone around you sees it, but he's never directly said it. You know there's an undeniable chemistry, but what if you're the only one experiencing it?

You watch the last few suds of your body wash go down the drain and turn the shower off, deciding that it's too late and you're far too tired to be thinking about this right now.

You speed through your post-shower routine, desperate to feel the silk of your bedsheets against your clean, freshly moisturized skin as you drift off to sleep.

You're rolling some deodorant under your arms when a deep, loud cry thunders from somewhere outside of your room causing you to let out a shocked gasp. You drop the object in your hand immediately and it falls to the floor as you rush out of your bedroom, wearing only thin cotton shorts and a matching tank top.

As soon as you step into the hallway, you are able to identify where the screams are coming from. Pained, booming yells originate from behind the door directly across from your own.

Bucky’s room.

You don't hesitate to twist the doorknob, letting yourself and shutting the door behind you.

The pale orange glow of a small table lamp in the far corner of his bedroom illuminates the room enough for you to make sense of what is happening. The sight before you makes your heart sink to the floorboards.

He's asleep - his eyes pinched shut and his brows furrowed together in obvious agony. He's shirtless, and his skin looks pale and clammy with thick beads of sweat littered from his forehead to his torso.

There's a meek voice in the back of your mind that tries to remind you that you don't know what you're walking into, as you've never encountered Bucky while he's having a nightmare before but he looks so fucking pitiful that your only concern is alleviating him from whatever prison of torment his mind is currently trapped in.

You rush over to the side of the bed, nearly tripping on the comforter that he's apparently through to the floor in his sleep. Both of his hands form tight fists, his knuckles strained pale. He lets out another guttural yell that causes you to instinctively flinch away.

“Bucky,” you say, attempting to keep your voice from breaking. “Wake up, Bucky. You're having a nightmare.”

He gives no indication that he can hear you, his head thrashing violently and fists slamming down against his mattress as he makes a pitiful whimper.

“Bucky,” you repeat, leaning down to perch on the few inches of free space on the side of the bed. You reach out to place your hand on the flesh of his bicep, about to attempt to gently stir him awake, when he shoots straight up in his bed. You flinch again, but don't move from your position next to him, firming your grasp on his bicep in an effort to ground him. His blue eyes are as wide as saucers and his chest heaves as he takes in his surroundings.

“You're okay,” you assure him in a soft, uncertain voice, rubbing your thumb in circles against the skin of his flesh arm. “It was just a bad dream. Everything is–”

“I could have hurt you,” he interrupts you, his voice faltering on the last word. “I could have–”

“You didn't hurt me,” you interrupt him back. “You're okay, and I'm okay, too.” He nods, and you can tell he's trying to convince himself that the words you say are true.

You quickly glance around his room until you find what you're looking for. Strewn on the floor next to his bedside table, you see a black t-shirt. You reach over, picking it up. You hesitate for a moment before slowly extending the fabric to Bucky's face, where you delicately wipe away the thin layer of sweat that glistens on his forehead. He relaxes into the movement, his eyes closing until you pull away.

“I'm sorry that I woke you up,” he murmurs after a moment of heavy silence.

“You didn't wake me up,” you assure him quickly. He watches you with something akin to guilt across his features. “I had just gotten out of the shower. We didn't get home until half an hour ago.”

He glances down, noticing your attire. You suddenly feel naked in only the thin gray shorts and tank top. You awkwardly clear your throat, reaching to place the t-shirt on his bedside table when something catches your eye. Bucky follows your gaze to the joint laying on his bedside table.

“I tried to wait up for you,” he exhales a soft laugh. “Ended up passing out around midnight.” Your whole body warms at his admission. The idea that he tried to force himself to stay awake just so he could see you when you got home makes you feel dizzy despite the fact that you're sitting down.

“Do you want to now? To help you sleep?” you ask, gesturing towards the joint. You don't even care that it's three in the morning and that you're borderline delirious from lack of sleep.

He takes one of your hands in between his own and brings it closer to him, giving it a tight squeeze as he shakes his head.

“No, I know you're tired. But could you just..” He trails off, bringing your hand clutched between his up to his mouth to rest his lips against the skin of the back of your hand. It's not quite a kiss, but it sends goosebumps across your flesh nonetheless. You're holding your breath without realizing it. “Could you just lay with me for a while?”

You nod your head in agreement without even thinking about it. “Yeah - yeah, of course,” you answer, hoping that you don't sound too eager while simultaneously knowing that your voice has risen several octaves.

You lean over once again, grabbing his comforter off of the floor as Bucky scoots towards the middle of the king sized bed to give you room to crawl in beside him. He extends his flesh arm away from his body, a clear indication that he wants you to lay in the space between his arm and his chest. You lay down, tucking your head under his chin so that your cheek rests against the mildly clammy but soft skin of his chest. He helps you tug the thick blanket across your bodies before bringing his arm around your abdomen, pinning you to him.

Luckily, you’re far too tired, and he’s far too warm for you to overthink it.

“You smell really good,” he murmurs into your hair and you hope that his preternatural abilities don’t pick up on the way your heart skips a beat. “I probably smell like sweat.”

You hum a laugh against his chest, sniffing the skin next to your nose without thinking about it.

“You don’t smell like sweat. You smell just as good as you always do, somehow,” you assure him, reveling in his unique scent of vetiver and something citrusy.

You’re both quiet for a moment, sleep threatening to overtake you at any moment when he brings two metal fingers to the underside of your chin and gently tilts your face to look up at him. Your breath is trapped in your chest at the close proximity of your lips and his.

“Remember the night of the gala, when I told you that I’d started sleeping better and having less nightmares since we’d started smoking together before bed?”

You nod, not trusting your voice to answer verbally. He’s so fucking close, you can smell the spearmint of his toothpaste from when he’d brushed his teeth hours ago.

“That was true,” he continues, looking down at you with an indiscernible expression. “But what I’m now realizing is that I don’t think it has anything to do with the weed,” he pauses, a small smile forming across his face. “It’s just you.”

You can’t stop the smile that blooms in return, just as you can’t stop what you do next.

Closing the distance between your lips and his own, you kiss him as you’ve thought about doing for months now. You’re hesitant at first, worrying that you’ve crossed that line that you can never go back over - but then he’s moving his mouth with your own in a synchronicity sweeter than you could have dreamed.

His arms dart under the comforter, wrapping around your body and pulling you even tighter against him. You bring one of your hands to cup his face as he sweeps his tongue along the swell of your bottom lip. You open up for him, letting him inside your mouth as you move your hand from his jaw to his hair - lacing your fingers through the short brown locks as he explores your mouth. Your thigh hooks around his, and it takes everything in you to hold back - to not swing yourself over him and lay the full weight of your body flush against his.

He’s just had a nightmare, and it’s late, and you’re tired, and you don’t want to move this sweet, special thing that you have too quickly.

He pulls away, and you fight against whimpering at the loss of the sensation of his soft lips.

“The night of the meteor shower,” he starts, his voice strained and his pupils dilated. “You told me to make a wish, and I did. Now that it’s come true, I can tell you what it was I wished for,” he pauses, running his metal thumb across your kiss-swollen bottom lip as you look at him expectantly, waiting for him to go on. “I wished for as many moments like that as I could possibly get with you.”

Your heart swells in your chest. You're convinced that you're asleep because this is something straight out of your dreams. You remove your hand from his hair, placing it directly above his heart to make yourself believe this is real.

“Speaking of meteor showers,” you start as you trail the tips of your fingers over the defined planes of his chest. “There's supposed to be a cool show at the planetarium in Manhattan this weekend. Do you want to go with me?”

His answer is a soft smile before attaching his lips to yours once more.

thanks so much for reading! as always reblogs and comments are extremely appreciated. i hope you enjoyed 🩷

other recent works by me: love language • delirium • it's nice to have a friend

[vettelsvee]

GOODBYES ARE BITTERSWEET SERIES

f1 masterlist | ao3 | requests or let's talk!

sebastian vettel x singer ex gf!reader | 2018 to 2022 f1 seasons

for more information to the reader: ❥ this series will include some flashbacks to get to know more the characters and their story. ❥ it contains right person, wrong time and friends to lovers tropes. ❥ taylor swift and little mix don't exist in this universe as y/n and her music is based on theirs. ❥ some parts might include sensitive content. pay attention to trigger warnings at the beginning of each part.

started: JULY 17TH 2024 currently status: on going | last updated: july 24th masterlist under the cut !

taglist: [@nhfls @jehun @ferralari @cosmoscoffeee @mcmuppet @myescapefromthislife @mploopssek @sleutherclaw @youre-on-your-ownkid ]

a/n: i couldn't keep it anymore. i just can't thank you enough to all of you who liked, reposted and commented on the very first part of goodbyes are bittersweet. i feel speechless because this story means a lot to me. hope you like the story of these stupid two as much as you liked the first part. hope to see your comments and feedback, and also hope we fangirl together over this two <3

SEBASTIAN VETTEL AND Y/N Y/L/N HAD BEEN EVERYTHING TO EACH OTHER SINCE THEY WERE LITTLE. The kids from Heppenheim became best friends as soon as their parents' friendship made it possible. To their surprise, but not to the rest of the world, the young pair formed an increasingly strong bond until, after years of internal suffering, they decided to confess their feelings to each other.

However, a slip-up at the beginning of 2013 left Y/N pregnant with the RedBull driver's child. Knowing what it would mean for her partner to bring a child into the world, especially considering that his chances of winning his fourth Formula 1 championship were very high, she made the tough decision to hide the truth from Sebastian, cutting off all relations with him and his family.

Four years after the birth of little Emily, in 2018, Y/N worked tirelessly to provide the best possible life for her daughter in a small bar in her hometown as a waitress and occasionally as a singer, while composing songs that she thought would never be successful... or so she believed until a video of her singing one of the best songs she ever composed went viral on YouTube, reaching more people than she ever imagined.

Even Sebastian Vettel, who never stopped loving the woman who had been his girlfriend for six years despite having tried to forget her many more times that he could count.

© VETTELSVEE (2024). please, do not steal, copy or translate my works. thanks for reading!

GOODBYES ARE BITTERSWEET MASTERLIST

part 1: y/n decides to break up with seb once she finds out she's pregnant part 2: seb finds out that y/n just went viral on youtube after posting a song that might been composed about him part 3: y/n discovers not only that she went viral on youtube on her birthday and that she's offered a reunion with capital records, but also has to face a possible reunion with seb after no contact with him for four, almost five, years part 4: seb comes back home as a surprise only to see that hanna and a little mysterious girl receive them... instead of y/n, who was supposed to finally meet him part 5: after not seeing each other in almost five years, seb and y/n finally meet with just one purpose for her: telling seb they have a 4 year old daughter. will y/n be able to tell him? part 6: seb just wants y/n to accept that contract, and he's going to do everything he can to make it happen. also... the sebastian vettel fandom goes wild when her ex girlfriend does her comeback

[hoshinasblade]

second best |1| hoshina soshiro

PART 1 | PART 2 | BONUS: PART THREE

DISCLAIMER: this fic has a detail that hasn't been mentioned in the anime yet. it isn't a big give-away but if you are sensitive about that kind of thing, please do not proceed. pairing: hoshina soshiro x f!reader genre: slight angst, comfort, childhood friends to lovers, a bit of that miscommunication trope snippet: hoshina soshiro always ranks second at everything in his life. god forbid he falls behind in the bid for your heart too. word count: 3K trigger warnings: author's note: this fic has two parts - part 2 will be posted a week from today :) likes, replies, and reblogs are always appreciated but please do not repost or steal my writings. this is quite long, but i gotta make you guys work for it. i have also set up a taglist for the second part and the other fics or drabbles, please sign up if you wanna be tagged! as always, feel free to let me know what you think or give me a prompt by sending me an ask here!

hoshina soshiro can claim with extreme conviction that he rarely regrets the decisions he has made so far in his life.

from the time he has set his sights on taking the aptitude exam necessary to be recruited in the anti-kaiju defense force, to following captain ashiro mina to support her as the vice-captain of the third division, to religiously adhering to his daily routine of working out even during his off days so he can stay in peak condition - everything he's done is driven by soshiro's lone motivation: to rise and come on top.  

unfortunately, as he sees you walking in the hallway of the training building with his brother, soshiro realises that this is one of those rare occurrences where he hopes he gets a do-over.

it was barely 6 in the afternoon so there was still light from outside; the rays of the setting sun penetrating the transparent windowpanes cast an orange glow to the furniture in soshiro's office. it made him remember how he used to always be assigned as the student to clean the classroom back in junior high school: he would sweep first then rearrange the chairs before closing the windows and drawing down the curtains. he would rush up to the rooftop, in time to watch the sun dip below the horizon. he would stay for a few precious minutes, dreaming of a chance to get out of their town. he was fifteen then.

soshiro shook his head a bit. he decided that today - of all days - will not be when he will have a trip down memory lane. yes, despite the number of times he would get reminded of his past today, he refuses to get sidetracked.

the floor is eerily silent, save for the momentary opening and closing of doors; soshiro is aware that almost everyone has left, flocking to the local izakaya not too far from the base to celebrate. he had half the mind to prompt himself to hurry up in order to make it to the get-together on time. the long and gruelling application process took three months before the vetting could begin, but finally, the third division of japan anti-kaiju defense force honoured its new officers that morning. as the nominated head of the selection committee, he oversaw the entire thing, and at the end, he could not help but to feel confident that their force would become stronger from here - this year their roster of applicants boasts high-profile names like that of the very daughter of jakdf's director general and the young master of the prestigious izumo family.

okonogi, sitting in front of him at his office, was sorting the personal forms of the recruits, a big stapler in her right hand. "i can take care of this, vice-captain", she said to him, "they cannot miss you there."

soshiro smupled to his swivel chair, obviously fatigued by the task he and okonogi had been trying to finish for half an hour already. fighting and defeating kaiju is the main part of the job, but handling the paperwork proves to be as challenging. "right, make sure the headquarters get this by the morning along with the report of all their numbers -" the sound of footsteps nearby interrupted soshiro's train of thought.

there were three loud knocks and the door opened, a man with the same eyes as soshiro peeping inside. even okonogi glanced over her shoulder to identify who the intruder is. soshiro stood up.

"just wanted ta drop by before i head back ta himeji", hoshina soichiro's undeniable accent dripped. spotting the huge pile of forms littering the desk, he commented, "seems like ya are a little preoccupied though."

"hoshina fuku taichou, good evening." your voice was firm yet jovial as you greeted him, the kansai inflection rolling off your tongue. you appeared beside soshiro's brother, still wearing the same standard-issue uniform you wore during the event several hours ago when you were sworn in as a new defense force officer. the outfit is snug on you - soshiro had noticed at the ceremony earlier, but up close the top looked almost skintight, the skirt coming up a little above your knees. soshiro can be a high-ranking official within the force, but he is also a man. if only briefly, he stared. "aren't ya going ta the party?"

taken aback that you would drop by his office, it was out of his mouth too fast he couldn't stop it - "how about ya? what are you still doing here with him?" soshiro responded pointedly at you, throwing you the same query but not answering what you asked him. it was too late to take it back; he sounded like he was interrogating you about your presence with the captain of the sixth division. soichiro winced; soshiro pretended not to see. "i- i was just thinking ya went with the officers on the way there", he added, calmer this time.

"oh, i was just catching up with hoshina-kun", you replied without missing a beat. soshiro doesn't know if the accidental force in his question just seconds prior did not intimidate you at all or you simply ignored his tone. "i mean with soichiro-kun. considering ya are hoshina too", you chuckled. soshiro stole a glance at the man at your side while maintaining an empty expression. he found his brother smirking at him; soshiro willed himself not to picture soichiro as an ugly kaiju with a butt for a face.

okonogi who is now attentively eavesdropping on your conversation caught your attention. "pardon for the bother, hoshina-san. we'll be off now."

for an instant, it looked like you were waiting for soshiro to say something in response. to say what, he doesn't know. the eye contact between you and him held up for a moment but broke as quick as it began. tension prickled in the air briefly then ebbed as you turned away from soshiro. "i'll see ya at the party, vice-captain", you gave him a bow before exiting the room. soshiro wanted to stop you; he didn't.

soichiro sighed. "it was nice seeing ya, 'lil bro", he addressed soshiro, his hand patting the latter's shoulder once, twice. "i have paperwork ta worry about too so as much as i'd like to, i won't be able ta attend your division's party. just in case ya want ta know." soshiro didn't look like he had a crumb of interest to know about his brother's occupational responsibilities; he shrugged soichiro's hand off.

soshiro saw you standing outside, leaning on the wall, when he ushered his brother out. "i'll be driving her to the izakaya though", soichiro informed him. "ya should visit our folks when ya have the time. ya should come home sometimes", soichiro continued, a hint of concern evident in his voice. when soshiro did not respond, surprisingly the older hoshina did not look a tiny bit disappointed. instead, soichiro put on a charming smile and waved at okonogi. "okonogi-chan, see ya around!" he tossed a playful wink at her.

soshiro merely watched as you and soichiro walked together, your pace matching his. a few meters away, he saw you listening intently to something soichiro was saying - he is too close - and although he is not within earshot to hear what is being said anymore, he knows it is another one of his brother's bad jokes. it looks like you were trying to suppress it, but a smile was about to dawn on your lips. soshiro felt sick to his stomach all of a sudden.

the party was already in full swing when soshiro arrived - everyone is hungrily feasting on the expensive wagyu beef, drinks flowing endlessly from the bar. everyone is enjoying themselves; even captain ashiro mina can be seen having small talk with the newly sworn-in officers who were eagerly taking notes from her.

you had easily made friends with the other rookies who are now sitting next to you; it was thanks to your group that this event was planned - after enduring long sessions of strenuous physical training every day of every week, you all deserved a night of everyone just gathering to have a good time. soshiro seems to be exempt from the festive atmosphere though.

he picked the seat next to his captain, who greeted him with a curt nod. he proceeded to grab the mug of beer served to him; the first sip registered a sharp bitterness through his mouth but soshiro relished on the flavor as it overtook his senses.

"everything alright?" captain ashiro from his side asked without lifting her gaze from her own drink. "you are being -" she paused, carefully searching to find the right words, “uncharacteristically quiet.”

soshiro picked the glass of beer again, and when he was about to put the lid on his lips, he could sense someone’s intense stare locked on him. years of being the vice-captain gifted him with equal parts instinct and paranoia so he could not help but scan the room, only to find you, sitting across the room, watching him with a curious expression.

a rowdy group of rookies surrounds you; they are high-fiving each other, laughing at their silly pranks, not minding that all of you are squeezed together at a crowded circle. soft music in the background swelled as everyone cheered and clinked glasses.

soshiro's eyes remained fixed on yours, lasting for what he felt like forever. the buzz of chatter dulled to a distant hum, fading into an almost white noise. his heart raced as he felt his breath catch and his mouth go dry. the corner of your lips curved into a smile and maybe it is the alcohol in his system, but he is certain his cheeks are flushed now.

"huh", captain ashiro lowly exclaimed. soshiro quickly snapped a glance at her. "you talked to her yet?" she asked him. ah, she caught his little moment with you.

soshiro was on the verge of playing it cool and putting on an act; he was about to outright lie to his captain by saying "talk to who?" as if he had no idea what she was referring to. he settled with silence. he was grateful his non-response only earned him a sigh from the captain who did not press the topic any further.

 "to you newbies, congratulations!" captain ashiro raised her glass, still half-filled with alcohol. her voice rang out over the place, everyone's conversations immediately falling quiet. "may the third division always be victorious in our battles to come", she recapped her speech.

the party showed no signs of slowing down. hibino kafka, a recruit in his thirties has been the centre of intrigue that has spanned for weeks now. hibino ossan - as what the others nicknamed him - had revealed in a bathroom conversation with other male rookies that he grew up with captain ashiro. ashiro mina likes dried squid; ashiro mina used to raise pets in grade school - everyone consumed any and every tidbit of trivia hibino disclosed about the usually stoic and serious third division commander. soshiro was among those invested in the rumor and you knew why. for a while, you also wondered how he would react once the rest of the troops learned about your own past with their vice-captain. would he deny it? or would he brush off any potential gossip that may arise from the revelation? if everyone discovered your shared history with hoshina soshiro, would it make him want to reconnect with you?

“you lot will start duty monday next week, but tomorrow will just be another workday for vice-captain hoshina and i”, captain ashiro said, having stood up from her seat, preparing to take off. “no, you can stay”, she said to some of the newbies who have started to get up too.

“nah, captain, why don’t we bring them along to help us file all the tedious paperwork?”, soshiro interjected in his familiar upbeat tone. the crew bursted into snickers; captain ashiro gave soshiro a perplexed look, obviously puzzled about the sudden shift in his mood. testing her theory, she looked at your direction.

captain ashiro couldn't make out why, but you were giggling at whatever your seatmate had said, elegant hand covering your mouth, eyes crinkled. she understood soshiro then - she was not foreign to feeling uneasy inside when she sees someone so physically near someone she cares about after all. "let's go, hoshina", she tucked her pity for the vice-captain away.

"do you guys think they are dating?" a particularly tactless rookie sitting at your table had asked immediately after captain ashiro and hoshina were out the sliding doors.

"i bet they're not", you blurted out a little too soon, a little too sure. you did not mind clipping your accent, your kansai-ben thick and heavy. your fellow officers looked at you, expecting an explanation for your outburst. "i mean -" you stuttered, "that would be awkward, i guess."

"you know to think of it, you're from himeji too, right?" a few more recruits have started to listen in on the exchange. these people can smell the truth off me, you thought. you wanted to smack yourself in the face.

"we went ta the same high school together, that's all", you admitted, feeling backed in a corner. tomorrow when you get questioned for this imprudent behavior, you can probably blame it all on the alcohol. "and grade school", you continued, loose-lipped now.

you still liked wearing pink bows in your hair when you met him. an only child of kind parents, you never experienced having to ask for something you like; you were doted on and spoiled so you were reasonably upset when a young hoshina soshiro did not give you the time of his day. your family has just moved to hyogo shortly before that, and you were anxious to make friends; since your early age, you had made it your mission to make soshiro acknowledge you.

"you dun wanna play with me, because ya are stupid", you told soshiro-kun once. "oka-san said all boys are stupid", you had the nerve to elaborate after he pouted at you, his unkempt bangs sticking on his sweaty forehead, his clothes dirty from training all day.

"yer pretty", he responded and you felt the blush crept up on your cheeks. "pretty annoying."

"come on, spill some tea!" someone's palm connected with the table, jolting you out of your trance. "we have another hibino-senpai situation on our hands!" they declared, grabbing you by the arm and shaking you a bit. if it was meant to encourage you to tell more childhood tales between you and the vice-captain, it worked really, really well.

"he's always had that haircut even as a kid", you said, misinterpreting the kind of story your companions wanted you to tell, judging by their disappointed looks. “i- i don’t know what else to tell you guys”, you held up your hand in surrender.

“do you have a crush on him?” you choked on your drink, caught off guard.

vexed at his absent-mindedness, soshiro was walking back to the izakaya place alone when he heard the commotion. he is going straight to bed once he gets back to the base, but he would have to retrieve his uniform jacket first from his seat earlier.

“you totally do, don’t you!” it stopped sounding like a question and more of an accusation you could not deny. “you like hoshina-san!”

“i -i do, yes... but what of it, huh?" he couldn’t see you but he would recognize the soft timbre of your voice anywhere. soshiro felt like a victorian gentleman getting a glimpse of a woman’s ankle for the first time listening in on the uproar of cheers after your confession.

“the three of us attended the same high school, soichiro-kun was a grade ahead”, you said. soshiro froze. you are talking about his brother. “he has always been good at everything, t'was hard not ta like him.”

soshiro closed his eyes, attempting to steady his breathing. he always had his suspicions - for the ceremony earlier his brother even took a day off his busy schedule as the commander of the sixth division to attend as a guest. he should have known.

last year, soshiro’s squad fought a lizard-type kaiju with a fortitude of above 8. like the reptile, a cut made on any of its limbs was useless due to advanced regeneration. a fractured rib, extremely bruised arms, and a dislocated shoulder were what it costed soshiro to win against the monster. his bitterness threatening to consume him, he cannot believe that you confirming his worst fears would hurt more than that fatal experience.

of course, he said to himself. it’s not like he can fault you for liking soichiro - everyone did. as the firstborn son, their father always had favored him. soichiro has been the more skilled swordsman between them; he was the golden child, charismatic and talented with an effortless charm - like moths to a flame he would attract people, and even in his silence he would overshadow soshiro.

soshiro didn’t stand a chance against his own flesh and blood.

he was a teenager when he dreamed of running away from the constant but inevitable competition he had with his brother. scouted for the third division, he relished on the freedom. but how do you escape the reality of the one you love loving the one person you could never measure up to?

[bones4thecats]

Hello! Thank you for the answering my previous request, it was a lovely read. If you are still open for requests at the time of me sending this, I would like to request some general relationship headcanons for TFP Megatron, Starscream, Soundwave, and Shockwave with a Cybertronian S/O. Thank you for your time and I hope you have a good day! - ❤️‍🩹Anon

Relationship Hcs With TFP Decepticons

Characters: Megatron, Starscream, Soundwave and Shockwave Requester: ❤️‍🩹Anon A/N: It's nice to hear from you again, ❤️‍🩹Anon! Thank you for the compliment on your past request! Anyways, I do hope you enjoy this Transformers Prime request. By the way, be on the lookout for titles that are naturally feminine, I couldn't find many gender-neutral ones. P.S: The character labeled in the last bit of hcs is completely fictional. ⚠️ Spoilers/Trigger Warnings for: Transformers Prime Series and Movie ⚠️

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»»————————————-　Megatron　————————————-««

👑 This guy is known for his tyrannical behavior, but he does tone it down when it comes to you being around him. Megatron does care about his S/O dearly in his spark

👑 Megatron started the war because of the unjust ranking in society, but he also started the war because he did not want you to be shoved around like nothing anymore. He may have been a respected gladiator in the Pits of Kaon, but even that title can only go so far in a corrupt society

👑 Over the course of the war, Megatron appointed many to his side, which was called the Decepticons. And throughout the claiming of titles, he dubbed you his right-hand. After all, a Lord is nothing without a Lady

👑 He may not seem like it, but this ruler is fairly good at treating his lover as an equal. Megatron may be a psychopath during his reign over the Decepticons, but he has morals deep down in his spark

👑 Anyways, when the war did begin to go against both sides and Cybertron fell when it came to life, Megatron was the first mech to realize it. And when he saw how the supposed-quick-war was growing longer with every passing cycle, he rushed you off the planet and onto the Nemesis ship first, with him and his most trusted followers joining

👑 Throughout his time out in space locating the mystical Dark Energon, you attempted to stay in direct contact with him the best. Before he ventured to far away, leaving the Nemesis in control of you and the official second-in-command, Starscream

👑 It was painful ruling alongside the egotistical seeker, but when your sparkmate returned, you lunged at the opportunity to rule alongside him instead

👑 While he was under the influence of the dark energon, he attempted to keep you far away from him, which showed just how much he valued your existence. You may have been an amazing fighter, but he could overpower you with ease

👑 Megatron's death was also the thing that caused many to see just how close you two were. When his limp and sparkless frame fell from the Nemesis, through the atmosphere of Earth, and down into the vast and deep ocean below, you cried in agony while multiple Vehicons carried you away. All Autobots, including ones like Ratchet and Arcee, were shocked to see you crying over his death. They suspected that he was an abuser, when it reality, he was better than that... he was your dream mech...

👑 Before your escaped, you were taken away by the Autobots, locked away in your once thriving ship with your medic Knockout and the many Vehicons who stayed loyal. Though, it seemed that the Autobots, especially Optimus, felt pity for you

👑 And while he laid apparently deceased in everyone else's mind, you felt his spark pulsating through your bond. You were shocked when it was announced that Megatron somehow had come back from the dead, but you knew once you looked at him that he wasn't the Megatron you once knew and loved

👑 During the fight, you were one to fight alongside the Predacons, using your advanced fighting skills when in flight-mode to attack easily. After the actual fighting, Predaking looked at you and nodded, making you fly off and to the surface of the hopefully-near thriving Cybertron

"Megatron...?"

"Y/N."

"Megs!"

👑 You lunged forward in a sprint and allowed the large mech to pick you up, spinning you around and hug you as you wept into his now-spikier armor. You then rose your head and relaid it down on his forehead, only looking away from him when you heard the coughs of a certain scrawny-stiletto wearing seeker

👑 Starscream merely backed away scared as you and Megatron glared and the titular mech yelled at him in anger. And before you flew after your lover, who was exiling himself after saying the Decepticons were no longer working and he was turning his title in as a warlord, you smiled at the Autobots and handed Knockout a small tablet with a photograph of the main 'cons, then it changed to one of you, Knockout and Breakdown

👑 The red mech smiled and gave you a small hug before you heard Megatron yell for you, making you transform after sending your goodbyes and flying away. A new life to start with your lover, away from war and away from the blood-soaked regime of your old lives

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»»——————————-　 Starscream 　———————————-««

💫 He first met you while he was controlling a large armada of fellow seekers in the Cybertronian Air Command. You were a new recruit and gained a close bond with the raspy-Decepticon, quickly rising in the ranks before becoming Lieutenant-General of the Air Command

💫 While under the control of Megatron, he showed quite a favoritism to you. And believe me when I say this; Starscream hated how close he acted towards you

💫 It was when Soundwave revealed you and Starscream's spark-bond that Megatron stiffened slightly around you, but did still act fairly cordial. Until his motives began to worsen over the next few hundred years

💫 Many view Starscream as a very manipulative and fearful being, and they're not wrong there. At first, he tried manipulating you, but you eventually grew onto him like a mold

💫 He also has used you like a Cybertronian-Shield multiple times. But, you always were at the ready with a weapon when against the Autobots and their meddlesome human allies

💫 Speaking of him using you as a shield, while he may use you as one when it comes to some battles when he is obviously at a disadvantage, when it comes to his beatings against your leader, you become his defendant. At least when it gets bad enough to be possibly life-threatening

💫 Starscream puts on a macho-mech persona, which he only lets down when his life in in danger or when you are in a major accident. Like when the Autobots were fighting against you and Shockwave while retrieving a Predacon's fossil. He had immediately noticed you were going to have a small concussion

💫 He was the one who went out with Soundwave to defend you, he could care less about Shockwave's spark. He needed you alive, not him.

💫 You guys are one of the cutest duos on the Nemesis. Whenever a Vehicon walks by you two speaking with a smile lodged on both of your faces, they just look at one another and chuckle

💫 It's your gentle-nature that makes Starscream feel unworthy of having you around. He views himself as inferior, and this only grows when he serves under Megatron. The larger mech makes him feel completely worthless, especially by comparing him to others, specifically Shockwave and Soundwave

💫 Unlike Starscream, you helped fight against Unicron when he possessed Megatron. You helped Shockwave gather his three Predacons to send them off, before going off to use your flight to your advantage before leaving to find Starscream

💫 He angered you slightly when he tried convincing Megatron to take over Cybertron again, and after he flew off, you sent him a comm saying you hoped he lived a fulfilling rest of his life. He just chuckled and wished you and Starscream a good future, making you smile and look at your spark-mate

💫 Smiling at the Autobots nervously, Starscream transformed and yelled for you to follow suit. You sighed and threw a vile of finished synthetic-energon at Ratchet, making him gasp and chuckle as you winked and flew off. What an exit... one worthy of his old lab partner and good friend

💫 As Starscream chanted about being the new leader of the Decepticons, you heard the Predacons approach and stared wide-eyed as they glared at Starscream but not you... damn you were always favored more than him🤣

"Y/N...? Why are they glaring at me so much...?"

"Pretty sure they wanna eat you. You might wanna start running, Hon'."

💫 You just looked at the three mechs and told them to go easy on him, and they just huffed before nodding and chasing him. Leaving a smiling Cybertronian behind

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»»——————————-　 Soundwave 　———————————-««

🔊 Ah, the loving silent mech himself.

🔊 He, unlike others, did not meet you before the war began. Instead, you were assigned to be his fellow third-in-command, except you were more located outside of the ship and leading attacks than him

🔊 Soundwave is fairly difficult to get to know at first, since he doesn't speak and doesn't show any reaction. Y'know- with the visor-face and all...

🔊 But, when you did get closer with the mech, it was known to all on the Nemesis that you were held in high regard not only to Lord Megatron, but to the third-in-command as well. Not even Starscream dared to lay a servo on you, fear of retaliation from both of the powerful mechs overwhelming him

🔊 Now, if you are smaller than him, he does make sure you stay out of others ways or get jobs that fit the way you are built and can handle. Normally, the smaller the Cybertronian, the thinner amount of weight they can handle

🔊 Though, if you are bigger, he trusts you to handle yourself a lot more. He would watch over you in battle, sending you codes that could help you in defeating the Autobots and retrieving whatever Megatron needed

🔊 Soundwave also is a very busy mech, so most of the time he has work to do. So, in those kinds of situations, he sends his precious minicon, Laserbeak, out to observe you. Ordering him to send a distress single if you were in danger and he couldn't do anything to help

🔊 When he was kidnapped by the Autobots, you were beyond unstable. Throwing items back and forth across your shared room, successfully scaring all that passed and heard you mixture of angry screams and cries of agony

🔊 Him coming back made your mood lighten up, and it caused even Megatron to slightly smile seeing you run up to him and hug him tightly, before cringing at the sight of the Autobot medic, and your old friend, Ratchet, being thrown in cuffs and pushed away to a holding cell

🔊 You stayed right beside him as best as you could, helping out with everything until those wretched humans came around and had a second Ground-Bridge opened, wrapping both you and him in the warp. Before carrying your screaming frame as his struggling one inside

🔊 Soundwave slightly strutted before lunging at the three mortals, unsuccessfully ending them. This made you gasp and stutter in realization... you were stuck in the Shadowzone with no way out of it and no-one except those humans to know where you were

🔊 Falling to your knees, you began to weep as Soundwave kneeled in front of you and held you close. A low tune being played over his speakers

"Will we ever get out of here...?"

"I will stop at nothing to get us out of here, Y/N." Soundwave said, his natural voice running through your audials.

"I love you..."

"And I love you as well."

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»»——————————-　 Shockwave 　———————————-««

🧪 Shockwave and you met in another fairly odd way

🧪 As a very head-strong member of the Cybertronian Sea Special Ops, and holding the rank of a Major, you always kept your mind right on the target. And when you were sent in by your General, Preon, to observe a supposed operation of a revolution against the Council

🧪 You disguised yourself with a device modeled by one of the engineers, and when you came into contact with the one-eyed mech, you were enamored. And you couldn't lie, hearing Megatron's speech of freedom from the damaging oppression laid stuck in your head

🧪 Over time, you began to use your Black Ops skills to escape detection and help Shockwave gain different objects he needed for his experiments. And when you revealed your treachery to the Cybertronian Council, he felt a pang in his spark that was unfamiliar

🧪 While first deeming it illogical, Shockwave did enjoy being in a close relationship with you. You were highly skilled in battle and in everything scientific

🧪 Shockwave is a very distant mech because of his work. He serves the Decepticon cause very well, to the point where many say he comes in a dual battle against Soundwave's loyalty to the cause

🧪 Despite the complaints of Megatron, you stayed on Cybertron, and got damaged when fighting against Arcee and Cliffjumper. And even he had to admit, you grew on him a lot faster than he initially believed. The cyclopian-mech did also prove to be better at being a doctor than he or you thought

🧪 Shockwave does care about you in a unique way. While he doesn't show it outright like other Cybertronians, he does prove how much he cares about you with simple methods. He does three main things; he is extremely honest, sharing his opinions on all matters, Shockwave also trusts you with tasks he wouldn't trust anyone else with, such as caring for the Predacons while he is outside gathering more fossils, and he loves to show his loyalty. He could care less about everyone else, you are his top-priority when it comes to dangerous situations

🧪 If you ever had doubts of your bond, he immediately addresses it. He may be working while speaking, but he does show his devotion to you first

"Shockwave... do I... mean anything to you...?"

"That's one of the most illogical things I have ever heard." Shockwave replied. "If I saw no use in having a relationship with you, I would never had proposed our spark-bond coming to light. I don't ever want to hear about you doubting yourself, Y/N. Understood?"

🧪 He's not the most ideal mech to be bonded to for life, but he isn't the worst

[thebomb-thebird-andtheburntbitch]

a/n- 3.5k: boothill comes back to you for a tune up, but instead of his body, it's his heart that needs tending to after you scare the hell out of him [minor boothill story spoilers if you're not caught up on that jazz, but nothing major!]

warning(s)!: boothill is implied to have an artificial tech!eye and he takes it out (not descriptive tho!)

the last time boothill saw you, he was in for a cooling agent refill. it was also during that last visit when he saw that you had fixed up the small robot he had picked up on a distant planet and brought back as a gift. with your affinity for tinkering with things, he knew you'd like it. and he wasn't wrong.

it's been a month, maybe, and while that shouldn't be considered a very long time away considering his goal steeped in revenge would eventually require him to be gone for far longer- or even not come back at all- he damn missed you.

that, and the censor inside his eye has been on the fritz and well... if he can't see, he can't exactly shoot straight. he didn't need to be discharging bullets like a psychopath- he's a galaxy ranger, not some low-ringed IPC lacky who's a bit too trigger happy.

luckily, his eye wasn’t so fudged up that he couldn't see at all. the world around him was all blurs if he moves to quickly, but given the time to adjust, he's able to more or less make out what was in front of him. just don’t ask him to read anything... not that he was stellar in that department to begin with. it's like the crosshair infused with his artificial eye was out of focus or something.

boothill knows the path to your shop- that acts also as your home- like the back of his hand. someone could pluck his eye right out of his head, yet he'd still navigate his way to where you are. it was one of the few roads he has taken time and time again. he hope's it'll stay a place he can keep coming back to in health or otherwise.

stepping off his small, single-man ship after landing it near the junkyard you usually dig around in, he stumbles out of it onto the ground with a censored curse. he wishes he could land the thing closer to your shop, but he had once come in with too much a gusto and scorched a section of your lawn. once was all you needed to prohibit him from landing anywhere near the building again.

the walk from junkyard to the shop wasn't a treacherous one, hardly even a workout. still, the back of his neck just at his hair line breaks out into a cold sweat. it isn't brought on by exertion, but by the engraved instinct that something... wasn't right. something in his gut was telling him something was wrong.

boothill's learned to trust his gut.

his leisurely pace picks up to a more urgent gait and he can smell the 'something wrong' before his unfocused eye can try and see it.

it smells like smoke.

his steps falter at the disgustingly familiar scent- the smell that brings back memories he forces himself remember. memories that push him towards his goal of revenge- his goal in finding oswaldo. memories of his ruined home. he swallows thickly but it does nothing for his throat that's sudden too dry.

boothill hated fire. he's hated fire since his original name died with his family... with his daughter. since he chose to become "boothill" altogether he's abhorred fire.

he's familiar with fire. with its destruction. with its color. with its smell and heat and ruthlessness. its lack of mercy and greedy nature to swallow up anything in its path that can scorch.

the billows of smoke he could barely make out once his long, mechanical legs took him running to your shop could only be explained by fire. where was it? was it large? contained? were you inside? were you hurt? the cowboy didn't see any flames from outside, so it must not be that bad yet. you're fine. you're fine. you have to be.

all formality is left at his heels when he barges through your shop's doors. there's not much smoke in front of the shop when he enters.

"y/n! are you in here!" you don't respond to his shouts. "fudge!" god, boothill wishes he could properly curse right now. screw his synthesia beacon to hell.

the dim lights make it harder to navigate the area around him with the addition of his already busted vision, but just like the path leading him here- boothill is familiar with the inside of your home. he could walk it blindfolded and deaf.

boothill follows his nose. the smell of smoke got stronger the further back into the shop he goes. the ranger starts hearing commotion along with his narrowing down of where the fire was coming from.

clanging. some bangs. you're coughing. you're cursing.

boothill pushes open the metal door that leads into the main workshop with his shoulder. the room is always filled with all sorts of scrap metals, wiring, wielding tools, normal tools, and all sorts of other gadgets and knobs that he's sure you keep cluttered in different drawers and corners.

the smoke he saw outside floods the workshop, filtering out through the windows you had thrown open and up the chimney you don't ever use unless you need to melt down metal. the grey, sooty gas lingers high towards the ceiling. wafting around his head as soon as he enters the workshop, causing him to choke on it before his mechanical insides whirl into filtering it all out of his system.

sometimes being mostly robotic had it's perks. not choking to death on smog was always a plus.

"sugar!" he calls that familiar endearment over all the noise you're causing. the normally sweet, yet playful, nickname he's been calling you since he discovered your unbelievable sweet tooth feels sour coming out of his mouth this time. your coughing is muffled, and he can only assume it's because you're covering your mouth with a cloth or something. you better be, he hisses internally to himself.

"boothill?!" your shock is as muffled as your cough. "hold- gahk! son of a- hold on a second!" he can hear you rushing around the shop's concrete floor. "ore, did you get to the switch!" you direct your attention away from the unanticipated arrival of boothill. instead, you steer it towards the aforementioned, small robot you refurbished into new, mech-life. you had named it ore after the piece of unknown gem used as his power source.

small beeps of affirmation filter through the soot and smoke and you cough three more times into the cloth you're holding over your mouth and nose.

"flick it left!" you instruct ore. another set of beeps before the shop is bombarded with a force that's almost enough to knock boothill off his feet. the smoke was gathered quickly into a vacuum of air that soon collected all of it up then sequency shot it up and out the of chimney.

the room was basically clear now. all that's left after ore flips the switch back to the right to halt at vacuum assault is the mist of remnants that would soon find their way out the windows you intend to keep open for a good, long while.

you lower the rag from your mouth that had been used to keep smoke from invading your lungs and grimace at it. you had been previously using that rag to wipe oil from a machine you were working on. the very same machine that you had kicked a bit too roughly, causing some faulty wiring inside to shift and ignite. that bucket of broken bits was what led to this predicament in the first place!

finally, you look towards boothill. you hardly get a chance to acknowledge him properly since the moment you turn towards the doors he had come through; he was already at you.

crossing the room with urgent, quick strides, his metal arms clad in his cropped jacket and hanging red scarf wrap around your shoulders. one of his hands push against the back of your head and he doesn't care if the threads of your hair tangle into the groves of his fingers. his chin drips to rest his cheek against your crown.

his head dips so low, cheek and face pushing against your head so closely that the brim of his cowboy hat dents against your skull before falling off to the floor. it falls upside down with a soft thwomp and he can't seem to care.

"hey," you whisper in shock as you curl your arms upwards, bringing your hands to rest concerningly against his shoulders. his scarf was soft against your palm. your fingers thread through parts of his long, white and black hair that rest over his hunched back.

you've never seen him like this. not ever. you were certain that if he were completely human with a full body of flesh and blood, he'd be shaking like a leave. "boothill," you call, trying to get him to hear you.

he doesn't answer you. not verbally.

boothill shakes his head in two small shakes, somehow pushing his cheek further against the top of your head. he was taking deep breaths, taking in the smell of oil and rust and work that you always seem to be coated in. the arm around your shoulders holds you hostage and the one behind your head doesn't let your face pull even a single inch away from his neck where he keeps you.

his eye is still blurry and he still can't see properly. he needs to keep you against his body so his censors can make sure you're alive.

boothill can't 'feel' anything anymore from the neck down. the metal frame he calls his body is just that- metal. a shell that doesn't allow him to feel pain externally. so, he needs to anchor your body to him, so that all his internal do-dads can verify to his malfunction vision that you were okay.

you don't know how long boothill keeps you still like this. you don't keep track of the time. ore beeps confused and concerned once it finds its way back to the nearest tabletop closest to both of you. it's digital face with two oval, pixeled eyes that slice in half like a cartoon character's paint the expression clearly. there's even a small dash of pixeled sweat at the corner of it's 'face' that shows just how distressed it is.

eventually, boothill uncurls his arms from you, and you wince at the small strands of your hair that do end up snagged in his hands and knuckles. when you finally get away enough, you look up at him.

his face is down turned and anxious. there's a cold sweat on his cheek that's come from his hairline and slides past his ear (did he still have sweat glands?). he looks empty without his hat on, even though you should be good and well used to the sight. he often gives it to you to wear when he comes by- for whatever reason.

looking at him longer, you notice something off. with squinted eyes, you reach up and touch his cheek.

"hey, is your eye-" the cowboy jolts at the feel of your hand against his flesh and you wonder if he's sensitive to skin-to-skin contact since this small space is all he has left to experience the sensation. you go to pull your hand away, not wanting to make him uncomfortable.

boothill feels you pull away and quickly stops you. his metal palm that's still warm with the heat of your body pushes against the back of your hand as he leans his face into your warm, soft palm. his bullet earring is cool against the tip of your fingers that he isn't engulfing with his hand. the eye you're so used to looking at shuts at the sensation.

"boothill?" you try again now that you've both had time to calm down. you really have never seen him act like this way. was this really the same haughty, galaxy ranger who waltzes in every few months or so because he keeps jamming his arm gun, or running low on coolant, or just to bug you?

"the fire," he says. you look behind you at the scorched pile of metal that was the sole perpetrator for the whole kit and caboodle. "are you hurt?" the synthetic twinge to his voice is more noticeable when he speaks lowly you notice.

you shake your head before answering. "no. i'm okay."

"swear it." he doesn't ask.

"i swear i'm not hurt. i didn't even inhale all that much smoke." your thumb skates under his eye as he reopens it. you almost go to your toes to look closer at it. it looks different than usual. like something about it is... wrong? "is your eye okay?"

"what caused the fire?" he completely ignores your question in lieu of his own and if he wasn't so distraught right now, you would've let him have a piece of your mind. but you don't. you can circle back around to his eye once he feels satisfied.

"an old rig i found in the junk yard. i thought if i could fix it up, it'd make a decent heater for the winter months. but, i messed it up and it blew up in my face." you pout at the loss of a project since you weren't willing to go through another fire 101 lesson any time soon. you'd dissembled the hunk of junk and place it back in the junkyard where you found it.

"so that's what is was," he sighs. hearing your explanation, his shoulders deflate, and you swear you hear his body hiss out tension. "dadgummit," he curses. "scared me shirtless. don't do that, sugar." he was calming down. thank goodness.

"sorry about that," you chuckle humorlessly, "i wasn't expecting you, so i'm sorry you had to see that."

you don't know much about boothill's past. he's told you bits and pieces, but you've never take the initiative to actively pry into it. you can tell it hurts him to recall, so you just leave it be. you know he doesn't like fire. he hates the ipc- some guy named oswaldo you think it was? he lost his family on his home planet. that's the extent of the man before 'boothill' you know for the most part.

but you were able to put two and two together. the idea of someone dying and homes being scorched must scare him.

you pull you hand from his cheek and raise it so your fingers invade the right side of his hairline. the black curtain of bangs shift with your movement as you comb through the treases once, then twice before dropping your hand again. his bangs return to their black cloaking nature to his face's right side.

"it's all okay now. isn't that right, ore?" you look over your shoulder to your small assistant robot. its concerned expression it has been favoring shifts into jolted delight as its square head nods with a series of affirmative beeps. a bright green, pixelated thumbs-up pops up on its face before disappearing into curved eyes that blink open reassuringly.

you take both of boothill's arms gently and lead him to the small sofa that's full of mismatched patches of fabric from all the patching up and repairing it's needed over the years. you let him sink into the cushions first before following, you knee touching his.

your hands find themselves in your lap, finally disconnected from boothill and he's just about sad over it. but, he was calming down. and he didn't need to cling to you like that- honestly, he's almost embarrassed over it. acting like a scared dog like that? god, he wishes he could overheat into a full system meltdown.

"feeling better?" you ask. he takes a deep breath and can taste the lingering smoke in the air. still, he nods.

"yeah," he sighs. "yeah, i am." the sound of small metal taps rush around before coming closer. looking down, ore had taken it upon itself to jump from the worktable to the floor. grabbing the brim of boothill's fallen hat, it began the mission of dragging it all the way back to its rightful owner. ore's digital eyes curve up again when boothill and you look down at it from the sofa.

you chuckle before leaning down and offering your hand with your palm up. ore steps backwards up your fingers, dragging the hat that is five times its size and hanging onto the brim as you lift it and the hat into the air. ore offers the hat back to boothill with a smile he can see better now that the little guy is closer to eye level.

the galaxy ranger accepts his hat back, flipping it over and dusting the top of it off. he didn't need his eye to work to know it was probably covered in dust from ore dragging it across the concrete floor you most certainly haven't swept yet.

"thanks, lil buddy." ore chirps happily at the praise.

you lift your arm to let ore rest on your shoulder where it takes the small carabiner you fashioned onto a small guard you wear in the shop and clasps it to his back. you made this so the robot wouldn't constantly be falling off your shoulder since it often makes itself comfortable there.

"so," you clear your throat, "about your eye." you try and get down to business now that the situation has passed. "does it need refocused?"

"sure does." if memory serves, you have a machine for autofocusing equipment around here somewhere. you lean over the back of the sofa, snagging your laptop you keep behind it on a roll away desk that way it doesn't get harmed by all your other tools or dirty by a strong pump of oil or something.

you unclasp ore from your shoulder carabiner. "could you go and find the adjustment scanner? i think it's in the toolbox drawer, top right. if not there, try two rows over." ore chirps and slides down your arm to your lap, then down your leg to the floor.

boothill can't see but can hear the little metal steps run off across the room.

"how does it get onto your tables?" he's asking partially to fill the silence, but also because he's genuinely curious. "figured you'd be cartin' the fella around everywhere."

"i usually do," you admit. "but, i did install small pully lifts with extra wiring and metal pieces i had laying around." you open your laptop and open the screen to unlock the device. "once on one of the metal pieces, ore can pull himself up manually with the designated wire."

the man chuckles at the image of you macgyvering something like that up. "you're dang cute," he chides. he can imagine you sitting on the floor, eyes squinted and leaning in so far, your spine would scream while installing those things. you don't respond. you usually don't to his passing words of flirtatious intention. whether deliberately or obliviously, he doesn't know.

soon, ore returns and hands you the piece of tech you need. hooking the scanner into your laptop, boothill can hear it whirring as the fan of your laptop kicks on to prevent any overheated crashes.

"alright," you let ore back on your shoulder and the robot hooks itself on safely via that carabiner. "let's see what's wrong."

you stare at boothill's unfocused eye. boothill looks back at the blurry image of you. you huff after a solid fifteen seconds of still silence.

"if you expect me to pop your eye out myself, guess again cowboy."

for the first time since he got there, boothill barks in laughter. oh what a mental sight that would be! it's slightly horrifying to picture having the person he's so infatuated with pluck out his eyeball thought.

boothill turns his back, a series of hisses and deep breaths later, he turns around and with his empty eye socket closed, offers you the tech eye he was installed with when he underwent his initial cyborg transformation.

it took 20 minutes and some light jabs from you- 'how did you uncalibrate it this badly?'- before the scans show a recalibrated and refocused eye. you hand it back to him before he's reconnecting it with his socket. the wires hiss and attach into place nicely.

"now that's better!" he cheers when he blinks and is able to see clearly again. he looks at you for the first real time in a month and he's never been happier to see the soot covering your nose and cheeks. oh, you're too cute.

the hat he's kept on his lap the whole process is relocated to your head the moment he could see your face and recognize it again. it plops over your skull and you sigh as- once again, he's making you wear his oh so precious hat.

"if i ask," -you flick the brim of his hat on your head- "will you tell me why you insist i wear this thing every time you're here?"

"nope," he pops his p before lifting his arms to rest his elbows on the back of your sofa. finally getting comfortable. he stares up at your ceiling. "it's a secret."

the fire made a sooty mess up there. it'll be a bitch to clean no doubt.

the hatless cowboy chuckles to himself as he hears you huff with an eyeroll. "naturally."

a/n pt.2: okay wow. this got a bit outta control. whoops? also, i didn't want to gender Ore so hopefully reading the lil guy as 'it' isn't as confusing as i think lol

[starlight-bread-blog]

Why Stolas is a Terrible Person/Character

Oh this will be long. In this post I will cover why Stolas is a character that fundamentally fails at everything it tries to accomplish. I probably have to say that you can love Stolas. That's just why I hate him.

Trigger warnings for: Racism, casteism, power dynamics, sexual assault, sa apologism, abuse, and neglectful parenting. A lot, I know, but that's Stolas.

His Actions in S1

Despite the title, there will be two examples from season 2.

Racism/Casteist

Stolas is from the upper caste, a royal. He seem to often fetishize imps, or the fact that he's sleeping with someone who's less than him. I even saw fans pointing this out. He have empathized Blitzø being an imp in a sexual context.

(Notice the use of words: "little", "plaything", to me this is blatant racism and fetishism).

He also showed a certain lack of empathy for his imp butler.

Stolas isn't particularly violent, he doesn't choke people left and right. He's just angry, at Stella, so he decides to.. choke the imp.

Stolas has been dehumanizimg imps. Fetishizing an imp for being an imp, calling him an "impish little plaything", and he has been willing to choke an imp just because he was angry at something unrelated. He's racist and casteist.

Treatment of Blitzø

"Treatment" is putting it lightly. In the first episode, Stolas does something inexcusable that will taint their dynamic for all of season 1. First, he sees Blitzø in a vulnerable position, where he cannot think or negotiate. Thus, stripping him of what little choice he has on what he's about to offer.

What Stolas is saying is, "Fuck me or I'll shut down your business". This deal he makes is just a threat with extra steps. Which, is a real life abuse tactic called Quid Pro Quo:

"Quid pro quo harassment occurs when someone in a position of authority over another directly or indirectly demands sexual favors in exchange for some benefit, or to avoid some detriment in the workplace".

One element I haven't brought up yet, is the political power imbalance. Stolas is royalty, one with a lot of power, influence, credibility, etc. Blitzø has non of that. Other characters have commented on that the fact that Blitzø even has a business is a miracle.

There are so many layers of imbalance and how Blitzø has no choice or agency. A royal is """offering""" the powerless a Quid Pro Quo while he's in a life threatening situation.

And their dynamic looks exactly like you'd imagen. Stolas is consistently sexualizing him against his consent. (As it's been established, Stolas's racism feeds into this). And refuses to do the surface level courtesy, not even calling him his real name (x).

Stolas treats Blitzø as a lesser being, violates his boundries, forces himself on him, and strips him of all autonomy.

Faliure as a Father

Stolas's role as a father is directly tackled in Loo Loo Land and Seeing Stars. At the beginning, both episodes show Stolas being a good father to Octavia, but does this still hold true in the currect day? Well, no.

In Loo Loo Land, Stolas wants to take Octavia to a theme park. Octavia is 17, and Stolas ignores her when she says she doesn't want to go. (In retrospect, Stolas coud be oblivious because he's projecting onto Via his experience meeting Blitzø).

But that's just the start. Stolas then invites Blitzø to the trip and harasses with him all throughout. Essentially, Stolas is forcing his daughter to watch as he harasses "the homewrecker", all the while he's supposed to be with her, on a trip she didn't even want to go to.

After a whole day of this, as expected, Octavia runs away. Stolas chases her. (And of course, he's still thinking of Blitzø on his way to find Via). There's an apology scene that looks deep, but when you dissect it, it's rather empty.

Stolas never actually provided an explanation as to why he just did what he did, nor of the "drama" with Stella. There is nothing here. Octavia only makes up with him because he said he isn't gonna leave her. Which is bare minimum.

After he realizes that his affair hurts his daughter to the point where she feared he's gonna leave her, what does he do? What practical actions does he take to improve? Divorce Stella? Cut off his deal with Blitzø? Explained the situation?

Nothing. And now we see he's willing to stand up on a stage and let people know.

In Seeing Stars, Stolas bashes Via's mother to her. Which, does she know about their situation? Does she not? She isn't shown to hate or.. anything Stella. Is he hiding the situation (which I'll cover), while also trashing her mother? That's impulsive and negligent.

But that's nothing. She later runs away, Stolas is stressed as he should be, but the second they arravie on earth he's all calm and everything's normal.

When his daughter is missing. When he is shown to be stressed, it's for the sake of plot. But he's willing to just chill, watching Blitzø's show.

Stolas is, dare I say it, neglectful. He might care about his daughter, but he's proven that she's not enough of a priority to focus on her when it matters.

Cheating

Yes, I know what ended up being revealed, I'll cover that. In season 1, the relationship is presented to not be perfect before Stolas cheated.

But there were instances that showed that what Stolas did changed their relationship for the worse. (Some additional rebuttals).

It could have been a loveless marrige, they could hae fallen out of love, they could have been arranged. But their relationship was manageable. Love or no love, it's a committed relationship. and Stella didn't deserve to get cheated on.

Who was Stolas?

Stolas's behavior is common among royals. Stella has no problem throwing said butler at Stolas (S1 E2), and the Goetias are shown to be casteist. They're untouchable privileged assholes.

Stolas was born that wealth, never having to suffer the consequences of his actions. Always putting himself first, hurting others. He doesn't mean to, he wants for everyone to be happy, he does care.

However, when it actually matters, he acts on his worst tendecises with no self control. He never had to learn self control. That is, until Ozzie's.

Before Ozzie, Blitzø and Stolas are at obligation. Stolas's actions had tainted them. There was one redeemable moment: He saved Blitzø's life. Stolas did something for him. But this one act of goodness doesn't magically fix anything.

Stolas's family life have been escalating. Stella hated Stolas for cheating and his daughter just had to take it. In Loo Loo Land, he learns the full weight of the damage he caused. And in the next episode we see him, he proceeds to take no steps to improve the situation. In the end of that same episode, we learn that Stella hired an assasin after him. Because he did nothing.

The season 1 finale, Ozzie's, is aware of all of this and absolutly delivers.

The episode starts with seeing Stolas alone, in his big house, miserable. It appears that Stella finally left the house. (Also he later says "Octavia is with her mother this weekend"). He's eating a bowl of cereal, pitying himself, wallowing in his despair. You feel bad for him, he looks so torn down.

And then Blitzø calls. The one he loves, asks him on a serious date. It's hope, it's honest, and it's exactly what he wanted. It's almost as if the universe handed him is fairytale scenario.

Almost. Reality smacks him right in the face on that date. Asmodeus calls him out on losing everything he had. He had a family, a happy daughter, but gave it all up for an affair.

Blitzø calls him out on treating him like a pet, not earning any of that emotional connection he wants or even communicating it, just violating him, they have nothing.

The show held him accountable and called him out. While it's not perfect, Stolas is a morally grey character. Now, a character arc was set up where he learns to treat people better. Stolas is exactly the character I want to see from a show like Helluva Boss. He's a horrible person, but nuanced, who does care.

Season 2

Yeah... all of that is thrown out the window. Because apparently, Stolas is just imperfect. He simply made a lot of mistakes. He misread a lot of situations, really it's all just an accident. He's an oblivious victim. So, let's get into the woobification of Stolas.

Surrounded by Evil

In The Circus we're given Stolas's ✨️backstory✨️. And we find out he had such a terrible life.

Stella is, and always was, an abusive evil bitch. From the day she was born. Pure evil.

So you see, Stolas did nothing wrong. Let me be clear, you are not obligated to stay loyal to your abuser. We can erase "cheater" off the list. But that's the only reason why it's done. So we can erase that off the list, and that we could feel oh-so-sad for him.

Because Stella isn't written to be an abuser. She's a cartoonishly evil. We see a picture of her as a kid where she's the same person. Spongebob villians have more depth than her, you know, the abuser in the adult show.

Helluva Boss reversed an established dynamic where Stella is the victim and Stolas is at fault, except without any of the depth or nuance.

But that's not all. Stolas's dad (Paimon) is also neglectful. By "neglectful" I mean, of course, a Saturday-morning cartoon villain.

He doesn't remember his name. This is such bullshit. I can buy Stolas having a horrible father. It's also not bad to show Stolas's trauma. What is bad is that the subject matter is handled with less seriousness as the fish fight in Spring Broken. And Helluva Boss did write Crimson as a serious abuser, the episode did have comedy, but not Paimon.

The reason why all of this is happening, is so we could feel bad for Stolas. They do zero of the work to earn a good story about abuse, but still go "Do you see how sad he is? Look at how they're treating this poor baby!!"

"Recontextualization"

In said ✨️backstory✨️, we also learn that Stolas and Blitzø are childhood friends. But also not really, they just hung out for one day. Where did this come from? How does that enrich the characters? I would tell you, but I don't know. However, what I'm sure of, is that it's done to make Stolas look less problematic.

DO YOU SEE HOW CUT THIS IS? He isn't just horny for that imp, he is special, it's absoultly pure! Don't worry, totally safe.

Later in the flashback, we see how Blitzø and Stolas reconnected after over 20 years. Apparently... Blitzø was the one who sexually manipulated Stolas, selling him that he wants him.

All Stolas did was just buying into Blitzø's narrative he was imposed on. It's a role he leaned into, because he thought Blitzø liked it. I.. WHAT???

If this horseshit is true, why did he make this weird r*pe deal with Blitzø? If Blitzø was the one who acted like he's interested at first, and he was sexually exploiting him, why did he lash out at Stolas in Ozzie's? Did it just hold no weight for Stolas? It went from "Don't pretend to have something when you've been harassing me this whole time" to "You misunderstood".

The Stolitz backstory makes no sense, it's cheap, and fixes nothing. No matter what the story is trying to sell, in season 1 Stolas knew what's happening enough to try to force it. And maybe Stolas wanted Blitzø because of a connection, he still harassed, dehumanized and violated him.

Note: Stolas realizing "he imagened the relationship" is completely ignored one episode later in Seeing Stars. This is a huge deal, didn't he learn? Just further evidence that he's willing to violate the guy. (x)

Before this backstory, we had a story of a selfish man hurting the person he loves while explointing the broken system and the power that he has over him for his own selfish desires that he's forcing on him. Now, we have the same thing, but with fanfic tropes – and the story refuses to confront that.

Casteism is Brushed Off

Helluva Boss pretends that Stolas isn't racist, because he didn't want Blitzø for being an imp, but for being his fanfic trope childhood friend. Which fails to adress the disgusting fetishism of Blitzø for being an imp, and he also continued to dehumanize his imp butler in Seeing Stars. He's still racist.

Imperfect Father

In The Circus, Stolas devivers this line: "The only reason I have endured your constant insults and cruelty, was for that girl to have a normal life".

Sounds impressive, he stayed all these years just for his daughter. But that's the thing – it sounds impressive. Every time their relationship is the focus, Stolas is being the scum of the earth. What I see here, is a person. A person who despite being willing to stay passive, acts on his his selfish wants, forgetting to look around him. Mind you, this fact is also being revealed one episode after Ozzie's.

But no, one episode later, in Seeing Stars – that was covered as a prime example of everything I just descriped – Loona says this:

Yeah. He's just a good father "trying" his "best" and makes some.. "mistakes". The Circus did present Stolas as this, but Seeing Stars really solidified how his parenting will be handled moving forward. And I think it's comlete and utter dogshit.

Damsel in Distress

The title is a bit misleading. This section is mainly about Stolas's power being toned down. Both magical and in presentation.

In season 1, he was energetic and enthusiastic, while being able to set his foot down and intimidate when needed. He's still all of those things, but in some instances his characterization made my raise an eyebrow.

In Seeing Stars, he's being weirdly gentle with people kidnapping Blitzø and are later beatting him.

In Oops, he's excited to start negotiating with literal kidnappers. I have no idea why he's so nice.

(He did harass Blitzø again in Seeing Stars and bashed Striker, all of which isn't soft, but it's also the two moments where he should have shut up).

Further more, both of these conflict rely on Stolas not using his powers for some reason or another. Why didn't he just do whatever he did in Truth Seekers to track Fizz/Via?

About Via, I'm gonna have to call bullshit on the "My powers are limited on earth" nonsense because, for starters, kid Stolas is shown to remember the contents of his books and now he's been studying them for years. And two,

There is no excuse for Stolas to not use his powers and whenever the show says otherwise it's bullshitting its way out of it.

Even in Western Energy, before Stolas gets captured he was just aimlessly going in and out of his demon form. Why didn't he turn him into stone like he did in Loo Loo Land?

Stolas has been presented as weaker than he is. He's made to look more vulnerable, less "above it all". He was untouchable, and when he wasn't, it had a harder impact and made sense. Now, I almost forgot he's a powerful demon.

And his characterization is at the core of this issue. At times he's just so kind and gentle with people who should get smacked in their heads.

What about Ozzie's

The big clash, the one that called Stolas out on everything, the one that set him on a genuine path to grow, what about it? How is it adressed while the show tries to pretend he's a good person?

No, not the message Stolas is looking at, the ones in the background he just scrolled through.

I'm not breaking this down. I refuse. The only reason I put it here is to show how fast it goes. I'm not touching that.

Who is Stolas

Stolas is a moral scapegoat – "a character that is bad, but the book/movie/show portrays them as good". It's characterized by the story twisting itself to make one character look good.

Stolas didn't start out as one, but became one over one season premire and it just kept escalating from there.

Helluva Boss takes place in Hell. A horrible place filled with horrible people, the root of all evil. Stolas fits right in there. He was already problematic, awful, fed into Helll's broken system. Why trying to cover up his faults? It's Hell, and it was great. But now, we're supposed to pretend he's just flawed.

With the show actively ignoring everything he did, what's left for him? What does he have to learn? How will he grow as a person? How will he improve? What's his character arc? It's nothing. Because everything that happens to him isn't his fault, and at times could just be solved with one conversation.

[laughing-with-god]

Unsaid Vow I

(This is the first 1.7k of the 10k chapter that is available right now on my Patreon. Please join for early access plus beta content!)

Synopsis: You always knew when you weren't wanted. And the way things are going in your marriage with Jungkook, a divorce is looking more and more likely. While he's getting closer to a woman at work that you're certain he's having an affair with, you're planning your escape with your four-year-old son. However, five years of marriage did not expose you to a certain side of your husband. A side of Jungkook that only gets triggered when you try to leave and break apart your perfect 'family'.

Warnings: Yandere behavior, graphic language, violence/murder, women bashing on other women, heavily implied infidelity, bad parenting, absent father, broken family vibes, very slow buildup bc Jungkook doesn't really snap until you leave him so just give him a min lol, inexperienced author writing for a five-year-old.

Also looking for new fic art for this if anyone's interested!!

Read first: Prologue

“I’m a grown man.”

These were the words that greeted you and effectively pulled you out of your weary slumber.  

You drowsily rubbed your eyes and rolled over, yawning as you took in the sight of your son staring at you bemusedly from beside your bed.  

If you weren’t used to this behavior from Hugo already, you perhaps would've screamed at the sudden creepy sight of a child with a solemn expression saying odd things to you before the sun has even risen.  Yet, you have grown accustomed to the old man your toddler was.  

“Good morning to you too, bud.”  You groaned tiredly, already searching your thick bedding for your phone in order to check the time.  Your alarm hadn’t even gone off yet, which told you it was earlier than you had originally planned to wake up.  But what was the point of having plans when you had a child?  They had a talent for ruining them.  

“I’m five today.”  Hugo ignored your greeting, getting right into the point with furrowed brows as he held up all five fingers, each one representing a year of his life.  

“Yup, I know dumpling.”  You chuckled, finally pulling out your phone and opening it to see  ‘6:03 am” staring back at you.  “Believe it or not, the day you were born was quite memorable for me too.”  

You cringed as you thought of the 20 hour labor that preceded Hugo’s birth.   How could you ever forget that hellish day?  

“Mom, it’s my birthday.”  Hugo told you, tone serious as a heart attack.  

“Yes, happy birthday love.”  You smiled at your son, trying not to let him see the exhaustion you secretly felt.  “I suppose there’s no way I can talk you into going back to bed for another hour or so?”  

“No. You always say ‘the day starts when I first open my eyes in the morning”.  Your son parroted the saying back to you with a proud grin.  

Hugo once went through a phase where he wouldn’t want to leave the bed after waking up, simply wanting to stay in pj’s all day long and watch cartoons amongst his stuffies. 

It took a while to get your little homebody to actually stop this habit and begin getting up to ready himself for the day whenever he woke up.  You used to tell him that the day starts whenever he opens his eyes in the morning, however on days like these where he wakes up super early, he now does not see the point in lying in.  

“Right, that is a good point.”  You softly relented, mentally scolding yourself for yet another parenting tactic backfired.  “How does some breakfast sound?”

“Mom, I have a prop-pre-preposaa-”  

“Proposal?”  You offered, swinging your legs off the side of your bed.  

“Yeah, that.”  Hugo nodded to himself, most likely taking note of the proper pronunciation of the word so he can use it again in conversation.  “I think it’s time we talk about coffee.”

“Coffee?”  

“You and daddy are always saying that coffee is for grownups.  Today I’m five, which means I’m older, which means I should be able to have coffee.”  Hugo reasoned this to you while twiddling his thumbs, a nervous habit he does when he wants you to say yes to something he knows is unrealistic.  

“Mmm...”  You hummed, pretending to think hard about the offer.  “What if I gave you a very light coffee?  A beginner version to get you ready for the real thing when you’re older?”  

Hugo looked conflicted, but after reading your face and correctly assuming that’s the best he was going to get, he nodded solemnly in reluctant agreement.  

With one final huff you shoved yourself off the king sized bed, standing to your full height and throwing your arms up in a stretch.  “Why don’t you wait in the living room for me bud?  I’ll be right out.”  

The freshly turned five year old happily nodded up at you before exiting your bedroom, leaving you alone once again.  

You turned your attention back to the bed in which you just rose out of.  More particularly, you stared at the other side of the bed, the side in which your husband was supposed to sleep on. 

It was a direct opposite of your messy side, crisp and neatly made; the fluffy pillows, pressed sheets and silk duvet being perfectly in place.  Yet, this wasn’t an ode to Jungkook’s neatness and attention to detail.  

No.  

Jungkook hasn’t been sleeping in the same bed as you for a while now.  

Your husband always preferred to rise early, given he was a man who liked to follow a strict morning regime which could easily be thrown off if he slept in even a minute later.  Up at 5:30. teeth brushed and face shaved by 5:40.  Breakfast, coffee and newspaper consumed by 6:00.  

Then right before taking his leave, Jungkook would pack himself a bag of work clothes and make a quick protein shake, given he would then head to the gym where he would get his morning workout and shower from.  Then from the gym, he would head straight to work.  

A few months ago, he suggested sleeping in the guest room.

You had asked why, bewildered at the request.  

Sure, you two didn’t really cuddle anymore. Sex was also rare. But you figured that the least you could do as husband and wife was sleep in the same bed amicably. Had you started kicking him in your sleep or something?

“I’d notice you begin to kinda stir when I first get up and go about my routine.  I don’t want to wake you up or be a bother.”  He had said.  

That didn’t really make sense to you.  

You have always been a deep sleeper. And even if you did wake up for a second, you’d clearly see your husband getting ready for the day, roll over and go back to sleep.  

It was such a lame excuse, you just shrugged and bitterly told him that he hogged the blankets anyway.  

It wasn’t true, but Jungkook didn’t comment.  

You trudged over to the ensuite bathroom and quickly did your morning routine.  

When you came out of your room and into the living space, you saw Hugo glued to the giant flat screen in a trance-like state as he watched his usual morning cartoons.  The sight tugged a small smile out of you, although the mother in you didn’t like how close he was.

“Hugo, back up from the screen! Bluey isn’t going anywhere. Your eyes will go bad.”  Your son wordlessly obliged and scooted back, not breaking eye contact with his favorite family of puppies.  “What would you like for breakfast ‘Mr. grown man’?”  

“Blueberry pancakes…and don’t forget my coffee!”  

“You got it, birthday boy.” 

The kitchen, dining and living room were open concept, so you multi-tasked watching Hugo while whipping up his breakfast.  You never were much of a cook and you still aren’t even after motherhood, but you did commit to learning your son’s favorite dishes.

The process was over quickly, you having made this recipe countless times and knowing it like the back of your hand.  

You set a plate on the island table, calling Hugo over while you secretly mixed some instant hot chocolate in a mug.  

The five year old jumped up and grinned at the meal, saying a quick “thank you” before digging in with all the grace a five year old could possibly have.  

“And of course, your coffee.”  You tried not to smile as you handed him the cup.

“Thanks mama.”  

The mini-Jungkook took a gulp, then stared seriously at the contents of the mug, swishing it around in some faux detective work.  

“Something wrong, dumpling?”

“It tastes…fa-fam-”

“Familiar?”  

“Yes. Is coffee always this sweet?”  

You laughed, now moving to the real coffee maker to make your own cup.  “No, this is the kid version.  It might taste like chocolate because chocolate has caffeine in it too.”  

Your little old man huffed to himself but nodded in agreement, simply not knowing enough to dispute your logic.  

Your old coffeemaker grumbled awake, croaking and hissing as you pressed the worn-out buttons for your usual morning brew.  Jungkook always made fun of you for the ancient machine, but even after he had bought a much more expensive and up-to-date one, you stubbornly remained loyal to yours.  

“So buddy, what do you want to do today?  We can go get new books, hit up the toy store, maybe even visit the aquarium?”  

“I wanna help set up for my party, mommy.” 

Well, “party” wasn’t quite the right word for it.  

Hugo had no friends.  It was tough for a kid like him to make any.  At this age and as a boy, most of his peers would meet and form relationships in little league or rough housing at the local park. 

Your son was different.  He preferred reading to sports, hated the outdoors and was generally a shy kid who tended to tear up when anyone other than his family tried speaking to him.  

So this year, his birthday party was an intimate circle of family and family friends.  You hoped that by next year you could host an actual kid birthday party, as Hugo would be in school and have classmates by then. 

“That’s very sweet of you, but there’s time to do both.”  The boy looked at you skeptically.  “We can go to the bookstore across the street after breakfast and I’ll let you pick out some new bedtime stories.  Then we can go to the aquarium and have lunch there. And on our way home I’ll stop by the store to get some stuff for the party, and you can get a toy.  Sounds good?”  

Hugo frowned, then peeled back his pajama sleeve to look at his submarine-themed watch.  The act seemed a little pretentious to you, given he didn’t yet know how to read clocks.  

“Fine mommy, but we should be quick.  Also you need to ask our guests if they have any food aler-alergeez-”

“Allergies?  Yes bud, I’ll be sure to send them a text.”  You rolled your eyes.

With that, Hugo quietly finished his breakfast as you sipped your coffee.  

When you two were done, you both got dressed and ready for the day’s activities. 

Before leaving the apartment, you were sure to send a text to your husband.  

‘Be home by 6 please.  Hugo’s birthday party starts at 6:30 and he needs you there.’

[therandompagesblog]

SKZ Mate: Chapter 18

Trigger Warnings: Violence, trauma, underage sex, coercion, childhood trauma, manipulation, grooming, implied non-consent, death, grief, magic, obsession, paranoia, abandonment, betrayal, forced breeding, torture, brainwashing, sacrilege, sacrifice, judgement, uncomfortable themes

The room was silent. No one uttered a word at the revelation. They were stunned into silence. Some of them even frowned, if not glared at the thought that Hyunjin was their omega's alpha. It made no sense. If Hyunjin was her alpha at some point it meant Hyunjin must have abused her too. He must have tormented her, assaulted her, abused her. There was no way he could justify it now, it was impossible. There were still so many questions. Why did Hyunjin not save her? Why did Hyunjin abandon her? Why did Hyunjin not confess to Chan at the beginning? Did he know that Y/N was Chan's mate? All of these questions were flying around the room silently. Some of them were accusations against Hyunjin. Most of which he did not want to answer nor did he feel he had to. Hyunjin had already explained his story once before to them so why should he reveal it again? They all knew why Chan had stolen Hyunjin, he was Chan's childhood best friend's half-brother that was given to Hongjoong because he was a bastard. Before he died he had begged Chan to find him and to save him. The older half-brother regretted every day what his mother did to Hyunjin. The younger alpha never deserved to be treated the way he was. It was never Hyunjin's fault his parents committed adultery.

Hyunjin was someone who didn't take it lightly when he wasn't trusted. It was an insult to him, but right now he didn't have much of a choice. Either way, he had to confess the truth and accept whether Chan would exile him or not, but Hyunjin was smarter. There was a way he could make Chan accept him and that was by threatening Chan with his omega. Chan would never let anyone take his mate away but Hyunjin couldn't abandon her now since she was back with him. No, she was Hyunjin's in more ways than one and Chan was about to find that out very quickly. Hyunjin could see it. The minute he revealed that it was him and not Wooyoung, Chan had pulled the omega into his arms. He feared the other alpha. If he let her sit there, Hyunjin would grab her and she would never be seen again. It made Hyunjin laugh to see the head alpha so worried. For someone who had such a high status in the werewolf community, he was actually quite vulnerable. Chan had an obvious weakness. Y/N. Without her Chan was nothing. He had the elders of the werewolf council but it was never enough. Chan was a stray who was kicked out of his pack for helping his uncle kill his older brother to be a more powerful alpha. Except that wasn't entirely true. Chan's uncle had coerced Chan as a young boy from the age of ten. He groomed Chan. Gave him everything he ever wanted. Mentored him. Helped him. Everything. It was also the reason why Chan could not stand to be seen as weak. He hated being dominated and he definitely hated being manipulated when he was out-casted by his pack. Still, Chan's older brother had died and Chan was blamed for it because Chan's uncle had to disappear right at the scene. There was no way of proving Chan was innocent so he left as a lone wolf and saved those who were exiled. He saved victims who were accused like Jisung, Minho, Hyunjin and Seungmin. The others chose Chan for his politics. Jeongin chose Chan because he trusted Minho and grew up with him. Felix and Changbin came from similar werewolf packs who left because they heard who Chan was.

Despite all that he has achieved, the need for a soul mate was the root of the problem that fueled Chan's early corruption. His uncle promised him a soul mate if he became an alpha. A soul mate so pure and virtuous. A soul mate who would breed for Chan and provide him with pups. A soul mate who would provide him with an apex. That was the sickest thing Chan learned as a boy of ten. He learned about breeding at such a young age. Even when it came to sex Chan learned it at the ripe age of fourteen with a female omega in his pack who was around the same age. He had to learn, that's what his uncle taught him. He needed to know how to please his omega. This was the reason Chan had such a bad obsession with finding his soul mate. He raided several packs trying to find her but all he did was cause more damage, and he became a threat to werewolf packs. He became a monster. It was only his best friend who could get the alpha to snap out of it. It was only him who could break it gently to his alpha that he was obsessing over something his abuser told him as a child. Minho was another wolf who knew some of the story and promised Chan's best friend he would protect the alpha from his uncle. Minho was the only wolf who had seen Chan break down at the sudden realisation there was no omega. Except his uncle never told a lie, because he found her and Chan would always protect her no matter what. Chan would fight to the death if he had to. He lost so much in life that all he wanted was one ounce of happiness and now that he got it, he wanted to consume it, with or without Hyunjin there.

So now Chan was left with a very easy choice. Banish him. Chan had already made up his mind and Hyunjin could read that, but Hyunjin wasn't going to walk away. Oh, he couldn't. Y/N was soul-bound to him. Her soul was linked to his. His soul was hers. Her soul was his. Hyunjin had used dark magic behind Hongjoong's back to keep her safe because he loved her. In spite of Hyunjin's actions towards her at the beginning, he loved his favourite little omega. His omega was the smartest omega he had ever met when she was his omega. His omega was the one who had found a way to block Hyunjin from her mind. She could even prevent him from feeling her. The reason was because of her perseverance and mental strength, but that wasn't how he fell in love with her. It was the fact she had annoyed him into liking her. Hyunjin was a strict alpha with her. Hyunjin was in charge of the omegas, Jongho, Yeosang and Y/N. To teach them, look after them, care for them. Hyunjin was even colder than he was now, his words were sharper, if not harsher. His defiant female omega had broken his ice-cold heart with her shameless attitude. Every time he made her stay with him as a punishment she would do something obnoxious. Steal his paintbrushes. Swap his books out. The worst she had ever done was swap one of his photographs with a naked one of her. Hyunjin was filled with rage that day and her shameless behaviour. He had never met a woman like her but there she was. It didn't help that Hyunjin was a massive prude back then. Still, Hyunjin learned to love her, which was why he wasn't going to let anything happen to her. He knew she wasn't Hongjoong or Ateez's soul mate so to protect her he bound her soul to his. Hongjoong learned Hyunjin was keeping a secret from him. He knew Hyunjin adored his omega more than anything so Hongjoong had him tortured. Hyunjin was beaten several times with wolfsbane and injected with mistletoe (a slow but deadly poison). Hyunjin was then dragged into a graveyard and was cursed with a dark aura that would be passed down through his bloodline if he did have children that was. The dark aura is the essence of evil that binds the werewolf to both life and death. The nature of their soul is used to feed lycans. Lycans were cursed werewolves who ate people, but there were very few left as most were killed. Hyunjin's soul was supposed to be damned and changed into a lycan but it never happened, much to Hongjoong's confusion. The main reason this never happened was due to the fact half of his soul was Y/N's. Y/N's half prevented the evil from being absorbed, however, the dark aura that was cursed upon him was also engrained into Y/N. She too had a dark aura inside of her, but she didn't know that.

Now that she was bound to him, Hyunjin couldn't leave her. Not ever. The only reason he abandoned her was because he was a selfish, angry coward. He wanted to use her to anger Hongjoong. He wanted her to breed Hongjoong's pups so they would be infected with the dark aura. That anger had eventually faded and then Hyunjin buried his head in the sand all those years as he waited for the pain of her death. He waited and waited and it never came. Which was why he reacted the way he did when he saw her. He was afraid of her reaction. He was afraid she would tell him she hated him and that she never loved him. He was afraid that she regretted binding their souls, but it never came. Y/N never knew who he was. To an extent he was relieved but deep down he was distraught. His little defiant omega was gone and was replaced with something Seonghwa had ruined. So now the story takes another dark turn. Something sinister is about to arise and now Hyunjin cannot leave Y/N. Chan cannot banish him, but that still leaves Chan and his pack of stray kids with a burning question. How the fuck did Hongjoong know Y/N was his mate? And what the fuck is coming for Stray kids.

Taglist for the iconic readers:

@galaxy4489 @mbioooo0000 @jisungs-iced-americano @maybeimmia @hwangrfrnd@wolfo2027 @kayleefriedchicken @leamueller920 @borahae-reads @jennibahng @cookiesandcreammy @leezanetheofficial @jutdwae-flower @danceonmyheyday @jc003 @hpnsfwaddict @linocz @itzreetal987 @skzdreamer13 @reallychaoticwoo @liv1sworld @upsidedownchaire @jutdwae-flower @danceonmyheyday @jc003 @hpnsfwaddict @skzdreamer13 @reallychaoticwoo @ihttinniee @kingdomofpentagon @pixie0627

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Practice On Me — Part Four — Azriel x Reader

Summary: It’s Solstice! Reader decides she should probably be honest with Azriel about some stuff. Things don’t quite go to plan.

Oof. Okay. This could be uncomfortable reading for some. There are some hints and depictions of domestic abuse and also of alcoholism, so if that’s something that might trigger you, please, please do not read this. The last thing I want is for my writing to be harmful to anybody. Read with caution. Take care and put yourself first. Lots of love.

Also, please don’t hate me for this 😭we know I’m a hoe for angst and it wouldn’t be one of my fics if there wasn’t some sprinkled in there lmao.

Word Count: 5k.

Warnings: Depiction of abusive behaviour. Heavy drinking. Some violence.

On a brisk winter morning, when the sun hasn’t yet graced the sky, the last place you wish to be is at the Windhaven crèche, watching over a group of tired, grouchy younglings. Every second thought that passes through your mind is a longing one, lamenting on how desperately you wish to be back in your bed.

But alas, you owe your friend, Vegha, a favour, making you the sole minder of ten restless little girls, all annoyed that their brothers get to join their fathers for training, while they have to stay back and be…girls. A downfall, according to most Illyrian males.

You’re supposed to be watching over them for a couple of hours while Vegha runs an errand. And that time is going very, very slowly.

You’re in the middle of reading a storybook — and, yes, doing all the voices — when the door opens behind you. You feel a glimmer of hope that perhaps Vegha is back earlier than planned, but when you swivel on the child-sized chair you’ve perched yourself on, it’s Azriel who looms in the doorway.

And you…your heart does a silly little thing in your chest.

“Don’t let me interrupt.” He says. “I can wait.”

Your eyebrows flick up in amusement. “Come take a seat, then. It’s story time.”

His lips twitch, and he goes to reach for one of those infant chairs — which you’re not at all sure can handle all his muscle — but this sparks a flurry of complaints from the girls, who all insist that they want to sit with Azriel the most, and within seconds, he’s cross-legged on the floor with the children somehow managing to settle around him without bickering, and they’re all able to command his attention at once.

Happy mediums, and all that.

Your gaze lingers on him as he does all the right things; leaning his head down so he can appear less…huge, while listening with rapt attention to one of the girl’s chattering; steadying another one as they climb over him to get themselves seated; gently telling them all that they have to be quiet if they want to hear the rest of the story. That, of course, achieves immediate near silence.

And thus begins an entire performance of you continuing the tale, and the girls — and Azriel — responding in all the right places. They howl when they’re supposed to make the sound of a wolf, and roar when it’s a mountain cat, and you don’t miss that Azriel helps the tiniest of the girls to remember which animals make what sounds.

Most males in this gods-forsaken place are an intimidating presence to these children, frightening them into silence whenever they’re around, because girls are supposed to be seen and not heard. But Azriel is always gentle, always kind, and they adore him for it.

It’s a combination of all these things that force you to face a truth that’s been rapidly snowballing inside your mind and heart for the past four days — something has changed. Shifted. Has been shifting and changing for a while.

You laid awake for hours that night in the dormitory, listening to Azriel’s breathing as he slept deeply, happily sated from the pleasure you’d given him. Your mind had been too much of a war zone for you to drift off.

Nine years, you’ve called this male your closest friend. Ever since the very first day you’d met him, when a group of males had pushed you to the floor and kicked mud at you, and he’d jumped in and defended you for no other reason than that he’s good to the bone. Nine years, you’ve been by each other’s sides, and it’s been comfortable and familiar and just…right.

But now — now, you think you may have jeopardised that all by going along with Azriel’s request for help. Help with kissing. Touching. Experiencing.

You’ll always want to help him in any way that you can, of course. But you didn’t quite anticipate the predicament you now find yourself in. That you want all of those things and more, not just under the ruse of building your friend’s confidence. You want to explore more with him, feel more with him. You’ve been able to think about nothing else for days.

And it might make you a total wretch, but you want Kaeda to be a distant memory. The thought of Azriel taking what you’ve shown him, shared with him, and putting his all into somebody else…it sours your stomach. Makes you feel sick.

Makes your heart hurt.

And, well, you’re fucked, really.

It’s a kind of hurt that won’t go away on its own. It isn’t avoidable nor ignorable. And so your only option is to confront it, be honest about it. Whatever the outcome may be.

The story comes to an end, and the girls are calmed and sleepy enough that they look ready to curl up on the floor and doze off. Azriel peels himself away from the cluster of clingy children and stands up, strolling over to you.

“Well that was fun.” He comments quietly, taking the book from your hands. “Who knew I was so adept at doing animal impressions?”

“One of your many talents, I suppose.” You smile, drinking in the sight of him. He looks tired this morning. Tired, but beautiful. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

His expression sobers slightly, and he tells you, “We’re leaving this morning. For the training exercise.”

Immediately, your stomach churns. Being away from your friends sets you on edge. Windhaven is a lonely, lonely place to be without the love of Rhys, Cassian and Azriel to warm you. And not even Rhys’s mother is here to make it a little more bearable.

Az immediately recognises the bleakness that passes your face. He steps closer, his hand a gentle brush against yours. “I’ll be back for Solstice.” He reminds you yet again.

“I know.” You attempt to force an easy, breezing smile. “What’s the plan for Solstice, anyway?”

Normally, Rhysand’s mother would cook a meal in the cottage. You wouldn’t be able to attend, given that you’re always stuck at home with your father, but by the time he would pass out drunk, you’d sneak out and make it to the cottage just as the games were starting. Some of your happiest memories are of being curled up on one couch with Az, Rhys and his mother on the other, and Cassian stood in front of you, making a terrible attempt at playing charades.

But it’ll be different this year. With the High Lord keeping a tight leash on his pregnant mate in Velaris, there will be no meal, no charades. You, Azriel and Cassian would most certainly not be welcome at their intimate family celebration.

“Rhys will spend the day in Velaris.” Az tells you. “Cass and I will be getting drunk. There’s a celebration being held at the dormitories in the evening, so I suppose we’ll all end up there.”

You dip your chin. “I’ll come and find you there, then.”

His responding smile is a gentle one; one that says he sees right through you, right through to the panic that’s eating away at you, and he understands.

There’s no way he sees everything that you’re feeling, though. Perhaps that’s a good thing.

Your body goes slightly rigid as he dips down and presses a kiss to your forehead. His hand squeezes yours, and then he’s pulling away. “See you on Solstice.”

He bids a quiet goodbye to the dozing girls. It’s as he’s heading for the door that you find yourself stepping after him. “…Az?”

He turns, hand on the doorknob. “Yes?”

“There’s…something I need to talk to you about, when you get back. Something I need to tell you.”

Okay. Shit. You’re really doing this.

Azriel’s eyes rake over you, and then he smiles. “We’ll talk on Solstice.”

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Your head’s not all there today, as you stare out of the window of your father’s forge. Azriel and the others have been gone almost a week, and you’ve spent every one of those days thinking about how you’re going to tell him…whatever it is you’re going to tell him.

You’re not even certain, yourself.

Just that…that things are different. That you know, to begin with, that this was about him and Kaeda — but it’s shifted in your brain at an alarming rate, and now that you’ve shared something so…so meaningful, with him, you’re not sure you can go on acting as though it was all just a favour.

Yeah. That should do it.

And it’s a huge fucking risk, of course. There’s every chance he won’t return the sentiment, and then a giant wedge of unresolved feelings will exist between you.

But you need to — perhaps selfishly — confront this before things between him and Kaeda progress. In case there’s a slight chance that it’ll alter the path it’s heading down.

And you haven’t thought any further than that.

The snow has started again, and you watch the flurries sweep past the window and join the thick layer on the ground. You’ve become so accustomed to the noise of the forge that you hardly notice it anymore — not the constant clanking, nor the heat that the fires swathe the shop in. You used to beg your father to teach you his craft, to allow you to get stuck in and get your hands dirty, but he’s always stubbornly maintained that it’s a male’s job, and that he needs you for the bookkeeping. You’re surprised he trusts you with that.

You breathe a soft sigh, your thoughts once again flitting back to Az. To what he might be doing, thinking, feeling. Whether he misses you as much as you miss him.

But before those thoughts can take a hold of you and sink you deeper into your predicament, the door opens, the bell above it ringing and a gust of cold air momentarily biting you.

It’s rare for females to come to the forge. Very rare, indeed. Which is why, for a second or two, you just stare.

That — and because she’s incredibly beautiful.

Her eyes — the colour of emeralds — sweep the workshop, before landing on you, and she smiles. She has the telltale tanned skin of an Illyrian, but instead of the dark hair that’s so typical around here, hers is red — not orange, not auburn, but blood red. You’ve never seen a shade quite like it.

And if that’s not enough to completely bowl you over, your gaze rakes over her clothing, and you stop, stunned.

Females around here wear homespun dresses of simple brown shades. A few, like yourself, favour basic tunics and breeches. Clothing is just a necessity, not something you lend much thought to.

But this female wears Illyrian leathers. Never, in your life, have you seen females wear Illyrian leathers. It’s simply not a done thing.

But she looks resplendent in them.

They cling to supple curves and accentuate a figure that you don’t think you’d ever be able to achieve with any amount of training. And perhaps the most shocking thing of all — and the most enviable — is the presence of brilliant, beautiful wings at her back. Unclipped. Untouched. Unruined.

How your wings might have one day looked, had your father not destroyed them.

You’re not entirely convinced that an angel hasn’t just stepped into your father’s forge. Or perhaps this is the Mother that everyone worships. Part of you wants to worship her, too, and beg her to bestow upon you her blessings—

You snap yourself out of it before you can fall head-over-heels in love with her. She’s just a customer.

A very, very beautiful customer.

“Good day to you.” She says, approaching the counter. Her voice is like pure music.

You incline your head in greeting. “And to you. Is there something I can help you with?”

“I’m interested in having some gifts made for my father and brothers. For Solstice.”

Once again, you’re gawking.

Another thing that’s unheard of; females liking their family members enough to have gifts made for them.

You clear your throat, blinking out of your thoughts. “What…what kind of things were you looking for?”

“Personalised daggers.” She answers, and then she grins in a way that makes you want to tell her your life story, and leans closer. “A male can never have too many daggers, right?”

You breathe a laugh. It doesn’t sound natural. “Absolutely.”

“I’ll be needing three. One for my father, and one each for my two brothers. Can that be done in time for Solstice? I can pay extra…”

This female has beauty, leathers, wings, a relationship with her family members, money. She’s magnificent. A few exchanged words, and you’re awed by her.

Who is she? How have you never seen her before?

“It can be done.” You tell her with a flustered smile. “I’ll just need to sit with you and get some details of exactly what you want made, and then my father will get straight to it. I imagine they’ll be ready for collection by Solstice Eve.”

Her eyes light up in a way that reminds you of sunrise. “That’s perfect.”

There’s a second or two where you just…can’t help staring. Her beauty has knocked you speechless.

But once again, you snap yourself out of it and try to retain some semblance of professionalism.

“Can I take your name down?” You say, and clear your throat again. Gods, you hope you’re not blushing. “For the order.”

You grab a piece of parchment and a pen, hoping you’ll remember how the fuck to write.

“It’s Kaeda.” She says, and the pen nearly slips from your hand. “Kaeda Baralas.”

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Solstice morning sweeps in just as abruptly as the fresh onslaught of snow that once again batters the camp.

It’s going to be a rough one. You can feel it in your bones.

You dread it every year, but this year is made even worse by the constant stream of thoughts that have been plaguing you over the last week. About whether telling Az about your feelings is a good idea. Not just because of what it could do to your friendship, but because…

Because you can’t deny that since seeing Kaeda in the flesh, you’re doubting yourself more than ever.

Of course, you can see why Azriel would want her. And why he’d want to be good and experienced for her. And you…you’ve been facilitating that. You’re the practice dummy. Kaeda is the real thing.

At least the chaos of Solstice keeps you busy.

You wake early, and from the noise and foot traffic outside your bedroom window, you know Az’s unit has safely returned from their training exercise. Your relief is short-lived, replaced by the dread of your father hitting the bottle.

Every year is the same. You spend the day trying to focus on your preparation of the huge meal you’re expected to cook, while your father knocks back drink after drink and gradually gets rowdier. You tell yourself that the more he drinks, the better — he’ll fall asleep eventually, and you’ll be out of here.

But then the front door bursts open.

It’s four of your father’s friends who pile into your cramped home, singing at the tops of their voices and reeking of booze. You’re only just able to stop one of them knocking a pot of potatoes off the counter with a careless, wayward wing. They barely acknowledge you, filing through to the sitting room to greet your father. Their voices get louder, and an ache is building behind your eye.

Day bleeds into late afternoon. You try to ignore them, to focus on the task at hand. Cooking is usually enjoyable for you, but with an unwelcome party happening in the next room, you find yourself getting more and more stressed.

By the time your father bustles his way into the kitchen and begins sniffing around the food, you’re close to losing it.

“Isn’t it ready yet?” Your father rudely demands.

You stare out of the kitchen window, at the dwindling light of approaching evening, clenching your jaw. “It is. I’m waiting for your friends to leave.”

“They’ll be eating with us.”

You whirl on the spot. “We don’t have enough food for that.”

“I told you we’d have guests.”

No, he absolutely hadn’t. This is a power play. He does shit like this all the time. Backs you into corners.

“I bought food for two people.” You snap, unable to stop yourself. “Not six.”

Your father’s nostrils flare. You know that look on his face a little too well — the one where his cheeks redden and his eyes turn cold. It’s always, always made your stomach lurch.

He steps closer, and you press your back against the counter, trying your utmost not to look intimidated.

“You’d better rectify that, hadn’t you?” His tone is deceptively gentle. “Be a good girl and find a way to make the food go around six people. You wouldn’t want to ruin Solstice.”

It’s a veiled threat. One you’d be wise not to ignore.

So you stare at him and he stares at you. And when he eventually nods and leaves the room, you turn and try to work out how to make a meal for two a meal for six.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

The mountain of a male beside you jostles your chair so violently that you almost fall out of it.

His hand grabs a roast potato from your plate. He shoves it into his mouth, chews, and grins. “You weren’t going to eat that, were you?”

The entire meal has been like this.

Perhaps it’s your ice-thin temper that has you staring him right in the eye; a thing many Illyrian males consider a great disrespect from females. “Would it matter if I was?”

He swallows and swipes the lone, remaining potato you hadn’t planned to touch. “Not really, no.”

The dinner is usually the only part you enjoy of Solstice. A meal that you spend hours perfecting, of slow-cooked meat and roasted potatoes and a colourful array of different vegetables that are cooked to perfection. It’s the one part of the day where you can just sit and breathe, because even your father doesn’t usually have a bad word to say about the meal you’ve presented.

This one has been pure, unadulterated hell. 

To accommodate your unwanted guests, you’ve skimped on your own food, barely affording yourself a couple of mouthfuls. Wine and ale has been spilled across the table, and the conversation around it has only grown more and more uncomfortable — and vile — as the night has worn on. You want nothing more than to get out of here and find your friends, but your father and his cronies show no signs of slowing down. 

You sit, staring emptily at the plates, the little remaining morsels of the meal you spent all day cooking. You try to block out the laughter and jeering, the disgusting comments, the blatant disrespect, but it’s all getting to you, riling you up. You’re not sure how long you’ll last without snapping.

Your answer comes when your father looks at you. And he snaps his fucking fingers at the finished plates. 

“Clear this up, Y/N.” He says. 

You know your father. You know what he can be like, the damage he can do. Your ruined back is evidence enough. And you know the wisest and safest thing is for you to comply and rant about him to your friends later.

But you’re far beyond that point.

You meet his gaze, and your jaw ticks as you shoot back, “Why don’t you clear it up yourself?”

You regret it the second the room falls deathly silent. All the noise is gone in an instant. Every face is looking your way.

But it’s your father’s face you’re concerned with.�� The expression that tells you you’ve made a grave, grave mistake. 

“What was that?” His voice is quiet. Too quiet.

You look away. Wish you could cram the words back down your throat. “Nothing.”

“It wasn’t nothing.” The male beside you sneers. “You speak to your father like that, girl? If you were my child, I’d string you up by the remains of those wings you never should have been born with.”

“I’d do a lot worse than that.” Another one remarks, a sickening laugh in his voice.

Throughout it all, your father is staring at you. Saying nothing.

“Did it hurt, anyway? Having them ripped off like that? I bet it did. I hope it did.”

Your final straw is when the pig at your side has the audacity to reach around and touch your back. You tense immediately, and you’re shooting up from your chair, knocking it over as you do.

“Don’t ever lay a finger on me again.” You will your voice to be stronger, firmer, but it won’t comply. You shake as you gather the plates up in your hand. “I’m cleaning this up.”

That’s met with a chorus of laughter, a pelting of comments. You tell yourself to block it out, block it the fuck out, balance as much as you reasonably can in your hands and book it into the kitchen. You dump the plates onto the counter and grip onto the sink basin, trying to draw in deep, slow breaths.

But then there are footsteps behind you. And the kitchen door closes. And you know that’s not good.

“Y/N.” 

Your eyes shutter. You release one of those useless breaths before you dare to turn and face your father. 

And when you do, his face is…soft. Eyes filled with concern.

But you’re not stupid enough to buy it. 

You’re taut as a bowstring as he approaches you, stopping inches away. He drinks in the sight of you, tilting his head. You wait for him to tell you that you look just like your mother — a fact that only contributes to his vitriol. As if it’s your fault that she abandoned him, abandoned both of you. 

He thinks it is.

His hand touches your cheek, his thumb sweeping the skin there. You swallow, hoping he can’t feel the way you tremble beneath him. 

“What’s gotten into you, my girl?” He asks quietly. “What did I say about not ruining Solstice?”

You swallow. Lower your gaze. “I thought it would just be the two of us.”

“Do I not have the right to invite my friends into my home?”

“I’m just saying that a little bit of warning would have been appreciated. I didn’t spend hours cooking a meal just for your friends to come along and ruin it.”

“Your attitude has become insufferable. Perhaps it’s those three males you’ve been spreading your legs for. Giving you too much of an ego boost.”

You almost want to laugh in his face — laugh at his cluelessness. But your anger wins. Maybe you’re more like him than you ever thought.

“Or perhaps, father,” you snap, “it’s an accumulation of anger and desperation after twenty years of living with a repulsive, sanctimonious—”

He strikes you so hard that for a moment, you’re simply stunned as to why you’re suddenly on the floor. But the thwack of his hit rings in your ears, echoes through the kitchen. 

And then the metallic taste of blood is coating the inside of your mouth. It’s streaming down your chin, and you’re not even sure where it’s all coming from, only that it hurts and your eyes are stinging. 

Your father stares down at you. And in that moment, you realise that the eeriest thing of all is that he never glares at you. You think you’d prefer that.

He always stares with that emptiness. That icy vacancy. It makes his actions more unpredictable, more dangerous. 

He lunges down so suddenly that you flinch, yanking you up by the front of your shirt. Your legs don’t want to comply as he shoves you towards the door.

“Get the fuck out of my house.” He hisses at you, ripping the door open. “Go on. Fuck off, just like your mother did.”

And then he’s shoving you into the snow, a plume of it erupting around you. You hardly notice the cold. You’re too stunned.

Not stunned enough, though, to refrain from biting back at him. Just like a threatened animal would. 

“Fuck you.” You sneer, the words contorted by a mouthful of blood that you spit onto the snow. “Fuck you, father.”

The bastard laughs in your face. Just as he’s always laughed in your face. And then he kicks snow at you because he can and steps back into the house.

When the door shuts behind him, you push to your feet. You’re trembling all over. It might be the cold. It might be the shock.

There’s only one person you want to see right now. So you wrap your arms around yourself and head towards the dormitories.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Halfway through trudging across the camp, your shoes sodden with snow, your lip still bleeding, the emotions begin to hit.

You resent them. You resent feeling anything at all towards the male who is your only blood relative in this hollow, hollow place. The one who took your wings. The one who has tried to keep a firm grasp on the control he has over your life.

But you do feel things. Hurt and rage and humiliation and — bizarrely — betrayal. As if some small slither of hope had followed you from childhood into adulthood — that your father would one day miraculously awaken as a different person. A family member worth holding onto.

He never would.

No, your true family has always been the small, loving group that crams themselves into a cottage across the camp; a place of warmth and welcoming.

Rhysand and Cassian and Azriel. Rhysand’s mother, too. They are your family. They have always cared, since the moment you met them.

It’s for that reason that you persevere with your walk, even though you’re frozen to the bone. You think you might be crying. You’re not too sure anymore. Your friends will make it better. They always make it better.

The dormitories glow in the distance; a welcome sight, for once. You kick through the snow with desperation, and you’re definitely crying, definitely shaking all over, but the sounds of the celebrations coming from inside are a relief. Playful jeering and someone strumming a lute and off-kilter singing.

You push your way through the door. Inside is as crowded as you expect it to be, but you don’t even care. Anywhere is better than at home.

Your eyes — not really taking in much at all — scan the corridors, the common area, looking for any of your three closest friends. You see none of them, but a hand lands on your shoulder, and you turn to find Vegha there. Her eyes widen immediately at the state of you. You dread to think how bad you look.

“Y/N, what the fuck?” She blurts. “Why are you bleeding?”

“Fell over.” You know how stupid it sounds. “I…I need to find Azriel. Have you seen him?”

“Oh, I think he skulked off to his room a little while ago. Everyone knows he hates big parties like this—”

Perfect. You’ll hole up in his room together and block the rest of the world out. You’re already turning and pushing through people. You’ll apologise to Vegha for your rudeness later. Right now, you just need Azriel’s comfort, his love. The conversation you planned to have with him tonight is now a distant memory, an issue to confront later. You just…just want him. He always makes everything better.

You don’t notice the drink that gets spilled on you, or the disgruntled groups of people you have to shove through. None of that matters. Azriel is your family. He matters.

Finally, you make it to his room. The soft glow of faelights shine beneath the door — an indication he’s inside. You almost sob with relief as you grab the handle and burst in.

Two faces immediately look round at you.

Azriel’s.

Kaeda’s.

Kaeda lies on top of him, hands either side of his head. Her lips are swollen and inches from his. Azriel is palming at her waist, holding her against him. They’re both fully clothed, but…but you get the sense they wouldn’t have been for much longer, had it not been for your interruption.

Azriel drinks in the sight of you, his chest heaving. He blinks. You…you’re rooted to the spot.

And you fucking wince as Kaeda sits up slightly. Az’s hands fall back to his sides.

The beautiful female eyes you, tilting her head. And you want to get out of there, to fucking run, but you can’t do anything but stand and blink as something shatters inside of you.

“The shop hand from the forge.” Kaeda states in surprise, as if it’s ludicrous to consider that you might sometimes venture outside of your father’s workshop. “What happened to your face?”

Azriel is finally springing into action, then, sitting up and scooting out from beneath Kaeda. “Y/N…”

You cannot bear the gentleness of his voice. It may just finish you off.

All of this might. Staying here a second longer might.

So you, for some reason, shake your head and back slowly out of the room. Azriel lurches up, but you’re grabbing hold of the door handle firmly.

“Sorry for interrupting.” Your voice is all wrong and fractured. You quickly shut the door before it can morph into a sob.

You think Azriel might call after you, but it’s probably wishful thinking. You don’t know. Don’t know anything. Don’t know what to do next.

So you simply walk away.

You suppose you’ve taught Azriel everything he needs to know.

azriel tag list: @hanasakr @positivewitch @ruler-of-hades @brekkershadowsinger @nightscourtt @imperfect0angel @luna-1-3-5 @hyacinthoideshispanica @lucyysthings @lahoete @littlemoonash @blacksstarrynight @azriels-mate123 @ghostly-poetic @frieddesigninspiringquotesslime @a-frog-with-a-laptop @illyriansimp @morrie-rose @passingthroughfireandshadow @illyrian-dreamer @azrielsbabyg @96jnie @mich0731 @mulansaucey @truthtellerfanclub @acourtofbooksandmagic @insightsonmylife @basicbittywitty @curbside-cyanide @acourtofchaosandmess @123345566 @starrynights-frostbites @eos-princess @thesillyyogourt @ona-raising-07-l @acediahamartia @dontfollowmepleaseitsannoying @polli05927 @asdfjklbooks @azriel-luvr @amysangel @humanpersonlasttimeichecked @wildflowernightmere @audie-writes @aaronwarnerswifereal @starxqt @lulufairbank @laurzwrites @livelaughlovenestaarcheron @girlwith-thecinder-blockgarden @jjlevin @smitty-werbenjagermenjenson @spikertrash @kindagoldylocks @barbiezambie @kht1998 @soupghoul @nyctophiliawitch @gracie1234567891011 @gaymistakeboi @luvmxo @rinalouu @microwaveallthedemons @starlightshowdown

[imyourbratzdoll]

𝒂 𝒅𝒂𝒚 𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒇𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒚 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒓’𝒔 𝒄𝒂𝒃𝒊𝒏

hello, I want to thank @foxyprincessworld for inspiring me to write this.

connected to fairytale

summary - it has been a while since meeting ari in the woods, and while he goes out to gather food for you two, you manage to get yourself stuck.

warning - smut, inter-species, tiny fairy, stuck, slight fingering, creampie.

18+ only please, the gif and headers I use aren't mine.

Warnings and Reminders - Please do not plagiarise, copy, repost/republish, adapt, or translate any of my work on any social media platforms, apps, or third-party sites. The only platforms I post my work on are: Tumblr and Wattpad. I do not own any character of any franchise (Marvel etc.) All my works are fiction and may be dark or triggering content: READ ALL WARNINGS BEFORE PROCEEDING.

Ari had gone out to gather some berries and vegetables from your little garden outside the cabin, ensuring you’d be stocked up for the rapidly approaching winter. While he was out picking, you were fluttering around the house, ensuring things were clean and neat. Since you met Ari that fateful night, becoming his partner, the cabin also became your home. 

You had been cleaning all day in your human form, making sure you could cut the cleaning time in half with your size before finding a spot that no large thing could reach. You wave your hand, allowing your magic to dance over you and shrink you into your fairy form. You fly over to the area, noticing through the small hole that it has become dirty. You knew Ari didn’t care about these things, but you did. So, you began to clean, softly groaning as you kept missing a few spots, pulling yourself further into the tiny hole, your hips catching onto the sides. You wiggle, huffing when you realise that you are stuck. “Oh no… I do hope Ari gets back soon.” You let out a cute little sneeze as the dust tickles your nose. 

Ari grins at the basket in his hands, loving that it’s filled to the brim and that he can show you what he’s managed to gather. He heads into the cabin, setting down the basket on the table and then looks around confused, wondering where you are as you usually came to greet him. “Fairy? Bear here!” He grunts, scrunching his nose. “Little Fairy?!” Ari begins to walk deeper into the house, becoming worried that something may have happened to you.

“I’m here, Bear. I’m okay. I’m just stuck...” You sigh and allow magic to flow through you, appearing before your man.

Ari stares at the bright ball, following it as it slowly leads him to where you are stuck. The ball disappears when Ari stops where you are, and his eyes widen. “Oh, Fairy! How?” He can’t deny that his cock twitches when his eyes land on your exposed arse, your dress lifted from wiggling. “Stuck?” You still weren’t able to teach him how to speak proper sentences, but you found it endearing with his short answers. Knowing he tries so hard, his face always scrunches up, trying to find the right things to say, and the thing you love most about him is even though it becomes hard for him sometimes, he never gives up. 

“Yeah, Bear. I’m stuck, and my magic cannot get me out of this one.” You pout, not noticing that the more you wiggle, the more that becomes exposed, causing the giant bear behind you to become aroused. “Could you please help me?” 

Ari nods, too preoccupied with how your arse jiggles and your sweet honey pot glistens. He licks his lips at the thought of honey and how delicious you taste. “Help after,” Ari growls out, quickly ridding himself free from his pants and gripping his thick, monstrous cock. He begins to stroke it, grunting as pre-cum leaks from his angry tip.

“What? Ari, what do you mean after? Bear?” He ignores you, too lost in his mind now. You softly squeak as his finger connects with your dripping cunt. You now understand what is happening and allow your magic to wash over you. “You can enter, Bear.” You whimper when he pushes his thick finger inside, stretching you and curling it, ensuring you are wet enough to take him.

“Okay?”

“Okay.” Your head falls forward as he pulls his finger out and replaces it with his member. His tip stretches you wide as Ari pushes in. “Oh, god…” He rests his hands against the wood, fucking into you harder and faster, enjoying how your tight walls squeeze him. 

“Not god.” Ari growls, fucking into you harder. “I Bear!” Your tiny body rocks back and forth, and your eyes roll back as the pleasure intensifies. Your walls pulsate like crazy around Ari, causing a groan to slip out. “My Fairy!” Your arousal builds, leaking alongside his thick base, coating him and creating a white creamy ring. “So pretty and tiny.” He hums, staring down at your stretched-out cunt with a dazed look, entranced by how hot it looks. 

Your fingers curl, nails digging into your palm. “B–bear! I’m going to–” You cut yourself off with a strangled moan. Your vision becomes white as your walls squeeze around him, and your juices squirt out of you. You fall limp, exhaustion hitting you. Ari continues to thrust into you, throwing his head back as his balls tighten, cock twitching. He releases thick amounts of cum into you, coating your walls. 

Once Ari empties himself, his cock softens, and he slowly pulls out of you. “Bear, help now.” He grumbles, wiping off the sweat on his forehead before punching the wood, snapping it enough to rip it away and pull you out of the tiny hole. He lies you on the palm of his hand, looking down at you with a soft look, “Fairy, okay?” 

You snuggle into his palm, looking up at him with a sleepy smile. “I’m okay, Bear. Thank you.” You give him a soft tap and sigh as he moves you to the chair. Your hand waves, and you feel your body slowly grow, allowing you to become human-sized. You stretch, kissing Ari’s palm as he rests it on your cheek. “How did your picking go, Bear?” 

The smile on his face makes you think he’d be able to brighten up a room with how bright and gorgeous it is. Ari quickly moves over to the basket and brings it back to you, showing you the many things he picked. You smile, eyes dancing around the many different colours. “You did wonderful, Bear! I could maybe make some soup for dinner and a pie for dessert.” You slowly stand, legs feeling like jelly. 

Ari places the basket back down and pulls you into him by the hips. He looks down at you with such love and adoration, like he cannot believe he has you in his life. “Bear love Fairy… S–so much.” He wraps an arm around your waist while his hand cups your cheek, leaning down and pressing a soft kiss on your lips. “Pretty Fairy.”

You smile, eyes becoming clouded with love. “I love you too, Bear, so much. My big handsome bear.” Your hand rests flat on his chest, and the other cups his cheek, stroking the soft beard underneath before moving up to scratch between his cute bear ears. “Why don’t you get some rest? You’ve been working so hard lately.” Your lashes flutter as you continue to stare up at him. “I’ll prepare dinner, okay?” 

Ari shakes his head, huffing. He peppers kisses against your face, smiling at how beautiful you look. “I help.” 

That night you and Ari make dinner, and as that is cooking, he helps you prepare dessert. You couldn’t have wished for anything better. He’d wrap you in his arms as you made the food before pulling you over to the couch, holding you against him while you both waited for dinner. Your hand rested against your stomach, knowing that when you finally told the news to Ari, he would be so happy. You’d finally have everything you had ever wished for. 

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

[notthecutesttrash]

Nostalgia

Content: Sukuna found himself intrigued by your spunk, and when he notices that Yuji is struggling to overpower him one day, he finally has a little fun.

Trigger Warnings: 18+ DARK, NONCON, readers a bit obnoxious at first, time skip for obvious reasons, Smut, suffocation, no like actually, blood, loss of virginity, fingering, hair pulling, spanking

Word count: 4.3k

The school is blatantly empty today, which was rather boring. You had decided from the moment you woke up, that this would be the day you saw Sukuna’s supposed vessel. How disappointing to notice everything so empty, like an abandoned building. No Gojo, no other first years, whatever. It was all lame. 

Huffing to yourself you open the door to another spacious classroom with zero people intact. You thought to even check the nurse’s office, only to see Ieiri doing who knows what with the bodies there. She turns up at you as blood adorns her lab coat,  “Oh, hey, what’re you doing here?” You blink and close the door. She shrugs and diverts her attention back to work. 

Where else could they be? Principals room? Sealed room? Ah possibly there. 

You make way for the chambers, passing the empty hallways. The year above you's class is more than interesting. There's a panda, a dude who speaks in rice ball ingredients, and a zen’in lady. The lady was also able to keep up with your rude remarks which was amusing.

As you walk you hear small far away grunts. Humming, you curiously begin to switch directions, and near the sounds of groaning and “Hyah’s!”

From far away, you’re able to see a faint, puffy pink-haired man slapping a training dummy with a weird fuzzy blade. He’s so caught up in training that he doesn’t notice you, so you watch, judging his stance and how he struggles while dragging his breaths.

He’s doing it all wrong.

Though you’re amused at the pure confidence brimming in his expression; he was almost cute it's laughable. Eventually, that makes its way from your mouth, and he shifts to you, completely oblivious that you were even there that whole time. He’s a bit taken aback, and you near closer to see him.

“Um.. who are you?” He asks, dumbfounded. 

You press your hands to your waist ignoring the question and direct one back at him “Are you a first-year?” 

“Yeah. Are you one of those second years? Did you guys already come back from your mission?” 

You shake your head, and point to him exclaiming loudly, “No, I’m with you! Yuji Itadori!” 

He blanks, “Uh.. okay..” you squeal, throwing your hands in the air. 

“I knew it! Sukuna picked you? Look at that, you’re so innocent looking, you’re not even holding that blade right.” You giggle to yourself obnoxiously and he tilts his head, a small flicker of annoyance inside him. 

“Actually, he didn’t pick me, I just swallowed one of his fingers and-“ you cut him off with a sound of disgust. 

“You did that willingly? Ugh, how interesting, what did it taste like? Was it crunchy? Gooey? Was it old?” 

He ponders for a moment before answering, “Old, definitely old, and wrinkly.. and his fingernails are sharp.” 

“Ew.” You cringe at the thought, and he tilts his head to ask, “So, what are you here for?” 

Shrugging, you think. “I just wanted to see,” you answer vaguely. Being Sukuna’s vessel is more than interesting, considering it’s been what, hundreds of years? 

He opens his mouth to speak and you look at his cursed tool, probably one that was given to him by Gojo. Something in you wants to admit the morbid curiosity of seeing Sukuna, but in reality, you know that would be terrible.

“So, how does that work? Do you just have him inside of you? Does he talk? Do you hear him? See him like a ghost and he talks to you, is he standing here right now?” You ramble all your ideas at him and he rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. You were definitely weirding him out.

“No nothing like that, though I do hear him every now and then. It’s sort of annoying.” He points to the back of his hand, “or he’ll show here.” You tilt your head, weird. 

You move close to him, enough to invade his personal space. You lift your hand and he’s confused, then you dive it down on his head, patting the fluff. 

Beaming, you pet him mockingly while cooing, “I heard you’re going on your first real mission tomorrow, how exciting.” 

Yuji lightly slaps your hand away, grumbling, “Can you not do that?” he steps back so you would no longer be at arm’s length.

You smile. Truthfully, you were planning on being more annoying. Why? Well, you're not sure. You quite liked him instead, he was cute, and you know you're going to enjoy teasing him often. He's still fussing over his hair as you think until you twirl away with a laugh.

“Hey, tell Sukuna I said hi when he saves your ass from death.” You stick your tongue out at him and Yuji furrows his brows immediately. That annoyed him.

Safe to say, Sukuna was definitely amused by you since then.

Yuji is your boyfriend, and he's someone you love to death even if you can still tease the heck out of him. But you've calmed since then. And through the years nothing ever came of Sukuna. Many times you had even forgotten he existed.

Occasionally you two would get food together, and sometimes you had a morbid curiosity when remembering after all this time. 

“Does Sukuna still talk to you?” You’d ask and he’d turn his head to the side with a grave expression. He knows, but he never admits.

“No, not really," he'd mumble to himself. You’d nod in response, giving him a knowing gaze. Was it really that bad? 

Yes. 

From the day he first met you to now, all that was always on the curses mind was how he just wanted to kill everyone and have fun with the punk’s lively girlfriend. Luckily, that day never came, and it never will. 

That was until.. he got sick of course. 

You’re patting the washcloth against Yuji’s head, a worry setting a deep frown on your face. His breathing is heavy, and he's panting with a newfound flame that burns in his forehead. He’s hotter than you’ve ever felt, it was almost inhuman. No reverse curse technique seemed to have been helping, no doctor, no medicine, no bath, no rest, just nothing was working. 

You’re rushing to look through Yuji's cabinets. There has to be something here that you haven’t seen before. No simple pain medications would help, nothing generic. You pick up a bottle, maybe this one? It was a herbal medicine, and you knew it was a fat chance, but you’re desperate. So you rush back to Itadori and pour him a small cup of water near the pills. 

“Hey, Yuuji.. baby,” you lightly caress his cheek, but to no avail. His skin is steaming, and his eyes are clasped shut.

You frown and take the pills in your hands, pouting at what you have to do. You open his mouth and drop the pills in lightly, holding his head up at a good position, then making sure a very small amount of water is poured in so he won’t choke. This reminded you of something, but you weren’t sure of what. 

Setting the cup back down you stare at it, then him, then gasp as a bad thought strikes you. Sukuna. The only person who can heal him. 

You can’t do that. Sukuna only works for his own gain. He probably wouldn’t even care if he died with Yuji. But still, you won't just let that happen.

Albeit.. are you really going to allow possibly hundreds, if not thousands to die by his hands just because you selfishly want one man to live? Emotional connection or not, that wasn’t smart. Or is it?

Yuji is probably the only person who could hold Sukuna off- or not probably, he is the only person who can hold him off. Maybe besides Gojo, but that didn’t count when it came to a literal internal affair. 

Either way, the fingers are all stowed somewhere. Surely you could find one. but still, you’d rather not have the god of curses of all beings roam around. You knew Yuji wouldn’t want that either, in fact, he’d probably be disappointed.

You sigh and pat Yuji’s head, giving him a soft kiss on the forehead. “Hope you get better… I’m gonna go now, okay?” You stand and stare at him, knowing he probably couldn’t hear you, or respond. You were sure he was deep in there somewhere, maybe even kicking Sukuna’s ass.

Sighing, you arrive at your home and slam your back into the bed, draping a hand over your forehead. You’re exhausted. Lately, you’ve just been spending days and nights at his house.

Sometimes you aren’t able to sleep depending on the day, this time might be one of those, but you aren't sure.

Battling with the idea of Yuji’s worsening sickness and Sukuna’s possible revival made you almost get a migraine.

You glance at the time. It’s already been a full hour, and your corneas are burning from the lack of sleep. Alright.. suppose it was time. You sigh and make yourself comfy, curling in a small ball before closing your lids. 

When you awake, there’s a blur in your eyes as you tiredly open them. It’s dark and when you glance at the window you’re thinking it’s maybe 2 AM. 3? Rolling over to your side, you pull your leg up and get comfy again, groaning at how hot your pillow now is. Lifting your head to turn it, you slam back down comfortably, a flicker of pink in your sight. Yawning, you rub your eyes and blink at whatever that could be, but decide eh, whatever, it’s your room, nothing out of the ordinary. What you needed was sleep for tomorrow. 

Shuffling, you clutch your pillow and squeeze it against you, loving the feel of the brisk cold that rubs against your cheek and satiates the heat of your neck. Closing your eyes with a small moan, a faint chuckle sounds near you. Blinking your eyes open, a jolt of fear slithers down your spine, and you raise your upper half and rotate to survey the room. Nothing out of the ordinary. You’re tired, just hearing things.

Huffing, you press yourself against the pillow again and clench your eyes shut. Just go to sleep damn it.

This time you heard an audible step. Your heart sped into your chest and you forced yourself to rotate the other way. You’re just hearing things, lack of sleep will do that to you, it’s been a long day too, so surely it’s that.

Step. It must be a curse, but you didn’t feel anything, so it had to just be you. If you go to sleep now, then it’ll all be gone. Just keep closing your eyes and when you open them again it’ll be morning.

Step. You squeaked at the sound and the creak in the floorboards. That’s when you heard another chuckle.

“How long are you going to feign sleep?” A raspy deep voice erupts a squeal from you. 

Turning shakily, you struggle to adjust to the lighting as you see a familiar figure ahead. “Yuji?” Your small voice whispers out. He grins wide. No, something was not right here. Yuji didn’t have markings or whatever this was on him, and he never kept his bangs back.

When you glanced down to study his body you froze. There was a hole in his chest, not an incision, not a Halloween effect, a full-on hole that you could look inside of. Blood was dripping from the wound, but it seemed as if it was drying judging by the goop. 

A realization hits you, and you gasp, your body shaking under the weight of Yuji- no Sukuna's gaze. His smile is large, and his dark orbs glow red in the darkness. “Y-You’re…” you hold your breath.

“H-How..?” You’re still whispering, tremoring as nears your features. He suddenly laughs loudly, cackling horribly with that new voice of his. It echoes into your ears and makes your heart drop. This was it, you were going to die. 

“You see, I was planning on having fun with that other lively girl. But, because of the brat’s affection for you, I have decided to pick you first.” He has a rumble in his hoarse throat when he verbalizes, and a horrifying smile still paints his face. You’re stuck, shaking in your spot.

“A-Are you..” you struggle to think of the words, your voice cracking as he gleams at you. “Going to.. kill me..?” Sukuna’s grin widens, and finally, you can see the way his double pair of eyes glimmer even in the lack of light. 

“After you’ve quenched my insatiable thirst, then yes.”

He takes a moment, pausing to press his hand against his chin as he thinks. “Or perhaps I’ll bond you to a life of servitude, whatever amuses me more at the moment.”

You know he’s more than serious. You had to do anything, talk, and keep on conversing until he got bored. Reason with all your might. 

You attempt to continue as you swallow hard. “B-But… Yuji will switch back.” He had to switch back, right? Won’t he? Or does the hole in his heart not prove to you enough that he won’t be able to? 

“Unless the punk wants to die, then he’ll have to be my guest. But he seems to be struggling at the moment, so, I’m going to take my sweet time with you.”

He gets close, his finger twirling around your hair. 

You bawl your fist into the sheets. You have to escape. You have to. Your legs quietly press beneath you, as if readying for a sprint.

“If you so as flinch I’ll make quick work of your death.” 

Suddenly you’re rigid as can be, terrified that the quaking in your heart and the stammering in your hands would get you killed. All you’re doing is heaving, barely able to meet his gaze. 

“Now bow.” He commands and you quickly rush to cradle your head between your hands that lay flat against the bed. He enjoys the scene, delighting in the fear. 

A second passes, and you’re flipped on your back with a strength you’ve never felt before. It was enough to bruise you just from the sheer weight. He lifts his clawed finger and suddenly your clothes are ripped, and before you can think to cover yourself with a blanket or anything he’s over you, staring into your desperate eyes. 

He was truly a pure evil that no one could think to reach. 

Tears are forming. You’re terrified. “Please don’t,” you mutter weakly.

He cackles loud enough for you to flinch. He won’t kill you yet.

The glimmer of his teeth when he grins wide makes you gasp. He’s snickering to the point it becomes manic laughter, and it makes you sick to your stomach. It sounded nothing like Yuji. His laughs are always a lot lighter and sweet. 

Sukuna sighs longingly to himself, trailing his fingers down your body as you cry.  “It’s been a thousand years, and I will never stop delighting in these sweet whimpers.” His palm meets your cunt. He presses against your clit hard and you squeal out from the pain. He doesn’t care for your enjoyment. All he wants to do is force himself down your tight hole and release every bit of cum he's had stored up for years. 

“To believe the fool hadn’t claimed you, what a shame.. for him. A treasure to me.” He’s chuckling as he kneads your clit more. It’s impatient and mean, but it gets you wet enough. His middle finger promptly shoves inside you, and you whine at the pain, curling your toes into the bed. Blood drips from the wound, lubricating his finger to pulse into you more. Sukuna grins at the liquid, and he’s purposely speeding up his pace. 

Tears swell in your eyes. You always wanted to save yourself for Yuji. Save yourself for the perfect moment.. and Sukuna just took everything away from you. 

“A thousand years and I get a virgin, ah I just delight in it, this is going to be fun.” His eyes are glimmering wide, brimming with joy as he adds another finger. You hiss at the sudden discomfort. His other hand moves to your neck, but it pauses, just hovering above it. You gulp tightly, scared for what was to come. 

“On second thought,” he pulls away and uses his free hand instead to circle your clit harshly. You’re tensed up, quivering with the pain of him spearing you mercilessly while gasping at the pleasure of your clit.

"I wouldn’t typically allow you the pleasure to breathe, but since you’ve never felt this, your cries will satisfy me more," Sukuna grins. If it wasn’t for the need to stretch you out, he wouldn’t be doing this at all. But he enjoys the way your cunt attempts to swallow his fingers whole as if attempting to expel him. He forces another in and you gasp at the sudden intrusion. You’re hands are clutched around your sides desperately as you moan and cry.

His fingers are fucking you furiously, eventually attaining a pleasant amount of wetness from your cunt. The obscene sounds feel as if they’re blaring in the room. You’re still tense as could be, but once he finally takes them out, you slump in response, heaving in relief. 

Sukuna chuckles evilly at the slick surrounding his fingers. As if it wasn’t a moment ago that he had just broken you and stretched you wide. 

“Ah, virgins. So easily excitable.” He breathes in delight to himself. You’re quivering, attempting to remain stiff, but every time his hand grazes your skin you flinch. You forcefully drape your arm over your sight while streams roll down your cheeks. Whenever you would glimpse at him all you wanted to do was cry and run. 

There’s no remorse in him, no guilt, nothing but happiness as he lives his fantasy. 

You feel his tip suddenly poke at your entrance, and you don’t even feel how clenched up you are. Your teeth are dragging against one another in anticipation, and he attempts to push in. You can’t help but peek fearfully, and you tighten at the sight. Sukuna gazes at you, annoyed. You shiver. Did you move? Did you do something wrong?

Quickly you’re spun around, your chest landing on the bed and your face bouncing off the pillow. Your view is met with the headboard. You can’t see anymore, and you panic. Your head moves up and you attempt to turn your body to fixate on him. He forces you back down instantly with a grip on your scalp. It tightens and you're shoved into your pillow hard.

When you attempt to move, the strength increases. His sharp fingernails are grazing your skin, almost drawing blood. You can’t breathe. You try to take an inhale and you’re stopped by the force of the pillow stuffing and blocking your airway. 

Without warning your pussy is spread wide by his cock and you scream incoherently. He instantaneously groans loudly at the warmth that meets him. His gaze turns to the ceiling, and his eyes are practically rolled to the back of his head as he relishes the feeling. He’s been waiting centuries for this exact moment. This scene has been revolving in his mind since day one. The idea of forcing a helpless virgin on their knees and taking them completely.

“Ah, I thought I’d never feel this again.” He exhales a deep breath of satisfaction, “It’s wonderful."

Your tight cunt swarms around his cock, sucking him in helplessly, and he groans, a newfound lust within. You're struggling to swallow his size, quivering as you feel your pussy forcefully stretch. You cry into the pillow, convulsing beneath him. He’s usually a patient man, but not this time. 

He moves, gripping your head tight and pulling you down while he begins to pound you murderously. The brutality of his thrusts while you gasp for air has you thrashing around, adamant to get him off of you. He has no care. He'd make sure he would let out all of his frustrations from being in your punk-ass boyfriend’s body for so long. 

“Do I need to remind you of what I’ve said? That would be rather impolite don’t you think?” Sukuna breathes heavily, annoyed by your muffled screams. He rams his cock to the very end of you and back. He's huge, and it burns endlessly when he thrusts. You’re shouting against the fabric, desperately attempting to shake off the force and lift yourself for just one inhale. He was going to kill you and defile your body. This is how you’re going to die, in the worst possible way. 

He’s using you like a mere plaything. Eventually, the pressure rushing to your head starts to make your vision go dark. You limp against him as he fucks you senseless. Sukuna starts cackling, and he pulls your weak head up, watching you come to life with a heavy inhale. Tears are pouring down your cheeks, drool falling from your lips as you greedily heave. He's still bucking his hips sharply into you, slapping your ass hard.

Sukuna would've sneered, but there was a large amount of impatience beginning to surge. “Now, if I need to remind you again, then the next you won’t be breathing. Not that it matters to me. But you wouldn’t like that, would you?" His tone is dark, and you shake your head a complacent no. Anything to not go through that again. 

“Good."

He slaps your ass with a rush of strength, making you jitter against him. He pulses into you, enjoying the way your pussy is now melting into a wet slop. 

“It appears you enjoy this just as much as I.” You’re sputtering with your breaths, unable to even hear him chuckling as he slams into you. Your hair is suddenly pulled back. Sukuna is grabbing a fistful and the ache in your neck has you groaning uncomfortably. 

You’re moaning nonsensically and his pace is merciless.  “How cute, maybe I will keep you alive.” 

His tug is impossible to push back at, and you yelp when he pulls you even further. He’s still slapping your ass repeatedly and you’re squeezing tight around him at every hit. His force is painful, and he finds it amusing. He only thrusts himself to the brink of his own orgasm while yanking you like a rag doll and stretching you wide. 

You’re whining desperately as he speeds up, and a jolt of electricity rises. It pulses into a quivering release while you slur incoherently, subconsciously circling your hips into him.

Sukuna breathes hard against you, merciless excitement running through his veins as he pulls you back hard and fucks your exhausted core, all while you still ride out your climax. He finally hits deep inside of you, reaching the furthest his cock can and even more. There's a sudden warmth in your walls as a heavy thick stream of cum pours inside of you.

“How I miss this.” Sukuna exhales loudly, nearly moaning at the sweet release. His clutch on your skin is still tight, causing you to jolt beneath him. 

And It was only a few moments that had passed before he left your sore cunt, only to push himself back in and slam into you. You’re a slop, whining desperate slurs into your pillow as he fucks you senseless.

You don't know how much time passed, but it never stopped. You found yourself eventually heaving and imagining a place where this wasn’t happening. Where Yuji was alive and he was the one taking you instead. 

Sukuna had whirled you around, pushing himself deep into you, his tongue dragging against your neck. Your legs are barely gripping his as he pounds you beneath him. His grasp was tight on the sheets beside you, and you were just relieved it wasn’t on your skin anymore.

Suddenly a rush builds and you’re whining loudly, your thighs feeling a new strength as you clasp around him. Your hands don’t dare to grab him, but as you lose yourself in your orgasm you can’t help the way you claw at his back. Sukuna pulses into you and lets out another stream of cum. The eventual number you didn’t know. Tears were rolling down your face, you're tired, you just want it to stop.

“No more.. please,” you whisper desperately. 

Sukuna snickers into your neck, breathing not nearly as hard as you were. He pulls himself from your throbbing hole and you still manage to whine at the loss. Relief follows swiftly, and the cum that clogs itself inside of you drips slowly.

“Did you think a mere few climaxes would be enough for me? You truly don’t understand.” His tone gets low as he grins. “I am going to keep playing with you until I get bored.” You pant exhaustedly, barely able to register his words. You just want to go to sleep.

As quick as that relief had come, it diminished the moment he buried himself in your cunt again. You whimper and let out a choked breath, eyes practically rolling to the back of your head. His deep breath brushes your skin, his groan rumbling something deep within you. 

“And yet you have joined them all so wonderfully. It’s been so long since I had a woman keep up with me,” he beams wide with that evil sparkling in his red eyes.

“I’ve decided I’ll let you live. I’ll keep you by my side whenever I feel the need to use you.” At his words, sobs begin to overtake you. He grips your arms tight, pushing into you repeatedly and cackling maniacally.

You would never be free from that grating sound ever again.