#AND BE STABBED AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AND—

[o3o-lapd-o3o]

after six hundred strike

*odysseus and poseidon are both still on the rocks in the middle of the sea*

odysseus: ok, let's just agree to both say we're sorry

odysseus: on the count of three

odysseus: one..two..three

poseidon:

odysseus:

odysseus: see, now i'm just disappointed in the both of us

[mv1simp]

Earned It ♥️ - Part 2 of 2?

Max Verstappen x Wife! Reader

cause girl you’re perfect, you’re always worth it, and you deserve it (the way you work it)

PART ONE HERE ♥️

Once you and your loving husband, Max, are finally ready to start trying for a baby, you face your next challenges as a couple navigating pregnancy. After a tricky conception, the two of you are ecstatic to now be five months pregnant. But lately, you can’t help but worry that your husband doesn’t find you desirable when you notice his behaviour changing. You have no idea how wrong you are until Max finds out about your insecurities…and is determined to prove you so very wrong.

Content includes: 18+ MDNI, smut, goddamn where do I even begin with this one, BREEDING KINK GO BRRRR, size kink, dom! Max, pillow princess! Sub! Reader, lots of emotional pregnancy hormones and max being the perfect husband, explicit mention of pregnancy and infertility struggles, 7K WC

Resting your cheek against your hand, you stare at your husband, who’s too focused on his current task to notice his pregnant wife’s annoyed expression. The 6 foot blonde Dutchman in question is dutifully serving up a perfectly balanced dinner for you, all macros and vitamin groups carefully counted as per the personal nutritionist he’s hired. Setting down the plate of smoked rosemary chicken breast, garlicky herb potatoes and sides of sautéed broccolini in front of you, Max stands back to admire his work. You can’t resist a petty Stop looking so proud, I know you hired someone to cook this.

Max pouts rather adorably at you. Surely it counts if I still paid for it, right schat? Rolling your eyes moodily at his antics, you stab a potato with your fork and munch on it, unable to resist the pleased hmm that escapes you at how flavourful the meal was. Noticing your reaction, your husband uses it to try gain your good favour again. You like it, schat? I taste tested five different cooks before I chose this one, he makes the best chocolate brownies, exactly how you like them with double fudge!

He tilts his head earnestly, looking the very picture of a cute golden retriever with his sparkling blue eyes and soft blonde locks. You sigh, putting your fork down. Normally, your darling husband’s devotion has your heart fluttering and cheeks flushing. But not today. No, today, your husband had gone too far - and you were going to make sure he made up for his mistake. When he nudges you to resume your eating, you needed the extra energy after all, you pointedly choose to ignore him. You instead pat the heads of your two Bengal cats and dog, Arlo, who curiously weave in between your legs hoping to get a taste of the fragrant dinner.

Groaning, Max slumps against the dining table in the seat next to you, his own plate ignored. I know why you’re upset, schatje, Max admits, conceding defeat. Finally, you mutter, picking your fork back up to resume dinner. You were mad, sure, but doesn’t mean you weren’t also going to eat the delicious dinner now that he had started his confession! It’s about today, isn’t it? Your husband continues. When you came into the paddock and I started creating a scene? I’m sorry, I know you don’t like it when I’m being too paranoid with your safety but I had to tell those reporters to fuck right off!

You put your fork back down and stare at Max, your brows scrunched in bewilderment. He continues talking, completely unassuming of his wife's growing annoyance as he explains. The "scene" that your clueless husband was referring to had been your attendance at the Monaco Grand Prix earlier that day. The paparazzi had gone positively wild at the rare sight of the retired World Champion with his arm around his obviously pregnant wife - whom he very rarely brought to F1 events for her own safety these days. He still attended races regularly, given how he coached and managed his own racing team now - but that certainly didn't mean he was going to make his beloved wife suffer the stuffiness of the paddock. But you’d insisted on coming to this particular race, pleading at him with puppy eyes, matching your shared golden labrador Arlo’s identical ones as you held the dog up to double your bargaining power. If your friends and family said Max Verstappen was whipped for his wife before, then they'd say he'd ascended into stratospheric levels of devotion once you became pregnant. He could never say no to anything you asked when you flutter your thick lashes up at him.

So even though he hated the idea of nosy reporters and fans getting up in the space of his adorable pregnant wife, he conceded by taking the self anointed role of your bodyguard. He certainly looked the picture of an ominous guard dog, smiling fondly down at you when you chattered to him or tugged his swollen bicep to pull him towards some food - and then icily glaring at anyone who tried to get too close to his wife. Everyone respectfully maintained their distance, scared off by the Dutch Lion. But towards the end of the race, some of the reporters hadn’t been able to resist coming in close when you’d taken your pearl buttoned cardigan off in the heat. The flowy cream-coloured long sleeved, short dress you wore underneath showed off your gentle baby bump. Paparazzio's eyes gleamed at the hot commodity, their hands twitching to their cameras to snap a highly demanded picture. Your husband’s overzealous efforts during the entire pregnancy to buy out publishing companies before anything could reach print and affect your privacy had left the F1 gossip pages begging for a rare photo of Max Verstappen’s pregnant wife.

So when Max turned to speak to one of his old race engineers, some of the reporters eagerly came a bit too close to you. They startle you with the mic suddenly in your face, asking if you were far along enough to know the gender and had you thought of baby names?

Max notices immediately, of course, his metaphorical guard dog ears swivelling in the direction of the intrusion to his wife’s peace. He’s about to interrupt when someone stumbles at the back of the group - a very common occurrence e in the crowded paddock. Unfortunately, that results in the reporter’s mic nudging against your pregnant stomach.

It hadn’t hurt, just a brief push, really! You were just caught off guard and slightly stumbled back yourself, a hand on your belly instinctively. The reporter is already sincerely apologising to you, and you’re waving them off, saying it was not a problem-

But your husband most certainly isn’t on the same page. He steps in front of you, his tall and broad frame completely blocking you away from the frenzied group, and uses a broad sweep of his muscled arm to push the reporter back. You watch in awe as he snarls at the group, reminding everyone of why his nickname was Mad Max, telling them all to fuck off or he’ll have them banned permanently from the paddock.

So this was the apparent scene that your passionate husband thought was the source of your ire, and was earnestly trying to apologise for now. He'd thought you were upset with him hovering over your shoulder, and making a dramatic scene. But he had no clue how wrong he was about the way you truly felt.

Sure, his protectiveness was something you’d talked about a few times - but that was because of how over the top Max had gotten with his security measures when he found out you were pregnant. Anyone who visited your home who dared to so much as politely cough was immediately tossed outside and told to come back when they didn’t have pneumonia. All of your meals were carefully preplanned and cooked for you, and the new motion activated aircon was always running at the right temperature for "optimal blood flow to the baby" (That's a scam, Max you told him blandly, I'm literally a doctor, trust me.) He wouldn’t let you lift anything heavier than your phone for weeks until you'd triumphantly opened a medical textbook to show him the chapter on importance of exercise in pregnancy. But he would still sometimes grab things off your unsuspecting hands after eyeing them dubiously. Your protests fell upon deaf ears - Seriously baby, I love you, but I’m strong enough to carry my own purse - I specifically took the pink Chanel bag today to match my fit!

You’d drawn the line when he had broached the topic, quite early in the pregnancy, of you taking time off your demanding schedule as a doctor and department head of the Emergency Department. But he’d quickly conceded when you firmly told him there was no way in hell you were going to sit at home, bored out of your mind when you were capable of working the first 2 trimesters at least - even 2 and a half?

It was almost comical how rapidly the blonde Dutchman’s face paled at the idea of his heavily pregnant wife running around the overcrowded hospital. So he hastily agreed to your compromise of working the first 5 months, albeit sulking rather cutely. You'd had to gently remind him to ease off, that the baby wasn't due for months, to which he replied that was good because he needed time to install the 12-point alarm system inside the house. You'd rolled your eyes fondly in response, but run a reassuring hand through his blonde locks, making him exhale and lean into your comforting touch. He nuzzles his face into your neck as you rubbed gentle circles to diffuse the tension in his corded back muscles, enjoying the way he’d almost purred contentedly like a cat. You’d reminded him gently to look after himself, too, and not you and his future child. I’m here to take care of you both as well, liefje, you say warmly.

So yes, you suppose one could say Max had been having some trouble…relaxing during your pregnancy. And why he now thought you were frustrated with his overprotective tendencies again today at the Monaco Grand Prix. But the idiot was being completely oblivious to your true feelings.

Because the truth was that you’d found the way he’d defended you fiercely, both in words and action, extremely attractive. And you’d wanted him to know that too, blushing as you look up at him in awe, biting your lip as he guided you into the car to drive you home with a clenched jaw. There was something about seeing your already gorgeous husband look ready to go to commit manslaughter to protect you that made him even goddamn hotter. By the time you'd gotten back home, you were ready to drag him to the luxurious Californian King bed and beg him to have his way with you. You’d always had a very active sex life as a married couple, sure - but this past year it had gone to new levels when you were trying to get pregnant. It was so exciting to tease out new sides and interests in each other, even after so many years as a married couple.

And now that you were finally pregnant, you found yourself thinking about Max’s gorgeous smile, his big and strong shoulders that led to swollen biceps, his broad chest and thick, muscular thighs that you loved to sit on. You had all the usual food cravings in your pregnancy that your husband would be up at odd hours to go get - including a 2 hour drive to a neighbouring Italian town for a tub of strawberry gelato you insisted you needed that very same night. But the strongest craving by far was your desire to have Max on top of you, inside you, fucking you during the warm, lazy afternoon and then again in the cool night and then repeating it all in the morning with sleepy sex to start the day off. And you were sure Max would have no reservations about fulfilling this particular craving of yours - after all, your husband normally went feral at invitations to have sex, with your coy suggestions and sultry eyes and teasing smiles.

So it had been very unexpected that for the last month or so, Max had stopped having sex with you completely. You’re not sure when you first noticed it, because he did a great job of distracting you at first - initially redirecting you to some other interesting activity when you’d flutter your lashes up at him. And when that failed, he wouldn’t hesitate to make you quickly reach bliss with his gentle, experienced large fingers or his skilled tongue playing with your soaked pussy. He knew just how to tease you for long enough that when you finally went over the edge, you would happily fall asleep cuddled against his warm figure, completely satisfied. His strong embrace would hold you protectively against him, running circles along your swollen stomach as he watched over you as you fell into deep sleep.

But as the desperate need to properly get railed by your husband grew as more days passed, you knew you had to do something about it - or risk going crazy from the intensity of your horny pregnancy cravings. You hadn’t realised how much he’d been redirecting your attempts until today, when you came home from the race. Max still looked furious, scowling about how those reporters needed to learn some goddamn respect in an annoyed tone. Meanwhile, you had moved onto plotting far more pleasurable activities - starting with smiling sweetly up at you husband as you took a seat next to him on the sofa. He sighed, tension easing from your comforting touch, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he wrapped a muscled arm around you.

He was still yapping about some media circus or other when you’d teasingly moved your hand over his bulge, playfully squeezing and seeing if your desires would finally be satisfied by something very thick and hard of his. Max stilled at your ministrations, relaxed body tensing again, gently burying his face into your curls as he took a deep breath in an attempt to compose himself. Giggling as you felt his cock respond to your touch within seconds, you took that as an invitation to slide a small h down the front of his jeans. You knew your husband must be as pent up with sexual frustration at you, and you couldn’t wait to return his favours. As you tuck your dark curls behind your ears in anticipation, bending at the waist towards his lap, you're rudely interrupted by your now rather large tummy in the way. You instinctively winced at the uncomfortable stretch across your bump, which was getting larger each week and catching you off guard in inconvenient times like this. Pouting in annoyance, you swayed your hips back to accomodate the swell of your waist. Then you lowered your head to Max's impressive semi erection, parting your eager lips widely, pink tongue darting out-

When Max had placed a gentle hand over yours and pulled you away from his pants, gently but easily manhandling you upright. You blinked, confused, as he kissed you sweetly instead, cutting off your questioning mumbles with a swipe of his tongue to make you moan. You'd gotten lost in his kisses for a few seconds when he’d got a phone call from his lawyer. His eyes lit up, and he gave you a final, chaste kiss before taking it with a sorry, schatje, why don’t you rest for a bit? You watched him, flabbergasted, as he stood up to go over to the kitchen and animatedly discuss filing a restraining order against SkySports. Why on Earth did your husband seem more interested in fighting some standard, run of the mill paparazzi rats than getting his dick sucked? Your doe eyes narrow in suspicion as you eyed his oblivious figure. This was extremely unusual, as normally Max would be tripping out of his pants in excitement if you offered your mouth up to him. His recent avoidant behaviour finally all came together then - and you realised that for the first time in your marriage, Max didn’t seem interested in having sex with you. It was the longest dry period you two had ever had.

You couldn’t stop the swirling anger, hurt, and now very pressing sexual frustration at your husband’s behaviour. You’d already started to hate the body dysmorphia the pregnancy was giving you, with the extra weight you’d gained and the chubbiness around your stomach and hips and ass all accentuating your already curvy figure. You could always rely on your husband to make you feel desirable, though, with the way he fucked you like it was his dying wish on Earth.

But not anymore, apparently, you think dejectedly, as you tune out Max’s misguided apology about his Monaco Grand Prix debacle. You interrupt him, unable to bear the tension any longer. Max, liefje, you begin, voice soft as your earlier pettiness dissolved to give way to vulnerability. I'm not mad about how you defended me today. Your husband looks at you intently with those gorgeous blue eyes of his, patiently waiting for you to go on. You take his large, warm palm into your smaller one, and slowly run your fingers over his skin, calloused from years of professional racing. You're suddenly feeling shy with how focused he is on you, but your pent up feelings can't go on like this. I - I was more, well, I thought it was really hot how you pushed everyone off me, you confessed, still looking down at your intertwined hands. And then when you looked so mad when you yelled at them - you bite your lip at the memory. When you finally meet your husband's eyes again, you find a cocky gleam in his eyes as he noted the way you pressed your thighs together.

Oh, schat, did you get all wet and bothered at seeing me protect you? Max's voice deepened as he teased you with a knowing smirk. You swallow, nodding at his dirty question, your earlier defiance completely gone as you look at him almost pleadingly with desire in your doe eyes. He pulls your smaller frame into his broad chest with a tug from his strong arm around your waist. And as you find yourself on his lap you're breathily telling him how much you want him, need him-

He hmmms approvingly as he gives you a deep kiss, saying he was sorry the two of you'd gotten interrupted earlier, he was very happy to continue where he’d left off. Purring into your ear and making you gasp, he asks you if you wanted his fingers or his tongue first?

You desperately tell him you only wanted one thing - No, no foreplay, I’m so wet already, ju- just need you, Maxie, you ask brazenly as you run your manicured hand down his toned front and just over the waistband to his sweats. And to make sure he’s absolutely certain about what you were asking for, you boldly tell him you wanted his cock, inside you, right now!

Max flushes at your heated demand and it sends a flutter through your aching core. You love being able to catch him off guard! But just when you think you’re finally getting what you want, he slows his wandering hands down and gently murmurs that he’ll make you cum on his thigh first then, schat-

And there it is again - the cold sting of rejection from your husband as he once again hesitates to properly fuck you. Why do you keep doing that? you ask directly, trying to keep your voice steady but your hurt tone still comes through when your lips tremble. You knew how this would go - he would just overstimulate the hell out of you with his thigh and make you cum more than once, exhausting you before you could even get to feel him buried inside you the way you needed him the most. It’s what he’s been doing this entire month.

Max blinks at your abrupt mood change, his expression surprisingly too difficult to read despite the years of marriage you share. Scatje, he says soothingly, trying to reassure you, that’s not it, I just don’t want you to be uncomfortable-

You glare at him now. You do know him well enough to pick up on when he was lying to you - he’s always been horrible at that, after all. You cut him off by suddenly standing up and stalking off to your shared bedroom, saying that you were going to bed and didn't want to be disturbed. It’s a bit dramatic of you, sure, but you can always blame it on the pregnancy hormones - your new favourite excuse. You almost slam the door when your husband calls out that you had barely eaten dinner, his deep voice laced with concern.

Puffing your cheeks as you reply you'd eat later, you slowly close the door instead, feeling guilty that Max was so caring towards you even when you were being dramatic about not getting laid. Changing into a comfortable satin nightdress, you end up sinking into the plush bed, suddenly tired from the overthinking and sexual frustration that's been building up within you. Maybe you’re being unfair on Max, you think sleepily. Maybe he was just caught up in his own worries and anxieties and that’s why he couldn’t focus on anything else - like your normally positively sinful sex life.

After all, he had good reason to worry - because despite your excitement at finally being on the same page about the next stage of your marriage, actually getting pregnant had been far from easy. Of course, you hadn't expected it to happen straight away, knowing it would take a couple of months at least. Your medical textbooks stated the average couple took around 6 months, even! If anything, you and Max were glad for the time you had to thoroughly fuck each other, long and hard. Every fleeting touch, stolen gaze over a dinner with friends would result in you both practically ripping the clothes of each other and rolling around in the Egyptian cotton sheets. Soon you barely even made it to the bedroom - with him taking you in the entry corridor of your home, obscene noises filling the air as his hips unwaveringly pounding into your dripping cunny and you desperately moan his name from where he had you pinned against the wall. It was thrilling, this new rush and desire for all your lovemaking to result in an actual baby.

You'd unlocked a breeding kink of Max's that he hadn't truly realised the extent of - until he saw you cooing at his baby niece who was being rocked in her Uncle Max's arms. Looking down at the scene of his pretty wife smiling at a child who looked just like Max made the Dutch Lion unable to resist the temptation of having you right there. He'd handed his niece back to his sister and attempted to appear subtle as he all but hauled you off upstairs from the rest of the family barbecue. You'd been confused but as soon as he led you into a small office, locking the door behind him, you recognise the dark gaze he hungrily eyes you with. Even you'd lost your normally sensibilities when your husband acted like this, and you willingly spread your soft thighs for him to bury his raw, aching cock into. He fucked you on the wooden desk, a large palm clamped over your drooling lips to keep you quiet. You must have cum at least twice from the way he murmured darkly how good you were going to look pregnant with my child, that's right, gonna be a good vrouw for me and take all my cum, yeah?

So 6 months practically flew by, the two of you thoroughly enjoying yourselves. But when it hit 7 months, and suddenly you couldn't help but notice how all your friends and cousin sisters and in laws seemed to be getting knocked up. It seemed everyone you knew had become pregnant at the drop of the hat - your childhood best friend, your favourite coworker - and even your neighbour's cat, after her and your household cat Jimmy had a rather scandalous affair themselves. Although you'd try to fight it, you couldn't stop the sinking feeling of guilt, of feeling like you weren't good enough for Max, for your future family. It chipped away at your confidence everytime you would tell Max that you were on your period, like clockwork on the same day each month. And your husband remained as considerate as ever, tactfully not asking if you were late this month unless you brought it up yourself - even though he knew your cycle like his own steering wheel by now. You felt too overwhelmed to talk about how much of a failure you felt to Max, who had remained the perfect, devoted husband.

But you hadn't been able to hold it together by 8 months, because this was when your period was finally late. You kept holding your breath, waiting for it to come the next day or the day after - but it never did. And two whole weeks past, and for the first time you let a bubble of hope rise in your chest. Max kept looking at you curiously, noting how you seemed a little happier for this time of the month than usual, but waited for you to come to him yourself. And you almost had that weekend where you were attending yet another friend's gender reveal party, and had seen Max bend down on a knee to sign something for one of the excited kids who spotted the ex Redbull champion. You'd been unable to resist grinning at the sight of multiple toddlers swarming the 6 foot Blonde who handled them rather impressively. He's going to make sure a good father someday, your friend giggled to you by your side. You hmmed in agreement, finally feeling excited about the possibility of you two becoming parents for the first time in weeks.

So that evening, when Max had gone out to meet some of his mates, you committed fully to the bubble of hope and brought a pregnancy test. But after those five minutes were up, your world came crashing down again as the lines read negative out to you. You're not sure how long you ended up sitting on the cold bathroom marble, staring blankly at the stick, your mind running a million miles a minute as you anxiously overthink, But it must have been quite a while, because you're only distracted when you hear Max's knock on the bathroom door, and his worried voice saying Schatje? I'm coming in, you aren't replying-

And as soon as your husband walked in, his soft, blue eyes taking in the heartbroken expression on your face and the pregnancy test at your feet, you couldn't hold it together anymore. Max's own heart broke at the sight of his wife bursting into tears, sobbing and confessing how much of a failure she was, how this is the only thing he wanted and she couldn't give it to him, how she was so sorry-

He'd gathered your shaking, petite form into his comforting embrace and ran soothing motions all up your back as he murmured reassurances to you that it was okay, he was here and you two would get through it together like you always did. When you'd finally managed to stop sobbing, now just sniffling, he wiped the tears off your face as he firmly told you that none of this was your fault, and you had nothing to blame yourself for. It was all just a matter of time and luck, and at the end of the day he didn't care about what happened in the future - what truly mattered was that you were happy.

You'd nodded shakily, doe eyes rimmed with red as you let him carry you to bed. He held you extra tightly that night, until you'd fallen asleep in his arms after crying yourself to exhaustion. You had started feeling better by month 9, with some of the heavy expectation you'd put on your shoulders easing off now that you'd opened up to Max about how you'd felt. Your late period had already come and gone, but you didn't find yourself falling apart at it like last time. Taking it as a promising sign, your husband insisted that the two of you take a week off and relax of the Sicilian coast.

You finally felt like yourself for the first time in a while again, closing your eyes and enjoying the sun beating down on you, drying you off after the refresing swim you'd had in the turqoise waters. Max emerges onto the deck himself, shaking his hair and making you laugh as your dog Arlo does the same next to him. Truly, he was such a golden retriever, all tall, blonde and handsome. You couldn't help but feel your heart swell with gratefulness that you'd found the perfect husband to complete you. Grinning at the sound of his wife's genuine laughter, Max plops down next to you, resting his soft locks comfortably on your plush thighs as he snoozes.

And that evening, when you two made love, it felt different somehow. The months of high intensity, filthy and desperate sex had been fantastic, of course. But there was just something about the slow, sensual pace of Max's lips moving their way down your bare waist, his intense blue eyes watching you closely as he buried his head in between your thighs, right there on the yacht deck. You moaned as your small hands entangle in his golden hair, and let yourself get lost in the dizzying waves of pleasure without any thought of needing to get pregnant.

You taste different, your husband murmurs suddenly, his husky Dutch accent sending shivers to your throbbing core. You flush at his words, comfortable enough with him to swat his head with your thigh, indignantly replying that No wife wanted to hear that from her husband when he's going down on her-Oh! Fuck!

Your protests are cut off abruptly as he gives your dripping pussy another teasing lick, an almost thoughtful expression on his face. I didn't say different is bad, he counters smugly, enjoying the sight of rendering you speechless with his tongue. You always taste good, schat, but right now - he presses that large, Dutch nose of his that you adore right into your dripping pussy - you taste even sweeter than normal...like honeydew.

Of course, Max had always enjoyed eating you out your whole relationship. But that week on the Sicilian coastline, he seemed even more entranced than usual, wanting to have you for breakfast, lunch and dinner, saying that you just tasted sweeter and sweeter each time. Not that you were complaining, of course - he definitely knew what he was doing when he deftly untied your bikini strings to bury his face in between your soft thighs. It wasn't until a couple of weeks later that you'd realise just why you tasted so different to your husband. When a bout of vomiting that you'd returned back to Monaco with and thought to be a tummy bug from dodgy seafood didn't stop, you realised that you'd somehow missed your period that month, too. The vacation Max had planned for you had certainly gotten your mind off trying for a baby a little too well, it seemed - so much so that you’d stopped tracking your cycle.

So when your husband finds you on the bathroom floor for a second time, staring in shock at a pregnancy test in front of you, he immediately is at your side. He hugs you tightly again, making you secure in his embrace and stroking your curls as he tells you please don’t cry again, schatje, I can’t bear to see you like this, it’ll all be okay, we can try other options or always adopt-

You laugh, still in a state of disbelief, the noise muffled against his muscular chest. No, no, Max, I’m actually okay this time, you say as you pull away, smiling up at him. Oh, he says, blinking at you with worry, not looking convinced. Are you sure?

You nod, unable to control the ecstatic grin that appears on your lips. Yes, liefje. I’m positive. And then your husband sees the pregnancy test you hold up for him, the proof of your marriage’s perseverance over these past months as two lines. His jaw drops open, and you giggle at his expression. This is my third one today, it’s definitely real, Maxie. Finally processing the news, he laughs with delight, embracing you tightly again as happy tears filling his pretty ocean blue eyes as he tells you how excited he is.

So now, 5 months later and in the present, you suppose Max was still on edge with how fragile you’d been at the start of your pregnancy. But you’d been so stable and healthy throughout it, looking after yourself and of course having a very dedicated husband who watched your nutrition and daily gentle exercise like a hawk. There was no reason for him to still be concerned about your safety, you think sleepily as you sink against your soft pillows. Your mind drifts to sleep as your overthinking tires you out.

You wake up with a gasp sometime later, breathing heavily as you stare at the moonlit ceilingas the intense dream you’d been having replays again in your head. Hazy visions of strong hands holding you down as his wide cock fucked into you, a deep accented Dutch voice crooning in your ears that your sweet cunt treated him so well, it was just made to take him perfectly, hmm? You’re not sure how much time has passed, but it must only have been a couple hours when you turn the warm bedside lamp on and see your husband hasn’t come to bed yet. The stinging feeling of rejection fills you again, even though you knew Max was probably just relaxing with a video game out in the living room after the emotional rollercoaster you'd been hitting him with today.

But the pregnancy had definitely sent your insecurities into overdrive, and you’re starting to sniffle and you quickly try to muffle your sobs with a palm to your trembling lips. You can’t hide from your ever observant husband, though. A small line of light shines into the dim bedroom as Max cracks open the door, entering with a hopeful look and to ask if you were hungry yet.

At the sight of his teary, pregnant wife sitting up in bed, he’s at your side looking at you with concern. What’s wrong, scatje? He asks, an undertone of urgency in his usually calm voice. Are you hurt? In pain? Is the baby-

I’m fine, Max, we’re fine, you say through the tears, trying to swallow the lump in your throat. I'm sorry I've been acting so crazy all day. God, I’m so stupid, I don’t understand why I’m feeling like this when you’re being such a good husband-

Hearing your self deprecating words, he reassuringly you with a gentle kiss to your forehead, calming down your anxiously beating heart. Tell me what’s happening, schatje, he encourages earnestly, validating that your feelings weren’t silly to him. Although you’re still shaking slightly, your breathing starts to settle as your brown doe eyes look up into his intense blue gaze. I had a dream, Maxie, you breathe, focused on him completely as flashes of the erotic wet dream you’d had return. I had a dream, and you were in it, and- you bite your lip as desire pools in your core - and you were in me, and it felt so, so amazing, and I don’t get it, why don’t you want to have sex with me anymore?

Your husband’s eyes go wide in surprise at your question as you continue. Is it - you sniffle - is it because I’m too fat now? It is, isn’t it? You don’t find me pretty like this? Max is bewildered, not having guessed this was the reason why his wife had been feeling so upset today. He’s pulling you against his strong chest, rubbing soothing circles along your back to calm your jerky breathing down fully. Oh, my sweet vrouw, I’ve been ignoring where you needed me the most, hmm? His comforting, deep voice murmurs reassurances about how you were absolutely beautiful in the pregnancy, having already been the most gorgeous wife but now, you genuinely glowed. Remember the valet at dinner last week who walked straight into the revolving door when he saw you? Max jokes, making you giggle through your tears at the memory of the gawking young valet. Wiping your tears away with a gentle stroke of his thumb, his gorgeous blue eyes look at yours intently as he agrees that he’s been holding back lately. But given how quickly things in bed can get…a bit rough, Max says, cheeks adorably flushing and making you grin, he wanted to avoid anything that could hurt you and the baby. Especially because I don't think I can hold back once I start, because seeing you pregnant with my child has been driving me wild.

Your heart swells with love at your ever thoughtful husband. But his sweet intentions are not needed right now, and you tell him this as you wrap your arms across his broad shoulders. Maxie, you say warmly, your doe eyes blinking up at him with adoration, you know that having sex isn’t going to hurt the baby, right? Even when he didn’t believe your textbook, your literal gynaecologist said there’s no problem.

I know, I know, your husband says, his ocean blue eyes looking at you a bit helplessly. It’s just that I can’t bear the thought of hurting you in any way, the pregnancy was already hard for you at the start and I-

You cut his worried rant off by drifting your small hands across his swollen biceps, to his own large palms. Have you not found it hard to be apart like this, liefje? you ask him directly. Biting his lip rather sexily, your husband’s gaze lowers to where your juicy tits, already having grown larger as your pregnancy went on, bounced enticingly with every breath. You don’t miss a beat, guiding his warm palms from your waist to your delicate collarbones, where you help him slip your skimpy nightgown off your shoulders.

Max’s eyes go dark with desire, and you find a similar need throb in your pussy at seeing him like this. Finally, there your lion of a husband was, the one who acted like he would willingly go to war for one more night with you. You tell him, sounding breathless from how excited you are, about all the times you’d fantasized about him fucking you daily on the sofa, on the dinner table, even that time at dinner last week when he'd worn a fitted shirt and you’d considered begging him to have his way with you right there in the restaurant bathroom. Max groans from your heated confession, and you feel him rapidly hardening underneath you from where you’re sitting in his lap.

It’s been - he swallows, his hands now brushing towards your tempting chest to play with your swollen nipples - it’s been so fucking hard, schatje. You have no idea how sexy you look like this. God, I wanna fuck you so much that you end up pregnant again.

You laugh at his confession now, finally feeling at ease knowing he had been wanted you just as much as you had. You’ve been holding back on me, my dear husband, you tease, peppering his flushed cheeks with gentle kisses. You’ll make up for it tonight, please? Fuck me properly and make me cum around your cock? You finish your naughty demand with a playful grind of your damp panties against his now impressively hard erection.

Strong hands hold your thick hips securely to put an end to your games. You flutter your eyelashes up at your husband who’s looking more and more hungry by the second, and growls out that his sweet little wife was actually a desperate slut wasn’t she? You gasp excitedly at his dirty words, knowing you’d finally broken the last thread of self control holding him back. Max lifts you easily off his lap, pressing you back against him so his husky voice murmured right into your ear from behind. I forgot how addicted you are to being fucked by my cock. Been dreaming about it for weeks, like a good girl, hmm? You nod furiously, whining out yes, yes, please Maxie’s as your head spins in dizzying pleasure. The swell of your chubby ass rubs against his cockhead as Max easily yanks your lace panties off, joining his hastily abandoned sweatpants on the floor.

Rough hands palm your soft thighs, growling lowly that your ass had been getting so fat lately, it drove him mad everytime you bent over in your flowy minidresses. When you can’t resist grinding back on him invitingly again, he gives you a few gentle smacks and you yelp excitedly. Been wanting to hit it from the back so fucking bad, your husband breathes, as his hand doesn’t leave your ass after his third slap, instead grabbing the bouncing flesh firmly with his large, strong palm. M-Max! you’re so turned on at his dirty confession. You two barely need any foreplay, having already been on a frustrated edge for the whole month, and Max’s large cock easily starts slipping into your dripping hole. You’re comfortably laid out on your side, his toned chest pressing into your back and your combined moans mix as he sinks home into your welcoming cunny.

The position lets him easily thrust half his impressive length into you, controlling the slow pace so you only feel blinding pleasure without a hint of any uncomfortable stretch. I’m not gonna last, Maxie, it feels so good- Ah! Your desperate whimpers are cut off as his hands move to play with your lush, bouncing chest, the pregnancy having enhanced your curves. And these tits, schatje, they’re so pretty for me. You’ll be a good girl and let me fuck them, won’t you?

Your pink lips are parted as you pant in pleasure from his skilled fingers toying with your over sensitive nipples. Yes, Maxie, whatever you want, you whine desperately. You can even cum on them, okay? This time you’re the one making him moan with your words and his hips stutter as he pictures his creamy release dripping all over your large breasts.

He makes you cum then, when he slowly sinks a deep thrust in fully, letting you feel the wide stretch of his cock, making you gasp and throw your head back against his shoulder. Your breathless, high pitched whines are captured by his mouth as he moves his tongue languidly against yours, murmuring how good you did for him, the most perfect vrouw he could have asked for as he talks you through your mind numbing orgasm. He barely lasts a few seconds after you, letting out a Oh fuck! Gonna cum, schat- as your tight, warm pussy clenches around his raging erection and milking him for every last drop.

Heavy, content breathing fills the room as you both come down from your highs together. Your small hands intertwine with his as you smile tiredly at him, where he rests his flushed face against the swell of your chest. Did I satisfy your craving, schatje? Max says with a teasing smile, still breathless. You run your fingers affectionately through his damp, tousled hair. Not even close, baby you say, equally breathless. You know how strong my pregnancy cravings are.

Your husband laughs, the warm sound making you giggle as well. Challenge accepted, schat. Be careful what you wish for.

_____________________________________________

A/N: dedicated gentle husband max who switches up when you rile him up drives me FERALLLLLL hope it does for you too <3 Sooo many of you requested this im so glad you liked part 1!! thoughts on part 3 with soft dad max?? (Im writing this anyway regardless of what yall say ahahaha) 🫶🫶

[theminecraftbee]

Cleo sits next to Scott, her head in her hands, and says—

—“I really thought it’d be different this time.” BigB sighs. He kicks his foot. Ren is, at least, a sympathetic ear. He understands these things, or at least he understands that it’s hard to be alone. “I mean, I know you don’t trust those guys…”

“I don’t,” agrees Ren.

“But they reached out, man. And I thought, well,”—

—“I could always bury the hatchet, you know?” Cleo says. “It’s been what, how many games? How many years? And I can recognize when I’m as much of the problem as someone else.”

“You had a reason to be a problem. I love that you’re a problem,” Scott says supportively. Pearl snorts in the corner.

“I’m good at being a problem!” Cleo says

“I know, you are,” Scott agrees.

“But it’s like—I don’t know. Maybe I was ready to be done being angry! Maybe I…”—

—“…just wanted a change.”

BigB is quiet. He lets the thought sit in the air. Ren, normally a man determined to fill silences, at least understands the value of a dramatic pause; he doesn’t say anything yet.

Martyn, however, has grown a bit more impatient over the sessions. "What kind of change? You two have been weird about each other for years."

BigB is quiet a moment more. "Did you know that—Ren, did you know that you were the first and last person to show me trust?"

"Uh, thank you, dude," Ren says.

"But like, the thing is, people, they stabbed us then, man. And it's just..."—

—"...he didn't have to! That's what gets me! He could have like... said anything to me? I don't ask much! I offered him my hand! I said, sure man. I'm gonna forgive you, just this once. We can try again. And he just—he tried to kill you! Why?"

"I mean, Scott is one of the people with the most lives," Impulse says reasonably. "And he didn't betray you."

"That's not how teams work, Impulse," Cleo says. "You can't just get rid of the teammate you don't like. The team is only as strong..."—

—"...as weak as it's component parts."

Ren and Martyn stare.

"Jesus, BigB," Martyn says.

BigB looks away. "Yeah, um, well. I don't think that's that stupid. It's not about you two, really. And this is a death game, right? I didn't attack her. It's just... I wasn't going to, really. I wasn't..."—

—"...he was going to, that's the thing. He's always going to do... this!"

"Maybe that's what you get for reaching out to a traitor," Scott says lightly.

Impulse looks away. Pearl snorts again. Cleo sighs.

"Look, I have a long memory, but if I let that decide everything I do forever it would eat me. And people have their reasons. Impulse, look Scott in the eyes, he's not even the reason you have that reputation. Pearl, you're a part of the team. That's the thing. People can change. People..."—

—"...can't change, really." BigB shrugs. "She should know better by now."

"Uh, dude, should we know better?" Ren asks.

"Nah. I mean, Martyn's worse than I am," BigB says cheerfully.

"Martyn," Ren says, sounding vaguely disappointed. Martyn crosses his arms.

"What? You're the one who said I had evil in me. If you take in a snake, you can't be mad if it bites you. If you take in a scorpion..."—

—"...you can hope it learns not to sting you. I don't know. Maybe it's just in his nature."

Pearl makes a strange noise. "And what's in my nature?"

Cleo sighs. She steps over and throws an arm around Pearl's shoulder.

"As long as you don't bite me? I'm willing to learn." Pearl leans into Cleo's arm slightly. Cleo can't help but wonder, some days, how much of the way she flinches back again is her fault. BigB isn't the only one that Cleo hopes can change his nature. Otherwise...

"I'm not actually a traitor, despite what everyone claims," Impulse says, apropos of nothing.

"You know, you should pick better friends," Scott says.

"Nah," Cleo says. She doesn't elaborate. She just—

—breathes. BigB just breathes.

"It was never going to work, anyway," he says.

"Sometimes I wonder if everyone broke while I wasn't looking," Ren says quietly, sadly. BigB has no answer for that.

[multipleoccupancy]

Mauve was free! Theo was glad that it had worked, he could see and hear the blood being sucked out of her. What a horrible beast! As the monster backed off to deal with its wound, Theo bent down to drag Mauve out from under the tentacles in case it tried the same thing again.

He didn't manage to do much before he had a horrible stab to his side, he gasped in pain and let Mauve go as he was pulled off towards the monster too. Unfortunately for Theo he could see the teeth as they came at him, dodging enough to miss his neck but his shoulder ended up baring the brunt of it. He screamed, both in terror and pain as it started to suck out his blood too.

He tried punching at the monster, brushing passed tentacles and teeth as he tried to find something to hit, a pizza cutter in one hand, rolling rather uselessly off the side of one of the tentacles.

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎 & 𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐓 @multipleoccupancy

No matter how hard Violet struggled, the beast would not let go of her. The talon was digging deep inside her flank, and the teeth were latched into her arm. She could feel the blood being sucked into the monster's bulbous head, making her nauseous and dizzy. She was already seeing stars by the time Theo slammed her knife into the big, pulsating head.

The beast screeched in pain, opening its jaw and releasing Violet's arm. Blood pooled from the open wound on its head, though she was sure it was her blood. And the orderlie's. Even the tentacle tensed and then uncoiled, letting her fall to the ground like a ragdoll. She gasped, trying to blink away the darkness as she felt her consciousness slipping. She had lost too much blood, but she knew the fight wasn't over. She couldn't pass out, not now.

With many tentacles slashed, and now two gaping wounds on its head, the beast was clearly unhappy. It wailed in pain and anger. Through the blurriness, Violet saw, horrified, the talon dig into Theo's side, dragging him closer to the many, many teeth. "NO!" she screamed, trying to scramble to her feet. But it was already biting Theo, its teeth sinking into his left shoulder.

[brayneworms]

no, you hang up! | shota aizawa

kinktober day three: phone sex

word count. 2.2k

content. phone sex, reader and aizawa are coworkers, mutual masturbation, referenced age gap (once and it's minor + doesn't contribute to their relationship dynamic), dirty talk, no genitals for reader mentioned, gender-neutral reader, teasing (reader calls him names but it's all fairly playful), pre-relationship.

♪ agora hills — doja cat

kinktober mlist | regular mlist

You know it's him before you even look.

Your room is blue-dark, cold; the central heating must have turned off hours ago, still on to warm you to sleep even beneath two comforters. The recent winters were no joke—you walked around town at the moment with dry, blistering lips and dull skin and watery eyes. Even now, as you raise your head from the comfort of your sheets to the arid air, gooseflesh breaks over your skin.

Something pulses; it's what woke you in the first place. Some noise, some shift in the quiet. Outside it's still dark, not yet late enough for the light to start turning greyish and buoyant. It takes a muddled, groggy few seconds as the static in your head starts to clear that you realise it's your phone. 

You grope blindly for it; it's only vibrating, but you're a tepid sleeper at the minute, and it's more than enough to rouse you from whatever fitful slumber you'd managed to fall into. You have to be careful not to forget and turn on your side, put pressure on the sling that binds your arm as you reach under the sheets for your phone as it rings, rings, rings out. 

You slap a hand across the plastic case, lift it with a wince at the cold blue light that shines out like fingernails down a chalkboard. But yeah—when you read the name AIZAWA across the top of the screen in informal white capitals, you can't honestly say you're surprised.

You stab the green button on what's probably the eighth or ninth ring. "Yeah?"

There's a moment where he doesn't say anything. Where the line crackles the way the ozone layer does before the first strike of lightning. "...Did I wake you?"

"Yeah," you say again, returning to your back. Your bound arm gives a twinge of protest. 

"Sorry," he murmurs, in that dry tone of his, the one that rarely manages not to sound clipped and bored. "I guess I didn't realise how late it is."

You pull the phone away, glancing for the first time at the time in the right-hand corner. 02.11am. He did have a nasty habit of letting the night slip away from him—and his regular bouts of insomnia mean the lateness of the hour doesn't always impress upon him as it does for most people—but you suspect there may be more to it than that. There's a hesitance, a reluctance in his voice. 

"It's okay," you say finally. "Have to pee anyway."

The static rises as he huffs down the line. "How's the arm?"

"Feels like roadkill," you mumble, which doesn't make a lot of sense. But sue you, you're tired and the painkillers wore off in your sleep. "Why're you calling?"

Another crackle, a soft shift, like an out-of-tune radio adjusting frequency. "No... particular reason."

As the fatigue starts to clear from your heavy brain, you try to picture it. Shouta Aizawa—evidently not patrolling tonight, given the lack of cityscape din in the background of the call. It's quiet; you can maybe hear the low purr of a ceiling fan. Earlier, he'd shifted, and you'd heard the rustling of sheets. So, he's in bed. Lying there. Alone. Calling you.

He's pretty transparent. But to his credit, you don't think he's trying to be conspicuous. It's not incredibly in his nature. And it's not in yours to call him out on it, either, which he knows. It's why he does it.

Does, not like—like this is a regular thing, or anything. There have been one or two what you like to refer to as unrelated incidents over the eight-year course of your working relationship. A kiss at a New Year's party that lingered a moment too long, the time he took you home after a night at the bar with the other U.A. staff and you couldn't be in the staffroom alone with him for about a fortnight afterwards.

"Just missing the sound of my voice?" you ask, trying not to sound too coy. You don't want to make him skittish, and anyway you have a feeling he hates when you try to play up your (in your opinion) minor age difference. 

Another rustle, quieter, shorter. "...Something like that," he murmurs. His voice is soft, despite the timbre of it reaching down to some pit in his chest. 

"So should I talk?" you press. 

"Sure," he replies.

"About what?"

"Anything." He swallows. "Whatever... whatever you'd like to talk about."

You roll your tongue over your lower lip, suck it for a moment whilst you think. "I miss work," you start. Boring, mundane—testing the waters. "Being stuck at home sucks. And all my friends are my coworkers, so you're all at work every day. 'S pretty lonely."

"I see." There's a hint of strain in his voice, one that makes a dim chord strike somewhere low and pitiful inside you. You cross your legs over each other. "You know we'd visit if we had the time."

"Yeah, I know. I bought myself plants to give myself a reason to get out of bed," you say, casting a glance over at them as they rest on your windowsill. Their leaves wink and shiver in the current of cold breeze let in from the crack in your window. "I have to get up twice to water them. And then when I'm up, I think, I might as well get something to eat, exercise. Shower."

The last work is deliberately provocative, like pressing on a ripe bruise to see when it starts to hurt. Your reward is the faintest hitch of Aizawa's breath. 

"I talk to Hizashi every day," you continue, trying to keep your own voice even. The silence on the other end of the phone sounds deafening, your heartbeat starting to get uncomfortably forceful in your chest. "He texts a lot, about silly things. Keeping me up to date on stuff at the school. It's not the same as being there, but it's sweet that he tries." You pause. "I wish I could see everyone, though. Hey—can I see you?"

You let the question hang. Lining up a hunting rifle to a buck's head, letting it decide to stay or flee. Then,

"Hang on." It comes through gruff and short, but it makes your stomach twist all the same. A moment later, your phone hums with a notification. It hangs, a grey banner at the top of your screen. From Aizawa, with a photo attachment.

Your mouth goes dry as you stretch your thumb to tap it. It's a flash photo of a barely-lit room. You can see dark blue sheets and a grey comforter, and two legs in slouchy grey sweats, cocked apart, shoved halfway down his thighs. But in the crux of the photo—

"Jesus," you blurt before you can stop yourself. You hear Aizawa huff a noise on the other end of the phone, could be laughter, could be something else. It’s not like your entirely inexperienced with Aizawa’s cock, but that was a while ago and there’s a big difference between a drunken sticky fumbling in the dark and seeing it properly, in low warm light, heavy and hard with his hand wrapped around it. His fingers, thick and pale, you can’t help but want them on you. Circled around your ankle, maybe, pulling you apart for him with that quiet, unassuming strength of his. 

“Is that a good or bad reaction?” he asks, and the note of strain is thicker than ever. He sounds strangled. “Should I start worrying—about my job position?”

“Probably,” you answer. “But—no. How long’ve you been touching yourself?”

You hear his breath hitch again at the casual crudeness of your words. “How long’ve you been on the phone?”

A hot red flash zips through you. Before your head has given your body permission, you’ve laid the phone down flat on your chest, speakers buzzing through your shirt as you slip a hand beneath the waistband of your underwear. You go straight for what feels good, finding yourself already embarrassingly ready, shuddering as your fingers brush the most sensitive parts of yourself. 

“You’re such a creep,” you groan, head back against the pillow. Aizawa makes a quick, cut noise in the back of his throat. “One week without staring down my shirt in the staff room and you resort to this?”

“I don’t—” He cuts himself off, sighing shakily. “I don’t stare.”

He does fucking stare, it’s just quite subtle and it took you a while to notice. 

“Yeah, right.” Your fingers curl and search, press and glide. You’re hot and wet, for him, for the first glimpse of lust since your leave of absence began. “Bet you’d do anything for a taste.”

“...Maybe,” he stammers, breathing hard and quick against the phone. Now you can hear a soft stream of sounds coming through, a shlck-shlck-shlck that makes your blood hot and your brain fuzzy. “Maybe I’ve thought about it. Once or twice.”

“Dirty old man,” you say, half-babbling, and he groans low in his throat. You wish you could see him, God you can picture it—head thrown back, thick dark hair splayed against the rumpled pillows like a funeral shroud, sleep shirt ruched up to show the soft pale plane of his stomach dusted with dark spiralling hairs. You’d follow the pattern down to where the hair was thickest, push your hand through to where he was hard and hot as a brand for you. You didn’t get much time to play with him before, restless and lazy and horny off the cheapest champagnes you could order at the bar; he’d been inside you before too long and back out far too soon. 

“I’m n-not…” Hearing his resolve start to crack and fracture is the hottest thing in the world. Your own fingers work faster, jamming at the spots that make your legs gooey and your stomach start to tauten. “Isn’t my fault you look like that.”

Your giggle is breathless, half a moan. “Took that right out of the old perverts’ handbook,” you mutter. “Don’t break a hip on your way over here.”

“Shut up, shut up,” he grunts. “Damn it—shouldn’t have called—”

“I’m glad you did,” you say. Sweat is starting to collect in your armpits and the back of your neck. “Been so bored. This is the first time I’ve felt anything in weeks.”

His breath is ragged. “What do you feel?” he asks hoarsely. 

“Hang on.” The photo you send is conservative compared to his; just a shot of your hand disappearing into the waistband of your shorts. But you hear his stifled whimper, low in his throat, crackling with desperation. 

“God,” he hisses. “You have no idea what I’d do to you.”

“I have—some idea,” you mumble. 

“No, not like before,” he growls. “I was too drunk to do much of anything. What a waste. I’d never let you go if I had you now. I’d make you cum three times before I even thought about fucking you. My mouth, my hands, my thigh, anything.”

You imagine the scratch of his stubble on your inner thigh, or your own legs clamped around the thick muscle of his thigh, and nearly white out. You’re not in control, not of the way your hips cant desperately against your hand or the desperate moan his words pull from you, turning to stifle it into the pillow. 

“I want you inside me so bad,” you find yourself babbling, hot with embarrassment over the desperation in your voice. You sound close to tears. “Jesus—your hands, I’m always thinking about it. Fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

He makes a keening, desperate noise, like a starving animal going for food. “Show me.”

You barely hesitate, ripping your shorts and underwear all the way off, and it’s only a few more desperate strokes of your fingers until you feel them flood over, your whole body shuddering and legs twitching. Your chest heaves and you blink up at the ceiling, withdrawing your hand from between your legs. Very awkwardly, you manage balance your phone enough in your slung hand to take a photo, the flash illuminating the mess between your thighs, the gleam of your own spend on your fingers. Before you can let embarrassment get a hold of you prematurely, you send the picture to Aizawa.

The result in instantaneous. He pulls a breath through his teeth. “God—fuck, look at you. So messy. God, I’m—” A choked-off moan, the breathiest noise you’ve ever heard from him as he cums. You lie there, warm all over, your skin singing as you listen to him fall apart on the other side of the phone. The speakers tickle your skin as you scrub a hand down your face.

After, you listen to his harsh panting breath. Then there’s a pocket of silence, the sort neither of you know how to break.

Finally, you cave. “...Feel better?”

“Don’t,” he mumbles. “This was… highly inappropriate.”

“Agreed.”

“I shouldn’t have called.”

“Probably not.”

There’s a pause. “...Is it fine? That I did?”

A smile touches your mouth. “Yeah, it is.”

He huffs. You picture him rubbing at his eyes, drawing the skin inward to pinch at the bridge of his nose. “Well, then… yes. I do feel better.”

“Get off work early sometime,” you murmur. “I get so bored around here. Could use the company.”

You’re not sure why, but you think he’s smiling. “I’ll clear my schedule.”

taglist: @deltamel (+ask to join!!)

[obx-paradise]

this is a request!!! can you do the ending of s4 but instead of kie its reader and how she is affected by this through time

More Time

Pairing: JJ Maybank x Pogue!reader

Synopsis: You come to learn that even after the high, you gotta come back down at some point and face reality

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: season 4 pt. 2 SPOILERS, angst, use of y/n, mentions of death, unedited

A/n: I started this as soon as you sent it in. Tell me why I actually love it? Anyway, I hope it's what you wanted!! Keep sending in requests.

~~~

Time was a funny thing. Two minutes ago you were on a high. The plan was to get the Blue Crown, capture Groff, and get back home as soon as possible. Now you were running from Dalia and her crew, trying not to get shot. 

JJ pulled you by your arm, doing his best to guide you both through the sandstorm. “Run, run, run! Come on, we gotta find the others!” he yelled.

You could barely see through the goggles you had on and the wind was so loud you couldn’t hear. When you and JJ came to a fork in the road, you decided to take the lead and go to the right, “I think it’s this way!” you said before you ran off, thinking he would follow.

You made it to a little section of the building where the sand and wind wouldn’t reach as much. Turning around, you saw that JJ wasn’t behind you. “JJ!” you shouted in panic but before you could shout again you were grabbed from behind.

You felt an arm go around the front of your neck, keeping you from escaping. “Shh! Quiet!” It was Groff. You knew you couldn’t trust him. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see he was holding a knife. The sight made you whimper out of fear. “Shut up!”

You had to get JJ’s attention. “JJ!” There was no way you were going to die like this after everything. You could hear him yell out for you, “Y/n!”

A second later, you saw his tall figure run into the room you were standing in. You let out a sharp gasp as Groff tightened the grip he had on you.

“You let her go!” You hadn’t been that scared in a while but knowing that your boyfriend could potentially watch you die in a few minutes scared you. 

“You know what I want…” Groff said glancing at the Crown in JJ’s hand. “Give it to me!”

“Just… let her go,” his voice was calm but you could see that he was panicked. JJ didn’t want to give up the Crown, you were way more important, but the Crown would help him get his house and his business back. The one thing he wouldn’t be able to get back was you.

With Groff standing there with you, JJ knew he had no choice.  “You could’ve stuck with me, JJ. Think of what you could’ve had. But now you… you get nothing.” 

“No. I already have everything. I have everything I’ve ever wanted.” JJ’s eyes softened as he looked at you, “Things that you’ll never have. You want the crown? Sure, take it.” He said as he held out the Crown, “Take it. I don’t want it. Just…let her go.”

Groff took his offer and loosened his grip on you but didn’t let you go fully. He kept his right arm around your throat and stretched out his left arm to reach for the crown. JJ slowly extended both arms. One with the crown and the other to reach for you. In a split second, you were released from Groff’s grip and practically jumped towards JJ. 

“I got you,” You were breathing heavily trying to catch your breath as best as you could. “It’s okay,” You took a second to look into his eyes before he pulled you into the tightest hug. “Thank you” You would stay in his arms forever if you could. 

But of course, Groff had to ruin the moment.

“JJ…”

JJ let go of you and turned around to face Groff. He was angry about everything he had done up to this point. You stood behind them watching their interaction. 

“It’s a shame…You and me.” Groff spoke

Suddenly the sound of JJ’s gasp fills your ears. You didn’t know what had happened until you looked down to see Groff’s hand on the side of JJ’s abdomen. He had stabbed his own son.

“You should have given me… the rope.” were Groff’s last words before he pulled the knife out and fled the scene.

JJ fell back into your arms, clutching his stomach with his left hand. His legs gave out and he fell back taking you with him. You didn’t believe it. His dying body was right in front of your eyes and you couldn’t believe it.

“No, no, no” You whispered trying to keep calm even though it was clear you were panicking. “It’s okay, it’s okay, you’re gonna be okay”

You looked down at his stomach and moved his hands so you could get a better look. “Let me see it,” The sight made you wince. You had never been good with blood or wounds but this was different. It was JJ, the love of your life, so if you needed to stop the bleeding you were going to. 

You lifted your head to look at his face and saw that he was staring at his wound. You needed him to focus on you and not think about potentially dying. “Hey, hey, hey… hey, look at me” 

His head stayed down.

“JJ, I need you to look at me” He finally fixed his eyes on you and you could see the pain in them. They were ready to close.

“Baby…” he whispered and just then you could tell

He’s accepted it.

“You are not dying. Okay? You’re not-” 

“Y/n…” It hurt to speak, but he had to get your attention

“I’ll go… find the others and…we’ll get you some help and then we’ll go home and you’ll be fine. Everything’s gonna be fine.”

Nothing about this is fine.

“I never told you my wish.” he stuttered out

“What? No, JJ, it’s okay.”

He continued anyway, “I already got it… I already got my wish… I got everything I wanted.” He shifted his body, trying to sit up a bit higher but he let out a groan at the pain.

“No, no, no… Stay with me, please”

Seeing him in pain was the worst form of torture. You couldn’t bear it. You sobbed, tears running down your face as he grabbed onto your left arm, squeezing it to grab your attention once again.

“Hey… take care of the others. Okay?”

“No. No. Fuck that, that’s not what this is. You’re not dying.”

His eyes were already fluttering, ready to close for good. 

Before he spoke, he used up all his strength to lift his hand, slip off his favorite ring, and place it on your left ring finger.

“I wanted to do that sooner, but I left the ring at home. I love you, Y/n”

Your heart wanted to explode for 2 entirely different reasons. “I love you too. I- I love you so much.”

You watched as his eyes shut for the last time, his body taking its last breath. “Please, no, no, no, no. No!”

Your hands reached for his face as you realized that he was gone. Forever. 

“No! JJ, please! Please wake up! Please!” you exclaimed, shaking his body as if it would bring him back.

“John B! Pope! Anyone, please help! JJ, you gotta wake up baby!” 

You were begging at this point, desperate to hear his voice, his laugh, see his smile, just one last time. You cried for him. For the shitty life he had been dealt. All the shit he’d gone through just for it to end like this.

He lost his mother, he had a shitty father and somehow gained an ever worse one, he’d been abused, physically, mentally, and verbally, for 20 years of his life. The only good things he had were his best friends and you.

You were his rock. His safe place. He went to you with every scar, every scrape, every bruise. You’ve seen it all and you’ve made it better every time. But this time, you couldn’t save him. There was nothing you could do.

All your friends came running in at the sound of your cries but you paid no attention to them. You were focused on JJ. Somehow hoping he would let out a big gasp and say, “Gotcha! Hahaha, you should’ve seen your face!” 

It would’ve been a shitty prank but anything was better than him actually being dead. 

JJ was your best friend out of all of them. He made you laugh and he made you cry. He made you happy whenever he would come home and smother you in kisses “Just ‘cuz” he’d say with a smile on his face. He made you angry whenever he would do something reckless like get into a fight, steal things, or destroy public property. 

But you loved him through it all because he was your person.

You refused to leave his side. Sarah, Kie, and Cleo had to practically drag you away from your boyfriend’s— fiance’s dead body. 

John B and the group talked about burying him in the sand by the beach since that was his favorite place.

“It's not,” you muttered

The group turned to see you sitting in a corner but barely paying attention.“What?”

“The beach isn’t his favorite place. I am. That’s what he used to tell me. That I’m his “home”. Wherever I go, he goes–” You spoke with a very monotone voice. Not having the energy after screaming and crying like you did. “ –and I think he deserves more than a lousy burial on the beach. He should be buried at home, maybe next to his mom. At least somewhere where I can visit him. Not across the world in Africa where I’ll never be able to see him again.”

They were silent for a bit before Pope spoke up, “Y/n, we completely understand. Trust me, but we have no way of getting home right now, and we can’t just hold onto his body until we find one.”

“I just don’t think it's right. He deserves so much better.”

“I know, but there’s nothing we can do.”

You know you weren’t the only one to lose him. His best friends lost him too, but you still thought the idea was fucked up. You all ended up burying him on the beach anyway.

Pope was right about having no way to get home. The 7 of you sat around a fire. Everyone was quiet. It had been like that for hours, no one wanted to talk. Except for Rafe. 

“Groff said he’s going to Lisbon. I don’t know, if it was my friend, I’d probably go after the guy that just killed him. Yeah?”

“Shut up, Rafe” Pope muttered

You watched Groff kill JJ. Of course, you wanted him dead. It would feel even better if you were the one to do it.

“He’s not wrong.” you sided with Rafe, “You think JJ would sit here if it were one of us? You think he’d do nothing? No, he’d get even. He would fight for any one of us. So that’s what we're gonna do for him…” 

You paused, looking around at the others before continuing, “We’re gonna get revenge.”

[dcxdpdabbles]

KENDRICK DROP ANOTHER DISS TRACK( why ten?) AND MY LIFE IS YOURSSSS!!!

"Are you my son?"

Damian nearly throws himself out the window when he hears his father's voice. It is finally the night for dinner with the Waynes and Clockworks/Fentons. He has been going insane trying to prepare everything for the night, starting from the early hours of four a.m. Now that it is nearly seven p.m., it feels like everything is still out of sorts. He disputes the fact that he has been helping Alfred clean and cook nonstop.

Severant's work. Daniel Fenton has reduced him to doing servant work, and Damian isn't upset. What has he become?

He had been texting Daniel almost all day after their date last night- and wasn't it a shock to find out that he had been at the start of the courtship with his first school friend?- but it did nothing to ease the fear boiling in the pit of his stomach. If anything, the little dig from his phone only made him want tonight to be perfect.

Then, Father had been called away to a Justice League emergency and came back with a concussion. Again.

"No sir, I'm Danny Fenton. Damian's boyfriend." Daniel says in that perfect melodic voice. There is an easy smile on his lips, the same one he wears around the school, like he's laughing at a joke no one else is worthy enough to hear.

Damian is so busy admiring Daniel's confidence that it takes a moment for his words to catch up to him.

"Boyfriend!?" he shouts into his hands, turning away from his friend- boyfriend!?- so he does not see Damian shaking hands and excitedly silently babbling in the air.

He knew that the night before had turned out to be a date, but he never hoped that it would turn out so well. I mean, Damian was less than graceful. Water came out of his nose, he ran into a door, and at one point, he stabbed his gums with his fork because Daniel had smiled at him like he was a piece of cake he wanted to eat instead of the dessert the waiter had brought them.

Damian had been in tears as Daniel helped him hold a napkin to his bleeding mouth.

How Daniel walked away from that, thinking Damian was even remotely attractive, was a miracle in and of itself.

That's why today had to be perfect. Alfred had thankfully been with Damian when he answered the door, whisking away the glaring Mr.Clockwork before the man could intimidate the young Wayne. The butler had led the man into the room where dinner would be served, chatting about his time in the royal army.

Mr. Clockwork's face was without emotion, but Damian sensed he was captivated by the tales nonetheless.

If only the butler had waited a few more seconds, he could have taken Father with them. Instead, the man who dressed up like a bat in his twenties and made that everyone else's problem had stumbled upon the two teenagers as Daniel leaned into Damian's space, his head slightly tilted and his eyes half-lid.

He wasn't sure what the other planned on doing, but Damian just knew it would have changed his whole life had Father not spoken.

Father stumbles his way towards them without any of his usual grace. He must have taken quite the hit. Honestly, it's surprising that Alfred hasn't tried to put him in a medical bed in the Batcave. "Are you sure you're not my son? I should have nine, and I only counted eight up there."

Daniel makes a point to look around the seemingly empty grand hall. Damian is too busy trying to stop his heart from escaping his rib cage to worry about all of Father's brood hiding in the ceiling rafts.

They were making a poor attempt to say hidden, at least for anyone with proper training.

Daniel likely couldn't see them, but Father could despite his injury.

"I'm sure, sir?" Daniel says with a tightness in his voice. Damian glances at his friend and realizes he's regarding his father like one would a man screaming in the street about the world ending. "I'm not your son."

Father squints quickly as a wip throws out a hand and grips Damian's suit jacket. Yes, he wore a suit. He wanted to look nice for Daniel, and nothing looked better than a well-done suit. It didn't matter what Frake or Brown thought.

" What are you-" His words are cut off by the expensive fabric covering his father's chest as the man smoothers him in an embrace.

Right. In. Front. Of. His. Boyfriend.

Damian's face turns a quick red shade that would generally be hard to notice on his tan skin, but that embarrasses him even more. He hates it when he blushes, especially this hard because he looks utterly ridiculous with how quickly it spreads down his neck and to the tip of his ears.

"Father!"

"You're my baby," the man mutters, ignoring his youngest's attempts to get away. He hears a smother of chuckles from the rafts. My little itty baby with his little itty boyfriend. Wait, are you allowed to date? You're so small. You still need a booster seat in the car."

Daniel cackles, and Damian feels like he's dying. "I do not need a booster seat! I know how to drive!"

"I can see where you get your humor from, Beloved." Daniel chuckles, and everyone in the room gasps, including the unwanted audience.

"What did you- am I-did you?!" Damian tries to string a sentence together while pushing against his father's chest. The man's arms were like iron; why was he so strong!" "Me? I'm Beloved!?"

"Yeah, remember, you said that your mom called your dad that, and you wanted to one day have the same nickname when you got into a relationship," Daniel chirps from where he is waiting for the hug to end. "Is that....okay?"

He sounded uncertain, and for some reason, knowing Daniel was just as nervous as him about their new relationship helped Damian be at ease. "Of course! I am honored you even remember that conversation ."

"Bruce!" Richard yells from the grand stairway, having jumped out of his hiding place and pretending to have come from upstairs. "I'm so glad I found you! I need you to let Dami go now and help me with something. Come on!"

"But-"

"Now, Bruce."

In a whirlwind that Richard Grayson can only do, his father was escorted out of the room. The soft thumps of his other siblings leaving went with them, leaving Damian with his Beloved.

Good heavens, Damian had a Beloved.

"I—" Damian starts, only to choke on his spit. Daniel springs forward to pat his back, laughing like an imp, and really, this is the worst. "I apologize this is-"

Soft lips pressed against his. The world came to a standstill, where Damian could focus on nothing but the gentle press against his mouth, the smell of a rainstorm, and the warm hand on his back.

When Daniel pulls back, his lovely skin has turned red, far darker than Damian's, and he isn't looking him in the eye.

Bashfully, his Beloved confesses, "I've never kissed anyone before....was that okay?"

"I do not have a reference to compare it to...." Damian breathes. "But it was the greatest thing to ever happen to me."

In return, he gets a gorgeous smile, and Damian knows he is in deep trouble.

[alexanderwales]

Alright, I'm not a lawyer, but ...

This particular post was at least partly inspired by BBC's Ludwig, and ... spoilers for episode four of that, I guess.

The case takes place at a construction site, and the murderer contrived a situation where the victim would go up to the fifth floor, attempt to fix a miswired generator while standing in a puddle of water, get shocked backward against a railing that had been loosened, and fall to his death.

One of the key pieces of evidence is that a jug of water was found in a trash skip, which had a chute leading from the fifth floor and had a grate on top, so could only have come from the fifth floor where the murder took place.

So Ludwig does his whole thing of gathering everyone up, lays out motive, describes how he believes it to have been done, and the murderer says "is that all you have?"

And Ludwig says "well no, thankfully we have actual evidence, your fingerprints were on the water bottle".

And then I'm like "wait, is that all you have?"

Because in an actual criminal trial, this evidence for the crime would be used to help the jury draw their own conclusions, yes, but then the defense gets to tell their own story. This is a bottle of water found on the job site, where the murderer worked. Even if we accept that this was the bottle of water that made the generator wet, there are other explanations that the defense can give, e.g. yes, this man touched the water bottle, but that's not actually proof that he poured it out, or yes, the water was spilled but this was a workplace accident and nothing more, or whatever. And there's still no proof that he deliberately loosened the railing, so he could argue that this was meant to be a harmless prank that got out of hand, if it comes to trying to get a lesser charge rather than a not guilty verdict (or whatever they have in the UK).

The police and other witnesses can attest that the generator was wet when they arrived. They can attest that the water bottle was found in the trash, and that the trash had a grate, and that there was a chute. They can talk about the fingerprints.

But that's what they have to build their case from! Everything else, I imagine a defense attorney (or whatever they have in the UK) saying "and can you think of any other reason that his fingerprints would be on a water bottle found at his work site?" and "do people often wear gloves at the work site?" and a bunch of questions about workplace safety and things like that. The victim in that episode was well-known for his love of pranks, maybe he was trying to set someone up for a shock and got thrown off the building when he did it wrong.

The eccentric detective has circumstantial evidence, and will eventually be asking the jury to draw a conclusion from it, and whether it's flimsy or not, there's very wide allowance for the defense to sit down and figure out a different story ... but in these shows, it's always treated as a slam dunk, and usually gets a confession, or sometimes the murderer "proves" that he couldn't have done it and ends up caught in a lie.

Again, not a lawyer, but asking someone to accept a fact is much different from asking someone to accept some reasoning, and the TV detective regularly asks everyone to accept something for which they would need to argue against a defense attorney, rather than their sidekick, and in front of a jury. And this is much different than arguing that no, it was not actually your client on video stabbing the victim.

Here's a legal PSA:

If you've committed a crime and a detective gathers everyone involved in the room, especially if he's not actually a detective and is instead a novelist, puzzle-setter, psychic, fake psychic, dog, chess grandmaster, etc. ...

YOU SHOULD NOT CONFESS.

Every year, hundreds of people are put away by non-traditional "detectives" who have either inserted themselves into the case or are working with the police in a dubiously legal capacity as advisor. In 99% of these cases, the murderer gives a full confession even though the evidence against them is circumstantial at best and often requires a long just-so story which can only guess at motive.

If this happens to you, stay quiet, do not attempt to defend yourself or talk your way out of it, only say "I want a lawyer".

Now if you find yourself being investigated by a boy genius, magician's assistant, anthropologist, classics scholar, or philosopher, it's likely that refusing to talk to the police (or investigator with no legal authority) is merely the end of the second act, and by the end of the third act they will have you dead to rights.

YOU SHOULD STILL NOT CONFESS.

Make them take it to court. Force the eccentric detective and his straight-laced police partner to take the stand and explain their methods to a jury of your peers. Have your lawyer look at the chain of custody on the evidence, especially if you believe it to have been handled by someone who has only bumbled into detective work through their natural charm and/or unique set of skills and outsider perspective that come in handy more often than they should.

Know your rights. Don't let eccentric detectives put you away.

[hxney-lemcn]

Late Night Chaos — Daisuke x gn! reader

summery: you become the first of many tragic deaths...

tw: murder, graphic descriptions of injuries, suicide, descriptions of a corpse, spoilers for all of the game basically

a/n: LAST PART! gosh I had such an evil smile writing the beginning of this. sorry that the end is literally just the game, I wasn't sure how to make commentary on it that the game doesn't do beautifully already :(

wc: 2.9k

Master List

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine

no

no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no

This couldn’t be real.

“They came at me like they went mad.”

You couldn’t be gone, you wouldn’t leave him like that.

“I had no choice!”

Daisuke felt like he was going to puke, your unfocused eyes staring at the ceiling, lips slightly parted and the darkening skin around your neck. 

“It was either me or them.” 

Daisuke felt his hands shake. He couldn’t accept this, there was no way you were dead. You would get up any second and say this was a prank. Please. He doesn’t think he can handle this. You had been the only one keeping him sane, the only one he found comfort in, the only one to stand up for him if he felt uncomfortable doing something. You both were supposed to get off this rock together. You were supposed to meet his parents and have dinner and…and…and

Daisuke felt himself let out a sob, rushing towards your body and falling to his knees. Shaky hands reached out towards your face. You felt cold. You weren’t supposed to be this cold. You needed a blanket, or…or something. His hand went from caressing your cheek to holding your hand, bringing it up to his face. Your knuckles were bloody, but Daisuke didn’t care, he just wished you could cup his cheek again, reassure him that everything would be okay and you would always be there for him. 

Swansea scoffed at Jimmy, glaring daggers at the man, “Right, like they were much of a threat.”

“You think I’d lie about this?” Jimmy seethed. “You think I enjoyed doing that?”

Anya felt like herself plunging even farther down her spiral of madness. Why the hell did she tell you? Every time she tries to speak up, to get comfort, to find help for what’s happened to her she finds another tragedy left in her wake. First it was the crash and Curly, now you’re dead…who else will get hurt because of her? She couldn’t even look at your body or face Daisuke. Your cloudy eyes seemed to be taunting her, blaming her, and Daisuke’s sobs were like a stab to the heart. 

“Maybe you did,” Swansea glowered, bumping harshly into Jimmy’s shoulder as he walked past towards Daisuke. “C’mon kid, you shouldn’t see ‘em like this.”

“N-no!” Daisuke protested, trying to free himself from Swansea’s grip on his shoulder, clinging onto you desperately. “I-I can’t leave them. I just can’t…”

…

Your death made the tension on the ship worse. It caused the crew to be more distrustful of Jimmy, something he hated. Who did they think they were to judge him? You were like a wild animal, your assault had no end in sight? Was he supposed to let you beat him to a pulp? It’s not like there were enough medical supplies for that, and for all he knew you weren’t going to stop. 

Daisuke’s cheerful demeanor had darkened, but he still tried to keep a smile on his face, even if it was wobbly and didn’t reach his eyes. He would try to joke, to say something silly to lighten the atmosphere, but it started to come out forced, and he couldn’t help but imagine how’d you react. Would you laugh? Smile? Roll your eyes and shake your head? And just like that he’d feel his mood drop all over again. 

It had been a month since your death and he still couldn’t move on. He had got to know you over eight months, and for five of them you both were dating. Gosh, you really made the trip go by so quickly (even though it felt like you had been in space forever). And after the crash, you made it just a bit more bearable to be sitting like a waiting duck in the middle of nowhere. But now you’re gone, and the crash happened five months ago, and he could feel the despair start to consume him slowly but surely. 

Anya had kept to herself more than usual as well, tending to Curly as best she could. They ran out of clean bandages ages ago, so she couldn’t tend to his wounds as well. They had no more disinfectant, so the best she could do was try and keep him as comfortable as possible. Just focus on doing her job so she couldn’t think too much, so she wouldn’t think of how Curly's silent stare reminded her of your blank gaze. Try to keep her cries to herself when she was alone in the medical bay with Curly. 

Swansea was vehemently trying to protect the last working cryopod. He thought you and Daisuke were the most worthy of it, but fell under the dilemma of who it would go to between you both. It was clear neither of you would leave the other, and Swansea knew better than most what it was like to be completely infatuated with someone. When you believe you’d do anything for them, that you’d rather die than see them hurt. Seems like Jimmy solved that little problem for him. Swansea couldn’t help but internally seethe when he saw your body. If you were angry enough to throw a punch, then whoever it was you were punching deserved it, ‘cus you were one of the most level headed ones of them here. 

Jimmy? Oh, he was spirling further and further. The judgemental looks Swansea sent his way, or how Daisuke seemed to avoid him like the plague…he felt his control slipping, and he needed a way to feel in power again. To feel like he was in charge. So he took it out on Anya, the first person he’d go to when he needed to be in control. Whispering harsh words without an ounce of guilt, venom seeping past his lips and poisoning those around him.

Anya couldn’t take it anymore, the entire situation was too much. Jimmy terrified her, and the guilt was eating her from the inside out. She couldn’t handle it, rushing to the medical bay and locking the door. Curly’s stare pierced through her as Daisuke called out to her, asking if she was stuck. Anya didn’t have the heart to tell Daisuke how terrified she was, how the medical bay was her only safe place. So she told him she couldn’t leave, hoping everyone would leave her alone.

She was scared. Scared of what Jimmy would do in response to her pregnancy, her refusal to follow what he wanted. He had proven her fears right. That he was willing to kill. She thought hiding the gun or the fact that Swansea kept the axe would be enough protection, but he had killed you with his bare hands…

But sweet, sweet Daisuke was worried for Anya. Asking Jimmy for help, not wanting to see another crew member dead. Especially not Anya, you cared for her so much, he couldn’t imagine the despair you’d go through if she were to pass. 

“Anya!” Daisuke called through the thick metal door. “I brought Jimmy! We’re here to rescue you! Don’t worry! Don’t panic!” It was meant to be reassuring, but it seems like Daisuke was trying to comfort himself as well. 

“Hey,” Jimmy called out nonchalantly. “Heard the lock’s broken.”

Anya felt her heart drop, hands shaky as she refused to respond. 

“Hey. Anya!” Jimmy spoke louder, feeling irritated now. “Can you hear me?”

“...yeah, I can hear you, Jimmy,” Anya replied. Looking at the last of the paracetamol and grabbing it, sitting down beside Curly’s cot. 

“There rest of our medicine stash is in there too. Damn, this could be bad,” Jimmy grumbled, clearly not caring about Anya’s safety. “Did you really put your back into it?” “Any wrenches laying around?” Daisuke asked, the pit in his stomach only growing. “How heavy is the med kit?!”

With no response, Daisuke tried jiggling the handle again, his efforts being fruitless. 

“...Anya,” Jimmy called out coldly. “Is the door really stuck?”

“...” 

The silence caused bile rise in Daisuke’s throat. No, no no no

“No,” Anya replied strongly. 

No no no no. Not again. Daisuke tried more desperately to jiggle the handle. 

“H-huh?” Daisuke called out, trying to see any way that this wasn’t as bad as it looked. “What do you mean?!”

“Look, we’re all stressed,” Jimmy scolded, brushing off her emotions. “But you can’t go breaking down at every little hardship. Open the damn door.”

“...you were right,” Anya spoke out, hands failing to open the cap a few times. “You were right all along. I should have done this from the beginning. I always believed that our worst moments didn’t define us. Didn’t make us beyond repair.”

A strange sense of calm fell over the practicing nurse as the safety lid finally opened. It was going to be over, finally. 

“You think I wanted this either?” She laughed humorlessly, a grim smile on her lips. “Make no mistake, this isn’t my worst moment. Far from it. It’s the best one I’ll ever make.” 

“Open the door,” Jimmy ordered, clenching his fists tightly. Daisuke placed his hand on the door, that dreadful sense of hopelessness tearing his heart apart. This wasn’t happening, no way. 

“I’ll take care of it,” Were her last words before she downed the rest of the pain medication. 

“Anya?!” Daisuke called out, banging on the door. “What does that mean?!”

…

This wasn’t right. Daisuke wearily eyed the vent that held sparking cables. 

“Swansea said it’s not safe,” Daisuke tried to argue against Jimmy’s demands to enter. “I know he forgot to tell us about the pod, but he knows, like, everything about this kind of stuff. Maybe we should just wait for him to wake back up…”

“You said you could handle it,” Jimmy glared. Everything was slipping out of his control, first you, then Anya, then Swansea…he’d be damned if he let Daisuke rebel too. “Swansea taught you well, right? Time to prove it. He’ll be impressed when he wakes up. Proud. He’ll understand why we had to do this, then he can explain himself.”

“You think so?” Daisuke asks, alarm bells ringing. Glancing back at the vent, Daisuke couldn’t help but think about how you’d react. Probably fight against this, yell about how dangerous this was and if Jimmy wanted someone to crawl through that hazard then he should do it himself…but you weren’t here anymore, and Swansea was passed out from a drink he made with Jimmy…and Anya…

“Daisuke,” Jimmy spoke sternly. “Everyone’s counting on you…Captain’s orders.”

And in that moment, it really felt like this all fell onto his shoulders. Jimmy’s arguments made sense…if he could save Anya and Curly, maybe he could make both you and Swansea proud.

“Y-yeah,” Daisuke nodded, trying to hype himself up. “I got this!”

“Okay…” He made his first step towards the vent. “H-here we go…”

Grabbing the ladder, he climbed his way into the vent. A sense of claustrophobia hit him right away, trying to avoid any curling livewire or sharp metal, but it was clear this was the wrong choice. Daisuke let out a sharp gasp, feeling his body get zapped by an unseen electrical current, letting out a groan when he felt something cut his skin. He couldn’t stop now though, no matter how much it hurt, no matter how much it stung, how he started to feel sluggish. No, he pushed through, he needed to get to Anya, needed to make sure everything was okay. Ignoring the way tears pricked at his eyes, or how it took all his strength and energy to pull himself up into the medical bay, he needed to keep…

“Anya…?” Daisuke gasped out in horror, the pain both physical and emotional becoming too much. “...what d-did you do?”

…

Daisuke couldn’t stop squirming, he could still feel the stings of electricity, like his muscles had become a livewire themselves. The burns and cuts wouldn’t stop bleeding, and Daisuke felt worthless. This was all for nothing, and the two adults were arguing over him. 

“Don’t do anything,” Jimmy huffed, not sure if he was talking to Swansea or Daisuke. “Stop, stop, stop. I can fix this!”

Maybe it won’t all be bad…maybe you’re waiting for him. He just hopes his mom won’t blame herself, that his parents will be able to continue to live a happy life…

“Why do you keep fuckin’ saying that?” Swansea shouted. “Are you hearing yourself?!”

“I-I’m s-sorry…” Daisuke muttered out. This is all his fault, he should’ve never entered that stupid vent. It was too late for Anya anyways, and now Swansea was angry…he doesn’t even wanna think about how you’d react…

“We still have disinfectant, right?” Swansea asked, trying to think of a way to keep Daisuke alive. “The one from the extra medical stash? Get it! Now!”

Jimmy avoided Swansea’s gaze, looking down to a struggling Daisuke, grinding his teeth, “The cocktail, we…you…”

“The cocktail?!” Swansea roared, rightfully pissed. “What are you blabbering about?”

“That was your fault!” Jimmy deflected, pointing at the older man. “You would never have-”

“I-I had no choice.”

“You…” Swansea sneered, banging his fist against the wall. “Useless! You goddamn fucking idiot! There has to be something else!”

Daisuke wasn’t sure how long they left him alone, but he found himself coming to terms with his fate, feeling guilty. He had always been a useless mess up, a last minute intern who didn’t even want to be here. It seems like even his final moments were because he fucked up. 

“I’m so…rry,” Daisuke struggled to speak as Jimmy crouched next to him. “I messed…up…mgh.” He wasn’t sure how much longer he could handle the way his muscles continued to tense and relax, like he was being continuously electrocuted. He could feel his wounds pulse with every contraction, blood trickling out like a steady stream. 

“Don’t try to talk,” Jimmy ordered, uncapping the bottle of mouthwash, pouring it on his wounds. 

…

“...the bleeding won’t stop,” Jimmy mumbled. “Just try to stay still, Daisuke. I-I need a second to think. We can fix this.”

“Hey, kid?” Swansea called out softly. “You hear me?” Daisuke could only make a strangled groan in response, everything felt like it was on fire and he could feel his body cry out for sleep, but the pain wouldn’t let him rest. Even breathing became a task he had to focus on.

“Daisuke?” Swansea called out again, feeling his heart break further at the sight as Daisuke jolted up in pain. “Hey!” Jimmy shouted, watching in horror as Swansea picked up the axe. “Stop, stop, stop! Don’t move!”

“It’s alright Daisuke,” Swansea comforted his young intern. “Calm down. This line of work…you could have never become like miserable ol’ Swansea. What a tragedy. Decades of hauling ass for Pony Express, big mighty bruiser with all his shiny tools. This is where it got me. The good life, huh?”

“I thought you were dumber than a can of paint, always just chewing my ear off about nothing,” Swansea continued. “Useless ray of goddamn sunshine. Not an ace student, workhorse or force of ambition. Just a damn good kid trying his best. You coulda taught an old fool like me a lot.”

“...”

“Close your eyes, Daisuke.”

…

no.

no no no no no no

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go! Everything was fine! He had it all under control! Swansea had gone crazy, that’s why he killed Daisuke, that’s why Jimmy was forced to tie him up before he was another victim to the crazy madman. This wasn’t his fault. No one was letting him fix a goddamn thing! This was all because everyone stepped out of line. First you attacked him, then Anya decided to be selfish, then Swansea murdered Daisuke, now he is being attacked again. None of this was his fault, not a goddamn thing.

“I have something to say,” Swansea spoke up calmly, not batting an eye as Jimmy stood before him holding the gun. “So shut the fuck up and listen.”

But Jimmy wasn’t having it. No. He couldn’t listen, because if he listened, then he’d have to take responsibility. He’d have to admit that he failed, that they died because of his selfish actions. Clutching the gun just a bit tighter, Jimmy spoke resolutely.

“Swansea…I’m going to fix everything. We’re going to make it.”

“Fuck you.”

…

This would all be over now. It’ll all be fixed. He knew exactly what he needed to do. Curly’s stare burned through him as he carried his former Captain. This was the only way now, the only thing he could do to make this better. Swansea was right, a captain goes down with his ship, so that left only one person to take the cryopod. 

“It’s okay, Curly,” Jimmy consoled through the glass panel. “You’re going to be okay. You always had my back. I ended up hurting you even though I was trying to save us. But now you’ll survive. It’s like you said, together we can fix anything. I’m just proud I got to be your friend and co-pilot, Captain.”

“No one can hurt you now. We fixed it.”

“I…fixed it…”

[acaranalogy]

So, this exchange happened, and then, entirely against my will, my hands wrote this exchange:

The Narrator: No, you do not need to urinate, standing or otherwise. Why would you even ask about that?

Voice of the Skeptic: It's a natural biological function. We're a living creature, right? We have flesh and blood, right? Even dehydrated people still need to piss. It filters toxins from our blood.

The Narrator: [Exasperated, aggravated sigh.]

The Narrator: You are a living creature, you are not dehydrated, you don't have any toxins in your blood, and you do not need to perform any extraneous disgusting biological functions. Please just --

Voice of the Hero: What, ever?

The Narrator: Not now. Presumably, yes, at some point, although I'd rather not contemplate such eventualities, but not any time soon. I assure you, this subject is not relevant to the task at hand, and will never become relevant to that task in any way.

Voice of the Cheated: Well hold on now, you can't just decide that for us. We decide what's relevant, not you, because you've already demonstrated that if we leave the descriptions to you, you're going to leave out something very important. Again.

The Narrator: I would never. Which is yet more proof that your 'past life' delusions are not worth entertaining.

Voice of the Hero: You don't really think that... this... will be relevant later, do you?

Voice of the Hunted: It could matter. She might catch the scent. She'd know we're nearby. If we're clever, we could use that clue to our advantage.

Voice of the Opportunist: -- Leading her into a trap! Very clever! I like the sound of that.

The Narrator: She is not going to catch your scent. She's just a Princess. And a Princess in chains, at that. You won't be leading her anywhere, and there will never be any reason to. This isn't a hunt or an assassination. Just go in there and stab her.

Voice of the Stubborn: Those chains didn't stop her any of the times we've fought. If we're not ready to do whatever it takes, we'll never have what it takes to win.

Voice of the Opportunist: It sounds like every one of us is in complete agreement! The only thing left to do is make it happen.

(Explore) Really? Are we really doing this?

I'm with the Narrator. That's disgusting.

Absolutely not. All of you shut up. We're not doing that.

[Proceed to the cabin without entertaining any of this nonsense.]

[Make it happen.]

The Narrator: While I suppose I begrudgingly appreciate your focus on doing whatever it takes to kill the Princess -- albeit misguided, because she's just a Princess, and she's already trapped and entirely helpless in the basement underneath the cabin, so all you need to do is go and slay her -- the point, thankfully, is moot. Your body doesn't need to do that at the moment, and so it's simply not an option.

Voice of the Stubborn: I'm certain we can make it happen if we try.

Voice of the Contrarian: Yeeeeessssss. Piss! Piss! Piss!

Voice of the Stubborn: Piss! Piss! Piss!

The Narrator: You childish, idiotic, adolescent -- Fine! Fine, you pick a tree adjacent to the path and you mark it with your scent. Are you happy.

Voice of the Stubborn: Pleased as punch.

Voice of the Opportunist: I'm just glad we got that sorted out to everybody's satisfaction! Now let's go assassinate that Princess.

The best way I can describe StP game is "driving a packed clown car to an assassination"

[chleem]

Is it casual now?/extra II

One shot; college students drew x reader

Summary: “Baby, no attachments.” yet, you’re at his childhood home, laughing with his parents, bonding with his siblings. 

Genre: situation-ship, smut, fluff, angst,

Warnings: swearing, sex, light read, etc

⋆.˚ this is entirely fictional, if uncomfortable then don't read

⋆.˚ official one shot, extra I

♡⸝⸝ "fucked you in the bathroom, when we went to dinner"

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“Where you going?”

You ask, as Drew stands up. The warmth of his hands caressing your thighs is gone, now running through his hair. “Bathroom,” he mumbles, barely meeting your eyes. He walks off, without another glance back at the table. 

His sour mood is evident, by not only you, but all of your friends. 

To be fair, he didn’t even want to come tonight. He pleaded desperately for you to stay in with him, offering things to you that was ridiculous. Such as, doing your laundry for a month (he doesn’t even do his own). 

But you haven’t hung out with all your friends in a long time, and you missed them. So, tonight was non-negotiable with Drew. 

And he gave up with trying to reason with you, hence, why he decided to join you here, at the nice restaurant. He didn’t even make an effort to engage nicely with them, chuckling under his breath at random times and answering questions with short answers. Whenever you were talking, he would purposely distract you by touching you under the table, making it awkward for you and your friends. 

Drew knows your friends don’t like him; that’s why he’s sour. That’s also why he shows up to these hangouts, just to rub it in their faces. 

“Why did you invite him?” Lucy groans, after Drew was out of eye sight. Your five other friends of this group nod too, all letting out groans of frustration. “Hello, earth to y/n, we. Don’t. Like. Him.”

“He insisted on joining,” you shrug, forcing a smile. 

“Um, you could’ve insisted on him not joining,” Janet, another friend adds on. 

Your friend group was filled with weird people with different opinions, but one thing they’ve collectively agreed on was: they hate Drew. ‘Hate’ is a strong word, but that was the only way to describe their feelings towards Drew. 

They’ve expressed it a lot of times, so it’s become numb to you. 

“Are you guys finally together though?” Gary asks, sitting beside you. 

Oh. Every time they see you, they ask this question. 

“Of course not,” Lucy answers for you, sending you a cocky grin. One you always disliked, because it made you feel small. “Classmates, huh?”

“A really bad label,” Stacy adds on. Yeah, as if you didn’t already know. 

Great. Now it’s just your whole friend group judging you for being with Drew. Again. The last thing you needed from them.

“I visited his parents,” you aggressively say, stabbing into your food. Hopefully that will convince them Drew is a better person that what they think, right?

Wrong. They all ‘tsk’ in a disappointed manner, shaking their heads. “And…still classmates?”

“Well, he said I was his best friend,” you stuff the food in your mouth, “To his family.”

“He probably had to,” Josh speaks up this time, “and wow, is that the first time he called you his friend?” 

You don’t miss the sarcasm in his voice, and you send him a glare. He raises his hands in defense, the table laughs. 

You don’t find the humor in this situation. Why were they so judgmental towards the relationship with Drew? It’s not like he’s the biggest jackass ever. You’ve seen every side there is to Drew, they just don’t know him like you do. “Can you guys cut it off?” You say, not trying to hide the annoyance in your voice. 

“We’re just joking,” Janet laughs, glancing around, “besides, we’re worried for you.”

You chew and swallow the food in your mouth, sending her an unappreciative smile, “‘worried’ for me?”

“Yes, he’s obviously not… well, in love with you,” Janet continues, “we don’t want you with someone who clearly doesn’t care for you.”

“He cares for me,” you defend, furrowing your eyebrows at them. You look around the table, seeing your friends glance down at their food, afraid to meet your eyes. “He cares for me.”

“Sure he does,” Stacy bitterly agrees with you. That tone pisses you off. “Maybe privately, he does, but what about in public? Starting off with the most basic, labels.”

You hate how right your friends are. As rude and mean they’re being, deep down, you know they’re right. The ‘no attachments’ thing is bullshit, especially when nothing about the two of you is casual. 

Five, no close to six months, nothing about that is causal. 

“That…doesn’t matter,” you murmur. Wrong; it mattered a lot, to everyone and to you. You just hated to admit you weren’t as chill or casual as Drew was, how he made everything romantic seem friendly with you. 

When you look around, everyone is now staring at you pitifully. 

You didn’t like that. That pity stare. There’s nothing to be pity of. Bunch of people around the world right now might be having situation-ships too. Nothing to pity. Nothing to be ashamed of. 

Yeah. That’s what you keep brainwashing yourself to believe. 

‘The girl that he bangs on his couch’. Yeah. Nothing to be ashamed of. 

Your phone on the table lights up, and it reads bathroom. now. 

Drew. “Um, excuse me,” you stand up, excusing yourself to the bathroom. 

As you slowly get up and walk away, your friends weren’t very careful with the volume of their voice. You hear one of them calling you a loser, still hanging around just for a good dick to suck. 

That must be Janet. Her lonely ass must be jealous. 

But part of you knew she wasn’t wrong. You were a loser. The biggest loser to exist. The loser of losers, if that even is a thing. 

Casual. Your friends succeeded once again, in making you doubt everything with Drew. 

——

“Really boring, right?”

Drew pulls you in by the waist, a lazy smile on his lips as he stares down at you. He leans against the sink, making you stand between his legs. 

This restaurant had two bathrooms, each with their own sink inside. So, Drew took full advantage of that. 

“Hmm,” you hum carelessly. You didn’t want agree with him; you tried to make this evening nice, but his attitude towards your friends just weren’t helping. You keep your gaze around the collar of his jacket, not wanting to meet his eyes. 

“Something wrong?” He asks, playfulness still hinted in his words. His hand rub circles around your waist, as he tries to make eye contact with you, bending his head down to your level. 

You advert your gaze even more, now focusing on the bracelet around his wrist. Now that you think about it, he always has this on, since the day you got it for him. 

Was that casual to do? To keep the bracelet on at all times. 

“Look at me, would you?” Drew’s tone turns serious, and he pinches the side of your waist harshly.

You flinch, finally looking up at him. You meet his blue eyes, a mix of concern and something else that you can’t read. His raised eyebrows tell you that he wants you to talk, to tell him what’s on your mind. 

Should you? But, where do you even start? With his attitude tonight, or with your friend’s comments? Or with this whole casual thing, which is basically the beginning to it all.

Your lips pout on its own, resting your hands around his wrist. “That was uncalled for,” you murmur, looking down at his bracelet again. 

“What was?” Drew’s pinch one your waist is more soft this time, wanting to get the words out of you. 

“Doing that,” you say, playing with his chained bracelet. Shit. You’re gonna say it. You’re gonna call him out for his behavior. “Being rude to my friends.”

A scoff escapes Drew. He then brings his hand up to your face, forcing you to look up at him. Like second nature, you lean your face into the palm of his hand, waiting for him to explain himself. “Babe, your friends were the rude ones.”

The feeling inside your stomach is indescribable. The nickname sends you butterflies, but the words that follow don't. 

“How?” You ask, crossing your arms.  

He licks his lips, squinting his eyes at you. “It was so fucking obvious.”

“Was it?” 

“Yes- yes, it was,” Drew straightens his posture, taking his hands off you. The warmth of him is gone, now with the presence of a man trying to explain his reasonable case of being bratty. “They asked loaded questions to me this whole night.”

You furrow your eyebrows, thinking hard to the stuff they asked Drew. Shit. They were. Your friends didn’t even trying to hide their discontent with him tonight. 

“They hate me,” he adds on, “C’mon, I leave the table for like, a few minutes, and they talked shit, right?”

The way he looks at you; he challenges you to disagree with him. But you couldn’t; he was right. Your friends hate him, making you constantly doubt whatever this was with Drew. 

“Wasn’t all shit,” you lie, sending him the smallest smile ever. 

Drew makes the ‘tsk’ sound, shaking his head as he gives you a tired smile. “What they say then?” He asks, leaning back against the sink again. 

His eyes look at you in anticipation, biting down on his lips. 

You do not want to tell him what they said. It was rude, and although it was about Drew, it affected you more than it should have. The seeds of doubt are always planted by your friends, they never put you at ease with this relationship. 

You give him a lazy smile, snaking your arms around his neck. You lean in close to him, a seductive look in your eyes. “Does it matter? They talk shit, all they ever do.”

Drew’s lips slightly part, and he glances quickly down at your lips. A smile appears, “I see what you’re doing. You’re distracting me.”

You shrug lightly, before planting a small kiss on his jaw. “Is it working?”

You hear a chuckle escape from him, and his hand wraps around the back of your head. His eyes keep bouncing between your lips and eyes, smiling from ear-to-ear, “annoyingly so, you minx.”

Without another comment, Drew kisses you, soft and slow. 

You return the kiss, escalating into a whole make-out session. 

You hate how your body reacts to him; feeling a pool of wetness form between your legs. Fuck. 

Something pokes against your lower stomach, and you pull away from Drew. You glance down; he’s erected. “Shit,” you curse, as his hands slide down your body. He squeezes your ass, burying his face into your neck as he breathes the skin there. 

“I…I can’t go back to the table like this,” he murmurs, referring to his erection. 

You watch as his back rises and falls, through the sink mirror. Even with this thick white jacket he has on, you can tell his breathing has sped up. Your lips form a straight line, running your hands through his short hair. 

In the bathroom? Right in the middle of dinner? It was highly inappropriate. 

Wrapping your hands around his face, you pull him up to meet his eyes. He looks at you pleadingly, lips parted with drool on the corner of his lips. 

Fuck. How is one suppose to say no to that look? He looked as if he physically needed you; needed you to calm the… ‘growing’ in his pants. 

“Ten minutes,” you tell him, which immediately lights the spark in his eyes. He looks like a puppy! You smile at that thought, as he straightens himself, switching your positions. 

“Ten minutes? Enough for two rounds,” he teases, lifting you to sit on the sink. 

“No! One round,” you say, which gets cut off by Drew kissing you again. As much fun as two rounds sound, the longer you linger in here, the more obvious it is that the two of you are fucking. 

He groans into your mouth, spreading your legs to stand between them. His hands move fast into your dress, slipping your underwear off. The cold surface of the sink hits your thighs and pussy, adding to the heat growing within you. 

Drew trails his kisses down your neck, as your hands work on undoing his belt. 

You moan when he sucks on the sweet-spot around your neck, the belt dropping onto the floor with a hard thud. “Drew…” you moan out, messy hands tugging his hair as he continues to form hickeys around your neck. 

You want to run your hands around his stomach, chest, abs. But the jacket he has on prevents that, being zipped up the whole way. This jacket looked great on him, but would look better on the floor. 

Your hands fidget with the zipper, tugging with no luck of it moving. 

Drew pulls away from your neck, a chuckle escaping, “babe, gently.”

His hands overlaps yours, guiding you to pull the jacket zipper down. It reveals that he isn’t wearing anything inside; a feast to your eyes. “Is that why you refused to take this off?” You ask, referring to before the dinner started.

“I was invited last minute,” he shrugs the jacket off, as if it wasn’t his fault for the improvised outfit. 

“Right, but you weren’t invited,” you remind him, when he insisted on joining you when you were leaving, throwing on a random outfit nearby. You were busy putting your heels on, so you couldn’t see the moment when he got dressed. You didn’t even know he owned a jacket like this. 

“Mmhm,” his mind was elsewhere, attaching his lips to yours again. Sloppy and more lustful this time, as your hands wander around his body. It’s hot under your touch; his abs flexing as you run your hands over them. 

His hand grips onto your thigh, before moving closer to your heat. 

When the warmth of his fingers hit your pussy, you moan loudly into his mouth. 

“Shit,” he chuckles, “we’re in public, babe.”

The tip of your ears heat up too, from the embarrassment and realization that you’re in public, most likely having people hear you from the other side of the door. “Sorry,” you murmur, burying your face into his neck. 

Drew sticks two fingers into your hole, and starts thrusting at a faster speed than usual. Your breathing becomes uneven, as you try to tone down your moans. 

Drew wasn’t having it easy either, as you hear low grunts escaping him. “Fuck,” he curses, adding another digit, “you’re tight tonight.”

“Just fuck me already,” you manage to say, hands gripping on his biceps. Surely, this was enough foreplay, right? 

He chuckles again, this time at your impatience. He pulls his fingers out of you, his hands going to the back pocket of his jeans. 

The familiar gold packaging comes out, and his hands skillfully rip them open. 

“…couldn’t put on a shirt but bought a condom with you?” Laughter escapes you, as you watch him unzip his pants. 

He glances up at you, and when he sees you smiling ear-to-ear, he can’t help but match you, “wasn’t gonna show up totally unprepared, right?”

You laugh again; what an unbelievable guy. “Shirt’s optional but condom a must. Got it.”

Drew lets his pants and boxers hang around his knees, his cock standing proud. The sight immediately wipes the smile off your lips, gulping as you imagine it stuffed inside you. 

“The chances of fucking you wherever and whenever is high,” Drew says, wrapping the condom around his dick. 

He looks up at you, seeing your gaze fixed on his hard cock. A smirk helps themselves to his lips, as his hands tug on your waist. An idea flashes in his mind as he looks over your shoulder, at the big sink mirror. 

“Get off,” his voice brings you back, looking at him with confused eyes now. “C’mon, trust me.”

You let him bring you back onto the ground, before flipping you over. You see both your reflections in the mirror, your back hitting his chest, his dick poking your upper ass. 

When you meet his eyes through the mirror, you understand where this was going. 

“Watch yourself while I destroy your fucking pussy, hmm?”

Oh. Oh. Was it possible to be turned on by words? 

Drew lifts up your dress, revealing your wet core. You hold onto the sink for support, grip getting tighter when you feel Drew’s tip against your entrance. 

Then, he slips in, going deep until it’s completely nestled inside you. 

“Fuck,” you moan, glancing up at Drew. He sends you a smirk, enjoying this too. His hand goes to your stomach, and he lifts you backward, resting against his chest again. 

“Grip my hair, and keep your eyes open, alright?” His voice drops low, one hand moving to knead your breasts. 

You nod, bringing your hands behind you; one tugging gently around his hair, another around his arm that’s supporting you. 

He starts to thrust into you, rather roughly and fast. “Shit,” you moan, the sensation sending you to outer space. With his thick cock slamming into you, his hands roaming your body, your hands running through his short hair, it feels euphoric. 

Your eyes can barely stay open, as you look at the reflection in the mirror. Drew leaves a trail of sloppy kisses along your shoulder, which sends goosebumps to your skin. 

You watch as one of his hand slips between your thighs, starting to massage your pussy. “Fuck,” you moan, louder than you should be. You couldn’t help it, the pleasure was extraordinary. 

He kisses your earlobe, “i’know baby, but keep it down, alright?”

“Y-yeah,” it barely comes out, as the thrusts and massages to your core intensifies. The familiar knot in your stomach forms, informing you that you’re close. “Drew…”

His pace doesn’t stop, and when you lean your head back on his shoulder, he goes harder, “close?”

You nod with any energy left, and Drew uses his free hand to lift your face up again. He kisses your cheek, “use your words.”

You flutter your eyes open, looking at the two of you in the mirror. It was extremely hot, to see Drew filling you up, his hands all around you. The mirror starts to fog up a little, with all the grunting and pressure filling in here. 

“I’m coming,” you force out, and meet Drew’s gaze in the mirror. His blue eyes meet yours, seething with lust. 

You clench around him, your hand going around Drew’s, which is massaging your pussy. He stops massaging, and he intertwines your hands together. The stickiness doesn’t bother you; why should it?

“Fuck,” he groans, his thrusts to your g-spot growing sloppy. 

You tilt your head sideways, and you give him a quick kiss, which sends you over the edge. Your orgasm explodes inside of you, cum dripping out and over Drew’s cock. 

Body giving up, you lean completely against Drew, as he helps himself to his. His cock twitches, and you feel the familiar hot liquid filling up. 

Both of you are breathing heavily, euphoria radiating off your bodies. Fuck. This might just be one of the best fucks you’ve had with Drew. But in a public restroom? Who would’ve thought. 

“You’re so hot,” he compliments, before planting a small kiss on the side of your face. 

You giggle at that stupid comment, looking at him through the mirror; He’s got a playful smile on his lips, looking at you with smitten eyes. “You’re great with your words.”

He chuckles, his hands tapping against the side of your waist, signaling you to move. You use the energy left inside of you, helping him slip out. Leaning against the sink, you watch as Drew grabs tissues to wipe your core, then throwing his condom away. 

After that, he grabs your underwear on the floor. You get yourself dressed, him doing the same thing. 

“Look, only…only seven minutes passed,” Drew comments with a sly smile on his lips, showing you his watch. 

You roll your eyes, your lips betraying you by forming a smile. “Cocky much?” 

He puts his jacket back on, the last piece of clothing. “Well, you've definitely enjoyed the taste of it.”

You hit his chest playfully, his remark sending butterflies to your stomach. He laughs, zipping his jacket only halfway. Your eyebrows furrow at his exposed chest that pierces through the top; and you reach for the zipper. 

Drew stays in place, and you feel his gaze on the top of your head, his hot breath hitting you. You ignore the tension that pulls; when you’re done, you pat his chest, “all done, buddy.”

“‘Buddy’?” There’s a hint of amusement in his tone, eyes squinting down at you. 

You send him a soft smile, seeing him glance down at your lips. “What?”

“Call me buddy one more time,” his hands wrap around your waist, and he leans closer to you, “and you’ll get it.”

His dirty and challenging tone sends shivers down your spine, something you find yourself liking a bit too much. The pit of your stomach yells at you at how hypocritical Drew was being right now, but you ignore it. 

And just because it’s fun, you lean into his ear, and whisper, “best buddy ever.”

Tickles are sent to the side of your body, making you jump and melt into his arms. You laugh uncontrollably; Drew knew you were ticklish, using it to his full advantage. 

“Stop! Stop!” You yell between laughter, your legs ready to give up. 

“Don’t call me that then,” he stops tickling you, grip on you tight to make sure you don’t fall. He kisses the tears of laughter from the corner of your eyes, “I don’t like it.”

“Noted,” you murmur, wrapping your arms around his neck. You glance down at his lips, and he does the same to yours. 

Drew gives you the look; he wants to kiss you. 

And you let him, closing your eyes and feeling his lips against yours. 

Is it still casual if you kissed me like it’s the last time you ever will? You hate how this thought appears in your mind again, haunting you. 

You pull away, the pressure of it getting overwhelming. “Let’s head back, yeah?”

“We have to?” His eyes stay glued to your lips. “You know, We could…we could just leave.”

You furrow your eyebrows at him, “no!”

“Say you got plans tomorrow morning,” he shrugs, “I’ll say it for you, if you can’t-”

You cross your arms, looking up at him. “Why would I leave early?”

Drew parts his lips, and he brings his hand up to your elbow. He rubs the area there in soft circles, a playful look in his eyes, “…grab some froyo?”

You drop your arms, looking at him disappointedly. When he saw that, he hurriedly adds, “and I got errands to run. Really.”

You contemplate in your mind about this; ditching this dinner to hang out privately with Drew? Yeah, that sounded like something fun. It must be better than staying awkwardly, having your friends judge Drew. 

Casual. Casual, casual, casual. Some casual froyo with Drew, and maybe ending up with sex in his dorm room. 

Yeah. Seemed like things people whose ‘casual’ would do. 

“Fine. You’re treating me though,” you unlock the door, walking out the bathroom. 

“I always treat you,” you hear him murmur behind you, following closely behind as you two walk back to the table. 

You interrupt the conversation they’re having, grabbing your purse from your seat. They look at your questionably, before their gaze lands sourly on Drew behind you. “i’ve got something, tomorrow morning, so we’re heading off,” you try sounding apologetic, “sorry to leave this early.”

“Oh, um, okay,” Lucy glances between the two of you, “text us when you get home.”

“Yeah, sorry,” you apologize again, before your friends wave goodbye to you. You don’t miss the hateful looks they leave on Drew, as they tell you to take care until the next time you guys meet. 

After that, you and Drew leave the restaurant, letting the doorman do his job of getting a taxi. 

A warmth around your hand catches you by surprise; Drew holds your hand, pulling you closer to him. You look down at the holding of hands; then back up at him. He’s staring down at his phone, scrolling through his insta feed. 

Holding hands. Something very casual to do, apparently. 

“What are you watching?” You ask, leaning on his shoulder. 

He laughs, showing you the screen. It’s a video of a monkey pointing towards the glass, which has different play-doughs lined along it. 

You don’t get the humor in it, but you smile, because it makes Drew smile. 

The two of you stand there, watching different posts on his phone until the taxi arrives. 

Your mind finds it strange how ‘casual’ you two are. 

Because, in the bottom of your heart, you weren’t so sure if this was casual anymore. Along the way, the lines of ‘no attachment’ seemed to have blurred. Blurred to the point of no return. 

-------------------------------

word count: 4.1k

ִ ࣪𖤐 a/n: goddamn, i would fall for this toxic relationship too T_T

sry for not posting lately, i got very busy lately! i promise you, flashing lights 6 & not a big deal pt4 is coming sooooon. but hope you enjoyed this extra, and also, thx for blowing up the halloween special, was NOT expecting that. thank you sm! your lovely comments inspire me to write these fics!

btw, watched obx s4, and the ending broke me T_T like tffff

[cometconmain]

This is disgusting and unacceptable behaviour. I'm not a violence against violence is wrong type of person. That's bullshit used way too often to shut down oppressed people actively fighting back against violent oppression. This is not that though. This is antisemitism.

For violence to actually be provoked, it means the Israeli group would have to be actively attacking other people who then fought back against that attack. No matter what the Israeli group were doing, this was NOT a remotely proportionate response, because they were NOT attacking these people at all let alone to any level that would warrant this level of escalation. This is a hate crime using lower levels of bad behaviour (purportedly; I haven't been able to fact check that yet and it would be irrelevant anyway because this still wouldn't be acceptable regardless) as the excuse despite it not being remotely a good excuse.

Self defence requires the level of violence necessary to stop an active attack, not hunting people down in a car and running them over, stabbing them, beating them, and whatever else they did while pretending it was 'provoked.'

Don't fucking do this shit and don't fucking stand by while it's happening either.

What happened to Never Again Means Now?

It's now. Where are we all?

Hey guys.... a bunch of people in Amsterdam actively tried to lynch multiple Jewish fans of a soccer team. There's many videos. People were beaten, run over, and had firecrackers thrown at them. In the videos you can see that the bystanders do NOTHING

Anyways I suppose the hamasniks got what they wanted with the whole "globalize the intifada"

[strawberrykidneystone]

lend an arm

summary: you’re a mechanic who sevika refused to work with until one day she comes back with her arm ripped off

a/n: idk if the title makes sense but it’s a play on lend a hand but yk,,, she lost her whole arm😋

tags: fluff, banter, mention of hooking up, less spicy than i thought it was gonna be whoops, smoking

ty anon for the request!!!

ao3 version

when you were hired as silco’s handyman, you imagined you would be working with sevika a lot to add upgrades to her arm, fix her arm after combat, etc. etc.

nope.

quite the opposite. you were met with the cold shoulder every time, a gruff out ‘i can do it myself’ before she stomps off to the corner of silco’s office to tinker with her arm. you’re sure there’s a masturbation joke there somewhere, but you haven’t quite thought of a clever enough one to say aloud.

did you hook up with her a few times? yes. was it your proudest moment? no, but damn was it good.

given that, most of your time was spent with jinx, albeit sometimes more than you’d like. you love the girl to bits, but sometimes she can be a bit… much. still, you liked her music taste and you got on well enough, not to mention her inventions were quite clever, not that you’d ever say it to her; she's already got quite the ego.

still, the blue haired girl was still family or whatever you’d call it. you knew she was still sneaking into her lab and pretended to be none the wiser, but you’re pretty sure that she knew you knew.

although sevika refused your help, you couldn’t help but notice how she’d glance up every time she tweaked something on her arm, as if she were searching for approval from you. you’d make eye contact with her and glance down at what she’d fixed, giving an approving nod or shaking your head depending on what she did. each time you nodded, you’d swear you saw a blush creep up her ears. if you shook your head though, she’d scowl and vigorously undo her work and redo it until either she was satisfied with it or look to get your approval again. it was a cute little game you two would play, but you knew you’d be able to make the fixes about 10x faster if she would only let you.

and the silco died.

with nowhere else to go and determined not going to join any side in the turf war for the lanes, that left you the last drop where you’d been sleeping on the couch in his old office. damn, you still couldn’t believe that he was gone. sure he was an asshole most of the time, but he was one of the people and at least tried to keep give shithole of the undercity some sort of organization.

whatever, at least his couch was comfy.

you were tinkering with one of jinx’s old chompers in silco’s office when sevika came barreling in. you jumped a bit from the slam of the door and looked at the panting figure in the doorway. she had her poncho covering the front of her body, but the lumpiness under the cloth alarmed you that something was wrong. she wordlessly walked past you and threw her poncho off to the side, revealing her flesh arm holding her mechanical arm under her armpit. the gears sticking out of the stump of her mechanical arm told you that someone had ripped it out, and she was pissed.

she slammed her arm on the table and grumbled to herself, grabbing a flathead screwdriver from the table of her former boss’ desk. she stabbed the head in and cursed under her breath, muttering something about a ‘pink haired brat’ as she attempted to fix her mechanical limb. she spent a good 10 minutes trying to fix the arm with her one good hand. you minded your business and kept your eyes on your book, studying about the latest technology in the upper city, hextech.

until you heard it. she sighed and turned around, leaning her back against the table, saying something quietly in your direction. you lifted your head and tilted it questioningly to the side, “what was that?”

sevika huffed and dragged her hand down her face, “can you fix my arm?”

a small grin crept up your lips, oh you were gonna have fun with this, “what’s the magic word?”

sevika deadpanned at you and rolled her eyes, but was too tired to argue, “…please.”

you clapped your hands together and happily stood up, “yes! i’ve been waiting for this!”

you basically pushed her aside as you quickly got to work on her arm, trying to undo as much damage as you could. after about an hour, you were able to restore basic function in the arm, but one good punch could make the whole thing fall apart all over again. you straightened up and looked around the room to see where she had gone, you really fell into your own world as you worked. looking around, you saw her on the couch fixated down, the same area where your ass had been only moments before. you cleared your throat which seemed to snap her out of her trance, her head snapping up to meet your eyes.

you held her arm up and gestured for her to come over. she scrambled up to meet you at your side, holding her arm out expectantly. brushing past her, you attached her arm back on with a satisfying ‘click’ at it latched into place. you took a step back to let her adjust to it again. she clenched her hand into a fist and turned her hand over, admiring your handiwork. she hummed in approval and looked down at you with a glint of respect in her eyes that you’d never seen before.

“that should do for now, but you’ll probably need a new arm if you don’t want to get your ass beat,” you smirked as you dusted off your hands off on your pants.

“thought that you fixed it?,” she said with a raised eyebrow. her tone was meant not in an attacking manner, but more curiosity on the actual damage of her arm.

“i’m a mechanic, not a miracle worker,” you chided, crossing your arms over your chest.

sevika raised her arms in relinquishment, a half smirk gracing her lips, “easy princess, ‘meant no offense to your skills.”

“uh huh,” you responded sarcastically, rolling your eyes as you patted her shoulder.

she sighed and looked down, glancing back up at you in reluctance, “what i meant was… thank you.”

you raised your eyebrows in surprise, but smiled at the sentiment, “you’re welcome, i just wish i could’ve helped more earlier.”

“earlier?” she asked in a neutral tone, taking a cigarette out of her pocket and putting it in the corner of her mouth, lighting it with one hand while she cupped around her mouth with the other. she took a quick drag and blew the smoke away from you, letting the cigarette rest lazily between her fingers.

“y’know, before silco died. if you had let me work on your arm and upgrade it, it probably wouldn’t have broken in the first place,” you said matter-of-factly, plucking the cigarette from her fingers and taking a puff, purposefully blowing it towards her.

“my arm was fine, it was just this one time,” she responded gruffly, taking another drag from the cigarette. you shrugged and glanced over her arm, subconsciously making sure that every part was working as it should.

“…where the hell should i get a new arm?” she asked as nonchalantly as she could, but a little more waiver of worry still came through in her voice.

you looked up at her and grinned, pointing up, “the answer is closer than you think.”

she looked up and jumped a little seeing the blue haired girl, “jesus jinx.”

nothing made sevika jump, she must’ve really been on edge with silco’s death.

jinx giggled and shook her head, “fine, but i want complete creative control.”

sevika sighed defeatedly and looked at you for any sort of help, which of course you gave none.

“fine.”

[kelluinox]

Let's just put aside the fact that this was a premeditated, coordinated attack for a few seconds and focus on the absolutely insane talking points used to justify the pogrom in Amsterdam:

- Some Israeli fans tore down a Palestinian flag

- Some Israeli fans yelled anti Arab slurs

- Some Israeli fans fought with a taxi driver

This in their minds justifies chasing down any Israeli they see, throw them onto train tracks and into canals in freezing temperatures, demand to see passports, steal and take photos of said passports, viciously beat them even as the victims plead for mercy, try to kidnap them by shoving them into their cars, coordinate with the violent mob by using your taxi to transport Israelis and hand them over to their attackers, stab and try to murder them.

I would ask if they can see just from reading the above how batshit insane with hatred they are, but I know it's pointless. They got a taste of abusing and killing jews being normal again and they've been drunk on it ever since. Just like they have over and over and over again over the course of history. This is what they've always done. In every generation.

[phantom-of-the-501st]

Clone Headcanons

This has been sat in my phone notes for a while and I kept forgetting to actually turn it into a post. So here are some of my clone related headcanons (some of which have no explanation)

Crosshair is a nail-biter. When he was a cadet, his nails were almost non-existant and completely ragged. Once he had to start wearing blacks, he stopped because he couldn't chew his nails through the gloves, and he turned to toothpicks instead. He eventually worked himself out of the habit, but he will start biting his nails again if he goes without toothpicks for too long.

Echo talks in his sleep. Normally, it's non-sensical but he has spooked some of his brothers due to some slightly terrifying things that have been said while he's asleep.

Tup is non-binary.

Echo is aroace.

Wrecker has hearing loss in his left ear as a result of the explosion that scarred the side of his face. His brothers will talk a little louder if they are stood on his left, so that he can hear them better, and sometimes it takes them a few attempts to wake him up because he's fallen asleep on his right side and can't hear them very well.

Cody despises crying in front of people and will avoid it when he can. Rex is the only one who has actually seen Cody properly cry.

99 would tell the cadets stories when they were having nightmares and would often sacrifice his own sleep to make sure that they were okay. He would also name characters after the clones that he used to tell the stories to. One of the greatest honours was for a clone to be told that a character was named after them in one of 99's stories.

Dogma is allergic to tookas.

Echo has always run cold and would often sleep with socks on. He only stopped doing it because of his prosthetics. Fives is the opposite and will often sleep in as few clothes as possible.

Jesse has a scar on the back of his hand where Hardcase accidentally stabbed it with a fork.

Hunter is dyslexic and Tech would often help him during assessments so that the Kaminoans didn't find out.

Cody sleeps like the dead. He's very quiet and doesn't move around a lot, so much so that his brothers have panicked that he's died in his sleep on more than one occassion.

Wolffe accidentally called Plo Koon dad once. Plo actually found it very endearing but no-one is allowed to bring it up because Wolffe has very heavily implied that anyone who mentions it will never be found again.

Fox has a small scar just above his right eyebrow. If anyone asks, he just says he got it in an altercation and leaves it at that. No-one knows that said altercation was actually with a door that Fox walked into because he was too tired to pay attention.

[beloveds-embrace]

I fear we may share a braincell or you can read minds Noona bevause I was thinking of an Omega reader whos CIA and brought in my Laswell to work with the taskforce, they're like one of the best hackers in the world and are needed for their next operation. Everyone assumes because their an omega they're weak and easily manipulated so when one of ghe recruits gets a bit bold and starts trying to get handsy with them, TF141 goes to step in but Laswell stops them and asks them to just watch the interaction, alk they're eyes going wide as she says "touch me again and it will be the last thing you do with that hand" and the recruit just laughs it off and starts running their jand up the omegas arm again so she just rolls her eyes and grabs it, twisting it until she hears bones break and then takes a knife (that they carry for this exact reason) and stabs their wrist into the thigh going for the point of maximum damage and nerve loss so he couldn’t infact use his hand again, and kicking them in the chest. When the recruit is on the ground. She just bends over and says "just because Im an omega doesnt mean Im weak". TF141 are just standing with their jaws slack and hearts hammering as she approaches them and Soaps the first one to break out ofnit with a "blood hell bonnie, whered you learn to do that"

God bless that braincell because I love this 😩 always been a sucker for the proving assumptions wrong trope and this is sooo delicious, thank you 🫶🏻 you can bet they were all turned on af after that but also. The recruit is sooo getting dragged through hell by them much later lmao