#Fighting Tooth and Nail Against It. whatever

[cathymee]

we're all wasting our time the earth should just explode soon <3

[alex-procrastinates]

pls click see more i spent like an hour writing these tags

This links to a wheel with nearly a hundred fic tropes for plots, settings, and more. Spin it twice.

This could also work with art inspiration, but the buttons only allow for so many characters on them. And please do ramble in the tags! I'm going to have no idea what most of you are talking about, and it's going to be great.

[maykitz]

read an article that the philippines may be close to legalising divorce despite the catholic church fighting tooth and nail to prevent it, it's amazing how around the whole world you can find them in the trenches of the war on human misery on the side of the misery. they interviewed a nun who does counseling for abused wives and 'still' speaks out against divorce and like, well, any savvy business will do whatever it can to create conditions that drive people to its product plus it's not like your stooges have any skin in the game if you do religious celibacy. not that surprising

[iiileaves]

i really love what oda did with robin because while she has some sort of mother-like presence in the crew, she doesn’t do any (literal) mothering. she has zero mental load, zero responsibilities and is completely free to do whatever she wants whenever she wants. the caretaking and maintenance is handled by the men, while the two women of the crew are scholars. she never nags or worries but genuinely smiles and laughs at luffy’s antics when everyone else is freaking out

and even though robin’s work is necessary to find the one piece nobody ever asks her to do it. she mostly does it alone, and the majority of her time in the crew is spent relaxing and being whimsical. other captains would imprison her and force her to translate the poneglyphs, but she has to remind luffy they’re even a thing

yet it’s not indifference. the strawhats know full-well she’s one of the most pursued people alive, and how valuable her abilities are. but they don’t love her because she’s useful, and her coming to terms with the fact that she is unconditionally cherished by her crew makes for one of the most incredible character arcs in the story

their commitment to let her do her thing in peace, in her own terms, to fight tooth and nail against some of the most powerful people in the world just so she can keep doing it… it’s just so beautiful to me

[machveil]

can i hear more about guard dog! simon and puppy! reader?👀

yes you may, anon<3 mwah

CW: canon typical violence mention (but, like, minimally descriptive)

GuardDog!Simon Riley who’s used to playing rough. Ghost is used to fighting tooth and nail, brawling with the goal to maul and maim. he’s used to throwing soldiers around, bruising his knuckles and drawing blood. he’s used to clawing to survive, cold, dead eyes glaring at the enemy. but Simon? Simon only bares his teeth to smile at you, boyish and handsome. the only roughing up he receives is when you muss his hair up, smoothing it out again as you gently scratch his scalp

GuardDog!Simon Riley really does treat you like his puppy, cute and soft in his eyes. he plays tug of war with you, fighting over the remote when it’s movie night. he plays fetch with you, retrieving whatever you need so you don’t have to get up. he knows how to roll over, lets you lay on top of him while relaxing. he wouldn’t dream of playing rough with you, only manhandling you to hear you laugh and shriek - no, when it’s just Simon and his puppy he mellows out. he still bites, but there’s no fear of losing his life, just marking you as his with a content rumble in his chest

GuardDog!Simon Riley who traps you in bed with him, cuddles up to you like his favorite toy, soft and warm. gently nipping at your skin, hands pawing at your hips. comfortable and safe, chapped lips pressing kisses to your neck. it might not be a collar, but seeing the silver chain of his dog tags around your neck makes him feel at ease, his name dangling on your chest. it soothes him when he can pet your hair, playing with it gently before smoothing it out under his palm. he’ll help you prep it for bed, be it brushing or braiding, making a bun or ponytail, or carefully helping tuck it under your bonnet; gaze warm and fond as you talk about your day, he’s just happy to pamper you a little

GuardDog!Simon Riley who’s alert at home. as soon as you get up from bed he’ll be groggily following behind you. it doesn’t matter that it’s barely two in the morning, he’ll pad his way with you to the bathroom - stands guard while leaning against the wall. sometimes he’ll knock just to hear your voice, claims it’s to make sure you didn’t fall asleep in there (he just likes hearing your sleepy, raspy murmurs). as soon as you open the door he’s scooping you up, sock clad feet silently moving back to your room. he knows you can walk, but you’re so warm against him

[aspenmissing]

hey! just wanted to say that i LOVE your writing style!!! :3 is it possible to get an s\a comfort for the arcane characters? nothing in detail of course- just the characters find out that reader gotten s\a'd. i'd really like that as someone who survived s\a. if you don't want to do that, that's fine! i get it. :) thank you! 🤍🤍🤍

ꜱᴀꜰᴇ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴀʀᴍꜱ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴍᴇʟ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ/ᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛ/ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ-ɪꜱʜ || 6598 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴘᴀꜱᴛ ꜱ/ᴀ (ɴᴏ ᴅᴇꜱᴄʀɪᴘᴛɪᴏɴ/ᴅᴇᴛᴀɪʟ)

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ᴏʜ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ, ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴇꜱᴇʀᴠᴇ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ! ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʙᴀꜱᴛᴀʀᴅ ɢᴏᴛ ᴡʜᴀᴛᴇᴠᴇʀ ʜᴇ ᴅᴇꜱᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ. ɪ'ᴍ ꜱᴏ ꜱᴏʀʀʏ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴅᴏɪɴɢ ᴡᴇʟʟ! ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴄᴀɴ ɢɪᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛ, ʙᴜᴛ ɪ ᴅᴏ ᴡɪꜱʜ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇ! <3 <3 <3 <3

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴍᴇʟ

JAYCE

The workshop was quiet, save for the occasional scratch of Jayce’s pen against parchment. Hextech schematics lay sprawled across the table, half-finished, waiting for the spark of genius he often found in the quiet moments. But tonight, his thoughts were elsewhere.

You sat by the window, the soft glow of Piltover’s streetlamps casting a golden sheen over your face. You hadn’t spoken much today, lost in a silence Jayce didn’t quite understand—but he felt it. The weight of something unspoken, something that pressed against your chest and refused to let go.

Jayce wasn’t the kind of man to push. He knew you’d talk when you were ready. But seeing you like this, so distant, so unlike the spark of life you usually carried—it hurt him. He had seen you in your brightest moments, laughing with unfiltered joy, eyes alight with wonder as you watched him work. Now, it was as if the light had dimmed, and he hated feeling helpless.

“Mi Amor,” he murmured, setting his pen down and pushing aside his work. He stood, crossing the room in slow, careful strides, as if afraid to break you further. “Talk to me.” (My love)

You didn’t look up, eyes trained on the world outside, but your fingers curled tighter around the fabric of your sleeve. He could see it now—the tension in your shoulders, the way you curled in on yourself as if trying to make yourself small.

His heart clenched.

Jayce had seen battle, had faced opposition, had fought tooth and nail to make the world a better place. But nothing, nothing in the world made him feel as powerless as watching you fight a war inside yourself that he couldn’t see. He wanted to fix things, but some wounds didn’t heal with science or innovation. Some wounds simply needed time, and someone to hold the pieces together.

“Please,” he said, softer this time. He knelt beside you, resting a warm, calloused hand over yours. “Whatever it is, you don’t have to carry it alone.”

A shaky breath left your lips, and that was the beginning of it. The unraveling.

Your voice was barely above a whisper. “Something happened to me… a long time ago.”

Jayce didn’t move, didn’t speak, but his grip on your hand tightened—not enough to hurt, just enough to ground you. To tell you he was here. That he wasn’t going anywhere. His mind raced with questions, with anger at the world, but he pushed it all aside, focusing on you and only you.

“It wasn’t my fault,” you continued, and the way your voice broke shattered something deep within him. “I know that. I do. But sometimes, I still feel like—like I’m dirty. Like I’m weak.”

Jayce inhaled sharply, his jaw tightening. Not at you, never at you, but at the cruelty of the world. At the injustice of it all. But he forced himself to exhale slowly, to push down the anger, because right now, you needed him to be something else.

Gentle. Safe.

“Hey,” he whispered, shifting onto the couch beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. He felt the way you tensed at first, before slowly sinking into him, letting him hold you. He pulled the blanket from the couch’s armrest, draping it over you both, creating a barrier from the outside world. “You are not weak, Y/N. You are the strongest person I know.”

A small, trembling hand clutched at the fabric of his shirt. “I just… I don’t want it to define me.”

Jayce pressed a kiss to your temple, lingering there. “It doesn’t.” He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, warm brown meeting yours with nothing but certainty. “You define yourself. Not what someone else did to you. And I swear to you, I’ll be here—every step of the way.”

A tear slipped down your cheek, and Jayce caught it with his thumb. And when you finally let yourself cry, truly cry, he didn’t try to shush you, didn’t try to rush your pain away. He just held you, strong and steady, as long as you needed.

Because that’s what love was.

As the minutes passed, the heavy silence between you slowly morphed into something lighter. He traced gentle circles on your back, whispering reassurances whenever he felt your breathing hitch. The world outside carried on, the distant sounds of the city moving forward—but in this moment, it was just the two of you, wrapped in warmth, in safety.

“I love you,” he finally murmured, resting his forehead against yours. It wasn’t about fixing you. You weren’t broken. It wasn’t about saving you. You didn’t need saving. It was about standing beside you, through the shadows and the light.

And he would. Always.

VIKTOR

The evening was quiet, save for the steady tick of a clock and the occasional rustle of papers as Viktor reviewed his notes at the dining table. The soft glow of candlelight bathed the apartment in golden hues, casting long shadows against the walls. It was a rare moment of stillness—no rushing around the lab, no frantic calculations, just the gentle company of one another.

You sat curled up on the couch, a book resting open on your lap, though your eyes had long since stopped reading the words. Your gaze was distant, unfocused, as if staring past the pages into something only you could see. Something in your mind weighed you down like a heavy chain, an old wound resurfacing without permission, dragging you into memories you wished you could forget.

The warmth of the apartment should have been comforting. The scent of old books and Viktor’s faintly metallic, oil-stained presence should have grounded you. But tonight, none of it was enough to stop the shiver crawling up your spine.

Viktor’s cane tapped lightly against the wooden floor as he made his way toward you, his movements careful and precise. Even with his slight limp, there was an elegance to the way he carried himself, a grace you had always admired.

“You are awfully quiet tonight, drahý.” His voice was soft, tinged with curiosity but not pressing. He lowered himself onto the couch beside you, resting his cane against the armrest. His presence was gentle but unwavering, his sharp gaze studying your face, taking in every small sign of distress. (Dear)

You swallowed, your fingers tightening around the edge of your book. “I just… I remembered something I wish I hadn’t.”

The words felt heavy as they left your lips, like they had been stuck in your throat for too long. You hadn’t meant to say anything at all. The last thing you wanted was to weigh Viktor down with your ghosts. But there was something about his presence, the way he sat patiently beside you, that made it impossible to hold everything in.

Viktor didn’t speak immediately, but his golden-brown eyes flickered with concern. He was always quick, his brilliant mind piecing things together with little effort. He had known for some time that you carried burdens—unspoken ones, locked away in the depths of your heart.

Gently, he reached out, his calloused hand resting over yours. His touch was warm, grounding. “You do not have to tell me if it hurts too much,” he said quietly. “But if you wish to… I am here.”

You looked down at his hand over yours, the contrast of it. Viktor, for all his genius, for all his sharp wit and unrelenting ambition, had always been so careful with you. Like he understood you needed gentleness more than anything else.

A shaky breath escaped your lips, and after a moment of hesitation, you whispered, “Someone hurt me. A long time ago.” The words felt foreign in your mouth, like they didn’t belong to you. “Not just hurt. They… they took something from me. And sometimes, I still feel like I can’t escape it.”

Silence followed, but not the uncomfortable kind.

Viktor’s grip on your hand tightened ever so slightly, his fingers curling around yours in a silent vow. His eyes darkened—not with pity, but with something deeper, something unreadable. There was an anger there, not directed at you, but at whoever had left these scars on your soul.

“I see,” he murmured after a long pause. His voice was careful, steady, but you could hear the tension beneath it. Viktor, who prided himself on his ability to understand the world, to solve its mysteries—this was something he could not fix. And that thought seemed to pain him.

Tears welled in your eyes before you could stop them. You hated crying, hated feeling like this. But Viktor made no move to hush you, no attempt to tell you it would be okay when he knew such words were empty.

Before the first tear could fall, he shifted closer. He moved slowly, always mindful, as if giving you the space to pull away if you needed.

“May I hold you?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded.

With a tenderness that contradicted the sharp, brilliant mind always whirring with thoughts, Viktor pulled you into his embrace. His arms wrapped securely around you, his warmth seeping into your skin, steady and unshakable. You buried your face into his shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent of parchment and faint oil.

He didn’t speak right away. He didn’t try to fix it, didn’t try to offer empty reassurances. Instead, he simply held you, his hand rubbing slow, soothing circles against your back, his other threading carefully through your hair.

“I hate that this happened to you,” he murmured, his lips brushing the crown of your head. “You did not deserve it.”

The weight of his words unraveled something inside you, and the tears finally slipped free. You clung to him, shaking, but he never wavered. He held you like you were something precious, something unbreakable despite everything.

For a long time, you stayed like that. Viktor didn’t rush you, didn’t try to fill the silence with unnecessary words. He simply let you cry, let you be however you needed to be.

After some time, when the shudders had eased, he pulled back just enough to look at you. His hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing away the last traces of tears. “I do not claim to know what you need to heal,” he admitted. “But whatever it is, I will be here. Always.”

His words wrapped around you like a safety net, a promise woven into the very foundation of who he was. Viktor had never been a man of empty promises, never one to say things just for the sake of them. He meant every word.

You let out a trembling sigh, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “Just this,” you whispered. “This is enough.”

And Viktor, ever patient, ever kind, simply held you tighter, as if he could shield you from every nightmare, every ghost of the past. And maybe, in this moment, he did.

Because for the first time in a long time, you felt safe.

JAYVIK

The apartment was warm, lit by the soft glow of streetlamps filtering through the window. It had been a peaceful night—until it wasn’t.

Jayce’s hands had been on your waist, his lips tracing a path down your neck, and for a moment, it had been fine. You’d wanted this. You loved them—both of them. But then something shifted, something in the way he pressed a little too close, the weight of him trapping you against the couch. It sent a jolt of ice through your veins, a memory clawing its way up from the depths of your mind. Panic gripped you like a vice.

You barely registered the way you shoved him off, stumbling to your feet as your breath came too fast, too shallow. Your chest tightened, your vision blurred at the edges, and you could feel the room spinning.

“Y/N?” Jayce’s voice was distant, concerned, but it only made the nausea worse.

“Don’t—” Your voice cracked, shaking as you wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to ground yourself, trying to remember you were safe. But your body wasn’t listening.

Then, a familiar voice, steadier, softer, cut through the haze. “Drahý, breathe.” (Dear)

Viktor. His presence was close, but not too close. He stood carefully, his cane in hand, eyes locked onto yours with the kind of patience that had always made you feel safe. He wasn’t reaching for you, wasn’t crowding you—just waiting, offering you the space to come back to yourself at your own pace.

Jayce looked helpless, torn between wanting to comfort you and fearing he’d only make things worse. “I—I didn’t mean to—”

“I know,” you choked out, barely able to meet his eyes before squeezing yours shut. You hated this. Hated that the past still had this much power over you.

A warm hand, tentative but grounding, touched yours. Viktor. He was sitting now, careful, his golden eyes searching yours. “Come, sit,” he murmured, tapping the space beside him. “Let us be here with you.”

You hesitated, but your legs felt weak, trembling beneath you. Slowly, you sank down beside him, his cane resting against the arm of the couch as he adjusted, staying close but not overbearing. Jayce followed suit, hesitant, careful, his usual confidence replaced with concern.

“Was it… something I did?” Jayce asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You swallowed hard, staring at your hands. “No. Not really. It just—reminded me of something.”

Jayce inhaled sharply, as if realizing exactly what that meant. “Shit. Y/N, I—”

Viktor gave him a pointed look, and Jayce stopped, nodding in understanding. This wasn’t about fixing it. This was about being here.

Viktor’s hand, still on yours, gave a gentle squeeze. “You are safe,” he reminded you. “With us, always.”

Your breath hitched, but this time, it wasn’t from panic. It was from the overwhelming sense of love wrapped around you, steady and unwavering.

Jayce exhaled and ran a hand through his hair before resting his palm on your knee, warm and solid. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want. Ever.”

You nodded, still shaken but feeling less alone. Less like you were drowning. Viktor’s fingers traced slow, rhythmic patterns against the back of your hand, a silent reassurance.

“We can just stay like this,” Viktor murmured. “For as long as you need.”

The warmth of their presence enveloped you, a steady reminder that you weren’t alone. Viktor’s hand remained in yours, his touch light, patient, as if he was anchoring you to the moment. Jayce, still hesitant, moved just a little closer, his knee brushing against yours, testing the boundaries of what you could handle.

Minutes passed in silence, save for the quiet hum of the city outside. The steady tick of the clock on the wall gave a slow rhythm to your breaths, helping you count, helping you focus on the present instead of the ghosts clawing at the edges of your mind.

Jayce shifted, carefully, his fingers flexing on his knee before he spoke again. “Is there anything you need? Water? A blanket?” His voice was still thick with guilt, but it was softer now, focused on you, on making sure you were okay.

You hesitated, considering, before nodding. “Water… might help.”

Jayce stood immediately, as if grateful for something to do, and disappeared into the kitchen. The sound of cabinets opening and the faucet running grounded you further, the normalcy of it cutting through the lingering panic.

Viktor tilted his head slightly, watching you. “Would you like to talk about it?”

You chewed on your lip, unsure. Did you? The thought of saying it out loud made your throat tighten, but at the same time, you wanted them to understand. Needed them to know why your body reacted this way even when your mind told you you were safe.

Jayce returned, pressing a cold glass of water into your hands. You murmured a quiet thanks and took a sip, the cool liquid soothing your dry throat.

Finally, you exhaled. “It was a long time ago,” you began, voice barely above a whisper. “But sometimes… sometimes my body remembers before I do.”

Jayce sat back down beside you, his brows furrowed. “That’s not fair,” he muttered, frustration evident—but not at you. Never at you.

Viktor nodded, his expression unreadable, but his fingers gave another soft squeeze. “No, it is not. But you do not have to fight this alone.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, but this time, they weren’t from fear. They were from the sheer relief of being understood, of being loved despite the weight of your past. Viktor and Jayce didn’t ask for more than you could give. They didn’t push. They just stayed.

And right now, that was everything.

VANDER

The Last Drop had always been a place where time seemed to slow down. A haven for the weary, the broken, and the ones who had yet to be whole again. The flickering light from the lanterns cast a soft glow over the mismatched tables and worn stools, giving the place a sort of melancholic warmth. It had a life of its own, one that felt like a lullaby to those who found comfort here. But tonight, the usual chatter of laughter and boisterous conversation was missing. The bar was quieter than usual, and you could feel it in the air. Something was different.

Vander moved behind the bar with his usual fluid grace, his large hands skilled at cleaning glassware and wiping down counters. But there was something more to his movements tonight. The way his shoulders were drawn tight, as if he was carrying the weight of a thousand unsaid things. His eyes occasionally flicked toward you, noting the way you sat at the far end of the bar, your posture rigid, your gaze lost in the grain of the counter beneath your fingertips. You hadn’t even touched your drink, which was unusual for you. Your usual spark, the warmth in your expression that always made you stand out, was missing. Tonight, there was only a quiet storm behind your eyes, and Vander wasn’t one to ignore that.

He watched you for a moment longer before placing the rag down with a soft thud. The sound of it against the wooden bar seemed louder than it really was in the heavy silence. He made his way around the bar, his large frame blocking the faint light from the corner as he settled onto the stool beside you. It was a small gesture, but one that spoke volumes. He didn’t sit behind the counter, creating a divide between the two of you. He was right there, at your level, making it clear that he was present, not just physically, but emotionally, too.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to reach deep into your chest. “You alright, love?”

It was a simple question, but the tone of his voice, the gentle concern in it, made you flinch before you could even stop yourself. It was so small, barely noticeable to anyone else, but Vander didn’t miss a thing. His eyes softened, and he studied you for a long moment, looking for something you weren’t ready to show. You tried to force a smile, but it came out more like a thin line, your lips barely moving, and certainly not reaching your eyes.

“Just tired,” you mumbled, hoping the vague answer would be enough to satisfy him, to make him leave it alone. But Vander wasn’t someone who would settle for half-truths. Not when it came to you.

His gaze didn’t waver. “Y/N,” he said again, his voice low and steady. “You don’t have to tell me if you’re not ready, but somethin’ is weighin’ on you.”

The words hung in the air, heavy like lead, and for a long time, you didn’t say anything. What could you say? How could you explain it all without sounding weak? Without feeling like a failure? But Vander wasn’t asking you to explain. He wasn’t looking for your pain; he was just offering a place for it, a space where you didn’t have to carry it alone.

The silence between you stretched on, filled only by the quiet murmur of voices in the background. Finally, you sighed, the sound raw and full of weariness. You weren’t ready to tell him everything, but maybe you could start somewhere. Maybe just enough to take the weight off your chest, if only for a moment.

“Something happened,” you whispered, barely loud enough for him to hear. Your voice trembled despite yourself. “A long time ago. Before I came here. Someone—” You faltered, your throat tightening as memories flooded back, unwanted and sharp. The images came unbidden—faces, voices, moments you tried to bury deep within yourself. But they always resurfaced at the worst times.

Vander’s hand came down over yours, warm and steady, grounding you in a way no one else could. The simple touch of his palm against your trembling fingers was enough to silence the storm in your chest, even if just for a moment. He didn’t ask you to continue. He didn’t need you to tell him every detail. He just gave you the space to breathe. To be.

“You don’t have to tell me more than you want to,” he said softly, his thumb rubbing over the back of your hand in slow, reassuring circles. “But somethin’ happened to you, and I can see it’s still hauntin’ you.”

You swallowed hard, and for a moment, it felt like the world was spinning too fast. You didn’t want to admit it. You didn’t want to let him see you weak. But it was too much to keep inside. So, you let out a shaky breath and whispered, “It’s not easy to talk about.”

His gaze softened, but there was no pity in it. Just a quiet understanding that went deeper than anything words could express. He didn’t push you. He didn’t demand more than you could give. Instead, he waited, patiently, with the calm strength that was always there when you needed it most.

When you spoke again, it was barely above a whisper. “It’s just... sometimes it feels like it still has power over me. Like no matter how far I go, no matter how much time passes, it’s still there. Still lurking in the back of my mind.” You looked down at your hands, trying to steady them, but they were trembling, betraying you.

Vander’s grip tightened just a little, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you that you weren’t alone in this. “It doesn’t have power over you, love,” he said, his voice firm with conviction. “Not here. Not with me. No one’s ever gonna hurt you like that again. Not while I’m around.”

The weight of his words settled on your chest, a warmth spreading through you despite the cold ache that lingered in your heart. It was like the first breath of fresh air after a storm, the first ray of light after the dark. For a moment, you almost believed it. You almost believed that it really was over, that the past couldn’t reach you anymore. But then the walls you’d built inside yourself started to crack, and the tears you’d been holding back began to fall.

You didn’t try to hide them. Instead, you leaned into him, letting his warmth surround you like a shield. Vander’s arms encircled you immediately, holding you close, strong but gentle. His scent—a mix of smoke, ale, and something deeper, something more comforting—filled your senses. It was the scent of safety. Of home.

“You’re safe, Y/N,” he murmured against your hair, his voice low and steady. “Always.”

And for the first time in so long, you believed him. You let yourself believe him, if only for this moment. Because with Vander, you knew that the darkness of the past could never reach you here. You were safe. You were whole. And in his arms, you had the peace you’d been searching for, even if just for tonight.

Vander didn’t speak again. He didn’t need to. He just held you, his presence a quiet reassurance that you weren’t alone, and that you never would be again.

SILCO

The rain drizzled against the windows of Silco's office, a gentle tapping that seemed to mirror the quiet storm in his mind. His usually sharp focus on the papers before him had waned, his dark eyes drifting, unfocused, to the water running down the glass. The rhythmic sound of the rain should’ve brought him peace, but today it only reminded him of the unease that had taken root inside him. It was an unusual occurrence for Silco, a man whose mind was always a step ahead, never easily distracted.

Y/N had been distant for the past few days, but today… today it was worse. She wasn’t just quiet or distracted. There was a heaviness in her gaze, a sadness that hung around her like a thick cloud. Silco had always been able to read people—had to be, to survive in the underbelly of Zaun. But with Y/N, it was different. Her pain, her struggles, never quite made sense to him. He knew she had a past, one that she rarely spoke of, but he never asked about it. Yet, now, he couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever haunted her had finally caught up to her, and it was something much worse than what he had imagined.

At first, he assumed it was just the stress of their work together—the constant battles with Piltover, the endless scheming, the weight of their shared ambitions. But today, as he watched her interact with the others in the hideout, he noticed small things. The way she flinched when one of the other members brushed past her, her hands trembling just slightly as she reached for a glass, and the hollow look in her eyes when she thought no one was watching.

It was when he had found her earlier in the hallway, almost jumping out of her skin when he stepped too close, that he finally understood. Something had happened. Something more than stress, more than the chaos of their lives. It was deeper. Darker. And Silco had no intention of letting her face it alone.

He had always been a man who kept his distance, preferring to watch and observe rather than reach out. But with Y/N… He had never wanted to be the type of man who ignored the pain of someone close to him. It didn’t matter how cold the world was, or how much the darkness seemed to consume everything—it mattered to him that she was safe. She mattered to him.

A soft knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. He barely registered it, his mind still tangled in worry for her, but the sound was enough to bring him back to the present. He glanced up as Y/N stepped inside, her head down, eyes cast toward the floor. Her posture was small, like she was trying to make herself invisible, and that only made his heart ache more.

She was different now. Gone was the woman who once held herself with a quiet strength, confident and steady. In her place was a shell, fragile and cracked. Her pale face, usually so expressive, was now hollow, her eyes dull with the weight of some unseen burden. Silco could feel his own pulse quicken at the sight of her. He hated this. He hated seeing her like this.

"Y/N," his voice was steady but soft, a rare tenderness in the way he spoke. "Come here."

There was hesitation in her movement as she crossed the room, and Silco didn’t miss the way she kept her distance, as though afraid of being too close to him. It wasn’t like her. He could sense the hesitation, the quiet wariness in her actions, and it cut through him like a blade.

She finally stopped in front of him, her eyes refusing to meet his. She stood there, trembling slightly, as though unsure of what to do. Silco rose from his desk, his presence commanding but gentle as he approached her. He didn’t need to ask what had happened. He already knew. He had known for a while now, even before she had come to him for comfort.

He didn’t ask her to speak. She didn’t have to say a word. It was enough for him to see the way she struggled, the way she tried to hold herself together in the face of her pain.

"You don’t have to carry this alone," Silco murmured, his voice low and smooth, each word measured and deliberate. "Whatever happened… I’m here. You don’t need to keep it buried, Y/N."

Y/N’s lips trembled, her breath shaky as she forced herself to look up at him. Her eyes flickered with an emotion too raw for her to hide—fear, shame, pain. She bit her lip, trying to suppress the tears threatening to spill. Silco could see it all: the weight of her grief, the sorrow she tried so desperately to hide. And in that moment, he knew that she needed him. More than ever.

He didn’t wait for her to say anything. Instead, he stepped closer, his hand reaching out to gently lift her chin, guiding her eyes to meet his. The warmth of his touch was enough to steady her for a moment, to make her feel grounded again.

"You are not broken," he said, his voice calm but firm, carrying a quiet authority. "Whatever has happened, whatever you’ve been through… it does not define you. You are not weak, Y/N. You are stronger than you think."

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, and for the first time, she let her guard down. She closed her eyes, leaning into his touch as a sob broke free from her chest. She hadn’t allowed herself to cry for so long, hadn’t let herself feel the weight of everything she had been carrying. But with Silco, there was no need for restraint. There was no need to pretend to be strong when the pain was too much.

Silco’s thumb brushed gently across her cheek, wiping away the first of many tears that fell. His heart twisted with every drop, but he didn’t pull away. He wouldn’t leave her to suffer alone. Not now. Not ever.

"You’re not alone," he whispered, his voice breaking the silence. "I’m here. I’ll always be here. No one will hurt you again. Not while I’m around."

Y/N’s breath shuddered as she clung to him, her arms wrapping around his waist in a desperate need for comfort, for solace. Her tears soaked through the fabric of his coat, but he didn’t flinch. He held her close, feeling the tremors in her body as she let herself fall apart in his arms. She was broken, yes, but she was also stronger than she realized. And he would help her rebuild, piece by piece, if that’s what it took.

For a long time, they stood there in the quiet of his office, the only sound the steady rain against the glass and the muffled sobs of the woman who had come to mean more to him than he ever expected. And as she clung to him, Silco realized something he hadn’t before: he didn’t just want to protect her from the world. He wanted to protect her from the parts of herself she felt ashamed of, the parts that told her she wasn’t worth saving.

Silco gently lifted her head, his fingers brushing through her hair as he gazed down at her. His expression softened, his usual cold demeanor replaced by something warmer, something rare. "Rest now," he murmured. "You don’t need to carry the weight anymore. Let me carry it for you."

Y/N didn’t say anything, but the way she pressed her cheek against his chest told him everything he needed to know. She trusted him, in a way that felt sacred, and for once, Silco let himself feel the weight of that trust. He would protect her. He would stand by her side, no matter the cost.

For now, the world outside—the chaos, the schemes, the endless struggles—could wait. All that mattered was this moment. Silco and Y/N, two broken souls finding a quiet reprieve in each other’s arms.

And Silco… for all his ambition, for all his coldness, would be the one to show her that even in the darkest moments, there was still a glimmer of warmth waiting to be found.

MEL

The door to the bedroom creaked open slowly. Mel, fresh from a council meeting, entered, her heels clicking lightly against the floor. But something felt wrong—an unfamiliar stillness hung in the air. The usual warmth of their shared space was now replaced by an overwhelming silence.

As her eyes scanned the room, they found Y/N sitting by the window, her back hunched slightly. Mel’s heart tightened at the sight. Y/N’s hands were clasped tightly together, her shoulders trembling, and the soft sounds of stifled sobs drifted toward her.

“Y/N?” Mel’s voice was low and gentle as she moved toward her. She knelt in front of her, carefully reaching out to touch her lover’s hand, noticing how cold it felt. The contact was gentle, like a lifeline, but it sent a shiver of unease through Mel. Something was terribly wrong.

Y/N’s head snapped up at the sound of her name, her eyes red and swollen from crying. She immediately wiped at her face, but it was clear she hadn’t been able to hold it together for long, the rawness of her emotion still etched on her face.

“I’m sorry,” Y/N whispered, her voice cracking with the weight of unspoken sorrow. She quickly tried to mask the pain in her eyes, but it was no use. She couldn't hide it from Mel.

Mel’s breath caught in her throat. She leaned closer, her voice soft, but filled with concern. “Y/N, love, no... Don’t apologize. You don’t need to hide anything from me.”

Mel gently cupped Y/N’s face, her thumb brushing away a stray tear that had fallen, while her other hand rested on Y/N’s trembling arm. The vulnerability in her lover’s eyes tore at Mel’s heart.

“What happened?” Mel asked softly, pressing a kiss to Y/N’s forehead, her touch like a balm to the raw, exposed feelings surrounding them. “You don’t have to say anything you’re not ready to, but I need you to know that you don’t have to go through this alone. I’m right here.”

Y/N sniffed, her chest tightening as she shook her head slightly. She didn’t want to say it—didn’t know how to say it—but the weight of her past was a shadow she couldn’t outrun. She hadn’t told Mel about this part of her life before, and it felt like a secret that would destroy everything if it came out. But the truth was suffocating her, pressing her to confess.

“I…” Y/N began, but the words lodged in her throat. She choked on her breath, her mind racing with the painful memories she had kept buried for so long. “I… I don’t know if I can say it. It’s just… it’s too much. I’m not strong enough.”

Mel sat down beside her, her presence a steady, unwavering comfort. She didn’t pressure Y/N, didn’t force her to speak before she was ready. Instead, she wrapped her arms around Y/N, pulling her close. Her touch was firm and safe, offering warmth and strength.

“Y/N, whatever it is, we’ll face it together. I promise,” Mel’s voice was quiet but filled with certainty, a pledge that she would never leave Y/N, not now, not ever. The words wrapped around Y/N like a shield, grounding her in the love they shared.

For a long moment, they simply sat there in silence. Y/N clung to Mel as if she were the only thing anchoring her to the present, the overwhelming flood of emotions threatening to drown her. And then, finally, the truth spilled out, her voice shaky and small, as if saying it aloud would make it all the more real.

“I was… I was hurt a long time ago. By someone I thought I could trust.” Y/N’s breath hitched, and she turned her face away from Mel for a moment, ashamed of the tears she couldn’t stop. Her heart raced as she spoke, the memories still sharp and painful. “I didn’t… I didn’t know how to tell you. I thought I could bury it, but it’s not gone. It’s… it’s still here.”

Mel’s heart shattered for her, but she didn’t say a word. She simply held Y/N tighter, pressing her cheek against the top of her head. She felt the tremble in Y/N’s body, the silent sobs that wracked her form.

“You don’t ever have to face this alone, Y/N,” Mel murmured, the words both a promise and a comfort. She let her lips brush against Y/N’s hair, smoothing her fingers over the back of her head, her hands gently coaxing Y/N to let go. “I’m here. I always will be. And this, what you’re feeling? It doesn’t define you. It doesn’t change who you are. You are so strong, but it’s okay to feel broken, love. It’s okay to feel anything.”

Y/N’s body shook, the weight of everything coming to the surface. It wasn’t just the hurt of the past—it was the shame, the guilt, the sense of having lost something she would never get back. But in Mel’s arms, she felt a safe place to let go, a place where the dark corners of her mind couldn’t reach her.

“I’m so sorry,” Y/N whispered, her voice barely audible, full of guilt and fear. “I should’ve told you before. I should’ve been stronger…”

Mel pulled back just enough to look Y/N in the eye, cupping her face gently. “No, love, you don’t have to be strong for me. You just need to be you. And you are enough. More than enough. I love you, and nothing in this world, not even your past, will change that.” Her words were firm, resolute. The sincerity in her gaze was clear, her devotion evident in every syllable.

Y/N finally let herself break. She cried freely, her tears flowing without shame, without restraint. She had carried these burdens for so long, but with Mel there, holding her, whispering comforting words, she felt a sense of relief she hadn’t known she needed.

And in that moment, Mel held her—no words needed—just the warmth of her embrace and the unspoken promise that they would heal together, one step at a time.

Mel kissed Y/N’s forehead again, her hand gently stroking her back. “You are not alone in this, Y/N. I will never leave you. Not for any reason. Not for anything.”

The weight of those words, the depth of Mel’s love, was a balm to Y/N’s soul. Slowly, the tears began to subside, but Y/N didn’t pull away from Mel. Instead, she let the quiet comfort of her presence settle in, the warmth of their connection something she could lean on as they faced the future together.

Mel stayed with her, never rushing her to stop crying, never pressuring her to move forward before she was ready. They stayed there, wrapped in each other’s arms, letting the healing begin.

[normal-thoughts-official]

it always struck me as kind of hilarious that you have to pass a 30DC check to convince shadowheart not to kill dame aylin but if you're just like "sure do whatever lol" she chooses not to kill her anyway. tsundere ass fuck. killing is bad unless it's out of spite. i have morals unless you try to tell me what to do

but i just got to that scene in my new replay and it made me realize that that's not what's at stake at all

because the persuasion check isn't "don't do this". the persuasion check is, your life is whatever you make of it. you don't have to do something just because your goddess tells you to.

convincing shadowheart not to kill dame aylin is easy. she knows it's wrong, and she doesn't want to, not really. if given the choice, she is literally unable to go through with it even if she clearly wants to, or wants to want to so badly she can't tell the difference

the problem is convincing her she has an option in the first place

the problem is convincing her that her life is her own

shadowheart has never belonged to herself since she was captured. not in body, not in soul, not in mind, not even her memories. she quite literally doesn't know who she is in more ways than one. she doesn't know her past or her family, she doesn't know who her loved ones are (including the sharran loved ones, like nocturne), all she really knows about herself is a fear of wolves that's been implanted into her by lies and an attachment to a flower she can't remember the details of. and a mission. always a mission. the will of someone else she has to carry on, that is not for her to understand or question or think about. she can't even want to serve shar, because she isn't allowed to pursue her intention to become a dark justiciar. she is supposed to be well and truly nothing, empty as the sharran doctrine

(oh, and pain that she doesn't know the reason of. no matter what, she must bear the pain)

how can she see herself as more than her goddess, when she quite literally doesn't know anything about who she is other than her devotion to shar? how can she choose her own destiny, when she couldn't even choose how to devote and give herself over to her?

she can't, which is why, unless you have infinite rizz points and/or roll a nat20, shadowheart attacks you. not dame aylin. you. and she never argues about whether or not it's the right thing, because she knows. what she's rebelling against isn't the idea of letting dame aylin go. what she's rebelling against is the idea that she could leave her cage and belong to no one but herself. because the idea is scary and she quite literally doesn't know where to begin. which is why her obsession becomes to find her parents, even though she doesn't remember them at all. because maybe they can tell her who she's supposed to be, and she can have the comfort of having her path laid out before her again

(which is also why she has to kill them. not because of some hand hurty curse bullshit. but because she just wants them and selûne to become the new shar, and she has to let that go if she truly means to claim herself again)

and now im sad. because it's easier for shadowheart to do turn against shar and everything she's ever had on the grounds of saving someone else than on the grounds that she deserves better than to be a puppet. even if you do nothing, saving dame aylin, to her, is easy. saving herself is a wholly different matter, one she's not sure she has any right to, or wants to, even if it's what she really needs. accepting a selûnite's humanity is easier than accepting her own. losing everything is easier than gaining her own autonomy. and she will fight tooth and nail to be allowed to stay in her own, metaphorical soul cage

[illubean]

srry I keep doing super long requests so I'll try to make this one shorter.

Illumi, Chrollo, Feitan, and Leorio's reaction gn!s/o or crush who fights by shredding mfs with tooth and claw like some kind of feral animal

they see a cowardly enemy try to run, turn to him and go "hey babe, do me a solid and throw me." so they can drill down onto the mf and maul the shit out of 'em coming back just absolutely soaked in blood.

for bonus comedy maybe they say somethin like "that felt sexy. we should do that more often." or "lmao we should name that move..."

HXH With an S/o W/ Sharp Teeth/Claws

Characters: Leorio Paladaknight, Illumi Zoldyck, Chrollo Lucilfer, Feitan Portor Type: Headcanons, Gn!Reader

up to you if nen makes ur teeth/nails grow or if ur just freaky all the time

Warnings: violence

Leorio Paladaknight

this man is HORRIFIED

YOU'RE SO SCARY

forget him throwing you in battle bro he is RUNNING FOR COVER

the first time he ever saw you maul something like an animal was those damn pigs at the hunter exam

fuck a weak spot you just bit a chunk out of it and it died 😭

"YOU'RE COVERED IN PIG BLOOD!" "Oopsiesss :3"

he is so scared

do not put your mouth anywhere near him he will run away screaming

he shivers every time your hand brushes up against him

poor guy

Illumi Zoldyck

you're like a personal guard dog, forget mike

he lets you take care of whatever business he doesn't have time for

and if he's going on a mission where he has multiple targets he'd bring you just for funsies

its almost like he's walking around with a chain chop at all times

if you asked him to throw you he'd be like ??? ok then CHUCK YOU LIKE A JAVELIN

he thinks it's kinda gross how messy you get especially since it like...gets in your mouth

he's already iffy about physical affection but this man will not touch you until you have been thoroughly sanitized afterwards

he won't even let you step foot inside the house

he WILL hose you down like a dog he don't play

"y'know you should throw me more often!" "only if you're clean before I touch you."

Chrollo Lucilfer

you know when dads grab their kids by the back of their shirts and swing them?

yeah that's how he's going to throw you

at some point it just becomes routine for him to quite literally throw you into battle since you enjoy it so much

why? he has no clue but he will indulge you

and every time its like fnaf jumpscare for your opponent

Chrollo is another one who doesn't like the mess and he rather you stay a safe distance until you clean yourself

the amount of hydrogen peroxide he has to get is insane

bro refuses to let there be bloodstains on ANYTHING and he will do all your laundry too

with gloves on of course

one day you came up to him and were like "maybe we should call that the flying squirrel"

Feitan Portor

he likes your style

you're straight to the point no bs and get shit done

sometimes this little sadist sits back and lets you do all the dirty work because he likes watching you

you guys were occupied with some lowly enemies and you noticed one trying to run off

and when you tell Feitan to throw you he does it with no hesitation (even though I imagine its kind of awko cus yk...hes a small man)

and when you rip this guy apart like some sort of rabid honey badger he's like

heh nice

and when you come back covered in blood and looking like a golden retriever wagging it's tail he is a #proud bf

"we should totally name that move :3"

he doesn't say much but he'll grab your hand and lead you away from the scene

you can't tell but he has a lil proud smile behind his cloak mask thingy

[strlingsav]

Ghost finds reader’s bitch button 🥵🥰 absolutely rails them dumb

Ah yes- another excellent prompt.

Punishment

– Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader

— Your Lieutenant reprimands you with unorthodox methods.

Warnings: Semi-rough sex. Explicit sexual content under the cut. Read at your own risk.

Your heel tapped rhythmically against the floor, attempting to keep yourself calm amidst the chaos that was about to ensue. Your arms were crossed over your chest, staring at the blank wall of Lieutenant Riley's office, waiting with torturous anticipation for him to arrive.

You'd been reprimanded before; it wasn't the threat of punishment that had your hands trembling, or your throat dry, it was Ghost. His refusal to see the truth to the circumstances- you were right, he was wrong. He'd never admit it, never kneel to anyone beneath him, but you were just as hard-headed. You were prepared to fight tooth and nail for what was right.

He'd left after ordering you to his office, likely meeting with Price to discuss reasonable punishment for your offence. Your jaw clenched at the thought of the two men discussing the issue at hand, without your input. No doubt, Ghost would misconstrue the truth, and hide his own mistakes behind the guise of giving you the benefit of the doubt.

The door opened; at any other time, you would've turned to meet his gaze, offer an inviting smile, but not now.

"Sergeant," Ghost's voice boomed around the corners of the office, hitting your ears like a goddamned wall. "Fucked up, this time."

He moved around you, heavy boots thudding on the ground as he took a seat in the chair across from you.

"All due respect, Lieutenant, I'm not sure you're seeing the big picture."

His eyes were dull, narrowed as you expressed defiance. You could practically outline the scowl beneath the mask when the words left your mouth.

"That so?" He hummed, nodding. "Maybe you ain't seein' the big picture," He said. He slammed his fist against the desk, which ordinarily would've spiked your blood pressure, but you'd been on edge for far too long already. "Outright insubordination," He paused, "And actin' like a fuckin' git."

You inhaled deeply, your nostrils flaring as you tried to contain your temper. Your usual tells of frustration were worse than they'd ever been; your eye twitching, lips pursed, fingers digging into your skin, your temperature rising by the second.

"That's what you think," You said, leaning forward. "Your ass would've been on the block if I hadn't stepped in."

"That's what I know- don't care about anything else."

"You aren't-"

"Shut the fuck up, Sergeant," He growled. "'M gettin' tired of babysittin' you. You need to get your shite in order."

You set your jaw again, your eyes honing in on his with a venomous glare. He must've noticed your glare, the tell-tale signs of a short fuse about to blow.

"That piss you off?" He asked, leaning both elbows on the desk.

"To be candid, Lieutenant, you are pissing me off."

"Good. I have half a mind to do your fuckin' head in."

You could hardly stand it now- the pure rage enveloping every nerve. You were burning hot, his words covering your entire body with sizzling anger. You grimaced, standing to your feet. You towered over his seated form, and his eyes followed you with frustrating nonchalance as you rose above him.

"You don't know what the fuck you're talking about. Should've left you, you ungrateful prick," You spat. "Am I dismissed, or are you not done getting off yet?"

He was quiet, almost calm- it worried you more than you'd let on. When he lost his temper, the shouting and swearing was tolerable, understandable. It was the silence that sent a wave of nausea over you, made your heart fall to your gut.

"You finished?" He asked, leaning back in his chair.

You fixed your posture, standing up straight as he eyed you down.

You nodded, curt and sharp.

"Sit down."

Your tongue ran over your teeth, a mechanism you developed to hide whatever expression was threatening to ruin your cover; in this case, a flustered frown.

"Y'saved my arse, but you went against a direct order. Can't have that, not in this line o' work."

You nodded again, staying silent as your arms guarded your chest.

His tone had turned soft, almost understanding, empathetic. The contrast threw you off- you wanted to run, escape the small room before you fell victim to the unfamiliar, muted cadence in his voice.

"I understand," You spoke up, levelling your eyes with his. You wanted to be resolute, not give into the vulnerability between you.

"Not sure you do. Not yet, at least."

You tried not to appear intrigued, interested in his train of thought. Your brow quirked up, seemingly on its own.

"Don't think a standard punishment is fittin' for you."

You were concerned now, and it was branching out to every limb; heavy and suffocating, strangling your previous agreement to remain stoic.

"What's that mean?" You asked, trying to conceal the tremble in your voice.

"Means- I think you're actin' out, feelin' frustrated, pent-up." His expression remained unchanged, watching you closely. "Think you want my attention, Sergeant. All my attention."

You felt your jaw fall slack, unsure whether he was truly suggesting what you were interpreting. Your stomach lurched at the thought of your Lieutenant showing you attention. You'd seen the defined muscles of his arms, no doubt you'd thought about how big he was, how his hands felt on your waist when he corrected your form; but you'd never imagined it would come to fruition.

"What are you suggesting, Sir?" You asked, desperately hoping your tone sounded offended rather than interested.

"Think you'd benefit from some discipline. Not a thought in that fuckin' head. Doin' just as I ask, just as y'should."

You breathed deeply, nearly choking on the saliva pooling in your mouth. The heat had drained from your outer body, targeting the susceptible organ between your thighs instead. You couldn't help but clench your thighs together, desperately aching to sate your suffering.

"I don't know what you're asking of me." A lie- one told brazenly, in front of your superior, who could see right through the innocent facade.

"You do." He leaned closer. "Don't be daft."

Your brows furrowed, "I'm not."

"You choose. Can have you on guard duty for the next month instead."

"What would you have me do?" You asked, your eyes falling to the desk in front of you.

Your chest was rising and falling quickly, given away by your forearms that lifted and fell with every breath. You were sure your eyes were watery with arousal, desire seeping through the cracks in your composure. You were quickly falling apart under his gaze, with the temptation of his offer.

"Get on your knees."

Your head shot up to his gaze, your lips parting in shock.

"I'm- I-," You stuttered, caught between the desire to comply, to obey, and the stubbornness rooted inside you.

"On your knees," He said again. "Right here." He nodded to the floor in front of him.

You thought you were too dignified to kneel before him; it was supposed to be the opposite- but a small part of you wanted it; letting go, relinquishing control for just a fraction of time.

Regardless of the anger festering in your gut, the offer was damn near irresistible. It sent shivers up your spine, a flush of heat to your groin- and the grudge you'd been building became a distant memory. You were at a crossroads, not entirely sold on the idea for many reasons, but in the moment, you wanted to please him, do whatever he asked of you in hopes he might return the favour.

You swallowed the lump of integrity trying to claw it's way up your throat, standing to your feet once more. You'd already made it around the desk, standing before him as he glanced up at you expectantly.

Your fingers trembled with hesitation, knees buckling under the weighted pressure of his order. Finally, you caved. In spite of all your adamant attempts to show your strength, your resilience, you knelt before your Lieutenant.

He leaned back further in his chair, eyeing you down.

"Think you like pissin' me off," He announced. "Hopin' I'd catch on and treat you the way y'really want."

"Sir, I-"

"Good start," He interrupted. "Keep it up and I might just reward you, Sergeant."

Your nostrils flared, desperately trying to inhale enough oxygen to fight the lightheadedness.

"Tell me what you want," You uttered.

Your confidence had been shattered; you'd been reduced to a submissive vessel to be ordered around. It made you sick- but really, you were shaking with excitement.

"I want you," He leaned in closer. "To put that smart mouth t'good use."

You were dumbfounded, unsure whether it was a test, another scenario he was running, an experiment. But as he leaned back again, shifting his thighs to accommodate you, you knew that wasn't the case.

You gulped, your hands apprehensively reaching for his belt, your eyes locked on his the entire time. You studied him for any sudden movements, treating him like a stray dog that could bite at any second. It wouldn't be unlike him, to bait you into feeling comfortable, then latch onto the most vulnerable parts of you with a glimmer of sadistic pleasure in his eyes.

He liked you on your knees, vulnerable and pliable. He didn't often see the side of you that listened, that let him have control. You fought him on every damn detail, found something to argue over. Here, he had control. You'd agreed to let him have it, of course, but it was a glimpse into the part of you he knew only he could ever have.

You undid his belt, zipper and button opening after that. You should've known better than to expect anything less than the large imprint against his briefs, a wet spot forming above the head of his cock.

He'd been thinking about you for years. At first, it was nothing more than an appreciation for your attractive appearance. Simply put, he could see past your beauty and behave in a normal manner around you. It became more difficult when he grew to know you, your stubborn attitude, brazen defiance in the face of bullshit.

He appreciated a soldier with good sense, especially one that wasn't too much of a boot-licker to speak up. He didn't appreciate the obvious insubordination, but you'd been good at falling in line before that. He could see your confidence, your ability to hold your own.

After the tipping point, he couldn't fight the fantasies in his head. He'd wonder what exactly you looked like under the Kevlar vest and layers of mud and grime. He'd wonder if you thought about him, too. Specifically, when you touched yourself, if you'd ever imagined him when you climaxed.

It drove him mad, not knowing what was going on inside your head. His suggestion came after a few instances of insubordination that created tension between the two of you. He may not have known what you were thinking, but he could see your tense disposition. The way you stared at him, your thighs clenching together when he'd call you out.

You liked being reprimanded by him. His station excited you, he excited you- and he knew it well. He would never abuse his position; he'd offered you an out, and you decided against it. With his suspicions confirmed, there was nothing stopping him from simultaneously putting you in your place and enjoying the fruition of his fantasies.

Your eyes glanced up at him quickly, a look that was laced with hesitation. He enjoyed making you squirm, work for his approval. So, he stayed silent, waiting for you to finally obey him.

You did, to his utmost satisfaction, and peeled his briefs down off his carved hips to expose his cock. He hummed quietly with gratification, watching your eyes widen at his size. He knew he was well endowed, and could hardly contain himself at the thought of you struggling to breath with his cock down your throat.

You licked your lips, an inadvertent response to the sight before you. Your eyes lifted to his, and he reached his hand out, letting it rest on your cheek with an uncharacteristically delicate touch. He guided you forward, until you were perched above his lap, your hands on his knees, waiting with your stomach churning and heart pounding.

Then, he moved his hand to grip your hair, tugging you closer to his cock, until your lips pressed against the slick head. You opened your mouth, letting his cock slide inside.

He groaned. Letting his head fall back as you took his cock deeper, hitting the back of your throat. Your body lurched with a gag, leaving him breathless when your throat closed around him.

"That's it," He grunted. "Choke on it, just like that."

Your cheeks heated up with embarrassment, saliva dripping from the corner of your lip. His eyes were glued to you, watching your eyes shut as you forced yourself to take him as deep as possible.

"Look at me," He ordered. "Let me see those pretty eyes."

Your eyes fluttered open, watery from lack of oxygen and the stimulation of your gag reflex. You kept your eyes on his as you suctioned your lips over his cock, your tongue flattening in your mouth as he slid in and out with the movements of your head.

He leaned forward, his hands wrapping around your jaw and the crown of your head as he forced you up and down on his cock. He grunted hoarsely, harsh breaths leaving his lips as he listened to the sounds of your mouth. He tapped your cheek gently with his hand, making you flinch softly.

"'At's a girl," He muttered. "You keep goin' 'til I say so."

You hummed against him, a whimper of pure arousal. You'd already felt your panties become wet, an accumulation of desire that was seeping from you the more he made orders.

"Y'look fuckin' good on your knees, sweetheart, with my cock in your mouth." He fought to speak between deep breaths.

You nodded, nearly unnoticeable, but continued moving your lips up and down his cock, your tongue massaging the places you could reach. You could feel every vein, every ridge on his cock with your tongue. The saliva in your mouth made it difficult to keep quiet, vulgar noises echoing around the small room.

You were a mess, saliva dripping down your chin, tears rolling over your cheeks. You sniffled softly, gasping for air through your nose.

He lifted your head with your hair, yanking you up. You gasped, sucking in a deep breath.

"Take off your shirt."

You pursed your lips, your brows furrowing as you sheepishly tugged your shirt over your head. His eyes followed, watching you toss it aside, moving his gaze to your breasts still hidden behind your bra.

"Bend over my desk."

You gulped- waiting for a moment, until he stood to his feet. Then, you rushed to do as he asked, letting your pelvis hit the desk.

He stood up behind you, pressing his cock into your ass. His fingers reached beneath you, undoing your pants before he yanked them down your thighs. He kicked your foot, making you stumble and spread your legs.

His hand landed on your ass, calloused palms massaging roughly.

"Been on my nerves, Sergeant," He uttered from behind you.

His hand left a harsh slap against your ass, eliciting a yelp from your swollen lips.

"Please, Lieutenant," You whispered.

You were trembling with desire, your legs hardly strong enough to continue to hold you up. You collapsed against the desk, your cheek pressed to the cool metal.

"What's that?" He asked, leaning over you.

"Please- just-"

In the midst of your sentence, his fingers trailed down your ass, before sliding inside you. It cut you off with a guttural moan, your back arching into him.

You could hear the sounds of your desperation, your pussy squelching around his fingers as he hooked them inside you.

"I was right," He said, pride lacing his tone. "You like bein' punished, don't you, sweetheart?"

You whimpered, your ass moving side to side against his groin. His other hand came down on your ass, another slap that made you flinch.

"Yes," You nodded, pushing yourself into his touch.

"This cunt's drippin'," He chided. "Couldn't deny it if you tried."

You held back a sob- overstimulated, desperate, wanting.

"Put your hands on your back."

You did as he asked, completely overcome with desire to fight against his orders anymore. Embarrassment didn't cross your mind, you were beyond aroused, reduced to pleading for him with your whimpers and whines.

"Y'listen well with my fingers in you." He asked. "Finally straighten you out, ain't that right?

You felt the head of his cock replace his fingers, teasing you as he slowly pushed inside.

"Yes please," You whispered. "Yes- yes."

He hummed with satisfaction, before burying himself completely inside you. His hand grabbed a hold of your wrists, pinning you to the desk as his cock grazed your cervix.

You were rendered speechless, your mouth open with a gasp.

He groaned, "This cunt is tight, sweetheart. Might need to stretch you out."

You shut your eyes as he rolled his hips, his pelvis meeting your ass with a force that drove you against the desk.

Your moans were high-pitched, clenching your stomach as you were rammed against the desk. Your arms ached as he held them behind your back, holding you down.

His skin slapped against yours, and he watched your ass bounce on his pelvis. His eyes were glued to the dip of your waist, watching you writhe beneath him as he thrusted into you.

His free hand slid between your thighs, and he hunched over you to massage your clit with his fingers. Your body went rigid, tense with pleasure and overstimulation. It was too much and not enough at the same time, fighting your own body to let you climax.

Despite the uncomfortable table, you could relax in his hold. You trusted him to take care of you. He was rough, seemed uncaring- but you knew better. You'd seen the way he looked at you, the way his eyes lingered. It was undeniable, the chemistry, the sexual tension you could practically taste. He'd always had your back.

His hips rolled against you, hitting your ass with a force that shoved you against the desk. Over and over, he dove deep inside you, lost in his own pleasure until you let out a grunt.

"Ghost-" You choked out.

Saliva dripped onto the table in front of you, your cheek sliding back and forth through the tears that had accumulated.

"Sweetheart," He cooed, another attempt at luring you into a false sense of security. "You close?"

You nodded, unable to form a coherent sentence beneath him. His cock dragging through your walls, his fingers still rubbing slow circles over your clit.

Your pussy fluttered, your eyes shutting and jaw clenching as your orgasm began.

Then, Ghost stopped.

You whined in protest, letting out a huff of anger and exhaustion.

He leaned over you, his lips by your ear.

"You ask to cum," He ordered. "Or you too fuckin' dumb already?"

You shook your head; compliance was the only sure way to get what you wanted- even under the haze of complete submission and arousal, you could understand the game he was playing.

He moved his hips again, his fingers returning between your thighs. You were a bit more sensitive now, having been deprived of your climax, your body twisted against him, itching for relief.

You could only pant against the desk, his chest pressed to your back, still holding your hands so far up your back your shoulders ached. You could hear his heavy breathing in your ear, the mutters of praise leaving his lips.

Every sniffle, every whimper, he chewed up and devoured- he was beyond satisfied, watching you crumble underneath him. After this, he knew he'd have you on a leash, obeying every order, every command, if only for a little while. He'd have no qualms about repeating your punishment.

"Ghost," You blurted out. "Can I cum?" You squeezed your eyes shut.

He waited a few moments before answering, leaving you teetering in the balance, forcing you to concentrate.

"Go on," He said.

You let out a long exhale, pleasure drowning out every other thought aside from his cock moving in and out of you, his heavy hand on your pussy. Your entire body was rigid, frozen beneath him while your orgasm overtook you.

"That's it," He drawled.

His thrusts were slower now that your pussy was clamped down around him, though once you'd recovered, he sped up his pace again.

Your squeals and pleas fell on deaf ears, and he rutted into you until he released himself over your ass.

You exhaled as he back away, running a rag of some sort over you to clean you up.

"Expect you'll be fuckin' tip-top next week," He said, zipping up his pants before sitting back down.

"Yes Sir," You nodded coyly.

"Not t'say I won't be seein' you before then."

His eyes stared you down, watched you closely as you tugged your shirt back over your head.

"I'll be sure to keep an eye out," You said.

He nodded; an understanding.

You slid your pants back up your thighs, giving one last look over your shoulder before slipping out through his office door.

[revelboo]

my god how much do u write its like almost everyday i see i new fic (say this as i check tumblr daily lmao)

hope u still do sum hand and wrist stretches, take care of ur hands cuz they the ones who bring these pieces of poetry to us 🙏

but ur brain the main boss, so tace care of urself op

🤣 There’s a reason I post these like they are rather than the actual, detailed long form bits I’ve posted a few times. These are like my notecards for my manuscripts, hitting the high points I need to remember, but not bothering to flesh out a lot of the filler. I can type up a short form scenario like this in a few minutes if I want to. I try not to spam a ton at a time.

It Had to Be You Pt 5

TF One Megatron x Reader-Connection

• He’s aware of you all the time, even when you’re not near. You’re an itch in the back of his processor, snagging him and claiming his attention. Distracting him. None of his followers know about his little human yet and he intends to keep it that way. You’re too small. Too fragile and completely dependent on him for survival. Rummaging through the packages in his hand, he lets himself into his quarters. Knows his Decepticons must be wondering what he’s up to, why he’s always shutting himself away. He wishes he knew.

• He’s back. You hear the heavy sound of those peds and curl into a tighter ball among the blankets. If you pretend you’re asleep he might leave you alone. You know he won’t, though. Peeking out, you watch him drop a handful of packaged food in a corner of your cage and your stomach growls even as you hold your breath. Praying he just goes away. And you still try to claw away, kicking as he reaches in and picks you up. Groaning as you shove at his servos and hating the way that disjointed sense that you know him jangles through you every time his metal flesh touches your skin. It’s a lonely ache that echoes through you, calling to you even as you resent it. Resent him.

• That sense of peace, of rightness, washes over him as he cages you between his servos and vents, optics shuttering. Whatever this is that chains him to you, you either can’t feel it or are fighting tooth and nail against it. But he knows you can’t win. He couldn’t either. The two of you are tied together in ways he can’t understand, that ancient ache only abating when he can touch you, feel you against him. Something in you soothing his very spark when he should hate your weakness, your dependence on him. “Be still,” he growls, carrying you to his berth and stretching out. This too has become a routine as he pins your soft form under his servos so you’re sprawled on his chassis over his spark so he can soak in that warm sense of connection.

• You’re drowning in him, can almost swear you can feel him and not just physically. It’s like there’s a door shut between you and you want to tear it open even as it terrifies you. Those big servos lay heavy across your back, pressing you flat. The hum and heat of his internal systems rumbling through you. Part of you wants more, to press your cheek to his warm hide and just give in. Relax. Your heart begins to race as panic begins to claw its way up your throat. You don’t want to feel so safe in his hands, like this is exactly where you belong.

• “Calm, little human.” A servo slides over the back of your head as he focuses on the feel of your breathing and the frantic beat of your heart against him. You try to wiggle away when he slides his servos under the back of your shirt, strengthening that connection and feeling his spark thrum as that imbalance settles. As soon as he breaks the contact, it’ll be back, but for now he feels whole. For now, it’s enough.

Previous Next

[meowmeowriley]

Unhinged and unnecessary HC to rationalize the punk Ghost skin incoming!

It's not Ghost. Ta da! Listen. Listen. I understand. Ghost, being someone devoted to the crown, wouldn't wear the anarchy symbol. And if given the comic backstory (as I always will) Ghost most likely would hate punk music because of his father.

So why punk Ghost? It's not Ghost. It's his son. His and Johnny's. Maybe he's blood, maybe not. Doesn't really matter. They raised the boy. He's theirs. And he resents the crown and the military for how it broke his fathers. Maybe he lost them both, either together or at different times. Maybe they died in the field, or in the hospital due to complications from an injury they got on the job. Maybe they didn't even die, they were injured and dismissed and tossed aside like trash. Whatever the reason, he's angry.

So he joins up with some men who stand for everything his fathers didn't. Fuck their militaristic peace bullshit. It starts small, protests and parties mostly. But then as he finds himself getting closer with the others, he's asked to take part in some extracurriculars. Raids on police and military caravans. Harmless, he tells himself. Good even, they're preventing those in power from enforcing their tyranny, he rationalizes. Things get more radical the longer he's in. Things escalate. He's in too deep. They're a resistance group. They fight back. He looks back on the combat training his fathers pushed on him at a young age more fondly now, as it served him and his purposes well.

He doesn't see how he's exactly like his fathers, won't let himself. But he is. Just a man who follows orders and fights tooth and nail. But he does love his fathers. He misses them. He takes up Simon's mask and Johnny's hairstyle, incorporates them into his look. Makes them his own. An attempt to honor them, despite their different stances on how to do good.

A mission, he's stopped hating when they're referred to as missions a while ago, has himself and his team breaking into a military research facility to investigate and destroy what they found. A new weapon to hurt innocent people, he was sure. Except it wasn't, exactly.

Teleportation? Couldn't be real. He read the files with an air of disbelief. He was distracted, rookie mistake, a scientist gave him a shove, he fell into the teleporter. The man shouted something about finally having a human test subject and slapped his hand down on a button. A flash of blinding light enveloped him, and suddenly he found himself in a hallway. Disoriented, he walked about, trying to figure out where he was.

A man in a bucket hat rounded the corner ahead of him and stopped, looking him up and down with an exasperated sigh. "Ghost what the fuck are you wearing this time?" Ghost. His dad's callsign. This man thought he was his dad. What would his dad do in this situation.

He narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. That should do it. Thankfully his sleeves were down covering his tattoos. They were different from Simon's and could've given him away.

"Whatever. Come on then." The man kept walking and he did his best to imitate Simon's walk. His mind raced, an obvious military man thought he was his own dad was worrisome, as the old man was gone, and he needed to get away without arousing suspicion. He'd have to play along then.

That plan went tits up the second he followed the bucket hat man into a room and found himself face to face with his fathers. His fathers who were able bodied and young, same age as himself.

The teleporter hadn't just sent him somewhere else, but had sent him back in time as well.

Johnny roughly ripped off his mask and slammed him against the wall. "Who the FUCK are you?!" Simon menacingly slid a knife out of his sleeve and deftly twirled it around his fingers. Right. They weren't his dads yet, just the crowns attack dogs.

[featherstorm2004]

You ever think about how AFO probably has a lot of resource trauma considering his past, like I can't get over the fact that when we see a toddler-ish aged AFO he was noticeably more malnourished than his brother signaling that he probably only ate the bare minimum to survive in order to keep his sickly twin alive.

And I wounder if deep down that caused some subconscious resentment to from in him against Yoichi as they grew up. Like how some siblings who take the protector role in abusive environments can go on to resent the other sibling that they were protecting because 'they had it easier', that could probably explain why when they got older AFO seemed to overcorrect with him treating himself to luxuries whist Yoichi was kept in such poor conditions.

Like he still loved Yoichi and wanted him near him but he might've also resented him for the fact that he wasn't the one who had to constantly fight tooth and nail for them to survive. So, that's probably why he never took Yoichi's love for hero's and being kind seriously since he probably saw it as a result of his brother never having to deal with the 'real world' the way he did so just brushed it off as being naive.

And I just can't get over what that would do to a kid, like imagine a toddler coming to the realization that he has to starve himself in order to prioritize his siblings health. That's got to be traumatizing and I can just imagine AFO working to provide for the both of them even through illness, injuries or whatever because he new he couldn't afford to be sick or truly take a break and relax.

idk man it keeps me up at night.

[coffeegnomee]

What exactly are the lifesteal cycles? What does that mean?

I have no idea why the cycles are so hard to describe but like literally idk. they just are. they're like the sun and the sky. like the tides coming in and out. the seasons returning year after year. they come wether you want them to or not. poems can be written about them and never scratch the surface.

there will always be those who feel the cycles beating like a drum in their hearts, and they will always fight to preserve it. if nobody cared or if nobody liked the cycles, lifesteal would cease to be lifesteal.

there are two cycles. the small scale cycle of if you kill someone you gain an heart and if you die you loose a heart. and the large scale of the world ending at the end of each season.

it's too easy to say the small scale cycle is simply a cycle of revenge. it's not that. it can be that but that's not what it is. it's more the cycle of story. if you have a story thread you can pull on, the cycles encourage you to pull on it. and the cycles encourage that to be violent or a troll or an instigation. something to continue the back and forth of story threads.

the large scale cycle is that everyone starts the season fresh and clean, but then the players ruin it. murdering and greifing and killing and dying. the heart economy gets so bad some have near 100 hearts while others have only the max craftable. all this murder and bloodshed and alliances and betrayals and a mid season plot has dictated who cares the most this season and has set the stage for the end game. but it's not about the players not deserving the server because they are too violent. it's actually the opposite of that. it's bigger than that.

in the end one person or group rises from the bloodshed to end this server. by total destruction, removing all the revive resources, getting op, or banning everyone. this is the cycle. it must end. and it must end in war. everything must be destroyed or all the players banned.

the world enders fight to save the server by destroying it. if nobody cared about this final cycle, lifesteal would cease to be lifesteal. s5 nearly saw its destruction. one side thought they could end it in peace and expected to win. but if they won without a fight this would have been anathema for the server. unnatural. if lifesteal ever ends in peace that will be the end of lifesteal.

it must end in a bitter battle, fought for by the world enders, fought against by the resistance. the players prove they deserve the server by caring enough to show up and die. you fight for what you believe in, even if there's no hope.

in the finale you encounter your deepest self. what you are willing to do, how much you're willing to fight back against what you think is evil. you get a measure of who you are. what your limits are. and you get pushed past them. you learn the meaning of fighting for what you believe in, the true meaning. tested by all the resistance the world enders can push upon you. and they learn themselves to. for the same reason.

i think this is why it takes a full, start to end, season for a new member to understand lifesteal. they must begin innocent and safe, no more or less prepared than the best pvper. then the cycles press against them, start showing them how they really react to things, what they're willing to do, how much effort they're really going to put into it.

but during the season there's the ebb and flow of lore, sometimes it's the craziest best week of your life and then there's a month in between. parrot or bacon said that about the cycles actually. like the cycle is that ebb and flow.

but in the finale it's also a week(ish) but there is no continuation after. everything you've said and done all season comes together. you have to put your money where your mouth is. no more talking, no more threats, no more saying you'll do this if they do that. Whatever ending you want you have to fight tooth and nail for and there's no do overs, no second chances. and suddenly you know who you are.

and the next season everything is different.

[newsfromstolenland]

some of the most infuriating talking points about Palestine are the ones that are like "well x group never attempted armed resistance against colonial occupation". because I can promise that whatever group you're referring to, you're wrong

I've specifically heard it about Indigenous people across "canada" and Indian people. which.

Indigenous people fought back!! they still fight back!! and as an Indian person I can tell you that my ancestors fought the British tooth and nail, we revolted and killed our captors and many of us died but so did many of them

so before you try to rewrite history to make Palestinians seem inferior for fighting against genocide and colonist occupation, please do the bare minimum of historical research. the rest of us fought back to, and they have every right to do as we did.

a few examples off the top of my head: the Lakota people, the Cree, Indians, Algerians, the Irish, South Africans, I could go on

and quick question. do you support Ukrainians fighting the Russian army? Then why not Palestinians? what's the main difference here? 🤔

[diejager]

I can request yandere! König and yandere Ghost?

She used to be a soldier before she was kidnapped by them, so she uses what she learned to beat them and escape from that room she was locked in.

Although she can't find the exit

No Escape Cw: DARKFIC, kidnapping, yandere, possessive behaviour, obsessiveness, nonconsensual drugging, basement wife, tell me if I missed any.

You learned that compliance was a better choice in this situation, having fought tooth an d nail against them only to be punished and had your privileges taken away from you. You started in the basement, waking up confused and disorientated, throat dry and head heavy from the substance König and Ghost used to drug you. You trusted Ghost, having worked with him so often - too many to count on both your hands and feet - and learned to put your trust in him to watch your back and protect you.

You, however, couldn’t say the same about König, you didn’t trust him, he was the enemy, someone you and Ghost had fought so many times, shot and wounded time and time again —only for him to come back stronger, more determined and more dangerous. Yet they worked effortlessly together rather than fight on every decision, they’d work through their differences, barked and fought but they clung to the thought of having you to themselves. It was the driving force behind their cooperation.

They took you, locked you away in the darkness of a home in Austria (an idea they both agreed to, Austria was farther and calmer, less populated and you wouldn’t be able to get help if you escaped, a stranger to the country’s spoken language) until they deemed you compliant enough to let out. You threw snide remarks, leering comments and a disrespectful and bratty attitude to push the act, to have them believe you weren’t thinking of playing them.

You were punished for every act of noncompliance, Ghost was cruel but he didn’t beat you, he used words and training —dog training, to train the disobedient mutt out of you. He did just enough to stop you from always biting, but never too much that you lose your feistiness, the aspect that made keeping you interesting and fun. König was more direct, holding you down and making you listen to him, he went without beating or training you. He had firm hands and he knew how to use them, praising you whenever you did something well and giving you privileges like going to the bathroom, showering alone, taking a walk outside or sleep in a bed.

Compliance had worked so far, they were lost to the domesticity of having a soldier turned housewife cook for them, care for them and give yourself to them. They had grown so used to having you at their beck and call, giving you whatever you wanted: books, food, a bed, a Tv, but never your freedom. That was something you had to work harder for, to pull them deeper into the delusion of your love and subservience towards them. You went unsupervised for long periods of time at home, leaving the doors locked and windows shut whenever they left.

And today seemed like the right time to move, you’d been warned by Ghost that they would be gone for a while for a joint mission (SpecGru and KorTac had somehow formed an impossible alliance), leaving you home alone with enough food and ressources to last a year. You watched them leave, their cars driving out in the distance and disappearing behind the trees once they turned the corner. You waited an hour, and hour of patience in case they came back for an emergency or because something in the plan changed, but you didn’t hear the tell-tale sound of car engines or the imposing steps up the porch.

You scoured the house, eyes roving over every little crevice and hands feeling the walls for any weaknesses. The windows were bolted shut and the grates made of hardened iron that were simply too sturdy for you to cut through without the right equipment, and the doors were locked from the outside, both men holding the only copy of the key. You wanted to keep forcibly unlocking the door as a last ditch effort because it would take more effort than needed to pry it open. So you searched the house, up the attic and down the basement, and their individual offices, who unfortunately had every drawer locked with a master key.

As you broke apart a few pins to make a lock pick, you heard two cars drive up the driveway, the loud rev of the engine and the angered slam of a door. You cursed, swiftly moving down the stairs and into the hidden corner of your reading spot, hidden by the arch between the indoor porch and the kitchen, away from the entrance’s sight. You hadn’t prepared for them to come back home —a mistake. You’d picked a random book, flipping through the pages and acting as if you spend the time reading, hoping that they wouldn’t grow suspicious.

“Come here, love,” there’s a dark edge in his done, a deep and angered growl. “Now.”

They knew. Not only were you too late, but you were caught as well. You’d lose all your freedom, your privileges and your soft affection, replacing them with the cold and damp air of the lonely basement. You bit your trembling lip, stopping yourself from spitting at them and worsen your punishment. You felt their disappointing and wrathful gaze without looking at them, it oozed off their broad shoulders in waves.

“You know what you’ve done, ja, Bärchen?” König sounded more disappointed than mad, his tone on the edge of condescension, his blue eyes dimmed with sorrow.

Ghost was quick to grab you, handling you roughly against his chest, gear and vest scrapping your skin. He had you down the basement stairs and chained to the mattress in seconds, a leather collar wrapped around your neck. He scruffed you, pushing your nose into the musky bed and thin sheet of your new room, glaring down at you with deep browns, his chest puffed with angered breaths and throat rumbled with menacing growls.

“You’re stayin’ here until we see you’ve learned your lesson.”

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @havoc973 @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @danielle143 @dont-mind-me-just-existing-sadly @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @kaelysia @notspiders

[lovers-rck]

Abby when my period RAAHHHHHH

ok i know this request was about something smutty but i happen to be on my period and it came out a lot softer than i had intended so I APOLOGIZE..... smutty abby coming soon (we hope)

but enjoy

☆

"do we have those chips that we ate the other day?"

the christmas lights that are taped to your bedroom wall with tape stolen from your ex-roommate are slowly peeling off. abby looks at them.

"uhh... the orange ones?" she says, her gaze returning to the computer in front of her.

"yes" a mild pain settles in your abdomen; a warning of the upcoming colic.

"lev ate them all" abby's fingers type rapidly, the word counter increasing second by second.

"oh my god" you protest, more from the upcoming pain than from the chips "tell your child not to eat my food"

abby laughs lightly without stopping writing "it's not my child, for your information" thousands of daggers attack your abdomen "i'll buy you more tomorrow".

the pain takes your breath away. your body twists in on itself like a little bug looking for warmth to soothe the pain.

the pain lasts for a minute or so, but you can swear it lasted hours; your body is the trojan horse and the warriors inside your belly were out to fight tooth and nail, but against yourself.

your mouth lets out a moan of pain and abby turns around. she sees your body curled in on itself, your face contorted in winces of pain and she could swear she'd buy you all the chips you wanted if it would ease the pain.

abby gets up from her chair and her stocking-clad feet with your face stamped on them scurry across the room. your valentine's day present.

she gave you a t-shirt that reads "my girlfriend is better than yours".

"are you okay?" abby mentally beats herself up for asking such an obvious question "do you need anything?"

you shake your head and feel the warmth of her hand on your shoulder "just a second".

abby nods even when you can't see her. the pain lingers for a few more seconds, leaving your body for short moments and then fiercely attacks again.

"this is lev's fault" you joke, and abby knows it's her cue to go along.

her body climbs onto the bed, her muscles navigate between the sheets and blankets resting on the mattress, her freckled skin finds yours and her arms capture your body, enveloping it in a warmth that can cure all ill.

"no" you mutter "you have to finish the essay abby".

you try to pull away from abby, to detach yourself from her alluring warmth. that essay has been dwelling in abby's mouth, between her molars and gums, for months. you remember the countless times abby mentioned to you how important that essay was, how it could ruin or resolve her life, how nervous and anxious she was.

basically, it was very important.

but abby is abby, and she's a very committed girlfriend "don't be stupid" a breeze of freckles and moles comes back to invade you and press you against her body "it's my break".

you roll your eyes, abby never took breaks, but you decided to grant yourself the right to be a little selfish about her future and say nothing, resting your head on her chest, listening to her heartbeat.

abby's fingers dance through the fine hair on your head, untangling imperceptible knots and combing through each strand, blessing it with her warm touch belonging to a movie summer. you remember the time abby asked you if you were jealous of the sun that kissed her skin and caused more and more freckles with each passing summer; you laughed and tapped her shoulder playfully.

and to your stupidity, you did feel a little bit jealous

"you know what, i have the theory that every time you kiss me i get a new freckle" abby had said, she had sunglasses on but you could feel her gaze on yours "maybe you can test it"

that summer you gave her a million kisses.

"Do you want some painkillers?" abby mumbles, her words vibrating in her chest.

"i can handle it" you look at her. she's grimacing "what?"

"whatever" abby says and her breath hits your face.

wait a moment.

"stick out your tongue" you say

"what?"

"just do it!"

her hand rests on your lower back, her fingers make small circular motions, your chest bumps against hers.

when abby sticks out her tongue, you can see how it is slightly tinged orange.

"you ate the chips!" you yell.

abby's cheeks redden slightly and her laughter is loud. her body vibrates under yours.

"you're a liar!" you say, a smile growing on your face against your will "you fucking liar!"

abby continues to laugh and her hand comes to rest on the back of your neck, drawing your lips to hers.

she laughs some more and kisses you, slow and sweet with a disguised apology unraveling on your lips. abby opens her mouth wider and you can taste the salty taste of your stolen food.

"you're a liar" you whisper against her lips, her hand still on the back of your neck, holding you against her "i'll tell this to lev."

forehead to forehead, you can see abby's eyes narrow at your smile "i'm sorry" abby whispers too, leaving a small kiss on your lips "can you forgive me?"

she scatters small kisses all over your face: down your cheeks; the bridge of your nose; the bone of your cheekbones; the corner of your mouth; over your eyelids.

"please?" abby murmurs, her fingers caressing your cheeks "huh?" you slowly deny, a smile escaping from the corner of your lips "you don't forgive me?"

you deny again, and abby's mouth meets yours again. she kisses you so slowly that you forget for a second the stabbing pain of the colic attacking your body, you feel drunk, lost in the wetness of her tongue searching for a home in your mouth, so delicate and erotic at the same time.

"and now?" abby murmurs, her pupils dilated, her hand on the back of your neck.

"that's manipulation" you whisper, feeling her heart beat stronger.

she shrugs, caressing your jaw and neck "I just use the tools I have at my disposal"

you smile and leave a kiss on the tip of her nose "you forgave me?" she continues.

"i'm considering it" you murmur, and the blonde girl's lips invade yours again.