#I don’t want nor need a rundown

[amandayetagain]

be a student 🗣️🗣️🗣️ escape fandom drama by studying/doing finals 🗣️🗣️🗣️ watch tv 🗣️🗣️🗣️ escape fandom drama by binging something 🗣️🗣️🗣️ be a reader 🗣️🗣️🗣️ escape fandom drama by finishing those 10+ ao3 tabs, find out you really like an author, and open 8 more 🗣️🗣️🗣️ be a writer 🗣️🗣️🗣️ escape fandom drama by daydreaming scenes 🗣️🗣️🗣️ be flighty 🗣️🗣️🗣️ escape fandom drama by treating tumblr like an on and off relationship 🗣️🗣️🗣️ be unlucky 🗣️🗣️🗣️ escape fandom drama by having both your main exes showing up/inserting themselves into your life 🗣️🗣️🗣️ be unlucky again 🗣️🗣️🗣️ escape fandom drama by having collegeboard LOSE your AP exam accommodations 🗣️🗣️🗣️ be a bad bitch and make money 🗣️🗣️🗣️ escape fandom drama by having a job 🗣️🗣️🗣️ be a rangers fan 🗣️🗣️🗣️ escape fandom drama by watching hockey games

[personwhowrites]

Diner Adventures

Task Force 141 x gn!reader. (Platonic or romantic?)

Having to work at a small diner basically in the middle of nowhere wasn’t easy. It wasn’t even worth the pay, nor the customers. It was always some sort of ghost diner, cars passed it thinking it’s abandoned. You did tell the manager to fix the sign so maybe more people would come in.

Since, you being the only waitress, you never stressed out. Restocking was barely a thing needed, most of the time you spent it talking to a cook or down on your phone. Hoping that maybe one or two customers would come in into the diner.

Finally, one night looking down at your phone you hear it.

*ding*

Four men walk in, looking around before finally spotting you. You froze, it wasn’t just any average customers you would get late a night.

“Miss?” A Scottish accent spoke up breaking you out of your trance. “You open?”

You blinked a couple times before opening your mouth to speak. “Uh.. yes, sorry uh.. how many..?” You uttered out knowing it was just four of them. “Oh.. uh you guys want the bar or booth?”

“Booth.” A stronger voice spoke up and pointed to a booth. “That one will do for us.”

You grabbed the menus and walked over to the booth. You couldn’t help but side glance at them multiple times. They were freaking you out, it was obvious to them as well.

One of them placed a pistol on the table. The other two set their gear down on their laps, rolling their shoulders back before picking up the menu. The last one, that seemed to be the leader of the group took his hat off, ruffling his own hair as he stare at the window.

“Smoking allowed here?” He asked glancing at you now. “Don’t worry, they aren’t loaded.” He gestured to the guns. “I believe.”

“I..uh yeah smoke zone of the diner is the one you’re sitting at..” you spoke out, your eyes glued down to your notepad now. “What can I get you all to drink?”

“Coffee for me” the same man speaks up. “For those two muppets some sugary drink.”

You glanced up to see him pointing to a mohawk man, and another male wearing a baseball cap with the UK flag. Nodding you wrote down their drinks, then turned to the scary skull mask looking your way.

“Tea.” The masked man utter out. “Three sugar, packets on the side.”

You awkwardly nodded and backed away quickly as they turned their attention to the menus.

“Talk about freaks..” The cook said as you grabbed the drinks. “Who comes into a diner dressed like that.”

“Watch the tone.. At least we finally have someone in this dump.” You reply and look at the cook. “You can finally prove that you can cook.”

The cook rolled his eyes before glancing at the four men sitting in the booth.

“They don’t look American to me..” The cook points out. “That one guy with that cap, had a uk flag on it didn’t it?”

“They did sound… off, but who are we to judge?” You reply with a small smile. “I mean we are just three, counting the manager in the back working at some rundown diner.”

“Point taken, that Mohawk dude is looking over at you.” The cook says turning to the mild hot stove. “Think he’s into you?”

“Or probably trying to get my attention to order.” You say grabbing the tea. “Toss me some sugar packets.”

The cook shrugs and throws you some sugar packets. You mostly catch some of them, the cook chuckles as your clumsy hands. Setting the hot coffee on a tray with the two other sugary drinks felt odd. Something was odd about those four men. Their accents, their.. clothing style, I mean it wasn’t often you seen men like these in the diner.

Picking up the the tray that held the drinks you walked over. Setting it down in a booth behind them, you grabbed the drinks handing them each to them. You took out your notepad and smile, a fake smile they saw right through.

“So you fellas ready to order?” you asked holding the pen. “Or do we need more time.”

“We never been to a place like this before.” One perks up looking at you. “So, what would you rec—-“

“Ky—Gaz.” Another spoke putting his hand on the table. “What did we say in the car?”

“Sorry, Price.” Gaz says looks up from the menu. “Just, what.. on earth is a Nashville chicken on a waffle?”

“Oh, uh.. it’s some chicken tenders covered in a spicy tangy sauce.” You say before pressing your lips into a thin line. “..on.. top of a waffle..”

“You Americans eat that shit?” The mowhak man says before being elbow by his masked friend. “What! I mean it sounds disgusting.”

“Johnny.” The man spoke side eyeing him.

“It’s true aint it! Look at the photo doesn’t even look appealing!” The guy blurted out again. “Also Johnny? What happened to soap huh? Has our lieutenant Ghost finally losen up?”

Lieutenant? Wait.. are these men in the army? Your mind rushed to thoughts finally connecting the dots. That explains the gear, and possibly loaded guns on their laps and table.

“Ignore them..” Price says grabbing your attention again. “I’ll take some normal pancakes.”

“..normal how?” You say looking at him. “Like.. you want plain butter milk pancakes or uh.. something on them? Like berries or some kind of sweet?”

“What pancakes do you have?” Price breath out while looking at the menu. “..Christ..you have a lot.. uh..” he paused for a moment and pointed to some fruity strawberry pancakes. “Just bring me these.”

“Okay..” you mumbled out writing down strawberry pancakes. “For the rest?”

“You sell burgers?” Soap hummed while skimming through the menu. “Like ones that aren’t pure American grease?”

“Mactavish.” Ghost warns looking at soap.

“What, listen I’m on a diet.” Soap says looking at Ghost. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Or you’re just some picky eater.” Gaz charms in and looks at you. “I’ll the blueberry pancakes.”

“I’m not picky! Just.. look at all of this… on the menu..” Soap says and sighs looking at you. “Do you even know how much calories this all is?”

“On the bottom of the dish it lists the calories and what’s on the dish.” You reply now annoyed by soap. “I can just get you some salad.”

“Offend.” Soap scoffs and stares down at the menu. “Just get me something that doesn’t have a lot of calories.”

“So a salad.” You noted and looked at him.

“No something with just low calories.” Soap replies and slid the menu down.

“..a salad is the lowest calories we have.” You hiss now irritated by his actions.

“Or maybe a burger.” Soap grin noticing your irritation.

“Which one?” You asked in the most fake voice. “Because we have several.”

“One with the lowest calories.” Soap says and looks at his friend Price. “..actually just some pancakes…”

“..just get him a the highest calorie shit on the menu.” Price spoke out glaring down at soap. “Add everything on that burger.”

“I’ll take some pancakes too.” Ghost mumbles out to you. “Just plain ones.”

You nod, grabbing their menus and walking away. You can hear Price whisper yelling at soap. A small smile creeped on your face hearing at least he has friend or teammates that set him straight.

“What do they want to eat?” The cook asked as you approached him with the menus. “Well?”

“Pancakes and a burger with… everything..” you say and sit down in the high chair connected to the bar. “Well technically one stack of plain pancakes, a stack of strawberry pancakes and a blueberry stack pancakes.”

“Pancakes..” the cook mumbled out annoyed. “Did you even find out why they’re dressed like that?”

“From what I heard, something with the military.” You reply getting out the chair to help the cook set the batter of pancakes out onto the stove. “I know their names are Soap, Gaz, Price and Ghost.”

“What type of fucking names are that?” The cook uttered out before glancing at you. “You sure that’s their names?”

“Don’t know, but they call each other that.” You shrug and go to the nearby fridge. “Gaz let it slip that they aren’t from here tho.”

“Really? Where do you think they’re from?” The cook replies and presses down on the patty. “They look like those tea drinking Brit’s.”

“Now that you mention it..” you mumble looking at the four men who are all talking within themselves. “Their accents do sound British except for that soap guy.”

“Still can’t believe that’s their names.” The cook chuckles and looks at you. “What are you thinking?”

“..could be code names? You know like those cheesy movies?” You snickered with a grin. “Like I never thought that shit is real.”

The cook just shrugged and turned to focus on the food. Meanwhile, Gaz got up from the booth and wondered close to the open kitchen. Hearing you and the cook talk about them, their accents and names. His eyes narrowing as he heard you laugh about such an important thing to him.

“You think those guns are loaded?” The cook asked. “I mean, hey at least they would have the American sprit.”

“They are.” Gaz spoke up crossing his arms. “Where’s the bathroom?”

You immediately jumped and looked at Gaz before pointing to the bathroom. Gaz just walked away shaking his head, before you looked at the cook. He stare back at you before bursting out laughing with you.

When the food was finally done, the cook helped you take it to their table. They all gave you some glares, no words were exchanged in the process. You awkwardly took their drinks and refilled them, walking back you paused to hear them talking.

“Just drop it Gaz.” Price says shaking his head. “We just eat, pay and continue with our mission.”

“How can I? They’re speaking shit literally right in front of us.” Gaz hisses as Ghost rolled his eyes. “Is this how everyone is at America?“

“Hey at least we know that it’s not only graves.” Soap jokes and bites his burger. “On the other hand this burger is good.”

“Pancakes aren’t bad ether..” Ghost admitted while pouring more syrup on the pancakes. “Just enjoy the food.”

Price noticed you not far away and clear his throat. You walked over and set down the refilled tea, and two sugary drinks. Gaz just glared at you, before being kicked by soap under the table. Gaz glare now to Soap, as you stare at them.

“..listen, I didn’t mean to offend anyone here.” You mumble in an apologizing tone. “It’s just, we never seen folks like you four.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Gaz snaps his head to you again. “Is it before we are different! Because we are ‘tea drinking Brit’s’?”

“Okay, maybe we did judge.. but we just neve—“ you try to speak but Gaz interrupts again.

“Save it, leave us to eat in peace.” Gaz hiss while grabbing his drink. “Go now.”

You stare at Gaz, before shaking your head. Turning away you hear them mumble something to Gaz.

A couple minutes pass and you hear them laugh. Or two or the four men laugh, the smell of cigarette being lit up caught your attention. The cook glanced up from his phone and stare over at the men, before looking at you.

“You need a break?” The cook says in a teasing tone. “Even though you always are on break.”

“Shut up..” you reply with a small smile. “How about you?”

“All good here.” The cook boomed as he looked down at his phone. “I looked up their bandages, I got a close eye to them when I helped you with the food.” He pauses for a moment and grins. “These four men are more important than we think.”

“Really?” You perk up leaning over to see his phone. “How so?”

“Saw a badge that said SAS.. and I googled it.” The cook said pulling up an article. “Special air forces, something from the British army.”

You stare down at the article, reading though it before glancing at the four men.

“..huh..” you mumble and sigh. “Well doesn’t matter now, they hate our guts..” you pause to get out of your seat. “I’ll just hand them the check so they can leave and we can all forget this ever happened.”

The cook just shrugs as you walk away to the front counter. Printing the ticket out, you glance at them as you make your way over.

“Here’s the check.. you guys can pay whenever you’re ready.” You mumble and place the check down. “Again I’m sorry if me and my friend offended the four of you.”

Gaz just scoffs and Price gives you a small apologetic smile himself. He takes out his card to pay, but Ghost beats him to it. Handing his card first and looking at Price with a small prideful stare.

“Don’t sweat it.” Price speaks up and looks at you. “Just.. watch what you say. The smallest things can bring you enemies love.”

You just nod and take Ghost card back to the front counter. You slide his card, paying for the food. You walk back with a copy of the receipt and a pen.

“Sign here, and uh.. you guys can leave at anytime.” You say and walk away quickly to the bathroom.

Ghost just nods and signs the receipt. Gaz takes the pen and starts writing in a napkin, soon soap takes the pen and does the same onto another napkin. When you returned back from the bathroom they were gone. The plates were stacked neatly and there were four napkins with handwriting from each of them. The cook walked over and glances at the napkins and then notice the tip on the receipt.

“Who the fuck just blows over a thousand on a damn diner.” The cook mumbles grabbing the receipt. “Are you seeing this?”

In fact you weren’t, you were too focused on the napkins. Their handwriting was so different from each other, their notes as well.

“Don’t judge too easy.. and tell that cook to mix the pancake batter better next time we come by.” -Gaz

“The food was great, sorry for annoying you. It was funny to see your nose scrunch up when I annoyed you. Hope you don’t mind that when we come back.” -Soap

“Saw you needed a cigarette, sorry I didn’t offer you one. Maybe next time I can.” -Price

“Try to catch the sugar packets better next time. I wanted three not two.” -Ghost

You smiled at the napkins and looked up to see them get in their car. They all glanced at you, before Price patted the car for the men to load up and get ready to leave. You turned your attention back to the napkins, before slowly noticing something in the edge of every napkin. Their numbers…

[1whore1gang]

it’s the little things🤍

hey y’all! this is part 6!!

catch up HERE

sorry this took so long to get out to y’all, been working like crazy and had some writers block, BUT IM HERE TO FEED YALL

warnings: SMUT SMUT SMUT SMUT SMUT SMUT

MDNI!!!

Taglist: @gaymistakeboi@batw3nch@thedevillovesflowers@almightywdm@ghostslittlegf@sketchyfandomgirl@under-the-dirt@clear-your-mind-and-dream@darkangel4121@vreselia@llemes @stargaliz @rockcollector3000 @nottrosaxx

as always please yell at me if i forgot you!

You lay in your cot, your body aching from the long days of hard work. You had just gotten back from a shift, your phone ringing as your back hit the fabric. You had super shotty service, so a call coming throigh was a miracle.

“Hey baby, I hope you’re well.” You swiped to answer the call. It was your John.

“Hey honey, just tired as hell.” You chuckled a little as you laid on your side, placing your phone next to you.

“I know you don’t have much time to talk and need your rest but I wanted to not only hear your voice but let you know I met the babysitter today. She cleared the background check and she loves the boys.” You could hear his smile in his voice.

“That’s good.” You replied, your eyes closed as you felt your body relax to his voice.

“She’s young, 19. She’s a spritey thing, lots of energy. She’s bubbly and super great with the boys. Her name is Tia. I think she’ll be good for them, be able to keep up.” He sounded excited, and you were happy he’d found a girl you could trust to watch the boys.

“I’m glad babe, hopefully they don’t chase her away. How much is she charging? Is she staying on base?”

He chuckled, “I’m paying her so don’t you worry about the money doll, as for her, she’s staying in my room. I’m giving my room a deep clean and washing my sheets before I leave.”

“She’s sleeping in your bed?” You opened your eyes at this and propped yourself up on your elbow.

“Yeah, comfier than the couch.” He said it so casually, but it somewhat bothered you that some babysitter was sleeping in his bed before you were. Yes, you chose not to, but it still bothered you, the idea of a much younger woman sleeping in his sheets, using his room for herself. “Baby?”

His voice broke you out of your thoughts. “Yeah, but the couch isn’t too bad. I’ve been sleeping on it. I would prefer it over my current situation.” You heard John laugh a little.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be out there before you know it, I’ll make sure you stay comfy and get rested. Tia though-“ He continued to ramble on about how Tia did with the boys and what he thought of her. He spoke about how she’s coming again so he can give her a rundown on everything she’ll need to know, and make sure she doesn’t have any questions. He said he’s going to spend the day with her and the boys so she can get acquainted.

It bothered you a bit. You knew deep down it was nothing, John wouldn’t sleep with a 19 year old, nor would he cheat on you. Right?

“But, I’ll let you go my love, get some rest. I’ll see you in 4 days.” You big your goodbyes as he hung up.

You quickly fell into a deep sleep.

“Lieutenant! Get your ass up and get to your post!!” You woke up to Captain Snyder’s voice booming. “You’ve got 20 minutes until your shift, get moving.”

“Yes sir.” Your voice was hoarse as you arose from the rough cot and threw on the missing pieces of your uniform you didn’t sleep in. Your eyes were heavy as you hobbled to your post, taking the jeep to the embassy.

You noticed your soldiers were in a similar state? you were all starving and restless. Some soldiers had been sent home because of their sickness, being considered critical. You did your best not to push your squad, letting them take breaks and rest up, but more and more were falling ill, including yourself.

Unfortunately, being the leader, you weren’t allowed to go take a break or go rest up to feel healthy. You had to push through and manage, and that had caused you to become a shell of yourself. You had continued to lose weight, lose energy and motivation, even feeling i’ll yourself. You weren’t able to eat from lack of appetite, anything you ate came back up within an hour.

You felt like death, and you were scared for John to see you this way, but he was bringing backup to replace the soldiers who had been rushed to hospitals.

At night while you were watching transports, you dreamed of him getting off that plane, the way his arms would save you from the trouble you’d endured here.

The worst part of this mission though? Captain Snyders team was completely fine. They were all healthy, rested and none of them had fallen ill. They weren’t being pushed like your squad.

There was something fishy here and you couldn’t put your finger on it. You didn’t have the energy to even put thought into it.

You were so close to John’s arrival, only 36 hours until he arrived. You were on duty when you were checking someone into the embassy and you felt your field of vision turn black. You grabbed into Private Frag next to you as you felt yourself begin to collapse.

You woke up 32 hours later. Captain Snyder was in the med tent with you and the nurse. He looked pissed. “Lieutenant, nice of you to join us. What the hell were you thinking?! You have a crew to take care of!”

“I’m sorry sir, I haven’t been feeling myself lately.” Your voice came out so quietly, your voice lost somewhere.

“No excuses L.T. You’re here because I recommended you. Your commendable leadership in previous missions was what got you here. Your behavior on this mission has been unacceptable, and therefore you’ve been sentenced to 24 hour duty. You will watch the embassy starting tomorrow at noon, and finishing the following day at noon with no breaks.” You felt your breath catch, there was no way he expected you to do that in your condition. You could barely speak! Barely move!

“Sir, I don’t mean to talk back but-“

“Then don’t speak.” You felt the feeling of crying, but no tears came due to your dehydration. “You are allowed the rest of today to rest, but I want to see you well and alive tomorrow at noon at the embassy’s back entrance to begin your shift. Now, if you excuse me I have to go welcome to incoming squad and Captain Price.”

You sighed at his name, your John was here. You began to breath unevenly, emotion taking over you, but you were too tired to cry. “Sir, if I could just-“

“No Lieutenant. You will not speak any longer. You are to remain silent when I am in your presence. I do not want anymore inexcusable behavior from you and if there is, I will be forced to punish you accordingly.” He was stern as he threw his cap on and exited the tent.

You felt helpless as the nurse shushed you and began to administer more fluids into your IV and tried to give you some food.

A couple of hours later, you were up and walking. You were hardly doing it, but the nurse needed the bed for a soldier who had gotten a stomach parasite while in the desert. You were on your way back to your tent when you saw Captain Snyder.

His cocky smirk made your stomach sink. “Lieutenant! I see your back to your normal self!” He landed a hard pat to your shoulder, making you nearly topple over.

“Sir, please, I really need a couple of days to recover, I’m not well.” You looked up at him with your droopy, sunken in eyes.

He laughed. “You think I’m going to allow you that? I am your superior and you are going to listen to me. You answer to me and take orders from me. If I tell you you’re fine and to fulfill your 24 hour tomorrow, that’s what you do. Clear?”

“Captain, sir, please-“

“I said clear?!” His voice echoed as he shouted in your face, his grip tight on your upper arm.

“Sir-“

“I’m sorry.” You heard a cocky voice fill your ears. “What did you just say?” It was a voice that began to fill your soul with life.

“Captain Price.” Snyder kept his grip on you as he turned. “I was just telling my Lieutenant here-“

“Your Lieutenant?” John chuckled lowly as he slowly stepped closer, foot by foot.

“I am her Captain now, she takes her orders from me.” His grip tightened on you as he straightened himself to stand taller. You whimpered at the brusing grip of his fingers digging into your skin.

John’s laugh brought your eyes up to him. Your knees about gave out at the sight of him. He was in full uniform, his guns hanging from his hip, his boonie cap hanging low on his forehead. “Last time I checked Captain,” He spat the man’s title. “Her vest says 141, so does her file. That makes her my Lieutenant.” John cocked his head to the side as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“You are not apart of this mission Price.” Snyder kept his arm on you, almost like his bruises in your arm would claim you as his property.

“Get your hands off my officer before I lay mine on you.” John’s voice was a growl as he threatened Snyder. “Now.”

You felt the fingers dug into your arm slowly release as you wobbled, now standing on your own. You fully faced John, seeing him fully. His gaze softened at your state. “She will only ever take orders from me, her Captain. She will not take anything from your mouth. She is my Lieutenant, and will report to me and only me.” He gently grabbed you as he escorted you to your tent, leaving Captain Snyder speechless.

“Oh Y/N, my dear.” He set you on your cot, coming to sit with you, letting you lean against him. “What is happening here?”

You sniffled as you took in that homey scent of him. The sweet cologne mixed with cigar smoke. He was here, your John was here. “How’re the boys, I miss them.”

“Oh your voice-“ He began to draw circles into your back as he ran his hand through your hair, shushing you. “Don’t talk, save your energy to rest, love. I’m so sorry this is happening.”

You look up at him, staring into his eyes. “Kiss me.”

He doesn’t hesitate to follow your instructions. His lips meet yours briefly, yet the kiss was so full of love and care. “Darling…”

“John?” You said.

“Yes dear?”

“What was that out there?”

“What was what?” He cocked his head, raising his eyebrows as he stared down at you.

“Your Lieutenant?” You smirked, kissing him again.

“You are mine. That man has no right to talk to you that way. Only I can boss you around, only I can order you around. You’re mine.” His eyes darkened as he spoke, his voice a low growl.

“John?” You cooed.

“Yes Y/N?” His eyes were hooded as he looked at you.

“Make me yours.” John flinched forward to kiss you but quickly stopped. “John?”

“I don’t wanna break you. You’re so pretty and you don’t feel well.” His hand caressed your cheek.

“I don’t care, wreck me.”

John’s whole demeanor changed as he roughly captured your lips with his, his hands groping around your body, holding on tightly.

“Look at ya, all needy for me.” John’s voice ran shivers up your spine as his breath tickled against your neck.

His lips left marks all over your neck as he began to rid you of your shirt. “Lemme see ya-“

“John-“ His eyes met yours as you began to breath quicker in anticipation. He looked at you as you nodded and he quickly left you without a shirt or bra.

His hands massaged your breasts as his mouth took home on one of your nipples, sucking and playing with it. His gums of satisfaction caused sparks through your nerves. You let out a few quiet moans, and at that he made it his job to bring more out of you.

He loved that sound and wanted to drink it in, hearing it over and over. You put your hand in his hair as he continue to give your breasts attention, but you needed him elsewhere. You took his wrist in your other hand as you let it to your center. “John, please.” You begged.

His eyes were blown out as he looked up at you, practically ripping your pants off as he took his stance between your legs, his face inches from you. “You’re soaked baby.” Two of his fingers dragged through your folds. “All ready for me aren’t you?”

Those two fingers pressed inside of you, moving around, feeling the way you felt. John let out a moan at the feeling, beginning to scissor his fingers to stretch you out. “Gotta make you comfortable baby.” His fingers then pumped in and out of you slowly as his mouth latched into your clit.

You let out an unholy moan at the pressure. “John!” His name kept leaving your lips along with strings of curses.

“You gonna cum for me doll?” His voice had a hint of teasing to it, having you coming undone so quickly. “Do it, cum around my fingers, all over my mouth.”

And you did. His beard was coated with a glaze as he sat up and began to undo his belt. “Come here sweet thing.”

His thumb guided your chin as you sat up, mouth open and ready for him. “Mmm, that’s a sight.”

“I love you John.” You said with doe eyes, staring up at him from the edge of your cot.

“You’re gonna really love me in a minute baby.” He pulled his boxers down and freed his hard cock, it springing free in front of your eyes.

You stared as he pulled his pants all the way down and discarded his shirt. His cock was large, but it was beautiful. It had a vein running up the bottom of it, curving up slightly and his pink tip was shiny with precum. You licked your lips as your left hand rested on his thigh, your right wrapping around his base.

You heard his breath hitch at the contact and you looked up at him as you took him in your mouth, then locking a stripe up the bottom of his cock. “Fuck baby, yes.”

His hand came to dig into your hair to guide you along him, you sucking and pumping him to absolute ecstasy.

His groans were music to your ears. You continued to keep eye contact as he began to take control little by little. You felt his hand gently push against the back of your head as you took him deeper and deeper into your throat.

You could tell he wanted to fuck your mouth. You pulled off of him with a pop and brought his face close to yours. “John honey?”

“Yes?”

“Do it.” John let out the most gorgeous moan at your words as he stood back to his full height and tightly held your hair. He shoved his dick all the way to the back of your throat, causing a small gag to come out of you.

He was singing your praises as he stayed there. “That’s it baby, relax for me.” He spoke slowly, calmly.

Continuing to take deep breaths, your nose was buried in his hips until he moved, and he moved quickly. His pace was reckless and you could feel a bruise forming at the back of your mouth from his tip abusing it. The sounds and grunts coming out of him were dirty and it made you wet thinking about how his cock would feel inside of you.

Your hands squeezed his thighs as you felt him begin to stutter. “Fuck.”

He grabbed your shoulders as he lifted you up and bent you over the small desk in your tent, quickly shoving himself deep in your pussy. “So fucking tight, mm.”

He paused for a second, breathing through teeth. “Fuck baby, relax a little.”

His thumb rubbed your lower back as he felt you become more comfortable with his size. He bummed as he began to move, slow at first.

He grunted as his arms crossed, hands grabbing your hips to reinforce himself as his hips began to quickly snap against your ass. You were a moaning mess as his balls stimulated your clit. “Fuck! Yes!”

“Who do you belong to?” He said it between grunts and the question caused you to moan in response. “Who’s. Are. You.”

“Yours! I’m all yours John!!” You we’re shouting, the pleasure he was giving you was out of this world.

You felt the coil in your stomach tightening as he continued to plow into you. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum.” You said, your legs beginning to shake.

“Cum for me darling.” A couple more thrusts and you were a mess under him, your hips were beginning to ache and your legs were jelly.

“I’m close.” He growled lowly, grunts pouring from his mouth as his hips moved sloppily. “In or out?”

You couldn’t even respond as he continued to wreck your insides. “Baby, I need to know.”

“In.”

John released as soon as the word left your mouth, filling you up. His pulled his cock out and quickly shoved two fingers in you, keeping his cum from leaking out. “Look at how pretty you look all fucked out.”

“John…” Your voice made him switch immediately, removing his fingers and swooping you up in his arms as he put you on your cot.

“I’ll be right back, I promise.” John kissed your forehead, leaving the tent.

You laid in the afterglow waiting for him to return, and when he did you began to tear up. He walked in with your favorite pajama pants and one of his hoodies and a towel.

He was dressed in his pajamas as well. He cleaned you up, helping you into the clothes he brought you. “I couldn’t come see my girl and not bring her something from home when I leave.”

He laid down behind you, your back against his chest as he pulled your hair into two braids, out of your face. “I really do love you John.”

“I love you too, and don’t let Snyder get to you. I will take care of it okay? You will be here resting as long as you need before you’re healthy again. I won’t let him mistreat you anymore. You’re my girl.”

You turned to look up at him as he planted a long kiss on your lips. “I won’t let anyone hurt you ever again.”

You kissed him again before settling in against his chest. “Thank you…”

“Always my love.”

[jolalibrary]

undercover peña

javier peña x f!reader

as promised, here's a snippet (50 or so lines) from this writer wip poll game and undercover peña won! so, here we have it. it currently doesn't have a working title, but the premise is:

Javier, who has left the bureau and is now back in Texas wants a simple life. But, when Steve offers him a job to go undercover with a fellow DEA agent, posing as a married couple to gather information on a potential new player, he finds it difficult to refuse.

warnings: none, except my unedited writing.

All he has to do is pretend. Put on an act.

Wear something shiny on his left hand and—

“Try not to fuck her, Jav.”

He’s not surprised that Steve heads up a department in Miami—nor that he’s happy, content. A glow to his skin, he suspects, isn’t just from the sun, but knowing his wife is able to sleep and getting the chance to watch his daughter grow older.

Javier couldn’t relate—not that he’d admit that.

Picking up a ring, he rotates it between his thumb and finger as he snorts. “Wouldn’t be very husband-like of me, if I didn’t, would it?”

He’s nudged. An intentional elbow to the side makes him grin as he places the ring back into its velvety spot. Because none look right. None seem right—even for a fake thing.

“Fake husband. And don’t fuck this up.”

“I’m hearing a lot of don’ts and not a lot of do’s, Murphy. What the fuck is it you want me to do?”

He’s already been told, informed. Briefed.

Handed a file—everyone expects he won’t read—and given a rundown of what the operation is supposed to look like. But Javier knows better. Suspects, Murphy does too.

One thing Colombia has taught him is that plans don’t mean shit, not when you’re up against an ever-evolving problem.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Murphy closes his eyes. The same noticeable twitch in his fingers and chewing inside his cheek that Javier can relate to: the sign of a recent quitter, and one attempting to use gum as a replacement.

“Where is she, anyway?” he asks, shifting the conversation.

Needing too.

Before he’d even got on the plane out here, the tension had been too much. Already beginning to fray him at the edges, as sleep began to be a distant friend. That had just been following the initial phone call.

It hadn't mattered that he thought he'd be okay, his body said otherwise. Remembering—it all coming back to him. The aches, the knot in his stomach. Then there was the way a space had begun to be carved inside of him, a place where a piece of his soul he suspects is meant to be, but was long lost when hunting Escobar.

All of it was made worse by the worried look on his Pop’s face.

“You managed longer than I thought, Javi.”

Even though he had known it wouldn't matter, he had still tried to explain. That this time he was doing his friend a favour, that it was a one-time thing—a few weeks, at most.

It didn’t shift the expression—didn’t stop the disappointed lines bleeding into worried ones, mixing with the ones caused by age. It didn't lessen the tightness in the air, because they were both at a standstill in the centre of a formerly (albeit temporary) happy home.

Sighing, Murphy drops his hand—beginning to gesture, somewhat wildly—likely about to tell him he wasn’t sure.

Javier had been told (on numerous occasions) that you were good, brilliant, the only one he’d trust.

He’d been about to begin unpicking those earlier statements when the door opened, red blouse and black tailored trousers clicking their heels towards him.

It wasn't anything cliché. Time doesn't stop—the room doesn't silence. But something happens. Something shifts, changes—alters.

Because usually, a woman's figure is what he will admire first, but he finds that it's your eyes that he meets first.

And fuck do they cut into him. Practically reach towards him, before they go through him, digging into flesh and fucking bone.

Then, ceasefire, a chance to strengthen his facade as you turn to greet Murphy. But, he swears he can still see them behind his lids. Something which makes his jaw tighten, teeth grind—

“You must be my husband,” you say commandingly. Body turning to him, hand sticking out towards him—adding your name to the statement as though stamping it into the air. “Agent Murphy has told me a lot about you.”

an: dedicated to @psychedelic-ink who is lovely and wonderful, and seemed as excited about this as me.

[billlydear]

BASIC BIOLOGY - BILLY HARGROVE X READER (PART TWO) | PART ONE | PART THREE

word count: 7396 // masterlist | inbox (please request) | WIP list

Summary: you're paired with billy for a biology project. you only visit his house once, but it's enough for you to understand why he doesn't want you to come over again. when he starts showing up more and more in your life, you realize that it's basic biology: you were made for him, and he was made for you.

Contents: graphic descriptions of violence, mentions of injuries, angst, fluff, happy ending

A/N: i hope you like this chapter! Billy and his love starvation seem like they’d latch onto the first real love they get, and I tried to establish that here. Please let me know what you think! 💞

reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! your feedback motivates me to write more, so thank you for your support :-)

You don’t expect to see Billy again for a while. Even though he’d thanked you, sincerely, awestruck, you hadn’t suffered through the tense car ride for nothing. He clearly didn’t want to talk to you about it, and he assumes you’ll pry.

You don’t really blame him, either. Because you want to pry. You want to beg for information, plead with him to give you a rundown of what hurts and where, so that you can fix it all. And then you want to pry about any particular allergies of his father’s, so that you can serve him shellfish pasta and make his death look like an accident.

It turns out, though, that you see him the very next day.

You don’t have your own car, nor can you even drive. You’re scared of it, of the thought of that much mechanical power granted to a simple human being, and you’d much rather walk or take the bus anyways. Your bike has a flat tire, or you’d be using it to ride back from the store.

All you’d picked up was a bottle of coke and a pack of gum - juicy fruit. The coke sweats a stain through the pocket of your jeans, but it’s secure, and not grating callouses against your fingertips with its puckered cap. All you hear is the thundering roar of cars speeding down the street next to you, your feet slamming against the pavement as you power walk home.

You’re only ten minutes out, in the final stretch, when you hear a particularly loud engine. It’s gotta be from a muscle car, and you wait for it to pass so that you can look without being obvious. But it doesn’t pass, the engine revs and then chugs once more, slowing to a stop right beside you.

You’re not in the practice of looking over at cars that stop next to you on the road, something eerie about the situation. But when you hear a newly-familiar voice say your name, you stop in your tracks.

“Y/N,” Billy calls, leaning over the empty passenger’s seat to brace his hand on the open window, “Hey, you need a ride?”

His face is red. It’s subtle, and you think that maybe there’s- is that makeup over it? Either way, you know there’s a mark, and you know why there’s a mark.

“Uh,” You stammer, glancing ahead at the sidewalk, “I’m okay. Thank you, though.”

“Where are you going?” He raises an eyebrow, “Aren’t you hot?”

“A little,” You become hyper aware of the sweat sticking to your forehead, the stickiness of your socks against your feet, “It’s fine, though. It’s only, like, ten minutes home.”

“Just get in,” He squints up at you, the sun in his eyes, “I’m heading that way anyways.”

“Okay..” You comply, ducking down to step off of the curb and fit yourself into his camaro, “Are you sure it’s not a problem?”

“Not at all,” He straightens up from where he’d been leaning out the window so that you can sit down, but he braces his hand on the back of your headrest. He uses it as leverage to look behind him to make sure he’s not pulling out into traffic, and when it’s safe, he peels away from the curb in what you now know is typical Billy fashion. Tires squealing, engine revving, confidence in his eyes.

“So,” You hum, digging the coke bottle out of your pocket so that you don’t smash it, “Why are you gonna be over by my place?”

“Oh,” he laughs, shaking his head, “I’m not. I just lied, knew you wouldn’t get in unless I said that.”

You let out an incredulous laugh, “Billy! You lied!”

“And,” He grins, nodding and readjusting his hands on the wheel as he turns you around a corner, “It worked, didn’t it? And now you’ve got a ride.”

“Thank you, Billy,” At your words you remember his own from the night prior, stiffening slightly in your seat, “Um, are you.. okay? Last night was.. Intense.”

“Yeah,” He takes a moment to answer, but when he does his voice is stronger than it was last night. He keeps himself preoccupied with ducking slightly to check his blind spot, “It’s nothing. I’m, uh- I’m used to it.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re okay, though.” You mumble, “Does it hurt?”

“Seriously,” He shakes his head, his curls flying around his shoulders, “Doesn’t matter. Just.. forget about it, okay?”

“Billy,” You gush, wanting so badly to respect his wishes for the sake of not starting an argument. But how were you supposed to forget possibly the scariest experience of your life?

“I’m not going to go around town blabbing,” You swear, “But don’t you think we should tell someone?”

“No,” He insists, voice sharp, “Because if he doesn’t get hauled in, then I get my ass beat, maybe even killed. And if he does get hauled in, then I’m the man of the house. And my summer job barely pays for the gas money it takes to get there, and Max is too young to work, and Susan probably doesn’t even want me, so then I’d be out on my ass, and- just.. No. It wouldn’t work.”

He’s heated now, cheeks flushed and eyes wild. His chest heaves with the breaths he wasn’t taking when he was rambling, and you let him catch up before you talk again.

“Okay,” You take care to keep your voice calm and soothing, “Okay, yeah, that makes sense. I won’t tell anyone, Billy, not if you don’t want me to. But.. but something has to give, y’know? I meant what I said last night,” You fiddle with the ridges on the cap of your coke bottle, “Come over anytime.”

He meets your eye in the rear view mirror, and no words are needed. There’s a tenderness in your eyes that’s reflected in his own, and beneath the cockiness that he slathers over himself, you see sincerity peeking through. He nods and it’s grateful, hopeful, even.

“You want a burger?” He sniffs, scrunching his nose and changing the subject. His hands are prying at the wheel, turning the car down a road before you can respond, but you’ve got leftover cash from the convenience store, so you nod.

“Sure,” You nod, “Uh, I guess I don’t owe you pizza money anymore.”

“No,” You’re glad that he takes it as a joke, instead of a painful reminder of the night before, “Max should be the one paying me, Jesus, I mean she ate half the box.”

“She’s a growing girl,” You scold him, “She needs her nutrients.”

“Oh, yeah, melted cheese and greasy pepperoni, real nutritious.” He scoffs, but there’s a smile on his face, “What’s your order, Doctor Nutrient?”

You’re tempted to order a salad just to fuck with him. But you don’t, you let out a breathy laugh and recite your burger preference. He nods, pulling up to the window of the only drive-thru fast food restaurant in town.

Part of you is that glad that you don’t go inside, and part of you is crushed.

On one hand, you’re sweaty from walking, and you probably don’t look your best because of it. You don’t feel like being in the public eye right now, you feel like curling up on your couch and relaxing for the rest of the day. 

But on the other hand, what is Billy feeling? Part of you, deep inside, a horrid little piece that wants to make you sad, tells you that he’s not going to go into a burger place with you because he’s embarrassed to be seen with you. That you do look sweaty and gross, and that he’s not going to risk his reputation for some girl in his biology class. You thought you’d had a sort of breakthrough with him, unlocked some part of him that no one else had, because of those minutes stuck hiding in his closet. You’d thought you were maybe even friends, not just partners for class.

But he orders and pays for a meal to-go, and you’re silent as his wheels screech against the asphalt as he pulls into a parking space.

“Here,” He hands you the tray that they’d given you, spreading a meager, flimsy napkin over his lap in its absence, “You take that, and just keep my fries in there while I eat this.”

“We can share it,” You offer, scrambling to balance the tray on the divider between your seats, but he pushes it back into your lap with a shake of his head and a large, strong hand, “No, no, don’t worry about it. One of us should have an easy lunch.”

“Thanks,” You murmur, choosing to stuff your mouth with burger instead of voice any of your internal monologue out loud. You eat in silence for a few bites, blaming it on your mouthful of food instead of your awkward reservations. But he glances over to get a fry, and sees you staring out the windshield, lost in space.

“Is yours drugged or something?” He teases, elbowing you gently in the side, “You’re zoning out, hard.”

“Oh,” You take a deep breath, chewing the last of your burger and swallowing it, picking at your fries, “No, I think I’m just tired from walking.”

“Yeah? Well, it’s good I picked you up, then. Where were you even walking?”

“Corner store,” You mumble around a mouthful of burger, “I wanted a coke. Oh,” You remember, sticking a hopefully-clean hand into your pocket to retrieve your cash, “Here, for the burger.”

“‘S fine,” He waves you off, “It was, like, two bucks. Don’t sweat it.”

“Billy,” You huff, “Just let me pay you back!”

“No,” He drawls, sipping from his fountain drink, “Stop arguing, or I’ll kick you out of the car.”

You fall silent, neglecting to remind him that you weren’t in his car to begin with.

“So,” His eyes flash over the stereo, and he breaks the momentary lull in conversation, “What kind of music are you into?”

“Anything, really,” You shrug, “I like it all.”

“Even pop?” His nose wrinkles, and he stares accusatorily at you from his seat.

“Pop’s fine,” You nod, “Classical is only nice when I’m trying to study.”

“Classi- Like, piano and shit? Jesus,” He laughs incredulously, “Are you ninety?”

“Hey,” Your mouth falls open, and you fall easily into teasing banter with him, “Classical music is not for old people! It’s for people who need music on to study but get distracted by lyrics.”

“Metal’s good for that, too,” He reaches across the center divider to snatch a fry from the tray, “It’s, like, 90% guitar, and half the lyrics don’t even make sense, anyways. Nothing to pay attention to.”

“I’m not surprised you like metal,” You hum, “Did a Mötley Crüe tape come with this car?”

“No,” He insists, and you catch the flash of his grin from the side of your eye, “I bought it on the way back from the dealership.”

He doesn’t want to drown out your giggles with music, so he waits until you take another bite to pop a tape in. 

“That’s real music,” He boasts as the sound blares to life, “None of that violin shit.”

“I like metal,” You promise him, foot tempted to tap to the beat of the drums, “It’s just not all I listen to.”

“Yeah, well it’s gonna be all you listen to in here,” He assures you, “I’m gonna turn you into a diehard.”

“You have all of, what, twenty minutes?” You laugh, “Billy, how often do you think I’m gonna be in your car?”

“Whenever you want,” He shrugs, “You think I’m gonna let you haul your ass around town without a car?”

“Billy,” You frown, swallowing roughly to stare suspiciously at him, “What are you talking about? You barely even know me, why are you acting like my chauffeur all of a sudden?”

“Barely even know you-” He scoffs, jamming a fry into the ketchup that’s pooled on your tray, “We’re friends, dumbass. That’s how friendship works, right? We do shit for each other?”

Your heart thuds to your stomach. Friends? An hour ago you wouldn’t have even called Billy Hargrove your acquaintance. Sure, you knew each other. Hell, you probably knew more about him than anyone else in school. But not because he told you, because you found out. It was an accident, a fluke, a mistake. He didn’t tell you on purpose, so it didn’t mean you were close. But maybe you were, maybe his borderline kidnapping of you was because he cared, because he liked you.

“Yeah,” You decide, “Yeah, we’re friends. And that’s what friends do. I just.. I can’t offer you much, can I? I mean, shit, you won’t even let me give you a $5 for lunch.”

His eyes narrow, and you’re nervous you said something wrong. He huffs out a sigh, jaw tightening, “Jesus, Y/N, are you gonna make me spell it out?”

“What?”

“You offered me a place to stay,” He mumbles, glaring daggers at his keys in the ignition, “That’s.. A lot, okay? And I appreciate it.” He says it almost angrily, and if you weren’t so taken aback, you might have laughed.

“So I don’t mind dumping you where you need to be. Or spotting you for lunch.”

“Thank you,” You echo his sentiment from last night, hoping that even though they’re about a burger and not a home, they’re just as sincere, “Thanks, Billy.”

“Don’t mention it,” He grumbles, stuffing the rest of his burger into his mouth so that he doesn’t have to speak.

Being friends with Billy Hargrove is interesting. He’s brash, abrasive, but he cares in his own way, you find out, when he stops hard at a red light and throws his arm out over your chest.

“Sorry,” He mumbles, gruff and stiff, “You okay?”

“Fine,” You nod, a little breathless from how the seat belt had rubbed against your skin, “You can pull over here, if you want. I can run around the back, it’s unlocked already.”

“I’m not dropping you off at the curb,” He scoffs, “I think I can manage your driveway.”

“Fine,” You tease, “I was just trying to make it easier for you.”

A small smile curves over his lips at your tone, and you know he’s not upset. You’re starting to realize that being friends with Billy is easy, as soon as you accept that he can be harsh. He’s not the type of friend to gush about feelings, you don’t think, preferring to quip back and forth, and you can handle that.

He pulls into your driveway, and spots a familiar red car parked three houses down.

“You’re neighbors with Harrington?” His eyes shade over with something that can’t be good, considering his well-known feelings towards the other boy.

“No,” You shake your head, “No, that’s his friend’s house. He just drives him around sometimes, I think. That’s what friends do, isn’t it?”

You shoot him a grin as your head rests against the headrest of your seat, and he can’t argue with that. He rolls his eyes despite the growing grin on his lips, and he reaches over to shove you.

“Get out of my car,” He groans, “And- here,” He tears a shred of napkin off of the leftover stash from lunch, digging for a pen to scrawl his number, “Call me whenever you need a ride. Or good music to listen to.”

“I’m gonna go study to Chopin,” You leer at him from your front steps, and he lunges, reaching out the driver’s side window to reach for you. You shriek, jumping out of the way before he can grab you, and it pulls a long, hearty laugh from his chest.

“Take it,” He reaches into his glove compartment to pull out a tape, red-and-black designs etched over the front, “I’m not driving away until I hear it blasting from your window,”

“My parents are home,” You gush, fingers curling around the plastic case, “I can’t!”

“Headphones, then,” He insists, eyes alight with amusement, “I’m expecting you to know the words the next time I see you.”

It’s a hefty promise to make, but you do so with a smile on your face.

You don’t get much studying done amongst Metallica. It’s hard to focus on finishing your biology project when you recognize a song you’d heard earlier in Billy’s car, and you hum the familiar tune, thinking of the way he’d tapped his fingers on the steering wheel to the drums.

You think you’ve figured him out. He’s vibrant when he knows he’s alone, when he knows he’s safe. He’d panicked hearing that car door, those voices outside. He’d been rough, jagged, hurtful. But in his element, flying down the road with music blaring from his speakers, he’d been happy. All he needs is a safe place, and you’re glad he has one, even if it isn’t his home.

Biology is easy to finish, because you only have to cover half of the slack from being sent home early last night. Billy knows which of the last two drawings to complete, and you tuck your finished ones away in your folder, pulling out a sheet of math work to tackle next. Unfortunately, it’s less simple.

Dinner comes and goes, and you’re still working by the time the sky bleeds black. You’d been using the light from the window to aid you in your homework, so when it finally covers you in enough shadow to make you squint, you give up and make for your light switch.

It flicks on with a click, and when you whirl around to settle back on your bed, there’s a face in your window. You scream, backing yourself up against the door in the split second before you recognize the features.

Billy is staring at you from the window, hand up to the glass. You hear commotion from downstairs, a quick shout of ‘Are you okay up there?’ and thundering feet towards the hallway.

“I’m fine!” You shout at the gap in the door, praying no one comes to investigate, “I’m fine, I thought I saw a spider.”

You stand there, petrified, staring at him as you wait for your parents to go away. The commotion dies down in seconds, but they feel like hours as they tick away, leaving Billy pressed to your window. When you hear the soft wheeze of a couch cushion, then the creak of bedsprings, accounting for them both, you relax, breathe out a sigh and step forwards.

Even through the glass, you can tell something is wrong. Billy’s right eye is starting to shut, and you don’t think he’s doing it on purpose. It looks swollen, and there’s a purple hue blooming over it.

You work on unlatching the window, and in doing so you press your hand flat against the glass. It lays inches north of his own print, and he shifts his hand up to meet yours on the other side of the window. It’s touching, but you don't’ have time to evaluate it when your fingers snap the latch out of place.

“Billy,” You breathe, gripping his forearm to offer him leverage while he hauls himself up and over your windowsill, “Are you okay?”

He lands on the floor in a heap, and your heart sinks.

“No.” He groans, voice soft and wheezy. When he moves he rolls to clutch his stomach, and the only solace you find is that there’s no bloodstain on his t-shirt.

“I ran,” He groans, keeping his voice just quiet enough to be inaudible from another room, “I- I didn’t have time to get in my car, I just-”

“Okay,” You watch his chest heave with the effort of speaking, bracing a hand on it gently, to stop him, “Okay, save your energy. I’m going to go get you water, and an ice pack. Then I’ll fix your face.”

He manages a weak nod, then a raspy, ‘Okay.’

You slip into the kitchen with only a sheepish grin towards the couch at your spider cover-up. Luckily for you, you’re jumpy around bugs, so it doesn’t look out of the ordinary.

You tuck the ice-pack into your pocket, and you’re wearing such a baggy sweatshirt that it’s covered up. The glass of water isn’t suspicious on its own, and you make it back to your room without any problems.

Billy has hauled himself up to sit against your bed, head tipped against the mattress. There’s still no blood, but his face is tilted towards the light now, and you see copious amounts of bruising that definitely hadn’t been there before.

“Jesus,” You breathe, reaching for his cheek. He tenses as your hand approaches, and you pull back before you can reach him. You stand there, arm outstretched, waiting. Your fingers are only inches from his face, a blotchy purple mark over his eye that spreads down his cheek like poison. You wait, for a sign, a sound, anything to let you know that it’s okay to touch him, and what you get is almost more shocking than the sight of him.

He tilts his head to the side, nudging his cheek into your hand.

“You can touch,” He croaks, breath short and hot against your palm, “I don’t bite.”

If you’ve learned anything about Billy in the past 24 hours, it’s that he doesn’t like the mushy stuff. So instead of gushing, instead of promising him that he’s safe now, that his father can’t hurt him, you say it with your touch, and shift your tone to teasing.

“Oh yeah?” You kneel beside him, brushing your thumb against the underside of his lip and smearing away wet blood there, “Melissa MacDonald says you do.”

He laughs, a short, wheezing sound, and his cheek presses further into your palm as it apples with his smile,  “Yeah? Well, she asked me to.”

”Freaky girl,” You hum, eyes glued to his lip. You use the towel that you’ve wrapped around the ice pack, bunching a corner of it up and wiping it over the split skin. It morphs into a grimace when you touch it and he hisses, hand reaching up to grip your side hard.

“Sorry,” You breathe, your exhale fanning over his face, “Sorry, just- give me a second.”

When you’ve managed to get the blood off of his lip you shift your focus to his abdomen, and suddenly realize what you’re about to ask is very suggestive.

“Okay, um.. What happened to your stomach?”

“He kicked me,” Billy groans, “Boots on and all.”

“Okay,” You see a dark purple bruise spreading over his stomach from where his shirt has ridden up, and you toy with the edge of the ice pack, “Can I-? I need to see it..”

“Strip me, baby,” He chuckles weakly, “You can take it off.”

It’s a button-up, once tucked in and now rumpled from the commotion. The top buttons are undone, so it’s not hard to slip the last two out, spreading each side apart to showcase a truly horrific amalgamation of cuts and bruises.

“Ok-ay,” You hum, eyes wide in terror, “Um, this is.. A lot. Should we go to the hospital?”

“No!” His eyes flash with fear, and he grabs your wrist, “No hospitals.”

“”But-”

“But I can’t tell anyone,” He reminds you, gaze now sad and defeated, “No hospitals.”

All you can manage is a nod, tears gathering in your eyes as you stare down at his bare torso.

“Like what you see?” He drawls, and you glance up to see his lip bleeding again from how he’d smirked and torn the cut open.

“Not at all,” You admit sheepishly, reaching a hand up to press and hold the towel there, “Billy, this looks like you escaped a warzone.”

“I did,” He mumbles around the towel, “He’s the enemy.”

“What did you even do?” You ask, prodding gently at a patch of skin and apologizing profusely when his stomach tenses because of it.

“Someone.. One of our stupid neighbors,” He recalls, “Saw you last night. Said my old man must be proud I've got girls sneaking out of my window at night.”

“And… he wasn’t proud.” You grimace, pressing the ice pack to the largest bruise. It spans over most of his lower stomach, and it looks more painful than you can imagine.

“No,” Billy groans, writhing against your bed, “He was not. Didn’t even wait to get inside,” He squeezes his eyes shut, which you’re sure hurts his right one, “Just grabbed my arm and smacked me right there on the driveway. No one cared. The neighbor, he- he laughed. Thought it was all some big joke, I guess. When we got inside he pushed me over in the doorway and pummeled me. He kicked my stomach, and he-” Billy cuts himself off with a hiss of pain when you start dabbing at a scrape on his chest, “Stomped on my face. He used a fucking fireplace poker, that’s the gashes.”

“You can’t go back,” You cry, barely withholding yourself from a long, loud sob, “Please, Billy, you can’t go back there. He’ll kill you!”

“No, he won’t.” Billy heaves, shaking his head, “He wants to, I’m sure. But he knows he can’t hurt me too bad, or people’ll notice. This was a mistake, he’s gonna be more careful from now on. He might be a monster, but he’s smart.”

“But- but what if this happens again, Billy? He gets angry, real angry, and he lashes out, and he uses a fireplace poker-!” Your chest heaves with sobs that you’re barely able to withhold, tears streaming down your cheeks and dripping onto his chest.

“Hey,” He shushes you, a hand over your mouth, then uses the other to wipe your tears away, “Hey! Don’t think about that,” he scolds, but you’re sure it’s meant to sound reassuring, “He’s probably freaked right now. He thinks I’m ratting him out to the cops, or something. So when I come back, he’ll be more careful. He won’t be sorry, but I don’t care about sorry anymore, I know he won’t ever be. He won’t kill me,” Billy promises you, finally dropping the hand that’s covering your mouth, “He can’t afford a body on his hands.”

You swallow the lump in your throat, blink away the tears in your eyes, and nod. He seems satisfied at your silence, watching with droopy eyes as you clean off his chest.

“I’m gonna get bandages,” You murmur, leaving the ice pack on his stomach and padding to the door, “Move it if you need to, okay?”

He manages a weak nod in return, and you make sure to shut the door behind you when you leave.

Gathering adequate medical supplies isn’t the problem, concealing them is. You have to fumble your way through tucking bandages and gauze under your shirt, and the bottle of antiseptic doesn’t fit anywhere but in your hands. You keep it tucked against your side when you rush to your room, though, and you hope no one notices.

Billy doesn’t even ask what you’re doing when you press a wet cotton ball to his injuries, and you shudder to think of all the times he’s had to patch himself up. Does he sit in his room against his own bed, drink in hand? Does he stand in the shower, soap cleaning out his wounds? Does he sneak to the freezer, pressing frozen peas to his eyes?

You sniffle, and BIlly’s thumb rubs under your nose.

You frown, ‘Gross,’ And he chuckles weakly.

“I’m covered in blood, sweat, and-” He glances down at the droplets on his chest, “Tears. You think snot crosses a line?”

“My snot does,” You grumble, laying a bandage over a scrape on his chest and biting the inside of your cheek in concentration.

“Fine,” He huffs, smearing his thumb over your cheek, “Have it back.”

“Billy-!” You gasp, hand flying off of his chest and rubbing furiously at your cheek, “Gross!”

You’d be more upset but he laughs, really, truly, genuinely, and you think that maybe you can live with it.

“Snotface,” He cracks, and if you think for a second too long about the heartfelt lilt to his voice, it sounds like a term of endearment.

It’s hard to maneuver him in order to wrap his more serious injuries in gauze, but with a little cooperation, he’s wrapped like a mummy. It’s probably a sloppy nurse job, but you’re all he’s got, and you won’t give up on him because things are hard.

It’s his face that you have the real trouble with. You squint as you scan his features, looking at bumps and bruises and scrapes and trying to assess how deep they are. Your fingers turn his face this way and that, prodding, prying, pushing, pulling, until you decide that the light from above isn’t enough to see his smaller injuries.

“I need to move you,” You speak softly, “Up onto the bed. Can you do that?”

“Help me,” He bargains, and you’re happy to lift him to his feet.

He slumps against you while upright, but it’s not long before you can push him back onto your bed. He practically melts against the mattress, letting out a guttural sigh that’s almost too loud.

With a flick of your bedside lamp he’s bathed in a soft yellow glow, face now illuminated for all its abrasions to be seen.

His split lip is the least of it, you recognize with a sinking feeling.

Leaning over his face is awkward,and it hurts him when you turn his head. You suppose his neck is sore too, and it leaves you at a standstill.

“I can’t see that side of your face,” You huff, “Could you- I mean, it hurts really bad to turn your head?”

“Sorry,” He grimaces, testing the movement out again, “Yeah. Just- sit on the bed.”

“There’s no room,” You protest weakly, his broad form filling out your twin bed, “I’ll have to turn you around, we’ll put your feet at the headboard and your head down below, but that’ll take a lot of energy, so we should just-”

“Stop talking,” He pleads, eyes heavy, “Just- get on the bed, Y/N.”

“There’s no room!” You insist once more, and he groans, sitting himself upright despite your protests.

His arm slings around your waist, surprisingly strong for the state of the rest of his body. You scramble to fight his embrace but he hauls you up and onto the mattress, your knees digging into his thigh.

“Sit on my stomach,” He instructs you, then remembers it’s bandaged, “Or- or my waist. Just- sit down.”

It feels wrong. A boy in your bed, your legs over his waist, your hand on his chest as you lean over his face. You’re careful not to press anywhere that hurts, and you dab carefully at a cut near his eye.

“I think this earns you the title of best friend,” He mumbles, his breath hitting your face and warming your nose.

“Oh, yeah? Who was my competition?” You bite your lip to stop from grinning, shifting your waist against his own so that you can reach higher on his face.

“I dunno.” He’d shrug if he wasn’t lying down, “My car, maybe? There’s a cat that hangs out behind our house.”

“I’m not as cute as a cat,” You hum absentmindedly, picturing poor Billy with a car for a best friend, “I think it’s got me beat.”

“I dunno,” Billy murmurs, reaching up to thumb at the space between your brows. It knocks your concentrated frown loose, and he chuckles at your dazed expression as you peer down at him, “I’ll call it a tie to keep the peace.”

You busy yourself putting a bandaid over the bridge of his nose so that you don’t have to look into his eyes. You’re worried about what you’ll find there, if it’ll be the scared little boy you’d seen in them last night, or a charming young man. You’re not sure how to handle either, but you smooth the sticky patches of the bandaid out over his cheeks to try and aid the former.

“Done,” You whisper, and brace your hands on his face.

“Thank you,” He hums, sincere and sweet, “Really, I appreciate it.”

“Anytime,” You promise, “But for your sake I hope you don’t have to come over here like this again.”

“Me too,” He laughs, a short, breathy sound, “So.. uh, you got a car?”

“No,” You shake your head, “That’s why I was walking earlier.”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” He cringes, hoisting himself up onto his elbows, “I’ll have to walk back.”

“Not now!” You push a hand against his chest, gently landing him on his back again, “You- you can’t! You need rest,” You reason with him, “Please, Billy, just stay here tonight.”

“Usually the girls kick me out when their parents get home,” He jokes, his tongue poking out to run over his lips, which you’re sure are sore from the cut. You giggle breathlessly, only then realizing that you’re still straddling him.

“Uh-” You rush to slide off of his hips, landing with a thump on the floor, “Sorry. I’ll go… um, do you need a change of clothes?”

“If you’ve got something,” He tilts his head up to watch as you fumble through your closet, “If nothing fits it’s fine.”

Luckily, you find a pair of sweatpants that are cinched with a tie, as well as a particularly average sweatshirt he’ll fit into. You step out of the room so that he can change, and thankfully he doesn’t seem to need any help. You use the time to change your own clothes, and when you emerge from the bathroom, you push your bedroom door open to find him on your mattress again.

“Bed’s comfy,” He marvels, turned onto his side. He’s pressed against the wall, staring at you where you’re frozen in the doorway.

“It is,” You nod, “Enjoy it.”

“You, too.” He prompts, patting the sheets, “Get up here, Y/N.”

“No, I-”

“You just stuck your fingers in my bloody cuts,” He groans, scooting even further back against the wall with a strangled groan, “I’m not making you sleep on the fucking floor.”

Logically, you know you should argue. He’s proclaimed you as his best friend but you’ve really only known him for a day. But he’s made up his mind, closing his eyes so that he can’t even see you disagreeing. His arms are crossed, and his face is set in a stubborn frown, brows tugged together beneath a bandage on his forehead.

Though his eyes are screwed shut, he pops them open when he feels the mattress dip beside him. His frown morphs quick and easy into a grin, his arm slinging around your waist to tug you closer from where you’re practically sliding off of the bed.

“I told you,” He drawls, “I don’t bite.”

“I’m not worried about you biting, Billy.” You mumble, stiff where he’s holding you. He notices, grin dimming as he lifts his hand away.

He looks almost annoyed, “So? What is it? Are you an insomniac, or something?”

“No, Billy,” you frown, biting the inside of your cheek, “I’m not an insomniac, I’m worried. Are you okay? I’m not a nurse. And- and I’m not tired, either,” You spring out of bed, standing beside it instead of laying with him, “I’m not going to sleep.”

He lays there staring, eyes hardening over from where they’d cracked open to ooze happiness. You watch it happen, watch him change until he’s the boy you know from school, deep, cutting glares and harsh movements.

“Fine,” He huffs, fighting to keep his face straight as he presses himself up off of the mattress with his palms, “I’m gonna go. Clearly- just.. Bye.”

“No, Billy..” You rush to stop him from reaching the window but he sticks out an arm, shoving you away with the side of it. He keeps his hands off of you, and you’re grateful, but it still sends you stumbling slightly.

He hears the sound of your feet thumping clumsily. He tenses up for a moment, shoulders drawn closer to his ears and legs locking. But he feels your hand against his back, soft and slow and smooth, and with each brush of your fingers there a muscle in his body relaxes.

“Please don’t go,” You finally beg, your voice a sweet whisper. It seems to have been the wrong thing to say, because his limbs lock up again, back stiffening against your palm.

“I shouldn’t be here,” He grumbles, gruff and weak.

“Yes you should,” You assure him, “Because you got hurt, and I told you you were safe here. We’re friends, remember, Billy? That’s what friends do.”

“We’re not friends.” He scoffs, and you can feel him slipping away. Every second that you stand there, hand on his back, soothingly brushing over his tense muscles, he seems to drift away, until you’re not even sure he’s with you anymore, just a foggy silhouette on the horizon.

“You said we were friends,” You remind him, lips nearly brushing his back, “What changed? Why aren’t we friends now?”

“Because..” He starts, and you wait patiently for him to continue, rubbing lines into his back over and over again.

“Because I want.. Because- Because friends-”

“You can tell me, Billy,” You promise, testing the waters as you creep forward. Inch by inch you snake your hand around his waist, carefully avoiding the injuries you know are lurking beneath his unbuttoned shirt. When your palms meet over his stomach you lean your cheek against his back, hoping that if you can squeeze enough love into him, he’ll come back.

“This,” He hovers a hand over your own, glancing down at your touch on his skin, “This is what… friends do, right?”

“Friends hug,” You confirm, “Is that what you want?”

“Yeah,” He chokes out, raising a hand to his face to smear away a tear that you’re sure has slid down his cheek, “Yeah I want that. But- but you got up, so I- I didn’t want to freak you out. You obviously didn’t want to, so-”

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” You brush your thumb over his toned stomach, thinking about the way he’d stared at you from your bed, eyes sparkling and arms outstretched, “It’s just that… I want to do right by you, Billy. And I don’t think you get that a lot, do you?”

“No,” He rasps, and he starts to relax, back no longer tense as you practically whisper against it.

“Right, so..” You reason, biting your tongue before speaking out of nerves, “I think that you live like you drive, Billy. You blow past stop signs and you nearly run people over, you speed. You go so fast that you can’t slow down anymore, and you need someone to tell you to do that, or else you’ll crash.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I want to make sure you’re not rushing things,” You can feel his heated skin beneath your cheek, only the fabric of his shirt separating you, “You just got beat up by your dad, because of me, and I’m glad that you came here, but don’t you think that sleeping together is going pretty fast? I know we’re not like- sleeping together,” You mumble, cheeks aflame, “I just don’t want you to get ahead of yourself. You can.. You can have a hug anytime you want, and… we can sleep next to each other, too, but I need to know that you want that. That you’re doing it because you want to, and not because you think this is the only chance you’ll ever get. I’m telling you to slow down, Billy, you don’t have to rush if you don’t want to. I won’t kick you out if you don’t sleep in my bed, you don’t owe me anything for helping you, and I want to make sure that’s really what you want, and not just something you think you have to do. I… I don’t want you to wake up tomorrow with a clear head and regret it.”

By now your lips have reached his back, brushing softly against the material of his shirt as he stands by your window. It’s shut now, no one can see you from the outside, but his face is turned towards it like he’s examining the neighborhood. He’s not tense anymore, but he’s not moving either, and for a moment you’re nervous about having said the wrong thing.

“I’m not going to regret anything.” He murmurs, fingers ghosting over your own as he sets his hand over yours, “I.. I’m doing it because I want to, not because you’re the only person that’s nice to me. I’m doing it because… because I want to be-”

“You want to be…?”

“I want to be… held.” He whispers it like a curse, like he thinks the roof will cave and the floor will crack open to hell if he admits it. Your heart aches for the lonely boy, the battered son, the scared child, and you squeeze him gently in a hug.

“Okay,” You nod, and you know he feels it against his back, “I’ll hold you, Billy. Get back in bed, I’ll hold you.”

This time he’s less confident; not as suave. He turns towards you with a trepidatious expression, eyes tracking your every move like he thinks you’re going to give up the joke, turn, point, and laugh at him. But you don’t, of course, instead you hoist a leg up onto your bed and lay down clumsily beside him.

The mattress isn’t big enough for the both of you, so it’s a good thing you’ve agreed to hold him. You’re not really sure how to initiate it, you just simply leave yourself open, uncovered, waiting.

“Where can I touch you?” He glances up at your face, expression clouded with nerves.

“Anywhere,” You say without thinking, then stammer to fix your mistake, “I mean- I mean not like anywhere, just- anywhere.. PG.”

“Okay,” He chuckles, eyes once more heavy with sleep, “I won’t feel you up, I promise.”

When he braces a hand at your waist, cautious, unsure, you wonder if he’s ever not felt anyone up. Has he ever laid beside anyone before, just for love? Not for sex, not for lust, but for calm?

He looks nervous to continue, so you lean into it. You roll yourself onto your side, slinging his arm that’s on your hip to lay over your back. He scoots forward to meet you in the middle, and with a hand on the back of his head, you guide his face to press against your neck. His chin bumps your shoulder, and he nestles it there snugly. It means that his eyelashes brush your neck, that his lips part to release a shaky breath against your collarbones, and his curls tickle your chin.

“Is this good?” You ask, your voice a murmur into the crown of his head. He nods, and the action knocks his head into your cheek. He mumbles out a hasty, ‘Sorry’, and you laugh it off.

“It’s okay,” You drag your hands up his back, fingertips barely grazing his skin that his shirt has twisted up to expose, “It’s okay, Billy. This is okay. You’re allowed to want this, you know? You’re allowed to like this. You deserve this.”

Billy thinks he deserves a lot of things. A kick in the teeth, a tight pair of handcuffs and a drab cell, maybe even the fireplace poker. But he doesn’t think he deserves kindness, which is why he’s so confused why you’re gushing it like a fountain. 

He’s the type of person to make himself unhappy so that no one else can do it for him. He shuts out love and light and life so that no one can steal it away, no one can send him reeling when they leave. But tonight - he’s not sure why, maybe it’s the stinging wounds on his torso or the tickle of your fingers against his back - he’ll love.

reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! your feedback motivates me to write more, so thank you for your support :-)

[jolenes-doppelganger]

hiii, i was wondering if you’d be willing to do a continuing of your rose the hat one shot, maybe where reader pays off her debt? ;) or literally anything with rose / rebecca, i’m sooo obsessed with her and ur fic made me go feral it was amazing !!

[Hi Anon! I originally didn’t consider making a second part to the fic, (I just like the vagueness of one shots), but I am happy to write a second story involving similar themes. We’ll call it a multiverse addition. :3 Thank you for the request!]

Belligerent Collector

Rose the Hat x Fem! Reader

NSFW 18+- MINORS WHO INTERACT CAN AND WILL BE BLOCKED.

Summary: A chance meeting at a supermarket with a specialized clairvoyant brings Rose more than she could ask for. A little too much. [Shifting POVs].

Warnings: Depictions of straight sex between Rose and Crow (oral M and F receiving/giving, 69), one slap (R receiving), choking, depictions of attempted SA, overly emotional for a smut fic, lesbian smut (oral R receiving, strap on use, strap sucking R giving, forced deepthroating, Rose uses a set of vibrating panties to get off), a wee bit dub-con for good measure

A/N: Author pushes her writing boundaries in the name of character authenticity!!! No I’ve never had straight sex, no I don’t want to have straight sex, but boy oh boy, Rose has and will continue to fuck our little corvid boy, and you bet the mattress has some stories to tell. (I promise it ties in!!! It’s very brief!!!).

Word Count: 5.6k

Waking up in a foreign environment had always felt strange. Waking up in a foreign environment in a dream, only to wake once more in reality made realities blend together. Were you really in the rundown motor home of your Grandma’s in Dallas or were you in the divinely furnished home of some elite posing as a trailer park beauty? Then memories… Oh fuck, the memories.

“Rosie, the kid is barely even a kid, not worth eating at this point.” Crow lamented.

“Oh, for fucks sake, she’s not a kid, she’s an adult, let’s just call her that.” Rose spit back, crossing her arms over her bra covered breasts.

“Okay, fine. The adult-kid, this little overgrown shrimp, can see us coming from miles away. We wouldn’t even know about her if you hadn’t brushed her hand in a supermarket.”

Rose rolled her eyes, or more so you felt the motion of her rolling her eyes. These were her memories after all, and you were living them through her eyes.

“The rube brushed my hand, and she brushed right through my train of thought. She skimmed my mind, Crow! She skimmed my mind!”

Rose felt many things in this particular memory. Anger, a sense of deep humiliation, or more so violation. Rose felt that she had been violated by the little bitch child, a half-adult. The little half-ling had brushed her hand reaching for a lane divider for the conveyor belt of the grocery store, and had managed to skim her mind doing so. Like it hadn’t even been a forethought. She read the inner monologue of Rose the motherfucking Hat like it was as simple as brushing her hand in the first place!

“I want her dead.” Rose blurted. “Not just because she’s a little steamier than normal for her age, but because she read my mind. And now she knows who I am, she knows what I do, and she’s an adult, Crow!”

“-And since she’s an adult she has the authority and the ability to cause more problems than a kid, blah, blah, blah, I get it!” Crow cut her off.

Through Rose’s eyes, the bare-chested man was neither handsome nor appealing. He was a fucking vermin. One that had been latching on to Rose like an overgrown calf, sucking her dry; patience, charity, her damned sex drive all dried up like a desert.

“Out.”

The memory ended there, and with it came a brief reprieve, but brief. Another one of Rose’s memories slammed right into your head, the intensity of it hitting you hard. The last memory had been triggered by the touch of the sheets under your fingertips. This memory by the weight your body exerted on the mattress.

I need to breathe, oh fuck I need to breathe-

“Rosie baby, you taste so fucking good.” Crow moaned, sliding up, his dick sliding out of Rose’s mouth.

Rose sputtered, taking in mouthfuls of air. She laughed once she could, wiggling her hips enticingly. A mouth came down on her open entrance once more, tongue rolling wet circles over it; the way she liked it best. It was a 69, Rose was on the bottom because they were trying something new. Rose opened her mouth again, breathing in deep before guiding Crow’s hips down again.

The angle forced her to deepthroat him in his entirety, without exerting too much pressure on her uvula. She felt him licking and kissing her open pussy, moaning into her as she swirled her tongue at the base of his dick. It was the closest to breath play Rose was willing to go, and even as tears streamed down her cheeks, jaw aching at the stretch and gag reflex struggling against her higher will, it was fun.

The memory was ripped away, and you shot up as fast as you could, desperately trying to get away from the unwelcome memories that kept springing upon you. Never before in your life had someone's memories been so vibrant, so stubborn to be heard. You felt humiliation, no, violation. These mental images springing upon you without warning, without a trigger other than touch were akin to being violated. Usually you had more control over your abilities, you didn't have the ability to so easily peruse someone's mind, but with Rose it was like you weren't even trying. Well you weren't. Clairvoyance was an entirely conscious effort, at least it always had been. But Rose? Her mind and memories jumped open. It wasn't like a book sliding off a shelf, or a book falling open, no. It was like the books were violently flying off the shelves, ripping themselves open and shoving your face into them.

"Didn't I tell you to get out already?" Rose sighed, setting the book down she'd been reading.

Andy appeared, worrying her lip like a frightened child. Well... Hadn't she been a teen? Rose couldn't remember, age was pointless anyways. Whether she was 32 or 15, she'd look young with a fresh batch of steam in her.

"But.. I thought-"

"It was a one-time thing. My man is coming home today, and I'm not in the mood to pull apart a cat fight." Rose huffed.

This was the morning after she'd turned Andy, the night after she'd eaten the little blonde's pussy again and again until the young woman's body gave up on pleasure entirely. And waking up after that power trip, that victory for the Knot, it put things into perspective. But regardless, she was being a little too harsh on the newcomer.

"Put your clothes on, and come over here."

The blonde wasn't special, like Rose thought. A glorified pillow princess. And the blonde did have an ability that would benefit the Knot, but Rose was hungry now. She'd given Andy her own damn steam, her own life force. Sure, it had been fun, but not fulfilling.

"Why?" Andy whispered, sliding into Rose's open arms.

Rose groaned, sliding her hat over her head. She had her pair of two day old panties on, nothing else. She looked good, as always, but she was tired.

"Because it just can't. It was fun, it was something we could share, but I'm not available. I can get away with one night, one little welcome for the newbie, but I can't justify more than that to my Crow Daddy." Rose sympathetically explained. "You'll find another, there's plenty of youngins in the Knot still. Silent Sarry, for one."

Andy stared down at her feet. Rose watched her large brown eyes fill up with tears. Then she jerked her head, willing them away. A tough cookie, Rose thought. She'd get over this.

"Can I hug you goodbye, at least?" Andy whispered, looking at the floor still.

Rose chuckled at this, pulling the girl in for a gentle hug, followed by the softest kiss she was capable of giving.

"There. Now chin up, go have breakfast with the others. You're True now, you're family."

As Andy gently closed the door behind her, Rose let out a soft sigh, drawing patterns over the floor with her toe.

You dropped to your knees, clutching your head. It was painful, exerting this much energy into viewing her memories, even if it was completely against your will. You'd been in and out of consciousness for... You couldn't be sure. Time had lost all meaning. You were bombarded by memories until your body succumbed to exhaustion, only to wake up and be subjected to more memories. Rose's memories.

You knew her better than yourself at this point.

"Ah, you're actually conscio-"

Rose carried the little rube to her trailer, smirking as the girl twitched spasmodically.

"Bit off more than you can chew there, huh? Too greedy? Viewed too many memories at once?" Rose taunted, watching the young woman as she continued to twitch, her eyes wildly fluttering as her eyeballs roved around beneath her closed eyelids.

"God, she's like the dying." Barry the Chunk commented.

Rose laughed at that. Her fingers were frozen in twisted shapes, like the claw of the arthritic hands of the elderly. It was nothing like Grandpa Flick's nasty rheumatoid arthritis, but it was comparable.

"Well, that's what happens when someone gets too big for her britches." Rose smirked, hauling the girl right atop her bed. "She'll stay here under my watch until she can maintain conscious-

"Oh god, make it stop!" you cried out, clutching your head as it throbbed dangerously.

You were so tired, so hungry, and thirsty beyond belief. Nothing about this place was welcoming enough to allow you even a split second of rest and relaxation. Out of the corner of your eye, a ring covered hand came forward, reaching out to touch you.

"Don't touch me!" you shouted, voice dry and ragged.

Rose raised an eyebrow, looking at you quizzically. It was one of the few times you'd seen her. And unlike the mirrored effect you were used to viewing her in, the only perspective of herself she had, you were looking at her in the present, through your eyes.

"So now you're calling the shots? Oh, well excuse me." Rose let out an annoyed laugh.

You were scared to breathe, waiting for another memory to suddenly implode over you, but none came.

"I just... I'm tired. And if I move, if I shift my weight over the damn floor I might get another memory."

Rose cocked a brow.

"Get another memory? What, you can sense the memory of objects?"

You hesitantly nodded. Rose let out an intrigued sniff, but that's the only reaction she gave. You had been in her head long enough to understand what her different mannerisms meant. It gave you an advantage, being able to read her so.

"So... You've been reliving whose memories?" Rose asked, brow raised in that calculating critique.

Stern, that's what she was. This was Rose being stern.

"Yours. Only yours."

Rose's nose twitched in immediate disgust and disgraced anger.

"Not by choice," you butted in, trying to calm the storm before it began to brew much farther, "I keep passing out from exhaustion because I can't figure out how to stop viewing the memories. I'm tired, I've had enough of your thoughts and memories and..."

You cut yourself off. The next words out of your mouth would have been 'hedonistic escapades', or worse, 'sexcapades'. Rose eyed you dangerously, neither really believing or listening to your plight.

"Too big for my britches, crude violator, shrimp, halfling, rube, bitch-child," you listed, "I know. And I know too much. I don't want to know, I-"

You cut yourself off, pausing before you reenacted Irina Spalko's inversed lament. This could be something out of an Indiana Jones movie, you supposed. Rose had the special, magical hat after all.

"So, what. I don't care if you do or don't want to read my thoughts-"

"Memories-"

The slap that landed across your cheeks stung, and for the first time since meeting Rose, you were stunned. Slapping someone wasn't something the woman did. She was zealously cruel, calculatingly wicked, manipulating, hateful, over-indulgent and sadistic, but the woman didn't hit people. To lose herself in such a motion would surely seem overdone, by her standards.

"Shut your mouth." Rose seethed.

It was anger. Pure, unbridled, raging fury that caused her hands to shake. You'd never gotten a memory from Rose where she was so angry. Her trailer wasn't a place where she let negative emotions hang about, and that's why it was her safe place.

"You have the audacity to interrupt me when I'm speaking to you? You've been leaching off of me for weeks while I tracked you, reading not just my thoughts, but re-living my memories, and you have the fucking gall to interrupt me?" Rose spit, hands reaching up and choking, squeezing your windpipe.

It was an ego wound, you realized. She was bitter because her ego was being trodden all over by someone who'd been in her head for as long as you had. It was simple, in essence. You knew her. Intimately. More intimately than anyone else. In all of Rose's glory and power, you were interrupting her like any other individual regardless of the fact that you knew her. Knew what she could do, knew what she was.

"I don't even want your steam anymore, I just want to watch you die."

Your stomach lurched, and a memory slammed so violently into your skull that it didn't have somewhere else to go. You grabbed onto Rose's wrists, pulling her down the rabbit hole with you.

"Fucking Rube!" Malte wheezed, hands clinging to Rose's wrists.

Rose was shaking, her hands were shaking. The man beneath her wiggled like a squirrel caught in a trap, his eyes bulging violently, the whites of them rolling wildly. Rose was scared shitless, squeezing harder on instinct, even as the man beneath her slapped at her arms, trying to pull the young teen's hands off him.

He'd tried to rape her. He'd lured her into a street corner, promising her cash if she hiked up her skirts for him. She'd agreed to do so, she needed the money to feed her family. But she'd misheard him, or more accurately, had misunderstood him. The English these American foreigners spoke didn't cling to her Irish tongue easily. That and the structure of the English language was hard. It didn't match up with her native tongue. Combined with a day working in the filthy factories of Jersey had rubbed her hands and mind raw, so "Lift your skirt" meant to quite literally lift your skirt, no other motive or hidden arrangement. She was tall for a fourteen-year-old girl, but he had been stronger. Malte, the son of the factory owner, descended from Dutch immigrants who settled in Delaware, well before it was called Delaware had his eye on her. And he'd shoved her up against the brick wall of the factory, pawing at the front of his trousers, trying to bury himself between her legs as she tried to politely get him to stop.

But Rose was tired. And there was no direct translation for 'no' in her native language, and she couldn't remember the English word for it, so all her words were mixes of jumbled Irish phrases, none of which he interpreted correctly until she struck him between the legs.

His mouth was starting to froth. And the more pressure she exerted on his neck, the more afraid she got. If she killed him, oh god, if she killed him she could ruin her own life, the life of her family. They'd starve, they'd have nothing left to eat. She reached for the first strewn article of clothing she could grab. A top hat, the expensive satin lined kind, one that could fetch enough food for her family if she sold it. Food, eat, live long, stay young... Eat well, live long, stay young...

<------------->

Rose was crying. Sobbing like a fourteen-year-old child all over again. And the body underneath her was seizing, twitching and letting out garbled sounds. Rose grabbed the body, hugging it to her chest with possessive neediness. She needed physical contact, she needed that reassurance. The memory viewing had ended there, but Rose's memories filled in afterwards. She'd run home, falling into her overburdened mother's arms, sobbing and whimpering like her infant brother, still latched on her mother's breast. Her father had been furious, her mother scared. They were all scared in the perpetual twilight of Rose's memory.

Malte had never pressed charges. Whether it was pride or some other vice that compelled him to stay silent about the assault, he never did speak a word of it to anyone. But Rose found that her hours were cut back, her position was regularly filled before she had made it to her station. She looked for other work, worrying over the little bump that grew inside her mother. Worrying about food, about money, about the things that they needed to stay alive, let alone stock up to build their American dream.

"Tá brón orm." she sobbed into the girl's hair. "I'm sorry." she repeated.

Because Rose wasn't holding the rube girl anymore, she was holding a mirror of her younger self.

<------------>

Waking up for the upteenth time was more exhausting than being awake itself. Your head swum with too many thoughts, the mind's way of catching up after being unconscious. Someone was petting your hair, little strokes and teases that pulled at your scalp menacingly.

"We have a debt." Rose murmured. "My people are hungry, and they're going to go hungry because you're not on the menu any longer."

Her words rolled over your head in weary waves, peddling meanings over the valleys of your brain until they slowly sunk in, stringing together cohesive ideas once more.

"And why does that mean I have a debt with you?"

Rose gave the hairs at your scalp a tug, raising an eyebrow as she looked at you seriously.

"Because what I say goes, honey pie."

You closed your eyes, nodding in defeat. The light hurt, everything hurt.

"Got any more memories to view? I have millions, my mind is a cathedral."

You fought back the urge to mouth the words along with her. You knew her little cliches too well.

"I don't think so. The last memory was pushing others out of the way until it could be seen."

The logic behind that theory was imbued with a hidden clarity that had come from somewhere in your unconscious mind. The memories would stop jumping in front of your eyes again.

"Okay, well, you owe me. I'm keeping you alive because you're useful. Clairvoyance is a gift, we don't have a lot of True with such wide sensors as you."

Leaning forward felt like the next best thing with your head throbbing so violently. A soft little 'mmph' left your lips as you did so.

"You're not listening..." Rose said in sing-song fashion.

"Brain hurts."

Rose snorted at this.

"So eloquent. Truly, you should write novels with your linguistic prowess."

You let out another grunt in response.

"Its like talking to a caveman." Rose muttered.

She brought a cup of something to your lips. Tea. You drank it, not really caring that it was lukewarm and half full. It was liquid.

"Not picky. I'll add that to your list of positives."

You eyed her wearily.

"And let me guess, all the negatives include the fantasies of me you can't have because I know you too well."

Rose cocked an eyebrow, momentarily stunned.

"Well. I do have plans for you in the physical department. Crow and I are fizzling out, it might be time to break in a new lover."

She said it so confidently, in a fashion that made it almost unbearably flirtatious.

"You're wondering how good my head game is."

Rose laughed, a stunned kind of bark that caused her chest to jiggle, the swell of her breasts unencumbered beneath her t-shirt.

"Oh god, you're hysterical. I mean yes, but you make me sound so blunt. So, collected." Rose snickered. "I can be blunt, and I certainly try to be..."

Rose trailed off, eyeing you carefully.

"Kiss me."

It was a command that cut through your tired brain. She caught your head as you leaned in, pressing her lips against yours, one hand tangled in your hair, the other resting on your back. Rose pulled away after the short kiss, seemingly a little vexed by something.

"How much... How much experience do you have? You kiss like a petrified boy."

You blushed profusely, even though embarrassment in your exhausted state was difficult to even feel.

"I'm tired. Not in the mood."

Rose sighed, nodding at that statement.

"Fine. We'll nurse you back to health before the turn, get you all spick and span. But right before then... You and I are going to sort out this little debt situation we have going on. And then we'll see if you survive the turn."

The thought made your stomach queasy. You were between hell and a hard place. Become like her or die.

"What if I'd prefer being on the menu?"

"Not a lesbo?" Rose teased.

"Not a child eater."

Rose rolled her eyes, leaning in closer as she gripped your hips tight. She kissed your neck chastely.

"Eat well, live long, stay young."

You found yourself looking up at the ceiling, almost willing another memory to intrude, an excuse to pull away from this aggravating situation, but nothing.

"I'd like the luxury of just being normal."

Rose laughed at this, a genuine laugh.

"Whoever told you reading minds was normal. God, you're positively hysterical. I want to make a miniature you and stick her in my hat."

You crossed your arms, perusing the trailer for any signs of food, like a mouse. A little mouse caught in the cat's trap.

"I'll feed you, but first you need to give me a proper kiss." Rose whispered, breath tickling your earlobe.

As if you had anything on your mind other than food. Rose was pushing at your boundaries, playing with you and molding you into a state somewhere between desperate and stubbornly defiant. You leaned in, but you paused. You were coming on too strong. This needed to be natural, not forced. But it was forced, that was the paradox. Leaning in again, slowly, you met her grey eyes, taking a deep breath in. Your hands you drew up to her face, thumbs gently rubbing over the hollow of her cheeks. Rose leaned in, eyeing you with predatory intent.

"Good." she whispered. "You're getting somewhere."

You leaned in even further, pressing a teasing kiss to the corner of her lip, catching her gaze with hers. It was a game of both movement and eye-lines. Each of you would rove your eyes up and down the other, trying to catch the opponent in the act, making that split second of contact before drawing away to brush noses, to shift grip slightly. You weren't kissing yet, no, this was all about will. Who could tempt the other into making the first move.

"I believe I asked you to give me a kiss." Rose whispered, growing a bit bored of the game.

The softest brush of your lips over hers, making that eye-contact.

"Is that what you want?" you asked.

Rose's eyebrow quirked, and then she leaned in, pressing her lips to yours in response. The kiss wasn't as soft as you would have made it had you been administering the kiss. Rose kept you steady with a hand on your hip, a hand in your hair, her mouth occupied with yours. You forced yourself to be more engaged, even with how hungry and weak you felt. She tasted of mint tea, an undercurrent of something sour clinging to the edge of your tastebuds. It was the product of your clairvoyance, surely. Rose didn't taste quite right, a fact that lingered in the peripherals of your thoughts as you leaned into the kiss. She pulled away after a moment, seemingly amused.

"You're so chaste with your kisses. Or perhaps neat is the correct word. It's entertaining to see you so careful and focused."

Rose leaned back, dropping her hands. She easily maneuvered you out of her way, walking towards a fridge on the side of her camper. She wasn't wearing any pants, just too tight lacy panties. Her long legs were on full display, bare feet padding across her wooden floors. Her motions were all so elegantly careless, like she didn't much care what kind of gesture she made, so much as things landed in their respective places.

"Eggs alright with you?" she sighed.

"Yes, thank you."

Rose hummed in reply, starting up her gas powered stove top. She cracked open three eggs, reaching into the fridge for chives, cheddar cheese and bacon bits. It smelled good.

"You're pale, drink this."

A glass of orange juice appeared in front of you, and Rose looked down at you with some amusement.

"Like a startled lamb, freezing up in front of a newcomer." she laughed.

You drank the juice, grateful for the liquid. You weren't really paying attention to where your eyes rested as you drank, you were too tired to focus on much else other than the motion of your throat as you drank down the juice.

"I look that good do I?" Rose teased, grabbing your chin and angling it up.

You'd been staring at her upper thighs. Being so tall, Rose's legs filled much of your central and peripheral vision as you spaced out. The couch was low to the ground, and her stance gave a clear view of her inner thighs and the patch of dark hair that clung around her bikini line.

"Sorry, spaced out." you blushed, face going hot with the weight of your embarrassment.

Rose chuckled, squishing your face in soft teasing. She took the glass out of your hand, returning to the stove top. She came back with three eggs piled with cheese, chives and bacon. An American breakfast classic. You ate quickly, and the miserable tightness of your stomach gradually subsided.

"Perhaps you'd like to lay down on the bed and take a nap." Rose suggested.

You nearly choked on your bite of egg. The memory and the feeling of being forcefully deepthroated through Rose's eyes still clung to the back of your mind.

"Uhh, no. Not the bed. Couch is fine."

Rose cocked an eyebrow, taking away the plate of food you were still working on.

"Why? My hedonistic escapades still haunt you?" Rose threw your earlier internal monologue right back at you. "My sexcapades?"

You looked up at her in pure disbelief and jaded embarrassment. Rose wore a shit eating grin, leaning in as she grabbed your chin.

"Poor thing, thought you were the only one with the ability to skim someone's foremost thoughts, huh?" Rose cooed. "Maybe that's what we'll do.. Re-enact that little fixation of yours, get it out of your system."

You found yourself shaking your head and stuttering, hands searching for something to grab onto.

"Mhm, oh you're getting all flustered just thinking about it." Rose grinned cruelly, pulling you up to her feet. "What a perfect way to settle our debt, huh? We'll re-enact one of the memories you collected."

This time, you ardently shook your head, getting over your momentary bout of shyness.

"No, I didn't have control over what I was seeing, I didn't want to-"

"Shush, honey pie." Rose cut you off, pushing you to sit on the bed. "It'll be fun, we'll go slow-ish."

Rose stretched, settling on the bed beside you. She dusted off her hat, gingerly setting it off to the side. Hands looped around your waist, drawing you in.

"You'll like it, I promise." Rose whispered, leaning in to nip at your jaw and ear.

As she placed little love bites over your face and neck, her hands massaged slow patterns on your waist and back. You let out a soft sigh, leaning into her little nips and kisses.

"There you go, warming up to me perfectly." Rose cooed. "Touch me."

Your hands obeyed, cupping her lower face and neck. She placed a slow kiss in the crook between your jaw and neck, opening her lips to suck softly at the skin there. A soft moan broke out of your throat, to which Rose replied with her own throaty hum. One of your legs crept up to straddle her, and a hand from your waist quickly caught your leg, aiding the motion.

"Oh, good girl." Rose whispered. "Warming up nicely."

You smiled shyly, brushing your nose against hers. Her lips caught yours in a kiss, her tongue sliding out to caress your lip. You met her tongue with yours the longer the kiss went on, teasing her with your tongue. Rose's hands slid down your back, taking handfuls of your ass and massaging slowly. You moaned immediately, allowing Rose to slip her tongue into your mouth. Your hands were in her hair, playing with the half-braided strands that clung to the base of her scalp.

"Ready for more?" Rose rasped, one hand gripping your rear, the other drawing patterns down your spine.

"Yes." you found yourself saying.

Rose pulled off her top, freeing her breasts entirely. She brought your hands to them, biting her lip playfully.

"Touch, squeeze."

You did as she asked, to which she rewarded you with a sinfully teasing kiss.

"Lay down, top off."

You did as directed, pulling off your shirt, and the loose sports bra she'd found you in. Rose rummaged around in a drawer near the bedside for a moment, grabbing several Items. You watched as she slipped off her underwear, pulling a plain looking black set over her thighs again. A remote, which she clicked just twice. Rose bit her lip immediately, wiggling her hips a few times. A fake dick, a harness. You blushed as you realized just what she was going to do.

"I've never... I can't suck dick." you blurted out.

Rose laughed, sliding the harness over her hips.

"Too bad. You're gonna. And if you leave teeth marks on my nice silicone cock I'll throttle you."

Rose settled between your thighs, dragging your leggings and underwear down in one motion. She spread your thighs, eyeing the glistening folds of your inner labia. Taking a moment to gather saliva in her mouth, Rose leaned down, spitting on your red, erected clit.

"There's something you can focus on while I stretch your throat."

Rose crawled over you in a traditional 69, slapping the silicone dick on your chin.

"Open."

You could see the soft blur of the panties as they vibrated, producing a noticeable wet spot on the black fabric. Opening your mouth as wide as you could, you were careful not to graze the silicone with your teeth. The saliva Rose had placed on your clit slowly began to drip down and cool, producing a maddening sensation. Leaning forward all the way, Rose propped herself up on her elbows, holding your thighs open.

"Breathe through your nose, deep breath, now relax."

Rose pushed her hips down, forcing the silicone past your molars, past your uvula and down into the hollow space of your throat. You gagged, grabbing at her hips and thighs, desperately trying to push away the weight on your head that bore down. Rose laughed as she heard you gag and choke, letting up after fifteen seconds. You sputtered, nose running and eyes blurry with tears.

"Catch your breath, I'll give you fifteen."

Fifteen seconds felt more like five, and the silicone was back down, further this time. You couldn't breathe through your nose, and the burn of your lungs mixed with the stretch of your throat was both terrifying and maddeningly difficult to get away from. Rose let up after a moment, and you were quick to breathe in through your nose, filling your lungs as rapidly as you could, exhaling shortly thereafter. The next time, you breathed in through your nose as the dick slid down your throat, forcing the muscles of your throat to relax. Rose hummed in approval, pressing a soft kiss to your clit.

"Good girl. Now I'm going to rock. If you absolutely cannot manage to get any air in, two taps to my hips, got it?"

Rose didn't wait for you to make any sort of noise or gesture in understanding, she just undulated her hips slowly. You exhaled with every thrust out, inhaling as she thrust in. Your lungs slowly began to accommodate the lack of air, your throat muscles relaxing. Rose kissed your clit again, humming carefully as she rolled her tongue in slow circles over your clit. You found yourself getting the hang of things, more focused on the sensations between your legs than the burn of your throat. Rose's own stimulation was heightened by the pull and stretch of the vibrating panties that shifted with every movement of her hips. You moaned as she licked down into your entrance, and Rose let out a breathy hum in response.

Her mouth settled at your entrance, licking and probing gently. You gripped her hips, helping to support her thrusts. Overtime, your nose brushed her clothed clit as the base of the strap met your lips, adding direct pressure to the vibrating panties. Rose moaned loudly at this sensation, fervently kissing and licking your open pussy. Your lower abdominal muscles coiled rapidly, and by the way Rose was growing sloppy with her thrusts, she must have also been close.

Warm tingles slid up your spine as you climaxed, and your moans were muffled by the strap. Rose slipped the silicone dick out of your mouth, allowing you to gasp and moan through your orgasm without threat of suffocation. Still relatively aware, you had the forethought to find her clit through the panties and rub circles over the vibrating fabric. Rose let out a series of breathy whimpers, pushing her hips back into your thumb until she too climaxed. In need of a place to rest her weary hips, Rose sat back, resting on your face. A mouthful of panty-clad pussy and an eye-full of ass was all you knew for a good fifteen seconds.

"Fine then." Rose sighed, sliding off of you after you tapped the side of her ass twice.

Rose looked down, eyeing your puffy, tear and snot covered face. She smirked, reaching for something on her bedside table. A polaroid camera, one that had to be from the 90s. She snapped a photo of your frazzled state, taking out the photo produced and grabbing a pen.

"What shall we name this one? 'Belligerent collector', perhaps."

Rose gave an evil grin, sliding off the vibrating panties and casting them aside. She swung one of her legs over your face, angling her still wet core over your mouth. Another snap of the camera, capturing your mortified eyes as your mouth was obscured by her vulva.

"And this one we'll title 'debt settled'."

<------------->

[coldbam]

fuck it friday

i've been tagged a few times over this past week and i've just been busy and not writing much nor on here much, but i'm in a hotel tonight heading back home tomorrow, so!

“Eddie.” Bobby says with a firm tone. “Your hands are shaking.”  “What?” Eddie looks down at his decidedly unsteady hands. “Shit. I think it’s the adrenaline.”  “Yeah, I bet. Which is why I’m sending you home.”  “I don’t want to leave you two men down.”  Bobby sighs, and Eddie is ready to call it a win. He knows how to be persistent when it matters. “Okay, you’re right.” Eddie only gets one fleeting moment of satisfaction before Bobby continues, “You stay here with Buck for today. I’ll do one more check on him and make sure he’s okay, and then I’ll give you a rundown of what you need to watch out for. But mostly both of you can just rest.”  “I—what?” Eddie sputters.  “That’s your assignment for the day. Taking care of one of our wolves, he’s just a little less furry now.”  “Wouldn’t Hen be better? She could treat him, and he actually likes her.”  “All his injuries looked superficial. Plus, he heals a little faster than us. If you notice anything getting worse you can just call me. And that second part…I think that’s why it needs to be you. It could do you two some good, clear the air!”  It sounds like a trainwreck waiting to happen to Eddie, but he’s not gonna fight Bobby on this. He respects Bobby too much, even if Eddie thinks he’s a little too optimistic this time. So, Eddie puts a smile on his face and says, “Great idea, boss.”  Bobby leaves fifteen minutes later, with a stern “Update me every hour, I mean it,” to Eddie, and an even sterner, “Be good,” to Buck.  And then they’re alone.

tagging @absolutelybifurious @playinginthunderstorms @diazguzman @nocrumbcoat

[hederasgarden]

You Can Check Out Any Time You Like | Drabble 4

Summary: Even after a hunt, Miles still needs you.

Pairing: Vampire!Miles Miller x F!Reader

W/C: 780

Rating: Explicit 18+ only. Biting, blood and the general creepiness that comes with vampires plus PIV sex and angst.

A/N: The photo from Salem's Lot has resurfaced and once again I am back on my vampire!Miles BS. He means well and doesn’t want to hurt you but he can’t quite keep his urges in check when you smell so sweet… Thanks to @wildbornsiren for the beta work.

Story Masterlist ♡ El Royale Masterlist ♡ Masterlist

Miles knows he should resist you, especially since he just fed but it’s hard when he finds you reading in the rundown library, that oversized sweater you favor slipping down the curve of your shoulder. Even from across the room he can see the steady thrum of your carotid artery beneath your skin and smell your sweet scent. His desire for you only grows when you look up and smile brightly at him. You carefully mark your place in the book before coming to greet him.

“Miles, you’re back!” You exclaim, light and effortless.

You’re not weighted down by all the darkness he brings, by the world he’s brought you into. You're good and pure, the only sunlight he’ll ever see. 

Something must shift in his expression because your brows raise and lashes flutter before you tilt your head to the side. It’s an invitation, one he’ll never be able to resist even though he knows he should. You make a soft sound when his teeth rip into your neck and your hands grasp at his shoulders to hold yourself steady while he feeds. Your body is so warm and pliant, welcoming him in. One of his hands tangles with the hem of your skirt and he yanks it up. Without a word your thighs part and his fingers skate over the warmest, most secret part of you. 

“Please,” you moan, already in the throes of his venom's effect on you. 

Miles groans and fumbles with his pants, eager to steal more of your heat and sweeten the blood he drinks by bringing you to orgasm. You don’t resist him, you never do. Just sigh and gasp when he splits you open. Nails dig into the nape of his neck and you arch your back, chest pressing into his. Miles hitches one leg up and then the other using his unnatural strength to hold you until you’re impaled on him, pinned between his rapidly warming body and the wall. You’re no longer quiet, nor is he, as he eats messily from your throat. His hips swell and retreat, building up to mutual pleasure.

The coppery edges of your blood smoothes into something sweeter, subtler as your orgasm approaches. Miles can feel his own building, the hazy red desire for your blood receding so the more basic physical pleasure can come to the forefront. He pulls back to watch your face contort and see the beautiful muscles of your neck strain in ecstasy. In his stillness, you come alive’ fucking yourself on his cock, just as wild and unrestrained as he can be. Blood pulses from the wound on your neck, taking a lazy path down to your collarbone, and Miles bends to catch it with his tongue before it can soak into your sweater. 

When you finally peak your whole face twits in a mask of pleasure and pain, head knocking into the wall while your hips keep moving, trying to pull him deeper. Miles growls, taking over. Roughly, he grasps the back of your neck and pulls your head to the side to expose unblemished skin. When he begins to drink, you come again and he follows, holding you against the wall until he hears your heartbeat slow and your breath come in wispy inhales.

He’s careful to pull back gently and help you stand on your own two feet. You sway in his grasp but smile up at him, fingertips touching his cheek. He sweeps you into his arms and you make a satisfied little hum, burrowing into his chest sleepily. You’d fall asleep like this if he let you but Miles hates seeing you covered in blood, the evidence of his own lack of self-control. 

Bathing you is a small penance for his crimes, but it’s one Miles insists on. He sets you on the edge of the tub and runs the water. You like it hot enough to scald and turn his pale skin red, so he waits until steam rises from the water before stopping up the tub. Then he dumps in the bath salts, the floral, woodsy scent of lavender tickling his nose. Your shoulders droop when the smell reaches you. He helps you undress and sink into the tub, washing you reverently. By the time he finishes, you’re asleep in his arms, skin damp and clean.

Miles kisses your head, ready to leave you in peace until you draw him down to lay beside you and curl your fingers in his sweater. You’re asleep within minutes. Miles stares at the ceiling, feeling content and guilty. If there's hell he certainly belongs there but for now he’s content with the glimpse of heaven you provide. 

♡

I no longer have a tag list, please follow @hg-library and turn on notifications.

[orangezeppelin]

I am way behind on the party with this one, but I just released my review of The Lara-Su Chronicles: Beginnings, the only comic that I’ve needed to take Tylenol after reading. 

If you’re looking for a detailed rundown of Ken’s legal issues this isn’t the video for you (though I’ve got a good one linked in the comments below, also @thankskenpenders has a lot of good info!) but if you want to watch someone have an aneurysm over his constant re-use of his own art then you’re in for a treat. Bear in mind that this book took 10 years to create and at the end of the day it was only 30 pages of new material tacked onto reprints of an existing comic, so I think the amount of copy-pasted faces and poses is frankly unacceptable. I struggle to explain the story because frankly I’m not sure what is going on. I don’t think anyone else knows what’s going on. 

I do clown on Ken quite a bit but I had some positives to say about the book also. I’m neither a Ken Penders hater nor a Ken Penders stan, just some weirdo on the internet who loves bad art!

[bonesandthebees]

Look number 3 [“So Tommy explained what happened already?”/Phil and Techno shared a look. “He gave a very basic rundown, but I wanted to hear the full story from you,” Phil explained./“We have our own theories about what happened, but like Phil said, we’ve been waiting for you to wake up to get the full picture,” Techno agreed.]

There’s 2 options. My gut is telling me that Tommy told them nothing or very little. Either they did not see him or talk to him at all, because they don’t care for the kid except as a means to their end. Or they talked to him briefly, but anything they’d want to learn from him would be about Wilbur and the kid is also really tired so wouldn’t provide that much useful information.

(There’s also a high chance this boy would not want to talk about his trauma to people he barely knows), in this entire scenario, Phil and Techno are lying about having talked to him for Wilbur!s benefit because he seems to think they would have and really they just want him to get to the story.

The second option is that they did get a recap, but unlike Wilbur, Tommy has not been trained to report back to Phil (and Techno) like Wilbur does, nor would he have the closeness to feel comfortable talking about it with them.

In this case they are not lying about talking to him, but rather hiding how little info they have. Again this isn’t really something Wilbur needs to know and the more he thinks they already know, the more he’ll tell them.

Techno is also hinting at the Schlatt theory, but they want confirmation from Wilbur that these weren’t just random bandits, and Wilbur very much overheard that they wanted Tommy specifically dead. Proof enough.

Adding on to this: [And throughout it all, his father and his uncle kept their faces carefully blank. Only when he mentioned the bandits nearly stabbing him and Tommy did he see Techno’s hands curl into fists at his sides, and Phil’s eyebrows twitch.]

There’s a few options for the blank faces. They could just be that used to keeping their faces blank when receiving new info. Part of it is very much trying to contain their anger at Schlatt, both of them slip up on that when hearing how close they actually got to loosing Wilbur. This can also be connected to any signs of trauma Wilbur shows while telling the entire story (and that part in particular).

I think the blank faces could also be because they know Wilbur is kinda anxious or like nervous (though it gets way worse after) so they are trying not to spook him and to be open and get him to tell them as much as possible.

(2/?)

-🌲

yeah you're basically right on several counts. look number 3 was because the two of them have barely talked to tommy. phil stopped in for, like, a few minutes to make sure the kid was breathing but he wasn't really in the mood to chat about all the traumatic shit he went through with phil, who is basically a stranger to him. also he was half unconscious. either way, phil and techno both knew that wilbur would tell them everything as soon as he woke up and wilbur is already used to giving 'reports' of things like that, aka he knows what details phil and techno would want to know, so there wasn't a huge need to get tommy's full story.

as for the blank faces, again, it's pretty much a combo of what you said. it's the two of them trying to contain their anger, but it's also them not wanting to freak wilbur out or make him reluctant to share. he's gone through so much and they don't want to give him any dramatic reactions because they both know they need to be steady and calm for him right now.

[angelmichelangelo]

Ok this is not hate but a genuine question from a wheelchair bound woman who has to rely on her family to help her out. So does glass child actually mean my siblings hate me for our parents giving me a lot of attention? If so how’s it fair to hate me for what our parents did it’s on them for not at least giving them attention. Yes I am aware caregivers have struggles too and I am sorry my existence causes struggle I never asked for this.

i obviously cannot speak for you on this matter nor you family but to give you some assurance, i can bet that your family does not hate you for your circumstances. please try and not let any of this make you feel that way.

glass children are the able bodied family members that grow up with disabled family members. it’s just a given that they will experience certain emotions surrounding that. in my opinion and in most glass children’s opinion, it’s not the person with the disability that we hate or dislike or blame. it’s simply the situation.

for example, my family member became disabled due to an accident and it changed my family dynamic very very drastically. we went from a pretty stable household to almost being evicted, my parent lost their job, my parents actually very nearly separated because it brought upon a lot of stress. that isn’t me being ableist when i say that: it’s just pure fact. being disabled isn’t ‘stressing’ anyone out it’s the situation changing that can be stressful. i was a kid at the time, recognised what was happening and unfortunately i kind of just bottled everything up. all that stress and worry (that in hindsight, a kid should not worry about) because i could recognise the changes happening in my family that weren’t happening to other kids my age at school.

i remember a girl in my class, her parents divorced and she got a hell load of attention at school from all the teachers and boy did that affect me like crazy. i held it all in because i didn’t ever want to take her moment from her because hey! she was going through something too! but as a glass child, i unwillingly started to pack away my own feelings and thoughts because i understood (slightly misaligned if anything) that other people had greater needs than me. and whilst it was true, it’s not a very healthy thing for a child to have to do.

glass children don’t hate anyone. it’s simply us just begging to be heard. it’s kind of cemented in the fact that as soon as this topic is brought up, the very notion of the term is dashed.. it kind of speaks for itself and that’s why not a lot of people speak up about it. ive never even brought it up to my own family.. and it’s something that has greatly effected me, still to this day.

i would never ever blame a disabled person for their disability. i have a disabled family member that i love. why would i hate them for that? or spread the message of hate in my fanfictions?

my parents of course never meant to accidentally unload any of that onto me. they never meant to make me feel this way. im very lucky to have a really good, strong family unit despite everything we went through. i don’t blame them and most glass children don’t blame their families either. but it’s rather hard for kids to have to go through something really life changing and not experience negative emotions about it. it’s just unfortunate but it’s true.

i hope this explains it a little more. idk if you read the fic itself, but i’ll give you a brief rundown. donnie raph and leo never once hate on mikey for what has happened. they bicker amongst themselves and get angry because of high emotions running but never once in the fanfiction do i have them turn on him for this, nor is any ableist language or action used against him. it was never a fic against people with disabilities.

i just wanted to highlight a factor of disability that rarely gets any light, for myself, who spend a lot of her childhood feeling slightly overshadowed by an event that was unstoppable and out of anyone’s control.

thank you for reaching out and again, i hope this has balmed some of your worry. im here if you need to talk <3

[quibbs126]

Alright, this might take some explaining, but basically this is just like an idea for an au I had based on my friend’s description of the premise of a show she and her mom are watching that I just decided I need to cross over with Cookie Run. Also I liked the premise

I’ll give you the rundown of what she told me right quick. Oh, also disclaimer, I don’t actually know what the show is called, nor do I know the names of any of the characters, since she didn’t tell me, as well as I believe the fact that she didn’t know how to translate the names into English

So basically, our main character is this prince who got exiled from his kingdom for being part of a rebellion. On his way leaving the kingdom, he gets accosted and loses all his magical items (I’m guessing the kingdom was either magic or divine in some way, I don’t remember if she explained), and basically is now stuck at the level of a normal person. So the prince ends up opening an inn in the mountains. Business isn’t the best but he’s getting by. Anyways, one day, a group of thugs comes in and basically demands the prince (he’s hiding his identity so no one knows he’s a prince and think he’s a regular dude, but I don’t know his name, so I’m calling just him that) lets them stay in his rooms, feed them breakfast (and I assume dinner) and basically do their bidding or they take him out. The prince says something along the lines of “you aren’t even worth a single thread on my jacket” and basically refuses. The thugs attack but it just so happens another traveler was at the inn at the time, and they use their martial arts to take out all the thugs, though in the process the inn gets destroyed. The traveler basically says their work here is done, but the prince is like “um no, you destroyed my inn! I can’t pay to have all this repaired, I don’t have that kind of money! You gotta pay for all of this!”. Now see, the traveler is going to this special tower (I think there might have been a tournament there?) which has something at the end of it. We don’t know what the traveler wants from the tower, but they want something. The traveler says to the prince that they’re going to this tower for a tournament and there will be a monetary reward, and once they win they’ll pay the prince back. The prince decides that they’ll go along, saying it’s to make sure they’ll actually keep their word and not run out on their debt (though my friend said that the traveler’s martial art school was known to be reliable and trustworthy, so he could trust them, it was for some other reason that they decided to join that I can’t remember). So yeah, the two set out towards this tower

And so yeah, in my brain as she was explaining this, I was connecting this to Dark Choco, and here we are. So in this au, Dark Choco takes the role of the prince (unsurprisingly), where after his banishment and losing all his stuff (I’m assuming that includes the Strawberry Jam Sword), he sets up an inn somewhere and one day meets a traveler by the name of Peach Cookie, and after an altercation that leaves his inn trashed, Peach promises to pay him back with money from this tournament at a tower (the only tower I know is the Tower of Frozen Waves, so maybe it’s there? But I don’t know much about that tower either), and Dark Choco, a bit suspicious, goes along with her, and they’re off on an adventure together towards this tower

Oh, or maybe this tournament has to do with that competition mentioned in Tiger Lily’s Golden Warrior costume? The one about the Temple in the Sky? Maybe it could be that instead, so it ties in more with actual Cookie Run stuff

Oh and as for the designs, I just wanted them to wear less conspicuous things (also Dark Choco might have lost his armor so he just has regular clothes), since I imagine they’re trying to keep a low profile. But maybe I should have drawn Peach Cookie in her normal outfit, that probably still would have worked. Unless au things change her backstory or something, I haven’t worked it out

I don’t know where this would go, but I thought the premise was neat and wanted to draw it. Also I just kind of want to see these two interact

Anyways yeah, I hope you enjoy the idea at least, even if there’s not much to look at

Edit: The show is called The Blood of Youth

[eek-a-tron]

10 Reasons to Ship Loki/Catwoman

A Nondefinitive & Cracky GodCat Rundown

1. He’s a god of thieves. Loki’s a Norse god with a long ancient list of patronage areas: mischief, tricks, lies, chaos, outcasts, the devil, death, and more … including, sometimes, thieves. THIEVES. It’s not mentioned often, but it’s around. Besides, mischief, chaos, and trickery tend to involve crime. Be Loki. Wear helmets. Do crimes. And consider hanging out with an anti-hero who still kinda gets it, because:

2. She’s a master cat burglar. Catwoman’s one of the most-recognizable cat burglars on Earth/Midgard, so that's kismet on the thieves thing. But she also vibes with the mischief thing, and sometimes with lies and tricks, too. Even with the outcasts thing. Definitely the anti-heroes thing. Plus, neither Selina nor Loki is an expert on trust, or family, or How to Feelings™ — and there’s nothing shippier than mutual angst!

3. Oops! All banter. Loki and Catwoman can banter for days. Weeks. Years. Loki plays with everybody, but not many characters really mischief him back. Catwoman would, though; it’s like, her thing. She’s sassy (*cue rando yelling from offscreen* feisty, eh?!), full of nicknames, and although she can’t exactly kick a god’s ass twelve days from Sunday, Loki might ask her to try anyway. (The old Batman rule applies there: did Catwoman have time to plan ahead, or have the element of surprise?! Heists require planning and improv, after all.) As such:

4. MatuRe CoNteNt. These two might never leave the bedroom to steal anything, possibly because of the aforementioned ass-kicking. If anybody can make Loki kneel and say thank you ma’am may I have another, probably while he’s laughing about it alllllllmost the entire time, it’s Catwoman. (Strangely wholesome mature content, right front of my anti-hero sandwich?! I ain’t mad at it.)

Loki's ye-olde-eyebrow gif from abby118!

5. Just two pros being pros. Erm, how do I put this delicately? Loki and Catwoman are, generally-speaking, both highly-sexualized, often-objectified characters. (More so for Catwoman in a way, sigh, but … that’s a whole ‘nuther topic.) Give ‘em a break, y’all: let the oversexualized bunnies get it on together! They’re both adults. They’ve both been around (comics) forever. And look, maybe a woman shouldn’t have to constantly chase a bat who doesn’t want to be caught — and vice-versa, frankly! Cats have needs, okay? Maybe magical, complicated, industry-crossing needs! (Did Loki write this one himself?! I wouldn’t put it past him.)

6. The nine lives thing. A word about the god/mortal power imbalance here: yeah, I don’t love that. But aside from Loki just sorta letting Catwoman hang around because they amuse each other, or because there are plenty of uh, other aforementioned reasons to level their playing-field *snort*, there are also plenty of Catwoman canons floating around in which she’s not entirely mortal. Sometimes she has nine lives, which puts her in the venn diagram hinterlands of magical comic characters with an extended lifespan. Interesting! (This concept was even brought back recently, comics-wise.)

7. Representation? (This one’s thorny because it’s never treated well in canon. The world is poorly-formed. :/ I hope we can form it better.) Loki and Catwoman may also vibe, perhaps, because they both have a canonic bi history. (I mean … Loki is canonically everything so it depends on the canon one’s talking about, but nevertheless.) I’m not really the appropriate person to bring Bi!GodCat content into the world, but it does make sense! Love them however they identify!

8. The Wonder connection. But what about Batman, you ask? What about his dark little heartstrings, you inquire? Well, hear me out here: if Loki/Catwoman, then maybe … Batman/Wonder Woman? (Why yes, I do like things about BatCat, and WonderBat, and GodCat! There are infinite ships in my ancient harbor, mes amis; I’m quite unbothered by multiple ship options. My skin is clear. My crops are watered and rotated.)

9. Knife mates. Both of these anti-hero tricksters are stabby. (Meaning: they sometimes favor the short blades.) Together, they make a dagger duo. Stib-stabs. Pointy sharpersons. WOMEN MADE OF KNIVES/MEN ALSO MADE OF KNIVES.

Loki stab-gif from youlackconviction!

10. Multiple AU fix-it options. When canon inevitably disappoints, one can always go to the headcanon mountain. Catwoman steals Loki from a prisondungeon. Catwoman steals Loki from the TVA. Catwoman keeps Loki alive and he feels acidically/obnoxiously grateful about it, plus other things. Loki vibes with Selina's trust issues and (complainingly) assists her heists with magic; maybe they even grow to be friends, or learn what love is like is between two similar souls. Perhaps their team-up helps get other Marvel/DC types out of a few high-powered jams. (Or else they just steal from them, heh; the options are many.) *steeples fingers* And so disappointment was solved forever, by expecting nothing from official channels. And also AUs.

[kidflashimpulse]

Hey there! So I want to start writing some fics for bart and I want to make sure they are as accurate as possible and he's kinda the main point of your blog so I was wondering if you could give me like a rundown of his character, how he behaves, what his trauma is like stuff like that. If it's to long to post let me know and I'll message you privately

hey :) that’s exciting, looking forward to reading them 🤩 honestly i could give u a run down but i do think a lot of things i feel strongly about r largely personal interpretations of his character from what we’ve seen + extra trivia, especially on things like trauma. Ill edit later to link u to some think pieces/previous asks where i fleshed out some specifics about his characterisation/background cause honestly to fully answer this question id probably end up writing the equivalent of a fic 😭 lol but the thing is, even if i don’t entirely agree with others views on the matters, other approaches/perspectives on him can lead to really interesting plot/character exploration/stories that id still love to read about! so whilst i might have a general outline on his characterisation, i think it’s also important to go along with what u personally interpret/feel. Also it depends whether ur specifically asking about his yj tv or comics iteration? Though honestly, the core aspects of my answers to both would be pretty similar. But i’ll answer in terms of YJ as that’s very much the point of my blog like u mentioned lol

i think what might also be worth mentioning are traps that some writers (including myself) can fall into that r worth avoiding and why:

- adhd/speed is his full personality

like yes he can be excitable/hyper with his head in the clouds and yes he can be cute about it, but that’s not his only personality trait, he can be serious about things, cocky/bit of an asshole, but also sweet and sincere/speak his mind, but also dubious. He’s multifaceted/complex that way (layered just like anyone can be tbh). It all depends on the situation and seeing how he acts in the series it a good call to see how it can be mirrored/further portrayed in other situations.

- he’s a character that needs babysitting

again yes, it’s common that a lot of his friendships/relationships have a tolerance type of aspect to it, but people he’s at the very least good friends with genuinely like him and have a dynamic that’s on equal footing, some authors can accidentally infantilise him too much which is just not the way to go with him.

- he’s so traumatised that he needs therapy asap

this isn’t to say life is a breeze for him or that he doesn’t/can’t have deep issues. I mean he literally comes from a post-apocalyptic society, that’s pretty troubling. It has lead to traits like how he’s notably desensitised to things like death, has sticky fingers (tendency to steal), doesn’t really have any problem with lying nor confrontation. But from what we have seen he seems to be incredibly adaptable to situations as well as very happy/comfortable in his current time. And i really don’t think the answer to why he can live a comfortable life in the present is because he’s had therapy. I don’t think he’s visibly stuck on any particular trauma (not that he doesn’t have any, they just don’t weigh him down as much as it could) and that as a result of his background, he has a much higher than average threshold for what it takes to get him to break down. I think just because he’s not caught up on what could be personal traumas, doesn’t mean it doesn’t come without it’s issues. Being desensitised to that extent can come with its own problems and i think he has a different set of values than the average person on the team. I think an interesting approach to this is that his “issues” would come about in unexpected/uncomfortable ways/circumstances that can affect his normal relationships like with his family (jay/barry particularly).

- he has complexes about his intelligence/capability/being a hero

personally, i really don’t think this is/should be a trait of his. He IS intelligent/capable and a hero point blank period. Just because he might have an unconventional way of doing/seeing things, doesn’t mean it brings these things into question, atleast, in terms of how HE views himself. Doesn’t mean others won’t have their issues with it for whatever reason, but generally he’s a pretty confident guy to the point of being cocky. Not in the sense that he’s a total dick about it, but because he knows he’s that good and is proud of it. Now this is an interesting trait because i think it actually plays quite nicely with his airheaded/strange moments. I don’t think he fakes them necessarily, maybe plays it up but only because he’s having fun and LIKES having fun too, as well as because he doesn’t want to advertise certain things because of whatever agenda he may have.

a lot of this is a mix of what i consider instrinsic to his characterisation but also personal interpretations. Just because i think he can be cocky, doesn’t mean i don’t think he doesn’t have any insecurities. If anything reading a fic about it would be so interesting (and there have been many that have dealt with it amazingly). All these traits/views don’t exist in binary and can be nicely complimented with other takes/interpretations of them. As long as ur passionate about the story and his character, i think ultimately u can write a really cool story which id be so excited to read. Even if he’s just going clothes shopping and nothing would arise to all that i’ve mentioned, it would still be fun to read. It’s ultimately all just fun :)

Everything i described, can sound a bit confusing, so i’m sorry about that lol. I hope the asks I will link will help too! I think checking out his TV tropes section (Kid Flash II) is also useful, it gives a pretty good rundown on a fair amount of his traits.

here’s also a part of another section that i really like too lol

in terms of general facts, these might also help:

- he’s gay.

- he does go to school (he was enrolled pretty soon after his arrival to the present) .

- he has brown hair (i’m sorry but whenever i read he has red hair i literally frown LOL).

- he is the son of meloni thawne (this one is more his general comic lore but everyone pretty much takes it as canon so, since we are on this topic he has a half brother owen mercer (son of captain boomerang) and his cousin is Jenni (daughter of Dawn)).

- he doesn’t know every single thing that happens to every hero/person in the future, especially since the timeline has completely changed from his original one. What he does know, is subject to debate and it’s always interesting to see what direction different authors take it. What i believe has direct confirmation from greg as well as was suggested in the series is that he for example didn’t know artemis was undercover and that kaldur was a double agent. This could suggest literally anything (they died during that time/they die much later down the line/ they survived but alliances became vague under the mutual threat of a world apocalypse etc)

- he doesn’t want to return to his “original time” it kind of goes without saying but it’s been made pretty clear in the series. He feels relatively at home in the present. Doesn’t necessarily mean he doesn’t miss some things/people from his past though.

- whilst he is pretty lax about having a secret identity, he still has one. Jay doesn’t have one and is a public hero. Do with that what u will lol

- this one is only “suggested” based on the fact that no one saw him off when he left to the present. It’s suggested that his parents are dead.

for now i can’t think of anything else, if i do i’ll edit it in. Hope this was somewhat helpful :)

[imanalbertross]

It's Unpopular Opinion Time with Uncle Al!

TTS Proshipping

I'ma gonna make some people mad, but here I go.

Most of the optional ships I have seen/read/heard of for Varian that are not Hugo or maybe Nuru, though to me she reads incredibly lesbian, are really huge proships. I am, of course, talking about cannon characters (You wanna ship him with an OC, go ahead. I don't have to approve but I can remember being young and wishing I had an OC to give my favorite boy-things). For the most part, the characters that are available to him are of a significant age-gap and power-gap, and that's not a good thing.

I feel like it needs to be remembered that so many of these women/men being shipped with him (though in the lists I've seen that don't include Hugo, the only guy they really offer is Eugene, so still a huge proship) are adults. Which is point number 1. No matter who that person is- Cassandra, Rapunzel, Eugene, whoever- going after the 14 year old, even after a gap of time to allow him to age, would be considered grooming.

Why? Well, largely because of just the three I named, they met him as a child (yes, fourteen year olds still count as children in the eyes of the law) and he had sort of a hero-worship attitude for them at first. He had a full on crush on Cass, respected Raps for being a princess and also the fact that she really thinks his alchemy is cool- which seems to be rare in his world-, and Eugene was probably his first gay crush. That puts them in a position to use that respect he has for them in their favor to gain his interest.

So, Cassarian/Cassandrian has a woman literally almost ten years older than him coming back and getting into a relationship with a person she knows had a crush on her when he was a child makes dating him in the future abusive. The reason for this is because she is leveraging this information to get a relationship based on a child’s feelings, which is super creepy. If this was a male YouTuber and a fan, you wouldn’t be shipping this.

Rapunzel is a princess, and knew she was when she met him, so she gets the Cass rundown plus the fact that the power balance between them is insane. Let not even mention the fact that those two are so high in the sibling vibes category that it makes it an extra step of creepy. And is anyone actually shipping Eugene with him? I kind of feel like that’s a fake ship that angry people use as an example of why we shouldn’t have gays in kids’ shows.

The second point is that most of the other characters that end up on those lists are either small children- like 10-12, and he’s 14-16. I don’t know if you know this, but Varian is kind of an exception to the rule, when it comes to 16 year olds hanging out with younger kids. He’s still learning to friend, which is how he ends up with such a diverse group of friends.

I’ve seen Vex in these lists, and she barely wanted anything to do with the main group, and Varian’s villain schtick wasn’t who he really was. We all have a villain arc as people, and seldom is it the person we long to be or would be on purpose if given the choice. Usually, like Varian, we end up pretty ashamed of that part of our lives. But the characters listed that don’t know him probably wouldn’t want that kind of a relationship with him, nor would they be likely to hold similar desires and ideals- this kind of thing can be a deal breaker in relationships.

This said, we also kind of need to talk about leaving Hugo off the list. Is this because he’s from a program that was denied by Disney? Possibly, but it needs to be said. If you want to post about partners for Varian, you need to state “out of the canon characters” because, honey, there are so many non-canon choices. Hugo is just the one that the writers chose. Which is kind of important too, since they built him. They know Varian better than we do.

Being anti about gay ships but fine with straight proships is a rant for another day. But I got to a point with Cassarian that I just needed to point out the genuine nope surrounding it.

[autumnalmind]

.: The Intro :.

Void / Aki || 25+ || They/He || Nonbinary

Cladotherian: Felidae / Cats

Therian + Past lives

Otherkin + Fickin

currently self-Dx’d system (seeking professional diagnosis)

The Rundown:

  Hiya, I’m Void / Aki! This blog is a remade version of an older one...as well as reworked from what it used to be. I am constantly learning to understand myself better, learn new things, and make friends.

   Feelings of being nonhuman have persisted since I was young, and... This is me putting it to a semi-active blog, to stretch those sides of me out, and be in a community that knows what it’s like [to have had similar experiences].

   There’s still more to say, but I'd rather keep this short. I’ll put a bit of extra information under the cut- the stuff I feel like sharing- and... Yeah, hope you enjoy being around here!

TL;DR of Rules: Don’t be an asshole. No discourse, at all, no exceptions. TERFs and queerphobes, bigots, anti-kin, stay off my blog. I unfollow/block to my tastes; it’s not that deep if it happens. I’m not consistently on this blog nor have much spoons, pls be patient with me. (I’m not ignoring you.) Please don’t assume things about me; ask if curious, sure, but I’ll (system included) bring up if I need advice on anything. Most alters can be asked to front, but don’t expect them to magically show up. Consider it more like submitting a request; either they’ll show up or you’ll wait until they do, that’s all.

  So the short of it... Always had alterhuman-like experiences, starting with Pokemon when I was in elementary school. A persistent, but subtle connection to wolves...and a connection to felines that has never stopped. If anything, only got more active with time.

    I found the fickin community first, through OFFkin, but eventually that made its way to finding therians and otherkin. Kinda been at home ever since, if very quietly; lurking for years, on and off.

.:.:.:.

   As of July 2022 (the time of me originally writing this), I’ve been self-Dx’ing as plural. To keep it short, I’ve already taken the MID with my current therapist, and we’re both working on getting me to a specialist. In the meantime, I continue to research, read other peoples’ experiences, and speak with my therapist about my experiences, but I’m unsure of when/if a professional diagnosis will happen.

   For now, I, again, use plural terms to describe my mental experiences and those I communicate with in there, but... Only time and a professional can tell, I suppose.

[ There’s still quite a lot of denial in here, but I’m working to accept it. Doubt has only created further damage, and I function better utilizing system-based tips. ]

.:.:.:.

    Decided to not save this for last, so... Links for those on mobile, as well as main blog mention.

Main Blog: autumnshaven

Sideblogs: liltieflingprincess ✦ jokersdiamond ✦ lovelybloodybites ✦ deathstime ✦ dammyrammy 

Alter Main-blog: prayersfromaerith

Her “Roommates”/Sideblogs: spring-core ❀ painters-sun ❀

Current... System List || Therian/Otherkin List || Fickin List

.:.:.:.

  ...Alright, that’s about it, I suppose. Quick bit of rules first. That will hopefully be more coherent than the quick-notes above.

Don’t be an asshole. Given that this is my space and I prefer it to be a zone I feel safe in... Just don’t. Transphobia/Queerphobia, racism, etc. will be blocked.

I’ve already blocked some people in the community, but... Don’t take it to heart if I unfollow or block you. I simply cultivate my space/what I want to see and...that’s kinda it.

I’m not consistently on this blog; I’m not ignoring you. This has been a problem in the past with new people & me, so I’ll say it now: I don’t often have a lot of spoons, these days. I need a lot of quiet time to recharge, or to limit my communications w/ people who I already know/am comfortable with. Again, it’s no spite on you if I’m just reblogging here or going silent; I just need a break.

[EDIT] Also suffering from a Tumblr glitch where my messages/IMs will be “read” for me and I won’t get the notif that I was messaged at all. Please be patient with me!

(However, if it’s been a few weeks, you’re free to poke me. Just don’t go overboard and we’re good!) But yes, I never do this to “intentionally hurt people” or whatever. Please keep this in mind.

Don’t assume things about me. I’ve taken quick note that- occasionally- there will be some anon who wants to say, “Actually, I think you’re [this].” I don’t want any part of that! No thank you! Just go, please! I will absolutely understand advice given in good faith (“Hey, what you described sounds more like [X], you should check that out”), but essentially telling me what I should do...no.

(As well, if I’m looking for help...I [or my system] will ask for it. Anything beyond that is a bit much, imo.)

I don’t get into discourse. At the current moment, I still have a lot of learning to do and I wholly understand that. So for that reason, I don’t want any- from plural sides nor alterhuman- to be brought my way. If I rb any of it, it is for __my own learning experience__. I do not want to talk about it. (You can still send an ask/DM, but there’s no guarantee I’ll respond.)

On that note: I can try to provide advice for otherkin/therians, but am uncomfortable giving advice over system-related topics. Personal comfort, as well as the prior mentions of denial I have over being a system, myself. I just personally don’t feel qualified, so please direct those questions elsewhere. Thank you.

I’m still learning terms, how to interact with the community, etc. Definitely wanted to mention this, after noting that KFF is controversial in the otherkin side and so are the terms “kinnie,” “kinning,” and “kin” [as a verb]. Wanted to give a heads up that, while I’m not the former, I’m still “learning the language” as it were, and might still use these terms. However, and I once again stress, I am not KFF.

.:.:.:.

    Thanks for reading! Keep the rules in mind, and we’ll be just fine. Asks are open, as well, for anyone curious about...anything, really. We’ll get to it when we can.