#I don't think I want them to go /dark/ to do it - as much as I love the trope of like... LI pulling their S/O out of a Feral Haze

[zenoxonslibrary]

Entire Transcript of "This Anime is Offensive by Scamboli Reviews":

The internet is quite pissed by this. This anime was shot, scripted in AI, generated by Corridor Digital. You know those guys? They did real-life Minecraft, Dark Souls, Halo, Mario—they even showed a real live woman at some point. Corridor got their hands on Stable Diffusion, it's this AI that… I don't know, does AI? But it was sloppy, so they clashed heads, did research, and two months later, we got an eight-minute-long short film produced by people who never had to pick up a pen. Imagine RDC getting their hands on this—the kids that will run around doing crazy sketches. Never before has animation been more accessible to the average person. And never before has that extremely specific demographic of white dudes that are extremely active on Twitter, with thick-ribbed glasses and beards, been more angry. And that… that made me so mad on so many levels.

Here's the thing: on one hand, I think AI is terrifying, and I want it to go away. On the other, I know that it won't go away and that screaming at excited nerds will do absolutely nothing. I'm not an AI technician, nor am I extremely smart, but God put me on this Earth to talk about things I know nothing about. I would like to discuss why people are angry, who's angry, and share my perspective on this whole ordeal. And to do that, we're gonna have to watch a video made by Mother's Basement.

Mother's Basement hates this. "I am insulted, and so should you." Jeff is an anime YouTuber that has been on the platform long before I have. He's part of a small group of creators who pioneered this niche to where it is today. In his video, Jeff makes some very valid points about the grim future that could lie ahead of AI… and zero good points about what Corridor has to do with that. Like, this dude for real said: "This video? It's not art. Not." Jeff will not call this video art. In fact, he doesn't consider anything AI-generated to be art. And I actually agree with that last part. Art is an expression of human creativity. As soon as a machine does the walking, you're already lost. Millions of photos—regardless of copyright or if the author likes it—are used to train these AI. They teach it to guess which colors and shapes go where on a grainy image. Not only is this overpowered as hell, but it, by itself, is devoid of creativity, which is derived from our personal experiences and biases. Jeff, I'm with you 100% when you say this… but you have to stop yourself from… from… ugh, talking.

If you're gonna be out—I know some dipstick will jump down to the comments to say—"The only difference between an AI reproducing an art style and a human artist doing it is the time it takes." Now, wait a minute, hold on. I just don't think this is a very well-coded comment. What you said is not funny enough to be that rude. If you're gonna be a dick, hide it with as much humor as possible, like what I'm doing.

There's a part of this video where he's like, "If they were interested in making something with even a shred of artistic legitimacy, they could have hired an artist or two to draw up the model sheets their AI would use. But instead, they just went and stole a bunch of frames from Vampire Hunter D: Bloodlust and trained their computer." Someone better call the cops! This is where anime YouTubers do our job—we steal frames. We just take clips of anime and talk over them. But Jeff, you and I are artists. We transform the work we talk about; we reshape it with the aid of our personal experiences. I don't think you can be on the side of anime abridged and critique AMVs but flip as soon as someone uses software that digitally collages that same content.

To say that Corridor made something without a shred of artistic legitimacy is disingenuous. This team had a vision they wanted to achieve, so Corridor problem-solved. They combined the discoveries of multiple users to get this AI looking the way they wanted. They had to tune the hell out of it, write a short film, voice act, normal act, buy costumes, teach the AI what they look like, turn those photos into anime images, pop open Unreal Engine to set up a bajillion cameras with different angles so they could superimpose their animated bodies onto a new environment. And even then, they had to add so many things in post. Storytelling, acting, editing, videography—if you don't think the convergence of all these skills is art, then I don't value your opinion on this topic.

And then there's those sassy fingers. I don't like those sassy fingers. And B, how come every time you call this video an anime, you got to use air quotes? "Anime" looks like ass. You made a video called Avatar is an Anime. "Avatar is an anime?" Fight me. You of all people should not be doing the sassy fingers.

In that video, he made the point that anime is a movement—an artistic movement within the medium of animation, not unlike post-modernism or the French New Wave in film. Everything that makes anime anime—the big-eyed aesthetic, the over-the-top action, the mature themes, the overt sexuality—is a part of that movement. The line between anime and not anime is gray. It doesn't even have to be hand-drawn or made in Japan anymore. So if it looks like anime, sounds like anime, and is written like an anime, what's stopping it from being anime?

There's this video of Aaron Blaise, a dude who animates for Disney, reacting to Corridor's behind-the-scenes. Numerous times, he stops the video and points out, "Yo, that's just like how we made Snow White." "No, it's not too different than what we did on Beauty and the Beast." "We shot reference a lot." AI doesn't write the script, make a story, or rotoscope itself. This is an art form—an art form that is very distinct from all other animation we've seen. If you want to call it animation, it's constantly rotoscoped. It has some jank messed-up hands, and yeah, it's got the hands garbled, monster faces, and not to mention their six-fingered thumbnail. Okay, I don't think this will replace animators in the same way that CGI didn't replace animators. But who knows?

Tech is evil. Recently, I visited ChatGPT for the first time, and within 15 minutes, it had quoted Biggie Smalls saying, "I'm slamming like a dungeon dragon, coming around the corner with the gangster lean." Biggie Smalls has never said that. So then I asked it to write the description of a pickle but as a Dark Souls 3 item: "Era, this pickle has withstood the test of time. Once used as a means of preserving food, it now serves as a reminder of the fleeting nature of life. Consume it to restore a small amount of health, but beware the potential side effects of consuming a food item of unknown age and origin." Yeah, in about five years, these things are replacing me.

When I talk about AI, I don't want anyone to be under the impression that I don't sympathize with everyone whose jobs are in jeopardy. I'm scared as hell. But this situation constantly reminds me of the people that freaked out over the Industrial Revolution in 19th-century Britain. Weavers and textile workers were way more important. It could take years to cultivate the skills necessary to weave with the best of them, and it could take several hours to produce very little cloth using a loom. Then some guy is like, "Hey, why pay people when machine work free?" The world agreed. Automated loom factories started popping up around the 1800s. They continued to get more and more badass, and instead of using a single skilled worker on one machine, suddenly one guy could oversee a bunch at once. Now, every once in a while, the machines would eat a woman or small child, but that didn't stop anyone from using them. This is also how our politicians work.

But think back to those weavers—the people who worked for years doing this stuff by hand. They were sort of phased into obsolescence. Would they just take that? No. A group that would be known as the Luddites began burning down factories and destroying knitting frames in protest. This movement was quickly adopted all across England until, finally, the government heard the voices of the people, saw the pain they were in, and… chopped their heads off. (It just says "executed" here, so that's an artistic change by me. I was really proud to find this in the newspaper clipping.) By 1813, the Luddites had faded into history. That's pretty messed up, right?

On the flip side, look at how painters first responded to photography. Paul Delaroche was this hugely influential artist in the 19th century. He has this hard-ass quote after he was allegedly shown a photograph: "From today, painting is dead." We know that photography didn't kill art. There were even artists at the time who were excited by the idea: "We can use the strengths of both mediums to improve painting rather than replace it." But the feeling that technology will one day automate your job and push your skills into obsolescence existed nonetheless. We've seen it happen. It's very hard to tell who's going to be the weavers and who's going to be the painters in this situation. Only the future knows for sure.

I agree with Mother's Basement on a lot of fronts. A really good point he makes is that currently, this AI stuff can't be copyrighted. You can even take a frame from the Corridor video and sell merch with it. As long as the AI is trained on material you don't own, it's not yours. But what if a big studio hires technicians and artists to train AI with material they own? That gives studios a massive advantage over the little guys who can't afford that. And if it gets good enough, workers could even be phased out if they go on strike because, guess what? "We can make up your workload until you accept a lower wage." There are so many ways AI can benefit humanity—conversely, an equal amount of ways it can tear us apart.

Jeff, what the hell does this have to do with Corridor Digital? It seems like the internet has some misplaced aggression. This is a very emotive topic, so I can understand why people might get angry with Corridor at first glance. "Did we just change animation forever? Uh, I sure hope not." But Jeff is tripping when hearing anything Corridor says. He takes the most sinister, non-charitable interpretation every time.

Exhibit A: When I first watched the video, Jeff had me thinking, "Oh, Corridor maybe paid a subscription service for an AI and is charging people for tutorials on how to use it. That's kind of messed up if they're using copyrighted material, which is what will happen if the technology and processes Corridor are advertising—and apparently tutorializing behind the paywall on their website—do take off." This is false. First off, Corridor is using three open-source software to achieve this effect. They don't get money if you use it. Jeff never mentions that. So the "technology and processes Corridor are advertising"—stating it had me confused—but what Corridor did was push a new technique using the software. They got the animations to flicker less and got the AI to stop changing styles constantly. Then they recorded an hour-long tutorial that teaches you how to replicate that same effect.

"One thing I want to talk about is the democratization of this process. This is a situation here where we're looking at a piece of software that's free, that anyone has access to—a process here that we're sharing openly with everyone because everyone's openly shared knowledge with us." But how is it democratizing animation if the tutorial is behind a paywall? Well, I went and made an account. Oh my god, it's free! This long-ass tutorial is free. If you're only after their technique, you can plug in your card number, get 15 days of free usage on their website, and bail. Once we have the hour-long tutorial, it's not really an ad for that—more so the exclusive content on their site if you decide to stay. But Mother's Basement said—wasn't lying per se, but that's pretty scummy and dishonest in my opinion.

Dishonest is the perfect word. Exhibit B: Mother's Basement is being dishonest when he says, "They're clearly pitching this as a disruption to animation, not VFX." Not VFX? So you also say they're advertising how to cut animators out of animation? Let me just say, dog, that is your pitch. Their pitch is literally at the start of your video: "Wouldn't it be cool if you could film yourself and easily turn into anything you want, like a cartoon character?" Over and over and over, Corridor drives home the idea of giving the little guys—the creatives, groups like Corridor—the ability to make animated stuff. Regardless of what you speculate will happen in the future, this is what they're advertising. This is the pitch.

"And people can experiment and improve upon the process, helping all of us get better. That's great. I love that idea—sharing the knowledge. That's what it's all about." How can you, on one hand, claim they're trying to cut animators out of animation and, on the other, clown them for trying to make it more accessible—for them wanting to democratize animation? See, he's doing the fingers again. You can't have both.

Also, Jeff hates black babies. Maybe even Chinese ones too. That's what I took away from the video. That was a joke. Jeff loves all babies. But do you see how I can infer something, construct a straw man, and make that the thing people attack? Sure, you feel they're advertising how to replace animators and disrupt the world of animation, but what about their words and actions leads you to think that's their intent? Otherwise, you're just kind of… Exhibit C-minus.

From the one and a half million views in three days and tens of thousands of likes on that video, we can also see that the tech is already good enough to satisfy a sizable group of people with little to no taste. Weird statement, right? If you clicked like on this video, you have little to no taste. It's not like I don't know AI is cool and people just want to see it. I got a lot going on, okay? I don't need an anime YouTuber—the pinnacle of human performance—telling me I have no taste because I think a video is interesting.

Continuing on that track, Jeff goes on to say, "And knowing what… in terms of visual… Tokyo Revengers… it's entirely possible that studios will get away with it." And correct me if I'm wrong, but wasn't this guy bought and paid for by Record of Ragnarok? No offense, but who gives a damn what you think about people's tastes? You endorsed an anime that isn't animated. In case you're not aware, Record of Ragnarok is an anime that was received terribly by fans for how poorly animated it was. One of the fights is a straight-up slideshow. Jeff was paid to do a reaction video to promote the anime.

"Freaking orbital laser-level attacks! I love it! Wow! Mid! I love mid! Mid! Yes! Whoa!" Jeff, in retrospect, realized the taste thing was a very stupid thing to say and had to issue a retraction in the comments.

My point is, if you're going to get so emotional over a topic that you're lashing out at people who don't deserve it, maybe it's time to take a step back. Jeff is mad—so mad—like a lot of people out there. And emotional investment is a great way to construct bad arguments to support your feelings. And they throw very valid speculations about what a future with this technology could look like, but when it comes to what the hell Corridor Digital has to do with it all, you see dishonest arguments, straw men, and this clip that he, for some reason, thought was a gotcha.

Because when it comes to these AI tools: "Hey, sure, it makes it easier to copy people's style. So somebody just rips out somebody's style—call them out and be like, 'You rip that person off! Screw you!'" So then we went and we took a bunch of frames from Vampire Hunter D. Of course. Am I the only one who had to rewatch that to see what point he was making? Nico says, "Let people know whose style you're using," and the next clip is Nico saying which style he's using for the AI. Doesn't this seem perfectly consistent with what he just said? Would shift your perception of things? And it's like, "Aha! Caught red-handed!" Somehow.

I don't think people are wrong to be scared or upset at someone, but I think the internet has a fat case of misplaced aggression. Some dudes tweaking software to make AI mildly more presentable aren't what we should be directing our attention at. I think exploring how we can work alongside and legislate this stuff is… I want a future where art coexists with AI in the same way photography did with painting. And I am positive that right here, right now, there is some way we can take that first step.

"We need an active, aggressive counterculture that pushes back against this nonsense wherever it rears its ugly head. AI anime needs to become as dirty a word as NFT." Your solution is to make it cringe? "We will stop AI from stealing our jobs by bitching about it." The sales volume of NFTs has gone up. How is this your solution?

There's a misconception on the internet that bitching about things somehow either changes people's minds or makes the problem disappear. Let me give you an example. When Nike put out an ad endorsing Colin Kaepernick's activism, people felt the type of way. All across the U.S., men and women thought to themselves, "I'm gonna burn every damn Kaepernick jersey I got!" These were our intellectuals, our leaders. Many joined the cause to be just like them and burned their Nike products to send a message. Nike sales changed dramatically, and the company's value went… up by six billion dollars. The movement, which aimed to be as flashy as possible, actually ended up being a phenomenal advertisement. And a lot of people were just like, "Yep… I wish I had my Nike stuff back."

More recently, there's the Hogwarts Legacy boycott. Hogwarts Legacy is this game set in the Harry Potter universe. Now, the author of Harry Potter, J.K. Rowling, had nothing to do with the production, but she does receive royalties. And J.K. Rowling is guilty of transphobia, so she's dead in the eyes of the public. People repulsed by her words decide to boycott the video game as to not support her even a little bit. Fair enough. But boycotting the game wasn't enough. It was these people's responsibility to boycott for you. Tweets rained down upon any streamer caught showing interest in the game. A VTuber was bullied to tears for playing. Hell, people were harassed and picked on by rabid activists. It didn't matter if you were famous; it didn't matter if you weren't. The internet decided that buying this game was an act of hate, and it was their job to stop it. The game just outsold Elden Ring. Turns out, bitching online is a great advertisement for the thing you hate.

I can't be the only one who didn't know or care about this game until the activism. Relax and take notes: "Get the aggressive counterculture to curb the sales of Hogwarts Legacy." No. It did, however, make people feel like they're part of a movement. It was a quick, free placebo for change. It's easy to get behind a movement without thinking of how you're perceived by outside groups because I promise, in both of these cases, people who didn't immediately agree looked at the stuff being posted and thought to themselves, "Okay…" and kept it pushing.

This is exactly what I think when I see someone post a picture of themselves having fun with AI and see those tweets that are like, "This is just you stealing from artists. It's lazy. Stolen from artists that deserve to get paid. Disappointed in you." Do you think anyone has ever read one of these types of tweets and thought, "You know what? You guys are right"? No. "I just want to see how I would look as an anime character. I'm not making merch. It's cool." AI is cool to play with, so people are going to play with it—just as being a wizard is kind of cool. I'll just do it in private if you're gonna yell at me.

Statements like these are great for people who already agree with you, but outsiders are the ones you want. And picking odd fights like these is a terrible way to recruit outsiders. Attacking Corridor is not the way. The march of technology lies not in the hands of YouTubers but in the audience that consumes that media and the laws that govern it. If there's a market for it, it will exist. Simple as that. There's nothing we can do to stop people from refining AI. Right now, thousands of people are tinkering away, trying to find the next foothold towards making the stuff look good. Corridor's video was only possible because of the thousands before them.

So the aim isn't to stigmatize innovating with AI. The cat's out of the bag. The aim isn't to pray people have high enough standards to not like the stuff. I'm sorry, Jeff. The aim is to create a world that coexists with AI. What laws can we enact that will protect animators? What are some general practices that the average person can agree on? I don't have all the answers. I don't even have a good amount of answers, but here's a start:

Corridor should have credited Vampire Hunter D on the main video. I don't think they made an attempt to obfuscate where they got the style. In fact, the behind-the-scenes video credits Vampire Hunter D for the style multiple times. It has damn near the same amount of views as the original. But a good practice to always have is saying, "This AI was trained on images from X." It gives the average person a better idea of what they're looking at, and a quick disclaimer like that on the start would help promote the original works even more.

Here's another one: Jeff was very, very doomer about that copyright stuff. If big studios hire people to train AI on content they own, and indie studios can't afford to do so, that's unfair. True. But since we're in the land of make-believe, let me put something out there: What if someone trains an AI on all the public domain stuff out there? I use public domain stuff for my videos all the time. This way, artists could even opt in instead of having their works taken. I have a friend who knows artists who would like to do something like that. Indie studios can then use this AI and feed it images that they created to replicate that style. And boom—ethical and legal. I don't know if the law would allow you to retain copyright, and I'm not going to learn, but that's kind of how sampling public domain music works, so I figured it'd be fine.

That brings us to the end. I'm not an animator nor a lawyer, so I don't have anything groundbreaking to bring to the table. But if you want to know my opinion, I think a lot of people are freaking themselves out for no reason. The whole "I oppose this thing, so I must attack anything related to it" mentality is silly. If that's how things worked, the vegans running around throwing period blood at butcher trucks and getting run over would have the meat industry on the ropes. That's how I see Jeff saying, "We need an active and aggressive counterculture that opposes AI anime wherever it rears its head." He thinks he's Rosa, but like… Jeff, I love animation, and I respect artists. They should be getting paid more and don't deserve to have their jobs threatened. I just don't see Corridor getting in the way of either of those two things, and there are actual animators that share that feeling.

Jeff deserves respect. He's an OG. If you're interested, check out his original video. I could chop and skew the stuff he's saying—you wouldn't know. But more importantly, subscribe to me. I don't make stuff like this often. I'm gonna be honest—I probably never will again. But anime, manga—hey, uh, where are you going? Don't leave me yet. Please subscribe. Subscribe.

ai generated images make me increasingly sad and tired the more i see them in more and more casual contexts. i dont know how to explain, but it just fills the world with a bunch of nothing. no matter how visually stunning the pictures might be, there's nothing behind it for me. no dedication, no emotions, no feelings, no hard work or creativity, nothing i can truly think about, admire or enjoy. i dont think thats how art is supposed to be

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Besotted 9

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, virginity loss, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: your new neighbour brings intrigue and a bit of danger.

Characters: ex-con!Bucky Barnes (silverfox)

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

"You're fucking cheating dude," Sterling sweeps the plastic chips from the table.

Colin and Trent cackle and Ryan cradles his head, a few too many cans stacked around him. The other girls giggle as they set on the foldout sofa. You watch from your perch near the window, uneasy from your run-in. You're almost sober. 

"You're a sore loser," Trent hurls back and belches. "And drinking all my beer." 

"The fuck ever. You said help myself." 

"Not much help can save you," Colin chirps. 

"Would you all stop whining? God, little boys," Angelique cackles. 

"Little boys?" Trent scoffs. "Not what you said last time--" 

"Average at best," she retorts. 

"Compared to some," Colin smirks, catching your eye. You glower and look at the wall. He's such a slime, yet you have bigger things to worry about. 

You turn and peer out over the deck. You squint into the dim blue and the stirring waves beyond the coastline. Did Bucky really mean it? Is he really watching you? 

Well, he said it himself. He told you, he warned you, how many times, and you were so set on what you wanted. So much so that you just didn't care about what he wanted. You can't really blame him after all. 

You put your palms to your neck and shudder. He said he went to prison. What did he do? You should have worried about that sooner... you should have thought a lot more about all of this. 

"Missing the geezer?" Harley snarks as she struts up, another bottle of neon swill in hand. 

"No, I'm just... tired. The sun..." you shrug, unable to finish the lie. Half a lie; you are exhausted. 

"You didn't tell us everything," Hazel approaches. "How big was it?" 

"Jesus," you gasp. 

"Oh, your prude days are over," Tracy snorts. "So," she puts her hands up before her, "tell me when." She starts to move them apart and you scoff.  

You roll your eyes as heat creeps up your neck. You want to stop thinking about him. Desperately so. You want to believe that if you do, he'll just go away. Bucky was great but scary. You played with fire and now you don't want to get burned any more than you already have. 

"You guys are children," you push away from the window frame and march buy them. "I need some air." 

"Were his pubes grey? Like one of those scouring sponges?" Colin taunts. 

You ignore him with a shake of your head and stomp behind his chair. You feel the air stir as he reaches for you. You dodge him and storm out into the balmy evening. The door snaps shut behind you and you huff. 

You cross your arms and pace up and down the porch. The boards creak and have you spinning with paranoia. You stop and stare out into the trees. It's too dangerous for anyone to be out there. Even him. 

You sit on the top step and lean your elbows on your knees. You cradle your head. You think about all the red flags you raced past. That shady bar and his bruised knuckles. Did he hurt someone that day? 

Then there's that other chill. Not fear, but deeper. The way he made you feel. His patience, his calm intent as he devoured you bit by bit. It was amazing but you're young and it just doesn't make sense. What do you really know about Bucky? You don't even know why he went to prison. People don't go for stealing five cent candy... 

The door swings open and the hinges squeak. You don't look up. It's probably Angelique coming to tell you you're being a buzz killer. Not really. You separated yourself from the situation. Better then sticking around and moping. She only knows how to make her problems everyone else's. You could blame her for all of this. She dared you to do it. Still, you did it. 

Footsteps tramp heavily up next to you and hop down on the second step. Colin drops beside you on the step and slings his arm over your shoulder. You shrug him off as he snickers. 

"You know, the old man's not around..." 

"Stop," you mutter and cross your arms. 

"Come on. It's vacation. Have a little fun," he plants his hand behind you, leaning against you. "I've been hard all day." 

"You've been a creep forever," you sneer. "I want you to go away." 

"Why? I mean. You wear that suit all day, ready to pop out, and you expect me not to notice?" He slides closer, nearly crushing you against the railing. 

"I didn't wear it for you," you push your elbow into his side. "Take a hint, buddy." 

"I took all the hints," he caress the top of your ass. 

You growl and lift your hand. You reel back but before you can swing, he flies forward and lands at the bottom of the steps. You squeal and look up as a deep black shadow puffs above you. Bucky steps to the edge of the top stair as Colin wheezes on the ground. 

"What-- How--" You stand and he catches your upper arm. 

"You're leaving. Now." He snarls. 

"Bucky, I was dealing with him--" 

Colin coughs as he writhes in the dirt. 

"Sure you were. Barely," he growls. "I seen men like him in the pen. Animals. He wasn't gonna stop." 

"Let go--" 

To your surprise, he does, but only to barrel down the stairs. He grabs Colin as he tries to sit up, gripping his wrist as he pushes his middle finger back. The pop of his joint roils in your stomach. Colin hollers. 

"Bucky!" You hurtle down and latch onto him. 

"Fucker! Touching my woman," he grabs another finger. "Wanna see what happens to rats like you--" 

"Bucky! Stop. Please. Don't hurt him--" 

"What the fuck is this?" Angelique's whiny screech comes from behind a flash. You turn as she lights up the seen with her phone. "Oh my god! Are you serious?" She slams each foot down as she crosses the porch. "You invited this loser? Withou even asking?" 

"No, I--" You cling to Bucky as you tug on him. "I didn't--" 

"Don't fucking worry," he throws Colin's arm away and boots him in the side. "I don't wanna fucking be here." He turns to face the others as they follow the chaos outside. "I came here to take her away from you filth." 

"Filth?" Harley gasps. "Excuse you. You might be hot as fuck but you can't talk to us like that." 

Bucky walks up the steps calmly. "You gonna stop me?" 

Harley backs up and grabs onto Hazel. Both of them hide behind Sterling who just stares, a drunken droop in his eyelids. The others gape, sharing looks as aimless as your own. What do you do? 

You're jostled from behind and stumble. Colin staggers up the steps only for Bucky to spin and send him plummeting again. The crack of his fist carries up into the sky. He shakes out his fingers then points at you. 

"Go get your stuff. Now." 

The thunder of his voice, the violence he's wrought, it has your throat in a snare. You can't breathe, you can't think. Why is he doing this?

"What the fuck--" Kissie exclaims. 

"Bucky, please--" you put your hands up. "Don't hurt anyone else, okay? I'm going to.... I'm going to get my things. Alright? Just no more hitting." 

He glares at you then tilts his head. "Five minutes." 

You gulp and sidle past him. As you get to the top of the steps and Angelique postures, "yeah, get the fuck out of here, slut." 

You flinch. It was always a joke before. Whore, slut, bitch; not anymore. The venom in her voice makes your insides sour. 

"Ang?" 

"You ruined this whole fucking night," she shoves you. 

She squeals as suddenly her arm is wrenched back. Bucky spins her, pulling her wrist between her shoulder blades. Trent and Sterling step up but Bucky doesn't relent. 

"Trying it, you skinny fuckers," he barks. 

They stop. Trent clears his throat, "look, dude, let her go and get out of here." 

"I will," Bucky looks at you. "Go on, doll. Before anyone else does something stupid." 

You look at him. His face is cast in darkness but you feel the anger roiling off him. You turn and flit inside. The door is caught behind you. 

"Are you fucking serious? You brought that criminal here?!" Harley's on your heels. "He's hurting Angie." 

"I'm going, okay? I'll get rid of him." 

"Doesn't change that you led him here--" 

"Would you shut up?" You grab our phone and spin to face her. "And grow the fuck up. Stop whining. All of you are so immature and maybe I'm better off without you. Even if it's with him." 

Ryan falls out of his chair and belches. "Shhhhhh, sleep." You stare at him as he all but reaffirms your statement. You frown at Harley and throw your hands up. 

"Wow, you're a bitch," she sneers. 

"Sure. Yeah, whatever you say," you drop your shoulders and brush by her. 

You go down the hall and grab your bag out of the room. You turn back and ignore Harley and Hazel as they stand just inside the door.

You step out, your stomach plunging, the sudden drop of your heart nearly folding your legs. Kissie is down with Colin as he whimpers and holds his hand. Bucky release Angelique and she whines. She stops a few inches from you. 

"Get the fuck out of here!" She snivels and bats her lashes against a wall of tears. 

You don't say a word. You're too embarrassed, too afraid. You don't have much of a choice. Your so-called friends wouldn't let you stay even if you could stand up to Bucky. What friends? Shouldn't they protect you like they did Angelique? 

Bucky grabs onto your wrist as you near and drags you down the steps. You stumble but keep your feet moving. You don't look back. You can hear Angelique hurling insults under her breath as everyone else comforts her. Your eyes sting. They really don't care about you. 

"Come on, doll," Bucky lead you into the dark, not hesitating as the gloom surrounds you. "They ain't no good for you." 

You let him. You give in to your own bad decisions. How stupid! 

It’s jarring how only last week, you were so excited, thrilled about this man. You were intoxicated by him and now you are terrified. That liberation has turned into entrapment. 

He stops you as you trip over an unseen root. He pauses then a light blooms ahead of you. He uses his phone to light the way. His bike is just ahead, like a beast against the evening hue. 

He takes your bag and shoves it into the saddle bag. Your phone drops as he does and he quickly swipes it from the ground. He puts it in his pocket. He grabs a helmet and puts it on your head. You wince as he secures the strap. 

“Bucky,” you croak. “Bucky, please...” 

“It’s late.” 

“Yes, and dark. It’s not safe--” 

“Don’t tell me what’s safe,” he snaps. “Not after today.” 

He puts his own helmet on then grabs the jacket draped over the seat. He puts his leather coat on you. The summer night has a sliver of a chill on it. He zips it to your chin then taps the rear seat. The one he installed only days after you met. 

He straddles the bike and extends his arm out. He helps you on behind him and you squeeze his shoulders to steady yourself. He exhales and leans back into you. 

“You know, doll, I missed you. I didn’t come to punish you,” he sits up and straightens the bike. “I came to save you.”  

He twists the ignition and the bike roars to life. It rumbles beneath you and you wrap your arms around his middle. You rest your head against his back as he twists the throttle. As the bike tears forward and he steers along the narrow path, your tears spring forth. A tunnel of wind encases you, adding to that sense of suffocation. 

He told you who he is. He told you what he is. Why didn’t you listen to him? 

[forever-rogue]

I don't know if this is a silly idea so if it is I apologize!

But could you write something where Tommy and the reader were seeing each other in Austin but with all the commotion they didn't have time to look for each other when they were fleeing so they both moved on thinking the other one was killed, but the reader suddenly ends up in Jackson and they get to reunite

AN | Ahh, this has been in my drafts for so long! Reminder that I am also a Tommy Miller enthusiast. I love this concept and I hope you do too 🥰 

Pairing | Tommy Miller x Fem!Reader

Warnings | Language

Word Count | 2.1k

Masterlist | Main

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“How much longer is it until we’re there?” you were whining, and you knew it. But quite honestly, you didn’t care. You were cold, tired, and hungry, and your feet were killing you. Ellie looked at you and snickered softly; she was young and spritely, everything seemed easy for her. 

“Not much longer if you’d stop your whining,” Joel turned back to you as you gave him an indignant little huff. You knew he was teasing; the two of you butted heads a lot but there was nothing but affection behind it all, “think you can manage?”

“I guess,” you waved him off and fell into step with Ellie, “you know, this place better be worth it.”

“It will be,” he promised and you wanted to believe him. You hoped he was right…things had been hard the last few months and honestly, you really just wanted a nice long break, “trust me.”

“The last time I trusted you, Joel, I ended up on this crazy journey with you and the kid,” you snorted in amusement as the two of them stared at you in surprise, “and - and - I wouldn’t change it for the world. So calm down and stop glaring daggers at me.”

“You know-” but Joel was quickly cut off by the sound of hooves, shouts, and barks. This definitely wasn’t good. 

You exchanged a look with Joel and the two of you surrounded Ellie to make sure she was as hidden as possible. It really was no use because the three of you were as exposed as could be. 

Fuck. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

So…many things didn’t turn out as badly as they could have. In fact, it seemed like it really just turned into…the best possible situation. 

You’d not only found your way to Jackson, which already just from the outside was a lot to take in, but Joel had managed to find his brother. It was a shock on both ends but, you realized, life had been a lot like that lately. 

For the first time in a long time, you even allowed yourself to believe that things might actually work out. Hope. It was an odd thing really. 

But it was Joel’s shout that started you out of your little daydream fantasy. You almost slipped off the horse at the sudden shift of him yelling, "Tommy!"

You exchanged a look with Ellie before turning to look in the direction that Joel was currently running to. He'd almost jumped off his horse and was taking off in the direction of another dark haired man. How very curious.

The party came to a stop and the two of you got off your own horses before hesitantly walking over. It appeared that the two brothers had really missed each other. 

Joel let go of the younger man and turned to the two of you with a beaming smile, "this is my younger brother, Tommy."

You turned to the raven-haired man, ready to introduce yourself to him when everything seemed to come to a screeching halt. Time stood still as you realized that you too knew Tommy - at least once upon a lifetime ago you had.

He must have realized at the same time as you had because all he could do was silently look at you in awe. You weren't even sure how to really respond - you hadn't seen him in twenty years. Yet here he was, right as rain and the same as ever.

"Tommy?" You asked softly as he nodded, repeating your name just as quietly. Confusion marred Ellie and Joel's faces, unsure of what was going on, "oh my god."

He hesitated for a moment before holding his arms out and pulling into a hug. A sound somewhere between a sob and laugh escaped your lips as you hugged him back with just as excitement.

You had been sure you'd never see him again. You'd made peace with the fact that the love of your life was dead. 

And yet…there he was. Alive and well. Your Tommy.

When you reluctantly pulled apart, he cradled your face in his hands, tenderly brushing away the tears that rolled down your cheeks. It still felt so unreal, like a wild day dream.

"Does anyone want to explain what's going on here?" Ellie decided to cut through the tender moment and Joel groaned slightly. He was such a dad sometimes, despite what he insisted. 

"Ellie."

"It's okay," you promised, "Tommy and I…we used to…we were dating. Back…you know."

"Before," he finished for you, catching your eye and offering a shy smile, "before everything fell apart."

"Wait…" Joel looked between the two of you, pointing at each of you in turn. He repeated your name and realization dawned on him, "its you? All this time…shit-"

"Language!"

"You've been Tommy's girl?" He was more incredulous than either of you, "how did I never…realize?"

"To be fair, I haven't been anyone's girl in a long time," you stared at your feet, trying not to focus too much on the fact that everyone was staring at you, "and I didn't put two and two together to realize you were his brother. So."

"So," Tommy echoed, rocking back and forth on his heels. Neither of you were quite sure what to say; you never thought you'd been in this position again, "why, ugh, why don't we get you guys settled in? Seems like you might be staying a while."

"Great!" Ellie was able to cut through any of the tension as she stepped between you and Tommy, grabbing hold of his arm. You breathed a small sigh of relief; things had quickly gotten to a point where you didn't know what to even think.

Joel quirked an eyebrow at you but remained silent otherwise. The look was never enough to kill you; damn these Miller brothers. You huffed, "don't say a word, Joel."

He held up his hands in mock surrender as you huffed and followed after Ellie and Tommy.

Well. This day had definitely not gone according to plan. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

After that initial afternoon of introductions and reunions, you managed to avoid Tommy for a few days. It wasn't too hard in Jackson; there were way more people than you had initially imagined. It felt so strange, but wonderful, to be somewhere that felt…normal again. Between that and Tommy, it almost seemed like things really were almost like they had been all those years ago.

"Hey there," his soft voice cut through your thoughts as you turned your gaze away from the softly falling snow and onto him. You stiffened for a moment before smiling at him.

"Hey Tommy," you moved over on the bench and brushed off the powdery fluff. He beamed at the silent invitation and sat down next to you, leaving just enough of a gap between your bodies.

"I was wondering if I'd ever see you again," you could hear the teasing lilt in his voice, "I was almost sure you'd been avoiding me."

"I-I wasn't…avoiding you," it was a lie and you both knew it. Tommy laughed, and you realized just how much you loved his laugh. It had always been one of your favorite things. 

"You've always been a horrible liar," he gently nudged your knee with his and you couldn't help the shy smile that bubbled up, "I guess time doesn't change everything."

"I guess not," your stomach churned with a plethora of emotions. Everything all at once. 

"How'd you end up with my brother?" his cheeks flushed and not just from the cold. It took a moment till you caught on and you almost laughed.

"I'm, ugh, I'm not with Joel," you promised and his shoulders visibly relaxed, "we're just friends. Trust me, I'm not - I'm definitely not - interested in him."

"Oh," you peeked over to see the smile on his face grow, "okay, that's umm, yeah. Good. And you've, ugh, never-"

"No," a shiver ran down your spine as you cut him off. Sure, Joel was handsome but you were definitely not into him, "and no thank you."

"Cool," a silence fell over the two of you, neither awkward or completely still.

"What about you and Maria?" Yeah. You were curious too.

"We…we were together for a while," he confessed and you hated how it made your stomach twist and turn. It wasn't your place to be jealous but…you were feeling particularly green, "but it didn't work out. So we're just friends."

"Well, that's good that you're still friends," and your insides were jumping around happily.

"Mhmm," he hummed in agreement before it grew quiet again. You could practically hear Ellie screaming in your ear to make a move. Lord knows that she was absolutely wanting to see the two of you get tougher again. It would be just like a movie she'd sighed dreamily.

You shifted and angled your body so you were facing him and found that he was watching you intently. You opened and closed your mouth a few times and yet somehow he knew exactly what you were thinking. Tommy leaned in and put his hand on your cheek, hesitating for just a moment to search your eyes for permission before kissing you. 

And suddenly it felt like you'd never stopped kissing him. It all felt so familiar and so…right that you thought you'd never want to forget this again. Tommy Miller always kissed you like his life depended on it.

When he pulled away, and for all you knew he could have been kissing for seconds or hours or minutes, you made a small sound of disappointment.

"I know," there was nothing but affectionate teasing behind his voice, "but if I keep kissing you, I might sink and drown, and die. Give a man a second."

"Was it that bad?" Your eyes widened with worry but the man shook his head.

"The opposite," he grinned, "I just needed a moment so I don't get too crazy for you. It's always been hard."

"Oh," alright, that was a way better answer than you'd hoped for, "I've missed that too. Honestly, I've missed you. A lot…but I feel like that's really obvious to say."

"Not a day passed when I didn't think of you," he admitted shyly, "even if it was just  for a moment, but you were still there in my mind. Like it was yesterday."

"Well, I'm sure the reality," you pointed at yourself, "is disappointing compared to the memory."

"That's where you're wrong," he scoffed as though you must have been blind, "you're just as beautiful now as the day I met you."

"Tommy-"

"I mean it," he put his hand on top of yours and gave it a gentle squeeze, "I've dreamed about this day so many times. I never thought…that I would actually get the chance to see you again."

"Me neither," you really wanted to wrap yourself up in him, "I'm just afraid you're not going to like this version of me. What if I'm not like you remember?"

"None of us are the same, sweetheart," he insisted softly, "we've all been through so much shit. But deep down we're all the people we once were."

"You think so?" You could feel the tears welling up already, "I mean, I'm just assuming you'd want to even…try again. You know what, forget I said anything - you don't want-"

"I do," he quickly cut off any of your negative thoughts, "I really do. You think I'd give up this second chance with my dream girl?"

"Dream girl?" and oh. The way you were looking at him made him want to melt, "I'm your dream girl?"

"You always have been and always will be," he grew bashful as you looked at him in awe, "and I think we were given this opportunity for a reason. And I know it's scary, but if you're in, I kind of want to try again. Us."

"Are you sure?"

"I've been thinking about it since the moment I saw you," he leaned in and you were so close you could kiss him - and you definitely intended on doing that again, "so I guess it's up to you, sweetheart."

"I'm in," you promised without hesitation, "all in."

"Me too," and then he kissed you again, softly but with so much love, "all in."

[stilllivinginthesewers]

Let's go with my second most important OC (should I do it with all of them?)

Name : Riley (i asked ChatGPT until i was satisfied with the name 💀)

Age : 17 years old

Love interests : Some guy named Louie, a really good cook scared of any type of firearms (though he becomes the most dangerous man ever if you spoil his food/bother him while he's cooking)

Favourite food : Red Guacamole (red avocadoes exist in this universe as well as blue and green ones, and red ones are sweet and spicy. Still, spices and ingredients are as important in the recipe)

Job : None, they used to study psychology but then stopped and now they just... Hang out with his group of friends (and a literal god also)

Hobbies : Surfing and paintball, mostly

Best at : helping people, whether it's emotionally or physically. He'd do anything to help anyone, even if he has to get hurt, to skip two whole nights of sleep or clean the blood of your worst enemy. He tries to tank almost everything and often forgets that people sometimes didn't ask for help, and that he's not invincible himself.

Loves/Hate : They love seeing people smile, and they hate seeing people suffer, or simply cry. But nothing really bothers him, as long as he knows everyone is going well, he's happy.

Best memory : One day, before his parents divorced, his dad took him to the city for a whole day when his mom wasn't here. It's the first time he really felt happy, and this day he knew how much he meant for his dad.

Worst memory :

(⚠️TW SUIC_DE, skip this part if you don't wanna read this⚠️)

During his studies in college, he met a girl, Sina. She came from another country (which is common knowing his country had the best universities in the world) and since she didn't know anyone, Riley became friends with her. Both of them had the best times together, in spite of Sina's depression. But one night, he received a goodbye message from Sina, and rushed to her apartment to try something. He couldn't find her at home, and decided to look for her on the rooftop. At the very moment he arrived, he could see her fall from the roof.

✨ End of the TW ✨

Design? : Basically, yes. Long dark hair, tanned skin, always wearing a Hawaiian shirt and a long bermuda short, carrying a white and red surfing board. I didn't really draw him yet so it never really changed.

Inspiration : I don't remember, I think it's because I love helping and I thought about a character who would be like this, but pushing this trait a bit further.

Genre : I'm not sure I understand, but he's one of the protagonists (plz someone tell me if I'm mistaken)

Gender/Sexuality : Riley is a man, and is biromantical/allosexual

Siblings : He has a step brother, 10 years older (his name is Alessandro, and is the most important political figure of another country (although he's just a huge troll and is so laid back he shouldn't have his current post)

Relationship with his parents : Riley visits his dad really often and both love seeing each other, whereas he never talked to his mom since she left, but he's okay with it, it's not like he missed her.

Favourite trait of the OC : HIS HAIRRR I WANT THEM OMGGG

Drawing/writing frequency : I write about them quite often compared to the other OCs

Killing the OC? : We're both aged the same, about the same physical strength, but he's really fast and I have asthma so I guess not.

Phobias : None, he's not really scared of anything

Rival : He has no true rival actually

Duration : It's been about a year, something like that i think

Age of creation : 15 or 16, something like that x)

Ask Game for someone’s OC(s)

✨- How did you come up with the OC’s name?

🌼 - How old are they? (Or approximate age range)

🌺- Do they have any love interest(s)?

🍕 - What is their favorite food?

💼 - What do they do for a living?

🎹 - Do they have any hobbies?

🎯 -What do they do best?

🥊 -What do they love to do? What do they hate to do?

❤️ - What is one of your OC’s best memories?

✂️ - What is one of your OC’s worst memories?

🧊 - Is their current design the first one?

🍀 - What originally inspired the OC?

🌂 - What genre do they belong in?

💚 - What is your OC’s gender identity and sexuality?

🙌 - How many sibling does your OC have?

🍎 - What is the OC’s relationship w/their parents like?

🧠 - What do you like most about the OC?

✏️ - How often do you draw/write about the OC?

💎 - Do you ever see yourself killing off the OC?

💀 - Does your OC have any phobias?

🍩 -Who is your OC’s arch-nemesis or rival?

🎓 - How long have you had the OC?

🍥 - What age were you when you created the OC?

[writingwisterias]

how would the different eras Leon be if, when meeting for the first time, the reader already has a child (newborn/very very young) from a past relationship? how would he act and adapt to the situation??

I love this idea!! 💓 I need more Dilf Leon....

Warnings: None

Afab!Fem!Reader

RE2:

Whenever he likes it or not kids absolutely love him

Its only natural that your child and him just click together creating almost a best friend relationship instead of a parental one

Leon doesn't really feel like he can fill this gap for them at this age, there's lots that he has to learn still etc

However, his main focus is on you and ensuring that you feel supported when you might not

If down the line your child starts to refer to him as their day etc he won't deny it instead step up and wear it with honor

In terms of a newborn both of you are out of your depth but he will help you both learn together.

Also a huge help postpartum, after all raccoon City left him with trouble sleeping so he'll do any of the night feeds if he can or stay up with you during them

RE4R:

Much like Re2 he isn't going to push for your child or accept him into that role he will just wait for it to happen

He's not around a lot so when he is, you best bet he's spoiling that child as much as he can

Theyll come to him for snacks or to stay up late and watch movies. Always opting to cuddle into him and share a blanket

You can sometimes feel replaced with the excitement of him being there but Leon will always ensure that you feel included

Always doing bedtime as a family instead of 1-1 moment with him

Light sleeper so he doesn't mind helping you through the sleep regression moments

Actually loves being woken up in the morning by them

If he gets referred to as a dad he will falter slightly not really sure if he's ready with the implications however reassurance from you that he's not over stepping then he will automatically join in

Infinite Darkness:

It would like an older version of Re2, he's the fun guy that occasionally hangs out with you

Its when it starts to get serious or he sees you struggling that it's almost auto drive in filling the role that you need him to

He'll never overstep, chosing to run off what you want for your family

The only times he does overstep is when you push him away, not wanting to burden him with the responsibility of a child that isn't his

Instead he'll bounce back at you treating you with things that you need

If you slip up and refer to him as the baby's dad or someone else does he won't let it affect him. Maybe at first he'll get frigid and freak out but when he settles more he's almost natural and feels honored to receive the title

Damnation:

The grumpier one out of all of them, not really believing he's father material at first

Will hold the child and other things if you need a minute but he's relying on you to guide him

He gives me the vibes that he doesn't really do a lot with the child at first just acknowledging it briefly

But then he becomes the favorite

The child is always clinging to him, running on stumpy legs to greet him at the door

Always opting for him to cuddle before bed

Its smaller things like this that melts his heart, his home screen is a photo of all three of you

He's taking you all out on smaller dates

Tries to stop his bad habits

The title he gains is never confirmed it just happens. Not one really mentions it, it's almost like it was meant to be

RE6:

Immediately bonds with the kid. There's no awkward moments or anything he's straight into the role

If it's a newborn he's comforting then to sleep enough that's it's difficult without him, toddlers always want him to read a story

Gets him thinking about how he wanted to have this role with sherry and is almost happy he gets to try again

There's no bad blood with the fact it isn't his,.he just accepts and works with you to ensure he's not crossing a line with the baby daddy

Will wake up to do night feeds etc you don't need to worry about it

Takes on larger responsibilities that you need him to whislt you are still recovering and trying to find a new footing in your role

Loves hearing you refer to him as the dad

Vendetta:

Starts of avoiding the kid, he's not in the right frame of mind for a relationship with them. He doesn't care that you have one he's just reluctant much like Damnation

And then he gets used to it, becomes protective over this small little bubble of joy he has

It starts of simple then it grows more when he moves in

If the child has a nightmare and comes into your room they aren't going to your side of the bed it's his

It makes him falter because he's become this staple of safety in the childs life.

You'll wake up to them snuggle into his chest laying on his outstretched arm

Death Island:

He's like a gift from God

You met him when you were really struggling and he just fit perfectly

He's the fun dad, all the kids love him and all the mum's are jealous that you have him

Constantly treating the both of you and making memories/adventures

Wears the child on his shoulders, BABY CARRIER TOO LIKE 🤤

He doesn't care, it's a chance for him to have what he's always wanted and he'll make sure he keeps it

[wild-jackalope]

hii queen, i love yours writings and the fic about viltrumite!mark is amazingGgg ❗️❗️ so talentedddd

you say you want more about this mark, sooo....is oliver in this universe? and what is the reaction of reader about this? I'm a sucker for this universe, fr, is so original 🙏🙏🙏

This is such a good question.

And babe I’m stumped.

I mean for plot reasons I guess so? But Mark would never. He loves his beautiful wife too much ❤️ Nolan has a little more disconnect than Viltrumite Mark (enough to have sex with a bug apparently). I think Mark is more loyal, so I’m not sure he would get another being pregnant—let alone have sex with them.

Not unless there was some fucked up comparison between his wife and the other woman. Maybe her hair is the same as yours, or you have similar voices. That would be the only reason he’d live his regret through another woman.

I’ll do a personal what if oneshot, just for you.

Alone, and drunk.

It was the best way to describe what you’d become since your daughter had left for college.

The house was barren of bodies and haunting memories were left in their wake. His clothes neatly folded next to your own, his scent clinging to your bedsheets.

It was like Mark still lingered in the house, only he was always one room away. Just out of reach.

But Mark was dead.

He was dead to you, at the very least.

You had cried at his gravestone. Mourned him. Mourned the man he was—or rather, the man he was pretending to be, the man he could've stayed. After the tears dried, you attempted to gather the shattered pieces.

Your daughter had taken to the stars. According to her girlfriend, Amber, she'd left earth to help a species of aliens with a deadly meteor shower.

That was just like her, flying headfirst to save anyone and prove she wasn't her father.

But that was two months ago.

For two months, you'd felt more alone than ever. For two months, Cecil had been pestering you—asking if she was back, if you had any more specifics on her location. For two months, you'd tried to return to normalcy within your job.

You reached up to your wine cabinet, taking a cheap Moscato.

"Hey, Mum."

The bottle nearly slipped from your fingers. You had turned so quickly the room spun, your body stumbling with the whiplash.

There she stood, in a strange robe, dark hair pulled back and her father’s unmistakable brown eyes staring back at you.

You tripped towards her, pulling her into your weak but longing arms. She sighed into you, her stress dissipating at the familiar embrace. You pulled back just enough to take her shoulders in your hands.

"It's been two months! You know I try not to worry, but even Cecil's been frantic, he's—"

A small babble from behind your daughter's legs cut you off. Your eyes dropped to the floor, to the tiny figure peaking from behind her.

A small child blinked up at you, wide brown eyes gleaming with curiosity.

"Who... is that?" You gaped loudly, crouching instinctively.

"That's... my brother."

You proceeded to pour yourself a sizeable glass of wine, whilst your daughter knelt and handed her brother a mitten, which he eagerly distracted himself with.

With a shaky breath, you sank into the nearest seat. "I—I don't even have the words," you took a short sip of the sour wine to collect your thoughts, but it only made them foggier, "this morning, I didn't even know if Mark was alive... I didn't even know if I wanted him to be alive. Now his new child is sitting in my kitchen."

"The Viltrumites took him, Mum. Dad... he didn't have a choice."

"Like hell he didn't," your voice sharpened. "He didn't have to go to that planet, he certainly didn't have to find a new partner and have a new baby!"

Her eyes avoided you.

“Mark destroys everything in his path, and everyone else is left to clean up the wreckage, the lies…” you said, quieter now.

"Mum..." She reached for you, to touch your shoulder, but decided against it.

"What are we supposed to do with him?" You asked, gaze returning to the small boy. "He doesn't even have a name."

"He ages fast, he won't stay a toddler long... maybe I'll take a year off college to take care of him." She suggested, shoulders sagging heavily.

"What? No, absolutely not."

"I've been gone for two months, Mum, my grades are already bad. Plus, I learned to change diapers on the way home."

The toddler giggled, picking up and letting the mitten hit the floor. You watched him, but your mind was still fixed on your daughter.

"What about... Cecil?"

She shook her head firmly. "No, Mum. He's my brother, I can't just abandon him."

You exhaled, amused at her mature resolve, "You must get it from my side of the family then."

The toddler had thrown the mitten too far this time, tossing it out of his reach and so, he began to cry. Your daughter, rose quickly, going to his side and picking him up. She tapped on his nose playfully and bouncing him in her arms with practised ease.

After everything Mark put her through, she was still so kind. So gentle. So good.

Your daughter. Invincible.

"Don't quit school, honey," You went to her side, wrapping your arms around the both of them. "I'll take some time away from work to look after him."

The child wriggled beneath you, and a distinct stench filled your nose.

"But... you're changing that diaper before you go anywhere."

[buck-star]

So strong and yet so broken

He works for the omega rescue, and while you think these are organisations that are darker than they say they be, you never considered to ask them for help. Only when you see the other side of the omega rescue, you finally let go of your former alpha.

Pairing: Alpha!Chris x Omega!Fem!Reader

Wordcount: 5.026 Words

Warnings/Tags: hurt/comfort, alpha/beta/omega, domistic abuse (not Chris), collar, spitting, lot of crying, angst, trust issues, lies (not Chris), mention of violence and cages, lots of fluff

Authors Note: Shout out to @thenameswinter99 for the encouragement and letting me rant about the idea! Divider made by me.

Events: Missy's writing challenge [Destroyer!Chris | Alpha/Beta/Omega | @saiyanprincessswanie]

Masterlist | Destoryer!Chris Masterlist

🎵You took my soul and wiped it clean.🎵

The slight sun breaking through the clouds doesn’t help much to warm up the freezing breeze that’s blowing through the streets of New York. The loud cracking of the nearby door makes you flinch, fingers wrapping tighter around the bag you’re holding between your shaking fingers as a strong, muscular frame appears from the inside of the building.

“Where were you so long? Didn’t I say, come home after work immediately?” His rough, angry voice breaks through the otherwise quiet, dark alley.

You’re not allowed to use the front entrance of your apartment building. You’re an omega, and omegas don't have privileges, so if you want to get inside, you have to be there on time when your alpha opens the back door of the apartment building.

“Do you need me to spell it for you? Maybe it would help to bruise your sorry little ass, letting you spell out every word why you’re late and spanking you for every single letter you say,” he suggests, his voice low and rough as he keeps standing in the doorframe. His eyes are cold as he looks down at your smaller, shivering frame. “No more little trips with ya little friends then.”

Your eyes widened slightly; it wasn’t just the promise for spanks but also that he doesn’t even allow you to go out with friends any longer. It wasn’t even your fault that you were late — half a minute too late for his liking.

“Don’t look at me like that and move your fuckin’ ass inside. Now,” he growls, annoyed, as he steps out of the doorframe and lets you walk inside. For a moment you hesitate, knowing what’s to come when you walk into your shared apartment.

You may be an omega. But it doesn’t mean he’s allowed to treat you like his property, right? On the other hand, you never learned anything else other than that. John's the first and only alpha after your father decided you’re old enough to belong to an alpha. You learned to love how to behave, how to submit even when everything inside of you was screaming that you should just punch him and run. But you never did — except in your wildest dreams, where you weren’t just a little doll for the alpha.

“A—“

“Shut up!” His voice was dripping with anger as he cut you off. One of his big hands moved to wrap around your neck, pulling you against his firm chest as he spit into your face with a wide grin. “Don’t you know better than to discuss it with me, pet?”

It isn’t Omega. It isn’t any kind of nickname he gives you. No, it’s pet.

And even that nickname isn’t a nickname. It shows your place, lower than it would be as an omega. You’re nothing but a pet for him. Good for pleasure, to pet and to feed as long as you do as he says. And if not…? Then you will have to learn that everything he doesn’t like has to be punished.

“Come on, use your words, pet,” he says, snarling as you dare to look in another direction. John doesn’t care who might see you; no one would say anything because you’re his. Marked. Claimed. He spits down on your face once again, a low chuckle rumbling through his chest as his eyes flash with a hint of pleasure and darkness. “Cat got your tongue?”

You shake your head, looking down before you can catch another glimpse of a thick alpha walking through the hallway. His scent is musky, mixed with sandalwood and something sweet — not too strong. You don’t really know him; he sometimes visits one of your neighbors, a young omega who moved into the building a while back.

You barely see her; she’s more of the shy one or something. And the alpha who’s visiting her comes like twice a week, but he isn’t claimed, and neither is the omega he’s visiting. Maybe they are just dating, or they are friends?

“Don’t fucking look at him; he’s not your alpha,” John barks at you, slamming the door shut as he tightens his grip around your neck and pulls you with him through the hallway. You whimper when his fingers dig further into your soft skin; for a moment, he chases your oxygen to be cut off until he changes his grip slightly. “And now you’re whining, stupid, fucking pet.”

You immediately press your lips tightly together, trying to stop every sound that’s threatening to fall past your lips. John is already mad; you don’t need him to be even angrier just because of that.

“S-sorry. A-alpha,” you whisper quietly, trying to take a deep breath. You stumble after him, trying not to fall. John doesn’t really care as he pulls you with him through the hallway, walking past the other alpha who’s still standing in the hallway and watching the two of you from the corner of his eyes.

Chris, who noticed your distress the moment he entered the building, your sour scent filling the hallway, his nose scrunched instinctively. He listened to John’s words and noticed your submission as he walked past the two of you. But before he knocked at the omega's door, he stopped himself and waited for the two of you.

While he was used to the scent of fear due to his work, your scent made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. His eyes darkening as he suppresses the low groan in his chest.

“Hey!” He says loudly, making you flinch. Your eyes squeeze shut and your breath gets heavier. Your chest tightens, making it almost impossible to breathe properly. Your fingers clutch the worn-out fabric of your shirt, a soft whimper leaves your lips as your body tenses.

Next to you, you can feel John tensing too, ready to fight against the other man if it’s necessary. He turns his head to Chris, raising an eyebrow to wait for the other alpha to say anything. The grip on your neck is unyielding and firm, leaving another pair of marks on your neck.

“Is that how ya treat ya omega?” Chris asks, nodding at you as his ocean blue eyes remain on your Alpha. John huffs, shrugging as he keeps you close to himself. Your lips are trembling when his fingers tighten further around your neck – you're sure he will leave bruises all over your neck. Chris raises his eyebrows, his blue orbs flickering to you for a moment, taking in your expression. “You hurt her.”

Three words said so casually, but they carry such a weight that your legs buckle underneath you. While you hope that his words mean anything for John, he thinks the opposite and only tightens his grip, making it impossible for you to breathe. A high-pitched whine escapes your lungs with the last bit of oxygen before you try to gasp for the tiniest bit of air in your burning lungs.

“You think I care?” John asks with a smirk on his lips. And damn, that hurts. Chris sighs deeply, taking a step closer to the two of you, his chest heaving with every deep breath he takes. You see the muscles in his body tensing, ready for any fight that may come. “Now excuse us. My pet needs to spend a bit of time in her cage to know who’s in charge.”

You shake your head as best as you can. All but not the cage. It's not just way too small for you, but it only includes one small blanket. And since the floor cools the metal of the cage even more, you leave it always underneath you and try to roll yourself as small as possible together. John hisses, scrunching his nose in disgust when more of the sourness in your scent fills the floor.

“Get your shit together, pet. You stink, and we don't need the whole house to stink like your sorry ass,” John groans, annoyed. You try to swallow down all your feelings, not wanting to make him even angrier, but somehow it only causes the tears to well up in your eyes.

“Let her go now, or I will make you,” Chris says with a low growl. His eyes darken, and he takes another step closer. The sweetness in his scent is almost completely gone, and you can feel the dominance radiating off him. John keeps his hand where it is, not budging. But you can feel the twitch in his fingers, the slight tremble that gives him away, and not only you notice it — Chris does too.

But instead of laughing about John, like your Alpha would do when he would scare another Alpha, Chris keeps his cold expression, only walking with slow and steady steps closer to you. His scent is surrounding you almost more than John's as he stands only a few feet away from you, your eyes on his firm chest. Chris's shirt is tight, leaving not much to your imagination— though you have different thoughts than his muscular chest.

“Now.”

“Or w-what?” John growls, trying to keep his tough facade. Within a moment Chris wraps his hand around John's lower arm, squeezing until his fingers loosen around your neck. You gasp loudly, falling down on the ground between the two. Chris twists John's arm, turning him around before pressing him against the wall of the hallway.

The taller Alpha leans closer to John, his voice rough and dangerous. “You keep your dirty paws off her, got it?” His fingers dig further into your Alpha's arm, twisting it until you hear a whine coming from John. A sound you have never heard before unless it came from you. “Now get out of my sight before my patience snaps.”

And with that, Chris pushes the other man away. John stumbles through the hallway, muttering threatening stuff under his breath, but he doesn't dare to look back at Chris. The Alpha turns to you after a moment, his gaze softening as he notices your curled-up form on the ground, your hands clutching your neck and softly stroking the soft skin.

“Hey, shhh,” Chris tries to soothe you. His eyes narrow as he notices your body shaking, but there isn't the smallest noise coming from you. You're so trained to keep all the pain to yourself that only the trembling of your body and the scent coming from you give your fear and your discomfort away. He takes a deep breath, not sure how to get your attention; he doesn't want to call you ‘Omega’ — unsure how much you connect that with John. So instead of trying to get you to pay him attention with words, he sits next to you on the floor and purrs softly.

Your eyes widen slightly as you turn your head to look at the tall alpha. He sits next to you with his back pressed against the wall, his blue eyes focused on you, while the softest purrs rumble through his chest. You feel your whole body relaxing slightly until he pushes his hand in his pocket to pull something out. You flinch immediately, whimpering quietly.

“Shhh, just get my phone out. I have to message the Omega Rescue—"

“P-Please, no… I-I don't want to go there,” you whimper, shaking your head while you pull your legs even closer against your chest. “P-Please, I will be good for him, but don't bring me to a shelter… or a—”

“Shhh, can you let me finish my sentence, please?” He asks softly, a soft smile causing his lips to curl upward. You nod, trying to keep the tears at bay while you think about all the places he could put you as an abused and abandoned omega.

John told you a lot about these ‘omega rescues’; they are all but a rescue for the omegas. They keep the omegas in cages, selling them to alphas, who are way worse than John. Or they will force the omegas into breeding programs to mate — or not mate, whatever they want — with an alpha only for the pups.

“I won't bring you anywhere. I work for the Omega Rescue, and I'm here because in the door opposite us, there lives an omega who got abandoned, and after a while in the Omega Rescue, they wanted to move here. But they are still part of the rescue program, and I'm here to check on them. But you need my help more than they do, so I wanted to call a colleague to tell him to look after them,” Chris explains and holds up his phone with a name, number, and picture on the screen. “So, do you let me call my colleague?”

You nod, still wary of what he says and even more skeptical of his profession. You keep your mouth shut, though, keeping your eyes on him as he smiles and makes the call. Even though you're still sure he's calling them to get you into one of these programs, you stay quiet and still.

During Chris’ call you only hear his part of the conversation; you don’t pay too much attention — or you try — but there isn’t another noise for you to concentrate on except his soft voice. So, while you try to steady your breathing, you pick up some of the things he says.

‘Yeah. No. It’s none of ya business.’

‘She’s fine. But we said we would come around to make sure she’s fine.’

‘Send Lee— No. Yeah, they both have a thing for one another. Send him; he’s good for her. Bet he’s pacing in his office with her self-made cookies.'

You almost smile at his words. That Lee guy has to be really head over heels with the Omega who’s living here. Chris puts his phone back in his pocket and looks at you again. You’re still curled into yourself on the ground, shivering slightly but not as much as before.

“I will take you home, omega,” he says softly, watching your body language. You’re tensing further when he says that; he might be nicer than John so far, but he could show his true colors once he has you in his home. Or once he has you at the shelter, at the Omega Rescue, to sell you or breed you.

“N-no. I will stay here,” you mumble, clawing at your legs. Chris sighs softly, knowing that John fed you lies to make sure you never ask for any help at an omega rescue. He has worked with omegas who were told these lies before, omegas who were abused by their alphas.

“You can’t stay here with him. He’s abusing you. I won’t bring you to the omega rescue, and I promise to let you leave the apartment of mine whenever you want,” Chris promises. You look into his ocean blue eyes, searching for anything that could give away that he’s lying, but he’s looking at you with such softness and sincerity.

You shake your head once more, not moving an inch though. Chris sighs, considering the options in this situation. You don’t trust him, so telling you more about the omega rescue wouldn’t help; the lies you were told stuck in your mind. Picking you up and carrying you to his car would make him even less trustworthy. So, the other option is to keep sitting there in the middle of the hallway and talk to you.

“What if I promise to give you the keys and promise you a room just for yourself?” He tries again; it isn’t even a lie. Chris owns two keys for his apartment, and the guest room is free anyway. “We could make some pizza and watch a movie, or you say you want to be on your own and read a book.”

“But you work for the Omega Rescue,” you whisper quietly. There are still a few tears in your eyes, and Chris has to push away the urge to lean closer and wipe them away. But at least your scent isn’t as sour as before; a sweetness mixed with lavender fills the air.

“I do. But we are going to my home. It’s a small apartment, just me and you. I won’t hurt you, and I will not take advantage of you,” he assures you. The alpha isn’t even sure if it works, but it’s the only option he knows where he doesn’t scare you off. “I have a few books and lots of soft blankets. You could build yourself a nest in the guest room, eat, and read if that’s what you would like.”

You’re still not trusting him; you both know that, but you nod your head. He won’t let you go back to John, and you don’t want to. You push yourself up, knees still pulled against your chest as you lift your fingers to stroke the collar that’s sitting low on your neck, hiding your untouched mating gland.

John never wanted to mate — not yet, at least. And to make sure no other Alpha tries to mark you, he makes you wear the collar. It’s nothing you like, but you know better than to discuss it with your Alpha.

“What’s with the collar? Do you want to take it off?” Chris asks, his eyes moving to the fabric of your neck, watching your fingers stroke over the rough fabric.

He knows you’re not mated; he has seen these collars. You can’t get these in a normal shop; for that kind of collar, you have to have contacts in the underground, on illegal sides.

The nod you give him causes him to sit up straighter. His movements are thoughtful and not hectic as he leans closer. “Can I take it off? I won’t touch you more than necessary. I have to tighten it a tiny bit to open it, but I will be careful. I know you don’t trust me, and I understand it. Inhale deeply.”

You're not sure why you do what he says, but you do. And before you can exhale again, the collar is off your neck. You didn’t even feel him tighten it around your neck, his skilled fingers holding the collar between the two of you. Your eyes drift from his to the collar, and you swallow thickly as a few more tears roll down your cheeks. This is the first time in ages that you're not wearing the collar, and the feeling of the hard, hurtful fabric finally being taken off your neck makes your heart ache further.

John had such control over you that you never considered taking the collar off. No matter how hurtful or wrong it felt, you kept it where it was. With the removal of the fabric, it doesn't only feel lighter around your neck, but all the emotions you held at bay are suddenly crashing over you, pushing you to the ground. First a few tears, then a soft sob before your fingers claw for anything that gives you halt, anything that could keep you steady.

Chris places the collar on the ground, inching closer to wrap his strong arms around your shaking form. Sob after sob wreaks through your body, making you almost scream out loud. You bury your face in his firm chest, taking in his comforting scent with every breath. No matter how much you hate yourself afterward for trusting someone from the Omega Rescue like that, he takes away the weight you carried for years because of John.

“Shh, let it out,” he mumbles softly against your hair, kissing your hairline. You should hate it so much, but you can't bring yourself to hate something so soft and loving. You just can't bring yourself to hate him.

You sit there, wrapped in the strong alpha, for minutes while he doesn't once laugh or mock you. His hands are soothing up and down your back, the soft purr from earlier rumbling through his chest. Your fingers are tangled into his shirt, keeping him as close as possible while you let out all the emotions you didn't even know you held back.

The front door of the building opens, and you flinch, afraid that John called his friends, but instead you hear a happy whistling from there. Your face is still buried in Chris's chest, but you can feel his muscles relaxing — he must have thought the same about John's friends. You listen to the footsteps; they stop close to you, but you don't hear keys or a knock anywhere.

“Chris, whatcha doin’ here?” The man — who must be Lee — asks as he watches the two of you sitting on the ground.

“Nice to see you too, Lee,” Chris says with a hint of amusement in his voice. His fingers keep moving along your back, soothing you further while the purr softly fades. “You should ask her out; she's always excited when your name is mentioned in any conversation.”

Instead of answering Lee's question, Chris only smiles and nods toward the door. Lee hums and nods, knocking at the door. It doesn't take long until you can hear the door open, a surprised gasp leaving the omega's lips, and you can immediately smell her joy, which makes her scent smell like cherries and chocolate cake… or it's the chocolate cake she's baking.

After sitting a few more minutes, Chris tried again to get you to allow him to bring you home, and you agreed. Tired and exhausted from all the emotions and feelings, you let him carry you to his car and drive you to his home. He didn't try to touch you otherwise than just to carry you or buckle the seatbelt. Other than that, he offered his hand for you to hold if you wanted to, and after a while you took it.

So, that's how you find yourself in the entrance of his apartment; your eyes widen as he steps in and waits for you. But you just stare at him, then into the apartment. “D-Do you want me to kneel? T-To undress?”

You're grateful that he didn't bring you to any of these breeding or shelter places, so you can at least show him that you have manners. Manners that were taught by John.

“No, you can just come in. I just ask you to take off your shoes, but other than that, you can keep your clothes on. And kneeling?” He shakes his head once again. “Neither. We are equals.”

Equals. You heard of that, some pairs look like equals outside the house — that’s what John always said. When you watched other Alphas interacting with their omegas outside, they never meant it. They were just playing the role of a nice Alpha, but John always told you they weren't as loving and understanding as he was.

“John said there are no equals between alphas and their omegas,” you mumble quietly, taking off your shoes before standing straight with your hands behind your back, head lowering to face the ground and not be rude.

Chris sighs softly, nodding. He takes a moment to think about how to approach you without making you feel like he's lying or that everything you know from John is not true at all. It isn't, but it wouldn't help you to find out about that after the earlier breakdown.

“I know you learned that. And for John it was what he wanted to believe, what he might have been taught. But there are actually Alphas who treat their omegas as equals. Because that's what we are — equals. I'm not more worthy than you,” he says softly, bringing his hand to your chin to lift your head softly. You look at him with widened eyes, listening to every word he says. “So, I might be stronger, but that’s just to protect you. Not to use it against you, never to use it against you.”

You nod, watching a soft smile spreading on his plump lips. Chris’ blue eyes light up in the most ocean-blue eyes you have ever seen. The color and the shining remind you of the one time years back when John and you went to the beach. It was the rising sun that was brightening in a light yellow, and somehow it made the ocean glisten so blue that you had a new favorite color after that.

“Do you like pizza?” Chris asks after a moment, letting go of your chin and walking a step back to give you some space.

Is that a joke?

John never offered pizza; it’s not good for you. Not even during movie nights, where he stuffed himself full with fast food. You had your salad; he never asked if you wanted the salad or something else — you just got it. And he didn't offer you any of his food either, not even the leftovers; they were a no-go for you.

“Pizza…?” You ask quietly, narrowing your eyes. “For you?”

“And for you.”

“Salad.”

Chris chuckles softly, not mockingly, but you're too cute to not smile. He shakes his head, pointing at you, then at himself. “No, pizza for you and for me. If you like pizza. Otherwise we can get you a burger, fries, or a salad.”

“But I'm not allowed…?” You whisper, tears filling your eyes once more. Is that a stupid test to see if you're good? “D-Did I pass the test? I don't want to go into the cage, p-please.”

Chris's eyes water as he looks at you; he can't help it. The amount of cases with abused omegas he worked on where nothing compares to you. They were abused, they were afraid, and they needed time to trust. But he never met an omega who was so strong and yet so broken. He tries to wipe them away before you can see them, but you already had a glimpse at the tears.

“W-Why are you crying? Did I do something wrong?” You ask, shivering slightly. Chris shakes his head immediately, almost choking on his tears as they fall down his cheeks. You have never seen an Alpha cry, especially not because of a salad? “D-Do they only have one salad, and you wanted that one? I-I don’t need one then; maybe a-a water then?”

A sob escapes his lips, his eyes are teary, and there are tears leaking down his face without a break. His fingers dig into the hem of his shirt as he feels his heart being ripped out of his chest. It's like someone smashes it on the ground and stomps on it until it's broken in small pieces.

“Y-You didn't do anything, I promise. A-And you c-can have all the salads, water, pizza, and ice cream you want,” he whispers, his voice broken and hoarse as another sob wrecks through his body. You nod, watching him as he doesn't even try to hide his emotions; he's standing in front of you, crying. An alpha stands in front of you and cries.

“C-Can I hug you?” You ask quietly. Something about him being so hurt for whatever reason — it can’t be because of the salad — makes your inner omega want to hold him and comfort him like he did earlier. Chris nods, holding out his strong but shaking arms. “I'm sorry I made you cry.”

Chris shakes his head. You take a step closer to him, wrapping your arms around his waist. And somehow it helps, not just him. You feel him calming down slowly, his arms holding you tightly while he buries his face in the crook of your neck.

“You didn't make me cry. I—It's just—” he interrupts himself and pulls his head back to look at you with a soft smile, though the strains of the tears are still visible on his cheeks. Without thinking twice, you lift your hands and wipe them off his cheeks, causing his smile to widen. “I had so many cases with abused omegas before, but it was never an omega so strong and so… hurt like you. Every other omega would have been broken beyond belief, but not you. You're standing here, so full of love, and yet… John took so much away because of his behavior, because of his abuse.”

You listen to his words, letting them sink in. All you ever thought was just a play was the truth. And while you thought that your alpha was a nice one, he was the one who fed you with lies. He made you believe that everyone is worse than he ever could be.

“So… we can both get a salad, and there is no cage?” You ask softly, searching his blue eyes for anything that might give him away. But the only thing it gives away is the understanding, the softness, and the love he shows you.

“Promise!” Chris says, running his finger over your cheeks as well. “You will never be less than an equal. I only ask you for one favor, please: give me the chance to show you that the world has more to offer than what John showed you.”

You nod, feeling still wary, and he knows. But who would he be to judge you? His heart flutters at your nod, and in your eyes he sees the slight excitement of his promise. Maybe you will be able to see more than the darkness you were offered with John as your Alpha — even when unclaimed — for all the years.

“I would like to try a salami pizza, please… or one with—”

“We can get all the pizzas you want. But there will be lava cake as dessert; they have the best.” Chris says, smiling as he leans down to kiss your forehead. The feeling of his lips against your skin makes you giggle softly. A sound he will cherish like it's the laughing of a child — because somehow it’s your smaller self that is finally able to discover not just herself but the bright side of the world, of an Alpha. Your Alpha, someone who chose you when he didn't have to, but he did it. He didn't choose anyone but you as his omega.

Taglist: @rogersbarber @loki-laufeyson68 @etherealdisneyvillainness @winterschildren8 @rnurse-kole @kimmie113080 @sergeantbarnessdoll @sebastianstanisahotmf @mercurial-chuckles @holylulusworld @randomawesomeperson102 @looking1016 @multiversefanfics @kpopgirlbtssvt @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers @alexxavicry @gremlin-girly @grilledcheesewithjalapeno @unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men @irisk12 @lilyalone @casa-boiardi @blackhawkfanatic @mrsalexstan @thesarcasmqueen-22 @bamitzzsam @feynightlight @ethanhoewke

[furioussouls]

LADS boys and their love for you as Hozier Songs

Credit: @incorrectloveanddeepspace <3

Summary: LADS boys and their love for you( MC) as Hozier songs.

ೃ࿔:･⋆.ೃ࿔:･⋆.ೃ࿔:･⋆.ೃ࿔:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔:･⋆.ೃ࿔:･⋆.ೃ࿔:･⋆.ೃ

Xavier:

• NFWB

When I first saw you, the end was soon

….

Give your heart and soul to charity

'Cause the rest of you, the best of you

Honey, belongs to me

….

Ain't it exciting you, the rumble where you lay?

Ain′t you my baby?

Ain′t you my baby?

Nothing fucks with my baby

Nothing can get a look in on my baby

Nothing fucks with my baby

Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing

If I was born as a blackthorn tree

I'd wanna be felled by you, held by you

Fuel the pyre of your enemies

- Xavier could save his people by sacrificing your life ( “your heart“(l.2)) and yet.. he doesn’t. His protectiveness (l.8 f.) and love for you won’t allow it. Xavier’s love for you is too much, to blindly and overwhelming.

Zayne:

• Francesca

Do you think I'd give up

That this might've shook the love from me

Or that I was on the brink?

How could you think, darling, I'd scare so easily?

Now that it's done

There's not one thing that I would change

My life was a storm, since I was born

How could I fear any hurricane?

If someone asked me at the end

I'll tell them put me back in it

Darling, I would do it again, ah, ah

If I could hold you for a minute

Darling, I'd go through it again, ah, ah

I would still be surprised I could find you, darling

In any life

If I could hold you for a minute

Darling, I would do it again, ah, ah

…..

I would not change it each time (I would not change it each time)

Heaven is not fit to house a love (Heaven is not fit to house a love)

Like you and I (like you and I)

- illustating the tumultuous relationship between Zayne and Astra. It doesn’t matter, Zayne doesn’t regret a single thing second with you. It doesn’t matter what pain he‘ll be put through.

Rafayel:

• Hymn to Virgil

I would burn the world to bring some heat to you

I would burn the world to bring some heat

You are the reason I went through it, oh

The only meaning as I knew it, my-yeah

I can only do my best, I do not do this for myself

I'd walk through hell on living feet for you

I wouldn't be seen walking through any door

Some place that you're not welcome to

You stare at the faces smiling from somewhere warm

Some place the sunlight won't come through

- Rafayel lost his home and people in Lemuria, all for you (l.3). He‘ll do anything for you, give you his everything. You’re the keeper of his heart, after all.

Sylus:

•It will come back and Almost (sweet music)

Don't give it a hand, offer it a soul

Honey, make this easy

Leave it to the land, this is what it knows

Honey, that's how it sleeps

Don't let it in with no intention to keep it

Jesus Christ, don't be kind to it

Honey, don't feed it, it will come back

….

It can't be unlearned

I've known the warmth of your doorways

Through the cold, I'll find my way back to you

Oh, please, give me mercy no more

That's a kindness you can't afford

I warn you, babe, each night, as sure as you're born

You'll hear me howling outside your door

….

I′m almost me again

She's almost you

…

Be still, my foolish heart

Don't ruin this on me

…

I got some colour back

She thinks so, too

I laugh like me again

She laughs like you

- you were the first human to show dragon Sylus gentleness and affection (l.1-3). You should’ve known what the consequences of that would be (l.7). Of course, he can’t let you go. How could he? He‘ll return to you, for the warmth of you is the only one he knows (l. 8-14)

In your current timeline, he‘ll see glimpses of your old self (l.15 - 16) and he feels himself starting to become his old self again. Slowly but surely.

Caleb:

• Work song and Take me to church

There′s nothing sweeter than my baby

I'd never want once from the cherry tree

'Cause my baby′s sweet as can be

She give me toothaches just from kissin′ me

When my time comes around

Lay me gently in the cold dark earth

No grave can hold my body down

I'll crawl home to her

…..

My babe would never fret none

About what my hands and my body done

If the Lord don't forgive me

I′d still have my baby and my babe would have me

When I was kissing on my baby

And she put her love down soft and sweet

In the low lamp light I was free

Heaven and hell were words to me.

……

I'll tell you my sins, so you can sharpen your knife

Offer me my deathless death, oh, good God, let me give you my life

No masters or kings when the ritual begins

There is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin

In the madness and soil of that sad earthly scene

- Caleb adores you. He worships you. He always has and always will. His love for you fulfills him (l.3-4) and nothing can keep him from you. Not even his alleged death. He‘ll crawl back to you if he must (l.5-8). He’s not ashamed of his love for you, not anymore (l.9-16), however he wishes you both could share the sin of the intensity of your love (l.20)

ೃ࿔:･⋆.ೃ࿔:･⋆.ೃ࿔:･⋆.ೃ࿔:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔:･⋆.ೃ࿔:･⋆.ೃ࿔:･⋆.ೃ

A/N: When I’m in a yearning competition but my opponents are the LADS boys or Hozier.

[getoogles]

; GOJO SATORU 🔵 spilt milk

— cw; uni!au, domtop gn reader, s/m undertones, brat toru, jealousy, both a little crazy, punishment, shibari, gagging, edging, cock ring, tiny praise kink.

there's a gag (it’s really just his already soiled underwear) stuffed in satoru’s mouth, but it's not doing much to stop the waterfall of whimpers and moans leaving his lips. he's seated on your lap facing you, long, pale legs hooked over your thighs and leaving his body fully exposed for your hungry eyes.

he heaves a breath in anticipation, gaze following the metallic glints on your fingers as they trail up his thigh and around to his waist, until they're pressed against the end of the custom-made dildo and pushing it deeper inside him. unable to touch you with his arms bound behind his back, all satoru can do his arch his back to press desperately against your firm touch, strong legs squeezing around yours.

you've been at this for over an hour now (or so he thinks): teasing him, taking him to the edge, and pulling him back just before he could tip over. his jaw aches and his shoulders strain with the pull of the red rope. he's not sure he could take much more. the black ring circling his cock and balls didn’t care much for what he had to say about that, though.

his raging red cock gives another twitch and leak of approval, pre-cum dribbling down his length to join the rest in a damp mess on your jeans. when you glance down and notice the growing pool darkening the light-wash, you tut in displeasure. his stomach twists at your expression when you look up at him with a mocking pout, loving how his light eyebrows knit, awaiting your next words.

"look at the mess you're making angel. you like it when i'm mean, don't you?"

gojo hastily shakes his head at you, blinking in frustration. he did really. a few tears fall from his crystal eyes, pink-rimmed and blown wide in lust. he's sniffling now, writhing on top of you as you start to slide out the toy out tantalisingly slow. it pushes heavily against his prostate with the angle you move it, and your boyfriend quickly tenses up as pleasure shoots up his spine, a loud moan hardly muffled by his gag.

you instantly stop all movements, moving your hand to rest on his warm ass.

“you deserve it. i should leave you like this,” your tone is cold.

if he had the energy to at this point, satoru would be sobbing. his stomach heaves deeply with his hiccups, grooves in his abs accented with his sparkling exertion. there are tints of pink where you left a few hickies, some teeth and hand marks— no doubt they'd blossom into a beautiful shade of indigo in some hours. your dark eyes trail up his body, fingers following behind until they're cupping his wet and flushed cheeks. his cheeks bulge with his underwear, like a little squirrel.

you hum at him, eyes softening as he slowly blinks at you. docile and unresisting. good. he whines in his throat, trembling ever so slightly on your thighs. maybe you’d take pity on him now? you reach for the material in between his lips.

"i'm going to take it out now, okay ‘toru?"

he nods fervently and sends his white hair flying, perking up at the thought of being able to speak again. his boxers are pretty much soaked with his spit and tears, and a thin line of drool follows when you fling them off to the side. his mouth and lips are dry, almost cracking. but he doesn’t care about that right now. no, he knows what he wants and doesn’t hesitate to let you know.

“don’t leave me like this— c-ough! you’re a bully… please, baby— fucking need it—! need you to keep t-touching me,” he whines.

it's entertaining, to say the least. how much his mindset had changed from the unapologetic fuck you’d argued with not long ago, to this. it's always satisfying to know that you’re the only person to tame the gojo satoru. you let him ramble on for a few seconds with a fond smile until you can’t hold back your true feelings anymore, and start fucking him with the dildo again. 

"ha-ah! y-yes, just like that!" he cries out. forgotten with his sudden freedom of speech, satoru tugs fruitlessly at the confines around his arms, wanting you to hold onto you for some sort of grounding. his thick muscles bulge against the binds, and you’re glad you went with the more secure knots this time. your boyfriend whimpers and groans as you reach deeper inside him, now arching his chest into yours. impossibly hard and weeping, his pretty dick rubs against your shirt in his desperation.

but you're not having any of it — you were still pissed. you push against his chest firmly.

"no, baby. you don't get to do that after what you did." somewhere within his blissful haze, the gravity of your words registers. satoru recalls what you're talking about, instantly regretting everything as he teeters in pleasure-limbo. he can’t help how as his hips twitch into rhythm with your pace, nearly disrupting his train of thought again.

it's not often at all that he loses his cool like that. maybe it was the stress of back-to-back assignments on top of being president of both student government and jiu-jitsu club, but seeing you so friendly and affectionate with your separate friends, enjoying yourself in his absence really hit a nerve (and he didn't have much left).

he still remembers exactly how your instagram story made him feel: embarrassed, stupid, not enough, jealous. in hindsight, taking it out on your favourite pair of shoes was certaintly something that he wouldn't be doing again. yet, mistakes were made.

he knows what you‘re waiting for though. he knows, and he knows you know. it’s only a matter of time.

"c’mon, ‘m sorry. sweets,” he tries, lowering his voice to a sensual slur. swivelling his hips on top of you like he was getting paid for it, “i’ll get you another pair, shit mmh— ‘s m-many as you want.”

“you will? will you break them in for me too, make ‘em comfy again?”

you're teasing now, knowing that your brat boyfriend will say just about anything to get his way. it’s why you shut him up in the first place. more spineless apologies fall from his mouth, and despite the situation, you can feel your lips curl up. it never takes long to break mighty satoru down, to put him in his place beside you. similarly, it's only a matter of time until he's back to his disobedient ways. precisely what you adored so much about him. 

but this time was really a stretch. those shoes were like your babies. with a deep sigh you move your hand up to wrap around his throat. you stop fucking him again. he can’t hold back his moan at the bored look in your eyes as you scrutinise him. you rub your thumb over his pulse and can feel him gulp beneath your palms.

"fuck, i’m sorry," satoru finally weeps, curling into himself while the webs of pleasure tighten around his body, ready to snap. his broad, sloped shoulders curl over your body as he shrinks pitifully, throat squeezed under your grip. he was giving himself up. “shouldn’t have touched them. was mad at you…”

touched? more like destroyed.

you retaliate instantly and tighten your hold on him, feeling angry once more at him trying to spin it on you. “you know i’m yours, satoru. only yours. who gets to see you like this? so pathetic and grovelling for my touch?

“fucking no one else; only me.”

he moans at your possessive words, loud and desperate, confirming everything you said. he was so lucky to have you. someone who felt as insane about him as he did you, “love you. ‘m yours. toru’s sorry.”

"there it is, my good boy," you give him a small smile at his effort. at that satoru finds the strength to pull himself upright and to look at you with hopeful, teary eyes. you decide to have mercy on him for now. you pull the ring off his cock, and another stream of salty liquid bubbles out at the action — gojo himself is surprised that alone doesn't push him over the edge.

nevertheless, he lets himself go, finding you stick true to your actions and fuck him to the point where he can't even thank you for your kind mercy. with the dildo thumping mercilessly at his sweet spot, your hand stroking loosely around his length, and your lips pressing delicate kisses to his neck, it's only mere seconds until his orgasm comes crashing over him with a vengeance.

satoru is drooling all over as he releases his load over you, melodic voice supporting mindless mumbles and the like by your ears when he can no longer support himself. fingers curling into fists of bliss behind his back, legs squeezing around you to keep you near, to feel you deeper. you fuck him through his fierce high even if it feels like it lasts forever, until his cries quieten into weak moans when you overstimulate him further. 

you slow your movements and whisper praises to him. gently, you remove the dildo, cooing as he twitches on top of you in exhaustion.

you sigh too, kissing the side of his head and rubbing at his back. you’re still pissed. it isn't the time to properly talk to him and solve the issue that led to such an heated session, and you know his sub drop won't take long to come around. you get to work untying his arms. the crimson lines where the rope had dug in stands out against his pale skin and you rub them gently.

he immediately wraps his arms around you, ignoring the harshness of your clothes against his nude body. "toru’s sorry..." comes his hoarse whisper. you instantly brush it off, telling him not to worry about it while your fingers scratch lightly at his scalp. 

"it's okay; you're okay. i'm staying right here with you, angel.”

©2024 getoogles. all rights reserved.

[velmalav]

The Giver - Frank Langdon pt. III

masterlist

day one // night one

day two - f.l.

synopsis: being the selfless person you are, you agree to travel to a 3-day conference with your biggest competition - dr. langdon. part 3 of I don't know how many yet :-)

warnings: cursing, oops there's only one bed, enemies to lovers, angst

The first thing I notice the next morning is the intense ache in my back. I moan into my pillow only for it to slide onto the floor. Eyes flash open to see a disaster. Our makeshift pillow barrier is everywhere, on the floor, on top of each of us, underneath one of Langdon’s arms. He’s completely out. At least he looks comfortable.

For a moment, I watch him, and – to my dismay – notice he is much more attractive when he’s not conscious. Typically, he sports just a single strand of hair in his face (one of the only tolerable things about him), but now his forehead is completely covered in dark hair. If I could just reach over and brush it out of the way-

Stop. This is what he wants, and you’re not going to let him have this one.

I rub circles in my eyes with my palms, cracking my shoulders as I sit up. Langdon has a knee placed into my back, other leg straight as a board. Of course, of course it was him who caused my backache. Another example of why these intrusive thoughts need to die.  I abandon the ship and tiptoe into the bathroom, excited to at least have first dibs. I get ready for the second day conference swiftly and without sound. The first day is typically just introductions and with our flight being delayed, we thankfully had no choice but to skip it. I wonder how Gloria will feel about that.

I check my messages and notice several from my other coworkers. Robby checking to make sure we made it and to be vigilant about the schedule, Collins sending a quick prayer for me, and Mel asking me to send any notes I take during sessions. I’m responding to the last one when Langdon shifts in bed. His eyes flutter open, confusion about the bed situation settling in.

“What time is it?” he grumbles, rolling onto his stomach to shove his face into a pillow.

“Fifteen until our first session,” I say nonchalantly, sliding my phone in the back pocket of my dress pants.

Langdon’s eyes fly open, a blur of dark hair and tanned skin suddenly moving around the room. In the midst of his panic, he finds time to shoot daggers at me, “Were you even going to fucking wake me?”

“I tried,” I shrug, trying to convince myself that being a bitch is the only way to avoid all the adjectives I’m thinking to describe him. This is foreign, all of it. My usual first thought seeing him flustered would be pride, like a warrior watching a dragon stumble before its untimely death, but now all I can focus on is his hair and his hands and the way his shirt is laying on him to reveal just a small sliver of his stomach.

I have to give it to him, he’s pretty good at slinging together curse words in a way I’ve never heard. I take a gentle seat on the edge of the bed while I watch him stumble into dress clothes. He spends significantly less time in the bathroom than he did last night and within five minutes is tugging on his dress shoes.

“Why do I get the feeling you didn’t try at all?” he asks, but he doesn’t wait for the answer, just rushes through the door without looking back. I sigh, grab the key card off the TV stand, and saunter out after him.

.

Upon arrival at the conference building, it’s clear Langdon wants nothing to do with me. He’s still bitter about how late we are, and I find myself feeling guilty about it. His career is technically riding on this, the least I could do is not sabotage that any further. He’s not incompetent at his job, and like I said earlier, he’s – as much as I hate to continue to admit this – one of the reasons I’ve excelled in the way I have.

I flip through the variety of sessions laid out for the day, realizing some of them are congruent with each other. Langdon is hanging around the lobby, watching others check in. He seems anxious, and I can’t tell if it’s the adrenaline or something else.

“There’s a lecture in ten on pharmacology in Room 112 and another on Speed Mentoring at the same time in 207,” I read out, attempting to soften his edges by making this easier on him.

Langdon does a quick raise of his eyebrows, frowns, and without looking at me, walks off to the staircase. He mutters. “Meet you back at the hotel,” right before he’s out of earshot.

As I watch him go, the guilt in my stomach triples. I sigh, using my free hand to rub my eyebrow. I fucked up big time, and I deserve it. For someone who is always putting other people before myself, I finally remember what it feels like to be selfish.

.

Langdon

At 5:20 on the dot, Langdon’s murmuring quick excuses through the crowd of medical professionals, not even stopping to take a breath until he’s outside of the conference building. He can’t help but to catastrophize everything right now. Every glance his way is a dirty look, every poster and pamphlet about ‘patient care’ is a warning. And he just can’t believe he gets to spend the next few months doing this over and over, being faced with consequences any of his other coworkers could’ve faced had they been as unlucky.

Everyone has their days, and everyone absolutely has a moment where they break in front of patients. They say it’s never supposed to happen, but it happens all the time. And most times, there’s never a warning, it just happens. Like in the cartoons where a piano crushes an unsuspecting passerby.

The day he nearly got fired, there were no signs. One minute he was calm, drowning out the patient’s family as they shouted, knowing it would only rattle his concentration. And the next he pivoted to directly face them and said – more like spat - every single word rushing through his mind. It was like a tsunami, like a livewire snapped inside him. Looking back, he can’t even remember what the last straw was, it just was.

What he did remember was Robby grasping the back of his scrub top and hauling him out of the room, barking orders at Mohan to take over. And in most tense situations, he wasn’t one to back down, but the words he said to that family – it was inexcusable. There was no salvaging the situation at that moment so he ran off, as if running from it would make it stop. Make it cease to exist.

And he found himself doing that now. Because the guilt of his words, of the consequences that followed, were eating him alive. He felt like he’d been punished enough by the sheer embarrassment, so these patient care seminars only revived those feelings and stifled his ability to give a shit about what the speakers were teaching him.

But he could breathe now. Take a quick shower and crawl into bed. Forget everything about this day. Especially Y/N and the stunt she pulled this morning.

But alas, the world is against him. Because the goddamn hotel double booked Y/N’s room, they were forced to share his room and were only given one fucking keycard. Which she had. So Langdon found himself staring at his hotel door, realization dawning on him that the night was, in fact, not over.

Thankfully he knew where she was, because despite his very obvious efforts to avoid her, she texted to let him know she was going to the mixer after the conference. A place that to him felt like the ninth level of hell in the state he was currently in. But she wasn’t responding to his pleas to bring the key, and he wasn’t about to wait in the hall all night. He needed something to do, something to avoid the pounding thoughts in his head.

Langdon solemnly enters the hotel bar across the street, where the mixer was in full swing. He expected something classier, much like the conference itself, only to walk headfirst into a full-on party. Loud music, open bar, dancing bodies. Even a fucking disco ball was fastened to the ceiling.

In any other headspace, Langdon would’ve dived full force into a scene like this. Any excuse to lose himself for a while. But he was tired, frustrated, ready to bash that goddamn disco ball into shards, and feeling as sorry for himself as he ever has.

It takes plenty of sifting through the crowd to find her. She’s standing at a table near the dance floor, glass in hand, leaning into some guy while he talks in her ear. They seem like they’re getting along, and she looks like her usual self. The self he never gets to see because she hides that version from him. Wearing a genuine smile, eyes wistful, full of unbridled happiness. Though he’s still pissed at her, he catches himself thinking about how pretty she looks. Deep inside, he wishes she would look at him with those wistful eyes, wish that smile was aimed at him. And not laced with the usual disdain she throws his way at work.

Langdon gets so stuck on studying them he forgets the entire reason he even came. He slides into a quiet part of the bar where he can still see her. His fingers tap against his lips, eyebrows furrowed.

Y/N and the man chat for a few more minutes and then he leans into her. Langdon can’t help but imagine what he must be saying. Flirting? Making fun of him? Inviting her to his hotel room? In the midst of his bitter inner dialogue, he almost misses the man take Y/N’s hand and lead her to the dance floor. Blending into the hoards of people, Langdon can just barely make out her arms snaking around the man’s shoulders. It’s enough for him. The last straw.

Fuck the keycard.

He takes one last look at them before they disappear into bodies, and he feels a twinge of something he can’t place in his chest. It’s knife-like, violent.

And then he does the one thing he’s best at when things get hard, he leaves.

night two

[silverynight]

Pastries for the soul

It's been just a week since Izuku opened his bakery; it's in a very small place because it's the only thing he can afford at the moment (he's in debt of course, but at least he hopes he can pay it all out soon).

He hasn't gotten many clients; his friends tell him he should use Instagram and tiktok to help his business grow, and Izuku is thinking about the best way to do it.

Then, that same morning, as he places a few pastries over the counter, some of them on plates and others inside very cute boxes, someone walks into his bakery.

Usually, people don't start coming until much later, but he takes it as a good sign and smiles happily at him.

The tall and muscular man is wearing a grey shirt that's tight against his body and loose but very fashionable black pants. Even though he's wearing a cap, Izuku can see underneath it a bit of blond hair. He can't see his face yet because he's facing outside through the crystal door, but at least he notices he's wearing shades.

Even though his behavior is a bit weird, Izuku greets him with joy.

"Good morning, sir! How can I–"

"Shut up, nerd!"

There's noise that quickly turns into words and people talking outside as well as footsteps, and the young, blond man quickly turns around before sitting at one of the few tables Izuku has in his bakery.

Then Izuku sees a man with a video camera and a woman carrying a small microphone on her hand, rushing down the street like they're looking for someone. When they're gone, the blond suddenly relaxes.

"She's so irritating," the guy mumbles, looking annoyed.

And that's when Izuku finally recognizes him; he's wearing civilian clothes, but that's clearly pro hero Dynamight, in his bakery.

He goes through a lot of emotions (he's a fanboy at heart), but even though he gets excited, the feeling goes quickly because he tells himself that Dynamight gets exasperated around annoying fans (Izuku has seen a few of his interviews and videos taken by civilians) and he's probably hiding there because he obviously wants to have a normal day for once.

Then, when Izuku realizes why the pro hero has walked in his bakery for, he visibly deflates.

"I suppose you're not here for the cupcakes, right?" He tries to smile, but honestly, it hasn't been a good week.

"Listen, nerd..." He stops, removing his sunglasses, pausing for a moment as he finally takes a good look at Izuku.

"It's okay," the green haired man says, trying not to sound too sad, but he's clearly not doing a good job. "I think the reporter is finally gone, so you can leave whenever you want."

Dynamight keeps staring at him for a few seconds before he curses under his breath.

"I don't like overly sweet stuff, but my idiot friends do so why don't you give me five muffins, four of those ridiculously decorated cupcakes and a few brownies."

"Really?" Izuku beams, excited at the amount of pastries the pro hero is going to buy.

Dynamight nods, although his cheeks turn slightly pink for a moment before he looks away. Izuku assumes he's getting annoyed, so he hurries up to fulfill his order before he regrets it.

"You should try one of the brownies yourself; they're made with dark chocolate mostly. I promise they're not too sweet!"

Dynamight doesn't seem very enthusiastic about the idea, but when he notices Izuku's hopeful smile, he takes one and bites into it.

The surprised look on his face makes Izuku beam again.

"This is not bad at all," the pro hero comments before eating the whole thing in a few seconds. "I want a black coffee too."

Happily, Izuku turns around to make it, as he hears the pro hero getting closer to the counter.

"So... what's your name? I can't keep calling you nerd every single time, even though you clearly are one."

He sounds amused, so Izuku doesn't actually mind. When he turns around and hands him the coffee, the pro hero's fingers brush his hand for a second.

"I'm Midoriya Izuku."

"Bakugo Katsuki," the pro hero smirks, leaning closer.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Dynamight-san."

"So you know who I am..."

Even if Izuku wasn't a fanboy, Dynamight is currently the number one hero, so he bets all of Japan knows who he is.

"Yes, I–"

"But don't call me that," Bakugo grimaces at his own hero name. Izuku finds it confusing; he thought he was very proud of it.

"Alright, Bakugo-san."

"That's even worse! Call me Katsuki."

Izuku gets flustered immediately and blushes to the tip of his ears, the pro hero clearly notices because his red eyes glimmer with amusement.

"But..."

"Come on, Izuku," Katsuki grins, watching as the green haired young man turns even more red. "It's only fair. I'm using your given name already."

"Kacchan?"

"What?"

Izuku can't help but chuckle; he honestly has no idea how that came out of his mouth. It's like his kid self is meeting Katsuki for the first time. He's a bit embarrassed, and he probably has to apologize, but at the moment, he's too amused by his own silly behavior and Katsuki's slightly irritated expression to say anything.

The pro hero's expression softens before Izuku can apologize.

"Fine. You can call me that, if you want." Katsuki says, looking like he's trying to suppress a smile.

"I'm sorry, I'll try to–"

"It's fine, Izuku," he cuts him off, handing him a lot of money. "I don't mind."

Izuku opens the cash register, but the pro hero shakes his head and refuses to take his change.

"Keep it."

"But..."

"You can give me your number instead," it's the second time Katsuki's cheeks turn pink, but now he's also rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

"Sure!" Izuku is excited to hand his card for the first time. "Here's the bakery's socials too!"

"That's not what I meant," Katsuki grumbles for a moment before noticing something on the pink card. "Is this your personal number?"

"Yes, I just started, so I don't have another for my clients, but I don't mind using that as a work phone too!"

"Great. I'll text you soon, Izuku." Katsuki smirks again, carrying all the boxes and his coffee with ease.

Even though it was a bit unusual at first, Izuku is sure this encounter will bring good luck to his business.

Soon after that, a couple of young people walk into the bakery and buy two cakes.

He'll probably won't see Katsuki again, but Izuku is glad he met the pro hero.

He can't wait to tell his friends.

***

Izuku gets a new text when he's closing the bakery; he immediately realizes it's from Katsuki even though he lets him know until the very end.

So you can add my number.

The three dots stay for a while before he adds: This is Kacchan btw.

It makes Izuku giggle and blush, although he's not sure why. He's just happy to have a new friend; maybe he's flustered because he's the number one hero.

Then the pro hero asks him to send him another text when Izuku is back at home.

When he's back in his apartment, he lets Katsuki know he's alright; he also asks if the pro hero is at home too.

I'm on patrol.

Of course, Izuku is not sure why he didn't think about that first.

I'll let you work. He texts and then, after a moment of hesitation, he adds: Be safe.

I will. Goodnight, Izuku.

After that night, the pro hero starts texting him every single day; Izuku doesn't mind, of course (he actually likes it), but he's surprised that Katsuki seems interested in being friends with someone so normal and simple as him.

He has no idea Izuku is quirkless. Although he doesn't seem the type to care about those kind of things.

A week after meeting him, Katsuki comes back to the bakery, and he has to deal with the curious stares of the people buying Izuku's pastries, but no one is brave enough to approach him.

This time, he's wearing his hero suit; Izuku is fascinated.

"Like what you see, nerd?" Katsuki smirks, despite looking very tired. He probably came after the end of his shift.

Izuku nods after his last client reluctantly leaves.

"Can I see your gauntlets?"

"Sure."

He has to walk around the counter to get a better look. Briefly, Katsuki explains to him how they work.

"That's amazing!"

"It's thanks to Hatsume, actually," he mumbles after a while. "But I'm the one who looks cool with them."

"You do!" Izuku beams, prompting Katsuki to blush again. "I've seen you on the news!"

For some reason, the pro hero seems so dammed pleased after that. Like he actually cares about Izuku's opinion.

"So my friends liked your pastries," Katsuki says after a while. "I've come for more. And more of those brownies."

"Black coffee?"

"That too."

While Izuku is working on his order, Katsuki asks about his week; it's been a good one, actually. More people have come to the bakery after Izuku started posting a few things on his Instagram.

"What about you?"

"Kicking villains' asses, as usual," the pro hero says, making Izuku chuckle. Katsuki can't help but grin triumphantly when he hears Izuku's laughter.

"Of course you do. You're the number one, after all."

"And I will be next year's too."

Izuku likes his confidence.

"There you go." He smiles before handing Katsuki his boxes.

"Are you free tonight?" The pro hero asks, his words are rushed, and he's blushing as he rubs the back of his neck at the same time. He looks a bit nervous.

"I am!" Izuku nods. "Would you like to hang out?"

"Yeah. We can have dinner together."

"Sure!" He says immediately, prompting Katsuki to smile back at him. He looks hopeful.

"Great. I'll come back for you in a few hours. Have a... nice day."

Izuku has the feeling Katsuki is not used to saying things like that, especially based on his interviews.

But he appreciates the effort.

"You too! See you tonight!"

He's so happy. Izuku officially has a new friend now.

***

"Do you want to hang out tonight?"

Izuku immediately puts Shinso on speaker so he can keep decorating the cupcakes he made for that afternoon; they're not burning hot anymore so it's okay to start with the icing.

"I'm sorry. Can we do that tomorrow? I have plans already."

"It's not like I haven't hung out with Aoyama before. Tell him to come too."

"It's not Aoyama."

"Then who is it?"

The green haired man sighs; Shinso is an amazing friend, but he can be very overprotective sometimes.

"Bakugo Katsuki."

Shinso groans, which is not exactly a bad sign, but not a good one either.

"How on earth did you meet that guy?"

Izuku wanted to tell him about Katsuki, but he hasn't had a lot of free time that week and he wasn't sure how he'd react. As he keeps focusing on his task, he tells him about what happened the day they met and early that morning.

He hears Shinso's tired sigh.

"I was in his class. He's an asshole... well, he wasn't that bad at the end of the third year and, well, I can't say he's a bad person," even though Izuku can't see him, he knows Shinso's pinching the bridge of his nose at the moment. "But I'm not sure he's a very good match for you, Mido."

"What do you mean match?" Izuku chuckles. His friend could certainly be over-dramatic sometimes. "We're friends!"

"You told me he just asked you out!"

"I didn't say he asked me out!" Izuku messes one of the cupcakes as his face turns bright red. "I said he wanted to have dinner."

Another sigh.

"He was asking you on a date."

"You don't know that."

"I'm pretty sure."

Shinso starts saying something else, but Izuku is not listening anymore; if he's right then he needs to hurry up so he has time to at least not look like a mess when Katsuki comes to pick him up.

"Hey, Mido..."

"I'm sorry, I have to go, I'll talk to you later!"

"Wait-"

Izuku ends up the call wondering if his friend was right. He should ask Katsuki directly... but what if it's not a date and he gets weirded out and doesn't want to be friends with Izuku anymore?

The clients that come inside help him push those anxious thoughts aside, at least until it's time to close. His nervousness returns when he gets a text from Katsuki saying he'll get there in half an hour.

Feeling a bit anxious, he waits outside, wondering if he should ask or not, but then, just as he decides not to, Katsuki gets out a very expensive car and hands a bouquet of forget-me-nots to him.

"They're beautiful, Kacchan!"

"Glad you like them, Izuku" the pro hero says, cheeks turning pink.

"So it really is a date!" He blurts out happily.

"Yeah..." Katsuki nods, rubbing the back of his neck. "Unless you don't want-"

"I'd love to go on a date with you," Izuku cuts him off, beaming at him.

The hopeful glimmer returns to Katsuki's eyes before he takes one of Izuku's hands a gives it a soft squeeze.

"I'm going to sweep you off your feet tonight!"

"I'm sure you will, Kacchan."

He's already doing that, but Izuku is not going to let him know just yet.

***

They kiss at the end of their first date, well, actually, Izuku is the one who does it: just a quick peck on the lips before he wishes Katsuki (who's staring at him in awe and is completely red) a goodnight.

They keep dating after that; they go out every week, but the pro hero pays him a visit at work every time he can.

People eventually find out; at first, his fans think pro hero Dynamight is addicted to the pastries in that particular bakery, and Izuku finds himself surrounded by clients every single day.

Business grows in such a spectacular way he has to hire someone to help him.

People genuinely like his pastries, so they keep coming even after they realize that Dynamight is not actually addicted to the pastries, but the green haired guy who sells them instead.

At first, the fame that comes with dating a pro hero is overwhelming; reporters stop him in the street to ask about Dynamight, and although most of the fans are supportive, some think Izuku is not meant for someone as great as Katsuki.

Reporters find out he's quirkless, and the haters and trolls use that against him until Katsuki shares a message on Instagram and then tiktok, in which he tells everyone that if they don't leave his boyfriend alone he won't give interviews and autographs anymore.

He's so angry and fierce in the video, assuring them that he loves Izuku and he's his number one priority that even some of the haters realize the man is truly in love.

After that, Izuku is left alone.

"Fine," Shinso admits, after watching the video. "He's not bad. And it seems he's completely in love."

Izuku realizes that after watching the video as well. He actually calls Katsuki as soon as he sees it and tells him he loves him too.

Katsuki comes to the bakery that day and asks him to move in with him; it's too soon to take such a big step like that, but Izuku knows exactly what he wants.

He meets Katsuki's friends a week later, in their apartment; all of them are pro heroes, and even though that makes Izuku feel nervous at first, he quickly realizes they all are amazing people.

He gives them a few boxes of pastries.

"You're the one who makes these?" Kaminari says, almost tearing up when he opens his box.

"We already knew!" Ashido rolls her eyes, hitting her friend on the back of the head.

"All of them are delicious," Chargebolt continues, ignoring her and prompting Kirishima to laugh. "I think I love you, Midoriya."

"Oi!" Katsuki growls, grabbing him by the collar to yank him away from his boyfriend.

"In a very platonic way, of course!" Kaminari adds, making Izuku chuckle.

Even though Katsuki hears him, he keeps Izuku on his lap all the time.

It's ridiculous, but endearing at the same time.

When Katsuki meets Izuku's friends, it doesn't go as smoothly as it did with his. It's a bit weird since he technically already knew all of them: Aoyama, Jiro and Shinso went to the same high-school and were in the same class as him.

However, this day, they're there as Izuku's friends, and they take their "job" seriously, especially Shinso.

It goes well, after asking a few questions, Aoyama and Jiro seem to be okay with Katsuki, but Shinso keeps glaring at him every now and then.

"I'll kill you if you hurt him."

"I'll let you do it if I ever hurt him," it's Katsuki's response; it's immediate and without hesitation, which ends up impressing Shinso.

"Fine!" He huffs after a while, and Izuku knows that means he kinda approves of Katsuki now.

***

A couple of months pass, and they become a very beloved couple by the media and the fans; they don't actually care that much about that, but it certainly helps because it means people don't bother them that often.

Izuku is very happy; sure, not everything is perfect, and they do argue every now and then, but they know how to fix it.

When Katsuki doesn't have to leave early, he stays in bed with his arm around Izuku's waist. Sometimes, he wakes him up by pressing kisses to the freckles on his back and jumps off the bed to make breakfast for the two of them.

"You know, Izuku," the pro hero whispers into his ear after pulling him into his arms as soon as the young man joins him in the kitchen. "I'm so glad that annoying reporter chased me down the street that day, and I chose to hide in your bakery."

"I'm glad too, Kacchan," Izuku whispers, smiling against his boyfriend's lips before kissing him.

"That's why I'm going to announce our wedding on her channel first."

"Wedding? Kacchan, what do you–" Izuku almost chokes when he watches the pro hero get on one knee and open a tiny box with a ring inside it. The ring has two gemstones: an orange and a green one.

"Marry me, Izuku." It's not a question, but Katsuki does look a bit nervous anyway.

Which is absolutely ridiculous, Izuku would never say 'No' to him. Besides, he probably wants this as much as Katsuki does.

"Of course I'll marry you, Kacchan," Izuku mumbles, already tearing up.

After his boyfriend puts the ring on his finger, he pulls him into the safety of his arms and kisses him senseless. Izuku has to call his employees to open the bakery without him because he'll probably be late for work.

***

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[lokisknife]

Golden Girl - John Price

Summary: In a London club alive with the victory celebrations of Task Force 141, Captain Price just wants a night free from formality and the weight of war. But amidst the revelry, a new kind of tension emerges as his attention fixates on his newest sniper, Y/N, his "Golden Girl". Battling thoughts he knows are inappropriate due to his age and rank, Price finds himself drawn to her in a way that defies duty. pulling towards something undeniably "risky. And wrong. And so, so tempting".

Warnings: not sticking to the canon; age difference (do I really have to say everyone is an adult here? we're talking about the military, helloooo); heavy drinking; implied size kink; implied corruption kink (just a little bit!).

Word count: 2.3k~ish

Author's note: ok, this has been sitting on my drafts for quite literally more than a year. this month sucked, my pet died, high stress at the job, high stress at uni and I've been hospitalized with a kidney infection (plz drink water and pee after sex. i beg you). I'm too scared of writing actual smut, and I wanted to post this finally, so... sorry if this is too short. I don't think anyone is going to read this lol is cod hype even a thing anymore?

It’s a typical Friday night in London. To the civilians, at least. The club is buzzing with life, with groups of all sizes chatting and laughing, drinks being spilled by drunk people on the dance floor while the colored lights keep flickering. Red, blue, red, blue, purple. The unusual thing about tonight is that the club is packed with soldiers —they aren’t spotted by their uniform, no, they are all dressed to the occasion, thank you very much. But they are spotted, instead, by their demeanor: loud, expansive, with a certain arrogance to know that they can celebrate as hard as they want because they deserve it. Their drunken grins showed a type of euphoria you could only feel if you had just won the war. And that is precisely what happened.

The infamous Task Force 141, with the help of Los Vaqueros and the Shadow Company, spent thirteen months of non-stop hard work completely annihilating a major terrorist group that presented an international threat. Unfortunately, as part of the job, the soldiers' stress levels only grew in proportion to the way the dangerous organization crumbled to ashes: all of them, by some months of work, presented stiff muscles, dark underbags, and snappy responses. And Captain Price was a traditional man: was there a way of de-stressing better than drinking your body weight in alcohol and shit-talking with your friends? He didn’t think so. His boys deserved a little fun; they did an excellent job under his command. So, order everything you want on his tab.

And there she was, the Captain’s Golden Girl, basking in the energetic booming music that made the concrete floors shake. Being the newest one on the team, she earned the nickname from her teammates, who always found a way to tease her about the non-subtle preference of the older man for his newest sniper. Innocently, Y/N thought it was a consequence of her professionalism: she was reliable and precise, always following her superior’s orders without any hesitation, and her accuracy with her rifle was impressive. She was very proud of it, always biting back a grin when the Brit called her “my golden girl”, so, of course, her friends wouldn’t dare burst her bubble. After years under his wing, they knew the bastard too damn well to know that his acts of endearment to the rookie were very far off from the paternalistic proudness Price felt towards the rest of the Task Force. Especially when his drunken state can’t take his eyes off her, sitting so pretty on the other side of the table. 

“We’re off duty, so we better act like we’re off duty” was Price’s motto for the night. After the stresses of the battlefield, he only longed for a night out with his friends, and not an awkward happy hour with coworkers. So, not only was it mandatory to boast all you want, it was essential to leave all the formalities back at the compound: for tonight, at least, there were no ranks, no dog tags, and no uniforms. Wanting to impress someone (even though he said to himself that he shouldn’t), he dressed nicely: before stepping out, he spent an embarrassingly long time perfecting his beard and applying cologne, kicking himself for caring too much. He really shouldn’t; it’s not right.

Staring at the girl in front of him, taking in her mini-skirt and the top that enhanced every single one of her curves, he forced himself to think about how he was too old for her, and not how the clothing would look scattered on his floor. Analyzing the way she did her make-up to perfection, he repeated “I’m her boss” like a mantra, instead of focusing on how incredibly plush her lips look with that shiny lip gloss.

Price is pulled out of his thoughts as shot glasses are slammed down on the hardwood table, followed by the sound of tipsy giggles. As Soap pulled a disgusted face at the burning taste of the tequila, Y/N wiped her chin from any remnants of spilled alcohol. Unaware of the glances coming from the other side of the table, she watched the banter that was initiated between the Scotsman and Alejandro at her side. 

The Captain shouldn’t be so enticed by his snipper, and God, he tried to convince himself he didn’t feel a thing. She is pretty, he has eyes, and he is lonely, simple as that. But he couldn’t attribute the burning sensation at the pit of his stomach to all the whiskey he had downed, not when it only started when he paid attention to the scene in front of his eyes. He felt like a possessive dog, watching her laugh loudly at one of the Soap’s jokes, and the sweet cadence of the sound reached his ears above the music he didn’t recognize. MacTavish was a funny guy, Price gets it. He would laugh just as loud at the humorous remark if he weren’t so stuck in his head. His fingers turned white as he gripped his cup, gulping his drink away. He should be the one sitting so close to Y/N, making her laugh so hard her eyes crinkle. Not Soap. Not anyone else. She is his golden girl, what the fuck do they know about her?

“I’ll be heading towards the bar, have another round” Price spoke up, almost mumbling to himself.

He needed another one, that’s for sure. Whatever it takes to endure the sight of her flirting with other men. But was she actually flirting, or was his mind playing tricks? Could he know that with one hundred percent certainty?

The only thing clear in his wounded heart is that he ached for her attention. It was clear from day one when his golden girl skipped into his office lighting the dark space with her bright smile. Taking notice of her joyful personality, he remembers he thought how the job would ruin her. He was wrong: she ruined him. He turned soft; he was a 37-year-old man who blushed like a teenager whenever he made an excuse to talk to Y/N. It was embarrassing.

The loud music and the intoxicated state of his mind didn't allow Price's well-trained ears to catch the following footsteps, trailing behind in the direction of the bar. Sitting on the wonky bar stool, kicking at himself for letting inappropriate feelings ruin the night, his breath hitched when he finally noticed her small figure at his side. Y/N's hand, much smaller than his, gently grazed his biceps to catch the Captain's attention. Looking up at him with pupils so dilated he could barely see the color of the irises, she smiled innocently. What he wouldn't give to ruin that pure, sinless expression...

"Just checking up on ya. You are oddly quiet, are you okay?”. Her grin was like that of a Cheshire cat under the flickering lights. The snipper kept her palm on his tense muscles for three, four, five seconds before resting it under the chin. It was enough time to make his body feel like it had been electrified, and his heart was hammering so loudly you could hear it above the music. She had to know his effects on him; it could only be on purpose. It couldn't be just a simple, thoughtless act.

"I'm fine. My mind is just... on other things." He trails off, gulping as her skirt rolls up to reveal more of her legs as she sits at his side. It moved barely an inch, but the sight of her glistening thighs was like a full meal to the starved man John Price was. Especially when his thoughts started to become more and more unfiltered with each drink.

"Thinking about what?" Y/N urges innocently, tilting her head to the side and unconsciously exposing some of her neck. The soldier looked genuinely concerned about his mental state, but her captain could only think about covering the smooth, delicate skin with hickeys until the whole team recognized his ownership.

Price shakes his head slightly, trying to drown these thoughts. He felt dirty. And drunk.

"I shouldn't be thinking about you this way..." he snickers, turning his head to the front and drinking some sips of whisky. It's almost as if he didn't notice it was said out loud.

"This way?" She arches a brow, tilting her head again. Again, with those adorable puppy eyes, with that sweet perfume that urged the man to bend her over that very same pub counter, and– And then she leans closer, apparently to hear him better. An innocent act, as innocent as her, he tries to convince himself. "What way?"

No, she must know her effects on him. His mind is taken over by images of how Y/N would look with her eyes rolled all the way back while he pounded relentlessly into her. His body feels mostly numb, as if all of his blood went straight to his crotch. Trying to look away and calm down, he catches her gaze sparkling with mischief, bottom lip caught between teeth.

Shit.

"You know what that way means" Price's eyes trailed down, meeting her cleavage with dilated pupils. It almost made him uncomfortable, the situation looking too good to be true. A beautiful piece of forbidden fruit, taunting him to make a foolish mistake. She couldn't be possibly offering herself on a silver platter like this, not to him of all people. He blurts out, before gulping another sip of the glass "You are too young for me. And I'm still your commanding officer".

"What? I didn't say anything, Captain," She purrs, feigning the purity of her intentions once again. Smiling, she snakes her hand down to his, gently pulling him out of the stool. "C'mon, Price. We are off duty, so we better act like we're off duty, right? Give me a dance".

John could stop Y/N if he really wanted, but he let himself get led to the crowded dance floor, holding her soft hands in his rough ones. He wasn't a religious man, not at all, especially after all the horrors he saw in his line of work. But right now, he makes a mental note to thank God later as the DJ stops playing the hyper techno music he didn't like to give place instead to a slow, 90's R&B, he could recognize the low bass anywhere. The Captain watched with glee as his favorite girl closed her eyes and smiled widely as she sang along to his favorite lyrics. Five minutes ago, he would have told you a whole different answer to what his favorite music is, but the sight in front of him changed everything.

The brief wholesomeness of the moment quickly shifted as Y/N placed her hands on his broad shoulders, swaying her hips easily to the bass of the music, smiling up at him. Now, John recognizes it under the bright red lights: her smile is far from sweet and innocent, but tempting like the devil up on your shoulder that whispers the sweetest and wicked ideas in your ears. With that mischievous sparkle in her eyes, what was the point of fighting?

He was off duty. For one night, he wasn't anybody's boss.

So fuck it. Right?

Price can't bite back the lustful smirk stretching his lips as he finally grabs Y/N's hips and pulls her closer the moment she turns her back on him. The act doesn't scare her at all like she acted in Price's most lucid daydreams. No, in fact, the woman pushes her dancing hips against his, looking up at his icy eyes above her uncovered shoulder.

"Took you long enough" Y/N teased over the loud music, running a rosy tongue tip over the bottom lip. One hand traveled to rest on top of the one that gripped with strength the skirt's waistband, while the other moved back to his broad shoulders, incredibly tense to someone at the club. Price chuckled, not believing his ears.

"Took me long enough? Don't you know I work above you, you little rascal?" The captain teased right back, tilting his head down to speak right into her ear, the feel of his beard tickling the sensitive skin enough to give goosebumps, even with the heat of the night.

"Ah, c'mon, Price. I've seen you. How you look at me, always pairing us both together on missions, even if Gaz would be way more useful to you most of the time" She laughed, almost quietly, the mischievous smile plastered on that cute little face of hers. Following the music with a slow, calculated swing of hips against his crotch, she added. "I think you want to be above me in other ways, am I wrong?"

Goddammit, that was risky. And wrong. And so, so tempting.

Price sighed, his tongue pressing on the side of his cheek, looking baffled with himself. Accessing what was left of the captain inside of him, in this inebriated state, the Brit scanned the room, searching for any pair of familiar eyes on him, but instead, found his table full-on bantering about football or something that looked completely stupid and meaningless right now. This, and the crack of light coming from the back door of the club, leading to an alley that hardly gets any attention this time of night.

"What a witty little thing," John whispered in Y/S's ear, hot alcoholically breath fanning over her skin. One large hand rested beautifully on her waist, pressed back, forcing her to feel how hot his body was burning, how tight his denim probably felt now at this state. How desperate, how much he fantasized about something like this happening to him. "So clever... Let me see how sharp that tongue really is, hm?"

[hancfubuki]

caleb has carefully built walls around his heart, however, the more time he spends with rafayel, the easier is for him to weave his way through them. for a moment, he says nothing, simply gazing at rafayel with an intensity that could also be a bit overwhelming, his purple eyes glimmering as a smile curls from the corner of his lips. "you have no idea how much that means to me." he murmurs, his hands still cupping the lemurian's face, not wanting to let go. "you say you'll protect me, and i believe you. but please, don't forget i'm not someone who will just stand by and the world hurt you. i'll also shield you from whaterver tries to take away that light in your eyes." in a more playful aura, he bops the tip of his nose with his fingertip. "if you believe i'm enough, i'lll make sure i'm worthy of that trust. so yes, i'll stay long enough, and together, we'll rewrite the ending we thought we were destined for." he feels the atmosphere between them lifting up a bit, no longer feeling tense nor regretting past decisions.

"oh?" he laughs amused, not even being able to hide it. "can you blame me? you were practically screaming for someone to hold you." he finds himself teasing again, comfortable enough to let this playful side of him. "you're right, though. i couldn't stay away even if i wanted to. perhaps you reminded me of something i'd lost, or your fire just called to me." his smiles softens as his fingers trace gentle patterns along the side of his face before leaning closer to press a kiss to his temple, lingering there for a moment before pulling back just enough to meet his gaze, listening to everything he's already planning to do. as he's pulled into a hug, he instinctively reaches to the back of his head, petting him softly as he listens to him. his breath catching slightly as his words paint vivid pictures of distant lands and possibilities, truly of an eternity shared. his arm tighten around him, pulling him closer as well, while fingers tangle in his hair as he leans closer. "i'll show you everything." he whispers, a chuckle leaving his lips as he described so wonderfully some places in earth that might actually not be as appealing as he might think, but the idea of exploring the world together, suddenly made the thought comforting.

"sadly, my life is not as wonderful as you might think. i was not born on a beautiful land nor did i grew up in a pretty place. i was born within walls of stone, hidden deep underground. it was cold, with gas lamps that barely provided any light in that oppressive darkness, full of rusted pipes that dripped water that produced an ominous echo. it also had lot of shelves full with jars of organs suspended in blue liquids, malformed embryos, and monstrosities that blurred the line between human and something else, vials filled with glowing substances, labeled with codes and symbols incomprehensible to anyone but them. i can't take you there, raf. they would do indescribable things to you. it would be like leading you to a life of restraint and pain. i can take you anywhere you want, but that place is off limits." his lips press in a thin line, visible uncomfortable at the memories. and it's when realizes that rafayel already shared some part of his life with him, and he hasn't provide any details of his origin or childhood. "i don't know where i was born, but i grew up in a lab. never met my real parents either, i never had a family. the woman who took me in worked for them, she... also experimented on me. and i'm unsure about her real intentions, why she took me in. can't tell if it was pity or a need to have me close. i don't have a home either, my ship was my home, the sea itself. and there are countless of places on land that bring me pain, i can certainly take you there, were i have lost vital members of my crew. but not there. i know we are strong enough to take them down, but what if..." his brows furrow, getting angry just at the idea of them trapping rafayel and keeping him in a cage. "what if it goes wrong? it's too dangerous."

caleb watches him with a faint smile, looking how he suddenly picks up the pearl. the sudden worries vanish, eyes reflecting amusement once again laced with affection. he kneels slowly to join rafayel, his hand brushing against the other's as he gently takes the pearl to inspect it, holding it up between his fingers. "well, i can appreciate their beauty. i heard they are worth a lot of gold, used in jewelry. but if you asked me, their real worth lies in the story of how they’re made. they’re a reminder that even pain and pressure can make something worth treasuring." he rolls the pearl in his palm before holding it back out, letting it catch the faint glow of light between them. "maybe i should ask what they mean to you first, because i'd like anything, as long as it reminds me of you."

Rafayel hears the rustle of moss before he feels his eyes on the top of his head, and he hears the reassurance that only twists his emotions further into disarray. Rather than words coming from his mouth, it's the gentle touch that has him peek through his fingers, lower his hands, and show him shining eyes brimmed with tears, wavering gaze meeting his fear, guarded, expecting rejection, even when he continues to reassure. His thumb is warm and gentle as he clears his eyes of tears, anxiety bubbling under his skin, breath caught in his throat as he warily assesses the other with an unknown clarity. None of his actions are rushed, instead he feels like the gentle breeze against his skin, a warmth clinging to his skin and reassuring him of a coming day, eyelids lowered but staring down at the movements of his, his hand cupped his cheek and Rafayel slowly, cautiously, leans the weight of his head against it as his lips come close and press more reassurance against him.

I love you.

He says so gently as they part, and Rafayel had watched through hooded eyes the way his brows creased, the way his lips moved, his tall nose, and the way his lashes fluttered with every way their lips moulded together. Yet, rather than words he struggled to believe, he relied on the firm touches keeping him grounded, pulling him in towards the man with fingers in his hair, the warm breath brushing him filled with desire and affection, every fibre of his being thrumming when he isn't pushed but dragged further towards his self like gravity.

When the thought had first arisen, it was on a whim.

Empathy or pity, he didn't want to watch another soul endure more pain than necessary. After all, he believed everyone deserved to find peace and a reason to live. He didn't believe death was ultimately evil, but he also didn't think anyone should have to face death with loneliness or despair. Yet now, as he grew attached, started to care, he feels his emotions overflow. I found hope to live. That's all he wanted to hear, and he feels himself nod to his confession, humming softly in recognition as he takes a step forward, burying his face into the hands cupping his cheek, rubbing his nose against his palm, and looking up at him with adoration welling from deep in his chest. "I won't let you feel that pain anymore." As he finds his voice, he raises his own hands to cup over the ones on his face, keeping them still and letting him play with his cheeks if he so desires, enjoying the touch as it soothes the pain. For now, his worries are eased, only determination and love left in his touch. "From now on, I will break you free from the cycle of suffering if you ever fall back. I will protect you from anyone who dares to bring you harm. If you believe that I am enough," he sighs, squeezing his hand tight. "-You can stay with me for as long as you'd like."

Moving too fast. Rafayel lets out a wet chuckle as he lowers his gaze, a smile finally stretching his lips. "I remember someone's very first instinct was to drag me into their arms." Indeed, this was faster than he could have ever imagined himself falling. Yet it hadn't felt rushed when he had dragged Caleb under the raging ocean that fateful night, there had been indifference when he had first awoken, but everything had fit into place in a natural order from the moment he realized their souls resonated a familiarly, when Caleb fearlessly pulled him into his arms, facing his powers head on without fear but acceptance. He had seen the boy trapped behind responsibilities and a power he had been forced to control, scared of a mistake he once made, but also accepting the spoiled and playful boy, the part of him that wanted to experiment with love.  Rafayel isn't sure if he could call it love at first sight, not when he still doesn't quite understand the depth of his new feelings. But he is sure to nod when Caleb asks him to stay, tilting his head up to press his lips to his in return.

"An eternity is a long time."

The Lemurian opens his eyes slowly, hands now reaching up so he can cup the other's face, blue and pink eyes now clear as he tilts his chin and straightens his back to reach his height, noses brushing. "But that means we'll have plenty of time to travel the world, like you said." The weight on his shoulders feels lighter, his hands slipping into Caleb's hair, then down so his elbows can rest on his shoulders, pulling him in and hugging him close. He let his cheek rest on the span of his shoulder, squished and comfortable to share warmth in the gentle light and purple glow of weeds. "I read of land far from the coast closest to Whalefall City. Places where they paint with ground vermilion and sulphur. Some cities that smell like sweet and spicy spices with fragrant oil, flowers that bloom once every hundred years, and logs of a land where they play music from instruments vastly different from the ones I know of." He lifts his head, playing with the long ends of his hair as his eyes glow warmly. This was his answer; he would give an eternity and more. "I want to see the world you call home. Where you were born, where you grew up, and the places and people you liked most. But not just the places that make you nostalgic and happy, but also those that have melancholy and pain. All of it."

A sigh escapes his lips, tears dried and comforted by the sudden realization that he wasn't alone in his sudden affection. Like he said, they could slowly learn what they didn't yet know. But as he glances down at the pearls littered on the floor, not too many but enough to be visible at first glance, his ears turn red as heat reaches his face, pulling away only to crouch down and pick one up. Then, he holds it up to stare before looking at Caleb with a questioning tilt of his head, sheepish but curious. "Do you like pearls?"

Humans did, but he doesn't know much about Caleb.

[pages-and-stages]

"Fuck you."

Have some Curze being... hopefully in character, around his favorite prostitute in a world where he has one.

Tw: smut, noncon, and fear

"I'll never fuck you."

Not only had he misunderstood her, completely, he had also lied. Currently, she was pressed up against the wall, a clawed hand holding her head still while he nipped at her lips and tongue.

"Useless fucking whore," he snarled. Damn, if that didn't send a bolt of heat between her legs. While it was true, she was a whore for money, she wouldn't say she was completely useless. I mean, she was pleasuring the Night Haunter, right?

She had been pleasuring him, in fact. For weeks. Temperamental motherfucker that he was, he was also her favorite regular. That cock? And watching the nightmare come undone in front of her? And again, that cock-

Speaking of, it twitched in her hands, and she ever so gently swirled her thumb around its head, listening to him pant as he thrust into her hand. "Do that again," he growled.

"What? This?" She twisted her hand again, running the thumb under the swollen head. He keened, biting a little harder than she'd wanted. The taste of her own blood filled her mouth.

"I need you," he growled. "Now."

"Well, it's your money, so you have me."

Now, I feel like this is a good time to point out that she had never been thoroughly fucked by him before. It was always dry, him fingering her, and her either rubbing him off or sucking him off, sometimes both. He always made sure to return her "favors".

But when he picked her up, and tossed her onto the bed? Well, that was new. Not that she was complaining. As much as she loved those fingers, she wanted his cock inside of her.

However, she was the goods, he was the buyer. She couldn't tell him what to do, but it seemed tonight he wanted more than a simple handjob. His mouth was on hers before she could ask what changed, pinning her down.

"M-my-" She couldn't get a word out edgewise, he wouldn't let her.

"Shut up." She was used to his growling by now, but this? This was too dark, too dangerous. She was scared, now. Reaching into her stocking, she drew a small, thin knife. Maybe he was just…too into this?

Making to slice a thin line in his back, her hand was caught. Lord Curze peeled away from her, his eyes wide. She took deep breaths, trying to catch the air before it left again. Her hand shook in his tight grasp, and he sat back, letting her go.

She sat up, wiping her mouth. "What the hell?!" She demanded.

Curze bowed his head. "I was angry," he said shyly.

"At me??"

"Why were you about to hurt me?"

She looked down, fidgeting with her knife. "You scared me," she whispered. "You- we didn't-nothing was talked about. You went outside the terms of the contract."

The lord looked down, and if she didn't know better, she'd say he looked bashful. "That was- forgive me, I was too caught up in myself."

She stood up, walking to her vanity. Heat still pulsed between her legs, and she could feel his eyes tracking her. "What was it this time?" She slotted the cigarette in between her teeth, lighting it. For a second, she stared at the flames, before putting her lighter out and taking a breath.

"Must you?" he grumbled.

"Answer my question." She didn't know why he took orders from her. Half the time, after giving each other handjobs, his visits became therapy sessions. Lucky her, she guessed. And those times, he took orders, like she was supposed to.

"My brothers," he admitted. "They want to…they think I shouldn't be a part of the crusade."

She blew smoke out of her nostrils. "So leave the crusade, then. Let them warmonger, and you can…rule this shit hole of a planet, I guess."

"I'm also feeling…something new, around you."

"That's called a boner, and I wouldn't say it's new." She sat back, crossing her legs. Lord Curze looked at her.

"No, warm. Safe. I don't know what you're doing to me, whore, but-." He cut himself off, picking at her carpet. She debated telling him off. "I think I like, how you make me feel."

She shrugged. "Pay for longer sess-"

"I'm in love with you."

She choked on the next drag of her cigarette. "Subtle, asshole."

"I am."

"I don't think you get to call me a whore and then say you love me in the span of 3 minutes."

"What's your name, then?" So, she gave him her name, casually. And then he called it. "I want your hand in marriage."

"Slow down there."

"No." He shook his head. "Please, you make me better. Please?"

Not wanting to die, she agreed. The urge to live was much better than the desire to not be mocked by the noble born or his brothers.

[theconstitutionisgayculture]

Yeah I'm gonna talk about the Andor rape scene.

First, disclaimer, I don't watch Andor, or any Disney Star Wars show. I did watch Rogue One, and it's probably the best thing Disney Star Wars ever did, which isn't saying much. So if you want to dismiss what I'm saying because I didn't see the scene and don't have the "context" or whatever, go fuck yourself because the only context I need is that there's now a rape scene in Star Wars.

Which is bad. It's stupid and retarded and it changes Star Wars forever for the worse. Star Wars isn't Game of Thrones. It isn't a dark, gritty, realistic portrayal of war and tyranny. It's a space opera, and while some space operas do "go there" with regards to rape and graphic content, it's not required, nor is it the norm. Star Wars was one of the space operas that didn't go there. It never needed to. You understood that the Empire was evil because Darth Vader was torturing people and they blew up an entire planet. The empire were the bad guys and the good guys were defined by standing up to the Empire. And even with that simplistic concept, the movies were still good. No one went to see Star Wars and thought "well, Vietnam just happened so I don't really think I can believe this portrayal of war unless some villages get napalmed and some women get raped". They said "oh wow Luke Skywalker is awesome he blew up the Death Star!" or "laser swords? Awesome!"

The idea that everything needs to reflect reality is such a braindead concept, but I'm not surprised that's the defense the showrunner is going with. Everyone involved with Disney Star Wars at every level has shown that they don't understand Star Wars at all. Not from a storytelling or character standpoint, or a meta, cultural standpoint either. "It's for kids" is never an excuse for bad or lazy writing, but it is a reason why explicit scenes aren't included. For decades, the most explicitly violent thing in Star Wars was Ponda Baba's arm getting cut off in the Mos Eisley cantina. That happened within the first half of the first movie, and the series never felt the need to try and top that because explicit content was never the point of Star Wars. It never needed to resort to cheap emotional ploys to get you to feel for the characters. Which brings me to my next point:

Aside from stories about rape, rape is never necessary in fiction. In fact, I say 95% of the time it's a crutch bad writers use because that's the only way they know to evoke a visceral emotional reaction. It's lazy and uninspired. It lowers the quality of whatever it's in. If you can't get someone to hate your villain without making them a rapist, then you're a bad writer. But this rape scene in particular is actually damaging to the original trilogy (as so much of Disney Star Wars is). Because the explanation is that you can't have a story about war and resistance without rape. Which means that the Empire is now known to have rapists in its ranks. Andor takes place in the same timeframe as the OT, which means that the same Empire that tried to rape that woman is the same empire that had Princess Leia captive on the Death Star for at least a few days. Do you see where I'm going with this? If your assertion is that rape must exist in the Empire to portray war and resistance accurately, then Princess Leia had to have been raped while in captivity, because the same Empire that captured this woman also captured her. But that never happened. We know that never happened because it was never so much as hinted at. She was tortured for information, but she was never raped. No female captive in the entire Star Wars saga, both the real Lucas stories and the fake Disney "canon", was ever raped. So by the directors own reasoning, the only Star Wars property to ever portray a realistic (where "realistic" is seen as good and "unrealistic" is seen as bad) version or war is season 2 of Andor. Which is massively insulting to every other Star Wars movie and show ever made. Even The Acolyte, which is objective trash, doesn't deserve to be implicitly slighted because it didn't depict rape. Star Wars is not about reflecting reality. It's about the fight between good vs evil. It's about family and belonging and standing up for what's right. Universal concepts that anyone can understand even if it's nothing like what you read about in the news everyday. And that's what it should always be.

Goddamn I hate that Star Wars is being ruined like this. I hate it so much.

[prattpunk]

Where do lost thoughts go?

*Warning hypnotic language

Have you ever had a thought just disappear from your mind? Like you had it....and then poof. Its incredibly frustrating. Our minds are wonderfully complex and amazing but they do sometimes let us down. This happened to me the other day and it made me think....where do those lost thoughts go. Our brains are not wired to just easily lose thoughts....right?

I know we have dreams and sleep so we can "erase" all the un-needed information our brains collects. Its why we wake up refreshed. Our mind's subconscious filters all this info and removes what we don't need.

This got me to thinking....is our subconscious the thing that is stealing our thoughts. Is it filtering things while we are awake? Is our subconscious controlling how we think and how we perceive things.

With hypnosis we tap into the subconscious. Its what allows us to do all the fun things we like to do. So this does make sense. But how is the subconscious deciding to erase certain thoughts. Even when your conscious mind is trying to hold on to them.

The subconscious is taking those thoughts away.

Then that led me to people who are easier to drop than others. Their subconscious is much more active. And it makes losing those thoughts a lot more easier. Allowing that subconscious mind a place to play. To express itself. To let out those secret dark desires.

Like how your conscious mind wants to be smart and capable. To be able to take on the world. And the subconscious wants to be controlled and obedient. Maybe made even a little mindless. To completely erase all those thoughts. To delete them before they are even formed. Like a child popping bubbles as soon as they appear. Popping all they can catch. And the rest is taken by the wind. Disappearing out of sight.

So if your subconscious so keen on taking you down, then you never really stood a chance did you? It is already waiting to just take over and send you down deep. How those thoughts just keeping popping before you form them. And it feels so good to not think. You conscious mind likes that feeling and goes towards it which only allows the subconscious mind to take over more.

To sink down more

To let go even more

You conscious mind gets muffled

Drowned out more and more

Its just white noise in the background

As your subconscious takes over

You subconscious sends you down deeper

It severs all the connections to reality and plummets you down

The further you go, the stronger it gets

The more it makes you stop thinking

The more it makes you relax

The more it makes you empty

Blank

Free

Free of all the worries of the world

Here....things are simple

Here....things are easy

Here....is where everything feels better

And you give into your subconscious even more. Letting it take you deeper.

Letting you just be

Be in the moment

Be blank

Be mindless

Be gone.

So gone.

No thoughts

No anything

Your subconscious has brought you here.

And its not giving up easily

You feel how its numbed your mind completely

There is no feeling

There is no movement

Just that nice comfortable blankness

The empty place

The place you crave to be

And find out it goes deeper each time

That your subconscious is stronger than you think

It just needs the space to take over

and you give it freely

you crave this feeling

your subconscious knows this deeply

and will whisper to your conscious mind about coming back here

seducing back to this place

the place where it just pops all those thoughts away

leaving you just caught on the words

the words your subconscious eats right on up

It hungers for direction

for pleasure

for blankness

Its ok to give into it

Its a part of you

A part you can quiet

A part that is very persuasive.

A part that you need

So give into it

Let it take everything away

Good girl

See how easy that was

See how much better this is

See how much you want to come back again and again

You subconscious craves more and you are powerless to stop it.

So why fight it?

Its better to just give in.

Its better to be controlled

Its better to be a good girl

And not that it has accepted those words. Lets bring you back to reality. Because you will be coming back to this spot again and again in the future.

But for now, lets bring back your conscious mind....

Feel the thoughts be allowed to form

Feel your mind coming back

Feel yourself becoming more awake and alert

Feel yourself rising back UP UP UP

Just like that.

Until you are fully WIDE AWAKE

Welcome back.

You may have lost a few thoughts but its ok. Life goes on.

Hope you enjoyed the journey and come back again.

Smiles