#Sounds like one of these two (and only two) options would've been better

[scentedluminarysoul]

Like idk the people who are STILL saying that Trump will be better for Palestine than Harris would've been read completely insincere to me

And like they have never even looked into anything for a single second. Never paid attention to anything or even know what politics are

[nouearth]

“POLKA DOTS AND MOONBEAMS”

steve rogers x male reader.

𝐅𝐋𝐔𝐅𝐅 & 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐔𝐀𝐋 𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓—headcanon [ 4.1k ] 〳 part one

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒—male reader 〳 domestic!au 〳 mid-century!era 〳 'roommates' 〳established relationship 〳 secret husband!steve 〳 mentions of period-homophobia 〳 brief quarreling 〳 sexual content: top!steve, bottom!reader, love-making, breeding, milking, praising, verbal, dirty talk, body worshiping, guidance.

𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑.

Secret Husband!Steve Rogers who coasted the city and was on a mission to find the best spaghetti and meatballs with you.

‣ "Verdict?"

‣ Steve's gaze looked right past the fork held before your lips, watching your mouth and expression twist and turn like the spaghetti noodles around the fork prongs prior.

‣ "It's good... not great. The sauce isn't as thick as I'd like for it to be... but it tastes fresh? Basil leaves adds a nice balance to the acidity... but the meatballs are a little overcooked. What do you think, Steve? I'm too picky, aren't I?"

‣ It was written all over your face. Satisfied, but not impressed.

‣ Unlike the last restaurant where you two had the misfortune of eating bloated pasta noodles and watery red sauce, this place was edible and especially generous with their serving.

‣ Decent, if Steve had the chance of writing a one-worded review for the paper.

‣ "You're not picky, just particular, but I agree. Red sauce is good—Padrino's still better. Meatballs are pretty tough, aren't they... but I do like the flavor of them. You can tell they used a fattier mixture compared to the rest. A lot of garlic too, which makes up for the lack of it in the sauce..."

‣ "Not as good as Mama's?"

‣ "The moment we find a spaghetti that's as good as your mother's, is the day we find a way to squeeze water from stone, (M/N)."

‣ "Don't mention that to her. I don't need her ego to be any more inflated than it already has been."

‣ Dates like these were never boring.

‣ No matter how many times Steve had watched your face wrench in disdain or light up in surprise, he always found it a joy to watch you participate in this arbitrary—now routinely—idea of critiquing spaghetti and meatballs so earnestly.

‣ To be fair, it wasn't like you two had a slew of options to make dates seem... more like dates.

‣ In fact, there shouldn't have been any options offered on the table in the first place.

‣ Any intimations that you and Steve were on a date would've been subject to a location change.

‣ Most likely, a candle-lit dinner in a jail-cell, dined over cold hard concrete, and Steve was sure the spaghetti and meatballs served there was going to clutch last place in his ranking.

‣ Though, Steve was hopeful that the romance would still be alive and well had it ever come to that point.

‣ You had a thing for restaurants with a gimmick.

‣ "Seven out of ten sounds about right?"

‣ "What about dessert? We can't leave without getting the tiramisu, Steve."

‣ "Since when did we factor in desserts for the scoring?"

‣ "What—since we started. Don't tell me you've been only ranking the spaghetti and meatballs... it's all about the experience, the... the je ne sais quoi—heard that on the radio once!"

‣ "The je ne sais quoi—this is why I wanted you to be the one logging everything down, (M/N)!"

‣ It took more of a toll on him than it did on you.

‣ Well, if it did, then you did a stunning job at maintaining your usual optimism.

‣ Whenever you two were out in public, Steve felt hammered by this distance pushing him apart.

‣ It was a conscious effort on both ends—a natural one that pertained to the business of being in a homosexual relationship

‣ Or just being a homosexual, period.

‣ Steve understood it. He abode it. And he hated it.

‣ Often, when the conversation between you and him would come to a slow, Steve would look right past your shoulder, right at the lucky couple who were in his sight-line—a gentleman with an impressive mustache and his lady—and simply stare.

‣ His thoughts wandered.

‣ The gentleman was unabashed in his public flirtations with the woman.

‣ Massaging her hands, tending to the aches in her knuckles with firm, but appeasing presses.

‣ The smell of his cigar was pervasive, but the lady didn't seem to mind. It seemed like she thought it was rather charming when he blew a smoke towards her face.

‣ One hand would run up her arms in several strokes, rough callous grinding down her goosebumps, and the man would compliment how soft and supple her skin was.

‣ The lady would bat her eyelashes, giggle at the man's public display of affection whilst also maintaining some sense of courtesy to halt his advances when a pair of curious eyes were enough to render her cheeks scarlet—like the lipstick she had worn for the evening.

‣ Steve hated this restraint. This lack of freedom that forced him to talk to you as if you were his co-worker.

‣ To look at you as if he had no affection for you whatsoever when that was further from the truth.

‣ To touch you as if you were an infection that could cost him his life, and him to yours.

‣ That wasn't completely off from what society thought of people like you and Steve, was it.

‣ "It's not nice to stare, Steve... quit it."

‣ "If I can't even look at my own lov—you, what else am I supposed to do?"

‣ "Steve—come on, not now. You know how it is. It's hard, I know. But... we can't just be cooped up in our pad and wear out its virtues. It's nice to go out every once in a while, even if—it has to be like this."

‣ "It's just not—fair. Maybe—maybe we can do something. It doesn't feel right if we're doing nothing about those bar raids too. They're increasing, you know? Becoming more violent and—"

‣ "Hush. People are staring to look."

‣ "Why do you seem completely fine with this? Hiding ourselves—"

‣ "Look, I don't like it as much as you do. Hell, it's killing me on the inside that I can't even smile at you like how it would naturally come. But I'm okay with hiding—because it's for my safety, and most importantly, for yours. I don't ask for much, but I've envisioned the near end of my life to be fulfilled and labored with no regrets. With a house where I can harvest my own apples from my own tree. With a lazy pup that knows better than to eat through my laces. All of that would be possible because I hid—no—because I endured. And I would heavily prefer it if you would join me in that life. Call me a coward, spineless, or selfish, but I don't want it to be our last, Steve. It's terrifying—to know that any day I could lose you to violence and persecution, myself included. So, please—just hold it out for longer—that's all I ask of you."

‣ Most of all, Steve hated that he was envious.

‣ He wished he could be the one wiping sauce stain off your lips.

‣ He wished that he could hold your hand over the table and stroke the ring on your finger that you could've kept on.

‣ He wished that he could stop the tears from welling in your eyes like he often did back at home.

‣ He wished that he could tell you that he loved you, either with a mouthful of meatballs or none at all, because in the end—it would've felt better than communicating those three words with three taps of his foot to your shin.

‣ You nearly reached over for his hand to calm him down, but pulled your back straight upon the fright of a passing waiter and opted for the cipher that was could only be cracked between you and Steve.

‣ Three gentle kicks to his shin, once more to his other leg, and Steve sighed for pardon, returning the cipher gently to your own shin.

‣ He wished he could openly compliment how handsome his husband looked tonight, ramble how grateful he was to have you in his life, or complain about how you kicked him a little too hard, but that was all well and fine because it meant that you were still present.

‣ Freedom—All of it, the positives and negatives, without the looming threat of a policeman pummeling you and Steve with a nightstick afterwards—because that was normal.

‣ Because that was life.

‣ A life that will pay in the long run.

‣ "Check, please."

𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐀𝐃𝐄.

Secret Husband!Steve Rogers who ambled the misty street of Brooklyn Heights with you, the night dew giving everything a hazy look as you and Steve passed through moist air, side-by-side.

‣ "I was brash tonight, Steve. I apologize."

‣ "No, no... you were right. If anything, I was being a fat head. I was out-of-line. I'm sorry."

‣ "You were right too, you know. It's not fair. It's not that I don't want to do anything about it, I really do. I just—it can't be the two of us tackling something bigger than us. Everyone is petrified, Steve."

‣ "I know... but if we somehow all come together in some kind of union, then maybe—we can call for a difference. Show them that enough is enough. Show them that fear is no longer something they can instill in us."

‣ "Like a rebellion or something?"

‣ "Well, if it has to come to that, then so be it."

‣ "You know a guy, don't you..."

‣ "I know a guy."

‣ "Is it Bucky?"

‣ "What—how'd you know?"

‣ "Steve, you only know one guy."

Secret Husband!Steve Rogers who was detoured into a dark alleyway between business building blocks. There was the droning sound sound of night, the low and humming resonant as the city had fallen asleep, all but two guests.

‣ "(M/N), what are we—"

‣ "All that quarreling made me forget to tell you how dashing you looked tonight. You know I especially like your hair combed back like that, Steve-o."

‣ He didn't need much of a hint as to what you were getting at.

‣ Squeezing in between a narrow passageway that would luckily only admit two bodies at a time, you and Steve were obscured from any wandering eyes.

‣ From judgement of the world.

‣ "Steve, you ought-ta listen to me more. Blue polka dots look darling on you."

‣ "If I recall correctly, you were the one who wanted me to wear a pink tie, darling."

‣ "Pink would've made me sauced my pants..."

‣ "You. Are. So. Vulgar."

‣ Shadows cast over his squashed body against yours, the moonlight only lighting the parts that mattered the most right now.

‣ The laughter that left your mouth after each peck Steve would grace you with.

‣ The lips that had him feeling withdrawal symptoms after an unbearable few hours of watching you lick sauce off your lips.

‣ The hand that tug Steve closer by his tie.

‣ The eyes that drew Steve in closer, until the tip of his nose touched yours.

‣ "Have I told you how much I love my cologne on you, darling?"

‣ "Have I told you how much I prefer your cologne rubbing off on me, as opposed to me spraying it on directly?"

‣ Slowly, breathing, pacifying; Steve's invisible stubble made your mouth twitch with a scratch, one of your many quirks he found himself silently obsessing over.

‣ And that was enough to push him over the edge, and finally kiss you like he'd wanted to since the evening had started.

‣ It was slow, almost careful like Steve was afraid of breaking you.

‣ Steve wasn't expecting this self-restraint from you. He wasn't expecting your hands on his jaw, tenderly massaging at either sides to keep your hands preoccupied while he slid his tongue alongside yours.

‣ He wasn't expecting to hear his own pulse because you were so stubborn in maintaining this control—you refused to summon urgency by vaulting your moans into the back of your throat.

‣ But Steve knew you more than he knew himself. He knew how you liked your eggs in the morning. He knew the perfect temperature for your bath. He knew you from the mole on your back, to the stance when you were impatient.

‣ He knew that if he led one of your hands right here—feeling the cusp of his growing bulge—that you'd give Steve what he wanted, and fall completely apart.

‣ And Steve knew that—by the eager palm of your hand, shoving into his unbuckled pants and groping—he was right.

‣ "Steve—just fuck me right here, yeah? I can't take it anymore."

‣ "Honey, we don't have any slick..."

‣ "Then give it to me raw. Use your spit. The rain. I don't care, I need you—"

‣ Your lips were warm and soft when Steve kissed you from rambling into the void again. His hands were against your stomach and chest, and your moans sent shivers down his spine.

‣ "Christ—turn around."

‣ Against the brick wall, teeth sinking into your forearm, you took Steve in without any regrets. Cold sweat breaking over your skin like evening dew collecting on window sills.

‣ "O-oh, fuck—slowly, Steve—"

‣ You could feel Steve's heart beat against your back, pushing further into you, huffing into your neck.

‣ "I love you."

‣ "I love you."

‣ From then on, you and Steve lived without any regrets.

𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍.

Secret Husband!Steve Rogers who relished every inch of your body; with his eyes, with his mouth, with his hands, with his body, with his being—until you found yourself transported wholly to all different kinds of sensations, and he'd repeat to discover new ones for you.

‣ "You're good at this, you know."

‣ "Humor me?"

‣ Steve was mouthing at your inner thigh, one hand stroking your leaking cock, and the other pumping his Vaseline-slicked fingers into you.

‣ He looked up from his eyelashes, teasing your sack with a lick.

‣ Another lick, because he liked being distracted by your body arching off the bed, crinkling the sheets in the process.

‣ "Good at loving me. You know what I want, what I need—just like that. Putting another finger into me without asking of me if you can. Twisting—fuck—turning me out, all based on how my body responds to you."

‣ "Well, it's not difficult to gauge what you need. Your nails dig into the sheets when it's too much. Your fingers and toes curl when the pleasure's coming in. Your hips roll—when you need more, or a new fix. I'm no magician you're making me out to be, (M/N).

‣ "You notice all of that? That's embarrassing... and here I thought I was being alluring..."

‣ Steve layered his thick cock in slick, capping the tin and tossing it to the bedside counter after.

‣ He teased your prepped rim, observing how the ring of muscle would catch a string of his pre-cum and latch onto it with a clench.

‣ At the sound of your moan, at the sight of you toying with your nipples, at the torn decision between preening—you knew that he liked the sight of you biting your lips—and ceasing his taunts.

‣ Steve's cock veins pulsed, his cock pleading for him to fill that delicious hole before him, otherwise it would live in agony for as long as it could leak.

‣ "I do, and it's not embarrassing. I love how you—mm—like that. I love how you immediately wrap your arms and legs around me when I finally push my cock inside of you.

‣ "Oh, Steve—"

‣ "I love how you call my name, just like that. Say it again."

‣ "Steve..!"

‣ He pressed his forehead against yours and groaned with you. His hips racketed off your ass in a slow, but increasing rhythm.

‣ You held onto him, hands over his neck, anchoring him close until the only way you could have your fix of air was through Steve's lips.

‣ Steve's mind was empty, except for the thought of your hot tongue roaming into his mouth and the swelling grasp your walls had around his loving cock.

‣ "Like that... I love how I can decipher every meaning behind the way you call out to me."

‣ "Fill me up so well, Steve—baby. Can feel you deep inside of me. Ruining me with your cock. Your balls slapping against me, God—Steve!"

‣ Your moans tasted delicious on his tongue. If they were seeds, they'd bloom colorful hybrids of fruits because your love for him couldn't be defined by one singular hue.

‣ You were an array of colors—a prism conjured by the way Steve loved you.

‣ Red, because you were gritting your teeth as Steve had you taking him balls-deep, filling you up to the brim, and stretching you to the shape of his pistoning cock.

‣ "Fuck me harder, Steve—"

‣ "You're taking me so well, darling..."

‣ "When have I not?"

‣ Orange, because Steve rendered you speechless except for a few gasps, with his cock grazing your prostate and his hand over your cock, stroking while kissing at your neck.

‣ "O-oh, fuck—oh, fuck!"

‣ Yellow, because you were on top, straddling Steve's lap and yielding to the nearing high that you both had been gauging.

‣ You took your sweet time to make love to Steve with your body. Hands braced on his chest, combing your fingers through the light hairs, deeply rocking back and forth on his cock after a couple of lighthearted bounces.

‣ You marveled over his well-built body, following the contours of his muscles with one hand while silently admiring his broad chest, perky nipples, and wide shoulders with your tongue.

‣ The smell of aftershave on him was infectious when you came up for a brief kiss. You kissed at his lips, then his chin, licking at the short blades of stubble before pulling away to preen again.

‣ Your back straightened and you spread your thighs apart for Steve to get a good look at how hard he was making you.

‣ Your cock throbbed, swollen a pronounced shade at the tip, bouncing to the rhythm of your hips, all while you devoted your mouth and tongue to Steve's thick fingers, suckling and laving your tongue over every digit, every vein, every knuckle—thanking him for opening you up so well with the slick of your saliva.

‣ Steve was absolutely keen on watching you worship him with one hand tucked behind his head, the other stroking your cock when he would finish appraising your body with a couple of fond strokes.

‣ "God, look at you. You're so beautiful. I could do this all day, watching you ride every vein on my cock..."

‣ Green, because you built up enough energy to reverse your straddle and take the lead for once. You wanted Steve to see all parts of your body, especially the asset that had been drawing out those glorious moans deep from his gut.

‣ You knew it was a pretty sight that would teeter Steve closer to the edge.

‣ Sweat ran over the plump mounds of your ass as you were propped up on your forearms, slamming down onto his thick cock.

‣ Skin rippled when your ass repeatedly hit his groin, and then prickled, when Steve grabbed a handful of your sweaty flesh out of pure enchantment before swatting it as a stimulus to your slowing hips.

‣ "How's the view?"

‣ "Stunning..."

‣ Blue, because your body was covered in shivers from the way Steve had captured you into his arms and pummeled icicles into you from behind.

‣ Kneeling upright, Steve had embraced you tightly, supporting your core with a flat palm while simultaneously engaging his, thrusting into you.

‣ His hand was around your throat to feel every vibration that would squeeze from your throat and then pour into his mouth like a saucer of milk as he swallowed your sweet moans.

‣ Like Steve's cock, his other hand was equally uncompromising. He squeezed into the pulsating veins of your cock, stroked your shaft, and teased your glans with a thumb.

‣ When you sank back into the dip of his hips, Steve would propel you forward with a strong thrust, forcing you to fuck his closed fist in midst as he held you from ever retreating back on all fours.

‣ He loved that dazed look on your face. Wide-eyed like a deer in headlights. Flushed like how you were abashed by his compliments to your novice cooking, yet only a hundred times worse.

‣ He also loved the way he had fucked you into being inarticulate, muttering a slurry of words—warnings of you coming soon, Steve would later learn after turning his ears up.

‣ "Steve, stop, stop—I'm going to c-come—seriously—"

‣ "Come for me, (M/N). I want to see you stain the bed. Want to see you come because of me. Only me. Want you to drench my fist and—Christ, there we go..."

‣ Violet, because you were red, and Steve was blue.

‣ You spilled heavily over his fist, shooting large, thick ropes of cum over the bed sheets. The sound of the cum splatters making your cheeks run hotter than the warmth drawing out of you.

‣ Each spurt shot further and further the harder Steve pounded into you and milked your orgasm with unrelenting strokes to your shaft.

‣ His thighs slapped into yours, resonating the bedroom with a sharp thunder that was sure to wake up the tenants.

‣ His cock punctuated deep into your guts, hard and sweet against your prostate.

‣ You cried out as Steve battered your insides with his cock, with his undying love for you. Biting into your shoulder to contain his groans, but Steve had enough of this restraint, of constantly holding himself back.

‣ He growled behind your ear, filtering out the resentment society had instilled in his body as he let his grunts loose, replacing that bitter feeling with the antithesis of knowing that he wanted to live life to the fullest.

‣ With a house that grew oranges alongside your apples.

‣ Steve thrusted harder.

‣ With an indifferent cat that couldn't care less about your torn shoelaces.

‣ Your moans hitched at the sharp snap of his hips, his cock digging somehow deeper into your guts when he pushed you lower into his groin.

‣ With a fulfilling life that was lived without regret.

‣ Steve felt himself come undone upon the last thrust. Every fiber of his muscle unraveling like pointe shoes after intense wear.

‣ He held you tight as he shuddered against your, his pulse anchored and soothed by the palm of your head on his cheek, stroking him affectionately.

‣ Silken white, he spilled his hot seed deep inside of you, weakly propagating the warmth from the outer rim of your raw, swollen hole, then to the deep depth of your walls and prostate, milking himself until he was jelly in the legs, until you were creamed, from inside and out, with his thick cock.

‣ You and Steve shared one more kiss, another breath, heaving and panting like you two had never kissed before, before his stance eventually gave out and made him collapse over your body.

‣ "Think—I might bump the restaurant earlier up a few spots, (M/N)..."

‣ "Why's that?"

‣ "Must've put some kind of aphrodisiac in that spaghetti... I'm deeply spent."

‣ "I disagree. It must've been that couple! I told you it was all about the experience—that je ne sais quoi that I've been talking—"

‣ "You really aren't going to stop saying that, are you?"

‣ "Shouldn't have fixed my radio if you knew you were going to be disappointed, Steve."

‣ "That's where you're wrong. If you think anything about you is disappointing to me, then I'm not being a great husband, am I?"

‣ "Well, look at you being all sappy tonight."

‣ "Too much?"

‣ "Never too much. I'm far too gone to ever think otherwise, Steve-o."

‣ "Me too, darling. Me too."

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works if you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

[deansbite]

　　　𝒥𝒞　　｡　　fuzzy dreams

pairings　𓎟𓎡 ₊ ˖　afab!reader x dean winchester

warnings　𓎟𓎡 ₊ ˖　18+ mdni !!　fingering　masturbation　semi-public　sexy hot dean (im sorry i had to)　praise　caught masturbating.. (kinda)　reader has an extremely vivid imagination

summary　𓎟𓎡 ₊ ˖　despite the familiarity of the situation, the thought of sleeping in the same bed as dean riles you up a little more than you wanted it to. it wasn't your fault, he looked too good. with it being your only option, you had to take matters into your own hands—and imagination.

READERS POV

͝ ⏝𝅄︶ ͝ ⏝ ⊹ ⏝ ͝ ︶𝅄⏝ ͝

You and Dean were in a motel room bed together, sound asleep. Well, you were asleep. Notice how it was in the past form? Yeah, well reason for that was because you stirred awake due to some bullshit dream — which was explicit. Perfect fucking timing because you and your childhood-fucking-bestfriend-Dean-Winchester booked a motel room with a single queen bed. It was the only room left.

See, you had no problem sleeping in the same bed as him. That was no problem because you'd done it since you both were tiny. Because both your dads were connected to the hip — literally whenever they see eachother on a hunt they'd let you two stand there, gun in hand and stare at eachother till they finished. But that was irrelevant when you were currently in bed.. your body heating up more and more by the minute.

Dean was fast asleep, shuffling and moving so that the mattress dipped under his weight — including his legs being tangled up in the covers so he tugged it over to his side — because you two were full grown adults. Boundaries were set and he was on his side, you were on yours.

On any other occasion, you'd freak out and snatch the covers back. But you were relieved — some cool air ran over your incredibly hot skin. You felt like you were set on fire.. inside and out. You let out a sigh of relief — fluttering your eyes shut. You felt in need of some.. blissful relief. Because your core was dripping wet. Which made you pissed because you never had explicit dreams on any other hunt where you didn't share a bed.. but the moment you actually share a bed with Dean, it magically happens?

You fluttered your eyes open. The motel room you were in — was surprisingly quiet. Well, that is if you don't factor in the continous dripping water from the kitchen faucet.. since the kitchen wasn't all too far away. And you also started to hear every tiny obnoxious noise. Which.. being truthful, was better to think about than your current situation. God damnit you just thought of it again.

Could this get any worse? You exhaled, your eyes having long adjusted to the darkness of the room, which helped you be able to get around. And that was exactly what you were going to do. Dean unexpectedly shuffled around in bed. Which made you tense up — realizing you had to be as quiet as you could possibly be if you wanted to go to the bathroom.

In a swift movement, you sat up. The mattress dipping even further now that you were sat on your ass and all the weight wasn't spread out, but more so pressed down in one single place. And that made you panic — snapping your head to look behind you at Dean. Who was very much still asleep, facing you. In his black tee, black boxers and messy hair.. with covers spread out on and.. around him? Because some of the covers were shoved between his legs — some of it on the ground and some just.. covering parts of him.

You furrowed a brow — about to forget what you were even planning on doing and just giggling at him. But.. you noticed his plump lips pressed together, he was laying on his chest, which shouldn't have upset you as much as it did. But it did. Because his shirt was rolled up just a little — which would've been able to give you a glimpse of his abdomen — and abs. God what the fuck?! He's your bestfriend. You didn't hit puberty or someshit like a twelve year old boy.

Pull it together, and just finger fuck yourself so your absurd thoughts won't be able to drive a wedge between your friendship just because you were horny for one day. Okay, breathe in. You rose to your feet, the floorboards groaning under your weight. That noise — whilst for Dean nonexistent.. for you that was like a rocket taking off. Fear shot up your spine and you froze every muscle in your body. Unable to move any further. Your eyes focused on Dean, watching him closely.

You weren't even sure why you tried so incredibly hard to be quiet.. if you woke him up, you'd just be going to the bathroom. No biggie.. except you were going to literally finger yourself. And you probably don't look the best.. and like you just had to pee. Your skin felt like it was on fire, your hair was probably messy and your pajamas were probably disheveled. After finally feeling like you were good to go, you head for the bathroom.

You needed to get this done and over with, even if Dean woke up. You'll find some excuse to tell him if he hears you shuffle in the bathroom. But you still hoped he slept through everything. Fucking finally you reached the bathroom door. Everything else in the motel room wasn't important, except the bed and bathroom. You looked over your shoulder to see Dean fast asleep.

You were put at ease with that fact, your head turned forward and you focused back on what you were planning on doing. Your hand reached out and your fingers wrapped around the cool.. rusty and metal doorknob, which was a contrast to your warm hands. You twisted it and pushed the door open. The door creaked for a moment, but you were quick to grab it to halt the noise just in time.

Eventually, after literally dealing with this whole situation as if it were a parkour and dodging the most unnecessary things, such as Dean waking up or finding another solution, such as sleeping it off.. but you were stubborn. And, you finally got to shut the bathroom door, gently to make sure it wouldn't slam, just a simple click. Before you got to suck in a deep breath.

Your fingers travelled up to the lightswitch, your index finger flipped up and the lights flickered to life, lighting up the entire room. You glared at yourself in the mirror.. jesus, you seriously looked like you just got into a fight with a Chimera. Your lips were parted and you looked flustered as fuck. You just bent over slightly, turning on the tap, cupping your hands under the cold running water before your hands were filled to the brim with cold water.

You splashed the water on your face, before running your wet hand through your hair and shut your eyes, your left hand gripping on the edge of the sink to balance yourself, the water was still running as background noise, which wasn't on purpose, you simply forgot. Now your heavy breathing and pants won't be the only thing bouncing off the walls.

Your hand travelled down your body, some remaining water droplets dribbling down your skin. To help you get off without feeling like you were a total freak, you started imagining Dean. Imagining his raspy and crackly — his sleepy voice as he praised you. "Doin' so good f'me, sweetheart, just a bit longer. Gotta get you ready for me." Dean's emerald green eyes focused on yours. He was ontop of you, his hand along with his body travelling down your body. His right hand ran all the way down your abdomen, stopping right at the waistband of your pants.

His fingers teased you by fiddling with it. Your eyes were locked on his. He had that dumb cocky grin on his face. "Should I eat this pussy or fuck it w'my fingers?" He whispered, as if he was asking himself. But he was loud enough for you to hear. His words meshed in with one another due to him having just woken up. Your hands went down and grasped onto his messy, dirty blonde locks.. you let out a pathetic whine.

"I hear ya, baby. Just be patient." He reassured, lips pressed together and his right hand, which was initally teasing you, now hovering a little above your pants, before it slipped beneath the fabric. His emerald green eyes travelling down your body, which paused at your bundle of nerves. Despite two pieces of material covering it, he observed the outline of his fingers, a smirk displayed on his lips.

"Oh?" He exclaimed, an eyebrow raising and his smirk a tad bit more visible now. His fingers were now directly pressing against your entrance — with your underwear between his fingers and your core. You clenched around nothing. He felt how dripping wet you were, which caused him to chuckle. "So needy." He commented, eyes darting from your mound to your face. "Look so pretty." He praised, humming and getting back to work, his fingers going to the side of your panties, before tugging them to the side to have better access to your aching core.

"Gonna show you what you've been missin' out on." He whispered. His ring finger was finding your clit, before he pressed on it in the lightest way, moving his ring finger in tiny circles, causing you to moan his name. He chuckled, "Has nobody given you a good handjob, baby? Already so greedy f'more 'n I haven't even started." He prompted. You shook your head in response. He clicked his tongue. "Well, m'glad t'be able t'change that."

Without much of a warning, Dean plunged his index finger into your pussy. A gasp escaped your lips. Dean didn't react, just slowly pushing his index deeper and deeper, you let out a whimper. "Shh, calm down, sweetheart." He mumbled, his left hand, which was just resting on your lower thigh eventually came to use. His thumb caressed your skin. You lightly tugged on his messy locks, causing him to groan. "Come on, baby, ease up."

You were tense, your walls squeezing around his fingers, he sighed and his ring finger sped up the pace for a bit, adding into the mix of pleasure. Now he slowly retreated his index, just so his index was still in your pussy and then he immediately slammed it back in, grunting. "Gotta stretch you out if I wanna fuck this pretty little cunt." He explained, but you were a writhing mess.

He kept fucking you harsh and fast with his index, the squelching and whining coming from you was so explicit your cheeks heated up. "So wet, easier t'fuck ya." He mumbled, his left cheek eventually resting on the inner thigh of your right leg. Eyes still so damn focused on your mound. His plump lips parted. You wondered how they'd feel around your clit and how he'd be eating you out. You let out a much louder moan when Dean started up the scissoring motion, which you already had the pleasuring of your clit with his ring finger and the fingering.

You were close, Dean could tell by the way your breathing became irregular, you began fumbling with your words when you tried to tell Dean that you were about to fall over the edge. But he knew. Your walls were clenching and unclenching around his fingers and he began thrusting his fingers in and out of you faster. And stimulating your clit more. "What was that?" He asked, raising a brow.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you clenched around his fingers and saw literal stars. Your juices covering his hand —

"Hey, sweetheart." A hoarse and concerned voice called out from behind the door. "You okay in there?" It was Dean.. your fucking childhood bestfriend. The guy who you imagined finger-fucking you. Oh fucking christ. This wasn't normal if you saw him as nothing more than a friend. Friends don't exactly fuck themselves with their fingers whilst imagining their friend doing it.

"You kept moaning my name." He added, "Did y'slip 'n fall?" A moment passed with no answer. Jesus christ you were completely fucked.

Your face was so completely obvious that you didn't fall. You removed your hand from underneath your pants and quickly washed it off under the tap. He cleared his throat. "I swear m'comin' in.. if y'don't answer in the next few seconds." His voice was filled with worry. "No, no! I'm fine! I'm just.." What the fuck do you say now?

͝ ⏝𝅄︶ ͝ ⏝ ⊹ ⏝ ͝ ︶𝅄⏝ ͝

cliffhanger cause this is testing the waters 😞 + this was a bit proofread by @pearlzier so... mistakes / grammar errors may be found plus english isnt my first language gang..

tags: @luvr4miya @upsidedean @angelblqde @fallbhind @beausling @pearlzier @fourkilljoys

amab vers: right here!!

[mysteriousauthor448]

What if Class of 09 Flipside was made by a Woman?

I liked Class of 09. I liked it's snappy dialogue, I liked it's social commentary of high school and women's experiences with creepy men and adulthood, I liked how it gave such a compelling main character where you know she's awful yet acknowledge that she has her reasons without justification. I like Class of 09, both the original and re-up. What I don't like though, is Class of 09: The Flipside.

Setting my personal disgust with the feet routes and the 'Palestinian slave trade' comment aside, the writing in Flipside just is completely different from the last 2. Instead of focusing on the biting social commentary of the woman experience, it instead prioritizes shock value with only some form of substance (e.g, jecka seeing nicole's suicide, jeffrey's death, the ending messages apart from the creator) And you know what else sucks? We never actually got to explore Jecka properly of who she is as a character, her relationships with her family, friends, former friends...Sure, we get doses of her life like her dad which does do what the game promised: Change how we saw the Class of 09 story before. We now understand why Jecka was terrified of the cop's yelling, not only because an powerful authority abusing his power but also experienced it before. See, this was the stuff I expected from Flipside. This was what the game should've prioritised in. Instead, it seemed like the creator would rather showcase his fetishes and spite people that don't like him or the game. From that there on, I keep thinking to myself: 'you know, this game would've been better had a woman wrote this.' But can they?

I'm a woman experienced high school before, even tried to fit the class of 09 writing style on my characters in my own personal time. Given how a lot of class of 09 fans are disappointed with the new game and I want to get into writing publically, I figure that I be the one to rewrite Class of 09 The Flipside in hopes of re-capturing the essence of the first two games alongside the game's intentions itself. Even though it's still in development, I've already outlined the routes/endings so far for you all to get a peek:

Route 1/Ending 1 - Invasion of MySpace: The foot route will be replaced by Jecka taking and making videos/pictures in order to make money after being fired from her job. Think of it like a late 2000s or early 2010s version of OnlyFans. This would help remain the social commentaries of men’s creepy behaviour to women alongside how their safety is affected. There’ll be an option of whether to go to the creepy man’s house or go home. If she goes home, she finds Nicole giving her dad a handjob with a dead expression. It ends with Jecka killing herself and implies that Nicole followed her too (not half naked though, just in regular clothes cuz I'm not a freak unlike someone)

Ending 2 - MurderSpace: If Jecka chose to go to the creepy man’s home, she gets murdered and placed like a doll in the man’s basement. 

Route 2/Ending 6 - Breaking the Wounded Heart: Jecka finds herself to work with Karen and Ari at Dominos. Overtime, they start to form a bond and Jecka herself starts to mature and finds Nicole to be unbearable. Jecka finally breaks off her friendship with Nicole and cuts forward to the future where Jecka currently lives a peaceful yet boring life, reflecting on the past with Nicole, wondering if she’s really better off without Nicole because while she’s now in a stable life without the chaos, it's the chaos that entertained her: Nicole entertained her. And now it’s all gone. But in the end, it suggests that things are much better with Nicole gone as it cuts to a phone beeping and Jecka looking down at it with a smile while Ari is by her side. Yes, this is the route where Jeckari is canon. I know this sounds too sweet for Class of 09 but I want it to still match the vibe with it being less shocking but more real in a way. Something too realistically depressing but still mundane. This is what I planned to be the saddest but best outcome of the game. The most real I should say. 

Ending 5 - Was it all worth it?: If Jecka chooses Nicole over her new friends, it ends with her and Nicole being homeless smoking drugs in an abandoned forest with Jecka reflecting on whether or not she made a good choice with Nicole before commenting on needing a Xanax to distract her from the regret and pain. 

Route 3/Ending 3 - Fuck Men!: Jecka gets into a relationship with a presumably kind-hearted gentleman. Nicole tries to warn her but Jecka won’t listen. She then is coerced by the man into doing sexual favours for his economic gain, making her become a sex trafficked victim.

Route 4/Ending 4 - Drunk Drive Delivery: Same route where Ari dies but instead the ending changed to Jecka being arrested for 6 months where the ending monologue would showcase her conflicted in anger and regret. Plus, it plays more to the idea of Jecka ‘dying at 21’ logic with being forced to work: adult party culture: that kind of thing. 

I'd be happy to hear any feedback or/and ideas for this rewrite.

[calamitoustide]

"are you crying?" from the prompt list (also hi gabby 🤗)

hi zar! so funny story. I completely forgot about this ask and game until I was sitting in class today not paying attention and thinking about this little scene and then I realized it fit the prompt you gave me so I used it. Even though I'm supposed to be focusing on so many other things right now... I wanted to write Regulus with Harry so that's what I did <3

"Papa, are you crying?"

Regulus' breath hitches at the noise. He would've thought if anyone would catch him like this it would've been James, he was kinda expecting it honestly. He didn't think it would be little feet running over to him, and a soft voice so small it weakens his heart every time he hears it. Through his blurred vision, he sees Harry rushing towards him, his little Spiderman shoes lighting up with every step he takes. He takes no hesitation clambering onto Regulus' lap.

"Hi, mon cheri," Regulus murmurs, his voice catching on each word, keeping Harry steady, even if his hands are shaking.

Harry's face scrunches up, "What's wrong?"

Regulus opens his mouth to speak but no explanation comes. His chest caves in more with every breath he takes. He wouldn't give the real one, even if he had one, but he can't come up with a false one either. The panicked breaths and brittle chest are something he's so familiar with, and yet it feels like a new feeling now. It's been so long since it's overtaken him, that he's not sure what to do with it. He learned things to make it better. He's learned the signs so he can call someone to help talk him down. He felt them now too, but he brushed it off. He feels sixteen. He never thought he'd feel sixteen again.

It's stupid. He knows it's not just something that goes away, it's built within him, and yet he had so much hope.

"Papa?" Harry calls out again, his fingers reaching out for the side of Regulus' face. Regulus almost wants to push him away, little tendrils reach for his brain begging him to find a quiet corner far from the light, but he doesn't. He just tries to take another breath, even if it comes out more like a wheeze.

Regulus wants to be able to explain this to him. He wants to explain that he's okay, he's just a little panicked for no good reason. He hates worrying him, especially for things like this. He's too young to see this. Regulus never wanted him to see this.

Harry sits back before suggesting, "Do you want a hug?"

Regulus' chest splits in two. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying again to take a deep breath but it's hard, and the most he can do is a hitched breath before he's consumed by it again. He feels himself nod even if anyone else's touch would feel like sandpaper against his skin right now.

Harry wastes no time wrapping his arms around his shoulders and pushing his face into his neck. Regulus holds him back keeping his eyes closed. He can feel his tears soak into Harry's shirt. He didn't even realize he was crying until Harry asked him about it, he couldn't feel anything, but he feels it now. It's an endless ache, not enough to really hurt him, but he feels it still.

It's been years since he's felt this trapped. He's not other sure what word to use even if it doesn't sound quite right. He grew up as nothing more than a kid trapped in his room. Trapped in a life he didn't want with no options of leaving it. Trapped in skin that didn't feel like his own and a brain that was working overtime to go against him. He's better now. He got out of his parent's house, and he fell in love with a man who showed him all the colors he could only dream of before. He has Harry now. He loves his life. He's even surprised to admit that but he does. He has no reason to feel trapped. He has no reason for his chest to fail him, but here it is caving in again.

Sirius used to tell him there's no straight line for progress. It's not linear. Going backward doesn't truly mean going back, you're always moving forward even if it doesn't feel like it. Regulus doesn't know. He thinks he might've believed it once. He tries to. He tries to be good. He just thinks no matter where he is in his life he'll always be that sad little kid who's trapped in his childhood bedroom. He's afraid it'll never leave him.

"Daddy's taking me to the park," Harry tells him, still refusing to let go. James taught him to not let go first if someone really needed a hug, and Regulus isn't ready to let go yet.

He can't manage to say anything, he only hums instead, feeling the texture of Harry's sweater underneath his fingertips.

"Do you wanna come?" Harry asks him, "We can go on the swings."

Regulus hums again, he wants to say more but all he can manage is, "Sure."

"Good," Harry tells him, "I like when you come."

Regulus' heart aches, but it's a good one this time, he takes a breath. It's shaky but it still fills his lungs all the same. He takes another letting his shoulders drop. He pulls away and finds Harry still smiling softly at him, it's like taking a first breath after you've just almost drowned.

"Better?" Harry asks.

Regulus only manages to nod before kissing the top of his head.

He doesn't have the time to say anything else before James is walking through the doorway, "Kiddo, you ready to go? I thought-" he cuts himself off.

"I'm okay," Regulus beats him to it, letting Harry off his lap.

James' eyes still flicker over him like he's trying to find an open wound he can stitch closed, "What happened?"

Regulus shakes his head, "Just..." he sighs, he knows he can't get out of it. James has never been known to just let these things go. "Worked myself up," he ends up on, "It's okay now."

James doesn't seem convinced, he opens his mouth to say something else but Harry beats him to it.

"Papa's going to the park with us," he says, grabbing at his hand to bring him to stand.

James looks over at him, "Are you-"

"I'm okay," he tells him, giving into Harry's pulling on his arm. He can't make it to the door before James stops him, forcing Harry to slip from his grip making a break for the door.

"Reg..."

Regulus sighs, "I'll talk about it later, okay?"

James' gaze flickers between his eyes before he nods, "Alright," he says, "If you promise you're-"

"James," Regulus stops him, "I'm fine."

Before either of them can say anything Harry's voice calls out from the hall, "Hurry up!"

Regulus smiles softly, "If we leave him waiting he'll kill us you know it."

James rolls his eyes, kissing his cheek, "Yeah, yeah let's go."

James goes through the door first. Regulus stays back to take a breath, he thinks he still feels that crack in the middle of his chest. He knows it'll never go away, but maybe he's okay with that, for a moment anyway. The water doesn't always have to be violent, it can be kind and innocent too.

"Papa! Come on!"

Regulus lets out his breath, dispersing the ocean around him, "I'm coming!"

[jesswritesthat]

Miya Atsumu: Daughters

Fandom: Haikyuu!! — [ Masterlist ]

Summary: ~900, fluff

• Atsumu ponders a question he recently got asked in an interview and drags the whole of MSBY into it.

Warnings: None

>>>>——————————>

"Who would you let your daughter date out of the team?"

It was a question he'd been asked at an interview recently, one he'd skilfully dodged and redirected to his love life with his clever response of 'Well I gotta find the love of ma life before thinkin' 'bout that~’.

Now he had a spare moment, gifted to him by the sheer curiosity of his teammates, he actually gave it some thought.

Bokuto and Hinata stood eagerly beside one another, practically bouncing on the heels of their feet once the faux blondes' analytic gaze landed on them.

"Well definitely not yous' two, that's for sure."

"Omi! I'd let you date my daughter." The pair hadn't a moment to deflate when the blonde instantaneously snapped to Kiyoomi who was as sharp as ever with his response.

"And risk being related to you through marriage? No thank you Miya."

"Oi, ya can't talk to yer father-in-law like that Sakusa Kiyoomi!"

Hinata hummed aloud in thought, surveying the MSBY Jackals before landing on a welcome option.

"What about (L/n)?"

You'd strolled up at this point, wanting to see what all the fuss was about when you heard your name. Atsumu meeting your surprised gaze with an analytic one of his own.

"Hm?"

"Seeing if 'Tsum Tsum would let his daughter date you." A quiet sound of understanding left your lips as response to Bokutos' disclosure, once more darting back to the uncharacteristically silent Setter.

"Ah mean..." Atsumu blanched, fingers darting to the back of his neck as the panic set in. "I would want 'em to but wouldn't like 'em to."

Not only yourself, but Bokuto and Hinata stared at him perplexed, brows raised in curiosity meanwhile Sakusa shook his head with a resigned sigh.

"Wait, what's the age difference? Is (Y/n) still my age or my daughter's age - 'cause that's a whole other story."

"Daughter's age I guess?" Shoyo shrugged, looking to Bokuto for assurance.

"Then what's the age difference between me an' (Y/n)?" Atsumu asked again, mentally calculating in his head before Bokuto jumped in.

"Why so many questions? You never gave anyone else this much thought."

Silence. Likely concocting a lie.

"Yes I did!"

You were certain the team had mentally flashed back to the instant "Not you." they'd received and focused on the severe lack of questions he'd asked regarding them.

"No you didn't."

"Nope, literally was right here when you said it."

You thought he would've come up with a better lie.

"Then— then it's because (Y/n) isn't a teammate."

"Woah! HOW DARE YOU 'TSUM 'TSUM!" Kōtarō clutched you immediately, pointing an accusing finger at his setter. "(Y/n) is apart of the team, just because they don't play on court doesn't make them less important!"

"That's not what I—"

"For the record, I'd treat your daughter amazingly Atsumu! I'd bring her flowers, make her smile, and care for her when she's sick by making dinner. Oh! We could cook together too - maybe she'd like to visit new cities and restaurants with me." You gleamed momentarily, the way he'd crossed his arms and looked away from you with a pout amusing you slightly.

"No not happening, yer a terrible match for ma daughter and I won't allow it."

"Guess it's Sakusa who wins the date." You casually shrugged, Kiyoomi grimacing at the thought.

"I didn't want it in the first place."

"Omi Omi don't be so rude!"

You rolled your eyes as they all went to begin practice with varying farewells, yourself returning to your own role with nothing more than a playful smile.

———

It wasn’t until practice was over did you realise you hadn’t quite escaped their shenanigans for the day regardless of your speedy exit. Atsumu cornering you whilst you collected your belongings.

"Yer in a hurry, ya got plans?"

"Actually I'm eating at home tonight."

"Oh was ma daughter unavailable fer ya to take out to dinner?" It was said pettily, a childish tone in play that only caused you to shoot a snarky remark to the MSBY setter.

"Atsumu, are you jealous of your non-existent daughter?"

There was a moment of pause where he shot you an expression of pure offence that soon morphed into an intense stare off - him breaking far quicker than you'd thought.

"She gets to do all this cool stuff with ya and yer haven't even met! We don't do any of that and I've know ya fer ages!"

"Atsumu... all you gotta do is ask y'know? We can hang out when we’re both free."

“No that’s not what I mean! I don't want my daughter dating you because I wanna date you!" Your eyes widened at the proclamation, so that was why he was acting so weird about this whole thing.

“Date me? Atsumu are you feeling alright?”

You only received a groan mixed with defeat and aggravation, the man carefully linking arms with you and once again bring you to his teammates.

"I've changed my mind on (Y/n). It's all worked out." Though sceptical at Atsumus’ apparent newfound confidence in the previous matter, Hinata was the one to hes Tōya toy question his setter.

"So... you'd let your daughter date (Y/n)?"

"Hell no! My daughter can't date her parent, that's just wrong."

"Atsumu!" Immediately you pushed his proud frame with a shocked and frustrated yelp, the team practically howling at the idiocy you’d both displayed.

"What? We're gonna—"

"Shut up Miya! You're going to say something I'll want to slap you for."

Of course they’d worked out he liked you from earlier, but the last thing they expected was this open chaos - you certainly weren’t going to date him anytime soon now.

<——————————<<<<

[masterjedilenawrites]

Cyare

The silence continued, save for the gentle lapping of water against the dock below. You felt your stomach twisting and tears brimming along your eyes...

Din Djarin x fem!virgin!reader | 2.9k words

Content: spice [18+ only], virginity, awkwardness, kissing, groping, riding, sensual, PIV, darkness, cursing, friends to probably lovers

From this request about reader asking their best friend to be their first. Start there for context or check out other character options.

[18+ only below the cut, please and thank you]

"It's okay," you whispered, unable to stand the silence that so clearly indicated you'd ruined everything. "Just thought I'd give it a shot. Let's forget all about this. Please."

You tried to discreetly wipe away the dampness in your eyes as you made to stand up, but a firm hand grasped your arm, keeping you in place. You turned in surprise to look at Din.

"No, wait," he said hurriedly. "That's not... I don't... um..."

It would've been impossible to know what he felt with his helmet hiding everything, had you not come to know him so well. You knew how to look for other signs to show his true feelings, like how he held his shoulders or the cadence of his breathing or even the pitch of his voice. From your quick, desperate scan of him now, you determined he wasn't actually offended or put off by your proposition. No, he was simply... nervous.

He cleared his throat and tried to get his words out better than before. "I don't have a lot of experience," he said slowly. "But if you trust me, then I'll do this for you."

You tried not to let his words excite you too much yet, first wanting to make sure he wasn't feeling coerced.

"Din," you said, turning so one of your legs curled up onto the dock and your shoulders faced him squarely. "I don't want you to say yes because you feel you have to. This sort of thing means different things to different people, and I'd never want you to put aside your boundaries--"

"It's okay, Cyare," he said, using the endearing nickname he only broke out for you every so often, usually when he was reprimanding you, but right now it sounded much more out of affection. "I know. And no boundaries are being crossed here, I promise. I care about you. Let me do this for you."

You forced down an anxious swallow and nodded in assurance. Another silence fell between you.

"Um..." you cleared your throat, scooting just a tad closer. You'd been hoping he would've taken the lead from here. You didn't have the first clue how to initiate something like this, especially given the circumstance. It wasn't like you were in some steamy holo-film throwing yourself at a lover.

"Oh," Din reacted, seemingly surprised. "Were... you were wanting to... right now?"

You tried not to let your chest deflate. "Um, well, kinda. Yeah. I mean, if it's alright with you, I'd rather not have to go through any awkward days waiting for a specific time."

Din's helmet turned as he surveyed the surrounding area. "You want to lose your virginity outside on a hard wooden deck?"

You could hear the faintest of teasing in his voice and knew that whatever previous awkwardness had been felt during your conversation was done with. You were back to being friends, two people who cared for and trusted each other, and who knew how to have a bit of fun.

You feigned a scoff. "Okay, Mr. Judgey. Where do you propose we go then?"

"The ship," he shrugged.

"That's not exactly a softer alternative," you laughed.

He twisted back to look at his ship, tucked away behind some trees just a short distance away. After a beat, he stood up. "Give me a few minutes," he said, holding his hand out to you to stay put. "Then you can come and we'll... yeah."

He hastened off, leaving you blinking in response before you settled back on your elbows to wait. You weren't sure what he was up to, but knowing Din, he'd be working hard at it. Your emotions swirled as you waited, shifting from giddiness to nervousness to impatience. You weren't sure how many minutes he needed, but after counting down a few of them, you finally hoisted yourself up and marched off toward Razor Crest.

You didn't know what you had been expecting, but it sure was incredible what your Mandalorian friend could accomplish in such a short amount of time. Every blanket, cloak, and mat he owned had been laid out across the floor, making the otherwise sharp and dungy interior of Razor Crest look just a bit more comfortable. Both of your bedrolls had been taken out of their bunks and were placed in the center of it all. Where the main action would happen, you assumed.

The lights were also dimmed, so it wasn't too jarring to come in from the darkness of the outdoors. Din had his back turned as you entered, carefully placing your pillow on the floor next to his. He had his boots and most of his armor off, save for his helmet of course. You still couldn't see any of his skin; he left his gloves and socks on, and the cowl of his cloak was tucked neatly up into his helmet. You wondered if he would bare anything.

"Wow," you whispered, not wanting to scare him. He turned and offered you his hand, guiding you further in. "This is... really nice, Din."

You gave him a sweet smile as you both sat down next to each other on the bedrolls. This was it. The moment you'd been wanting. You were a mixture of nerves and excitement.

"Do you... know what you like?" he asked you.

You shook your head. "Not really. I've only ever... well, you know... on my own... a few times."

"And? What got you going those times?" His voice was low, soft, almost.

"Um. I don't know. I didn't really know what I was doing. I just... kinda... rubbed a lot?" You let out a shaky laugh, looking down at the blanketed floor between you. "I'm sorry, this is kinda weird, talking about these things with you."

His thigh moved into your view as he scooted closer, mere inches away from you now. You made yourself look back up at him. You could see your reflection in his helmet.

"It's okay. That's a good starting point."

His hands were at your waist, guiding you to move toward him. Instinctually, your legs spread and within a few moments, you were straddled over his lap. Your face instantly heat up as you realized only a few thin bits of fabric were now between your sex and his.

His hands gently tugged at your hips until you got the hint to start moving them. Back and forth, slowly but firmly, creating a pleasant rhythm of friction between your bodies. His knees came up behind you, creating a support for your back, and you grasped onto the tops of his shoulders to steady yourself.

"How does that feel?" he asked. If you didn't have your heartbeat hammering so loudly in your ears, you would've picked up on the strain in his voice. Though, you didn't necessarily need that clue to know how your movements were affecting him. There was an obvious erection that was growing between your legs the longer you went on.

"Good," you breathed. But that's all it was; just good. "Maybe you could... touch me?"

"Where?" he didn't hesitate to ask, causing you to flush all over again. His deference was kind of hot, you realized. It was starting to embolden you. That, or the impatient pull you were starting to feel down below.

You took hold of his hands, intending to place them where you wanted them, but decided another step needed to be taken first. Still moving your hips, you pulled off Din's gloves. One finger at a time. When one hand was freed, you moved it to snake under your shirt and rest on your breast. He squeezed it gently as you removed the glove from the other hand and brought that one in to join.

He continued to squeeze in time with the movement of your hips. For a short while, that added to your pleasure, causing you to close your eyes and focus on the sensations of his skin against yours, his body beneath yours.

But eventually, you needed more than that too. And your legs were starting to grow sore in this position. Din seemed to sense you slowing down and moved his hands to splay against your back, bringing you closer until your forehead rested against his helmet. You silently cursed the dimness of the lights; you were sure you could have seen his eyes through the helmet if they had been brighter.

"Lay down, Cyare," he instructed softly, helping you dismount and settle onto your side, away from him. "Do you mind if I turn off the lights?"

"Sure," you whispered. It was already so dim, but with the lights completely out, you felt your other senses become more heightened. Din's body saddled up behind yours, pressing into you sensuously while the skin of his fingers rubbed up and down on your arm. He was so warm against you, a part of you wanted to just curl up into him and drift off to sleep. You could smell his cologne; you had never noticed him wearing a scent before, and wondered if you hadn't been paying attention or if he'd put some on just for tonight.

And then the strangest sensation of all: breath fanning across the back of your neck. You gasped in surprise, before wet lips planted themselves on your skin.

"Is this okay?" Din asked, his voice clear and unfiltered in your ear. He punctuated his sentence with another kiss, this one on the side of your neck, just behind your slack jaw, sending a jolt of tingles down your body and straight into your core.

You couldn't answer, and Din didn't wait for one. His hand slid back up under your shirt and clasped at your breast, while his mouth kept assaulting your neck. It was a mixture of pecks and suckling. Teasing breaths across the goosebumps of your skin, scratchy stubble as he buried further into your neck. Hand massaging at your chest and knee prodding its way in between your legs. You were quickly overwhelmed, panting and whining at each new sensation that took you by surprise in the darkness. Awkwardness and anxiety were long gone between the two of you now.

"Din," you gasped, reaching your own hand around to grasp at the back of his head and keep him in place in your neck. He moaned as your fingers clawed blindly into his locks.

"Cyare," he mumbled against your skin. He tugged his hand out from your shirt and rested it along the edge of your pants. "Are you ready for me?"

You could only let you a keening whine in response.

"Please don't look."

He forced himself off of you with a grunt, and you lifted your hips as he quickly pulled your pants and underwear down your legs. You kept your eyes shut despite the darkness, knowing you at least owed him his privacy, all that he was giving you in return. Once your bottom half was bared, you lay for a moment without any touch, any warmth, while he got himself ready. You could hear his movements, the zipper of his pants, the wrapper of a condom. You tried to get your breathing under control while you waited, but it only picked right back up the moment he touched you again.

He assumed the same position as before, spooning you from behind with one arm draped over your frame and his mouth against your neck. This time you could feel that shape again from earlier, harder and more insistent as it rested against your rear. You could also now feel how eager you yourself were; there was a slickness pooling out onto your bare thighs, more than you'd ever felt from yourself before.

"Din," you sighed into his embrace.

He returned a "Cyare."

And then you both started moving.

You pushed your ass back against him and starting rubbing. He grasped your hips and started kneading. His mouth sucked sharply against your neck, and yours moved in breathless, silent prayers of ecstasy. You'd been uncertain of the mechanics of this moment before, and now were enraptured. You never wanted it to end.

The dance you two shared quickened in pace until you both were too desperate to prolong any further. Din's leg shoved between yours and he removed his hand to help line himself up. There was a bit of prodding into your folds, not being able to see for a more accurate aim, though you were far from complaining about it. Each poke sent thrilling jolts of fire through your belly, into your hammering heart, and out of your panting mouth.

"Ready?" Din asked once he got the tip of his cock lined up properly. His voice had lost all of its usual smoothness and it occurred to you, even in the haze of your excitement, he was enjoying this just as much as you were.

"Yes, please," you all but begged.

His tip pushed in and stilled there for a moment while you both clung on to reality. Your hand was now at your mouth, holding in every lewd sound it threatened to make. He pushed himself in another inch, paused, pushed, paused. His hand at your hip squeezed along with each nudge.

"Are you... okay?" he asked. "Do you... want... me to stop... here?"

You were unsure how much he had left to put in you. You already felt so full. But you wanted this. You wanted him. Everything. So you shook you head and begged for more.

He kept pushing. Tears prickled into the corners of your eyes. Finally he bottomed out.

"Is this..."

"Yes, yes, yes." That would be your answer to every question of his from now on, you were certain.

You rocked against him and he pulled himself out before thrusting back in. The pace he set was a heavenly mix of careful but needy, chasing the thing you were both interested in reaching without any further ado. He was no longer kissing you, instead, resting his face against yours, your breaths intertwining as you grew closer and closer.

"Tell me... when..." he tried panting out. You thought you understood, but still weren't able to follow the instruction. No sooner had he said it than did your walls clench and you went spilling over into total euphoria.

"Kriff," he cursed in response. He couldn't hold out after that.

Your orgasm was jarring. The force of it took you by surprise, knocked the wind out of you so that you ended up gasping deeply for air once the brunt of it subsided. You rode out the remnants by seeing stars, and you imagined you were still out on that dock, looking up at the sky with your best friend.

It took several more moments for your breathing to come back under control, for your vision to return to you despite it being so dark inside the ship. You rolled onto your back and kept a hand over your heart to make sure it didn't give out on you. It took you a while to notice Din had pulled himself off of you at some point.

"Din?" you whispered into the darkness.

There was a second of silence, but thankfully he answered before you could panic about it.

"I'm here."

His voice was filtered again, though you could hear the exhaustion in it. You turned your head to follow the sound and squinted through the darkness until you found the outline of his body. He wasn't too far.

"Just... cleaning up," he said. "Here."

His outline got closer and a rag was placed into your hand. You took it hesitantly.

"I can help," he offered.

"No, that's okay." You quickly sat up and wiped at yourself, wincing at the surprising amount of soreness you felt.

"Are you okay?" Din asked, hovering nearby. You hummed in response and tossed the rag aside. For a moment, you wondered if that was it. If you'd have to somehow find a way to go back to being friends who only ever touched each other when helping each other up after a fall in battle. That was exactly what you had asked for, anyway. Just a romp and nothing more.

But then you felt his arms encircling you again, and your body was pulled onto his as he reclined backwards on the pillows with your head against his chest. You smiled to yourself and wrapped your own arms around him, holding him as close as possible.

"Din?" you ventured after a while, once you could no longer feel the aftershocks of tingles and breathlessness.

"Yes, Cyare?"

"You keep calling me that," you laughed lightly. "I always thought it was derogatory."

"What? No, not at all," he said. "It means... beloved."

You couldn't help but sit up at that, needing to look at him, even if it was only at a helmet in the dark. "But you say it when you're upset with me."

He huffed and pulled at you to return to his chest. "Yes, because I'm trying to remind myself that I care about you, no matter how frustrating you are."

You decided to let the comment about you being frustrating slide. "Beloved, huh?"

He hummed.

"Is that why you agreed to do this with me?"

He hummed again. You could tell he was growing tired, and truthfully, you were too.

"We should probably talk about this more. What this means for us. Tomorrow. Right now... this is nice. Thank you."

For a while you didn't think he was going to respond, but just as you teetered on the edge of sleep you heard his words. Faint but full of heart.

"No Cyare, thank you."

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[silence-burns]

A Snack of Mine

Fandom: Spider-Man universe 

smut 18+

The smashing noises coming from what Miguel called “the control room” sounded expensive. You may not have been an expert in all things technical, but you were pretty sure the room was in the process of a violent remodeling. 

“Right,” you said. “And you expect me to do what exactly?” 

“How am I supposed to know? It's not me who's usually had to restrain him in this kind of state. It's not my fault no one wants to get close to him. They kinda have a point, though.” Lyla flew around your head, ethereal as ever.

A crash louder than the previous ones came from behind The Door To Miguel's Lair. 

“You do realize he's just ripped a monitor off the wall?”

“You do realize I have no physical presence to do anything about it?” 

Point taken. It didn't make you feel any better and Lyla’s constant spinning didn't exactly help you get your bearings.

You waved your hand through her before the colorful but pixelated display of her panic blinded you completely. If it was an option, you would've gladly allowed anyone else to take your place. Sadly, none of the currently available Peters had a chance of getting to Miguel through his fury.

And hunger.

You sighed before moving towards The Door of Doom. 

"Miguel, I come in peace!" 

The kind of snarling that came from the other side was not something a human throat should've been able to handle. 

"Be a good, nonlethal boy for 10 minutes and you'll get a snack. Maybe even McDonald's!"

The silence that followed was heavy enough to imply precisely where you could shove all the burgers in the worlds, but it was better than blinding rage; you were already making progress! You shoved the door open, quickly closing it behind your back. You clicked the lock into place.

It wasn't sturdy enough to keep any of the Spidermen out, but it served as a symbol. You walked into his lair, and now you had to deal with the consequences.

Miguel was meticulous in his fury. The room used to serve him as both a personal space and one of his less official offices, where he spent time thinking and planning without anyone bothering him. He was the head of the squad meant for suppressing the threats to the entire multiverse, so he had to deal with a never ending stream of things to take care of. A little bit of private space was a healthy solution.

Unfortunately, due to the circumstances called Miles Morales Versus Bad Decision Making, the otherwise pleasant, calming space was now in pieces. Literally—half the furniture lay in ruin spread across the floor like rubble after an explosion.

"I think you missed a few." You kicked away a rather big part of what used to be a desk. "You gotta be more thorough, man."

As much as you wished to feel even half as confident as you sounded, it was a rather difficult task when the only part of Miguel you could see were his eyes, glowing bright red and piercing you through, unblinking. The only source of light was dim and came from behind the broken furniture. The outline of Miguel's body was hardly discernible from the darkness of the room, but you swore he was towering over you more than usual.

And completely still.

"I really hope you aren't too sentimental, because there's no way anything here is savable. You gotta invest in a proper punching bag, or maybe two just in case—..."

"You think this is a joke?"

His voice was low and on the verge of growling. The situation with Miles definitely got under his skin.

"Call me old-fashioned, but I prefer to face my problems with a healthy dose of humor rather than destruction of my belongings. You've got claw marks on your walls, Miguel, come on. Don't you think it’s a bit too dramatic?"

Before you could blink, he was on you. Your back hit the wall just inches from the mentioned claw marks—deep, sharp, and clearly torn through with a lot of force. Looking up into Miguel's glowing eyes and the barely hidden fangs, you knew how capable he was of using said force.

Miguel leaned closer to you, his hand holding you still by the shoulder. Pressed between him and the wall, you could feel your pulse rising, and it was only partially thanks to the heat emanating from Miguel's body.

"The structure of the whole multiverse could be destroyed because of one person."

His voice was so low you could barely understand the words growled from his clenched jaw. Miguel's eyes burned to the point where you could no longer turn your head away. It was hypnotizing and a part of you didn't want to fight it.

"He's a child, Miguel. He's fifteen and his whole world just came crashing down on him."

"It doesn't give him the right to destroy everyone else's."

"No, but he's scared. Scared children need supportive adults, not claws in their faces."

Miguel's eyes dipped down over your lips for a split second, but something shifted through his posture. Still tense, his voice got quieter and lost the aggression. You were so close together that he was almost whispering in your ear, and yet you couldn't hear anything around but him.

"And what would you prefer me to do?" he purred.

"Everyone is already looking for Miles, so let his friends talk to him first once he's found. He has nowhere in the multiverse to hide forever."

Miguel's hand moved from your shoulder to the side of your neck. The claws retracted and now his touch was almost gentle. You missed it, just as you missed the kind of heat that was rising up behind the flaming red of his eyes, different from what most people ever got to see. Something reserved for you.

You turned your face to the side, letting his fingers caress your cheek. Miguel froze, entranced by the way his thumb rested over your lip and how your smile seemed to widen when you noticed too.

"I prefer you like this," you said, making your voice come out as barely a whisper. In his state, Miguel would've heard you from another room. 

You didn't notice when it happened, but he was closer now, imprisoning you between himself and the wall. You both inhaled at the same time, chests pressing together a moment. His whole body was tense and wrapped tight around you. His thighs crushed yours and you wouldn't be able to move away even if you wanted to. 

"I know what you're doing and… this really isn't a good time."

"You say it with such a scary look on your face, and yet you do nothing to stop me."

Miguel's nostrils flared when you put your teeth over your bottom lip.

And pushed.

Miguel's hand wrapped around your jaw, holding your face up towards him. His fingers dug into your skin, the gentle caress long gone. There was only a firm hold and a predator that smelled blood.

His pupils narrowed in a split second and the breath he took was shaky, as if he wanted to smell every bit of blood rising from the tiny cut.

"You've been on that artificial shit for a long time now," you cooed. "But we both know it can never be quite the same as the real thing."

You could see him trying to say something, but nothing came out of his mouth. You stood on the tips of toes and brushed his lips with yours.

It was as if an electric shock struck his body. Miguel growled as he forced your mouth open, and then again when his warm tongue licked the blood smeared over you. He forced you back down with one push of his hips and you could feel him growing harder despite his spider suit. 

He sucked on your lip, hungry for more, just as his other hand found its way onto your hip and held it firmly against his own.

Miguel's open-mouthed kisses were growing sloppier as he followed your jawline and down the side of your neck. You couldn't help but push your fingers into his curls, marveling over how soft they felt and how perfect they were for grabbing his head and moving it just to the spot you wanted him at. 

Despite the urgency of his need and all of his senses blurry, Miguel let you guide him, breathing in your scent. There were no words to explain how much he missed it every time you had to go back to your own universe and leave him thinking, wanting and alone.

Miguel loved the way your nails sank into his hair and tugged harder every time he scratched your skin with his fangs. He couldn't help himself when he heard the softest of moans leave your throat and felt the way you kept grinding yourself over his cock. Miguel bit your shoulder hard when your hand wandered to his still clothed shaft and lightly scratched over the thin, bulging fabric.

"You're really testing my patience," he breathed into your skin.

"I hope you earn a good grade."

Miguel's hand moved from your hip to the bracelet controlling the features of his suit, but you slapped it away before he could take it off. You pressed harder over his erection, stretching the suit more.

"Who said I'm gonna let you rush so much?"

"I really don't think we have the—..."

A loud knock on the closed door made you both jump. 

"They found traces of Miles' signature!"

Miguel pushed his head into the crook of your swollen, tender neck, cursing with passion in Spanish. You may not have known the language well, but some things were truly universal.

You kissed his temple and brushed his wide shoulders. "You've got this."

Miguel took a slow, deep breath of your scent, noting all the various changes in it. But he did not budge.

"Prepare the team," he finally shouted back. "I'll be there in five minutes."

He caught your eyes widening and smiled ominously. The flaming red was shining through his own eyes again. 

"I have something to take care of first."

[dykedvonte]

wanted to say I appreciate your nuanced takes on MW and especially Curly. i don't get the claim that the fandom is full of Curly apologists when majority (esp yt and tiktok) say he's worse than Jimmy. Yes there's commentary about bro culture defending people, he def messed up in trying to placate Jimmy (tbh "we'll fix this" sounded more like trying to keep someone prone to outbursts like Jim calm and not hurt Anya/himself) but I don't think he did nothing to help Anya, since she continued to confide in him and he had less than a week to resolve it before the crash (I also don't get everyone saying he knew for ages when it seems like Anya told him that same week). I get Jimmy's a pos but saying stuff like Curly should've known he'd crash the ship or that Jim had a criminal record he ignored, reducing them to obviously horrible villain and willfully ignorant sidekick feels like a disservice to the game. If your best friend turned out to be horrible, what would you do in a confined space in the span of a few days to respond? I'd say some of the horror comes from trying to do good but ultimately failing, Curly's state after the crash is meant to be tragic horror not revenge/punishment

Thank you and this is what I want to get across.

A lot of information we have to supplement when it comes to how long things have been happening on this current ship. I think people try to add on to the horror and negligence by making things more obvious so it can feel like it was easier to avoid when, true to life, its not. Jimmy clearly didn't deserve or appreciate what Curly did for him in getting him the job, but do you think if Jimmy was that big of a menace on Earth he would've given him a position where he could have that level of power over people's lives? There's something in the fact he specifically chose to pick a position so close to himself where he could watch Jimmy.

I hate the bro code argument because that is a whole can of worms people really don't get. That sort of mentality is born from the general respect and preference of male matter over female ones. Curly is clearly not that guy, he is absent minded about the issue and inadvertently dismissive but he clearly believes Anya, he just can't understand what she's going through. It's an onslaught of information that no one really reacts right to. Additonally, the entire discussion of her assualt plays to heavy into the idea that there is fault outside of the perpertratior when it comes to SA. It's too close if she only did this or if Curly had protected her better but the fact of the matter is Jimmy did what he did. He did it before any of the conversations with Anya about it and it's why her behavior seemed to change so drastically in those last two days.

He has other conflicting thought and while his role as a Captain should've taken over, people act like it's not a very human thing to have such a toxic presence cloud your judgement. It is never easy to separate friend from coworker once that connection is formed, you want to help them, especially if they were friend first and for a long while like in this case. It's not right, but people act like it would be easy when the game clearly points out that no choice is easy to make, especially when you have to make it for more than one person. You have the weigh the consequences, look at all the options and make a plan. People can headcanon and decide how long things where happening, but if we look at what we were presented through the characters eyes, the only person given time to do that was Jimmy.

He waited two months after the crash to appoint himself Captain. Every time a problem was brought up he immediately took action and refused to sit on it and find a better solution. I think it's important to look at the warped way Jimmy takes initiative where Curly didn't as it works as a good contrast of why you don't just run in to "fix" things. The quickest and easiest option may not be the safest or most beneficial. I think some thoughts on the game suffer from the black and white thinking the game doesn't operate on along with us being voyeurs. We see what exactly led to what but the characters don't. They don't have the hindsight and foresight we do and even ours is scrambled by the non-linear story telling.

Like it's hard to talk abuou those grey zones without sounding like an apologist because you're explaining why taking responsibility isn't easy. It's not and it's weird to act like it would be in a scenerio that led up to the events of the game knowing what we know. We see all these characters in such isolated moments with various things before, in between, after and even during we aren't privy too. The idea that Jimmy is worse than Curly heavily banks on the words Jimmy was saying to Jimmy before he crashed the ship. That whatever happened on the ship was his responsibility to bare, which is true due to his position. But, are they not still not responsible for taking the actions Curly then must bare?

Like i feel like people think that these are situation that become easier with age or when you are in a postion of authority and they aren't. You don't lose your biases or gain some sudden knowledge that makes it easier. It just becomes more tiring as you keep dealing with it. I would be first in line to say Curly fucked up and should've done more but the idea he knew how bad it could get or he really saw the worst in the people around him and ignored it pretty much ignores a huge aspect of his character and the game.

[effloradox]

Tell Me We Both Matter

eddie munson x reader

a/n: quick drabble to flex the ol' writing fingers! i've missed writing for eddie 🥺

No one tells you it's hard not fitting the status quo. It makes sense that it wouldn't be but going through high school and feeling like an outsider fucking hurts if you think about it for too long. In a way you're lucky you met friends that accept you for who you are during your time at Hawkins High or else you would've spent several years feeling extremely alone.

It also helps that you had a boyfriend for several years of your time in high school to make things slightly more bearable. Eddie may have developed a reputation for being a freak amongst your peers but anyone who looked beyond his taste in music and love for D&D knows that he's a sweetheart with a heart of gold.

Even when you went away to college and Eddie stayed to repeat his final year (twice), the two of you stuck together. The money you have left over from the part time job you picked up mainly goes to long distance calls with your boyfriend, and keeping up with his D&D campaigns (and giving your opinion is a must).

It's also why you've been desperately picking up more hours at work and saving money so that when you finally reach Spring Break you can travel back home and surprise him (and also take him on a proper date since dates normally consist of the two of you getting high by Lover's Lake).

Coming home without telling him seemed like a good idea at the time, but standing outside his trailer with no idea if he's even inside is making you doubt yourself. Maybe it would've been smarter to call ahead, even just to see if Mr Munson would've been here to let you inside rather than having to camp outside and just wait.

It also would've been nice to immediately be welcomed home to a friendly face after the journey didn't quite go to plan. Getting a coach home had been the cheapest option, and that was fine, but a part of you had managed to forget how conserative Hawkins is compared to your fairly liberal college town.

The fact a woman had scolded her daughter for just talking to you about liking your shirt and asking what it was hurt. The whispers that you were dangerous stung after not having to worry about stuff like that. The Hellfire shirt wasn't even that bad for fucks sake. It makes you worry for Eddie, he's always been more open about his interests and it seemed like things were getting worse for people who didn't have conventional interests after all the weird stuff that's been happening over the last few years.

You're trying not to dwell on the critical look the woman had given you (and failing to do do) when the sound of a van being driven way too fast makes your ears perk. You'd know that terrible driving anywhere. The horn noise coming from said van makes you grin as it comes to a halt haphazardly in front of you, and the driver jumps out without even turning off the ignition. Immediately, arms are wrapped around you, and your face is pressed into a wild mess of unruly curls. Fuck you've missed him.

"Oh my god babe, what are you doing here?" You don't hesitate to return the hug, and can't stop the smile growing on your face as he splutters out some surprised expletives at how tightly you grip onto him.

"Wanted to see you. Missed you." He let's out a soft hum at your words, his grip around you tightening. It's not long before you're being gently guided towards Eddie's van and you're pulling away from his trailer down a familiar route.

It's nice to be back in familiar territory. Hawkins might be a shithole but it's your shithole and it's good to back, if only for a few days. There's no better way to spend an evening than sharing a blunt with your boyfriend as the sun sets over Lover's Lake.

There's a soft lull in your conversation when your experience on the way home bubbles to the forefront of your mind. The words slip out before you can stop them.

“Does it ever bother you how people treat you?” Eddie takes a moment to think, taking a long drag from the blunt before slowly breathing out the smoke.

“Not really. Used to it by now.” You understand what he means but your heart breaks to hear his response. Guilt gnaws at your chest for moving away, for leaving him here alone to deal with all the small town bullshit.

“It shouldn’t be like that.”

“Probably not.” He shrugs as he speaks, offering you the blunt before taking another drag.

“You should come live with me once you graduate. The world is bigger than this.” Eddie stops mid-drag as your words bounce around his brain. The grin that appears on his face is nothing short of radiant.

“This your way of asking me to move in with you?” You blink at him as your words sink in. It feels right. Feels like a natural progression of your relationship even if you might not have posed the question whilst sober.

“I think it is.”

“I’d be honored. I knew ‘86 was gonna be my year.”

[anyon-else]

Bite the Hand That Feeds Me (Bite the Hand That Needs Me) (The Red Room pt.15) | You and Kakashi are confronted with familiar demons. (Marvel AU) – spotify playlist | read on ao3

Pairings | Kakashi Hatake x Black Widow!Reader + Sakura Haruno, Sasuke Uchiha, Naturo Uzumaki, Ino Yamanaka, Danzo Shimura, Asuma Sarutobi, Kurenai Yūhi, Genma Shiranui, Orochimaru, and one (1) mysterious man

Warnings | ANGST, hurt/comfort, this one's pretty heavy ngl, gun violence, blood, torture (kind of? like a little but not really), dissociation, suicidal ideation (I PROMISE IT'S NOT AS BAD AS IT SOUNDS)

Word count | 10k (yeesh)

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"I am a dead woman, and I don't care."

Katherine Mansfield, from Journal of Katherine Mansfield

Kakashi came to in a room that he had only been in once before.

It had been decades since he'd last seen these concrete walls. The two-way mirror in front of him was an unwelcome sight that left him with nothing to do but watch his reflection watch him back. He wondered who was doing the same on the other side.

Handcuffs kept him locked to the table, though he took note of the lack of restraints on his ankles. Standard procedure aside, most of the suspects who ended up in this room were violent enough that extra precautions were oftentimes necessary.

Not that he planned to follow their example.

They could have left him anywhere else. Any other room would've been better than this—hell, he would've taken a doghouse if it had been an option.

The last time he was here, he was being questioned for murder.

He looked up at the creak of the metal door—the decades-old hinges still sounded the same as they had when he was twelve, and it was as unwelcome as it was familiar.

His hope for any semblance of understanding from his interrogator was lost when Danzo Shimura stepped through the door. With his lips turned down in an irritated frown, Danzo looked like his usual, unenthused self. He and Kakashi watched one another for a very long moment, trapped in a silent stalemate that felt uncomfortably familiar.

What wasn't familiar was the air of dangerous satisfaction Kakashi could sense from the older man.

Danzo took a seat in the chair opposite to Kakashi's, blocking his view of his reflection. With little decorum and far more force than was necessary, he tossed something noisily onto the table between them. It slid across the hard metal and came to a stop in front of Kakashi.

Kakashi instinctively reached towards it the moment it came within arms reach. His handcuffs jerked noisily, and he scowled at them, then at the satisfied look on Danzo's face.

"I take it you know who this is," Danzo said, pointing towards where you stood in the framed picture. It was the one of you and Sakura that he kept in his room, and its only purpose had been to bring him some semblance of comfort in your absence. Kakashi closed his eyes, trying not to linger on his stupidity for having something so damning out in the open.

Still, he never thought that SHIELD would go so far as to kidnap him and his...

"Where," he began darkly, noting the slight downward twitch of Danzo's smirk when he heard the dangerous note in Kakashi's tone, "are my students?"

"Things will go a lot smoother if you just answer my questions."

Sasuke was angry. No, he was livid.

He had never really put much faith in SHIELD as an organization. After HYDRA had been exposed from within their ranks, the small seed of trust that he'd tried to cultivate in his early days as a trainee was ripped from the ground. He only trusted Kakashi-Sensei because he could tell that his mentor wasn't just another one of SHIELD's loyal dogs. He was his own man with his own sense of purpose and justice.

He had always held that same respect for Asuma, but now he was beginning to rethink his initial assessment

"Sasuke," Asuma sighed above him, "I know you're confused, but–"

"Confused?" Sasuke spit back incredulously, finally looking up and meeting Asuma's eyes. The man was thin-lipped, waiting expectantly for Sasuke's words.

If Sasuke had any say in the matter, Asuma would never get the answers he wanted.

"I'm not talking to anyone except Kakashi-Sensei," he finally grumbled, turning his head from Asuma with a finality that made the agent sigh.

"I guess I shouldn't be surprised," Asuma shook his head, slumping into a chair near the door and running a hand over his face, "look, I'm not your enemy, Sasuke. I just want to understand what's going on."

More silence.

"You asked Shikamaru for help with something," he pushed, pulling a small grimace from Sasuke, "and if it had something to do with the HYDRA agent–"

"Don't call her that," Sasuke snapped.

"What should I call her, then?"

Sasuke sneered in lieu of an answer. Asuma sighed again.

The conversation was interrupted by a groan on Sasuke's left. Both glanced towards where Naruto was lying on his side, the last of the three to regain consciousness. He shifted away from the lights, lifting an arm to shield his eyes from the harsh fluorescents.

"Sasuke?" he grumbled, peeking over his arm at his friend. Sasuke glared at him, an unspoken order of silence. "Where are we?"

"SHIELD headquarters," a third voice snapped from the corner of the room. Asuma glanced at Sakura warily, "we were kidnapped by our own people."

Sasuke couldn't help but be unsettled by the rage in Sakura's voice. It reminded him how cruel HYDRA had been to her. It had shaped her into a person that, at times, felt completely foreign to him. When she was consumed by this kind of anger, she felt unreachable. Untouchable. Like anything she came into contact with would burn to ash.

It was as if the room itself held its breath when she spoke. Sasuke saw the way Asuma halted at her biting words, and he wondered fleetingly if his suspicion of HYDRA extended to Sakura. After all, she was no longer the girl he had helped train in her adolescence. Now she had the training of HYDRA's most lethal weapons.

"Sakura–"

"How did you find out?"

Sakura turned, looking at Asuma over her shoulder with a gaze that almost made Sasuke shiver. He swallowed against his drying throat.

"I can't tell you that," Asuma sighed, looking genuinely apologetic for the situation he was putting the three in. Naruto narrowed his eyes, putting the pieces of the situation together and giving Sakura a hopeless glance. Sasuke saw his desire to go to her and offer some form of comfort, but stopped him with a firm shake of his head. Sakura had turned back towards the wall, completely closed off from even Sasuke and Naruto. They couldn't see her expression, but they saw the slight tremble in her shoulders.

"Is Shikamaru alright?" Naruto asked after a pause.

"He's fine."

"What about Kakashi-Sensei?"

"He's being questioned," Asuma said, trying to keep any emotions from bleeding into the words.

Sasuke knew that this couldn't have been easy for Asuma—despite the orders he'd been given, and despite Sasuke's own anger, it was clear that Asuma believed in Kakashi's loyalty.

But he did not have the power to decide what happened to you or Kakashi. That was up to the Director.

Although, in the Director's temporary absence, he supposed those decisions would fall to Danzo. The thought concerned him as much as it infuriated him.

"Can we at least talk to him?"

"Not yet," Asuma sighed, "we need to get a grasp on the situation. And things would go a lot smoother if the parties involved were a bit more cooperative."

He looked at Sasuke pointedly, knowing that any glances in Sakura's directional would go unobserved. The boy scoffed, arms crossed almost petulantly over his chest as he turned his head away from Asuma's gaze. Naruto looked between his two friends, then at Asuma.

"Naruto," Asuma softened his tone, kneeling in front of the boy with only a hint of guilt in his expression for exploiting Naruto's mixed emotions. Clearly the weakest emotional link of the trio, he was the most likely source of any useful information, "this is a complicated situation, but the last thing I want is for anyone to get hurt. Things would go a lot smoother if you tell me what's going on. Maybe then I can help Kakashi."

Naruto looked skeptical. He glanced at Sakura, who still had her head turned away from them, then at Sasuke, who glared at him. Their determined silence sent a clear message, but Sasuke knew that Asuma saw how uneasy Naruto felt at the idea of leaving Kakashi to his own defenses.

"You have to try to save her, too," Naruto said after a long silence.

"Naruto," Sakura hissed, turning towards him incredulously at the same time that Sasuke slapped a hand over Naruto's mouth. He shook it away and glared at Sasuke, who met his gaze with the same determined ferocity.

"This might be our best option," Naruto hissed, "Kakashi-Sensei trusts him. We've known him our whole lives–"

"It doesn't matter," Sakura snapped from her place in the corner of the room, "once you've been stained by HYDRA's name, there's no undoing it. That's all you are, and nothing can change the way they look at you. It doesn't matter how you got in or why you stayed—it just matters that you did their dirty work."

"Sakura, that's not fair..." Asuma started, but the furious glare she shot in his direction silenced him.

"Fair?" she laughed. Suddenly, it was like Sasuke got a glimpse into the person who had spent four years in HYDRA's clutches, surviving off of nothing but rage and a fierce determination to survive. "No, you're right. There's nothing fair about this. She and I were in that hell together. We both killed for them. We escaped together. You're so worried about her, but there's another person just like her standing right in front of you!"

Silence followed the outburst. Asuma held Sakura's gaze, unwilling—or maybe unable—to look away.

"She was born there," Asuma said slowly, looking guilty even before the words began leaving his lips. Sasuke tensed in anticipation of his next words, glancing cautiously in Sakura's direction. Her calm expression was masking the rage that was clear in her tense form. Her fingers twitched as if they itched to wrap around Asuma's throat. Despite his own anger, he leaned forward in the event that he'd have to put himself in between the two. Asuma was strong, but Sakura was an unstoppable force now that she had the training to give weight to her rage.

"I'm not blaming her for what she's gone through," he continued cautiously. Sasuke knew he noticed the way Sakura's calm facade was beginning to split into a boundless anger he had only seen a handful of times. He wanted to beg Asuma to shut his mouth, but a part of him wanted to let Sakura do as she pleased.

Maybe she could get them out of this room. Maybe they'd find you before you were taken somewhere they could not follow.

They needed to get you back.

"But she has been a HYDRA agent her whole life," Asuma continued, pulling Sasuke from his thoughts, "she is unpredictable. And if she hurts someone, then she becomes a liability."

Sasuke glanced at Naruto, thinking back to your return. Had anyone at SHIELD known how close you'd been to shooting Naruto, no explanation of mind-control or Orochimaru's cruelty would have convinced them that you were not the enemy.

"You know nothing," Sasuke finally muttered, both to tell Asuma what they were all thinking and to stop Sakura from saying something that would only make their situation worse. "And locking her away like she's a common prisoner is nothing short of cruel–"

The door clicked open, cutting Sasuke off before he himself could lose control of his spiraling emotions. Asuma stood from where he was blocking the entrance and pulled his chair from the door's path.

"Director," Asuma gaped, "we didn't expect you back until tomorrow."

"I heard that Kakashi and his students had been brought in as suspects."

Her voice floated into the room like a clear, refreshing spring. Then she entered, looking like an angel descending to save them. Surely she would have enough common sense to fix this without letting anyone—namely you and Ino—get hurt.

"Yes ma'am. Agent Hatake is being questioned."

The Director sighed as Asuma stepped away from the entrance.

Director Tsunade Senju was Sakura's hero. Alongside Kakashi, she'd helped shape Sakura into the person she was today. Before she was taken, Tsunade regularly coached her in field medicine, requesting her help on small missions to give her as much experience as possible.

She was kind. Sasuke knew that, despite her cold exterior, she'd understand that you were a victim of Orochimaru's cruelty as much as Sakura had been.

She fixed them with a long look, both to ease their worries and warn them to stay put.

I'll fix this, it seemed to say, just be patient.

Patience was not in abundance between the three of them, but after one last longing look in Tsunade's direction, Sakura sat in between Sasuke and Naruto, and they waited.

"If you don't talk, you won't get to see your students."

Kakashi thought his jaw was going to break. He'd been clenching his teeth together for the entirety of this interrogation, and he could feel his cheeks starting to ache from the tension. Having a conversation like this would've been infuriating with anyone, but he was quickly losing patience with Danzo's condescension.

Perhaps to the detriment of any argument he could hope to make to the Director once she returned, he stayed silent.

"Hatake," Danzo sighed, tapping his fingers against the glass picture frame between them. Kakashi glared at the smudges he was leaving in lieu of looking at the infuriating expression on his face, "this isn't going to just go away like Rin did."

Danzo went quiet as the words sunk under Kakashi's skin. He felt cold—like he'd been dunked into a pool of ice water. The room suddenly felt suffocating. Danzo knew what this room meant to him. He had probably demanded that it be used for this interrogation.

"Don't talk about Rin," he said lowly, feeling the full weight of Danzo's words as the man sneered.

"You have no right to speak disrespectfully to me. You're lucky you're here and not a cell. If it were up to me, I would've–"

The grating creak of the door interrupted Danzo's threat, and both he and Kakashi paused as Genma stepped into the room. He looked bored—like this was just another interrogation—but when he met Kakashi's eyes, Kakashi saw the suspicion that he was trying to mask.

"Agent Shimura," Genma droned, "you're needed outside."

Jaw tense, Danzo hesitated for a split second before rising to his feet.

Kakashi tried to be subtle as he tested the reach of his cuffs, but they caught just shy of the edge of the frame. He sat in dejected silence as the door creaked shut.

While being in this room with Danzo was more than unpleasant, being in it alone was somehow worse. It reminded him too much of a time he thought he'd put behind him, but being back here made him feel like a child again. When he looked back at his reflection in front of him again, it was as if his face had become younger. Those youthful features were twisted with grief and anxiety. He had just been a child back then, unable to face the reality of his actions.

But he refused to let Danzo use his failure to save Rin against him. Not when all he wanted was to keep you away from HYDRA. Despite his initially selfish intention to just save Sakura and let you go, he knew that he had done the right thing in offering you a place with him and his students.

Convincing SHIELD of that was going to be more difficult.

The door didn't move again until what must've been at least an hour, and the creak of the hinges was sounding more and more like nails on a chalkboard each time it opened. He glanced towards the silhouetted figure standing in the entryway and felt relief for the first time since he regained consciousness.

Tsunade was standing in the doorway like an angel come to save him. Even the light that surrounded her shone like a glowing halo. Kakashi felt his unease begin to melt away, replaced by utter exhaustion.

Tsunade stepped further into the room, and the door shut firmly behind her. He could almost feel Danzo's eyes on him on the other side of the glass.

"I'm taking over your interrogation," she began, sliding into Danzo's chair and pushing the frame to the edge of the table with barely a glance in its direction, "Danzo has an uncharacteristically colorful vocabulary when it comes to you."

Kakashi stayed silent, treading these waters very carefully. When he was a child, he'd been volatile and reactive. It had been easy to rile him up and get him to let information slip in his anger.

It was a pattern of behavior that he had long since grown out of and had no plans of repeating.

"Well, I'm sure you've been given very little information, so I'll make this easier for you," Tsunade began, folding her hands over a stack of papers that Kakashi assumed contained Danzo's case against him. It was thicker than he would've liked, "Danzo received a tip that you were harboring two HYDRA agents and decided to release a toxin in the compound rather than risk a confrontation with potentially hostile targets."

Kakashi blinked. He wondered if Tsunade also saw the absurdity in Danzo's tactics, but her expression told him nothing. She was as stone-faced as ever, and Kakashi began to fear that he'd lost her trust in all of this too.

"The HYDRA agents," he began, "are from the Red Room."

Tsunade froze. The words were as familiar to her as they had become to Kakashi—everyone in SHIELD knew who had taken Sakura. The problem with finding her hadn't been their identity, but their location. Orochimaru's strength was in his ability to hide the Red Room from SHIELD's watchful eye. It's main base changed locations frequently enough that finding Sakura had taken years.

"They're not with HYDRA anymore," he told her carefully, lowering his voice and leaning in close enough that his words wouldn't be overheard by anyone on the other side of the glass, "they both knew Sakura while she was there. They protected her from Orochimaru. I...I don't know if she'd even be alive if it hadn't been for them."

Tsunade considered this, albeit briefly. Kakashi knew how complex the situation was—realistically, Tsunade couldn't let any personal feelings interfere in her decisions. Despite Danzo's less-than-ideal method of bringing you in, he was technically within the bounds of SHIELD's protocol.

Kakashi was the one who had complicated things. He could see that Tsunade was not just angry with him, but hurt by his lack of trust in her.

"I would've told you when I brought her in," Kakashi said lowly, "but she was an important part of making sure Sakura was safe. I couldn't risk her being taken. She was too valuable to let go."

"Sakura has been cleared for nearly a year now," Tsunade snapped, though she kept her voice at his volume. Her eyes were knowing, and he wondered just how desperate he looked to her, "you should've told me."

You would've taken her, Kakashi wanted to say, and I couldn't risk that.

"Have you seen her?" Kakashi asked instead. He knew where his priorities should've been—Tsunade was expecting answers, but he had to know where you were. Once he knew you were safe, he would give her everything she needed to know. Everything that would convince her that you weren't a threat.

Tsunade blinked at him. His stomach knotted.

"She's not here, Kakashi."

Your instincts as were sharp as knives.

They'd had no choice but to become so. Anyone who got too close didn't walk away unnoticed or unscathed. It was one of the fundamental teachings from the Red Room: surveillance of one's surroundings is crucial for survival. If you cannot identify a threat that is out of sight, your skill level will not make a difference.

So, even half-conscious and unable to open your eyes, the first thought that came clearly through your muddy thoughts was that you were not alone.

There were two other people in the room—one to your left, and one in front of you. They were veiled by shadows and obscured from your vision, but you felt their stares like guns pointed at your head. You choked on the breath that you greedily sucked into your lungs, then exhaled with a strangled sound that seemed far louder in the thick silence. Neither of the figures moved as your breathing evened, but each eye that was on you seemed to glow in the suffocating darkness. They were like predators poised to kill, and with the handcuffs keeping your arms behind the back of your chair and the rope holding your ankles still, it wasn't hard to guess who their prey was.

Familiarity was a quiet buzz in your ear, but you ignored it in favor of evaluating your chances of escape. As the fog cleared from your mind, however, you became less hopeful of your odds.

The figure to your right stood and approached you, his face slowly becoming visible as he walked towards the single light illuminating the middle of the room. He moved out of the shadows with careful, calculated steps, and you recoiled as soon as he came into view. While you barely recognized his face, you understood what the clothes he wore meant.

A black robe cloaked him almost as much as the darkness had, but it was the small red insignia on his sleeve that sent a cold chill down your spine. The bright red eyes of the skull seemed to glow in the darkness, almost matching those of the wearer.

"HYDRA," you whispered before you could keep your mouth from moving. You shut it immediately, unsure of where the word had come from, but realizing with uncomfortable clarity why it felt so significant.

HYDRA owned you. The thought was so clear that you wondered how you had ever forgotten. Suddenly, the urge to kneel at this man's feet and beg for any form of mercy made your position in the chair uncomfortable in an entirely new way. You shifted, nearly bowing your head to him when he caught your chin between long, nimble fingers.

His eyes held an intensity that sent a shock of fear through you. His fingers were cold where the met your skin, and you fought not to flinch when his hold tightened. He was looking at you like he could see into your mind and read your every thought.

"For someone under Kakashi Hatake's protection," he finally said, though his words held more curiosity than threat, "you are a laughably easy person to find."

You swallowed, but your throat had dried up the moment he'd stepped into view.

"I suppose I should apologize. Orochimaru was give far too much leeway. He should have been taken care of a long time ago."

Your breath halted at the name. Though it was still mostly a mystery to you, fear was a familiar feeling that wrapped itself around you and squeezed until you couldn't breath. The man watched you carefully, studying your reaction with clear interest.

His eyes drifted to the second figure sitting silently in front of you. His face had become more clear as your eyes adjusted to the darkness; long, dark hair framed his face, and his eyes were venomous, narrowing when they locked with yours. Though his head was downcast—partly, you assumed, because of the blood dripping down multiple cuts on his face—his expression was full of familiar malice.

For the past eight months, you'd felt as if a crushing weight was hovering just above you, held up by one thin thread. You knew what that weight contained—it was everything you'd lost. Even without it bearing down on your shoulders, you were certain that it would crush you, but you wanted to feel its weight all the same. You wanted to feel whole again—not like the ghost of someone you couldn't reach.

You laid eyes on Orochimaru, slumped in his chair and gagged by a white cloth, and the weight fell.

Memories of the experiments you'd undergone suddenly came into sharp focus, and the blurry face that had always resembled Kakashi finally became clear. Instead of grey hair, black locks came into view. They surrounded your vision as Orochimaru leaned over you in half-remembered memories, studying your eyes like they would hold the key to your submission.

His voice rang in your mind clear as day: I gave you everything. It is only right that you return my kindness. You owe me everything. This is your purpose.

It was his voice. His hands holding you down as you thrashed against bolts of lightning in your veins. His control masked as reassurances of an end to the pain. His face behind the mask that he wore to convince you that Kakashi was your enemy.

It was his rage that followed you when you escaped. His ghost that you were so desperate to protect Sakura from.

"Hm," the man hummed after observing you for a moment, "Kabuto was right. It is you that brings her memories back. That must've caused you quite the headache."

He was looking at Orochimaru now, who snarled at the man in front of him. You recognized the look—how had you ever forgotten such a terrifying face?—and the rage it contained did not seem to phase its receiver, but the force of it left you paralyzed.

Or maybe it was the memories that were still flooding your overloaded mind, each begging to be seen even when you had no more room left to look.

You didn't realize that the man had moved towards Orochimaru until you heard his voice. It was that same light, hissing cadence that made you beg for mercy each time you failed his experiments. It was the voice that raised you to submit to his will.

It was still just as terrifying as it had been when he abandoned you.

"I'm impressed," he said with a snarl, looking at you rather than the man now standing at his side. "I thought you were weak enough to be forced into submission. But look at you now: gaining the attention of the Akatsuki."

Your eyes widened, and your gaze snapped to the man who was watching the conversation with interest. He met your eyes, waiting in silence as you processed Orochimaru's words.

The Akatsuki were ghosts. You had never been told their identities, nor had you ever seen a member in the flesh.

All you knew was that they ruled HYDRA from the shadows, pulling the strings of the organization with terrifying ease.

"I've come to understand that the Red Room is in need of new leadership," the man sighed, a disappointed frown falling over his lips, "now I see that the problem is worse than I anticipated."

Orochimaru's rage filled the room like smoke. You felt as if you could choke on it—it filled your chest and left you breathless and gasping for air.

"Would you like to kill him?"

It took you far too long to realize that the question had been directed towards you. The words were as genuine as the man's gaze. He didn't say them like this was a taunt or a test of loyalty. It was an offer.

You swallowed against the panic blocking your throat. You couldn't breath. This man...you could feel his power. It filled the room, thick enough to drown you. You wanted more than anything to refuse—to make him understand that you couldn't kill Orochimaru—but you couldn't force a response from your lips.

"She won't kill me," Orochimaru sneered, saving you from the man's suffocating gaze. His eyes slid from you to Orochimaru, "she can't."

"We'll see," the man responded cooly. "Let's hope that fear was a strong enough tool to save you from your own creation."

The man reached behind you and unlocked the handcuffs around your wrists, then cut the rope from your ankles. Before you could regain feeling in your fingers, the cold, familiar steel of a gun was pressed into your hands. You looked down at it, expecting to see the HDYRA insignia etched into it. Instead, the hourglass-shape that symbolized the Red Room was cut into the grip.

This was Orochimaru's weapon. You'd watched him use it countless times. You had faced its barrel more than once.

Holding it felt wrong. The idea of using it made you nauseous.

"Well?" Orochimaru said, a cold grin on his face. "Prove me wrong, little spider."

You hated him. You hated how useless he rendered you—as if you were nothing more than a machine waiting for commands. You begged your useless limbs to lift the gun in your hands. Killing Orochimaru was something you'd dreamed of for a long time. It was an urge you'd felt more strongly than any other when he'd tried to kill you using Sakura's body.

The Akatsuki approached Orochimaru, producing a knife from within the robes that cloaked his figure. In one swift movement, he cut the ropes from his wrists and tucked the weapon away.

Orochimaru brought his hands in front of him, flexing his stiff fingers with a heavy sigh.

"You gain nothing if you kill me," he said, wasting no time before standing from his chair and pushing it to the side. He seemed utterly unconcerned by the weapon in your hand, "I'm not the one holding you hostage."

His eyes were on the Akatsuki now, as if he had forgotten all about your presence and the gun in your hand.

"You want your freedom so badly? Kill him," Orochimaru said, sliding his gaze towards you once again. He watched you with an intensity that made your stomach drop—his eyes were swimming with an emotion that you couldn't place. You could see that his desperation was turning into something closer to insanity.

"Kill him!"

You flinched against your chair, grip tight on the gun. The Akatsuki watched with thinly veiled interest, unconcerned with Orochimaru's attempts to get him killed.

"You understand, don't you?" Orochimaru said with a laugh, stepping towards you with little hesitation. You stood, pointing the gun towards him. Undeterred, he walked forward until the barrel touched his chest, "if you kill me, you'll never be free. Do you truly think the Akatsuki will let you go after everything you've done?"

You stilled.

Your life was beginning to feel like a cycle. The moment you escaped Orochimaru's suffocating clutches, he sank his fangs into you once again and dragged you back into his web. You had been trapped for a long time.

"Is that what I was with you?" you whispered. "Free?"

Orochimaru tilted his head, lips twitching with a poorly concealed smirk.

"If not for me, you'd have no home. Am I not your family?"

"No," you choked, "that's not what I asked. I asked if you gave me freedom."

Freedom was what you were taught to hate. Freedom went against everything you'd been told since birth. You were raised with a set of shackles and ordered to give the rest of the world the same treatment.

"Freedom is a lie," he hissed, amusement gone from his tone. He leaned over you, forcing you to lift your eyes to see his malicious snarl, "you've been gone for far too long. Freedom is unattainable, and therefore should not be striven for. You've wasted your time trying to escape the allegiance you owe to me."

Before you could respond, Orochimaru was reaching towards you with speed that you hadn't realized he possessed. He gripped your wrist and reached for the gun in your hand with a maddened look in his eyes and a fierce determination to bring you to your knees once again.

But you were faster. You shifted so your back was to him, but his grip on your wrist remained tight. To keep hold of you, he was forced forward, closing the distance between your back and his chest with a frustrated snarl. At the same moment that he tried to trap you with his other arm, caging you against his chest, you threw your head back against his. He released you with a groan, clutching his forehead and stumbling backwards. His eyes were alight with fury. Your hands trembled around the gun, adrenaline and fear mixing together to create a messy, confusing swirl of emotions in your gut.

Part of you wanted to beg for his mercy. Another part wanted to kill him where he stood.

He began approaching you again, seemingly too furious to speak, but you steadied yourself and lifted the gun. He stopped, disbelief making a split-second appearance on his face before it was masked with a smirk.

That twisted, sickening smirk seemed to follow you everywhere. Even now, after he'd tried so hard to erase himself from your memory and replace his cruelty with a false version of Kakashi, seeing that expression on his face felt like welcoming an old friend.

Every Widow was familiar with that smile. For many, it was the last thing they saw.

You were not righteous. You had never felt the desire to seek revenge or justice for the things Orochimaru had done. For most of your life, Orochimaru's word had been law. The Widows were unquestioning against his demands and unflinching in the face of his cruelty. Detached from the reality of your comrades dying, you had never considered their deaths as sacrifices or tragedies. You couldn't. You would've fallen apart the moment you let yourself grieve them.

"There will always be failures among you," he'd said once, "and it is my job to see that the weak are purged. You should all be honored that you are among the strong. I've chosen each of you because you have the potential for greatness. Do not disappoint me."

Perhaps it was the sudden onslaught of memories that made the voices of those he'd killed echo within your tortured thoughts. Perhaps their pleas for mercy were directed at you, transforming into demands for vengeance as each overlapped with the other.

They begged for his death. His suffering would calm them into silence. You were a vessel for their desires, and they wanted him to bleed.

"Beg me for your lives," he would order, watching with that same smirk as they got on their knees and asked for his mercy.

He never gave it to them.

"Believing that you are special," Orochimaru said lowly, "will only bring you misery. You're still the same, scared little girl that you've always been. You're barely keeping yourself upright."

He wasn't wrong. You could feel the tremors wracking your body, and you knew they were clearly visible to both him and the silent Akatsuki watching from the corner.

"Do you remember them?" you finally asked, voice hoarse and trembling, though you were beginning to have trouble distinguishing your fear from your fury. "The girls you've killed?"

He let out a sharp, cruel laugh.

"Do you?" he asked, eyes narrowed. "You're no more innocent than I am. That's why I chose you. And what do you do with my favor? You throw it away like some petulant, ungrateful child!"

"I never wanted to kill anyone."

"A sorry excuse," he spit, "that does not mean anything. I didn't give you a place as a Widow because you were skilled. Every girl I trained, alive or not, was a skilled spy and assassin. You were chosen because you were obedient. I told you to kill, and you did so without hesitation or mercy."

Hinata's face flashed in your mind, eyes wide and desperate as you sank a knife into her chest.

"Yet you still chose to follow my orders," he continued, "I was not controlling you. It was your hands that ended their lives. You may believe you're being righteous, but if your intentions were as pure as you seem to think them, you would end us both. Your hypocrisy disgusts me."

"You forced us to kill one another," you shook your head, fighting against the voice in your head insisting that he was right. "That wasn't a test of strength?"

"Strength of will," he grinned, teeth bared and shining in the dim light. "You proved your loyalty was to me rather than any so-called bonds you may have formed with the others. It's a pity I didn't see your uselessness sooner. Your work for me was certainly not worth the headache you've become."

His bravery was commendable. Or perhaps it was confidence in your inability to pull the trigger.

"Haruno was a step towards a better future," he told you, smile falling from his face, "I was close to perfecting her, and after that, I would've been able to implement the same technology for all of you. The Black Widow Program would have seen a new era of growth."

You bit your tongue, trying to contain your anger at such a casual mention of Sakura and her suffering. You felt the iron bite of blood stain your teeth and tongue and let it ground you.

A long time ago, you would've allowed yourself to become what he wanted. You would've tied yourself down at a single command from him and allowed him to control your each and every thought. All he had to do was say the word.

But you had never cared for him. Never loved him in the way that he imagined his Widows should. Even in your desperation to go back to him in those first months with Kakashi and Sakura, you hated yourself for your dependence on him. You hated him for turning you into an extension of his own will, leaving you with no room for your own thoughts or desires. You had always been angry. You had always hated him.

But your anger was a quiet thing.

It festered beneath layers of fear and unquestioning obedience. Orochimaru beat his girls down until devotion to him became second nature.

And although fear remained, your devotion had cracked beneath the weight of his cruelty a long time ago. And now you knew what kindness was. What it looked and felt like. Affirming words and gentle touches that had once been foreign broke through the haze created by Orochimaru's control. Each layer that he had built so meticulously had seemed to shatter with a single touch.

It had all broken down so easily. His fragility had never been more clear than in this moment.

"Beg."

Stillness followed the word. As the sound faded, it felt as if it took all of the air around you with it. You thought the room itself had gone still, paralyzed by the force of your command.

An invisible, suffocating weight fell onto your neck like hands, as if attempting to force the word back down your throat.

Orochimaru was silent. His face was a tempest of disbelief and rage, and his hands itched at his sides as if it was painful for him to keep them still.

"You think I won't kill you for what you've done to Sakura? To the other girls?"

You took a step towards him, gun now steady in your hand despite the slight tremble in your voice.

"To me?"

You might have lost your mind. He was certainly looking at you as if you had.

"Beg me for your life."

On your knees, he'd always ordered.

He needed to feel as powerless as the girls he'd killed.

Why does your life have value to me? he'd ask, not caring to hear the answer.

He needed to hurt like they did. Like Sakura did.

Beg me for your life, he'd said each and every time he held a Widow at his fingertips and made her grovel, and I'll consider letting you live.

"You're a fool," Orochimaru chuckled, voice low and quiet despite the fury behind his words. He looked like he'd gone mad with rage, just barely holding himself back from violence. "just like all the others."

He took another, careless step forward. Before he could take a second, you lowered the gun and fired off a single shot. It hit his leg with a muted crack, then he was on the floor, breathing through grit teeth. He fell to the opposite knee and let out a frustrated shout.

It felt like something had taken over your body. Like it wasn't your words, but the words of those who deserved justice slipping from your lips. Pure, unhindered anger surged through you like a sudden, destructive wave. You'd never felt anything like it before.

Perhaps it was Orochimaru's conviction that you were too weak to kill him that triggered it. Perhaps it was the sight of him on his knees in front of you and the sick satisfaction you felt at the sight.

Before he had a chance to react, you shoved him back with your heel. He landed on his back with another groan, and you pressed the toe of your shoe into his neck.

"Well?" you asked quietly. "Why do you think you deserve to live?"

"They're just going to kill you," he hissed lieu of an answer, meeting your eyes and choking on the final words when you pressed harder against his throat, "you...you think Hatake will be able to protect you and Haruno from them?"

The laugh he let out as he motioned vaguely in the Akatsuki's direction was nothing more than a wheeze, but it still sounded gleefully arrogant.

"I don't care anymore," you said, closing your eyes and raising your head to the ceiling, "he'll protect Sakura, and they can do whatever they want to me. It doesn't matter."

You lifted your foot from his throat and he gasped, laboriously pushing himself off of his back.

"As long as you're gone," you said, lifting the gun once again, "I can die in peace."

"Wait," he wheezed, holding up a hand as if it would do anything to block a bullet, "I can help you. I can help you gain your freedom from HYDRA."

He's getting desperate.

A smile slowly spread across your lips.

"I told you," you knelt down, pressing a thumb into the wound on his leg. He groaned, too weak from pain to move out of your reach, "to beg."

He was panting now, chasing after desperate gasps for air. Pathetic, the Widow whispered in your ear. You smiled again, lips splitting from ear to ear.

Hello, old friend.

"Please," he finally snarled, his glare deadly as he wrapped his fingers weakly around your wrist, attempting to pull your hand from his wound.

Ah, you thought, eyes lighting up as the word tumbled from his lips, so this is what power feels like?

"Again."

No longer was the room engulfed in silence. Filling it now were Orochimaru wheezing breaths, each one more labored than the last.

Then, he began to laugh.

"You..." he muttered as he pushed himself forward, settling into a crouch before meeting your eyes, "you really are a hypocrite."

Then, in a burst of strength, he leapt forward, hands grasping at your shirt and lips pulled back in a wild, furious snarl.

You fired a second time.

Finally, everything went still.

He stumbled, eyes locked onto yours and a foreign expression on his face: pure, unconcealed shock. Then he fell forward, hands still gripping your shirt. Even in death, he managed to pull you to your knees, though it didn't take much effort. The strings of ghosts holding you up and guiding you until this point were suddenly cut, and you collapsed in a heap of dread and debilitating relief.

Orochimaru landed unceremoniously next to you, arm hanging limply over your lap and his fingers loosened on shirt.

He had stopped breathing before he hit the ground.

Disgust suddenly sent a wave of nausea through you, and you shoved his arm off of your legs. He rolled onto his back, empty eyes staring at the ceiling and arm landing on the floor with a smack.

The sound sent a shudder through you. Any rational thought had left you in the wake of the chaos—you just felt empty.

You took a deep breath, choking on the inhale and sinking onto your back as you pushed it from your lungs.

"That was quite the performance."

You didn't have the energy to be startled. Your head rolled on the floor until you were looking into the Akatsuki's eyes. He had the audacity to look pleased.

"To think that one pesky little spy was enough to bring Orochimaru to his knees," he let out something akin to a chuckle, "The Red Room must've been more fragile than he was letting on. Though it's rather poetic, no?"

He knelt down next to Orochimaru's body and gingerly pulled his eyelids over his open, shocked eyes.

"Well, I suppose we can discuss it some other time," he said finally, standing and taking a step closer to you. You turned your head, forced to look straight up to keep your eyes on him, "under different circumstances."

"Where are the others?" you choked.

"They're safe," he responded cooly, "they're at SHIELD's headquarters. Well, almost all of them."

You narrowed your eyes at him, thinking back to the haze that the night before had become.

"Ino," you whispered, breath catching in your throat.

The man looked amused by your concern

"There's no need to worry about her," he shook his head, waving a hand as if waving the mere idea of her away.

"Where is she?" you asked weakly—a far cry from the demand that you meant it to be.

"As I said, she is no longer your concern, nor are you hers."

His voice had become firmer, and you were reminded who it was standing above you.

You closed your mouth.

Seemingly satisfied with the way things had gone, the Akatsuki gave one final glance at Orochimaru's body before turning in the direction of the door.

"Wait."

The man paused and glanced back at you, emotions wiped from his face. You looked at him again—studied his face and his black hair and the ring of red around his pupils.

"Sasuke..." you choked, "he has a brother."

He stared at you, expression the picture of composure, then slipped through the door.

You remained motionless on the floor for a long time, splayed out next to Orochimaru's motionless body. His blood stained the ceiling, and you flinched when a drop of it fell onto your face.

You couldn't—wouldn't—think about what you had done. If you acknowledged the blood splatter above you or the body next to you, you'd have to admit that...

That Orochimaru was dead.

What am I supposed to do now?

The thought was passing, but you felt wholly unequipped to try and answer it. You felt far away from the person who laid motionless on the ground next to the lifeless body of her creator.

And even though Orochimaru was gone, this was still a cage. HYDRA had still found you, and you were insignificant compared to the larger powers at play around you.

The Akatsuki had said it himself. You weren't important to HYDRA.

So why had you been given the power to kill Orochimaru?

Through a haze of muddled emotions, you heard boots pounding against the concrete floor outside. You tried to give your body the appropriate commands to prepare for an unexpected entry—get up, move behind the door, keep quiet and catch any intruders off guard.

But you remained motionless, completely drained of any fight you had left.

If you were going to be trapped by HYDRA again, then maybe letting them find you was the best option.

You could hear doors being opened from the end of the hall. It wouldn't take long for them to reach you, and it was clear from the gun in your hand and the body next to you what had taken place. They'd see what you had done, and they would finish the job that the Akatsuki had left incomplete.

You pushed yourself against the wall on the opposite side of the door, cloaking yourself in shadows. Orochimaru's body was illuminated by the single bulb hanging from the ceiling, and blood was pooling on the floor around his head, reflecting the light and looking impossibly bright against the concrete beneath him.

You closed your eyes, but his face remained burned into your memory like a brand of guilt.

It only took a few moments for the pounding feet to reach the door of the room you occupied. It was shoved open and hit the wall behind it with a crack. You swallowed against rising bile.

"Y/N."

Your eyes slipped open automatically at the sound of his voice.

He couldn't be real. The Akatsuki would be back for you. Catching the attention of such powerful members of HYDRA couldn't be anything less than a life-sentence spent serving them.

But...

"Kakashi?"

He was here. This wasn't some trick or a poor imitation—he was here and he was real.

You were reaching towards him before you could stop yourself, risking falling forward in your haste to feel something solid and real and alive beneath your palms. He rushed forward, kneeling in front of you and taking your face between unsteady hands. He studied you for a moment, searching your expression. His touch was warm, masking the lingering chill of the Akatsuki's fingers gripping your chin. You felt yourself relaxing, head sinking into his hold.

"You remember."

It wasn't a question, but you nodded anyways. You were still piecing together your memories, trying to sort out what was real and what had been a mere fabrication under the threat of torture, but your feelings—your real feelings—they were all there. They'd been dug up from the trenches of your mind and demanded recognition.

You felt the weight of Orochimaru's death and your tempestuous memories lift when Kakashi pulled you against his chest.

His arms were anchors. They kept you from slipping away or looking just past his shoulder at Orochimaru's body. You buried your face in his shirt, closing your eyes and breathing in the smell of the forest that lingered in the fabric.

"I found you," he whispered. You nodded, too drained to speak. He held you like you would slip through his fingers if he loosened his grip. Still, you wanted to be closer—to make sure you wouldn't fall away from him again.

"He's dead," you whispered. You looked up and watched the door with wide, burning eyes, terrified that the Akatsuki would come back through the door at any moment. You could still see the blood surrounding Orochimaru in your periphery. "I killed him."

You choked on the words, denial flooding you before you could stop it. You couldn't have...you wouldn't have killed Orochimaru. He was everything. Your master. Your father. The reason you were still alive. Without him, you–

"Stop," Kakashi whispered.

The river of doubt came to a halt, and all you saw in the clear blue was a reflection of you in Kakashi's arms.

"He's gone," Kakashi whispered. At the same moment he spoke the words into existence, he brought a hand up and cupped the side of your face, blocking his body from your line of sight. "He can't hurt anyone anymore."

The other girls. He can't hurt the other girls anymore.

He can't hurt Sakura anymore.

Your eyes drifted to Kakashi's wrist. Though it had been weeks since you'd attacked him, the ringed bruises where your hands had been hadn't fully faded yet.

You touched the marked skin as gently as possible, running the tips of your fingers over yellow and purple skin, then dipped a hand under his shirt and pressed it against his stomach. You remembered, albeit vaguely, the way you'd kicked him to the ground, heel mercilessly sinking into his stomach in your blind panic and rage. He hissed at your touch, barely loud enough for you to hear, but you froze at the sound, retracting your hand as if it had been burned.

"I'm so sorry," you croaked. You had done this to him. No explanation of brainwashing or torture could excuse that, "I hurt you-"

"Stop," he said firmly, "you thought I was going to hurt you, and you were defending yourself. Nothing that happened was your fault."

"I could've fought harder."

You'd known, even while in the deepest recesses of Orochimaru's tricks, that what you were being told wasn't true. You knew that some part of you had always been skeptical, even if it had been buried somewhere you couldn't see.

"You did what you did to save Sakura. If anyone should've fought harder, it's me. I was the one who thought she was safe, and I was wrong. I should've fought harder for you."

You shook your head, but stilled when Kakashi's head fell against your shoulder. He deflated, sinking into your arms as if all of the energy had drained from him in a single moment. His hands fell from your face and wrapped around your waist, pulling you in so close that your legs had no where to go but on either side of him. You blinked, one hand lifting to tangle in his hair and the other falling to his waist like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The hands around your waist were trembling just slightly. Kakashi's head was pressed against your neck, and you could feel his eyelashes brushing again your skin.

"Kakashi..."

"Don't leave again," he whispered, breath heating your skin. You felt his lips brush against your neck as he spoke, and your grip tightened on his waist, "please."

Your breath halted at the word, and you could feel your heart racing as you thought back to what you'd done just moments before.

Beg, you'd said. You hadn't even hesitated.

You were just like Orochimaru. Kakashi hadn't seen your cruelty towards him. Hadn't seen how bloodthirsty you were in his final moments. Would he still be saying this if he knew what you'd done?

"Breath."

Kakashi was running a hand up and down your spine, as if coaxing the air from your lungs. You did your best to do as he asked, taking in a trembling breath and closing your eyes so that you couldn't see the gruesome scene surrounding you.

"They're going to kill me, Kakashi," you whispered, panic finally finding its home back in your chest. There was no world in which the Akatsuki let you live after everything that had happened.

Kakashi sat up at your words, his hands leaving behind a captivating warmth on your back.

"Who–"

The creaking of the door cut him off, and you looked over Kakashi's shoulder and met the eyes of a woman standing in the entrance. Kakashi lifted his head at the noise, tense and preparing to jump from where he sat to confront the intruder, but to your surprise, he relaxed at the sight her. Her eyes shifted from you and Kakashi to the body on the ground, then back again.

"Tsunade," Kakashi said, voice hoarse. "Buy us a few minutes. Please."

You watched, wide eyed, as Kakashi addressed the director of SHIELD like they were old friends. The woman standing in front of you was someone you'd been taught to despise your whole life, and Kakashi was still holding onto you like she was simply a passing stranger whose opinion held no weight.

Tsunade was silent. She watched you with a calculation that almost reminded you of Orochimaru. You shivered, still doing everything in your power to block his body from your view. Finally, Tsunade sighed and stepped out of the room.

"Ten minutes," she instructed coolly. "All clear! Start searching the next corridor!"

When the door slammed shut behind her, you looked back at Kakashi with wide, panicked eyes.

"Why is SHIELD here?"

The better question was: why isn't HYDRA?

"I'll explain everything," he swallowed, "I promise. I just...I need to hear you say that you'll stay."

That was not a simple request for him to make.

"Kakashi...it's not that easy. HYDRA will still–"

"I don't care."

You looked up, shocked by the intensity of his gaze. He looked angry and determined and desperate. He looked so, so sad.

"I'll fight for you," he said lowly, framing your face between his palms once again, "you've done nothing but think of others since the moment we met. Let me return the favor."

You felt warm. Warmer than you had in so long. Like the chill in the air left by the Akatsuki had been washed away by Kakashi's presence. You wanted to hold onto it for as long as possible.

Could you really go back after everything you'd done?

"I..."

You wanted too much. It felt selfish, but you were suddenly filled with desires that you hadn't dared to fully consider with Orochimaru's threats looming over you. With his mere existence making you fear any form of attachment.

You wanted to be with Sakura. You wanted to help Kakashi train and protect his students. You wanted to be able to feel this intoxicating warmth everyday.

"Please," he said again, and this time is felt less like a curse and more like a promise, "I need you to stay."

What about SHIELD? you wanted to ask, What about HYDRA? The Akatsuki? The kids?

But instead:

"Ok."

Just this once, in this moment, you would be selfish.

But as Kakashi deflated, sinking back into your arms and letting out a shaking breath, it didn't feel like selfishness at all.

It felt like freedom.

MEMORANDUM FOR

FROM: Agent Danzo Shimura

TO: Director Tsunade Senju

SUBJECT: Operation MASQUE

MISSION REPORT

On September 22, Agent DANZO SHIMURA received a tip from [REDACTED] regarding Agent KAKASHI HATAKE's contact with active HYDRA personnel. On September 23, Agent Shimura deployed a reconnaissance team to SHIELD COMPOUND 18 for confirmation. The reconnaissance team consisted of Agent GENMA SHIRANUI, Agent ASUMA SARUTOBI, and Agent KURENAI YŪHI. Agent Shiranui reports TARGET A (Y/N Y/L/N, Alias: BLACK WIDOW) being restrained in the medical wing, likely due to hostile behavior.

On September 27, Agent Shimura organization OPERATION MASQUE to infiltrate and detain the targets and escort Agent Hatake as well as trainees SAKURA HARUNO, NATURO UZUMAKI, and SASUKE UCHIHA for questioning. At 18:00, the Recon Team began the operation. Anticipating hostile behavior, Agent Sarutobi released an incapacitating toxin into the outpost's ventilation system and waited until all suspects had been effected. Agent Sarutobi entered the building at 18:15 and observed TARGET A and TARGET B (INO YAMANAKA, Alias: BLACK WIDOW) speaking in the left wing of the compound. Both targets then began carrying all of the buildings occupants (including trainee SHIKAMARU NARA, who has been cleared of suspicion) into Agent Hatake's bedroom. Agents Sarutobi, Shiranui, and Yūhi converged on the targets' location and forced entry into the room. All occupants had been incapacitated and were prepared for transport back to SHIELD Headquarters.

At 20:00, SHIELD's transport vehicle was forcefully stopped and raided by Red Room operatives. The unidentified individuals removed Targets A and B from SHIELD's vehicle and transferred them into an unregistered black van. Agents Yūhi and Shiranui continued to SHIELD headquarters to bring Agent Hatake and his trainees to safety, while Agent Sarutobi pursued the suspects to an inactive HYDRA base.

Following Agent Sarutobi's report on the targets' location, Director TSUNADE SENJU took over the operation and successfully detained Target A in the HYDRA base (see separate report for details). No suspicious HYDRA affiliates were found within the base. As of September 28, Target B is missing.

CONCLUSION

I, Agent Danzo Shimura, recommend an indefinite suspension of Agent Kakashi Hatake from duty and the immediate detention of Y/N Y/L/N, as well as the reassignment of Sakura Haruno, Naruto Uzumaki, and Sasuke Uchiha.

END MEMORANDUM

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Author's note | thank you for reading! i promise y'all when i started this series i did not intend for the burn to be this slow. i PROMISE we're getting somewhere in that regard, and even though we're nearing the end of this series, i have so many ideas that i'm so excited about for more fics involving these characters so it will continue to burn (or just like,,,be on fire ig). i'll be taking a short break before i start writing again, but the sequel series will not take long to get going after i finish this one, so stay tuned!

i hope the amount of unanswered questions left from this part is exciting and makes you want to read more to see what's going on. if you find it takes away from the reading experience (or makes it better), please leave some thoughts! also, as always, any thoughts and feedback are more than welcome

i'd once again like to say thank you to everyone who has left me such wonderful comments and feedback. you guys are truly the reason i have continued writing this series (fun fact about me: this is the first series i've ever actually finished and have been excited about for this long). alongside the sequel series i have planned, i'd also like the write some one-shots that are more fluffy and light-hearted, so please send any requests for scenarios you want to see these characters in to my tumblr (linked below).

thank you to everyone who is still following this series. your patience astounds me. i feel like the time between each chapter has been getting longer, but i really want to be putting out quality storytelling and writing for you, and i don't have a beta so i get a bit perfectionistic about editing and stuff (even though i know it's not perfect).

anyways, that's all from me! i'll see you guys in the final chapter (although i know myself and the next chap might end up being so long-winded that i just split it into two, so we'll see). if you've read this far into the a/n you are my hero and i love you. please leave me some love if you enjoyed!

title is from "Bite the Hand" from boygenius

[deansbite]

　　　𝒥𝒞　　｡　　fuzzy dreams

pairings　𓎟𓎡 ₊ ˖　amab!reader x dean winchester

warnings　𓎟𓎡 ₊ ˖　18+ mdni !!　fingering　jerking off　semi-public　sexy hot dean (im sorry i had to)　praise　caught jerking off.. (kinda)　reader has an extremely vivid imagination　masturbation　sub!reader　soft dom!dean

summary　𓎟𓎡 ₊ ˖　despite the familiarity of the situation, the thought of sleeping in the same bed as dean riles you up a little more than you wanted it to. it wasn't your fault, he looked too good. with it being your only option, you had to take matters into your own hands—and imagination.

READERS POV

͝ ⏝𝅄︶ ͝ ⏝ ⊹ ⏝ ͝ ︶𝅄⏝ ͝

You and Dean were in a motel room bed together, sound asleep. Well, you were asleep. Notice how it was in the past form? Yeah, well reason for that was because you stirred awake due to some bullshit dream — which was explicit. Perfect fucking timing because you and your childhood-fucking-bestfriend-Dean-Winchester booked a motel room with a single queen bed. It was the only room left.

See, you had no problem sleeping in the same bed as him. That was no problem because you'd done it since you both were tiny. Because both your dads were connected to the hip — literally whenever they see eachother on a hunt they'd let you two stand there, gun in hand and stare at eachother till they finished. But that was irrelevant when you were currently in bed.. your body heating up more and more by the minute.

Dean was fast asleep, shuffling and moving so that the mattress dipped under his weight — including his legs being tangled up in the covers so he tugged it over to his side — because you two were full grown adults. Boundaries were set and he was on his side, you were on yours.

On any other occasion, you'd freak out and snatch the covers back. But you were relieved — some cool air ran over your incredibly hot skin. You felt like you were set on fire.. inside and out. You let out a sigh of relief — fluttering your eyes shut. You felt in need of some.. blissful relief. Because you were rock hard. Which made you pissed because you never had explicit dreams on any other hunt where you didn't share a bed.. but the moment you actually share a bed with Dean, it magically happens?

You fluttered your eyes open. The motel room you were in — was surprisingly quiet. Well, that is if you don't factor in the continous dripping water from the kitchen faucet.. since the kitchen wasn't all too far away. And you also started to hear every tiny obnoxious noise. Which.. being truthful, was better to think about than your current situation. God damnit you just thought of it again.

Could this get any worse? You exhaled, your eyes having long adjusted to the darkness of the room, which helped you be able to get around. And that was exactly what you were going to do. Dean unexpectedly shuffled around in bed. Which made you tense up — realizing you had to be as quiet as you could possibly be if you wanted to go to the bathroom.

In a swift movement, you sat up. The mattress dipping even further now that you were sat on your ass and all the weight wasn't spread out, but more so pressed down in one single place. And that made you panic — snapping your head to look behind you at Dean. Who was very much still asleep, facing you. In his black tee, black boxers and messy hair.. with covers spread out on and.. around him? Because some of the covers were shoved between his legs — some of it on the ground and some just.. covering parts of him.

You furrowed a brow — about to forget what you were even planning on doing and just giggling at him. But.. you noticed his plump lips pressed together, he was laying on his chest, which shouldn't have upset you as much as it did. But it did. Because his shirt was rolled up just a little — which would've been able to give you a glimpse of his abdomen — and abs. God what the fuck?! He's your bestfriend. You didn't hit puberty or someshit like a twelve year old boy.

Pull it together, and just give yourself a handjob so your absurd thoughts won't be able to drive a wedge between your friendship just because you were horny for one day. Okay, breathe in. You rose to your feet, the floorboards groaning under your weight. That noise — whilst for Dean nonexistent.. for you that was like a rocket taking off. Fear shot up your spine and you froze every muscle in your body. Unable to move any further. Your eyes focused on Dean, watching him closely.

You weren't even sure why you tried so incredibly hard to be quiet.. if you woke him up, you'd just be going to the bathroom. No biggie.. except you were going to literally finger yourself. And you probably don't look the best.. and like you just had to pee. Your skin felt like it was on fire, your hair was probably messy and your pajamas were probably disheveled. After finally feeling like you were good to go, you head for the bathroom.

You needed to get this done and over with, even if Dean woke up. You'll find some excuse to tell him if he hears you shuffle in the bathroom. But you still hoped he slept through everything. Fucking finally you reached the bathroom door. Everything else in the motel room wasn't important, except the bed and bathroom. You looked over your shoulder to see Dean fast asleep.

You were put at ease with that fact, your head turned forward and you focused back on what you were planning on doing. Your hand reached out and your fingers wrapped around the cool.. rusty and metal doorknob, which was a contrast to your warm hands. You twisted it and pushed the door open. The door creaked for a moment, but you were quick to grab it to halt the noise just in time.

Eventually, after literally dealing with this whole situation as if it were a parkour and dodging the most unnecessary things, such as Dean waking up or finding another solution, such as sleeping it off.. but you were stubborn. And, you finally got to shut the bathroom door, gently to make sure it wouldn't slam, just a simple click. Before you got to suck in a deep breath.

Your fingers travelled up to the lightswitch, your index finger flipped up and the lights flickered to life, lighting up the entire room. You glared at yourself in the mirror.. jesus, you seriously looked like you just got into a fight with a Chimera. Your lips were parted and you looked flustered as fuck. You just bent over slightly, turning on the tap, cupping your hands under the cold running water before your hands were filled to the brim with cold water.

You splashed the water on your face, before running your wet hand through your hair and shut your eyes, your left hand gripping on the edge of the sink to balance yourself, the water was still running as background noise, which wasn't on purpose, you simply forgot. Now your heavy breathing and pants won't be the only thing bouncing off the walls.

Your hand travelled down your body, some remaining water droplets dribbling down your skin. To help you get off without feeling like you were a total freak, you started imagining Dean. Imagining his raspy and crackly — his sleepy voice as he praised you. "Doin' so good f'me, sweetheart, just a bit longer. Gotta get you ready for me." Dean's emerald green eyes focused on yours. He was ontop of you, his hand along with his body travelling down your body. His right hand ran all the way down your abdomen, stopping right at the waistband of your pants.

His fingers teased you by fiddling with it. Your eyes were locked on his. He had that dumb cocky grin on his face. "Should I give you a blowie or fuck you w'my fingers?" He whispered, as if he was asking himself. But he was loud enough for you to hear. His words meshed in with one another due to him having just woken up. Your hands went down and grasped onto his messy, dirty blonde locks.. you let out a pathetic whine.

"I hear ya, baby. Just be patient." He reassured, lips pressed together and his right hand, which was initally teasing you, now hovering a little above your pants, before it slipped beneath the fabric. His emerald green eyes travelling down your body, which travelled for a bit before coming to a stop to your ass. Despite one piece of material covering it, he observed the outline of his fingers, a smirk displayed on his lips.

"Oh?" He exclaimed, an eyebrow raising and his smirk a tad bit more visible now. His fingers were now directly pressing against your puckered hole — with your a thin fabric being your boxers between his fingers and your ass. You clenched around nothing. He saw how hard you were, the outline of your boner visible to him, which caused him to chuckle. "So needy." He commented, eyes darting from your boner to your face. "Look so pretty." He praised, humming and getting back to work, his fingers going up and underneath them and to your muscles to have better access.

"Gonna show you what you've been missin' out on. 'Cause I can fuck good, baby." He whispered. His index was circling around your hole, before he put slight pressure on it in the lightest way, causing you to whine his name. He chuckled, "Has nobody fingered you, baby? Already so greedy f'more 'n I haven't even started." He prompted. You shook your head in response. He clicked his tongue. "Well, m'glad t'be able t'change that. 'Cause damn y'are tight."

Without much of a warning, Dean plunged his index finger in till he had his first knuckle in. Your muscles basically clenching around him before unclenching. A gasp escaped your lips. Dean didn't react, just slowly pushing his index in, deeper and deeper, you let out a whimper. "Shh, calm down, sweetheart." He mumbled, his left hand, which was just resting on your lower thigh eventually came to use. His thumb caressed your skin. You lightly tugged on his messy locks, causing him to groan. "Come on, baby, ease up. You're so tight, wonder if i'll be able to fit."

You were tense, your walls squeezing around his fingers, he sighed and his index finger slowed down the pace. Now he slowly retreated his index, just so his index was still in your hole and then he immediately slammed it back in, grunting. "Gotta stretch you out if I wanna fuck this pretty ass, baby." He explained, but you were a writhing mess.

He kept fucking you harsh and fast with his index, the moaning and whining coming from you was so explicit your cheeks heated up. "Gotta get lube, easier t'fuck ya." He mumbled, his left cheek eventually resting on the inner thigh of your right leg. Eyes still so damn focused on your boner. His plump lips parted. You wondered how they'd feel around your hole instead — and how he'd be eating you out. You let out a much louder moan when Dean started up the scissoring motion after he slowly added in his middle finger.

You were close, Dean could tell by the way your breathing became irregular, you began fumbling with your words when you tried to tell Dean that you were about to fall over the edge. But he knew. You were clenching and unclenching around his fingers and he began thrusting his fingers in and out of you faster. And, eventually his free hand went up, rubbing your clothed cock. "What was that?" He asked, raising a brow.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you clenched around his fingers and saw literal stars. Your cum spurting from the tip onto the fabric of your boxers —

"Hey, sweetheart." A hoarse and concerned voice called out form behind the door. "You okay in there?" It was Dean.. your fucking childhood bestfriend. The guy who you imagined fucking you with his fingers and jerked off too. Oh fucking christ. This wasn't normal if you saw him as nothing more than a friend. Friends don't exactly fuck themselves with their fingers whilst imagining their friend doing it.

"You kept moaning my name." He added, "Did y'slip 'n fall?" A moment passed with no answer. Jesus christ you were completely fucked.

Your face was so completely obvious that you didn't fall. You removed your hand from underneath your pants and quickly washed it off under the tap. He cleared his throat. "I swear m'comin' in.. if y'don't answer in the next few seconds." His voice was filled with worry. "No, no! I'm fine! I'm just.." What the fuck do you say now?

͝ ⏝𝅄︶ ͝ ⏝ ⊹ ⏝ ͝ ︶𝅄⏝ ͝

cliffhanger cause this is testing the waters 😞 + this was a bit proofread by @pearlzier (so... mistakes / grammar errors may be found plus english isnt my first language gang..)

tags: on my other post

afab vers: right here!!

[scarletsaphire]

Clockwork didn't fix anything. Danny's parents, his friends, his sister, everyone was dead, and gone, and all he had left was Vlad. At least the older halfa was doing everything in his power to help him, with no nefarious plans at all. Right?

--

5th fic for phic phight, and this one is a doozy both in word count and in prompt fills! This one is for: @underforeversgrace, @faeriekit, @scarletsakuraaa, and @shadowfaerieammy. The prompts used will be in the end notes, as always, but having said that, I do not recommend reading them until after reading the fic. You'll see why :)

Danny couldn't say when he woke up. It wasn't as if being awake was all that different than being asleep anymore. It didn't matter whether he was staring at the back of his eyelids or at the lavish canopy hanging over his bed, everything would still be the same. His friends would still be dead. His family would still be dead. And he'd still be in this stupid mansion with the second stupidest man half-alive as his only company.

Danny didn't have any right to complain. It was all his fault, after all. If he'd just been smarter. If he'd just been honest. If he'd just been better. If he'd just been anyone but Danny Fenton, future world renowned fuck up, than everything would've been different. Everything would've been better.

When Clockwork had first shown him everything with his other self, he hadn't really understood. He knew it would hurt, losing everyone like that. He knew it would hurt in the same way that you might know breaking a bone would hurt, before you ever did. A distant kind of hurt that didn't hold a candle to the real thing.

He remembered thinking that his future self was being dramatic in separating his halves. Or maybe it had been Vlad's manipulation, his desire to be the only remaining halfa causing him to force that Danny to become the monster he'd seen through Clockwork's time mirrors. As much as losing everyone would hurt, there's no way it could hurt that badly, right?

Laying here for what was probably the fourth day straight, Danny knew that he'd been wrong.

He didn't turn his head at the sound of the door opening. He didn't turn his head when he heard Vlad's footsteps, sharp and deliberate, crossing the room that was far, far too big for him. He didn't turn his head when he felt the bead compress under Vlad's weight. He didn't even turn his head when Vlad's face appeared over him.

"Good afternoon, Daniel," he said.

Danny didn't reply.

Vlad sighed. "Little badger..." he said softly, resting one hand on the side of Danny's face. It was soft and caring, two thing Danny didn't think was possible of Vlad before last week. "I understand you don't want to, but you need to eat. Even if its just some soup. I can have somebody bring it up to you, or I can do it myself, but I'm not going to sit aside while you waste away."

Even if that's what I want? The thought floated through Danny's head, hazy and distant, but he didn't say it. He didn't say anything.

Eventually Vlad's disappointed face disappeared from his view, and his footsteps retreated from his room. A few minutes later (or maybe it was an hour? Or the next day? Danny didn't know, and he didn't care) he returned. There was the soft sound of porcelain on wood, and then Vlad was sitting on the side of the bed again.

Danny didn't fight as Vlad lifted Danny upwards, so that he was sitting against the large, plush pile of pillows instead of laying on them. He watched languidly as Vlad lifted the bowl back off the bedside table from the corner of his eye, and set it gently in Danny's lap. "Come now, Daniel. Just a few bites. It's got ectoplasm mixed in, so you won't need any more than that."

Danny did not move.

"Your only other option is for me to spoon feed you myself, and I think we both know how you would feel about that."

That got Danny to move, if not actually start eating. He turned his head to glare at where Vlad was sitting. He was surprised to see Vlad's look of relief so clearly on display, but he pushed aside any surprise in favor of annoyance. "If you even think about it I'll bite you." His voice was hoarse, and he became suddenly aware of just how dry his throat was, and how sore. He didn't know how long it had been since he last talked.

"If that's what it takes for you to eat, than I will do it," Vlad replied.

Danny huffed, before looking down at the bowl in front of him. Calling it soup would be a stretch; it was nothing but clear broth. Despite this, the thought of eating it made his stomach churn.

He glanced back up at where Vlad sat watching him expectantly. The older man made no signs of leaving, and he was right; Danny really didn't want to be spoon fed. He wasn't a child.

Danny took the spoon in his hands clumsily, bringing it up to his lips and slurping the warm, clear broth. It stung going down, but as soon as he'd finished swallowing, he felt a little bit better. He let the spoon fall into the bowl again, ignoring the broth that splashed out, and he pushed the bowl away from him.

"There. Are you happy now?"

Vlad pursed his lips together. "You need to eat more than that, Little Badger."

"Why?"

"Because you need food to survive?"

"Too late." Danny slumped backwards into the pillow pile, letting himself slide back down to a laying position. His eyes found the same fold in the canopy he'd been staring at for the better part of a week on instinct. "If only it had worked right the first time."

"Daniel-" Vlad cut himself off before restarting his sentence. "Danny. I will not pretend to understand how you're feeling, but do you really think that your friends and family would want you to stay like this? Even your father-" His voice was surprisingly free from disdain, which was impressive for Vlad. "-would've wanted you to be happy."

Danny didn't reply, and Vlad sighed again. "I'm going to leave this here, for when you do decide to eat." He moved the bowl from Danny's lap back to the bedside table, and then stood up and made his way back towards the exit. "Please try, Daniel. If not for yourself, then for them."

The door was shut with a soft click, leaving Danny to his thoughts once more.

By the time he mustered the energy to sit up and grab the bowl, it had long since gone cold. That was okay. Danny didn't think he deserved a warm meal anyway.

---

Another week had passed during his stay at Vlad's mansion. A week of blackness, followed by canopy, followed by another fight with Vlad, followed by darkness. The only reason he knew it had been a week was because of the different foods Vlad had been bringing up. While the first day had been nothing but broth, the day after it had been proper soup, albeit blended together into a liquidy mush. The day after it had been all soft vegetables, and the day after that a small slice of buttered bread had been included.

Danny hated to admit it, but the food had helped. He still didn't want to be awake, or aware, or existing in general, but he felt less like he was on death's door again. Whether that was a good thing or not remained to be seen.

This time when Vlad came up to his room, Danny did turn to look at him. Unlike the previous days, he didn't have a bowl with him; he didn't have any food at all.

"Good afternoon, Daniel," Vlad said softly, coming to sit on the edge of the bed just like he'd done every earlier day. "How are you feeling?"

"Bad," Danny said. His voice wasn't ass hoarse as it had been the first day, but it still wasn't anywhere near good.

"I'm not surprised. Do you think you might be up for taking a short walk to the dining chambers?" Vlad asked. At Danny's obvious dismay, Vlad backtracked. "You don't have to, of course, but I thought that it might do you some good, to get out of the bed, if only for a few minutes. That way I can have someone come in and change the sheets, and you'll have a chance to stretch your legs."

Danny didn't answer; he didn't need to. He wouldn't be moving here anytime sooner. Maybe anytime ever, if he had his way. He would lay in this bed until he died, or until the world died around him. Whichever came first.

"Daniel, please," Vlad said. "If not for yourself, and not for me, than for the housekeeper that needs to get these stains out. The longer you wait, the harder it will be for them."

Danny didn't know enough about laundry to argue, but it sounded true. He didn't want to make things harder for anyone; he'd done enough of that already.

It was not easy for him to get out of bed. Even sitting up took as much effort as most of his fights did, and that was without really using his legs at all. Standing seemed like an impossible task.

He was about to let himself fall back to the bed, housekeeper be damned, but Vlad's hand caught him before he could.

Danny looked to Vlad, expecting to see ridicule in his eyes. It's what Danny deserved, after all. Instead, he was met with nothing but compassion and concern, and a second hand, wrapping so very gently around his wrist.

"Let me help you, Daniel."

Danny didn't have much of a choice. If he wasn't strong enough to get out of bed, he certainly wasn't strong enough to fight off Vlad. (And maybe, a small part of him wanted the help. A small part of him trusted Vlad, after everything he'd done. A small part of him just wanted to get out of this pit he'd dug himself into. Danny ignored that part.)

It was only with Vlad's help that he was able to stand, and even then, he fell right back down to the mattress. His legs were weak and wobbly, as if he'd never walked on them before, and black dots crowded his vision. He didn't want to try again, but Vlad was still holding onto him, ready to help him back up.

"I know you are strong enough to do this, Daniel."

Danny wasn't as certain as Vlad seemed to be, but there wasn't much he could do about it besides try again. This time instead of falling back onto the bed, he collapsed into Vlad's side. He clung onto to expensive suit purely out of instinct, nails tearing through the fabric.

He glanced up at Vlad, but was once again met with only compassion. "Well done, Little Badger. Let's go get you something to eat, shall we?"

The majority of the walk had Danny clinging to Vlad's side, legs shaking with every step. It was only after they'd made it a good few doors down, and the smell of herbs Danny couldn't name drifting from down the hall gave him the strength he needed to walk on his own, although Vlad kept a steadying arm around his shoulders.

By the time they'd arrived in the dining room, Danny was exhausted, and embarrassingly winded from such little effort. Still, Vlad didn't say anything, simply guided Danny to a chair before sitting down at the one at the head of the table.

"As I said, Daniel. I knew you could do it," Vlad said with a smile. Danny still said nothing, but Vlad didn't seem to care. He waved his hand, and a cart was pushed out by some invisible force. By the fact that Danny's ghost sense didn't go off, it wasn't just that they were invisible either.

"It's just magnets," Vlad answered Danny's unspoken question. "I have the controls under my side of the table."

"But then why the hand thing?" Danny asked.

Vlad smiled at him. "You know me. I cannot help a bit of dramatics."

Vlad handed out the food, a chicken noodle soup for Danny and something for fancier, and far less recognizable, for himself. Still, Vlad didn't eat, instead resting his head on his hands and watching as Danny fought with his spoon. He debated asking about it, but decided not too; it was too much effort.

The soup was good, and after only a couple of bites, Danny found his eyes falling back closed. He couldn't tell if it was because of the effort of walking here, or because of the soup himself. He didn't have the energy to fight against it, and before he knew it he was laying his head on the table, letting the black void of sleep consume him yet again.

He woke up several hours later, tucked comfortably into his bed with clean, fresh sheets.

---

It was now routine for Vlad to come and get him from his room. It wasn't always for food; sometimes it was get Danny to shower, or to watch a show, or simply to get him out of bed for a little bit. Rarely was Danny ever moving around for more than an hour, and never was it of Danny's own accord.

Not that he wasn't allowed to wander around; Vlad had made it very clear that Danny was welcome anywhere in the mansion, or on the mansion grounds, at any time. Danny just never was.

At least, he never was before today.

He wasn't sure why today was different; he'd woken up well past noon, when the sun was already starting to set, and been struck by such a strong desire to be anywhere but here that it was nearly suffocating. He'd practically run from his room, down hallway after hallway, never noting his surroundings longer than it took for him to figure out the next hallway, the next staircase, the next entrance.

It was only after he'd hit a dead end that he collapsed on the floor. He grabbed fistfuls of the soft, plush carpet underneath his feet, pulling them out in chunks and tossing them aside before doing it all over again. It wasn't enough. None of this was ever enough, he wasn't enough, just like he hadn't been enough to save them.

That's what he'd been running from, after all. That's what he'd spent the past weeks, the past month, the past however fucking long it'd been in bed hiding from. The fact that he wasn't enough. The fact that they  were dead, and he wasn't, because he hadn't even been fast enough to die with them.

The carpet was barren now, nothing but the hardened glue the strands had been connected to, and Danny had no choice but to move his hands to his head, to his hair. It hurt, but it didn't hurt enough , it wasn't anything like they would've gone through, what they would've felt, what he should've felt instead.

He couldn't fight against the scream that bubbled up from his chest, even though he knew  he should, that he needed to. He felt the way the scream tasted on his tongue, tangy and acrid and long overdo, even as his vocal chords vibrated in time with his core. He could hear the sounds of shattering glass and breaking vases, of wooden furniture smashing against the walls around him as he wailed but he couldn't stop it, just like he couldn't stop his fingers from pulling out his hair, just like he couldn't stop Sam and Tucker and Jazz and Mom and Dad and everyone from dying a horrible, horrible death and-

Warm hands met his, pulling them away from his head. Danny fought against it, scratching and screaming and crying as he tried to curl back in on himself, but it was no use; he was already exhausted, and clearly whoever this was was just stronger than he was. By the time they had succeeded at lowering Danny's hands to his lap, Danny was openly sobbing.

"It's ok, Little Badger," Vlad said, taking Danny into a hug. Danny didn't fight against it this time, burying his face into Vlad's shirt without a care for how his tears or snot would mess it up. "I'm here."

That was part of the problem though, wasn't it? he wanted to say. You're here and I'm here and they aren't. They aren't, and I am, and I should be dead in the rubble with them. I should be the one who died, so they could live, just like it was always supposed to be.

Danny couldn't say anything. His throat stung from the wail, and his eyes stung from the tears, and his head stung from the places he'd pulled out his hair.

It might've been an hour before Danny had cried himself out, maybe longer, but through the whole thing, Vlad had stayed their, holding Danny close and whispering soothing, meaningless words. It was only after his very last sniffles had died out that Vlad pulled away.

"Are you feeling any better?" he asked.

Danny shook his head. It was the truth; he wasn't.

"That's okay. You don't need to be. I will be here regardless."

It was disconcerting, hearing words that kind come from Vlad Plasmius's mouth, but then again Vlad had been nothing but sweet to him since he came here however long ago it was. There was a solid chance Vlad would've had to carry him up to the bedroom; Danny couldn't remember. He couldn't remember anything about his arrival here; he could barely remember anything from his time here anyway.

Danny didn't flinch away when Vlad's hands came up to his face to rub the tears off of his cheeks, not until he noticed the deep gashes pushed straight through the pure black gloves and into his skin. Tiny beads of already dried ectoplasm sat beneath the cuts, many of them smeared into a faint pink sheen.

Danny pulled away, grabbing Vlad's wrists to inspect them. Vlad did not fight. "You're hurt."

"It's just a scratch, Little Badger."

Danny shook his head. "I hurt you."

"Just as I have hurt you in the past. You didn't mean to."

That was right. Danny didn't mean to. Just like he didn't mean to wreck the potted plant that sat in tatters in the corner of the room. Just like he didn't mean to ruin the carpet, to the end tables, or anything else. He ruined it all, just like he ruined everything else.

He felt his eyes burn again, but this time no tears came. All he could do was tremble in place, hands gripped into tight fists, making sure that his nails dug into his own flesh this time, not anyone else's.

"I've said something wrong, haven't I." He heard Vlad say quietly. "I'm sorry, Daniel, for whatever it was." A beat of silence, before he continued. "Would it help if I let you clean up?"

Danny had almost forgotten that was a thing he could do. This was a mess he could fix, a problem he could solve. He nodded once, quick and shaky.

"I shall go get some supplies, and then we will clean this together. You wait for me here. Understood?"

Danny nodded, and Vlad went off down the hall.

It would be nice, to clean up one of his messes for once.

---

"I don't understand why I need to do this," Danny asked. He was sitting  on an operating table in Vlad's own lab, elgs dangling off the edge.

It was weird, entering it for the first time. He was struck with a horrible amount of deja vu, and once he'd fought that off he'd been overtaken by just how different everything was.

His parents' lab had always been messy, to an almost comical and definitely unsafe degree. wires and scrap metal and inventions in various points of construction littered every possible surface, and in some cases impossible surfaces as well. Despite the mess, his parents knew where everything went, where everything was. Danny could still remember the exact order of every single blaster and tool from when it was his turn to clean the lab, despite having not done it for... two, three months now?

Vlad's laboratory couldn't be more different. Not only was every surface visible, it was practically shining. Chemicals and instruments lined the walls on carefully designed hooks or holders, and there were no visible blueprints at all; Danny didn't know if they were holed up in drawers or if Vlad stored them somewhere else. Or maybe he'd given up inventing completely. He had been busy taking care of Danny these last couple months.

"Because you have been through a period of extreme distress, and its important that we monitor your health," Vlad answered, pulling on a set of gloves.

"I guess," Danny said, picking at the hem of his shirt. "But you're not a doctor."

"You are correct," Vlad said. "I do seem to recall a rather unfortunate accident while working on my PhD dissertation."

"Oh. Sorry."

"It's okay, Daniel. I understand being hesitant about this. But as the only other halfa, and with nearly all of the education required to be a doctor in this field, I would argue that I am the best person to do something like this with you."

"Right. Okay. And it's just a check up, like a normal doctor would do?"

"There are some other things I will need to test for," Vlad said. "But they will be a handful of scans, nothing more. The worst thing I will be doing is a blood test, and I will make sure you are well aware when that will happen." He turned back to Danny with a smile. "I try not  to lie to you, Daniel. Not unless its necessary."

Danny trusted Vlad. It was still a novel concept, but he did. The older halfa had been almost unreasonably kind to him during his stay at the mansion, and hadn't so much as insulted his father more than once or twice. He'd done everything he could to help Danny, and had asked nothing in return. The least he could do was sit still for a quick doctor's visit.

They worked through the tests in near silence, Danny listening to the instructions the best that he could. It was only once Vlad had stepped to the side to wheel over a cart, something to measure the strength of his core, that Danny spoke. "In the other timeline, you'd built a statue."

Vlad stopped. A full, complete stop, as if someone had pressed pause on him. Danny had begun to worry that Clockwork was about to make another appearance before he started moving again. "Oh?" was all he said.

Danny nodded. "Where the... accident. Occurred."

"I suppose you are asking if I can do the same?"

Danny nodded again. 

"I can see why you might think it's a good idea," Vlad said slowly. "But I will have to disagree."

Danny's heart dropped. He'd been sitting on this idea for a few weeks now, waiting for the perfect time to bring it up. He had thought Vlad would say yes; technically, he already had said yes, even if that timeline was no longer accurate. "Why not?"

"I just think that something like that is more likely to make you start living in the past," Vlad explained, just as slowly as before. "I know you have not told me everything from this 'other future,' but it is quite possible that doing such a thing encouraged your other self to do all of that, is it not?"

He hadn't thought about it that way, but Vlad did have a point. Maybe the statue had been a tipping point for the other him; had he gone back to cry over their makeshift, communal grave? Had he gone there so many times that he could fly the route by heart? That his knees were in a permanent state of bruised and muddy from the time he spent kneeling there.

Danny only hummed in reply.

"I suppose that does lead well in another topic I've been meaning to talk with you about," Vlad said, wheeling the cart over to where Danny sat. "I also don't think its a good idea for you to return to Amity Park."

Danny threw his head up to look Vlad in the eyes. "What? Why?"

"It will be much, much harder to avoid... sour reminders, so to say," Vlad said. He pressed some buttons on the machine, pointedly not looking at Danny. "It will be much harder to continue as you have been in the last few days, when you are faced with their passing again."

"But-" Danny swallowed hard. "But what if a ghost attacks?"

"Do you really think there hasn't been a single ghost attack since you first came here?" Vlad asked.

Danny's eyes widened in worry. He hadn't really thought about it, not between everything else he'd been through, but Vlad was right. The ghosts didn't take days off based on how Danny was doing before, and they certainly wouldn't now. With his parents dead, that only left Valerie and the Guys in White, and while Valerie may have been competent, she was only one human. The Guys in White were hardly worth mentioning.

Vlad rested his hand on Danny's shoulder and gave a slight, reassuring squeeze. "Relax, Daniel. I thought of this as soon as I saw what state you were in. I have used my connections to make sure that your town is perfectly safe from any harm. And, not to brag, but I do believe my precautions are just as strong as you are. Perhaps even more so."

Danny sagged in relief. "Oh thank the ancients."

"Actually, I think you should be thanking me," Vlad teased. "Now, straighten up. The scanner doesn't work as well when you're folded up like that."

Danny obeyed. It was a good thing Vlad had thought ahead like that; Danny didn't want to see what an Amity Park without a Phantom to protect it.

---

Things had been going well. Almost unreasonably well, for only a couple of months having passed. Living with Vlad had become almost enjoyable, and Danny was feeling good.

Maybe that was why he was flying back to Amity Park.

He'd realized, some time after digging himself out of the vat of survivors guilt and depression, that just because the most important people to him weren't around anymore, it didn't mean that there was nobody left who relied on him. He was Danny Phantom, Amity Park's number one line of defense against ghost attacks. He couldn't disappear forever, not until his town was safe.

He'd let himself stay out of the fight for long enough. Part of that time, he didn't have much of a choice; sitting up had been too much effort, let alone a proper fight. The other part, his fears had been assuaged by Vlad's promises to keep the ghosts out. As much as he might not approve of Vlad's methods, he knew that they worked.

That didn't mean he could just leave his home behind. He had a job to do.

And maybe, there was a large part of him that still screamed in agony whenever he saw a creepy book from Vlad's collection, or when he booted up Vlad's ancient computer, and his first reaction was to message Sam and Tucker. How the voice in the back of his head that encouraged him to go through the motions of self care sounded a bit too much like Jazz, or the lab Vlad did his check ups in, and how his initial reaction was always that it was too neat , not nearly enough life in it. That part needed... something. Closure, maybe, or maybe it just wanted to drag Danny back down into the depths of his despair.

Either way, Danny needed to get back to Amity Park. Even if only for a little bit. Even if Vlad didn't want him to.

He made sure to stay invisible as he passed the welcome sign to the city; he wouldn't be surprised if the Guys in White had gone a little crazy in his family's absence.

The city was in surprisingly good condition, for what he could tell. He couldn't say anything about the Nasty Burger's disaster site; even now he couldn't get himself to look at it, but everything else was almost exactly how he imagined it. There wasn't an abundance of ectopuses roaming the streets, none of his normal rogues gallery had take over the town, and the Guys in White had either gotten much better at hiding, or they'd not taken up the reigns as much as he'd expected them too.

It was nice, seeing just how well Vlad had kept his promise. If this was how well the city ran with him gone, maybe the fruit loop was right; maybe he could move on and stop clinging to the past.

Danny drifted aimlessly through the streets, keeping high in the sky to avoid any ghost scanners that may detect his presence. He didn't have a real destination in mind, and was almost surprised when he found himself floating above the park.

He was surprised when he saw a familiar red hat.

Danny blinked, then shook his head, then rubbed at his eyes, but the hat didn't disappear. Neither did the familiar figure whose head it was sitting on, nor the girl wearing far too much black for the warm, sunny weather.

It was Sam and Tucker, sitting on their park bench, just like they'd done a thousand times before the accident. They were talking animatedly with each other, and while Danny was too far away to hear, he knew them well enough to fill in whatever inane argument they were having by their gestures alone.

They were alive. They were here, and they were talking, and they were alive. Danny didn't care how, didn't care why, didn't care about anything besides getting back to his spot on the bench, empty besides them after months and months of tears. They were alive.

Danny entered a steep dive, not caring to keep his speed in check, the only thing on his mind being his friends smiling, happy, living faces. He would be back by their side in just a few minutes, back where he belonged.

And then he was. Danny Fenton, lazily slotting into his spot on the bench as if he had never been gone. As if the last few months hadn't happened. He was shoving papers into his purple backpack, complaining loudly about some English assignment he didn't want to do.

Danny Fenton sat on the bench, in his normal, human form, and Danny Fenton watched him, frozen in the air, invisibility hiding his ghost form from view.

The person on the bench was him, he knew it with a certainty he couldn't remember ever feeling before in his half life. That Danny was him, and yet here he was, still floating dozens of feet above ground. Something was horribly, terribly wrong, and Danny had a feeling that he knew exactly who was at fault.

---

Danny was sitting on a billboard, overlooking the perfectly intact Nasty Burger when Vlad- when Plasmius found him. Even though he was in his ghost form, he was a mess, nothing like his normal, distinguished self. His hair was a mess, and he moved with a twitchy, anxious quality that Danny had become far too familiar with over the years.

"There you are," Vlad said, the relief palpable in his voice. "I was worried about you, Little Badger."

Danny hummed, not moving his eyes from the fast food restaurant. "It's still standing."

Vlad sat next to him, close enough that Danny could feel how he kept his body tensed. "They must have rebuilt it."

"Right."

"Daniel, I understand that you've missed this place, but you can't just fly off like that," Vlad admonished. "If you had just asked-"

"I did ask," Danny interrupted. "Several times. And you said no every time."

"I didn't realize you would go to such drastic lengths to get back here. If I had known, I would've brought you."

Danny hummed again. "So you could make sure that everyone had a convenient reason to be out of town, right? So you could make sure that I didn't see anything that would ruin the lie you've built up?"

"Ah," Vlad said, any warmth and worry he'd had in his voice gone. "You saw them, then."

"Yeah, I saw them. And I saw the real Danny too. Because I'm not real, am I? All those tests, all those check ups, they weren't to make sure I was still healthy, were they? You were testing to make sure I wouldn't, I don't know, melt away or something, weren't you?"

Danny finally turned to look at Vlad. He was staring through Danny, pure red eyes unmoving and unfocused. "I really thought you had changed, Vlad. You've been so nice to me, and now I find out that everything was a lie? That I'm a lie? You let me go through all of that, just because, what? You were lonely? Was that it?"

"I am sorry, Daniel," Vlad said, voice barely above a whisper.

"Do you really think an apology is going to make all of this better?" Danny said, just barely shy of shouting.

"I'm not apologizing for that."

The pain hit all at once, a horrible, burning, piercing feeling that seemed to be coming from everywhere all at once. It was pure agony, coursing through his veins, a type of pain he only remembered from the portal. He couldn't stop himself from falling forward, straight into Vlad.

Danny clung to Vlad's arms, squeezing hard enough that he knew it would hurt, but he didn't care, couldn't care, not over the horrid pain he was going through. Distantly, he felt Vlad's hand on his head, carding hands through his hair so very gently, just like he had done a dozen times before. He couldn't tell at what point it stopped being hair and started being pure ectoplasm.

"Hurts," he slurred, his voice muffled and distorted as he choked on his own melting flesh and ectoplasm.

"I know, Little Badger," Vlad said, voice soft. "It'll be over soon. I won't let this happen again. I promise."

---

Vlad did his best to gather as much of the ectoplasm as he could. He wouldn't be able to use it again, of course, not with how tainted it would be from the dirt and debris on the sign, but he couldn't find himself to let it go. The ectoplasm would be placed in a vial in the lab, safely tucked away in a cupboard with the other failures.

He did his best to blink back the tears he felt gathering in his eyes. He'd gotten attached to this one; how could he not? It was so close to perfect, so close to success. If it hadn't been for this little trip, it would have been. 

Vlad took a deep, deep breath. Next time would be different. He knew what to do now; this Daniel had given him the answer on a silver platter. 

It would only be a matter of time before he got his son. His Daniel. 

Only a matter of time.

---

Prompts used: ScarletSakura - Danny finds out he’s a clone, what happened to the real Danny? shadowfaerieammy - What if Danny's clone was actually identical to him? faeriekit - Two Faced underforeversgrace - It hurt. He always knew it would hurt. He didn't realize how much.

[dentiststoothfairy]

Slides in *) may I have a chubby reader and them H E A D C A N O N S (blinks with eye lashes*)

Ty 😊

Art I made lmao

𝐏𝐢𝐜𝐨'𝐬 𝐬𝐪𝐮𝐚𝐝 & 𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝

𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐜𝐡𝐮𝐛𝐛𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Bro they don't give a single fuck.

Gonna be honest. They really don't.

If you're vibing with them? They'll vibe with you. Doesn't matter if you're pretty, ugly, larger, smaller, taller, shorter, thick or flat.

Nene thinks you're gorgeous anyways. You know she does because she makes a big deal about not hanging around ugly people.

"Like Pico?"

"Oh my Lord, exactly! Like Pico!"

She takes you shopping and then throws an ABSOLUTE fit if or when they don't carry the CUTEST outfit in your size.

That has to be some sort of CRIME.

Darnell is probably the most apathetic about it. He knows what it's like to be treated differently for something you can't change. And personally, he'd rather someone not make a large deal out of it... So he doesn't make a big deal out of you either.

Although, when someone has the audacity to like.. Comment on it? He calls them tf out. He makes a big deal then. He gets absolute pleasure of making assholes squirm with uncomfortable tension after being pointed out.

He's got your back. Honestly? He is probably the most reliable out of the group. He shuts Nene up real fast when she says something insensitive by the slip of the tongue.

Pico? God don't let anyone make one comment around you two.

He DON'T let that shit slide.

He's probably fallen asleep on you after a long day. He hasn't got any shame that one, I'm not gonna lie. You're way more comfortable to lean on than Darnell or Nene.

Nene mocks him and tells him that he better not collapse into your chest the way he collapsed into hers that one time. He still fucking hates that. It's embarrassing. He WOULD RATHER DIE.

"I'm back!"

"Oh, welcome home." You answered cointly. Your chest heavy with burden as you pulled your nervous eyes away from your reflection, subconsciously pulling down at your pants as you did so to hide the shame.

Your blue haired lover gave an energetic laugh as he moved lightly on the soles of his feet, bouncing to the couch as he took his hat out to fan himself. His stupid smile always brought comfort, you fought a smile yourself.

"Busy day?" You hummed, his eyes was still twinkling from energy from being outside. He nodded as his mouth opened to talk more.

"Oh hell yeah. Another rap battle, it was absolutely fire. You should've heard me!"

Ah.. You... Hadn't been willing to leave the apartment for a while... Embarrassment of like... Existing. But, that meant you missed out on so many fun things with your quite frankly, extroverted boyfriend.

His rising and falling chest and heart beating in sync, you could feel his internal music constantly bumping as he climbed onto you while you sat down, nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck as you quickly grabbed his hand. You knew what he was trying to do, trying to run his fingers through your tight curls and you knew it would only end badly.

"I bet... You would've sounded great." You gave a bitter smile, glancing down subtly at your legs as your hand clutched his hand tighter. Your lover, usually pretty clueless, seemed to pick up on the cues.

".. Is something wrong, babe?" He asked, his tone shifted slightly as he looked up at you, his excitement washed away like a wave swallowing a crab into the large ocean.

Now look what you've done...

"No, no. I'm fine! I was just thinking about what we were going to have for dinner tonight. Maybe something with low fat?" You offered, throwing the option into the air hoping that the usual air head wouldn't catch on.

Unlucky for you, he did.

His eyebrows furrowed. "Is this about your legs again?" He let go of you, as he sat up. The silence hung in the air like a string hung off a cork board. You never liked lying to him but, how else could you improve the situation..?

He gave a sigh, laying his head on your shoulder as he snaked an arm around your waist, trying to pull you as closely as he could to you. "... You know I think you're stunning, I don't.. Understand how you can't see that." He muttered.

"Because-.." Your voice caught onto the tissue in your throat as if a hook was dragging across it. You couldn't untangle the line that was suffocating you. Both metaphorical, and the verbal line you were about to say.

And, god bless... Your boyfriend as if a miracle worker, knew exactly what to do. He pulled you in, connecting your lips quickly.

"You're adorable. There's nothing cuter than you." He mumbled, giving you a crooked smile. "The fact you think other wise is insulting. You're like.. The fuckin' cutest thing ever. Like, you're so soft. And I know people who say that come off as if they're reaching for compliments but honestly? I wouldn't change you for the way you are." He shrugged.

Your eyes scavenged his for any sort of lie. That he was trying to make you feel better with absolutely no true empathy behind his words. But you came up empty handed.

"Like, do you know how hard it is for me to like.. Not show you off? I just wanna walk down the street and go 'look suckers! This is my mutha' fuckin' partner! You can't even imagine landing someone so hot!'" He raised his voice, cupping his mouth to make himself even louder. You gave a nervous laugh.

"Please don't do that..." Please, don't.

He gave a cheeky wink to you, sticking his cheek out as he did. "I said it's hard for me not to do, not that I would. I know how you get with attention, baby and I'm gonna do my best to make sure you're content in your own skin because I love you." He brought your knuckle to his lips, giving you a kiss and feigning a knight.

"Whether you're black, white, fuckin'... Green or thin."

Green?

You couldn't help but laugh at that. Taking your dumb ass boyfriend by the jaw and kissing him once again.

"You're so stupid."

"I know." He hummed back, content. "Now what's for dinner for real? I'm starving."

[fricc-darn]

How would BEN react to overhearing reader talking fondly of them?

It was one of those days. A day that went on for too long with too much to do. Thankfully, your long day finally came to an end. As exhausting as it was, the only thing on your mind was to quickly get back home and relax. The stroll back home wasn't glamorous by any means; there was litter on the pavement, and noisy cars were zipping by during rush hour. The city life is what you knew, and frankly, you enjoyed it here.

You learned to appreciate its beauty from being cooped up inside for so long. The sun embracing your skin with its warmth, freshly cut grass, people, and animals. It was the small things that mattered. On your walk, you passed by a corner store. You worked hard, so why not get a little snack as a reward?

The bell chimed as you opened the heavy glass door. Immediately you make a B-line towards the snack section. You snatched a big bag of chips before making your way to the freezer section. A nice, sunny day like this called for some ice cream.

Your eyes repeatedly scanned the frozen food section. The options were many, and you were horribly indecisive. A gentle tap on your shoulder distracted you from your decision-making. Were you in someone's way? You turned around while scooting to the side. It took you a moment to realize that person was your close friend! It felt as though it had been ages since you two last met.

You haven't been able to see friends or family for some time now. At most, it's been sporadic visits. Speaking to people felt disjointed. You felt as if everything you say and do was being surveillanced. Dealing with others became so stressful that you often opted to stay home. That nagging thought in the back of your head knew your questionable health was because of BEN. Alas, what was the point in complaining? You wanted to be with them; it was better to be on their relatively good side anyway.

You cheerfully greeted your friend back with a hug. After so long without contact, it was time to play catch-up. The two of you went on about life and anything interesting that it had to offer. As much as you enjoyed the talk, your friend spoke much more, and it was obvious. That's when the concerned questions came in.

"Hey, you sound really tired. Are you sure you're alright?"

Anything that had a hint of worry, you brushed off. Tired? No, it was a super long day, and all of your responsibilities drained you. It wasn't like you were lying per se; you were just slightly exaggerating. Deflecting was an easy way to cut questions short. It was a tactic you trained yourself to use. Without it, you would've certainly started yapping about BEN. People would think you were delusional. That scenario would definitely end with you up in a psychiatric unit.

Your answers were going smoothly until your friend hit you with the cold water. A question you never thought of.

"So, tell me! Have you gone out with anyone lately?"

You didn't respond. Noticing that your attention gave way, your friend went on about their own endeavors. You weren't sure how to answer. By taking the time to think, your brain begins to spiral. Obviously, the answer was yes, but how would you go about explaining this vaguely? You never spoke about BEN to anyone. What response would it want? Would it like to be talked about? How could you go about this without getting your friend in harm's way? Did that even matter? BEN probably knew of your friend from your contact information anyway. Why did things have to be so difficult?

You threw in the towel. Settling on something that seemed like the best option. You kept it simple and brought up BEN. Not by name and not as your partner. Just as "someone". It was open ended where it could've been interpreted as any relationship. Though you let one thing be known, and it was how much you cared for them. It made you happy that you had the chance to learn more about them. Even in the smallest degree.

The more you went on, your nervousness subdued and the shakiness in your voice faded. The last thing you ever expected was to be praising BEN to anyone.

From how you described, BEN seemed like they were a joy to be around, despite their closed-off nature. They were absolutely fascinating, witty, and cute. You knew the last part was really debatable so, you didn't show any pictures.

The tangent you went on could've been seen as a crush but it didn't matter. Both you and your friend were laughing and having a good time. As you collected your breath, you figured it was time to head out. All that banter took what little energy you had left. You said your goodbyes and sent them off with another hug. You went back to staring at the freezer. Finally picking out an ice cream, you quickly paid and left the building.

Unbeknownst to you, BEN was lurking and heard everything through your phone. They felt...weird to say the least. You spoke so well of them. Were you that deluded from reality to say such sweet things about them of all people? It wasn't in their nature to be nice. Yet, you managed to find so many good things to say about them with relative ease. How noble.

It was funny. When was the last time someone gave them a compliment? They didn't want to linger on those thoughts.

A pathetically weak part of them thought it was slightly uncomfortable to hear. Maybe even a bit upsetting. Those compliments were humanizing, and that made them feel uneasy. BEN would never admit it; that was just an insignificant thought. A weakness that needed to be weeded out. They're better than feeling such things.

It knew what you said was true. Their uppity attitude made sure that superiority was known. Nonetheless, it certainly enjoyed the flattery. Even if you were slightly worn out from their antics, you were still strong-willed. That was impressive. It made playing with you a delight; no wonder they kept you around for so long.

Once you step foot out the door, your phone went off. You contemplated ignoring the call, you had things to carry. You couldn't ignore the feeling in your gut saying otherwise. Taking a look at your phone you groaned. Great, it was an unregistered number calling. You had a hunch as to who it could be and decided to pick it up.

The call was silent.

Faint static crackled on the other end of the line. It was soon replaced with an ear pericing ringing. The sound was beyond agitating. Annoyed, you spoke into the phone.

"Hello?"

"How sweet."

You sighed, rolling your eyes. Your gut was right. It's just BEN. Not like you were complaining; at least it was BEN bothering you and not some other weirdo. The grating ringing came to a stop. Listening carefully to what they had to say, you heard it giggling! Your lips slowly curled up into a smile. Even if you didn't know what they were laughing about. Their distorted laugh was cute in this situation.

"What do you mean 'How sweet.'? What's so funny?"

"Your little talk humored me."

The realization immediately got you flustered. It was a bit embarrassing they heard you gush over them. You didn't know when they were listening. Honestly, you forgot about that possibility entirely. You needed to know if they really heard everything.

"Did you-"

The call abruptly ended in the middle of your sentence. Your brows furrowed together. You huffed at their unsatisfying answer. What a bitch! Still, you couldn't wipe that faint smile off your face. There was nothing to do but brush it off. Thankfully, it seemed to take your compliments well. With a newfound pep in your step, you eagerly resumed your walk home.

[ewingstan]

What do I do with this.

I'm not gonna claim that the text is endorsing this or anything. It did construct a situation where leaving someone on an empty world was the best choice with Monokeros, and we can analyze what that writing choice means, but I don't see this conversation being something we're meant to nod our heads along to. I can't see someone writing "we're gonna disappear people on this list" and "its fine if you're especially violent vigilantes we'll put you in our especially-violent-vigilante support network" and not mean for it to be read as awful. Otherwise it would use words that sound less bad on the face of it. Maybe I'll hear that WB has spent the last few years arguing on reddit that this was actually totally moral and cool but with the text in front of me, with the language used, I cannot see a reading where any of this is meant to be seen as okay.

But more to the point I don't see how we got here? Worm did an amazing job of making every choice Taylor made believable and understandable in the context of what choices she's already made and how she's been changed by her experiences. I do not understand what has prompted Victoria to suggest this and every other member of breakthrough (and every major hero team) to go along with it. I can see why its accepted on a systemic level, its not too different from the birdcage and most of the villains sent there were given sham trials at most anyway. But literally no one on the team is pushing back on this. Two members of breakthrough were just in prison—three, if you count Damsel. Its not clear that she's even given up on the top-tier villain persona even if she's not making moves to pursue it, why is she going along with this. Several of them have done things that at least approach getting put on a list like that. You're living in a world where Riley and Valkyrie and Legend are load-bearing pillars that people rely on, and suddenly disappearing powerful capes that are currently a problem is the only option we can think of? Is the whole "the city is the place of renewed chances" thing really being abandoned so thoroughly?

Kenzie had just told Swansong how much it hurt for her to go to prison, how much it felt like breaking a promise to not leave her alone even though they kept in contact. They were just having a conversation about how much Chris meant to them, how much his deal is a result of horrific circumstances that its the group's original goal to try to work through constructively and come out a better person with. Chris would almost have to be on a list like this, right? Apparent shadow-leader of a cape dictatorship? Sveta would've been on a list like that as Garotte, if it wasn't apparent how much she hated what she was doing. Sveta had spent the last chapter yelling at Carol for her views on criminal rights. Why is there such a huge disconnect here that the text isn't seemingly doing anything with.

Its not even that I can't see a version of this beat working for the story. The track just hasn't been laid for it. The prison break story set up "hey there's a lot of really dangerous capes and knowing where they are can let people try to break them out" thing well, but that does not automatically translate to "everyone will be on board for Secret Prison Colonies" given all the strong character and thematic reasons for the opposite reaction. Why isn't this the result of a more gradual slide or a series of moral compromises? Why is this something that's being described in jump cuts?