#also not proof read

[razzlee-meow]

small sleepy tickles

me writing this on the brink of falling asleep:

life is good.

this is gonna be real short considering the fact above. it's just a placeholder until i write hank being absolutely destroyed. and i uh, watched the "other incidents" (the non-canon stuff krinkles has made) and there's an agent named torture? agent torture? oh please, tell me you haven't thought of the same things i've just thought about. LMAOOO

edit: i lied. this is not short. i got carried away. lee!hank is the cutest thing and i'm not sorry.

anyways enjoy this short little moment between two babies (cuz they deserve the world).

lee!hank, ler!2bdamned.

hank needs sleep. everyone does. but nothing doc seemed to do worked. until they figured out a single method that takes the poor boy down in minutes.

he/they for hank. | they/them for 2bdamned/doc.

Doc knew how hard it was for Hank to fall asleep. Being constantly on the run and overall tense, fighting until he's bruised and broken, lingering on until the very end. Surely the poor mercenary would be exhausted, no?

Well, that was just the answer. No.

Although Hank could be exhausted beyond belief, as far as he'd ever known, there was no way for him to fall asleep. Well, that's what it felt like anyway. It got to a point where the bags underneath their eyes could be seen through the red tint of their goggles. It got to the point where even Deimos and Sanford were starting to complain, wondering about solutions to their problem. Eventually, they dragged 2BDamned into the equation.

They had the most medical knowledge here, and if that counted for anything, surely, they must've had some idea how to get Hank to fall asleep. "Doc," the mercenary muttered, letting out a soft yawn underneath the cloth that stuck to his face, "you called?"

They smiled underneath their own mask, nodding. "Yeah. The others are concerned about the lack of sleep you're gettin'. And by the looks of it, I feel like you should be concerned too." Hank shuffled by the doorway; their arms crossed over their chest.

"I'm fine, Doc," muttered Hank, whose body started to feel heavy. The doctor pursed their lips, suddenly standing up to go meet the other by the door. "You do not look fine. Go sit down on the table, alright?" 2BDamned pointed over toward the table they had just cleaned, turning swiftly on their heels.

"But, 2B, I can't—" Hank protested but was quickly silenced by the emotion in their eyes.

"Do not argue with me on this Wimbleton," they narrowed their eyes. "You look terrible, and everyone can see it. If there is a way to get you to sleep, I will find it." Hank pouted slightly, shaking their head as they reluctantly did what the doctor told them to.

Before long, 2BDamned turned back with a bunch of things cradled in their arms. Medicine to help with sleep, sweet auras to try and relax him (like that would ever work, he was constantly tense), and even some tea that they hoped would help him.

"This is stupid, 2B." The other person didn't reply, and Hank even went silent for a little while.

They began trying everything they could. At first, he took the medicine. It seemed that after thirty minutes of waiting and lying down on the table, it didn't work after all. Quite disappointing but there were other things that could work. The second thing they tried was to light a couple of candles, and other sweet-smelling things, but it seemed after the first second of smelling it, Hank wasn't too fond of this idea.

"Too overwhelming," as they had said to the doc, who had promptly put them out. It was fine. Maybe this last thing could work? They stirred some honey in the freshly made tea (of course, Doc had made it exactly the way Hank liked it) and handed the cup to him.

After a few minutes, the question stirred once more. "Do you feel tired yet?"

The same answer was given.

No.

2BDamned sighed, putting a palm to their forehead. There had to be something that could work. Anything! Hank was getting restless, they could tell, and after a few seconds of thinking, the mercenary hopped off the table, barely able to keep himself up. "Listen, thanks for tryin' Doc, but it just isn't gonna—"

"I GOT IT!" 2BDamned suddenly yelled out. Hank cringed backward a little, freaked out by the sudden loudness of his friend.

"Lay back down, but this time, on your stomach," Doc instructed, their mind racing with thoughts of whether this 'technique' of theirs had often times worked on them when they were younger. "I also need you to take your jacket off. Your shirt, too, if you're comfortable with it."

Hank hesitated slightly, before succumbing to their orders, taking off the top layers of his clothes and laying down with their head resting on their arms. "Like this?" they questioned softly, feeling incredibly vulnerable.

2BDamned could see all the scars that Hank had gotten over the years, the ones that were healed, the ones that were... getting there, and the ones that downright just looked awful. "Mhmm, that's perfect. I'm going to start now, okay?"

Hank nodded, closing his eyes to possibly help with what the doc was trying to do. But there was no way in hell they could've prepared for what they were going to do to him. Doc's fingers traced over his back softly, the gloved parts of their hand gliding across his scarred skin.

"Hng—" Hank repressed the urge to make any noise. He was shaking a little and his body seemed to grow tenser. Doc only smirked, finding the other's reactions endearing. The mercenary's fists clenched together as they hid their face in the crook of their arm, small breaths of what seemed to be laughter flowing out of their mouth.

"This used to work on me all the time," Doc explained quietly. "It would calm me right down. I used to have nightmares and had problems getting to sleep too, y'know but when someone would rub their hands on my back, it felt amaz— Hank, are you okay? You're not as calm as I thought you'd be."

The doctor paused their explanation as the man's laughter got a little louder, their fingers now circling a sensitive scar near his hip. Hank nodded. "I-I'm good, Dohohoc," they chuckled out, trying to hold back all reactions. The doctor's eyes widened as they finally figured out what was happening, a smirk growing under their masked face.

"Seems someone's a bit ticklish, huh? Don't worry, I'll keep it soft," Doc whispered, their fingers drawing random shapes on his back as they let out a few chuckles themself. The sensations kept switching back from being soothing to unbearably ticklish. It kept throwing Hank off a little every time they moved their fingers, but he couldn't deny that it did help a little. Well, maybe more than a little.

"D-Dohohon't tehehease me," Hank grumbled through soft giggles. 2BDamned was relishing in the noises they were hearing from the usually stoic mercenary. Their fingers trailed upward to his shoulder blades but suddenly stopped, watching the other flip over, his eyes widened. "N-Not thehehere, p-plehehease," they whined, their shoulders tense. "I c-cahahan't tahahake it."

2BDamned nodded, laughing along with the other. "Fine, fine, I'll stay low, alright?" They watched the taller man flip back over, still dissolving into giggles even though they weren't touching him. It was cute. Too cute, they caught themselves thinking as their hands descended on him again, gently stroking the lower part of his back, right above scars that had healed. "But since you're not tryin' to kill me, I have to assume that you like this."

Hank said nothing as his entire face turned red, the small breathy laughs still escaping from his mouth. The way his fingertips danced wasn't an unwelcome feeling. They weren't a physical person normally, avoiding people's touches like the plague, but there was something about the way Doc was doing it that made him completely melt. Even if he was giggling hysterically during the process of it. "I sahahhah- said, don't tehease me," Hank grumbled, clearing his throat as his words started to slur together. It was clear that it was working.

"I'm not teasing you. I'm stating a clear fact." Doc replied, pressing into the soft flesh of his back with medium intensity, watching the other tense up for a minute before relaxing again. "I'm glad something worked out for you. I know how hard it is for you to sleep normally. Especially considering all these scars. Must've been hard to heal from, huh, Hank?" They asked but was surprised when they got no reply.

"Hank?" The doctor took their hands off of them, leaning over to see a sight that they'd never seen before.

Hank was finally asleep.

2BDamned let out a small huff, removing their mask as a faint outline of a smile traced their features. They picked up the somewhat-light man, carrying him off to his room.

It seemed like they'd have to do this more often.

[Fin.]

[deus-angst-machina]

hello im choosing violence 😈

1, 16, and 25 pleaseeeee

Ooooh boy off we go. Some of these it was a matter of "which thing do I choose?" Because there are so many.

1. the character everyone gets wrong

I mean. Everyone, one way or another. I have seen a LOT of "character gets reduced to one trait and that's it that's all that's going on here"

Including in canon 😔

16. you can't understand why so many people like this thing (characterization, trope, headcanon, etc)

Oh ho ho. I'm going to go ahead and get myself in trouble here. I've got a LIST.

Dom Spencer Reid. I'm sorry. Just. No. Pls stop.

The idea that Aaron Hotchner is anything but The most boring man in the bedroom. I am sorry girlies but that is one very boring and vanilla man. My condolences.

To follow points one and two, I should remark I am not horny for either of those two characters. Which many many many people are. Y'all have fun but I don't get it. Prentiss on the other hand--

The tendency (not unique to CM fandom) to take a ship, make the two characters so OOC they may as well not be themselves except by name, and carry on. C'mon just make an OC. It's free and it's fun. I have done this that's why I recommend it I like a bit of OOC fic myself but you have to eventually go "well that's a whole different fucking person right there". It's a fuzzy line. But it's there.

I am realizing that perhaps the rest of my Bitch List would get me in more trouble than I would like. Perhaps another day.

25. common fandom complaint that you're sick of hearing

Oh most of them. I've been around too long, so all fandom bitching sounds the same and I tend to tune it out. If I had to pick one the "why wasn't [ship] canon!? It should have been!" Y'all please. I had to deal with one of my ships dancing briefly before 50% of it left for half a world away. It's never gonna be canon. Also. Look at canon. Look what canon did. You don't WANT your fav ship to be canon.

And actually, upon further thought, another one: I've seen an uptick in "why isn't there more fic content catered to ME?"

Well that's because fic isn't created for you, generally. It is something someone lovingly crafted and chose to share. If it doesn't quite suit your taste, move on. Or create your own! It's fun and delightful. I will admit this is a factor in my not really posting. My shit is NICHE and I know it.

[scatterbrainedbot]

cass, a professional: order of badass donbot, extra dramatic entrance!

me, nodding, banned from most kitchens: leo drama and angst, heard chef!

(shoutout to @somerandomdudelmao for yet again making feel emotions i cannot fully explain)

[merverelli]

"you just feel yourself let go."

still thinking about this episode. man. 💪💥

[technically-human]

Hi i'm absolutely in love with the reverse au!!

I want to know, in this verse does edwin still confesses to charles? if so how is it different? i feel if he did he would end it by apologizing, you know, religious guilt and all

There’s a train that goes through Hell.

Its journey starts in Wrath, and it departs already full of souls. It took Charles far too many years to realize that there were separate, more spacious wagons that demons could board. Not that he could understand why anyone, hellborn or not, would want to get into the damned thing. He certainly hadn’t.

Actually, Charles couldn’t recall ever boarding the train. As far as he could tell, he just appeared there one day, and had spent the next tortuous decades trying to get out. It was part of the torture. Getting out was entirely possible. More than that, it was necessary.

The train had no regular schedule that he could discern (not at first, though he had always been good at finding patterns, and was eventually able to crack it) but it would make quite a few stops before finally returning to the Wrath ring. Souls inside the train were already angry and far too close to each other (close, so close not even air could squeeze in) but when they got really violent was when the train made a stop.

Getting out didn’t mean you were free, no matter where you managed it, be it Sloth or Gluttony, Pride or Lust. No, as soon as the train finished its journey, you would appear back inside, in Wrath where you belonged, suffocating once again, getting ready to claw your way out for the millionth time.

Because if you didn’t get out, The Conductor would get you.

If he thought about it calmly, Charles could probably say that he got out of the train more times than not. Still, being caught by The Conductor once was bad enough, as there was no coal in Hell, and something had to serve as combustible. Souls could not burn to death, and the whole journey always felt longer than eternity when he was caught. Once it was over, he would be inside again, and fight with more desperation than before, not caring who stayed inside so long as it wasn’t him.

He couldn’t understand why anyone, hellborn or not, would want to get into the damned thing. He certainly hadn’t. But as the souls pushed and bit and clawed and punched their way out, Edwin boarded the train. And that wasn’t even the most groundbreaking revelation Charles had that day.

ko-fi

[eddiesghxst]

no thoughts just loser!eddie losing his shit when he sees you over at his house for the first time, rifling through his things like any normal friend does.. but you stumble upon a box.under his bed. it’s like slow motion when he walks into his room and sees you open the lid and he nearly drops a glass of water, literally biting his fist in pain, trying to stop you but then you’d only get more curious of what he was hiding.

you. he has polaroids of you except they’re the dirty cum covered kinds. he has your underwear with his stains in it. he has your perfume bottles, your rings (he would totally get hard seeing how tiny they are compared to his, and imagining the dainty stones on the rings on your ring finger like an engagement stone)

it’s like a fucking shrine for you and he thinks he’s gonna pass out as your eyes widen.

but you only turn to him and smile, and his knees weaken. literally almost fainting when you kiss him because you have definitely slept with his sweatshirts, came to the idea of eddie, etc. he’s just such a fucking loser but that night he makes you cum so much you see stars and he’ll have a scrapbooks worth of polaroids (just from that night alone lol)

anyways do you think you could write a lil something based loosely off that? 🫶

BESTIE I MIGHTVE DIED YES. YES YES YES.

also this ended up longer than I'd intended but who cares its pervy!loser!eddie

18+ — MINORS DNI

word count: 1k

————

Eddie’s not sure if he believes this is real. There’s no way this is real, right? There’s no way he has his best friend naked on his bed, covered in sweat and cum— his cum, at that.

He almost thinks it’s all another one of his sick, perverted dreams, but then he’s reminded that none of those dreams have felt this real. None of his dreams have felt this vivid to where he can actually feel the tremble in your hands as you wrap a fist around his wet cock, the shift of the bed as you clumsily scramble to your knees, the lewd and unmistakable shlick sound of your hand fisting his spent cock. It’s never been this vivid— that’s how he knows this isn’t a dream.

You’re blissed out and cock-drunk as you shuffle to lean on all fours, lowering your mouth to suckle on Eddie’s leaking tip. Your toes curl at the sound of Eddie groaning above you, a hand resting on the back of your head to shove himself further down your throat. “Take it all the way in, that’s it— fuck,” Your center throbs at his words, a wet gagging noise emitting from the back of your throat when Eddie’s tip meets the tight space. He curses with a groan, head dropping back for a moment before he looks back down at you with a lazy smirk.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear you gag on my dick, sweetheart.”

You whine, your hips grinding back against nothing, the cool breeze of his room sending shivers up your spine when it graces the wet heat of your cunt. Around you, scattered on the bed, are the many polaroids you had just discovered earlier. Snapped photos of you in bed, in the shower, getting dressed in your room; all images that would���ve sent anyone else running for the hills. Eddie was so sure you would never speak to him again when you found that box full of all things you, but to his surprise (and sinful delight), you were just as fucked up as Eddie, if not more.

Eddie’s eyes dart all over the bed; polaroids, lace panties and matching bras, dainty jewelry, lipsticks, and perfume bottles. Eddie Munson was a perverted thief, and it somehow landed him balls deep down your throat. 

He reaches down and picks up a particular Polaroid, one of his favorites; a picture of you laid on your stomach in your bed, one leg hiked up to form a comfortable sleeping position. You’d forgone your sleeping shorts this night, and Eddie took it upon himself to jack off and cover your ass in sticky ropes of his cum, snapping a photo as the white substance dripped down between the folds of your ass to stain your pretty panties (Eddie stole those panties that same night).

He takes the picture and holds it up between two fingers. “So many nights of wasted cum… you’ve got a lot to make up for, sweet girl.” His voice is low and teasing, and you whine against him, nuzzling his cock further down your throat until your nose brushes against the curly hairs surrounding his base.

Eddie’s knuckles are tight against your scalp when he pulls you off his cock, shivering at the wet gasp you take, bleary eyes blinking up at him as your spit drips onto his thighs. “Think you’ve been good enough for it?” He wraps a hand around himself and rubs his throbbing tip against your lips, humming in approval when you open your mouth to offer your tongue. He slaps himself against your tongue a few times, chuckling when you whine and squeeze your thighs together. You can feel the sticky feeling of his cum and your arousal sliding against the insides of your hot thighs, and your eyes roll at the sensation. You lean forward and nuzzle against his cock, “Please, Eds— want it so bad. I’ve been so good, I have.” Your words are nearly slurred; the only thing on your mind is the overwhelming urge you have to feel Eddie’s cum in the back of your throat.

You don’t see Eddie reaching for his camera, too focused on licking your way down to his balls. “Fuck— look at me, sweetheart, give me those pretty eyes.”

You slowly blink up at Eddie, wet lashes fluttering and pouty lips grazing his cock as you gaze at the camera. A flash and a snapping sound echo through the room before a white card come out the bottom, a curse falling from Eddie’s lips as he shakes the paper and tosses it to the side for later. He nods down towards you, “Love on it, baby; show me how much you love my cock.” You don’t wait for another second, licking a thick stripe up his cock, rounding your lips around his tip to suck eagerly. Eddie takes another picture, and you whine.

“Shit, I’m gonna come— keep sucking baby, keep taking me in.”

You shuffle forward, nose brushing against his pelvis once again, and Eddie takes it as permission to secure a hand atop your head and begin fucking himself into the back of your throat. Both of your hands are fisted into the sheets below you, watery eyes gazing up at the blissed-out Eddie above you. His hips falter during the last few thrusts; he doesn’t last much longer. 

“I’m gonna come… don’t swallow, okay?” You nod as best as you can, and without further directions, Eddie’s cum floods your mouth until you nearly choke on it. 

He pulls out of your mouth with a moan, instructing you to open your mouth and show him your tongue, which you immediately obey. He reaches for the camera once more, snapping one picture with you on all fours, gazing up at the camera with your tongue out, white sticky cum coating the inside of your mouth. He takes a second picture, this time with his hand cradling your jaw. The third and last picture he takes is with his hand still cradling your jaw, but his thumb is now pressed against your tongue, smearing his sticky mess across your tastebuds.

And when he tosses the newly printed photos into the pile of new Polaroids, he catches a glimpse of one clear picture of your pussy freshly fucked and covered in his cum. Eddie can’t help it when his cock twitches against his thigh once again.

It’s safe to say that Eddie had to get a new box the next day <3

[stormsthatrage]

Have a Bleach extended-winter-war time-travel-fix-it idea. In this AU Kaien's death happened before the whole turn-back-the-pendulum arc. (Yes, another Bleach time-travel AU, I know, shut up.)

As Ichigo and Kisuke are planning to go back to the past, Kisuke makes sure to emphasize to Ichigo that they have to protect Shiba Kaien. Apparently, it's of the utmost importance.

Ichigo doesn't know exactly how Kaien's continued well-being plays into saving the future. Kisuke never really explains it, or gives him a straight answer when he asks. But Ichigo knows that the Shiba Clan-Head carried a great deal of political power, and Ichigo also knows that Kaien -- according to Kukaku and Rukia -- was highly competent, incredibly noble, and fundamentally kind. It's not exactly unintuitive that a person like that could be important to bringing down Aizen.

So Ichigo listens, when Kisuke tells him to protect Shiba Kaien. He memorizes how Kaien died in the original timeline. He's attentive as Kisuke reiterates for the thousandth time that Aizen will keep trying to assassinate Kaien until he succeeds. He takes notes when Kisuke hypothesizes about what Aizen's various assassination attempts might look like -- poison during a meal, hired assassins at night, an ambush during a mission.

Ichigo ingrains the assignment into his core: protect Shiba Kaien, because if Kaien falls, the mission fails.

So when Kisuke slips a paralytic into Ichigo's tea and places Ichigo in the middle of the time-travel kido array and drains the entirety of his own spiritual energy to activate the array, a sacrifice that Ichigo never would have agreed to--

Well. The first thing Ichigo does when he arrives back in the past, numb and alone and only able to function by focusing on the duty that is his purpose -- is track down Shiba Kaien.

After all, if Ichigo is going to kill Aizen -- and he is, no matter what it takes -- he needs to keep Kaien alive.

Ichigo goes straight to the Shiba family grounds. In true Shiba fashion, they accept him immediately as family. They tend to his wounds and give him a meal and welcome him home. They let him get away with his weak excuses and explanations, and they defend his presence to the rest of Soul Society.

Kaien, in accordance with everything Ichigo has heard about the man, personally takes the newest addition to the family under his wing.

Ichigo's plans to deal with Aizen take shape around his need to keep an eye on Kaien.

Ichigo, instead of running as far and fast as he can from the Shiba clan, accepts the offer to live in the Shiba compound. He gets to know every clan member and retainer, subtly vetting for traitors. He sleeps in a room near Kaien's, allowing him to both guard against assassins at night and place warding runes around Kaien's door without having to worry about being caught somewhere he has no business being.

He joins the Court Guard in the 13th division instead of the 5th, because the only real way to protect Kaien on a mission is to be there with him. Ichigo knows that if there's an ambush, or if the mission details have been tampered with, he'll be more than enough fire power to get Kaien out of it. And it's easy to always get paired with Kaien; Kaien -- reliably taking every opportunity to hover around Ichigo that he's offered -- does most of the work, leveraging his status as lieutenant and Ichigo's combat ability to keep them together.

Ichigo finds himself frequently taking meals with Kaien and Kaien's friends. Kaien always invites Ichigo, and Ichigo accepts so he can subtly check the food for poison.

(Ichigo does not tell Kaien about Aizen. Ichigo is still unsure what Kaien's role is in the whole fight, and in the meantime, telling him about Aizen is a sure way to get him killed.)

Things heat up. Ichigo prevents both Miyako and Kaien's death, killing Metastacia before it can hurt anyone. Ichigo's shadow war against Aizen gets more intense. Ichigo sneaks out regularly to dismantle Aizen's illusions, destroy his labs, and attack his network of power, slowly weakening him.

Ichigo waits for the assassination attempts against Kaien, but they don't come, even several weeks after Metastacia fails. Ichigo takes it as a sign that he's got Aizen distracted.

Things continue for a while. Ichigo falls into a strange routine.

(And Ichigo tries not to break, seeing so many of his loved ones alive and unknowing of him. It is agony, to be around Shunsui, who is not his mentor, and the Visored, who are neither visored nor pack.

But the worst is when Captains Urahara and Shihouin catch on to his war against Aizen. He finds himself working with them as allies.

Allies. Mere allies, instead of --

Well. Not that it matters anymore.

All that matters is his duty.)

Time passes. Aizen weakens. There are no attempts on Kaien's life yet.

And then Aizen's web has unraveled enough for Ichigo to attack.

It's a long battle. It's a bloody battle. It's a very public battle.

Ichigo wins.

And it's only after it's all over -- after Aizen's crimes are revealed and Soul Society is at peace and the future is saved; after Ichigo finds himself still alive and adrift, with nothing left obligating him to keep going and everything telling him to give up; as Kaien refuses to leave Ichigo alone and escorts him to regular appointments with Unohana and forces him to talk about the truth of his past --

It's only then that it clicks.

Ichigo is whispering secrets about the future into Kaien's chest, Kaien's arms wrapped tight around him, when Ichigo confesses that he messed up, that he put the Shiba clan in unnecessary danger. Ichigo tells Kaien about his death in the original timeline. He talks about how Kisuke told him that in this timeline, Aizen would try and kill Kaien again if the first attempt failed. Ichigo promises desperately that he never would have sought out the family -- would have kept the danger far, far away from them -- if he hadn't thought he had to watch Kaien's movements so closely.

And Ichigo admits that Aizen never actually tried again. Ichigo admits that he and Kisuke miscalculated, that Ichigo brought danger to the Shiba's doorstep for nothing.

It happens like this:

First, the words leave his lips, "Kisuke" and "miscalculated" in the same sentence. Hearing himself say it lays bare the absurdity of its premise.

Then, Kaien draws away slightly, to look Ichigo in the eyes. Ichigo sees, plain on Kaien's face, a terrible, damning gratefulness.

Then, Kaien says -- fierce and defiant in the face of what could have been -- "I am so glad you came home."

And it clicks. At last, Kisuke's final manipulation reveals itself to Ichigo's eyes.

The emotions flash through him: the sting of betrayal; a flavor of love that bursts across his tastebuds as hurt; a familiar brand of exasperation that, a split second later, has his knees giving out under the weight of old pain made fresh.

Kaien catches Ichigo before he hits the ground and holds him as he shatters. And Ichigo can barely breathe through the knowledge that Kisuke would have been so smug to see them.

A sob rips itself from Ichigo's chest, and it's followed by another, and another.

Ichigo's older cousin holds him, in the home of their family, through it all.

_________

THE END except not really.

This must immediately be followed by a whole arc where Kaien, much to his own dismay, finds himself trying to hook Urahara up with his little cousin.

After all, Future-Urahara sent Ichigo to the Shiba clan. Future-Urahara tricked his little cousin into bypassing his own self-destructive tendencies to seek out family and love and support. Clearly, Urahara would actually be good for Ichigo.

And, you know, Ichigo clearly loves Younger-Urahara, judging by Ichigo's whole... well, everything, whenever the two interact.

(This whole matchmaking endeavor is made easier by the fact that 1) Kisuke is already infatuated, fascinated, and not a tiny-bit madly in love, and 2) Yoruichi is also, from the other end, trying to set Kisuke up with Ichigo.

This whole endeavor is made more difficult by the fact that 1) Ichigo is in denial that he loves this younger Kisuke since he never thought this younger Kisuke could also fall in love with him, 2) Kisuke is in denial that he loves Ichigo because that is a Shiba and he himself is a creepy low-born ex-assassin mad-scientist, and 3) neither Ichigo nor Kisuke know what it looks like when someone is interested in them.)

Poor Kaien. He succeeds eventually, but not before witnessing truly legendary social ineptitude.

[artslovergirl]

Stanford!art as a secret admirer pleaaaaase

hiii! sorry this took me literally a month to finish i am still not very good at keeping a drabble a drabble and this one really got away from me but i promise in the future that hopefully wont be the case....anywhoo! enjoy! (ty for being my first request ever!) also shoutout to diya for helping me a bit with characterizing art having a crush on someone! mwah!

admittedly, art felt like a creep. not enough to stop sneaking glances at you across the lecture hall but definitely enough to feel hot shame crawl up his neck whenever you would accidentally meet his eye contact.

he quickly glanced away and stared back at the blackboard, trying to pretend that's what he had been looking at all along.

he began fiddling with his pen, pushing the plastic end of it nervously against his lips. he could feel your eyes on him for a few moments longer before turning back around to face the professor.

great. now you probably actually thought he was a creep. which is not exactly how he planned your first form of contact to go.

...alright, to be fair, he never had an exact plan in the first place? but "make awkward eye contact" wouldn't have been a part of it. that's for sure.

he was a little out of his element here. stanford was a hell of a lot bigger than mark rebellato was.

back there, most of the girls knew him, sometimes even liked him already or he had patrick as his wingman. (or when it came to tashi, competition.) but here? he felt so unsure all of a sudden. it felt like all of the experience he had with dating seemed completely useless.

when he first saw you, he was still pretty infatuated with tashi. but that doesnt mean he didnt notice how hot you were. as more time passed the more he realized that tashi and patrick were apprently locked in (go figure the dude finally learns commitment just in time. read bitterness.) and the more he saw you, the more he heard you talk in class, the more he saw you laugh with your friends, the more you wouldnt leave his mind. not to mention how fucking smart you were. well, are.

the lecture ended and as always you were one of the first people out the door. you were always in a rush. or maybe you just had another class all the way on the other side of campus?

he wondered what your major was. he wondered if you knew he played tennis. he wondered if it would even impress you if you found out. he hoped it would.

---

art was sitting in the cafeteria stabbing his fork into his salad that consisted of like 70% veggies and 30% eggs.

he had to say, he was definitely getting sick of eggs at this point. he took a small sip of his gatorade.

usually, he drank blue, but he decided to try red today. maybe because it was patrick's favorite flavor or maybe because he needed at least a little change in routine.

unfortunately, as he went to place the bottle back down on the table, he almost knocked it over as soon as he suddenly noticed you standing by the vending machine. and then turning around. and.. walking towards him? holy shit.

at first, he thought you would just walk past him, but you stopped at his table. he didn't know if he believed in god, but at that moment, he certainly felt like a favorite.

"hey," you smiled politely, "sorry to bother you, but do you happen to have a quarter? that thing doesn't seem to take nickles." you nodded your head towards the vending machine at the entrance of the cafeteria.

"uh." his brain tried to play catch up. "um, yeah, let me check." he let out a small chuckle so he wouldn't sound so nervous, but it sounded more like he was wheezing. he pulled out his wallet, ripped apart the velcro, and checked. he silently celebrated when he noticed he did, in fact, have a few quarters. "yeah, how many do you need?" he looked up at you. his cheeks felt hot.

"oh, just one is fine." he nods, and suddenly, in front of your presence, it seems a lot harder to properly grab the quarter from his wallet. he does manage, though, and as he hands it to you, he feels your fingers brush against his palm.

as if transferred from your fingertips to his palm it felt like a surge went through his body, traveling through his arteries and sparking at the tips of his fingers and toes. you hand him your nickels in exchange. before you could turn to leave, he quickly interjected, "we're in the same class, right? english literature?"

he didnt know where he was going with this, he just wanted to keep talking to you.

your eyes flashed with recognition.

"oh, yeah! art, right? you sit behind me?" you knew his name. "yeah, yeah, that's right." he nodded, his fingers drummed against the table. there was a short lull in the conversation as he desperately tried to grasp for anything to talk about that wouldn't seem like he was hitting on you (even though he kind of was.)

"so, uh, this is actually good timing because i've been sorta meaning to talk to you anyway?" his lips pulled into a familiar charming lopsided smile.

"oh, really?" you tilted your head. "yeah." he nodded, his hand going to fidget with curls on the back of his neck that stuck out of his backwards cap.

"i, uh, need some help with some of the material, and, you know, you're so good-"

"oh, i'm not that-"

"nah, c'mon no need to be modest," there's that grin again, "i don't think i've ever seen you get a question wrong."

you huff, feeling embarrassed at the unexpected praise, "well, it's literature, so it's all interpretation, it's hard to be outright wrong."

"see, that answer just confirms it." he says.

you chuckle, finally giving in and accepting the compliment. "so..you want my help then?" he nods. he really prayed you would say yes because this was really his only plan on how to get to know you.

you mulled over it for a few seconds. then you nodded. "yeah, okay, let me give you my number and we can figure out the details later. i got another class in like-" you glanced back at the clock, "shit, 3 minutes."

you hastily ripped a piece of paper out of your notebook scribbled a number on it and left it on the table. "oh, and thanks for the quarter!" you yelled back (even though you didn't even get to use it) before booking it out of the cafeteria. guess he was right about you always being in a rush.

---

4:58 pm. 2 more minutes till you'd knock at his door. art did another once over of his room. now he wasn't exactly a messy guy but he had to admit his dorm had never been this clean before. actually maybe it was too clean...would you think that was weird? like would you think he was a neatfreak? girls probably weren't into that.

he began messing up his bedsheets just a little so it wouldnt look like he had just spent the past three hours obsessively cleaning every inch of his dorm. even though thats exactly what he did.

it was a pretty small room but you'd be surprised how long it can take to clean if you're doing a real deep clean. not to mention the pain in the ass that doing laundry in college was.

he did all of this because, keeping true to your word, you did make plans with him to help him out with some of the reading.

you : does 5pm on saturday work 4 u?? :-)

art : Yeah, I'm totally free!!

(in hindsight the two exclamation points were probably a bit much.)

just as he was about to check out his hair for the 5th time today, there was a knock on the door. he glanced at the little digital watch on his wrist. 5pm sharp. wow, you were punctual. was it weird that he found that hot?

art quickly brushes a few unruly curls that were sticking out of his backwards cap away with his fingers before moving to open the door.

---

"so, what's the exact stuff you're having trouble with?" you peered at him from his bed, which you were sitting on, which he was being very cool about.

you had asked him if it was okay to sit there after you had exchanged a few pleasantries and then chatted for about 10 minutes.

it was mostly about class at first, then turned into more personal topics. you asked him if he was on the tennis team, because of all the..well..tennis gear in his room.

he nodded and told you about his tennis scholarship. you chuckled and said you had never really watched any matches at stanford so far, but you'd like to see him play.

he really tried to not seem overly enthusiastic about that but he did tell you the exact time and date of his next match.

apparently, you thought the sport seemed "really impressive". ( i.e. you were impressed. i.e. you were impressed by him playing tennis. or that's at least how he heard it.)

then, after he found out you were an english major, which wasn't a surprise, you finally brought up the topic of studying.

he spun in his desk chair, to face you.

"just some of this..interpretive stuff...i feel like i never know what the professor wants to hear from me." he tapped the end of his pen against the book he was holding. "well.." you shifted into a cross-legged postion, you were wearing shorts and he was trying really hard not to stare at your legs.

"you probably shouldnt be thinking about that in the first place, you know, what the professor wants to hear? you should think about what you actually got from the book." he knew this was pretty standard advice but when you said it, it sounded like the most intelligent, world-changing thing he'd ever heard.

"riiight...what if i didnt get anything from it?" he smiled sheepishly, leaning his head on his hand. you scrunched up your nose and playfully rolled your eyes, "oh, come on, how can you read classic literature and not get anything from it? i don't believe that."

you scooted forward a little. a little closer to him. a nervous chuckle left his lips, his gaze swept back and forth between you and the book before settling on you.

truth be told, he was doing fine, at least grade-wise, and even if he wasn't, it wasn't like he was striving to become an english professor, he mostly decided to take this class on a whim. but the part about struggling with interpretations was true, it just maybe wasn't necessarily a dire enough situation to require your help...

"well, maybe youre not asking yourself the right questions before you read." you hummed, gently tapping your finger against your leg. "can i see your notes?"

art panicked a bit at that. he wasn't sure why, but suddenly someone looking at his notes felt oddly intimate. you would be able to read the bits and parts of the book he regarded as important enough to jot down. what he liked. what he didn't like. perhaps it was a little intimate.

he tried to play it casual, though, and nodded as he handed you his english lit folder. his nerves only got worse the longer you took to read through them.

then suddenly, you smiled and nodded a little bit before looking up at him again. he prayed that you couldn't see the way his heart was trying to escape his ribcage right now.

"you know, you couldve just asked me out."

before his brain could even process that sentence, his mouth seemed to go into immediate action to splutter out some kind of denial in order to salvage this, "what? i- no, no, that's not- i mean, seriously why would-"

"i mean, i wouldn't have said no. like you didn't have to pretend to need my help. you clearly don't need it-" you gently tossed his folder back onto the desk. "-plus you're cute."

he didn't move for a good few seconds until he finally caught up to what had just happened.

now, this would've been the moment where he would've liked to be really cool and smooth in his response, but instead what happened was: "um..so then are we..like are you.."

in his defense you kind of caught him off guard. like completely. he had had a plan. how the study sessions would transition into friendship, and then maybe, hopefully at some point would transition into dating. he was a patient guy, really, and you had just skipped like...everything.

"are you free tomorrow?" you asked, as you stood up to grab your bag. wow, you were really taking the wheel at this point. and he discovered that he had shockingly little problem with that.

"uh, yeah, yeah i'm free..like all day." he did have training in the morning but he truly would skip it just this once if it came down to it.

"2pm?"

"sure."

"i'll text you?"

"okay."

"so..it's a date?"

you had stood up from the bed and were suddenly already on your way out. probably because you could tell he needed a minute.

"yeah, a date." he nodded with a (almost lovestruck) smile he hadn't even noticed had snuck its way unto his lips. you reciprocated with an equally excited grin, "cool."

before he knew it, the door had clicked shut, and he was alone again. he felt warm.

"cool."

[anachronismstellar]

SQH x Original Goods SQQ ;>

ooooooh wait, WAIT I have to think this one

Let's all pretend is not 4 am shhhh

I feel like OG SQQ would be attracted by SQH competence, like a game of cat and mouse or or OH WAIT I KNOW

------

The black and white pieces were carefully organized over the wooden board, the game paused as both peak lords took their time to consider the possible strategies. Shen Qingqiu had been the last one to make a move, capturing one of Shang Qinghua's stones, turning it between his fingers as he took the opportunity to observe the An Ding Peak Lord.

He didn't know how they ended up in this situation. If someone asked Shen Qingqiu when he had started observing Shang Qinghua, he had no exact answer. He knew it hadn’t been during their Head Disciple days, then Shang Qinghua had blended so completely against the wall of yellow robes that Shen Qingqiu could barely remember him during his missions. His best bet would be one of the first meetings as peak lords, Yue Qingyuan still trying to organize twelve egotistical cultivators as each of them tried to grab more missions and more resources for their own peak.

Hah, he would have more luck shoving twelve cats in a bag.

But then, the An Ding Peak Lord stood up, slamming a pile of papers so high it had been a miracle it didn’t fall all over their table.

"May I speak, Zhangmen-Shixiong?" Shang Qinghua had asked after a short but respectful bow, flipping his sleeves in a circular motion to wrap them around his arms in a graceful movement. The he proceeded to metaphorically and literally grab all of them by the scruff of their necks, organizing their speaking order, cutting their speeches short with a no nonsense "Thank you" every time they spoke beyond their scheduled time.

"We can stop here for today," Yue Qingyuan said with his brows slightly up, not able to hide his surprise when they finished things before dinner time. "Thank you, Shang-Shidi, for your help."

"Of course, Zhangmen-Shixiong," Shang Qinghua answered, but Shen Qingqiu could see his mind was already somewhere else, rushing to get to the door before anyone else.

Since then he couldn't help but keep an eye on yellow robes passing by, eager to hold the other for a conversation, to pick on his brain.

He blinked, coming back to his bamboo house by the soft sound of rustling silk and jade against wood as Shang Qinghua made his move, holding back a frown.

"Either play properly or leave," Shen Qingqiu said as he took another white stone from the board, putting it a bit too forcefully on his little pile on the table.

"Ah sorry, sorry, Shen-Shixiong, I'm having issues with a special ink shipment, and then Mu-shidi asked for a flower that I know he knows it only grows during winter and it's summer-"

"Stop blabling," he sighed as he looked up, glaring at his ceiling to pray to Heavens for patience. Last time he had lost his temper with Shang-shidi the man had vanished for weeks, leaving Shen Qingqiu without a decent Go player and a bad taste on his mouth. "I have no patience for your mental games today."

And as if by magic the man in front of him transformed, the suck up smile sliding from his face as Shang Qinghua straightened up his posture, the small man growing twice his size as broad shoulders filled his robes properly. "This one apologizes for testing Shen-Shixiong's patience," Then Shang Qinghua slowly twisted his head to the side, cracking his neck followed by a sigh. "I had to spend the morning dealing with Zhangmen-Shixiong, and you know how it is."

Shen Qingqiu let a bitter chuckle escape, sliding his fan open to hide half of his face, knowing full well how good his eyes looked over the painted paper.

"What? Sucking his dick isn't solving the problem?"

The effect was immediate. Shang Qinghua that had decided to take a sip of his tea almost chocked on it, gasping for air for a good minute, face so red one could think he had never written porn in his life.

Oh yes, Shen Qingqiu knew about his little stories too. Shang Qinghua wasn't the only one with spies all over the mountains.

"I- We- It's not-"

"Oh, spare me," Shen Qingqiu scoffed, lazily fanning himself, as he gave one last glance at the board, mourning their forgotten game. Shame, it was so difficult for them to meet up for a match. Of course Yue Qingyuan had to spoil even this for him. "You might be able to lie to those buffoons Wei Qingwei and Liu Qingge, but I have two perfectly functioning eyes. Also, there are so many late night meetings one must attend before it gets excessive."

It was good to see that red suited Shang Qinghua just as much as yellow. And Shen Qingqiu had to use all his will to not laugh as the other peak lord did his best to recompose himself, all in vain.

"My real question is... And I know I will regret the answer," Shen Qinggiu raised his hand to stop the new barrel of excuses so he could finish speaking. "How ih the all realms did that start. Did he offered you a holiday of some kind? Or maybe he wanted to thank you for dealing with Liu Qingge last stunt, Heavens knows you deserve a raise for that."

Again, Shen Qingqiu wasn't expecting a real answer. In fact, he wasn't expecting an answer at all, the way Shang Qinghua was blushing, the An Ding peak lord was about to faint or run away before Shen Qinggiu could snap his fan closed.

What he did get, however, was a muffled string of words, followed by a groan and a whine. Peharps he had hit the mark with one of his hypothesis? Now, things have gotten even more interesting.

"Speak plainly, Shidi, you know I can't stand mumbling."

"He complimented my hands!" Shang Qinghua squaked, his voice so high it had scared the poor birds on the garden.

There was a beat of silence as Shen Qingqiu waited for the rest of the explanation, barking a laugh when nothing came.

"That's it? Is it that easy to make you open your legs?"

"Oh shut up, Shixiong, you say that as if you wouldn't do it too!"

That, was crossing a line.

Shen Qingqiu never had to explain himself or his hatred for Yue Qingyuan to the other peak lord, it was if Shang Qinghua knew somehow that they shared a past. That was another thing that drove them together, the fact that Shang Qinghua was able to keep his mouth shut, even when he could use it for his own gain.

"Shixiong, I'm so sorry I-"

"Do tell," he interrupted what was for sure about to be an emotional moment for both of them, lips pressed thin in a frown, making sure to send his best murder glare to the man in front of him. "What compliment did our steemed Zhangmen-Shixiong could have used to conquer the slippery An Ding Peak Lord?"

He could see Shang Qinghua's brain working a way to escape the situation, his eyes darting left and right, checking all the exists of the small house. He could also see the moment Shang Qinghua had resigned himself to his fate, shrugging and waving his hands, buying himself time before answering:

"He said I had nimble fingers? And then I panicked and asked if he wanted to see how nimble they were or something, I don't remember and then, well, we, uh-"

"Well?"

"W-Well what?"

"How nimble they are?"

It finally clicked, Shang Qinghua's face going from embarassed to surprised, then interessed as he made a point of putting both hands on the table, slowly tapping his fingers on the top of it, the little tease.

"Would Shen-Shinxiong like to find out for himself?"

Shen Qingqiu felt his mouth drying as a shiver went up his spine. He wanted to scream at himself, to throw Shang Qinghua out of his house and hit him with the Go board on his way out, just out of spite.

On the other hand, he couldn't deny that Shang Qinghua was a handsome man when he put on some effort. Specially when he was commanding a room of peak lords, giving orders left and right, so sure of his information and knowledge that they had no other choice but follow.

How would that be...

"Follow me, Shidi," he got up in a measured movement, holding back his excitement as he guided them towards his room. Time to see if not only what those fingers could do, but also to put that smart mouth for better use than fumbling excuses.

And just as he had done many times before, Shang Qinghua surprised him once again, making Shen Qingqiu scare the birds with an entirely other type of screams.

------

This got,,,, Insanely long holy shit.

Also, it's kinda a continuation of the SQH/YQY ask?? dshiufhdsuifhui

I hope you liked!!! Thank you for the ask it was a blast to write it!!! :DDDD

[love-and-war-on-cybertron]

most people ship Starscream with a reader who is just meek and one massive fawn response to being kidnapped, can i ask instead that once on the ship reader is just a MENACE? (doesnt matter who or how theyre kidnapped, theyre there now) Reader just antagonizes /everyone/ and likes to antagonistically flirt with Star? cus thats way more fun <3 (thinking of IDW/G1 but really any version of him works)

G1 Starscream is a shit, so I thought he would be the perfect match. Two petty bitches = EVERYONE else gonna suffer.

The first few days on the ship was nothing but screaming. Starscream assured them that once you had been tamed, you would stop that....

You did not stop.

The actual kidnapping had been quiet, making starscream think he picked the perfect little hostage to hold over the autobots. You would clearly cower in what ever box they kept you in, and beg to be released. Maybe even weep a little. Megatron would praise him for a job well done, and let his guard down a bit more.

You were not, however, the perfect docile hostage. You were just in shock. Once that faded away you decided to make it very clear you were unhappy about the situation. Starscream had entered the room, followed by Megatron, boasting on the fact he had captured an autobot's pet. You were mid escape, perched on the edge of the box he stuffed you in. There was silence, starring. Then you jumped on him with a screech. Clinging against the seekers metal, kicking, pounding and biting. Eventually, soundwave peeled you off him and put something heavy over the box to avoid that again.

So you started screaming. Insults peppered within the highest pitch you could reach. Your throat went raw, but it was worth watching them flinch and cover their audials. When you were hungry, you screamed, when you were woken up by their stomping around, you screamed. When they filmed a video, threatening the autobots with your well being, you were screaming in the background.

The only one you were quiet around was Megatron. His threats just felt *sincere* in the graphic detail he would give when telling you what he would do if you did not shut your trap.

When the screaming began to hurt too much, you turned to insults. Calling Megatron Bucket-head while on that hostage call had earned a laugh from the autobots and a fusion cannon to the face. Soundwave didn't know how to respond to you calling him the Dj wanna be. Starscream hurled back insult after insult till it was tit for tat. The only positive was that he wasn't hard to look at. Being around the cons more, you found them to be particular about their looks, almost as much as Sunstreaker.

Eventually you were banished to his quarters and his sole responsibility till the autobots gave them what they wanted. He sat on his berth, polishing his plating. Nothing else to do. He fed you, he let you run around (be chased by ravage) for exercise.

"Need a hand pretty boy?"

He pauses, head shooting up and fixing you with a glare, "What was that squishy?"

You grin, leaning against the glass of your temporary home. Making a vulgar gesture you repeat yourself, "Need a hand pretty boy? Looks like you could use someone to give you a few good stokes."

Starscream throws down the cloth and stands, marching over to you again, "Mind your tongue *welp*."

"Oh I think I would rather *waggle* it."

The Decepticon doesn't know how to respond to this. Your screaming he could take until he locked you in a closet till you tired out. Your insults he would just shoot back. This? He was stumped.

"Come on pretty bird, you don't want to chat?"

"Careful *pest*." Starscream hisses, "Don't make me silence you."

"Oh? Think you got something big enough to silence me?"

The autobots aren't surprised when you are returned only a couple days after being taken. But they enjoy bringing you along on future missions when Starscream is sighted.

[starry-bi-sky]

yall ever think Shen Yuan went through like, internet withdrawal after being transmigrated into Shen Qingqiu? Like, he's canonically a NEET shut-in who did nothing but spend his time online, you can't tell me that for the first week or first few weeks of being SQQ he wasn't twitchy.

Like, reaching instinctively to his pockets for a phone that wasn't there, having an obsessive itch in the back of his mind that he should check and see if X or Y novel or webcomic has updated -- only to realize he can't anymore and being irritated by it. Wanting to go and see if there's new posts about this or that, but again realizing that he can't.

When he's bored or uncomfortable or just feels like wanting to escape he tries to go for his phone to distract himself, but oops! Not there anymore, and now he has to find a new and different way to distract himself from his feelings. And going through system notifications, quests, etc only does so much.

And there's that Tetris Effect too. SQQ makes a mistake while writing and instinctively goes to backspace on it except hey-ho that's not a keyboard and now he just dipped his pinkie into a bottle of ink or on a still-drying letter.

With him scrambling to fix his reputation and learn how to be a peak lord, I think his abrupt cold-turkey from all things internet would just be another straw on the camel's back that he promptly Ignores until it goes away on its own after he acclimates to his new surroundings.

[pastorpresent]

Part 2 to this, as an apology, except as with everything I write, it gets worse before it gets better lmaooo

-

Things had been tense between them, since that night. So tense that Wade had taken to making up a makeshift bed on the floor, and that was about the only time Logan even saw the mercenary.

During the day, their paths rarely crossed.

Mary Puppins was loving it. Their lack of communication meant that Logan was fairly certain she was ending up with double the food and double the walks.

Al was sick of both their shit, and had made sure to let them both know several times. The phrase 'emotionally constipated dick for brains assholes' sprung to mind.

Logan knew it wasn't functional, but then again he was barely functional these days. If he wasn't too drunk to be conscious, he was chain smoking on the couch watching shitty reality tv, trying in vain to conjure up Wade esque commentary alongside it in his head (and wasn't that fucking crazy, to miss the idiots ramblings) and pretend that the arms he wrapped around himself belonged to somebody else.

He'd looked at other apartments, but he couldn't afford the rent, and there was still something tethering him here. Maybe he was clinging onto something long gone, but maybe it was salvageable. He needed to believe that, because he'd never had anything worth clinging too since his old team, and that had been a long time ago.

So he couldn't bring himself to leave. Because even if him and Wade only saw each other in passing for what was likely a grand total of thirty seconds a day, he needed those thirty seconds.

He was fine. It was fine.

Well, that is until one afternoon when he'd arrived home from a grocery run.

When he'd opened the door, he was surprised to see Wade's shoes on the rack. He had been at work when Logan had left, and normally he was there until at least five.

He very almost called out for the man, but decided against it. Whatever reason it was, Logan was certain it was none of his buisness.

He headed to the kitchen, noting their shut bedroom door, which also wasn't all that uncommon these days. Wade spent most his time locked away in there, likely in an effort to avoid him.

There was something niggling at him, though. An anxiety he wasn't used to feeling, because he wasn't used to caring about people enough to agonise over their wellbeing. It had been too long, and so the feeling felt unfamiliar and wrong, and it compounded onto everything else that was unfamiliar and wrong in his body.

He was about ready to buckle under the weight of it.

What if Wade had left work early because he'd been hurt? What if someone had come for him for whatever reason? What if he was sick? Could he get sick? What if he-

The carton of milk he'd picked up to put away burst under the strength of his grip, getting all over him and the floor.

Fuck it. Fuck all of it. He'd just check quickly to make sure the bastard was okay, and it would mean absolutely nothing, and then he could go back to putting the groceries away and not destroying half of them in the process. He was only checking on him because he couldn't afford to replace more food, basically, which was a completely normal thing to do. Obviously.

He goes to their room and flings the door open.

Wade is fine. He's... he's more than fine, probably, Logan thinks vaguely as he stares at the scene in front of him.

He'd not seen Vanessa's shoes at the door. Had they been there? Maybe he'd missed them. Maybe he'd been too focused on Wade's. He should go check.

"Logan-!"

He shut the door. Because it was the right thing to do when two people were fucking, and despite the general concencess - he was polite. Not because he couldn't look at them without wanting to scream and break shit and throw up.

It's a blur, leaving the apartment. He almost slips on the puddle of milk dogpool is currently lapping up, and he hopes Wade has the sense after... after he's done to mop it up so Al doesn't slip.

Wade, cleaning up his fucking mess. Again. Ironic that that's exactly how this whatever-the-fuck between them is going to end.

He shoves his shoes on, skips out on a jacket because he needs to be out of here now, because the air is too thin and he's going to fucking suffocate, regenerative powers be damned. This is what dying feels like, actual dying, and he's certain of it.

His skin is burning. So are his eyes.

He doesn't take a key. Doesn't need to be back. He's never coming back in again, he's sure of it.

What the fuck was he thinking, staying here? Bombarding into Wade's life like a piece of a puzzle that doesn't fit properly, leaving gaps around him and fucking the whole thing up.

He's wrong. He doesn't fit here, because he's from another puzzle entirely, and he should never of left his box. Maybe that's why everything was so fucked. His body knew on a level that his brain refused to acknowledge yet that he didn't belong in this world. He didn't belong with Wade, even if it's the safest he'd felt in years.

He's sobbing and probably completely incoherent by the time he stumbles into the nearest TVA post, but they don't question his state or why he makes his request. They just do it.

//

"Logan-!"

Wade pushes Vanessa away from him rather than making a grab for the covers, which says more than he'd care to analyse at the minute.

Logan doesn't say anything, which is the worst outcome. Wade wants to be cussed out. Have a liquor bottle thrown at his head. Anything, dealers choice!

But not the crestfallen expression as he quickly shuts the door. As if Wade's exclamation had been from aggravation at being interrupted, rather than a place of genuine oh fuck no.

It's his own fault, and he needs to fix it now.

"Wade, where are you going?" Vanessa asks, her frustrations thinly veiled as he scrambles off the bed and tries to find his clothes.

"Logan- he... I need to make sure he's okay," Wade explains in a rushed sort of garble, and where the fuck did he throw his shirt?! He wanted to punch his horny self in the face for not neatly folding his clothes atop of the nightstand.

"He's 200, and didn't he live in a mansion with a bunch of teenagers? I'm sure it's not the first time he's walked in on people having sex," Vanessa deadpanned, and Wade wanted to shout at her that she didn't get it, but that wouldn't be remotely fair.

How could he expect her to know anything about the thing him and Logan had failed to even discuss themselves? Especially... especially when he'd called her for this exact purpose.

He'd been having an awful day at work. Beyond shit. He'd been spoken to like an idiot by some asshole who only seemed to come to car dealerships to flaunt his knowledge of each vehicle for an hour straight. His manager had screamed at him for an hour over a two dollar till discrepancy, and he'd learnt they were taking away two lots of commission from him due to his name not being 'cohesive' enough on the paperwork.

That, on top of how royally he'd fucked up things with Logan by pushing him too far too quickly, and he just needed to feel like he could do something right, and experience a few minutes of sweet post orgasm bliss.

He'd called Vanessa, been pretty fucking transparent about his intentions of it as a one time hookup, clocked out early under the guise of not feeling great and met her at the apartment.

Logan was out on the grocery run, which normally meant he'd be out a couple of hours.

He wasn't meant to come back earlier. He wasn't meant to open the door.

Because Wade knew how it looked, he did. It looked like he'd given up on... whatever the hell they'd been building, because it had gotten messy and he just wanted to get his dick wet.

And he'd done some real fucked up things in his life, but if Logan thought that was remotely true, even for the five minutes it would take Wade to find him and correct it, that was going up there with the very worst.

"I need to find him, 'Ness. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, I just..." he couldn't say it, because he was an emotionally stunted child, and he needed to apologise to her properly too, for dragging her into this - but his brain was going too fast for his mouth and he was left without the ability to say any of it.

"Wade," she interrupted quietly, pulling on her own shirt and coming over to him with his own dangling from a finger, "it's okay, alright? I'm not blind, I know he means a lot to you. I just wish you two assholes would figure it out," she smiled softly, and Wade frowned.

"I- I'm sorry. I shouldn't have called," he murmured, and she shrugged, kissing his cheek and pushing the shirt against his chest, "eh, one last hurrah was needed before you settle down with that one. Pretty sure you'll never be single again, Wilson. Or will it be Howlett?"

Wade let out a surprised sound, choking on air momentarily while she laughed at him.

He pulled on the shirt, giving her one last small smile before rushing out the room.

//

He'd been searching for days. He'd went into every bar in a ten mile radius of their apartment, had spent an entire weeks wage on cabs just driving the streets. Looking for literally any sign of him.

None.

He was fucking desperate. His calls went straight to voicemail, and he even got fucking missing person posters made (he was too depressed to even photoshop kitty ears onto the photo he used which, come on).

He wasn't sleeping. The idea of never seeing Logan ever again all because he was too much of a pussy to talk to him? It killed any sembelence of appetite he had, and any hope at settling enough to sleep.

The TVA was his very last avenue of hope. They could see everything, so they'd have to be able to find Logan.

He hadn't even bothered to put on his suit, and the agents looked thoroughly confused when he entered, not used to seeing him without it.

It was hung up in the closet right next to Logans. Taking it away from the untouched yellow felt too much like an omen for Wade to proceed with, if he was being fully honest with himself.

"I need your help," he said, feeling the eyes move with him as he strode across the room up to the lead agent. He didn't know his name, and didn't frankly care to either.

The guy frowned, "Wade Wilson, right?"

"Can you locate people? Get a general whereabouts for them? My friend is... missing," he interrupted, cutting right to the chase. He didn't have time for pleasantries, and God knows he didn't have the temperament as of right now.

"Ah," the guy hummed, "you're looking for Logan. Well I regret to inform you, Mr Wilson, but he requested that information remain quiet-"

Wade might not of packed any weapons, but he tended to thrive with improvisation, which was how he ended up with the fucker pinned against the console, a pen inches from his eye.

"My friend was feeling a smidge unstable, so you'll have to forgive him for making you make promises you can't keep however," he pushed down an arm against the guys neck, who choked beneathe it, "I'm substantially more unstable, and unless you tell me where the hell he is right now, I'm going to ram this pen so deep into your skull it pops out the other side, then I'm going to make you use it to write down his exact coordinates. Understood?"

And maybe it was overkill. Just slightly, because the guy just seemed remarkably harmless, but there was no way Wade was leaving here without knowing the exact address of whatever bar Logan had opted to drink himself to death in.

The guy nodded frantically, raising his arms in surrender.

"He- he's returned to his own timeline, I'm afraid."

Wade stumbled backwards.

No. He must've heard wrong, because Logan wouldn't of done that. Couldn't of left forever, not when... not when they hadn't fixed things.

"I am sorry, Mr Wilson. But Logan was very clear that he wanted to return to his home-"

"I'm his fucking home!" Wade screamed before he could reign in the building anger, tears burning in his eyes, "this is his goddamn home, you fuck. Our- our beds here, and our apartment, and our dog and... and me, so you're going to give me your stupid time jumping thing and let me go bring him back to his actual home," he seethed, his chest heaving as he glared at the man.

"I can't just give you my tempad. You've already proved yourself dangerous to other timelines previously-"

Wade laughed, and laughed, until the guy gave a nervous chuckle himself, forcing a smile, and then Wade grabbed him by his neck and tossed him onto the ground, grabbing his tie as he did in order to choke him before crouching down and getting uncomfortably close.

"You think you've seen me be dangerous? What I'm going to do to you if you don't give me what I want will make all of my past actions look like a kitten riding a fucking unicorn over cotton candy clouds in order to go to an ice cream parlour," Wade threatened, and he meant every word.

He pitied the stupid asshole who kept him away from his Logan. Fucking idiot. And it was so fucking stupid, because Logan probably didn't want anything to do with him anymore. I mean, could there be a clearer message that quite literally hopping timelines to get away from somebody?

But it couldn't end like this. He wouldn't let it. It couldn't end with them barely speaking, two ghosts sharing an apartment. It couldn't end with Logan believing what they'd had for so many months, and what they very almost had that night a few weeks ago, meant nothing to him.

The fact was - it was the thing that meant the fucking most.

He loved Logan Howlett, and something about that thought, hitting him with such clarity as he threatened to murder a man, made everything make so much more sense.

He needed to see Logan. Now.

Maybe the guy could see the emotion in his face and pitied him. Maybe the universe was rewarding him for conjuring up genuine emotion and acting on it. Maybe the guy just didn't want to be decapitated.

Either way, Wade ended up with tempad in hand. Logistics and reasons were no longer relevant.

"Thanks, sweetness. See ya soon!"

He pressed the button, dissapearing from the room and leaving behind a dozen horrified employees.

//

The first time he'd been to Logan's timeline, he hadn't exactly seen much. He spawned into the bar practically atop of him, and he'd dragged his unconscious body through the portal back to his own world in that same bar.

He wasn't exactly wanting a full tour regardless. From what Logan had divulged after too much alcohol and the safety of their bedroom walls, his world was very anti-mutant.

Logan insisted a lot of it was down to him, but Wade believed people fucking sucked, and if they wanted to hate something, they didn't waste time looking for a reason to do it.

When he stepped through the doorway, it was into a dark street.

He didn't recognise where he was, and he could only hope he was somewhere close to Logan.

He glanced around, but nothing really caught his eye, until he noticed a shrouded alleyway, with a metal door.

It didn't seem to be attached to any store front, and Wade figured it probably fit the description of shady ass bar slash potential strip club enough for Logan to be inside.

He knocked. A burly guy opened the door, and glared at him, "fuck off, your kind isn't welcome here you fuckin' freak," he spat, about to slam the door, but Wade stopped him.

He wanted to break the guys face, lecture him on acceptance while pummeling him into the concrete, but there was a sinking feeling in his stomach that was nagging at him to get inside, and to do that he'd have to play it smart.

"You think I'm one of those mutant freaks? Fuck no. Sick bastards. This? Is from a warehouse fire," he gestured to his face, and the guy looked immediately apologetic.

"My bad man, my bad. Can never be too careful, y'know? Thought we'd almost eradicated the fuckers, and then one turns up at the door a few days ago. Luckily for him, we were needing some entertainment around here since the last catch kicked the bucket," the guy smirked.

Wade had to swallow down bile.

"That's what I'm here for," he replied, unable to really formulated anything else around the suffocating fear filling his lungs. It wasn't an emotion he was used to feeling, but the idea of Logan being used as 'entertainment' in this place was enough for the blood in his veins to freeze up with it.

"Come on in then, man. Just down the stairs, to your right," he stepped aside, and Wade quickly pushed inside, following the directions.

The hallways grew dimmer as he went, lights flickering and buzzing, and then... cheering.

The fuck was this place?

Posters spewing death to mutant slogans were littering the walls, and Wade forced himself to keep moving, hoping and praying that Logan wasn't in this twisted fucking place. That he'd gotten it wrong, and the brunette was in some slightly less terrifying place drinking away his emotions.

He rounded the corner, pushing open the double doors, and the cheering grew into a roar as he entered a room full of bodies, people herded in a circle surrounding a cage.

A cage, which Logan was currently in.

Wade pushed his way to the front, getting drinks spilt down him as he shoulder checked men double his size. He stumbled forwards like a moth to a flame, eyes wide, grabbing the bars and staring at the man he loved in utter horror.

Logan was chained to the bars in thick metal cuffs, and he had a collar strapped around his neck that Wade was far too familiar with. He was on his knees, slumped forward, bleeding from wounds Wade couldn't see properly. He was stripped down to a pair of dirtied boxers, breathing heavily, muscles pulling from obvious pain.

"Twenty dollar entry, and you can do whatever the fuck you want to him, folks! A genuine, dirty fucking mutant - and not just any, either - The Wolverine himself!" The crowd erupted in yelling and boos, the stench of alcohol overwhelming as men pushed into him from behind, trying to get a better view.

Look at me, baby. Look up. I'm here, I'm going to get you out. I'm so sorry.

Wade wished that Logan could hear his thoughts. He wished so badly he could just tell him it was going to be alright.

He started trying to move his way to the door of the prison where the presenter freak was, pay his dues. If he could just get in there, he could open up a door back to their timeline and pull Logan through. Easy.

Someone beat him to it.

"Alright, get ready for the show, folks!"

The door opened, and unless you were really searching (Wade was, because he's always searching Logan's expression, always wanting to know how the other was feeling) you wouldn't notice the slight flinch Logan did when he heard the sound.

Wade watched with baited breath as the sick fuckface approached. His fingers itched for his gun, so he could empty a few dozen rounds into the bastards smug mouth.

It was cowardly and fucking pathetic. Having Logan chained up, powers suppressed, helpless to do a damn thing all while he was beat on.

The man wasted no time.

He kicked, and punched, and stomped every inch of Logan that he could, being utterly brutal with it, blood splattering on him and the ground and a few drops even landed on Wade, who was watching the scene on the other side of the bars, screaming Logan's name, begging him to at least try to fight back.

He didn't. His only movements were the jolts from the impact of the beating, and Wade was fairly certain he had to be unconscious until the man dug his fingers into his hair and pulled his head upwards, giving a better view of his face.

Wade choked on a building sob, the air being yanked from his lungs.

Logan's entire face was battered and bruised, swollen beyond recognition. There was more blood than skin visible, some fresh and some sticky looking, half dried, and some flaking off. A testament to how long he'd been trapped in this hell hole, to how many men had paid just to make him bleed.

Guilt gnawed uneasily at his stomach. If it wasn't for him and his stupid selfishness and inability to express his goddamn emotions, Logan would never of left. He wouldn't of ended up here, and he wouldn't be about to die in some disgusting back alley fight club while all Wade could do was watch helplessly. He caused this. He caused the person he loved the most in the world to be quite literally dying on his knees, at the mercy of assholes who had none to offer him.

The guy punched him hard across the jaw, earning a sickly crack, before spitting on his face. The crowd cheered him on, laughing and whooping.

Logan didn't react, blinking blearily beneath two swollen black eyes. When the grip of his hair dissapeared, he slumped back towards the ground like a rag doll.

Wade needed to get in that fucking cage right now. He shoved his way to the door, where the presenter guy was stood, looking almost bored.

Wade's desire for murder was going fucking crazy today. It should be a genuine testament to his self control that he hadn't killed half the stupid fucks he'd encountered, even if said restraint was only born from a need to save his friend.

"I've got one hundred. I want in now, but I want the cuffs off," Wade held up the crumpled bills, and the guy looked between the cash and the cage.

"Cuffs off? Don't think you get how dangerous this one is, kid. He's got a list of victims longer than the damn Bible, and I ain't getting in there to pull you out if he decides to gut ya like a fish. His powers may be suppressed but he's still fuckin' strong," the guy warned, and Wade plastered on the sleeziest smirk he could manage.

"I've got it, I want to be able to snap all his fingers in two. Doesn't seem right that they are protected away in those cuffs, they deserve the same treatment as the rest of him," his brain was screaming at him, the words physically hurting as he spoke them, like razor blades crawling up his throat and cutting his mouth to ribbons.

The man shrugged, "whatever," and a buzzer rang out.

"New contestant entering the ring!"

The door was opened. The man who had just been beating Logan strode out with a satisfied look on his stupid face, and Wade might of been refraining from actual murder, but absolutely anyone could've stuck their leg to the side and tripped the fucker. Anyone at all, really!

He followed the presenter into the cage.

Logan didn't move, or look up.

The cuffs got removed, and Wade got a pat on the shoulder as the man left, along with a sadistic "enjoy, all yours."

Logan was slumped into a heap on the floor, and now Wade was closer, he could better see the extent of the damage.

Every breath Logan took was laboured and wheezing, short pained gasps. The blood truly was everywhere, along with... other bodily fluids, which Wade sort of expected. This didn't seem the sort of job that allowed for frequent bathroom breaks.

He crouched down, reaching out to lightly rest a hand on Logan's bicep, on the area with the least damage, which was sickeningly hard to find.

Logan whimpered beneathe his hand, curling in onto himself further, a whispered "stop," barely audible under the weight of the crowds chants as they goaded him into beating the man in front of him further.

"Logan," he breathed, but the older man seemed to be buried too far in his own head to realise it was him.

Wade wasn't wasting anymore time. He needed Logan out of here, and the stupid inhibitor collar off of his neck so he could heal before he died from his injuries.

He opened the portal, and before anyone could even unlock the cage to get in, he was dragging all 300 pounds of Logan back into their apartment, and quickly shut down the gateway.

He left him bleeding on the carpet while he raced to the kitchen, rifling through drawers until he found the small metal magnetic device. A gift from Colossus a good while ago, which had the ability to open up those awful collars. Something told him brute force wasn't an option for Logan right now.

He returned, that uneasy pit in his stomach only growing when he discovered Logan was still in the same spot he'd left him in, staring up at the ceiling but seemingly not seeing anything.

"Hey Lo, I'm gonna take that collar off now, alright?"

His voice earned no reaction either, and Wade swallowed, reaching out for the device wrapped around his neck.

Logan flinched back when he did, shaking his head sluggishly, "no, no more, pl'se, no," and Logan sobbed, trying to curl up but hissing in pain when he moved.

"Peanut-"

The brunette tried to get up, but quickly came crashing back down when his legs instantly buckled.

"Logan, it's me, yeah? It's Wade," he assured, and he watched as Logan stilled, trying to focus in on his face, those big wet eyes filling up again.

He let out an awful, pained sound, and grabbed onto his arm so tightly it hurt.

"M...'m dead? I- want Wade," he cried harder, and Wade frowned.

"No baby, I'm here. You're alive, you're okay. I got you out. I'm here," he promised, squeezing Logan's hand in his own.

"Stop! S-stop! N-not real, not..." Logan choked, gagging out blood onto the carpet, and all Wade could do was whisper an apology before grabbing the collar and pulling Logan up enough to reach the back to open it, all while Logan screamed and thrashed and tried to fight him.

The collar popped off with a click, and Wade shoved it aside, shushing Logan softly with a hand stroking through his greasy hair.

To his relief, Logan started healing fairly quickly, his wounds closing themselves up and the bruises fading from where they'd once painted his skin unforgiving shades of blue and purple.

"You're alright, everything is okay. I'm here," Wade continued to assure quietly, and Logan's screaming tapered down into simmering sobs, ripping out of his chest just as brutally.

"'M, 'm sorry," he hiccuped, still clinging onto him for dear life, and Wade shook his head, still playing with his hair.

"No, nono, no baby. No 'sorry', you didn't do anything wrong," Wade said, but Logan thrashed, getting more distressed.

"Ru'n everythin' I touch. Messed up you're l-life, 'm not... shouldn't be here," Logan cried, trying to move away, but Wade stopped him, staring down at him.

"Is that really what you think?"

How could Logan even start to believe that? How could he think for a single second that he was impacting negatively whatsoever on Wade's life? He was Wade's life, could the idiot really not see that?

"Logan, look at me right the fuck now."

Logan hesitantly looked in his direction, "i- I shouldn't be here. You- you had a life, a future," he said, and Wade could tell this wasn't just something that had came to him in that moment. The way Logan spoke, the utter pain laced through the words like poison, this was something that had been eating away at him for a while.

God, Wade wanted to scream. He wanted to grab the dumbass and shake some actual sense into him, because seriously?

"There isn't anywhere else I'd let you be, peanut. You could hop fifty universes over and I'd march into the TVA and kill any fucker who tells me I'm not allowed to follow. You're stuck with me, get it? You're my present, and my future, and I'm not letting you dip out of that," Wade promised, because it was exactly that. A promise. Logan wasn't going anywhere without him following behind. Wade would make sure of it, no matter who he'd have to kill or worlds he'd have to eradicate in the process. It was all just pointless collateral to Wade, if it meant staying beside Logan.

Logan was looking at him with something akin to awe, bright eyes shining through the layers of blood and dirt smeared over his face, like he couldn't fathom that Wade would choose him to mean so much.

It was sweet, and yet made him want to rip his own heart out at the same time, to know that Logan thought so ridiculously little of himself. For him to think that, even after the months they've had together, that Wade could ever be so quick to discard him.

That was partly his fault. He knew that. He hadn't exactly showed a willingness to fight for... this when he was sleeping with Vanessa.

"Wade you... you're good. You're too good and you deserve someone who's not completely fucked up," Logan sat up a little, a bitter laugh erupting from his chest, "fuck, I couldn't even... I couldn't even get through sex without fucking breaking down, and it's not fair on you to carry that burden-"

Wade couldn't listen to Logan's self deprivation any longer, and leaned in to kiss him hard, one hand moving to cup the back of his head.

"Shut up," he said when the kiss broke momentarily, both of them panting inches away from each other, "shut the fuck up, alright? You are not a fucking burden to carry, and besides - you really think I'm good? You really think I'm a walk in the park? I kill people on the regular just for the crime of pissing me off. I never stop fucking talking. It's takes me six to twelve buisness weeks to process an emotion, and I'm a terrible friend-"

"Wade stop it," Logan begged, voice tight, hand on his thigh.

"No, you're not the only one with flaws here, baby. I could write you a whole book of mine, get you to sign it like a fucking contract," wasn't a bad idea, actually - having Logan legally binded to him just a little, "the point is," he kissed Logan's jaw, splayed his fingers over his neck, dug in his nails just a little, just enough to make the brunette whimper into his mouth, "I fucking love the shit out of you, Lo. You don't have to say it back. That's not what this is, alright? I just need you to know."

Logan broke their almost embrace to sit back, staring at him. Wade couldn't breathe for a second, waiting for the impending rejection.

Instead, he was met with three hundred pounds of adamantium skeleton atop of him, Logan's arms wrapping tight enough to hurt around his waist, his face buried away in Wade's neck which was rapidly growing wet with tears.

"I- I love you too," came a shaky whisper, and Wade just might of air punched in celebration if he was capable of moving at the present moment.

He leaned down to drop a kiss to Logan's hair, nuzzling his face into it. Logan practically purred, lifting his head up enough to kiss him, tongue slipping in without inhibition, and Wade moaned against his mouth, running his hands all over, knowing he'd probably need it after so long.

He was proven right by the way Logan's body went limp and heavy, soft noises escaping his throat as he plastered himself against Wade.

They lay like that for a while, on the blood stained rug, sharing lazy but desperate kisses, all while Wade touched Logan as much as he possibly could, reclaiming every inch of skin as his own, until he almost forgot where one part of himself ended and Logan started.

Logan mewled, bucking his hips down, and Wade kissed his cheek tenderly, "soon, big guy. Let's shower and get you something to eat first, kay? Let me take care of you, then I'll fuck you so hard you pass out. Pinky promise," Wade hummed, and Logan murmured his agreement, letting Wade help him up off the floor.

A few hours later when, true to his word, Wade had quite literally washed him, scrubbing his scalp clean with gentle fingers, made him his favourite meal despite his hatred of cooking, and then fucked him so good Logan did genuinely pass out briefly at his climax, they were laid out in bed together, tangled together loosely.

Wade was playing with his hair. Logan was leaving trails of peppered kisses over Wade's chest.

And Logan thought, for the first time with a clear brain, the voices gone, that Wade would never have to follow him across fifty universes, because Logan would rather gouge his own body apart than be more than fifty feet away from him ever again.

[rax-writes]

↬ when night falls

Tywin Lannister x Reader

intended to be a sequel to the morning after, but it's not necessary that you read it prior to this

Warnings: Smut, MDNI, 18+ ONLY ⇆ P in V sex, unprotected sex, creampie, age gap, nipple play, bit of breeding kink, mentions of pregnancy, pregnant!reader

The journey from Winterfell to King's Landing took considerably longer than necessary, given the Queen's insistence that she travel in that godsforsaken carriage of hers. As such, five weeks after your marriage to Tywin Lannister, you were spending one final night in a lavish red and gold tent alongside your lord husband.

For the entirety of the journey, the two of you spent the entire day apart – your horse trotting behind your father and King Robert, and Tywin a short distance behind, alongside Ser Jamie. Occasionally, Arya would pester you into allowing her to sit in front of you on the saddle, as you quietly conversed with her and taught her how to control the horse. But, aside from that, you were alone with your thoughts all day, every day.

The nights, however, were spent in the arms of your lord husband.

The two of you quite quickly developed a very… peculiar dynamic. You had quickly learned and adapted to the way the fearsome Tywin Lannister operates – preferring you speak concisely and directly, vehemently uninterested in anything otherwise. Additionally, there was a degree of mutual respect, as well as a vaguely guarded openness to one another – but certainly no love, or any semblance of romantic feelings at all. In truth, you assumed there never would be.

But gods was there lust.

On your end, it was your first and only experience with sex, and it was undeniably good, so you were eager for it. On his end… you couldn't be sure. It could be that the man was pent up from years as a bachelor, but it would be safe to assume he had simply sent for a whore when the mood struck him. A more likely reason would be his pursuit of an heir, but surely he wouldn't have needed to fill your cunt nightly to achieve that goal. No, you were almost certain that he was simply enjoying fucking you – just as much as you were enjoying fucking him.

When Tywin entered the tent, you were sitting on the edge of the cot, toying with the goblet in your hands, already undressed to your shift. He met your eyes as he entered, but said nothing, that unreadable (but somehow always leaning toward annoyed) expression on his face. He silently began taking off his boots, then removed his sword and placed it beside the cot. He was in the middle of pouring wine into his goblet when you found the courage to ask your question.

"Will you stop bedding me when I become pregnant?"

Tywin said nothing, setting the pitcher down and turning to face you as he took a sip of his wine. He wore that calm, calculating expression as he stared at you – but you could swear there was a hint of amusement in his eyes. The golden goblet made a faint clank as he set it down before speaking.

"Do you ask because you wish for me to stop? Or because you wish for me to continue?"

"I wish for you to continue."

"Then I shall continue," Tywin stated, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

"Good," you replied, then added, "Because I am."

"You are what?"

"Pregnant."

The smile dropped and Tywin's eyebrows raised, making his forehead crinkle.

"Already?" he inquired dryly, surprised. Then, incredulous, he asked, "How do you know?"

It was a fair question. You had never been pregnant before, so perhaps you were mistaking soreness and fatigue from travel as signs of pregnancy. But no. You knew.

"I should have bled three weeks ago, but I have not. My breasts are extremely tender, and certain smells make my stomach turn."

Tywin nodded, then stated, "I do not doubt that you are right, but we will have a Maester provide his confirmation and look you over when we arrive in King's Landing. In the meantime, is there anything you need?"

A faint but wicked smile spread across your face, and you stood from the bed, setting the goblet down as you slowly made your way over to him. The metal of his armor was cold beneath your fingers as you idly ran your hands over his chest, before toying with the belt around his hips, looking up at him through your lashes.

"You," was your simple answer. But both of you knew that it wasn't meant in a romantic, sweet sort of way.

Tywin's hand reached up to cradle your face, somewhat harshly, hooking his thumb under your jaw to tilt your head up and kiss you. It was lustful and full of desire, accompanied by the scratch of his beard upon the delicate skin of your face.

When he pulled away, Tywin smiled quite faintly, then hummed lowly and said, "Well, what sort of man would I be to deny his pregnant lady wife her wish?"

The old lion made quick work of removing his armor and smallclothes, and relieving you of the thin linen shift you wore, before guiding you to the luxurious cot. Tywin continued to kiss you, eventually trailing kisses down your neck, until he reached your chest, unexpectedly taking one of your breasts into his mouth and swirling his tongue around it.

The sensation nearly made you shout, opting to take in a sharp breath instead as your back arched off the blankets. Eyes squeezed shut, you heard a low chuckle, and looked down to see a set of very amused, crystalline eyes staring up at you.

"Hm, I see you were not exaggerating about the sensitivity."

Electing to ignore him, you let your head fall back onto the pillow. However, it seemed he did not intend to grant you any reprieve, moving to the other breast and doing the same thing – prompting you to dig your nails into his shoulders and bite your lip to avoid crying out. Unfortunately, that made matters worse, as Tywin let out a low groan with his lips still wrapped around your nipple, earning a loud, pitiful whine from you.

Seemingly enjoying himself, Tywin began peppering your chest with gentle bites, which he soothed with his tongue afterwards, sure to become small little bruises by morning. Breathy moans and sighs of pleasure filled the tent, as he then resumed his ministrations on the hardened peaks of your breasts before snaking one hand down to toy with your clit, expertly rubbing it in small, steady circles. Astoundingly fast, your release washed over you, soaking his hand as you moaned and writhed beneath the Warden of the West – who only chuckled darkly at your quick climax.

Noticing that the continued kisses and licks upon your breasts began to make you twitch, Tywin captured your lips in a brief, rough kiss, before rolling onto his back. He then pulled you into his lap, with a strength one wouldn’t assume the older man to still possess – which was, admittedly, arousing. Your mind was still foggy from the orgasm, and your movements were not unlike a rag doll, eyes half-lidded and jaw slack, moving somewhat limply as you allowed him to maneuver you. He gripped his hard, leaking cock in one hand, then reached behind you to urge you forward with a flat palm on the small of your back.

A hiss through gritted teeth escaped Tywin, and you gasped lightly, head thrown back and hands flat on his chest. Although you’d already lost count of how many times he’d taken you, it still felt more incredible than anything you’d ever experienced. A passing thought reminded you of the fact that he seemed to share the sentiment, always hissing or groaning when he first sheathed himself inside you.

Tywin’s grip moved to your hips, prompting you to begin rocking them against his own, keeping your pace steady. However, he made no move to halt you when you eventually began to move faster, leaning back to rest your hands on his thighs as you fucked yourself on his long, thick cock. The sound of it alone would have made a Septa drop dead – a symphony composed of wet skin upon skin and gruff grunts intermingling with breathy moans.

He reached up to grasp and knead your breasts in his rough, calloused hands – but he then surprised you, his hands drifting lower, until they rested flat against your lower stomach. You thought perhaps he was focusing on the movement of your hips, but then his thumbs began to stroke across the soft skin of your belly.

At first, it seemed very sweet and sentimental. You thought that perhaps he was basking in the joy of another child being on the way – until you felt the way his cock throbbed, deep inside of you, as he stared intently at your belly. Immediately, you came to the realization that it must be arousing for a man to have successfully fucked a babe into his wife – stroking their ego and their pride to have done their husbandly duty, as well as show everyone that you belong to them.

Truth be told, you were surprised to learn that it aroused you just as much.

Tywin groaned as you clenched around him, and when his eyes flicked up to meet yours, it felt as though he knew you had been thinking the very same thing he was.

That seemed to ignite something within your husband, and in the blink of an eye, Tywin flipped you onto your back and began driving into your soaked cunt with a newfound ferocity. You bit down on your knuckle to keep quiet, but Tywin pinned both of your wrists down, his arms on either side of your head. The act did not last much longer beyond that point, both parties having already been too near the precipice of climax, and the pair of you met your releases in unison.

Tywin rolled off of you, breathing heavily, a light layer of sweat covering his chest, along with the small patches of silver hair. You allowed yourself a few moments of recovery, before moving to leave the cot in order to extinguish the candles, as well as tidy yourself up. However, Tywin grabbed your arm to stop you.

“Where are you going?”

“The candles –”

“Can wait,” Tywin interrupted, voice sounding unbothered as always, albeit with a hint of fatigue. He exhaled slowly, as he gently pulled you back down to lay upon the cot beside him. “One of the guards outside can see to the candles in a moment. You are carrying my heir, so you are to rest. As much as is feasible, from now until the babe is born. And if anyone questions it, they are to discuss it with me.”

Anyone possessing the sense the gods gave a mule knows “discussing” something with Tywin Lannister was just the opposite – it was not to be addressed at all, because what Tywin Lannister says, goes. A fact which made you smile softly.

“As my lord husband commands,” you replied, a hint of sarcasm in your tone, but you did exactly as he bade you, pulling some of the blankets over you and nestling into the pillows. You were already yawning by the time Tywin called for a guard, who extinguished the candles, and bathed the room in darkness as you drifted into a deep, contented sleep.

[dollyonm0lly]

hi, hope all goes well!! So imagine slave reader gets pregnant at a party. no clue who of the two is the father. A few months later they meet you again, they are super jealous of someone and before you know it you they both fuck you becore the rest of the group, o they think the other person is the father or something (reason why they jealous)

Oh, so we are in for some possessive fuck today, huh? <3

They are watching you, you know they are, you can feel their gaze deep within your flesh, prickling, itching, causing a shiver so powerful to run through your entire body that if it were not for your duty at today’s festivities, you would have been paralyzed on the spot. Your duty today was like every other in every party, serving and entertaining the guests. With your head bowed in respect, you walk around the surroundings with an elegant jug of wine in your hands, your shallow attention span proving to be a major problem under the circumstances, it’s always a little hard not to bump into anyone in your path when you can only locate yourself by the tide of feet in front of you, you think. You can already feel a little bit nauseous.

From afar, both emperors watch from their shared sofa as you walk around dazed in the party, Caracalla can feel a little laugh bubbling in his chest after more than a few glasses, his body relaxed in the comfort of all the fluffy cushions, his head resting on one of his palms, but Geta, Geta couldn't feel more rigid, his body restless where he sits, one of his hands against his lips, with a closer look, it is possible to see the way he bites and tears at the skin near his nails, an attitude not so appropriate for an emperor.

They both watch intently as you carelessly walk around and bump into one of the guests, a young man they notice, but with an unfamiliar face. The young man turns to you, his hand quickly rising to slap you across the face, the act by itself already being enough to make Geta and Caracalla feel alert from where they are, perhaps prepared to put an end to the confrontation when needed to, when the man's hand stops in mid-air, and he inspects you, still with your head low in respect. Something in the man seems to shine as he recognizes you, a smile spreading across his face as he lifts your head, one of his hands on your chin to see you better. The brothers can feel their blood run cold, seeing how the young man smiles so casually at you, one of his arms circling your body, landing his hand on your shoulder, bringing you closer to his body as he introduces you to those he was previously talking to, a slight blush of embarrassment on your face at the new found attention on you, as you serve the glasses of your new conversation partners.

Geta can feel his eye twitch in discomfort, and Caracalla, clicks his tongue inside his mouth in irritation, pushing off aggressively with his leg the slave boy who until then was lying down and caressing his thigh. How dare he, how dare YOU, acting as if you were equal to their guests, acting as if they weren't watching your every movement, acting as if you weren't completely theirs, their property. Are your smiles fake at this moment? What are you laughing about? They question themselves. You haven't laughed like that when you were with them at other parties.

You feel a faint kick in your belly, making you gasp slightly in reaction. The young man next to you gives a slight chuckle, taking his hand that is not on your shoulder to lightly touch your tummy. It soon seems to become the current topic of conversation the conversation. Apparently, it has become already difficult to hide your pregnancy from the public eye, but you knew this moment would come. With an awkward laugh, you try to hide your discomfort in the new situation and, in a fatal mistake, you end up letting your curiosity win, slowly traveling your eyes to where both emperors sit. They were already looking at you, displeased. Geta's jaw clenched, Caracalla's eyebrows furrowed, both of their cups empty. With a small movement of his two fingers, Geta orders you to go to them.

The walk to the sofa where they sit is rough on your body, you can feel your legs shaking as if they were going to give up on you, your face lowers again, but their gaze is still vivid in your memory, especially the one they had at that last party… You feel like you could vomit, nervousness takes over you, no words have been exchanged about your current pregnancy between you and them, you never thought you would be in front of them again, you never thought you would see those you think could be the fathers of the being you cultivate within you again, and now, you fear what the consequences might be. You stop, now in front of the sofa, time seems to stop, and a momentary silence falls between the three of you, while the rest of the room continues to be full of conversation and laughter.

“Fill” - Geta says simply, his eyes never leaving your figure, as he raises his own cup towards you, - “And then sit with us” - he adds, watching as with trembling hands you serve both his and Caracalla's cups, who wastes no time in also positioning his in your direction. You carefully return to your initial position, relieved by the success of not having spilled a single drop given your screaming anxiety, and then do as he told you, positioning yourself in the middle of both of them on the sofa, your body thanking you for the rest after so many hours of the day on your feet.

Silence falls again, you grip the jar tightly in your lap, your gaze never straying from the party happening in front of you, a bead of sweat running down your forehead just at the thought of having to look them in the eye.

“Your skin looks smoother than the last time we saw you” - You hear Geta commenting to your right, his voice surprisingly close, as if he expected you wouldn't hear him if he weren't so close to your ear, close enough for you to be able to hear his breathing clearly, with the new proximity, you feel his leg brush against one of your thighs.

“And such shiny hair, it looks healthy” - Caracalla comments in his drunken state, approaching in a way that is not as subtle as his brother, you now feel the weight of the Emperor's head on your left shoulder, he leans there, taking one of his fingers to play with your strands of hair, twisting them as if he were going to define a curl, as well as bringing it close to his nose so he could smell it, causing shivers to run down your body. Taking advantage of his head already resting on your shoulder, he gently wraps his two arms around your body, taking the opportunity to feel the relief of your belly against him, both brothers with their gaze fixed on it. - “You indeed look much prettier” - he whispers happily, finally having you in his arms after that horror show that was seeing you talk to that young man from before, Caracalla closes his eyes and lets out a contented giggle.

“I have missed you…” - You hear Geta whisper in your ear, leaving his glass aside just as his brother had done, now with both free hands, taking one to run over your chest, then to your belly where he lets it rest for a few more seconds, and down to your thigh. - “Your body... Your voice, your smell. You smell so good today…” - he continues, seeming to drift off into a daydream now that he can have you so close to him, earning a humming of agreement from his brother.

“Feel so needy when not with you…” - Caracalla pouts in a sly voice, giving right after a light chuckle, seeming to find his own words amusing, even if they are true. With the hand that he had kept on your waist until now, he lowers it, to yours, and takes one, bringing it to his groin, rubbing your palm against the clear tent present there beneath robes. You gulp, your eyes still fixed in front of you, you watch the young man from before chatting around the party, oblivious to your current situation, the act by itself going unnoticed by Caracalla, too busy moaning against your neck while satisfying himself with your hand, but not by Geta, who, disgusted by your attention being on something other than them, turns your face to his in a sudden movement, capturing your lips in a fervent kiss.

The intensity of the kiss makes you immediately lean back, now bumping against Caracalla's chest, who holds you promptly, letting you rest your body against his, Geta's lips follow yours, his body now covering yours on the sofa, his hands going to your waist and staying there. - “I better not catch you doing that again, or the consequences will be bad for him” - He warns, his gaze serious, as his hand rests on your belly, you control the moan that wants to escape your lips, distressed by the attention it might attract.

“Poor thing, she must be so sore here, let me help you” - Caracalla whispers behind you, you can feel the excitement in his voice as he reaches both of his hands to your swollen, heavy breasts, his touch easing the ache there as he lifts them in his hands, teasing them tenderly like a passionate lover, watching your nipples become hard beneath the fabric, he makes sure to run his thumb over them, causing tickling and shivering sensations all over your body. - “This beautiful pair is ours alone, right? Ours alone to touch, to taste, to have…” - He questions you, a smile growing on his lips when your only response is incomprehensible sounds and embarrassment written all over your face, you feel his hand bring yours to him again, but this time, he sneaks it beneath his red robe, making you feel the hot, rigid skin of his cock. With a needy moan, you begin to stimulate him in your palm, receiving a moan in return from its owner.

“She is entirely ours, everything about her. And everything she has…” - Geta answers his brother, his gaze intense, and you can perceive the connotations between the lines of his statement, Geta's hand pressing against your belly making his message clear. He sighs, lowering his head so he can rest it on your collarbone, one of his hands walking down your body until it reaches below your clothes, feeling you, feeling the wetness of the region inside your thigh, all the fluids that come out of you, until he reaches your sticky and pulsating center, earning a little cry from you when he runs his index finger all over your slit, gathering your excitement and bringing it to your clitoris, rubbing you, the sensation is too much together with the stimulation in your breasts, you are just so sensitive all over. - “Why don't you say it yourself?” - He suggests, his eyes closed as he feels your sweaty skin against his face, his fingers working you. - “I’ll give you a gift if you do.” - You can feel him removing his hand from your belly to take it to his own clothing, stimulating himself underneath as well, everything is so risky, so many people around…

“I…” - You hesitate, and they notice, the mood between you changes, and in a slightly clumsy movement, Geta forces your lower body closer to his, aligning his cock with your dripping pussy under your clothes, not caring how much the position might draw attention from others. Caracalla, on the other hand, helps his brother to position you better, bringing you to his own lap and opening one of your legs a little for them, his cock now rubbing against you as much as his brother's, Geta. Caracalla brings his lips to the side of your neck, biting the spot, eliciting a cry from you that you try to contain, your mouth opens in a perfect "o". - “N-not here…” - You say softly, your head spinning, daring to revolt your emperors.

“Yes, here” - Caracalla responds looking dissatisfied, his hand gripping hard your neck which until then he had been biting, possessive, as if you had the possibility of running away if he let go of you. - “Will the child's weak father get mad if I play with mommy a little?” - He says mockingly, looking annoyed, which causes a look of confusion on your face.

“N-no, he's –”, You try to speak, but are stopped by Geta slapping roughly one of your thighs.

“Enough" - He commands, and with hungry eyes, he thrusts himself abruptly inside you, Caracalla using his hand to adjust himself and join his brother in your pussy, both of them going in a little more easily than expected given your wetness, but still deliciously painful. You moan without a care in the world, the jug that was in your hand finally falling from the grip that one of your hands had on it, falling to the floor and shattering into thousands of pieces and wine. The room becomes silent, not a soul utters a word, all eyes on you, and you can't even open your own to face the various expressions around you.

You can't see anything, but Geta and Caracalla can, and their eyes are fixed on the young man from before, assessing his troubled expression. A sick smile appears on both of their faces, satisfied, and then they begin to finally move inside you in the silent room, the only sounds present being your moans from the most perverted state of mind a being can reach, very lost in your pleasure and in how your body moves with theirs, the sloppy noises of them entering and leaving you, Geta's fingers stimulating your clitoris, Caracalla enjoying your entire body and curves with his hands. The room slowly returns to what it was before, conversations and laughter, perhaps, everyone is already accustomed to the dirty acts of the Emperors, but the brothers know what this means, they won, you are theirs, and everyone knows it.

“Yours… Hmm, yeah, yeah, yours only” - You moan for them, drool dripping down your chin as you lose yourself in the pleasure of having them both pound into you. And when they hold you down, locking your hips in place, claiming you as theirs as you clench and gush around their cocks, you know there’s no escape.

“Shhh, it’s okay, gonna take good care of our little family” - You hear one of them whisper sweetly, still feeling them moving inside you even after you've come, but you can only giggle out of it at the promise of a future.

[spicyet]

What are you looking for here? Scroll back up.

Just kidding, here’s a treat:

[cyberghouleo]

Any Tim content pls pls 🙏🙏

Maybe a sweet innocent reader 🫶🫶🫶

Would make jokes and innuendos that you don’t understand, he likes watching you stare back at him puzzled as you try to put it together.

SUPER protective over you. He knows others will see your kindness as a weakness and knows he has to be on guard when the two of you are around the others, proving that you are off limits. 

Will wrap an arm around your shoulder and bring you close to him while around others. Also will occasionally press a quick kiss into your hair when others aren’t looking, that’s as much pda as he’s willing to do. 

If you try to hold hands together around others, at first he moves his hand away. He thinks it’s too vulnerable and the other guys won’t take him as seriously as a leader. But if you are persistent with it, he will slowly start allowing it to happen and won’t inch away, wrapping his hand around yours. Then it turns into his hand slowly inching over to yours first, trying to subtly hold hands under a table. 

While your kindness is a big contrast from his brashness, he actually likes how kind you are. It reminds him of a part of his old self, the type of person he was before the Operator got involved with his life.

Deep down he wishes he could protect you from the life and job he has, but he knows he can’t. He’s too far under the Operator’s control to do so, and he finds himself resenting it when he watches you sleep peacefully next to him. You make him realize just how fragile normal life is, and he wishes he could have met you under different circumstances, before he lost his former life. 

NSFW

To him, it’s a turn on how innocent you are. He’s into corruption so it’s his goal to turn you from innocent into his personal whore. Also gives him an advantage in power over you, something he won’t complain about. At first you are shy, covering yourself up with your hands and hiding your face while he’s deep inside you. But slowly you start opening up to him, to the point you are laying down and spreading your legs wide open for him. He’s going to make you a complete slut for him sooner or later. 

He loves making you tell him what you want while he’s fucking you, stopping his thrusts until you tell him how badly you want him to fuck you. He’s obsessed with how sweet and innocent you are to everyone else and how pathetic you get as you beg him to fuck you senselessly. 

“Tell me exactly what you want” He will say as he bottoms out inside you, completely stopping his thrusting.

“I want you to fuck me,” you say sheepishly, hiding your face behind your hands.

He grabs your wrist, pinning them down to the bed before speaking. “Say it the way I taught you, baby”

If you're inexperienced it makes him fall ten times harder, he loves the idea of being the only one to have you and his dick being the only one you know. He will make you grind down onto his fingers, enjoying how embarrassed you are and how clumsy your movements are. He finds it hot to be able to teach you exactly how to touch yourself and watching you try to stuff all of him into your mouth. 

Uses your innocence and sweetness against you while degrading you, using fake pity against you whenever you act embarrassed. “Aw, can the poor baby not take it? Don’t tell me you’re fucked out already, hmm?”