#and for the world to have been kinder to him

[thatguywrites]

Vienna

Max Verstappen x Male!Reader

When Max is overworking himself to the bone in the preseason, and you need to talk some sense into him before he burns out

A/N I'm back after my one week break! I'm gonna try and write more fics to create a WIP list so that that doesn't happen, but I also encourage people to send in asks cause I'm gonna run out of ideas at some point :)

In the bustle of the preseason chaos, you hadn't had much time to spend with your lovely boyfriend. Between the incredibly boring F175, and testing instantly starting in the week following, Max was too busy running around, working out, taking calls, and providing feedback. It seemed the only times you saw him anymore were in the mornings and late at night, when he would slip into bed with you, muttering thanks for the certainly cold dinner you had left him, before he collapsing into sleep.

Finally, one day you managed to have him to yourself for a whole evening, as soon as his morning workouts were done, you would be able to push him into bed for some snacks, and movies, and boyfriend time. But, when Max arrived home, he was clearly still in work mode. Flurrying around the house, taking notes of things about the car that he hadn't told the engineers the day before, before hopping into the sim to do lap after lap in the model car Redbull had sent him.

Your kinder bars, fruits, and Netflix left untouched, you waited on the couch for him to finish. Maybe he just wanted to figure something out. Everyone gets like that; when something nags at them and they just need to get it right. He would be done by dinner.

By the time dinner came, you'd lost hope that he would come to bed naturally. It began to seem that you would have to do something yourself to get Max to eat with you and to finally relax. Walking over to his rig, you placed a kiss on his cheek, pulling his headphones back, "I'll be on the balcony, ok?"

Without looking away from the screen, he nodded, before shooing you away.

Once on the balcony, sitting down, you finally felt at rest. For a break moment you didn't have to worry about Max, or how he was working himself to the bone and you by extension. It was you, and the cool air of Monaco.

You got lost in your thoughts, but it could have been two or twenty minutes before you heard the door behind you open, and Max sit next to you, placing a blanket around your shoulders.

"You looked cold, in just a T-shirt" He said, softly. You noticed you could see his breath. Maybe it was cold.

"Didn't notice"

"Why out so long?"

Your own puff of breath appeared infront if you as you leaned back against your apartment, looking up at the now visable stars. "Thinking. Why were you on your sim so long? Isn't today supposed to be your day off?"

Max looked down, maybe ashamed. A small part of you felt good about that. That he felt bad about hurting you. But the rest of you just wanted to scoop him into a hug and never let go.

"I mean, last year's car worried me. And Lando's improved, and I'm sure Oscar'll be up there too this year, so I'm doing my best now to make sure we end up with the best car." You could feel his eyes on you, a nervous energy in your previous safe space, his warm hands wrapping around your cold ones, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry for worrying you, and ignoring you. I'm sorry that I haven't been prioritizing us at all. I'm sorry that I spent my entire afternoon off working." He pulled you into his arms, resting his head on yours, and pressing kisses atop your hair.

"I didn't want to push you, I know your work is important to you. I don't want to act as if I'm above racing to you, I know it's your life, but I want to be a part of your life too." At your words Max jolted away, eyes wide, with a small pout on his lips.

"No! No, no, no, racing is a huge part of my life, sure, but so are you. I'm sorry I haven't made that clear, I love you. I just worry that I'm not trying hard enough for the world sometimes, that I'll fall behind on track because of it", He trailed off, looking down into the busy streets

"Well, I'm sure the fastest man on Earth, who works harder than anyone else I've ever seen will manage to pose a threat, even if he takes a break for one night, no?"

Breaking out into a smile, Max responded, "Yeah"

Taglist (Comment or DM to be added)

@koalapastries @justaf1girl @spoonfulofmilo @lokisen

[the-fyre-flie]

Robin!Bruce Wayne and Superboy!Kal El au... yes, I'm gunna keep writing about it. You can find other posts about it on my pinned!!

Bruce and Kal being at the Watchtower for a few hours while their dad's discuss current events, featuring other Reverse AU characters hehe. Also... yes I know it's weird Superman and Batman are the fathers while Flash and Green Arrow are the kid sidekicks, I don't care, I think they're all cute and deserve interactions.

ALSO THIS IS INCREDIBLY LONG PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF I SHOULD JUST MAKE AN AO3!!!!!

-

"Why did you drag me along? Isn't this a routine visit?" Bruce huffed as he adjusted his Robin costume, tugging at the cape that had gotten tangled during the sudden teleport up into the Watchtower. Ahead of him, Alfred, in his Batman costume, was already putting on that grim, mysterious Batman persona he only really used with his coworkers in the Justice League. It was such a stark contrast to the warm fatherly figure Alfred had been towards Bruce his entire life.

"Yes, it is routine. However, I decided it was time you actually joined me during these visits. The Justice League are our allies, and it is beneficial to have a positive relationship with other members." Alfreds tone was calm, like this was a lecture any young boy got. As they approached the main hall, Bruce was also adjusting his attitude, furrowing his brow slightly and donning a scowl. If Alfred got to be scary as Batman, he would get to be at the very least intimidating as Robin.

Entering the large meeting room, Bruce was greeted with the sight of a few different members of the Justice League and... their sidekicks? Was this just a poorly disguised excuse for all the heros to force their sidekicks to meet each other? Bruce's scowl shifted from an act to a genuine look of mild annoyance.

Superman, Jor El, and his son Superboy, Kal El, both got up from their seats when they saw Alfred and Bruce, each super immediately heading over to greet them. While Alfred and Jor spoke like old friends catching up (which they were), Bruce and Kals current relationship was too rocky for them not to speak akwardly. It was obvious that Jor has chewed out Kal for not being kinder to Bruce last time, as Kal immediately stuck out his hand in an attempt at apology.

"You fought well against the Joker a week ago. Thanks for helping in Smallville." He mumbled a bit as he spoke, his dark curly hair catching the light in a way that made it shine blueish. Being an alien, Kal had a lot of fairly unnatural features about him that you could only really notice if you spent hours researching Kyrptonians. Electric blue eyes, blueish hair, a naturally large build for a teen. It almost made Bruce envy him. Almost.

Bruce refused the handshake, arms crossed, but he did nod. It wasn't in his best interest to cause a scene or argument again. Last time, he was sat down for 3 hours and told how stupid and reckless it was to not only take on the Joker alone but to argue with a Kryptonian.

"You weren't an awful partner in the fight." Bruce got out, and Kal seemed to relax slightly. Getting the biggest hardass in the world ever, Robin, to admit he didn't hate you, was a good start. From behind Kal, a few of the other sidekicks were being pushed in their directions while their mentors engaged in the 'Grown Up Talk'.

Green Arrow, Roy Harper, sent over his sidekick, Oliver Queen AKA Speedy. Oliver was the only person who knew Bruce from before either of them became vigilante heros. They were currently attending the same private school, sharing a few classes. When each of them became sidekicks, they almost immediately recognized each other, throwing off the whole 'don't tell people your secret identity' thing.

"So, the Bat brought you too. Unlucky me. I gotta look at your ugly mug all day now." Oliver smirked under his mask, teasing Bruce, the quiver on his back rattling slightly as he moved. He placed a hand on his hip as he peered at Robin and Superboy, his own bright red costume fitting in perfectly with their equally bright blues, greens, and yellows.

Bruce couldn't help but smile ever so slightly back. Oliver was also the only sidekick he actually liked rather than just tolerated.

"Robinhood brought his merry men, I see. Off to go pilfer something and annoy everyone while you do it?" Bruce quipped back, Oliver feigning offense with a hand over his heart as he gasped.

"Rude. No wonder you have no hero friends." Oliver shook his head, playing up his disappointment, only to lightly slug Bruce in the arm. "I missed you, dude."

"We were in class together less than 8 hours ago." Bruce rubbed his arm, smiling as he punched Oliver back. Next to their respective mentors, they were some of the only non meta, non alien, non mythical god-like beings associated with the Justice League, and their physical abilities more or less matched.

"Time away from you is hellish~" Oliver mocked, adjusting his quiver again. The various arrows shifted when he moved it, chattering against each other.

As the pair spoke, Kal butted in, having begun floating cross-legged to keep himself focused.

"Why did all our heros bring us along? I have homework I gotta do..." He groaned, only for him to be interrupted by a flash of yellow.

"You guys have homework? I finished mine in class. Cuz I'm on top of things. Unlike you guys." Barry Allen, Kid Flash, grinned as he came to a sudden stop in front of the group, his goggles crooked on his face. Across the room, his mentor Wally West, Flash, was talking very animatedly with the reast of the Justice League.

"Only Superboy has homework. I also finished mine." As Bruce spoke, he nudged Oliver in the side. He had gotten distracted by trying to lip read the Justice League, squinting under his mask. "Huh? Oh yeah. I did mine, too. Do you guys know what 'Test Run' the JL was planning to do today?"

As Oliver spoke, the entire Watchtower rattled, the pitch shifting hard to the right, throwing everyone off balance except Kal, who floated far enough above the ground to grab Barry's arm before he slammed into the observation window like everyone else. Bruce and Oliver were a tangle of limbs as furniture joined them against the glass, a large crack audible.

"What the hell! What's going on?" Oliver shouted as he moved away from a table sliding directly towards him, Bruce quick to follow, vaulting over a chair.

"Where's the Justice League?" Barry shot a glance across the hall, where the Justice League had once been but no longer were. Somehow, in the split second the teens looked away, they were gone. As Kal placed Barry down, the speedster struggled to balance himself on the heavily tilted floor. The Watchtower groaned again, a distant explosion audible.

"We don't have time to worry about the JL. We have to stabilize the Watchtower before it moves far enough to fall into the Earth." Bruce pointed down a hall to where he knew the controls were located. Immediately, the group moved to follow his finger, only to be stopped. "No. We split up. Something is attacking the Watchtower. KF, with me. Superboy and Speedy, stick together and figure out where the problem is."

"Sure thing, wonder boy. Leave it to us." Oliver smirked before jogging off down an opposite hall, Kal rushing to fly after him. As they left, the Watchtower once again shook.

"Let's figure this out." Bruce grunted as he steadied himself against one of the walls, moving as quickly as he could towards the controls. Barry moved ahead, waiting at the end of the hall for Bruce, hands on his hips.

"What if we find what's messing with this place?" He asked, helping Bruce pry open the doors.

"If we find it, we fight it. Duh." Bruce rolled his eyes. With a loud creak, they slipped into the large domed room, Bruce immediately running to a particular panel and pulling a small device from his utility belt. As he plugged it in, the screens above them lit up with his emblem for a split second before displaying about a million lines of code rapidly scrolling. Barry kept watch of the door and hall, bracing himself as the entire structure felt increasingly more unstable.

"Something took over the controls. It's like... seeping into everything. The lights will probably-" Before Bruce could finish his sentence, the lights shut off, leaving them in the dark. The blue light from his small hand held device kept his face illuminated as he stood straight. "-go out. Damn it. The whole things shutting down. We need to get to Superboy and see if he could hold this up." Behind him, the Earth was very slowly getting closer.

"Sure thing. Let's find the boyscout and robinhood." Barry disappeared for a split second, leaving behind a blurry afterimage, only to immediately return, his suit slightly burnt around his ribs. His eyes were wide, worry written acorss his face. "I found em."

Skidding to a halt, Bruce was greeted with a large fire in the middle of the hall, Kal fist fighting a giant space tentacle while Barry was helping Oliver away from the flames.

"What the fuck is that?" Barry asked, supporting Oliver while the archer limped out of the path of rampage. Kal grunted as he was knocked from the air, shouting over the sound of metal losing its stability due to the fire, the screech and whine of shifting plates of steel almost deafening. "I have no idea! This thing is massive! I can't even see all of it!"

"Speedy, do you have any of those weird fast hardening expanding foam arrows?" Bruce called out as he threw a few batarangs at the beast, manging to slice off one of the larger tendrils that threatened to grab Kal. As the limb fell into the fire, another quickly replaced it.

"Yeah, hold on." Oliver wheezed slightly as he drew an arrow, lining up his shot. "The creature or the fire?"

"The fire. We gotta prevent any more damage. Superboy, can you stabilize the Watchtower back into orbit?" Bruce ducked as whatever was attacking them swiped at him, just barely missing him. He was suddenly very grateful that Alfred had signed him up for gymnastics instead of football.

"Sure. Can you guys handle this... thing, tho?" Kal floated backwards out of the range of the space monster thing. None of them had any idea what it was, what it was doing, what it wanted, if it took the Justice League... and honestly? It was a little scary. Of course, none of the boys would admit that.

"Yeah, we got it." Oliver let his arrow fly as Kal got out of the way, a large explosion of reddish foam filling the hall and quickly suffocating the fire and blocking off the beast. They were running in borrowed time, however. Snake like tentacles were already worming their way through the cracks, attempting to shatter the now tough-as-rock foam. "Robin, any of those ice pellets? The more of a barrier we put up the most occupied it'll be."

"On it." Bruce pulled a few small orbs from his belt, immediately lobbing them at the foam wall, watching as ice overtook the foam and froze what small tendrils had gotten through. Barry was still working to support Oliver as they backed away, Kal having disappeared out of a bay door to do what he could to stop the Watchtowers fall. The Watchtower itself was a breaking, burning, creaking mess, the floor no longer at an acceptable tilt to stand on, forcing them to stand on what used to be the wall. Without the lights or fire, the hall was dark, leaving the 3 young sidekicks in the shadows.

"So... now what?" Barry asked. Oliver had pushed him away, insisting he was fine, and Barry had moved to check every door under their feet. He was almost obsessively opening and closing them, searching for the Justice League like they were just hiding to jump out and yell 'surprise!'. "Can you find like... a heat signature or something? Trace them?"

"I've already tried. Nothing. We're completely alone up here." Bruce gritted his teeth as he led the 3 of them back to the control room, peering out of the window where Kal was struggling to hold up the Watchtower by himself. With a wave, Bruce called him back inside, Kals face falling.

"I can't keep it from falling... I'm not strong enough." Kal spoke softly, his brow furrowed. "If Superman was here-"

"Don't focus on that." Bruce snapped, holding his device close to his face as he typed and fidgeted on it. He was trying to send out a distress signal to anyone who could receive it, but it was like they were completely cut off from the universe. He was quiet for a long moment, the light of the sun dimmed heavily by the massive blue marble that was their home. They were facing the dark side, with dotted lights of cities and towns twinkling like stars. Stars they were now quickly approaching.

"Barry, go find the space walk gear. I have an idea." Bruce suddenly lit up as the ocean came into view.

Bruce adjusted the helmet over his face as he and Oliver suited up, Kal standing at the ready by the bay door. Barry was stationed in the control room, giving them updates on how much time they had left before they crash-landed into the American east coast.

"You have like 5 minutes, guys. Work faster." Barry's voice crackled over the team communication system, his knuckles white against the panel.

"You can't rush perfection." Oliver's smile was obvious as he made his way through space to the side of the Watchtower, Kal keeping guard while he rammed almost a dozen wired arrows into the hull of the space station. Pushing away from the final arrow, he quickly handed the bundle of wires to Kal before joining Bruce utop the structure itself.

"Superboy! Pull! Towards the ocean!" Bruce called over the comms, readying himself for a new fight as the giant space monster finally noticed them and was beginning to approach. Immediately, Kal was flying as hard as he could to the left, grunting as he pulled on the wired arrows. The plan was to redirect the fall into the ocean and avoid hitting anything civilian. It wasn't the best plan, but it was their only plan.

"Robin! Watch out!"

Bruce had been distracted by the sight of all of them careening towards his home, Gotham visible along the coastline. Pulled from his thoughts, he looked up to see a tentacle heading straight towards his face. The huge limb just barely managed to pin his legs, pain shooting through his body as he was trapped under slimey awful octopus like flesh. Before he could move to grab a utility knife from his belt, an arrow sliced through the limb, landing with a ka-chunk next to his head. When the tentacle was severed, it curled up on itself, allowing Robin to kick it off.

"Thanks." He mumbled as he stood, making sure his space gear wasn't damaged as he readied himself to protect Kal from the beast.

"Don't sweat it." Oliver notched another arrow, aiming for what seemed to be the face of the monstrosity. A few dozen eyes, a huge gaping jaw with razor-sharp teeth, the thing looked like it could eat a country if it wanted to. It looked nothing like any of them had ever seen before. And it very much wanted to kill them all. As the arrow flew, it stuck one of the eyes, causing the thing to scream.

"Fellas, can we maybe hurry up perfection? 3 minutes left, and we're still headed directly towards New Jersey." Barry spoke through the comms again, sounding genuinly distressed. This was basically their first time alone away from their heros and mentors, and they were so closing to fucking it all up and killing an entire state.

"I can't really pull any harder." Kals voice was strained, the wires visibly pulled to their extreme as he tried to streer the falling hunk of debris that the Watchtower had become. "That thing is weighing us down."

"We're trying to get rid of it." Bruce spoke, throwing a few explosion pellets to try and knock the thing off. It seemed to work slighly, the ship being pulled closer towards the ocean.

Oliver and Bruce were practically spamming the monster with attacks. Only when a large tentacle grabbed Oliver by the leg, hoisting him into space, did either of them stop. His arrows spilled from his quiver, floating in space around him as he was flailed around.

"Speedy!" Bruce yelled, scrambling across the hull of the Watchtower, an explosion rocking the buildings and sending him flying directly off the Watchtower. They were close to the earth, the gravity of the planet beginning to pull them all down to the surface. Shit. Bruce was falling to earth. His grapple gun had been knocked away from him, floating uselessly in space broken. Closing his eyes, he could feel the heat of reentering the atmosphere.

Until he didn't. Until he felt an arm around his waist. Opening his eyes, Kal was muttering about a dozen curses, placing him by the bay door before going to save Oliver, who was still being waved back and forth by the beast.

Bruce quickly ran to join Barry, who looked... excited. He waited to ask if they were clear of New Jersey, watching as they approached the planet.

"Did... we do it?" Kal heaved as he ran in, Oliver trailing in after him. Barry took a long moment to do mental calculations before nodding.

"We did it. The heat from re-entry should burn that stupid thing to a crisp!" Barry cheered, watching out the window as the giant beast began to scream in agony from the pain of fire bursting across its flesh. The other 3 breathed a sigh of relief, Kal opting to lay on the floor of the Watchtower.

Yet, in a split second, the entire scene shifted. The broken, burning Watchtower returned to... exactly how it was an hour ago before the Justice League disappeared. Lights on, floor stable, no broken panels or windows. Kal didn't even bother to sit up to figure out what was happening, muscles aching too bad to bother.

Bruce, however, was immediately on edge, only relaxing when he saw the Justice League. They were back?

"Batman? What happened? Where did you go?" He demanded, Alfred greeting him with a smile.

"Congratulations, Robin, Superboy, Speedy, and Kid Flash. You have... passed." Alfred spoke, the other heroes equally as proud looking. This was... a test. From behind the door, Miss Martain entered the hall, a smile plastered across her face.

"I am very proud! You all fought wonderfully, and your plan was well thought out!" She clapped as she approached, looking genuinly pleased.

"Wh...what?" Barry glanced between his mentor and the martian, having no clue what the hell just happened. Had there not been a giant alien monster here a second ago? Weren't they crash landing in the ocean. Bruce face palmed as it struck him what had happened.

"The JL used Miss Martain to like... brain connect us or whatever and simulate an emergency." He groaned. Why did Alfred always have to spring pop quizzes on him? Having time to prepare would be nice...

"Sorry for not warning you guys. It was the Bats idea, so don't blame us too harshly." Wally snickered, nudging Alfred in the side.

"It was a simple test, is all. Batman wanted to see how all of you worked together during a crisis threat without us interfering." Jor spoke up, helping Kal to his feet and clapping him on the back. Roy simply nodded at Oliver, a sign of his approval.

"So like... no more of that, right? Cuz I can feel a major headache coming on." Barry whined, his face scrunched in mild pain.

[cherubcameron]

Igual Que Un Angel

Chapter Three

Synopsis: Sofia is pregnant, and the last thing she needs is for Rafe to find out. It’s her dirty secret, it’s not like he’s barging down her door to speak to her. He looks as if he’s done with her for good. Will outside forces, force Sofia to confront the situation at hand. Or will she be able to keep this secret up? Not like, her belly isn’t growing everyday or anything.

MASTERLIST

Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

“Come on, Rafe. Don’t make this harder than this has to be.” John B says, over a slumped Rafe. His body against the table. His hand still wrapped around his beer bottle.

“I’m not getting on that damn, death trap. You’ll—” Rafe felt John B, pulling him up from the table. The world spun for a second, everything suddenly going off-kilter. Rafe hears his beer bottle clatter to the floor. He hisses, his only form of escapism, emptying onto the ground.

“You can barely walk. Just, let’s go.” John B carries Rafe away. His head is lulling to the sides. John B hauls him towards the Twinkie. The last thing Rafe wants to be in. “Up and at em.”

“Who even called you? Was it Sarah? You can tell her I don’t need her pity or—” Rafe slurring is cut off by John B.

“It wasn’t Sarah… Sofia called us.” Rafe narrows his eyes, his jaw setting.

“I don’t need her help…” Rafe says bitterly, John B shakes his head.

“Just get in the van, Rafe.” John B says, exhaustedly. Shoving a drunk Rafe into the back of his van.

The first person Rafe saw, after being with the Pogues, was Topper. He’d met Topper on his boat. Not sure how he was feeling about seeing his best friend; again after so long. It didn’t feel right anymore. Their relationship didn’t feel the same anymore. He felt worlds away from Topper.

“Hey man! Where have you been?!” Topper yells, a big smile crossing his features. Rafe approaches, a grin on his own face. Bringing Topper into a hug.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m back now. That’s all that matters.” Rafe looks out towards the marsh. He stared out of Topper’s boat, the water lapping against it.

“Got you, got you.” Silence overtakes them, not as a welcoming friend. But as if it becomes a wedge between them. Rafe isn’t sure anymore why he’d shown up. He sneaks a glance at Topper. He’s drinking a corona, and Rafe can’t help but feel; for the first time; like he doesn’t belong here.

“Have you gone to see Sofia?” Topper asks, Rafe felt like his heart was plunged into cold water. He clenched his jaw, he stared down at the corona that Topper had offered him. He hadn’t even taken a sip.

“Why’re you asking me about her?” He asks, not meaning to come off harsh. Topper finally gazes over at Rafe, his brows furrowed. Like if he was finally seeing him for the first time.

“Why would I ask you about your girlfriend?” Topper asks, he scratched his brow. His brows knitting further together, if that was even possible. Rafe didn’t want to have this conversation, he wanted to suddenly, be anywhere but here.

“We broke up, okay. Let’s not talk about it.”

Hollis death struck Sofia harder than she thought it would. It felt like she’d been the one who’d pulled the trigger on the gun. She remembers the last words she’d said to Hollis. A part of her wishing she’d been a bit kinder. But then again, why would she had been? She wiped her brow with water, her eyes staring at the plates she’d been washing. She’d wished she had stayed far away. Anger, be damned. But now she was stuck in the aftermath of it all.

—Her eyes train down towards her stomach. A sense of wonder over washing her. She could see the baby bump now. It was crazy to her, how fast babies grew. The bump wasn’t too noticeable if someone had been staring at her from afar. But up close, Sofia could see. Her baby. Hers.

Was it evil of her, to not want to share them with Rafe? She shook her head, not wanting to think too much about him. He wasn’t here. He didn’t have a choice in what she did and didn’t do. And they weren’t together anymore. She was all on her own with this. This was her responsibility to bear.

“Hi…” Her hand going onto her stomach. “The doctor says you can’t hear yet. But regardless, I need you to know, that it’s you and me against the world. No one will hurt you. I’ll do everything I can to protect you.”

Sofia dried the last dish she needed to. Then headed towards her bedroom. Nearing bumping into her sister Kimberly.

“Kim!” Sofia says in surprise. Her hand out to prevent them from colliding any further with each other. Kimberly’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“Who were you just talking to?” Kim eyes Sofia, almost as if she could see right through her.

“I-I wasn’t talking to anyone.” Sofia says, trying to feign ignorance. Kimberly eyes continued to narrow, but shrugged her shoulders and walked away. Sofia let out a shaky breath, making her way to her room.

It’s not like Sofia didn’t want to tell her family. This was a weight that was hard to carry. So many intangible emotions she couldn’t come to terms with. Being pregnant was the last thing, she needed to be. But here she was. Two months pregnant with a baby. How the hell was she going to navigate this? It was just best to keep them out of it for now. So she could figure it all out. Without them feeling, like she further failed them.

Sarah rapped lightly on the table, Rafe’s eyes shifted to her. Raising a brow, a look of annoyance passing his features. There was a drink of water in front of him. One he still hadn’t touched. Sarah shook her head, a grimace appearing on her face.

“I know I’m not one to talk. But the way John B found you—”

“I was fine—”

“The way John B found you; rose concern. Okay, we can’t keep doing this. We can’t.” Sarah pushes the glass of water further into Rafe’s hands.

Rafe frowned, staring at it like it was going to burn him if he touched it.

“I don’t need you guys babysitting me. I’m not a child.” He pushed the glass back towards her, earning him a frown from Sarah.

“You sure act like one.” She shoved it back at him, some of the water splashing on the sides. Nearly splashing onto Rafe.

“Hey! Watch it!” Rafe nearly yells, John B appears in the room again. Staring at Rafe in warning. Rafe rolled his eyes. “Sorry—okay—I’m sorry.”

Sarah rubbed her belly, “Drink water. And please go to bed. We promised each other, we were going to take care of each other.” Sarah gets up, Rafe stares down at the ground. His jaw ticking, he could feel a headache begin to come on. He finally wraps a hand around the glass of water. Taking a sip.

“Good night Rafe.” Sarah says, he only grumbles as a reply. He hears as John B takes Sarah into the next room. Whispering to each other. Rafe stared down at the water, almost wishing it to cure not only his inevitable hangover. But the heartache of having to see Sofia.

Sofia

Even when he knew he should hate her. His heart still felt drawn to her. Like a moth to a flame. She was the one person he wanted. And the one person he should hate. But he knew, the damage she caused was done. He wasn’t sure she could ever come back from it.

[justapayneaway]

.

[shizunitis]

okay, if there's no shen yuan, then binghe becomes a violent and miserable asshole. but if there's no binghe, what happens to shen yuan?

[zeravmeta]

really does hit the moment that both the bloodthirsty king of vampires and the warmonger nachzehrer king are utterly baffled by the sorrow they feel the moment theresa dies

because that's really the only reason why the sarkaz, why theresis, are declaring this endless war on the world starting with victoria: it's pride, it's suffering, it's anger, it's revenge.

it was cruel of theresa to ask them to forgive and forget, yes. the suffering of the sarkaz is not something that could have been fixed within a single lifetime, the wounds ran too deep. no matter how much they wish they could have believed in theresa, the suffering of the sarkaz would not just vanish no matter how much she did. the core issue between the sarkaz and the rest of terra lies in their ancient grudge, the thousands of years of entrenched bitterness and loss that the sarkaz suffered and still suffer to this day. they have no home, not even kazdel, because the only thing kazdel really is at this point is the reminder that they once did have a home, have dignity as the teekaz rather than just "the sarkaz, the devils".

but even then, theresa was simply born ahead of her time. they were not ready for her future, and they all know this. babel was a dream that theresa tried her damnedest to accomplish, but they were too bitter to accept it. no matter how much they wanted to believe in it, the royal sarkaz court, scareye, the countless sarkaz we see through Babel, none of them could ever see true unity.

it's a unity that neither theresis nor pre-amnesia doctor could conceive.

theresis and doctor have their own roles to play, and their own promises to keep: the sword of kazdel that will revitalize their past glory and strike down all who oppose them, the last survivor of an alien race dedicated to completing the ancient project of a world long past to ensure its future, they are unable to accept another way.

"I can't accept your beautiful and fleeting dream, theresa. not after all the sacrifce."

they were not strong enough to believe in her. no matter how much they loved her, how much they wish they could have seen her dream come true, they simply couldn't.

it was always going to end on that bloodstained floor. they were always going to sleep, and dream that things could have been different. that one could have let go of their past, be it the long held suffering and revenge or the guilt of duty as the last survivor.

we will always be equal. i will always hold your beautiful dream in my heart.

you have to keep going, even if I am not here anymore. you're free now.

[kingofanemptyworld]

SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP

[mayra-quijotescx]

"oh well if you're an abolitionist or want access to services without means testing that must mean you want evil people to not face consequences" *gestures at everything* look around please. Evil people already don't face consequences, plus they get all the stops pulled out for them and a red carpet rolled out in front whenever they need something. I want that amount of grace for everyone else, too.

[gromky]

alright im still. on this. The tragedy of tommy and lizzie to me is that there is a certain degree of intimacy or self knowledge that Lizzie needed from Tommy that he simply was not capable of giving, and it’s not because he was intentionally withholding it!

I think thats why it stood out to me that Lizzie and Ada had the same comment about him not letting them in. It’s not that he doesn’t love them enough to let them in! It’s just he literally does not know how or where to begin to do so. I’d argue he doesn’t even realize he’s not letting them in. If anything he’s going through life feeling like an exposed nerve

[bi-writes]

a hand for a hand | knight!ghost x f!reader

in the year of our lord 1657, your king wields a weapon that cannot be reproduced. as your queen's lady-in-waiting, you steer clear of it, lest it cut you when it passes by. but duty and desire are rarely met in a man's world.

type: one-shot (6.5k), AO3

cw: dark!ghost, reader described as curvier/plus-sized, mentions of war + violence, possessive!ghost, war-criminal!ghost, inaccurate historical settings probably, unprotected piv, cumplay, breeding kink, size kink, ghost is obsessed with your tits (18+)

It is not a secret that you are afraid of the king's men. There is a reason that they have a reputation of cruelty. Ravagers, conquerors, unruly and untamed–they train like dogs, and they live like them, too. By accident, you have wandered to where their barracks are, and if it wasn't for the happenstance of your king hearing your screams, they would've taken your virtue that night.

That one belongs to my wife, he had said, gripping you by the scruff of your neck. Spoil it, and I'll have your fuckin' heads. His queen had been much kinder when he returned you back inside, cradling your head in her lap and promising to have something fashioned for you to wear so none of his men would ever touch you again.

And they haven't. They do not bow to you, but they open the doors for you, move out of your way, try to keep their eyes off of the softness of your cleavage and the curve of your skirt. But there is one that does not, there is one that refuses, and this one you avoid the most.

You don't know him by any other name other than Ghost. The right hand of the king, his most trusted advisor and his most brutal of men. There are times when he barges into the throne room, his sword dragging along the stone floor and trailing blood in its path, and he tosses the head of the king's enemy onto the floor. You clutch onto the skirt of your queen's dress, tears welling up in your eyes, and when you look up, he is staring at you, heaving in the metal of his armor, and you look away as his men yell out proudly as they crowd the room.

His eyes are always on you when you are in his presence. They track you as you move behind your queen, follow you as you eat and drink and tend to her majesty's needs. He wanders the halls, and he observes you as if you are his next meal. And maybe you are–if he suddenly decided you would be his next conquest, you don't think a refusal is in order. Maybe that's the mercy he gives you; just the aggressiveness of his stare and his stare only, and not the strength of his hand or the cruelness of his demeanor.

There is always a party. Always a celebration for this brute. He is praised by politicians and priests alike, because he must be the hand of god, delivering whatever the king asks for when it is asked of him. He does not lose, all he comes back with is chests full of gold and new slashes to add to the growing collection on his skin. Sometimes you wonder if he puts them on himself. You wonder if he drags his dagger in a crooked line down the length of his arm, as if he is tallying his win, counting up to a number that already puts the men that came before him to shame.

He seems like the kind of man to do so–like the kind of man to do it even with the blood of his adversary still warm on the sharp edge of the blade, the kind to lick it clean when he's finished just to solidify the unease and the terror of the next man to have the unfortunate fate of ending up at the wrong end of his adrenaline.

He has no face. He has no name. And if he is coming for you, it's already too late; your fate has been sealed, and you should say your last rites. The only mercy he ever gives is that death is always quick. His sword is too sharp, and his hand is too heavy.

It is late in the evening when you hear it. There's screaming in the courtyard, yells and howls and cheers. You put down your hairbrush, getting up and padding to the window to look outside. The king's men are there, hundreds of them milling about and walking around. They share mead and wine, crusty bread in their muddy hands. They are bloody and bruised, but they are happy. They sing and chant, hold each other and crowd around fires. They left weeks ago, and they are back now, and you suspect it must be victory on account of their demeanor.

You are not surprised by this. They aren't kind, but it makes them good soldiers. They aren't afraid to die; it's a common idea in your culture that for a man to die in battle is the only way to true salvation, to actual ascension. You have always hated this idea. Boys become cruel, and men become unforgiving, and it is why you are so grateful to be her majesty's lady-in-waiting because it means she is your only duty and nothing more.

You are surprised by the knock on your door. You think about ignoring it, but then there is another knock, and then a familiar, low voice mutters, "Are you awake, my lady?"

You tie your robe and scurry. When you open up the door, you curtsy low and graceful, your eyes drawn to the floor as you tremble a little in the king's presence. You've never really spoken to him before, not without his queen at your side.

"Y-Yes, your majesty? I'm sorry for my appearance, I–"

"It's quite late," he says gently. "You don't have to apologize. Is it alright if I come in?"

You stand from your curtsy, blinking up at him. You think for a few moments before you nod, widening the door. He settles himself at the seat by the window, looking down into the courtyard. He has a hint of a smirk on his face as he looks down at his men, still singing.

"I have a request of you," he says finally. You take a seat at the edge of your bed, wringing your hands nervously in your lap. Whatever his request is, you don't know why he's putting it this way. You're not exactly allowed to refuse. "It is time for my most decorated men to receive their titles. They deserve it, after what they have done for me these past few years."

You swallow, "Yes, of course. You have such a fine army, your majesty. You must be...V-very proud."

He turns to face you, and he nods.

"These titles come with land. Money. Responsibility. And it comes with other things they might request," he explains. "One of these things can be a bride."

"They are most fortunate," you say softly, trying to smile. He stands, turning back to look down into the courtyard.

"You are to be wed tomorrow," he tells you. "I know you gave up much to accept your role at my wife's side, and for that, I have arranged for a sizable dowry on your behalf. Congratulations, my lady." he turns to smile at you. "By sunset, you are to be a duchess."

You're shaking when he goes. You clutch the sheets, sinking to your knees, and you cry. You cry because you know who asked for your hand. You know who wants you, you know who it is, because every time he comes back from war, he cannot take his eyes off of you. He eats you with his gaze, he violates you and has never even touched you, he takes from you, and you've never spoken to him, but you know it's him, you know it, you know it–

Your queen is ecstatic. She lends you diamonds to wear, and she fusses over the embroidered silk and cotton dress they've sewn for you overnight. She tells you she's so proud, that you will make such a beautiful bride and a beautiful duchess, and it takes all of your strength not to cry, to choke back your sobs. Your innocence will be gone by the next morning, you know this, and yet here she beams about colored fabric and your new, unwanted title and all of the duties you have never, ever wanted for yourself.

Marriage will be your prison, and you will never be free. You'll be hidden behind closed doors and forced to carry loud, chubby babies.

You are not the only bride that afternoon, but you feel like the most important. Your veil is the longest, your dress is the most intricate, and you are wearing the queen's diamonds. Not to mention, you are to become a duchess, and the rest will be lords and ladies, nothing more. You have always hated the hierarchy that society fits themselves into, but you've never despised it more than this moment.

He is waiting for you when you make it to the throne room. He wears his armor, polished and without blood, his face covered and his hood up to shadow his dark eyes. He wears his telltale insignia with pride, the skull motif of his belt gleaming and the paint of his mask fresh. He stands tall and menacing, a reaper in human skin, and you are so close to tears as you make your way to him. Your eyes find his, and he holds out his hand for you to take. You slip a delicate hand into his gloved one, letting the rough fabric warm you as he brings you to stand in front of him. He purrs, you think, a low rumble as his eyes look you up and down.

You are a prize. A trophy. Nothing more. A gift given for cutting the heads off of your king's foes, and that is all.

The ring on your finger is gold, and the ring you slip over his is silver. And then he gives you his first gift as your husband–a tiara, made of emerald and gold, and he slips your veil off to tuck it between the strands of your hair. The intricate pattern on the tiara matches the patterns along the iron of his armor, and you want to think of this as a gesture of good will, but you know it is given with possessive intent, a brand of ownership.

Because that is what this is. Not a ceremony of love, but an exchange, a transaction. You've been bought with blood, and there is nothing you can do about it.

But one day he will grow bored of me, and maybe then, I'll feel myself again.

He narrows his eyes, glares, and your lips part, trembling, you are terrified. His response is to growl with delight, his eyes falling to stare at the laces that hold in your cleavage. You observe this fact–the fact that you have things that other ladies do not. You are not tiny like them, not thin nor delicate. You are warm, soft, and the squeeze of your breasts in your dress draw him in.

You are a prisoner, now. But perhaps, if you play this game correctly, you can be in your ward's good graces. This is the hand you've been dealt; perhaps there is still a way to win if you steel your bluff.

The party is lively. There is music, gold coins tossed haphazardly on tables, so much dancing and enough food to stuff yourself for days. There is endless wine, and there are brides seated in laps, hungry new couples kissing and whispering soft nothings into each other's ears. The king blessed you all, told you to enjoy your new lives, your new titles, to make your country proud and raise pretty, fat babies.

You sit aways from him. You don't speak, just stare at your dinner plate, sipping wine absentmindedly as you think about the rest of your life and how miserable you will be. You think about the control you have never had, the choices you have never been given, and you wish so badly that you were a man.

Men simply ask for, and then they receive. Women simply hope that their eyes don't meet a flame too hot to handle.

His eyes bore into your head. When you catch his gaze every once in a while, all he does is tilt his head to the side and observe you. The beauty that you are, the woman that no one can have, the supple tits that belong to him, and the perfect cunt he knows that you have under the multitude of skirts you hide it under. Your skin glows, your hair is healthy, you will give him everything that he needs, that he craves.

You'll look so beautiful carrying his heir. You'll look so perfect when you begin to wear the dresses he will buy you, when you sleep in the bed in the house that he gives you, when you stand in the kitchen that he builds for you. Although, a woman like you deserves to do nothing but relax, be pampered, to lay down on a bed of furs as he eats your sweetness and fucks you stupid.

When the morning is early, you sneak out. You scurry to your bedroom, closing the door behind you for a moment of peace. You take a seat on your bed, the bed you aren't sure you will have for much longer, and you sit there and stare at your feet until the door opens.

You know who it is right away. Coming in unannounced, because now he is allowed to, because everything in this room now belongs to him, from the thread holding your dress together to the very breaths you take.

You sit up straight, turning your head. Ghost slips through, taking up the space by the door as it shuts behind him. You watch him as he stands poised just like the soldier he is, looking at you illuminated by nothing but candlelight. His gloved hands rest at his sides, but he squeezes them in and out of fists, clicking his tongue. You hear the leather of them move.

You have never spoken to him before. You've never heard him speak. You wonder if he really knows how to; you wonder if he has a voice or if he's been whittled down to nothing but the sounds that a loyal mutt makes. You know why he's here, you know why he's come. You can't tell him no, you don't think, but he doesn't move from his place, so you aren't completely sure of what he wants.

But you have an idea.

"Y'abhor me," he says finally. He speaks. You swallow. At least he isn't stupid. It's rare that you see a brute with brains. Although, with all the battles he has won, you know he doesn't lack intelligence. He is seasoned, worldly, knows how to convince the politicians and to rile up the uneducated men that kill for him. He must have a quick tongue and a strong vocabulary. A leader bred for killing, a man taught to know his audience and how to deliver a persuasive message.

But has he been taught to tame a cat? How to please a woman? How to love her, how to have her?

Love. What a silly dream.

"Not as much as I fear you," you admit. He hums, his eyes crinkling a little, as if he's smiling. You watch him carefully as he finally moves, rounding the bed before he stands in front of you.

"Wot is it y'r afraid of?" he asks. His voice comes low, from the bottom of his chest. You tilt your head up to look at him.

"That you'll hurt me," you whisper. He shrugs, shaking his head.

"A beaten wife is no good t'me," he tells you, very matter-of-fact. "Need strong heirs. Which means I need y'fed and happy."

"I'll never be happy."

He grips your chin, shutting you up. A part of you wishes he would be meaner. That he would be the angry, possessive Ghost that he truly is and show the kingdom that there is no part of him redeemable or salvageable. You want to sport his bruises and tell the queen he is an animal, but his touch is firm and nothing more. If anything, he's gentler than you expected him to be.

"We'll see about tha'."

Your eyes water, and you stiffen at his touch.

"I know who you are," your voice cracks. "I know what you do. You're a pillager. You take women, and you kill men."

He tilts his head to the side, smoothing his thumb along your bottom lip. You aren't wrong. Since he was small, most of what he has known has been the smell of blood in the air and the sound of screams when he shows up at their doors. He's never been particularly gentle when he ravages. He takes, takes, takes–it tastes good and strengthens his bones. It puts medals on his chest and pretty, thick women in his bed.

But you are no village in an unfortunate land. You are the gift that his king has given him. The forbidden treasure that he had his eye on since he saw you standing there beside his queen. Poised, elegant, graceful, timid, untouched, perfectly soft. Ghost has never known this kind of thing, and if you had been any other lady, he would have married you long ago, but he had to wait. He had to be patient, win and kill enough that his king could not refuse his request–no, his demand–to have you.

He did not do the king's bidding for the glory or for the honor. He did it so he could bite into you, so that even if you screamed, you belonged, and no one would care.

"Just a matter of war, dear wife. They matter little," Ghost mutters. "Let me look at ya..." he tilts your head side to side, observing you. He guides his hand down your throat, arching you back so he could trace his fingers along the swell of your breasts. He hums with approval, reaching lower and squeezing the fat of one breast with one big hand. His eyes flash, and he fondles the other.

You are surprised by the sensation. No one has ever touched you this way before. It feels...good. His hands are warm, even under all of that leather, and you find yourself feeling rather sensitive. You lean back a little on the palms of your hands, looking down. You watch as he traces a finger around your nipple, and you bite your lip when it pebbles under his touch. He uses both hands now, cupping both of them, growling. Ohhh–it feels so nice.

"Gonna be so nice when they're full," he murmurs, mostly to himself. "All for our babe."

You don't know what comes over you. You don't know why you do it, but you do. You lift your hand, gripping the edge of the laces that tie the front of your dress closed, and you pull. The weight of your breasts unravel the ribbons, and Ghost groans audibly when they spill out of your corset. There is a tickle that you feel, some sort of sick satisfaction, knowing that you've pleased him in some way.

"Tha'sit...My beautiful bride..." he smacks his lips together under his mask, as if he's hungry, "Tits of a fuckin' angel."

You squeeze your legs together. You know what it is to feel aroused, but this is different. You feel wet, so wet, as if it's wetting the skirt of your dress. You've never felt it this strong. You whimper a little, and he chuckles, so mean.

"Y'like tha', my bride?" he asks. He reaches up and cups your cheek, bringing your soft eyes to his. The praise, it itches you nicely. "Y'r m'prize, swee'eart. I killed over a thousand men, and y'are what m'reward is, did y'know tha'?" he hisses. "Cut the heart out of a man's chest, like a fuckin' pig, just to 'ave this cunt."

Why does it feel so good? Why are you getting wetter and wetter, why are you whining, why are you giving into it? Why do you want it so bad, why do you ache?

It hurts, it hurts–

"'s olright," he coos, so condescending. "Shhhh..." he puts a palm on your chest and pushes, making you lay back. You swallow, letting him put a finger between the laces of your corset and tug. It barely budges, fastened so carefully, and you gasp sharply when he uses two big hands and grunts, ripping your corset apart. You hear the crack of the whale bone give away under the strength of him, and it's a reminder of just how dangerous he is, how strong, and you know when he looks between your thighs, he'll find you wet and needy and captivated.

The corset comes loose, and he tugs, taking your skirts with it until you're naked underneath him. You want to feel shame, but you can't. You're so desperate, for whatever he will give you, and instead of covering yourself, you let your knees fall open. The groan he lets out makes you leak even more, and he watches with awe as your puffy hole pulses. He moves to shove his trousers down, but you stop him, putting a hand on the chest of his leather armor.

"Wait–" you meet his eyes. Your eyes flutter. "B-but...But I want..."

He eyes you curiously, narrowing them.

"Want wot?"

You swallow.

"I-I..." you reach down and slip your fingers gently through your folds. The squelch makes his eyes widen, and he's mesmerized by what he sees. "I want...Your mouth..."

He snickers, "Y'think a man will eat it so easy?" he raises a brow. "Doesn't work tha' way. Besides..." he shrugs. "I don't reveal m'face."

You sit up, blinking, smoothing your hands down his chest and tracing them along the hem of his trousers. His dark eyes follow you, and you realize he doesn't really say no. You need to remind him that you are not one of his men. You need to be kept happy, and he needs to give in, even if it hurts his fucking ego.

"Please?" you whisper, taking his hand and putting it back on your face, kissing the palm of his glove. Killed a thousand men to have me, so show me–show me, show me, show me. You nuzzle into it, giving him those eyes, and he stares for a long few moments. "Please..."

He sinks to his knees almost immediately. His armor stretches a little, the leather and metal moving rigidly with him. Your eyes widen a little at the position–the thing that he is knelt down in front of his wife, an act of submission.

"Turn around," he snaps. "On y'r knees."

You do as he says. You turn on the bed, your face squished against the cushions, and he yanks you back by your hips. You fist the sheets, sucking in a shaky breath, and your eyes squeeze shut when he puts two hands on your ass and spreads you wide. He plants a kiss on your folds from over the mask, and then you hear the shuffle of fabric before his warm tongue prods at your entrance.

He eats slow at first. Just drags his tongue through the slick there. He's exploring you, learning you. But then he is all-consuming. He hisses, gripping you by the thighs and suckling at your clit before tracing his name into the folds of your cunt. You can't help how wet you are–drooling, wetting his mask, crying so soft as he bobs his head and eats you, starving. He did not expect you to be so sweet, so soft. Every part of you is soft, and he associates the taste of you with the sound of your pleasure, and it's like a trigger. His brain ticks just the right way when he hears you moan for the first time. Not even battle quiets the tinnitus, but the ringing is nearly gone now.

He wonders if you're sent from heaven, even though he doesn't believe in it. But something had to have sent you, something had to have given you to him, because it's too much, it's too good, it's too real.

What he wants is in his hands, cumming on his tongue, crying because of his touch. Too real, too real, too real.

He pulls away. He smacks his lips gently, smirking, and then he pulls his mask back down. He stands up straight, watching you, still on your knees, squirming. He tuts, turning you onto your back easily. You're languid and a little breathless, and you giggle a little when you realize how easy it is for him to manhandle you, for him to move you. You've never felt very small, but he doesn't even strain, not even a little.

He's so scary, it makes you sick, but you can make this your own–you could make him love you, couldn't you? Someone this twisted, someone this insane, you could make him obsessed, you could drive him crazy, you could have the loyal dog you have always been yourself.

Killed a thousand men to have me, so I'll put you on your fucking knees.

It's what you're owed. For all the years of serving, for all the years of submission and pain and kneeling and curtsying, you're allowed to have something, you can have something, even if it's this monster of a man. He may have paid for you, but you won't let a thousand men die for nothing.

You will make him love you. You will make him love you. You will make him love you.

You sit up, a bit dazed. You're swimming in your own head, a little insane from the orgasm. You know what a man like him wants. You have doted on men like him all your life. You know what it is that arrogant people crave, what it is they desire, the things that keep them up at night, you know because you've soothed those fears all your life.

You just need to know how to make him purr. You need to know what clears the thoughts in his head.

"My husband," you whisper, meeting his eyes, and there's a little twitch in his eyes. He likes that title. "I–"

"Did y'like that, my bride?" he murmurs. "Your husband's mouth on y'r cunt, 'n now y'r singin' for me, eh?"

You bat your lashes, sliding your hands up his forearms. You drag your fingers over the sleeves of his armor, whimpering. The smell of leather is overwhelming, but you suppose you must get used to it. You have a feeling you'll be polishing it for the rest of your life.

"I've always been...Terrified of you," you whisper. "The way you come into court...The way you fight...Seeing you in all those places, you have always scared me..." he hums, his eyes intrigued. He smooths his hands up your thighs, gripping onto your waist as he tugs you closer to him. "But, I..." you reach for his shoulders, pulling on him until he bends, leans over you, crowds your space and shadows you like the eclipse he truly is. "I-I want more..."

He chuckles, "I know y'do," he echos. "Could see it in y'r eyes, darling girl," he sighs. "A pretty face like this one...Wasted on her majesty."

"I don't think we're allowed to say that."

"I deliver entire countries at john's feet, I'll say wot I bloody please," he snaps. You just blink up at him, before smiling a little.

This disgusting, murderous, possessive, immoral, treacherous piece of shit that is your husband is really the most beautiful man you've ever set your eyes on. Strong, resilient, unable to be killed, adored by his king and his men alike. He is everything a man is supposed to be, but nothing like how a gentleman should behave. He is built for war, built to take, so how can you get this nasty thing to love you?

Ghost does not seem the kind of man to bend to the desires of ordinary men. He may want to fuck you, but he has self-control. He may enjoy the praise of his men, but he doesn't require it. He may ache for the soft press of a woman, but he is self-sufficient and easily deterred.

So you do what servant women do best. You appease, because at the end of the day, Ghost is still a man, and men are all the same.

"A baby..." you whisper, holding onto the backs of his hands firmly. You dig your nails into the skin there, arching your back to get closer to him. He growls under the mask, metal biting into your soft skin as he grips you even tighter. "Want a baby..."

He cackles, so mean, and he leans down to kiss along your ear, down your throat, biting at the supple skin through the mask. He's still got all of his armor on, he hasn't shed one lick of his gear, but you cling to it like a parasite. He is one with it, and you realize this now, his second skin made of durable steel and patent animal skin, singed at the edges. He's such a fine soldier, too strong for his own good, too rough around all his edges to be anything but a masochist, but he's yours. He belongs to you as much as you belong to him, and it isn't until he slides the warmth of his length through your folds that you realize this, too.

You reach up with trembling hands, high enough to cup his masked face. He flinches, nearly throwing you off, but you shush him gently, cooing softly as you nuzzle your nose against his.

"I'm sorry," you whisper there. It's so intimate, this position, and you know that he has never let anyone touch him this way by the feeling of his body under your hands, stiff and unable to move. You roll your hips gently, up against his, and you let out a soft keen at the squelch of your slick against his cock. "It's...It's everything I didn't know I wanted..."

He grunts, metal creaking as his nostrils flare.

"I don't understand," he murmurs. Affection, it's so unfamiliar that it startles him. That someone can be kind to him, something other than a hard hand and an impossible order, it's not something he knows, and he's not sure how he feels about it. His instinct tells him to distance himself, but his cock guides him closer.

"You," you whine. "So big–" you reach down between your bodies, pumping his cock gently. Your fingers barely meet around his girth, a true testament to his size, he lacks this largeness nowhere. "–there's nothing to be afraid of, is there?"

Ghost snarls a little, gripping your thighs tight and securing them around his waist. You lock your ankles around his hips, pulling, and he hums as the head of his cock sinks into you easily.

"Naughty lil' girl," he laughs, standing straight as his thighs meet your ass. You whine, your back bowing like a taut string, and he slides his tongue over his teeth with a menacing click. "Not a virgin, are ya?"

"I-I am," you gasp, clawing at his forearms, and he hisses when you clench.

"Mm. Not a stranger t'this feelin' then, aye?"

You shake your head, and he nods, hoisting your legs up and over his shoulders as he gives you a firm thrust.

"Good," he mutters. "Don't much feel like pettin' ya."

And he doesn't. He's a menace. He snarls like a beast under his armor, his gloves squeezing your plush thighs as he pounds into you with no words to soften the blow. He isn't gentle by any means–he gives, and he expects you to take, and your legs shake as you try and crawl away from him. He doesn't let you–his fingers spread around your waist and he tugs, spearing you back onto his cock before he leans over you and starts putting his back into it.

Despite the roughness, he looks down at you, eyes focused on yours, and he doesn't look away. Your arms flail a little until you reach up and wrap them around his neck for stability, but it only draws his face close to yours. Your hand falls to grip his jaw, and he leans into it just enough that you know you have him.

"You'll make such a good little babe," he grunts, groaning when you tighten just that much. He's securing his place, making room inside of you so you can take even more. "Cunt was made to bear m'children, m'lady..."

"That so?" you squeak, and he smiles under the mask–you're falling apart on his cock, a good girl, just for him, just like you always are. "Have to finish what you started for that to happen, don't you?"

"Fuckin' brat–" Ghost snaps, but he presses his face to yours, needing to be closer, needing to have you, needing to make you his from the inside-out. A ring is not enough, no, he has to bind you to him forever by making you bear his kin. He will give you many, he's going to keep you fat and beautiful and pregnant, and his children will know that their father hungered for their mother so much that he destroyed a generation of men to covet one of his own.

Ghost has known since the first moment he laid his eyes on you that you would be it. You had to be his wife, no one else would suffice, because no one else could bear the weight of his name the way you would be able to. No one else would be able to carry his babies without dying, no one else could make the sun fall and the moon rise and the fire wane just long enough for him to feel human again, no one.

You start to think the same. You've never felt this way, so out of your body and so aware of it all at once. You're floating–you're somewhere else, you think. There's a pleasure so searing, that you can barely breathe. His cock is deep, touching places inside of you your fingers could never dream to reach, and there's a place that he touches sometimes that makes your eyes blur and your mouth make the most pathetic whining sound. You're crying, begging, asking him for more, please–! Nnghh–please!

He's never had a woman so wet. He has always had them for his own pleasure. He has never paid attention to what they feel or tried to make it nice for anyone but himself, but he knows he will never want it the same ever again. There's something so satisfying about the heavy plat, plat, plat that his cock makes every time his hips meet yours. He can feel his trousers sticking to his thick thighs, knows that there must be some thick, creamy slick coating his length and sticking to your skin that he suddenly wants to scoop up with his tongue and savor the tang of his bride, his wife, his pretty, pretty girl–tha's it, just right, like tha'–

"I...I-I–!" it's more intense than you've ever felt it. A crescendo of pleasure that is starting to grow in your belly, an unwavering warmth that he keeps flooding you with, so good that you can't stop crying for it. You're sputtering, drooling, clawing at the hood around his back because it's so fucking close, it's right there, it's mine, you're mine, mine, mine–

"Fuckin' hell–" Ghost groans, cradling your head against his chest as he stills his hips against yours and fills you nice and warm. You go cross-eyed, you think, shaking as you latch your mouth onto his masked jaw and suck. You need to put your mouth around something, need to fill it with the taste of him. He doesn't move, body heavy and suffocating over you, but you don't tell him to move and make no effort to push him off.

You think you want this. You think you want him to keep you here, just like this, underneath him, full of him, drooling from more than just your mouth from a fucking too good and the promise of something more.

He moves to take a seat on the bed, and you chase after him. You keep your arms around his neck, shuffle into his lap, and he chuckles under his breath as he wraps one big arm around you and tugs you close to him.

Maybe it isn't so bad to be bound to someone like this. Maybe it isn't so bad to belong, maybe it isn't so bad to be wanted this way, maybe it isn't the most unfortunate thing to not have the autonomy of yourself anymore in favor of being this thing's wife.

You slide your hand down his chest before smoothing it over one masked cheek. His eyes close for a moment, and he leans into it for just long enough that you recognize the gesture as one of need. Ghost aches, too–maybe not for the same thing you ache for, but he aches, and maybe it's for this.

Something gentle. Something soft. Something to bury himself into because the flames have burnt too hot for too long, and the voices in his head give him no reprieve. His hands are too dirty, too unclean, and you think maybe that's why he doesn't take his gloves off anymore–there is no cleaning agent enough for the blood caked under his fingernails.

He's more human this way. Less beast, more man, but you see that flicker of humanity disappear entirely when he sees the trickle of his cum slipping onto the fine sheets of your bed.

What a waste. What a loss. He has to fuck you again.

He will never be bored of me, I don't think. Ghost will want me forever–even when we are dead, because he cannot die, because he's already rotting inside.

You don't seem to mind your new position. No kneeling, no curtsying–your duty is on your back and on your side and on your stomach, presented for your husband, just for his pleasure, just for your own.

In all your life, you have never wanted this. You endured the burden of serving because you were at least needed this way. Marriage to you looked akin to death; when the veils fell over girl's faces, you never saw them again. They would be confined to their houses, made to spread their legs, forced to carry children they didn't want and die the slow death of giving their husbands everything they wanted while their dreams were buried alongside them.

Your dream is freedom. It always has been. Your dream is to do as you please, to go where you want to go, to say the things you want to say. There is an understanding here that you have, an opportunity that you could not see before. Before you had Ghost, you saw him as the thing in your way. He was the quicksand that would pull you under, the tide that sunk the earth, the dog that guarded his bone. But you know now, you understand, that Ghost doesn't have to be the wall in your way.

He is more animal than man, and in that fact alone, you feel power in your toes and something hungry knocking at the bone of your ribs, just waiting to come out.

Ghost will hold the sword. And you will hold the leash.

NEXT

[inherentchaos]

I actually can’t that was such a beautiful and perfect ending for our four protagonists.

Telemachus getting a moment to be his own but finally getting to reunite with his father and receiving that validation. His own father acknowledging his STRENGTH and reciprocating the great amount of longing and love.

Athena realizing that the way she led Odysseus astray was wrong, that Odysseus was always a true warrior of the mind. That the way she led him turned him into a brutal monster and not the cunning warrior she was looking for. Her realizing that her actions led to him becoming RUTHLESS, and that ruthlessness comes at the cost of empathy. Then finally her graciousness in accepting that she has to let Odysseus be, and that the world he used to chase is now in her hands. Athena learning the greatest lesson from her most prized pupil, EMPATHY.

Penelope getting her moment of pure strength and authority when finally in the presence of her equal and her life partner. Telling Odysseus that all those things he had done, fighting to get home to her, it doesn’t matter. They both did what they had to do. She is frustrated at the idea he thinks she could deny him her love, because everything she has done, everything they have both done has been for LOVE.

And finally Odysseus. Haunted by the things he has done, but finally after so so so long he is finally on the upperhand in his own home. Slaying those who threaten those who he loves. Reuniting with the son who is a vision of him, but softer, kinder, still his boy. Then confronting Athena as an equal, standing his ground and telling her that it does not matter if she has come around, she isn’t apart of his agenda anymore, so he dismisses her. Not out of anger, but out of an exhaustion for the games of gods, the world isn’t his concern anymore, not after all he’s done. His last goal is to reunite with his wife. And when he finally does see her, he apologizes for years of wrongdoing, begging her to still love him thinking that he has lost sight of who he is. Then when he thinks that she is betraying the love he literally carved for her he speaks up and pours his heart out to her, revealing that underneath all his grit and tragedy he is still himself. He is still ODYSSEUS, king of Ithaca, but more importantly husband to PENELOPE.

EPIC was truly a journey which was such an honor to watch. From the first snippets of songs on tiktok, to this. The finally of our heros, and the truly epic conclusion of the journey we have been on.

I cannot wait to see what this amazing man comes up with next.

[somnoir]

Prodigal son beyond Time - part 2

Part 1 | Masterpost

Damian first met his great uncle Danyal when he is three years old. His mother says he's met him long ago, when he was but a babe with a memory too fuzzy to remember. But the man before him is his grandfather's favorite child. The son that scowls at his father as he cradled Damian in his arms.

"What have you done?" His uncle scowled, a gentle hand pressed against the back of Damian's head. "He's a child!"

"Danyal!"

"You weren't like this with me." Danyal spat, keeping Damian in his arms and pressing his lips towards his nephew's forehead. Damian notes how cold his uncle's skin felt like, but more welcoming than that of his grandfather's.

"Danyal, he is to be trained like a proper Al Ghul." Grandfather said, frowning at Danyal.

"You trained me like a proper Al Ghul when I was older than him!" Danyal immediately protested, "He's three!"

"Danyal—"

"Ukht, I understand that you wish the best for your son but this is not it." Danyal immediately said, looking apologetic for interrupting Talia, but went back to glaring at Ra's. "I've tried to tolerate the fact that you handle an assassin league, father but this? You taught me to be loyal to the family. You taught me to cherish the family, you're blood—why the fuck aren't you giving the others the same treatment you gave me?!"

"Because they are not you!"

Damian doesn't recall what truly happened that day, but he does remember how his uncle's eyes went from soft blues to the same shade that the Lazarus pits glowed.

Damian remembers everything going dark.

Damian grows up differently.

He continues on his training, but everything is kinder to him. The world is kinder when his uncle is home, having tea with grandfather and overseeing his training. Mother loves him and uncle Danyal the most, claiming that they are blessings to her life.

Grandfather is quieter nowadays, almost docile with his uncle around.

It's a little more peaceful. The assassin's continue to train, to fight. But their reign of terror fall upon those that are corrupt and destroying the world. It's one of the compromises uncle Danyal and grandfather have led too.

Damian grows up differently.

Damian's arrival to the Bats' lives was unprecedented and quite confusing. He was a child raised by assassins, a child raised to become the next leader of the league. But he was... Strange. Strange for that kind of standard. 

Damian was rather sociable, hostile but not downright murderous towards them. 

His uncle did make sure that he had friends in the league.

Ra's had been utterly ecstatic to find out that he had two more grandchildren while Talia was quite pleased to know that she had a niece and nephew. 

Damian had a pair of strange cousins who snuck him out of training to go watch the stars, often getting them scolded, but it was worth it. Dante was older than Damian by five years. He was what other would call an angsty teen with how he often rebelled against his father. Meanwhile, Janelle—preferebly Ellie—was only a year older than Damian himself. She was a mischievous person who made sure that everything around her was swallowed by her own chaos. So when he entered the manor, suddenly struck with the reality that he had multiple siblings instead of just one elder brother, Damian knew what to do. 

Murder was not the answer. 

But by the words of his gracious uncle and the wisdom of his excellent cousins: fight your siblings like a feral child but defend them by being even worse to others. 

So Damian's first act as Dick Grayson's younger brother was to bite him. 

The undead were restless, rising from their graves or haunting their own corpses. It wasn't something they usually dealt with, forced to call upon magicians. 

But even Constantine was bewildered by just how cursed Gotham's lands were. To bring back the dead. Jason was a miracle but this was like an abomination, a literal zombie. 

No one really knew how to properly deal with the dead...

Well...

"My uncle would be willing to provide his assistance in this matter." Damian piped up, examining the contained zombies from a safe distance. All eyes were quickly drawn to him, bewildered and questioning. 

"I hardly think that Dusan would be suitable for this." Bruce sighed. 

Damian scowled, "Not him. My grandfather's first-born is whom I speak off. He is knowledgeable in the occult arts of the dead." 

"Damian... Ra's Al Ghul only has one son." 

"Untrue. Grandfather's greatest pride was always my uncle. He is precious to grandfather and ensures that no one knows much off him. I expected you and Drake to be aware of the first born." 

Tim stiffened, "They weren't rumours?! Ra's actually has some cryptid son?" 

Bruce, who had heard of the old tales of the Demon head's beloved heir, had always thought they were stories to scare the assassins. He's never seen the man, nor has he found any evidence of him in the league. 

Jason finally started paying attention, "So the league's golden boy can help? Dami, I don't think Al Ghul will even let his favorite kid anywhere near us." 

"You underestimate my uncle's love for me."

"You met him?" Bruce quickly interjected. 

Jason shrugged, "He helped me out back then. Patched me up when the pit madness got worse and helped me manage it. But his face was usually covered and no one really knew his name."

"Aside from myself, grandfather, and my mother." 

Bruce frowned, "Nyssa and Dusan don't know their brother's name?" 

"Grandfather says that they do not have the privilege of knowing his name. Mother was the first of his other children to have met my uncle."

"And what about you? You won't give us his name?" 

Damian scowled, feeling rather displeased with his father's choice of words. "Names are powerful, father. My uncle taught me this when I was young." 

Constantine narrowed his eyes, "You're uncle some kind of fae, kid?" 

"Watch your mouth, hellblazer. He does not like you." Damian hissed, having heard all his uncle's rants about the Laughing Magician, especially whenever he'd just randomly pick up Talia and walk around Nanda Parbat like she was a kitten rather than a deadly assassin. "But I shall call upon my great uncle and ask him for assistance. This matter with the undead shall surely pique his interest."

"Tell the old man I said hi!" Jason cheerfully added, sounding quite pleased to hear about the mysterious uncle. 

"No." Damian blatantly denied. As much as he loves Todd (and he will never admit that), he was not going to let anyone threaten his status as his uncle's favorite child. Over his dead body. 

Damian was quick to walk away from all of them, quickly retrieving all the materials he'd need to summon his uncle. Dark green paint for the summing circle, five candles, and an astrology book. 

"Bats... Why the hell is your son performing a summoning ritual? For a ghost of the realms too." Constantine's tone was strained, clearly disturbed and wary of Damian's actions. 

"Damian." Bruce warned but Damian just waved him off. He watched as Jason started lighting up the candles, humming an unfamiliar tune. 

"D'you think the old man will help us?" 

"Of course! Uncle adores me." 

"You think he'll give me his name?"

"I will gut you, Todd." Damian immediately responded with the most nonchalant tone he could ever give. 

Jason shrugged, before taking a step back. 

"Damian! Whatever you're summoning—" 

"I'm summoning my uncle, father. He's the best person to go to with these issues." Damian insisted, before muttering something unintelligible under his breath.

Bruce was startled when Constantine grabbed him, eyes wide and rapidly turning pale. "Why the hell does your son know how to speak the language of the—"

Fire burst forth from the circle, slowly morphing into an icy blast. 

"Dead." Constantine's breath hitched, "Holy shit, your brat just summoned the ghost king." 

Bruce grabbed Damian the moment a hand emerged from the blast of cold. He shoved his on behind him, suddenly feeling frightened as his entire body felt goosebumps. Fuck. Did Damian really just perform a summoning ritual for such a powerful being? He never expected for Ra's to brainwash his son into believing that such a powerful thing—

"Nephew!" 

Bruce blinked, suddenly blinded by the light. 

"Uncle!" Damian escaped from his grasp, rushing into the circle. Constantine practically screamed once Damian ran into the arms of what was supposedly his uncle and the ghost king. 

In front of Bruce was the most gorgeous man he's ever met. 

The floating hair that reminded him of snow and the green eyes that were purer than the Lazarus pits. He couldn't help but swallow thickly, blinking. Damian was held up by the ghost king, allowing the boy to nuzzle into the crook of his neck. 

"Hello, dami (my blood)." The king cooed, his pronunciation of the nickname much different from the shortened version of Damian's name. "I was not expecting you to call me. What's happened, my dear?" 

Damian hummed, but before he could speak, he was immediately interrupted.

"Long time no see, old man!" Jason yelled, waving his arm as if he wasn't in the same room as the king. 

"Jason! Hello! How are you? The corrupted ecto hasn't returned, has it? If it has, just tell me. I'll schedule a check up with Frostbite." The king quickly fussed, not minding the way Damian was baring his teeth at Jason. "Damian, behave!" 

Damian just seemed to whine, refusing to behave and opting to pestering the king. 

"I'm good, uncle. Haven't gone out crazy since you took me to the doctor." Jason smiled, already ripping of his domino mask to show that his eyes were green tinged with blue, not glowing green like the pits. 

"Good, good. But I really must know why I've been called." The king softly said, directing his words to Damian who was already trying to wriggle our his grasp. Gently, the king settled Damian back on his feet. 

"Right. Uncle, my father, Batman. Father, this is my uncle." Damian introduced, his tone hurried and a bit hesitant. 

The king, Damian's uncle, smiled at Bruce. "Hello there, Mr. Wayne. I've wanted to meet you for a long time." The king hummed, "My name's Danny, but the Al Ghuls call me Danyal." 

"Uncle!" 

"Hush, hush, Damian. I can give my name to anyone I want. I don't suppose that your father is worthy of it."

Bruce really should be more concerned about the fact that the king knew his name. 

"But what of the others?" 

"Little one, I sent Nyssa and Dusan letters ages ago. But rest assured, dearest Talia is still the first to earn it." Danny—Danyal—the ghost king softly spoke and patted Damian's head. "And... Oh, it's you."

"Your majesty!" Constantine enthusiastically greeted while Danny scowled. 

"Tax evading bastard." Danny huffed, shaking his head before promptly ignoring the tax evading bastard in question. 

"Damian." 

"The dead are rising."

Danny blinked, blinked again, before he groaned and shook his head. 

"Okay, sorry. That seemed to be caused by an error on my side. Some prisoners of my realms started a riot and some of them managed to break out. Some have most likely decided to overshadow their old bodies." Danny sighed, "I'll have this taken care of. Apologies for the inconveniences."

"These... Zombies have been wrecking havoc across my city." Bruce frowned, "They've been harming people."

"Vengeful spirits do that. They're criminals meant to be in prison. It's rare for breakouts to happen, in all honesty." Danny paused, just long enough to run his fingers through Damian's hair. "But if you wish to take charge, by all means. These are corpses being possessed by their own spirits and... Well... They're out of their minds. Not really considered revenants since the possession isn't quite permanent." 

"Alright, Bats. We've gotta make a proper deal here. His Majesty was summoned so we've gotta offer him something—" 

"That's not necessary." Danny immediately waved Constantine away, evident displeasure from the man. "The sigil I gave Damian was just to call me to him. No need for an exchange."

"Seriously?" Constantine blurted out. 

Danny just shrugged, "He's family. And my favorite nephew." 

Damian smirked, absolutely smug. "I am your only nephew, uncle."

"Mm... Jason's also my nephew." Danny chuckled softly, easily stepping out of the circle and removing it from the floor—leaving not a single stain. "Now... Shall we deal with the dead?" 

Bruce Wayne has made many bad decisions in his life, especially when it came to his relationships. Damian's ghost king of an uncle might be one of them.

Masterpost

[plushstarrs]

My experience carrying a stuffed animal with me at school every day

Wrapping up my first semester where I decided to be brave and carry a plushie with me, and figured I’d share my experience for anyone who wants to bring their plushies but may be nervous. I carried a small to medium cat plush in my hands and placed them on my desk every day.

I can safely say my experience has been nothing but positive!

- No one ridiculed or treated me unkind for it, any questions were posed with respect. I worried people wouldn’t take me seriously, but it’s not a problem I encountered.

- I made friends more easily and people asked me questions about my plush (name,brand,etc) quite often and seemed interested in my answers.

- None of my professors made any rude comments or told me to put them away. One asked if my plush was a recording device and why I had her but didn’t push further when I replied no, she’s just here because she makes me happy.

- Some professors made jokes, one pretended to punch my cat plush because he “doesn’t like cats” and another told me not to bring a black cat because it reminds him of a past cat he had and disliked. Nothing serious it was all in good fun from professors who frequently joked with other students as well.

- It made me very happy and comforted to have a plushie friend with me!! That alone makes it worth it.

I’m a fourth year college student, if you are in high school your experience may vary as you could face teasing from peers as I had before, but remember the world is so much kinder <3

[livingthedragonlife]

this whole chapter lives rent free in my head, but something about this exchange just... especially lives there

he fantasized about monsters attacking a village when he was a child (and it's heavily implied that he still does). maybe he imagined them attacking his village, attacking everyone who shunned falin and treated her so poorly he left because he couldn't take it anymore. he fantasizes about monsters attacking a village because people cast them both aside for being strange. if they got attacked, they would all surely die, and all of a sudden wish that they'd been kinder to laios and falin.

i really don't feel like this is strictly a revenge fantasy, though. i'm sure that's part of it, but he looks ashamed here, or at the very least embarrassed to be called out on it.

monsters attacking a village would suddenly make them both "useful" to these people. his knowledge and falin's power would become things that people respect, they wouldn't be outcasts anymore. especially for a child, that's really the best case scenario. the thing that would "make you useful" appears and you get to save the day. you get to be loved, you get people's attention, you get their celebration instead of their disgust.

i really don't think laios hates people, or at least not ALL people. he hates how people have treated him and his loved ones. he hates that being who he is makes him strange. he wants to be a monster so badly because that's how people have treated him all his life—something to be reviled and cast out.

at least if he were the coolest monster in the world, nobody would ever be able to treat him or falin poorly and get away with it

[limethefirst]

Hellooo, i hope your having a beautiful day. I saw your requests are open and that you wrote for movie shadow once. Would it be okay if maybe i requested movie shadow x a reader who prehaps eggmans niece. Maybe then when its just shadow, stone and her on the crab prehaps she takes shadow to her room on the crab and trys to play and show him some of her stuff not scared of him. Then maybe she remind him of maria 🥹? Idk i have sonic brainrot after seeing the movie today lol and ive had this idea since.

Do I look like her?

pairings: Shadow the Hedgehogs x reader (platonic)

warnings: sonic 3 spoilers

summary: as the niece of Eggman you are left behind on the crab with Shadow as the men finish their mission, but every time Shadow looks at you he sees someone else.

a/n: hii thank you so much for the request! I’ve been wanting to write more Sonic 3 fics because I love the movie so much! I hope this is to your liking and you have an amazing day!!!

You watched your uncle Robotnik and Gerald walked away together, planning to sneak into GUN and steal the final keycard they needed, leaving you, Stone and Shadow.

“I have avocados in The Crab. Let’s go make guac!” Stone chimed, both you and Shadow turned your head to look at him.

“Revenge guac.” Shadow responded, his brows furrowed watching as Stone slowly helped you back into the sewer drain.

You were warned about Shadow, he was dangerous Robotnik had told you. Robotnik was somewhat caring when it came to you, he wasn’t harsh nor rude, he saw you as a responsibility but not a burden. He was kinder around you, maybe he saw a bit of himself, being all alone in a world that tended to abandon.

Whatever it was, you knew his warnings were usually right, but having been around the hedgehog for a while you honestly didn’t believe your uncle. Shadow, although seemed tough, you could tell there was more behind the persona and all the walls he’d put up.

Stone walked over to the island in the middle of the Crab, preparing the avocados for the guacamole he planned to make.

You took the opportunity to show Shadow around. Being the youngest of the bunch you didn’t have many friends and this was a chance to make a new one.

Quickly you walked in front of Shadow, a bright smile on your face highlighting the innocence in all your features, it was eerily reminiscent of someone.

“Come, I wanna show you around!” You told Shadow, grabbing his gloved hand unannounced, making him slightly more on guard. Stone looked up from the guac he was currently working on, he seemed happy; smiling at the two kids.

Shadow didn’t say much as you dragged him to your room, he just looked at you. Watching as your hand gripped onto his, he couldn’t help but hold on as well. Fearing that if he let go he may never find it again.

As he watched you near the closed door, he couldn’t help but take in all that you were, your demeanor, your way of speaking, your bright attitude, it was just like hers.

“This is my room!” Your hand started letting go of his but his grip only tightened. You looked down at his hand and back up at him as his eyes scanned the small room. You only smiled at his gesture, not feeling the need to point it out.

As you guided him around still hand in hand you saw his eyes checking every corner of the room, “It’s small,”

Your sudden laugh catches him off guard, his head quickly turning to see your free hand covering your mouth, “Sorry sorry! It’s just that’s the first thing you say to me?” You jokingly tell the hedgehog.

He watches you for a little bit longer, his eyes widening. As he stares up at you, all he sees is her. It wasn’t physical, it wasn’t that you looked like Maria, no not at all, it was the fact your personality towards him resembled her so much.

You weren’t afraid, you approached him and didn’t see him as a weapon or some type of lab rat. It was like he was really a person around you, like he was capable of caring again.

Shadow didn’t say much, and that was okay, you could do most of the talking anyway, you enjoyed being able to finally talk to someone.

You sat Shadow down on the floor, letting go of his hand so you could show him some of the toys and games you owned, knowing he lived 50 years in the past you wanted to keep him up to date on all the newer stuff that had come up. While you were grabbing some items you decided to also play a movie, it would be cool to show him the new films they’d come out with.

He silently watched you hurry around the room, dropping strange toys onto him. He felt some weird string toys get stuck in his quills.

You heard him rustle around, seeing him pull out your worm on a string, “Very colorful,” he grunted, as he tossed the toy in the pile in front of him.

All you did was smile as you sat in front of him, describing each toy and how they worked, as the latest Godzilla movie played in the background.

It was ironic really, back then Godzilla was a monster and now he was a friend protecting the people from the other monsters.

He no longer sat with Maria watching movies and playing games, now he sat with you. Oh how things really have changed.

[taeyongdoyoung]

wolf and bunny

summary: you ask your best friend to fuck you in your sleep but your bottled up feelings come out to the surface... pairing: chan x reader genre: smut, best friends to lovers warnings: cnc/somnophilia, discussion of boundaries, eating out, touching, groping, unprotected sex, spanking, stranger+wolf/bunny roleplay, little red riding hood references, face-slapping (once), size kink, cockwarming, multiple rounds, feelings (ew), pet names, discussion of future scenario 👀 (i know i said this is the end but...we'll see) author's note: hii everyone, this is the third and final part of my wolf and bunny series, thank you so much for going on this nasty journey with me 🤍 part one & part two word count: 2k

You and Chan are having a bit of a disagreement in connection with the circumstances surrounding your next game.

“But I want to know exactly which night you’ll do it.”

“If you know, you won’t be able to fall asleep,” Chan reasons with you. “Kinda like Santa Claus. Kids stay up all night waiting for him and then he never comes.”

“Please, even if the kids were asleep, he’d still never come ‘cause the parents are putting the presents under the tree!”

“It was just a metaphor.”

“A bad one. You’re gonna have to work harder to convince me.”

“Hey, wasn’t this your idea in the first place?” Chan reminds you teasingly. “You’re the one who wants me to fuck her in her sleep.”

“Ey, don’t pretend you won’t be into it,” you shake your head.

You are both so stubborn you don’t see this ending unless one of you retreats. Then, after a brief consideration, you speak again.

“Fine. You can keep the secret of the exact night you’ll do this. On one condition.”

“Sure, bunny, let’s hear it,” Chan listens eagerly.

“If I wake up, you won’t stop. I’ll just pretend I’m still sleepy and we keep going.”

“Is that even possible? I mean, for you to not wake up?”

“It is if you drug me or something,” you shrug.

“Ugh, don’t give me such evil ideas. You never know when I might take advantage of you.”

“Oh, I’m counting on it, wolfie.”

“But are you sure the sleep thing is a great idea? I mean, you wouldn't be able to say a safeword...” Chan can't help but worry, always putting your needs first and planning every scenario in great detail to make sure you're alright. Damnit, could he get any more perfect? He's so sweet and considerate you wish you could just tell him how you feel. But what if that scares him away? What if you lose not only your wicked game buddy but your best friend in the entire world? You wouldn't be able to live with yourself.

“Yes, I'm positive, Chris,” you place your hand on top of his. “I trust you 100% and know that you'll look after me. The question is, do you trust my judgement?”

“I mean, I do trust you. It's just that last time you didn't communicate your discomfort clearly and I wouldn't want to risk messing up to the point of accidentally hurting you,” Chan verbalizes his anxieties.

“I get what you're saying but it's not like I'm open to doing this with a stranger. It's you we're talking about. You've always been great at taking care of people so I know you wouldn't go too far. But at the same time, I wouldn't mind if you went loose. If anyone can take it and accept you fully, it would be me.”

“Yeah, I know. You're right. But just in case, I want you to know beforehand that I care about you and respect you like a lot. So, even if I get carried away, I still want you to feel safe.”

“Aww, Chris, ya old softie! I always feel safe with you, it goes without saying!” you insist.

“Well, I like hearing you say it.”

You gulp nervously. His voice is so commanding and yet so reassuring that your words have never rung truer. He's more to you than a safety net and you hope he knows it. He's incredibly thoughtful and infinitely kinder than the first impression. He's a riddle in the way he keeps surprising you and yet you wanna keep learning more about him. He's hundreds of the loveliest words in the dictionary multiplied. He's more comforting than your favourite blanket. He's warmth personified and you would be an idiot to let him go.

“I'll try to say it more often, then,” you promise. “When I'm with you, I know no harm will come my way. But here's the thing...you're the only one I'd willingly let hurt me.”

“I don't want to hurt you, though.”

“You don't?” you pout, suddenly feeling guilty. Then, what have you been doing? Was he forcing himself to act out these fantasies for your sake alone? You genuinely thought he was enjoying them as much as you were.

“Sorry, that came out wrong,” Chan is quick to explain. “I like our games. I meant that I don't want to hurt you emotionally. Ever.”

“Ah, yeah, that makes sense,” you chuckle, feeling a little stupid. “Well, you don't need to worry about that. Glad we had this talk.”

“Me too,” Chan gazes at you fondly.

“So, which night are you fucking me while I'm asleep?” you attempt to find out while he has this dazed look in his eye.

“Next- Hey, nice try! I'm not telling you, you impatient devil.”

“Aw, man, I was so close,” you bemoan the uncertainty of your future.

“You wish.”

The long-awaited night finally arrives. Chan has a key to your place so entering it is too easy. He makes sure he picks a night when you’ve complained about being exhausted and sleepy all day long. And he is certain that you’re passed out in your room, not suspecting a thing. Well, a part of you is always anticipating what could happen, but still.

He’s beyond glad to find you sound asleep. You’re wearing nothing but a t-shirt and some flimsy panties. Chan admires your sleeping form for a couple of brief moments before he gets down to business.

He wonders where to start. Should he tear them up? Or maybe push them to the side? Should he grope your boobs through your shirt? Or perhaps slide his hands beneath it, stroking your nipples directly? So many opportunities. He wants to do everything, he decides.

Chan starts by moving your panties to the side and licking your tiny pussy. He touches you with his fingers, gently prodding your entrance but not exactly sticking them inside yet. Then, he sneaks his hand underneath your shirt, teasing your nipples. Fuck, you’re so soft.

He marvels at the knowledge that you’d trust him with something like that. Though the previous scenarios were hot and intense as fuck, this one hits different for him. Maybe because last time you were awake, you were still in control because you could say the safeword whenever. Maybe because you want him at your most vulnerable even in your sleep. Or maybe because he’s slowly falling for you, but he doesn’t know how to say it.

It’s okay. Chan’ll show you, instead. He pinches your nipples lightly and continues to make out with your pussy. You are so wet already it’s adorable. He wonders if you’re dreaming of him, as you shift slightly in your sleep. He wants to drag this out. But how?

He uses his nails to trace circles on your skin, which causes goosebumps to appear. Are you cold? He wants to keep you warm and full at all times. Chan can’t take it any longer and takes his cock out, sliding in so perfectly. As if you were made for him. Made to take his cock and let him do crazy things to you. His sweet little bunny…

You moan desperately and the spell is broken. You’re awake. He wanders if you’ll speak or he’ll have to make you. Both options sound quite appealing. But he wants to hear your voice more than anything.

“Shhh, go back to sleep, sweetheart,” Chan whispers gently.

“W-who are you?” you cry out.

Aw, you’re gonna pretend not to know him? That hurts. But it can be fun, he thinks.

“Just the big bad wolf,” he chuckles at the irony of it.

“Please, don't do this,” you fake not wanting it, even though you've never wanted anything so badly in your life.

“Oh, bunny, but I already am,” Chan replies, spanking your ass a couple of times in the meantime.

“G-gonna split me in h-half,” you mumble, voice muffled against your pillow.

“Yeah? G'na ruin my sweet girl?” he speaks to you so softly you want to melt right there and then.

“Feel so full 'n so s'eepy,” you slur helplessly.

“Aw, tiny, go back to sleep, then,” Chan pats your head soothingly.

“Can't. What a deep voice you have!” you play along too well.

“All the better to degrade you with, my slutty bun,” Chan laughs, while still continuing to fuck you.

“What big hands you have!” you keep saying.

“All the better to grab your tits with,” Chan chuckles and makes good on his promise by playing with your boobs.

“And slap me with!” you remind him playfully.

“As you wish, princess,” Chan growls and slaps you across the face harshly but not harsh enough to actually leave a mark.

“What big eyes you have,” you sigh wistfully.

“All the better to stare at you fall apart,” Chan responds cleverly.

“And what big cock you have!” you scream, barely resisting the urge to laugh. Are you a silly little bunny or Little Red Riding Hood? At this point, you don't care, but it feels too good regardless.

“All the better to fuck you with,” he grunts loudly, spilling inside of you.

You follow rightaway and urge him to stay like this for a while. Maybe round two is in order?

“You know what else is big?” Chan teases you.

“Oh, shut up, Bigfoot!” you reply and are no longer able to hold it in, breaking into laughter. Chan also finds the interaction hilarious and buries his head in the nook of your shoulder. You stroke his hair without realizing. Shit, he's so adorable you almost say the three words. Is it too risky? Too soon? You need a distraction. You need... “Fuck me again.”

“Already? Aren't you tired?” Chan wants to make sure.

“Fuck me till I fall asleep again,” you ask him.

“Um, okay, sure,” Chan looks a bit confused but does as you ask.

This time there is less talking and more fucking but no matter how many rounds you go, sleep doesn't come again. You both orgasm more times than you could count, but somehow, it isn't nearly enough to distract you from the inevitable. You love him. Your heart knows it, your pussy knows it, even your brain knows it but is stubborny telling you not to confess for fear of somehow ruining things.

Once Chan decides he's completely spent for the night, he pulls out of you and rips off the bandaid.

“Are you alright? Something suddenly shifted but I can't quite place it,” he tucks a piece of hair behind your ear and nudges you softly with his shoulder.

“Do you want the truth that might mess up everything or do you want me to lie to you and say I'm fine?” you ask, even though you're already on the verge to tell the truth.

“With you? Always the truth, please,” Chan clearly states his preference.

You sigh deeply and tilt to the side so you're facing him properly.

“I think...no, I know I love you.”

“I love you, too, babybun,” Chan responds fondly and kisses you on the nose.

“In a non-friendly way. And I don't mean just sexually, either. I mean, the friendly way and the sexual way haven't diminished, of course. But I also love you in a...I want to be yours, your girlfriend, your lover, your romantic partner, your everything.”

Chan is taken aback by your words. You...feel the same?

“You already are,” he confesses genuinely.

“Huh?” you blink in shock.

“I mean...you are already my everything. But, if you'd like me to officially ask you, then...will you be my girlfriend, angel?”

“You...you'll have me?” you are still in disbelief.

“I thought I already had ya,” Chan pinches your cheeks lightly.

“Damn right you do, Mr. Wolf,” you giggle and pull him into a kiss.

He smells like autumn, his embrace exudes warmth and his lips taste like home.

“You have no idea how badly I've wanted to tell you about my feelings,” Chan confesses. “When I found that story of yours in your drafts, I just couldn't resist the opportunity. I hoped that if I turned your fantasies into reality that you'd eventually fall for me.”

“Oh, Channie...I've been falling for you for longer than you realize,” you admit shyly. “How could I not? You're everything I've ever wanted.”

So, this is what it feels like to have the world in your hands. Huh. You could get used to it.

Bonus:

“No, I'm not kidnapping you!” Chan is adamant as you two sit in a nice restaurant.

“But Chriiiis,” you whine. “You said you'd do anything for my birthday.”

“Anything but that!” Chan shakes his head in amusement.

“Why not? It can be fun!”

“Fun? What if something goes wrong, what if someone sees us and thinks I'm actually kidnapping you, what if...hear me out, here, I go to prison for it?”

“Well, duh, then I'd bail you out!”

“As if you could afford it,” Chan rolls his eyes.

“Hey! But seriously, I'll just tell the cops that I asked you to kidnap me.”

“What if they don't believe you and think you have a Stockholm syndrome?”

“I'll...think of something. Come on, we're going too far with the what-ifs.”

“You gotta be prepared for any situation. You'd know that if you carried the heavy burden of being a dom,” Chan tsks at you.

“I'd know that if you let me,” you give him a wink.

“That will only happen the day I agree to fake-kidnap you.”

“So, tomorrow? It's a date!” you grin excitedly.

“Keep dreaming, darling.”

“Oh, I will.”

The End