#and i think that's truly wonderful really

[daemonbrain]

Part 1

3.5k, cw: ghosts a pervert and stalker, readers husband is a piece of work, brief mentions of sex, explicit, not proofread

Simon Riley wasn’t one for the romantics, he was a simple man. Wake up early in the morning just as he would on base, complete his training regimen, take a quick shower, and rot away in his one bedroom one bathroom apartment until he's recalled for a mission. A mundane life for the soldier who dealt with life-or-death circumstances just as many times as he’s brewed himself a cup of tea.

But even Simon had things to look forward to. After enduring the monotonous routine of his week he’d practically sprint to the butcher's shop, not for love of the finer cuts of meat one could find, but to see his bird. 

Still the fittest thing he had ever seen, your relationship evolved from standing with your back turned to his debauched stares to you actually saying hello to him. Slowly hello turned to little conversations. By conversations, it mainly consisted of you prattling on about one thing or another while Simon grunted out a short “yeah?” or “hm.” Sometimes he felt bad that his pretty little thing who always had endless things to say spoke to him, someone who was pretty much a brick wall in conversation.

But, ah well. He couldn’t think of you banging on the headboard while he fucked you and fully pay attention to what was said in his defense.

At times he didn’t know whether to scold or praise your ability to dole out kindness to even a cold bastard like him. A stranger was what he was, and you still managed to speak to him as if he were any other man you’d meet on the street.

He didn’t deserve it, he knew that. Not with the things he has done to others. Things that would send your pretty little head toppling off your shoulders if you knew. Not with the way he prowled behind as you shakily made your way up the slippery sidewalk, plastic bag with groceries in hand.

He didn’t deserve it, but he was sure as hell certain your fuckwit of a husband definitely didn’t deserve it. That prick left you walking alone and cold the whole way home, letting you know minutes before he was supposed to pick you up from the butcher’s shop. 

That pathetic guy didn’t want to take care of his wife? Didn’t want to pay attention to his girl? Well fine, he didn’t need to. Simon would. 

As if it physically pained him to watch you have to lift a finger, he sped up his pace and loudly cleared his throat from behind.

Whirling around in fright, your tensed shoulder immediately relax upon meeting Simon’s eyes. Your body shivered from the winds, yet you beamed at him with the warmth of the fuckin’ sun. 

“Simon! What are you doing here?” You chirped out in greeting, clasping your hands together as the bag dangled from your fingers. You waited for him to stalk up to you, broody as ever. 

His pretty little songbird, who tweets out her hellos even when the frigid weather demands a more mellow tone.

In his usual unsettling manner, he stops right in front of you. “I live up this way.” He lied. 

“Really?! I’ve never seen you coming up this way.” He was so close. He had to crane his neck downwards to look at your face, cheeks and nose probably frozen from the biting wind. Your brows furrowed in what he assumed to be suspicion, and he truly wondered for the first time if you actually had a semblance of survival instinct after all.

Raising a brow, he points to a random building in the distance. He picked something far enough away from your own home to quell any unease.You lived in that reddish-brown building about two blocks away. Though you’ve never told him that.

“Just righ’ up there. Usually don’t go this way, but the other route is closed off.”

Your furrowed brows quickly correct themselves at his words and you assume your resting expression, one much softer. “Well… we might as well head up together then!” You laughed in joy and Simon felt his cock twitch for similar reasons. It seems the concept of “stranger danger” wasn’t drilled into your head hard enough during your formative years. 

He’d never dream of doing something to hurt your cheery demeanor, but he couldn’t say the same for others. People can be nasty and, if you survived this long without that bubble being burst, he’d be more than happy to tear apart the prick who’d try. Pricks like your husband.

Wasn’t it a soldier's duty to protect the peace? Something like that anyways. 

He noticed the way your poor fingers stiffly held on to the bag, the weight harder to carry because of the chill in the air. His hands itched to help.

You quirked your head to the side due to his lack of anything to say and Simon merely jutted his head towards what you carried, “Give it ‘ere.” Your mouth opens to protest, but Simon doesn’t give you the opportunity as he easily plucks the bag from your hands. “Come on,” He began to walk again while ignoring his bird’s shrill whistles of objection to his help “You’ll catch a cold out ‘ere if we don get’cha inside soon.”

Catching up to his long strides, you approach from the right and sigh. You’re inclined to tell him it’s really not necessary, but the heat that bloomed in your chest as a result of his breathy chuckle interrupted you.

You didn’t even need to ask him to help... he just did. 

You couldn’t help the way your eyes wondered about his large frame, and he was huge. You had to admit the first time you had spoken to Simon you were a bit rattled when you stuck your hand out to shake his. It was maddening the way he never made a sound, the way his steps quietly padded along the floor when he went up to the counter at the butcher’s shop to pay. 

Occasionally you felt your skin prickle everytime he stood behind you. Whenever you gathered the courage to take a peek you would be met with the sight of him tapping away at his phone without a care, hood of his jacket concealing most of his face. 

Though you could’ve sworn his phone was upside down once?

Cars whizzed past and you shook away those thoughts. Simon happens to be a quiet type, nothing to judge him for. 

“... Thank you. You know, you’re a real nice guy.” Shoving your hands into the pockets of your jacket, Simon slows his steps just enough to move behind you. “Simon?” You turn your head side-to-side in confusion as he nudges his way to your other side.

“Wha’?” He huffed while putting himself between you and the road. 

Odd.

The two of you got closer to the building and in a practiced stop you both pause at the entrance. About to speak again, you’re cut off by the loud ring of your phone. Looking down you see your husband's photo pop up on the screen. With a sigh, you hold up a finger to your companion and answer.

“Hey hun, is something wrong? You said you had a meeting?” You could hear the exhale of annoyance which escaped him before he responded.

“I’m working late tonight. I can’t make it for dinner. Make sure to leave me a plate before you go to bed though.” Of course. He was always late nowadays. One project or another he would say before rolling to face away when you asked him about his day before bed. 

You were his wife! You’d make time for him no matter what, and normally you wouldn’t want to be a bother, but the way tears threatened to bead your waterline in frustration caused your voice to harden a fraction.

“Again? Really? They’re working you a bit hard, don’t you thi-” 

“I have work. I’ll talk to you later.” 

You blink owlishly at Simon who looks back in silence. You hear the beep indicating the call has ended. Slowly, you pull your phone away from your ear both saddened by your husband's cold words but also the humiliation of your new friend witnessing the way you were clearly hung up on by your own spouse.

You wanted to turn heel and retreat into the privacy of your apartment. Cook up a meal which will grow cold on the counter and curl into your bed while incessantly tracking the minutes until you hear the door open.

Simon’s eyes narrowed as if he wanted to burn a hole through your phone, and he waited for you to gather yourself.

“I- um,” letting out an awkward chortle, you scratch the back of your neck. “Looks like I'm alone for dinner tonight.” You managed a disingenuous smile. Simon didn’t seem like the type to be able to pick up on subtle social cues like that, you doubt he’d think anything of your words.

“Well I better get back inside… it's freezing out here. Thanks for your help with my bags I-I just have to get started on cooking right now, so.” You reached for your groceries and saw the strange look in his eyes soften a bit. As you pivot towards the entrance, you hear a gruff call.

“ ‘m pretty hungry righ now.”

…How could you be such an idiot! He carries your bags for you, probably chilled to the point of numbness, and you don’t even invite him in for something to eat. Not even a hot drink. All because of your own selfish discomfort?!

“Oh gosh, that was rude of me. Simon, you wanna come in? I have enough to whip you up a plate if you’d like. A ‘cuppa’ as well. Is that what you say?” You asked.

Simon was a kind man. He was intimidating, but surely it was okay to let him into your personal space. After all, the only person who would object to his presence was currently holed up at his office.

“Brought it up for a reason. That’d be great, love.”

You couldn’t help the way your heart pattered in your rib cage at the endearing pet name. Kind words from a kind man. That’s all. You willed your heart to slow with images of your husband, to whom you had the utmost respect for.

The two of you made your way up to the spacious apartment. You bent over to unlace your shoes and take off your coat. It doesn’t go unnoticed how it took Simon a moment to follow suit. When he stood to his full height, a gentle warmth swelled within you when met with the sight of his broad build in the now seemingly small walls of your home. He looked as though he crowded the room more than any of the furniture.

You felt a bit hazy when you moved to the kitchen. You shouted back to Simon who stood put at the door, “Feel free to make yourself comfortable! Go ahead and sit down anywhere.”

Like a flower, you needed your fix of sunlight. You had lots of windows in your apartment to let the natural light in, a giant one looking into your living room. Simon would see you watching your silly shows, tapping away at your laptop while snuggled under a blanket in this very spot. Soon he’d show you the value of privacy, closing the blinds, locking everything before bed. 

There were shady people in the world. Those who’d feed off of your sweet carelessness like it was the best thing to touch their depraved mouths. That wasn’t fair to his bird. 

“ ‘m gonna go to the loo.” and before you even had the chance to give him directions, you watched the Brit make his way to the restroom unprompted.

It wasn’t fair, but he would make it fair. He would keep those bastards far away from you, guard your blissful paradise. Keep you ignorant.

So what if his methods were unconventional? So what if he’s followed you home dozens of times. It was to keep you safe. So what if he spent any free time he had watching you through the windows from the building across yours. 

Closing the door behind him, his lips quirked up at the sight of your things strewn about. Makeup, hair products, lotions taking up all the space on your side of the sink. In the mirror, his eyes caught on the laundry hamper sat in the corner. He had been here once before.

So what if he has come into your apartment during the late hours just to catch a whiff of your scent. Just to pull the blanket you had knocked off, deep asleep, while on the couch waiting for your prick husband. You needed someone. He could do good by you, or at least try his hardest to.

With practiced ease, he turns to open the hamper. Hands grabbing with the eagerness of unwrapping a present only to be met with a sorry sight.

“For fuck sakes”  He whispered.

You and your cleaning. The damn thing had been emptied out of all things with your lovely fragrance, tossed in the wash. With the quick roll of his eyes, he quietly puts the lid back on to the stupid thing.

He had been much luckier last time. After taking it upon himself to sneak in and close a window you left wide open, he had the urge to explore around. Fast forward to when he arrived at his treasure chest (the laundry basket) he was rewarded for his considerate act. He had nabbed a dirty pair of panties with sheer ecstacy. 

In the natural progression of things, his cock had hardened with urgency. He had stroked himself eagerly to the thought of your soft, snoozing breaths. A bead of pre-cum already poised to roll down his shaft. You drove him mad, only a few walls separating the two of you. He could walk over to you now, shove your legs apart and sink himself into paradise, in pure euphoria. He continued to jerk himself to the edge of his peak. He had taken in the sight of everything from your loofah to your robe to the pink toothbrush unobtrusively in the corner.

A shiver went down his spine as he looked at the very same toothbrush at present. He wondered how many times you had unassumingly used it since that night.

Images of his desperation flooding back, a hint of something akin to guilt. He had squeezed your panties to his face as if he was trying to suffocate himself, impatiently grabbing for anything else that could connect him to you when he felt himself begin to strain under the stimulation. He had grunted when your scent filled his nostrils, unlike how his balls emptied themselves, his release spurting all over your toothbrush.

When he came back to his senses, he had turned the coated thing over and over in his hand. You’d be none the wiser if he just… washed it off, right? No harm in something you wouldn’t know about. He couldn’t bring himself to do more than lightly run it under the tap.

“Simon! Food is ready!” You shouted. Breaking from his stupor, he steps out of the restroom and moves back to the counter overlooking the kitchen. You gave him that sweet grin while setting the food in front of him.

“Looks delicious, love. Thanks.”

You sat on the seat beside him with a plate of your own. You both tensed at the proximity for the same reason. Taking your first few bites, you look at Simon who blissfully closes his eyes and groans with satisfaction.

That warm feeling begins to simmer in your belly wrongfully so. You turn back to chew before breaking the silence. “I’m glad! It’s been a while since i’ve sat down and ate with someone… it’s a lot different to watch someone actually enjoy something you put effort into.” He didn’t miss the wistful expression you wore. He wanted to fix it, he never wanted to see that pretty mouth fighting stay curved upwards.

Whether it be unknowingly or not, you brushed your knee against and for a moment you both paused in that position. The touch was light but it felt as though Simon’s body was overloaded with only you. Your touch, your eyes, your everything.

It took himself a second to recompose himself, but when he realized your body stayed put; his heart just about soared. Taking another forkful of food, he casually glanced at you and nudged his knee unmistakably to yours. The sound of your cutlery clanging onto the plate gives him a degree of satisfaction.

You simply kept looking down to your plate, whatever was in front of you, anything except his intense stare. Simon was a stranger. Simon was unsettling. Simon was in your home. Simon was so strong, so large he could manhandle you in ways your husband could never.

Your husband. Your life partner who you’ve remained loyal to for years. This was so wrong. You should be leaping out of your chair and separating yourself by 3 meters at least in protest.

So how come you allowed his hand to grip your thigh? You frowned, yet surrendered to his fingers which tilted your face towards him. You didn’t know Simon, but you’d be dense to miss the dark glint in his eyes as he takes in your hesitancy.

How the tables have turned. It was always you who initiated interaction with the morose giant, but as he held you firm in his clutches, you could only sit in wait for his next move. 

Testing your reaction, he slowly brought his face closer to yours. Braving his gaze, you could only recognize want. He pressed a gentle kiss to your jaw as you tilted your chin upwards. You weren’t sure whether it was to avoid his lips or grant him better access to your neck.

“No no no come back to me. Come back.” He urged you carding his other hand through your hair, tugging you back. He had to see his bird's face, commit her to memory. Would her expression be like what he imagined? Better?

With a shaky raise of your arm, you caress his face with uncertainty. He needed to fuck you. The most depraved, wicked parts of his mind demanded it. His blood went straight down south at your gentle touch. He needed you to feel him, to feel all of him. 

He would protect you from all the perversions those other tossers had to offer, with only one thing in return. To corrupt you from the inside with his own special brand filth. His fingers tightened ever so slightly in your hair.

“I wanna fuck you,” he leaned closer to your ear and nipped it “and I have a feeling my pretty bird wants the same thing, yeah?”

Simon’s words sent a jolt to your brain to sink further into the daze. Your lips parted and you turned to him with round eyes hiding the temptation swirling behind them. Your eyes wildly roved across his face, searching

He carried your things, he called you pretty, he ate your food, he talked to you, he wanted you, he wanted to fuck you, he wanted you to want to fuck him, you want to fuck him, you want to fuck him, you want to fuck him-

His impatience got the better of him when he pulled you into a frantic kiss. His lips were warm and the feeling of his hands holding you secure and upright only added fuel to the fire. How would they hold you when he took you to your bed? Would he be so kind?

Had Simon known your phone would ring loudly moments before finally getting what he wanted, he would have broken it with his own bare hands.

Your eyes cracked open to only be met with the sight of your husband’s contact photo and all at once your guilt hurtled at you. Sensing you pulling away, Simon couldn’t help but try and keep you to him for even a moment longer. He knew it was over when you pushed at his chest to break the connection.

“I’m- oh my gosh. I… i’m a horrible person! Shit! Shit!” You spiraled as you hurriedly got up from your seat and backed away from Simon as if his touch had burned you.

“Hey, hey it’s okay-” He attempted to console you, but was sharply interrupted with a tone he had yet to hear from you.

“No, no! You need to leave. Get out, please!” You screeched in shame. As Simon once again tried to approach closer to placate you, you only put a hand up with a hard look. “Leave. We shouldn’t have done that, it was a total betrayal of trust!” 

“Okay. Okay. Don’t worry, ‘m gone.” His arms went up in surrender as he mirrored your own backward movements.

Your mind really went blank as you took deep breaths to calm yourself, Simon’s heavy footfalls receding and eventually fading from earshot entirely.

While you focused on calming yourself from your “mistaken” judgement, Simon could only think of one thing. 

If his bird couldn’t be happy because that fuckin’ asshole was still in the picture, he’d have to weed out the problem from the root.

He was a dead man walking.

[mimiiiiiiiiisstuff]

"Older"

ok yall! i couldn't stop thinking of neglected Reader falling for Clark Kent, so instead of writing a new chapter of "I bet on losing dogs" I wrote an AU!!! Batfam's neglect stays till reader is 18, Tiffany isn't exposed till later. I got kinda carried away tbh! Remember, THIS IS AN AU!!!! Ya'll aren't ready for this plot actually. Or who really steals readers heart. Thank you to the wonderful anon who sent me down the rabit hole of this man. Reader is 18 when the romance actually starts.

When you were younger, you had always idolized Superman. Clark Kent, the unassuming, nerdy reporter with glasses, was a far cry from the intimidating presence he became when he donned the cape. You first saw him when you were 9, during a charity event your father had taken you to. At first, you thought he was just another well-dressed man who smiled too much. But then, when he lifted a car to save someone from an accident, you felt something shift in your chest.

That’s it, you thought. That’s what I want. I want him.

From that day on, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. The way he saved people with a smile, how gentle his voice was. You’d daydream about being near him, holding his hand, his deep blue eyes looking down at you with affection. But Clark never saw you that way. To him, you were always just Bruce Wayne’s little girl—the kid he barely knew.

Maybe it was a result of being neglected by every man in your life that made you so feral for Clark Kent. Maybe it was the fact that he was the only person you knew who didn't prefer Tiffany to you. Whatever it was, it didn't matter, he'd never feel the same.

So, you pushed your feelings aside.

Or at least you tried to.

You’d flirted with boys before. You’d flirted with grown men. With your powers, you needed an outlet, a way to let go of your frustrations, to feel good. You lost your virginity only days after gaining your powers. It felt amazing, during those moments you were in control of your body, the pain went away, the neglect went away and you were loved.

But nothing had ever been like the times you found yourself in Clark’s presence. At 16, you’d started testing the waters, teasing him with subtle remarks. You’d gotten a little bolder in your attempts over the years, but he always brushed them off as playful jokes.

"Don’t you think you’re a little young for me, kiddo?" he’d chuckle every time you got close.

You hated that. He saw you as a kid. That was it.

But you didn’t stop. Because you were determined.

And by the time you turned 18, the world around you had shifted. You had grown into someone new, more mature, more confident. Your body had changed. Your personality had changed. But Clark... he still looked at you like you were that little girl from all those years ago.

It hurt. But you told yourself, Just be patient. It’ll come around. I just need more time.

You soon realized time was too long. Clark would never see you as anything more than a kid, he literally had children your age. He was old enough to be your father. His youngest son had a crush on you and Clark is a good man. He would never consider you romantically.

You couldn't keep chasing after another unrequited love. Not after years of chasing your family's. Not after years of being pushed aside for an imposter who always outsmarted your attempts to expose her.

You wanted to move on. To leave everyone behind.

And that's what you did. There was no dramatic breaking point, no emotional stand-off. You were looking out your window one day and you realized you've done nothing. You've never been happy, never once truly happy, you lived for everyone but yourself. Not anymore. One random sunny Tuesday, the summer after you graduated highschool, you packed up and left everything behind, no goodbyes. Not even a note for Alfred. None of them deserved it.

You were tired, tired of chasing people.

You wanted to be chased and that's what you got. Every week it was someone new, your professor, your friends, your boss, anyone who was attracted to you, you slept with. It was so freeing. It was euphoric, making them fall in love, leading them into your bed, then kicking them out as soon as the next one came along.

The only thing that you truly loved now was music, it was all that got you through years and years of mistreatment. No matter what happened in the manor, you could turn your headphones on and forget. You could grab your guitar and strum your worries away.

College sucked. Long ago, you would've pushed yourself to go, even though you hated it, just to make your family proud. To chase approval you would never get. Not anymore, you knew you needed a degree to make a living, but a gap year never hurt anyone.

You began working as a singer in different bars. It let you write songs and make money. There was nothing more addicting than feeling eyes on you, enchanted by you. Your voice was magnetic, drawing people in, and like any good predator, you feasted on their hearts and left as soon as they stopped inspiring you. Yet, no matter how good-looking or good in bed they were, they would never be Clark.

One night, after a few months of your reckless, self-destructive pattern, you found yourself in a dimly lit bar on the outskirts of Gotham, a place where nobody would recognize you. You weren't gonna sing, not tonight.

You weren’t here to find love, you weren’t here to talk or connect. You were here to forget.

The clink of glasses and low murmur of conversation surrounded you, but it was the figure in the corner that caught your attention.

A man with a commanding presence sat alone at the bar, his back straight, eyes locked on the dim-lit television above the counter. His hair was peppered with gray, but there was something ageless about the way he carried himself; tough, confident, dangerous. The eyepatch over his right eye only enhanced the mystery, adding a cruel allure to his already intimidating presence.

You couldn’t quite place why you were drawn to him, but the moment you saw him, a spark ignited. Slade Wilson. He worked with Bruce somehow one time, everyone hated him, even Clark. You remembered him because he was the only man, other than Clark, not to fall for Tiffany's charm and that was a win in your book.

You’d heard of him in passing, mostly in rumors—whispers of a deadly mercenary, a ghost in the shadows of Gotham, a man you wouldn’t want to cross. But here he was, sitting like a predator in a place filled with prey.

You weren’t afraid. You never were. You’d been raised in the shadows of Gotham, after all, with men who didn’t even know how to love you. You’d seen dangerous men before. You knew how to handle yourself.

You sauntered over, taking a seat next to him, your movements casual but purposeful. He glanced at you briefly, his lips twitching into the slightest of smirks before his eyes returned to the screen.

"Mind if I join you?" you asked, leaning into the counter, placing your drink beside his.

His gaze flicked toward you again, this time a little longer. There was something predatory in the way he sized you up, assessing your every move. "Not at all."

You smirked, tilting your head slightly. "I’ve been told I’m a good time."

A quiet chuckle rumbled in his chest, but it was cold, calculated. "That so?"

You didn’t miss the way his eyes dropped briefly to your lips, but he didn’t let his attention linger for long. He took a long sip of his drink and leaned back, unbothered, as though you were nothing more than another fleeting distraction.

You were used to this, the indifferent types. But you weren’t going to let him slip away that easily.

“You don’t strike me as the kind of guy who spends his nights in places like this,” you said, turning towards him with a sly grin. “I imagine you’ve got better places to be.”

Slade didn’t look at you when he responded, his voice low and smooth, like gravel being ground underfoot. “I’m where I want to be.”

You laughed, the sound rich and teasing. "So, what does someone like you do for fun, then?"

For a moment, the silence stretched between you, and then he finally turned to meet your eyes, the weight of his gaze making your stomach flutter for reasons you couldn’t explain. "Fun... isn’t what I’m here for."

You let out a slow breath, leaning in a little closer, just enough for the scent of his cologne to hit you, something spicy, with a touch of danger.

"Then what are you here for?" you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. You could see the muscles in his jaw tense slightly, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he met your gaze head-on, his lips curling up ever so slightly at the corners.

"Business."

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Business, huh? I love business."

“I'm sure you do” he said cryptically, but his voice was thick with unspoken meaning.

The tension between you was palpable, electric. You couldn’t deny the pull you felt toward him. It wasn’t just his looks, though they were undeniably attractive in their own gritty, dangerous way. No, it was the way he carried himself, like he was someone who could destroy everything in his path if he wanted.

You weren’t intimidated, though. If anything, it intrigued you more.

You leaned closer, the warmth of your body pressing against his, your breath hot against his ear. “So, what do you do when business is done?”

For a moment, he didn’t answer. He just stared at you, his eyes hard and calculating. And then, before you could react, his lips brushed against your ear, his voice low and dangerous. "You don’t want to know."

You shivered at his words, at the heat of his breath, but you were beyond caring. You were tired of being the one who was always desired but never loved, the one who always chased but was never caught. Tonight, you wanted to be wanted, and you wanted him to want you more than anything.

"Maybe I wanna find out" you breathed, your hand sliding down his arm.

His hand shot out like lightning, grabbing your wrist before you could make contact. His grip was firm, but not painful—just a reminder of his control, of how easily he could break you if he wanted.

“Not tonight,” he murmured, voice rough. "Not the way you think."

You stared at him, uncertainty flickering in your gaze for the briefest of moments. You had gotten used to men not wanting you the way you wanted them, it was all you knew growing up. But now things were different with your abilities. This wasn’t the first time someone had pulled away, but with him, it felt different, like he was holding back, just as much as you were.

You smirked. "What makes you think you can stop me?"

His lips curled again, this time with something darker in his eyes. "Because I’m the one who calls the shots."

A challenge. A warning. And for some reason, that only made you want him more.

Before you could react, he stood up, his hand lingering on your wrist for just a beat longer. "If you’re serious about this, I’ll be at the back exit in thirty minutes."

Then, without waiting for a response, he was gone, disappearing into the shadows of the bar.

You sat there for a moment, staring after him, the heat of the moment hanging in the air between you.

You weren’t sure whether to follow or not, but you knew one thing for certain: tonight was going to be a night you wouldn’t forget.

And so, you found yourself standing outside in the cool night air, your heart racing. You hadn't planned for this, but somehow it felt inevitable.

When you saw him again, waiting by the dark alley, it was clear this was a man who didn’t let anything slip through his fingers. And tonight, you weren’t going to let him slip away either. You approached him, your steps measured and confident.

He didn't speak immediately, just gave you a slow, knowing smile as you came closer.

This wasn’t the start of a love story. This wasn’t about feelings or connections. This was something darker, something more primal.

This was a game. And you weren’t sure if you were the predator... or the prey.

But you were ready to find out.

The cool Gotham air settled in your lungs as you closed the distance between yourself and Slade, your heels clicking softly on the pavement.

He stood by the alley entrance, leaning casually against the brick wall, his figure lit only by the faint streetlight behind him. The shadows clung to him like a second skin, making his presence feel like an almost dangerous secret—something you weren’t sure you were ready to unravel, but damn, you were more than willing to try.

Slade didn’t say a word as you approached, his one visible eye catching yours with that piercing, unreadable stare of his. You knew that look. It was the same kind of look your father gave you when he had to make tough decisions, when he saw things for what they truly were. Cold, calculating. But this? This felt different. This felt like a challenge. And you were more than ready for it.

“Still think you can handle me?” His voice was low, but it had that same teasing bite, as if he were daring you to prove him wrong.

You were close now—too close for comfort, but you didn’t care. You stepped into his space, the heat of his body now radiating against yours, his scent filling your senses. “I don’t need to handle you,” you murmured, your lips barely brushing his ear as you leaned in. “I think you need to handle me.”

There was a flicker in his gaze, something almost imperceptible, but it was enough to make your pulse quicken. He didn’t move away, didn’t flinch like others would have. If anything, the air around you both seemed to crackle with intensity.

“Is that what you think this is about?” Slade asked, his voice rougher now, as though the control he so carefully maintained was slipping just a little. “You’re not the first woman who’s come to me thinking they can make me want them.”

You were sure he was referring to Tiffany, there was no way a man like him ever forgot a name or face. Knowing he knew who you were and knowing he didn't care made you want him more.

You smiled, feeling that familiar rush of excitement surge through your veins. It wasn’t about making him want you. It was about making him need you.

“Maybe,” you said, leaning even closer, your lips almost touching his. “But I’m the first one who might actually make you lose control.”

For a heartbeat, you could have sworn the world around you stopped. Slade’s eye darkened, the intensity in his stare shifting from challenge to something sharper. More dangerous. But there was something else in his eyes now. Something that made your heart race faster than you cared to admit.

His hand shot out, gripping your wrist with a force that had your breath hitching in your throat. The familiar spark of danger lit up your skin, and you didn’t pull away. Instead, you let your body melt into his, feeling the pulse of raw, untamed power that radiated off him.

“You think you can push me?” he growled, his voice like gravel, each word like a warning and a promise all at once.

You didn’t answer him right away. Instead, you let your fingers trail across his chest, feeling the ridged muscles beneath the fabric of his shirt. Your touch was deliberate, slow, each movement a calculated game of power.

“Maybe I want to push you,” you said softly, your breath a whisper against his neck, “until I break you.”

The grip on your wrist tightened for a split second, his muscles flexing with controlled restraint. For a moment, you wondered if this was where it would end, that he’d push you away, tell you it was all just a game. But when he finally spoke again, his voice was thick with tension.

“Careful, sweetheart,” Slade murmured, his lips brushing against the curve of your jaw, sending a shiver down your spine. “I’m not sure you know what you’re asking for.”

You let out a breathy laugh, your body pressing even closer to his as your lips hovered dangerously close to his own. “Maybe I don’t,” you whispered. “But I’m willing to find out.”

Slade didn’t move for a long moment, just holding you there in that thin space between danger and desire. And then, finally, he closed the gap, his lips crashing into yours with the force of someone who had been holding back far too long.

The kiss was anything but gentle. It was a brutal, desperate collision of mouths, a clash of power and need. You could feel the tension in every muscle of his body as he claimed your mouth, his hands gripping your arms, his touch insistent and almost hungry. But you didn’t break, didn’t pull away. Instead, you kissed him back just as fiercely, hands roaming up his chest to grasp the collar of his jacket, pulling him closer.

For a second, you wondered if this would be the point where you lost yourself to the heat of the moment, but the longer you kissed him, the clearer it became that this wasn’t just about passion. It was about control. About testing boundaries.

And you were willing to play that game, because you were ready to win.

As the kiss deepened, Slade pulled away suddenly, his breath ragged, eyes darker now with desire and frustration. He wasn’t used to this. He wasn’t used to someone who didn’t give in.

“Not so easy, is it?” you whispered, your voice rough from the kiss, your body still pressed against his.

He glared at you for a moment, lips curling into a knowing smirk, the kind of smirk that made you feel like you were dancing on the edge of a knife.

“You’re not the first one to test me, Slade said, voice low and dangerous, his hands sliding down your arms with intent. “But you might be the first one who wants to."

Slade didn’t pull back, his chest rising and falling with a steady rhythm, but his gaze never left yours. His hand, still gripping your wrist, was no longer a force of restraint; it was an anchor, a silent promise of just how far this could go.

The weight of his stare sent a shiver down your spine. You weren’t sure if it was from anticipation or something deeper, something darker that he carried with him, but you felt it in every inch of your body. You weren’t here for games anymore, you were here because you wanted this. You wanted him.

But there was more to it. Something about the way he held you in his gaze told you that, for once, you weren’t in control. Slade Wilson was a man who played by his own rules. And now, you were learning the cost of trying to break them.

He released your wrist with slow precision, letting his fingers linger over your skin for just a second longer than necessary. You could feel the heat of his touch as he took a step back, eyes darkening with a new kind of challenge.

“You really think you’re the one calling the shots here?” His voice was low, rough, as though it had been soaked in whiskey and smoke.

You weren’t about to back down now. You smirked, leaning into him again, almost too close for comfort. “I think I’m just... along for the ride.”

Slade’s lips twisted into something dangerous, a mix of amusement and something else, something far more raw. He took a step toward you, crowding your space, his presence suffocating in the most exhilarating way.

“Not sure you know what that ride entails,” he murmured, his voice dipping even lower, sending another shiver down your spine.

“I’m starting to,” you replied, reaching for him, but this time, you didn’t touch him the way you had before. You trailed your fingers slowly, almost teasingly, down his chest, feeling the firmness of muscle beneath the fabric.

Slade didn’t stop you. His body stiffened, though. Just enough for you to feel that tight pull of control he was holding onto. It only made you want him more. You pressed a little closer, your body brushing against his in a subtle reminder that you were still in the game, too.

“I like doing things i'm not supposed to” you said, your lips grazing his ear as you spoke. “And I think you do, too.”

He stiffened at your words, his breath catching in his throat. For a split second, you thought you saw something flash behind his gaze—something far more primal than the cold, calculating predator you’d come to know.

Slade’s hand shot out, gripping your chin with surprising gentleness, forcing you to look up at him. The control was unmistakable in his hold, yet his eyes… his eyes were like a storm just about to break. “Don’t think you know what you’re asking for.”

“I never said I did.” Your voice was steady, confident, even though the truth was you didn’t fully know what this was. But you knew what you wanted, and right now, it was him.

He searched your face, his gaze intense, like he was deciding something. just as you thought he might break, he leaned in, closing the gap between you both.

His lips brushed against yours, barely a touch, but enough to send your pulse skyrocketing. For a moment, it was almost like a game of cat and mouse. He was holding back, just enough to make you ache for more.

His lips moved to your ear, his voice dropping lower, rougher. “You should walk away now. Because once this starts, there’s no going back.”

You leaned into him, your breath shaky, but your resolve unwavering. “I never look back. Not anymore.”

Slade didn’t hesitate. His lips crushed against yours with an urgency that felt like a storm breaking free. There was no softness. It was rough, driven by something savage, and it made you lose your breath as you kissed him back just as fiercely.

You felt his hands on you, strong and sure, pulling you into him, his grip possessive in a way that made your pulse race even faster. You let him guide you, let him take the lead—because, for the first time in so long, you didn’t need to be the one in control. You didn’t want to be.

That night, Slade Wilson made you forget about every other man in your life, even Clark Kent.

For the next three weeks, you and Slade continued game of cat and mouse. Every other day, you would go to a bar to play and he would somehow appear in the crowd, like a sailor lured by a siren.

Yet everytime, in the morning when you woke, still hot after the previous nights activities, Slade Wilson was nowhere to be found.

You knew he was too old for you, too rough and unstable, but he could be kind at times, when he wanted.

And he was fun.

And you're sure your family would have a joint aneurysum if they found out.

It was fun until one night, he didn't find you.

Two months later, nothing changed. No word from your 'family' asking where you were, only Alfred's weekly check up, and Damian's insufferable posting of him, Tiffany, and the rest the family having fun without you on Instagram. He didn't even bother to block you.

No word from Slade either, yet you still hoped he would show one night. Seems like you had a thing for men ignoring you.

But tonight, something felt electric in the air.

Slade’s shadow stretched across the dimly lit bar, his presence pulling every ounce of warmth from the room. You hadn’t seen him in two months, not since he’d walked away without a word, leaving you to pick up the pieces of everything. You’d told yourself you didn’t care, that his absence meant nothing. But seeing him again, standing there with that predatory stare of his, you couldn’t help but feel the heat rise in your chest.

You were busy, sure, singing and flirting, giving the crowd exactly what they wanted. But you couldn’t ignore the sudden heaviness in the air. The way the music seemed to fade as his eyes locked onto yours from across the room. The same gaze that had always made you feel like you were his—like he could take whatever he wanted and leave you with nothing.

You kept the smile on your face, tossing your hair over your shoulder, a flirtatious laugh escaping your lips as you tossed a wink at one of the men leaning against the bar. You could feel Slade watching you, not just with his eyes but with every inch of his body. He hadn’t come to listen to the music. He didn’t give a damn about the crowd or the drinks. He was here for you.

And he was pissed.

He approached you with slow, deliberate steps, his frame imposing, his eyes cold with that familiar edge. When he spoke, his voice was a low rumble, almost drowned out by the noise of the bar, but it cut through everything like a blade.

“Well, well, well… look at you, darlin’. Didn’t take you long to move on, huh?”

Your pulse quickened, but you kept your head high. “Didn’t realize I needed your permission, babe.”

He ignored the jab, his lips twitching in a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Haven’t seen you in two months, and this is what I come back to? You’re out here playing with the other boys now?”

You didn’t flinch. “You didn’t exactly leave me with much of a choice. You were the one who disappeared, remember?”

Slade's gaze hardened, and before you knew it, he was right in front of you, close enough that his breath stirred the strands of your hair. He leaned down, his voice dropping low, rough. “You really think you can just forget about me? Move on with them? Cute little act you've got going, sweetheart, but I can see right through it.”

You pushed back, trying to ignore the flutter in your chest. “I’m not doing anything. I’m just having fun. I’m living my life, Slade. You should try it sometime.”

His smirk curled, but there was no warmth in it. “I don’t need advice from you. And I don’t give a damn about your ‘fun.’” His hand shot out, grabbing your wrist with a brutal grip, pulling you closer. “Where’s your old man? Where’s your daddy been? What about your brothers? Do they even know what the hell you’ve been up to?”

The sharpness of his words cut deeper than you wanted to admit. Slade always knew how to hit you where it hurt, and he wasn’t giving you any room to breathe. “Don’t touch me,” you snapped, but the defiance didn’t reach your voice the way you wanted it to.

“Funny, that’s what I thought you’d say.” He released your wrist, but not before giving it a firm squeeze. “I already know what’s been going on with your family. They’ve been too busy holding onto their precious Tiffany, haven’t they?”

You flinched at the mention of her name. Everyone knew Tiffany was the golden child, the one your family had actually cared about. The one they’d all protected, even when she turned out to be the one using them. You’d known for a while that she was a spy, but it didn’t make it any easier to swallow.

Slade’s eyes glinted with that sharp, calculating look. “You knew what she was doing, didn’t you? All this time, she was playing them like puppets, and now they’re gonna come crawling back, pretending they care. They’ll be looking for you soon enough, you know. Guilt’s a hell of a thing.”

The words sank into you, twisting painfully. You hated how right he was. Your family had always been so focused on Tiffany that they hadn’t noticed how you were slipping through the cracks. And now, with her gone, they were going to realize their mistake. They were going to come for you, but it wouldn’t be because they cared. It would be because they felt guilty.

Slade took a step closer, his hand lightly grazing your cheek, the touch cold and commanding. “They’ll come running for you when they realize what they’ve lost, sweetheart. But don’t fool yourself. It won’t be about you. It’ll be about guilt. About making things right because they fucked up. But you know better than anyone, those kinds of people always forget when the next shiny thing comes along.”

You swallowed, trying to keep your composure. “What do you want from me?”

His smirk widened, his fingers trailing down your jaw with a casualness that made your skin crawl in a way you couldn’t quite explain. “What do I want from you, sweetheart? Maybe just the same thing I’ve always wanted. But let’s be clear: I’m not here to save you from them. Hell, I don’t even know if you want saving.”

You glared at him, feeling the bitter edge of your own anger. “Then why the hell are you here?”

Slade's eyes softened for a brief second—just long enough to make you wonder if this was something more than just a game to him. Then, as quickly as it appeared, the moment was gone, replaced by that familiar coldness. “I’m here because you’re a hell of a lot smarter than they’ll ever give you credit for. And you’re not stupid enough to think you need them. You know they never cared, not really.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words died in your throat. He was right. You did know it, deep down. You’d always known. It stung, more than you cared to admit, but you were done being angry about it.

He leaned in, his lips brushing just below your ear. “When they come, and they will come, you can show them what it feels like to be abandoned. You can make them feel just how you felt. But don’t think for a second you can do it without me.”

You didn’t respond right away, your heart pounding in your chest. He wasn’t offering you a way out, he was offering you a choice. A choice between playing the victim to your family’s guilt, or standing beside him as he carved his own path. Neither option was a clean one, but something about him made it feel like the one you’d always been meant to choose.

Slade stepped back, his eyes scanning you as if he was trying to figure you out. “You’re not like them, sweetheart. And you’re not gonna let them walk all over you. Not this time.”

You finally met his gaze, the anger and frustration swirling in your chest. “You don’t know anything about me.”

Slade grinned, that predatory, dangerous grin that made you feel like you were in over your head. “Oh, I know more than you think.”

Slade’s presence was suffocating, his shadow looming over you like something darker than the night itself. He’d always had that effect on you, but tonight, with the way he leaned in so close, his words cutting through the air like daggers, you couldn't help but feel a chill creep down your spine.

His eyes never left yours, not for a second, his smirk tightening as if he knew exactly how to push every button. "You know, sweetheart, you always think you’ve got everything figured out, don’t you?” His voice was soft, dangerous, like a whisper in a dark alley. “But you’ve been running from something for a long time. Something you can’t hide from anymore."

You felt your heart beat a little faster, but you refused to show it. You’d dealt with him long enough to know that showing weakness only made him more dangerous. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Slade’s gaze slid over you, dismissive yet calculating. “I think you know exactly what I mean. But let’s not play coy here. You used to be close with Jason. Back when he was alive, at least. You were a team, weren’t you?”

The mention of Jason made your stomach twist, but you clenched your jaw and forced your face into something resembling indifference. You refused to let Slade see you hurt. “What about it?”

“Nothing, just... funny, isn’t it?” Slade’s lips curved into a grin that made your skin crawl. “You two were close. But then, Jason died, and who was left? The family? They couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to you. They didn’t notice when Tiffany came around, and they sure as hell haven’t noticed since.”

Your breath caught in your throat, the truth hitting a little too hard. But you kept your composure, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much it stung. “What do you want, Slade?”

His eyes softened just enough to make you think for a second that he might’ve been telling the truth—only for that same grin to return, sharper than before. “What I want? You're not getting it, sweetheart. It’s not about me. It’s about you.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, trying to figure out just how much of this conversation was manipulation. And how much was something more... personal? The tension between you two was so thick, it felt like it might snap at any moment.

Slade took a step closer, his movements slow, deliberate. “You’ve been wasting your time, haven’t you? Hiding behind that bar, singing, flirting with men who’ll never understand you. You could do so much more than this, you know. You’ve got potential.”

He said the word like it was something sacred. A promise or a curse, you couldn’t quite decide.

You shook your head, taking a small step back. "I don’t need you or anyone else to tell me what I can and can’t do."

Slade’s eyes darkened, his smirk turning predatory. “Oh, I think you do. I think you want to know. Deep down, you’re craving someone to show you how to unlock it. Your powers. Your real potential. You want something bigger, something more than this.”

Your pulse quickened, and a sickening unease washed over you. How the hell did he know about your powers? How much did he really know? The idea that he’d been watching you from afar, or worse, had been tracking your every move, made your skin crawl.

You tried to push that thought away. “I don’t know what you think you know about me, but you’re wrong. I don’t need anyone’s help.”

Slade studied you for a long moment, his gaze never faltering. He was evaluating you, and you could feel the weight of it pressing on your chest. When he spoke again, his tone was almost... too calm, too casual.

“Let’s be real here, darlin'. You do need help. You’ve got power, and I’m not talking about the small-time tricks you’ve been playing with. You could be so much more. But you're stuck. Trapped in this little life you’ve built for yourself because you’re too afraid to face what's really inside you.”

“Why are you even here?” You asked, trying to keep your voice steady, but the edge was starting to creep in. You wanted answers, and you wanted them now. “You disappeared for two months, and now you’re showing up like you know everything about me. What’s your game?”

He took a slow, deliberate step forward, his figure blocking the dim light above you. “My game? I’m not here to play games. I’m here because I’m offering you an opportunity. An opportunity to stop hiding from yourself. To work with me. To really figure out what you’re capable of. I’ve seen the way you move. The way you think. And I know you’re capable of so much more than this little bar. But you’ll need training. You’ll need guidance. My guidance.”

Your eyes narrowed, and you couldn’t stop the involuntary shiver that ran through you. He was offering you something, something you didn’t quite understand, but the implication was clear: he wanted you to join him. To work together.

But there was something... off. The way he was talking. The way he seemed to know everything about you, the things you hadn’t told anyone, not even yourself.

“How do you know all this?” You demanded, your voice cracking despite your best efforts to sound confident. “How do you know about Jason? About Tiffany? About whats happening to me?”

Slade’s grin widened, a strange glint in his eyes as he leaned in, almost as if savoring the tension. “There's nothing I don't know. I know more than you think. But here’s the thing: you don’t need to understand everything right away. You just need to trust me. Trust that I know what you need. And trust that I can give you what you’ve been searching for. What they could never give you.”

His words were like a knife, each one digging deeper. “I’m not asking for your loyalty. Not yet. But think about it, yeah? I’m offering you something bigger than this... this place, these people. I can offer you something real. Power. Freedom.”

Your eyes were still locked with his, but your mind was racing. You couldn't stop the unease creeping through you. There was a part of you that wanted to know what he meant. Wanted to know how far your powers could go. Wanted to trust him, even though everything in your gut told you not to.

“And what about Clark?” You blurted out, unable to stop yourself. “I’m supposed to just... forget about him too? You don’t think I notice? You think I’m some naive little girl who doesn’t know what’s going on? You think I can't see you using me? Trying to groom me?”

Slade’s eyes flickered, just for a moment, before his lips curled into a snide smile. “Clark.” He scoffed. “The big, shiny boy scout with all the answers. I wouldn’t worry too much about him. You and I both know how far that age gap really stretches. He’s too good for you, always will be.”

He took a step closer, his eyes glinting with something dark. “But me? I don’t need to pretend. I know exactly what you need. And I won’t keep running from it like your little superhero friend. I’m offering you something real, and you’re smart enough to see that.”

His words, sharp and possessive, lingered in the air. You swallowed, your throat dry.

“I’ll think about it.” The words came out more breathless than you intended, but Slade didn’t seem to mind.

“Good girl.” His tone was sharp, like an order, but there was something more in it, something possessive, like a claim. He reached out, his fingers brushing your arm as if he had every right to touch you. And the worst part was, you didn’t pull away.

“Don’t take too long,” he murmured, his lips close to your ear. “I’m not the patient type. And when I come back, you’ll have an answer. I’ll be waiting, sweetheart.”

You hated how that sent a chill down your spine.

OKKKKKK WHAT DO YALL THINK??? IS IT GOOD??? BE HONEST!! I BARELY KNEW WHO SLADE WAS BEFORE THIS SO IT MIGHT BE OOC! REMEBER THIS IS AN AU! SORRY IF THERE'S TYPOS I WROTE THIS ON MY PHONE IN BED. I FEEL LIKE IT SUCKS SO I MIGHT TAKE IT DOWN AND NEVER SPEAK OF IT AGAIN!!!!

[sc0tters]

A Helping Hand | Jack Hughes & Trevor Zegras

summary: when the boys learn that you've never finished, it's only right that they change that for you.

request: yes/no

warnings: sexual themes, threesome, oral (f & m receiving!), unprotected sex, fingering, swearing, mentions of drinking.

word count: 7.02k

authors note: is it really a trevor and jack threesome from me, without @sweetestdesire's help? no, no it is not... all jokes aside though this may be the dirtiest piece that I have ever written? like i embraced my inner slut, whore and everything inbetween while writing this so I do hope that you enjoy it! I know I did so we may end up with the first series of the year with this one!

Nobody truly remembered how you all got there.

Sat around the camp fire with a blanket thrown over your legs and a beer in your hand. 

It was these little moments at the lake house that you adored so much. Luke was in the chair next to you, allowing you to send him the occasional whisper after the boys did something stupid. 

Tonight was one of those nights as Cole managed to convince the group to play never have I ever, after Quinn’s suggestion of truth or dare was quickly shot down by Jack reminder of how he had to go skinny dipping in the lake. When the boys stole his clothes and locked him outside, it was the first and last time truth or dare made an appearance at the lake house.

You sighed thinking to yourself of a question“never have I ever done the walk of shame.” It was a good one to get most of the guys to drop a finger as Luke had told you about many of their escapades throughout their careers. 

A while left Trevor’s lips “that one isn’t fair!” He grumbled dropping another finger leaving him with only two up.

Alex looked at the group of girls that had joined you guys as he had found one he wanted to make a move on “never have I ever faked an orgasm.” The boy swore he was going to do a dance of happiness when he saw the blonde one he had been talking to, keep her finger up whilst the first around her thought about their answers.

Your finger went down hoping that someone else would have a much more interesting story to share than you “are you seriously telling me that your little football player boyfriend was shit in bed?” Trevor asked as he let out a laugh seeing your cheeks turn a shade of red. 

Jack turned to you, matching his friend’s curious expression “who is to say it was even with him?” It was something he had never even wondered about before, but now everyone’s eyes were on you as most of the people around that fire knew of your entire love life “she does not need to answer if she doesn’t want to.” Quinn sent you a friendly smile, Luke nodded in agreement with this being something that he didn’t even know about. 

You let out a sigh of relief “yeah why don’t we move on?” There was a pleading sense in your voice that made everyone accept your request. 

Well almost everyone, as the night went on and people went home or to bed. You were left with Trevor, Jack and Luke “you want another beer?” Luke asked as he got up with his empty beer bottle “please.” You nodded, the older two boys giving the same response. 

This was the first opportunity that they got to truthfully ask the question that plagued their minds all night “so was it Jake?” Trevor blurted out as he turned his attention to you “what about the theatre kid before him?” Jack truthfully never liked that one, thankfully he only lasted one summer. 

You toyed with your bracelet “if I tell you do you promise to keep it to yourselves?” If it got out you knew half of the people there would never look at you the same. 

Hell you weren’t even sure if Trevor and Jack would see you the same way again “we will not tell a soul.” They both nodded at the same time, practically sat on the edges of their seats. 

You let out a sigh, rubbing your lips together “it was all of them.” Those words made them freeze “you faked it with every single guy you’ve been with?” Jack let out a shocked laugh when you nodded. 

Trevor felt confused “I didn’t realise you were with such shit guys.” Some of the guys had notable reputations too “it wasn’t their faults-” you tried to give them some grace within the situation. 

But Jack was having none of it “if you have to fake it then it is on him.” Of course that’s what he’d say, the man prided himself on how good he was in bed after all. You had been privy to hearing the mutters through the wall when you stayed over to see Luke. 

The Ducks player nodded in agreement “we won’t tell them if you think they were shit.” He added wanting so desperately to hear more of this “it’s me okay!” Your words suddenly made them both go quiet. 

Their eyes went wide “I can’t cum so when I have sex I have to fake it.” Your voice was quieter as you didn’t know where Luke was “and before you ask yes I know my body is clearly broken-” you were cut off by the sound of the sliding door opening from the house. 

Luke walked out with the four beers in his hands “what is broken?” The three of you looked like kids caught with your hands in the cookie jar in that very moment “oh just the door of my closet in the apartment.” You quickly recovered, it wasn’t a lie. In fact, it was actually something you needed to fix.

He stared at you for a moment before he nodded “wait until I visit and I can help you.” Luke offered making you nod “sounds like a plan.” You sent him a smile, ignoring the conversation that you had just had with the boys. 

It seemed that even if you were able to sleep soundly amongst all of Luke’s snoring, Jack and Trevor were plagued with thoughts. Neither one could fall asleep as they sat there thinking about what you had said. 

How was it that a girl like you could have a problem that seemed so unbreakable? 

“Just so we’re both on the same page, she clearly has a shit taste in guys right?” Trevor blurted out as he stared at the ceiling “I mean it has to be that right?” He added not even sure if Jack was listening. 

Jack let out a harsh sigh “but how is she going got accept that?” He rolled over knowing that he shared the same thoughts “well I mean there is one way we could do it.” Trevor trailed off figuring, that it was the should have been obvious. 

The Hughes boy let out a laugh “yeah like she’s ever gonna go for that.” He shook his head rolling over to look out the window as he tried to force himself to go to sleep.

A party echoed out in the yard, music blared through the speakers as you made your way upstairs “I’m telling you that she’s not going to go for it.” Jack pinched the bridge of his nose as he chugged back the remainder of his beer “why not?” Trevor whined crossing his arms. 

He took in a large amount of air in when he sighed “it’s not like she exactly has any other better options than sticking to never coming.” Those words made you freeze in front of their door. Why were they talking about you, and what was their potential option to help you? 

Your cheeks grew warm when your mind began to travel “because you think little miss perfect is gonna fuck the two of us to prove that she just has a shit taste in boys?” Those words made you scoff, it was a response that was a little louder than you had hoped when the boys went quiet “shit.” Jack was quick to open the door. 

Both of them were visibly relieved to see it was just you “care to join us?” Jack smirked at the sight of the irritated expression on your face “I am not little Miss Perfect.” You announced sticking your finger in his face. 

It was the response he wanted, knowing you had taken the bait “so why don’t you give us a chance then?” Trevor spoke up from behind the younger boy who nodded in agreement. 

Your fists clenched into balls “over my dead body.” You were embarrassed as you stormed off in the direction of your room “on a scale of one to ten how badly do you think we fucked up?” Trevor asked hearing the door slam behind you. 

Jack sucked at his teeth “I would lean closer to ten.” He nodded thinking about what would happen if Luke were to find out about what was said. 

The night had grown dark as you tried to push the boys comments back to the bottom of your mind. It was something that so negatively failed, especially when you began to picture those two. 

You had ended up in the bathroom having a shower trying to calm yourself down at first “fuck!” You grumbled letting your fingers thrust into your cunt as the steam stuck to your skin. 

Your body had started to shrivel like a prune due to how long you had been in there. Your body was hot as the image of Jack and Trevor lingered on your mind, picturing how they’d kiss you and morph your body in the ways they wanted to use you. You weren’t an idiot, if they were talking about you then it was clearly a competition in their minds. 

The peaks of your nipples throbbed as this clearly wasn’t working. Defeat wasn’t something that you accept gracefully, and that’s why you muttered to yourself as you grabbed one of Luke’s shirts and threw it on. Bringing your panties up your legs as you sent Luke one last look, as if you were checking that he was indeed asleep. 

You had to try to be quiet as you knew that everyone else was in there room, and with the minimal amounts of chatter that came from Quinn’s room when he spoke to his girlfriend on the phone. It was the timezones that caused him to be awake, but you knew you couldn’t be certain about the other rooms “shit.” You grumbled landing at Trevor and Jacks door to see that there room was empty. Their beds were made with their sandals missing, which only meant that they were downstairs. 

It was a lightbulb moment as you practically raced down using the banister as support. Chatter could be heard from outside and that’s where they were “pass me the blunt.” Jack’s voice was soft, muffled by the glass. 

Your feet brought you up to the door as you sighed knowing that beyond this moment if you wanted to turn back, you wouldn’t be able to “do my eyes deceive me or is little Miss Perfect stood in front of me?” Trevor teased, using the nickname that Jack had as his eyes drank in the sight of you. 

Jack could sense you were nervous “why don’t you come take a hit?” He offered holding the blunt in your direction “don’t know how.” You shook your head, making him smirk. 

Of course, weed was something you hadn’t dabbled in, how were they not surprised “I’ll teach ya.” Jack patted his thigh as he spread his legs open for you to sit there. 

He held the joint between his ring and pointer fingers when you sat down “just suck the air in but don’t inhale it.” The middle Hughes boy knew that you weren’t exactly some chain smoker so he had to help you. 

You nodded as you followed his instructions when he brought the blunt to your lips. Both boys watched on when Jack let his hand travel up the inside of her thigh “there we go.” He cooed until you let out a cough. 

It made them softly laugh when you shook your head “never doing that again.” You announced assuming that it would have done something to calm the nerves that ran through your veins.

Jack brought the blunt to his lips “what brought you down here?” He asked looking at his watch, you were usually fast asleep “I couldn’t sleep.” You confessed wanting sigh when you felt the breeze brush past you. 

Trevor smiled at your words “anything particular that brought the late shower on?” It was clear that your hair was still wet as it drenched the back of the shirt that you made into a dress “do you think you guys can really fix me?” The words made the two boys freeze. 

It wasn’t something that they thought you would come around to “because if I have to spend another fucking unsatisfactory night with fingers between my thighs I’m going to shoot someone.” Jack let out a soft laugh hearing your confession. 

He smiled bringing his lips to your cheek to kiss “you gonna be a good girl for us?” He quizzed you, circling his thumb on the inside of your thigh “let us break you?” He added which made you whimper in response.

Trevor almost felt jealous at how far away he was from you “why don’t we move this inside?” His proposal made your head snap in his direction. You seemed to sense where the boy came from “c’mon pretty girl.” Jack patted your thigh signalling to you to get up. 

Jack had never been more grateful for the fact that he picked a room downstairs, which you at the moment seemed to so happily run into “c’mere.” Trevor shut the door behind him. 

He brought his hands up to cup your cheeks. A grin plastered on his face as your head tilted in his direction so that he could kiss you. There present taste of beer mixed with the weed on his tongue that he dragged over your lower lip. A moan escaped your lips as Jack placed his hands on your hips “didn’t forget about you too.” you confessed, turning your head so that you could kiss him too. 

It was rougher when Trevor turned his attention to your neck. His kisses were hungry as he sucked at the skin “n-no marks.” You gasped not wanting to worry about covering more than your bikinis already did. 

Jack finally took a step back as he looked at you “why don’t you show us how you normally try to get off?” Jack’s fingers danced over the hem of Luke’s shirt that hung over your knee. 

Trevor nodded in agreement “doll, it ain’t like we don’t see those pathetic bikinis you wear.” His words were sharp, making you listen as you took a step back, “like you want us to know what is under ‘em.” He added, allowing his eyes to burn your skin.

The boys watched in awe as your fingers gripped at the ends of the shirt, you took in a deep breath in like it was meant to give you some newfound confidence. The room grew warmed as you pulled the white t-shirt off of your body, letting it fall onto the floor when you now stood in just a white thong. They both stood in silence, causing you to bite at your lip with your confidence immediately wavering.

You were quick to reach down wanting to grab the shirt, assuming that the boys thought this was a mistake or that you weren’t as pretty as they thought you’d be “let us get a good look at ya.” Trevor’s hand wrapped around your wrist, stopping you from leaning over any further. 

 A whistle left his lips when you stood up straight “never thought these tits could ever have looked better than when they were in those bikinis.” His voice was a low growl, letting his fingers cup at your breasts before he gave them a squeeze. 

The feeling made a moan get caught in your throat “god imagine what she’s hiding under those panties?” Trevor turned to Jack, not letting his hands move from your boobs that his thumbs began to massage. 

Possibilities felt endless “you wanna let us see?” Jack asked making you nod. Trevor kissed at your neck whilst you locked your fingers into the sides of your panties. 

The fabric brushed against your skin when Trevor looked down to see your bare mound “don’t know how any of those boyfriends of yours used to let you leave them.” He sighed pressing a kiss against your cheek. 

Jack nodded in agreement “if we had a say you’d always be around ready for us.” Those words made you squirm and force your thighs together. 

Neither one of them were an idiot, easily sensing the effect they had on you “can you sit on the bed for me sweet girl?” Jack cooed tilting your jaw up to him so that he could kiss you. 

That kiss helped settle some of your nerves as you nodded. You sat on the edge of Jacks bed “higher.” Trevor motioned to you to move higher up the bed. 

You drove your hips up until you got sat in the middle of his bed “now why don’t you show us how you get off?” After all that was the entire reason that you were there so it made sense they watched you first.

When you lay down on the bed the boys looked at you like you were the sight for sore eyes “c’mon you can show us.” Trevor’s voice oozed this sense of cockiness as he motioned to you to start, brushing those waves of uncertainty aside.

Your heels pushed up to your ass as you spread your lefs open, seeing the boys stare back at you “need to make it wet.” You whimpered feeling Jack kneel into the bed. 

He took two of his fingers to spread your folds open, saliva pooled in his mouth before he let his spit fall onto your cunt. It ran down your clit making you squirm “that enough?” Jack asked standing back up straight as you nodded. 

You brought your fingers down your stomach and to your slit. The two fingers rubbed over your sensitive nub making the boy’s pants grow tight, your fingers travelled to your cunt as you let them thrust into the hole. The pace you used seemed to be a happy medium using Jack’s spit as some kind of lube that let your fingers create a squelching sound. 

Jack felt his throat grow tight “you think that you add another finger?” He could see how your eyes stuck on his now-formed boner “you want some encouragement?” The boy smirked when you nodded. 

Neither one hesitated to drop their pants as they pulled their cocks out of their boxers “can’t fit.” You shook your head watching as your mouth watered seeing them palm their members. 

Trevor sucked at his teeth “know you can do it.” He encouraged but still that didn’t seem to be enough. 

Your free hand went up to cup your boob, going tease your nipple that had been throbbing since it felt the cool air of Jack’s room “need help.” You pleaded, only ever having two fingers in your hole. Even the guys you dated seemed to stop at two, thinking that it was the perfect number. 

Jack took his precum over the head of his cock as he rubbed it down his length “why don’t you pick who.” If he had it his way he wouldn’t have even given Trevor a chance to get you first. 

When your eyes didn’t leave the Devils players it seemed your answer was written on the walls “no hard feels right?” He smirked tucking his cock back into boxers before he joined you on the bed. 

You sat up letting your back rest against his headboard “gonna relax f’me okay?” Jack asked watching you pull your own fingers from your cunt “okay.” You nodded letting your eyes shut when his thumb circled your clit. 

In the beginning he opted to start easy, with two fingers it was only slightly bigger than what you could fit in yourself “shit.” You whimpered letting your teeth sink into your bottom lip. 

His fingers grazed the spongey area of your cunt “uh huh baby want to hear you.” Jack kissed at your neck wanting to hear you scream “feels good.” You confessed making him nod. 

Jack pressed these opened-mouthed kisses on your jaw as he felt you clench around him “you see how hard you make him?” The Hughes boy turned his eyes to Trevor who palmed his cock at an even quicker pace “feel how hard you make me?” Jack brought your hand with his free one over his boxers. 

You took the time to feel his hard appendage and with that, Jack slid a third finger into your cunt “fuck!” Your toes curled at the new sensation. 

Jack lowered his head to your boob letting his lips wrap around your nipple “right there.” Your head rested against the cool wood behind you. 

His fingers felt every inch of you, the way your cunt clenched around his digits that attacked your needy hole “think you should get her clit Z.” Jack’s words made you whimper as you saw the boy’s swollen red tip look desperate for more of your attention “such a pretty girl ain’t she?” Trevor nodded, joining you on the other side of the bed. 

But he didn’t take the liberty of tucking himself away as he let his fingers tap on your lower lip “and a good listener too huh?” He teased watching your mouth suck at his fingers. 

He was forced to pull them out, not wanting to get too carried away “don’t stop.” There was a feeling you had never felt as Jack curled his fingers in this come hither motion. Trevor added to it letting his fingers drop down between Jacks hand and your clit. His calloused fingers were rough “fuck!” You called out watching Trevor drop his face to your chest. 

The boy clicked his tongue “look at this poor fucking tit all ignored.” He sighed not giving you a chance to respond as he too wrapped his lips around your other nipple. 

Looking down it was a sight of dreams as each boy sucked at your nipples, working in tandem on your clit and your cunt “I feel funny.” You confessed making them both look at each other.

It was encouragement for them to increase the pace of their fingers as Trevor rubbed your clit faster and Jack increased the pace of his thrusts “I think I’m gonna.” You trailed off with wide eyes as your body began to shake not sure if the pleasure was coming from your nipples, clit or cunt, or even a mixture of all three. 

Jack made a muffled grunt against your nipple that sent you over the edge, your face scrunched your face up letting your head jolt. Your cunt clenched around Jacks fingers as your body didn’t stop squirming. The boys didn’t stop there though as they brought you through your orgasm. 

The Hughes boy let his fingers begin to slow as your release didn’t seem to grow any sloppier around his digits “shit baby.” Jack let your nipple drop from his mouth with a pop. Your chest heaved as you nodded enough.” You whimpered feeling them retract their fingers away from you as Trevor finally let your other breast go. 

Trevor and Jack looked at the sight that you were in front of them “why don’t you taste yourself.” Jack offered his fingers bringing them into your mouth “so you can remember your first orgasm.” He added as Trevor had a devilish look in his eyes.

You went to turned your attention to the other boy whilst still sucking on Jacks fingers “I want a proper taste.” Trevor announced settling in between your legs. 

Your body was still sensitive and Jack was able to pick upon that “hey pretty girl.” His voice was soft, his fingers gripped at your jaw turning your head in his direction. 

His eyes caught yours “don’t worry about him right now?” Jack reassured you as Trevor kissed at your thigh “you want to still feel so good right?” Trevor asked wrapping his arm around your thigh when he blew against your cunt. 

The sensation made you squirm “please.” You nodded switching your gaze between both boys “a guy ever eaten this pretty cunt before?” Trevor ran his finger down your slit when he pressed a kiss against your other thigh. 

Jack focused his lips against the hollow of your collarbone “none.” But that wasn’t to say that you never wanted it, the guys you were with just wanted it to be you who went down on them “can’t believe you fucking thought you were the problem.” Jack clicked his tongue watching your eyes stick on Trevor. 

The boy mindlessly stared at your cunt, like he had never seen something so glorious “kiss?” You pleaded looking at Jack who couldn’t help but nod at you. 

His fingers gripped at your jaw as he started kissing you slowly at first. Trevor felt his cock throb watching the scene unfold in front of him. Jacks tongue ended up in your mouth and the Ducks player decided he couldn’t be the only one not having any fun. 

Trevor wrapped his other arm around your bare thigh, allowing your feet to settle on his shoulder blades “fucking hell.” His voice barely above a whisper before his head dropped against your cunt.

His mouth latched over your clit first making you moan into Jacks mouth “such a sweet cunt.” Trevor moaned sending shivers up your spine. The boy let his tongue travel to your weeping hole, his nose grazed your clit as he thrusted his tongue in against your walls. 

Your head fell back as Jack looked down “be a good girl and look at how good Z his making you feel.” He sucked at your earlobe making you whimper. 

Trevor’s eyes locked onto yours, his arms slightly loosened around your legs allowing you to drive your hips close to him “fuck z.” You moaned feeling Jack cup your tits once again “Jacky you’re missing out here.” Trevor confessed placing his thumb on your clit before he went back to fucking you with his tongue. 

Your eyes screwed shut as you felt Jack softly laugh against your skin “don’t have to worry because we’ve got plenty more in ya.” He looked at you through his devilishly long lashes “don’t we baby?” Jack asked as he sucked at your jaw. 

Silence swallowed you up when pleasure lulled in your ears. Trevor had been paying attention which made him scoff “he asked you a question doll.” The boy cupped his hand as he lay a smack against your cunt. 

The movement made you jolt when your eyes burst open “ahh,” you whimpered almost folding your body over “‘m sorry.” You apologised letting your lips form a pout. 

Trevor accepted the apology as he continued. He pressed a kiss against your clit “we just want you to be a good girl.” He sighed licking a stripe down your slit. 

Your thighs tensed around his head “because we don’t have to punish you then.” Your cunt clenched around his tongue as it lolled back into your hole “just wanna make you feel so good tonight.” Jack confessed going back to kissing your lips as you quickly became like a drug to him. 

There was the slightest scent of your perfume that was still on your skin that invaded his nostrils “please.” You nodded practically feeling like a brand new woman as the boys focused on you. 

Jack nodded running his fingers over your collarbone “c’mon sweet girl.” Jack cooed as you bit at your lip “you let this house hear you or else we’re gonna stop.” He warned squeezing your cheeks in his hand. 

Trevor pulled his tongue from your entrance before he let it lay flat running against your clit “seems like little miss perfect wants that.” Trevor taunted latching his lips around the sensitive nub. 

Jack gasped toying with your nipple between his fingers “you want Lukey to see what we are doing to his best friend?” The image made your voice quiver “h-he can’t.” You whimpered shaking your head. 

The boy between your thighs smirked “shame to keep this pretty pussy a secret.” Trevor sighed pressing a kiss against your clit “when she’s all soaked for us, it’s better to keep it our think no?” Jack asked pressing a wet kiss against your throat when you arched your back. 

The Ducks player let his tongue swirl around your sensitive nub, creating a healthy rhythm that caused your thighs to squeeze against his head “all for you.” You nodded with your voice turning breathy, almost angelic to the duo.

Those words went straight to the boys cocks that they were still so desperate to just let burst out, letting it soak your skin “can’t believe you tried to act like you were too good for us.” Jack pinched at your side making you jolt “I’m sorry.” You cried, your throat feeling raw as your heels pushed against Trevor’s shoulder blades. 

Jack smiled raking his fingers through your hair “‘s okay.” He mumbled pecking your lips “all that matters is that you’re here now.” Jack kissed you harder that time when your nails dug into his thigh. 

Trevor let his lips go from your clit as you whimpered not aware of how that hurt him more to stop than you could have known “please she’s been wanting to be a dumb little slut for us.” Trevor’s words were rough as he thrusted his fingers into your cunt. 

His were longer than Jacks but they weren’t as smooth either “please.” You begged clenching your walls around his digits “please what?” Trevor softly bit that the inside of your thigh. 

Your eyes almost rolled back into your head while Jack kissed at your shoulder “make me cum.” You whined wanting nothing more than to feel the high you felt earlier on “how can I say no to that.” Trevor clicked his tongue as he went back to sucking at your clit. 

His fingers did this scissoring motion stretching you out around him. The squelching noises echoed against the walls of the room, mixing with the sounds of your moans that slipped through Jacks kisses “such a spoilt girl ain’t ya.” Jack saw the sweat that formed on your stomach. 

You nodded whimpering against him “want you to cum really good for him okay?” Those words made your toes curl as the coil tightened in your stomach “can I?” You nodded not knowing it was possible for you to do it again. 

Trevor nodded refusing to slow down his thrusts as he grinded his hips into the bed beneath him. Words left your lips in a shaky chant “please fuck please.” You begged squirming as he didn’t relent running his tongue over your clit. 

You huffed shaking your head “c’mon sweet girl you can let go.” Jack egged you on kissing your lips, swallowing the moans from your mouth. 

Your legs shook when Trevor fingered you through your high, your release coating his fingers when the coil snapped in your stomach “shit, holy shit.” Your chest heaved letting your fingers tug at Trevor’s hair to pull him off of you. 

His fingers dropped from your cunt went you kissed him. Your release shone on his chin “fuck.” Trevor moaned feeling your tongue brush against his, your walls clenched around nothing as you knew it was the taste of your pussy on his tongue. 

Jack grunted from beside you as you turned back to look at him. There was a smile on your lips “you ready for one more?” He asked pushing your hair out of your face when you nodded. 

It made Trevor laugh “of course she is.” He mumbled tugging at the hair on the nape of your neck so that he could kiss you again. You felt as if the wind was knocked out of you with the amount of passion in it. 

A moan escaped from your lips “wanna taste you.” Your confession made his cock throb “how can I say no when a little slut asks me so nicely?” He nodded cupping your jaw as he smiled. 

Jack gripped at your sides “gonna let me fuck you while he does that?” Those words made you nod. 

You weren’t entirely sure how it happened but before you knew it Jack was on the end of the bed with his legs hanging over. You were hovering over his hips and of course Trevor stood over you, taking in the sight that you were through your thick eyelashes “remember when you thought you were too good to entertain us?” Trevor taunted you like those words hadn’t been spoken mere hours ago. 

You nodded feeling Jack kiss your shoulder blade “well I think it’s time you give us an apology for being such a fucking brat.” His words were harsh as Jack dragged the head of his cock against your clit “I’m sorry Trevor.” Jacks hand held your hip stopping you from sinking into his cock. 

Trevor laughed shaking his head “you gotta do a whole lot better than that.” His fingers brushed through your hair “and that’s gonna start with you getting on his dick okay?” You were eager to please them both. 

Jack let out a grunt “condom?” He asked when your head leaned against his shoulder “on the pill.” Your words made him gasp finally letting your cunt sink down on his cock. 

The ducks player smirked watching how your jaw went slack “shit this cunt is-wow.” Jack let his teeth gnaw at your shoulder blade. 

Neither one of you moved, taking the chance let your walls stretch around his cock. Trevor palmed himself watching how your eyes screwed shut enjoying how the boy felt inside of you “gonna have to try it one day too.” He nodded as you finally started lifting yourself up against Jack “you ready f’me to fuck you huh?” Jack asked, your head bobbed with your one hand resting on his thigh your nails digging into his skin. 

Jacks blue orbs burnt into the back of your head “this cunt is so perfect god.” He barked wrapping his one arm around your waist to keep your back flush against his chest “don’t stop.” The Devils player drunk in your whimpers while you squirmed. 

He adjusted his legs so that you had spread yours around his. Letting the feelings of pleasure soak over you, not sure how much more of him you could actually take. A grunt came from in front of you, reminding you that it wasn’t just you and Jack in that room.

Trevor’s precum oozed out of his cock and you swore you could see a smirk on his face when your mouth watered “you wanna suck my cock?” He asked watching you nodded. 

His breath grew short when you used your tongue to spread his liquid around his length “shit this mouth is-” Trevor cut himself off as you took more of his cock in your mouth. 

His fingers messily tugged at your hair forming a loose pony at the back of your head, encouraging you to work his cock between your lips “you want more?” He asked seeing how you looked up at him through your eyelashes. 

Jack had settled into a rhythm he liked unintentionally knocking your hand off of him. This cause you to reach out at Trevor’s thighs “fuck.” Both boys spoke through gritted teeth as Trevor’s cock hit your throat causing tears to spill from your eyes when you clenched around Jacks cock. 

The ducks player watched how you worked your tongue on the underside of his length “don’t stop pretty girl.” He nodded hearing the squelching of your cunt as Jack fucked you “yeah sweets we wanna use you proper.” Jack cooed gripping at your hip, pinching at the skin. 

You moaned around Trevor almost toppling him over “think you like the idea of us using you.” His words were full of desire, fantasies forming in his mind wanting to go through with them in that moment. 

Sweat stuck to your skin, turning you into a whimper mess “god you’re such a cock hungry slut.” Trevor muttered tugging at your hair eliciting another moan from your lips

The sensation made his eyes screw shut “fuck I’m gonna cum.” Trevor response was mangled, Jack started chasing his own high that was quickly approaching when he heard that message “you gonna let me make a mess in this pretty little mouth of yours?” He brought his one hand forward from your hair. 

His thumb brushed against your cheek “mhm.” Tears streamed down your cheeks while your eyes darted up to his. 

Trevor’s movements increased fucking your face as if you were his own hand. He took that moment before he became undone. His hand held you in place so his release hit the back of your throat all at once. 

Your throat gagged at the new sensation causing his cock to twitch before he went lax letting go of your hair. You hollowed out your cheeks as you let your lips swallow every last drop of what had been on his skin cleaning him up in the process. 

Gasps escaped from your lips causing droplets of his release to drip out of the side of your mouth “don’t go making a mess now.” Trevor clicked his tongue catching it with his thumb before he brought it into your mouth. 

Your lips wrapped around his digit swirling your tongue around it like it was his cock all over again “fuck I’m gonna make a mess in this pussy.” Jack announced feeling that he was close. 

His pace turned animalistic and if Trevor wasn’t in front of you, you swore you would have fallen over “such a tight cunt.” The boy moaned with his eyes glued to the way your folds swallowed his cock. 

Trevor felt himself grow hard again “such a pretty little cock drunk slut ain’t ya?” He asked watching your eyes grow glassy “yeah.” You cried hearing how your thighs slapped against Jack with every thrust of his cock. 

He almost felt as if he could feel your guts he was so deep, touch places you didn’t even know were in you “needed you both so bad.” You were surprised you were able to form a coherent sentence “knew you were always gonna be so desperate for us.” Trevor almost laughed watching your head bob as you nodded along. 

Your mouth watered seeing how his cock still oozed while his hand ran along the underside of it “you wanna feel this too pretty girl?” It was almost the sweetest thing he had said that night. 

It seemed to throw you off as you chewed at your lip sensing you were close “or maybe we should stop until this little slut remembers how to talk.” The threat held no weight as Jack was far too close with your walls squeezing his cock to let you off of him, but that wasn’t something that you considered “please Z.” Your moan sounded like you were a pornstar letting the whimpers of desperation escape from your throat. 

Trevor crouched down pumping his cock once more before he let the head sit in your clit “shit doll you like that?” Jack asked feeling you clench around him “so good.” You nodded letting your head fall against his shoulder. 

The sight was something Trevor swore should have been in the Louvre. His cock dragged over your clit matching the pace of Jacks thrusts. The Hughes boy was desperate to get you to cum first because he knew that the moment he finish he was a goner. 

Trevor begun to kiss at your throat which he now had the perfect spot to do as such “go on.” Trevor mumbled sucking at your sweet skin “make a mess on Jacky boys cock.” Your breathy gasps filled the room as your eyes screwed shut. 

Jack grunted from behind you “yeah baby make a mess for me.” Between Jacks cock fucking you senseless, Trevor’s cock against your clit and now both boys marking up your throat you were done. 

You shuttered out a cry while your face contorted letting tears fall from your shut eyes as your orgasm ripped through you. Neither boy stopped what they were doing, wanting to guide you through your orgasm “shit shit so good!” Jack sputtered out feeling your cunt clench around him. 

His eyes practically rolled back into his head as his cock shot warm sticky ropes of release into your cunt “fucking hell.” Trevor softly laughed against your throat when the younger boy lulled his thrusts before he kissed your shoulder. 

Your chest heaved trying to catch your breath you lay against Jack slowly coming back to, before you softly clenched around him remembering that he was still there “you with us baby?” Jack asked brushing your hair out of your face. 

You nodded gripping onto Trevor’s arm to help yourself up “damn.” Jack mumbled looking down at where you had been sat. A mix of your release and Jacks oozed out of your cunt and down the inside of your thigh as you used Trevor to support you. 

Trevor’s eyes followed Jacks before he let out a soft gasp “you know you could do that?” His hand squeezed at your hip before he set you on the bed next to the devils player. 

You shook your head “do what?” You asked growing confused “this broken girl just squirted.” Trevor scooped the release that had fallen before he thrusted his fingers into your cunt once more “we can’t have you forgetting about this now can we?” He asked watching your hand try to wrap around his wrist to stop him. 

Jack smirked seeing how you dropped back onto the bed, allowing your face to contort as you felt with a mix of pleasure and overstimulation “silly girl this summer is only just getting started.” The devils player nipped at your ear knowing that you weren’t going anywhere anytime soon.

Because here is to the summer you’ll never forget. 

[snoopyiz]

‘ drown to impress ’ feat. LARA RAJ

─── ﹙🪼﹚ Lara has never even thought about swimming, until she found out you were on the swimming team. Going from just barely waking up to be present in her first period to being up at 6am everyday was a struggle, especially since her body wasn’t used to it. The worst part? She didn’t even know how to swim.

PAIRING(s): lara raj x swimmer!reader, highschool au

WARNING(s): fluff, nearly drowning, mentions of gurgling/spitting, reader does cpr as some point, skin tone mention (nothing derogatory)

A/N: never join a swimming team TRUST me. it’s horrid. also this is lowkey really bad im sorry 💔

None of Lara’s friends understood. I mean why would she suddenly show interest in swimming of all things? Lara Raj was a woman of many talents, but swimming was not one.

None of them even recall ever seeing her actually swim— staying on the shore at the beach does not count. How did the infamous Lara Raj find herself nearly drowning?

Well it’s simple really. One day as she was walking to class she saw this girl— not just any though. Her beauty was enough to turn heads, or at least in Lara’s mind, because according to her friend, the girl was a ‘two out of ten’. Although Lara’s sure she’s higher, that's beside the point.

Lara had her friend— Daniela do a little digging, it turned out that said girl was on a swim team! Which is how Lara found herself in this position, her ears ringing as she found her vision darkening.

The one familiar thing she sees is you. Was she dying? Or worse, dead already? Maybe diving head first on the first day was something not everyone could achieve, the one thing she did achieve was learning she couldn’t swim though!

You on the other hand were panicking, hastily you pulled her out of the water, shaking her— even if you knew it wouldn’t really help much if she had inhaled too much water. You kneeled next to her, placing your hands on her chest and pressed down a few times, until she gurgled up water. As she spit it out, you helped her turn her body upwards so that she wouldn’t choke on it more.

“Are you okay?” You frantically asked, even if Lara wanted to answer— she quite literally couldn’t. Lara wanted to shrivel up and die there as you continued to ask her questions. She just knew her friends would never let her live this up, especially the fact she could’ve died yet all she could think of was your hand rubbing her back.

Ever since that day you’ve personally made it your mission to teach her how to swim, because come on, who joins a swimming team without even knowing how to tread!

“Lara.. you’re doing it wrong, again.” you sighed, moving beside her and placing your hand on her back.

“you have to relax, or else you’ll never be able to float.” you said for the third time, holding her up on her back within the water. Undoubtedly Lara was gorgeous, but you could tell she wasn’t listening. It was little things she would forget, her towel, to be on time, it made you truly wonder why she was even on the team.

Lara on the other hand felt like she was on cloud nine, five days a week spending time alone with this gorgeous girl? Not only that, but was her coach. The problem arose when finals came. Lara genuinely thought swimming was for fun, not tournaments and all.

“you do know they wanna cut you right?” You told Lara, walking into the locker rooms.

“oh, uhm why?” She questioned, even if she knew the answer.

“Well, for one you can barely tread properly. Second, you're late a lot, not to mention the clothes instead of the swimsuit. Third, you're always distracted.” Oh. Was she that bad? Lara hadn’t noticed how much you’d taken note of her.

“I only joined because—” of you. The words sat on the tip of her tongue, yet she couldn’t bring herself to say them?

“I already know why, I saw your friend come up in my Facebook recommendations and assumed it was because of this.” You admitted, laughing a little at the last part— while you laughed, Lara's face burned, she was sure if she was a different tone you would’ve known.

The only words she could get out were an ‘I’m sorry’, she was beyond embarrassed, I mean hey, at least she could take something away from this she thought— don’t join a club you have absolutely no interest in!

“We should hang out sometime.” You said, looking back at her before grabbing your swimming bag,

“oh also, I left my number on a piece of paper in your bag.” You stated before leaving. Lara was beyond glad nobody was in the locker room with the way she nearly leaped to her bag, searching for the paper— her jaw dropping when she found it, you weren’t lying.

xxx-xxx-xxxx: hi yn it’s lara

yn (aka loml): hi lara !! lmk when ur free and we can link 😁

[dasketcherz]

OMG THIS!!! 100% YES!!! YOU GET IT YOU GET IT!!

I think the "less is more" storytelling approach work wonders when portraying/handling a character like Hugo. Someone that was established to us as an emotionally guarded and calculated person that hides so much of who he really is behind a mask/persona.

His character thrives at blending in the crowd and not drawing too much (unwanted) attention to himself. And him staying as a back up vocalist or only be present on duets in most of the music numbers like you said perfectly displays that personality so well!

It tells us so much about his character adequately enough: (e.g) That he's the type of guy who gives his quick two cents on the matter and that's that—because he wants to show he has something to offer/contribute on the table (to feel warranted to be in the room in the first place because he is all about efficiency) while still wanting to keep people at arm's length around him doing so—which also tells us that he avoids forming connections beyond transactional endeavors as much as possible.

Like I can imagine most of his verse in songs lean more on being neutral on the topics to show us that he tends to be indifferent on things, because at the end of the day he knows he's just here looking out for himself, like he always had all his life. (until team radical came around ofc)

And those lil verse stepping stones just further elevates why his eventual solo song is framed as a big deal as it should because it is for his character! For the first time, he is at center stage, speaking up. For the first time, he is not just looking out for himself, he starts thinking of others too. For the first time, he starts hoping there is a future for someone like him. For the first time, he starts believing he can be good too because his newfound friends see something in him that he couldn't on his own before.

and AGHHH it's so good, its so fucking good... vat7k, the peak potential you can offer is so palpable like truly.

Just wanna share my thought process on the current set of visuals I made for the vat7k soundtrack headcanons cuz I had lots of fun composing the illustrations for each member!

So when I said "Live Again" is like Varian's version of "Wind In My Hair" well I had every intention to match the visual to that motif. So his pose in this visual pays homage to his most triumphant moment back in "Make You Proud" except instead of facing to the left (aka towards Corona), he is facing to the right to signify wanting to go out there beyond Corona.

And the setting is in the exact place Rapunzel made the decision to go over the walls of Corona from the pilot special (and yes he is standing in the exact wall she did to hammer home the parallels).

I made sure every single one of them are looking up towards the sky, a subtle way to unify them as a set. Something something "we are from different walks of life but we look up at the same sky" something if you will

I noticed how Yong, Nuru and Varian's current songs are "I Want" songs—while only Hugo's song is a turning point song number.... cuz he doesn't know what he really wants at the beginning and his song is him finally asking questions and reflecting with himself

And I also imagined the "I Want" songs for the three were sang prior to meeting each other while Hugo's is after he meets and spends time with them—because prior to team radical, Hugo wouldn't be looking up the same way they do otherwise but in this case, he does cuz he met really kind people like them and starts to slowly see glimpses of what they see too

I just thought that was pretty neat, but anyway! that's my yap, thank you for comin to my ted talk <3

[wendichester]

˚ · .˚ ༘ void,

summary. seeing you after so many years is harder than dean had ever expected.

pairing. dean winchester x reader ; angst

wordcount. 792

The Impala rumbles softly, the low growl of the engine almost soothing against the tense silence inside. Dean grips the wheel tightly, his knuckles white against the leather, his jaw clenched. Sam sits in the passenger seat, flipping through the case file with a furrowed brow, oblivious to his brother’s quiet turmoil.

The brothers are heading into a small, sleepy town, the kind Dean swears is the perfect breeding ground for monsters. The sheriff called in a favor, and they agreed to take the hunt. It was supposed to be straightforward—check out the bodies, track the thing, kill it. Dean didn’t expect ghosts from his past to come creeping in.

But that’s exactly what happens when you stop by the local diner.

Dean’s the first to spot you, sitting by the window. At first, he thinks his mind’s playing tricks on him. But then you laugh, and it hits him like a freight train. You look older, sure, but you’re still you—your smile just as bright, your eyes just as full of life.

And you’re not alone.

There’s a man across from you, his hand resting on yours as you talk. A little girl, no older than six or seven, sits between you, giggling as she tugs on your sleeve to get your attention. You lean down to kiss her forehead, your hand brushing a strand of hair from her face.

Dean’s heart twists painfully in his chest.

“Dean?” Sam’s voice snaps him out of his daze. “You okay?”

Dean doesn’t answer right away. His eyes are glued to the scene in the diner, the way you look so… settled. So happy.

“Yeah,” he says finally, his voice rough. “Just thought I saw someone I knew.”

Sam follows his gaze and frowns, glancing back at Dean. “Do you want to—”

“No,” Dean cuts him off, shaking his head. “Let’s just… let’s just get to work.”

But it’s too late. You’ve spotted him, and your eyes widen in recognition. You excuse yourself from the table, walking toward the door, and before Dean can think of an escape plan, you’re standing in front of him.

“Dean Winchester,” you say, your voice warm and familiar. “Of all the places…”

He forces a smile, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Hey, sweetheart. Long time, no see.”

You laugh softly, the sound tugging at something deep inside him. “It’s been, what, ten years?”

“Something like that,” he replies, his voice steady despite the storm raging inside him.

Your eyes soften as you study him, like you’re trying to piece together the years that have passed. “You look good, Dean.”

“You too,” he says, and he means it. You look more than good—you look radiant. But he doesn’t say that.

You glance back at the table, where your husband is watching curiously. “I should get back. But… it’s good to see you. Really.”

Dean nods, his throat tight. “Yeah. You too.”

As you walk away, he feels like the air’s been knocked out of him. Sam doesn’t say anything, but Dean can feel his brother’s eyes on him.

“She looks happy,” Sam says quietly once you’re out of earshot.

Dean swallows hard, his jaw tightening. “Yeah. She does.”

He doesn’t add that it hurts like hell, that seeing you with a family—a life he’ll never have—feels like a knife twisting in his chest.

Later, after the case is done and you’re just a memory in the rearview mirror, Dean pulls over on the side of the road, claiming he needs a minute. Sam doesn’t argue; he just waits in the car while Dean steps out into the cool night air.

Dean leans against the Impala, staring up at the stars. His hands are trembling, and he clenches them into fists, trying to steady himself.

For years, he’s carried the weight of what could’ve been. With Lisa, with you, with anyone who might’ve made him feel like he wasn’t just a soldier in this endless war. But it never works out. It’s always the job, always the life, always the damn apocalypse getting in the way.

And now, seeing you happy—truly happy—makes him wonder if he ever had a chance at that kind of peace.

When Sam joins him, neither of them speaks for a while. The silence stretches between them, heavy but comfortable, until Sam finally says, “You okay?”

Dean doesn’t look at him. “I’m fine, Sammy.”

Sam doesn’t push, because they both know it’s a lie.

As they get back in the car and drive off into the night, Dean can’t help but glance at the passenger seat, where you used to sit so many years ago, laughing and teasing him about his music choices.

It’s just a memory now, but it still lingers, bittersweet and aching.

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @ariasong11 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @krabog ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @lyarr24 ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas ⋆ @blackmarketfruitrollups ⋆ @impala67rollingthroughtown ⋆ @rulesareshadesofgrey ⋆ @nervoussystemss ⋆ @daryls-luvrr ⋆ @defnot-svnshine ⋆ @sunnyteume ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @angelblqde ⋆ @mostlymarvelgirl ⋆ @whisperingdaze ⋆ @bossyblondie ⋆ @lieutenantchaos

[eroselless]

───────── wait for me // down to the riptide

summary: even divine favor can't save him from the price of doubt. [5.9k]

[charles leclerc x reader]

Greek!AU, orpheus and eurydice

dttr masterlist

warnings: smut, cumplay, cowgirl, death, description of death, religious/theological references (its a greek mythology story)

note: *throws fic, runs away* hehe, see you next week, bai :)

Charles had always been told he had been touched by the gods. The first time he’d sat down and brushed his fingers delicately a lyre, the melody flowed so effortlessly that even Apollo’s priests began to whisper among each other, wondering how a mortal could possess such a diving talent, one that could even challenge their god. 

Whenever he played, the air around him would still. Animals gathered and the restlessness of his fellow men would quiet. Kings sought him out for their courts, poets would beg to set their words to his melodies and aristocrats would pay millions for even a minute to hear him.

But he never cared for that, not really. Not until he laid his eyes on you. 

You were beautiful in the way soft things were beautiful: delicate but with a strength that made Charles ache just to look at you. It was as if you carried Aphrodite’s beauty in your smile, the way you seemed to light every room with your presence.You were the kind of woman that was written about, craved and yearned for. 

You were the daughter born of a high-born family, promised to Lord Damian an older man your parents had meticulously chosen for you. Wealthy and proud, his status was rivalled only by his towering ego. Your status paired with your beauty made you untouchable, promised to a man of power and ambition Though you were worlds apart, at every banquet, every court gathering you’d find your eyes lingering on Charles for just a moment too long. He would meet your eyes as he would expertly pluck at the strings of his instrument. Your eyes would be half-lidded, chin resting on your hand as if you were hypothesized. And Charles? He could feel your eyes like the warmth of the sun. It wasn’t something he could ignore, even if he wanted to. 

Your first meeting was almost accidental. You’d find him on a marble bench in the gardens late at night, taking refuge from the ongoing party, playing softly to himself under the light of the moon. Most of the guests were still enjoying the lavish reunion, conjuring the spirit of Dionysus in their wines and dancing.

You watched him momentarily from the shadows, admiring how the light flowed around him, as if the gods were watching him at that very moment. Your silk down brushed the hedge, catching on the little branches as you hesitated. 

“You play beautifully,” you call out, stepping into the moonlight. 

Charles looked up, startled momentarily, fingers faltering on the strings. For a moment, all he could do was stare. Having you so close and all to himself, he gave into the temptation. You were luminous, hair catching the silver glow of the moon only made the red carnation tucked behind your ear stand out more.  For the first time, he truly understood why the poets spoke of mortals shining brighter than stars. 

“Thank you,” he replied, his voice quiet but steady. “I didn’t realize I had an audience.”

“Would you mind if I stayed?” you asked, your voice coming out in a shy whisper. “Just for a little while.”

Charles should’ve said no. He should have packed up his lyre and left, putting distance between himself and the tragedy that was only waiting to happen. But he didn’t. He nodded, returning to a melody he’d never played before, inspired by the way you watched and the way you seemed to glow as he played on. 

Over time, you inched closer, asking him questions about himself long into the night. You sat among the stars, giggling together. He’d even placed his lyre into your hands, instructing you how to play as gently as he could. 

“I don’t think I should be here anymore,” you whisper suddenly. Your voice is low, something he can’t quite recognize dripping from it. He could see your eyes drooping, just as they did whenever he played his lyre. It was a look you saved just for him—a gaze that sent shivers down his spine and, now that you were so close, stirred a deep, undeniable heat within him. You were sitting face to face, now seated in the grass instead of the bench you’d been on at the beginning of the night. 

“Then why are you still?” he murmured back, his voice low, his lips close were enough to brush against your temple. 

“I don’t know,” you say, feeling yourself lean closer to him. 

He meets you half-way, his lips pressing against yours hesitantly. He thinks he can feel your mirrored hesitance, almost waiting for him to pull away. There’s a flutter in his belly that erupts in waves as you tangle your fingers in his hair, pulling him ever closer. You’ve risen up on your knees, moving into the space between his outstretched legs. His hands caress your back, bringing your chest to his, your breast firmly pressed up against him. He licks into your mouth to glide his tongue over yours, a silent confession of how long he’s been fantasizing about this moment—since the very first time he laid eyes on you. You carried the subtle sweetness of the wine you’d been sipping all evening, while he tasted of something richer, almost intoxicating—a flavor you knew you could never tire of. His hand slips up your torso, sliding over the hills of your breast before finding home at the base of your neck. It stays there, not squeezing but almost as if to memorize the feeling of your skin under his fingers. 

You settle into his lap now, hips gently beginning to rock against his. As your hands fall down to his chest, you can almost hear Eros whispering in your ear, enticing you to give into the feeling that was burning between the two of you, to slip your hand under his tunic or to bring his hand under yours. 

It’s distant, but you hear your name called from beyond the hedge, the voice oblivious to the predicament you’re in. You agonizingly pull away from Charles, staying silent, hoping they’ll move on, but instead, they call out for you again, louder this time.

You sigh, pressing a light kiss to Charles’s lips again before telling him to meet you after the next banquet. Charles nods, blinking as if he’d been pulled out of a dream. He watches as you flatten your gown before giving him a shy wave and disappearing behind the hedges. 

It wasn’t long before you’d see him again, the excuses flowing like water. You would meet with Charles again under the protection of the night, Nyx watching overhead. You’d sneak away from the feasts just as you did that first night, everyone at court whispering how you’d simply tired of Damian’s company. No one suspected where you went instead—slipping through the darkened halls and shadowed gardens to wherever Charles was.

☾ ⋆・゚:⋆・゚

“Oh how the gods have smiled upon us,” he says one night. He has you in his arms, your gown pooled in your lap. It doesn’t stay there, his hands impatiently pulling the scrunched piece of fabric from your frame. He drags his lips down your neck while his hands are anchored on your hips, shifting them gently on his cock. 

You can only muster a weak hum, quietly agreeing with him. You’re shaking a little, your legs exhausted from the effort you’ve been putting in all night. It is almost overwhelming how deliciously he’s pressed to your walls. His moves have been small and gentle tonight, yet he could feel as your walls would tremble with every little push. Your head lulls back, hands anchored to his shoulders, opening up your chest and he can’t help but smile as he sees your chest heaving. 

He kisses at the flesh of your exposed skin, tongue licking long stripes down to your breasts, eventually pulling a pebbled nipple into his mouth. He relishes at the sound of your voice and how it whines at the feeling of his tongue swirling over the sensitive bud. It makes you arch your back slightly, shifting him inside you. 

“Please,” you implore, eyes squeezing shut, begging him to do something, anything to ease the delectable ache he was causing between your legs. Charles sweetly presses his lips against the column of your neck, tilting your face back towards him. “T'es tellement belle comme ça, mon coeur,” he says warmly. No matter how many times he saw you like this, completely bare, he always had a way of turning you into a giggling mess whenever he spoke to you in French. There’s a flutter in your chest that pulls a laugh from your lips that slowly turns into a moan as he pushes you upward before dragging you back down.

He pushes his nose against yours, chasing your lips as he leans back in the bed and pushes up into your. His arm wraps around your waist to hold you steady as he pounds into you. Yesyesyes. You can feel your release nearing. There’s a flash of heat throughout your body as you feel it, a loud groan falling from your lips. Charles keeps pushing his hips, trembling as he pulls out, reaching for his cock. With one stroke, he spills onto you, painting your navel and chest in white. You’re heaving, the sounds of his moans making your center warm up again. 

You slump down to the bed together as he drags his finger through his spend that is pooled on your skin. You eye him, tongue poking out to lick your lips before taking the finger into your mouth as you giggle. He gives you a smirk before reaching for something to clean you up.

Once you’re relatively clean, he joins you back in bed, pulling your body on top of his. Your head rested in his chest, your fingers tracing lazy patterns over his skin. His arm is wrapped around your shoulders, his own fingers smoothing over your bare shoulder as he stared up at the ceiling. The high is dissipating, the silence makes you feel safe, cocooned in each other. You stay quiet for a while, not sure how much time passes before he speaks. 

“What’re you thinking about?” He murmurs, voice heavy with the oncoming wave of tiredness. His other hand comes up to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. You tilt your head slowly to look up at him, lips curving into a soft smile. “You were right, it is as if the gods have smiled on us and allowed us this night.” Your voice is soft, as if you didn’t want the gods to hear. 

Charles chuckles, the sound rumbling in his chest. “Yet I’m worried that it's a dream that could fade with the rise of the sun,”

“If it is a dream, then let me never wake.” He says, burrowing into the bed. You reach up at his response to trace the lines of his face—his strong jaw, the lips that you were so addicted to. 

“I could spend an eternity like this,” your voice cracks a little as the voice falls from your lips. “I can’t bear the thought of a life apart.” 

He blinks slowly, eyes filling with tears as he looks at you. “There’s no distance I would not travel, no risk I would not take if it meant keeping you.” 

Your throat feels tight as he says this, tears threatening to fall from your eyes now, hot and unbidden. He presses his nose to your cheek, pressing his lips there as his thumb brushes away a stray tear that has slipped down. “I love you,” he says, voice low with his confession.

Your chest feels tight as you shudder, tears cascading down your cheeks. “I have loved you since the very first moment you looked at me and saw not just a lowly musician but a man.” You smile as you let his words sink in. You kiss him, slowly and deeply, almost cradling his face in your hand. It was as if you were trying to imbue in your kiss what words could not. “And I love you,”

Your fingers gripped onto his as you pressed your forehead to his. “What if we left this place?” You ask. “We can run away to somewhere that no one will find us and live out the rest of our days the way we want to.”

Charles stills, his brow furrowing as he searched your face. “Damian will not let you go,” he puzzles, his voice heavy with foreboding. “He won’t accept this rejection, he won't let you slip away.” 

“He doesn’t need to know,” you reply swiftly, your eyes burning with determination. “We can vanish without a trace. He will wake to an empty house, and by the time he realizes we’re gone, we’ll be halfway to the ends of the earth.”

Charles closed his eyes, his jaw tightening. “It’s not that simple. He is a man who sees defiance as an insult, and insults must be repaid. Even if he doesn’t find us, he’ll punish others in your place—think of yours. He’ll ruin them to make an example.”

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t back down. “And if I stay, what then?” you ask, your voice sharp with desperation. “What becomes of me? A prisoner in a marriage I did not choose, chained to a life I cannot bear? I will wither, Charles. I will fade until there is nothing left.”

“Please don’t ask me to stay,” you beg, your hand gripping his. “Don’t ask me to trade my soul for his pride. We can escape him, Charles. We can outrun the chains he would place around us.”

“And if he catches us?” Charles asks, his voice trembling with the weight of the question. “What then? What price would you pay for this freedom?”

“I would pay any price,” you whisper. “Because freedom with you, even for a day, would be worth a lifetime in his shadow.”

He stared at you, torn between hope and fear. Slowly, he pulled you close once again, pressing his forehead to yours. “You are braver than I will ever be,” he murmured. “And more reckless.”

“Then be brave with me,” you whisper, a shake in your voice. “Be reckless with me, Charles. I love you. And I will not let him take that from me.”

His breath caught, and for a moment, he simply looked at you, his hand brushing your cheek as though committing your face to memory. “I love you,” he says at last, his voice breaking. “I love you more than I ever thought I could love anything.”

“Then let’s leave,” you declare, your  eyes burning with more unshed tears. “Together.”

Charles Presses himself to you once again, arms pulling you as close as he could. When he pulls apart, his hands linger on your face, his touch soft but steady. “The next full moon,” he said finally. “We’ll go. No one will stop us.”

“No one will find us,” you correct him, a small smile breaking through your tears. “And if they do, it will already be too late.”

“Together,” he said, his voice resolute.

“Together,” you echoed, your hand curling against his chest.

The weeks go by quickly. You disappear into the night, leaving Damian to ruminate in his study. He could see you weren’t tired, something in your eyes giving it away. “She’s hiding something,” He says one day, tone as cold as the marble floors beneath his feet. Lysander stands at the foot of his desk, the servant waiting for his master to give him the orders. 

“My fiancé disappears far too often to my liking. Follow her. Watch her. And when you’ve discovered what she’s been up to, you report back to me.”

Lysander bows. “Yes, my Lord.”

It only takes a few days for Lysander to catch you. He watches you from a distance, careful not to draw attention to himself. Your movements start mostly harmless—spending hours in the gardens, wandering through the halls and finally, like clockwork every night returning to your chambers early. 

It's not until one evening that he catches you leaving your room, through the abandoned guest wing of the manor. He follows you as quietly as he can, heart thumping wildly in his chest every time he follows too closely. You arrive at a secluded area in the woods, a small cabin nestled among the trees. 

It's there when he sees him. He can see through the window as you meet Charles in a kiss, hands tangling in his hair. He can see how you hold each other as if you’re each other’s lifelines, desperate to keep afloat. He watches as you writhe under Charles’s touch, a passion igniting between you two that he hasn’t even glimpsed at between you and his Lord. It makes Lysander avert his eyes, feeling disgust as he waits in his spot. 

He doesn’t leave. Lord Damian’s orders were clear and Lysander’s curiosity was stronger than his discomfort. He lingered in the shadows, watching as Charles loses himself between your thighs and how you toss your head back with a lust filled look on your face. He can hear as you call out for Charles, and how easily the iloveyous are exchanged between you.His stomach churns with unease, he wants to leave. But he could not come back empty handed, Damian would not tolerate it. 

Soon the space quiets and he dares look in through the window. You're draped over Charles’s chest, Hypnos’s touch making you hazy. Your voices are soft as you speak and Lysander can hear every word.  

“Just a few more days,” you whisper into Charles’s skin. “The moon is just about full and we leave all of this behind.”

Charles’s fingers cart through your hair, pressing a kiss to your hairline. “Are you still sure?” he asks, his voice low. “Once we leave, there’s no going back.”

“I’ve never been more sure about anything,” you reply, voice steady. ““He can have the titles, the wealth, all of it. I want none of it. I only want you.”

Lysander’s breath catches in his throat, his fingers twisting the fabric of his tunic. This was much more than just an affair—it was treason. He backed away slowly, careful not to make a sound as he retreated from the light of the cabin. 

His hands shake as he stands before Damian, recounting everything he’d seen. Damian’s eyes darken at every word, lip stiffening and knuckled whitening as he grips the edge of his desk. “The little bird thinks she can fly away.” he muses, his eyes drifting toward the open window overlooking the woods. A sly sneer curls his lips.“But I don’t think so.”

☾ ⋆・゚:⋆・

You’re breathless as you arrive at the clearing, cloak pulled tightly around you. You carry a satchel over your shoulder, some supplies from the garden and little things you could take from home that wouldn’t be missed. Charles is waiting for you at the edge of the forest, an almost identical satchel around hung on his shoulder. 

“Are you ready?” he asks, his voice laced with urgency. His hand holds the back of your neck, tilting your face to look up at him. 

You nod. “I don’t care where we go, as long as I’m with you.”

There’s a silent adrenaline in Charles’s chest just waiting to ignite as you begin making your journey through the woods. A feeling he can’t quite shake pools in his gut, but he doesn’t know what it is. The sun has long been gone and you’re guided by the light of the moon. It’s quiet as you walk, both of you too nervous to say anything quite yet, as if any word could break you from this dream that was slowly becoming reality. 

The pit in his stomach only grows the further you walk. He doesn’t regret this, neither do you. But it is as if Fortuna has turned her back on you tonight. 

It happens in seconds, the sound of horses and shouts coming from behind you. Lord Damian. 

“RUN.” Charles urges you, tugging you deep into the forest. Caution is thrown into the wind as you run. That adrenaline is now raging in your chests. You turn into a field, the grass shrubbery as high as your knees as you run to reach the other side where you could lose Damian in the trees. You’re exposed to the air, a clear view of you from where Damian calls for you. You can hear him as he shouts. 

“My little bird, you’ve disgraced our union with your actions. It’s time to return—we’ll marry at first light, before your reputation is further stained. In time, I may find it in my heart to forgive you.”

The words send shivers down your spine. What would he do to you if he caught you? What would he do to Charles?

You’re almost to the trees when you feel your gown catch on a shrubbery, halting your run completely. You pull it away and take a few steps, only to be yanked back, caught on the branches of a fallen tree. There’s panic in your voices as you call for Charles, tugging at it desperately. You can’t think straight. Charles pulls at your gown, trying to set it free. Damian’s creeping up slowly on his house, watching you as you struggle. He’s taunting you. 

You almost don’t feel it—the sudden, sharp sting on your ankle, like a thorn pricking your skin. But then comes the second bite, a searing pain that shoots up your leg. You gasp, Charles finally pulling your gown for the branch. You watch as a viper slithers away, hissing as it disappears from your sight. 

Charles urges you again to keep running, not yet noticing the limp in your step or the blood that's begun seeping from your leg. “Charles,” you whimper as you feel your vision begin to blur. “We’re almost there,” Charles promised, his voice low but urgent. 

You’re so close to the tree line but the world spins around you as you meet his eyes. “A snake, Cha,” you gasp, your chest feeling tight. He drops to his knees next to you, hands cradling your face. His eyes wander down, finally catching the wound. There’s a terror in his eyes, an expression you’ve never seen before. You try to pull yourself up, to stand, to run with him into the trees. If you could only just make it to the trees. But you can’t. There’s a fire burning through your limps, a newfound heaviness. The trees in front of you blur into one as your vision slipped away. 

You can hear Charles pleading with you as your vision goes out. You can feel him crying over you begging you to stay. Don’t go where I can’t follow.

You try to speak, to tell him you were still there but your throat wouldn’t form the words. Gods, no. I love him. But you can’t, Thanatos is already pulling you away. 

Charles feels his heart rip from his chest as he sees the light in your eyes go out. How cruel the gods were to grant you this one chance, only to take it from you in the blink of an eye. He can feel your warmth begin to fade as his shaking hands brush your hair from your face. You’re gone but he can’t help but plead with you over and over again. 

He can almost see the shadows that grow longer over him, Damian and his men drawing close. He had to move—had to escape. But how could he leave you here, alone in the dark?

He lowers you to the ground, closing your eyes as he settles you there. You looked peaceful, so heartbreakingly beautiful. He lingered for a second, fingers reaching into his satchel to pull out a single red carnation. He’d planned to ask you to marry him that day. Now he can only give it to you here as you lie. 

He presses the flower to his lips, tears falling onto the petals before tucking it behind your ear. 

“I’ll come back for you,” he whispers, his voice raw. “I swear it. This isn’t the end.”

The sound of Damian’s men grew louder, their shouts drawing nearer. Charles stood, his fists clenched, his breath coming in shallow gasps. He kisses your forehead one last time, turning and disappearing into the forest.

☾ ⋆・゚:⋆・

Charles wanders the woods aimlessly for days, his guilt weighing heavy on his chest as runs. He’s not sure where his feet are taking him—the only thing he knew was there he couldn’t let Damian’s men find him. There’s a faint pounding in his head as his breath comes in ragged gasps, legs burning as he pushes himself forward. He heaves as he ducks into an empty cavern, almost collapsing onto the ground. Tears begin to fill his eyes as catches his breath, mind filling with thoughts of you. Your face is burned into his mind, your smile, your laugh, the way you had once looked at him. And now, you are gone. 

He pulls out his lyre, wincing as he stretches to pull it from its spot slung on his shoulder. His fingers tremble as they find their home on the strings.

The first few notes are soft, trembling like the tears that streak his face. He plays, the gentle melody rising into the air like a prayer. It’s raw, unfiltered, a song born of grief, desperation and loss. The air around him seems to stop, the wind stilling, trees freezing in place. Even the stars he sits under seem to listen to him, weeping with him. 

He’s bathed in silver light that falls from the skies, slowly coalescing into two figures. One is dark and towering, his shadow stretching over the ground like an imposing shroud. The other is radiant, her eyes filling with immense kindness and sorrow. 

The woman calls his name, halting his playing. He’s never seen her before but he knows her name, Persephone, queen of the underworld. His voice is soft as her words gently echo through the air. “Your song has reached even the depths of my realm.”

“You mourn deeply,” observes Hades, his voice a deep, resonant growl. “Few mortals would dare to love so fiercely.”

Charles drops to his knees, clutching his lyre tightly as he does. “Please,” he begs, his voice broken and weak. “If my music has touched even the gods, I only ask one thing. Let me bring her back, I’ll do anything.”

Persephone tilts her head, studying him with endless, violet eyes. “You would risk everything for her?”

“Yes,” he says without hesitation, his voice now steady despite the tears in his eyes. “I would give my life if it meant hers could be returned.

Hades steps forward, his presence looming. “We are not so generous as to grant such a request freely,” he begins. “But your devotion… it is rare. We will grant you a chance.”

Charles’s breath catches, hope flickering to life in his chest. “What must I do?”

“You will descend to the underworld,” Persephone instructs. “There, you may plead your case for her soul. But beware, mortal. The path is perilous, and the rules are absolute.”

“If she is to follow you back,” Hades continues, his tone dark and heavy, “you must not look back at her until you both have reached the surface. Should you falter—should you give in to doubt—she will be lost to you forever.”

For you, Charles would face anything. 

☾ ⋆・゚:⋆

The path is dark, just as the goddess had promised. Charles stumbles as he enters the cavernous opening in the earth, like the mouth of a beast preparing to devour him. The air seeped out, heavy and damp, cold as it carried disembodied voices. 

The descent was steep, the darkness growing around him, growing thicker with every step. His feet carry him over a winding path of jagged stone but soon there is nothing but smooth obsidian beneath him, slick and unforgiving. His shoes slip on the stone, sliding further into the darkness. He loses himself, focusing only on the path in front of him. He can only think of you, the only thing that pushes him forward. 

His first arrives at the River Styx, the waters swirling endlessly before him. Charon, the ferryman, waits there for him. His hollow eyes watch Charles with disdain, disgusted as he sees the very alive man pleading with him. 

“I have nothing to offer you,” Charles admits, his voice hoarse. He’s thirsty but his fingers dance softly on the chords of his lyre. The notes are rich, weaving a melody of loss and longing. Charon pauses, his skeletal fingers curling back as he listens to the man. 

The ferryman’s expression softens the slightest bit and with a slow nod, he gestures for Charles to board his boat. It rocks under his weight, the journey across the waters eerily quiet, except for the steady splash of Charon’s oar. When they reach the other side, Charles slowly steps out, turning back only to bow deeply to the ferryman in thanks. 

The path takes him to the Fields of Asphodel, where he sees how the dead wander in eternal monotony. Their eyes are sunken and blank, their forms just a little more than shadows of what they had been in life. As Charles passed, many began to stir, drawing to the scuffing of his steps. 

“Play for us,” they whisper, their voice dry like the leaves of fall rustling in the wind. “Play for us and you will pass safely.” 

Though it makes Charles’s heart jump in his chest, he stops to bring the lyre up higher to play. He plays the only tune that comes to his head, the one he had played for you the night you had kissed for the first time. It begins soft as it did before, only growing sadder and he remembers why he’s playing it in the first place. The souls gather around him, their movements slow as they listen. Many weep at the song, their shadows trembling as the last note fades into the dark air. Slowly they part, allowing him to continue. 

It is not long after that that he reaches the palace of the king under the earth. Hades and Persephone wait for him, their thrones looming above him at the end of the hall. The queen looks down at him with sympathy in her eyes contrasted by her husband’s cold and unreadable gaze. 

“You have come far, mortal,” Persephone tells him, her voice soft. “And your music has touched even the dead.”

Hades leans forward, his tone as sharp as the edge of a blade. “We will grant you what you seek. She may return to the world above. But you must remember the condition: you must not look back at her until you both have reached the light of day. Should you fail, she will suffer in the fields of punishment for both of your treacheries.”

“I understand,” Charles said, his voice steady though his heart raced.

You appear just as he turns back toward the path. He hears you call his name, the warning ringing in his mind, don’t turn back. His eyes fill with tears as he feels you press your head to his face, the fabric of his tattered tunic wetting with your tears. Your fingers wrap around his wrist gently as if to tell him, I’m here. 

“I’ll follow where you lead,” you whisper. “Take me home.”

Your ascend begins, each step growing heavier than the other. The patter sounds like a faint drumming that pounds as the terrain changes and changes. Their soft scuffle of your sandals is the only sign Charles knows you’re there. But it doesn’t keep the doubts from slipping into his mind. Is this truly there? Have the gods tricked him?

You eventually reach the obsidian path, the final stretch, Charles thinks. You climb, higher and higher, Charles stopping every now and then to listen for you. 

“It’s ok,” you remind him. “I’m coming.” Though it reassures him momentarily, it soon disappears and he has to stop again. The whispers of the underground grew louder as the light at the top of the tunnel grew larger. They swirled around him, each word needling into his mind. She’s not there. You’re wasting your time. You failed her once already, why would they give her back?

His breath quickens as he doesn’t hear your steps, calling out your name. “I’m coming, I’m coming. Wait for me.” you huff and now he can hear you and your slow steps. You trudge on. His heart screamed at him to look back, even just for a moment, just to be sure. But he doesn’t, he knows he mustn't. 

The light is just ahead now, so close Charles can feel the warmth of the sun. But the silence has returned, making his chest tighten in his chest. His breath came in shallow gasps, it was too much. The urge to turn, it consumed him. He finally turns, his body trembling with the effort to resist, as if there was something begging him not to look back. He calls your name as he does, seeing you just a few feet away. 

You were there, alive and just as radiant than the moment he lost you. For a moment your eyes brighten as you meet them, but it doesn’t last long. 

The shadows surround you, wrapping around your legs and torso. 

“Charles, no!” you cry out, your eyes filling with tears. You try to push your legs to walk but with no avail, the shadows holding you in place. Your hand reaches out for his, desperate as they brush the air between you. He takes off in a sprint, lunging towards you. 

He sees the terror in your face as if to say don’t let them take me as the shadows begin to close around your face. It is the expression he saw in the moment just beyond the treeline. And he can’t bear the twisting feeling it creates in his gut. 

The last thing he sees are your eyes, tears steaming and evaporating into the shadows before there's a strong wind, pulling you away and pushing him out into the light. 

Charles awakens to the warmth of the sun as it caresses its cruel hand on his skin. It almost pains him as he opens his eyes and realizes where he’s laying. He sits up, seeing his lyre on the ground before him. Between the strings, there’s a carnation, its stem threaded there. He clutches his chest, gasping as he cries. “Gods, please!” he cries, fingers digging into the dirt beneath him. But there is no one there to hear him. 

☾ ⋆・゚:⋆

From then on, his music changes. People stop asking him to play at their parties, more asking for him to play at wakes or funerals. It still carries magic, and though people still stop and stare,  many say his songs are no longer for this world.  He plays for no one but you now, hoping the gods might take pity on him again. But they never do.

Index:

Apollo - God of the Sun, music, prophecy, healing, and the arts. Eros - Greek god of love, passion, and fertility. Hades - God of the Underworld and the dead, ruler of the realm of the departed. Persephone - Goddess of Spring and Queen of the Underworld. Daughter of Demeter. Dionysus - God of wine, revelry, and ecstasy. Thanatos - Personification of Death. Often depicted as a gentle, peaceful figure who guides souls to the afterlife rather than a force of violence or terror. Nyx- Primordial Goddess of the Night.

a/n: i genuinely have no idea how i got to almost 6k words but if you're here, I wanna say thank you so much for reading. Any feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated :)

[waynes-multiverse]

*gasps in excitement* FINALLY 😍😍😍

I also remember our fireplace conversation vividly 🔥 and I'm so glad it inspired such an amazing fic! You've outdone yourself with this one, Alex!! Such a sweet, incredibly romantic, and yet angsty story 🤍

Such a strong and hot start, wow! 🫠🔥

Full honesty, as a writer, starting chapters with smut always freaks me tf out. Like, where do you put the damn "keep reading" line without flashing some innocent people at work 😂

Even with the fire going and the heater running in the cabin, the frigid air outside is unforgiving.

Ooof, I know the exact feeling you're describing here. Kinda like when you're taking a hot bath but the room is cold and so everything not covered by water is freezing... 😅

You have no problem with the way Dean guides you down from the chaise to take advantage of your nest on the floor, right in front of the fire.

Oh, here we go! Executed to perfection 😏

You don’t know this, but it’s been a while since anyone but his own hand has touched him. That’s not the only reason his body has been calling to yours, but it plays a part in how fucking good it feels, and how much more he wants you.

First of all, I was just reading this whole, intensely scorching scene with a thundering heart and squeezing my damn thighs hard 😂

Secondly, I loooove this trope! It's sorta romantic?! Idk 😅🤷‍♀️ Kinda gives "waiting for the right one and not in the mood for anyone else" vibes. I did that kinda with Russell recently lol

But I love the extra intensity and specialness it gives, y'know? ❤️‍🔥

Once again, he hears you. His teeth sink into the back of your neck, making you cry out. But your pain is quickly overshadowed by a deepest pleasure, thrumming along with his.

Loved the callback of him hearing her again, although his instincts had taken over. It shows how much he cares about her and respects her 💕

And I truly wonder what Sam will say when Dean comes back with a mate lol

His words both warm you and make you sad. Just how little does he think of himself?

Oooh boy, you're about to find out, girl 😂

You sense that he’s not telling you everything. How could he? A lifetime of blood and wins and incredible losses; family gained, and family lost, endless saves, and so many near misses.

Lol I was gonna say, "How long do you guys plan on being here? This might take a while" 😂 But I'm so in love with their little afterglow bonding session ❤️❤️❤️ I honestly could read about their convos forever. They're so cute 🥹

“After the whole Chuck thing was done, I thought we’d just…go back to status quo. Me and Sam against the world, you know?” Dean says. He gives a rueful smile. “Then Sammy tells me he knocked up his mate.” You smile. “You’re happy for him though.” “Course I am,” Dean nods. “He never thought he’d get to have all that. A badass chick who can keep him on his toes, a house, the kid, the whole damn thing. He’s downright respectable again.” His brotherly pride and his humor are tinged with something else though. You think you begin to understand. His losses have weighed him down, leaving him aimless and living in that in between, not unlike the ghosts he used to hunt. You know the feeling.

We've already talked about this when he mentioned Dean jr. the first time, but my headcanon is, too, that Dean would be super happy, incredibly sad and lonely, and definitely a little envious and sour lol 😂😂

You really nailed him here! I could hear every word out of his mouth, too!! 😂🫶

It’s another week in the cabin before Dean insists on helping you down the mountain. Your ankle has gotten a little better, but at this point, you need to see a doctor. It takes a couple of days, going as slow as you need to. He ends up carrying you for most of the way anyway. You tell him over and over that he doesn’t have to, but your alpha is stubborn.

Can totally seeing him doing all of that and arguing with her throughout lol Our hero 🥹💚

He grins at the look on your face. “Hey, sweetheart. Come meet my Baby.”

Oooh, I completely forgot she doesn't yet!! Aww, she loved him before she knew he had a cool car. This is like finding out he was a millionaire and kept it a secret to find true love and weed out the gold diggers 🤣

Dean gives you a teasing smirk. “Well, technically, she’s been with me a lot longer than you.”

This had me DEAD 🤣🤣🤣

Dean blinks at your question. He whistles lowly. “About a year. Jesus, since my nephew was born.”

A year???? Jesus fuck, this is even sadder now!!! Sam was really like, "Ciao, jerk." lol

Damn, this man is old school. 

Oh she's about to find out how much 😂😂💚

That was such a perfect ending! They literally drove off into the sunset together *swoon* 😍🫠🫶 (And I could totally see Dean singing along to the lyrics at the end there)

I seriously enjoyed this series so much, friend!! 🤍🤍🤍 Totally gave me those vibes 🥹💕:

Against the Wind - Part 4

Pairing: Alpha!Dean Winchester x F. Omega!Reader 

Summary: You wake up in a strange alpha’s cabin in the middle of a snowstorm, all with a busted ankle. He holds shadows in his eyes, even though his hands are gentle. There are iron shutters around his heart, even though he saved you. You might just save him in return.

AN: The grand finale...

Song Inspo: “Against the Wind” by Bob Seger

Word Count: 3.4K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, knotting, claiming, fluff and feels.

Series Masterlist || Bingo Masterlist

Part 4: Running to Live

His cold hands are warming on your skin as he slides them underneath your sweater. They move smoothly up your back, bunching up the material. You break from his kiss only to help him get the sweater off you, followed closely by his pants.

Your sweatpants slide down your legs with just a sharp tug, baring most of your body to his gaze. His eyes drag over your exposed neck and shoulders, your breasts cupped in your bra, down to your panties and bare thighs.

A shiver runs through you, both from his heated gaze, and from being exposed to the cooler air. Even with the fire going and the heater running in the cabin, the frigid air outside is unforgiving.

You have no problem with the way Dean guides you down from the chaise to take advantage of your nest on the floor, right in front of the fire. He draws you into a sensuous kiss, sucking your lower lip into his mouth and grazing with teeth.

“Were you nesting, Omega?” he teases, between the sinful meetings of his lips with yours. You hum your affirmation before his tongue swipes across your lower lip, seeking entrance.

You open yourself to him in more ways than one; you slip your hands across his naked shoulders and explore the smooth planes of muscle, the dips and softness in between. You encourage him to lower down, to cover you with the length and broadness of his frame. His weight is a welcome one between your thighs and against the softness of your body.

“Was worried about you,” you whisper a confession against his lips. Dean briefly pauses, meeting your eyes.

“Thanks for waiting up,” he says, with a hint of a smile.

Your lips curve upwards in return. You reach up to caress his cheek, feeling the prickling of his stubble. Your fingers thread into his hair, and you pull him back down for a devouring kiss.

Dean’s brows furrow as he holds you to him, wanting to feel every part of your skin against his. His calloused fingers map their way down your side, and across your back to unhook your bra. His lips veer away from yours to burn a wet, heated trail along your neck. His teeth come out to graze your skin, down your throat, down the lovely valley between your breasts.

“Dean,” you gasp, encouraging him when his hand cups one of your breasts. He explores the other with his mouth, teasing a pebbled nipple with his tongue. Your fingers tighten in his hair, your thighs rubbing together between the cage of his knees in the mess of blankets. Already you feel slick forming at the apex of your thighs and slipping down in between.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin. “Fucking beautiful, you know that?”

You can’t help but smile. Your face warms either from the fire dancing shadows across your bodies, or from him, his attention, his warmth, and the heat in his eyes when they meet your again. His hand slides down your body, over your hip and squeezing your thigh as he opens you up further for him.

“Tell me what you want, Omega.” While I still have control, his tone implies. His voice is gravel and sin while his hand moves swiftly and smoothly up the inside of your thigh.

“Touch me,” you breathe.

Nodding, he hooks his fingers around the hem of your panties and slides them down. You help him kick them off. Afterward, his thumb brushes over your mound, making you sharply inhale and squeeze his shoulders encouragingly. His fingers dip inside your wet heat, his brows raising with a smirk, as he feels the sheer amount of your slick already coating his digits.

“Fuck. This all for me, baby?” he remarks.

You hold onto the back of his neck with both hands as you nod, biting your lip. Your hips begin to cant against his hand on reflex, urging him to touch you.

“Alpha, please…” you implore, in a ragged whisper. He swallows your plea with a ravaging kiss, but he still gives you what you want. His thumb circles your clit, earning a moan from you into his mouth.

Soon, two of his fingers plunge slowly inside you, working you open, drawing more gasps and shudders of pleasure from your body. His length continues to strain hard against your thigh, but for him, it’s worth it to draw every sound, every time your body writhes and arches against him, craving release.

With a few more purposeful strokes, your inner walls clamp tight on his hand, and a flood of slick coats his knuckles even more. You gasp his name, your hands squeezing his arms just as tight as your pussy around his fingers.

Your skin is beginning to get dewy with sweat, and he kisses some of it off you when he trails down your chest. You stroke down his arms, down his back, whatever you can reach as you catch your breath. But then, his name falls from your lips with a firmer tone.

Dean raises his head, and you gently push at his chest. His brows furrow in confusion, only for it to be replaced with a smile of surprise when you curl a thigh over his hip and guide him onto his back. His head just manages to fall on one of your pillows, but he still utters a small grunt. You giggle down at him, bowing to meet him for a kiss.

He smirks and holds onto your hips, playfully squeezing your ass. “My wily omega.”

“Thought I was your cheeky omega,” you tease.

He snorts. “That too.”

You giggle some more as you treat him to the same path of open-mouthed kisses down his neck. Except this time, you hook a hand behind his neck, and you trail your tongue around his mating gland. You feel his jolt of surprise, as well as his instinctive growl of pleasure in response to his mate. Or at least, not yet…

His heart pounds in his chest.

“Omega,” he says, a warning not to tease as his grip tightens on your hips.

The command in his voice makes you shiver, but you smile and nuzzle his cheek in affection. You kiss your way down his body, playing special attention to his nipples, his stomach, the soft V and the happy trail of light brown fuzz leading you down between his hips.

Your fingers slide down his hardened desire through his underwear, earning a grunt from him, along with a shifting of his body against the blankets. Your lips curve as you nuzzle him there as well, letting your lips drag across his impressive length.

His fingers tangle in your hair when you hook your nails around the waistband and free his cock from its confines. His boxers join the rest of your clothes somewhere, and finally you get to see all of him, as much as he takes in all of you. Your hand wraps around his girth, your thumb circling around the sensitive, weeping head of it. Dean groans, a sound from deep in his chest.

You don’t know this, but it’s been a while since anyone but his own hand has touched him. That’s not the only reason his body has been calling to yours, but it plays a part in how fucking good it feels, and how much more he wants you.

He feels your intentions when your hand moves down his shaft in a teasing caress, your fingers tracing around his knot. A shudder rattles down his spine, makes his desire burn hotter in the pit of his stomach.

He can’t fucking take it anymore. He needs you, needs to be inside you. Needs to take you the way his instincts demand.

He grasps your shoulder before you put your mouth on him. You blink up at him, with a question forming on your lips, but he hefts you up onto his chest by your arms. He cages you there with a kiss filled with abject need.

“I can’t. Can’t wait anymore,” he says. He drags his fingers through your folds and earns another moan from your when he finds your clit. “You ready for me, Omega? Need my knot?”

“Yeah,” you nod, agreeing against his lips. “Need you, Alpha—”

No sooner had the words escaped your lips, when Dean rolls you back underneath him. But this time, he guides you onto your stomach, then raises up your hips, until you’re on your hands and knees. You catch your breath as you regain your bearings, shooting an incredulous smile over your shoulder at Dean. He smirks back at you, but his gaze is intense, his pupils darkened with the alpha inside him. 

Still, he soothes a hand down your back and steadies you with a hold on your hip. You feel him slot himself behind you, guiding his cock at your entrance. His chest presses hotly against your back.

“Last chance, Omega,” he says, his voice tight with restraint.

You look back at him again over your shoulder, your mouth threatening to frown. You reach back and sink your fingers into his hair with a sharp tug. “Do it.”

He sinks into you with one smooth plunge. It’s a relief for both of you, your mingled moans echoing in the near silence. All that’s left is the sound of your quickening breaths, of skin against sweat-slick skin as you move together.

Dean brushes your hair away from your neck. He kisses and licks his way along your bare shoulder, and finally the back of your neck. You’re trembling by the time his lips find the sensitive flesh of your mating gland. It echoes with the pulsing from your core as he continues to drive into you.

“Alpha,” you gasp on reflex. You squeeze his arm; he has it wrapped tight around your middle. Your pleasure builds ever closer to that crescendo, especially as his thrusts become ragged, at an angle that zips delicious tingles through your core. “Close…just…I need…”

Dean isn’t so far gone. He hears you, and helps you, reaching his hand around to strum his fingers insistently on your clit, along with his final thrusts.

Finally, it tumbles you over. Your inner walls become impossibly tight around him as he draws out your second release—one that triggers his own. Dean groans into your ear; his knot swells and locks into place, and he spends himself deep inside you. He pants hot against your neck, but even though he fastens his lips there, he hesitates, once again making you shudder. 

“Do it,” you repeat, in a coarse whisper. You’re close to tears. “Please. Want you, Alpha. Need you…”

Once again, he hears you.

His teeth sink into the back of your neck, making you cry out. But your pain is quickly overshadowed by a deepest pleasure, thrumming along with his.

 Afterward, Dean holds you in his arms. The warm glow of the fire paints your skin in its light, despite the utter darkness in the rest of the house. 

While you both wait for his knot to subside, you revel in the fact that you know he’s content. You can feel it through the newly formed bond. He traces random shapes in your skin, which still glistens with a fine sheen of sweat. The fire he stoked doesn’t help to cool you down, but you don’t care.

Nothing else matters but this. You turn your head toward him over your shoulder. He meets you there with a gentle kiss, much more gentle than any other you’ve shared before. It feels right. 

When he parts from you, he presses another kiss to your forehead. Then he leans back a little and sighs. You feel his thumb trace the raw flesh around the claiming mark on your neck. A small shiver runs through your body. Maybe on another day, you’ll mark him in return.

“It’s too damn late,” he says, breaking the silence. “You realize that right?”

You shoot him a frown. “Too late for what?”

“For me to let you go,” he says. 

His words both warm you and make you sad. Just how little does he think of himself?

“Dean,” you say, endeavoring to be patient. “You’re my true mate. Do you know how rare it is that we’ve actually found each other?”

Dean remains quiet.

“And after everything you’ve done for me,” you add, “how can I not think you’re a good man? How can I not think this is right?”

He seems to consider your question. His gaze briefly falls, then meets your eyes again.

“You don’t know me that well,” is his answer, with a wry turn of his lips. 

You reach back to caress his cheek. “Then tell me. Tell me about, um…tell me about how you became a hunter. From your dad’s journal, I got the sense that it’s a family thing.”

A vendetta, you wanted to say, but you keep that thought inside.

Dean chuckles, dropping another kiss onto your shoulder. You feel the pleasurable rasp of his stubble.

“Yeah, more like a family business,” he says. 

He tells you why John Winchester started writing in that journal in the first place. Dean explains it in his own words, of what his family was before and after a demon broke into his brother’s nursery. Your heart continues to break for him, over and over, the more story he tells. Your shock can only reach new heights when he tells you about angels and demons and everything in between. 

There are moments where he pauses, needing the time to find his words. He’s talked for so long that his knot finally softens, allowing you to withdraw from him, just to turn in his arms and be able to see his face. He bundles you in the blankets to keep you warm, but he also keeps you close, with a loose arm around your waist as he continues. 

You sense that he’s not telling you everything. How could he? A lifetime of blood and wins and incredible losses; family gained, and family lost, endless saves, and so many near misses. You listen with rapt attention (and a lot of shock) to everything he can share, but your heart twinges when you see how he struggles to talk about his mother’s most recent death. Then his best friend Cas. 

You realize that this man, for all his self-deprecation, is a hero. More so than you already knew.

“After the whole Chuck thing was done, I thought we’d just…go back to status quo. Me and Sam against the world, you know?” Dean says. He gives a rueful smile. “Then Sammy tells me he knocked up his mate.”

You smile. “You’re happy for him though.”

“Course I am,” Dean nods. “He never thought he’d get to have all that. A badass chick who can keep him on his toes, a house, the kid, the whole damn thing. He’s downright respectable again.”

His brotherly pride and his humor are tinged with something else though. You think you begin to understand. His losses have weighed him down, leaving him aimless and living in that in between, not unlike the ghosts he used to hunt. You know the feeling. 

You thread your fingers with his, earning his attention. 

“You can have that too, you know,” you say. “I mean, I don’t want to skip ahead, but I feel like things are going well here, despite the whole busted ankle thing.” 

Dean slowly smiles, shaking his head. He brings your hand up to his lips. 

“Okay, enough about my Hallmark movie life. What about you?” he asks. 

So you tell him. 

You two continue to share and explore, both in words and with your bodies, until morning comes. 

It’s another week in the cabin before Dean insists on helping you down the mountain. Your ankle has gotten a little better, but at this point, you need to see a doctor. It takes a couple of days, going as slow as you need to. He ends up carrying you for most of the way anyway. You tell him over and over that he doesn’t have to, but your alpha is stubborn. 

Once he gets you back to the city, you two take a shuttle to the nearest hospital. X-rays are taken, and you get a new cast for your officially fractured ankle. At the very least, you don’t need surgery. You’re able to call your mom from there and let her know where you’ve been, that you’re all right, and best of all…that you’ve found your mate. 

You cry along with her on the phone, this time for a good reason. The best reason. 

When you’re eventually released from the hospital, Dean picks you up in a sleek, black Chevy that has your eyes wide. 

He grins at the look on your face. “Hey, sweetheart. Come meet my Baby.” 

He parks the car and keeps the heater running while he comes around to you in swift strides. He takes your crutches and slides them into the backseat, then helps you into the passenger seat. 

“It’s beautiful, but my God, how old is this thing?”

“She. She’s a she.”

“Oh, pardon me,” you say in amusement. “Do I have some competition here?”

Dean gives you a teasing smirk. “Well, technically, she’s been with me a lot longer than you.” 

You scoff incredulously. He laughs and takes your hand, pressing a kiss into your palm. You discreetly study him and marvel at how much lighter he seems. You don’t know how much is because of this, what your hand in his symbolizes, and how much is because he’s reunited with something important to him. 

“It’s okay, Omega mine,” he says, with a measure of desire in his eyes. “From now on, you’re my priority.”

Your spine prickles with the same arousal you can feel from him through the bond. You lean across the way and share a thorough kiss. 

Until a horn honks loudly from behind. You both jolt, but Dean’s face falls into annoyance. He shoots up a choice finger at the car behind him in the rearview mirror. You laugh as he begins to peel out of the curved pick-up and drop-off zone in front of the hospital. 

“Where are we going, Dean?” you ask, still smiling in amusement. 

“Wherever we damn well please.” He turns to you with a hint of a smile reforming on his lips. “Want me to take you back home? We can sort out the logistics on, uh…well, this.”

You think about it. He poses a good idea, but at the same time, you’re not quite ready for this part of the adventure to end. 

“How long has it been since you’ve seen Sam?” you ask.

Dean blinks at your question. He whistles lowly. “About a year. Jesus, since my nephew was born.”

You smile and reach over, resting your hand on his thigh. 

“Let’s go see him, then,” you say. “I want to meet your family. Then you can meet mine.”

After that, you two can figure out the rest, like where to live, and how you’ll live. 

Dean raises a brow. “Really? That’s like, a thirteen-hour drive.”

You shrug. “I’ve always wanted to go on a real road trip. Can we get some food first though? I’m starving.” 

He laughs and nods as he stops the car at a red light.

“What do you know? A woman after my own heart,” he says. His amusement eases into a gentler smile the longer he stares at you. You smile back, and you give into the urge to lean in again, meeting your lips with his. He brushes your cheek tenderly with his thumb. 

“I know what this needs,” he says lowly. Your brows draw together in a silent question. 

He pulls away to reach into the side compartment along the driver door. He fishes out a cassette tape labelled Zeppelin IV. You bite your lip and try not to say anything smartassed.

Damn, this man is old school. 

He skips ahead until he finds Track 7, just as the light turns green. A melodious guitar riff fills the car as he turns onto the main road with your hand wrapped in his. 

Made up my mind to make a new start.

Going to California with an aching in my heart…

AN: And that's all, folks! 🥹 I truly hope you enjoyed Against the Wind!

Like I said in a recent update, I have more stories in store for you guys. January 3 will be Part 1 of Outlander -- sequel to The Honorable Choice -- a Western AU with Dean as our resident cowboy! I'll post a sneak peek on that one soon.~

But in the meantime, I hope you'll let me know what you thought of ATW! 💜💜

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[yandere-sins]

Hi! I just currently discovered your works and I love it! Can you do a story where a serial killer (any fictional character you want, as long as it's not real people) who has gotten married to the y/n's mom but he's so obsessed with his new step-daughter the first time they met. The ending's up to you.

Hey! Thank you so much for reading my stories and requesting ♥ Took me some time to think of something, and I won't do a specific character, but I hope you enjoy it regardless!

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

A long time ago, he chose to go down this path.

The decision had to be made; any waver in his resolve would have resulted in him getting caught and locked up for life. Sometimes, it was nice to be with the humans that would end up dead; sometimes, it was merely business. There were some pleasures to take from these gullible idiots. Money, sex, opportunities.

Businesswomen, housewives, lonely singles, and, if he had to, men just as much. They only sought the warmth of a lover, someone who truly understood them. And why would he not accept their gratitude and gifts for so little work as rubbing their back and telling them how special they were? It made them feel better most of the time and him richer, as their gratitude almost always ended in gifts.

And in their contentment, they didn't see the knife that was about to sink into their back as soon as they weren't useful to him anymore.

As soon as their money ran out, the gifts died down, and they started to become suspicious of him; he'd make sure to skip town after burying his latest lover in a ditch. He never met their friends, never saw what the life of his victims was, and especially: he didn't love them.

Oftentimes, he wondered, late at night, after yet another kill, what it was like to be loved and to love. His victims always looked so happy and content, hanging off his arm and whispering the magic words to him at night. What he did wasn't right, but why did it matter when he never got caught? As long as he could live in the lap of luxury that he could never achieve through honest work, he didn't really need much else.

But he was getting old.

Too old to sugar-baby his way through life, at least, too much on par in terms of age now with his victims. It physically hurt him to have to be extra careful in the future when killing random strangers. It would never give him the satisfaction or the looks of betrayal that left him all hot and bothered. But now was the last time he could find someone willing to finance his life, and giving up his prolific murder spree was better than spending the rest of his damnation in a dirty, old motel room with nothing to do.

Thus, his way of life ended. A serial killer turned houseman and loverboy to a very successful CEO and mother. Thanks to his charms, the wedding went through much faster than expected, and soon enough, with a credit card linked to her bank account and well-situated in the luxury home of his now-wife, everything could have stayed like this for a long, long time.

Until you showed up.

You were a blessing and a curse in the form of an adult stepchild. It was weird meeting the family of his victim for the first time. But the moment he laid eyes on you, his mouth began to water, pupils blown wide to spy every inch of deliciousness that you swept through the front door to his home. And despite spikes of murderous desires making his body shake uncontrollably, even more prevalent was the twisting and churning of his heart as it beat viciously against his ribs, blood rushing through his whole body and especially between his legs.

All evening long, he couldn't stop smiling at you. He sat across from you like a silly little teenage boy, nodding and listening to everything you told your mom, words dripping off your lips like honey that he wished to lick up. However, he merely did the next best thing, offering to take care of the dishes so he could lick your plate clean and steal your cutlery to enjoy later. He sat with you long into the night on the couch as you told him about yourself; you two had never met before since the wedding was such a rushed affair, and you were the trust fund child sent to an international college for your studies. There was so much to catch up on and get acquainted with.

If only he had met you sooner.

The time together was short, so he suggested all kinds of family vacations, telling his wife it was totally okay if she couldn't make it, and he'd spend time with you and bond. All was in his favor, and every second spent with you was the happiest of his life. For years, he thought that only riches and luxuries could satisfy him—but not anymore.

He had to have you.

No matter what he had to do, fate had already been decided. There was simply no way to not be with you. Slipping into your bed at night and touching you as much as possible just wasn't enough. Stealing your underwear and imagining you on your knees while he used the fabric on himself didn't quell his urges completely. Not even when he imagined you while pleasing his wife was enough, and neither was smelling you every day and pressing up to you innocently in the kitchen or hanging out with you. You going back to another country to continue your studies? Impossible. It would have killed him.

And then, the painfully put aside urges arose. The ones that screamed for blood and gore, torture, and the satisfaction of witnessing someone's last breath. He had already established himself in your life, and you liked him enough that were you to lose someone dear to you... would you run to him?

The question was just a hypothesis, but one that had him rock hard and twitching as he stared at the ceiling at night, feeling his wife—your mother—in his arm, sighing contently. What was her testament like? Would there be enough to live happily ever after with you? Would you accept your stepdad as more than just a superficial family member? Would you let him hold you? Kiss you? Lick you? Make you scream and sob?

Would you allow him to drag you into hell with him, even though he'd make it seem like heaven?

It had always been his way of doing things. Pretend to be someone perfect, pleasant, and loveable, when really, he was this cruel, pathetic monster. But a long time, he chose to go down this path of embracing the beast, and sitting up in his bed, he remembered still holding onto the table knife you used on the first day you returned home. It would be awful, downright gruesome, to be killed by her own daughter's knife, wouldn't it? Your mom would feel so betrayed by being stabbed in the middle of the night; it would be heart-wrenching and devastating.

Absolutely exhilarating.

Why change something that had always worked for him?

By tomorrow morning, you would be his.

[harbourslighthouse]

slow it down - the lumineers (jason todd x f!reader

summary → some days are really heavy, and you wake up with a certain kind of exhaustion. jason is there to help you carry yourself back to bed.

author’s note → something a little heavy, but don’t worry! there’s some comfort too <3

Thin curtains danced as a stale wind drifted into the room, and the bed was unmade. Duvet covers wrinkled and unkept, the pillows dented. You hadn’t found the strength to make it up, to straighten out the sheets. Standing in the doorway to your room, your skin burned with the warmth that had settled thickly in the air.

Something inside you was just as unmade as the bed, twisted into a crumpled mess in your chest. You weren’t sure what it was, but you stood with your shoulder digging into the doorframe, wondering if there was something wrong with you.

A scrape against the floorboards was the only thing that alerted you to Jason’s presence, before fingertips lightly graced the dip of your waist.

“Sweetheart?” Jason murmured behind you.

You felt the weight of his arms wrap around you, and you fell back against the hard plane of his chest. A hum in the back of your throat was the only thing you could give him, a greeting that took the least effort.

Jason rested his chin on your shoulder, and the white tuft of hair above his forehead tickled your temple.

“What’s wrong?” he asked quietly.

You weren’t surprised that he knew there was something strange in the way you held yourself, the way you stood with your gaze idle. He was terrifyingly in tune with every part of you. But you weren’t sure how to answer him—what could you say?

Something feels off. I’m not me today.

“Tired,” you answered, and you knew that it was half of the truth. You were tired, but it was a bone-deep exhaustion that reached inside of you and weighed down everything. Even your lungs felt heavy as you breathed.

For a moment, Jason didn’t say anything. Instead, you could feel the rise and fall of his chest behind you, the puffs of air against your neck.

“What else?”

You sighed heavily; his question felt like a flashlight shining directly through you, illuminating everything you keep hidden. He knew you more than you did.

You let the silence linger, before you replied with your voice close to breaking.

“Just…a bad mental day, I think…”

Jason hummed, and you felt his arms slip away from your middle. The apartment is hot and humid, but still, a coldness crept along your skin with the absence of his.

But Jason’s warmth never truly leaves, and his fingers slipped between your own, and he tugged you forward into the room. You followed without protest, knowing you’d let Jason lead you anywhere.

“Let’s go back to bed,” Jason suggested, but the tone of his voice implied there wasn’t really room for argument—but he waited for you to answer, his eyes flickering between your own.

You glanced back at the bed, the sheets bathed in a pale yellow light, and you wondered if that light could slip back into you and chase away the shadows you carried.

Feeling the weight of Jason’s gaze, you nodded, whispering.

“Okay.”

Slowly, Jason pulled you with him, and you settled on the bed. The mattress dipped, the pillows cradling your head. You shifted onto your side, arms bent and pulled in towards your chest. And Jason was there, eyes gently tracing the lines in your face.

“Do you want to talk?” Jason asked.

You liked that he was trying to be comforting, despite never knowing what comfort really was for most of his life.

You shook your head, because you knew there weren’t any words for this. Watching the flutter of his lashes each time he blinked, you imagined the ocean behind his eyes, the green and blue flecks that glinted with the light that shone in the room.

Featherlight fingertips found the length of your arm, and you let Jason trace circles into your skin like an artist, and you found the weight in your limbs grow stronger; if you were any heavier, you might have fallen straight through the mattress, but where you would end up, you didn’t know.

“Sweetheart?” Jason’s voice was only a whisper, and you hummed in response.

“Rest, okay?”

Something else was hidden behind his words, and you realised that he knew what was wrong. Jason understood the weight you were carrying, the fog in your brain that shrouded everything you knew with something dark and grey—a hazy film that left everything feeling far away. Jason knew the feeling of breathing while your lungs were full of stones.

You fought the urge to cry, and Jason pulled you closer to him.

Letting your head find shelter in the crook of his neck, you sunk further into Jason. His arms wrapped around you, tighter than the blankets, but far less restricting. There was safety in his hold, and the promise of understanding—a promise to hold you up when you felt too weak to lift your own feet.

“Thank you,” you whispered into his skin. It didn’t feel like enough, but it was what you meant with everything in you.

“Don’t mention it, sweetheart,” Jason murmured against your scalp, and the sound of his breathing lulled you to sleep.

Maybe Jason was that light that could find you and make you feel whole again.

thank you for reading, God bless <3

[rizzoreads88]

✨Reasons why I’m still confident Elriel is endgame✨

1)All the hints and foreshadowing we have had for them since Acomaf.

There is a lot but I’m only going to list the main ones…*how they reacted to each other the first time they met and they both were wearing cobalt blue*azriel being the one to figure out she was a seer and then his understanding started to help Elain get better * the entire Hybern rescue scene and Azriel being full of rage ready to die to get to her*Azriel lending her truth teller when he never let anyone else touch it.*Azriel and Elain spending time alone together in the garden multiple times*Azriel following the sound of her laughter*Elain calling Azriels hands beautiful *Azriels shadows lighting up at her smile*Azriels shadows wanting to attack Nesta for insulting Elains personality* The way Azriel reacts whenever Elains Hybern kidnapping is brought up, *His entire Bonus chapter scene with Elain & Rhysand, *Azriel being upset about and still focused on Elain even after his bonus chapter scene w Gwyn takes place. *azriel having a physical reaction to Eluciens mate bond and seeing elain around Lucien.

2)Lucien & Vassa

Vassien has been my longest Acotar ship. I have been pretty sure about them since Acowar. The moment SJM retconned Lucien’s Dad to a spell cleaver, then we find out Vassa has a unbreakable curse and SJM has Lucien be the one to find her (a bird of flame and a lord of fire I wonder if they’d found each other yet) I truly felt Elucien was not going to happen. There was literally no other reason for her to retcon his dad. Then she’s built them up ever since as well. ( Feyre watching them off alone suprised how Lucien is acting around Vassa, Lucien blushing talking about Vassa, Lucien getting a spark in his eye or Vassa, Lucien having a pained physical reaction when Vassa talks about being enslaved to Koschei, Lucien seemingly setting a target on Koschei over Vassa, Mor pointing out it’s not usually for mates to be away from each other and ok, the inner circle saying Lucien is biased about Vassa now and they can’t trust his reports on her, SJM pointing out Lucien and Vassa are the true exiles jurian is not, Cassian & Nesta also questioning/wondering about Lucien’s reactions to Vassa or about her…) SJM has been slowly building Elriel alongside Vassien in the background. SJM has also talked about how she wanted to do a vasalisa the beautiful and a swan lake retelling and Lucien/Vassa& Koschei fit that perfectly. Now couple this will all the information we get on mates being able to reject a mate bond, mates not always being love matches, people questioning eluciens bond ect…

3)Gwyns Growth in Acosf

Another reason why I’m confident in elriel is because we got so much of Gwyns story in Acosf. People take us learning so much about Gwyn as a sign she’s next but I think it’s actually the opposite.In 1 book we met her, saw her grow, she got her besties, she revealed her deep trauma and how it affects her and we see her start to really overcome that. If Gwyn was getting her own POV SJM would have saved most of that for her book. If you look at Feyre,Nesta,Manon,Lidia ect w we didn’t learn about their true traumas or see them really start to work on it until we were in their own pov. Yes we got hints and a general idea but nothing in depth like we have for Gwyn.(like Elain we have gotten a lot of hints of her trauma but not the true depth of it or her true feelings over it yet in depth… )But if you look at characters like Fenrys, Asterin their storyline happened like Gwyns. They were amazing supporting characters and we learned about their trauma and saw their growth through Aelin/manons pov like we did for Gwyn through Nesta

4)HOFAS

We got absolutely nothing for Gwyn in Hofas. Which really surprised me because Gwyn has been studying the possibility of different worlds/realms with Merrill this would have been the PERFECT time to bring her in in a small way and give us some sort of hint and we got nothing. Even when Bryce was talking about her best friend to Nesta we still got nothing about Gwyn. A huge promising sign to me that Elriel is still endgame …Now remember how Sarah said she left breadcrumbs in azriels bonus chapter? Azriel questioned the cauldron over Eluciens mate bond in acosf and then in hofas the crossover he is heavily involved in we find out the cauldron was infact corrupted by the Daglan. SJM followed throw on those breadcrumbs to the next book…

5)Elriel in Azriels BC

If Elriel weren’t endgame why even give us their scene in his bonus chapter? She could have had Elains scene be with Lucien and azriels just be with gwyn but she didn’t…. Until then nothing solid had happened on page for elriel.. yes there has been moments and alot of foreshadowing but we hadn’t had thier feelings on page yet and in the bonus chapter she gives us canon confirmation they are into each other… then brings up the obstacle that they will have to overcome (Eluciens mate bond) She has rhysand set it up even further and then leaves things unresolved between them…. Why do annnnyyyyy of that if they weren’t endgame? It’s bc she set their story up the same way she did nessian in acofas… a special moment and then a “rejection” and they were left unsettled…. The same way she did for feyre and rhysand in acotar… they have a special moment as they are saying goodbye and feyre is staying w tamlin but then Rhys realizes she’s his mate and leaves, leaving her alone for months…. Again leaving them unresolved……….. people say “she did that to end them” If SJM was “ending” then she wouldn’t have left them unresolved. SJM could have just simply move elain on to Lucien and had her scene w him in the BC and kept Azriels with Gwyn and then start to move azriel on ti Gwyn after the Bonus chapter scene. But she didn’t. Because days later Azriel is still into Elain.

If you stuck with me this long phew thank you! Now while I am confident Elriel/Vassien are happening I do not think it is 100% set in stone yet. I don’t take anything as confirmation unless SJM confirms it or it’s in the books. So while I am confident I also do not count my chicken before the hatch. Could SJM change her mind and go in a different direction? Sure but that could be said about any couple in her series now too. Based on canon text and how she writes endgame pairings I truly think it will be Elriel/Vassien.

[sturgeonposting]

hey I was wondering:

Can sturgeon still get that big (like the beluga in that 1920s photo)? Like i know with some fish the largesr specimens have been removed for so many generations that body sizes have decreased and smaller bodies artificially favored to survive. I don't about fish take dynamics that have led to our current situation with sturgeon, like if they were taken indiscriminately at any size as long as they were reproductive age. could today's sturgeons reasonably get to that size again if they lived long enough, or have we functionally selected against big bodies for too long?

This is a really interesting question. I suppose if you somehow kept a beluga or kaluga (members of genus Huso)in optimal conditions it could potentially get huge because of their evolved trait to continue growing throughout their lifespan. Even then, though, i doubt it would ever get as huge as those giants of old.

Beluga were fished to critical endangerment in the late 1800s and early 1900s. Though I’m sure large individuals were particularly prized, fishermen were pulling in most anything they could get. In fact, they were keeping fish that had not yet or barely reached spawning age. The same can be said about many sturgeon species. For this reason, I couldn’t say if we have kind of reverse-selectively-bred (selectively killed?) them to be smaller. Perhaps @superiorsturgeon might know something more about that. I can tell you one reason why sturgeon aren’t as large as they used to be, though, and you’ve already hinted at it in your ask:

These giant fish of legend weren’t just big, they were old. It’s like how we don’t have many huge trees in America because most were chopped down during the 1800s logging craze. Even if we plant new trees and take great care of them, we won’t have huge trees because it takes upwards of a hundred years for them to grow so large.

Sturgeon today don’t usually get old enough to be massive. There’s also environmental factors like rising temperatures, lack of available prey, habitat loss, and pollution that can stunt their growth. So, while sturgeons can certainly get big — you can still find a rare fish over 10 feet if you are lucky — I don’t think you or I will see a true giant like Big Mama in our lifetimes. Whether or not it’s because they have evolved smaller bodies or because they are being consistently stunted by external factors, I can’t say; but even if their dna still remembers how to get big, I sincerely doubt any individual specimen would survive long enough in today’s conditions to achieve a truly massive size.

Belugas of old vs modern belugas, both are considered large in their time

[knnichs]

my eternity

young love, loyalty, and admiration. a gentle reminder from your dear friend that he will stick with you, even after you've gotten sick of him.

c. kingdom messenger sethos x royalty gn!reader

t. character(s) are friends with reader but have romantic feelings, mutual pining (ish??), royalty au obviously, friends to something more but less than lovers LOL, reader is the princeps/princess/prince of the vehero kingdom, dehya obviously knows about readers crush on sethos & sethos' crush on reader, fluff, not proofread we die like bamoun, POSSIBLY OOC SETHOS ??? wc: 4.1k WOOHOO

taglist. @thestarswhisper @honeyney @pneumosia @tragedy-of-commons @gl4di0lus @ariadnehelx @azuresaqua @mikashisus @yuomizuu-> join the taglist here!

author notes at the end !

The sun had already begun to set, but your day was far from finished.

Being the future ruler of the Vehero Kingdom, you had quite the list of responsibilities. It wasn’t as simple as attending your classes on time and doing homework once you got back anymore–despite being homeschooled your whole life. No, you now had to help with managing the events, attending meetings, and political discussions. You have to watch your every step as even the smallest mistake may lead to war.

Now is a time where you truly had to be aware of everything you say. The annual banquet was just around the corner and you had prepared a hefty bit of it. So, safe to say that you have put in a ton of effort just to make this event possible this year. It’s not that your parents didn’t trust anyone to do it for them, or they didn’t have the time to manage it–you were of age now. Maybe it’s time you take part in these events, they said to you.

You’re tired of it, though. Incredibly tired.

In between your duties–you caught glimpses of a familiar dark brown haired fellow come and go in the palace; talking with the maids, laughing while playing cards with the guards, and leaving once more with his bag filled to the brim. Sethos, your kingdom's beloved messenger. 

You remember telling him to deliver the invitation letters in the port's post office after the last group of messengers failed to bring it as they ‘lost’ them (they really just went to the tavern and completely forgot about it.) He’s quite efficient with his work–usually a quick trip to the port would be around 30 minutes by foot, yet he manages to come back 15 minutes earlier. 

Ah, yes. His “secret power,” as he loved to say. Especially when the king, your father, compliments him for his diligent work and asks for his route–he simply shrugged and said “I just move fast.” 

There he is, in the flesh, several doors away from you; your best friend of many years now. He’s come to teach you many things about the palace. Secret doors that lead to underground tunnels, hidden doors in the library… You wonder why he knows all of this. 

You lean on the wall, shoulders shrugged as you crossed your arms and sighed. You couldn’t wait until night came around–changing into your silk robes and lying on the soft mattress while reading a book you liked, or falling asleep immediately.

“Your highness,” Dehya coughed, seeing your prolonged stare at the window. You hadn’t noticed you zoned out already–no wonder your eyes felt heavy. “Is something wrong?”

You shook your head as you faced the girl, greeting her with a small smile. “Nothing in particular, Dehya.” 

She glanced over your shoulder, catching sight of Sethos immediately. And she grins. “Boy problems? Why don’t you go talk to him?” 

For some odd reason, the idea makes you a little excited. After a really long day, a good talk with your… friend, would be pretty rewarding. Sethos is quite an entertaining person–you thought to yourself many times, questioning if he could possibly feel the same way to you.

But again, it probably wouldn’t happen at all. 

“Ah, yes! Let’s go bother someone who is clearly busy. Great idea.” You roll your eyes.

“Come on, your highness. I don’t think he’ll mind,” Dehya takes a few steps closer to you, hand pointed at the window as she looks at you encouragingly. “See? He’s wavin’ at you right now.”

You went to look at the window–watching what was going on. “No, he isn’t.”

“Oh my god–just go approach him!”

“And I’m telling you, I’m doing something.”

“I don’t get paid enough for this,” Dehya puts her arms up in defeat, eyes closed as she looks down at the floor and grinned. “I’ll see you later, your highness.”

She walks away, leaving you alone in the hallway filled with tiles and marbles and old paintings that look almost alive. You stare as she opens the doors and goes to the many living rooms in the palace. A part of you thought that she was right–maybe you should. But you somehow couldn’t get the courage to.

“He’s busy.” You repeat–mostly for yourself.

 “We both don’t have the time.”

It’s been a hectic day. You’ve walked maybe ten thousand steps today from preparations alone, you wonder how it would be like on the event itself. You’ve talked with the maids, told the band what to play during the dinner, you cleared the menu your parents created as they weren’t appropriate at all for a banquet, so you ended up creating another menu and checked with the chefs if they were possible. There were just so many more that it’s hard to list them all in your head. 

Now, you were fresh out of a hot bath, some chamomile tea on the side of your nightstand. You were laying in your bed, wrapped in the softest blanket, dressed in loose clothing, and you had just finished reading your book. The night was cold, so your balcony was halfway opened to bring some air into your bedroom. The moon is shining on the carpet, it’s comfortable, it’s nice. 

But you can’t sleep. Not at all.

Some thoughts are rushing in your head–and there are no thoughts at all. The blanket is soft, but you feel too hot, and when you take it off you feel cold. Your head sinks into the pillows but it makes you dizzy, your tea was too sweet and now you wonder if you somehow added too much sugar and ended up getting the energy to do things. You’re tired, but not at the same time.

Does that make sense?

On nights where you find yourself restless, your first thought is to go to the gardens. There, you’re alone, only with the moon's gaze and the flowers you tend to when you have the time. Tonight is no different. Once again, you’re looking up at the sea of stars above you to find comfort.

If being an heir to the throne was this stressful, you wonder how much worse it’ll be when you do eventually become their leader.

“In deep thought, your highness?” A familiar voice calls just behind the bushes, to where the swing is. Usually you’re all alone on these nights, but it doesn’t necessarily mean a certain someone joins you from time to time.

“Sethos,” you push a few stray vines from the tree, ducking down from the branches and looking at the white swing. “Apologies… for the silence. I didn’t notice you were here.”

“It’s fine, I didn’t say anything anyway.” He pats down the space beside him, moving a little to make more room. You smile, taking a seat and nodding a thanks to the boy.

Silence wasn’t uncommon when it came to the two of you. He understood your duties drained you socially and physically—which is why he usually fills the silence with his voice. Talking about his day, what he did, or reminiscing a little on memories from the past.

“You’ve been out and about, what brings you here at this hour? I’d be too tired to even make the trip.” His voice had a raspier edge than usual—proof of his exhaustion from the day as well.

You look at the sky again, “I don’t know, actually. I felt too tired to sleep. Quite odd, isn’t it?” 

He laughs, the sound bringing a certain warmth burst in your stomach. 

“I’ve got just the idea then.” The boy stands from the swing and it sways the slightest bit from the sudden movement. He reaches a hand to you, offering to help you up. “Wanna join me, your highness?”

“Sethos, my friend—I trust you, but… is this okay?” You held the ends of its saddle. With a huff, Sethos successfully brings the two horses you got for your 16th birthday out of the stables. Without alerting anyone at that. 

He blows the flame in the lamp, leaving the room dark as you two head out to the streets. “Yes, yes. It’s fine, completely fine.” 

Although, you're not the least bit assured. If your parents catch you sneaking out late at night–without a small group of guards with you–the scolding would last weeks. All Sethos is doing is taking your hand in his, nodding as a promise. We won't get caught, and you won’t have to suffer through their endless yelling.

The sounds of their hooves tapping against the stone floor echoes throughout the streets. It’s a sound you pay no mind to in the morning–especially during events, where there are more horses to count. But at night, everything just seems to be louder. But you push forward, seeing as your little friend is exceptionally confident that nothing would go wrong. Oh, to see the look on his face when he does get caught sneaking out with the heir of the royal family this late at night–it makes you curious. Would he feel guilty, or would he feel playful and try again another time?

“This way,” He whispers, redirecting the two of you into an alleyway. You know this place, you often head through here when you need to reach the gatehouse quickly. 

Which has you wondering, where is he even taking you?

There are not many places in the kingdom that would require you to pass by this specific alleyway to the gates. Well, there are none at all. The gates have only one use, and it’s to exit and enter the walls of your kingdom with ease–so why is he bringing you there with not one–but two horses?

Is he planning an escape? There is that possibility, the only problem being that he never told you in advance–how were you to get clothes and daily necessities without any mora on hand? You didn’t even fill a single pouch with the coins, like what they do in drama plays when the main character elopes with the love interest!

If that’s the case, then is this some kind of proposal? It’s true that you find Sethos attractive–you liked the way he carried himself in conversations… his smile, the way he urges you to do the most random things. Like, five years ago when he asked you to play in the mud with him after a storm. Who even offers to do that as a pastime? Your clothes would’ve gotten stained with the dirt, but he insisted otherwise. 

So he’s seriously asking you to elope with him, this is just insanity!

“Sethos–wait!” You stop in your tracks, holding your palm up to his face when he turns around. “Is there… something you want to say?” 

He pauses for a moment, blinking in surprise. What, had you finally caught on? Did you figure him out, with the way he’s acting right now? Holding your hand, guiding you through the kingdom–gods, he hoped not.

He laughs, “What are you even talking about? Read too many fantasy books?”

“I just–” 

“No, I’m not trying to kidnap you–or anything of the sort. We’re going out to a spot I know that could help you relax.” Sethos takes a few deep breaths, no doubt trying to calm his heart from exploding at that very moment. He puts your hand to his chest, looking at you with those bright eyes of his. “Trust me. I won’t do anything to harm you, your parents would kill me if I did.” 

That, they would. But you don’t say it outloud. Instead, you gently nod your head and he smiles.

“Aren’t there any guards around?” You ask, hiding behind a crate–you can’t say the same about your companion, on the other hand, and the horse you’re with right now. (Her head is peeking over the tall crates stacked on top of another, but she looks adorable doing it.)

Sethos has his arm raised in front of you. “Well, yes. But look closely.” 

You squint as you do, but you see Cyno–the highest ranking knight–lead the other guards stationed by the gates to a game of TCG. It was just a sight to see, truly, you knew Cyno loved playing the card game–but not this much.

You try to hold back a chuckle but Sethos catches on, nudging you with his elbow, his lips curving. 

“Let’s go, before they come back.” The boy says, holding the lead rope and leading the three of you to the gates. 

“Did you pay Cyno to do this?”

“Maybe.”

The first thing that greets you outside of the kingdom walls is the familiar blow of the cold night wind, the earth's somewhat comforting dirt smell, and the deafening sounds of crickets around you. Sethos helps you up as you hop on your horse, gesturing for you to follow him into the forest. 

The air only gets colder as you move, racing through the trees as Sethos speeds up. If anyone would pass through the woods now, the first thing they would hear is the laughter you two are letting out. One moment Sethos is in front of you, the second you turn he’s already behind you, preparing to scare you.

You slow down when you realize you were all alone. The trotting of Sethos’ horse can’t be heard, and no matter how loud you shout for him, he wouldn’t pop out of nowhere. You thought this might just be an elaborate set up for another scare he was going to give you, but you’re shocked to see that even after a few moments pass by, he still cannot be found.

Great. It’s the middle of the night, you’re stranded in a forest and you have no clue how to get back to the kingdom, and you have no knight with you. You don’t even know how to use a dagger. This is exactly a plot for an assassination, based on the books you’ve read. 

After some seconds of struggling to get off your horse, you pat her back as a thank you. You’re not sure why you did that, exactly, the gesture just seemed nice. 

Then, the sound of rustling reaches your ears.

It was from behind you–as you turned, you saw nothing but bushes. It was quite dark–so except for the moonlight shining on the field right now, you could barely see anything past the trees. Maybe it was just a rabbit, it always is. So you turn,  paying no mind to the potential danger that could lie beyond it.

Suddenly you’re tackled on the ground, rolling over the patch of grass as someone has their arms around you. You’re tense, trying to break free from their hold–but once you had opened your eyes, you found out it was just Sethos who had, once again, scared the soul out of you.

“What is wrong with you?!” You yell, though playfully–you try to get him off, but he wouldn’t budge. Not at all. In fact, he impossibly hugs you tighter.

The boy doesn’t respond, instead letting go and helping you sit. You try to brush off the grass on your clothes, and once you look up, a yellow-orange glow surrounds the both of you. Fireflies. There are about a handful of them around the field, they look like stars from afar, it’s a mesmerizing sight, really. 

“How do you like it?” Sethos whispered, sitting beside you. 

You smile, “It’s beautiful.”

“I’d hope so. I found out about this place when I was out delivering the letters,” He plucks something from the ground, then reaches for your chin. He gently makes you turn to face him, and you notice the orange glow reflected in his eyes as he does. He tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear, placing a flower right on top. “Is it to your satisfaction, your highness?”

The action makes your heart skip a beat–you almost think that the two of you were having a moment until he ruffled your hair playfully and looked away. You don’t answer the question.

“Dehya told me you saw me this afternoon lazing around near the guardhouse,” He muttered, his voice softly muffled since he kept his hand on his mouth. “I was actually chatting with them. A lot of the guards seem to like you now that you’re running around the castle more often.”

“Really?” 

“They kinda look forward to seeing you now,” He hummed, “I guess the same could be said for me… Except–I was first, of course.”

“Oh, so you only liked me now, is that it?” You reached over and poked his sides teasingly, the boy laughed in response, trying to get your hand out.

“No–no! Of course not! I mean… I’ve always liked you, you know? But in like–not in a weird way.” Sethos looks away once again, but you catch a glimpse of the red dusting his cheeks. The boy was a liar, and you knew that. 

He cleared his throat before speaking up once again, trying to clear up the awkward tension in the air.“A-anyway, how’s the banquet preparation going?”

The banquet was the last thing you wanted to talk about, if you were being honest. You came here to relax–not to talk about this again. You groan when you let yourself fall into the grass, Sethos turns his head from the sudden movement. He laughs,  “Well, not a fan of the topic?”

“Talk about something else. I beg.” 

“Okay then,” He reaches for something in his leather bag, he doesn’t take his hand out yet.  “My friend, Tighnari. Oh, not to talk about it again but, you guys should totally invite him–well, his kingdom, to the banquet.”

You roll your eyes when he mentions the event once more, “I don’t think that’s talking about something else.”

“Anyway,” The boy grinned, trying to continue the topic anyway. “He’s a botanist, so he’s great with flowers. One day, he told me that if you pressed flowers, you could get a pretty good bookmark.”

He gives you said bookmark, smiling. “So, here. White roses in resin, since you like to read.”

Your lips curved as you received the box, sitting back up and muttering a thank you.  A singular flower could be seen in the middle, its petals made to look as if it was still blooming. There were a few scattered branches around, and some leaves on the side for decorative purposes. The translucent resin only added to its beauty, it wasn’t too thick–nor too thin, definitely a bookmark you could use for your reading. You struggled finding random objects to mark the page you were on anyway.

“Thank you, Sethos.” You muttered shyly, “You just know everything, don’t you?”

You still held the bookmark in your hands, admiring the details of the flowers–the placement alone is already something to be amazed about. Everything fits perfectly, right to your preferences. You wondered if the flowers itself represent some sort of meaning–Sethos may not look like it, but he says things with hidden hints most of the time. 

“How did you meet Tighnari?” You asked, glancing over the bookmark once more. “You mentioned he was from another kingdom, I’m wondering how you got to know him.”

He leans back, hands supporting his weight from behind his back. “Pure coincidence,”

“Is that so?” 

“Yeah. Cyno and I got assigned to a mission, we were just going to accompany the King and the Queen for their afternoon tea time.” He continued, “Asked Cyno to come with me and walk around, we were bored to death. He refused and just stayed put. I walked around and saw the guy in their garden fiddling with the plants.”

“He was complaining about the placement. ‘The flowers won’t get any sunlight from here, and it’s way too unaligned!’ ” He imitated, you chuckle at his horrible impersonation. 

You smile, “I’d like to get to know him someday.”

“Oh, you should! His skill is just impressive. Once you’re done chatting, you’re bound to know a thing or two about plants.” He grins.

“You know, you always seem to bring people like that into your life.” You say, “People who are really good at what they do. Tighnari with his plants, Cyno with–whatever he’s doing, and you with your… well, everything.”

Sethos turns to look at you, a look of disbelief and playfulness. “What? My charm? Come on, your highness. I’m honored but–”

“No, I meant more with your ability to just… click,  with anyone. You’re not charming, not one bit.” You reply softly, seeing the way he looks almost sad with what you said–even if you knew he was just acting. 

“Okay, maybe add the charm, too. You do have a way of making people comfortable.” 

The boy chuckles, clearly flattered–but deflects the compliment with a shrug. “It comes natural to me, nothing impressive.”

“If you say so. I think otherwise,” You lay back down, looking at the stars. “But you are lovely to be around.”

Sethos is quiet for a moment, looking down at his hands–pondering your words. He had known you for many years now, but still, moments like this are… uncommon. Very rarely does Sethos open up to you, and the reverse. He thinks it may just be the exhaustion letting you speak freely. At the end of the day, you have a reputation to keep up as royalty.

He tilts his head, giving you that easygoing smile of his–a slight red still visible on his cheeks. “Someone’s gotta look out for you, your highness. I know Cyno or the other guards may just be more capable than I am, but–” 

The boy finds a place beside you, laying on his side and turning to face you. “I have certain things that they don’t have. I’ve certainly known you for longer, I think that’s a plus.”

You can’t help but laugh softly, “I’ll hold you to that. Now you must follow me when I go to the market early in the morning.”

“Don’t I already do that?” 

You hum, “Oh, I guess you do. You’re even more fitting, then.” 

A silence, once again fills the air.

“I have much to do tomorrow,” You mumbled, eyes slowly closing with your fatigue. “Will you have some free time during the afternoon? Let’s eat lunch together,” 

“I doubt it’s appropriate for a messenger to be dining with royalty alone.” He says. 

You yawn, subtly stretching your back before rolling over to lay on your back, where you wouldn’t face him. “Don’t worry. It’ll just be like… friends eating together.”

Friends. The word is unfamiliar in your throat–It’s something more than friends, what you two have. Definitely not lovers, despite the feeling you get in your stomach when you see him look at you in a way anyone else couldn’t. You weren’t just friends either–assuming that the softness in his tone whenever he speaks to you was only reserved for you. 

He nods, saying why not?  You smile in response, falling asleep in the bed of flowers. It’s oddly comforting, actually, and quite cozy. You’ve never slept on the ground before. 

“Your highness,” Sethos whispers, checking if you were awake. The sun had already started to rise, and the kingdom was starting to get lively once more as he heard the chatter of the guards just a little beyond the forest. He smiles, realizing you indeed have fallen asleep. He’s glad that you somehow found comfort, even if you weren’t at home. 

He reaches to carry you in his arms, gently raising you up–careful not to wake you when you’re sleeping soundly. “Come on, highness. Hold tight.”

When he reaches to call for the horses, he wonders if you’ve ever stopped to think about what he truly feels towards you. It’s the saddest thing ever, that you don’t know his heart is full of you. He adores you more than words could express–yet you don’t have a clue, only because he never had the guts to tell you, not once. 

Sethos walks towards the kingdom, you in his arms, and the lead ropes wrapped around his wrist. The sun shines on your face, and he wonders if you’re bothered by the sudden brightness, especially after spending the night in the woods. 

As much as you hate it–he’s proud that you’re now the person organizing the yearly banquet. He knows how much you dread the event the day it comes, you hate socializing with people you barely knew. But he wishes that maybe you’ll change your mind this time around now that his friends would be coming along. People from the Akademiya, even if you don’t know them, he’ll be the one to introduce you to the people he also treasures.

Being the future ruler of Vehero, you certainly do have a longer list of responsibilities than he does. Although… he hopes that one day, his name wouldn’t be something on an endless list of chores.

@ knnichs 2023 ﹑ do not repost, republish, translate, feed to ai or modify any of my works. doing so can and will result into me blocking you.

reblogs with comments are INCREDIBLY appreciated! go scream go feral idc i will eat all of them up and run away with a familiarly shaped reblog in my mouth, thank you.

wow this was an eyesore to write. dawg i AM NERVOUS ABOUT THE DIALOGUE THERE ARE SO MANY IM SO SCARED ITS REDUNDANT i hate dialogue i say i hate it. this was so hard to write but i lowkey enjoyed it too (no1 party anthem on loop I WAS SO LOCKED IN) this took so long too .... ong i am GLAD its finally over hell yeah :pray: i MIGHT do a part two (keyword MIGHT) where they finally get together . .. But probably not im too lazy thank you goodnight

[silence-ofthe-llamas]

The Mecha AU-AU continues. In todays episode; the Protectobots exist, Trepan is weird, and Vortex gets a pleasant (?) surprise.

I've also written an UNGODLY amount of Combaticon pre-mech content so ig that's gonna have to escape containment at some point, weeh.

“Hey, isn’t that Felix?”

Hot Spot watched the TV in the break room intently as he drank his coffee. His cereal sat half-eaten and forgotten on the table in front of him. Blades looked over from the toaster, flinching when his toast popped up.

“Felix?” Blades asked. “What, on TV?” He asked in disbelief. He rounded the counter and jumped over the back of the sofa to sit next to his commander. “No way.”

“Seriously – look!” Hot Spot grabbed the remote and rewound, pausing when Felix had come up out of the joint of a mech, looking at something behind the camera in pure relief.

“Holy shit. That is Felix!”

“Look – he gets into that mech.” Hot Spot wound it forwards, showing the brief moment of Felix climbing up and slipping into the face of the mech, the visor snapping shut behind him. “Do you think he’s a pilot?”

“No, no way – he’s a medic. He never ever wanted to pilot, they’d have to be really desperate for them if they’re resorting to using their medical crew.”

“He seems way too comfortable getting into that thing.” Hot Spot shuddered. “It looked like it was eating him.”

“Don’t, that’s creepy.” Blades cringed, climbing back over the sofa to rescue his toast.

“Stop that.” Hot Spot scolded. “Just walk, it’s not far!”

Blades ignored him. “Have you heard the rumours about that base? With all the body bags? I wonder what that was all about.”

Hot Spot rolled his eyes and returned to his cereal. “No idea. I guess when you’re fighting quintessons your life expectancy isn’t great.”

“Neither is ours, and we don’t have giant metal exoskeletons or unexplainable numbers of body bags. What’s their excuse?”

Hot spot shrugged. “No idea. Why don’t you ask them?”

“Oh, good shout – I’ll text Felix.”

“Blades-”

“Relax! I’m not going to say anything stupid.”

“You said that last time and look where that got us.”

“Yeah, right, fair, whatever.” Blades waved him off dismissively. “I’ll just mention I saw him on TV, see?” He turned his phone around to show Hot Spot. “Totes fine, perfectly safe, nothing could possibly go wrong. Worst case scenario, he ignores me, best case he says ‘haha yup’ or something and that’s the end of that.”

“Don’t make him uncomfortable. You know he asked to be left alone.”

“We send each other reels on Instagram again, I think it’s okay if I reach out.”

Hot Spot sighed and unpaused the TV.

-------------------------------------

The tech was too new when they shoved their first AI’s into it.

They’d tested a connection between live pilots already - two separate units that operated as one. They found that it worked, to a point. The two consciousnesses would wave, but never shake hands - the physical contact snapped their psyche. It was only when they had developed the RABIT units that they could truly operate as one – but the pinch point had always been getting them into the same machine . It just did things to people.

Prowl and Jazz had been their best duo’s team, their dark horse - the pair flew under the radar until they were fitted with the experimental tech and blew the project out of the water straight into the lap of investment. And, Swindle noticed, into the scope of

Trepan.

He giggled as he watched them, humming and hawing. Which one? Which one would be his sacrifice?

They’re married , they argued. You can’t force one to pilot the corpse, that’s wildly unethical.

Fine. Then we find a new pilot.

Swindle could only watch. If he objected now, he’d cast doubt onto himself. Vortex would be in more danger. His team might stay in that poxy little box forever.

Vortex himself was a monster. As a prototype, he was huge. Way too big. The technology hadn’t been fine tuned yet to bring the scale back down - and so he towered above them, a monument to their attempt at survival.

And he’d survived. The experimental tech, too fresh and too new, had destroyed the rest of his prototype cohort. Out of the original 15, he alone survived. The 11 carved into his shoulder shone in the red of the blood that they had spilled to get there.

The next cohort was smaller. Swindle hadn’t put forwards any of his team.

You want people who will survive - these guys ain’t it. I know my team, they haven’t got the moxy. The tech needs to be more stable.

Trepan didn’t raise his brows. He seemed to delight in his harsh words, and selected 5 other banked sacrifices.

They all died too. Burned out. Literally. They’d decreased the size of the mechs, the faults and failures of the predecessors informing their design.

Vortex stood alone.

Swindle chewed his nails until they bled fretting over his mental state. He couldn’t get close to him, he couldn’t go and check - he couldn’t even acknowledge him. The magnifying glass pinned him, every breath studied. The tech was so new. Was it really still

Vortex in there? Was he recognisable? Did he know what was going on? Did he know anything ?

God Tex, I’m so sorry.

The pilots falling out of him started telling horror stories.

There was something else in there with them. Something beyond the AI, a malevolent presence in there that wanted to hurt them. The researchers had been dismissive, but Trepan had been intrigued. Swindle had been corralled by him, armed with questions.

What had Svastjan been like in life? Did he have the same devotion to violence in life as he did in death? Was he particularly skilled with any weapons? Were any other members of his team like him? Or was he alone in his brutality?

He told him the truth. He was like this. He had a tendency to jump on the heads of the ones he’d knocked to the ground, to force himself through their body. Pistols and knives were his speciality. And no – he was alone. The others were what they liked to call well adjusted.

The expectation he had was that Trepan would be disappointed, but he had just hummed and nodded his head, quickly returning his attention to the next mech to come off the assembly line.

He uncomfortably ran a hand through his hair as he saw the footage that aired. Trepan was sat beside him, still as much of a crane of a man as he had been back in the research lab. He sat with his legs daintily crossed, his hands resting on his knees as he sat up perfectly ram-rod straight.

“Who is the man so comfortable with our pet?” Trepan asked.

He’d started referring to Vortex as his pet as some kind of cute nickname for him – he’d survived so much and had given him so much information to chew on that he’d grown a real soft-spot for him.

“That’s Felix.”

“His pilot?”

“Correct. First one he hasn’t outright murdered or mentally destroyed.”

“Fascinating.” He steepled his fingers together, eyes wide and beady, taking in all the information on the screen. “He seems to be very familiar with the mech.”

“Felix is a weird one.” Swindle knew he had to toe the line, to act as a gossip to displace the suspicion, to offload it somewhere else. “He’s weirdly attached to his mech – he’s always around it.” He hoped the look on Trepans face wasn’t a bad sign.

“Vortex is a success. Finally.” He leaned back in satisfaction. “We can justify further use of his batch. As their guardian… choose. Who is next to be interred into living metal?”

Swindle remembered the day the experiments came to an end vividly. He hadn’t been able to stomach it after they’d all started screaming for each other – and they weren’t using their call-signs, either. The time for that had long gone – it was their real names that had come spilling out. The ones their mothers had given them as they first swaddled them in blankets. The ones that had been carried on the wind when it was time for dinner. The ones now spoken in hushed voices after dinner.

All he had left of them was a fucking box. He could hold all four of them in one hand. Small components that were welded into the motherboard. A collective century of experience and knowledge and history condensed down into four identical electrical components.

Swindle wanted to scream. He wanted to scream and cry and throw himself off of the bridge, swept away by the current and buried under sediment and rubbish and corpses. But he couldn’t - he had to hold it together. If he broke now, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself. There was a job to be done.

Vortex was the obvious first pick. The next pick was harder. Significantly so. Who next? It had been a question that had haunted him ever since.

Swindle felt himself break out into a cold sweat. The tech wasn’t anywhere near where he wanted it to be, and the thought of having to try and wrangle two of them had him sprouting greys. He ran through them in his mind, counting it off on his fingers.

Onslaught. His commander. He’d trusted him with this, and he was certain to be disappointed with how it had all worked out, but he was also the one who could keep Vortex in line. However, Vortex was currently staying firmly in line and was studiously behaving himself now that he had Felix. It seemed that he’d cottoned on to the fact he was now the bargaining chip, and he was determined to play the part of a good little boy in order to keep his favourite toy.

Brawl. His personality was explosive, and any mech they made for him would have to have the thickest armour available, and even then that probably wouldn’t be enough. They weren’t at the point of making a viable mech for him yet, which left…

Blast Off. Their unifier. The centre of their team, their point of gravity. Damn, it was fucking obvious now – if Trepan was keen to crack the mausoleum back open and bring his team online, then he’d have to start with the one who kept them from cannibalising each other.

Trepan was looking at him expectantly, a small smile on his face.

“Jean-Luc B. Ollier.” Swindle promptly replied. “Code name: Blast Off. He’s a sniper and a navigator – where are we at with that gun? He’d be a great test for it.”

“Not Oscar Den Koning? Juan Perez?”

“Oscar will be hard.” Swindle replied. “Very strong personality – if we want him, we’ll need the others all up and operational first. Juan was our demolitions expert – we don’t have the ability to make armour strong enough to withstand the beating he would put it through right now.”

Trepan nodded like a priest having sins confessed to him. “Very well. I will pass this on. Thank you as always, Swindle. This has been most enlightening.”

“When will the designs be ready for viewing?” Swindle asked.

“Very soon, I hope.”

And with that, he was gone. Swindle exhaled slowly before breathing in deeply, holding it there in his lungs, and slowly exhaling.

Fuuuuuuck.

-------------------------------------

“Did you hear? They’re making a new batch of mechs.” First Aid conversationally said as he scrubbed the floor panels of the cockpit with a toothbrush. Despite his best attempts, there was still some dirt and grime in there – he was starting to get a little sick of noticing it every single time he got into his mech, so he’d decided that today, his precious day off, he’d dedicate it to making him sparkly clean.

On the inside, at least. The outside he’d leave to the professionals.

[OOOH? TELL ME MORE <3]

“One’s a prototype mech – apparently it’s going to be designed to be more like you? Something about balancing out what a powerhouse you are. Might end up being on loan to the Shatterdome to the south, apparently they’re having real big issues at the moment.” He sighed and rolled back to sit on his heels, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hands. “What did you even do back here? It’s still coming up red – I’ll need to pop the panel off!”

[THIS.]

An arm swooped down from the ceiling, sharp implements spinning and twisting on the end of it. First Aid yelped and scrambled backwards, and Vortex rumbled in a laugh.

“Why do you even have that?!”

[HACKED A MAINTENANCE DROID. HACKED TWO MAINTENANCE DROIDS.] He corrected himself.

“And they just let you keep it?”

[AS IF I’D LET THEM STOP ME.]

First Aid hummed, running his fingers across the offending metal. “I need a toolkit to get this up. I’ll be right back – I think I saw one in the cupboard…”

[LATER BABE <3 BE QUICK.]

First aid hopped out with ease and quickly whipped off his gloves, hanging them over his belt. He rubbed his hair from his eyes and silently wished he had a hairband when his phone vibrated in his pocket. Curiously, he slipped it out – he wasn’t expecting any messages from anyone, and he couldn’t think of who would text him out of the blue-

His pace faltered when he saw the name.

Blades.

He shoved the phone back into his pocket and the message to the back of his mind. Later. He’d… He’d deal with it later. Right now, Vortex was waiting for him, and he was so close to getting that panel clean.

-------------------------------------

Having a chatty little man like Felix around had its perks for sure. Such as giving Vortex such useful bits of information, like new mechs.

Each time he learned that new mechs were being added to rosters around the world, he went digging. He’d brute force his way in, hammering and chiselling away until he got what he wanted. Information. Something that gave him an idea of who they’d stuffed into them.

He wondered what Trepan would think if he knew that he wasn’t as brain-dead as he was meant to be, that he wasn’t a silly little AI that said ‘yes, sir!’ and did as he was asked, that he still remembered who he was and clung onto it, that he knew exactly what had happened to him and let it burn inside of him to the point of consumption. Sometimes he wondered if any of the other mechs on base remembered who they once were too, but then that implied that they still hadn’t figured out the damn tech yet, and at least one of the pilots would have gone squealing. Prowl definitely. The man was such a tattle tale.

Huh. Maybe that was why he’d been shipped off to the States? That would be so fucking funny. Jesus.

Anyway. The digging.

He’d poked and probed where he could, the enjoyment he got out thinking of Swindles face when he realised it was him spurring him on, and eventually – he cracked it.

Felix was popping the panel off on his floors when he got hold of the file. A small batch – just five of them. Apparently investors hadn’t bitten as hard as they’d hoped. And they’d had to cut it down by two thirds – ouch. That had to sting. Swindle must have been chewing the walls. Giggling to himself, he began flicking through the folders within, plucking out bytes of information, straightening out the ones and zeros until they were in a format that he could understand-

His lights flickered, and First Aid froze, abused and beaten toothbrush in hand.

“Vortex?” He quietly asked. “I’m sorry – did I knock something?”

[YOU’RE ALRIGHT, HONEY.] He managed, not quite thinking of his reply more than it instinctively coming up on his display. Because he was alright. He hadn’t done anything.

Trepan, however, clearly had his paws on this batch.

SNIPER, the document read. LONG DISTANCE SHOOTER. LIGHT ARMOUR FOR MANOEUVRABILITY. DESIGNATION: BLAST OFF

Motherfucker.

Even the mech somehow managed to look like him – the armour followed the same patterns as the armour that he’d worn on the field, albeit significantly brighter. They could afford to be bright and gaudy when they were made of metal – they wanted to attract the hits. And a bright purple chest was just begging to get punched.

Eagerly, he flicked through the other documents. Brawl? Onslaught?

No. He didn’t care about these names – he didn’t give a shit about them. Not a goddamn single shit. He childishly mentally threw the file over his shoulder, his frame creaking ominously and the wiring under the panel Felix had removed sparking. Trepan was doing this on purpose, he could feel it. He was denying him his team, he was savouring their torment for as long as he could. Fucker. He’d crush him himself.

[cillianmurphysdimples]

A female Y/N / Cillian fanfic (Part Twenty)

Absolutely not based on anything real at all, all totally fictional, fanciful, and is all total bollocks.

Warning for sexual references and language. Adult themes. Not suitable for under 18s.

We Got Issues

Part Twenty: Y/N is settled, albeit a little lonely, with life moving along while Cillian works away on the long stretch to Christmas. But he texts her early one morning and ends up dropping a bomb that not only raises her anxiety, but also leaves her wondering again if Cillian's mind is ever truly made up - not to mention dealing with the fallout of the bomb. [Anxiety themes. Family dynamics]

@remembering-angels @dragonsneversharetheirtreasure @aesthetic0cherryblossom @meister95 @vivianleighwishesshewasme @meadowshelby @strangeions @lavender-haze-01 @watermeezer

.......

You frown at your phone, a little confused by the text message you've just received from Cillian. It's barely gone eight am and you've only just sat down to start work. He's been back in England for two weeks now, and you've settled into a balance of working, ringing him in the evening, sleeping alone and repeating it…daily! You’ve received an abundance of messages from former friends and people from home, and from Sophie, over Cillian's images online following interviews, and have laughed heartily over one insinuating that he looked like he was enjoying oral sex! Cillian didn't find it as amusing - “can I not fucking stretch, boy?!” - but you'd found it hilarious. You pick up the phone from your desk and open the message, hoping to glean more from it than the notification bar. You scan your eyes over the text.

“I had a chat to Aran last night. There are a few things bothering him and we have questions to answer. I'll call you in about an hour and give you the full details. I love you so much.”

Your stomach drops instantly. This can't be good, surely? And calling in an hour? And sorry, but ‘I love you so much’. What? You quickly tap out a reply to him, your hands beginning to feel airy and tingly.

“No, no, no, you prick! Don't do this to me. What's going on? Ring me now!”

You set your phone back down and sit back into the office chair, tapping your fingers against the armrests. Why would he ever think it was okay to infer something and then basically hold off? How could he do that! And what the hell is going on with Aran? You get up from the chair and pace a few steps around the floorspace, then stare back at the phone and beg it to ring. You drop back down into the chair and sigh loudly, feeling suddenly ridiculously sick. You do recall you'd felt rather sick going to bed last night, too, and begin to assume that your anxiety levels really are affecting you severely. It's ten minutes before you receive anything further, and you're almost surprised when it's a phone call. You snatch your phone up and stare at “Cill” on the screen before swiping to accept it.

“Cill, you can't do that…” you say instantly.

He clears his throat, “I didn't think, Y/N, I'm sorry.”

You sigh deeply. “Okay.” You run your hand across your face. “So what's the problem with Aran?”

Cillian pauses for a long time, clears his throat again, and then you hear an odd sound with his mouth followed by a prolonged exhale and you know he's smoking a cigarette. You want to believe it's because they're working again, but you can't be sure. He had taken up smoking again during the period before his divorce, and you knew it had been a partial habit before that, too. You'd hate for him to have reclaimed it. “He'd some questions last night. I asked him about things recently and he said if I'd the right to ask him for explanations, then he could get some from me too.”

You frown, thinking the young man had a bit of an attitude for a moment, but you couldn't totally understand the behavioural shift going so far as to be that rude to his Dad, “Right. About what?”

You hear Cillian take a deep breath before he speaks. “Some things he found on that fucking laptop.” he says and you're not sure if it's through gritted teeth or he's got the cigarette in his mouth.

“Cill, stop dragging it out, for fucks sake! What?” You snap, and instantly feel a little mean for it.

You hear him mutter a sharp-toned “fuck” and exhale - probably cigarette smoke - again. “Old fucking iPhone logs that had saved to the fucking thing, or something. He read the fuckers, checked the dates. Y/N, he's been through loads of messages from before Yvonne and I split up. He knows what we were doing, and he knows…he knows about the fucking abortion.”

Your stomach sinks to your knees and your heart thumps wildly in your chest. “No….?” You mumble.

“He's not blackmailing, he's not planning on sharing it with Mal or Yvonne, he said. I mean, fuck, he's not that much of a bollocks.” His accent thickens up and he sing-songs his way through vowels animatedly. “But he wants to fucking understand. And he wants to know if we'd have kept the baby if it had happened after his Mum and me separated. He wants to talk to us both when I'm home. He's angry, and he doesn't understand, and said there's loads of things he wants to ask.” You hear Cillian sigh deeply and you don't know if he's angry or worried for what's next. “Sure, I don't even know what's on there - I've no idea how far back, or up to when. Like, I've no fucking clue, boy!” He raises his voice.

“Fuck,” you mumble, and when you bring your hand up to cover your face, you realise you're crying. “Shit.” You sigh. “No fucking wonder he's been acting differently. He's devastated.”

You hear him inhale deeply again, and you find yourself thinking over the possibility of him smoking again, hoping it's just an “in character” habit and not something he's going to lean back into now. “Y/N, listen to me; he said clearly he doesn't hate us over this, but he's angry, and he doesn't understand it but he wants to. We need to let him ask his questions. Because if he doesn't get it, then all he's going to think is that Yvonne and I split up because I was seeing you behind her back. And if that's his thinking, then to him I'll just be some prick who cheated on his mother.”

“And what does that make me? Just some slut!” You snap back at him. “God, I feel sick!”

“Stop it. Nobody thinks that. It wasn't your fault.” He insists. “I'm gonna get home for a day or two, as soon as I can, and we'll have him in for a talk.” Cillian sounds considerably more calm all of a sudden and you wonder if there are people around him now. “I can talk to you again later, but I've to go. I'm sorry.”

“Why?” You ask, though you're not sure why - why you asked, or why he's sorry.

“Because you're being made to feel bad because of me again.” He says and the sadness is intoxicating, and not in a good way.

“Cill,” you say, and it's less of a spoken word and more of an exhale. “No, it isn't your fault.”

He breathes deeply. “I'll ring you later on, alright? I love you.”

“I love you too.” You say, and you wait for the line to go dead before you draw the phone down from your face. You hold the phone in your hand and stare at your open laptop for a moment, suddenly hating the piece of technology despite it not even being the offending object. The feeling of intense anxiety has slowly settled to just a feeling of deep dread - though you're sure there isn't much difference - and has moved aside somewhat for the nauseating unrest in your stomach.

You have a strong urge to text or call Aran yourself, and see if he'll meet with you alone. He's not far away, for fucks sake! But you know you can't - he's a child, still, and he's not your child. And the last thing you would ever want to do is upset Cillian by causing problems for him with his children. You sigh deeply and drop your phone onto the tablet. Regardless of how you feel now, you have to work. You draw your chair closer to the desk and log into your work email account - your mind is flustered and you just wish Cillian was here, but you've come to know that wishes are rarely granted.

You close the lid of your laptop and sit back with a groan, stretching your legs out before you receive your body a little. You've barely moved all day, keeping your mind focused on work to prevent bombarding Cillian with texts or counting down the minutes until he calls again. While your anxiety had settled enough for working, you still felt a heavy nausea in your stomach, even as you shut the door on the office behind you. You walk slowly down the first set of stairs and then the second, landing with a soft step at the bottom of the stairs. Though you haven't been near it all day, you check that the front door is still locked and that the alarm is still primed before you move to the kitchen. You pull the fridge door open and stare inside - you've had two coffees and a few glasses of water throughout the day, but couldn't bring yourself to food. Despite feeling hungry too, the nausea trumps it and you shut the door again without touching a thing. Sighing, you open the fridge and remove one of the bottles of Cillian's beer at the bottom. You close the door with your hip and set the bottle onto the island as you search for the opener. It's not in the drawer it usually is, nor on the drainer, and you're about to curse the entire kitchen when you find it in the second drawer. You passive-aggressively pop the cap off and get your revenge on the opener by throwing it down onto the island. You take your beer to the sofa and snuggle into the corner, with your knees pulled up and the TV controls in hand. You don't even get to select an app on the green before your phone rings, and you toss down the controls and draw your phone from the pocket of your hoodie. Of course, it's Cillian.

“Hi,” you say softly, cupping the phone to your ear.

“Well, are y'alright?” He asks, and he sounds tired and gruff.

“No. Are you?” You reply.

“Ah, sure…” he dismisses you. “Here, I'd a word today with Steven. I'll come home on the weekend. I let Aran know there in a text. He says that's grand, so at least this isn't going to be hanging over us.”

“There is no way he isn't going to tell his mother.” You say when he goes quiet. “And maybe he should, maybe we should have. But I can't take this, Cill. It's been three years since you got divorced, we shouldn't now be hashing things over.”

“Ah, stop, will ya. I don't need reminding of all the bad choices I've made here, Y/N!” He groans. “I was gonna leave her, it was just easier to do it when I had you too. You didn't do anything wrong; it was me married, not you. I'll deal with whatever I have to here.”

“Is Aran okay? Really okay?” You ask, “If he knows about the termination then it must be a strange thing for him - there could have been a baby, related to him.”

“On the phone before he was calm, angry but calm. Demanding, but sure maybe he has the right. He's nearly eighteen, you know, they're not wee kids. Sure, maybe I've got to demand of them some adult behaviour, but to get that I'll have to give it too.” he says, and you're not entirely sure what the tone of his voice means.

“What do you mean?” You ask, frowning. “Like with a baby?”

He sighs into the phone before he speaks again. “Like with a lot of things. I feel so fucking guilty over walking out, I forget they've got their own lives carved out now and our relationship has to be different than it was three or four years back. It shouldn't matter what I do now as much as it used to, maybe? Sure, I dunno…”

You feel anger burning up in you, “If you turn your fucking mind around again now, Cillian, I swear to God I will walk.”

“What?” His tone changes again, but you're sure you knew what he was getting at. “Y/N? What?”

You feel sicker than ever but you're so sure you could hear yet another flip-flop in his decision that all you could do was focus on the burning anger at that possibility. “I'm glad you're having a fucking revelation, Cill, that's fucking fantastic, but if you use Aran finding this information as a means to go back again and tell me you want to go ahead with parenthood for a second time, I think I will actually be the one responsible for the headlines “Cillian Murphy found dead”. I swear it, Cillian. Don't do this!”

“Ah fuck off,” he snaps, “I didn't say I had changed my mind back,” he insists, and that ever-melodic Cork twang peaks up again, elongating vowels and clipping words with abandon. “I said I've to have a different relationship with my kids now. That I don't have to consider them for every choice I'm going to make. What are ye on about me going back and changing my mind?” He huffs loudly. “I know you're feeling like I've fucking gone off and left ye, and now I'm throwing my mistakes at ye with Aran and the fucking laptop, but don't be going down some dark path and make out I'm here to cause you upset deliberately. I'm not, Y/N. I'm not trying to make this hard for you.”

You wonder if you've over-assumed, if you've let your mind get sucked down, but you're sure the tone he spoke with and the answer he gave when you said a baby meant something. But you feel guilty for the temper he's flared up with, and you take a deep breath and try to calm your anger.

“Hey, Y/N?” He calls your name, and it's softer than his words before. “Y/N, don't ignore me, will ye.” He sighs heavily. “Please, I'm sorry if… I'm sorry.”

“No, I'm sorry, maybe I just - I'm sorry.” You say quietly. You don't feel sorry, not really, but the thought of leaving him there upset - or yourself here upset - makes you feel worse than muttering a few words.

You hear him sigh and know that the risk of a full scale row is mitigated, because he sighs with a small laugh. “Did you not get that hormone surge over with?”

“Not really,” you sigh and he laughs again. “What's funny?”

“What do you mean not really?” He asks and you know he's smirking.

“I had like a really light period, it wasn't enough of a relief for the fucking tension.” You say, and find yourself so ridiculous that you laugh as he does. “Cill, I just don't want this to cause problems. I want Aran to be happy, and I don't want him to feel badly about me again. And I don't want you or us to change.”

“I don't want things to change either.” He says with a gentle voice. “Definitely not if it's for the worse. Good changes wouldn't be bad, now.”

You smile, “What's a good change?” You ask, and you hear him exhale a soft, breathy laugh.

“Ah, I dunno,” he hums and you hear the sound of a click, followed by a deep inhale.

“Cillian?” You are instantly accusatory, you know, but you really don't want him back-stepping. “Smoking?”

“Ah, give over. I spent the day puffing the fake bastards whilst stressing my fucking bollocks off. I won't buy another pack.” He says with an earnest promise. “I won't,” he adds and you wonder if he could somehow sense the face you've pulled. “Anyway, come here, don't be worrying too much over Aran. I'll get home there Friday evening and we'll get him over Saturday and let him say what he needs to, and we can get our own words out too.”

“And you think it'll be okay, for him, once we talk? He'll settle back down if we're just honest?” You ask as that thread of anxiety begins to pick up again. You sip at your half finished beer.

“I hope so,” he says, sounding sleepy. “I love you, and sure whatever happens I'll still love you. Alright?”

You smile, but you can feel a lump in your throat at his words. “Yeah - I love you too.”

“Well, go on, get away and watch your shite TV. I'm gonna get a bath and sleep.” You can hear the smirk as he speaks. “Good night, mo ghrá.”

“Night, love.” You say quietly, and pull the phone down from your face. You're not sure if you feel better or not, but you don't feel any worse. You wish he was here, you wish things had been open from the outset, and you dread the anticipation of seeing Aran's reactions at the weekend but you relish it too, because you wonder if it'll make you feel better. If someone other than Cillian knows about what you endured, even if it is his angry son, maybe it'll take some of the pain away from you.

[leon-serra-kennedy]

Leon was not a rookie, and Krauser was not his mentor in the original Operation Javier canon

Something I find interesting is just how wildly different the scraps of Operation Javier given in RE4R are from the original Operation Javier presented in the Darkside Chronicles, particularly the Leon/Krauser dynamic. So I'm going to ramble about the original.

Like I said, Leon was absolutely not a rookie.

In fact, I'd argue he was actually Krauser's superior. No ranks are stated directly in game, but the cutscene Conviction leads me to believe that's the case.

In the cutscene, Leon reveals he's actually on a special mission from the president. And he has to reveal it, because Krauser didn't know. I also believe the cutscene implies that Krauser didn't even know what their mission actually was, because Leon also states what his mission is. Partial transcript:

Leon: Javier knows something. He's been able to prevent Manuela from transforming. I have to take her with me and find out how. [Leon passes his phone to Krauser] Krauser: Anti-virus Weapon Protocol number 7600... You're on a special assignment for the President. Leon: My mission... is to eradicate this virus once and for all. And with your help, I intend to do just that. Krauser: Well, I am a soldier. And if your orders are from the President, then I'm on your side.

To me, it looks like the situation was that Leon was really the one in charge. All Krauser seemed to know at the start was that there were several missing teenage girls in the area and that they were looking for a drug lord named Javier Hidalgo, who may have been purchasing B.O.W.s from Umbrella. I think that if they were truly equal partners, Krauser would have also known the details Leon did, that it was a special mission for the president to totally eradicate a virus.

Leon was more experienced/knowledgeable than Krauser in one way

Krauser was a very experienced soldier, but he had zero experience with B.O.W.s. In fact, he didn't even believe they existed! From a transcript of the game's first cutscene:

Krauser: So, you think B.O.W.s actually exist? Oh wait, you said you faced them before, huh? Leon (as the narrator, not actually speaking to Krauser): This is my first mission with Krauser. He's a soldier with the U.S. Special Operations Command. And has quite the resume of accomplishments in the field. But to him, after all he's been through, B.O.W.s, Cryptids... They're all the same.

Krauser wasn't "Major" Krauser

He was actually just more of a mercenary. While he was working for SOCOM for this mission, the Communications from Krauser files found in the Darkside Chronicles archives imply it was more of a one time thing and he has no loyalty to the US military, or anyone else. He's just a mercenary.

Jack Krauser: So where's this Leon guy? Hannah: He arrived at the scheduled time. The rendezvous point is the same. Jack Krauser: Did he fly in? Hannah: Yes. He was on a tour-charted Cessna, but it got shot down. It crash-landed in the wetlands, and he made his way on foot from there. He may have hitched a ride on the way, though. Jack Krauser: Uncle Sam must really like him. Hannah: Don't you both work for the same people? Jack Krauser: I don't know about Leon, but my loyalties lie not with any one given organization. At the end of the day, all they want is results. And that's what I provide. For the right price. Hannah: So you're a gun for hire. Jack Krauser: Hmph, you got a problem with that? Look, I don't care what people think of me. I get the job done and then I'm gone. And if we work together again some day, then so be it.

[I have the audio recordings and transcripts of all 3 of the communications here.]

Operation Javier wasn't some tragedy where almost everyone died. No one was abandoned.

I think the best way to start this section is with the transcript of a RE4R file:

Operation Javier. Few people have heard the name, even within the highest ranks of the US government. And little wonder too, the operation was not made public. It was conducted in secret, and then buried. The reason being—it was too inhumane. It all started back in 2002 when a small unit of US special forces was sent to infiltrate an area of South America. Their mission was to eradicate the drug cartels. The whole operation took several years to prepare for and only the most elite soldiers were selected to participate. I don't know if the mission was a failure or not, but I do know the fate of those elite soldiers once it was over. Apparently, the entire unit was wiped out except for the commanding officer, Major █████. And not by the cartels, but by the US. It shouldn't have been difficult to extract a single stranded unit. All it would have taken was a single helicopter. But for some reason, the military didn't act. Rumors say that the decision was the outcome of a power struggle among the top brass, others say it was a directive from the former president himself. But we may never know the truth since it was all covered up. But I'm certain of one thing. The US government let those people die. Brave, young people who dedicated their lives to protect their country.

Almost nothing about that is true of the original Operation Javier.

There was no team, only Leon and Krauser were sent.

The mission wasn't to eradicate cartels. Javier was a drug lord but that wasn't why Leon and Krauser were sent, they were only sent in because it was believed Javier was using B.O.W.s. The operation didn't take several years to prepare for.

No one was abandoned.

No innocents were killed. (At least not by the government. Manuela's doctors were all murdered by Javier, but I suppose their innocence is also in question because they were keeping Manuela alive with constant organ transplants, and the organs were obtained via human trafficking. That's what was happening to the missing teenage girls in the area, organ trafficking.)

Really, almost all the casualties in the game happened before Operation Javier started. Javier is the only human killed during the game. The villagers were all zombies before Leon and Krauser rolled up. The local guide that was supposed to help them was technically alive when they got to him, but he had already been fatally injured and dies almost immediately after Leon and Krauser reach him. Manuela's mother, Hilda Hidalgo, was already a monster infected with Veronica years before the game takes place. The missing teenage girls died before the game starts. All of Manuela's doctors were murdered by Javier before Leon and Krauser reached the mansion, as was an Umbrella researcher. The only four people who were alive, uninjured, and uninfected* at the start of the game were Leon, Krauser, Javier, and Manuela. Only one of them dies, and another is injured but not killed.

[*Manuela was infected, but had full control over it and stayed human]

Leon and Krauser were picked up by a helicopter after killing Javier/V-Complex. Manuela was as well. The worst thing to happen was Krauser's arm being permanently injured.

Krauser's Darkside

The last two chapters of the game do a great job showing Krauser's transition from cold, arrogant, but not completely evil soldier to full-blown power hungry psycho that wouldn't hesitate to infect himself with anything that might make him more powerful. While I could get into that here, I think I'm going to wrap this post up here and eventually make a separate post going into DSC Krauser's full arc, and get more into the relationship between him and Leon. I do have some screenshots of some of Krauser's inner monologue lines in those chapters here, but I intend to make a more polished collection of his lines at some point, as well as the post with more commentary explaining his arc.

And you can see all my DSC stuff here, I'm on a mission to compile just about every piece of lore about the game I can find into one place.