#and if I get one more passive aggressive comment about my weight or my love life I'm going to commit arson | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dollfacefantasy · 11 months ago

Note

okayokay so i was hoping you could write something for leon x chubby!reader? i swear there is not enough of that genre out there- i was thinking the reader could be feeling insecure about their weight and leon comes home to them upset on the couch :(( after some comforting and fluffy stuff he CARRIES reader to the bedroom. (as a chubby girl i fold for anyone who can carry me lol) any leon would work for this hes so precious i just wanna keep him safe and sound in my pocket ☹️🫶 anyways i tried to keep this broad enough for you to use your imagination,, i love you writing!! <3

pairing: leon kennedy x fem!chubby!reader

summary: you're feeling down about yourself and leon just can't have that

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, oral (f receiving), face sitting, features reader's weight insecurities and people being critical of her weight

word count: 3.6k

a/n: thanks for the request! i hope it was what you were looking for :) reblogs and comments are appreciated <3

You didn’t expect today to be a good day, but now, in your position curled up and wallowing on the couch, you wish your intuition had been wrong. You lie on the plush cushions, face pressed against a pillow, limbs retracted and held close to your body. You weren’t crying, but it felt like every couple minutes your eyes began to sting with the threat of tears falling. You tried telling yourself to get a grip, to grow up and just move on. This shouldn’t still hurt you so much.

But, like always, beating yourself up didn’t do anything to improve your emotional state. You continue half-paying attention to the movie you put on. It was your comfort movie, one that you put on whenever you were down. Right now though, it wasn’t helping. Your partially unfocused eyes fixate on the screen and watch the lead actress move about. She looks good constantly, her outfits flatter her figure and flaunt her features. All you’re left thinking is why can’t I look like that?

The story playing out in front of you has a bitter taste this time and only serves to remind you of all the words you heard today. Whenever you were around your family for extended periods of time, the conversation moved in this direction. One moment you’d be laughing over a funny story or reminiscing about the past, and then the next, you were being recommended diets or invited to come to the gym in what was your relatives' version of subtlety. And no matter how many times it happened, it still hurt like it was the first.

Sometimes, Leon could spare you from it. When he came around, all the attention would be on him, a newcomer who they didn’t know so much about. But on days like today, when you had to endure their company on your own, it was bound to happen.

Leon didn’t even know he was protecting you with his mere presence. You’d never told him about the passive aggressive remarks or the whispers across the room. He had enough problems of his own to deal with. You didn’t want to pile on by weeping to him, sounding like some shitty after school special. So instead, you resigned yourself to this, sinking into your self-pity until you were distracted enough to forget about it until next time.

Not much more of your movie plays before you hear the familiar sound of Leon’s keys outside the door. He comes in, offering you a small smile as he takes his jacket off and kicks his boots aside. You straighten up a little bit but not too much. Normally, you’d try to conceal all of this from him, but you were just too worn down today.

He’d been out dealing with some last minute things for work before he got a little time off for a couple weeks. He walks behind the couch to the kitchen, taking a moment to ruffle your hair as he goes by.

“How’s your day going? You had to go to that thing with your family right? Everything went well?” he asks from the kitchen.

“Yeah. It was fine,” you respond simply, “How’s yours? Get everything done?”

“Mhm,” he hums. You couldn’t see him, but he was watching you. He could tell something was up. He takes a few swigs of his drink before heading to the couch and sitting down with you. Glancing over at you a few times, he observes the way you’re watching the movie. The slight frown on your lips, your uninterested eyes.

“Hey, c’mere,” he says gently, “I missed you today.”

With a gentle tug of your wrist, he guides you across the couch. You slide over on the seats so you’re leaned against his side looking up at him. Like always, you put your head on his chest, his fingers find their way to your head and stroke it lovingly. His other hand makes his way to your side, tenderly squeezing your waist, and in-turn, gripping the plump flesh there. You loved the touch, but right now, it further amplifies your self-consciousness. You’re painfully aware of the shape of your body at this moment.

“You feeling ok?” he asks softly.

You simply nod in response, but it’s like he can see the gears turning in your head, cranking out one bad thought after the next.

“C’mon, tell me what’s wrong, pretty girl,” he coos, dragging his thumb over your cheek.

He called you that a fair amount, but in your current state, it just grated on your already frayed nerve endings. You swallow around the lump forming in your throat. “Nothing’s wrong,” you reply.

Your answer doesn’t satisfy him though. He’s not convinced. Any other day you’d talk his ear off about how you couldn’t believe someone did this or how there was no way another said that. You’d be all over him too. It seemed like you could never get enough of kissing his face or nuzzling his neck. But today you were quiet. Quiet and stiff.

“I know it’s something, baby. You can tell me. There’s nothing in this world I’d judge you for,” he murmurs before kissing your forehead.

You really wanna tell him. It shouldn’t be hard. The rational part of your brain knew all he’d do was make you feel better. Give you some smooches, whisper compliments against your skin as his hands rub you all over. The other part of you though, the irrational, scared girl hidden inside, kept you anxious. She kept you believing that this was something you had to bear alone. Even the fact that you were insecure in the first place was embarrassing.

In a move that made you feel overwhelmingly pathetic, you just shake your head. You push your face against his chest and remain silent. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat helps a little to calm you, but you still can’t force the words out.

He only grows more concerned as you shy away. He thought you just didn’t feel good, maybe a little gloomy, maybe had a headache. But this was clearly something deeper. His arms tighten around you, rubbing your back.

“Honey, what’s wrong?” he asks, “Talk to me. Breaks my heart seeing you sad.”

You can’t even stop the hot tears from sliding down your cheeks at this point. Sucking in a harsh breath, you cling to him. He sees you’re crying even though you’re quiet. He whispers a few more reassurances, trying to coax you into sharing what’s the matter.

“It’s just… do you… are you… are you attracted to me?” you choke out. Even the way you phrase it makes you wanna curl up and die.

He’s stunned. Honestly, that’s the last question he expected to hear between your soft gasps.

“What? Of course I am,” he says without a second thought.

“Are you sure? You don’t have to lie to me. I can take it,” you sob, keeping your face shielded against the muscles beneath his shirt.

“Yes I’m sure. Hey, hey,” he says. His tone drips with worry as he guides your face to look up at him, “Where’s this coming from, baby? Did I say something that made you think that?”

“N-no,” you cry, tears wetting his shirt by this point, “I- it’s just… I don’t…”

“Take a deep breath. It’s ok,” he whispers, “I just wanna know why you would be worried about that, babe?”

You follow his advice and get yourself calm enough that you can speak, but again, you can’t actually get the syllables out without losing it.

“Cause just look at me,” you weep and gesture at your figure.

“I am looking at you,” he says, still not understanding the issue.

“You’re telling me this is what you want?” you cry. You say it almost like an accusation. Like the word liar is on the tip of your tongue.

“Yes? I can’t help if you don’t tell me what the problem is, and I’m really not seeing a problem,” he says. He’s such a sweetheart. Doesn’t get defensive with you, doesn’t tell you to cool it. He’s understanding as ever, and it just makes you feel worse about your blow up.

“You really like me even though I’m chubby?” you finally blurt out.

His eyes soften when the words reach his ears.

“Oh, baby…” he coos and pulls you onto his lap. It makes you uncomfortable at first, being on top of him, but he doesn’t even react to your weight on his thighs. “I love your body, every single part of it. You never need to worry about that.”

After that, everything comes spilling out. Every derogatory comment, every side eye, every single condescending smile. You ramble on about all of it through your tears. He nods along and shakes his head in disapproval when you tell him about your cousin’s birthday party when someone asked if you really needed a slice of cake. Or Christmas when your aunt cornered you to sell you on these diet shots her doctor prescribed her and how she could get you some easily.

“I never want you worrying about that kind of shit,” he tells you once it seems like your rant has come to a conclusion.

You sniffle and nod, burrowing into him further.

“I mean it. Cause for one, you're more than that. You’re sweet, so fucking sweet. You’re smart, funny. You’re you, and that’s what I love. I love talking to you, can’t get enough of your voice,” he murmurs as he kisses your cheeks and temple, “I notice all that before I’d ever notice whatever bullshit they tell you to feel bad about.”

“I know,” you whimper. Before you can say anything else, he keeps going.

“And you asked me if I’m attracted to you? That’s an easy answer, babe,” he says. He lifts you a little, shifting you on his lap so you’re straddling him. His hands squeeze your hips and rub up and down your sides. “You don’t understand how attracted to you I am. I cum harder jerking off while I think of you than I ever did fucking anyone else.”

You gaze down at him. Heat rushes through you at that admission. Your crying has come to a halt now as you hang onto each word of his.

“I mean, really honey? What wouldn’t I like?” he purrs, “You seriously believe I wouldn’t love how soft you are? All the curves I feel press up against me when you give me a hug or you wanna cuddle?”

His hands run along your skin with more teasing now.

“Your tummy? Fucking love it. Love how you get all squirmy when I rub and kiss it how you like,” he breathes as he tugs you forward so your front is against his. He kisses your lips softly. “Love feeling those round cheeks covered in tears and drool when you start losing it for me. And your thighs? I can’t get enough of ‘em clamped around my head when I’m eating your pussy. Fucking things squeeze me till I think I’m dreaming.”

Well, didn’t you feel stupid now. As Leon continues preaching about your body like he’s referencing a divine being, his hands roam your body, sending shivers up your spine. His fingers knead the flesh of your ass before coasting around to your tits and taking handfuls of them.

“I can only say so much, dolly. Think you should just let me show you how much I love it,” he breathes against the shell of your ear.

“Ok,” you agree. So simple it draws a small chuckle from his throat.

Without the slightest hesitation, he stands up, taking you with him. He hoists you up and doesn’t even let the smallest grunt slip from between his lips. You let out a tiny squeak which turns his chuckle to a full laugh.

“Leon…” you start with uncertainty.

“Nope. None of that,” he shushes you.

He boosts you up, getting you comfortable in his arms. Your legs lock around his waist just as he starts to move. Padding away from the couch, he takes you to the bedroom. He’s not straining himself at all. He glides through the doorway with you cradled against his abdomen like this was the most natural thing in the world. In all honesty, you weren’t too much for him in the slightest. All the training he did for his government job had prepared him to carry more weight than you.

He sets you down on the bed, crawling on top of you. His lips meet yours as he leans down and connects the two of you in a series of wet kisses. His hands glide beneath the fabric of your shirt, feeling your skin and the warmth of your body. After making out for a while more, he pulls back. He kneels above you, breathing heavily as he peels off his shirt. His toned abs and chest come into view. You’re still taking in the sight of him as he starts undoing his pants. To match him, you slowly begin to remove your own attire.

Soon enough, the both of you are nude. You expect him to get back on top of you and drill you into the bed until you’re seeing stars. But instead, he flops down next to you on the mattress, looking at you with a lopsided smile.

“You want me on top?” you ask as you begin to move yourself into position.

“I do. But not how you’re thinking.”

You pause, trying to figure out what he meant. It clicks in your mind suddenly as you're looking at his smug expression. He wanted you to sit on his face. He’d asked you to once or twice before, but you usually got out of it by playing up your neediness and acting like you needed his cock that very moment or you would explode.

There was no excuse that would spare you from this now though. You look him in the eyes and shake your head. His only response is to playfully nod at you and give your hips a little tug, urging you up his chest.

“Leon…” you whisper nervously. You wanted to, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

“Don’t give me that,” he teases. His tone transitions to a more genuine one as he says “Let me do this for you.”

You hesitate once more, but another light pull of your hips has you tentatively scooting forward on top of him. You brush by his chest and neck until you’re hovering above his head. He lets out a sigh just from feeling the heat of your thighs on either side of him. His elbows bend around your thighs, keeping you in position. He looks up at you and finds your nervous eyes to give you a comforting look.

“I’m gonna crush you,” you say as if to warn him.

“You better,” he responds.

And that’s all the talking he needs to do before pulling your hips down and mashing your cunt against his mouth. You gasp as you feel his tongue licking you up and down already. He groans when he tastes your slick. Diving in further, his mouth opens and closes as he pleasures you. He sucks on your clit and massages your entrance.

Your arm shoots out to hold onto the headboard for balance. Your hips involuntarily rock back and forth, smearing your arousal over his chin and lips. He keeps you in place for the most part, but he doesn’t restrain your movements. If anything, he devours you with increased fervor.

“That’s right, baby. Ride it,” he mumbles against your folds.

He tightens his grip a bit as he licks broad stripes over your pussy. His nose nudges your swollen bundle of nerves, ripping sharp whimpers from you. You roll your hips into the sensation. He nearly whines while feeling the fluid motion. He keeps lapping at you like it was the task he was born to perform.

Then you feel a thrum on your hip, his fingers tapping. You look down, at first worried he needed you to get off. But looking down, you find his hooded eyes gazing back at you and his index finger gesturing behind you.

You turn to look and see his cock, rock hard, flushed red, leaking a few drops of pre cum onto his abdomen.

“You see how attracted to you I am?” he asks.

You moan loud as he returns to eating you out like it’s his final action. Seeing him so worked up from merely pleasuring you drives you wild and has you gushing all over his chin. You whimper and grind down onto his mouth some more. Your head falls back, your chest heaving and bouncing as you accept the euphoric feeling below. You reach down and tug at his hair. He practically growls and continues to work you to the edge. He pays some special attention to your clit and fucks his tongue into you to finally get you there.

“Be a good girl and cum all over my face,” he commands between licks.

You release with a yelp. Your hips buck as your body spasms. Thighs tremble violently before tensing and pressing against his ears. He smirks against the velvety junction and keeps going through the high.

Once you start to come down, he releases you from his grip and gives you a firm smack on the ass. You slump over and crumple up next to him on the bed. His face is shimmering with your release. His fingers swipe across his chin, collecting your slick that had coated the skin there. He sticks the digits in his mouth and hums in satisfaction as he licks them clean.

“Could eat that pussy for hours, it tastes so fucking sweet,” he says as he starts moving towards you again.

Now, it’s actually time for him to crawl on top of you. He rocks his hips against you as he goes in for more kisses. His cock drags against the smooth skin of your thigh, the sticky tip sliding back and forth. His wet fingers hold your jaw and keep your lips puffed out for him to kiss.

While he kisses you more, he spreads your thighs and slots himself between your folds. He moves himself up and down through the wetness that had gathered.

“Pretty, pretty girl,” he murmurs against your lips, “My gorgeous love doll.”

Teasing himself and you by gliding his tip over you a few more times, he then moves it down against your hole and enters you fully. He moans, his breath hitching as he sinks into your warm, wet embrace.

“Good girl. Squeeze around me just like that. So fucking tight,” he grunts.

He takes a moment to just feel you. Feel your walls pulsing around him. Feel your heated, squishy form against his firm one. But then he starts to move. He slowly works his shaft back. A long drawn out “fuck” leaves his mouth before he whispers a crisp “good god” while pressing back in.

He begins to pump into you with an even pace. He strokes nice and deep, keeping his movements consistent for you. You flutter around him and squirm slightly as he prods at your most sensitive spots. He leans back to look down at the spot where the two of you connect.

He watches his cock slide in and out of you, disappearing into your cunt time and time again. He’s obsessed with how your slick coats his shaft, dripping down to the base. His thumb comes to swipe over your clit quickly and give you some extra sparks of euphoria. You whine and arch your back at the touch.

“I know you have the perfect pussy. Made all for me,” he breathes, grinning as you shiver from the pleasure he inflicts upon you, “So responsive and sensitive just for me.”

You whimper and nod. Your hands claw at his back, digging into the muscles across his shoulders. He keeps slamming into you. His eyes roll back as his release builds. He mutters more praises and collapses on top of you again. He grinds and rolls himself into you rhythmically while you start to cling to him. It becomes harder to keep still as pressure mounts inside you, begging to burst.

“Wanna see my beautiful girl cum for me,” he mumbles while pressing sloppy kisses to your neck.

You pant and nod again. It was impending. All you needed was a few more thrusts. He swivels his hips, angling himself and swiping across more spots that drive you wild. It’s just a few moments later when your body seizes again and you let go with a loud cry. He can’t hold it either as he starts to shoot ropes of cum in you. You’re both shuddering, faces tense with absolute pleasure. He’s softly whimpering in your ear while your nails make deeper crescents on his shoulder blades.

He continues bucking into you, fucking his cum deeper. It’s almost like he can’t stop. It just feels too good. He can’t pull himself away even though the high is over and he’s already started to tumble down. You’re so blissed out that you don’t even complain of overstimulation, just let him go the few extra moments till he’s satisfied.

Once he is sated, he doesn’t pull out. He just stops moving his hips. His arms tighten around you, and he nestles his face in the crook of your neck where he can take in your scent with every breath.

“See what you do to me, baby?” he pants, “Wouldn’t change a thing about you. My girl, think you’ve ruined me for anyone else.”

#leon kennedy x reader #resident evil imagines #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy imagine #resident evil smut #smut

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sacrednova · 25 days ago

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Still Missus Riley | Simon "Ghost" Riley.

Simon as a fem!reader's ex-husband:

Simon still remembers every little thing about her. He brings her favorite tea or coffee every week, showing up with groceries she might need, still knowing her schedule and preferences by heart. “Habit,” he’d say gruffly if she questioned him. But he doesn’t want to let go of that rhythm. It's his way of grounding himself, still feeling connected.

Despite the divorce, Simon continues to refer to her as Mrs. Riley—even if it’s to himself. To him, the vows they made still hold weight, and he doesn’t consider the divorce anything but a bad dream. He’s never missed a chance to let her know, “Still my wife,” if someone else tries to flirt with her. If she argues, he might mutter, “Divorce papers don’t change what’s in here,” tapping his chest.

Simon still feels deeply protective. If he senses someone hurting or disrespecting her—even if it’s someone she’s dating—he’ll make his presence known. He shows up to fix things around her apartment or steps in when he thinks someone is taking advantage of her. She might call it overbearing, but to him, it’s just his duty. And he doesn’t plan on giving it up.

When she’s feeling down, Simon has a way of just knowing. He still gives her space but drops by with dinner or a blanket on bad days. If she questions why, he shrugs and says, “Husband’s job, innit?” He’ll act as if it’s only natural, dismissing her protests like he can’t even hear them.

Seeing her with someone else stirs something dark in him. He acts cool and nonchalant on the surface, but she’ll catch the way he lingers around longer, watching her interactions. He might even drop a passive-aggressive comment like, “Hope he treats you right,” when he leaves, letting her know he’s still deeply invested, still hers.

Little pieces of her life still linger in his space. Maybe it’s her favorite mug, a scarf she forgot, or even the blanket he keeps around for when she’s cold. He doesn’t give them back, and she might notice they’re always ready for her whenever she drops by. It’s as if he’s building a small shrine to the life they shared, unable to let go of these reminders.

Occasionally, Simon slips, calling her “love” or “darling” like he used to. When she gives him a pointed look, he might grunt, brush it off, but there’s a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes. Even if they’re “separated,” he’s emotionally anchored to her, and every time he has to pull away, it’s like leaving a part of himself behind. For Simon, she’ll always be Mrs. Riley—divorce or not.

He hates that he still loves her. Simon knows they’re divorced; he knows that he should respect her space, but he can’t help himself. He never stopped caring, never stopped thinking of her as his wife. Even if he’s quiet and reserved, the way his eyes soften when he sees her, the way he touches her shoulder for just a second too long, all give him away. He never voices it, but she knows, and he knows she knows.

Any man that even looks at her for more than two seconds gets that unblinking, icy stare. Simon isn’t subtle about it either. He’s not above scaring off guys who get a little too close for his liking, muttering to himself, “They don’t know you like I do. Don’t know what they’re asking for.” He even goes as far as tracking the ones she does talk to, and while he’s careful to not intrude, he’s fully prepared to step in if anyone oversteps the invisible boundaries he’s set around her.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #call of duty #cod modern warfare #ghost fanfiction #cod headcanons #my writing #ghost cod #ghost #headcanon #fem reader #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader

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the-fandom-is-now-my-life · 4 months ago

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The idea that future Leo and mc having bouts of "was that past Leo just now??? Smh" is SO funny to me like

Imagine past Leo keeps coming back to take a look at his future, and it's starting to piss Leo off like ??? Man he just wants to cuddle with his wife after work, and now there's this little shit coming in to steal his cuddles AND he's treating his wife semi poorly??? (Future Leo can't fathom that it's his own damn self that's the problem LMFAO)

Future Leo starts to leave notes and passive aggressive comments on his body so past Leo can find it. Past Leo doesn't know what's going on but every time he goes to the future he keeps finding angrier and angrier notes (first it's "treat her well, you're a guest here" and "you love her more than life itself even if you don't know it yet" but after a few rounds he gets impatient and starts going nuclear "listen you little shit you make my wife uncomfortable again I'll remember this shit and shave your head in the past" "get the fuck out and leave me alone I'm gonna make you binge eat and make you fat")

Imagine future Leo being so pissed off about the "stolen" time that he insists that he gets EXTRA loving from his wife for it (it's really not that bad, he's just being dramatic again) and whoops it looks like all those extra rounds have gotten his darling wife pregnant 🥴🥴🥴

if past Leo manages to come back in the middle of a sesh with a very obviously pregnant mc he might just have a heart attack then and there pp

The diabolical streamer might be peeking into the future too much

Leo has gotten used to popping to the future for a little while. Leo is neither used to the interruptions to his life and very upset about it

Wc: 1,6K

Notes: nah but he would actually die jsjsjsj he knew he was married to her but not that he was that down bad! This was so fun to write

Cw: she/her for the reader, implications of sex and Leo comes when his future version has sex with his wife

Leo recognizes he can be hard to get along with most of the time, he is snarky, snoops around for secrets and extorts people with them, can be cruel, among many other things. But he never expected to say that he got himself fed up with his existence.

He seems to be getting on his last nerve, Leo notes at the greenish bruises on his midriff while changing clothes after bathing. He once again visited the birdpond even if his trip was a rather short one as Sho pulled him away when he (or rather whatever consciousness from his future self he had in his body) started hitting and scratching himself on the stomach.

Sitting down on his bed, he starts spending cream on the small wounds, he would hate to have any sort of scar.

“And you want to go back tomorrow after that?” Sho asks besides him, watching the reddish and purple splotches and thin red lines across his abdomen.

“Well, yeah, I want to see what number will be drawn on the influencer gala” he says, as nonchalant as ever, as if whatever damage he did to himself was nothing more than a light annoyance.

“You are crazy, dude”

“Hush, I'm learning a TikTok dance”

And as he said, that night as soon as Alan turned off his light they both sneaked off to the hedge maze centered around the birdpond.

“So, you remember what we are doing?”

“10 minutes in and I take you off. If you start hitting yourself I'm just allowed to hold you but not lift you”

“Good! If I see one more bruise and it will be all your fault, m'kay?”

“Hey, no, wait-!” But before he is able to complain he already dipped his head underwater.

Already used to the ache inside his lungs and the feeling of drowning, it doesn't take him much longer to settle on the current situation.

There is a colorful movie playing on the 65 inches mounted tv and he feels a comfortable weight on his lap. When he looks down he sees your head on his chest and legs thrown over his own, most of the weight must be from the sleeping toddler on your legs. A string of spit threatening to spill on his leg makes Leo recoil away violently, almost making you fall off the sofa and your daughter too.

Now awake and in a bad mood Emmy pouts and kicks her little legs “Daddy!” she waddles towards him so he would pick her up and lull her to sleep as always.

With the same coldness as you remember his first year version having, he spits venom at the, honestly quite messy, child “Don't even touch me, you have spit and sugar all over yourself, you are going to mess my clothes” and he barricades himself inside the bathroom, leaving you to calm down an upset toddler.

Hidden away inside the bathroom, he sits down on the bathtub rim and swipes around his phone, looking at his TikTok account and looking for videos that are around 10 years old. For once he curses being so active in social media as when he reaches his current year Sho was pulling him up to the past.

“So? Anything good?”

“Hardly anything and her kid almost slobbers all over me”

“I think that is also your child, dude”

‘stupid child’ Adult Leo growls mentally. Each and every time his past himself would rudely interrupt in his few soft domestic hours he has with his family and treat them like shit his head would be splitting down the middle with an unbearable headache, no matter what he took or if he drank water he would have to sit down for hours until it passed. Luckily his wife and daughter would comfort him while they watched tv with very low volume.

Wobbling out of the bathroom and aiming for the modular sofa he whines for any scrap of affection he believes he is entitled to “LI, Emmy, let's watch a movie, daddy doesn't feel good”

Plopping down on ‘his’ side of the sofa he just noticed Emmy was too busy getting calmed down to watch a movie with her dad.

“What happened, Emmy? Want to tell me while we watch Cinderella?” and even after attempting to bribe her with her favorite movie she just looks the other way with a pout before stomping towards her room, slamming the door.

Noticing your husband was back you smile, a part in relief of not having to take care of your toddler alone and another part of mocking delight “Emilia is very angry at you because your past self told her you weren't going to carry her because she was dirty and was going to mess your clothes”

Mortified, Leo grasps his forehead, he doesn't remember himself as one to be that mean to kids. When he feels you sit next to him and hug his shoulder he starts acting for affection and attention.

“That stupid brat is going to make my baby hate me”

“honey, that brat is you”

The attempt at reasoning with him is met with more whining. After years of marriage he learned that there wasn't anything he couldn't get from you with enough whining “my head hurts” he digs himself a space on your clavicle “I just want to sit down and enjoy myself with my family but now I can't even do that”

Combing some fly away hairs and planting a kiss on his helix honeyed words lure him closer “Emmy might not want to be close to you now but why don't we have some personal time together”

And with a devilish smile his hands dip down your back and butt while his mouth attached itself to whatever patch of skin he can get close to.

Family vlogs are something Leo found himself doing weekly, complying with his fans' demands. There is rarely anything interesting, sometimes doctor's visits, minor sickness, projects he had to say nothing about yet still hype, that sort of day to day things.

After going over a possible trip to Spain for a gaming convention he was invited to, Leo looks over the most frequent questions of the last vlog. He is so thankful that he coded a bot to group comments with the same or similar key words.

“So, for the last question… YN they are asking if you were hungry when we filmed the last video, they say you were scrolling UberEATS for a while”

You shrug while playing with your phone, not paying him much mind “well, when I was pregnant with Emmy I was pretty hungry, it is normal that I would be now too”

It is hardly one second before his usual fake smile dropped, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. In an attempt to turn off the video his hands fiddle with the button but it takes a few extra seconds than he expected. It is going to look awkward when he uploads it but why act as if he has ever cared about it and more so especially now?

The last few seconds it's possible to hear an ‘are you serious?’

His fans did go wild in the comment section after he posted

Leo_simp76: damn, he is locked down for real, let's cry simps

User_8274849: He already had a kid and is married, did you truly think he was free???

Leo_simp76: I would delulu into thinking he got babytrapped and was going to leave her!!

T.B.d.e: wasn't his child's first birthday one week ago?? How did she let him hit it?

Leo_simp76: I would let him as soon as I could stand. If anything it's weird it took that long!!

The last day before he took a break from looking into the future,as soon as he dips his head down to the water the usual annoyance in his lungs is overpowered by a different kind of ache caused by breathlessness like in Gym class.

“Leo, stop teasing~” a breathy moan begs from beneath him. Looking down he finds his hand snug against the column of your neck, lips connected to your skin just below your collarbone.

You were splayed under him, legs hugging his hips and one arm drawing figures on his biceps. Bodies close enough to notice your swollen stomach against his abdomen. Thankfully enough you had your eyes closed shut and couldn't notice the switch.

He on a technical level guessed this future version of himself and you fucked (as awkward as that image is for him) there was Emilia, or Emmy, that looked very much like him and you; when he snooped around he found condoms and there were multiple pregnancy tests in the en suite bathroom. But he had never barged in during the act.

Such a great fucking time he gets in, balls deep inside the nerd and an orgasm threatening to wreck him. Or so he would think if a wave of dopamine didn't swallow him whole in the same breath.

Quickly he leaves the water, if Sho had to say he almost looked horrified, eyes wide, breathing quickly, face red and… oh, he was just suddenly horny. Any teasing he might have wanted to do is cut short with Leo's nasty side eye but no explanations.

On the other side of the timeline there is a married couple with a sulking husband.

“Are you feeling alright?” opening your eyes you manage to see a very clearly upset Leo resting his forehead against your sternum and a hand on your breast.

“I can't even have sex with my wife without that brat ruining it”

“What? He was here just now?!”

“Once again, I didn't get to enjoy it”

“Wait a second! I'm still sensitive! ~~!”

#tokyo debunker #tokyo debunker x reader #tokyo debunker leo #leo kurosagi

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romanarose · 2 months ago

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Supportive Logan Thoughts: Writer GF

Logan Howlett x fem!writer!gf

Join my taglist : Masterlist

Buy Me A Coffee : Kofi : Go Fund Me

Summary: You're an aspiring writer, but having trouble finding time to write. Logan shows his complete faith in you, no matter what your family thinks.

Warnings: Not a lot, unsupportive/mean family. My massive daddy issues

A/n: I wanted to write this for myself because Im feeling massively unsupported by my family and several friends, and I with I had a partner with this much faith in me. I have another one I wanna do with supportive logan and reader who wants to continue education. If you have any self indulgant ideas you wanna hear, send em! It'll probs be short but I can have Logan say things i think you'd want to hear in a way that makes sense for him. Trans and lgbt themes encouraged.PS: catch the bobs burgers reference?

Dinner had been going pretty well, comparatively. Logan hadn't snapped at your dad for his passive aggression, and your mom hadn't commented on how you'd gained weight. It wasn't your fault your beloved boyfriend seemed to be fattening you up!

All in all, a peaceful dinner.

Until your brother, Mark, had to be a dick.

"You still writing on Wattpad?" He asked, an innocent enough question but you knew that tone. Logan stiffened, so you put a hand on his thigh. He chewed hard on the broccoli.

You brace yourself a bit. "Yeah, I got the fanfictions. But I'll have you know, it's a fun hobby and I do pretty well for myself-"

"Writing men kissing on tumblr isn't a hobby any more than making a porno is."

Logan speaks, through a full mouth. "I bet you're the porn expert, considering you're not getting any from anyone else."

"Except your mom."

You raise to hands at both Logan and Mark "Knock if off you two!"

Your mom is glaring at Mark for mentioning porn at the table, but he's pretending to be very interested in his chicken Alfredo.

Still, your dad always has something to say. "It's a shame you can't make money off that. I don't really understand why you do it."

"For fun?" You didn't know what not to get. Your grandma made terrible janky blankets and you all gushed over them. You loved them of course, because it was grandma. Why couldn't you have a hobby weather or not you were good?

But Logan wouldn't let the silence be filled with your families assumptions. "Well, she's writing a book, actually. And it's good, really fu- I mean, it's really good." Logan abides by your moms no swearing rule, but she pays no mind to the always f word as she somehow finds a reason to embarrass you.

"Oh she's always talking about some book or whatever. As a kid it was mystery because she was into the boxcar children. As a teen she was going to write the next big dystopian trilogy." She covers her mouth as she laughs about it.

Logans hand flexes and tightens under the table, trying to remain calm. "And what did you say when she told you about these?"

"Well, I told her she should be more realistic. I mean, I read some of her writing-"

"Because you snooped through my notebooks!"

"And it wasn't exactly Hunger Games."

Logan set down his plate. "So let me get this straight, Diane."

"Lo..." You warn.

"You snooped through notebooks that your daughter wrote by hand on notebooks, at what, 14, 15? Told her that this first draft, which I cannot stress enough, was written on a notebook, wasn't good enough to be published, then you're shocked she didn't finish it?"

When you're moms mouth gapped, your dad stepped in. "She doesn't finish anything, I'm sure you picked up on that. I mean, how many half started art projects are in your house right now?"

An embaressing amount. The other day, you found three different blankets with the same color scheem started. Three! Thrice, you had the same idea and never followed through.

Your boyfriend was not deterred. "Well, maybe, she needs someone whose going to support her, encourage her. Didn't seem like she had a lot of that before."

"WHELP!" You slap your knees, then stand up. "This has been great, but as usual we passed the 15 minute mark, and right on cue, it's time to go."

Your dad was as stubborn as Logan was and stood too. "Oh yeah, and just what are you gonna do to support her, to magically fixed years of fail-"

As you pulled Logan toward the door, Logan counts off on his fingers. "One, tell her that she can actually do it, because she CAN, two, check in on her and let her brainstorm with me. Have you ever actually asked about her plot? No?"

You're giggling to yourself now. Dinner was ruined, but you liked that Logan didn't stand for people talking bad about you.

"And three, she's gonna quit her job so she can focus on writing!"

Well. That one was new. Logan always encouraged your novel in progress, he listened about the characters and offered ideas, gave you a sounding board that wasn't judgmental. Yes, you've complained about no time for writing when you work so much but... No matter, you show a united front in front of your dad.

"Yeah! Because he believes in me." And you were out the door.

The drive back was quiet. Espresso was on the radio, and you knew he must be distracted because he didn't change the station, so you spoke first.

"I don't have to quit my-"

"I was gonna talk to you about-"

You both start at the same time. Then you laugh. "You first, Lo."

His body language relaxes for the first time tonight. "I didn't mean to spring that on yuh." I don't wancha to think I'm like. Trying to tell you what to do or make you financially dependent."

"I don't." You assure him. "So... you thought about this?"

He nods. "Yeah I um... I really think you got something good here, baby. I think if you took leave for a while ad really could just focus on the book, it could be something great. I mean, I don't know much about books but even I like it, so... you know... it's gotta be good."

Warmth fills your body as a blush festers under your skin. Logan really believed in you. He believed in your book enough that he was willing to take this risk on you.

"Can we... afford that?"

"Well I thought..." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I can always take overtime at work. If I pick up another day or two-"

"Logan! I can't ask your to do that!"

"You're not." He turns to you briefly, smiling, then back to the road. "I'm asking to do this for you, if you'll let me. Then, when you're a high falutin writer, I can be your sugar baby." He pokes yoru side, making you giggle

Still, seed of doubt were deeply entrenched. "But what if I don't do good? It doesn't sell?"

Logan shrugs. "Well, I guess... then you'll try again. Or you don't, an you'll know you finished it and you tried."

A pause. "You're really willing to do this for me?"

"Baby..." He places a hand on yours, eyes once again drifting only briefly from the road to you, then back. "I'd get the moon right now if you asked. Let me do this for us."

For us.

***********

Okay thats it im done im sorry, that was my own daddy issues, mommy issues, brother issues- lort help lmfao

anyway if you like this, check out my other stuff on my masterlist! if you like dark content, most of my logan is being written over at @romana-after-dark

the bobs burgers referece was the 15 min rule. at exactly 15 min, big bobs says something mean to bob asdfghjkl

my middle brother hosted a surprise party for my parents anniversary and we decided to have me an the ret of my siblings be surprise one, have my oldest brother hiding bc he lives the furthest away for surprise 2, then downstairs my extended family for three. My dad walks in, sees me and my youngest brother who he was't expecting, and before he even says hi he says "where's *oldest brother*" so that felt cool. And we got into a bit of an arguement where he was discrediting my feelings about the move when i was a teenager, and then my brothers and sister were assholes- and i just kept thinking i want logan or santi or joel here to protect me and defend me even against little stuff.

enough about me!

send your requests! give me chubby read, black reader, trans reader, native reader, bi reader, male reader- literally whatever tf you want. I cant say it'll be as long as this one but i got you. you desver to feel supported.

#wolverine #logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #supportive logan thoughts #logan howlett fluff #fluff #logan howlett wolverine #logan #soft logan howlett #soft logan #protective logan howlett #protective wolverine

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cinnamon-galaxies · 2 months ago

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𝐂𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐊𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧

Pairings: Alastor x gn!reader Summary: In which Alastor tries to get rid of you by giving you a dangerous task and explores your room once you have left. What he discovers are things he wishes he could unsee... Warnings/Tags: explicit and suggestive content but no smut, 18+, MDNI, gn reader, Emberlynn-coded reader, unrequited love, reader is obsessed with Alastor and he can barely handle it, second-hand embarrassment, cringe, like, lots of it, exaggerated descriptions, comedy, mentions of violence, murder and death, very brief mention of suicide (Alastor barely keeps his sanity), fandom slander and random references (you either get it or you don’t), Alastor needs his own warning, humiliation, a whole bunch of passive aggressiveness and sarcastic remarks, trash-fic Wordcount: 6.5k A/N: This is a spin-off to my other Emberlynn-coded reader story ‘The Simp’. It can be read as a standalone, though I suggest reading the original first for a better understanding of the reader’s messed up personality and their complicated relationship with Alastor. This one escalated a bit more than I planned. It was originally meant to be much shorter, but I ended up having way too much fun writing it. Comments, Likes and Reblogs are always appreciated!

Masterlist

It was a morning like any other in the hotel. The air was still and tranquil, the residents just beginning to stir as they readied themselves for the day ahead. Alastor strode through the dimly lit halls, his mind set on a singular destination: your room.

A familiar weight settled in his stomach, a feeling that had lingered since the day he claimed your soul. Your insufferable presence had become a constant in his existence, haunting him with a mix of irritation and curiosity. He braced himself for yet another day filled with your exhausting demeanor, yet he knew he had an important task to assign to you.

As he approached your door, he could already hear the faint sounds of movement within – your usual morning routine, perhaps accompanied by some melodramatic humming. The thought made his insides twist, but he reminded himself of the necessity of the task at hand.

In front of your door, Alastor closed his eyes and took a deep breath to prepare himself for yet another one of your annoying tirades, then knocked. Once, twice – the door opened when he moved to knock a third time and he almost punched the air. Immediately, his crimson eyes darted down, and there you stood, already dressed despite the early hour, with an eager grin plastered on your face, your expression brightening like an unexpected sunrise breaking through the clouds.

“Good morning, Alastor!” your squeaky voice disrupted the early quiet of the hotel and Alastor cringed inwardly, his ears twitching at the painful frequency. He opened his mouth to retort with a dry greeting, but before he could utter a single tone you already interrupted him, the words spilling from your mouth like an accelerated record, “Is something wrong? Do you need my help? It’s still so early in the morning and you knocked on my door – I mean you never knock on my door, so there must be something wrong. Is there anything wrong? Do you need my help? Please let me help you, Alastor!”

Instant regret grew inside of him as he tried to keep up with the neverending flood of your words that were uttered so fast he barely managed to understand what you said. He just stood there, staring at you with his mouth slightly agape, overwhelmed and the wheels turning in his head as he tried hard to piece together the fragments of what he caught from your extensive monologue.

“Uhm…” He blinked, staring at your worried but also anticipatory expression, the adrenaline heating up your face like a tomato, making it appear as if it was about to burst. He imagined your head exploding and withheld a chuckle, the mere thought of all your blood and viscera spilled around your room a delightful image in his head.

“Well, my dear, I do in fact have a task for you,” he eventually said, his voice much calmer than he felt. He always relished the stillness of his sleepless nights, when you finally left him alone, allowing him to unwind from the stress you constantly stirred within him. If he weren’t already dead, he’d probably be at risk of a heart attack from your relentless annoyance. Seriously, how could someone as utterly miserable as you be so exhausting? Maybe he should consider seeing a therapist before he completely snapped. It wouldn’t be long before he lost all the control he’d worked so hard to maintain. He could feel it, deep in his bones – the silent scream of agony echoing within him.

You immediately straightened your back at his words, crossing your hands behind your back in anticipation. “Oooh, a task! Tell me! I’ll do it as soon as possible!”

Here's the missing part filled in:

“I sure hope so…” Alastor muttered beneath his breath before he tilted his head to the side and responded much louder, “Well, it is something of high importance…” he drawled out, the radio static in his voice crackling, and he could swear he saw your eyes gleam.

“What is it, Alastor-kun?” you interrupted him, and Alastor’s eye twitched, though he did not further elaborate, choosing instead to let the moment linger with a teasing smile.

“Well, you see… I need you to fetch something from Cannibal Town. There’s a butcher on Carcass Lane who sells the most delectable venison in the entire Pride Ring. I need you to grab some for lunch. Here’s the address and the list of items I need.” He handed you a crumpled piece of paper, a glint of mischief dancing in his eyes, and you snatched it from his hands, pressing the note almost against your face while you read it.

Alastor raised his eyebrows as he watched you literally absorb the information, then you looked up and nodded exaggeratedly.

“I'm on my way!” you declared and scurried past him, the wind of your fast movement causing Alastor's hair to flutter. He turned around with a narrowed eye and crooked smile, a look of irritation on his face, but you had already disappeared behind the corner before his eyes could follow. He stared in the direction you just disappeared for a few more seconds before his smile widened into a predatory grin, flashing his sharp and pointy canines with a sudden, exhilarating thrill that sent a shiver of anticipation down his spine. This was an easy success. You really were so desperate to serve him that you were stupid enough to run to Cannibal Town alone. You, a small little creature, pathetic and completely helpless, were nothing more than prey for the people in this part of the city. Maybe, if he was lucky enough, you'd get eaten before you even reached the butcher shop, and thus a problem would've been solved without much effort on his side. Genius.

Still standing in the doorway, he turned back around. Alastor had never dared to knock on your door before – because of obvious reasons which have just been confirmed to be true. But now that you were gone and hopefully not returning, he got curious. Without further thought he entered your room and closed the door behind him, turning on his heels to take a look around. His eyes widened with every detail that caught his eyes. Bright pink and violet walls clashed with white polished furniture that could've been sourced from a doctor's office. The cabinets and shelves appeared almost sterile compared to the atrocious clutter in and around. Dozens – no, hundreds – of plushies and figurines were crammed into the tiniest of spaces. It was a chaotic explosion of color and fluff, a seemingly random assortment that defied all attempts at organization. The shelf was filled with books and boxes that were somehow puzzled into the space like some kind of a real life Tetris game. The walls – dear Satan, the walls – were suffocatingly plastered with posters in colorful palettes that showed a wide range of grotesquely exaggerated, wide-eyed monstrosities. The eyes of the characters – if they could even be called that – were so enormous that they seemed ready to fall out of their skulls, while their breasts rivaled their heads in size. It was as if the artist had taken every ridiculously hyper-sexualized fantasy and spilled them out on paper to create those unnatural horrors of eyesore that depicted an unhealthy and disrespectful portrayal of the female body. How were their waists so small? Did they even have organs in there? Alastor raised his eyebrow as he eyed the pictures. Some of those creatures bore animalistic features with cat ears, bunny tails and other appendages like they were common in hell, yet seeing the mere addition of those features on such grotesque figures was more than unsettling to him. The others were probably supposed to be human but their proportions were so out of control they looked like misbuilt mannequins from the fashion store of mistrust.

Alastor's eyes drifted further across the wall until they landed on the image of a pale man with sharp pointy ears and curly white hair who was mid-bite on a woman's neck, the blood pouring from the wound and running over the woman's chest in a subtle yet intendedly suggestive way. The text read ‘Baldur's Gate’.

What in Hell's name was a ‘Baldur's Gate’?!

Before his mind could even attempt to comprehend this madness, his gaze landed on another poster with the same writing and same world – but this one featured a woman swooning in the arms of what could be an octopus-man hybrid.

Alastor blinked, horrified. Yes, that was indeed an octopus with glowing eyes and squirming, slimy tentacles wrapping themselves around the poor woman as though she were just another victim of this abhorrent nightmare. Wait – were those tentacles caressing her?!

He gagged, the taste of bile appearing on his tongue. “This is disgusting,” he hissed, a shiver running down his spine. He could barely process what he was seeing. ‘Baldur's Gate’? Hell, maybe you belonged there. Maybe he'd be doing you a favor by sending you straight into that absurd world where vampires, octopus-men, and God knows what else ran free, far away from him, where you could fulfill your worst fantasies of–. He neglected the thought before he could finish it, his stomach churning and the threat of another gag rising in his throat.

But then, his eyes caught something worse. Yes, worse. Somehow the room found a way to outdo itself. Layered posters plastered the other wall – yes, layered – leaving almost no surface of the actual wall visible underneath. And the images – Satan help him – the images were so obscene, he couldn't withhold himself from widening his eyes in shock. Muscular men – half naked and grotesquely exaggerated – posed with claws, fangs, and the most ridiculous expressions of primal desire imaginable. Texts like “Alpha” and “Bite me, baby” screamed from these posters. But the final blow came from a particular poster showing a dripping wet, absurdly muscular mafioso leaning into a shower, a caption in giant, sultry text reading, “Are you lost, babygirl?”

Alastor's jaw practically unhinged as his eyes widened in horror.

What. The. Fuck.

He averted his gaze, barely suppressing another gag, and found himself standing in front of a shelf, hoping for some brief moment of sanity. But no – his hopes were shattered. The shelf was packed with small figurines or more cat-girls and octopus men, between them some green-haired man holding two Katana in his hands and one between his teeth. How the hell could he even fight like this? This didn't make any sense at all. And – was that the sculpture of spaghetti with a face?! He stared at it with one eye widened and the other narrowed, his lids twitching under the pressure and his smile was shaped into a confused grimace. Why the Hell did you have spaghetti on your shelf?! But of course that wasn't all. Between those figurines were even smaller creatures that looked like they'd crawled from the very bowels of an overactive, perverted imagination. With a roll of his eyes and a deepening sense of disgust, he glanced at the books. Big mistake.

How – just how could every single corner of your room be even worse than the last?! He was barely able to keep himself from laughing as he read the titles of the books that were stuffed into the tightest of spaces. Each one was worse than the one before: “Bound by Blood and Lust”, “Slave to the Beast”, “Taken by the Overlord”, “Marked by the Alpha”, “The Alpha's Virgin Omega”... and even more dreadful titles. “My Immortal” was the most normal of them all. But even a harmless title could hide one of the worst stories in all of history. If Alastor knew one thing, then it was that one should never judge a book by its cover – or in this case: title.

He took a deep breath, stepping back from the shelf, his gaze still locked on the chaos around him. He found himself standing before your desk, turning with a low hum, eyes scanning the mess of paper stacks and notebooks with a bizarre mix of morbid curiosity and utter disgust. Your room was like a car crash – something no one wanted to witness, yet impossible to look away from. In a nutshell: It was absolutely atrocious.

With narrowed eyes he took one of the paper stacks in his hands and shuffled through the pages. Most of them were notes and doodles, some better than others, but the majority looked like the deformed mannequin creatures from your posters – only more disturbing. Their eyes, grotesquely oversized and much rounder and bigger than the ones from the posters, were filled with far too many reflections, giving the eerie illusion of tears, yet each character wore an unsettling grin, twisted and unnerving, disturbingly similar to his own at its worst. He continued his expedition through your mess, not surprised to find some drawings of himself but shocked by the sheer quality and painstaking detail you had put into them. Then, his breath caught in his lungs. His eyes widened, pupils constricting in disbelief as he stumbled upon yet another drawing of him – this time, barely dressed, with a lewd speech bubble in the corner. ‘Oh, don’t be shy, little one. I promise, this is one signal that’s sure to reach every part of you…’

He instantly flung the papers aside, recoiling with a loud, distorted radio screech. You truly were a creature of Hell. Did your parents even love you? They must’ve been really bad people if they managed to spawn such a fucked up creature like you… Maybe it was a good idea to just leave the room without exploring your personal belongings any further. Not even getting mauled to death by bloodthirsty dogs was as traumatizing as the deep, dark abyss of your mind. But before he could turn away, something caught his eye. A pink notebook that was adorned with glitter stickers and handwritten quotes lay right in the middle of your desk, a few pens strewn around it as if you were just using it. He knew he shouldn’t. Every single look was worse than the one before. He knew this flashy notebook would most probably hide even more stuff he would regret to ever have seen. However, there was a quiet little voice that tried to lure him into doing something he knew he would regret.

With caution he approached the desk again and reached out his hand, his finger tips grazing the surprisingly soft material of the cover. He held his breath as he took it into his hands and opened it. The first page was adorned with hearts and tiny flower doodles, the image of a cathedral radio in the corner. In the middle of the page stood written in flourished cursive: “Static Lust – A Dark Romance Fanfiction”. Underneath, your name.

He frowned. What was a fanfiction…? With a bad feeling in his guts he turned the page and began to read your surprisingly neat handwriting. His eyes flew over the words, taking in every sentence and he cringed inwardly at the badly written plot. The story was ridiculously self-indulgent, starring you as a tragic figure that was kidnapped and brought to Hell by none other than… him.

Alastor blinked when he read his name, wrinkling his nose and inhaling a deep breath. Of course. He should’ve known. Fan-fiction. Knowing how hard you were in love with him should’ve prepared him for what he was about to discover.

As uncomfortable as he felt, he continued this little venture into the literal intonation of your deepest thoughts. Somehow, it amused him. It was as if he was reading your diary, just more messed up. And most definitely pushing his boundaries.

You portrayed him with a personality that couldn’t be farther off from reality: a lovesick obsessive who wanted nothing but to corrupt you, possess your soul and your whole being. He couldn’t believe what he was reading. The sheer absurdity of it all – the dramatized seduction, the over-the-top description of his passion for you were unbearable to read. Yet, he couldn't stop himself from continuing the story. His eyes continuously trailed over every sentence, soaking in the words as if his life depended on it while his heart sank deeper into his guts. His expression was completely motionless and his already pale face drained of even the last bits of color. The worst was: it didn’t stop here. As the story progressed, so did your so-called ‘romance’.

His fingers trailed along my jaw, claws grazing my delicate skin as he kept his gaze locked with mine, crimson eyes boring themselves into my very core as if he was reading my soul. I felt completely naked under his gaze, caught between desire and a flicker of fear at his imposing form. “Be mine,” he growled with a deep sultry voice, the radio static gone and his hot breath grazing against my cheeks. Sharp teeth glinted from behind his smile, a silent threat yet so intriguing. The danger, his power, his possession were palpable. Everything left me completely breathless and a shiver ran down my spine, causing the butterflies in my stomach to flutter wildly around. It was a tingling feeling, one that jolted electricity through my veins and into the depth of my core.

He swallowed hard at the description, nausea taking over his stomach, replacing the appetite he just had for a tasty bite of rotting venison. He would never say something like that to you. He would never do something like that to you. And most importantly, he could never love you. He wasn’t even able to love. But even if he were, he'd be more likely to fall for Lucifer than he would ever waste a single thought on you.

‘Be mine.’

He let out a huff. You were already his. Certainly not in the way you wanted it to be, but he owned your soul. Which meant he could do to you however he pleased. But nothing similar to this bullshit from your writing, obviously.

Alastor’s eyes narrowed as he continued to read and the story development was truly as bad as his characterization and anything else. The more he continued, the more his eyes widened in horror. It didn’t take long for the writing to turn explicit – vulgar and smutty. Each sentence was dripping with suggestive language, painting a picture of you and him in intimate situations.

I couldn't resist him any longer, the way he dominated the room, the power in his every movement. My heart raced as he leaned in closer, his voice a seductive purr that caused my hairs to stand up. “You were a naughty little thing,” Alastor whispered, his lips brushing my ear and his voice dropped to a baritone that vibrated in his throat, “and you deserve to be punished.” I shuddered, feeling my entire body tremble in anticipation. “Alastor…” “Uh, uh, uh,” he brushed me off, his nose grazing the skin on my neck while his hot breath sent shivers down my spine and right into my core. “Say it. Say, ‘Punish me, Sir,” he commanded, and I–

Alastor slammed the book shut for a moment, closing his eyes as if to cleanse himself from what he had just read. He let out a sharp exhale, then opened the notebook again with a resigned sigh, morbidly fascinated by the sheer audacity of your words. His smile became brittle, twitching as he forced himself to read on.

Alastor pressed me firmly against the wall, his finger tracing a line down my neck, the touch gentle but brimming with control. I felt his sharp claws graze my skin, leaving faint red marks that would serve as a silent testament to his claim over me. I remained still, terrified that the wrong move could turn his claws from teasing to lethal. “So naughty…” he growled in my ear, his voice sending a shiver down my spine before he stepped back, creating a cold distance between us. The sudden loss of his warmth sent a chill through me, goosebumps prickling across my skin as I resisted the urge to reach for him, knowing he wouldn't tolerate such disobedience. Alastor’s intense gaze swept over my body, lingering on every inch, and I could feel the heat pooling between my legs, the wetness trailing down my thighs. “Strip,” he ordered, his voice leaving no room for hesitation. I obeyed without a second thought.

This was absurd. This was disgusting. This was absolutely disturbing. This was how you viewed him? A domineering, smoldering lover? The mere idea was enough to make his skin crawl.

He gagged once more, the mere thought of touching you making him recoil in pure revulsion. This went beyond simple disgust. It was something far deeper. What was any of this supposed to be? Did you actually believe he could ever reciprocate your twisted feelings? Were you truly so desperate that you wrote an entire book about him doing such indecent things to you? He couldn’t comprehend it, and it only worsened his already low opinion of you. He knew he shouldn’t have read it, but did you honestly think he wouldn’t find out eventually?

Part of him just wanted to die again. To disappear and never return, to tear out his eyes and brain and offer them to his equals in Cannibal Town. Was there anyone in Pentagram City who still performed lobotomies? He definitely needed one after this monstrosity of an insult to all literature ever created.

He flipped through pages in haste, no longer bothering to read the entire story, just skimming over a few lines here and there. With every word, it became more unbearable. The grotesque images your writing forced into his mind were intolerable, destined to haunt him for the far future where they would resurface in his rare moments of sleep and flash before his eyes every time he looked at you. It was obscene, nonsensical, and revolting. Violating not only his sense of decency but also his personal boundaries.

What started off as a toxic fast-paced back and forth between the two characters turned out to be nothing more than a pure over-sexualized scandal. You and Alastor would do it everywhere. In the bed, in the shower, in the hotel's parlor, on the counter of Husk's bar – even on the balcony while you glared up at one of Vox’s drones, knowing damn well the television freak would watch. He even found a chapter in which he took you into his radio station and broadcasted your moans all over Hell, so everyone knew that you belonged to him.

“Ah, Alastor-kun!” I moaned in both pain and pleasure.

“Punish me, Mister Radio Demon, Sir!”

“Ah, harder, deer-daddy!”

“YAMETE KUDASAI!!!”

He slammed the book shut again and dared not to open it again. What. The. Actual. Fuck. Was wrong with you?!

His face was white as chalk, his eyes twitched and for the first time in decades, his smile had disappeared and instead, his face was adorned by a completely and utterly traumatized grimace. This was… this was an affront to his dignity, to his entire being.

His thoughts raced like a whirlwind as he imagined every possible way to make you regret this. To punish you – not in the way you do desperately wanted – but actually punish you in the most gruesome and painful ways he could imagine. Over the decades, Alastor got creative with his murders. Maybe he would even discover new ways to torture a soul before tearing it apart, shredding it into pieces to ensure not only your death but to erase your existence from history entirely. Perhaps he’d even find a way to prevent you from ever being born at all.

Fuck.

But until then, he would keep his rage silently hidden inside of him, deep behind the walls he had constructed to maintain his control.

Alastor let out a laugh, though it was more out of frustration than amusement, the sound hollow and laced with irritation. Of all the souls he could have ended up owning, it had to be yours – lovesick simp with a disturbing penchant for writing self-indulgent filth. Oh yes, you were destined to be his punishment. The punishment Alastor most probably deserved in his afterlife. But before he could continue his train of thoughts, he got interrupted.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck!” your frantic voice shattered the silence of your room as you burst through the door, nearly knocking it off its hinges. Alastor flinched, startled by the sudden commotion. His head turned a full 180 degrees to face you, accompanied by the snapping of bones and sharp crackle of radio static, and you froze mid-step, locking eyes with him.

You blinked once, then twice. “Oh, Alastor! I'm so sorry!” you cried, your eyes glistening with tears. “I’m so, so sorry! I screwed up!”

He stood there, holding your notebook, his expression frozen like a deer caught in the headlights. His heart raced in his chest as you hurried toward him, trembling slightly.

“I went to the butcher, but I forgot my purse at the hotel! I had to come back for it!” you rambled, breathless, and Alastor’s brows furrowed in confusion. “I’m so sorry I won’t have your supplies in time! Please forgive me, Alastor! Or punish me! I’d love to be punished! I–I mean – I deserve to be punished! I can also punish myself if you prefer! Just forgive me for being so stupid!” you pleaded, completely oblivious to the fact that Alastor stood in front of you with your most mortifying secret in his hands.

Tears streamed down your face, but Alastor just stared, mouth slightly agape, yellow teeth peeking through as he stood there, overwhelmed. He held your notebook in his hands, the disturbing contents trapped between its thick covers, while you rambled on about a forgotten purse and your desire for punishment. All the while, you remained utterly unaware of the true embarrassment in front of you.

“Uh…” Alastor exhaled at a loss of words.

You gazed up at him with teary, wide eyes, then your eyes slowly drifted down to his hands. Realization hit you like a train. Your eyes widened and grew so big in size that they rivaled with the creatures on your posters, the color from your face draining, turning your skin from pale to snow-white in an instant.

“No...” you breathed, your voice weak and barely above a whisper. You shook your head slowly, stepping back, repeating the word in disbelief, as if doing so could undo the reality before you.

Alastor's initial shock dissolved into a wicked grin. His pupils constricted, and the glow in his crimson eyes intensified with a dangerous gleam. Watching your horror unfold, filled him with a surge of dark satisfaction and the thought of simply torturing you felt far too mild now. No, this reaction was much more satisfying, much more delicious. His eyes gleamed with cruel amusement as an idea took root. This wasn't just good. It was perfect. The situation was playing right into his hands.

“Well, my dear, it appears that you've stumbled into quite the predicament, huh?” his static-filled voice broke the uncomfortable silence and he turned around fully, tilting his head in a derogatory manner. “Care to explain?” He asked, his fingers tapping against the book one after another, the sound of his claws clapping against its surface a haunting melody. His voice was much too light and way too cheerful for what he felt on the inside, but it was the perfect way to confront you with the danger you just put yourself into. It made him hard to read. It put him in charge.

“Well… uh… uhm…” you stumbled, momentarily speechless. Alastor could see the wheels turning in your head and he noticed your pale cheeks turn a red color that was almost as vibrant as his coat.

He took a step closer and tilted his head further, almost holding it at a 90 degrees angle. “Well…?”

“I– it's not what–” you started but Alastor interrupted you.

“Save this nonsense. This is exactly what it looks like, dear. Now, tell me, what is this thing you're so ashamed of, huh?”

You began to fumble with your shirts, fingers fidgeting with the fabric as your breaths grew more ragged. “I–I–It's… a diary!” you shouted that last word. “A diary! Yes, yes! Nothing more! Just a few thoughts about my life at the hotel!” you tried to save yourself from this situation, crafting a lie that was so obvious that even the most stupid person would've seen right through it. And, after all, it's not that Alastor didn't just read page after page with an abhorred expression. But you didn't need to know. Not yet. He'd let you squirm a little before dropping the bombshell. So, he just raised an eyebrow and turned the notebook in his hands, eyeing it from all sides with faux curiosity. “Is that so?” he drawled and you seemed to shrink under his looming presence and intense gaze.

You nodded hastily, your whole body vibrating with the simple movement. “Yes! Yes…”

“Well…” Alastor paused for a moment, glancing down at the supposed ‘diary’ and then darting his eyes at you from under his lashes, a quick flicker of mischief dancing across his features but no less intense.

You swallowed. And Alastor could see your throat jolt up and down.

“Well,” he repeated, “if it's just about the hotel, then I guess you wouldn't mind if I take a look.” He moved his hand to open the notebook but your panicked voice interrupted him.

“No!”

He stopped his movement, thumb and index just touching the upper rim of the front over. He raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise. “Oh? And why's that?”

“Because… because… it's not good. It's just… bullet points and quick notes. Nothing special, really! Just ugly smearing and shitty drawings!” You explained in a rush, nervously shifting your weight from one foot to the other while you bit the corners of your cheeks and your hands kept fumbling with your shirt.

Wait. Drawings? Alastor blinked. There were illustrations in there too?! He swallowed. Hard. Though his expression did not reveal any of the discomfort that crept through his veins like a venomous snake on the hunt for something to eat.

“Oh come on, they can't be so bad!” Alastor assured while he made sure his fingers lingered at the very same spot, a silent threat that he could – and would – open the book any second.

Tears welled up in your eyes again as you stared up at him with pursed lips, a pleading expression on your incredibly blushed face as you silently, yet loud enough for everyone to hear, begged he would put it aside and dismiss your personal belongings.

You folded your hands in front of you as if praying to some God, your voice barely above a whisper, “I mean it, Alastor. Please don't open the book. Please…"

Oh, this was delicious. This was so much better than any torturing method he had imagined just mere minutes ago. Your pleading expression, the fear in your eyes, the way you so desperately tried to keep him from opening the book while you were completely unaware of the fact that he had already read its contents. That he knew about your deepest, dirtiest desires, your pathetic longing for him that must’ve affected you so strongly you spend hours and hours of your free time to create something this atrocious… He could see your body tremble. He noticed every inch of your skin on fire, every single hair standing on edge. He smelled the panic that surged through your veins and heard the blood rushing through your arteries, powered by the frantic beating of your pounding heart in your chest.

The silence between you stretched on and Alastor enjoyed every second of it, reveled in this moment of utter uncertainty. He heard your ragged breaths, how you tried to force yourself to keep your breathing as steady as possible, fighting against the tears that glistened in your eyes. Alastor realized you resembled the drawings he’d discovered in that chaotic stack of paper, and his grin grew even more sinister, exposing his sharp fangs in all their menacing glory.

It was at this moment he knew time had come to drop the bombshell. To reveal the truth to you and humiliate you with the product of your own creativity.

“‘Deer-daddy’, huh?” he casually quoted one of the lines from your story and he saw you twitch, his sadistic satisfaction growing even stronger.

“What?” you whimpered in shock but before you could say more, Alastor opened the notebook and flipped to the very page where he read it, turning the book around for you to face your own writing and pointing with his clawed finger at the line.

“Here it is, ‘deer-daddy’,” he repeats again, tapping against the page twice. Then he inhaled deeply, raised one eyebrow and looked at you like a disappointed parent. “First off, I am not your father,” he clarified, his tone still casual, a subtle hint at the hidden danger underneath his facade. “And secondly… Wouldn’t that make the whole plot of your story a little… incestuous…?”

The trembling of your body intensified and your breaths got quicker, impossible to control as you found yourself at the brink of hyperventilation.

“Oh, come now, dear. Why so nervous…?” he drawled and your lips began to tremble.

“You…” you started but your breath caught in your throat, your voice trembling as much as your body. “You… read… it…?”

Alastor fell silent for a moment, his burning red eyes taking in your pitiful state. Then his smile widened, casual yet unnervingly so, before he cheerfully exclaimed, “Of course I did! How could I resist this flashy little booklet you so obviously displayed in the middle of your desk? I simply had to read it!” He closed the book and thrust the cover into your face, an exaggerated gesture meant to highlight its eye-catching design. The stickers you had playfully plastered on now seemed to mock you for forgetting to hide it away.

Holding the book closer to himself again, he shifted his gaze between it and you. “But let’s be honest, dear. Your storytelling could use some work.” He opened the book again and flipped through the pages. “You started off strong with your self-insert and their dramatic backstory – it caught my interest at first. But come on. Kidnapped into Hell? By the Radio Demon, due to a ridiculous Halloween bet gone wrong?” He raised an eyebrow at the sheer absurdity of the plot before he continued, “First off, summoning me to Earth requires much more than a little pentagram, some candles, and a radio. I deserve better sacrifices than that. And do you honestly think I’d find a pathetic little human being, especially one like you, interesting? What could you possibly offer in return for my favor besides your fragile soul? I’m not the kind to wait years or decades for a death so a bargain can be fulfilled. It’s simply… inconvenient.”

You stared at him, dumbfounded, as he critiqued your writing like an editor at a publishing house.

“And kidnapping someone just because of their ‘tempting nature’ and without further motive? That’s quite foolish. What if the Sins found out? Or other powerful beings in charge?” He stepped closer, glaring down at you with a still raised eyebrow, his casual demeanor betraying a hint of enjoyment in your discomfort. “Don’t you think they’d come after you if they learned that a human managed to survive a descent to Hell? Honestly, you’re missing quite a thrilling plot here.”

Alastor’s eyes flicked over the pages, taking in fleeting words without truly reading. He didn’t need to reread to recall the errors and striking details; they were burned into his mind – probably for the rest of eternity. As he took a deep breath, he stumbled upon a lewd drawing of you and him tangled together on a desk – something he must’ve overlooked before and wished he could forget now. So, there were illustrations in this book. You didn't lie.

Blinking, he turned the page, pushing aside this humiliation for a moment to continue his critique, “While your writing style is surprisingly enticing, the rest of the story lacks character development, thrill, and depth. It could have been executed much better – if we ignore the fact that it centers around me being your beau and engaging in... inappropriate activities while indulging in exaggerated displays of carnal desires. You’re a filthy little thing, aren’t you?” He chirped, glancing at you with anticipation, waiting for you to form a response. But you were speechless. Not a single word managed to leave your lips as you just stared at him, dumbfounded, your mouth agape and eyes widened in horror and confusion.

Alastor sighed. “Oh come now, dear. If you can be so bold to bring such an imagination to paper you can surely just answer my question.”

“I–,” you stuttered, pausing to gather your strength to do as he commanded. But instead, the words tumbled out as an apology. “I–I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude–”

“Uh, uh, uh, dear!” Alastor interrupted, waving his index finger in front of your face. Your eyes squinted, tracking its movement. “We both know you’re not ashamed of intruding on anything related to me. Considering you’ve been following me around with those doting eyes of yours ever since the day you begged me to take your soul. You’re a bold little creature, utterly devoid of dignity, feeling the need to humiliate me in the process.”

He closed the book and handed it back to you. Your trembling hand snatched it from his grip, and you hugged it protectively against your chest, closing your eyes and taking deep breaths to steady yourself. Meanwhile, Alastor continued his scolding, stepping closer until there was barely a foot of distance between you. He tilted his head, looming over you like a predator, eyes narrowed and teeth flashing.

His voice dropped, growing darker with each word, the static crackling around him making the air feel charged as he hissed, “I suggest you cease this violation of my privacy before I make sure you regret every little thought you’ve ever dared to indulge in regarding such frivolities.”

For a fleeting moment, his eyes turned an abyssal black before returning to their fiery hue. It was a subtle threat, yet clear as day. He lingered, staring down at you, savoring your pathetic state, before shadows engulfed him, pulling him into darkness until he vanished completely, leaving you alone in your room with just your thoughts and the memory of the consequences of your inappropriate behavior.

Yes, he definitely needed that therapist.

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chvoswxtch · 11 months ago

Note

Hi,

I had a request… I’m currently obsessed with Frank Castle (he’s just so 🥵) and had an idea, it’s not super original so I understand if you don’t want to write it!

A non-binary (they/she) character who is plus-sized and younger than him (in their mid-20s) taking him home to meet her family for the holidays. And she is very insecure and worried about how their family will react. Maybe while there, a family member says something hateful about her weight and/or being non-binary, and Frank goes to comfort/reassure her, and maybe even gets mad and defends her to her family?

Can be smut or just fluff (or both!)

I just thought it would be cute to see his more protective/caring side, mixed with his possessive and angry side. I love that dynamic (:

hello my love!

so i'm not sure if you've watched the bear (i'm still working through it myself) but there's a scene where jon flips a table and goes on a rampage and I just thought that was super fitting for this prompt so I drew a lot of inspiration from that & I hope you enjoy!

I also hope you're having a wonderful day or night wherever you are and that the holidays are being kind to you 🖤

warning: swearing, frank being frank word count: 1.5k

dessert.

It was so quiet in the cab of Frank’s truck, you swore you could almost hear the delicate noise of fresh snowflakes carelessly colliding with the windshield over the dull roar of the heat coming through the vents. The holidays were always a complicated time for you with your family. In the earlier months of the year, there was a welcoming sense of freedom to be exactly who you were without judgment. But when the colder weather started to seep in, so did the impending dread. All you had wanted to do was introduce your family to the man you had fallen in love with, and celebrate your first holiday together in a special way. You had anticipated a little bit of uncomfortable tension, prepared yourself for a few tasteless passive aggressive comments, but you didn’t think it would be this bad.

Bringing Frank home to meet your family hadn’t been the mistake. It was underestimating his protective nature and forgetting the caliber of his restless temper.

Things had already been off to a rocky start as soon as you walked through the door. Everyone’s eyes seemed to be shamelessly sticking to the way your outfit clung to the soft and full curves of your figure. The same outfit that had Frank nearly pulling over to the side of the road impatiently because he couldn’t keep his eyes ahead was currently the topic being whispered about by your aunts. However their attention was quickly stolen as soon as Frank walked in behind you. Their hushed gossip rang loudly in your ears, causing the confidence Frank had built up within you to fizzle out into insecure embers.

He’s so…normal looking. What’s he doing with her?

She’s not a her, remember? She’s…oh I forget what it’s called. Another complicated thing these kids have come up with. I swear it’s something new everyday. I can’t keep up.

He seems much too old for her, and look how fit he is. They seem way too different, there’s no way they’re actually dating.

It only got progressively worse from there. By the time everyone sat down to have dinner, it was like you weren’t even there. Everyone asked Frank a million and one questions, but no one asked you a single thing. No one asked how you were, or how the new job was going that you were so excited about. No one asked how you and Frank met, or how long you had been dating for. Everyone seemed to be trying to figure out the puzzle of what Frank was doing here with you, and eventually, you found yourself trying to solve that exact same riddle. It was almost incredible how your family managed to ruin all the trust and love that the two of you had built up over the past few months. All the promises of reassurance that flowed so easily from his lips seemed to vanish from your memory, and the quieter you got, the angrier Frank became.

He was polite at first, answering the simple questions with appropriate responses, but the more they tried to exclude you from the conversation, the more he tried to aggressively incorporate you into it. His frustration was evident in the way his voice became more rough and coarse, a detail only you were able to pick up on. That should’ve been the first warning bell in your head. But you were so wrapped up in your own insecurities that it didn’t occur to you to reach for his hand under the table to calm him like you normally did when he got worked up. Frank was doing his best to contain his rage at the way your family treated you, but one hateful comment from your alcoholic of an uncle about your weight caused him to erupt.

It all happened so fast, that you were stunned. Your uncle was in the middle of following up his weight comment with an insult about your non-binary identity when Frank suddenly stood and flipped the table out of his way so he could rush forward and strike his fist across your uncle's face. In a split second, everything had descended into chaos. Your mom and aunts were screaming, your father and uncles were trying to pull Frank off your drunk uncle, but they weren’t a match for his strength and tenacity. It wasn’t until you fought your way through them and tugged at Frank’s shirt in a panic that he finally relented and let you drag him out of the house.

For the past fifteen minutes, the two of you had been sitting in his truck where it was parked in front of your family’s house, both of you attempting to calm down. Frank was trying to quell his anger while you were coming down from the shock of what had just happened. The longer you sat in silence watching the waves of snowflakes caress the glass of the windshield, the more uneasy Frank became. Letting out a deep exhale through his large nose, he finally couldn’t take the quiet anymore.

“Look I…I didn’t…m’sorry, alright? Can you just…will you please say somethin’?”

“I can’t believe you flipped a table.”

Frank blinked in dumbfoundment a few times, his dark brows pinching together in the center of his forehead. He was expecting you to yell, to go off on him, maybe even break up with him right then and there, but not to hear you sound so amused about his explosive behavior.

“Huh?”

“That was ‘real housewives’ of you.”

When you finally turned to face him, he noticed the faint smirk on your lips, and that one little gesture eased all the anxiety that had been building up within him for the past fifteen minutes. He let out a puff of air through his lips, looking ahead as he shook his head slowly and glanced at his side mirror while trying to fight the crooked grin that threatened to spill across his lips.

“Yeah well, dinner was dull. Thought I’d spice it up a bit.”

“I’d say you spiced it up a lot.”

Frank turned his head to look over at you, and you could see a faint apologetic twinkle in his eye from the glow of the street lamp above.

“You mad?”

It was your turn to look at him in dumbfoundment. Arching one of your brows, you let out a soft laugh while tilting your head to the side in slight curiosity.

“Am I mad that you stuck up for me?”

“I coulda handled it better.”

Scooting over to the middle seat of the cab, you brought your hand up to gently caress his jaw while staring into his warm brown eyes with a soft smile.

“No Frankie, I’m not mad. I promise.”

Leaning in, you pressed your lips to his in a gentle kiss, letting him feel the sincerity behind your words. You weren’t mad at all. No one had ever been so protective or defensive of you before, and while some would’ve thought his reaction was a little extreme, you knew it was just Frank’s way of showing you how much he loved and cared about you.

“Thank you.”

“For ruinin’ the holidays with your family?”

“Baby, they were ruined before we even got here. And honestly, this is the best holiday season I’ve ever had, thanks to you. You made it special for me. It was probably a bad idea to come here, but I just wanted to show you off. Show them all how happy I was. I thought they would be happy for me-”

“Hey, to hell with ‘em. They don’t deserve to see that pretty smile after the way they treated you. That asshole’s lucky I don’t go back in there-”

“Frank.”

Letting out a soft laugh, you redirected his angry glare from your family’s house back towards you as you pulled him in for another soft kiss.

“Let’s just go home. We can order something in.”

Frank took one last irritated look at your family’s house, letting out a soft grunt of disapproval.

“Goddamn chicken was dry anyway.”

For some reason the frustration coveting his sharp features and the grumpy tone of his voice just made you laugh. Giving his thigh a gentle squeeze, you pressed a soft kiss to his cheek and smiled adoringly at him.

“We can have something else for dinner.”

Frank turned his head to look at you, his gaze wandering slowly up and down your figure before settling on your eyes once more. The ravenous look reflected back at you simultaneously sent a shiver down your spine and filled your lower half with a sense of heat. He reached out to place one of his large hands on your thigh, giving it a firm squeeze as his voice dropped to a husky whisper.

“Think I’m ready for dessert, sweetheart.”

tags: @day-dreaming-goddess @kdogreads @heimtathurs @mars-rants-a-lot @casa-boiardi @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @hazallem @avencol @neverlandcity @charmedkim @queenofthenoobs @stilldreaming666 @mattymurdock1021 @bubuslutty @ninejlovebot @purrrfect @pennylovey @firesunflamed @oscarisaacsleftknee @ameliaswife @vane28282 @kmc1989 @messymissy @dark-academia-slut @strawberry1042 @utterlynuts

#frank castle #frank castle x you #frank castle x reader #frank castle x nonbinary!reader #frank castle x nb!reader #frank castle fic #the punisher #the punisher request #the punisher fic

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peachesofteal · 1 year ago

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oh man as much as the end sort of resolves some of the angst in that last baby trap au fic you posted, with johnny and simon more or less clinging to bee as a reminder of their darling, i have to imagine that it isn’t that simple, and it doesn’t stay that neat

you kinda touched upon it earlier in that piece with johnny’s pov and him finding out and everything, saying that they did this to you, but i like to imagine that despite having bee as a reminder of darling, everything still kind of just fractures for simon and johnny (sort of like in your au with darling setting the house on fire and killing herself)

like, maybe it’s a few months in to caring for bee, and while it’s nice—it’s nice to have a daughter that reminds them of you—johnny just always figured it’d be the three of you taking care of your kid—that you’d be there with them for every step of the way, and everything would be okay again. but you aren’t—there isn’t even the possibility of you coming back—and the two of them have to grapple with the weight that they did indeed do this to you. if they hadn’t interfered with darling’s birth control—if they hadn’t gotten you pregnant (against your will) in the first place, you’d still be there with them

and maybe they can pretend, for a little while, that everything is okay and that they can get through this, but they can’t pretend forever. eventually reality sets in. eventually the apartment feels too empty without you. bee keeps crying for you and despite their best efforts, simon and johnny can’t seem to soothe her. i imagine that one night amidst bee’s crying that johnny says something off handed to simon, passive aggressive and finger-pointing. maybe he’s been prodding at him for a while—an off-note comment here, a sharp jab there—and simon takes it. he knows the weight of your loss that he bears—that he orchestrated. but this time it escalates. i don’t know the specifics of how, but it does. the hurt grows too sharp. it can’t be tucked away in some dark cupboard any longer. i also don’t know the specifics of the argument beyond addressing the blame and the hurt, but I definitely can imagine johnny asking simon if he “still doesn’t regret it”, a la what he said in that argument they had with darling immediately after the discovery of the tampered pills. idk if johnny would try to leave, again similar to the aftermath of the darling suicide au (though this time with bee in tow); it’s difficult for me to say concretely. would love to hear your thoughts on this if you have the time

anyway, sorry to bother you with my extensive thoughts—i haven’t been able to know rest since i discovered your dead disco series, esp. with all the the juicy aus you keep gifting us. i love your work with every cell in my body (i’ve run a poll and checked…. the results were unanimous). stay safe and healthy, and i hope you have a wonderful day!

I… I-

I have so many thoughts and feelings about this. SO many! The imagery you’ve built here, two tired fathers at their wits end, struggling to keep it together, struggling to take care of Bee, struggling to love one another. Failing miserably.

I think about Johnny, who loves Simon so fucking much, who used to not be able to bear the thought of being apart from him, who now considers… what it might be like, if he was alone. What it might be like, if it was just him and Bee. Johnny can’t reconcile his changed feelings, the way his love has shifted in his heart, and that frightens him, it confuses him. Johnny who’s trying so hard to be a good dad, to take care of the pieces that are left of his family, while neglecting himself. And maybe it doesn’t boil over, maybe it hollows out, leaves him feeling like his love and affection for Si has run dry.

Maybe they get into it, like you mentioned. Maybe it devolves into a yelling match, or something else. Something sadder.

“Was this worth it?” Johnny would cry, holding a screaming Bee to his chest. “You still don’t regret it?”

“Johnny. Don’t.” Simon would snap, pain searing into every syllable.

“You won’t even hold her! Can’ even look at her. Your own daughter!” Johnny’s voice would break, like he’s breaking inside, because he feels so alone, so disconnected, so fucking lost.

And like the “burning down the house” au, Simon is destroyed. Wracked with guilt, he can’t sleep, can’t work, can’t focus on anything. He doesn’t even hold Bee, unless it’s necessary, which puts all the more stress in Johnny. All he does is replay it over and over, the day you discovered the pills, the night you left, the last time he saw you, the phone call. All he wanted was to hold you, and tell you how sorry he was, and tell you how selfish he was, how wrong he was. He wanted to beg your forgiveness. He wanted to bring you home.

Instead, they brought home a jar of ashes and a newborn baby.

🩵

#peaches asks #baby trap au #john mactavish #ghost x soap x reader #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader x soap #soap x ghost x reader #johnny soap mactavish #john mactavish x you #john mactavish x reader #simon ghost riley x you #peaches writes

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saltyfryz · 1 year ago

Text

I know I've been neglecting my Tumblr as of late regarding my art, so to remedy that I have decided to dump my newest sans OCS on you and (mostly) all their information :3

Heres pt 2 with Plum and Cypher;)

Enjoy

First up is!

Cassiopeia, or Cassie for short is the Sans of this universe(which I don't have a name for yet) she is 5'2 and trans.

Her drink of choice is tea! all kinds, she's not picky! She actually is a bit of a connoisseur when it comes to the stuff. And when she wants to treat herself she likes to add condiments to her cup to add a bit of flavor.

Her personality is similar to og sans but she's a lot more elegant in her mannerisms. She's also VERY slow to anger/irritation and even slower to show it. Let's just say, never play poker with her.

She still has 1 hp, and isn't a fan of physical combat. She likes being covert and subdues any treats with the stardust that surrounds her skull. As when inhaled it can give the victim a calming effect or put them into a deep sleep, depending on how much they've puffed. She does also have bones and blasters but rarely needs to use them due to her stardust being so effective.

Instead of being a quantum physics nerd, Cassie is a medical doctor. I'm not sure what specifically but what I do know is that she is very educated on human Bodies and monster souls. She had tried to learn quantum physics when she was younger but it just didn't click with her, she was never a numbers gal.

I like to imagine she's friends with Baggs sans or Wine. For Baggs, I think they would grow close while having deep conversations about their respective jobs and tell stories about all the crazy injuries they've had to deal with. That, and she can use her stardust to put him to sleep, that's my head canon at least. She also likes teasing him about his height, she thinks his reactions are hilarious.

As for Wine, i feel like they like debating each other. Their favorite topic to debate over being what's the better drink, wine or tea. And let me tell ya, it will get very intense. And not in the 'toss a couple chairs at each other' kinda way, more so in the calm on the surface yet internally wishing death upon the other, all in good fun of course. The most hostile thing they'd do to each other is send a passive aggressive yet deeply accurate comment. Sometimes Coffee likes to sit in the corner and listen to them while he draws, it's good background noise.

As for Papyrus or Zephyr,

His personality is a lot like og pap, just more blunt and a lot more willing to initiate a friendly sparring session.

He's kind of a gym junkie, always training out to get stronger. He absolutely LOVES working out and even has weighted plating for his boots, gauntlets, shoulder and knee pads.

Due to his love for sparring, he often gets into friendly brawls with the other members of the royal guard stationed in snowdin, and has beaten every single one. These feats were obviously reported to Undyne. And Undyne, Impressed by his feats, offered Zeph a position in the royal guard. Papyrus obviously was ecstatic, and accepted immediately.

However due to actually getting a position in the royal guard, the rose tinted glasses he'd always held onto have been a bit wiped down due to the actual nature of the guard not being quite what he expected. Still though, he holds out hope for all the fame and recognition he rightfully deserves.

Zephyr is a full on tank when it comes to fighting, he's a heavy hitter and very agile, even with his weighted gear. He mainly uses punches and kicks for precise direct hits but isn't afraid to give his appoint a good knee or elbow to throw them off.

His weapons of choice are brass knuckles, they pack a punch on their own but when he's feeling a bit murdery, he's able to reinforce them with his magic.

Besides training he also loves to paint. Any blank surface you can think of, he's painted on. He's painted his armor, shorts, safety pads, and his own face!

He even paints on lashes to match with Cassie's (which are made of magic). He changes the paint on his face everyday, it's always something new but he seems to favor cloud and sun motifs.

When Zeph isnt training he is always neck deep in a painting project, weather it be one he was working on for several days or a new idea he just made up and really wanted to do. Sometimes he has Cassie help with some of his projects, though she either lazily draws a sick man, or a handprint. Typical lazy sans behavior, it annoys Zeph to no end but he never paints over any additions made

Due to being a Doctor, Cassie is a slight germaphobe(more so in her workplace) but she puts that aside and gets her hands dirty for him

The clouds around his head change with his mood Like pepa from encanto. He can also manipulate them, making the clouds big and fluffy to ride on or catch someone when falling, or even creating fog or mist to act like a smoke screen.

Zephyr's dish of choice is pastries, some witch he lends to Cassie to go with her tea. It's more of a casual thing than something he's passionate about though

Next up is my favorite at the moment! OUTCODE: E770R2095E!! Or Code:E for short! Pronounced Cody ;) (updated ref here)

He his, like his name states, an outcode. However no one really knows where he comes from. Ink's theory is that he was supposed to be an error sans, but something went wrong and now he's just here.

He exists somewhere in the anti-void, no where close to Error, seeing as how he had no idea Code:E existed for the longest time. Having nothing to do with his time, he sits in the anti-void going over codes.

When he's eventually discovered by Error, immediately Error is pissed as he feels Code:E is trying to copy him. And true to his title, he tries to destroy Code:E. However, it didn't quite work out. Every time Error tried attacking, it had always just fazed through him, leaving Code:E completely unbothered. Eventually he finds that Code:E has no soul. Due to this he has no emotions and Error can't check his code, and even if he tried it would be completely an utter gibberish.

Dispite not having any actual emotions, he has this inate want to learn and grow, asking questions about anything and everything. He often gets compared to an AI by Error because of this.

He has no real powers or magic but can copy the code of any sans type just by looking at them, other outcodes included. And when I say copy, I mean copy. With one look he knows all about you, your au, your powers, everything. Usually when this happens his eyes gloss over with static as he lists everything he sees in the code out loud.

Being able to copy code, he is also able to copy the appearance of the sans he sees and even use their magic.

When he can't do something or is just thinking really hard on one thing in particular, Code:E's eyes get staticy and his form glitches a helluva lot more.

He can also create portals to other universes with the pink tear like glitches under his eyes. Though he never uses it, as he never sees the need to. He mostly uses them to observe and learn about the multiverse. He spends most of his time sitting in the little anti-void where he first was created. Just sitting there.

Doing nothing.

All alone.

Well, not totally. Due to Error being a complete drama queen, he often complains about Code:E aloud allowing Ink to overhear. And ink, like the nosy like little shit he is, annoys Error to show him what's got his strings all bundled up. He eventually caved and led Ink to Code:E. And after a pretty disturbing interaction, Ink complains to the star sans' about him. Upon hearing it, Dream, always with the bleeding heart, decides to visit Code:E and announces that they're friends. Code:E doesn't quite understand it, but goes along anyway as Dream teaches him about more aus and how emotions work. Even so, he rarely has time to visit due to his role in the multiverse.

But their is one person who does visit regularly..

And his name is- (updated ref + more information)

RETRO!! A fellow outcode!

He's a very outgoing and rambunctious spirit, going all around all kinds of AUs to do anything he wants! Weather that be wreaking havoc with pranks or just relaxing under the stars in outertale. However due to his chaotic neutral nature, he often has run-ins with both the star sans' AND the bad sans' usually having to escape in outrageous ways and hide in the anti-void for a few hours.

And during one of his little escapades, into the anti-void he meets Code:E. At first he's startled, especially when Code:E tries copying Retro's code, and can't. Leaving Code:E perplexed and Intrigued as this had never happened with any sans he had seen. He asks all sorts of questions about Retro, some more personal than others, and after giving some non answers Retro asks about Code:E.

Code:E is absolutely floored(as floored as one with no soul can be) as no one had actually asked him anything about what he wanted to do or needed. He told him as such and for some reason, this had hit Retro directly in the soul. He had found it relatable. And so from that moment forward, Retro vowed to be Code:E's friend. He even gave Code:E his nickname. And later, his poncho.

I bet your wondering about the gell I described in the photo, well it's simple really. It's basically the gels from Portal. THATS RIGHT IM UNORIGINAL!! FUCKING SUE ME!! /J

HE ALSO HAS PORTALS HA!

In all seriousness though, yes I did just give him the powers from Portal, and yes he can make actual portals, but these help him travel through aus. The portals are his magic while he made the gel with science. For his portals idk if I want it to only work on white surfaces so that can be up to interpretation

Alright that's all the info I got! Here are the doodles I have that I have no idea where to put! The ones with Cassie and Zeph are a bit old so plz ignore any design inconsistencies!

#stardust!sans #Cassie #Cloud!papyrus #Zephyr #Code:E #Retro #undertale sans au #au sans #my art #oc lore #salty ramblings #sans au #papyrus au #papyrus #sans #art and info dump

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ass-sassafras · 23 days ago

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You know, as high strung as my mom is and even considering how she's the one who can stress me out the most, I still feel solidarity with her as a fellow woman.

I know she and dad fight and I know it's hard on him living with someone who is always stressed and snaps at you all the time. But we were all laughing and having a good time at my house last weekend for his birthday party, and while she was sitting next to him he abruptly made a joke about her weight. She has always been sensitive about her weight ever since giving birth to me decades ago and not being able to lose it. Her weight makes her feel so bad and she thinks about it all the time. She doesn't need to be reminded.

It's one of those things I'm noticing more and more as I get older and have stopped giving a fuck about how people perceive me. Her main complaints about him are practical, obvious things that affect her directly. Like his lack of effort regarding his health. He won't try different diets or cutting out foods to see if that will ease his migraines, he won't review his huge list of medications to see which ones might be making him so tired. She has to baby him to get him to drink water, eat fruit, etc. Like he's a child.

Even though he's been retired for 3 years, doesn't work at all and she still cleans the church and her sister's house for money and watches my kids for free, he still only does maybe 10% of the housework.

His complaints of her are mostly that she nags him. And maybe he thinks passive aggressive comments about her weight help him express his frustrations with her. Getting a little hurtful dig in here and there to get back at her for yelling at him for stuff he doesn't do in the home.

I think I'm so preprogrammed to just automatically respect both of them that I was too shocked to say anything when he made fun of her weight in front of me and in earshot of my kids. Another one of those "I should have said something" moments that I've had all my life. I should have looked him square in the eye and said "dad, please don't talk about my mom like that. It's hurtful and it makes me doubt your love for her."

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mariamariquinha · 1 year ago

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Bossa Nova (Benny ‘Borracho’ Magalon x f!reader) - Nine

Eight | Ten

Summary: The LASD couldn't sustain its reputation as an honest police officer if it tried hard. In that case, no one tried.

Word count: 9.695.

Warnings: Bad words, talks about corruption, talks about sexism and racism, mentions of oral sex, mention of drug crimes, violence and other things related, strip clubs, sex workers, use of weed and... did I say sexism?

Author’s Note: I think this got a lot more personal than I thought, so I'm sorry if anyone has family members within the LASD who aren't corrupt - this isn't about them. This chapter doesn't have much romance, I'll warn you right away, but it's an important progression in the main characters' relationship. Give it a try!

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Join my taglist! Don’t forget to reblog, comment and like! As always, I would love to know what you’re all thinking! ❤

****

You didn't like your mother very much, but you definitely loved her. She was your mother, after all, and even though you knew you wouldn't be friends with her if you had that choice, you would love her like you love something because that's how it should be. You didn't think it was an obligation, and she didn't treat you badly, but there was always that feeling that because you were the first kid, she tested the options so much that she left you an arm's length away, and if it were different it would be weird.

Again, you understood. She was your mother.

When you had the whole context of the divorce, she always came with comments. She noticed your house, your clothes, your silence; she insisted that Theodore say something, that he apologize, and you had to be definitive for it to stop.

But she was your mother.

Emma didn't say things because she didn't like to commit, but you knew when she betrayed that direct opinion that your mother had about everything. It was like something mirrored, that instead of loud voices and cigarette smoke, you received a calculating coldness in sudden, discreet and passive comments. So you didn't confront her because, well, she wasn't your mother.

You knew you were on the edge since the situation with Ballard – so did she. And before all of that, there was the snickering, the ‘are you sure you are okay?’ with condescendent tone, the ‘maybe you should take some days off’ with a hint of a joke. You knew her and you knew each one of those mannerisms.

Isla's situation wouldn't have grow so much in you if it weren't for the daily stress of things, yes, but it was the comment that Emma made when she went to ask you about Gina that made you stop, look and make sure you had actually heard that.

“I mean, look what getting close to Nick did to you. You weren't like this when you were still married.”

You weren't even talking about that – you had taken days to redo the work on the report, you were barely sleeping and honestly nothing she was saying had reached your ear until that moment. For her, it was another comment that you would ignore, another small micro-aggression that would pass, so she continued typing on the computer and the weight of the air in her office seemed to fall solely on you.

“... I beg your pardon?”

She glanced at you and went back to the computer screen.

“Yeah, you know. Women tend to rely on male powerful figures when in lack of it. Freud said something about it, didn’t he?”

“Emma, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

That did catch her attention. She backed away, then saw your offended expression and actually turned to you, alert.

“I’m sorry if I said something wrong,” And even that sounded wrong.

“It's not just that, you're acting like an idiot to everyone here! Walsh treated me like an idiot and harassed me, which you glossed over and blamed on me. Gina was concise and conscientious about finding out about Isla and Nick because it would sink the Department, and you did nothing. What is that?”

Emma hesitated. With a lick of her lips, she probably calculated that being all about ‘I’m wrong, right?’ wouldn’t work, so she took her time.

“... I’m thinking of what’s best for you. Protecting your integrity for what it’s to come.”

“And what the fuck is to come? Tell me, Emma, what is it? I-” You took a deep breath. “Do you want to know? I don't want to know. I really don't want to. Whatever shit you or Magalon are warning me about in fucking code, I don't want to know.”

“What did Magalon tell you?”

“I feel like I'm talking to my ex… Have you heard what I said before?” You pressed, getting on your feet with a huff of frustration. “Make a fucking decision Emma, just… Make a fucking decision. And don't ever disrespect me like that again.”

****

“My husband was a member of the group.”

Isla had a calm voice despite the context in which she was inserted. There were no handcuffs on her wrists or a guard inside the room; everything was done very smoothly. Her lawyer was there, tho, and he was sending Zapata some glares while they talked. There was a palpable tension in the air, as if a black cloud of violence or distortion hung within that interrogation room.

Really, you shouldn't even be there, watching. Henderson was sitting to one side as he watched through the glass the conversation Zapata and Emma were having with the woman, and that should be enough for them. Even so, it was Emma who suggested that you participate indirectly, as if using a petty way to see if you were really immersed in the work like you said.

According to the file, Isla was of Albanian origin. The parents were immigrants and ran a small textile business in Coney Island, but they weren’t anything but a fast topic of conversation. The features of her face, such as the more rounded nose and the full face, were soft, even if her lips were dry. She was in a wheelchair, her arm had a bandage.

Looking at it that way, she didn't look so much like Debbie. Maybe their comparison was in the attitude: the two seemed equally taken by a feeling that hovered only in Nick. One that you didn't know what it was and that maybe nobody could put their finger on.

She spoke of everything. Kosovo, her relationship with a man named Oliver Clark, her marriage and children – Selim, with 5, and Dafina, with 9.

You just noticed that Nick entered the room when you smelled his cologne. Bad smell, as always, enough to break any serious moment with that fragrance. You couldn’t help but make a face, pinching your nostrils once and clearing your throat. He ignored you, of course. Benny appeared right behind him with two cups of coffee – you two shared a brief look.

“We have the search warrant,” He said to everyone in the room, eyeing the scene in front of you with a stern face. “I also got WPP.”

A little late for that.

“Anything important?” Took you time to understand that the question was directed to you. When the silence became too much, you turned to him and saw everyone staring.

“... Nothing I didn't already imagine. I'll have better luck when I have the equipment,” You leaned over the table, just a touch, and read the notes you’d taken. “Leica M6 35mm, Pentax K1000 and… Nikon 35 Ti. Analog. This Leica is a rarity, I think it was the one she used for the Long Beach homicides.”

“Couldn't it have been someone else?” Henderson asked.

“Is that just a stupid question or do you want to make sure we've tested all options?”

“Both. So?” Nick pressed, arms crossed and nothing but harshness on his tone.

You observed him for a beat, considered your chances there.

“... The Leica is from the beginning of the last century, like, the 30's to the 50's. At least this model she said she has. In addition to being rare, not everyone nowadays can handle it because the resources are basically mechanical. It would be an absurd coincidence, which is not quite the case.”

“We've dealt with coincidences before.”

“Well, you would know the truth better than anyone.”

O’Brien didn’t answer. You rolled your eyes, going back to the notes before giving Isla another look.

“How long has she been doing this?” The question was kind of thrown up in the air, as no one dared to answer. You glared at them, specifically at Nick, who huffed in annoyance before saying something.

“Two years.”

“And the case landed in your lap…” You said. “It seems that you really work with coincidences.”

Again, no answer. Feeling like you couldn't get from point A to B with anyone there, you jotted down some more information on paper and stretched your back, rolling your shoulders.

“It will be manual stuff then. They’ll have to look at each negative.”

“If it can be done then I don't see a problem.”

“It's a good opportunity to tell me anything else I don't already know,” You conceded, voice contained to prevent any progression there. It was like swallowing a fucking lamp.

Everyone was quiet when they heard Isla speak again, attentive as they watched every detail of the story that should no longer be news to Nick's ears. You were so concentrated that the noises of chairs dragging on the floor didn't even call your attention. Someone said something, the door opened and closed, and suddenly there was a cup of coffee right next to you.

Benny tapped the lid twice.

“Decaf,” He mouthed discreetly before retrieving his proximity and leaving the room.

You and Henderson shared a glance, but he didn’t say a thing. You two were busy anyway.

****

Benny didn't have a very organized routine, but he could count how many times he thought about you after that shitty lunch: two.

1. That coffee wasn't for you, but he thought of you when he noticed that the Starbucks server had made the wrong order. It was kind of spontaneous. Suddenly you were there, at the front of his mind, like you were hovering around and ready to just emerge. He put it there, left the cup as if saying ‘you can have it if you want, but if you don’t it’s fine’. No one brought the subject up.

2. Nick had gone to the store to meet an informant and someone, probably Connors, saw a familiar figure at the register when they entered. Benny knew it was Murph who commented, but he saw Zapata turn his head to look at the guy.

“Do you know who he is?”

“Who?” Benny frowned, unaware of the commotion. He turned his head, saw the dude standing there staring at his phone – like a normal person.

“This is Theodore Park, our trouble girl's ex.”

There was only one person Connors called ‘trouble girl' and it wasn't usually the kind of comment that came from beyond the grave. However he recognized the guy, whether it was a run-in at office parties that Benny barely attended or some private investigation that bordered on a stalker personality from Murph’s part, it seemed to be true. When Magalon looked back again, Theodore Park was gone.

The second time, then, he discovered who your ex-husband was while listening to what seemed like irrelevant information to the investigation. In the midst of Nick's reticence and failures, Theodore Park was the object of his interest.

He was tall compared to the 5'7 that Benny was. Maybe 6'2, compared to O'Brien. There were some university articles about him (three paragraphs at Berkeley, two large PDFs at CSULB that he didn't read, and good references at Caltech) and he seemed successful with an information systems company or something. Benny could never speak properly about these things because he was never interested; as long as he had a phone that worked, he knew how to use the most intuitive social media and that was it. But not Theodore, no. The guy was a successful man in that aspect, indeed. A rich guy on the way. Without much effort, Benny would see this dude doing TED Talks and making Forbes in a few years. Which had nothing to do with him, or what seemed like your type of guy. If Theodore was on one side of the spectrum, Benny was on the other in every way.

Still, Magalon didn't do much with this information. There wasn't much he could do with it anyway.

It was only later – days later – when they had agreed to go to a 'club' to 'decompress', that he found himself thinking about you for the third time.

Earlier that day, he saw you talking to Lennon over what seemed like conventional pleasantries between friends. You were wearing jeans, both hands in your back pockets as you paid attention to something that was being said. Your usual lab coat was gone, probably because Benny could clearly see that your shirt was tighter, had a wider bust and the position of your arms gave a subtle view of your breasts. Nothing indiscreet, because you weren't indiscreet. That outfit, however, made Benny have a sudden indiscreet thought, and it stayed in his head all day.

He hadn't looked for you anymore – he hadn't had the chance to do that. Things escalated and suddenly there he was talking about how similar he was to Nick, pushing you away with a passive behavior that clearly pissed you off. You didn't even react, which he understood as full acceptance of the fact that he was an asshole, as if that was the one thing that Benny and a technology nerd like Theodore had in common: being a scoundrel. You treated him as always, even though what had already happened between you should have been enough for that 'always' to change.

It was sad. He really was starting to like what you two started to have.

The girl standing next to him was called Lindsay. She sat down, started a conversation; they talked very little. Lindsay was wasted, not even bothering to clean the traces of cocaine from her top lip and nose or the way her eyes were dark. Benny asked if she wanted to go home and another friend, named Tracy (or Tara), who was visibly lucid, said it was a good idea. He paid for the taxi, made sure they got into the car safely, and discreetly showed the driver his badge. Like any other night.

He watched the taxi disappear down the street, then, on the other side, the movement of cars on that side of the city. It was late summer and the breeze of the change of season was a sure sign of the arrival of autumn, so he felt the wind hit his face.

Benny didn't go back up to the hotel room with the guys. He handed the parking pass to the usual guy, got in the car and headed home.

No, not like any other night. That time, Benny felt another wave of what someone once said was a ‘midlife crisis’.

****

You weren't a fan of bathtubs. Well, you had one, but it was that kind of thing that was borrowed into your life, shoved down your throat because it wasn't so bad after all. Just like the coffee table you had before. And the kitchen window you always hated. And the kind of lamp that lasted so little but, look, it was chic. So like all things, which seemed to be the biggest provocation that accompanied a 'gift' from a big son of a bitch, or a reminder of how there was a sense of ease in making your life miserable, you enjoyed it.

Something like that.

You had plans to get rid of each of these things soon, because all in all, the financial part of your life was also complicated. A visit to the bank, a mortgage proposal, expenses for the large yard and the last remnants of your student fund. You looked through apartment websites for sale and just that idea left you incredibly depressed because, on top of everything else, you were a crybaby who lost the comfort of a husband who paid most of the household bills. And not to mention the job, because… damn, the fucking job. It had been days since you closed your eyes and saw Nick, Isla, Emma, Ballard, Mathias; what kind of fucking burnout was that?

So that night, when your heels were swollen and your back was sore, you allowed yourself a few minutes of privilege. Bath salts, then the heat of refreshing water and, among other things you haven't done in a long time, you felt a little sorry for yourself, felt like Emma did you so fucking wrong and you needed to be put in a victim’s place for a while.

Connors had posted a photo with the guys on Instagram – you saw it by chance, one hand resting your head on the edge of the bathtub and the other scrolling through your phone. ‘bday party w/ the fella 🔥🔥🔥’, with Benny below his arm in what looked like a half drunk pose, in what also looked like a strip club in the background. You stared at it for a moment. Then another. Then another. There were easy smiles, joyfulness, even happiness; like it was just a standard day, as if the world was okay as soon as the first beer landed on their tables.

There was never a question with them, a doubt. It was as if, arbitrarily, the main characteristic of a cop wasn’t useful for them to become the ideal professionals that everyone thought they were. There is no need for moral duty, responsibility and care, as proof that the world, in itself, was also not moral, responsible and careful.

That was it. It was this pain, this itch, that disturbed you, because you knew that no questions were directed at Theodore when things ended. He, above the law, with money in his pocket and a successful career ahead of him, didn’t receive any dirty looks for having cheated on his own wife, who in turn would, in fact, receive condescending comments, pats on the shoulder of comfort and an unfair response from a boss, who attributed your problems to the great evil of having lost an idiot husband. That was what you always hated the most.

Before you could put down the device, the screen changed theme: Benny was calling. It wasn't a text, it was a call.

You hesitated before answering.

“... Yes?”

“Hey,” The other end of the line was clear, even if you presumed he was still in the club with the guys. “You busy?”

“Mm-hm,” You frowned. “Something happened?”

“No.”

“... Ah.”

“Just wanted to check on you. You probably think that I’m a jerk right now.”

You lifted your torso and sat in the bathtub, more confused than you expected. For a beat you didn’t say anything.

“You do.”

“No! No, I… I don’t think… anything. Why do you think that?” But he didn’t need to answer because you knew. “If that’s because we’re not doing anything, there’s no hard feelings. We’re just having fun, right?”

Benny sighed.

“Yeah, we were.”

“So you don’t need to explain yourself.”

And before you could stop yourself, you added something else that made your eyes close in regret.

“Things are kinda crazy right now.”

You didn't want to go back to the atmosphere of that lunch. It wasn't your fault or his, but it was as if there was an external interference, a weight of your different ideals, even if they weren't in question at that moment. That's why you had convinced yourself to give it a chance, to go out with him in the first place: because it wasn't work. And suddenly you were stupid and brought it up as soon as he got in touch after so long.

“How’s Gina?” He decided to ask, which made you squirm in discomfort.

“She’s fine,” You conceded. “Nick?”

“He’s good.”

Another pause.

“... Well, I’m certain that you don’t want to talk about it.”

“I don’t, you’re right.”

“Yeah,” You let out a low embarrassed giggle, biting your bottom lip. “Neither do I.”

Another pause. You couldn’t hear a thing for the other side and, for a long stretched moment, it felt like you two were measuring each other’s breaths.

“I didn't know it was Connors' birthday,” Which worked. Benny sighed in defeat, but it was better to talk about Murph’s ideas of parties than anything else.

That was how fucked up the whole situation was.

“We kinda did something. He always makes a big deal of that stuff.”

“You don’t?”

��Nah, I’m old. Pushing closer to my 50s already. Whoever said middle age life for men it’s their peak, but that’s bullshit.”

“If you were Telly Savalas, perhaps,” The teasing didn’t go unnoticed by him, who scoffed a laugh. It made you smile too. “So your party ended early.”

“Couldn’t stay long there. My sister made up dinner because one of my nieces is going to college. Right now I’m sleeping in my old bathroom at my mom’s house.”

“What, Benny Magalon still fits in his childhood bed?”

“You know me enough to know how well I fit.”

Deep down, you realized that he didn't say that in a charming way to induce you into some kind of phone sex or something like that. He sounded a little indifferent, actually, and even lazy, as if that was what he should tell you because of the circumstances. You felt a certain relief when you noticed the tone in his voice, because you didn't feel up to it that day.

He moved on the other side, just like you.

“Are you gonna ask what I am wearing?” You teased with a small smile.

“You’re naked. I heard the sound of water, so you’re in a bathtub.”

“Aren’t you a smart detective.”

“Now who’s the one being a charmer,” He said.

“If I was, I would ask what you’re wearing.”

“I’m wearing sleep shorts.”

“Mm.”

“With no underwear.”

“Ooh, how sexy.”

“Right.”

You two shared a quiet, peaceful laugh. You leaned back in the bathtub and rested your head on the edge of it, staring at the ceiling as you heard him moving again on the other side.

There was a hint of subtext, as if you wanted to say something and so did he, but no one knew how because it wasn't something as casual as a sexual joke or small talk. He called, after all, and if this was a failed attempt to 'relax', he had already made it clear that he wasn't very interested either. What was it, anyway? Should you bring up the subject of Isla? Should you two keep talking about this?

“Enjoy that bathtub for me,” Like a goodbye, voice and mind probably in another place.

“I hate this fucking thing.”

“Enjoy it anyway. God knows it can give us a break. We all need it.”

“Yeah… Tell Connors I said happy birthday.”

“Will not.”

You rolled your eyes and scoffed.

“Good night, Benny.”

“Good night, gatita.”

You abandoned the phone at the closed toilet seat as soon as the line was off, but you kept looking at the device for a while, as if waiting for something to happen or just expecting that sensation of unsaid things to go away. It shouldn’t hit you this hard – shouldn’t make you feel like things were simply falling apart.

You just wanted to be sure for once that things wouldn’t be so difficult all the time.

****

The first sip of coffee was distracted. When the taste hit your tongue, you immediately grimaced and threw the drink back into the cup, staring at the totally undrinkable dark thing.

Great. No good coffee as well.

You wiped the corners of your mouth with your fingers and left the cup on the table, a little unsure whether you should throw it away or not. After little consideration, you just threw it in the trash can, massaging your eyes with the heels of your hands before taking a long breath.

The break room was naturally busy in the morning, with people on double shifts and those who were arriving, like you, in and out of the tiredness of the end of the day with the beginning of another. Everyone was chatting amongst themselves, exchanging details about cases they were working on or the new bar that had opened nearby, so it was a bit strange that as soon as you rolled your shoulders to ease the tension, everyone turned their attention to a Lennon out of breath who entered the room with an urgent voice.

“Did you know?” That's all he said, then turning on the TV and stopping in the middle of the tables to watch it. You, who were further in front and close to the coffee machine, had to lift your head a little more to understand what was happening.

“Recognized for the successful work carried out on the Merrimen case, Los Angeles County Major Crimes, coincidentally on the day of the closure of one of the most intense operations carried out in the city and credited in its name, hands over the most recent drug trafficking case to the Drug Enforcement Administration, the DEA…”

You could hear some gasps from your colleagues, murmurs and then shushings, so that they remained quiet and could listen carefully to what was there as if it wasn't obvious. After that, you just stared at the screen in disbelief, your brow furrowed and your hands outstretched at your sides. When they cut to the scene of the press conference in the building's press room, which appeared to have taken place not long before you arrived, you could only see Nick standing next to the sheriff, Walsh's team, and Mathias himself at the lectern making the announcement.

Mathias's voice was a background sound, almost like an irritating noise in the silence of that room that seemed palpable. No commotion, no direct press releases, just a 'peaceful transition' (Walsh's words) to 'a more prepared and complete team' (also Walsh’s words), which indirectly could mean more than cutting spending by the County government but rather a nudge coward of someone who didn't have the balls to chest someone basically… male.

You felt a little bad about that.

But, heavens, everyone thought that. And when Gina, of all those present, said mid Walsh's phony speech right after he highlighted the inefficiency of the forensic team (a part you only realized when he used the terms 'difficulty communicating with experts' and 'inadequacy expert with the magnitude of the case'), you blinked and saw her standing for herself, arms crossed and ready to fight.

“Nick does that fucking shit and we get the blame,” She said to the TV.

Then you got hit by a huge wave of realization. Of Emma, of Benny, of the ‘codes’ they were using to talk with you, the alerts. You didn't imagine this had been shared with Gina, or with anyone else, but it sounded so premeditated that you felt a shiver of distrust.

No one there got caught up in it because they didn't have time, but everyone recognized the mechanisms and adapted to them. Neither you nor Gina whined much when the sheriff organized annual running competitions and didn't stay to reward the winning women; from what little you knew of Henderson, you didn't see him complaining, for example, about the fact that Nick always put him in for questioning black suspects, tapping him twice on the shoulder and saying 'you know what to do', but heavy in a condescending tone. Hell, you always saw the same ridiculous type of episode happening with Lennon as well.

Taken back to reality by the commotion bubbling between your colleagues, you noticed Emma standing in the doorway as if she had sneakily appeared to observe the reactions and the two of you exchanged very tense silent looks. She didn’t look defeated, but averted your gaze as soon as it became just a staring contest.

You turned to the TV – to the takes of Nick and the guys during the Merrimen case, then at their faces during the press conference.

Huh.

****

The atmosphere was burial-like, to say the least. You had spent the day in the lab, like a forced routine return, and it was as if no one had the balls to open their mouth and speak verbally about the subject. There were official emails from the DEA requesting evidence that had already been collected, reminders from Emma about other cases you were working on in parallel, one thing or another from Ballard (who didn't know how to create an email conversation and ended up answering each of your responses with a new email). There was a sepulchral silence from Major Crimes, but not the kind that left them untainted in the precinct's dome of recognition and social hierarchy – it was a shameful silence.

If you could bet on a collective concern, perhaps everyone was tense at the idea of having been publicly exposed as incompetent, and if even the best team of detectives in the county had failed, there was no certainty of the stability of the Department's resources. This would not only make the LASD incompetent (or corrupt), but also incomplete.

You have a new text! You looked at the phone screen lazily, already expecting anything else, but when you saw who it really was, you couldn’t help but feel reticent and, at best, surprised.

****

“Is this your bat cave or something?”

The door to the building's terrace always got stuck, but that was just one of the old or poorly working things in that place. Your comment was more to break the ice, to kill that sour mood after you stumbled to close the thing. You took a few steps closer to O'Brien and the others, the five of them sitting around in concrete boxes.

“Was that supposed to be funny?” Zapata asked with a scowl, to which made you raise your eyebrows at the animosity.

“I think so, but if you're offended I think I'm on the right track.”

“You really are a bitch.”

“Tony-” Benny intervened.

“Yo, there’s no need to-” Connors said.

“Yeah, Zapata, watch your fucking mouth,” Biting back wasn’t exactly the best idea, because you knew the spirits were agitated, but it was obvious that the context didn’t allow for that type of behavior against you. Everyone there knew that that reaction was the remnant of misdirected anger.

You two shared a silent glare. Tony considered your face for a moment and you did the same; when Magalon pushed him to avert the attention, Zapata waved him off and walked away – you and Benny shared a small glance, one he soon ended to look at Nick, who watched the scene while lighting a cigarette.

“We done?” He asked.

“Don’t know, Nick, are we?” You sighed in defeat, sitting on a concrete support and looking anywhere but him. “You said it was important.”

“It is.”

“Is it about the case?”

“He used Isla. We think it had some internal interference.”

And so, being a somewhat literate person in the context of dealing with cops, you could see the pattern and tone of the conversation that had just begun: it was almost an interrogation. Everyone there, kind of around him, looking for the person who would go to the guillotine. It took a while, between the silence that followed, the way everyone (except Benny) was staring at you and Zapata's reaction so spontaneously explosive, but when you lifted your head and looked at that scene, connecting the dots, you frowned and felt truly offended.

“Wow.”

“We need to be sure.”

“And it would be me for… what, exactly?” He didn’t answer, which made you scoff and giggle in disbelief. “Look, I know my friend wouldn't do that, but as any normal person you could ask Gina that, right?”

“We did,” Henderson said. “We investigated and there was nothing.”

“That means you investigated me as well?”

You felt a pang of frustration greater than the outrage you were feeling. And despite the secret behind you and Benny, who shook his head, it was on him that you closed your eyes for a moment before looking back at Nick, who had his eyes downcast, scratching at the ground while blowing smoke from his mouth.

“You are all a bunch of fuckers.”

“You reacted to Isla,” O’Brien argued with a monotonous tone. “And you said I would be fucked if I messed with you again.”

“Because I’m a human being, Nick, the fuck.”

No one said a word. There was this soft breeze flowing around, given the time of the year and the area where you were, one that you noticed that made their hairs flow and you shiver a little. If you paid close attention, you would see frustration and rage and that regular disappointment of a kid when they have lost a toy they like or are denied a candy. The loss, whatever it was, hurt for them but not for professional reasons but for honor. A very uncompensated and arbitrary honor, but an honor nonetheless. And it was always easier to blame someone else. You knew it was easy to make a calculation that would work for you because there would always be the feeling that you were impulsive, stubborn, even cruel – because men hurt you, because you still resent things in your personal life.

“I think it's common sense that almost no one here likes you very much,” You said in a low tone. “And we can agree that ethics and professionalism aren’t exactly the main pillars of what you do.”

Nobody said anything, because you were right. It was actually impressive that you managed to maintain a calm, almost soothing tone right after being basically accused of something so serious. Deep down, you felt that, at least, Nick didn't put much faith in this hypothesis, that this was a demonstration of power in front of others because his hands were tied and this was truly new to him.

And you didn't ask what the plan was, what they were going to do next. You didn't care about that. No one needed to cry because they lost the case, it was obvious that it wasn't the first time this had happened – it certainly wasn't the last either.

Nick puffed some smoke out of his chest, eyeing you for a moment. Then, with a ‘tsk’, he huffed and crouched down, elbows resting on his eyes, making eye contact.

“Someone reported the investigation to the Embassy. Walsh had us up against the wall as soon as you mentioned the fucking case in Long Beach because the bastard found out about her and me. I was exposed. I'm testing my options here and one of them includes the fact that you curiously knew that they were the same specifications in both cases,” He said. “Gina just found that out and spit to the whole fucking world to know. She’s not that dumb to risk herself to do so.”

“Yeah, but I am, because apparently it didn't occur to you that I was just good at my damn job. The fact that I knew about the pics was just a question of someone giving me a fucking clue?” You raised your eyebrows. “I got my degree and my master's at the same time, you son of a bitch. I don't need to suck anyone's balls to know how to do my job.”

You two looked at each other. Nick was clenching his jaw, holding words in his mouth and turning them around enough so they could come back in a dry swallow. When he looked away first, blinking a few times, it was the first time you really saw genuine frustration, a moment of weakness that maybe, one day, Debbie had seen, or that the co-workers who were around him at the moment also witnessed in a rare way.

Your brow was furrowed and you were truly confused and mad by this gap. Looking around, above O'Brien's head, you saw Zapata looking at the city below him with an annoyed look, his back to the two of you; Murph kept his hands in his hoodie pockets, Henderson had his arms crossed. Benny watched you, then looked at the ground, shaking his head.

No, this wasn't about you, nor was it your fault – of course it wasn’t. In that context, you were just a part of the realization of something you hadn't touched until you saw every defeated feature on that rooftop.

“... Are you sure?” You asked, blinking a few times with a shaky voice.

Nick shook his head.

“And you expect me to do something about it?”

“No,” He said with a firm tone, getting up on his feet. “No one here is sure. I figured you knew something since-”

“Since you thought I had something to do with it, yeah, I noticed,” It was directed to Tony, who just tsked and averted his gaze again.

When everyone kept quiet, not daring to admit their mistake or even apologize, you were the one getting up, still not sure how to react and uncertain of how to end that conversation.

“Never do that to me again, don’t-” You collected your voice, clearing your throat. “I never considered myself such a good person, but next to you I'm a fucking saint. I put up with a lot of shit from Walsh and Emma because of you, so shut the hell up before you dare think I'd change sides. If there is any side to this shit.”

“I needed to be sure.”

“I hope you had all the answers you needed,” There was harshness in your tone, almost a fury. And surprisingly, he didn’t answer that equally. “And yeah, I’ll be honest, okay? You were a coward. I don’t like you. Go eat shit.”

“It’s easy to say that after you put Benny in the middle of whatever it is you have with Walsh.”

“Listen now-”

“Excuse me?” You frowned, not even letting Magalon finish the interruption he was doing while getting closer. “I didn't ask anyone here to defend me! If this fucking case went wrong, try to consider your incompetence or the fact that no one asked you to fuck a suspect.”

When he kept quiet again, you scoffed, shaking your head.

“It’s so easy, isn’t it? Walk around like you rule every place, do whatever the fuck you want, put the blame on everyone to feel better… Gina was right. You’re just like Walsh. Just like him.”

You nodded.

“You always had all the tricks in hand and let a widowed single mother almost get killed by a gang. Curious of you to think anyone is responsible but you.”

Turning your back, you walked away from him, already opening the door to leave the rooftop. Before you could, though, you eyed him one more time.

“Whatever your plan is, when and if they ask me, I'll be sincere. About you and about her. Because I can do that.”

“You would never say anything against Emma.”

The mention of her name, like an answer to your question, made you flex your fingers in anger.

“... And I don't blame you for not believing that. It’s clear that it's been a while since you've been able to understand honesty.”

****

“You called her a bitch.”

Hearing Benny's voice break the silence was strange, so everyone was confused before understanding what he was saying. When they did, he saw Zapata shift uncomfortably on the couch, looking at the coffee table.

“I didn't think straight at the moment.”

“It seems like no one here has done that.”

“You want to say something?” Nick pressed with a rough tone, as if ready to snap at the detective right away. Benny measured him, shrugged.

“I told you it was a bad idea. With Isla and with her.”

“We needed to get around it all, test possibilities. This shit is going to get ugly soon.”

“And you pushed away one of the few people who could keep us from getting screwed over too.”

When they exchanged glances after Benny's response, there was a silent consensus that the disagreements were slowly getting bigger, something that had been surrounding the group long before you showed up or the case.

Everyone continued smoking in silence and the tense atmosphere didn’t dissipate. Things weren't going well.

****

You knew what you were getting into when you started your career there – you always did. Your parents looked at you the wrong way at first, Theodore always treated it as a temporary thing, and your friends always told you that a lab somewhere was great, or a university could be perfect for anyone who wanted to invest in the academic field, or a friend's company in private sector needed a professional who had the same qualifications as you.

Still, you resisted the comments in the same way that someone resists some kind of temptation: you laughed, you chatted away and no one brought it up again. You didn't consider those things because you liked the stability that a government job gave you, and people just couldn't understand that.

It was the first time you really considered it. You have recapitulated occasions, measured the possibilities; maybe LASD was no longer the most stable place in the world to be, nor the safest.

The marijuana stash (that's what your brother called it) was in the drawer next to the bed. When you were with Theodore, he also used it, although he didn't really like it because he had headaches, so it was a common thing in the house. You were on your third or fourth drink, eyeing the files and releasing smoke into the air. There was no music, just the low light in the room and the brightness of Kojak's aquarium, so sometimes you needed to squint to see small letters of your own handwriting.

You revisited the case, reviewed your notes and copies of the evidence. Whether it was the effect of the marijuana drink, or your paranoid conscience, you wanted to know if at any point you missed something that indicated a failure in your judgment, if Nick was right or if you ended up taking the whole case down with Isla.

Someone had been trying to call for half an hour, but you didn't answer –it must have been someone from work, because if it had been a family member they would already be knocking on the door. You didn't even look in the direction of the phone; the vibrations started to bother you but not distract you.

Before you could put the cigarette back in your mouth, someone knocked on the door. The doorbell had stopped working a while ago and that was one of the things that had to be fixed before you could sell that fucking house.

“Who’s it?” You asked in a high voice, not moving from your spot.

No one answered. That made you frown, then finally snap your eyes in the door’s direction. You waited. Seconds later, your phone had gone off.

“... Hello?”

“It’s me. Lemme in?”

Everything was screaming for you to say no, to hang up and leave him waiting outside until he gave up and disappeared. It would be very convenient for him to be there, ready to convince you of something, to be more malleable; it made sense. He could still be trying to take something out of you, as far as you knew. Still, you were a little out of orbit from the weed, slightly sluggish and relaxed, so you calmly got up, abandoned the files where they were spread on the coffee table and walked over, opening it but not waiting too long to see him enter before turning around again.

You took slow steps into the room. There was the sound of the door closing, then being locked, and then his footsteps coming behind, but keeping his distance.

“Weed?” He asked.

“Are you going to arrest me?”

“I could,” That answer made you snort. “But it’s Cali. And you’re literally my teenage wet dream right now, so I can let it pass.”

Teasing or not, you looked at yourself and noticed your clothes (or lack thereof): panties, a long t-shirt. When you turned to him, standing in the middle of the room, Benny was staring at your legs, but he wasn't smiling.

“You're like a broken record, you know that?” You raised your eyebrows, hands on your hips. “All you say is that I'm in your dreams. This is cheesy as fuck.”

“You didn't complain about that when you were riding me.”

“Oh, so this is my fault?”

“Well, you’re being quite hypocritical.”

“Fuck off.”

“Stop it.”

“What do you want?”

“You didn't answer my calls.”

“That doesn't answer my question, so I guess we're even.”

He was tense, stressed. You could tell. Benny wouldn't talk to you like that if he wasn't angry about something, maybe even frustrated because you weren't 'clear-headed' to talk at all.

For a few seconds, he considered you while licking his lips, as if the gears were turning in his head. Yours was also moving, but more gradually, slowly, which left you a little unresponsive when you saw him take off his jacket.

“This must be good, you didn't even hear me.”

“Mm?” You blinked, taking in the sight of his forearms while he lifted his shirt sleeves. That made him crack a giggle.

“Can I have some?”

Oh. Oh. The weed. He was already walking closer to the coffee table to grab the joint between two fingers, eyes swiping over the papers, so you watched in awe as he put the cig on his lips and took a long drag, eyeing the burning tip with curiosity. Benny hummed and nodded while puffing the smoke.

“Shit’s really good. How did you get it?”

“... My brother,” And before he could take another drag, you picked the joint from his hands. “Smoke, hold and pass. That's the rule.”

“Are we in college or somethin’?”

“Shut up and sit down.”

That's what you two did – him on the couch, you on the carpet in front of him. You took another drag, handed over the cigarette and he brushed his hands on your shoulders before grunting, probably leaning back on the cushions.

****

It was a very silent few minutes, almost making you forget that Benny was there. When the effect of marijuana hit him, he was already lying on the sofa, without his shoes or his top shirt, limiting himself to showing his arms in a white tank top. This gave you a period of lucidity, very brief, and soon there was no more marijuana to smoke, despite the joint not being finished.

All your caution was being thrown out the window, you knew, but it wasn't like it was going to make any difference.

“Hey,” You called him in a low tone.

“Mm?”

“Can I ask you something?”

Benny stayed quiet for a moment or two, as if gathering his thoughts, then you listened to him squirming on the couch, getting on his side to look at you even if you still had your back at him. Sensing that he was waiting for you to give him the same attention, you adjusted yourself and stared at him.

“Shoot it.”

“What happened with Walsh wasn’t on purpose.”

Silence. For a beat, you even thought that he didn’t hear you, given the fact he was already zoning out a little. You started to feel embarrassed, weird. Well, you were high, which could lead to a version of you who would babble about a lot of nonsense and shit, but that was something that came from your lucid mind, probably a thing you wouldn’t say so softly without the weed.

“It wasn’t a question,” He teased in a calm voice, smiling at you.

“... I know,” You smiled back, but it turned into a bunch of stupid giggling.

It cooled down soon.

“I didn’t see it this way, you know. Walsh is a stupid motherfucker,” He said after a while.

“Jackass.”

“Dickhead.”

“Yeah… His head looks like a dick. An ugly one.”

“And there’s any pretty dicks somewhere?”

“Just as there’s pretty pussies.”

“Have you ever seen others?”

You looked at each other, a small smile playing on your lips. When realization started to slowly creep on him, he opened his mouth in shock.

“It was in college-”

“Always in college,” He rolled his eyes, grinning like an idiot.

“I had this friend, Kennedy. We were roommates, I was single at the time, you know… It happened. But now we’re just good friends.”

“Mm.”

“I’m serious!” You laughed.

“So you’re telling me that if this Kennedy comes up here tonight, ask to go down on you or whatever, you would say no?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Fuck, I would. I’m not cold blooded, gatita.”

A series of laughs filled the living room again.

“We’re going out of the question here, yeah? Having a serious conversation.”

“You were the one talking about dicks here!”

“Because you called Walsh a dickhead!”

“Okay,” He sighed, adjusting his body to lean over his arm and have a better look at you. Little by little, Benny started to frown, as if thinking hard on something. You would be lying if you said it wasn’t a beautiful sight.

“So?”

“I know you didn’t do it on purpose,” His voice was soft, calm, even if a little concerned. “Plus, you had just signed a divorce and Walsh was there talking about it, humiliating you. That wasn't right.”

You considered his words calmly, blinking heavily but still paying attention.

“Nick wasn’t in his right mind when he said that.”

“You think?”

“Mm-hm. You shouldn’t worry about it,” And you knew he was talking about the files spread behind you, so you felt a wave of embarrassment.

“...You’re not just saying that, are you?” The question was serious, probably the first serious thing you said since he came to your house out of nowhere.

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you’re with them. Like… you know. With them.”

Benny nodded, taking in your words carefully.

“Fair enough.”

But he didn’t push the topic, nor tried to apologize or something. He let you have your doubts, probably because he himself couldn’t help but agree that maybe, if it was the other way around, there would be uncertainty on his part as well. You sighed, then, turning your eyes to the carpet and poking it every now and then, as if looking for something on it with false concentration.

“Hey.”

“Mm?”

“Come here.”

“What?”

“‘Wanna feel you,” He almost whined, sitting up and pulling you by the fabric of your shirt.

“That’s why you came? To feel me?”

“Are you fucking mocking me, woman?”

“I am,” You got on your knees carefully, smirking at him lazily. “Looked like you just waited for the best opportunity to come back here and fuck me.”

“But I don’t wanna fuck you, I wanna feel you.”

“What’s the difference?”

The position you stayed couldn’t be more convenient: him, starting to sit as well, legs spread while you rose on your knees, ready to get up. It gave him some time to stare at you with a lazy grin.

“Saying I wanna fuck would imply that I just came here for it,” He explained. “Feeling you could lead to sex, but with some warm up.”

“All the times we had sex had some warm up,” You argued, hands gripping his thighs lightly.

“And it was so good, wasn’t it?” Benny asked when you rose just a little to get closer to his face.

You observed his face for a moment before raising up to peck his lips lightly. When he just sighed, melting into it, you smiled and gave him another kiss, this time a little longer, wetter – enough to, when you part ways, it made a muah. The fabric of your shirt was worn out, old enough to make it more thin and give you a better feel when you gently brushed your chest on his. It made you sigh against his lips, doing it again when he groaned a little, unable to move a muscle but reacting in slow breaths.

Both of you, silly high adults, brushing your noses, kissing soundly and ready to fuck each other’s brains out as if the world wasn’t basically on fire.

“I didn’t come here for this, tho.”

This made you move your face, just a little, and the look on your eyes scrunched up in confusion. It felt like a spontaneous burst of lucidity, almost like a punch, and when he turned his face to the side, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands, you felt brutally rejected. You moved your hands away from his legs. Suddenly, the carpet was hurting your knees and you stood up, muttering a 'sorry' as you sat on the edge of the sofa, a little away from him.

“Did you come to defend Nick or something?”

“This has nothing to do with Nick.”

“So why are you here? To tease about us fuck and not doing a thing about it?”

He considered your face for a moment, still taking in the effects of the weed – even if you both started to feel more buzzed then properly high.

“You don't want to go to war with him.”

“Oh,” You raised your eyebrows, scoffing a sarcastic giggle. “So you came to be a gentleman and defend me from the evils of disagreeing with Nicholas O'Brien? I thought you made it clear that you didn't have much chivalry in your personality.”

“I don’t.”

“Mm.”

“But that has nothing to do with chivalry. You’re not being rational.”

“About…?”

Benny sighed.

“We both know it was Emma.”

“That shit again…” You groaned, getting up brusquely from your seat and wobbling a little before starting to walk away to the kitchen.

“What happened was-”

“A mistake. A fucking mistake.”

When you turned, Benny was up too, standing a few feet closer to the kitchen entrance with his arms hanging loosely on his sides. The lack of answer made you shake your head, grabbing a glass bottle of water from the fridge and drinking a good amount.

That made everything silent. With both hands on the kitchen’s sink, you closed your eyes and collected your thoughts.

“I'm not naive to think she couldn't have been involved in this, but I'm not naive or stupid to absolve Nick of the shit he should be responsible for,” You glared at him, noticing his dry lips, the way he just blinked at you with a stern expression. With a tsk, you caught hold of a cup in the sink for him and poured some water in it, not daring to give, but letting it rest closer.

He came, grabbed the cup.

You could feel the effects of the marijuana, which were already weaker before, start to leave your system. You were sick, you made a face, but you swallowed your discomfort with more water.

“I'm not Isla.”

It slipped out of your mouth like a slim and unstable thought, one that made him just nod, sipping on the water calmly while leaning on the sink beside you, eyeing the other side of the room.

“Didn’t think you were.”

“No?”

“Nn-nn.”

“So you didn’t investigate me?”

You knew you had him cornered the moment you said it, but Benny didn't show any anger. He stayed quiet, sipped the rest of the water and stood in front of you, face to face, in such a firm way that you almost backed away if you weren't so irritated.

“If I were as much of a son of a bitch as you think I am, I would have let you finish what you started on that couch,” That made you avert your gaze, but he gently pushed your chin, bringing you to eye his face again. “I'm not Nick. Despite my inclinations, I didn’t ask you out in the first place to investigate you.”

“Right, so it was another thing you said was a bad idea to Nick?”

“Yes, it was.”

“Bullshit,” You scoffed, taking a step back. “So you’re that good of a person to get along with Nick’s shit and still be his moral compass? Gimme a break, Benny, I’m not that naive.”

Before he could answer, you kept going.

“She's just a bargaining chip. She always was. And despite our visibly very different lives, I know what it's like to be used and then discarded as if you’re nothing, as if every promise was nothing more than a lie to achieve something very personal, something that never had to do with you,” You said. “I don't want you to come here and expect me to point fingers or accuse people. If it was Emma, if it was Walsh, it doesn't make any difference if the person primarily responsible for this doesn't take the real blame.”

“You know the world isn’t a fairytale, don't you?”

“I do! And Isla knows it too, better than anyone! This has nothing to do with an imaginary, but with commitment! When was the last time Nick used his badge for anything other than taking it out of his pocket while a whore gave him a blowjob?”

Nothing. Just silence. For a long, perceptive, heavy moment: silence.

Benny shook his head in disbelief.

“Emma received a letter of recommendation from the DEA forensic department,” He said in a low tone, catching you completely by surprise. That felt like a test, the way he observed your reaction with care, looking for an answer. When he found it, Benny nodded. “That's why I came here.”

“... What? I don’t understand.”

“I can't remember the last time I had five minutes of conversation with someone who had nothing to do with this shit. It takes me time to believe just as much as it does to you to know I tried to give him some sense, so if I’m here it's because I know you’re not involved and you need to know there’s people around you doing shit.”

You could barely process the information, what that implied, because you had every right to disbelieve and have your doubts. There was a suspicious look on your face, he knew that because you didn't hide it, but he didn't take offense this time.

“Just stay away. Things are going to get fucked up,” He was definitive. “God knows I’ll have to be away as well.”

****

No pressure tags:

@cheesybadgers

@thesandbeneathmytoes

@nerdyreaderpapi

@thoroughlymodernminutia

@mysoulisasunflower

@seaweeden

@eclecticfashionbookszipper

@servenas-inner-fangirl

#benny borracho magalon #benny magalon #benny magalon x reader #den of thieves fic #reader insert #female reader #maurice compte

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bigfeelingstiedtongue · 3 months ago

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i remember being in 7th grade, getting home from class and seeing my mother bawling her eyes out in the bedroom. next thing i know she's screaming about how my dad cheated on her with the woman she's always been worried about since before he went abroad for work.

even now, a decade later, that image still haunts me

the weeks that followed were filled with more sorrow and rage from the family than i could handle.

i remember family from my mother's side; aunts, uncles, grandparents, nearly every single one - they spoke in hushed whispers and angry mutters behind closed doors, cursing my father for what he'd done when they thought my brothers and i weren't listening.

my mother spent the next few weeks working her way through multiple dating apps, video calling with random men and asking me "how would you feel about this man becoming your father?".

how was i supposed to respond to that? i was barely in highschool. the harshness of the world was still so foreign to me and you spring that question on me repeatedly. in what world is that ever okay?

was i supposed to say "yes, i'm completely fine with having a new dad" and smile like i wasn't confused why i needed a new one to begin with?

the years until now have been filled with passive aggression. backhanded comments made with forced smiles immediately replaced by grimaces and venomous words in private spaces. i knew something was wrong then, but i didn't understand the full weight of it until i was a little bit older.

they both tell me it's better off this way, that they have no intention of ever reconciling. it was never going to be an easy pill to swallow but somehow i was still caught off guard. it still hurt in a way i didn't know how to cope with other than isolation and numbness. if it really was better off this way, it never felt like it. if it was better off this way, why did it seem so unnecessarily painful for everyone involved?

i can only wonder what my brothers felt. they were barely in elementary then. sometimes i still drown in the guilt. i thought that i was too focused on myself to acknowledge that it affected them too. but i am slowly learning to accept that i was way too young to be carrying that baggage myself

my shoulders weren't meant to carry the weight of their sins. my heart was not supposed to be burdened by problems caused by adults who should have known better.

i started writing at the back of one of my school notebooks soon after. little poems and letters; words i could never utter out loud. i was never the bravest person, always preferring the safe and comfortable. i keep telling myself i'm waiting for the right time, but if i let myself acknowledge it, my patience reveals itself to be fear and hesitation.

because what difference would the truth make at this point? it's all been said and done and asking now is just digging up old wounds.

still though, one day, i want to be able to look my father in the eye ask to hear his side of the story. i've heard it from my mother's perspective, supported by commentary from my grandmother who, until now, still spits vitriol about my father whenever she gets the chance.

but i've never heard it from his side. maybe i'll hear that he never loved my mother and it was always supposed to be the other woman. maybe it was a moment of weakness and he fell victim to temptation. maybe it was some other convoluted plot that i know absolutely nothing about.

i don't know what i want to hear. i don't even know if the truth with make me feel even the slightest bit satisfied. whatever the case, it might just give me the closure i've been looking for.

i feel as though a small part of me will always resent my father for ruining what could have been. but maybe he wasn't happy with us. it all comes back to i don't fucking know what happened so i dont know how to feel. it's a jumbled mess of what if and could have beens that constantly taunt me.

i want to be rid of this constant feeling of being astray. but until i muster up the courage to ask for the truth, i'm just stuck i guess.

#spilled writing #spilled thoughts #spilled feelings #spilled words #words words words #stay together for the kids #blink182 #thoughts #mental health #coping mechanism #coping #divorced parents #guilt #rant post #personal #personal rant #rant #stuck

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acatalystrising · 2 years ago

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Wow, whaddya know, I’m having more Boba thoughts…I don’t know if it’s just me (I seriously doubt it) but the holidays can be hard. Obviously that’s for a million varying reasons, but as always I feel Boba would have his own ways of bringing comfort.

So here’s some Modern!Boba x f!reader headcannons because I’m always a sucker for intertwined universes and AU storylines! Perhaps this is a bit self-indulgent but it’s been spinning in my head for days! (And this probably won’t be the last of this particular headcannon lol…)

• Holidays can bring a lot of emotion, sometimes sadness. You’d be lost in your thoughts, perhaps reliving memories that aren’t all great, when you’d hear a knock at your door. It would be Boba, of course, carrying some grocery bags with that fond smile and dark eyes that see so much so quickly.

“Thought you could use some company, little one.” He’d regard you with a mix of concern and understanding, never prying for more information then you were ready to share.

Boba doesn’t simply use words to show love - he is a man of action. You’d witness his love in the food he prepares, the hot chocolate he brought over for you both to share, and his strong arms wrapped around you.

• He’d be cordial at family gatherings, respecting you enough to not overcrowd you, but 100% would be comfortable wrapping an arm around your shoulders or placing a hand on your thigh under the table when he hears your voice shake. No one else would notice, but he sure would.

• His jaw would clench at your grandmother’s comment about your weight, brows lowering just enough - the first darkening clouds of a gathering storm. You’d pull him aside and tell him it was okay, of course, that she didn’t mean harm, but he’d merely nod, keeping the thunder restrained…for now.

“But it hurt you.” His gaze would lock on you as he lifts those thick fingers to caress your jaw. “Don’t minimize your pain.”

But in your family, you’ve always had to. And you’re learning, learning that it doesn’t have to be that way now…with yourself, with him.

• Your parents wouldn’t know how to handle Boba, given that he’s not the soft-spined sort. Their version of you is years outdated - choosing to remain blind to your growth that would challenge them to break out of safety nets that choke them. It hurts, despite your best efforts, to know they love only the version of you they are comfortable with. But Boba? He loves every facet of you, every piece. He sees your growth and the pain it took for you to get there.

• And when they make some petty, passive aggressive comment about your life, he’d come to your defense in such a calm, yet pointed way, pulling you closer against him in a subtle display of protectiveness even as you detect that thunder growling in his tone. Your parents don’t have a clue how close they are to danger, but they won’t - he would exercise restraint…for now.

• But he certainly wouldn’t show restraint when he takes you back home and kisses you, holding you so close as he shows you how much he loves you. And he’d spend every minute he could of the holidays with you, doing his best to show you that you are worthy, that you are loved, and that even though there is pain, family is more than blood. And you, in turn, would do the same for him.

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miksterrr · 2 years ago

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Sincerly, your only child. (Part Two)

who knew that having a teacher force you to talk to the school psychologist is a great writing motivator?

anyways this is a part two of a ninjago fanfic.

Part One || ao3

about 3k words btw

TW: Strong language (a bunch of f-bombs and more) Talk about not getting a childhood, mentions of abuse, small refernce (bleaching hair as punishment), talking about abandonment, mommy issues, letting down, references towards child negilence. Extreme misako bashing. (I think that's it- uh please let me know if there's anything else! also prolly cringey and a bunch of dialogue so)

The moment Lloyd closed the door, he broke down into sobs, running to go find someone- anyone, for some comfort.

His legs took him to the kitchen, where he found Zane, cookbook open on the counter, and him reading through it dutifully. Lloyd blinked away a few tears before running in and crashing into Zane, smothering his face into the Nindroid’s stomach. Zane let out a little, ‘oomph,’ at the sudden weight, but didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around Lloyd.

Over the past year, the ninja have learned that Lloyd is very touch-starved. Although they were deeply saddened by the news, none of them could claim to be surprised. So, they never question when Lloyd would hug them out of nowhere. At least, they wouldn’t if the Green Bean wasn’t full on sobbing.

Zane’s brows furrowed, taking in Lloyd’s trembling body and the growing wetness on his chest. “Lloyd? What’s wrong?” Zane rubbed the kid’s back. Lloyd only mumbled something into Zane’s chest, inaudible. Zane sighed, but didn’t push. He continued to rub Lloyd’s back, and started to rock him.

“Woah- What’s wrong with the kid?”

Zane glanced up, watching Jay enter the kitchen. Zane shrugged, “Not sure.” He frowned. “He just walked in and hugged me.”

Jay pulled a confused face, walking up to the pair. He ran a lightning scarred hand through Lloyd’s hair. Lloyd whimpered, trying to get closer to Zane. The older two gave each other a wide-eyed look. “Kiddo? Lloyd? What’s wrong?” Jay asked, scratching the boy’s scalp.

Lloyd gulped, trying to quiet his sobs. He sniffed, pulling away from Zane. He roughly wiped his face, trying to get rid of the tears. Zane tilted his head, putting a hand on Lloyd’s cheek, causing Lloyd to stare up at him. Zane gave him a sad smile, brushing away some tears. “Lloyd, sweetie, do you need help? Or are you just sad, and need some comfort?”

Lloyd sniffed, leaning into Zane’s hand. “I… y-yelled at mo- Misako.”

Zane and Jay’s eyebrows jumped up. It’s not often that Lloyd yells, especially not at Misako. All the Ninja have grievances with Misako, it was hard not too. But they’ve restrained from yelling at her, in fear she’ll never return. But, passive aggressive comments weren't out of the question. The elder two shared a look over Lloyd’s head. Jay bit his lip. “Why’d you do that, L?”

“I told her she wasn’t my mother.”

Their eyes widened. Jay mouthed a slur of curse words, scarred hands running through auburn hair. “Oh.” Zane hummed. His brows furrowed, ice-blue eyes scanning Lloyd. “Can you tell us why, love?”

Lloyd rolled his eyes, shrugging. “I mean, she isn’t.” Lloyd shook his head, red eyes glancing everywhere but the two elders. “She didn’t raise me, she doesn’t come back for me. She only comes back for Uncle Wu.” Lloyd huffed. “She doesn’t even fucking know my birthday. She doesn’t deserve that title.”

Jay and Zane shared another look. Jay let out a low laugh, hands balled, crackling with electricity. Zane let out a breath through his nose, chewing on his lip. “She doesn’t know your birthday?” He asked, trying his best to keep his voice even. Zane pulled his hand away from Lloyd, wringing his own hands together.

Lloyd gave a wet laugh. “I don’t even have a birth certificate!” Lloyd rubbed a hand down his face. “I don’t exist.” He sniffed.

Zane took a deep breath, giving a side eye to Jay, a warning. He tugged Lloyd back into his arms. “It’s okay, hon. We’ll get you a birth certificate!” Zane let out a small laugh. He pulled away from Lloyd again, but kept his hands on the smaller boy’s shoulders. Zane bent down to look Lloyd in the eye. “You exist.” Zane smiled, brushing back some of the blond’s hair. “I promise.”

Lloyd smiled back, eyes watering. He was fast to wipe them away. “Yeah Lloyd!” Jay tried, a half smile appeared on his face. “You definitely exist, I mean, I’m looking at you, kid.” Jay rubbed his hands together. “We’ll make you a birthday!” Jay grinned, his crooked teeth on full display. “You can take one of those ‘what’s my zodiac signs test,’ and that’ll determine your birth month, and then just pick your favourite number!”

Lloyd giggled, staring up at Jay. “That sounds fun.”

“Yeah?” Jay grinned back.

“Jaaayyyy- what’s taking you so long?” Kai groaned, walking into the kitchen. The brunet paused, finally taking in the scene before him. Jay’s hair was standing on end, his fingers were twitching every few seconds, a small electric current passing between them. Lloyd had dried tear marks on his face, his eyes noticeably puffy, and he was as close to Zane as he could be, without fully being in the ice user’s arms. Speaking of such, the room was noticeably a few degrees cooler than the hallway, despite the oven being on. “What happened?” Kai asked, hot anger crawling up his neck. The three glanced at each other. Kai raised a brow, “Well?”

Lloyd chewed his lip. Jay wrapped his arms around himself, studying the floor. Zane sighed, he glanced at Lloyd before looking back at Kai. “Misako doesn’t know Lloyd’s birthday.”

Kai’s eyes widened. “W-what?” He growled, amber eyes narrowing.

“Misako doesn’t know my birthday.” Lloyd remarked, he bit his tongue, slowly shaking his head. “She never filled out a birth certificate for me, she probably didn’t have me at a hospital.” Lloyd started to pick at his cuticles, but stared Kai in the eyes. “Legally, I don’t exist.”

Kai’s brows raised, he gave a short nod. “Okay.” Flames licked at his fists. He gave one last glance to his brothers, before turning on his heel, and walking down the hallway.

“Wait- Kai-”

The three scrambled after the fire user, trying to stop him.

“Misako!” Kai called, a low laugh escaped him. Imprints of his feet were being burned into the ground of the bounty.

“Kai!” Lloyd yelled. He grabbed Kai by the wrist.

Kai ripped his wrist out of Lloyd’s hand. “What the fuck Lloyd?!” He whirled around to meet the smaller boy. “You could’ve burned your hand off! Bye-bye! Lloyd no longer has a left hand!” Despite his concern, Kai made no move to touch the younger boy, his hands still burning hot.

“I don’t get burned as easily as everyone else!” Lloyd retorted, raising his left hand. Kai glanced at his palm, there was maybe, maybe, a red tinge, if anything at all. Kai sighed, he rubbed his face.

“Okay.” Kai muttered. He closed eyes, taking a deep breath in, before opening them again. “Okay.” He repeated. He stared into Lloyd’s pleading ruby eyes. “Okay. Tell me what happened.”

Lloyd glanced back at Jay and Zane before looking back at Kai. “Short version?”

Kai ran a tan hand through his spiky hair. “Sure! Whatever’s faster.”

Lloyd rolled his eyes. “Misako’s back. I realized she only came back for Wu. I yelled, she yelled. I realized she’s hated me since I was born because she was fucking scared of me. Then I disowned her.”

Kai swallowed, brows furrowed, he slowly nodded. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“What the fuck?” Nya was behind Kai. Greased smeared on her face, hair a frizzy mess. She was dressed in black leggings and a red tank top. There was a wrench in her hand.

“Nya-” Lloyd tried.

“Where is this motherfuckin’ bitch-”

“Nya!” Kai yelled.

Nya’s cyan eyes snapped to Kai.

Kai gulped.

“You’re burning your fucking footprints into the floor Kai. You don’t get to talk.”

Kai sputtured. Jay and Zane shared a tired look. Lloyd was looking somewhere between angry and about to cry, again.

“Woah, party in here.” Cole snorted, coming in through the deck, broom in hand. He stopped, taking in everyone’s appearance. Zane and Jay have the same, ‘thank fuck your here Cole,’ and ‘get the fuck out of here, Cole.’ Lloyd was dressed in oversized clothing, making him look even smaller, and his eyes were puffy. Kai’s footprints were burned into the wood. Nya looked like she was the fire master, and not Kai. “What the fuck?” The ravenette sighed.

“Misako gave Lloyd up because she was scared of him!” Nya was the one who spoke first, waving her wrench all around.

“What the fuck.” Cole repeated. The bags under his mauve eyes seem even bigger. He pinched the bridge of his nose. He glanced down at Nya. “Give me the wrench.”

“No!”

“Nya.”

“Cole.”

Cole raised a brow. “You’re not physically harming Misako.”

Nya grumbled, “But-”

“Nya-” Cole sighs, holding out a hand.

“She deserves it!”

“Nya.”

Jay snorted. “Dad voice.” Jay whispered to Zane. Zane smirked. Cole’s gaze flickered to them, Jay squeaked. Zane raised a brow. Cole focused back on Nya.

Nya grumbled, handing the wrench to Cole. “Not fair.”

Cole rolled his eyes. “You’ll thank me later.” Nya quirked a brow. “Sensei won’t be mad at you.”

“Students.”

Cole jumped, dropping the broom. He fell back in line with Nya, and turned around to face Wu and Misako.

“Fuck.” Jay whispered. Zane pulled Lloyd behind him. Lloyd fisted Zane’s grey and blue cable knit sweater. Nya fell back to stand in front of the two, while Kai and Cole stayed in the front.

“Sensei.” Cole bowed. Kai glared at Misako.

Wu gave a nod of acknowledgement to Cole. “Nephew.”

Lloyd stayed silent, his only movement were his fists tightening on Zane’s sweater. Jay moved slightly in front of Zane, almost trying to hide Lloyd even more. Cole glanced back at them, before turning to stare at Wu again. “What’s up Sensei Wu?”

“I believe I was talking to Lloyd, Cole.”

“I believe that Lloyd doesn’t want to talk to you.” Cole retorted.

Wu raised a brow, he glanced at Misako. “Lloyd, I’d prefer if we sorted this out in private.”

“No need, Sensei.” Kai gave the old man a tight smile. “We already know what’s going on.”

Wu sighed. “Please. This is a family matter.”

Nya scoffed. “We are his family.”

Wu cringed. “Of course you are, but this is for blood family.”

“That’s fucking bogus.” Nya sneered.

“Language.” Wu reprimanded, he had a white knuckle grip on his staff.

“Lloyd, sweetie-” Misako tried.

“Oh, don’t even try.” Nya laughed, her fists balled. She was eyeing the wrench that was still in Cole’s hand.

“Nya-” Wu tried again.

“Sensei, with all due respect, we don’t believe Lloyd speaking to Misako alone is in the best interest of his mental state.” Zane spoke up this time, he stared straight forward.

Misako scoffed. “He’s my son.”

“You birthed him. You may be his mother, but you are not his mom.” Zane retorted. Misako’s face was turning red. Zane raised a brow.

“You have no right-”

“I have had the right since before your ‘son,’ ran into my kitchen, sobbing.”

Misako glowered. She took a step forward.

Kai did the same thing. Cole put a hand on the fire ninja’s shoulder. Kai glanced back at him. Cole quirked an eyebrow, mauve eyes glancing down at Kai’s fists.

Misako paused.

Kai sighed. He glanced down at his fists before rolling his eyes. They were small, twin flames, heating up on both fists. Kai shook them out. He kept his glare trained on Misako.

“Well, Cole.” Misako sighs, gazing up at the tallest. “It seems that you are the leader, so you have to listen to reason.” She glanced down at her watch. “If you would just tell your team,” She sneered. “That all I want to do is to clear some things up with my son, in private.”

Cole raised a brow, he glanced back at Lloyd. “Lloyd, bubs, do you want to be alone with your mom?”

Lloyd shook his head rapidly, tears blooming in his starking ruby eyes.

Cole nodded, turning back to Misako.“Yeah, he doesn’t want to be alone with you.” A small smile graced his dark face.

Misako scoffed, she glanced at Wu. “This is ridiculous- He is a child. And you’re listening to him?!”

Nya snorted. “Kids have opinions, Misako.”

Misako sneered. She turned towards Wu. “You’re really going to let them talk to me this way?!”

The old man bit his lip, concerned shining in his golden eyes. He tried his best to get a look at Lloyd. “If Lloyd doesn’t want to talk to you, then he doesn’t have to.”

The ninja glanced at each other. They shared a small smile.

“Are you kidding me?!” Misako barked. “Well, assuming Lloyd told you all about his little temper tantrum, I just want to get a few things sorted out, before I have to leave again.”

Kai laughed. “Oh? You’re leaving, again? What a big surprise.”

Misako rolled her eyes. “My job-”

“Oh, it’s all about your job, huh?!” Kai rolled his eyes.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Misako questioned, eyes blazed. “My job has given you important information.”

“You left Lloyd at a boarding school, because of your job.” Jay piped up. “So, maybe, that’s why, we don’t care.”

Misako growled. “My job was no place for a child-”

“Then where’s his birth certificate?” Zane asked. Cole and Nya’s gaze snapped back at Zane, their eyes questioning him. Misako froze. Wu stared at her, brows furrowed.

“Misako?” Wu questioned, old eyes switching between her and Zane. “What does Zane mean?”

“That brat.” Misako muttured.

“Misako.” Wu hissed.

“Sensei Wu.” Zane started. Wu turned towards him. “Lloyd told me, just ten minutes ago, that he had a fight with Misako, where she told him she doesn’t remember his birthday and that he doesn’t have a birth certificate. She doesn’t know how old he is.”

Wu blinked, hand covering his mouth. “Misako?” He whispered.

“I was protecting him!” Misako tried. They all shared a confused glance. Misako gulped. “Lloyd would have become a science experiment!” A wobbly smile appeared on her face. “I was saving him.”

“Saving me?” Lloyd scoffed. He stepped out from behind Zane. “You made my life worse!” He gasped, he blinked away some tears. “You gave me to a school whose main mission was to turn me into a fucking villain, mom!” Lloyd heaved. “Do you even know what their punishments were?”

Everyone’s head snapped towards Lloyd. Kai and Cole glanced at each other, as did Zane and Jay. Nya stared at Lloyd, a hand covering her mouth. Wu looked like he was questioning his entire life. “Punishments?” Misako whispered.

“Oh, yeah.” Lloyd snorted. “Punishments. If we were good, did a good deed, didn’t say enough fucking curse words, we’d get punished.” Lloyd nodded. “I’m not a natural blond, Misako.” He tugged a strand of his hair. Misako stared at him, hazel eyes wide. “Oh yeah, they would bleach my hair, every day, until it fell out.” Lloyd’s brows jumped up, a small grin forming on his face. “ They didn’t give a fuck if it got in my eyes or on my skin.” He clicked his tongue. “Fucking, they more than likely hoped that the bleach killed me.” He snorted. “One less mouth to feed, y’know?”

“Lloyd-” Misako whispered, reaching a hand out.

“Who knows Mom? Maybe I decided I actually preferred being blond. Maybe, my hair is actually permanently blond, because of the bleach.” Lloyd laughs. “Oh, but the best part mom? That was one of the easier punishments.”

Everyone stared wide-eyed at the kid. “Oh, I got off easy, because they were scared of dad. They only did it when they realized he didn’t have a way to hurt them.” Lloyd let out a breath. “You knew, I was the Green Ninja, Mom.” Lloyd stared at her in the eyes. “And you still gave me away to the school that punishes good behavior, and I tried, Misako. I tried being evil. It didn’t take.”

“Lloyd…” Misako whispered, tears were brimming in her eyes. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.”

Lloyd rolled his eyes. “Don’t.” He sighed. Lloyd gave his mom one last stare. “I don’t care anymore, Mom. Misako.” He shook his head. “I’ve heard karma’s a bitch.” He winked at her, a smirk on his face, as he turned, and walked deeper into the bounty.

“Lloyd!” Misako called, trying to go after him. Cole stopped her, a hand placed on her shoulder. He turned her around.

“I don’t even know why you thought that would work.” Cole snorted, he gave her a small push towards Wu. Cole and Wu shared a look. After a few seconds of silent communication, Cole nodded. He turned towards his team and ushered them deeper into the bounty.

Wu waited a few more minutes after the Ninja were out of sight. He turned towards Misako. “Really?” He whispered.

“What?” Misako snapped. She glanced at him, before rolling her eyes. “I didn’t know.”

“You could’ve left him with me.”

She paused. She wrung her hands together. “I- uh… I didn’t…” She sighs.

“I knew he existed, Misako.” Wu hissed. “I could’ve taught him. He didn’t have to go through that fucking trauma.” He glared at her from under his hat.

“Wu- please.” She tried.

Wu just shook his head. “I can’t believe I ever loved you.” He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Go.”

“What- Wu, don’t act so rash.”

Wu scoffed. “You abandoned your son, Misako. You didn’t even leave him in capable hands.” He shook his head. “You always thought he was a monster.”

“I was protecting you-”

“Don’t even try that with me, Misako.”

“Wu, please.”

The older couple stared at each other for a few seconds. Misako was trembling, close to tears. Wu, was blinking away a few tears of his own. “Misako, you should leave.”

“We’re family, Wu.”

“You’re my sister-in-law, Montgomery.”

Misako sneered. “You’ll need me.”

Wu shook his head. “I have other ways of finding your knowledge.”

Misako growled. “You’ll regret this.” She moved towards the door leading to the deck. “You’ll regret this for the rest of your short fucking life, Wu.”

Wu slowly shook his head. “Sounds like the only one regretting things, is you Misako.”

Misako glared at Wu one last time before storming out the door, and off the bounty. Wu watched her leave. He closed the door behind her. Wu gripped his wooden staff tightly, “I’m sorry, brother.” He whispered.

thanks for clicking on this (:

#ninjago fanfiction #lego ninjago #Lloyd Garmadon #Lloyd Garmadon angst #Nya Smith #kai smith #cole brookstone #jay walker #zane julien #misako bashing #misako (ninjago)#sensei wu #wu is actually kinda okay in this #ninjago darkleys #sorry if it's bad #blame it on the fact that my teacher has forced me to be a poet for two years now (:

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