#been hoarding these photos for months and months

[dear-ao3]

while i have you all pissed off about how to pronounce capri sun, now seems like as good a time as any to make my Things In Gas Stations And Grocery Stores That Would Send Non Americans Into A Coma post

[synchlora]

something to be said abt a foster pleading for anyone to adopt their extremely sweet and playful disabled tabby cat for over a year with absolute Crickets in response vs us making one post at 8pm with a frankly very poorly taken photo of a cute no-personality fluffy white kitten we have (who's not even been here 3 days!) and we have 45 comments within the hour and three of our adoption people with their phones blowing up

[derelictheretic]

went to the alphonse mucha exhibition yesterday and god it was better than I imagined, getting to see some of his sketches and his references with grids etc. uaghhh I need to do studies of his art again it's just so fluid and detailed and makes me want to eat my hands

[wokelander]

SOFTER, SOFTEST !

ft. curly x fem!reader

tags. piv, body worship sort of, rimming, big dick, tit job for like 2 seconds, creampie, size kink, scent kink, balls…

note. hai.. will get back to leon soon and I think mw fandom is lacking noncon and incest fics severely.. so i will get on that with jimmy. don’t know how to characterise him yet so ooc .. just infatuated with his breasts tbh i don’t know anything works in this universe LMFAO like idk just take this with a grain of salt.. for miss @pupwashing please ignore typos !! unedited :3

You miss Curly.

You miss him more than you did yesterday, more than an idiot misses the point, like a dick misses a wet pussy–You just miss him.

It has been four months. Twenty-one weeks. One-hundred and forty days. Three-thousand, five-hundred and twenty hours. Too many minutes, a hell of a lot more seconds, the closer he gets the further he seems to be.

Big numbers make it feel like you’re getting nowhere so you cut those twenty-fours into one day. One day and he’ll be home. One day and you’ll be in bed with his stomach crushed against yours, the warmth of his flesh searing yours, fucking him into next year, until he loses his halo.

Videos aren’t enough, photos don’t do him justice, toys don’t live up to the feel of a real dick. You miss that face he makes when he cums - it’s a block away from his crying face. You miss him face down, ass up, punching holes into his dignity one thrust at a time. God, you miss that dick, how he goes red all over, him in nothing but that stupid fucking smile.

One day, you tell yourself in the mirror that morning. One day, you tell yourself when you take your lunch break. One day, one more microwaved meal for one, one more lonely night.

It used to be a big deal, you think. The whole going to space thing. Curly says it’s no big deal, but you’re pretty sure that in your great-grandpa’s heyday it was impressive. You’ve seen videos of hoards gathering to watch a ship take off, to greet crews when they landed. Today, it’s you and a plump, older woman in her bathrobe waiting in the cold.

You could spot him in any crowd, glowing like a ray of light, mostly because he’s tall, partly because everything fades into abstraction when you notice how tight his uniform is. Good god. Did he get bigger? You’re starting to sweat, it’s hard to focus when your boyfriend is making a long-sleeved jumpsuit look naughty.

Curly’s hair is a little longer, blond curls licking the nape of his neck, falling onto his forehead, his eyes are so bright and his smile is white. He looks like a policeman’s emotional support dog. A really busty support dog. He scans the sad scattering of friends, family and drivers. You’re so taken off guard by the sight of his buttons popping you almost forget to wave at him.

He beams when you spot him, suitcase dragging behind him as he jogs over. Everything is in slow motion. Like that old movie - Baywatch. He’s so excited to see you, taking you into his big arms, shoving your face in his chest like he knows just where you’d like to be. You’re disappointed in your lungs when they beg for air, lifting your head and placing it on his shoulder instead. He smells like sweat, hotel shampoo and something metallic.

“Oh.” You open your eyes and spot Jimmy skulking behind him, an unlit cigarette between his lips. You narrow your eyes at him, and Jimmy does the same. Real shady guy, the type you’d cross the street to avoid. He’s always trailing after Curly like a bad omen. “He can’t come home with us, honey,” you tell him gently, not wanting to sound like a bitch.

Which you are.

You don’t want him smoking in your car, you don’t want Curly to invite him over for takeout because that means it’ll go on for hours and you won’t get your mouth on his big, stupid dick for another day.

“Hm? Why not?” Curly asks, pressing a kiss into your hairline, the tip of his nose bumping yours tenderly.

“I don’t have space in my car for both of you and the luggage, she’s small. What if she tips over? You’re heavy enough as it is.” You smile at him, cheekily, giving his newfound hips a squeeze. They’ve always been there, but now they’re like wow. It’s only been four months, is he on steroids? Did he get pregnant? He is glowing… God knows what’s up there in the atmosphere, some cosmic horror waiting to knock up your poor boyfriend.

Curly shrugs, offering an apologetic smile to his friend. “You heard the lady.”

Jimmy’s permanent scowl seems to deepen, cementing itself in his dermal layer. “Whatever, man.” He shoves his hands into his pockets, shoulders slumped as he makes a beeline for the phonebox.

He lifts his suitcase and loads it into your car and you watch his biceps flex. You see through his clothes, you remember every freckle on his back, mapping them out like stars, leading to those dimples low on his back, the perfect resting spot for your thumbs when you grab his ass. His body is so convenient. Like he was made to be fucked every which way.

“I missed you, I thought about you everyday,” he says against your lips, leaning in to kiss you over the gearshift. “I put your picture in the cockpit actually, Jim didn’t like it, but it kept me going.”

Always so earnest. You almost feel bad for missing his body more than him.

“Aww, Curly, honey,” you coo, pinching his cheek and cupping the other, “I missed you even more.” He nuzzles into your hand, eyes closed as you comb your fingers through his messy hair.

As much as you would like to indulge his sentimentality, you have no patience to spare. If you sit here any longer, you’re going to soak through your jeans and onto your leather seat.

You put the car in drive—

“Captain? Open up!” There’s a younger man knocking on the window, leaving his grubby handprints behind. “I wanted you to meet my mom!” His voice is muffled through the glass.

You lock the windows.

“Did you lock the windows?” Curly asks, lips downturned like he’s about to pout.

You unlock the windows.

“Of course not, baby.” You pat his head and grit your teeth.

They talk for fifteen whole minutes.

Thank you for taking care of him, he can be such a handful—Oh no, not at all, he was a joy to have—I’m glad he came back in one piece—He’s a good kid—Oh, I don’t know about that—Mooom—I’d be happy to have him back for our next long haul—Seriously, Captain?—

You squirm in place, shifting from side to side, thighs pressed together as your panties stick to your core. When Curly introduces you to his crew mate, you offer a strained smile and nothing more.

The window whirs shut. You make it home in record breaking time with four tickets and only a few points taken off your license. It doesn’t matter. You’re home, inside with the curtains drawn and Curly still has clothes on.

That’s not right.

“Take it off.”

“Huh?” Curly pushes his luggage into the corner, the top few buttons of his jumpsuit have come undone and you see the tuft of blond hair on his chest.

“Take it off, please?”

“My clothes?”

“No, your wig, baby.”

He laughs, good-natured, mild-mannered, and so fucking hot.

If he won’t do it then you will.

“I haven’t even showered—“ He starts, but you shush him with a kiss, murmuring a ‘good’ against his pink mouth.

When you part, spit keeps your lips connected, the string of fate or whatever. You go in for another, hands fisting the fabric of his collar, forcing him down towards you. Curly lets out a keening noise somewhere in the back of his throat like a dog scratching at the bathroom door.

“I know, my baby, I’ll give it to you.” You pout at him, thumbing his kiss-swollen lips and watching his eyes droop. “Oh no…” The buttons on his uniform when you try to open them.

“It’s okay,” he mumbles through a mouthful of his own spit, “cheap stuff.”

“I know, but you looked so good in it.” It’s a shame, but you need to see him bare, sweat as his only accessory.

“You think?” He near bats his lashes at you, stepping out of his uniform, and you swoon.

“God, yeah.” You push him down on the couch, Curly falls back with a soft grunt. It’s not very big, especially for a man of his size, but it’ll do for now.

His cock swells in his boxers, you feel it beneath you as you sit atop him, admiring the view below. The wide expanse of his chest, the sweat pooling in his collarbones, those tits. You don’t know what else they could be.

“Wow.” You take a handful of his chest, plucking his puffy pink nipple. “Look at these, I might have some competition.”

“Shut it,” he huffs out a laugh through his nose, and the tips of ears redden.

“I’m serious, baby, you’re, like, huge.” You can’t tear your eyes away from his soft flesh, moulding beneath your fingertips like dough, you could fuck them if you really wanted. “What happened out there?”

“Had a lot of spare time, I guess.” Curly smiles sheepishly, expression contorting when you bend your neck to suck his nipple into your mouth with a wet pop! His jaw slackens, and his cock jumps like it’s been given quite the fright.

You only have one complaint. His tan lines have faded. Floating through the galaxy for months on end can do that to you. You miss them, but you missed Curly more, so you’ll make do with what you have.

And you have more than enough. More than you can handle really. You can’t even get a grasp on his bicep, he’s stupidly big and your hand is on the smaller side.

You shift backwards, wet cunt dragging over his impossibly big bulge where only his underwear keeps you from him - you kind of admire your pussy for being able to take it. Your mouth moves on, hands still groping as much as you can of his chest as you lick the ridges of his stomach, it’s like he’s forged out of marble.

Softly, Curly rubs the back of your head, trying his very best to keep his eyes on you and not let them fall shut. You feel his stomach muscles rippling under your tongue. They contract when you trace around his navel, placing a sloppy kiss just below it, where a patch of curly hair leads to his wet cock.

His cock is drooling through the white fabric of his boxers, they’re soaked enough to be see-through, you spot the fat, pink head that has been missing your kisses. “You’re so wet, baby, is it all for me?”

With a pitiful noise, he tosses his head back and nods sadly. It’s funny to hear a man of his stature whine, but it suits Curly so well.

Your fingers hook in the waistband, tugging his underwear downwards until his fat cock springs out, it’s so fucking fat it weighs itself down. The leaky head twitches, pre dripping down his thick shaft, leaving a moonlit trail to his heavy balls. So full of seed they might burst.

“Oh… Poor baby.” You give them a gentle squeeze, and Curly’s eyes roll back into his skull, hips jolting upwards.

The urge to take it into your mouth right then and there is tempting, you hold back, you want to take your time with him. Make him feel special. You seat yourself between his thighs, one leg thrown over your shoulder so it’s easier to fit on the sofa. Your thumb runs along his pink slit, dribbling out pearly strands of pre that web between your fingers. Curly whimpers, biting down on his fist.

“These are cute.” You take note of his meaty thighs, how they’ve only gotten bigger, a comfier place to sit. The stretch marks don’t go unnoticed, streaking purple and pink along the milky flesh of his inner thighs like faded brushstrokes.

“Mmmph.” He blinks at you, pouty, lashes wet with impatient tears.

“Yeah, mmmph, I know, baby, be patient.” You’re a big, fat hypocrite.

His scent is stronger down here, clean and soapy, but the tang of sweat prospers, and the underlying smell of him. The smell of his pillow, the smell of his few-days old clothes, the smell of his towel after he works out.

A few more kisses here and there, using the flat of your tongue to lave over strips of his sinewy skin, leaving him spit-slicked and breathless and flushed. You hoist his other leg over your shoulder, he’s heavy, but you’re horny and it’s given you a sudden burst of vitality.

“Fuck,” he gasps out, gripping the top of the couch, one arm over his face as you lick up the seam of his balls, mouth latching to the swollen underside, where they feel heaviest.

Curly’s cock leaks into your hair, the weight brings it down to rest on your face, tip pressed into your hairline, dripping down the bridge of your nose like sweat while you make a mess of his balls. Stuffing them into your mouth one at a time, using your hand to give the lonelier one a squeeze when your lips are kissing up on another.

The kiss to his perineum is enough to make him moan. Curly knows what’s coming. You go lower, nose nestled into his balls, breathing him while your hands spread his ass cheeks apart to get to the spot you love most.

Curly’s hole is darker than the rest of him, not quite pink like his cock, ruddier. He’s tight and he smells good. So good. You’ve never minded the hair, you think it’s pretty cute. Curtains match the drapes.

Affectionately, you kiss his puffy rim, and it throbs.

He lets out a groan that is half mortified and half ready-to-blow-his-load.

“Sure,” Curly says, voice breaking as you circle his hole with the tip of your tongue. He tastes like him, musky and sweet and coppery. Curly is home and your tongue is in his ass where it belongs, wriggling its way past his pulsing rim, hopefully all the way up into his heart.

Your thumb and middle finger stretch to meet around the girth of his cock, stroking him slowly as you work open his asshole, tongue pushing back in when he pushes you out. Once you deem him wet enough, you push a single finger knuckle-deep and he cries out, hips bucking up off the couch.

Much to his dismay, which he shows in the form of a pained whimper, your hand leaves his cock to splay over his stomach and hold him down to the best of your abilities. “You have to stay still, honey.”

You feed a second finger into him, his hole squelching as you curl them inside of him. Curly clenches tight enough to cut off your blood circulation, sucking you back in when you ultimately pull them out with a lewd noise. He opens his mouth on instinct, pupils so blown out his light eyes seem dark, you push your fingers down his throat and he sucks.

“You’re so cute,” you mumble, watching him intently, he’s like a pin-up model of some sort. An X-rated action figure. “Taste good?”

“Not really,” Curly says. He’s so honest it makes you laugh. He shuffles back to rest his head on the arm of the couch, cock bobbing, still leaking like nobody’s business, leaving little droplets of wet in its wake.

It’s ready to burst, but you’re not done with him yet. You haven’t had your fill. When you spend half your time with your head between his thighs, you miss out on all the faces he pulls. So you spit on your tits to get them wet, his cock is slick enough, nothing should chafe when you squeeze his cock between them.

“Christ,” Curly grits out, brows knitting together, the second coming and he hasn’t even had his first.

“You wanna cum like this?” You ask, kneading your tits on either side of his cock, each time the tip pops up past your cleavage, it bumps your chin and leaves it slick.

“No…” He shakes his head, curls bouncing, sticking to his forehead, the hair near his nose is curlier with the added sweat. “Inside.”

“I can do that for you, babe.” You smile at him, acting like that wasn’t your plan in the first place, like you haven’t been dying for a warm creampie since he landed back on earth. You give the fat head of his dick one sloppy kiss, making sure to tongue his slit before you clamber on top of him.

It should be an easy task to get him inside, you’ve been wet for the last twenty-four hours, your pussy is throbbing like it’s got a heartbeat. Slick dries on your inner thighs and your clit is buzzing, a rush of arousal passes over you like a cold wave when you lift your hips to guide his dick into you.

Oh. Wow. That’s a stretch. 

In theory, you know big Curly’s dick is. It’s a fucking horsecock, and you have eyes bigger than your stomach. You always overestimate yourself. You think you’re gonna be just fine, then his fat tip breaches your little hole, no matter how wet, and you lose it, scrambling to grasp his shoulders as your body is racked with shivers.

Curly’s kind enough to steady you, big hands finding purchase on your hips. His needy noises get through to you, and you push on, sliding down and taking him to the hilt. His dick curves upwards into your cervix, rubbing the fleshy opening as you adjust to his dick after four whole months of nothing worthwhile.

He’s so big. You’re so wet, slippery pussy slicking up his cock, and making things easier for the both of you.

“I love you.” Curly shudders, looking right into your eyes like he’s afraid to blink and miss a single thing.

“I love you too,” you tell him, eyes on his tits.

He’s so deep, feet planted on the couch as he fucks into you, unable to help himself. You get it. You’re tight, warm, and wet. Better than his fist. Your pussy is noisy, squelching each time you bottom you, grinding your clit into his pelvis, feeling his cock twitch each time you tighten around him. The plap of his balls hitting your ass when enough momentum is built up.

Curly’s helpful, when he sees you tense up, throwing your head back and rolling your hips over and over, you want him deeper and deeper, he wets his fingers with your slick and rubs figure eights into your clit.

It’s just enough to make your toes curl—Oh, who are you kidding? You near blackout when you cum, moaning so loud you scare yourself. You see black. Like someone’s drawn the curtains in your mind, ending the show. Your nails dig into his skin, but he’s always put up with that like a champ.

“Holy fuck.” Shaking still, you blink to clear your vision, you’ve wet his navel and his tummy and the couch might be ruined. You don’t even remember when he came inside you. What a shame. Feels good though, still warm. Sighing, you lay against his chest, Curly’s soft cock slips out of your hole, resting on his thigh. “Welcome home, Captain.”

[clitorphosis]

PINK CELLPHONE

Incel Leon S. Kennedy x OnlyFans reader | 18+ MDNI. DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, INCEST, smut, female reader, reader is a little bit mean, creampie, unprotected sex, vaginal sex, teasing, Leon is submissive, nipple play, tits sucking.

notes: uhm, i didnt proofread this so... i want to remind you that english isnt my first language :3 also i imagined re2 og Leon, but whatever! also reblogs and any kind of feedback is really appreciated

tags: @withonly-sweetheart

There was something fundamentally wrong with Leon in female’s gaze.

Maybe he is unlucky or those girls are blind. Really hoping it is the latter, cause it is not flattering when guys with migrated hairline can get cute girls, while he can’t. And 4chan doesn’t help either, those advices aren’t useful when he can’t even talk to a real girl.

Yes, they are blind. He is going to set on that.

So after many years of solitude, his only company has become the blue gleam which most night was the only source of light in the room, while air was full with low noises coming from the old, poor laptop. Trying to survive after years of not being turned off correctly. Multiple tabs on his laptop’s screen, he doesn’t bother to close them anymore, hoarding them like some kind of treasure - Leon doesn’t give a shit anymore.

This century is perfect for a man like Leon, internet may be the second Library of Alexandria. A real paradise, so much colorful and vibrant sites with cute girls showing their bodies if he pays for that content.

Thank god Onlyfans exists. And he is a nice guy, supporting cute and sexy girls.

Paying for limited content can be considered as supporting women, right? Even if he was motivated due to his selfish reasons - to get attention and limited content. Something special for him. It was embarrassing how long he could browse a fair share of accounts and get or even interact with some girls without being rejected and they would not know him. There are a lot of them, all cute and nice, and they acted even better when he tipped them, so they would interact more with him, calling him a ‘pretty boy’. At least it made him feel special for a while. Still, not his fault that their, too perfect, videos or photos led him to lose his interest - their content felt lifeless, without passion or love put in it. Boring. It has become a routine already, finding an account - jerking off until he loses his interest and the cycle returns to browsing the site for someone new to obsess over.

Your account was like a treasure when he found it. Leon got attracted to it like a magnet, comparable to find a needle in the haystack. Sweet thing, really sweet, if he was ever to interact with you he wouldn’t be able to hide his grimace. But that was attracting, he doesn’t know how much money he has spent on your content. Your face was always hidden or cut out by the position of your camera, but there was no need to see your face when people paid to jerk off.

It was nice while it lasted.

Pink cellphone. The little pink cellphone he got his sister, after she nagged him about wanting it, that ended up left alone and not used. You have this pink cellphone, the furniture and a lot of things were identical to his little sister’s room; posters of her favorite bands or that specific blanket she had all her life, but this was quickly brushed off at first, almost all girls like cute stuff and this could be a coincidence. Also that not the first thing a guy notices when he is ready to jerk off. Leon isn’t sure why after seeing that pink cellphone it clicked so quickly, the guilt and shame fill him to the brim, coiling around his neck like a loose invisible tie knot.

This is wrong, wrong like touching his sister’s breast. Your breast. Instead, he was jerking off to your boobs for months. Imagining how they would fill his palms nicely.

The room is the same as before, but now it hits different to be here after discovering what you have been doing here all this time. It has the same smell as always, sweet and too much like you, tightening the invisible knot around his neck. He wants to throw himself out of the window, this is sick and he doesn’t understand why his legs brought him here after work, still wearing his uniform. There are plenty of almost empty and few full bottles of perfume he had bought you during one of shopping trips, while you were nagging him and begging for them. He eyes such little and useless items that in any other situations he wouldn’t notice, avoiding to look at you. His efforts were useless, he is a weak man after all and there is nothing to do other than to stare at your frame; sitting on the bed, confused at his behavior and expecting something - a reason to explain why he is acting like that, staring at you, almost fucking you with his eyes. He doesn’t need Freud to tell him that he wants to fuck his own sister. Were you preparing to do new content for your followers? The thought made his pants tighter, wanting to pull at the fabric to ease it but this would only bring your attention, wouldn’t it? Maybe he wants it.

“You look like shit.”

“Excuse me?” Did he hear that right?

“You look like shit, Leon” you repeat before raising an eyebrow “stop staring, you are going to dig holes into my face. What do you want?”

What a bitch, he would say, but,

“Uhm…” is the only sound he was able to let out, getting closer to your bed and sitting down on the edge. You scoot closer to him as you always do. A sweet habit he always liked, sometimes you even hug him. “Not lady-like, sweetheart. I wanted to talk”

You roll your eyes. “About what?”

“A friend of mine, he sent me a link of a girl, doing porn” his lies flow so fast and easily from his mouth, trying to shift this to someone non existent. “Her face isn’t visible but… her room and she had a pink cellphone, identical to yours… so I was wondering—“

“Maybe you are imagining things. Many girls have similar room to mine” you cut him, your hand lays on his shoulder. Perhaps this is hell, hell would feel like you mock him by pretending that account isn’t you, like those moans he heard weren’t yours while a guy or a dildo was pleasing you, making Leon envious and sour - why not him? The corners of your lips tug up, something good got into your head. “So you are paying for that stuff, huh? Jerking off to a girl similar to your little sister, you are so weird”

“Huh? No, I am not” Yes, he is, that’s actually his favorite hobby.

“Cut the crap, Leon. There is no friend. You probably imagined me, yeah?” He did, he won’t deny this - it would be a lie leading to another rejection, this time by his sister - and he is man, a desperate one. Also poker has never been his strong point nor he can lie well with his hard on. “Nasty, nasty boy”

His blue eyes linger on your mouth as you spoke, watching your tongue rolled sensually and slowly. Your tongue clicks, before applying more pressure on his shoulder with your hand, pushing him down. He is like a rag doll under your touch - his back hits the softness of your bed and now all he can see is your face looking down at Leon before finally sliding on his lap. Your legs straddle his hips, so nicely pressing down on his crotch and making this much harder than it should be. His cock is already painfully hard, straining against the warmth of your pussy which can be felt through thin fabric of your shorts. God bless them. He bucks up his hips, as his hands reach to hold your hips and press them harder against his aching cock while he tries to dryhump you needy - too bad that’s not on your list, slapping away his hands like it is a disturbance which makes him frown.

“Ah-ah, big bro. Don’t touch me” you purr as your head dips lower to press hot heated kiss on the skin of his neck, leaving soft bites and wet trail behind whilst your tongue traces around those bites, like a soothing touch before it starts going up down and up in torturous motions. Until you stop on his Adam’s apple to bite it softly to leave a red spot, your hands dive under his shirt, pushing it up to expose his stomach and making it easier to reach his chest - fingertips brush against his nipples, before rolling and pinch them to force more moans from him. A grown man getting already painfully hot and bothered over little touches and kisses there and then, this causes you to chuckle under your breath - don’t want to hear him complain how you hurt his ego. Man’s ego is more fragile than soap bubbles or the glass, one poke and he would not shut up and fuck your brain instead of your pussy. That won’t do. Your eyes dart up to look into his face - to see that sweet and needy expression, begging more than just teasing caresses from you. Your hips sit so well against his, sometimes creating some friction when one of you move and it feels like he is going to die if his dick won’t be buried in your pussy any time soon.

“I don’t like dirty hands on me” you add eventually with the same purring voice. What can be better than a man being submissive and shattering over nothing?

“Can you just… oh shit!” his sentence gets cut abruptly, when your lips reach to his earlobe, nibbling playfully and it would be really humiliating if he cum here cause of how his ears are sensible. Deep inhale, before speaking again, trying to keep himself at check and not to be so meek while you keep rolling his sensitive nipples in between your fingers. His next words are breathless and voice is shaky, almost at the edge to sound pathetically. Not really manly, but still your clit throbs, only now noticing how your panties are soaked now, uncomfortably clinging to your pussy lips. “…fuck me?”

You stop your assault over the skin of his neck to look down at him better, your hips press against his hard dick forcing a breathless whimper to escape. This little plea, he begs. Your clit throbs again, so uncomfortably wet, you want to dryhump him until he cum in his jeans like a virgin. Instead, he is one. If he was any other men you wouldn’t consider this good enough to comply but the sight in front of you is too much to ignore.

“Fuck.. you?” You echo his words, feigning a confusion, your eyes widen to emphasize the act. A cheap one, cause your hand already tugged down your shorts, leaving you in panties, he has seen them so many time on those videos and photos, his hips buck to press himself to your, still, clothed pussy. His attempt isn’t really successful, your hand unzips his jeans to free his cock. And finally to look at it. “you are so weird… I dunno, to ask that from me, don’t you have any shame in this body of yours, huh?”

“I don’t give a shit, just fuck me” he groans, looking down as you palm his cock, it twitches in your hand, already leaking with pre-cum and you can even notice a little stain on his boxers.

A light urge to roll your eyes arises deep down when you looked down, but it was quickly put down. Rather disappointing as a size, if someone would have asked you, but not everyone can have porno dick or customized one. You can still fuck with that. Leon swallows hard, taking a deep breath in again as he looked at you briefly - your tits are more interesting right now. He hopes you let him to suck on them. His fingers twitch, wanting to reach for your panties and tug to the side, to fuck you, but he is a gentleman. A nice guy.

Your hand pumps his dick, smearing his pre-cum along the flesh before tugging your panties to the side, your glistening pussy is fully exposed to his gaze and Leon almost choked on his saliva when you pressed your slick cunt on his cock. It is a torturous game, feeling you rub slowly along his aching length leading to drip more of pre-cum. You are so wet and warm, your slick coats his dick with every stroke of your pussy against it. This makes his eyes widen briefly at the sensation, he isn’t sure if he would be able to last long inside you. If it ever gets to that, of course.

“Please..?” Leon groans, bucking his hips to get more and press himself tighter for more friction than it is even possible right now. His sounds only encourage you to mess with him.

“What? I don’t understand” you taunt him with a light pout, another long and slow stroke, his cock’s tip was so close to slide into you. “Use your big-big words, Leon”

Your pussy kept grinding, enjoying the way his cock head bumps against your clit and making you wetter, forcing some noises from you too. Your fingers tug on his lower lip playfully - just to tease and annoy him. But he doesn’t let you withdraw your hand by grabbing hold of it. His lips catch your finger, sucking and nipping on it.

“Use me… please” like one of yours sex toys, Leon wanted to add, but, alas his dignity was still in tact, holding barely together by the tiniest thread. And as much as you want him to cum without even a penetration, to embarrass him, your own selfish urge to fuck him is much stronger.

“What a pretty face you have, right, big bro?” Also it is hard to ignore such sight in front of you, with blushed cheeks, his chest raises heavily as he let out breathless groans. “Pretty and pathetic, you would be a perfect sex doll”

Your wet slit kept rubbing, but this time savoring with the last stroke, before finally hovering over his cock - feeling his leaky tip nudging against your slick hole, begging to sink down, before his cock finally slides into you. He watched how your pussy swallowed his cock slowly inch by inch, before Leon thrusts up to meet your downward movement, forcing yours to slam against his, quickly burying himself as deep as he can right now. You moan at the rough motion, now ignoring how his hands reach to grip tightly your waist, not really caring anymore and now nothing stops him by touching you. Your slick inner walls wrap around his cock nicely, tightly clenching and he doesn’t think twice before bucking his hips again as yours started to roll against his - driving him deeper into your soaked hole. His dick hits the g-spot so sweetly, making you gasp and moan with him. His teeth catch the fabric of your shirt, trying to tug it down and expose your boobs to him - and you are nice enough to help him by pulling it aside, a clear permission to bury his face in between them. Sloppily kissing and biting on the flesh of your tits, while you are bouncing on his dick. His lips repeat your name as a prayer, catching a hard nipple into his mouth, his tongue brushes and rolls against the sensitive nub - sucking at it, nibbling messily and leaving wet marks before darting to give attention to another nipple, causing your pussy to flutter around his dick more, tightly engulfing deeper into the slick walls as the wet sounds mix with the skin slapping ones every time your hips meet after every deep and quick stroke that his cock drag against your walls.

“I-I want to fill you with my cum, please”his voice is breathless at the edge of whine even though he tries his best to not appear so desperate, but the plea behind his words is clear. His grip gets tighter, his fingers knead your ass as he grinds his dick against your cervix to intensify the pleasure for himself while his pelvis rubs against your clit as a nice touch. He really hopes you wouldn’t try to be a bitch and let him cum, if not then he is probably going to cry. “Please, please, let me cum… I need this, sis”

“You sound so fucking ridiculous” your voice is breathless too, but seeing him so needy and desperate for his release making this even better. Your hand tugs his hair, pulling away from your tits to look at his face even better - his lips are glistening with his own saliva and parted. Your clit throbs even more, aching for attention, velvety walls clench around him when you reach down to press your fingers on your clit, rubbing rough circles. “Come on, fill your little sister if you need this so much”

He whimpers disappointedly when he was pulled away from your sensitive and abused tits, but it was quickly changed into a moan when your pussy to wrap him tighter after adding your fingers in action. Your hips roll harder to meet his thrusts and wanting to see more of his stupid faces. Leon grinds up against sweet spot at every opportunity and every time it gets messier and messier as his balls tightens. His eyes slide shut briefly, now wetly meeting yours and looking more pathetic. What a freak, not like you are better than him.

Your orgasm approaches quickly as you kept rubbing your clit in rough circle motions, making your walls wrap harder around his cock. You arch as the flowing pleasure hits your body hard, having harder time to use your fingers to prolong your orgasm. Your pussy flutters at every erratic and messy thrust he kept making as he chase his own orgasm. It didn’t last long for him either, already a wonder he didn’t cum after sliding into you.

“Fuck- fuck” he slammed in to the hilt one final time, burying it deep and rubbing against your cervix before finally erupting deep inside you. Thick ropes of cum painted your insides in white, as your dripping cunt was milking his cock. Your body fell down against his chest, breathing heavily together and shivering.

“You stink like a wet dog, get out” you complain weakly, trying to push yourself away from him but it is effortless - he buries his head in the crook of your neck, again. His soft cock is still inside you, he won’t let you go. “and unsubscribe from my OnlyFans, creep”

“Later” Leon mumbles absently.

No, he is not even going to unsubscribe. In another life.

[satoruhour]

HE PLAYS BASS !

a/n: modern au bc i cant handle any angst rn. i ramble a lot in this to set the scene teehee. not beta read, gn btw / tagging @crysugu @slttygeto @getousex :3

wc: 3k ish

warnings: bass guitarist!geto, soft dom!geto, he is respectful of your boundaries, both geto and reader smoke weed, shotgun kiss, sexual acts under the influence, fingering, clit stimulation, implied second round, implied cunnilingus, dry humping, praise, n*sfw under the cut

bass guitarist!geto who has had an interest in music and its instruments since being a little boy, practically begging his parents to enrol him in some guitar classes. with fingers strumming the nylon strings alongside complicated chords on the frets felt so right that since then he and his guitar have been inseparable since.

bass guitarist!geto who gets to know the guitar so well that he masters guitar solo after guitar solo, playing songs by ear in his free time and thought lead guitar was all there was to music until the age of fifteen where he stumbles across a song with a bass line that sounded absolutely heavenly — through the 240p quality of the youtube video, he watched the bassist dish out the heavy beats, always in the background yet detrimental to making the band sound complete.

bass guitarist!geto who leaped at the opportunity to buy a bass guitar with whatever money he had to purchase a Squier bass — it was a little shitty in sound but it was cheap, something affordable for a middle schooler. suguru didn’t care. he perfected the use of his bass guitar, already having the basics down from playing guitar; his room is filled with posters, picks, pieces of displaced lyrics.

bass guitarist!geto only has the chance two years later to ask his new friends if they wanted to jam out together and down the line, if they wanted to form a band. it was a clueless band of boys (with shoko of course) in some room of gojo satoru’s luxury house where his parents don’t care to ask him to keep the noise down like suguru’s parents do.

bass guitarist!geto fights to get a spot to audition for one of tokyo’s biggest music festivals a few months later. if they won they would get more recognition, more support, even if they haven’t figured out the specifics of how to operate a band. with gojo as the singer, shoko on the lead and nanami on drums, they would find out what they had.

bass guitarist!geto who breaks that stereotype of the bassist being ignored throughout a performance. he thinks it could be because of his longer hair and his newly bought gauges, and he thought he didn’t look too shabby himself — although he isn’t surprised to see most of the girls fawn over gojo as he sang lyrics of an original song, courtesy of the joint effort between geto and shoko.

bass guitarist!geto who gives judges the finger after they said they couldn’t perform originals at an audition, blacklisting them for future performances — but gojo sees it as a win when he has a hoard of new fans waiting outside to get a photo with him with autographs that differed from each paper his pen made contact with. later, he bursts out laughing when gojo says he hadn’t even thought of a proper signature yet and just ‘did whatever on their paper’.

bass guitarist!geto whose band gained popularity fast because of everyone’s good looks, singing at that same place they auditioned at, but now with repertoire under their belt. it’s then that they’re already all in university, and yet everyone’s still incredibly passionate.

bass guitarist!geto who spots you in the crowd together with your friends, jamming out to their set, but while your friends’ eyes are locked on gojo who’s loving the attention, nanami who can’t give a shit and shoko who’s too focused on her solo, you manage to draw geto’s eyes to you. he spends the rest of the set locking eyes with you, amidst other things like sending you winks and licking his lips until you’re under his spell. all throughout he doesn’t lose the rhythm, but he does slip-up from time to time and there’s a panicked look that nanami sends to geto for messing up his rhythm.

bass guitarist!geto who sees you at his next show alone, smiling up at him right at the front row while he’s trying not to mess up after the last time. this time he has a chance to show you what he’s got in a bass solo, losing himself in the music until even you fades off and you’re truly seeing the bassist for who he is. he’s easing back into the main melody of the song but not before leaning over the speakers with a knee on the floor, hovering right over you before shoko takes over and he’s back to his heavy beats.

bass guitarist!geto who brushes off the teasing after the set ends, only to be bombarded with more of it when he sees you on campus — no way you’re in the same school as him, walking around with your cute outfits and laughing along to your friend’s joke with no care in the world.

bass guitarist!geto who doesn’t have much trouble charming you into hanging out with him, already recognising him from far away when he’s got his long flowy hair and gauges and tight black shirt and tall stature — you aren’t realising he’s asking you if it’ll be okay for you to head over to his dorm room. you’re getting pushed by your friends behind you to say yes with giggles and gossip, and of course you weren’t going to reject the hot guy you missed class and ditched friends for.

bass guitarist!geto who shows you his room and tells you to let him know if he’s made you uncomfortable in any way. in the background, there’s a faded, soft song that continues to play that really completes the dorm, immediately hitting it off until he starts to roll a joint a while later, offering it to you with a raise of his eyebrow.

“oh— n-no it’s fine, geto-san, i don’t really smoke…” you sheepishly turn down the weed, settling instead to watch him and his beautiful side profile, letting him explain to you about bands and guitar and chords.

“thank you for having me, geto-san,” bowing, you’re nothing like the person in the bar that day, geto thinks it’s the lack of alcohol but he doesn’t mind, simply leaning on the doorframe as he nods down at you. his smile is intoxicating and so goddamn attractive you would’ve buckled to your knees if not for the deep breaths you were taking.

“next time, pretty?” geto smiles, a little high from smoking. his eyes are lidded (they usually are anyway) and smile lopsided. his hair’s almost out of the bun.

“yeah, next time,” it sounded so breathy, you bit your lip. “i guess you’d have to find me on campus, though.”

bass guitarist!geto who mutters how you’re a little tease to himself later when he closes the door. he swears to himself he’d get your number next time, but it’s not difficult to find you the next time, hanging around the same place at the same time. it’s like you wanted him to find you — he’s not opposed to it. it’s a few weeks down the road now, and the second time is watching him curiously as he smokes, too. you take a hit and embarrass yourself completely in front of him though, and while you’re fighting for your life, you’re not opposed to the buzz it gives you.

bass guitarist!geto who’s opening the door to you the next time, surprised to see your dishevelled state and a pillow between your arms, walking almost a block like this to the next building where his dorm was. he offers to make you some tea and you shake your head, feeling a pounding headache already coming on just from explaining that your roommate was an asshole.

“you can sleep here if you want to, okay?” you sigh, thanking him immensely because even after knowing him for such a short period of time, you’re comforted by his presence.

“at least satoru’s not here,” you laugh at that, nodding tiredly before you’re settling on gojo’s bed after insistence from the other. he wouldn’t care, he’s always going back home anyway, don’t know why he wanted to share a room with me. but before you can get settled in, you hear the familiar crinkling of the paper and the click of the lighter and the smell of weed fills the room again.

again, his hand is outstretched, holding an ashtray below him as the tip of joint glows a red, calling out to you yet reminding you of the way you coughed the other night.

you crawl off his roommate’s bed, snatching the cig out of his hand in a way to prove something to yourself before taking a big puff. this time you’re better, letting the drug flow through your system, but tolerance is another thing, because it only takes another hit for you to be smiling drowsily at the other while geto is a little high, too, eyes rolling to the back of his head when your hand traces over his arms and you giggle.

“you w’nna kiss?” geto asks quietly, a little soberly, having talked late into the night while you hang off his arm and slur your words. but now you know you’re feeling a little more sensible when you can feel your heart pound and your eyes widen despite their need to close.

“i meant it, doll. you’re fuckin’ stunning,” suguru mumbles, the coldness of his rings sending a chill down your body, but also a spark to your core, “you look exactly like the day i discovered bass.” and it’s like cupid fully shoots his arrow through your heart — because have you heard the man play? you’re speechless at his point, only mustering a nod before you’re leaning in.

he hums drunkenly as a way to ask you to wait a min, manoeuvring you onto his lap before he’s taking the almost vanishing joint into his hands. two more puffs are perfect for the cigarette to be discarded and so with a gentle hand, he holds onto your nape while he tries not to get hard from having you on his lap. slowly, your lips wrap around the other end of the joint, taking in another influx of the drug before he does too.

bass guitarist!geto who pulls you towards his lips a little roughly but he doesn’t give you what you want (what he has in mind is much, much better), rather leaving his lips ajar as he exhales the smoke from his mouth into yours, your own smoke already dissipating. weirdly, this burn is more prominent, probably because all you can focus on are suguru’s dazed eyes and the way they burn through your skull. you inhale the smoke before you feel his soft lips on yours.

geto hums into your lips, coming off of them periodically to allow the smoke to disperse, but the moment is so intimate and hot that you blow away the smoke and lunge forward to wrap your arms around his neck.

“no more pullin’ away, geto-san…” you’re trailing off, words messily whispered against his lips and you burn at the chuckle he sounds out, muttering back a question of consent. you’re nodding, reeling at the speed at which he places his hands on your thighs, dragging you further up his front until you rested on his pelvis.

“kissing me like you can’t breathe and you’re still calling me by my last name? i’m wounded.” geto pulls away and defies your rule — you think he’s the only one who can do that. pouting, suguru pushes away the hair enclosing your face. “c’mon, drink, sober up a little.”

“...i like it like this,” you murmur, ashamed as to how readily you leaned into his touch. his stare is piercing though, not budging until you’re gulping down half the cup.

“throats turn dry when we smoke, princess. we can do it more when you’re more used to it, alright?” geto explains, patting your thigh and ignoring the tensing of them around his own. he’s trying so hard to act nonchalant, but he can’t get the image of you parting your lips for the smoke out of his head. the way your eyes flutter close, how you wanted more of him.

“alright… suguru,” you sigh out the name and geto wishes he could hear it somewhere else, “but can we—” the high is getting to you, making your hormones go into a frenzy and you’re grinding on his lap. geto hisses at the feeling, of your cunt brushing against his bulge. your hips are inexperienced, but you’re going by feel, drawing little circles and moving back and forth; whatever that brings you pleasure.

“baby— f-fuck…” geto swears when you pair it with the lips tha kiss down his cheek and jaw and neck, hands on your hips guiding you as you try to chase your high. but a whine from you draws geto out of his daze and he almost cums hearing your needy voice, begging him for something, anything.

“’m tired, suguru,”

he knows, grinding is a tiring thing, so rather he opts for you to lie on him with your back to his chest. by now, the room’s filled with the smell of weed and arousal, asking once again if he could take off your pyjama shorts. geto smiles at the lack of underwear but he says nothing, eyes latched onto the strings of juices that connect your pussy to the shorts.

“my baby ready to be touched?” he feels you nod, loving the way your stomach contracts and expands at the hand that travels over your clothed tits. there, he squeezes them, rubbing fingers over the hardened nub but soon creeps towards your centre. his hand and fingers are so much larger than yours, covering your whole core easily when he cups it and the contact is enough to make you mewl.

“hurry,” your hips hump the air.

“patience, darling,” geto’s gravelly voice cuts through to your ear before he finally draws languid circles upon your clit, rubbing and pressing on your bundle of nerves. his whole body burns from seeing you react so cutely, all cause your eyes couldn’t leave his on that stage. now your eyes were rolling up and over, little moans leaving your lips just from his hands.

bass guitarist!geto who seems to know all your pleasure points in one night, kissing the spot under your ear, to talking you through your orgasm. you were enamoured by the guitarist that you’d let him do anything to you, obsessed with the way he never missed questions of “is this okay?” and “tell me to stop”. geto is just as besotted by you, the arch of your back, the call of his name. god, he was going to write so many songs about you.

“think you can handle a finger, baby?” suguru whispers, caressing your twitching thighs from your first orgasm. with a shaky “yes”, geto plays with your hole, smearing your juices around your sex and getting it all on your thighs. the bashful suguruuu! has him laughing, taking your lips into another kiss as an apology.

“sorry, sweetheart. love teasin’ ya,” muffled words are said, “goin’ in.”

your jaw drops even more when geto first inserts a finger, so much wider and longer that a long moan escapes you. the stretch is so good, everything you’ve ever imagined after watching his fingers travel over the bass strings, and you’re already asking for a second finger. when he does oblige, your hands fly to grab at his wrist.

“feel good?” he chuckles at your lack of an answer, rather responding by clenching around his fingers and leaning back more into his hold. geto sets a pace, thrusting his fingers in and out of you. he thinks it’s enough of staring at you and almost gets whiplash when his head turns to his hand — from the way he disappears into your dripping cunt, he thinks he’ll cum untouched, although your desperate hips also would play a part.

“feel s’good, suguru— shit…” geto groans lowly into your ear when he feels your hand replicating the circles he’s made on your clit, juices starting to collect in his palm from how wet you were.

“you keep clenchin’ around me, baby, you w’nna cum?”

your body is more vocal than your voice, twisting and thrashing from how his fingers already feel so good. the haze and the smell of geto suguru and the weed in your system is all overloading on you at the moment, but in between you’re able to nod, fingers rubbing at your clit while geto’s speed picks up a little.

your legs naturally spread, each slap of his palm against your pussy paired with the lewd noises only making the whole thing better. it’s not long before you feel that familiar feeling, using your right hand to direct him to you once more and it’s here you see the man you saw on stage before: focused, flushed, small smirk on his face. “gonna cum.”

“yeah? are you?” geto asks against your lips, still tasting the faint aroma of the joint. your eyes are so heavy and your limbs feel like lead; it’s a wonder how both your hands are moving on your soaking wet pussy.

“yeah, sugu, s’sensitive—!” geto coos softly at your whimpers before capturing your lips, swiping his tongue over your bottom lip and your orgasm comes crashing down on you. suguru effectively swallows your moans, groaning on his own end when he can feel your cum running down his hand. slowly, he lets you ride through your orgasm, pressing pecks on your skin and shoulders.

“attagirl. so much cum, hm?” your chest is heaving, whining when he removes his fingers and there’s a cute little squelch from the juices, gasping softly as geto separates his fingers and there’s strings connecting his middle to ring finger. “dirty girl.”

you scoff softly with a smile, eyes following how his fingers make his way into his mouth. the other only hums before carrying you bridal style to the shower with a sweet smile on his face. geto suguru was certain he’d worship you.

“gotta taste that cute little pussy next time.”

[pfhwrittes]

thinking thoughts about arsonist!soap again….

arsonist!soap who was sentenced for only 18 months because his counsel’s defence was extraordinarily good (and because he charmed the shit out of the judge, jury and prosecution with those baby blues).

arsonist!soap who was able to get a reduced sentence based on his brain damage and history serving. (“an entirely out of character and impulsive behaviour for Mr MacTavish, who risked life and limb countless times to protect his country” - a right load of pish if you asked johnny but he knew when to keep his mouth shut.)

arsonist!soap who has been ringing his bonnie wee thing everyday, leaving multiple minute long voicemails talking about all the dates he’ll take you on when he’s out, if you’ve cut your hair, if you got the tattoo of his name in a flaming heart covered over or lasered off, if his dog misses him, if kyle has been by tae see you.

arsonist!soap who writes pages and pages to kyle asking about you when you don’t return his calls or ever accept his offers to visit.

arsonist!soap who hoards the “candid” photos kyle takes of you and guards them viciously from the screws and other inmates.

arsonist!soap who can smell accelerant and ash in his dreams and wakes up burning every single day.

arsonist!soap who gets his sentence extended for putting a nonce in the medical wing instead of keeping his head down after he heard the dirty cunt bragging about what he’d done.

arsonist!soap who stays a million miles away from the god botherers that want him to “see the light and accept the Lord into his heart”. he knows what his God has to say about his Sins and he can live with that.

arsonist!soap who is flooded with letters from all kinds of loonies looking for a bit of rough but happily shares them with his stoic cell mate and pretends not to hear the wet slick slide of simon’s hand under the shitty blankets after lights out.

arsonist!soap who after 4 years inside gets picked up by his shaking sister and asks her to drive the long way home just to catch a glimpse of the flat he used to share with you…

[sofasoap]

Teddy Bear - 3

Pairing: John Price x F! Reader

Summary: Just as you thought he ghosted you.. he turned up.

Warning: M Theme. Angst talk. Canon, what canon? what happend at end of Mw3 never existed, nor happend.

A/N: I was so blocked for .. oh gosh, seven months. and Thanks to @a-small-writer-in-a-big-world, it suddenly unblocked. This is for you, Aunty Bear.

John Price Masterlist

Masterlist

You look at the man standing in front of your door. Stunned that he appeared at your door step in the middle of night. 

“Hi.” Oh how you miss his deep rumbling voice. 

Why is he here now?

November. Christmas, New Year. February. 

Not a single call or text message from him since October. 

You sighed after throwing the phone down and curled up in bed. You haven’t heard from John after the night you stayed at his place. 

Has he ghosted you? Or has he decided you are too much for him to handle. 

You know it was too good to be true. 

You tried to move on from this short romance.

But even your niece and nephew can see how dejected you have been since their aunty’s “Furry boyfriend” hasn’t made an appearance for the last few months. 

But here he is. With a single rose in his hand, together with a little teddy bear who’s holding a small bunch of flowers itself.

“I am sorry… for going M.I.A for the last few months.” he apologised as he shifted on his feet. “It has been. Quite an ordeal.” he sighed. 

“You.. alright? Is everyone alright?” you asked, eyes flitting. His frown seems deeper than usual (your niblings often joke how he can squash a fly between his brows),the fresh cuts and healing scars on his face, the fatigue, as if life has drained out of him. 

You immediately notice the way the twitches subtly everytime he moves his left arm. 

Shaking your head as you bring yourself out from the whirling thoughts and observation, you realise you are letting an injured man standing in the cold. “Oh how rude of me. Come inside.” You took the flower and the teddy bear off him and stepped back and let him into the flat. 

John looked around your cosy little granny flat. A small kitchenette, living room area, and the bedroom just off to the side. Bits of trinkets here and there, and hoards of photos on the wall.  Your sister gave you the free reign of making his place yours, with promises that you don’t burn the place down with wild parties. 

“Make yourself comfortable on the sofa…. Would you like tea? coffee, or ..” Or me? That silly little joke flashes across your mind but you mentally slap yourself. Not the time to make such a joke, you idiot. “I don’t think you can drink any alcohol with…” you asked as you wave towards his shoulder. He shook his head. “Tea would be fine, thank you.” he replied. 

You nodded your head before putting the gift on the small dining table and started the kettle.

You could feel John’s eyes on you as you fret around the kitchenette to put the rose into a little vase and make the tea for both of you. Staring at you. Drinking you in. As if to make up for the last four months that he hasn’t seen you. 

You handed him the cup of tea as you sat down beside him. The only sound in the room was the clock on the wall, ticking away as the two of you started sipping on the tea, not knowing how to start the conversation back up again. 

“I.. we.” he paused for a second, gripping tight onto the mug as he stared across the room. “It’s been a close call. As you can see.” He laughed bitterly. “We nearly lost.. One of the boys.” 

Your breath hitched. John talks fondly of his subordinates. From the one time you met them,  they are a lovely (scary, but friendly) bunch The boys are almost like sons to him. 

John never went into exact details about what his job entails. You knew he was in the military but he never went any further than that. 

“My hands are not clean.” 

You cock your eyebrows. “Are you a hitman?” 

He chuckled. “Not that sinister. I am in the military.” 

“Dangerous job.” you hummed as he nodded his head. 

He looked down at his tumbler glass, gently swishing the ice and the whisky around. “But…someone has to do the dirty work.” he mumbled. 

“I.. I am sorry to hear.” 

You were slightly confused by his response, you remembered. But now, come to think of it, all the dots connect, with how tight lipped John is about his job, the injuries. His previous comments, the little stories here and there the boys told you about during the first meeting, you have guessed they are probably in some sort of elite unit in the army.

Never guaranteed to live until the next mission.

He shook his head, not replying.  You reach out to put a hand on his thigh, not quite sure what else to say, or do. Without shifting his gaze, he let go of the grip on the mug and covered your hand with his warm callous hand, seeking for more comfort. 

“Stay?” You broke the silence after a while, begging him. Silently wishing he can hear the pleading in your voice. After months of not having heard or seen him. You need him. And maybe, he needs you too. “Stay for the night. Please.” 

He slowly turned his head, and looked you in the eyes. The sadness in it. you have never seen him like this before. He is a Captain. The commanding presence. The rock of the team. 

Always calm and collected. 

But who is the anchor for him when he is lost? 

John held tight onto you in his sleep that night, like his life depends on it. Nozzle his head into the crook of your neck. You felt his body finally give in as you gently stroked his hair, occasionally dotting him with kisses. When was the last time he had a peaceful sleep?

“Aunty Bear? OH Furry uncle!!!” The high pitch yelling and something jumping onto the bed startled the two of you awake.

“How.. How did you two get in!” You gasped as you struggled out of John’s iron clamp that held you close all night. “Careful don’t touch John’s arm —” you warned as the two children started to clamber around the poor man.

“Mum gave me the key.” Your nephew pointed out before he turned towards John, who finally let you out of his grasp and slowly sat up. “Mum wants us to wake you up because you are late for breakfast.”

Oh lord. You were glad the two of you are still somewhat… presentable. You in your PJs and John.. in his boxer. At least we are not naked. You also totally forgot you were supposed to make pancake breakfast for your niblings. 

“Hello you two little rascals..” Price chuckled, ruffling the two children’s hair. “How have you two been?” he asked in a tired voice. 

“Good! Oh… what happened to your shoulder??” Your niece’s smile dropped as she spotted the bandage around John’s shoulder. “Did some bad people hurt you?”

John looked at you, and turned back to the little girl. “You could say that.” 

“Does it hurt?” she poke it with her little finger while asking.

“Lizzy, it WILL hurt if you do that.” Her brother warned as he pulled his sister back. Lizzy pouted and turned her attention to John’s chest. “Oh, you got a furry chest too. Just like my dad…” 

“Ok, you two, shoo off the bed, and tell your mother I will be over there in ten minutes.” you interrupted and usher your niblings off the bed and out of the room. The two groaned but quickly scrambled off the bed and ran towards the front door. 

“Lock it before you leave too!!” You shouted.

“Is that how they wake you up every weekend?” John smiled, as he leaned back into bed and smiled at you. 

“Um. Sometimes…” You blushed, and you don’t even know why you are blushing. The two of you slept together before. Well, purely sleeping. Not… in the … intimate sense. And you have seen his chest as well. It’s not like you have not been with men before. “We. um, better get out of bed, the kids seem to be hungry for breakfast.” you fidgeted, trying to cover your embarrassment. “Would you like to .. stay for breakfast? I am very good at making pancakes..And I promise you there will be different berries and even creams to go with it too. And honey, or maple syrup, whichever one you fancy…” you rambled on. 

“If it’s not too much of a bother.” 

You quickly shook your head. “Never. Never a bother.” you look into his eyes, with sincerity. Hoping he will understand the other meaning behind your words. He slowly reaches out, cupping your face with his uninjured hand, and caresses your cheek with his thumb, before looking down at your lip and back up to your eyes, silently asking for permission, before leaning in to give you a gentle kiss on the lip.

“Thank you.”  

“Did you two…..”

“ NO sis, NO.”

“Then what took you two so long then. You said ten minutes…” 

“SHUSH.” 

Tag list: ( I am just tagging who ever requested to be tagged at the last chapter and also who responded...let me know if you want to be taken off the next chapt's list thank you :) )

@a-small-writer-in-a-big-world

@homicidal-slvt

@okayyadriana

@cumikering

@siilvan

@devcica

@nrdmssgs

@gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot

@glitterypirateduck

@mmyrrhh

@whydoilikewhump

@crazymela

@makayla-666

@alypink

@merkitty49

@arminarlertssword

@ateliefloresdaprimavera

@roosterr

@okamimarta

@liyanahelena

[nervoussystemss]

Bloodlust - Homelander x F Reader (18+)

A/N: Current obsession is Homelander. Somewhat fluffy fic, somewhat smutty fic.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61216822

Summary: You and Homelander have been dating for a little. He's able to smell your period before you start and during, and takes it upon himself to ease your cramps and make you feel good.

"You know I can smell you, right?"

You almost jump from fright. You're lounging in bed when he comes in. He doesn't have a key to your place. You never gave him a key. So how—you know what? Never mind. It's better to just not ask questions with him sometimes. "You know knocking works, right?"

"I'm the Homelander. I—"

"—can do whatever you want. I know." You fix him with a look. Don't be cocky. He grins. "I literally showered like two hours ago. I know I don't smell bad." You do your best to try to look offended.

"It's not that and you know it. You're on your period." His eyes have turned dark and hungry for a few moments. With his bloodlust, it's not surprising he can smell it. "Just started, actually." He inhales deeply, and when his eyes open, his pupils are blown wide. He smiles at you. "Heavy flow today, huh?”

"Don't be weird about it," you say as you try to smile. "It's usually heavy the first two days, especially the second."

"What do you need?" is his follow up question.

You tilt your head.

He rolls his eyes up to the heavens. "I can smell your period before it comes, you know. So. That was actually a hypothetical. Because—" he pauses, making his way out of the room, before he comes in with a package of pads, chocolate, and a literal bouquet of roses "—I already got you this."

When you're quiet and stare, he looks like a kicked puppy. "You don't like it?"

"No, no, I do. I just wasn't expecting this," you quickly say as you shift to an upright position in bed. "We've been dating for—what, two months?"

"The amount of time we've dated doesn't matter to me. Am I not supposed to treat my girlfriend well, especially when she's on her period?"

You don't have a rebuttal. "I appreciate it. Thank you, Homelander." You reach a hand out, beckoning him over.

He does, putting the package down on the bedside table and then placing the roses in a vase that was already sitting there. You do a double take. You didn't own any vases to your knowledge. He must have put it there while you were in the shower.

He props his head on his hand, watching you silently. You were so beautiful. He could stare at you for hours. He takes your hand in his as his thumb caresses your hand gently. The feeling is nice.

Had he planned to come over? You two didn't make plans for today, but you knew he was impulsive spontaneous sometimes.

He offers you the chocolate bar he bought silently, and you break it in half, offering the other half to him. That's the way you usually do things—sharing. He doesn't really get it. He's always been akin to a dragon, hoarding everyone and everything he loves close to his heart and never letting them go. Pictures of Stormfront were still stored, photos of Ryan, Madelyn, Maeve. And now, of you too.

You have been added to what he deems his collection, and he's not letting you go anytime soon—or ever.

He breaks free from his thoughts, his hand splayed on your abdomen. A frown forms. "You're cramping."

"Yeah." You force a quick smile. "First two days are heavy bleeding but also the worst cramping, so…"

"You know…" he begins slowly, lips curling up into a smirk.

"We're not having sex," you blurt immediately, knowing that look in his eyes.

"If you're worried about the mess, we could always just put a towel." He shrugs as if it's no big deal. "It does help alleviate cramps, according to science. I don't mind. Besides, I'm used to getting blood on me."

"You've never gotten my blood on you," you comment dryly with a roll of your eyes.

"We can change that if you'd like." His suggestion hangs in the air. He moves slowly, nibbling at your earlobe, kissing your collarbone gently, trailing down your stomach kiss by kiss. His lips meet your bare thighs—you were only in a hoodie and shorts—but they don't go further. "Take it off."

"What?" you stammer, completely having zoned out for a moment.

"Your shirt. Take it off."

"It's a hoodie," you correct.

"Same thing."

You take it off far too slow for his liking, but that's okay.

"Your bra too."

You raise a brow. "What's the magic word?"

He lets out a desperate groan. "Please."

"Good boy." You flash a grin as he seems to melt at the praise, right before he yanks your shorts off, quickly followed by your underwear. "You're fast when you want to be, huh?" You try and sound cocky. You sound breathless instead.

"We could always do this slow, babe. Up to you." He's lying. He can't wait.

"Are you sure you don't mind the blood?"

"If I minded, I wouldn't have brought it up to begin with." He brings his face closer and inhales again, eyes once again growing dark as he gives you a look. You nod at him, and that's all he needs. He laps at your clit, slow at first, and when your body jerks, he holds your hips so you don't move. "Too much?" he grins up at you.

"It's fine," you pant out.

"Fine? I'll show you fine." He goes back, tongue swirling before he presses his entire tongue ever-so-gently against your entrance. You hear yourself gasp as you feel a gush. You feel a sense of something. You're not sure what. He pulls back as he licks bloodied lips, eyes trained on you, slightly narrowed. "You okay?"

That was kind of hot. "Sorry. I didn't mean to get blood all ov—"

"It's okay. Nothing to be ashamed about. You're on your period." His voice turns a bit softer. "It's normal. It's natural. I asked for this, and I wouldn't be doing this if I didn't want to. Besides, you taste good. In both ways. Relax."

You do so. "You gonna keep going?"

"You haven't cum yet."

"I don't need to. This is good."

"Have none of your ex boyfriends ever made you cum?" He sounds half baffled and half offended on your behalf. What pathetic losers. He'd put them all to shame.

"No."

"Well, let me change that then." He dips his head again.

By the time he's done and you've finished, he's made you cum three times. You're out of breath as he finally has mercy on you and lets you take a quick shower. You're back in your underwear, shorts, and hoodie once more.

"Thank you," you blurt, "for... that." You motion downwards.

He snorts. "You're thanking me for eating you out?"

"Well, that and making me cum three times in a row. That's literally never happened before."

"Glad to be of service." He tugs you into his arms, sighing contently.

"You don't want me to...?" Your eyes glance down.

"Do you want to?" His eyebrow raises.

"Not right now, no."

"Then no." He shrugs.

"Okay." You rest your head on his arm. "By the way..."

"Hm?"

"The cramps are gone."

"Good to hear." He's not letting you go. Not now, not ever. "I'll always be there for you, no matter what, even if you don't want me to. You know that, right?"

You think you hear a hint of possessiveness leak into his voice. But no. That wasn't right. That couldn't be. "I know. Thank you." You move up to press a kiss to his cheek.

He pretends it doesn't affect him as much as it actually does. "You should get some rest. I'll be right here." He settles, holding you near him as you close your eyes.

You've never felt so cared for and protected as you listen to the steady thrum of his heartbeat under your ear, dozing off.

[inorganicone2230]

Like Hoarded Gold (Part 1) Yandere!Gojo/Geto x Fem!Reader

Part 2

Summary: Suguru Geto and Satoru Gojo are complete strangers to you, but when they unexpectedly learn of the tragic news that has irrevocably shattered your life to pieces, the two of them become determined to help you and make you happy again, whether you want them to or not.

Warnings: Not many for this chapter, just the guys being nosy creeps for now.

Side Note: I do NOT and never will condone the actions committed in this or any future chapters, please be mindful and respectful of the fact that all of this is purely fiction.

“Come on, babe.”

Satoru Gojo moaned shamelessly into the kiss he shared with his lifelong friend and romantic partner, Suguru Geto, as he pressed the dark haired man down into the gym mat of the darkened storeroom they had snuck into.

“You're so fucking needy.” 

Suguru playfully taunted him, even as he groaned and pawed at the other young man just as desperately, his hands finally finding purchase on Satoru’s hips so he could grind their still clothed and aching erections together.

They’d had a break between lectures and when Satoru had teasingly suggested that the two of them find a quiet spot for a quicky, he had been more than happy to agree, which was how they now found themselves in their current situation; namely, the two of them laid out on an old mat in the storeroom of the college gym, desperately dry-humping one another.

“You're not gonna sound so cocky once I’m balls-deep in your tight fucking ass.” Satoru shot back, nipping his neck hard enough that it was surely going to leave a very noticeable bruise, one he knew Suguru would wear with immense pride and satisfaction.

Suguru’s chuckle was deep and sensual as he reached between them to begin unbuckling his boyfriend's belt and pants, desperate to get his large hands wrapped around Satoru’s fat cock.

“Wanna bet on-”

The door to the storeroom suddenly creaked open and both men instantly froze as dim light from the previously empty gym briefly flooded the space before closing and going dark again.

“Shit!” Satoru whispered harshly into his ear, just loud enough so only he would hear it. “Did a professor or someone else follow us?”

It's not like the two of them had ever tried to hide their relationship from the public, such a thing would have been an impossible endeavor anyway, what with how affectionate and touchy Satoru could be most of the time. But even with their relationship being public knowledge, it still hadn't stopped the occasional creeper or fame-chaser from trying to catch them in compromising situations, usually to try and extort the white haired young man for a cut of his rather impressively large fortune and inheritance.

With the unexpected death of his parents only four years prior, and Satoru being their only child, he had been the sole beneficiary to the Gojo family's vast wealth and assets, and while he still had to graduate college first before he could receive the entirety of his inheritance in full, the monthly stipend he received every month to fund their lifestyle until then was certainly nothing to sneeze at.

But it also had the unfortunate drawback of painting a big red bullseye on his back, and subsequently Suguru’s as well, one that led some people to think that they would be an easy target for some quick cash if a compromising photo could be taken and dangled over their heads.

“Just stay quiet for now.” Suguru replied, then tenderly kissed Satoru's cheek with the kind of affection he knew would leave the Gojo heir blushing. “If they try anything, I'll be the one to handle it.”

And he meant it to, he had already beat the shit out of a few creeps for trying this kind of shit, and would be more than willing to do so again if it came down to it.

Satoru was his, and he would always have his back, just like he knew Satoru would always have his.

The two of them, thankfully, were tucked away in a corner of the storeroom behind some stacked boxes of equipment, so they would see anyone that came around the corner, but when no one came, the two of them slowly rose to their feet to take a peek around, wondering if maybe the individual actually hadn't stuck around and left when the door shut.

But there, leaning against the wall next to the door was a young girl, one who both men briefly recognized as a first year, more specifically, she was a foreign exchange student who they just so happened to share one or two classes with this semester.

You had your phone drawn up to your ear and seemed to be calling the same number repeatedly as your expression grew more and more frantic every time the person(s) on the other end failed to pick up.

“The fuck?” Satoru silently mouthed as they looked at one another, confusion written all over each other's faces, but Suguru was just as lost as his partner and only shook his head at him.

He now suspected that you had no idea you weren't alone in here, which meant that you weren't a threat, so his posture had relaxed once more, but now he was also fairly curious as to what had brought you here, and who you were so desperately trying to get ahold of.

And based on the noticeable gleam in Satoru's bright blue eyes, Suguru knew he was also just as curious.

And then, as if their nosiness had triggered something on the other end of your phone, they suddenly heard your voice speak, your tone sounding both relieved and panicked as words, in what they were able to tell was English, began tumbling out of your mouth in fast succession.

The only problem however, was that neither of them knew enough of the language to be able to piece full sentences together.

“Oh come on!” Satoru quietly groaned in exasperation.

He knew enough to be able to pick out a few words here and there; words like ‘no’ and ‘please’ and ‘wait’, which you seemed to be repeating quite often as your voice grew more and more panicked, but eventually, whoever was on the other end must have abruptly ended the call, because you stopped talking as the phone slowly slid from your slackened grip and fell to the floor with a loud enough crash that he knew without even seeing it that the damn things screen was likely shattered to bits from the impact with the concrete flooring.

You looked so sad and heartbroken in that moment, and before either man knew what was happening, you dropped to your knees with a sickening thud that left both of them wincing. Your knees were most definitely going to be in a world of hurt once you finally managed to pull yourself out of whatever dark hole that conversation had thrown you into.

And then came the wailing…

The sounds that came pouring out of you were absolutely gut wrenching, and despite not knowing anything about you, not even your name, it took everything Satoru and Suguru had to stop themselves from going to you and demanding what it was that had caused this.

You had your arms wrapped so tightly around yourself, like you would fall to pieces if you weren't holding yourself together in that lonely embrace, and you were sobbing so hard that they both feared you might actually make yourself sick if you didn't get your breathing under control.

“What do you think we should do?” Suguru whispered.

Satoru didn't once take his eyes off you as he shook his head in uncertainty.

“I honestly don't know.” He answered. “We would probably just make things worse if we suddenly pop out and she learns we've been here this whole time.”

Suguru had to agree, and as much as it killed him to stand back and let your trauma unfold like this, he knew that Satoru was right.

Neither of them completely understood why they had this unexplainable urge to go to you, someone who was a complete and total stranger, but it was a matter they were going to have to ponder together and discuss at great length before making any solid decisions on.

But for now, they simply had to let the situation run its natural course and hope for the best, even if waiting and patience was never either of their strong suits.

And so they did.

They waited for almost thirty minutes, watching and listening to the sound of your very soul shattering as you cried yourself into exhaustion before you eventually managed to pick yourself back up off the floor and slowly and silently exit the storage space. Neither of them failed to notice the dead expression on your face or how utterly lifeless your eyes appeared to be, and both men knew it had little to do with the poor lighting from the few small windows sprinkled along the walls near the ceiling.

And only once they were certain they were alone again did both Satoru and Suguru finally release the breath neither of them realized they were simultaneously holding.

“Fucking hell…” Satoru groaned and slumped down to the floor to sit on his haunches. “What was that all about?” He asked, looking up at Suguru through feather soft lashes.

Suguru leaned back against the wall across from him and let out his own sigh of frustration.

He didn't understand what this feeling was or where it was coming from, but it was taking all his restraint not to go chasing after you, to make certain you didn't do anything foolish.

Perhaps it had something to do with seeing you in such a vulnerable state when you thought you were completely alone…

He had seen plenty of his friends in bad moods or had been a shoulder for them to cry on when they were stressed and upset, but he had never seen anyone in real life break apart so uncontrollably the way you had just now; not even Satoru after the death of his parents, if one could even call those two absent shit-stains by the title of parent.

“I don't know.” He whispered. “Maybe she has a significant other back home and they got into a fight or something?”

He saw the darkened look that flashed across Satoru's face and knew immediately that the thought of that prospect didn't settle with him any better than it did with Suguru himself.

“Or someone she knows could have gotten hurt, or even died.” Satoru casually stated, and wondered what it must have said about him that he hoped it was that and not Suguru's option.

This was not what either of them had expected to deal with today, not that anyone could have predicted it, but now that they had witnessed what you obviously must have thought was a moment of extreme vulnerability, their interest was thoroughly piqued and he knew that neither he nor Suguru would be able to walk away and just forget about it so easily.

At the very least, he wanted to know the details of the situation, even if they couldn't do anything about it to help you in the end, because if he didn't, then those mournful cries of yours would follow him for a long time, possibly forever, and he wasn't entirely sure he could stay sane if the burning question of it wasn't answered.

“Come on, let's go home for the rest of the day and figure out what we want to do.” Suguru said, and held his hand out to help his boyfriend rise to his feet. “There's no point in attending any more of our classes today if neither of us will be able to properly concentrate.”

It wasn't until they were almost to the door that something caught Satoru's attention and he had to pause for a moment to thank the heavens for his good fortune, because there was your shattered phone, still laying on the ground where it had originally dropped.

“It must be our lucky day, babe.” He said with a grin, bending down to pick up the device.

“I'm not too surprised, the poor thing was practically catatonic when she left, and a broken phone was probably the last thing on her mind.” Suguru wrapped his arms around Satoru's middle and rested his chin in the crook of his neck to look over his shoulder and watch him gingerly tap at the screen. “Maybe we could use returning it as an excuse to talk to her?” He suggested, but dismissed the idea just as quickly when he realized that would mean needing to explain how they found it and how they knew it was yours.

Satoru nodded his head absentmindedly, already knowing that he and Suguru had likely reached the same conclusion on that option, but he had one that might prove to be a bit more useful to them in the long run, especially as the lock screen lit up and showed both men that it was only the protective cover over the screen that was shattered. The sturdy case and screen protector had spared it from any true damage, and as he stared at the picture you had set of you and what appeared to be your parents at your high school graduation ceremony, he couldn't help but feel that fate was too good a word to describe this opportunity, and it had to mean something so much more.

“Let's stop by a cell-phone store on the way home.” He suggested, before pocketing the device and turning to give his boyfriend a conspiratorial wink and smile. “I have an idea of my own that I think you'll like a whole lot more.”

----------

Later on that night, Satoru and Suguru found themselves snuggled up together on the couch that faced the large wall of windows in their penthouse apartment that overlooked the Tokyo city skyline.

When the two of them had first graduated high school together nearly four years earlier and started apartment hunting together, they had immediately been sold on this particular property, located in Minato, based solely on the views it provided of the city at night, and naturally, with Satoru being who he was, they ended up with the absolute best the building had to offer, right at the very top on the 45th floor.

It had already come fully furnished at the time they had first moved in, but over the course of their almost four year residency, they had slowly replaced everything with pieces that were more suited to their own tastes and preferences.

That was one thing that he loved so much about Satoru, despite the apartment being in his name and the money from his monthly stipends paying for everything they had, his boyfriend never made him feel less than for not being able to contribute more than his ability to cook and help clean. Satoru always told him that the money was just as much his, and had even gone so far as to get Suguru's name put on the account and debit/credit cards of his very own so he never had to ask for money.

Satoru, for all his childish tendencies and spoiled entitlement, saw the two of them as equal partners in their relationship, and did everything he possibly could to show him that at every opportunity.

But the greatest gift of all, besides just being in his life, had been in the form of his college expenses.

Satoru had always been destined to attend his parents alma mater, the University of Tokyo, but for Suguru, with his poorer background and lack of financial resources, despite his excellent grades and a long list of extracurriculars that had earned him a full scholarship to the elite high school they had both attended, the prestigious university had always felt more like a far off and unattainable dream as he'd sent in his application for it, and half a dozen other more affordable and realistic schools.

Schools that were far enough away that it would have seen him and Satoru separated and likely to break up.

So when, mere days after his parents' funeral, Satoru had expressed a keen desire to pay for his tuition entirely from his own pocket, just to help him achieve his dreams and keep them from being separated, Suguru had known then and there that the white haired young man was the one for him.

It wasn't about the money though, Suguru had never given a single thought to asking his, admittedly very wealthy boyfriend, for financial assistance. It was Satoru's genuine desire to help him and not lose each other that had cemented it in his mind that they were it for one another; that, come hell or high water, he would fight tooth and nail to keep what they had, and Satoru had been more that eager to share the sentiment.

And now, here they were, making what might be one of the biggest decisions of their life together as they scrolled through your now deactivated phone, and seething with rage at what they were learning.

“You're reading the same thing as me, right? I’m not misinterpreting this?” Satoru asked through clenched teeth.

Suguru's mood wasn't much better as he took the phone from his boyfriend's tightening grip to read the translated email more closely.

“No, you're not.”

After leaving campus for the day, the first thing they had done was drive to a small electronics store on the outskirts of the city to have your phone deactivated. And thankfully, with the help of a very hefty bribe, the creep working the shady storefront had been more than happy to ignore the questionable ethics of forcefully disconnecting and resetting the password on a phone that clearly didn't belong to either of the men asking for it to be done, and in less than thirty minutes, the two had been on their merry way back home.

It had been Suguru's idea to run everything on your phone through a translator app so they could try and figure out what was going on with you, and while they both felt a mild sense of guilt over snooping so deeply into your private life, they told themselves it was for your own good, that they were only trying to help.

The translations were by no means perfect, but both men were smart enough to read between the lines and mentally fix whatever errors there were in the process, and while your text messages had been a bust, with most of them being fairly quick and concise, your emails proved to be much more fruitful.

And rage inducing…

Satoru had been right in assuming that whatever had brought on your traumatic breakdown had to do with your family, but if what they were reading had any kind of truth to it, which neither of them were truly doubting, then it was so much worse than just someone you knew and loved dying on you.

The email in question was from your mother and read as followed;

(Y/N), I know this will come as a tremendous shock to you whenever you read this, and I need you to understand that me and your father are not making this decision to be cruel to you, but you are no longer a child, you are a grown woman on her own at college, in another country no less, and I feel like I should be allowed to be honest with you about the changes both our lives are about to take.

I think you are well aware by now that having you was not a choice neither I nor your father made willingly, you were a genuine accident, and while we care about you and want you to succeed more than anything, you are grown now and fully capable of no longer needing us. Me and your father put our dreams and desires on hold and raised you for nineteen years, and now it is time for us to be allowed to live our lives how we see fit. We have already sold the house and all but its most important items, all of your belongings have been packed up and moved to a storage unit that I have provided the number for down below. It has been paid off for the next six months while you decide how and what to do with it, but this is the final assistance we will give you, as we need all the money we can spare to begin our new lives elsewhere.

I know this is going to be very hard for you to understand, but your father and I were free spirits before we had you, travel and adventure was our life, and while we did our due diligence upon having you, I won't lie and say that you were our greatest joy. Having to be tied down to one place for so long in order to give you the stability you required, it killed us a little inside with each year that passed, and now that we are finally free, we feel it is best we no longer keep in contact with you going forward. It will only serve to remind us of a time we no longer want to think about, and it will only give you false hope in the end that things could go back to your perceived version of normal, and that is not fair to any of us.

We will be replacing our phones and numbers at the end of the week, so feel free to call us anytime between now and then if you have anything to say or add.

And please, take care of yourself and live your life to the fullest.

That was where the email ended.

It had been sent less than 24 hours ago, and a quick check of your call log showed them that your parents were indeed the last people you had tried calling, your mother having been the one to finally pick up and respond to your, now understandably, very frantic calls earlier in the storage room.

“What kind of sorry excuse for a mother would do this to their own child?” Satoru asked, his voice as cold and icy as his eyes and hair. “My parents were shit at being parents, and even they would have never done something as cruel and heartless as this.”

Suguru nodded in complete agreement as he reread the words on the screen again for a third time, and had to fight down every urge he had to punch this awful woman's number into his own phone and give her a piece of his mind.

“The only kind of people who could do this with as little remorse as she seems to have, are the kind that should have never been allowed to conceive in the first place.” The dark haired man responded, and draped an arm over his loves shoulders for comfort.

The two sat in silence for a long while after that, slowly processing everything they had learned, and in that time, Satoru had opened up your photo gallery for them to look through, idly scrolling through picture after picture, wanting to understand you further and gain insight into who you were. They started from the oldest ones at the very top, which seemed to date back three years, and while you seemed more interested in taking pictures of other people and the things and places around you, when a photo of yourself did eventually pop up every now and then, it always blindsided then how joyful and happy you seemed, especially in contrast with how they had seen you earlier, so sad and broken.

“So, what do we do now, Suguru?”

Suguru sighed, having known they would eventually have to discuss this.

“I know we were mostly just curious to find out what was the cause of her breakdown earlier, but now that we know the whole story, I don't think I can just leave this situation alone.” He said, and felt Satoru relax beside him, that was enough to tell him that his partner felt the same as him.

“Normally, I'd say that destiny and fate can suck my fat cock, but I don't feel like it was just mere coincidence that led to us being in that storage room with her today, it was definitely something more.” Satoru said, his confidence returning in full force as he stared down at a picture of your bright and smiling face, wishing more than anything that they could see it in person. “So who better to help a poor damsel in distress than the two best equipped guys in the city; we have the money, the means, and the time to show her were on her side.”

“I couldn't have said it better myself.” Suguru chuckled and kissed his cheek. “Now the only question is how do we proceed and make it happen?”

Satoru flashed him that signature too confident grin as he leaned back into his arms and pulled out his own phone.

“Don't worry, I got us covered on that front.” He said, scrolling through his minimal contacts to find the one he needed. “She might not figure it out right away, but our girl isn't going to know what to do with herself once she realizes she's got two knights in shining armor looking out for her.”

I've recently gotten really into JJK and since I'm not really feeling the motivation to write for any of my other fics at the moment, here is the newest idea that is rotting my brain from the inside out.

Please enjoy and let me know what you think!

And as always, I want to give a BIG thank you to my amazing friend @talpup  for all the brainstorming and encouragement on these stories! I’m sure I would have given up on this blog a while ago if it wasn’t for all of their help. I highly encourage anyone who takes the time to read this to go over to their page or their AO3 account under the same name and check out their works, especially Chaos and Erase The Shadow. They are two of my favorite BNHA fics of ALL TIME! And who has also started their own Yandere!Overhaul fic called Crossroads and is set in a 1920′s prohibition style era, it’s amazing and you need to check it out!

[redo-of-chii]

ʚ♡ɞ 𝕯𝖎𝖌𝖎𝖙𝖆𝖑 𝕰𝖝𝖔𝖗𝖈𝖎𝖘𝖒 𝖙𝖔 𝕰𝖒𝖇𝖔𝖉𝖞 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝕭𝖊𝖘𝖙 𝕾𝖊𝖑𝖋 ʚ♡ɞ

I decided to make a series of posts dedicated to mental dieting, even if you're not really into manifestation/law of assumption and you're just into your journey to become your best self.

We spend so much of our time on our phones, tablets or computers that it has become our way of life. Most of the daily content we consume and most of the people we interact with every day come from the internet. We basically consume content like we consume food every day.

We talk about digital detoxing and digital decluttering constantly, but sometimes we have to become extreme to live our best life. We have to be mindful about the content we consume since like I mentioned earlier, we consume it like food and if we can be mindful about the food we consume to nourish our body then we can do the same to nourish our minds and hearts. So basically a digital exorcism is what we need to hold ourselves accountable, including myself.

In fact, I am guilty of this and as soon as I'm done with my own post I'll start doing my own digital exorcism as well to be mindful of my own mental diet since I've been neglecting it for the longest time.

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Here is a list of things to do to start your own digital exorcism with things I've come up with and some ideas I've compiled over the months from reading around:

୨୧ Curate your social media experience.

I know that many people cannot quit social media entirely because nowadays some jobs depend on social media presence, plus social media can be a very nice and positive experience!

The internet should be a safespace for you so curating and being mindful of your content should be a high priority.

Delete people/users and social media that either you don't talk anymore or don't bring positive things into your feed or life.

Engage in content that makes you happy or brings positivity into your life, especially topics that you want to learn or improve so your feed gets filled with those things.

Delete any accounts you have that you don't use or represent a part of your life that reminds you of pain (we all had an emo private account to vent somewhere that either needs to be wiped for a new era or just deleted).

Scroll past things that trigger you without guilt since your mental health has to be the most important thing.

Just put your phone down, think about what you need in your life right now to become your best self or make things better for you mentally and practice mindfulness by curating your experience.

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୨୧ Declutter & Simplify

This sounds very easy but it also can be very exhausting so I advise you to do it on a day off but include some things like skincare or a nice podcast to do it. You have to prepare yourself for this mentally since going down memory lane while doing this can be emotionally draining.

We already mentioned deleting accounts but deleting phone numbers that we no longer engage with is a form of self care, same goes for deleting messages or chat logs.

Leaving Discord servers that are inactive or you no longer engage with. Why keep something like that if you're no longer using them? Out of nostalgia? Honey, don't do this to yourself.

Delete apps or music (especially sad and depressing music!) that no longer serve you. They are taking up a lot of useful space after all.

And in relation to making space, declutter your photo gallery. This can be a rough one since we tend to hoard pictures and hoarding comes from a place of fear. Sit down, be ready to confront yourself, think carefully about how you want to categorize your photos and Konmari everything. Focus mostly on screenshots, pictures that you feel you don't look good in, repeat pictures and pictures that bring you bad memories.

Clean your emails to make space. Unsubscribe to newsletters that you don't need and remove any alerts. Just clean it.

From there, things should look cleaner and simple. I know that some of us are addicted to the chaos but trust me that even if you may feel some regret at first, you'll thank yourself later. Sometimes, your phone is a reflection of the state of your mind after all.

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୨୧ Romanticize your Life!

This is the fun part of the digital exorcism, which is making things easier and prettier!

Redecorate your home page. Put everything in folders and from there you can go crazy! Pretty wallpapers, themes, colors... Anything that your heart desires. You can also apply this to other things, revamp your social media and Pinterest boards for a cleaner and better look.

Go on an account scout mission and follow accounts that align with your thoughts and values of your best self.

Install new apps that bring you joy but also feel purposeful to you. And don't feel guilty about installing things like cute games that can make you pause and relax, just don't abuse screen use!

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୨୧ Other Important Things

Don't forget to update apps and back up what's important. I know that cloud backups are important but don't forget to backup things that may be important in an external hard drive.

Set up a ¨Sleep Mode¨ for your phone so you don't feel tempted by notifications at night and have proper sleep. You can also turn off notifications on some platforms to minimize your anxiety.

Set up ¨Digital Detox Hours¨ every day for you. Reconnect with your hobbies, play with your pet, take a nap, journal, do some prep... Just stay away from your phone. And if you don't have any privacy, it's okay. You can take notes and journal in your phone as well, just stay away from social media. Put on music and relax. This should be time for yourself and your feelings after all.

Don't feel bad about doing regular digital decluttering once you're done with the digital exorcism. This is mostly to start again in a clean slate, if the apps you installed for your clean slate are not to your liking, then you can make a small digital declutter and get rid of them later. It's not a bad thing to try new things because it's part of your self-discovery journey.

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I hope this post was useful and don’t hesitate if you want to share any other advice you may have to improve your digital exorcism!

I might make another post recommending apps I use for manifestation soon in another post.

꒰ Always & Forever — Chii ꒱

[beatrice1979a]

Sunburn

Reverse Marinette's first heartbreak

credits: @adorkastock for this pose

@bgony for alt chloe design.

Yes that's reverse Adrien many months before his haircut.

@generalluxun for Chloe's sunny character concept. Marvelous just Marvelous! Chloe can kill with kindness. Check their reverse fics Note that Alt!Chloe is definitely NOT into Adrien or any man. But I needed a Chloe. Update: read this post here for more about this Chloe. Let's pretend for a moment the Supreme forced her to date Paris' beloved teen celebrity for the Greater Good. What's even scarier is that this brainwashed Chloe would probably comply gladly.

**

Sunburn

(English is not my first language. So grin and bear it)

They say never meet your heroes or, in this case, your beloved idol. Marinette learned this the hard way.

She was beside herself when she learned that, despite the rumors of having (yet again) a new Supreme-sanctioned girlfriend, the self-proclaimed teen heartthrob Sunshine Boy Adrien was having an informal meet and greet at Le Grand Paris. Just two blocks away from her own home. There was no point asking for permission. Her parents would never allow it. But this chance was too good to let it lapse. 

It was dark and everyone was asleep. She grabbed a few magazines and one of the many pictures scattered all over her punk themed bedroom and, silently escaped her room by climbing down the side wall of her three storey home. She ran into the night and camped, hours before dawn, by the expected location, right near the entrance of the fanciest hotel in Paris. It was chilly and slightly humid as the sun climbed the sky but Marinette didn't pay any mind even as the noisy swarm of fans started gathering all around the area forcing her to push and fight to keep her privileged spot in the queue.

There he was, Adrien Agreste in the flesh, even more handsome than portrayed in the heavily retouched press photos or the official telescreen channels. Her heart skipped a beat and she charged forward to beg for an autograph.

And then she saw her.

His arm around her with such unbearable familiarity. Her golden messy hair precariously arranged in two braided ponytails. Unmistakably her. Blinding her with that sunny personality and that oh-so-hideous saccharine smile plastered on that ridiculously pretty doll-like face: Chloe. Chloe Bourgeois. The snobbiest prissy miss perfect, top-of-the-class loved-by-all daughter of the mayor of Paris. Chloe Bourgeois. Her bully. Her tormentor. The only person who single-handedly made her life a total misery every single day since kindergarten. Even today on this otherwise auspicious day.

She felt something snap and, for a moment, she couldn't move. As she missed her chance, she got shoved and pushed by the hoards of screeching fans hopelessly drawn to the golden pair like moths to a flame. A flame Marinette could no longer see with tears clouding her sight and threatening to ruin her heavy makeup and the magazines she clutched for dear life onto her chest.

Then another spark blew from her heart, and fire swallowed her whole, uncontrolled, until it scorched her feelings and escaped her lips in a shaken broken whisper: I hate you.

I hate you. She repeated and ran as fast as she could until she crashed back in her bed. She ignored the angry protests of her parents and, possessed by an irrational anger, she dragged all the posters, the pictures, the Supreme endorsed propaganda and threw them into the open fire of the large oven at the back of the bakery. She just stood there hypnotized, staring and staring as that pretty boy face writhed in the flames.

When everything was reduced to ashes, she pulled her phone and called that guy who'd been pestering her for the last few months, begging her for a date. And she agreed. Because she also wanted to shine. She wanted to be loved and held tightly, and worshipped even if for just a moment, even if that moment was going to be with that obnoxious, arrogant, stuck-up class president, Le Chien Kim.

But maybe just then she would finally stop feeling like such a loser for having that ridiculous crush for someone who didn't even know she existed.

And with those thoughts she promised to never succumb to the whims of her heart ever again.

But Marinette was right at least for one thing: Adrien Agreste had never even seen her before in his life. Not until a few weeks later when he decided to finally surprise his mother with her favorite artisan macarons and his feet dragged him to the door of the most popular bakery of the 21th arrondissement.

Come let the truth be shared No one ever dared To break these endless lies Secretly, she cries

And I'll hide from the world Behind a broken frame And I'll run forever I can't face the shame

[earlycuntsets]

A healthy and reasonable criticism of the mcr archive that i’m 0% scared to share. I didn’t sign and NDA and i’m a free woman.

I will express my criticisms with both their practice and their pr.

this is my opinion and how I received them. if you want to turn this around on me, may you remember that I'm not the one responsible for the mcr archive. i'm a fan and they're a professional organization not god or jesus or anything like that.

practice: 

how can I view and appreciate the mcr archives work?

We have their mission statement

“My Chemical Romance community project whose goal is to collect & catalog MCR content for future posterity.”

linktree where you can see what they're sharing rn.

and what does the mcr archive so actively do? they share

2. sometimes a time sensitive drop box of files (from their link tree. files you dare not share, even if you credit them.)

3. barely (and sometimes just not) sourced social media posts that are kind of.. no different than what anyone else might share in terms of sourcing. the photos however seem to be really high quality versions of photos we’ve seen before and definitely some ones relatively no one has seen. They told me that’s because they pitch in to buy from photo agencies. and what the mcr archive posts is always excellent but it’s not everyone else’s problem you can’t find the info. I’ve dug up sources for ya’lls posts before when it takes two seconds to do. the places where you can add info, should have info. You should message other smart people in a group chat or something “hey can you look into this show for me, I can’t find the dang photographer” wheres the evidence of practice.

so It was an event/show. At the show there was a photographer. Look at their stupid haircuts, find out what 3 months in 2005 it was, check setlist fm etc

when I asked who took the pictures they told me “that infos actually not out there, we got it from a photo agency” who better than a f'n photo agency to know who took the picture I do not understand... you should have more info as a result

3. a mostly dead link list that credits back to themselves sometimes. seriously check it out you can’t do anything except the youtubes.

4. when they post a video, they haven't credited the yt a lot of the time. because they don't credit properly what ends up happening is they post and we're to believe the source is the mcr archive. which yeah no (credit where credit is due to them but sometimes you see it in funny places)

5. They informed me that they don’t check tumblr to see if the photos have been posted they just queue it when the time comes. It would save them a lot of time to reblog from someone.

maybe one of the amazing accounts that catalogue (thats what we’ll say to avoid eternal damnation) mcr extensively. Maybe all those blogs could be friends of the archive and we could all look forward to being reblogged by the great mcr archive

honestly they should reblog everything callmeblakes ever posted bc that shit is mcr history and archiving to me. just an opinion. in fact if you wanna know what I expect from the mcr archive, go to blakes blog.

6. It’s easy to have new mcr when everyone's falling all over themselves ready to give you their new mcr pics/video. But when there’s not it’s just this half effort mcr account It doesn’t do justice to those bits and pieces in between. The things that need to be saved still.

7. side note: I would like to credit the mcr archive as a bit of the inspiration for my website. I wanted to hoard everything and be excited about mcr. I needed the old important stuff I used to bleach my eyes with. So when I saw “the mcr archive” I was so excited to see well…

the archive????

I thought surely I wasn’t going to the right site. I thought for sure there was a “mcr archive” url, not a link tree, that would have all of this referenced content right? So fans can see the whole thing? no. Its always a limited time dropbox. That's why all the links are dead now. You can only get to what they have posted on instagram or tumblr.

The idea and concept and general execution of the mcr archive is good. it just seems they have fallen asleep on their laurels. And for the band I love, it should be better kept. Their content is excellent of course. photo agency quality scans.

For it being the “definitive mcr archive” I guess I just wanted more structure, more transparency and info and links where they apply. everything could be more accessible. it just seems to be run by not many people and they'd benefit from a larger team.

this is my personal critique that is 100% allowed to exist.

PR

I was recently messaged by an mcr archive member. their identity is protected but I will associate "mcr archive" to them because that's who they represent when they message fans about archival business.

(I’ve recently had some discourse with them that i'm sharing. they are the owner of an archive within the mcr archive (oo lala) -- from which I took and credited 20 of their files)

below my defense to their claims. I don't like being misunderstood.

they say in the first sentence it was on my site uncredited. bull. the files that belonged to them were labelled. I had their contributors doc in every folder that even had their files.

but that's not enough for them to be civil? that's not enough to simply ask for your 20 files to be removed from a my chemical romance fan site.. huh

they then give themselves away as anon (which they denied) by using the same vocab. I "lifted" their files. who even says that. in their og anon ask, they say the same thing followed by a lot of hot air about how i'm apparently doing a shit job and only they understand hard work. i'm a lot but i'm not stupid.

then here we go with I "copied their whole archive into mine". that didn't happen. I had 20 files and she assumed I took her wayback screenshots. bc how could I possibly have the capacity to take my own. they described taking these screenshots as an obscene amount of work btw. so much COMPLAINING. you should be grateful to do it. they also say the screenshots they took might not be on wayback machine anymore. sure bud.

it was brought to my attention that them saying they want the convo private is telling as well. they should be salespeople for mcr of the utmost transparency i'm sorry. you are public figures that don't treat mcr fans with respect and to try to make them feel small.

then they call me unprofessional.

Interesting that they message me calling me “unprofessional” when I am just a regular mcr blog/site owner. I never claimed to be perfect, or the end all be all mcr curator. I’m not the one affiliated with the mcr archive. If the mcr archive has a problem with my site they can make their own and do it their way. I’m not burger king. next.

then they talk about feeling undermined. the irony.

then they say I lack “community awareness” when they want all the credit for everything. that's the message you send when you don’t credit the photographers or youtube accounts. (no link ever) Its like “idk doesn’t matter look I posted it” which is fine when you’re a regular mcr fan but when you claim to be the most official mcr archive account, you are held to a higher standard in this fanbase.

and this is all before I even responded. they don't know me and they're literally scolding me. ok hotshot.

then I got defensive and tried to express to them that i'm not as dumb as they seem to think I am. I didn't do the things I was being accused of. I was honest about how I felt. it was hard to respond to all that because it was these weird different attacks on my intelligence from a person i've never spoken to before.

then them and their mcr achive friend sending fucked up anon asks calling me a piece of shit among other things. those mcr archive accounts could not figure out how to get a life that night. some random mcr archive fan is so mad to call me a piece of shit bc I got mad at mcr archive is what i'm to believe. it was them. they try to gatekeep this fandom that way ig. what does it for me is the complaining and acting like they built the pyramids.

it's not my fault it was hard work for you to do your awesome job request to remove and be business about it. it was like .04% of my website I don't care.

I took their stuff off, I put their site at the top of my sources on ec. I wanted this to be over. so I was professional and did as they asked. I was not half as rude as they were in their initial message. and then they say "why are you continuing to undermine me?"

like i'm sorry are you beyonce??

so they say i'm "duplicating work" and I need to slow down my process to avoid future errors. I am so clear about errors and fixing them and having no problem listening to people that are right. I am reasonable but how they came at me was bonkers. duplicating? I steal everything on there I own 0. cept the dvds ig. if me posting old show pics on a flicker from 2011 is duplicating work. sure idgaf. this history needs exposure.

I’m just a blog like everyone else that posts things that mean something to them. My website isn’t worth much more than a reference. It is a place that points to other places. This blog is the same. I’ve never pretended to own anything. ever. 

then they say just because their whole archive is literally drag and drop easy to download doesn't mean my site is worth more than their archive.

why are you comparing my site to an official mcr archive period?

They don't want to be brief as indicated in their essay of a first message. they want to argue with me about a few things. because I didn't bend over backwards and kiss their ass seven different ways to sunday, after they came at me wrong, they think I am undermining their work.

according their messages, my archive is illegitimate because I don’t ask permission when my content is 2002-2012 old sites. I have never asked permission and never did anything to hide that. anyone of the 9287432 people who have their material on my site can ask to have it removed. I just link to the original source and credit. Just interesting because: how do they have permission to use the photos if they can’t even tell us who took them. 

I have tried to talk to them during the founding of my website. I sent them messages and asked questions and they don't speak to the public. community this community that. I did @ a member in march when I used and credited her whole of 20 files. I removed it because they didn't respond to it for 3 months and stopped thinking about it. I figured she would talk to me like a grown up one day request to remove sometime if she wanted it down. guess that was too much to ask.

what this message tells me is that I can’t possibly understand the work they do, it’s too specialized and complicated. Apparently lmao I misunderstand them and only they know the true meaning of putting together info and data entry.

And i’m sorry I said taking a picture or scanning something isn’t hard work. I just got tired of all their hot air. I’m sorry but It’s all about them and their precious stuff and taking pictures/scans of it. it’s like mcr influencers that post paid for pictures and they dress really cool but I can't help but think about how I would be in their shoes, how lucky so many people would feel to be a part of the mcr archive. and their lack of gratitude stinks to high hell.

And for the record, It’s the attitude for me

All they had to do was request to remove like any other human would.

I really needed to say my piece and now i’m letting this go. :) reactions be damned.

[writing-for-marvel]

Everyone's Watching Him (But He's Looking At Her) (4)

Actor!Bucky Barnes × Assistant!Fem!Reader

< < PART 3 | Series Masterlist | PART 5 > >

Summary: Bucky begrudgingly undertakes his press tour and PR relationship with Sharon as you question if you can continue your job whilst watching him fall in love with someone else.

Warnings: shy & insecure reader, angst, idiots in love, miscommunication, soft fluff and an extremely happy ending 👀

Word count: 4.0k

A/N: photo credit by @bwsebastianstan, dividers by @vase-of-lilies

Main Masterlist | Ask me anything! | Taglist | Library

You can’t even look at him.

That’s what destroys Bucky the most.

The past week he’s been completely deprived of the soothing comfort he feels when your eyes meet his in a crowded room.

You’re seemingly so disgusted that he would stoop so low as to fake an entire relationship to promote some stupid movie that you can’t even look at him.

Between all the cameramen, producers, make up artists and rotating allotment of interviewers, whose eyes are all focussed on him, you’re the only person in the room who isn’t gazing in his direction, when your attention is the only one he cares about.

Each time he looks up, eyes instinctively searching for you, it feels like a dagger twisting in his heart to find you’re still acting as if he’s not there. Bucky’s found himself perpetually stuck in your blind spot, and he doesn’t think he’s ever felt as alone and desperate for someone to notice him whilst simultaneously being the centre of attention, in all his life.

No one’s interested in the movie, the intricate plot, the dynamic between the characters or even the difficult stunts he performed himself, all anyones asking questions about is Bucky and Sharon’s supposed relationship and the manner in which they got together after months of filming.

He can’t blame Sharon for playing the part perfectly, like the extraordinary actress she is, this is her chance to create a name for herself in this ruthless business and she’s pulling out all stops to make it count.

But Bucky hates it.

This is not why he became an actor and it would mortify his younger self to think this is all his career boils down to.

“And cut!” Someone yells and all of a sudden the room bursts to life again. He’s barely focussed on the questions being thrown at him, opting to let Sharon take most of them because it feels less dishonest that way. The fewer words he says, the less lies come out of his mouth and it makes him feel ever so slightly less guilty lying to the entire world.

Sharon squeezes his hand to grab his attention and gives him a look which screams ‘try harder’, but because they’re surrounded by a hoard of people she can’t actually say it aloud.

Maria’s on the phone beside one of the cameramen, and even through all the bustling noise, he can hear the distinct sound of her making arrangements for ‘the happy couple’. Dread settles in his stomach which sinks beneath the floor like an anvil.

To top it all off, he looks beyond where Maria is standing to find you busy discussing something which much be exceedingly important with some other crew members. Normally you’d be watching on with a reassuring smile, and when his gaze would meet yours, everyone else would melt away and it would seem like you were the only two people in the whole world. But he can’t exactly blame you for doing your job.

Bucky suddenly feels extremely claustrophobic, caged in by the bright lights, cameras and people working in the limited space provided by the set. It’s like his body is viscerally holding in his last breath until you turn around and look at him, and he’s suffocating waiting for something he intrinsically knows won’t happen.

He stands up, waving off the make-up artists who are rushing over from their station to ensure Sharon and himself look perfect for the next interview.

“I’ll be back in a minute.” He mumbles, not waiting for permission he knows he wouldn’t receive before trudging away to his dressing room.

Bucky relishes the moment alone, away from the mayhem, having the space to take a breath and calm the swarming anxiety in his chest. It’s not as effective as the comfort you provide whenever you are in his presence, but he knows it’ll have to do for now.

At that moment Becks’ name flashes on his phone and guilt pangs in his stomach that he’s forgotten about until now. He’s been ignoring her calls all week - his excuse is that he’s been insanely busy since the premiere, but he knows the real reason is because she’ll be disappointed he hasn’t told you what she could so plainly read on his features when the three of you were in the same room.

He hits ignore once again with the internal promise that once he summons enough courage to disclose his feelings for you, he’ll return her call. Ringing with either fantastic news, or in need of consoling a broken heart.

“Bucky?” He hears your voice call his name and he immediately turns around to the source, heart skipping a beat seeing your eyes land on him for what feels like the first time since under the dim light outside the premiere venue a week ago. He takes a couple seconds to commit your features to memory, knowing burning the image in the back of his mind will help him gather the strength he needs to return to the monotonous stream of interviews.

“Yes?” Bucky enquires to break the silence, something that even now, when he’s positive you’re avoiding him because you’re opposed to his promotional methods, has never been awkward between the two of you.

“They need you back out there.” Before he can even so much as thank you for the instruction, you’ve closed the door and he’s all alone again.

He can barely function only seeing glimpses of you. There’s a certain quality about you that no matter how tired he is of answering questions and interacting with people, he’s never too fatigued to be around you. Time spent with you allows him to recharge, and without that it feels like he’s running on empty.

Bucky takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and picturing how he felt the night after the infamous Alexander Pierce interview when you stayed up with him until the early hours of the morning, laughing at old movies and throwing popcorn in each others mouths, before he carried you to bed and seriously considered climbing in next to you.

Those are the memories with you he cherishes, even more so now that you’re giving him the cold shoulder, and is what will keep him going for the rest of the day. Probably even the rest of his life.

And with that happy thought, he’s ready to take on the next interview.

* * *

You feel your heart sink below your stomach for what feels like the thousandth time this week.

Each interviewer is asking the same damn question, ‘how did the two of you get together?’, which of course prompts Sharon to deliver the same damn response each time. You could recite her answer word for word at this point, but it doesn’t make hearing it yet again any less painful.

It’s a recurring nightmare you’re unable to wake from.

You do your best to keep busy, which isn’t all that difficult when there’s a million different interviewers rotating through who you need to provide copies of Bucky’s ‘no go’ list in an attempt to prevent a repeat of what happened on Alexander Pierce’s late night show.

But Bucky and Sharon are the eye of the storm, everything revolves around them, so it’s impossible to avoid their relationship altogether, nor the hollow, sinking feeling settling in the pit of your stomach when you catch a glance of them lovingly smiling at each other.

With each rotation of interviewers your resilience dwindles further. It’s only been a week, but you’re just about ready to break. The doting glances, the constant stroking of his arm, the intertwined fingers, adoring hand kisses, are each an additional stab to the heart which brings you closer to your demise.

You really would think of them to be such a cute and affectionate couple if one half of the pair wasn’t the beginning and end of your whole world.

You want to go home and cry your eyes out until the headache you get from being dehydrated is worse than the ache in your chest from your breaking heart.

As someone yells ‘cut’, the room coming to life with a frenzy, you do your best to fight the urge to look at the main stage where Bucky is currently sitting. All your instincts tell you to sneak a glance, but you know deep down seeing them together will bring about a heartache you’re sure you’ll never recover from.

So as arduous as it is to avoid staring at the same eyes that bring you a never ending supply of comfort and reassurance, and that seem to soften each and every time they notice you, without fail, you choose not to. Because at this point, the fear of more agony outweighs the morsel of solace you might find.

Why are you subjecting yourself to this?

To him, you’re just an assistant. Someone to do the organisational tasks that he either doesn’t have time for or purely doesn’t want to. A job multiple people who aren’t life shatteringly in love with him are qualified for.

You’re positive there will not be a day that goes by in which you will not be in love with James Buchanan Barnes, but quitting as his assistant would allow you a small fragment of peace that constantly being around him and Sharon will never allow.

That even if he isn’t yours, you wouldn’t have to watch him be someone else’s.

Perhaps that’s the most tranquillity this cruel world can grant you now.

Are you really about to do this?

In your moment of reservation you make the mistake of looking over to Bucky, in hope that seeing the handsome face which never fails to give life to butterflies in your stomach, will remind you why you do this job, but what you see instead does the exact opposite.

Sharon leans over the minimal space between the two chairs and kisses him, lingering for a few agonising seconds before pulling away, all toothy smiles as they intertwine hands.

Your heart crumbles into irreparably small pieces and you have to force yourself to heave a shaky breath.

It is unfortunately not the first time you’ve seen the two share a kiss, but you determine to yourself it will be the last.

You’ve made your mind up. You can’t endure this any more. You’re done.

After the last interview tonight, you’ll hand in your resignation.

* * *

As you knock on the door and twist the handle in response to Bucky’s mumbled ‘come in’, you feel yourself approaching the bottom of the seemingly eternal abyss you’ve been falling into since learning that Bucky is dating Sharon.

When you feel the sensation while sleeping, you get the relief of waking up, but the past week has been a nonstop, agonising plunge.

Though you’re nervous about how he’ll react, and petrified that in a moment of weakness you’ll disclose romantic feelings you want to keep secret in order to justify your departure, you’re certain this is the right decision, and that provides you the drop of courage you need.

“Hi.” Even in just the single syllable you can tell he’s completely worn out, but there’s a hope and longing in his eyes at the recognition it’s you who’s entered his dressing room that even his exhaustion can’t quell.

He hasn’t even put up a defence to what you’re about to do, but even just by looking at him, at those damn steel blue eyes which shine bright enough to illuminate even your darkest days, you question if you can go through with it.

Bucky looks at you expectantly, knowing you must have come in for something. There’s a small part of you, despite what you’re about to do, that makes your stomach clench at the thought that even though you’ve been avoiding him the last week, he still smiles when he sees you.

“I’m handing in my two weeks.” You manage to say, but your voice is weak and lacking any kind of conviction. It sounds more like a question than a statement.

“What?” His smile turns into an expression of shock in the time it takes you to blink. He stands, knocking his chair backwards, but his eyes are wide and only focussed on you. “I don’t accept your resignation.”

“Well then it’s a good thing it’s technically Maria’s management company that employs me. I just came here as a professional courtesy.” You turn to leave, unable to look at the undeniable hurt in his eyes and on his features you’ve caused. That will be your legacy to him, your last action in his life will be wrought with the agony of abandoning him.

“Is that all I am to you? A formality?” His words make you pause. As much as you need to move on from your own heartache of watching him in a relationship with someone else, you can’t leave knowing he believes he means so little to you.

You turn back to look at him and it feels like you’ve been shot in the chest, seeing desperation and hopelessness brimming in his eyes. You’re the cause of that.

“Not even close, Bucky. You mean so much more to me, that’s the whole point.” You put all your effort into making your voice level and believable. You might be leaving him but the reasoning behind it is because you care too much about him, not too little. With time, you hope he can understand that.

“The whole point of what?”

“Why I’m quitting - do you really think I’d be leaving if you meant nothing to me?” There’s a flash of something in Bucky’s eyes that you can’t quite place, perhaps something of a revelation, but so much more profound.

“Then why are you leaving?” You can feel tears stinging the corners of your eyes. You are dangerously close to revealing deeper feelings you promised you’d keep to yourself, that you wouldn’t divulge to Bucky and put him in the awkward position of having to turn you down because he’s already in love with another woman.

The searing pain of vocalising your devotion, the inevitability of being rejected by him overcomes you and you find your heart won’t let the words of affection leave your lips.

You take a deep, steadying breath and find yourself staring at the floor merely because you don’t have the strength to look into his bewitching eyes.

“It doesn’t matter now.” Is what you say halfheartedly, though you do believe it. Surely it’s too late now to be of any consequence. He’s fallen for another woman, you’re just the expendable assistant, nothing can change that now.

“Yes it does! You matter to me, so why you’re choosing to leave my life matters to me.” Your heart aches. You might matter to him, but not in the way your heart needs. Not in the all consuming, life changing, inescapable way that plagues every second of his life as he does yours.

You can feel your heart beating in your throat as you respond to him.

“All I want is for you to be happy, Buck, and you’re happy with her. I’m not going to jeapordise that, but it doesn’t mean I need to torture myself by having a front row seat to your love story.”

“Doll, you are my happiness!” You try to ignore the way your stomach flips and heart clenches as a result of his words. He’s just trying to make you stay… he doesn’t truly mean that. But then he continues and your world comes to a complete standstill. “If you’re referring to Sharon and I, that’s all fake! I’m not dating her, I’ve never been interested in her like that, it’s all for PR.”

Your hands start shaking and knees feel weak as your mind works to process his words. This can’t be happening. It was all fake? But then your mind flashes back to the fondness in Bucky’s eyes as he looked at Sharon at the premiere, as well as the way your heart ruptured when Maria confirmed their relationship and you can’t give your heart permission to believe him.

“No… no, that’s not what Maria said.” You stammer, replaying her words in your mind as you had done continuously since that infamous night to ensure you hadn’t misinterpreted them.

“What did Maria say?” Bucky’s voice has an edge of irritation which is hard to miss.

“She said Sharon was your girlfriend, real girlfriend… that you’d started dating while filming together.” Maria had been sure, unwavering, almost clinically so. She left no room for doubt.

“I’m gonna kill her.” Bucky mutters, almost to himself. “Doll, none of it was real, purely written into the contracts for promoting the movie. I think Maria saw how I feel about you and for her own twisted reasons wanted to push us apart.” You have to remind yourself to breathe because every single cell in your body is so overwhelmingly focussed on Bucky’s words that even your vital functions have stopped.

“How you feel about me?” You repeat his words breathlessly, unable to process their true connotation for if you’re wrong, it would surely end your entire existence.

Bucky’s eyes stare into your soul in a way that they never have before. He looks resolute, but somehow simultaneously vulnerable. Though you’ve seen him at his lowest, the fragility he’s openly displaying makes you suspect that there was always one last wall he kept part of himself concealed behind, shielding himself from one last heartbreak he just couldn’t bare to endure.

You observe in his eyes he’s pulled that wall down, and it’s like you’re seeing him, all of him, for the first time. And you’ve never been more in love.

“I was gonna tell you last week, after the premiere, but then you left and…” He shakes his head as he gathers his thoughts. When he looks up his eyes are filled with intent and don’t leave your gaze as he steps closer. You allow him to grasp your hands in his, his thumbs swiping over the backs of your hands affectionately and it takes every ounce of strength in you not to melt into his warm, musky scented embrace. When Bucky speaks there’s a crack in his voice. “The thought of you leaving takes away all my air, I can’t fucking breathe thinking that in two weeks you’re going to walk out of my life and never look back. I need you. You are absolutely everything to me. You are in every moment of my life, regardless of if you’re actually present for it. It’s you I will always search for in a crowded room. Whose eyes I find solace in and whose smile gives my life purpose. I live to be the reason for that beautiful smile. You are who I want to tell every good piece of news to first. Whose hand I instinctively reach for when I need the reminder I’m not alone in this isolating spotlight. Every moment of my life revolves around you. You are the nucleus of my world that I cannot live without.”

“Bucky…” You feel like you’re about to collapse. Your mind is racing too fast for any coherent thoughts to form, but warmth and adoration fills your entire body like a sugar high.

“Doll, please, you are it for me. There is no one else, even if you do choose to leave. You are my definition of love. You will be the person who I compare everyone else to, and I can already tell you with absolute certainty that none of them will even come close. There will never be anyone else for me, because it always has been and always will be you.”

You feel like you’re floating on a cloud, euphoria flowing in your veins and a warmth blooming in your chest so fiercely it almost feels like an ache. Tears sting behind your eyes, but you compel yourself to not let them blur your vision. You want to remember the pure love and devotion in Bucky’s eyes, how he’s looking at you like you truly are the only one in the world for him. As if, when he looks at you, everything else becomes hazy and you’re the only thing he sees.

All those moments, all the shared tender glances and lingering touches, all the generously sweet words you hope implied more than a simple boss-assistant relationship, it wasn’t just your imagination wishing he reciprocated your feelings.

Bucky had felt it too.

It was all real. So earnestly real.

“Bucky…” You reach up and cup his cheek, wiping away a stray tear which gently trickles from the corner of his eye with your thumb. He leans into your touch, closing his eyes and savouring the care in your contact. His prosthetic hand, which is still holding yours, gives you an encouraging squeeze, and when he opens his eyes again, his gaze is overflowing with adoration. “You are my home. The only reason I was going to leave was because I didn’t want to watch you fall in love with someone else. Loving you comes as easy as breathing for me. There is no one else in the entire world that I will ever love in that way, only you.”

You don’t even have time to breathe, for when those words leave your lips Bucky decides he simply cannot wait a second longer before kissing you. Though, you’re not complaining, it’s an urge you’ve been supressing constantly since you started working for him.

This kiss starts fast and frantic, you’ve both waited entirely far too long to express your love that you’re eager to feel as much of each other as possible. Bucky’s hands roam around your back, pulling you flush with him as yours start by cupping his face, before tangling in the long strands of his hair.

But when the realisation hits you both that you don’t need rush, that in fact you’ve got the rest of your lives to explore and memorise the intricacies of each other, the kiss slows to a sensual make out, taking your time to enjoy each other and what you’ve been longing for since the moment you met.

“Bucky?” You mumble his name against his lips, but he doesn’t allow you to say more then a single word and take a quick breath before his lips have covered yours again. You’re not sure how long you’ve been kissing him, but he’s clearly not done with you yet.

“Mhmm.” He hums into your mouth, hands slipping below the hem of your shirt, gliding over the smooth, bare skin of your back, sending shivers down your spine. He touches you gently, like you’re a precious flower he doesn’t want to crush, but rather preserve and admire for years to come.

“Take me home.” He pulls back, and your lips already miss being connected to his. You’ll never get enough of him, even if you were to kiss him for the remainder of your days.

He looks at you with a fondness and amazement that makes you think he can’t quite believe you’re his, even though your heart has belonged to him for as long as you’ve known him.

You tuck a strand of his hair behind his ear so you can have an unobstructed view of how he’s looking at you, soaking up the confidence which inflates in your chest when he gazes at you as if you hang the moon and stars in the night sky.

“As you wish, my love.” Bucky affirms, the twinkle in his eye makes excitement surge in your stomach - the night is far from over. He kisses you once more, savouring the feeling and to tide you both over until you make it back to his place.

Bucky takes your hand and refuses to let go as he proudly walks with you by his side through the studio, not giving a damn who sees the two of you together.

Part 5 > >

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[chaoswarfare]

~Tim ‘drake’ Drake~

Tim is a drake. Well, not a ‘Drake', Drake, but a drake. Let’s try that again- Tim Drake is a dragon. A scaly shapeshifting menace of a creature that terrorizes humans and burns villages. Not that he knew that from the beginning.

It all started when Janet and Jack Drake found an interesting rock at an archeological site, that seemed to be some sort of massive fossilized egg based on the tough pitted shell. True to their habit of hoarding interesting finds to themselves, they brought it home with them.

And then it hatched.

And the large wingless lizard turned into a baby.

Now, admitting that the baby wasn’t theirs would be a problem in the sense that they would have to admit that they’ve been stealing from dig sites for over a decade. Getting rid of the child wouldn’t be an option either, Janet’s always been squeamish about these sorts of things, and Jack wouldn’t want to upset her like that. So the only option left to them was to keep it and claim the child was theirs.

And thus, Tim the drake became Tim Drake. Irony at it’s finest if you’d ask him.

—————————-

It wasn’t easy growing up in a household where any adults would be out for months at a time, but Tim made do. It was hard for him, always turning around expecting someone to be there, and it always just being him all alone. He dove into his hobbies to take his mind off of it, learning to play the violin and piano at a frightening rate and picking up knowledge as fast as he could get his claws on it.

He particularly loved the ancient folktales of the dragons, whatever part of the world they were from. Feeling the shivers of his scales rattling underneath his skin as the mythical beasts fought to defend what was theirs. Even if it was rather disappointing when they lost.

Starting school was probably the first time Tim had ever been able to compare himself to the humans of his age.

It was horrible. The children attending his classes didn’t see things the same way. On top of that they weren’t as… well developed you could say. They were soft and fragile, and had trouble comprehending the simplest of things, that Tim has been aware of for years.

It didn’t take them long to move him up a few grades to better learn at his current level, but that didn’t help anything. While the children of the higher grades were much more mature than his former classmates, they detested having someone so much younger than them thriving in the class they thought was difficult. Tim didn’t make any friends there either.

The only solace for Tim was going out at night. It felt better being awake under the stars rather than the sun’s harsh light, and hopping between the roofs of Gotham felt so right being that high off the earth. Everything from the wind in his hair to the smell of the sky so high from the general smog of the lower city levels. It felt more like home that the Drake Manor ever did.

He started taking his camera out with him to shoot photos of the skyline and trying to capture the joy of flying across the rooftops. That’s when he first saw the Bats. They were out very nearly every night, doing the exact same things he was doing, and fighting the dangers of their territory while they were at it! Tim knew he would learn a lot following them on their patrols.

So that’s exactly what he did.

He didn’t put the pieces together until he saw Robin do a quadruple somersault, and realized that he was Dick Greyson. It was easy enough to figure out who Batman was after that. All it really meant to Tim though was Bruce Wayne was a much better ‘prince’ of the city than he had thought previously. Every gala he went to where the two were at he watched them interact with the rest of the 1% who attended the galas. His parents even had him shake hands with them once!

It really upset him when the first Robin split from Batman when they started fighting, but then Jason became Robin afterwards. Tim was overjoyed. Dick may have been a wonderful Robin, but he was different than Jason. Jason was kind and witty in ways he wasn’t, and was clearly a born Gothamite. It made him feel that much more relatable.

——————

It hadn’t really set in before now how dangerous following them could be. Sure, before there would be an occasional bullet whizzing past his hiding spots, or a thug would get just a bit too close, but the thing that really cemented it was dangling by the scruff of his neck being held by Batman of all people.

He had raced after Robin too fast to try and get a better action shot of him swinging on his grapple, and just about flew off the edge of the building. It still didn’t feel scary to Tim, the falling that is, he’d fallen from higher up with only some bruising to show for his troubles, but Batman clearly thought differently.

The terror of being caught in someone else’s territory was causing Tim to panic just a little, and Bruce’s deep raspy growl wasn’t helping him at all. He wriggled and kicked at the arm holding him as he was lectured, and eventually got fed up and pulled himself up and sank his teeth into Batman’s gauntleted arm. The shock of his teeth going right through his armor caused him to drop tim(a measly three stories), and he was back on his feet and sprinting away before Batman could get his wits about him.

———————-

The nights after they kept looking for Tim. Tim kept hiding, only coming out for the best pictures. Who knew if Batman would be man at him after all.

Eventually the search died down though, and the usual routine fell into place. Tim chasing them with the camera, The Bats taking down criminals, and Then all of them returning to their homes, with none of them realizing Tim lived just down the street.

They kept going to the galas and Tim even became friends a bit with Jason, albeit in the way people just talk to each other out of a shared hatred for large events. Tim’s parents come home and leave barely a week later, and Tim fights the urge to ask to go with them. They won’t say yes.

Then the unthinkable happened. Robin disappeared.

At first Tim thought it was the same kind of spat that Bruce and Dick used to get into with the increasing level of violence Batman put on criminals. And then the news broke about Jason’s death. They were never truly friends or even met in any memorable capacity(for Jason), but Tim couldn’t imagine the boy not in his life patrolling the gotham skyline and grumpily sulking around the buffet tables at galas.

Batman continued to get worse and worse and Tim didn’t know what to do except try and get the Justice League to realize what was happening in Gotham. He called and called and left so many hundreds of messages and letters and emails, until they told him to stop trying to contact them. With them cut off, Tim turned to Bludhaven to try and convince Dick to take up being nightwing again. He didn’t want anything to do with it either.

That night tim lost control of his form with the extent of his emotions for the first time in years.

With no no other options left, he walked the mile-and-a-half trek to the Wayne Manor to talk to Bruce himself. It took a lot of convincing, but he finally allowed Tim to help him, even just as a temporary Robin. Tim could do that. Just until Bruce got back on his feet and no longer.

He didn’t treat Tim like either of the other Robins, but that was fine. He wasn’t part of the family after all, no matter how often he stayed over, or Alfred made food for the both of them instead of just Bruce. Dick was over a lot to see him, and Tim figured this was his way of missing Jason. Just like being Robin for Batman was Tim’s.

——————————

Tim didn’t know what set it off, and told him something was wrong.

Nothing seemed wrong in the tower, even if it was quiet since none of the rest of his team was in there, there was nothing out of place and no odd smells in the air, but something was setting off his instincts anyway.

His eyes flicked back to track a shadow for a moment before it disappeared back down the hallway. The lights flickered and went off right at that moment, and Tim realized something must be seriously wrong.

His eyes adjusted to the darkness quickly as his daylight filters receded into his eyelids and he tried not to breathe too loudly in case he missed something vital. Tim finally gave up on whatever the threat was coming to him and set off down the pitch black hallway. Every single footstep echoed creepily and he would shudder if he wasn’t able to tell exactly where the sounds were coming from.

He wandered towards the stairs to get down to the zeta tubes, but froze when he heard a single breath that wasn’t his own. Before he had time to process it, Red Hood was already on him and had him in a headlock that was rapidly cutting off his air.

“You really think you’re tough shit, huh replacement?” The modulated voice ground out far too loud next to his ear. Tim struggled and kicked, but couldn’t wriggle his fingers between the Hood’s arm and his neck. He didn’t stop struggling even when he felt a blade rest against his neck, or when Hood kept talking about something or other. He could feel the burning in his core creeping its way up his throat and had to get free.

suddenly a line of pain opened up on his neck, and he hit the ground in a pile. Red Hood didn’t wait to make sure he wasn’t bleeding out before he started beating Tim up where he was lying on the floor. Tim watched in horror as he took off his helmet and revealed the face underneath it. That was Jason, the same Jason who Tim used to follow around obsessively, and idolized before he died. And now he was here, back, to oust Tim from the territory he stole and reclaim his spot.

Tim cried out as Jason stomped on his fingers and the scales under the bruised skin ground together with a sound like bones snapping.

And then Jason.

Kicked him.

Down.

The.

Stairs.

It bruised his outside skin terribly, and the false nerves still sent his brain the same pain signals. Tim groaned from his place on the floor, and shrieked as a gunshot went off and a bullet buried itself under the skin of his thigh as the wound bled sluggishly. The damned thing had ricocheted up underneath his scales and his brain was fuzzy with the agony of it. It was so much worse that any damage to his human skin.

Jason hovers around for just a few minutes, smearing something on the walls, and then takes his leave without another word to Tim. Maybe he thought he had passed out. Figures he would think Tim is that weak.

As soon as the sounds disappear, Tim digs into the bullet wound and allows two of his claws to slice through the skin of his fingers to use as tweezers. His vision keeps flashing with white throughout the whole process, and as soon as the bullet plinks onto the ground, Tim really does pass out.

And then he wakes up in the Batcave, with Leslie Thompkins hovering over him, Waiting to grill him for answers as to how he has smooth midnight blue scales underneath his skin.

—————————-

Tim stayed in Doc. Thompkin’s care for three more days, in which he had to explain his suspicions about his origins. She was a good listener and only noted down the important medical issues in his folder of nothing else. She kept Bruce mostly out of the medical wing past the report of what happened, and put away any of his medical records as soon as any of the family walked in.

Alfred worried as good as the best of them, offering Tim soup and drinks and obviously trying to take his mind off the fact that Jason was back. Tim appreciated the attention anyway, most of the time he just came over to patrol and then went back to the Drake Manor. He sobered quickly at the thought that Jason wanted his spot back.

He knows logically how he would feel if someone came out of nowhere and stole what was his, so he can’t even be truly mad about it since he understands where he’s coming from a bit. For some reason, though, Bruce and Dick don’t see it the same way. Tim just didn’t get why they were so upset about it, as soon as Jason got what he wanted or Bruce put an end to it, it would all be over. That’s how it’s supposed to work.

Maybe Tim was just the one confused. The dynamics of the Wayne family seem so different than what he’s used to after all. The Drakes would never treat him this kindly- especially if he was injured. This kind of coddling would be unheard of, and they would get frustrated and leave for another dig within a few days.

Bruce and Alfred and Dick and now Cass and Stephanie- they weren’t like that. They hovered and wouldn’t let him go on patrol until it was safe and Jason was caught, and they cared! they cared so much about Tim’s safety and health and he wasn’t even a part of their family, he was just placeholding until a new Robin could be chosen.

He can’t help but wonder how they would react if they knew.

—————————-

Red Hood ended up probationally re-joining the Batclan and Tim was suddenly almost murdered a lot less. He knew that would happen when he finally got told by Bruce that he wouldn’t be getting the Joker’s head on a stick or whatever it was he was so set on.

However now Bruce has brought home his blood son from where he’s been living with the League of Assassins.

Damian was loud and obnoxious about how ‘he is the only blood son’ and ‘the rest of you are only placeholders and not worthy of Father’s attention’ which may be true in Tim’s case, but it’s entirely unfair to say that to the others, who are in fact Waynes, whether Damian likes it or not.

And he seems to be leaning heavily towards ‘not’ based on how he’s begun to take it out on Tim. He sets traps and Outright attacks him during training, and if Tim’s senses weren’t as good as they were then he definitely would have succeeded in killing him in his sleep one night. He’s even been thrown off the dinosaur and the railing of the cave.

Damian will just. Not. Quit.

It was fine, everything was still fine until Bruce disappeared. He was gone. Everyone was convinced that he was gone for good. Red Hood disappeared back to Crime Alley, Cass left for Hong Kong, even Dick took up the mantle of Batman and gave Robin away from Tim to give to Damian to appease him.

But Tim could still smell him. Bruce’s scent floated around in odd places, seemingly from nowhere. And whenever Tim brought up Bruce being potentially alive it just upset everyone more and more, until Dick outright threatened to put him in Arkham.

And then Tim struck out on his own. Partially to find Bruce.

Partially because he knows where he’s not wanted.

————————

About two months three days and eleven hours into his journey, Tim starts to get an unbearable itch whenever he’s in his human form. Whenever he even thinks of staying in his false skin, even for a minute his scales itch like they’ve got termites underneath them.

And so he hunkers down in a cave and waits for it to pass.

Soon the itching comes back, on his shoulder blades and down his spine the itch settles into what feels like his bones, and he takes to rubbing on the stone walls of the cave to get rid of the godforsaken itch, even just for a moment.

After what could only have been days of unbearable suffering at the hands of the itching, the skin of his back splits upon, and gives his new wings the chance to open fully for the first time. He cranes his neck back as he fans them, catching the air and drying the skin of the clear slime that they had burst from. Tim’s surprised to be proud of his wings that he didn’t know he would have, the way the blues catch the sunlight from the opening of the cave when the scales are angled just so.

He wished he could show them to Bruce.

The thought surprised him as he crouched in the cold cave on the mountainside, and he couldn’t help but wince at the knowledge that Bruce would probably chase him out of the city.

He doesn’t like metas after all, so why would he want a dragon shifter meta anywhere near his city. Tim shook his head and test flapped his wings a couple times to gauge how they caught the air.

It’s time to find his Bruce.

——————————

Tim found flying to be his new favorite thing.

The night winds carried him farther and faster than any vehicle could before in the direction he caught Bruce’s scent, hiding as plain old Tim at dig sites and grabbing any evidence he could.

Because Bruce was alive, and he was trapped in time.

Tim had already found several clues in different eras and time periods that could only be Bruce letting him know where he was. Even after so long, on some of them he could still catch some of his scent.

Everything was going alright until he caught the attention of Ra’s Al Ghul, Damian’s grandfather. The old bastard has been hiding out in Nanda Parbat for decades, commanding assassinations all over the world. And now he’s noticed Tim, and potentially what he is as well. At least given the assassins he sent to retrieve him, to discuss information about Bruce.

And Tim can’t refuse for that.

———————————-

Ra’s is almost a good host, despite definitely having him drugged on the way there.

Tim woke up in what he presumed would be his room, complete with clothes in the closet and servants waiting on his needs. Ra’s called for him immediately after he woke up, and as he walked behind the assassin sent to fetch him, he couldn’t help but notice the growing unease he felt as he grew closer to Ra’s guest area. There was a strange heavy smell that lingered in his nostrils, and he fought the urge to growl as the warmth in his belly built up to be stiflingly hot.

Tim realized why as soon as he was deposited in what could only be a throne room. The decorations all sparkled and smelled of what Tim immediately recognized as gold, and the tapestries and carpets were of the highest quality he had ever seen. They were nothing to the huge deep forest green dragon lounging on the throne.

Tim hadn’t exactly spent much time looking at his true form in the mirror, but he knew for certain that Ra’s looked very different from him. He had a heavy crest over his eyes for one that Tim lacked, and he had two pairs of horns, one of which swooped out behind his head and the other curled behind his ears, and his head was much boxier of a shape, but had a regal curve to his snout regardless. disregarding all of that, he was almost four times Tim’s size.

He was incredibly dangerous.

Ra’s let his head drift from side to side like a snake getting ready to strike as he watched Tim, before lounging back on his throne as if Tim wasn’t truly worth his time.

“Well? It’s considered rude among our kind to address one another in disguise, little Robin.” Ra’s hissed and flicked his tail at Tim in disdain. “Did your dam never even teach you proper etiquette?”

Tim shuddered as he tried to make sense of what was going on, heaving breaths as he locked eyes with the massive beast across the room from him.

“Ah, she didn’t. I presume that you’ve never met her then. Don’t worry little Robin,” Ra’s rumbled “This will prove to be very educational.”

And then Tim fainted.

————————

The next months he spent learning from Ra’s what it meant to be a dragon, how all the weird impulses and oddities he’d had over the years was his instincts, and he was never truly human in the first place. It took tim a very long time to grow used to being in another dragon’s territory without any immediate risk of being chased out, but ra’s assured him that was normal.

With every month Tim spent out in Nanda Parbat learning about his true form and instincts and what all that means, he grew to miss the Wayne’s more and more. Bruce was still out there and he had to get him back to Gotham where he belongs.

One night tim sneaks out of the temple and is halfway back across the alps before Ras even notices.

Soon, with the evidence that hes collected on his quest he finally reaches gotham to deliver everything they need to get bruce back to the league. He doesn’t stop in gotham, but flies directly to the zeta tubes in the tower and summons his second skin just to zeta up to the watchtower and deliver his information.

But they already knew.

Throughout all the time he had been gone they had also been collecting the information and they were very nearly where tim himself was at when he brought his evidence back. Downcast, Tim returned to Gotham to see how the Wayne's were doing.

It felt odd after all this time to travel the human way. He’s gotten so used to flying everywhere that it seems ridiculously inconvenient now that he has to hide his form again.

He's suddenly drawn back to the fact that Bruce and the others have no idea that he’s a dragon. the imaginings of the looks of horror on their faces as he sheds his skin takes over his mind. He can’t do that to them. can’t let them cast him out like that. Tim makes up his mind about it one last time

He won’t tell them.

it’s for the best.

—————————

Tim makes it back to the manor at the same time that dick and Damian leave for patrol, just missing them. entirely purposely on his part, but he's not ready to face them before alfred. to his shock, Cass is back in the manor, her stuff is right where it used to be in her room, and there’s even evidence of Jason having been around lately.

Tim doesn’t know what to think about the fact that everyone seems to have moved on without him and Bruce there with them. It hurts because they’re his people and they don’t need or want time there.

Turning a corner to go back to the room he used to spend the night in, he realizes downcastedly that it seems to have been repurposed as an art studio of some kind. his scales itch under his skin at the idea that they wanted him gone so much that they would actively erase every trace of him from the house.

Tim decides it’s not worth it before anyone gets back from patrol, he sneaks back out the way he came in and sulks all the way back to drake manor, empty as always where he can brood and be himself.

A place that he could never do at the house he considers home.

A house that has very visibly stated that it wants him gone. Tim wouldn’t be surprised if they changed out all his gear and even changed the zeta in the cave to keep him out at this point either, tears starting to prick at the edges of his vision.

It’s not home.

It’s not home it's not home it's not home anymore.

They replaced him.

No that’s not right, he was the one that replaced someone else, and now that he’s back there’s no more need for Tim to hang around, he’s outlived his usefulness. He’s come to terms with the fact that his parents never wanted him either, so with a heavy heart he starts packing his bags to go back to nanda parbat to be either the manipulator that at least understands how it feels to be tim

It's time to go back to the demon's lair.

————————

Dick catches him on the way out of Drake Manor to tell him they’re getting Bruce back and he was vital to the mission.

He claims to have missed Tim a lot along with the rest of the family, but Tim struggles to believe in his words with Damian scowling like a little demon behind him. Tim tries to explain that he’s just getting out of their hair when Red Hood pulls up on his motorcycle asking if they’ve found Tim and then stops dead when he sees him. it’s like they actually missed him

Tim hesitates for just a moment before pushing his way out of the hug and turning away. He has unfinished business with rad and he can’t let this stop him no matter how much he wants to stay. At the very least he will be returning this time and he tells them that before he goes and boards the bus to take him to the airport for appearances sake.

On the plane he glances out the window and wonders if they’ll still miss him the same once Bruce is back or if they’ll just discard him again once there’s no longer a place missing in the family.

Tim still doesn’t know.

—————————-

After getting back to Nanda Parbat to face down Ra’s he’s greeted with a frantic swarm of servants dragging him down the hall away from where he can hear terrifying roars and snarls and crashes coming from.

It could only be Ra’s, and Tim realized he was right when he walks into the stone room containing the lazarus pits and Ra’s is thrashing and howling in rage. Rage at Tim for thinking he could leave without his permission, or that he would take his hospitality for granted like that.

Ra’s had gone completely mad once he realized Tim was gone and couldn’t be calmed down until they had found him again. Tim had had enough of this

Ra’s had treated him nothing but coldly and contemptuously since he had requested he come to nanda parbat, and tim was boiling with enough rage to raise the temperature around him.

Ra’s seemed to notice this and only got more angry at tim, and he lunged at the smaller dragon without warning to fling him by the neck into a nearby wall, tim staggered to his feet and threw himself at ras, using his small side to his advantage as he scrabbled over the larger dragon leaving deep bites and scratches as he went, and just as ras lunged towards him with open jaws as he was tossed from his back, tim finally opened his jaws and let loose the flame he had been holding back for the last 16 years. It stuck to the sides of Ra’s face and ate away at the scales and flesh like some sort of potent acid as he shrieked and writhed in agony as Tim watched.

Figured he didn’t know that Tim could do that.

Serves him right.

Tim watched until the bleached white bones showed through more than flesh and then left, the lazarus pits couldn’t repair that kind of damage and he knew it. Tim figured it was time to pack up and go home.

It was time to try and be with his family again.

———————

Two days after Bruce was returned they got the news of Ra’s death. Talia had been the one to step up to become Demon’s head instead of Damian, and she filled the role better than Ra’s ever had.

Damian wasn’t handling it nearly as well and Tim kept finding him listless about what to do now that he wouldn’t be the demon head, until he started really pursuing a life with the Waynes.

Nobody else knew what had happened at Nanda Parbat, nobody else was in the base at the point of Ra’s death, except Tim And Ra’s and Ra’s had killed most everyone that had known about tim and who he was.

Bruce was actually glad to have Tim back and thankful about how he had helped get him out of the time stream.

The others never got over being happy that Tim was back either, even Damian grew to actually seem to like his company after a while. alfred told him that it was because they all actually considered him part of the family, which only drew him deeper into the family circle the more often they would repeat it to him.

Everything was good, everyone was together, and Tim was happy.

They still didn’t know about him and Bruce was still adamant about not allowing metas in the city. Sometimes when a meta rogue would slip into the city Bruce would go out to take care of them personally just to reinforce the assumption that metas weren’t safe in Gotham. That meant Tim wasn’t safe in gotham either

But that was fine. He didn’t have to tell them and they didn’t have to know. everything would work out in the end, even if tim has to hide in his skin the remainder of their natural lives. He has forever after all.

And Tim is great at lying.

[dawnbreakersgaze]

Lost in Your Echos -Prologue teaser

❥ ┊𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠; Dawnbreaker!Zayne × Hunter!Reader

❥ ┊𝐀𝐔; This one is gonna get weird folks. Canon Divergent as fuck, but will use a lot of the canon lore.

❥ ┊𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠; NSFW, reader is afab using she/her pronouns, reader's skin/hair/body will not be described (this will be Black reader friendly!!) violence, mentions of torture but no descriptions, beloved character deaths (I'm serious I'm gonna kill 'em), slow burn, obsessive behavior, Dawnbreaker is kind of a creep but he's trying he just doesn't know how, trauma, ptsd, nightmares/night terrors, poorly managed grief and depression, sexual situations (more specific tags for that when we get to those chapters later).

❥ ┊𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲; In the far future, Dawnbreaker fights a lone man war against an ever growing hoard of human born wanderer abominations, spawned from an unchecked protocore sickness run rampant. 2 weeks after the death of Georgie, Zayne has an all too vivid dream of the Doctor that abruptly brings an end to his dreams of the Doctor and you.

Several months later, Detective Ivan reaches out to him again, informing him that a woman has come forward requesting help with information about the abominations. Knowing he can't help her, he sends Dawnbreaker her info and suggests Zayne meet up with her. What he finds shatters the delicate reality he has built for himself, but for the first time in his bleak life he can feel the warmth of the sun.

❥ ┊𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭; Lost in Your Echos

"It's you.” Truly the last place he expected to see the haunted expression of his own warped visage was in his once quiet office at Akso hospital, but Zayne already knew this was no ordinary meeting. The mid-morning sun shone through the open windows, washing everything in a beautiful golden glow, but there was no warmth to be found here.

How long had it been since he'd sat behind this desk? 6, 7, 8 weeks? Even now there was a force in his mind that wanted to drift to the many patients he'd left in the care of Dr. Greyson, and their varied outcomes, but the man that stood before him like a specter was the only thing left to take care of now. He wore his face, but so discordant were the expression and mannerisms that they made every part of his being feel like he was staring down the executioner.

This was his grim reaper.

He'd experienced his presence a hundred times in his dreams, yet nothing in those half lucid moments compared to this. 

“You've come for me then, finally.” He watched the unchanging face of his twisted reflection for any sign of recognition or acceptance. Instead, the apparition finally spoke, his expression as frigid as his tone. 

“You called me here.” His voice was quieter than the Doctor's, with the slight rasp of disuse, but otherwise, he thinks they sound too similar for his liking. Zayne watches as the figure cut in black shifts, movements awkward like he takes up space in a room he is not part of. He is a person all too real in a dream or simulation, and it reminds Zayne that his own body is slipping from his grasp. 

“I didn't call anyone here. I'm not even sure where ‘here’ is. If you're not the grim reaper then who exactly are you, and where are we?” Zayne doesn't miss the slightest crinkle of the other's eyes at the use of his macabre ‘nickname’, but all the same he doesn't object.

With a small effort he stands, the unease in his gut growing and gnawing as he realizes now they are exactly the same height as well. It didn't bother him before how perfectly stacked all the logs were, or how healthy all the plants looked. How all the pillows on the couch were fully fluffed and every photo on his desk was fingerprint free. However, the longer he stood here in the eerie silence with his doppelganger, the more his surroundings began to feel suffocating and uncanny. He knows his heart should be racing with the discomfort he's experiencing yet it felt alarmingly calm. His fingers itched to call the familiar ice for his own protection only to find the terrifyingly numb sensation of nothingness. 

He really was dead. But what about-

“I was dreaming.” The other starts softly, temporarily snapping Zayne from his spiral. “I saw… us in an explosion and we called out for help. I …. reached out.” The caution and cadence in his voice made him sound confused, and Zayne follows his flickering gaze downward as they both look to his trembling hands that now tightly grip the photo that sat on his desk of the two of you in your finest evening wear at his last award ceremony dinner. Your smile, so radiant and warm, was forever seared into his memory. This seemed so long ago now. Had the last few months truly aged you both that much?

Wait, when did he even grab this?

No, that didn't matter. He didn't have time to waste now. If he could reach out to him then maybe-

“Can you reach out to her? Is she still alive?” Zayne no longer cared to police his tone or expression, and the reaction of his double was proof enough as he watched his eyes blow wide for just a second. He could feel the frantic tone cracking in his throat like a fading fire but pushed forward despite the strain, slamming his free hand on the desk between them, alarmed by the lack of pain or feedback from it. “Like you are right now with me? She was with me in the-”

“I saw her, yes.” There is a consuming reverence on his tongue when he speaks of you, and if Zayne had any other option, he'd have gladly taken it over him at this moment. The way his eyes soften and soothe at the mere mention of you is enough to trip more than one warning flag, but he lacks the time you desperately need. He knows he's not the first man to die for you, and while he doesn't understand what this body double even is, he's a wise enough man to know his own heart. His own devotion to you, left unchecked, could border on obsession. 

He has no choices left. There is no more time, and his only parting gift to you is hopefully giving you the time necessary to make your plan work. So many had put their faith in you, himself included, and he would be a fool to look this 11th hour gift in the eye and deny its aid. 

Xavier, Jeremiah, Caleb, Thomas, Yvonne… so many more names of the lost had faded from his memory and the thought made him sick, the ghost of the taste of bile on the back of his tongue. How many had he forgotten already? 

“Do it. Please.” Voice raw, he begged. For you, he begged the grim reaper.