#behind why I reblog something tagging something or someone and not anyone else

[jacksintention]

So annoying that you can't block people on sideblogs

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Quiet Ones 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You live a quiet life, but your peace is fractured by a chaotic man.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen, short!shy!reader

Note: don't ask me why I did this.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. ����

You keep to yourself. That’s the safest, the easiest way to live. You keep your head down, your eyes to yourself, your voice bottled up. 

You grip your phone as you approach the coffee shop. You stand on your toes to see through the painted windows and frown at the long queue. You won’t have to worry about that. Like everything else social, you’ve found a work around. 

You look at your phone, the app showing your order as ‘preparing’. It should be done shortly as the progress bar fills close to complete. You can bear the claustrophobia for a minute or so until it’s ready. 

You go to open the door but an arm reaches past you and does that first. You step back, patiently waiting for the other customer to precede you. They don’t move. You stare at their shoes. Dark blue velvet loafers with gold emblems on chains.  

“Go on, baby face, I got it,” the man’s voice makes your skin crawl. 

You shrink down and give a nod, throat clenching as you struggle to find your voice. You’re not much for conversation but you’re but impolite. 

“Thanks,” you force out without raising your head. 

You scurry through quickly, a bit to close to the stranger than you like, and you clasp your phone against your chest as you stand just away from the cluster of people awaiting their orders. You bounce on your feet as the noises join together to form a cacophony; the hissing steam, the clanging metal, the clinking porcelain, the calls of the workers behind the counter, and the buzz of the crowd seated or standing around the cafe. Sweat gathers on the nape of your neck as the chaos swirls a storm around you. 

You pull your phone away from the front of your pullover and check the screen. Should be ready any moment and you’ll be free of the circus. You adjust your grip on the phone, almost jittery as another customer joins the wait at the pick up window. 

You breathe out. It’s not usually this busy at this time. You have a routine. You can handle the expected. You order on your phone so you don’t need to talk to anyone. You wait outside until it’s almost done then come in too quickly claim your prize. But not today, something’s different and it’s throwing everything off. 

It’s only on Wednesday’s that you venture down to the cafe. It’s the halfway point of your week so you mark it with a taste of motivation. The same order every week. A London fog latte. Simple and affordable. Nothing fancy, nothing complicated. 

Your name cuts through the din, “...medium London fog.” 

You drop your arm to your side and set your shoulders. You march forward through the parting bodies ahead of you and reach for the cup. Before you can grasp it, someone else scoops it up. You nearly cry out in horror. Someone’s stealing your order! 

You turn to the tea thief but they make no move to flee. They hold the cup nonchalantly, turning it to read the sticker on the side, reciting the same name that just rose from the barista’s lips seconds ago. You face the stranger but again, your eyes are downward.

The blue loafers! 

“Cute name,” he comments as he holds the cup out. 

You once more try to take the cup but before you can, he has it out of reach again. Your lashes flick and your fingers twiddle helplessly. His large hand is firmly around the cup so even if you did try to wrestle it from him, you doubt you’d have any hope but to spill it all. 

You look around but no one else seems to notice. They’re all staring at their phones or talking with the person next to them. The staff behind the counter are too busy appeasing the rush of orders. 

“I’ve never tried one of these,” he taunts, “I’m more of a ristretto guy. Like my espresso.” 

You shake your head and rescind your hand, balling it against your fist. What does he want? Why is he bothering you? You said thank you. Did he not hear you? 

“Don’t get yourself in a tizzy,” he pushes the tea towards you, “there you are, sweat pea.” 

You hesitate. You slowly unfurl your fingers and reach for the cup. As you wrap your fingers around it, you can’t help but brush his. Thick and strong and unmoving. He clings to it for just a moment before he lets you have it. 

“Thanks,” you squeak again, this time louder so he certainly hears you. 

“You got a sweet voice,” he puts his hand on his hip, a glimpse of a shiny gold watch face peeking out from beneath his sleeve, “I’d love to hear more of it.” 

Your eyes round as you focus on the zipper of his thin jacket. You shake your head and meekly raise your cup awkwardly and dip your chin slightly. No thanks. 

You turn and weave your way back through the crowd. Your heart is thumping in your chest. What an odd encounter. 

More so, you’re dismayed that he saw you. That he noticed you. For years, you’ve done your best to be invisible. You prefer it that way. You don’t even think your neighbours know you exist. But that man, he seemed to see nothing but you. 

You push outside and nearly drop your cup. You try to steady yourself. You’re all knotted up and tense. You tuck your phone into your back pocket and bring the cup before you nose, inhaling the sweet scent of the foam. Something about it isn’t as soothing as usual. 

You turn down the pavement and wince as a sole scuffs close behind you. Suddenly, another set of steps walk next to yours, measured to keep in tandem with your own short legs. Blue velvet.  

You walk faster. Is he following you? Why? What does he want? He’s much taller, you can’t outpace him. 

“You know, when I said I’d like to hear more, I thought maybe over a coffee?” He suggests. 

You don’t say a word as you keep your eyes forward, squeezing your cup tight as you try not to swish it around too much. You’ve never had to deal with this before. Men don’t see you. There was a time you hated that but since, you were grateful for that. 

“I mean, I could do most of the talking, never had much of a trouble with that, jellybean,” he offers. 

You shake your head. Your throat tightens. You can’t speak. You want to scream but you can’t make a noise. 

As you get to the corner, you stop short. He steps past you but just as quickly catches himself and turns to face you. You gulp and look down at your cup. You can’t keep going. If you do, you’ll lead him right to your home. 

“What’s going on, sweetheart? You forget something? How about we head back and I’ll buy you something sugary to go with that?” 

You furrow your brow and step back on your heel. You bring your eyes up, a furtive glance at his face, brief and flickering. You just want to know what he looks like so you never see him again. 

His blue eyes twinkle, his nose is long but proportioned to his chiseled face, his hair is combed back, the sides shaved, and a thick swatch of hair lines his upper lip. He’s older than you, you know that much, but you’ve never good at gauging age. You’ve never seen him before but you can’t be sure. You don’t look at many faces. 

You pivot and cross the street without looking. You narrowly miss a bumper and get a honk in remonstrance. You can’t stop yourself. You’re panicking. You head down the next street as his footsteps follow. It’s all you can hear.  

As you pass a bin, you dump the drink. You don’t pause as it plummets heavily into the trash and you fall into a brisk half-jog. You pump your arms, puffing wildly, dizzy as you search for a saviour.  

You dash into the library. You don’t know what you’re looking for. Just for anyone to get this man to leave you alone. 

You don’t look back as you enter and head straight for the front counter. You’re out of breath as you approach the rounded edge and tap the bell frantically. A woman emerges from behind the window wall and she greets you with a confused chime. 

“Hello, can I help you?” She asks. 

“Yes, I need...” you gulp and glance at the doors. You push away from the counter and spin, searching. You don’t see the man. He’s probably waiting outside. But you never looked back. You never really saw if he was following. “I...” you turn back to the woman, “never mind.” 

You cross your arms and turn away. You cringe as you realise how ridiculous you must have seemed. Worse, you didn’t mean to bother someone just doing their job and over what? You’re own issues. You should go home, back to your reclusion, where you can’t be in anyone’s way. 

👄

When you finally muster the courage to leave the library, your journey home is slowed by your paranoia. You have your phone out, held up so you can see over your shoulder with the front camera. You watch the screen more than the sidewalk ahead of you. 

You get home without a second shadow. As you let yourself through the grated front door of the building, you can’t help but feel stupid. That man must’ve got the idea when you as good as ran in the other direction. You’re being dramatic. 

You close the camera and put your phone away. You waist six dollars in your frantic flight. You mourn the tea latte as the heavy inner door clunks shut behind you. You drag your feet up the stairs as your keys jingle on your finger. 

You apartment is at the very end of the hall. You enter and twist the latch. You slide the chain into place and hang the key ring on the little hook beside the door frame. You untangle your purse and leave it with your phone on the table in the corner. 

You shuffle the few feet to the front room and look around. You find comfort in the familiarity of your little apartment. Your hideaway. 

You go back to your desk and sign back in. You’re back later than usual but you can still make up the time. As long as there’s enough tasks left in the portal. You don’t have to let that man ruin your whole day. You’ll never see him again. In a few days, you won’t even remember him. 

👄

Wednesday. Halfway through the week.  

You scroll and click around your screen as you watch the clock in the corner tick on. Usually around this time, you’d be excited. You’d clock out for your break and go down to the cafe. As much as you looked forward to the treat, the walk alone was relaxing in its own way. 

Not that day. Despite your efforts to shrug off the strange encounter, you haven’t shaken it. So instead, the kettle boils as a bag of earl gray sits in an empty mug. You’re not going. Maybe next week. 

You’re a bit depressed but you’re too nervous to make the venture. Oh well, you’ll save a bit of money. You could find a different place next time. That might be easier. 

You stay logged in and claim a new task. Hey, you can be done work earlier if you can power through. You might even make a few extra bucks. 

The kettle clicks and you get up to pour the water. You leave it to steep, forgetting it for the screen before you. Your fingers tap endlessly across the keyboard, filling the silence as you zone in on the words, transcribing messy ink to Times New Roman. 

Your trance is broken by a sudden buzz. You sit up, the kink in your neck pangs. You need to stop hunching. The buzz comes again. Is that... It must be a mistake. It happens now and then, someone buzzes the wrong apartment. 

You get up as it sounds a third time and you shuffle down to the speaker box. You hit the button, “wrong number.” 

“No--” 

You let go of the number before you can hear the response. They buzz again. You sigh. You hit the button. 

“I’m sorry but you have the wrong number,” you repeat. 

“I don--” 

You release the button again and take a step back. Buzz! You’re getting annoyed. You hit the button. “Wrong--” 

“Got a delivery. 212.” The man’s voice drowns out your own, reciting your name after your apartment number. Your finger stays on the button as you frown. A delivery? 

“I’m not expecting a delivery.” 

“Are you...” he says your name again. 

“... yes.” 

Silence, filled with the low hum of the speaker, “so, can I come up or...?” 

“Uh, I guess.” 

You pull your finger away and hover it over the other. Maybe it’s from work? There was the one time they sent a cheap mass production travel mug with their logo on it as some incentive. A poor attempt at employee appreciation. 

You press down and hold until you’re certain they have enough time to get in. You wait by the door, ringing your hands. You hear the door at the end of the hall open on its old hinges and you peek through the peephole. 

You watch the fuzzy figure come into focus with each of his long steps. He doesn’t hold a box nor wear the uniform of a postal worker. No, he wears those blue leather loafers and holds a bright pink paper cup with a white lid. From the cafe.  

As he comes close, you get a pigeon’s eye view of the hair on his upper lip and his bold blue eyes. It feels like he can see you too as he stands smirking on the other side of the door. This can’t be real. 

He knocks and you wince as the door shifts in the frame. 

“Special delivery,” he calls through, “open up, baby face.” 

[the-travelling-witch]

𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐲 𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐬

Riddle :: Wrath

A tiny spark is all it takes to ignite a fire that burns blindingly bright. If they won’t respect you and the rules on their own, you’ll just have to make them listen. After all, your wrath is justified, you are in the right here. It’s not you who is blinded, it’s everyone else who just can’t see.

Leona :: Sloth

Work smart not hard. Or don’t work at all; let someone else do the heavy lifting to get their hands dirty. And why not? After all, lazing around in the sun is what you deserve after being the brain behind this whole operation. There’s really no need to exert yourself when someone else can get it done too. Being awake, being asleep, what difference does it make? Why put in the effort when you will always be second best anyway?

Azul :: Greed

What’s so wrong with wanting it all? And who cares if you’ll ever find use for any of it, it’s more important that you could. Whether it’s money, knowledge or power, more is better and your desire to have more of it is valid. Avarice and success are two sides of the same coin and it’s golden gleam is oh so enticing.

Kalim :: Lust

Don’t think too hard about what pains you, just close your eyes and focus on what makes you happy. It’s so much easier than plaguing yourself with arduous topics such as betrayal and intrigues. It’s okay if the world is burning as long as it’s at your fingertips, so just indulge a little. Ignorance is bliss and bliss is what makes life fun, right?

Vil :: Gluttony

Never satisfied, never sated, you crave improvement the same way a starving man craves food and water. When you finally achieve something you have meticulously worked towards, there is no time to rest on your laurels, your eyes are already fixed on a new way to make yourself better, more beautiful, all in a never ending hunger for unreachable perfection. Would you be satisfied with being the fairest one of all?

Idia :: Envy

Sure, you’ve had some achievements in the fields you’re interested in but what else do you have going for yourself, nerd? This one remarkable trait aside, who’d be impressed by the rest of you? And it’s oh so easy too, to compare yourself with the people around you and the people you see online, only to find that you just don’t measure up. You’re envious of the people with normal lives, who get to choose what they want to do, who aren’t stuck and who easily fit in. Maybe you’re even envious of your past, where everything was still alright and within reach.

Malleus :: Pride

Being proud isn’t wrong, is it? Surely, everyone would feel that way if they were you. Just look at what you can effortlessly achieve, whereas others struggle so much with it. But you realise maybe too late that pride is often accompanied by solitude. After all, you don’t need anyone by your side, so why would anyone be willing to stand there? At the end of it all, you are too proud to lose to someone and too lonely to lose someone.

Yuu :: The Deadliest Sin

You know you’re doing it again. You just can't stop, can you? Sitting hunched over like an invertebrate when you really should know better. Have you eaten anything yet, drank enough water? Seen the sun, taken a walk and gotten enough sleep? I thought so. The time will come where you must answer for your sins, so don’t add to the tally.

© the-travelling-witch 2024 - do not repost, translate, copy or edit

if you like my content, reblogs, comments and asks are always much appreciated (also, yes, there will be second parts for the characters) ♡

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twisted wonderland: @savanaclaw1996 @honehbee42

[crazysodomite]

what is it like to be kind of popular/getting people interested in your own ideas and not fan art?

I don't think I'm popular *looks behind my back fearfully* 😨

Here's the thing. A lot of people post things and just expect people to find them and interact with them. To some people it works. But a lot of the time there's no way for people to even find your stuff or engage with it.

A lot of people go into fandom tags to look for art and writing, but not a lot of people just scroll the "oc" or "art" or "writing" tags aimlessly.

I'm not like. A social media expert 😼 or whatever. I don't know anything about anything ♥️ I literally just do whatever weurd things i want and that's it

Here's some things I can advise:

If you have ocs.... Please feel free to actually talk about them in detail, share your thoughts on them in detail, write actual info and profiles on them. Don't be shy to do this bc there's no way for someone to engage with your ocs if they don't really understand who you're talking about except the names 😭... Feel free to like link their info in your pinned or their toyhouse profiles or whatever... !!!! A lot of the times I follow someone and they ask to engage with their ocs, and I want to, but I literally just don't understand who they're taking about... Or I see someone talking about their ocs in very vague terms but I can't actually find who they're talking about.... (Not that you have to do this do whatever you want ... I'm not the boss of you ♥️ it's just something id like to see) And also don't be shy to actually remind people who you're talking about bc people who haven't been following you for a long time won't know. I think this is simpler for me because my concepts/characters are very basic/shallow and easy to understand. Taur who is a bee, taur who is a bath, etc... Is Inherently understandable and doesn't have any deep lore

👆 this applies to everything in general not just ocs. Talk about art. Talk about your own art. Talk about what you love in the art of others. Talk about your plans and concepts and ideas. Talk about your projects. Share with the world 🌍 🌍 🌍

Don't be shy to talk about your things. I think some people are anxious about seeing people unfollowing them. I personally use xkit to hide my followers on pc and actively avoid looking at my follower count on mobile... Because idgaf ♥️. If someone doesn't like what I post they're Nothing to me. I post about taurs and weird things basically every day. What do I have to lose? My dignity as a Tumblr blogger? Genuinely like just share whatever thoughts or concepts or doodles or drawings you want without being like "aww nobody wants to see this". Honestly I also do this because I don't have friends to talk about concepts and stuff with so your mileage may vary. Maybe you don't want to post. Maybe you worldbuild with your friends. Then maybe you can share the results of that worldbuilding and thoughts, that's good too.

Self reblog your stuff 😭 even old stuff. Self reblog your stuff and then elaborate on it further with your thoughts. Dig up old concepts and do things with them. Its okay to do this. Not everyone sees your stuff when you first post it... !

Actually engage with others. Others are more likely to see you and engage with you when you do the same to them. If you never interact with anyone else's art why would others interact with yours. And unfortunately posting stuff and expecting people to just stumble upon it is not a very good strategy...

[gremlin-girly]

Kinktober Day 1

Kink(s): Scratching

Pairing: Johnny Storm x f!Reader

summary: You’ve met Johnny Storm a handful of times but enough to know one thing: you hate him. His smugness, his attitude, his everything. Well… almost everything

warnings: SMUT, dom!reader (kinda?), sub!johnny, P in V (wrap it folks!), oral (f recieving), multiple orgasm, Creampie, scratching, lovebites

distant!reader, not much aftercare on reader's part (that’s a warning), I wasn’t kidding when I said you don’t like him haha

word count: 3.2k

AN: I was editing this the other day in app and accidentally lost 3 hours of work. Almost broke my phone. Learned my lesson. Never again.

I am usually a big ol’ sucker for a romance but, decided this Reader needed to keep Johnny at arms length. Who knows. Maybe I’ll revisit 👀

Likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated - this is my first time writing something like this so feedback is appreciated. And obviously, I do not consent for my work to be reposted, copied or translated!

Next | Masterlist

Johnny was stood smiling and chatting to at least three women on rotation. You were convinced they were tagging out with other women at the party just to take turns to speak with him. Bask in his presence or whatever it was that made them want to stand next to such an asshole.

You grimace hearing his loud laugh booming dramatically at something one of the women said to him. You didn’t think it was possible for you to hate someone so much for merely existing, but Johnny was living proof of that. You sip at your champagne flute and scan the crowd, looking for literally anyone else to occupy your mind, when Johnny laughs again somehow louder this time.

You grumble and move away from the crowd of women around him and make a bee-line for the buffet, idly picking up canapés that did not taste as nice as they looked. The murmur of obnoxious laughter was still grating your nerves in the back of your mind as you chewed a piece of bruschetta angrily. Why was he like this? How did he manage to rile you up by just existing.

“Hey, beautiful.” A voice from behind you purred. An arm reached around you, picking up a bruschetta and when you followed the arm back around you, you were met with the charming smile of Johnny Storm. And you visibly recoiled.

It, somehow, made Johnny chuckle as he popped the bruschetta into his mouth. He pulled a face, clearly unimpressed by the taste but the expression was gone as quickly as it had appeared, charming smile back in place.

“Why didn’t you come say hi?” He asks, his blue eyes shamelessly roaming over your figure.

You couldn’t hide the disdain for him from your face. “You seemed busy.” You huff out.

“Oh that,” he looks over his shoulder at the women and waves before looking back at you. “I wouldn’t worry about them, sweetheart.”

You click your tongue and turn away from him. “I’m not.” As you move up the table, Johnny follows closely. Your temper flares when he moves in front of you, blocking your path, leaning against the table with an arrogant smirk. What you wouldn’t give to wipe that smirk of his face.

“What do you want?” You growl, scowling at him.

“You.” He says it so smoothly that, had it been anyone else, you might have felt a little weak in the knees. But it’s Johnny. It makes you cringe.

“Ugh. Please.” You hold up one hand to stop him from continuing. You look so disgusted, anyone would think you’re about to puke from gorging on one too many canapés. Johnny chuckles and with a shake of his head, inches a little closer.

“Come on , beautiful,” he bats his eyelashes at you, looking incredibly irresistible – which irritates you more. “One night’s all I’m askin’.”

“You ask me that every time you see me,” you grumble with a frown. Maybe you wouldn’t hate him do much if you didn’t have to be in the same room as him so often. “The answer is still no.”

“Why not?” He sounds and looks genuinely confused as to why someone, anyone, could refuse him.

“Because I cannot stand you,” you finally snap at him, looking around quickly to make sure you weren’t loud enough. You sigh softly when you see you’ve not drawn any extra attention to yourself but continue to glare at Johnny.

“Hmm.” Johnny says thoughtfully with a theatrical hand on his chin, unperturbed by you clear intense dislike of him. When he glances back to you his eyes glimmer with a mischief.

“Well, if you can’t stand me,” He begins, dropping his voice lower. “How about we go somewhere where you can sit on me instead?”

You blush and to your frustration, your pussy throbs at the thought. You can’t decide if you want to slap him or throw your drink in his face, or both. But then again, if he’s the one to frustrate you it’s only fair he relieves you. Besides; who speaks with their mouth full?

You take a deep breath, weighing your options before hissing, “Hotel Creche. Room 206 on the second floor. Leave fifteen minutes after I do. I don’t want anyone to see you leaving with me.”

Johnny looks utterly smug, watching you storm away with a lick of his lips. Tonight would be fun.

Johnny does exactly what you ask – which is surprising. After fifteen minutes, he attempts to follow suit but gets stopped multiple times by the various women he had been flirting with earlier in the evening when you were ignoring him. This adds another ten minutes to his journey – then another ten when he’s stuck in traffic. He’s tempted to flame on and just fly to the hotel but he’s wearing one of his best Armani suits. Plus, the anticipation was going to add to your excitement.

When he reaches room 206, he knocks hurriedly and loudly. You throw the door open, scowling at him. He tries to smile and say his sorry excuse but he’s cut off. You’re no longer in that lovely tight dress you were in at the party; you’re in lacy red lingerie that he is just drooling over.

“You’re late,” you snap, grabbing his tie and yanking him viciously into the room. You half drag him onto the bed and Johnny is too stunned and turned on to even muster words.

“Lie down,” you command releasing his tie.

Johnny wastes no time clambering onto the bed and loosening his tie excitedly, eyes hungrily watching your every move as you stalk around the bed impatiently. The ire in your eyes makes him feel out of his depth for once. You’re looking at him like how a lioness looks at a gazelle before ripping it’s throat out and he is loving every second of it. Once he’s where you want him, you step out of your panties quickly, kicking them to the side.

As you kneel onto the bed, Johnny watches you with wide eyes and reaches out to touch you, only to be swatted away.

“’M sorry I’m late. I-“

“Do you ever shut up?” You growl, straddling his head between your knees. His hot breath on your cunt makes you shiver. You curse when you feel a wet, hot stripe along your folds as Johnny licks you teasingly in response.

“Only when I’m eating.” He mumbles into your cunt, licking again, slower and more precise this time. Johnny’s tongue takes it’s time tasting you, teasing you; and when you finally grind yourself along his face, he tilts his head ever so slightly to suck the sensitive flesh of your clit.

You gasp out at the sensation but you don’t give him the satisfaction of moaning his name. No, never that. You’d die before you do that. You still can’t stand him – even when he eats you out so good you see stars.

One of Johnny’s hands grips your hip, tugging you closer onto his mouth. The sounds he’s making beneath you make your breathing hitch; he’s good at what he does, there’s no doubting it. You can feel your thighs tighten, pressure building in your core already. You thought you’d last longer but Johnny’s expert tongue is hell-bent on making you cum over his face.

Johnny seems to take note of your quivering legs around his head and smirks into your folds as he takes another long, slow drag with his tongue.

“You’re such a fucking dick,” you breathe out, grinding your wet cunt over his face when he halts his movements. Johnny latches onto your clit again and hums, vibrations shivering all the way up your spine and you gasp, jerking forward splaying your palms across the wall in front of you.

“You were saying?” Johnny mumbles, using his free hand to sink two fingers easily into your soaked pussy, continuing to kiss, lick and suck at your hot flesh. You stifle a moan, gritting your teeth despite your glassy eyed expression. You were ready to cum but you wanted everything out of your system.

“Arrogant. Egotistical. Attention whore.” Each word is punctuated by a moan as you get closer and closer to your first orgasm of the night – but it’s those final two words that make Johnny moan around your clit, sending vibrations to all of the right places again. You curse loudly as you cum, taking a few moments for your breathing to steady before lifting off his face briefly to look down at him with a wicked smile. Johnny is panting and breathless, eyes blown to saucers as he stares back at you; licking his lips and covered in his own spit and your cum.

“You like that, huh?” you taunt. “Being a whore?”

“Fuck.” Johnny’s hands grip you tighter, trying to feebly pull you back down onto his face. You allow it, for a moment, the delicious heat of his tongue more feverish than before. You sit up again, making him groan out for you.

“Say it.” You say, voice dangerously low. Your body thrums with excitement – with power you have never felt. Johnny’s cock twitches desperately against his slacks and his chest heaves as he looks up at you. Fuck. That look you give him makes him want to cum in his pants right then and there.

“I do,” he breathes out, eyes never leaving you. “I like being a whore.”

His admission makes your cunt pulse with excitement. “Thought so. Only whores know how to eat pussy like that. Tongue out.”

Johnny sticks his tongue out immediately with a short moan, muffled by your pussy on his tongue again. He wastes no time continuing where he left off; swirling your clit with his tongue and two fingers working your pussy relentlessly. He lifts his head to envelop the silky flesh around your clit with his lips, sucking gently as he rolls his tongue over the sensitive bubble of nerves as he finds the spongy velvet of you g-spot. Your pussy convulses – second orgasm creeping up on you as you almost yell out. Your thighs shake around his head and the sound – the sound - you make; stuttering out a long, loud moan as Johnny continues to suck and lick everything you can give him. He thought he was close before but damn – he was wrong. He couldn’t remember the last time his dick was this hard.

You sit up, allowing him to breathe. For a few moments, you relish at the state he’s in; flushed, covered in your cum and rock hard. You’re tempted to leave him like that, however, you’ve got an itch you need him to scratch.

When you catch your breath, you inch down over his torso, settling your wet pussy against the hard on in his slacks. You pull at his tie and make quick work of the top few buttons of his dress shirt, revealing his sleek, unmarked neck.

“So pretty,” you purr, leaning down to pepper kisses along his neck. Johnny moves to kiss you but you duck away, splaying a clawed hand over his face and holding him in place. “Ah – ah – ah,” you chide. “You’re not allowed to kiss me.”

Johnny huffs, settling to kiss the finger closest to his mouth instead, wishing he could have your lips – either set – on his again. You dip your head again, nibbling at the soft flesh experimentally. You can smell your cunt on him and it makes you want to lick him clean. But you won't. Not tonight, anyway.

Taking a small portion of skin between your teeth you bite down slowly, feeling a bruise blossom. Johnny feels so utterly powerless as he mewls beneath you. His hips jerk upwards at your words and he was right before, lioness is the perfect word to describe you. You leave another love bite and Johnny moans louder than before and grinds your hips against his to feel the sweet friction he so craves.

“Want you.” He pants. “Fuck me, please. Jesus Christ.” The frustration is killing him. His cock his so hard it hurts.

“So fuckin’ needy,” you snarl, huffing angrily.

Johnny then does something he’s never done in bed before; he whines. God, you on him using him like this was driving him wild and he was starting to hate how good it felt. And you were just starting to love it.

You shuffle back and rake your clawed hand down his chest, five raised red lines appearing in its wake. Johnny watches in wide eyed awe, chest heaving as he follows your hand . He thinks his heart stops when he feels you reach between you both to palm his cock.

Another curse falls from Johnny’s lips as he shudders. He’s used to getting what he wants, taking what he needs, but you’re just toying with him. The thought of being balls deep inside you, making you come again and again until your resolve breaks and you beg for more is what makes him snap. And you seem to read his mind, because you smirk and ask, “Still want to fuck me?”

Johnny nods desperately.

“Then, fuck me like the whore you are.”

He pushes you back and you squeak, falling a little roughly to the pillows. You can feel Johnny trapped between your legs, gripping your thighs with a look of primal need. He runs the tip of his cock through your wet folds, expecting you to moan out. When you don’t, he pouts slightly.

"What’s wrong?” You taunt, meeting his eyes. “Need a hand?”

You don’t expect Johnny to rut into you, burying himself deep within your slick cunt with ease, and your face conveys as much. You’re wide eyed and your mouth hangs open in silent moan as you look up at him. Johnny places his hands either side of your head, looming over you and setting a brutal pace; burying his cock into your pussy again and again.

You groan loudly as you clench around him, latching your nails into his back to ground yourself. Your nails dig into his skin so tightly you think you’ll draw blood. Johnny moans at the sensation of being inside of you and your nails – no claws – feel so good digging into his skin he thinks that maybe he should do this again with you. Maybe more than once. Definitely more than twice.

“So. Desperate.” You pant out. “Everyone was right; you are a good fuck.”

“Fuck, so are you.” Johnny uses his right arm to hook your left knee, raising your leg up over his shoulder. His left arm wraps under your right shoulder, anchoring himself to you before fucking into with newfound fervour. The new, deeper angle makes you curse loudly and it’s not long before you cum over his cock.

“Feel so good,” he grunts into your neck, leaving sweet kisses along your exposed skin. “I knew you liked me. I fuckin’ knew it. This is exactly where you wanted to be.”

“I hate you,” you correct swiftly, trying to glare up at him but the pleasure you’re feeling makes it hard to stay focused. “You’re such an ass. At least you’re good for something.”

Johnny groans, hips faltering for a moment at your words. His cock throbs inside you and he moves to kiss you but you hand grasps his chin millimetres from your lips, halting him in his tracks.

“I meant it when I said you wouldn’t kiss me.” You say firmly.

“But – but I wanna kiss you,” he whines, picking up pace again. “Feels so good, fuck.” His head drops to your shoulder, grunting as he listens to your breathless moans. The wet slapping sounds of his sac against your soaked cunt as he pummels you into the bed fill the room. You can feel pressure building again and you know your orgasm is close.

“Please.” Johnny begs again, pushing your leg over his shoulder up towards you. “Shit I don’t know if I can hold out much longer baby.” Johnny’s eyes meet yours but it’s brief. Your eyes roll back into your head, legs shake and you moan loudly. Your pussy clenches around his cock, milking him as you soak his precious Armani slacks in your cum. Johnny’s orgasm follows closely after with a stuttering groan, watching your blissed out expression as he spills into you.

His hips still and he collapses on top of you, mumbling sweet nothings and kisses to your neck, whilst you both come down from your respective highs. Once your breathing levels out, you look down to your neck to find Johnny’s blue eyes looking up at you, a shit-eating grin on his face. He expects you to smile back, wrap your arms around him and thank him, praise him. Maybe even throwing in a line about wanting to see him again and getting his number.

But you don’t. You raise an eyebrow at him and offer a wry smile, patting his back gently. You lie back into the pillows with a deep, exhausted from the frustration and from your orgasms. Your eyes flutter closed – floating away on the plush, soft pillows.

“So,” Johnny says, trying to keep the bafflement from his voice when you offer him nothing. “How was that for you?”

Irritation nags at the corner of your brain and you try not to scowl. Stupidly, you’d thought he’d slink out – head back to the party. Leave you to your slight shame of the events of tonight – and surprisingly relaxed demeanour – and not either you again. You had thought wrong.

“Good.” You say, trying to sound at least marginally happy.

“Just good?” Johnny presses, shifting a little to try and see your face. Now you you’re really trying not to scowl.

“Uh...” You search for words, trying not to be sarcastic and mean. “Amazing?”

Johnny smirks, looking incredibly smug despite reading your expression wrong again. “Good.”

You hum, pulling a small face of disgust and shift in the bed, turning away from Johnny. You cosy down and your eyes flutter again. Then you feel Johnny’s warm arm drape over your waist and he wiggles forward, holding you close against his chest. Your stomach turns. It’s so.... inviting, so caring, it makes you sick. It’s fake.

“You were amazing too, by the way.” Johnny murmurs, pressing a kiss to your ear. You can feel him still smirking and you shiver. Your annoyance level is rising again. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea after all. You didn’t realise tolerating him after would be something you had to worry about.

“Mmhmm.” You attempt to zone him out, letting him babble to himself whilst you get to sleep.

“I’d like to do this again – see you again.” He whispers, settling into his own pillow.

“Yuh huh.” Sleep is tugging at you now and you’re not paying attention. It’s not all bad you suppose – you have someone you will, and quite literally, keep you warm for the night. But you do wish he’d stop talking.

After a few more moments of soft murmurs, Johnny finally sighs into your neck, lulling himself into sleep with you not far behind. You fall asleep dreaming of anything but him and he falls asleep dreaming of you.

Day 2

[late-to-the-party-81]

Love, Lies & Electricity - Chapter 3

AN: Here we are - week 7 of @buckybarnesevents Hot Bucky Summer. I hope you’re all enjoying this story. Revisit part 2 here.

Additional thanks and kisses to @drabbles-mc for beta-ing this

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Moodboard by me and dividers by @firefly-graphics

Likes are loved, Reblogs are golden.

Master List | HBS Master List

Challenges and Bingos: HBS week 7 - Put this on for me

Summary: If someone had told you yesterday that you’d be having sex with your ex so you could escape the bad guys you’d have said they needed their head examined, yet, here you were….

Relationship: Bucky Barnes x Enhanced Reader

Word Count: 2.8k

CW: Sexual Content, Dubious Consent, Angst, Imprisonment, Drugging, Forced sex, canon typical violence, Flashbacks, hand-wavy science.

For some reason, it was as your hand gripped his cock that Bucky regained some semblance of lucidity, albeit momentarily.

“Stop,” he said, and you stilled, looking at him with confusion, the fire of unnatural desire heating you up from the inside.

Bucky shifted underneath you and you climbed off him, still baffled as he crossed the small space to the pallet you’d woken up on and pulled the sheet from it free. He returned to your side and passed it to you, before sitting back down and staring back up at you with wide eyes.

“Put it on for me, sweetheart. I don’t want anyone else to see you.” There was something in the possessive purr that ignited a spark within you, and you couldn’t say it was entirely caused by the drug in your veins. 

Meeting his gaze, you wrapped the fabric around you, tucking it in across your chest before resettling on his lap. Bucky’s hand was immediately on the back of your neck, holding you as he kissed you with ferocity he’d never shown before, even in the initial days of your relationship. Your hands gripped his shoulders for balance as your wet folds slid over his cock. The want - the need - for him was burning through your veins and only a minute or so later you were reaching between you, holding him steady in your hand, and sinking down.

The pair of you gasped and trembled in tandem as your body took him in. It hadn’t forgotten the feel of him, how goddamn right he felt inside you. You’d always thought that he’d been made to fit you perfectly, like a matching puzzle piece. It was one of the reasons why his betrayal had hurt so much.

“Fuck,” Bucky grunted out, and you were inclined to agree. He leant his head back against the wall, his eyes hooded and his hand now on your waist to steady you as his hips jerked in time to your movements. “This isn’t how I wanted this to happen,” he added. “Us being together again.”

Pleasure shot through you, but it didn’t stop you from saying what you were thinking. “I didn’t want this to happen at all.” You shuddered atop him as his cock brushed over that spot inside you. “I’m only doing this so we can get out of here.” 

Hurt flashed in his eyes and stabbed you in the gut. “I’m so sorry for everything, doll. I’ve missed you - missed us - so much.”

You closed your eyes, screwing them up, unable to look at him. “Please don’t,” you whispered. “I can’t talk about this right now.” Then, to make sure he got the message, you leant forward and kissed him, halting the conversation entirely.

It was the feeling of being sprayed with water that woke you. Bucky sat up from behind you with a start. “What the fuck?”

You couldn’t say you were surprised at this turn of events and moved to a sitting position in a far more dignified manner as water came down from sprinklers in the ceiling. At least the effects of the drug appeared to have worn off both of you.

“They’re literally damping my powers,” you said with a resigned sigh. You lifted your right hand and a pathetically small crackle of energy arced across your palm. The action caused you to wince.

With a furrowed brow Bucky rose - naked and completely nonplussed - to his feet and strode across the room towards the door. He pulled back his right arm, ready to punch at the sheet of metal separating the pair of you from the outside world when you became aware of something.

“Don’t!” you cried out. “The door’s electrified. I can feel it in the air.”

Bucky halted his movement, leaning his head closer and cocking it to the side, as though he was listening. Maybe he could hear the current? The pair of you had never really talked about the extent of his abilities. He looked down at his feet where they were placed in a small puddle of water and snorted. “They’re using electricity to control the both of us.”

“But on the plus side, neither of us is being driven to distraction by hyper-arousal.” 

“For now, at least,” Bucky added pessimistically. Or maybe it was realism? “If they’re set on this plan, they won’t just drug us once - they’ll do it over and over to make sure that you get pregnant.” You pulled a face, and Bucky laughed dryly. “The thought of having my baby is really that bad?”

“The thought of having any baby. It’s not for me right now. That’s why I had the implant put in.” You jiggled your arm at him - an arm that now had a healing incision wound on the bicep. 

With a wry smile, Bucky returned to your side, leaning against the wall. You watched the light spray run down his face before turning away to look down at your own body. The swathes of white cotton hadn’t turned completely translucent yet and still hid your body from the view of anyone who might be watching.

“It could take months.” There was a quiver to your voice that you didn’t want to analyse too much. “And what then? What would they do with you?” Neither of you turned to look at the other, but when his hand brushed against yours, you let him interlace your fingers together.

You sat like that together, watching the mist of water in the air until Bucky spoke again. “We’ll get out of here, doll. I promise.”

You didn’t know why, but the way he said it brought a lump to your throat and you drew your hand away. “You promised me things in the past, Bucky. Look how that turned out.” You heard him sigh as you laid down, your back towards him.

The spray of water stopped, and despite the fact you’d not long woken up, you drifted back to sleep.

It was a blithe remark by Sam that brought it all crashing down. A comment - a question - about whether Bucky had managed to persuade you to join the Avengers yet.

“It’s not something we’ve ever talked about,” you replied as you sat next to Sam in the bar while Bucky and Torres were off getting the next round of drinks.

Sam frowned, looking perplexed. “What, not even when you first met? Because that’s what I asked him to do. Ask you, I mean. You could be a real asset to the team with your powers.”

It was your turn to be confused. You weren’t completely stupid - Bucky obviously knew about your powers, but when you’d first met it had been as one Hydra survivor seeking out another, offering support now you were back in the real world. But he’d never asked you about the extent of your powers, or told you that he’d been asked to recruit you.

You were quiet when Bucky returned and placed your drink in front of you, but if he noticed your uncharacteristic sullen-ness he didn’t mention it. When you both returned to your apartment - a place that was beginning to feel like a home for the pair of you - you feigned tiredness and went straight to bed.

It was the middle of the next morning when Bucky asked you what was the matter. He came up behind you as you did the washing up - your hands protected from the water with thick rubber gloves - and wrapped his arms around your waist, kissing the sensitive spot behind your ear. “You okay, doll?” he murmured. “You’ve been awfully quiet.”

You’d pushed your way out of his embrace and put space between you, feeling suffocated by your swirling thoughts. Bucky had looked at you, brows pinched, gun-metal eyes questioning.

“Did Sam tell you to recruit me?” The words tumbled out in a rush and your boyfriend blanched. 

“Sweetheart, I…”

You cut him off, eyes wide with disbelief. “He did, didn’t he? Before you even met me.”

Bucky winced, but didn’t say anything - which told you everything you needed to know.

“That's why you approached me, isn’t it? Not to give me support, or help me adjust. But to get me to agree to be part of the team. To use my powers in your fight. Jesus Christ…” You turned away, eyelids blinking rapidly to hold back the tears threatening to spill down your cheeks as your heart, so newly repaired and fragile, started to crack again. You peeled your gloves off your hands, wiping your fingers on your jeans to get rid of the small amount of moisture that transferred. 

“Were you waiting for me to fall in love with you?” Your voice was low and surprisingly steady. “Were you hoping that I’d just fall in with your plans when I was too besotted to think straight?”

The continuing silence made rage build inside you, and you spun back around, launching the damp gloves at Bucky. They connected ineffectively with his chest and landed on the ground at his feet with a splat.

“How could you do that? How could you be like them?” There was pure vitriol in your voice. “How could you use me? After everything they did to me? After everything they did to you?” Bucky opened his voice, but your powers crackled threateningly around you and he seemed to think better of it. “I trusted you, Bucky. I thought we had something real, you and I. But it was just a lie. A ploy.” Hysterical laughter bubbled up your throat. “Well, fuck you! Fuck Sam. Fuck the Avengers. And fuck whatever this was.” You gestured between you, electricity arcing out. Bucky’s hair was starting to stand on end from the current in the air and the lightbulb above you started to pulse. “Get out. Before I fry you.”

He stepped back, an unreadable expression on his face. Again, he looked as though he wanted to say something, before changing his mind once more. He moved to the front door, and gave one last look over his shoulder before walking away.

As you dropped to the floor, arms wrapped around yourself, the tears now flowing down your cheeks, your powers diminished too and all the lights in your apartment went out with them.

The next time you woke it was to something that felt a lot more pleasant, but was still no less unsettling - Bucky kissing the back of your neck. His warm body was pressed up against you, and in your half asleep state, with what you suspected was a drug induced ache between your legs, you pressed back against him.

“‘M sorry, doll,” he mumbled. “They released a gas while you slept and I tried to fight it, but it’s too strong.”

“‘S okay,” you soothed in return, reaching behind you to run your fingers through his hair, unable to fight the desire inside you. “I need it too, Bucky. Wanna pretend. Let me pretend.”

Cool air ran over the backs of your thighs and ass as Bucky lifted the sheet up, and you angled your upper leg to give him space. When he sunk into your body you felt a combination of pleasure and relief, and stuttered out a groan. You also pretended not to hear him state, “It was always real to me, sweetheart.”

You felt like a wet cat, and probably had the personality to go with it at this moment in time. Time had passed in a cycle of drugging and soaking, and you weren’t entirely sure how much time had passed since you’d been caught in Hydra’s trap. Food had appeared at random intervals, coinciding with both of you passing out post enforced mating, and there was a lidded plastic bucket so you could relieve yourselves.

During one lucid moment, Bucky had torn your sheet down to a more manageable size and constructed himself some kind of loin cloth from the remnants. If it were any other situation you’d have cracked a Tarzan joke. Instead the pair of you were trying to keep sane by playing games of tic tac toe using little balls of torn threads from the sheet and buttons pulled from the mattresses. It felt rather futile.

“How the fuck do we get out of here?” You couldn’t keep the question internal any more, despondency starting to set in.  

Despite your earlier warning to Bucky, he hadn’t been able to refrain from trying the door when you’d been sleeping. His cry of pain as the current had surged through his body had woken you, but he’d just shrugged when you’d run to his side. “I had to try,” was his response to your scolding. At least the serum meant that the burn on his hand was now mostly healed, something which you were grateful for.

Bucky placed down one of his buttons, blocking the row of three you’d been about to make with your fabric scraps. “If only there was some way for Sam and Torres to track us. Like a signal.” He pursed his lips. “They’re probably trying to search for my arm - Shuri has technology that can identify Vibranium - but if it’s not in the same place as us, or we’re too far underground for it to be detected, then it won’t work.”

“What type of signal,” you asked. “Do you mean like a radio signal? We could do that.”

“Hate to break it to you doll, but we don’t have the equipment in here.”

You gave him a scathing look. “Get me a bit of metal to act as an antenna and I am a radio. Doll…”

Bucky looked perplexed and gestured at the mist in the air. “But your powers don’t work.”

“Not true,” you replied with a shake of your head. “They don’t work fully, and it hurts like a bitch to do anything when I’m this damp, but I could send some kind of signal.”

“We’d need something that would make sense to Sam, but look random to others.” 

“A short word. The letters transmitted out of order, but over and over.” A bubble of hope was forming in your chest.

“But what if he’s not looking?” There was doubt in Bucky’s eyes - a hint of vulnerability that you’d never seen before - and you reached out to cover his hand with your own.

“Buck, he’s your friend. Of course he’s looking. Torres too. And what other choice do we have? We have to try.”

Your words seemed to give him a boost, because Bucky pressed his lips together in a firm line and gave you a small nod. “So you just need a piece of metal?”

“A wire really.”

He gave you a smile then, and a theatrical wink. “Got it, doll. Leave it to me.”

For a moment you almost forgot that you hated him.

It didn’t take Bucky long to come up with a plan. In your opinion it was a stupid plan, but it was a plan nonetheless, and the only one you had.

After the next dose of the drug - after you and Bucky had done what you had to - and you’d fallen into an exhausted sleep, Bucky pulled on his Winter Soldier training and forced himself to stay awake.

Waiting.

You might not have had the energy to keep him company, but you didn’t sleep through the altercation. Well, not all of it.

Assuming that you were both asleep, two guards had come in to leave new food and replace your bucket. However, Bucky had rushed them, making it look as though he intended to make a break for the door. Despite being taken by surprise, the guards recovered quickly and retribution was swift. The pair of them used cattle prods on him, and it was his screams and the smell of burning flesh that woke you.

You couldn’t help but spring to your feet, a desperate cry leaving your throat and your meagre powers crackling painfully in your hands. You tried to shock one of them as you hung off his arm, but rubber clad as he was, your attempt had no effect. The guard pushed you to the floor and the level of water cascading from the ceiling came down heavier. You couldn’t do anything but watch as Bucky collapsed under the onslaught, helpless as his eyes rolled up into his head and he passed out from the pain.

The guards left, laughing to each other, and one even spat on him. As soon as the door clanged shut you scrambled over. There, clutched tight in his hand was the curly wire of one of their ear pieces. Just what you needed. Quickly you tucked it into one of the folds of makeshift clothes then pulled Bucky’s head into your lap, stroking his wet hair and hoping that he woke up soon.

Chapter 4

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[dancinglikebutterflywings]

I Promise | Seo Changbin

-> Pairing: Seo Changbin x Journalist!Reader ft. Sibling!Yeonjun -> Request: from @kayleefriedchicken -> Synopsis: Changbin goes to stop Reader from doing something that could get her hurt. -> Warnings: Mentions of life threatening situations and almost dying. -> Word Count: 1,020 -> Requests: Open.

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©️ 2024 dancinglikebutterflywings - do not copy/modify/repost anywhere. Likes, comments & reblogs are welcomed and appreciated, thank you.

“Why are you here?” Y/N asks Changbin as he pushes past her into her hotel room. She watches as his eyes scan the small room with a single double bed, a kitchenette and a bathroom off to the side. It looks as shady on the inside as it does on the outside. 

“Why do you think?” he answers her question with his own as he turns to look at her. “You leave a vague message and then I... no-one hears from you in three days!” he begins to scold her. “Yeonjun was about to file a missing person’s report. The only reason he didn’t was because I reminded him how often you do this and that I would talk to my detective friend. I would have thought after last time you’d know better. How wrong was I?” he finishes with a scoff.  

All through his rant, Y/N has the decency to look guilty. The last time she pulled a stunt like this as she chased a story, she was hurt badly and almost died. All her family and friends concern for her tripled. They weren't going to sit by and let her get hurt again. 

Y/N nods, her eyes showing regret for not confiding in anyone. "I understand, Binnie. I made a mistake, and I apologize. I didn't mean to worry anyone. It's just... This story I’m working on is huge. It will expose some really corrupt people."   

"I know my words won't change your mind, but please think about it," he pleads with her, his voice filled with desperation.   

“I’ll be as careful as I can be. I can’t just give it up,” she sighs. “I’m sorry, you’ll just have to deal with it.”  

“Do you seriously hear yourself right now?”   

Changbin's voice rises in frustration. "You're risking yourself for a story once more. Think about the repercussions, Y/N. Your safety matters more than some awful person. I can't go through you being hurt again!" 

"I promise you, Changbin, I'll be careful," she says, her voice filled with determination. "I won't take unnecessary risks, and I'll make sure to have a plan in place. But I can't abandon this story. It's too important." 

He is about to retaliate when there’s a knock on the door. Y/N freezes unsure of who it would be. Changbin rolls his eyes and moves past her to open the door, revealing Yeonjun.  

“It’s your brother,” he tells her. “Maybe you can talk some sense into her,” he adds, speaking to his best friend this time before leaving the shady hotel room. 

“You couldn’t find a less shady hotel to hide out in?” Yeonjun cracks a joke, trying to ease the tension that had been left behind.  

“Have you come to lecture me too?” She scoffs and moves to sit on the corner of the flimsy bed. It squeaks under her weight.  

“Look, Bin’s not just your friend, he’s mine too. I know better than anyone that man protects everyone he loves. He’s just as protective over you as I am,” he tells her. 

“Because he sees me as another sister? An annoying younger sister,” she scoffs and then realises she said it out loud. She looks wide eyed at her brother. “Please pretend you unheard that.” 

He chuckles, shaking his head. “For someone as observant as you, you’re pretty blind at times.” 

“Am not!” she shouts offended. 

“Are too!” he shouts back. “You’re the only one who can’t see how in love with you he is! His protectiveness isn’t because he sees you as a sister,” he continues as he grows frustrated with his sister. “You almost dying last time you chased a story broke me in a way I didn’t think was possible. For Changbin, it completely shattered him seeing the woman he loves more than anyone else that broken and beaten. That is why he can’t sit back and watch it happen all over again. He loves you and I know you love him too, so please just hear him out, think about what we’ve both said,” he finishes more calmly. “No one wants to see you hurt again, especially me and especially Changbin.” 

With that, Yeonjun leaves the room, leaving Y/N to her thoughts.  

It took Y/N a full hour to organize her thoughts after Yeonjun shared new information with her. Her mind began connecting the dots, from Changbin's protective nature to the subtle touches. Yeonjun was right – she's been in love with their best friend all along. Since the day Yeonjun introduced Changbin to her, she knew he was different, more special than anyone else she’s ever met. 

As she sat there, replaying memories in her mind, Y/N couldn't help but feel a rush of emotions. She remembered all the times Changbin had made her laugh, wiped away her tears, and stood by her side through thick and thin.  

Now she stands in front of his door, hoping he's home as she knocks. Her heart races as she waits for him to answer the door. She can't shake the memories of their time together, the late-night conversations, the talks about their hopes and dreams, and the unspoken connection that has always been between them.  

As the door swings open, her breath catches in her throat. Changbin stands there, a look of surprise on his handsome face. Without a word, she threw her arms around him, holding him tightly as tears well up in her eyes.  

"I'm sorry for what I said earlier," she apologizes. "You've always been my voice of reason and your right. After last time, I should have learned from it." 

"Did something happen?" he asks, pulling away. He begins to look her over with worry. "Are you hurt?" 

The look in his eyes turns to one of relief when she shakes her head and looks back at him. 

"I love you," she declares without hesitation. "I love you more than anything." 

Tears of joy stream down Y/N's face as she holds onto him tightly. “There will be no more putting my life at risk,” her says, her voice muffled by the fabric of his shirt. “I promise.” 

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[nekoannie-chan]

Next door

Pairing: Brock Rumlow X Reader. Steve Rogers X Reader (past).

Word count: 770 words.

Summary: Your partner died in car crash a few years ago. You never thought you’d fall for anyone ever again. Until a new neighbor moved in next door.

Warnings: Steve is dead.

A/N: This is my entry to @caplanbuckybarnes’ Summary Challenge #5.

You can read it on Wattpad and Ao3 too.

@saiyanprincessswanieie

My native language is Spanish so I wanna improve my writing skills in English if you notice any mistakes, please let me know and I will correct them.

I don’t give any kind of permission that my fics to be posted on other platforms or languages (I translate myself my work) or the use of my graphics (my dividers are included in this), I did them exclusively for my fics, please respect my work and don't steal it. There are some people here who make dividers that anyone can use, mine is not this type, please look for the other's people. The only exception is the ones I gifted 'cuz now belong to someone else. If you find any of my works on a different platform and are not one of my accounts, please let me know. Reblogs and comments are always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Marvel's characters (unfortunately), except for the original characters and the story.

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The kettle rattled, you sighed, poured the hot tea into the cup, and you sat down. You didn't even know why you kept waiting for Steve to come through that door after he had gone for a run, but he wouldn't.

Sometimes you had nightmares about that car accident you had years ago after your last mission together.

He promised you he would always protect you, and he did. He made sure you survived.

After what happened, you couldn't bear to stay in the same division, not without your husband and teammate.

However, you kept hoping that he would walk in the door as he used to every morning, that you would have breakfast together, and then go to work waiting for the next assignment, but it never happened.

There was no way you could forget him.

However, that morning, something different happened. You started to hear noises in the apartment next door, which had been empty for almost a year. You felt hope; maybe Steve had survived and had amnesia, and now he was going to live in the apartment next door and you would help him.

You put the cup down, walked out quickly, and frowned as you saw the kind of furniture they were putting in; it was definitely not Steve's style.

"Hello," a male voice said behind you, causing you to startle.

You turned to see who it was; he didn't even seem to have the decency to introduce himself. Maybe you knew the person. "Do I know you? "

"We work in the same place," he answered as if it were obvious and the most normal thing in the world.

You raised your eyebrow; you didn't remember. No one from work lived in your building, although sometimes Natasha and Clint visited you.

"Rumlow, Strike Team Commander," he replied, extending his hand.

"Oh, right, what are you doing here?" you asked. Steve sometimes got to go on missions with them, although you’ve never worked with that team and much less now that you were in another division.

"I'm going to be your neighbor," he declared.

You gave a forced smile; you weren't very happy, especially since your hope had just disappeared.

Maybe you had to accept what everyone was telling you—Steve wasn't coming back.

"Hey, I was wondering if you had any salt you could give me," Brock asked you when you opened the door.

"Sure, give me a minute."

You closed the door; maybe you were a little paranoid, but it seemed that your new neighbor was looking for any pretext, even the silliest one, to come to your apartment and see you.

Maybe you were hallucinating, and the only thing that was happening was that he was just getting settled and didn't even know where the supermarket was.

You saw that the light intensity was varying on the bulb, Steve was supposed to have fixed that a few years before, you went to see where the fuse box was, but at that point, you were out of electricity, although you didn't know how to fix the flaw anyway.

You left the apartment, walked to the next door, and stood for a few seconds in front of it. You had just realized that Steve always fixed all the malfunctions, but you never thought about what would happen if he were gone.

"Y/N? Is everything all right? "

"Ah, yeah, I… I… I have a problem with the electricity."

You didn't even have to explain further; he immediately went to work fixing the problem. You offered him a beer after the power was restored.

"Thank you, my hus... Steve always took care of fixing all the glitches," you said, and you thanked him.

"I’m sorry what happened to him."

An awkward silence fell; it seemed like he was the first person you let be a little closer since Steve happened, since even with Natasha and Clint you didn't talk that much, and most of the time it was just being silent or pretending to help you with some S.H.I.E.L.D. stuff.

"Do you have anything to do on Saturday?" Brock asked suddenly, and you shook your head and said, "Then we'll go to the movies on Saturday."

You looked at yourself for the last time in the mirror, in less than ten minutes he would knock on the door of your apartment.

Your last date was many years ago, so you felt nervous, especially because you didn't think you could fall in love again after losing your husband. But you were still young, so it was time to move on with your life.

[dropoutconfessions]

this is directed towards the owners of the account, and sure, any "fans" too. you cannot pretend to not realize that ALL you're doing is bringing toxicity into the fandom.

it's been less than a week and your posts are already mimicking 2018/2020 fandom misogyny.

you're giving hate a platform. that's all you're doing. it's not fun, it's not interesting.

that in addition to how clueless you are about slurs and general etiquette and respect on the site, maybe should be a hint that you shouldn't be running this.

You can go ahead believe that I am clueless about slurs, but personally, as someone who's very identity gets called a slur all the fucking time, I get pretty annoyed when someone makes the call that something is a slur when it doesn't apply to them. Whenever something annoys me, I tend not to do it to others, but that's just me.

I may be a minority on a couple different fronts, but unless I was suddenly an expert in Native Canadian or Alaskan culture and general opinions of the term, I'm not making that call, and in my opinion, neither should anyone else who isn't either well informed or affected personally by that specific term. I know how etiquette on this site works. I've also been on this site, for long enough, to have formed my own opinions on how well this site practices etiquette. (That means I've watched enough people get run off this site to know this site kinda doesn't practice etiquette). I have explained, in my pinned post, exactly why I choose to ignore the rules people have decided are the standard, because they do not work for spoiler tagging, and we are discussing a media partially locked behind a pay wall. There are dropout fans, who can't watch every season of dimension 20, because they watch through YouTube and/or Spotify. I am going to continue using the primary tags as well as the anti tags for tagging purposes, because I do not want to be the reason someone learns about a character death, every time someone wants to talk about how they kinda didn't like a character who may or may not be a backup character wink wink to those of you who know which season i am referring to I fully gave everyone a new tag (#negative dropout confession), that I retroactively went back and applied to all the posts I believed it fit, so that you could block posts that were negative. Now I'm not perfect, and am actually pretty shitty at social queues and kinda forgetful, so if you find a post you think is negative in a way that isn't "i kinda would have preferred this, but i loved the season" let me know, i will retag it as such. I'm only human and just like everyone else, not above being checked on my shit. If that's still not enough, it's a 3 click process to block this blog entirely. We here at dropoutconfessions will be sad to see you go, but I'll still understand. A place of anonymity, to freely share how you feel, is going to attract people who have feelings that usual get them hatred. And yes, some people misuse it. Typically, I do one of 2 things when that happens.

If it's a misunderstanding of the media, I'll add corrections to to the response to clarify, anything I miss, 3-5 people will probably take care of within an hour of the post going up, just check the replies

If it's something truly awful to say, I'll block the asker and delete the ask. Something I've had to do about half a dozen times already.

I have, multiple posts, debating those very posts you are referring to I have, multiple people, defending those characters, in the replies and reblogs of those posts you're referring to I have, multiple posts, in queue (as of me writing this reply) because i don't like flooding people's blogs, that are saying the exact same thing, without calling me toxic and clueless I understand you don't like the hatred, I don't like it either. But I do believe everyone deserves a platform if they'll be civil about it, and they give their opponents an opportunity to call their take absolute dogwater, once again, check the replies, some of these asks get flamed almost immediately. And no. I don't think all I do is bring toxicity to the fandom. People use this as an outlet for how they feel about just, the story. There's like, multiple posts about how people are a bit overbearing expecting perfection from the cast and how certain seasons deserve more love and how amazing some of the other shows are and how amazing some of the cast members are. It's easy to see the negativity, but it's not all there is. And trust me I'm not immune to that either, it's exhausting sometimes. I have gotten more asks about how "obsessed everyone is with Brennan Lee Mulligan" than I ever have about Brennan in a context outside of d20, the show that he runs. Tunnel vision is a bitch sometimes. And at the end of the day, if you think I'm doing a bad job at this, you can make your own confessions blog. This blog exists cause I got bored of my statistics homework, and realized there wasn't a confessions blog. You can too, and if everyone prefers yours, they can use yours, I truly do not mind. This blog is just something I feel like needs to exist, and since no one else was actively doing it (as far as I could tell, no one has told me the contrary). It's really just something to do with my hands so I can focus on dnd games and my video calls with my gf. That's it. If you have any specific suggestions on how I can improve, I'm open to listening to them, as I have proved in the past, but beyond sharing how I feel and addressing how you feel, I don't really know what to say or do. Thank you for telling me how you feel about this blog, this fandom, and Dropout, a media company we love. That's all I could ever want from an ask on this blog.

[seigephoenix]

Kinktober 2024: Blindfold

Just 8 days left in October! I'll have my Kinktober set to reblog all day, ending with the finale of the "Don't Say a Word" fic for Halloween. After that, expect lots of Dragon Age: Veilguard stuff popping up (with proper tags of course).

Ship: Rhys Shepard x Garrus Vakarian Content Warning: sass, p in v sex, description of alien anatomy, fingering Length: 2.8k

Rhys Shepard was many things but survivors was at the top of that list.  She wasn’t known as the most diplomatic soldier in the Alliance Navy, which was why top brass tended to keep her out of the front lines.  Though that had been blown to hell and back when she’d encountered that Prothean artifact during that fucked up mission with Nihlus.  Her methods weren’t universally loved because she didn’t care if someone was human so long as they got shit done.  Her rough exterior was enough to scare most people off, and she preferred it that way.  Letting people close let them hurt you, and she’d be damned if she’d be vulnerable in front of anyone again.  Until she died and was given a second chance.  Rhys swore she wouldn’t squander that chance, not when she knew what was coming.  So she gathered her crew and swore to take the fight to the Collectors.

Commander Quarters

Rhys leaned back on her couch as she studied the smooth metal ceiling.  She’d just gotten out of the shower and her towel draped around her neck.  For once she let her midnight hair down from the tight bun falling over her shoulders in damp waves.  She ran a hand through it and shook her head at the onyx strands that flowed through her fingers like water.  The only thing she wouldn’t do was cut her hair; she’d put it into the tightest bun in the platoon but cutting it was out of the question.  She dropped her hand to the couch as she sighed.  “I fucked up again.”  She’d spoken to Garrus and left feeling like she’d done something wrong.  They’d just confronted Sidonis, and while she normally would be all for the ruthless options…  Something in her knew that doing so would break Garrus.  Rhys was used to shouldering those burdens but she didn’t think Garrus was nor did she want him too.

She recognized the burning hatred in his eyes, hell she’d felt it herself many times.  The only reason she survived so long during that assault was pure hatred.  Rhys wished she could help him, but she’d never known the right words to say to anyone let alone to someone she cared about.  Her pale green eyes cut to the door when it slid open.  Her eyes narrowed at that.  She wasn’t expecting anyone and EDI hadn’t given her any warning about her guest.  If it was Miranda again wanting to talk about plans, Rhys wasn’t sure what she’d do.  To her shock, Garrus walked through the door looking behind him as the door slid closed with a quiet hiss.

“Garrus?” Rhys asked quietly as she slowly got to her feet.  She realized she wasn’t wearing pants!  Rhys hadn’t expected any company for the evening.  “Wait a minute,” she said as she stepped towards the bathroom.  Rhys jumped when his hand reached out and blocked her.  She cut a glance over to him but realized he wouldn’t be bothered by her going without pants.  Not as if turians found humans that sexy, if she was being honest with herself, she wasn’t the epitome of femme fatale either.  “Sorry, what can I help you with?”

Rhys didn’t move as he stepped closer to her but her heart did start racing.  They’d shared that one night but it had been more like clumsy fumbling than anything else.  Garrus had been avoiding her since.  Rhys wouldn’t admit it hurt; she’d rather bite off her tongue.  Garrus simply stared at her and Rhys felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise in alarm.  She ducked and avoided the hand that reached out for her.  “Jesus, what the hell is going on Garrus?” Rhys demanded as she stepped away.

“Commander, do you require assistance?” EDI asked through the speaker and Rhys sighed and rubbed the back of her head, heedless of the way her shirt rose over her stomach.

“No EDI.  I can handle it just fine.  Don’t call in the cavalry please, I’d rather not have Miranda or the others catch me without pants.”  EDI gave the affirmation and the silence descended again.  “Now, care to explain what the hell you’re on about this time Vakarian?”

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said and Rhys huffed.

“You were the one who bit my head off when I went to talk to you the morning after.”  Rhys waved dismissively as she crossed her arms under her breasts.  The urge to spit an insult rested on her tongue but she held it.  This was Garrus.  “I figured that you sated your curiosity and that was it.  Humans weren’t attractive to you and I understood.”  She turned away from him and towards her bed where she reached for her hair tie.  Rhys yelped when hands shoved her to the bed, she landed on her hands and knees.  She paused as her hair swung down over her shoulders, assessing to make sure what happened did happen.

“Vakarian…”  She spun around but his hand closed over her ankle.

“Mordin told me that humans have ways to show trust in the bedroom.  Is that true Shepard?”  Rhys stopped fighting him and looked up at him.

“That’s what you want to ask?”  He nodded and held her gaze before she dropped her head back to the bed.  “Ugh, yes.  There are certain ways to show complete trust in your partner in the bedroom.  That humans do, I mean.  I assume turians have similar things?” Rhys sat up and pulled her legs under her when he released her ankle.

“Something like that.  Most turians go into sex knowing it’s not going to be something that will hurt the other.”  Rhys wanted to roll her eyes but she resisted.

“Did Mordin tell you any of these trust activities?” Rhys asked as she propped her elbow on her knee when Garrus sat next to her on the bed.

“No.  He said I should ask you.”  Rhys cast a skeptical glance at him but she sighed.

“Well, there’s plenty.  There’s giving your partner total control over you.  How your body moves, tying them up, giving orders, not letting them orgasm until you say so, and then there’s smaller things.  Blindfolds are a basic activity to build trust.” Rhys told him plainly.

“Blindfolds?  You willingly do that with your partners?”

“It takes a lot to get me to bend for it, but yeah, I’ve done it before.  We assume that if we’re going to be blindfolded that we won’t be stabbed in the back by our partners.  For me, I don’t like leaving myself so unguarded.  It takes a lot of trust for me to let someone put a blindfold on me, it makes me nervous when I can’t see.  Thanks to Akuze.”  Garrus paused at her words.  She could sense the hesitation in him and looked over at her nightstand.  She grabbed the tie she’d kept from her dress blues.  Not that she had any occasion to wear them in the near future, so what better way to put it to use.  The material was a smooth silk that flowed over her fingers.

“What are you doing Shepard?”  Rhys wanted to laugh at how nervous he sounded.

“Relax Vakarian.  I’m just grabbing my tie.  It can double as a blindfold.  When your sight is cut off all the other senses become sharper to compensate.”  She let the silky material slide over her hands again and she wanted to grin as his eyes followed the movements.  “I’m guessing your conversation with Mordin was because you wanted to ask about us doing something like this?”

“I meant what I said Shepard.  You’re one of the few people I respect the hell out of in this galaxy.  I wanted to know how to make you feel good.”  Rhys felt her heart soften and she reached over to trail her fingers along the side of his face, falling away at the end of his mandibles.

“You could have just asked me.  Mordin can tell you all day long about sexual positions and orgasms and all that shit.  Doesn’t mean a damn thing.  Most humans are wired the same way biologically.  Sex to us is a lot more than just put tab A into slot B.”  Garrus looked down at her curiously.  “A lot of time it takes more atmosphere as you found from last time.  Typically, I’m not the kind of gal you wine and dine.  I’m happy with a romp in the sack to relieve tension.”

“But I want to make you see yourself like I do.”  Rhys paused at his words and looked up at him.  His hand reached out and stroked her hair, letting the strands cling to his rough skin before falling away.  Rhys felt the vulnerability trying to slip in and she fought desperately against it.  She wanted to lean into him and just let him make her forget everything.

“Alright then.  We can give this a try.  From my understanding, the Normandy is going to dock for repairs so there’s no mission that requires my attention tomorrow.  So we have the time.”  Rhy lifted the silk tie and slid it over her face, knotting it easily to make it snug.  She took a calming breath and reminded herself she was with Garrus.  “Alright.  I can’t see anything.”  She grinned when she felt his hand waving in front of her face.  “I can’t see your hand but I can feel it moving,” she said with a smile.

Rhys sucked in a breath when his hand rested against her breast.  The last time he hadn’t paid much attention to them, but not this time.  Her head fell back when he squeezed hissing when her nipple pebbled against the palm of his hand.  A needy whimper escaped when he gently pinched her nipple, she could tell how cautious he was being.  “I’m not made of glass Garrus,” she said sensing the way he stiffened.  “A little roughness isn’t going to break me.”  Rhys squealed when her back hit the bed followed by a laugh as he knelt between her legs.  He eased his hands up between her thighs feeding the ache throbbing in her body.

She lifted her hips when he hooked his fingers in the sides of her underwear, shuddering when he pulled them away from her.  Rhys suppressed the whine when his thumbs caressed the inside of her knees.  She wanted his hands on her and driving her wild until she forgot this whole damn mission.  He slid his hands down her thighs, skimming over her trembling core, before tugging her tank top off her.  Rhys huffed as she propped up on her elbows.  “You’re enjoying this aren’t you?”

“Having the galaxy’s most badass Commander at my mercy?  No, of course I’m not enjoying this.”  He leaned in and nibbled at her shoulder, earning a soft moan from her lips.  She groaned as her walls squeezed around nothing when his tongue soothed the sting.

“Sarcasm doesn’t, ah, doesn’t become you,” she moaned.  His hands slid around and cupped her ass squeezing the soft skin.  His talons scraped against her leaving trails of white hot heat behind.  His tongue reached out and teased her nipple until it was a hardened point beneath him.  Rhys let out a keening whimper when he nipped the side of her breast.  Garrus slid one hand between her legs, chuckling when he felt her thighs squeeze his arm to lock it in place.

He rested his palm against her clit, just one tiny push and she’d get the friction she needed.  Rhys rocked her hips against his hand, whining when the spike of heat burst low in her belly.  “Yes.”  Garrus paused at the soft word and she whimpered.  “Don’t stop.  Please.”

Garrus leaned in and Rhys was surrounded by him.  She’d never get tired of his scent.  Gun oil and the sharp sting of smell right before a thunderstorm hit.  Her hands reached for him as she curled into him with his palm grinding down on her clit.  Her fingers curled over the chitin layering over the softer layers of his skin, desperate for something to cling to at the pleasure haze that threatened to consume her mind.  Her toes curled into the blanket as the pleasure built higher and higher, threatening to explode.  She clenched her jaw on another needy whimper for more.

“Rhys.”  Garrus’s low voice was right in her ear.  A keening moan escaped when he slid a finger inside of her body.  She felt his subvocals against her body when her walls squeezed his finger.  She trailed her fingers down over his chest, memorizing the shape and feel of him.  She brushed over the plate that protected his cock and eased it to the side.  He growled when she palmed his cock.

Her fingers wrapped around him, marveling at how different he was.  Turgid and wide.  Rhys wondered how it fit the last time.  Her lips parted on a needy sigh when his finger curled inside of her.  Her head dropped back as the heat broke inside of her.  Her thighs squeezed tight around his arm, the moans coming through clenched teeth as it crashed through her in a violent wave.  Rhys fell backwards after the last wave ebbed and laid there catching her breath.  She sensed him shifting and she grabbed his arm.

“Not yet.”  She flipped over onto her stomach and reached for the lubricant in her nightstand.  Even as wet as she was there was no way she was risking it.  “We’re not done yet Garrus.”  She handed the bottle over to him and raised her ass in the air towards him.  A universal sign she hoped.

Rhys grabbed a pillow to hold.  A sharp cry escaped when his cock slid inside.  Her fingers twisted in the sheets as the subtle ridges along the sides of his cock hit just right.  Her sensitive walls tightened around his cock until he was fully inside her.  His talons grabbed her waist, digging into the soft skin.  Rhys knew she’d have bruises later.  She rocked back against him, relishing the low growl from him.  Rhys pitched forward when he slammed into her deep.  Her lips parted on whimpers for him to go faster, go harder.  She didn’t even care that he was seeing the scars from Akuze, something she never showed anyone.  All she could focus on was how good his cock felt inside of her.

Tiny stabs of pain at her hips merely heightened the pleasure clouding her mind.  Garrus leaned over her, letting his body rub against hers with each thrust.  He reached under her to squeeze her breast in time to his thrusts.  His other hand slipped between her legs to tease her clit.  She was going to go crazy.  Her head thrashed at the heat building low in her belly again.  His subvocals were rumbling against her back each time his cock hit deep inside of her.

“You know what I want Rhys,” he murmured right against her ear.  “So go ahead and give it to me.”  Rhys whimpered when his finger massaged her clit, keeping her skirting the edge when all she wanted was to throw herself into the abyss.

“I.  Please.”  Rhys couldn’t string two words together, she merely rocked back to meet his thrusts.  Sweat dripped down her forehead, plastering her hair to her temple.  Her fingers curled into the sheets as the sweet tension built to a breaking point.  “Fuck, Garrus.”  Rhys moaned as her walls fluttered around his cock with each wave of heat that rolled through her.  Her first orgasm had been like a tempest battering a beach, this orgasm was slow as molasses in winter.  Rhys savored each spasm of pleasure moaning only a little when Garrus pulled out of her.  She knew why he did it, but she so desperately wanted to feel him come inside of her.

Rhys struggled to get her breathing back to normal as she laid on her bed limply.  She didn’t have the energy to move at the moment and wasn’t keen on doing so either.  She jumped a little when his hands tugged the blindfold off.  “I see by your expression that you enjoyed that?”

“Hmm.  Don’t make it a habit Vakarian.” Rhys grinned as he huffed at her.  “Come on.”  She turned her head to look at him and extended a hand to him.  Garrus grasped hers in his and grunted when she tugged him down to the bed.  Before he could get his bearings, she was already tucked up against him.  One leg thrown over his hips, and her arms wrapped around his neck.

“You can’t be comfortable like that…”  Rhys huffed.

“I’ve slept in worse conditions than this.  Now, let’s get some sleep Vakarian.  We can talk tomorrow morning when I’m able to string words together.”  Garrus didn’t comment on her sarcasm, but he shifted until his arm draped across her waist.  They had plenty of time to talk about it, and to his surprise he looked forward to it.

[fairy-writes]

FOREVER MINE NEVERMIND

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

__________________________________________________________________________

Fandom(s): Jujutsu Kaisen

Pairing(s): Geto Suguru x Reader

Word Count: 0.6k

Genre(s)/Tag(s): Angst, Gender Neutral!Reader

Notes: Based on one specific doctor who quote and another specific scene.

SPOILERS FOR THE ANIME

__________________________________________________________________________

You should have known what Suguru was going to do.

Maybe you could have stopped him. 

Maybe you could have saved him.

But you didn’t.

And it was all your fault. 

It started with a phone call.

Satoru had shown up at your door, distraught but uncharacteristically quiet. He refused to say where he had been, why he was even there, but you had let him in regardless. Because you always did. As annoying and obnoxious as Satoru was, he was your best friend.

Your phone rang, and you picked it up, clicking the little green button without looking at who was calling. 

“Hello?” It’s quiet for a moment before you hear a deep breath.

And that’s all it takes to know who is calling you. 

You glance to where Satoru is sitting, almost comatose, on your bed. Your room wasn’t very big, but he managed to make it look massive with how he was curled up underneath your covers. 

He looked like a child.

Sometimes, you forget that’s all you were—teenagers who were forced to grow up too early.

“Suguru.” You say quietly, keeping an eye on Satoru as you speak into the receiver. You didn’t know what had him so upset, but you had a feeling it had to do with Suguru. It always has something to do with Suguru.

He says your name, and you have to hide the shiver that runs down your spine. If not for your sake, then for Satoru’s. You can’t have him knowing you’re talking to the person who upset him. 

“Why are you calling me.” It wasn’t a question but a demand. It's a pretty sorry one, but Suguru answers nonetheless. 

“To say goodbye, I suppose. You were always nagging me about how not saying goodbye was rude.” He muses, and you bite back a snippy retort. 

It wouldn’t do you any good now. 

“Why are you really calling?” You whisper and curse inwardly as you watch Satoru move from under the blankets at the sound of your voice cracking. His mop of white hair peeks out from under the covers, and he looks at you with what you swear are red-rimmed eyes from behind his crooked glasses. 

“Is that Suguru?” He asks just as Suguru asks, “Is that Satoru?” 

You don’t know what to say, so you just rasp a quiet “yes.” Satoru’s eyes darken, and he clenches his jaw before turning and throwing the blanket over his head again.

Suguru hums,

“He sounds upset.” He says, and once again, you have to reign in what would have been a hurtful comment. 

“Of course he is.” You manage, and hear the sounds of little girls in the background. Suguru’s voice is muffled for a moment as he seemingly placates someone you don’t have the privilege of talking to. 

Hadn’t he been on a mission where children were involved? 

Before everything that happened? 

“I’m really calling because I thought you deserved one last goodbye. From me. Not from anyone else.” He says simply, and that’s when the burning behind your eyes gets overwhelming, and you feel tears drip down your cheeks. 

“I was going to be with you forever.” You croak, and for once, Suguru doesn’t have anything to say. No smooth comment or something to ease your fears. He’s silent before—

“I know.”

“The rest of my life. With you.” You try as if you could get him to take it all back. As if he could magically turn back time.

“I’m sorry.” He says, and Geto Suguru hangs up the phone with a quiet ‘click.’

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Unexpected 54

Warnings: non/dubcon, child endangerment, pregnancy, pegging, Lloyd being the worst, post partum, csection, suicidial ideation, Andy is nasty in this, and other dark elements. Not all kinks or triggers are tagged. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

Days pass. Weeks, maybe. There is no dawn or dusk to track the time. You are trapped in this basement, just you and Luna against the monster who took you.

Your only defense is to placate. You keep Andy happy so you can take care of your daughter. You don’t argue with his demands, you don’t push him away as he touches you, you don’t even cry when he fucks you any more. You just close your eyes and let him do what he wants. When you think about it, it’s not too much different than before.

There is no light at the end of this tunnel. If you were to get out of here, your haven is just another prison. Lloyd is only a warden with a different set of rules. For you it doesn’t matter but for Luna, she deserves better than this basement.

Andy snores next to you. It’s time like these you have the urge to hurt him. Your head is filled with violent thoughts. Not just towards your current keeper but to all the men who’ve wronged you. It’s the only strength you can find beneath the crushing weight of futility. Being angry means you still have something left.

A subtle buzz thrums through the mattress. You lean back on your shoulder and peek back at him. His phone vibrates him awake from under his pillow. You remember him tucking it under before he dozed off, likely noticing your straying eyes.

If you could just get it, you could call someone, anyone. But just like everything else, it's unreachable. The door's always locked and the conversation is already decided. He makes the rules and you follow them. It's the only way to keep Luna safe. If it was just you...

You roll onto your back as he grumbles, sliding his hand under the pillow to fumble away the notification. You glimpse the small letters before they swipe away, 'motion detected'. The screen lights up as he rubs his eyes and sits up. He bends over his lap, shrugging as he tries to loosen up his shoulders. 'Doorbell activated', the message pops up as the phone continues to jitter.

"Mmm," he searches around the floor as you sit up, your heart in your throat. Someone's here... "Better see who that is."

He grabs his grey tee shirt and swipes it over his head. You try not to show your eagerness, staying in bed as you watch him on alert. He pulls on his pants and puts the phone in his back pocket before zipping them up. Luna fusses and begins to babble. You move towards the crib and he raises a palm to wave you back.

"I got her," he goes to her as you stand, tense as he reaches in to pick her up, "shh, sweetie, daddy's got you--"

"Andy, please, answer the door," you approach him and he turns his back to you, keeping your daughter out of your reach.

"They can wait," he says as he bounces her, only for her to erupt into sobs. "Sweetie, shhh, shhh," he hushes as he rocks her, "be good for daddy, okay?"

He continues his efforts as you watch helplessly, bouncing on the balls of your feet as you try to get around him but he continues to block you out. You ball your hands, about to tear your hair out as she wails louder and louder.

"Please, let me take her--"

"Why won't she stop?" He growls, "little brat."

"Andy," you whimper as you grab for her and he elbows you away.

"I'll deal with her," he says, "can't have her making all this racket."

He stomps away from you. You're right behind him as he goes over the kitchenette and opens the lower cupboard with his free hand. He pulls out a chest under there, numbers on dials below the clasp. A lock box. He flips it open and cradles her over it.

"Andy, don't! You can't--"

"She's too loud," he bats you away, "the sooner I get up there, the sooner she can come out."

"Please don't lock my baby up," you beg shrilly, "please, let me take her. I'll get her quiet."

Your skin razes with fire and your lungs fill with acid. You try again to take her and he shoves you away so you stagger and hit the table. It jars your bad hip but you barely notice the pain as Luna's cries drive you to desperation.

"Andy!"

"Shut up!" He snarls as he forces her squirming form into the chest, "she's got about ten minutes of air..."

"Please--"

"I don't need either of you drawing attention. Got it," he braces the lid, "anything happens to me, you won't get her out in time."

Tears swell over and spill hotly as he shuts the lid and spins the dials with his thumbs. You race forward and fall to your knees, clutching at the box.

"Andy, please, I can make her quiet. We'll both be quiet!"

"Shhhhh," he pulls out his phone again, "I know you'll be quiet, honey. If you want to see our daughter again."

You nearly collapse as he spins away. You can only watch him go to the stairs and leave you to your panic. You put your ear to the top of the chest and try to hear her. It's too thick. She's going to suffocate in there. You try to pry the edge open with your nails then stagger to your feet, searching the drawers for anything to get the lid up.

Nothing, there's nothing. Your baby, your baby. You can only think of Luna and the terror of that box. You freeze only as a familiar timber rumbles from above. The walls are padded enough to dampen their words but you know that voice. Harlan...

You wait and listen. Is he looking for you? Down here, I'm down here! You want to run up and bang on the door. Even if they know you're there, they won't know the code and they won't have the time to get her out. So you have to be quiet. You have to wait.

There footsteps pass overhead like a clock counting down. You cling to the chest. Please go. Please, please, please....

You collapse over the chest and hug it. You shake as you listen to the voices above drone through the walls. Your heart beats faster and faster as the second pass. Then, it's silent.

You tremble as you stare up at the ceiling. The door opens and the footsteps come down the stairs. Andy appears, nonchalant and unbothered.

"See, that didn't take very long, did it?"

"Open it," you hiss, "please, my baby, open it!"

"Our baby," he nears and puts his hands on his hips, "don't be so dramatic."

"Please, please," you get up on your knees and grab the front of his shirt, "I'll do whatever you want, honey, please, just take her out."

He huffs and shakes his head. He rolls his eyes as he bends over the box and slowly rolls the dials.

"That jackass and his father," he scoffs as the clasp pops. He stands straight, unconcerned. "Sent them off. He... he never appreciated you. Not like I do."

You flip the lid up and scoop Luna out. She's babbling quieter than before, dazed as you touch her all over, checking her pulse and her temperature. You coo at her and rock her, quaking as your adrenaline recedes. A new wave washes for you, something hotter, something more vibrant. Anger. Hatred. Deep and pure.

You look up at Andy as you embrace your daughter. You will kill this man.

[virtualchaoticgood]

It's Never a Good Day to Die in Slough House

Fandom: Slow Horses (TV)

Words: 4108

Warnings/tropes: blood and injury, stabbed, weak, passing out, worry for loved one, mistaken for dead, moderate swearing (as per canon)

Hey there, I don’t post on here other than to reblog. But I wrote (and actually finished) something and wanted to share. 

I binged all 4 current seasons of Slow Horses over a long weekend recently, and have had this scene playing in my head on repeat since then.

It’s kinda set post season 4, but also doesn’t have any spoilers. Just that River and Louisa’s friendship is more season 3/4 vibes.

Also, just a WARNING to those not expecting it: cigarettes are referred to as 'fags' a couple times, because England. The single headcannon I have for this show rn is that Lamb absolutely calls them that and you can trust me on this because I'm English.

Thanks so much to @deepwoundsandfadedscars who read this through for me and helped me figure out tags and such on here and Ao3!

Summary: River gets chased into Slough House by some foreign operatives wanting just two things from him: his recently acquired USB stick, and his life.

You can read it on Ao3 too!

It had been a long night. 

Not the usual long night you got from working at Slough House, the ones that you question why you still even bother going in each day. No, this had been the kind of long night that you get kidnapped by a foreign operative, claiming to be a turncoat, who then gives you a USB that seems to have a dangerous amount of your top secret files mixed in with a healthy dose of their own. 

Obviously River hadn’t believed them. Right up until the point that they got taken down by a trained team speaking the turncoat’s native tongue.

He still wasn’t sure he trusted their reasoning behind coming to him with that USB instead of literally-fucking-anyone else. They knew enough about him to know he was MI5, so they also knew he was relegated to Slough House. They said something about “under the radar”. He figured it was more like “plausible deniability” for everyone else involved except for lucky-old-him. 

He’d probably call it in at this point, but the turncoat had helpfully taken his phone and then failed to give it back before kicking the bucket.

So he was alone. 

But he was on his streets, not theirs. And he knew somewhere nearby that, in an hour or so, would have people that would (well, might) help him stay alive.

It was only about an hour before River would have been arriving at Slough House for work this morning; had it been a normal morning. Instead he was walking up the road to it after dawn had barely broken, pissed off and, frankly, highly paranoid. He hadn’t got a good look at the team that had taken down the turncoat, too busy getting the fuck out of there, so he was watching anyone around him that seemed to be going the same direction for a little too long.

Why were there so many people going to work this early?

Sure, he was too, technically, but he was pretty sure that none of the people walking past him had been kidnapped and almost killed last night.

He was on the right road, just a block or so down. There was someone he spotted, over his shoulder on the other side of the road, hanging around and watching him. But they didn’t make as if to move, and held his gaze when they met it. He turned back, quickening his pace. He was almost at Slough House, and for the first time ever, he was glad. 

Someone stepped out in front of him with something glinting in their hand. River didn’t have enough time to react, he had been too focused on people following behind him. Idiot. The man brought the blade up, making for River’s gut, but wasn’t able to cut that deep as River pulled back at the last moment. It was a quick cut, but, damn, did it still burn. The man went for River again, his chest this time, but River swerved, getting just his left wrist cut in the process. He hissed, he could feel this one was deeper, but he didn’t have time to check it.

Before the man had the chance to swipe at him a third time, River pulled back and landed a punch. He wasn’t sure what part of the guy’s face he hit, but it was enough to make him double over, which was enough for River to break out into a sprint for Slough House.

He heard someone running after him, there was probably more than one, but he kept going. 

Hopefully the worst they had was knives. 

He threw himself around the corner and towards the metal staircase leading to the front door. With every step, the cut in his side felt like it was tearing further open and his left hand was getting slick with what could only be blood. Taking two steps at a time he fished the keys out of his pocket, quickly covering them in blood as well. As he jammed them in the lock, only going in the second time he tried, he chanced a look back down the stairs. There was one guy at the bottom, seemingly the one he had punched, then another shortly after him. 

He twisted the keys and slammed his weight against the door. 

It groaned but stayed closed. 

He twisted the keys back and forth and threw himself at it again. 

Still the fucking thing didn’t budge. 

He could hear the footsteps of the two men almost on him. River let out a yell in frustration. He was going to die and Slough fucking House, the god damn building itself, was going to be the reason. 

They had reached the top of the stairs. The one in front with a bloodied nose and a pissed off look raised his knife, looking like he was aiming for River’s face. River didn’t go to defend himself, instead deciding to try the door one last time, wondering briefly if they left his corpse up against the door might Lamb finally get it fixed?

He twisted the keys and shoved, watching the arc of the knife as it sailed down towards him, not expecting it when the door suddenly, finally, gave way. 

Instead of hitting his face, the knife lodged deep into his left shoulder. He yelled in both surprise and pain as he fell through the doorway onto the floor of the corridor, his attacker surprised too as he fell on top of River, losing grip of his knife in the process. The stars swimming across River’s vision took a few, precious seconds to subside. 

The guy on top of him scrambled to right himself, trying to hold River down while he did, thankfully blocking the one behind him from being able to get through the door. 

River was on his back. His side and his wrist had already been screaming at him. The amount of pain radiating from his shoulder was so great it felt foreign, to the point he wasn’t entirely sure it was going to still be there as he looked around for something to fight with, slapping away the hands going for his throat. There was nothing. Even those pointless fucking boxes of files were around the corner, outside Roddy’s office. So River gripped the only thing he had and couldn’t help the scream he let out as he tore the knife from his own shoulder. His mind addled by experiencing that level of pain for a second time, only instinct and training sent the knife quickly plunging it into the neck of the man above him before he had a chance to defend himself. River’s view came back into focus as he stabbed again, a second and third time, to make sure the guy was done. With a thud, the body hit the ground, still half on River who desperately pushed to roll it off as the second man clambered through the, now emptier, doorway brandishing his own knife. As soon as his legs were within reach, River stabbed at them, not letting up until the guy fell to his knees. Then he quickly shifted to stab upward towards his neck. He didn’t see if the knife did any damage as his shoulder immediately gave way under him and he fell back down onto it, hard. His vision went white. The pain overwhelmed him. His own heartbeat was deafening in his ears. That was the only thing he could hear except for deep, ragged breaths that seemed to be his too. After a few moments he came back to his senses to hear choking and coughing from the second man, blood pouring from his throat and mouth. His eyes were wide and both his hands were gripped tightly around his neck but doing little to stop the flow of blood. 

River slowly, carefully, stood himself back up using the wall for support, trying not to slip again on all the blood pooling on the floor around him. He tried to close the door but the legs of the first man’s corpse were in the way and he knew he didn’t have the strength to move them now. Gripping his knife tightly in his right fist, he made his way further into the building. He clambered over the second man who made some final blind swipes that River clumsily kicked away. Stumbling around the corner, River could see Roddy’s office door was closed and there was no glow from his half dozen monitors. He hadn’t expected Roddy to be in, but it was nice to confirm that he hadn’t just been fucking sitting there the whole time, ignoring the sounds of River fighting for his bloody life. He wouldn’t put it past the prick. 

He wandered slowly down the corridor towards the bottom of the stairs, dragging himself against the wall to be sure he would stay upright. Nearing the end of the corridor he heard something that made him stop.

The creaking of the metal steps outside.

Someone was walking up them, carefully. It sounded like there was only one. It was too early, still, for it to be a friendly (if it had been any other moment he would have burst out laughing at the idea of calling any of the other slow horses ‘friendly’). 

Adrenaline coming back to him with a new threat closing in, River hurried around the corner onto the bottom of the stairs. He wouldn’t get far running, so he stayed there, two steps up, hugging the middle wall, knife tight in his grip, and trying not to breathe.

He heard them pause just outside the door. Then maneuver over the bodies. Then slowly make their way down the corridor. 

In spite of the new adrenaline rush, he was feeling tired and slow. Every blink felt a little more like he might just not open his eyes back up again. 

But the newcomer had reached the other side of the wall to River, and it was then that their gun finally came into view. They were pointing it at Roddy’s office, presumably trying to see if he was in there. 

He knew, with a knife against a gun, getting in close would be his best chance. Well, running the fuck away would’ve been his best chance but that wasn’t an option anymore. He tried to raise his arms in front of him without making a sound, but his shoulder strongly protested.

He thought about how little Jackson Lamb would care upon finding his body. About him celebrating, even, that a thorn he’d had stuck in his rotten, oily arse was finally gone. 

He grimaced at the thought of Lamb’s rotten, oily arse. 

Steeling himself with his spite, he raised his arms in front of him: knife gripped in his right, left shaking with only a slight tremor. 

He saw, now, for the first time, just how much blood was coating his hands and arms. He had no idea how much was his own.

The gun started to move, turning to go up the stairs River was standing on. He waited until he could see enough of the person’s forearm come round the corner and then lept.

He was down the steps in a moment, grabbing the closer forearm and sinking the knife into it in one motion. The person yelled and fired the gun. It was right next to River’s ear and deafening. Even though the bullet went harmlessly into the wall behind him he was immediately off balance. So as they drew their injured arm back, River lost grip of the knife.

He had no weapon and felt dead on his feet, his ear still ringing from the gunshot. The person drew their gun back to take aim at him properly. There wasn’t the time to think.

River rushed them, the gun now pointed right at his chest. He tried to grab it but his hands were slippery. They both yelled as they fell to the floor, River on top of the gunman. He could feel the cold metal, but he wasn’t sure what part he was holding. 

He didn’t know where it was facing when it went off a second time. 

It was muffled by their two bodies wrapped around it, and with how much he was hurting already, River couldn’t tell if he had been hit or not. He wrenched the gun from the other’s hands, was he getting stronger moments before death or were they putting up less of a fight?, then backed away from them just enough to point the weapon at their chest and pull the trigger two more times.

He collapsed backwards onto the cardboard boxes littering the bottom of the staircase and looked down at himself. The clothes he had been wearing to work yesterday were almost unrecognisable; torn and bloodied. He tried to breathe more steadily, but it was hard with his heart still hammering in his chest. Over that, there weren’t the sounds of any more people coming up the stairs outside– for now, at least.

The gunman gurgled from the floor. River weakly kicked their foot, but they didn’t respond. 

He thought he had been tired while he was fighting, but the exhaustion that was hitting him now was on another level. Bringing the gun up to rest on his lap and leaning his head back against the boxes behind him, River waited for the next person to walk up the metal steps outside. He did manage a chuckle this time (although it came out much more like a strained wheeze) at the fact he was hoping that the next person he saw was a slow horse. 

He could have sworn only a few moments had passed, only a few heavy blinks of his eyes, but suddenly he was aware of someone standing directly in front of him.

He raised the gun, aiming at the centre of the blurry mass that he couldn’t quite pull into focus.

“Put that thing down, you fucking prick.” 

What?

Oh.

Amazing that he would be grateful for both Slough House and Jackson Lamb on the same day. Although, thinking about it, it would make sense if it was the day he dies.

Jackson Lamb, horrifically, was somewhat early for work. He wasn’t even sure where he had gained the half hour or so. Maybe he had smoked through the rest of that pack of fags faster than normal… or maybe more cars had got out of his way as he, with the correct amount of recklessness, had driven into work. Whatever it had been, Lamb seriously considered turning back and doing fucking anything else for 30 (better make that 40) minutes rather than give The Service even more of his time than they even fucking pay him for. 

But he had just turned off the pavement to head for the metal staircase when he had noticed the time. And right after that he had smelled something odd. Metallic. 

Blood.

Any other person might not have considered it that odd to smell blood in a place that normally stank of piss on a good day. But not him, and not here. No one could say with a straight face that he cared for any of the useless idiots that worked at Slough House, but if someone had killed one of his Joes, today was going to be a very fucking bad day for him and the pricks that did it.

He started walking up the steps, slowly, listening for anything out of the ordinary. He could see it now – the blood. There were drops of it on the left side of some of the steps, and smeared up the handrail in places. It was sticky and starting to dry. At the top of the stairs, Lamb briefly leant his head around the corner to glance at the door. 

It was open. And someone’s legs were keeping it that way. 

He glanced around again, the legs were dead. There was another body just inside the door and a lot of blood pooling between them. He didn’t recognise them immediately, but he took a few steps back down the metal stairs before going any further.

The tone rang twice before Guy answered.

“Where are you?” Lamb asked.

“I’m on my way in, why?”

“Well, get here fucking now, Guy. And call the others. Someone’s fucking dead.”

With that, he hung up. It was vague enough to light a fire under her arse. And at this point, for all he knew, all the others might be dead in there too. The idea of that upset him, not because he’d miss them, of course, but because he’d just get sent a whole new batch of losers and idiots he’d have to figure out how to mess with. He’d already put in all the work with this lot. It’s basically all The Service pays him for at this point, whether they know it or not.

With a scowl, Lamb climbed back up the rest of the steps, through the door, and over the two corpses, unable to entirely avoid the blood – they definitely weren’t any of his. Around the corner he saw a trail of blood across one of the walls leading to another body slumped half against the wall of Ho’s ‘office’. No signs that the little prick was in there right now. From this distance Lamb was pretty sure the third body also wasn’t one of his, but he could see a shoe sticking out from the bottom of the stairs that looked upsettingly familiar. 

He was less cautious as he walked up to it, knowing what he was probably going to find. But being prepared for it didn’t make it feel any better. 

River was wearing the same clothes he had been the last time Lamb had seen him yesterday. But now they were soaked red all over. From his face and hair down to his shoes, the amount of blood on him made it seem like he probably killed the other three. He had a gun resting loosely in his lap. His head was leaning back against a few of those stupid fucking boxes, and his deathly pale face, looked almost fucking peaceful, like he was having a goddamn nap.

“Fuck, River.” 

So this was going to be a bad fucking day.

Lamb’s face screwed up tighter as he stood and looked down at his dead Joe.

A Joe that suddenly took a breath. 

Lamb stepped back, genuinely startled out of his somber thoughts. River’s eyes opened lazily and his grip on the gun tightened.

He seemed to abruptly notice Lamb’s presence and tried to raise the gun level with him. But his wrist was mostly limp so the gun wasn’t even pointing the right direction.

“Put that thing down, you fucking prick.” Lamb said as he knelt down next to River and tried to tell where the blood that was his was coming from. After a moment River let the gun drop back down to his lap and made a noise that sounded like he was trying to laugh, and when Lamb looked back up at his face, he saw a dopey grin spread across it. 

“The fuck are you grinning about, you idiot?” Lamb asked, trying to rile River up while taking his phone back out of his pocket and putting it on one of the boxes. He’d found a wound on his shoulder and one on his wrist that seemed pretty bad and was trying to apply pressure.

“I never thought,” River said weakly, “I’d ever be glad to see you.” 

Lamb looked at him, bewildered, and then joined him laughing. Only stopping when he heard someone loudly charging up the outside staircase. Lamb grabbed the gun off River and aimed down the corridor. But it was only Guy who came racing round the corner yelling his name.

“Lamb!”

“Guy, shut the fuck up and come here.”

She jogged over but stopped short when she saw River. 

“Oh fuck, River. Oh fuck.” She said as she tried to kneel down on the staircase on the other side of River, with her hands raised up towards him like she was about to heal him with fucking prayers. 

“Guy.” She didn’t look away from River. “Guy, stop fucking looking at him!” Finally her attention turned back to Lamb. He raised the gun to give to her.

“Take this and check we don’t have any more uninvited guests wandering around upstairs.”

She took the gun and stood, but hesitated. 

“Should I call an ambulance?” She asked, once again staring down at River who didn’t seem to be fully aware of what was going on anymore.

“Guy, you do your fucking job and I’ll do mine.” Lamb said back, raising his phone where she could see him pressing nine three times and then the call button. Seeming satisfied with that, Guy went up the stairs, gun trained in front of her. 

Lamb gave the address to the poor sod that had answered his call after probably traumatising them and setting in motion the creation of a new training programme for 999 phone operators. After which he hung up. 

River stirred. He was sloppily trying to reach into his pocket. After watching him try and fail a few times, Lamb took his hand off River’s shoulder wound to fish into the pocket for him. When he pulled out what was in there he found himself looking at an, only slightly bloodied, USB. Lamb looked at it quizzically a moment longer, then looked back at River and waved it in front of his face so as to ask the question without needing to say it.

“It’s what they were after.” River explained between heavy breaths. “Killed– turncoat.” He added, then raised his hand, weakly, to point at the USB. “Ours– and theirs.” Lamb waited remarkably patiently for River to follow up with something more coherent. When he didn’t he just said:

“Right.” And put the USB in his jacket. 

The stairs creaked loudly as Guy rushed back down them.

“The rest of the place is clear. None hiding, no bodies.” She reported as she reached the bottom step and knelt down next to River again. She looked him over, tears coming to her eyes that she was obviously trying, and failing, to hold back. She turned to Lamb, “What can I do?”

He was about to tell her to go wait outside for the ambulance that had better be here any fucking minute, but then thought better of it. She wanted to be here and if Lamb was the one waiting outside, he wouldn’t have to try and be decent to River if these end up being his last moments.

“Put your hands where mine are and press hard.” She swapped to kneeling where he had been, and he moaned as his knees cracked and complained as he stood. “I mean it,” Lamb said, looking at what Guy was doing, “Press fucking hard, Guy.” She pressed harder, River mumbled something but didn’t react otherwise.

Lamb took a fresh pack of fags out his pocket and put one in his mouth as he turned and walked quickly to the front door, saying over his shoulder, “I’m going to find us some fucking paramedics.”

Outside, Lamb stood at the entrance of the alley, blood on his hands and clothes, noting the looks he was and wasn’t getting while he smoked. He wanted to take another look at the USB, but there were definitely a few people standing around out here that also wanted to, and they weren’t hiding it well. Where he’d normally have clocked them for looking too much, these few weren’t looking enough at the guy standing in an alley, smoking and bloodstained. 

Thankfully the paramedics only took another minute. Lamb beckoned them up the stairs, taking a pause from smoking to tell the paramedics, “Three of them are already dead.” Then turning back and continuing to smoke without waiting for a response.

He’d expected Guy to be sobbing over River’s corpse when he led the paramedics in and pointed them over to him. But, remarkably, they didn’t immediately pronounce him dead, so she seemed to only be crying over him while he was still alive.

Satisfied that River seemed to be sticking around for now, Lamb turned back to wait outside for the police that were inevitably about to turn up, too. He could have really done without this fucking mess, but it seemed like maybe it wasn’t going to be as bad a day as it could have been.

[primaviva]

my experience with rashad.

tw: racism, use of the n-slur (hard r for context) proceed with these things in mind and also don’t go and bring him attention by going to his page as he should not be on the internet for his own peace and everyone else’s. this is going to be long and have a lot of receipts/descriptions. do not send him shit on my behalf i ain’t move like that.

before i start, i want it to be clear that this is not confirmed. however, he has a history of doing fake anons to himself and to his (ex) moots from what i learned to either start drama, topics, or fw them so he can act as a supporter or victim if he sent the anon to himself. and this is NOT me jumping on the rashad toxic gossip train of tumblr 2023 but this type of behavior is disgusting and inexcusable. i am very convinced that it was him and want to share it to you all while leaving it open to criticism and speculation but PLEASE be careful and pick up the warning signs with these people from everyone coming out with stories about him.

now let’s get tf into it cus it’s a lot…

me snd rashad became moots after he noticed me like a post of his i think. his first inbox to me was him trying to do self promo for a fic of his he was writing which i thought was odd and a little weird so i ignored it but he ended up continuing to inbox me random things (which i don’t generally mind) so we ended up building some mutual association or sum on here.

however, around 9-10 days ago, rashad had got “sent” something in his inbox about afro latinos. this was the ask:

now, i am not going to invalidate afro latinos who have experienced this. as a latino, i have experienced prejudice but that is never comparable to a black latino or a black person in general who is mixed/has another ethnic group of origin. these things are said to people and have been said to me in a different context. however, this ask was directly after he had posted it and on top of that it simply is not something someone would say as an ask. i don’t know how to describe it, but it’s too directed, crafted in a way that it’s wording seems like someone trying to be racist, and so on. we had never talked one on one either so i was confused when i first saw he had tagged me in a post since i hadn’t seen what it was about yet. i don’t know how to describe it but there’s something in the wording and just the context of it all that made this ask so in genuine almost as if it was something he had asked himself on another account.

this was me tagged in it:

i of course reblogged and said my peace and now disgusting and ignorant it was because afro latinos are a minority even in their own community because of generationally taught racism from colonization and just our traditional way of life and teaching stripped from us and our culture. but at the time, i had no idea of his “track record” of doing this type of thing or even the drama he was getting messy with behind what everyone knew of him.

i wanna say this as it’s very important as to what i have to show next. i am not black. i have never stated that and my day one followers and moots know that i have black family and in fact most of my relatives are afro latino but i, myself, am a lightskin latina which is something i feel i have always made known at least in sum damn context clues. i also want to add that this took place september 18th and that’s alway really important to the story.

ok now lemme get into why this is even a post.

shortly after this, i had gotten sick and ended up going on a break from just the internet in general because i needed to rest my ass up before even doin a thing like school and writing n allat. i was gone for around 3-4 days. so this post was long “old” or at least not being seen by anyone. and the thing is my spam posts never get hella reblogs unless i add hashtags or say something that makes everyone and they mama wanna join in on the conversation. so tell me why, exactly three days later, around the day i came back, i receive this in my inbox:

what the fuck is this? like genuinely.

i had not seen this the first day i came back because my inbox was flooded with my actives rambling to me, compliments, requests, etc until yesterday morning when i was taking the time to reply to some stuff and it had come up. i was gagged like this language was so vile, nasty, ignorant, and dumb as fuck. why? for starters, i am not afro latino or black. me and others believe that rashad was under the impression that by the few posts he saw of me talking about the issue that he just assumed i was afro latino as well. i am not and people that follow me from long before all this know that.

and like let’s really read the text and what it says because it’s speaking about black latinos not being latino because they have no “true” spanish or indigenous blood, which is something that this man is always talking about and presents, to me, as an insecurity (a valid one DONT get it twisted) as a afro latino. he, or “anon,” goes on to call me the n word with the hard r multiple times and tells me i should have stayed a slave and then goes on to bring up taino ancestors (my ancestors) which i just found beyond disrespectful and crossing a big ass fucking line. im not sure if im describing this well, but just by the way that these anon asks are worded they seem very “fake” as in not that this couldn’t happen or hasn’t been told to anyone, but it doesn’t feel organic and just feels like forced racist comics to give you content.

he also texted me for the first time in tumblr dms the same day as this post or the day after the ask was sent to me, i believe, so coincidence or not …

i am 85% sure this is rashad.

to me, it feels like he did this as a way to maybe validate how he feels as a afro latino with other mixed latin im him since afro latinos face so much prejudice. however, to seek validation by doing an anon to yourself about your own post to get others to hype you up and validate YOUR ethnicity is completely unhealthy especially in this way. THIS was vile. THIS was uncalled for and beyond einstein level comprehension skills. THIS is inappropriate and a sign you shouldn’t be on tumblr.

rashad has been involved in a lot of drama public and not and has a constant thing to blame it on his “episodes” and such. while i think that self diagnosing is valid because people, especially poc, can’t get proper mental care rn, to state it as a fact is something that self diagnosers do not do and acknowledge it isn’t right. even so, it is not valid to blame bad behavior on your mental health. and even if you did “take accountability,” in your so called apologies rashad, you go from saying you don’t use your mental health as an excuse but at the same time use it in that context for why you shouldn’t get hate and we should all stop criticizing you and your actions because it should all be forgivable in a way where we can just move on with no consequences.

yes, rashad does suffer from mental illnesses or some type/types of mental issues whether they are underlying or not but the problem is that the internet is literally his scapegoat from this and is feeding into his problems which is why he does the anons, the posts putting people on blast, etc. if you have not seen he has taken this drama from tumblr to discord to instagram. but it is clear he does not feel any microscopic ounce of guilt or genuine sorry in this specific situation. he says he’s “acting like the big person” but goes to attack people who tried to talk some sense into him in his petty onika miraj type posts sayin shit about shoving ice dildos into peoples puss puss and sneak dissin mfs who have a right to see what he’s doing when he is continuing to be petty in the heat of this whole thing by talkin abt people.

he’s struggling with so much and the internet is not for him and it shows in the way he handles confrontation, parasocial relations w people online, and how he copes with his issues by running to tumblr or any other social media. he has stated before he is an ex manipulator and so on and a place like this is not where he needs to be. so do not feed into the anons he sends, do not feed into the petty and compulsive posts he puts together, and just don’t interact with him. he needs to find his own inner peace on some preacher to the church type shit like this a tyler perry movie and not effect those around him with his own internal mess.

so don’t take this as me trying to like ride off this situation or just me saying these things just because all my moots or in it and i wanna be involved on some nosy bitch shit. but something like this is very serious and i was gonna be quiet on my suspicion but something as disgusting as this being said to me and not put on some blast by my classy ass just didn’t feel right. do not go to his page like he his “gone” just take this in a way to educate yourself on the typa person he is and as an example of why you shouldn’t get emotionally attacked to the internet or get involved with people like this.

pay attention to how ppl act and the red flags so you can just cut them off and save y’all both the “i survived” trauma. again, this isn’t confirmed (the racism post) because i have no way to prove it but he has a history of it and i just wanted to come out with this because it made me uncomfortable and disgusted.

NOT EVERYTHING IS FOR THE INTERNET !

[melodicbreeze]

Author Portrait

get to know the author behind the blog! repost, do not reblog.

Basics Name/nickname: Ash Age: 26 Pronouns: they/them Years of writing: 10+

Reflection I saw others doing it back when roleplay groups were huge on Facebook. I started getting into more intensive writing in middle school when my friend and I would start writing self insert fanfics and the likes, especially when we started getting real into character crafting.

Do you have any writing routines? Not at all! I write when the mood strikes me. Usually it's not hard to get into a mood when I started working on something.

What's your favorite part about writing? Getting to create something together with someone! Also the plots. It's like, getting to read a fanfiction that ticks off all the stuff you want in one. It gets me so jazzed up and scratches the best itch in the brain.

Three things you like about your writing:

I like writing dialog! It helps that Venti is very chatty (even if he talks a lot but says little yknow). A lot of other muses I've had were pretty silent, so I thought I might stumble with dialog, but it's not really that hard for me!

I like that it's apparently good enough to gain some roleplay partners who want to write with me, haha.

I like that it lets me meet people! I've met some great friends, and my wonderful boyfriend, because I write!

A question for the next person! Write a question for the next person to answer. Once you've answered it, leave a new question for someone else to answer. From Vênus: What's the most challenging thing and character you've written, and why?

The most challenging writing I would say has to be on my previous main blog. I wrote Ryou Bakura, and he was a very quiet type. I had to work a lot with introspection, thoughts, and setting while writing him because I couldn't lean on dialog to keep the thread moving forward. I don't think there was one specific thread that was more difficult than the others, just that in general.

Anyway, it was great to learn and practice the "yes, and" of roleplaying. Responding to the previous reply being the yes, and then furthering it being the and, so that not one mun is solely moving the plot along.

My question for you: Is there a character from media you disliked that you then grow to really like because of a specific mun's portrayal?

Tagged by: @predvestnik

Tagging: @viridianwins @sylvctica @deiscension + anyone who wants to!

[karenandhenwilson]

The actual call out part of this whole thing

As said in the first post, I'm not naming names. I did tag two people in a post when I first involved myself in this situation. That was because I for one wanted them to see my response but I didn't want to reblog several other posts with the same post of myself, but I also talked about something one of them had said and mentioned a private conversation that at that point I could only assume had taken place with the second person and I didn't want to talk about them without them knowing. 

(Again, the rest is under the break. I've clearly had to many thoughts to share.)

I'm not in the habit of talking about people behind their back in public posts. So I tagged them with the thought that it would give them a chance to react for themselves either by commenting on the post, reposting themselves or reaching out to me in DMs. Instead the first person blocked me sight unseen and the second never talked to me at all and consequently blocked me sometime late on Tuesday judging by when I could still access their blog and when I couldn't anymore.

In reaction to being blocked by the first person, I included this in my next post:

Interestingly enough, the first person responded with this:

No idea where I called them childish, but whatever. It's honestly par for the course of them and their friends to put words in other people’s mouths, mostly with the goal to make them look bad. I'll discuss another instance in the post about communication, too.

Despite them blocking me, they clearly still got screenshots or maybe have a second account to watch the situation. (And yes, as I have screenshots, I've obviously also friends providing me with those.) Which is a ridiculous thing, honestly. Of course everyone has the right to curate their own online experience. But if you decide to block people in a debate, step out of the debate because you are actively making it impossible to communicate with you while still vague or not so vague posting about the situation on your own blog and actively trying to pull others into the debate to lead your attacks in your stead.

This person clearly made assumptions about what I meant with my comment about blocking conversations while complaining that the other side wasn't interested in those. And I don't know, but I felt it important from the very first moment to point out this wrong assumption. I didn't talk about them blocking the artist, I talked about them blocking me for nothing else but the audacity to back up the artist instead of bowing down to their opinion. (Also, reading what I wrote again, I also wonder how the confusion could have been created at all. I clearly said I couldn't reblog some posts because I was blocked by the person who creaed the blog. How do you go from there to me talking about the artist?)

Edit: It was just pointed out to me that the artist called this person childish in the tags of their re-post of the original art that they made after the call out pots went online. I had not fully read them or at least didn't remember! But alas, another point for how convoluted the vague-posting after blocking someone is, and how much it muddles up the communication!

But that happens when you don't talk with people but just about people, isn't it? You'll make wild and wrong assumption and won't even notice it.

Also, you asked this:

My paragraphs above are the answer to it. You clearly don't want to have a conversation at all, so no one is taking you seriously enough to talk to you off anon. And you've also proven two years ago you'll put anyone on a list for just leaving kudos on the wrong fic or a like the wrong art, let alone arguing with you.

Some readers might wonder why I bring up the situation of two years ago at all. For one, of course, because one of the people I'm talking about already brought it up (and—oh how surprisingly—twisting up and outright lying about what happened). But also because there is a pattern here.

Because the root of the situation two years ago is the same group of people who started it this time as well. It is actually the exact same person who first wrote the artist and then turned unkind as soon as the artist asked for clarification, posting several times on her blog to tell people not to support the artist, all the while also complaining when that didn't work. A little over two years ago, the very first list of "undesirables" that later led to the whole explosion in fandom, came from this person.

(And I feel I need to point out, there were POC authors on this list from the very first iteration on. But of course, the list was created to make fandom safer for POC fans, even though the first iteration of the list before it got expanded wasn't even about Chimney or racism at all despite other claims by the person who brought it up in the last couple of days. It all started with some fics about Maddie that they didn't like, and denying that is so hilarious when their very first fic in response to it still holds the same passive-aggressive tag about "a response to that other awful fic". Yes, I did just go and check if you had changed your tags in the meantime.)

What I have seen from their posts, they don't care that they might have driven away a POC artist from this fandom permanently, again. While others who posted call out posts on Monday have apologized (though, in some cases not very honestly), this group has either not said anything about it or are now complaining about being the original victims (… I don’t even have words without getting really rude!) Or they claim they can harass someone publicly, but apologizing only works in private:

Do you really think the artist should be comfortable with having a private conversation with you after you already twisted and widely shared other private conversations they had with your friends? And do you really think attacking someone openly doesn't also deserve an open apology? What's a private apology worth if the person you hurt had to endure all that hurt openly but now isn't allowed to hear the apology just as openly?

There have been several claims that the conversation was always civil and there was no one asking for anyone to bully the artist:

(free sprace to show a new screenshot beginning)

Snapping at the artist in response to them asking for clarification isn't being polite. Sitting on your end of a private conversation and sharing this conversation around widely—I'm even assuming openly with everyone in your Discord and also probably looking for the worst meaning in every single word because I'm sure you had already made up your mind the artist had to be a spoiled white girl—is not being polite. I mean, part of this conversation was later—in this case I have to say thankfully because it cleared up one of the misinformation spread—even posted by someone who said to have not been involved until she wanted to boost your call out post. Claiming the attention their art gets is inflating their ego is not civil.

Creating a call out post at all, and then doubling down not once but twice (just counting the reposts, not the other posts about the topic being posted that same day), is so far away from being polite. Honestly, how can anyone think this is polite:

(free sprace to show a new screenshot beginning)

(free sprace to show a new screenshot beginning)

The last thing said by one of these people, I want to address this:

The way this situation went, every artist coming into this fandom in the future will very carefully think about even trying to create art about Jee-Yun. Those who already created art of Jee might decide to delete it at least from their own accounts out of fear to be hit next.

That's what your call out posts led to. And what they would have led to even if you hadn't met resistance. Wide resistance, even from people who in the past supported you. And who this time first didn't join in your call outs and later even openly spoke up against it. I truly hope those same people will step up in the future to support your victims instead of just condemning you after the damage has already been done.

I'm convinced they'll do it again, sometime in the future they'll find another victim and they'll also find once more people who'll agree with them without checking or by letting themselves be lured in by their twisted tale of it. Even now in their non-apologies (that's not including everyone who apologized, but some of them) they twist around what happened, claiming to be misunderstood or to be the victim. So they, again, clearly didn't learn anything.

I hope other parts of this fandom will have learned then to step up and support the victim even if that's sometimes a difficult step to take because it will make them a target, too, or make the situation at first worse for the victim. (I felt that way on Monday. That me getting involved would lead to the situation exploding like it did two years ago. I'm doubting this post a little because of the fear of that very thing happening, though I still feel it important to put these thoughts out there. I'm also feeling encouraged by some of the pseudo-apologies to make sure that this situation will not be forgotten. And at this point I hope if it does explode, I'll be the main target of that and not the artist.)

Why am I sure they'll find new victims in the future?

Because this is not the first time they again attacked someone over the past two years. They have targeted their old victims several times, have targeted new people, too. Both on their blogs very openly but also in their victims' comments sometimes anonymously, sometimes not. This is just the first time they found any kind of traction again. I assume because they found a victim completely new to fandom who had at the beginning no backup at all, no fandom friends to turn to for support. I do wonder now if they have found other people like this even before the events of two years ago and successfully driven them away from fandom, celebrating it in their discord server as a victory. Sadly, this also isn't the first group in fandom as a whole to behave like this. There are so many examples practically in every fandom you look at. So even if this particular group by some miracle stops being bullies, others will step into their place. So everyone else of us in fandom needs to be careful and considerate and be ready to take the risk of stepping up.