#but he needs to get a little more accepting i think

[wriokitty]

if you hold me without hurting me (you’ll be the first who ever did) — ft. sylus

synopsis: sylus is too causal with accepting pain. you don’t like seeing him hurt, so the best solution you can come up with is seeing him in pleasure

❤︎ word count: 2.4k words — it’s a miracle i kept it this short

❤︎ before you read: female hunter reader ; mature content. not suitable for minors ; not an established relationship but implied romantic connection. idk it’s complicated LOL ; injured sylus ; described blood and injuries ; evol inhibitors to make his injuries a bit more serious ; not proof read : hand jobs ; banter ; that’s pretty much it just wanted to write him cumming

❤︎ comments: i am posting this 3 mins before i need to leave for work this man has me hustling before my hustle rip

The safe house is quiet. Not including the sounds of Sylus’s low, pained grunts as you dress his wounds, it’s quiet. You’re quiet, and it’s unsettling—on a typical day, you’re more than half the noise.

(In a good way, of course. Sylus is not a liar by any means, and saying he doesn’t like the constant sound of your voice as you talk would be a ridiculously big lie. He values the truth in things.)

It means you’re brooding. Sulky, petulant brooding. He’ll just have to fix that, he thinks—and soon, too.

“I’ll have to trouble you a bit longer, sweetheart,” he murmurs, breaking the silence as he glances at his arm.

You glance up and stare at the damage: a stab wound to his abdomen, a gash on his arm, and ugly, unwelcome bruises littering across soft, slightly tanned skin.

You frown. It borders on a scowl. He watches as you carefully stitch the wound closed on his lower belly with precise fingers. (Faintly, his mind registers that you’re good at this. Too good at this. He doesn’t like the implications of that—not for his own case and especially not for yours.)

“Does it hurt?” You mumble, finally.

Sylus is not a liar by any means, so he hums, titling your chin up and forcing you to pause. “Yes,” he says truthfully. You’d never guess he was in pain just by the look on his face—but there are always signs if you look close enough.

Sticky, sweaty skin. Deep, labored breaths. Slumped posture that’s so far from his usual tall, towering stance. He looks just a bit tired, too. Like sleeping (something he rarely does enough to be considered healthy) would be his ideal course of action right now.

You frown at his admission. “I told you not to get so close,” you huff, “you never wait for me.”

He chuckles. Deep, slow. Every time Sylus laughs, you’re reminded how powerful he is. How even through the sound of his amusement alone, he sounds important. Wealthy, too, if you’re being honest—he laughs like the rich. But that’s always amused you more than it’s impressed.

“You seem rather distraught, love. Dare I say….you’re concerned?”

“You’re too smart to act this stupid,” you spit.

He grins. It’s large, wide, and all too smug for someone who’s under your hands as you mend back torn skin. Gently, he hums, “so the kitten bears her fangs. How cute.”

Your mood is getting increasingly worse. Sylus knows that—but sometimes, he’s a little selfish. Pushing you harder, cornering you against the wall with smart words and sly teasing is the only way to make you open up sometimes.

And, well, Sylus is no liar. He can’t say he hates getting under your skin entirely—it makes you look at him. And he likes your attention. But more than that, he likes knowing you care.

“You don’t think I’m capable,” you accuse, narrowing your eyes.

“And when did I say that, Miss Hunter?”

“You don’t have to say it, I just know. Otherwise, you’d listen when I tell you to wait,” comes your agitated reply.

Sylus does not wait for you. He jumps into a fight without letting you step foot onto the battlefield. Most times, it’s a minor form of irritation on your end when you’re itching to get in a good few hits. Sometimes, like now, it makes your emotions saturated in every form of distress.

Anger. Sadness. Regret. Panic. All of it simmers and simmers until you feel you’re overflowing with something you can’t quite put your finger on.

He pays the price today—one sloppy dodge of a blade, and it impales his lower abdomen with precision, lacing him with something. Something that evidently is rather good at repressing his evol—he can’t fight nearly as well let alone heal.

You can’t help but feel useless. More than anything, under appreciated. Maybe, if he’d waited just a moment so you could have covered him, then maybe your night would end with less blood on your hands and less pain on his.

“You’re also too bright to act this dim,” he says lowly, voice just a bit tight with pain. You tighten his stitches, and he doesn’t even grimace despite the clearly unpleasant sensation.

“Do tell me,” you glare, “just what am I being dim about?”

“If you think I don’t recognize your capabilities,” he drawls, studying the knife that once tore through his flesh slowly. It’ll be analyzed at the base. You’re certain he’ll figure out just what the blade was laced with and trace it back to its origins soon enough. He sets it down and meets your eyes—deep, rich crimson bleeding into your gaze. “Then maybe you’re not as good at seeing the bigger picture as I thought.”

“That you’re a smug bastard who likes to prove you’re better on your own?”

“That I care about you,” he says plainly. “I can handle it. It’s better you than me.”

“You could have died,” you hiss, “if I wasn’t there—”

“I’d have lived either way,” he says smugly. “Killing me is a rather difficult thing to do. Inflicting pain, on the other hand….well, at least it keeps things interesting.”

Your face drops. Not because he’s wrong, but because he’s so right. You can injure him all you want, but he heals fast enough that he’s here to stay. Like an annoying thorn that keeps pricking you as you pick roses. Like a weed that just keeps growing back the more you tear them from the ground. He comes back. Annoying as he is, he comes back. And you don’t mind that so much—you think you might even need it that way.

But it always hurts. He bleeds red just like any other person. Grimaces here and there despite how accustomed he is to the agony. Somewhere along the line, his pain became yours.

And you can’t help but be hyper aware of how much you despise it.

“I hate when you’re hurt,” you whisper.

“I’ll live,” he soothes, cupping your cheek and swiping a stray tear with a large, callused thumb. You shiver, pouting slightly at the words. “I’ve had worse.”

“But you still feel the pain.”

“Can anyone really avoid that, sweetie?” He raises an amused brow.

Before he can open his mouth to add more, you lean closer, careful not to hurt his wound as you press against his chest and bury your head into his neck, pressing a light kiss to the skin.

His breath hitches, and you think you’ve finally gotten through that thick, stubborn front of his.

“If it hurts,” you murmur, “then I can make it feel good.”

He shivers—barely, of course. But he shivers. It’s a small win. “Oh?” He asks carefully, his good arm curling around your waist to keep you in place. “And how so?”

You press a lingering kiss to his jaw. Your lips are not strangers to Sylus. They know him as well as he knows them too, but you’ve always danced along the edge of more than friends and less than lovers. One second, you think you’ve crossed over the line with graceful steps, the next you fall ten steps back.

Right now, you think you don’t care. Line be damned and whether you’re just friends or lovers, you couldn’t be more unbothered.

“I don’t like when people touch you,” you admit, “not at all. But especially not so….rough.”

“Mmh, jealous are we? Don’t worry, you’re the only one I willingly let touch me,” he grins. You roll your eyes, watching as he shuffles back to lean against the couch and relax.

“I should be the only one who touches you,” you say with an air of petulance.

“Yes, yes,” he agrees, placating your mood, “then show me something more gentle,” he whispers.

You smile. It’s the first one of the night, lips curling against the shell of his ear as you breathe, “oh I intend to.”

Just like that, your hand trails up his thigh, carefully tracing along the inner edge of his leg before your palm roams over his crotch. There’s a bulge forming as if on command. Your ego boosts just a little—for all his strength and endurance, one brief, mere little touch from you forces his body to react against his will.

“Is this really where you should be putting in all your effort?” His breath hitches, and the tips of his ears flush a pretty, soft little pink, “my arm still has an open wound, you know.”

“You’ve had worse,” you repeat his words back to him, “but let me show you better.”

It’s quick work, unblocking his belt and unzipping him just enough to gently pull out his half-hard cock. You glance down, smiling at the small bead of pre cum that leaks from the tip, forming a kind little opportunity for you to watch him squirm as your thumb grazes his cockhead to collect it.

You smear it along his length as you slowly stroke him to full hardness, and he offers you a shaky little huffed out, “fuck,” under his breath.

“Does that hurt, too?” You hum, nose pressing into his jaw as you kiss his neck.

“No,” he sighs, melting into you, “no it feels so good. Don’t stop.”

“Do you see how nice it is when you just trust me?” You scold, “now apply this to the battlefield, too.”

He chuckles deeply at that, closing his eyes and fighting the urge to fuck his hips into your fist—his stitches are still fragile enough that he doesn’t want to risk tearing them. Instead, he has to trust that you’ll give him what he needs, all on your own.

“I’d rather get hurt and be spoiled like this,” he mumbles, “than risk anything happing to you. Seems like a better option if you ask me.”

“So stubborn,” you click your teeth.

Sylus is not a liar. You know that. If he says you’re capable, then you believe him—and if he says that he’d rather take the brunt of injuries and the pain that comes with them just to finish a fight before you can be involved, you know it’s not a lie. But you don’t always like the truth. You don’t like knowing he uses himself as a shield of sorts for you, as some wall between you and pain or maybe even death just because he can. Just because he heals. Just because he thinks he should.

You don’t always like the truth. Sometimes, you’d rather live in a lie.

So you tell yourself he thinks you’re less than him. That you’re lacking and beneath his approval and you have something to prove—so your hand tightens around his thick, reddened cock and you stroke fast. Quick and to the point.

Enough to have him groaning with an arm instinctively moving to cover his eyes as he throws his head back—only he hisses, feeling the stinging tug on his gash as he moves.

You hum, guiding his arm back down as you cup his cheek and murmur, “careful now. You’re hurt—I wonder whose fault that is.”

He rolls his eyes at the comment—but one swipe of your thumb through his slit has them rolling back in pleasure before he can glare at you. “You’re rather smug today,” he huffs, “do you like seeing me defenseless, sweetheart?”

“Not for the reasons you might think,” you say sweetly, grinning as you peck his cheek. Right where you cut him the first time you met. Right where you think you’ll always have to soothe so he knows you didn’t mean it.

Not anymore, at least.

“You’re far from the innocent kitten you seem to be,” he grins, huffing out a soft laugh as it tapers off into a light, breathy moan.

“Does it feel good?”

“Yes.”

“Enough to make you forget the pain?”

“Oh yes,” he grins. Suddenly, a wave of red wraps around your hand and forces your grip to tighten. “I’ve forgotten I was injured at all.”

His evol, you realize—it’s back.

You stare at the gash on his arm—crimson on crimson as the flurry of his power replaces the blood, leaving behind soft, healthy skin. Not a scar left behind. Not a trace of pain. Not even a faint line of where torn flesh mended together and became new.

He’s had worse, you remember. And he comes back from it every damn time.

Still, you think—you’re going to give him better.

“I don’t want you hurting because of me,” you breathe, leaning into his chest and pressing your weight against him without worry, now. Your hand fists his shirt as his arms wrap around you and keep you close.

Your hand glides along his girth between your bodies, working him up slowly, slowly, slowly until it all feels like it’ll come crashing down all at once. His breath hitches as he lets out a light groan of your name.

It sounds pretty on his tongue. You’re more determined to pull nicer sounds from him, too, so you kiss under his ear lobe, sucking gently on the skin and feeling him let out a soft, labored gasp.

“Will you spoil me like this every time I’m hurt?” Sylus breathes.

You scowl and hiss, “no. Absolutely not. Then you’ll just get hurt more.”

He smiles smugly at the retort, biting his lip as you squeeze your fist around him tighter. “A smart little kitten, aren’t you? Sharpening your claws.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“You like me enough to worry. I think that says enough.”

“Asshole,” you glare.

He’s shameless, you think. Because the insult brings him to the edge, his mouth falling open to a beautiful face of bliss, body quivering under you in soft tremors of pleasure. Sylus is beautiful. Dark, rough around the edges, and uncut stone with sharp corners. Beautiful enough to want, dangerous enough to slice your fingers if you don’t know how to touch him properly.

You admire him as he spills into your hands, his lips desperately searching yours as he leans closer and pulls you into a kiss, heavy breaths pouring into your mouth as he gives himself to you.

“Good,” he pants, “you…you make me feel so good.”

“That’s what I’m supposed to be here for,” you murmur, “so you don’t have to feel pain.”

You stroke him through his orgasm, until he’s soft and pliant and limp under your touch. Gently, you stroke his cheek with a thumb as you cup his face. He leans into your touch and closes his eyes.

“As capable as you are,” he says quietly, “I like the idea of you spending your energy in other fields of expertise. Sue me.”

“I should,” you purse your lips. “Sue you for all you’re worth.”

“It’ll be worth the troubles,” he says smugly, “you’ll get quite the sum if you manage to.”

And he’s not a liar, either—so you scoff at his smug, truth-telling grin before giving his curved lips a small peck.

Girl . Idk

[vmlnrzmp4]

𝘣𝘭𝘶𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘥𝘢𝘥𝘴 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘥𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘳.

itoshi sae

pretty little natsuki was upset with her papa as he won't let her have ice cream—atleast not infront of you. and that's why, he sneaks her out of her room to the kitchen. settling her on the counter as she happily sees her papa taking out the container of icecream from the deep freezer.

"only one scoop. you're like your mother. you both catch cold easily."

"hai~" natsuki accepts the bowl of chocolate icecream giddily.

but before she could taste a spoonful—oh the horror!

"what's going on?" you lean against the wall, your arms crossed.

natsuki immediately hides the spoon behind her back, completely forgetting that the bowl was still in her hand. "papa wanted ice cream," she quickly blames.

"is that so?" you raised your eyebrow at him as he clicks his tongue.

"yes." he admits, trying to cover up for his daughter even tho she threw him under the bus.

you sigh, "it's a school night. you know she catches cold easily."

"yeah i know," sae rubs the back of his neck, "just like you," he mumbles.

your eyebrows that were furrowed relax as a small smile etches your feature, "one scoop and that's it. got it natsuki?"

"hai!"

itoshi rin

papa rin crouches down to little sakura, adjusting the helmet on her head, "ready?" he double checks, and she hums in excitement.

meanwhile you had your phone prepared—ready to record your daughter's first time riding a bicycle without training wheels. as much as both you and rin were looking forward to it—being parents—a tiny fear lingered.

"papa, don't let go ok?"

he reassured her, but also telling her that she needs to be prepared when he lets go.

you do a countdown from 3...2...1...

and there she goes—cycling all by herself, thinking her papa is still holding on to the backseat.

she was doing well, but when she realises that her papa had let go, she stumbled.

both you and rin hurried to her, telling her to turn but it was already late—the bicycle collided with the tree, the pink petals falling down at the impact.

isagi yoichi

"ma, papa..." tears pricked the corner of her eyes but she didn't cry, "i...i did it!" sakura cheered despite the booboo she got on her elbow with her papa kissed to ease the pain.

little snow princess yuki urgered her papa to the balcony. it was weird to play there—considering the cold weather, but he didn't question much, pondering that she got the uniqueness from you.

"what would you like?" she asks, adjusting the tiara on yoichi's head.

"would you prepare a cosy drink of hot chocolate for your "papa princess"?"

"mhm! on the way!"

she imitates pouring the drink into a mini cup, using the fake sugar cubes as marshmallows, "drink up, drink up!"

yoichi mimicks drinking as if it was real, "oh it's too hot!" he exclaimes, "my mouth feels numb now..." he pouts.

yuki gets up from her seat and rushes in, leaving her papa confused as he asks her where she went.

immediately, yuki appeares, holding your hand—dragging you with her, "look ma! papa princess got a booboo on his mouth!" she points, "kiss it better!"

michael kaiser

"papa!" little anne exclaims excitedly as her papa returns from the soccer practice, taking her in his arms as he kisses both of her chubby cheeks.

"hey love," you welcome him, pieces of A4 size papers in your hands, as you inspect them.

"hey angel," he kisses your temple, "what's this?"

"this? your daughter drew all this," you hand him the papers.

he puts anne down, looking at the papers of colorful mess—tho they all seem masterpieces considering her age.

she drew herself, you and her papa. he chuckles at the innocent drawing, "look at this, you got my hair right. hardly any of my fans draw my hair correctly."

"you're to blame for having such a complex hairstyle," you tease.

he playfully scoffs, "yeah yeah whatever. i've been told enough," he sets his bag aside and sits down on the couch—looking at the drawings one by one as anne waits for more praises.

"hey princess," he calls, "how many suns does our universe have?"

you laugh. knowing exactly what he's referring to. it was a scenery little anne drew—two mountains, a river. some little houses, ducks, rocks, those two stroke birds.

but a mistake was that she drew a sun between the mountains as well as one at the upper corner of the page.

she uses both of her hands to count, "ten!" she says confidently.

"no princess," he ruffles her hair, "i asked suns not planets. sun is not a planet and pluto left years ago" he explains, "that means we only have one sun."

"b-but!" she reasons, "two suns make it brighter!"

kaiser chuckle, "and guess what?" he looks at you with a smirk, "you and ma make my universe even brighter."

[pepstarvanmoon]

Someone please get El out of there

Is it not obvious what this is? Do you really not know what you should be doing? SAY THE DAMN WORDS.

Why do you think she’s doubting you? Can you really not tell?

Mike, sweetheart, your relationship balancing skills are a terror to your friends, family, and romantic partners.

This is why people found Midleven cuter in S1/2, because the day you made it official marked the beginning of El’s doubts in your feelings for her.

You cannot seem to grasp that El is your friend AND your girlfriend, and somehow treating El like a girlfriend equates to treating her like shit.

You cannot make this up. El needs WORDS because Mike’s ACTIONS actively make her feel unloved. She does not feel it, so she wants some kind of verbal/written affirmation because of how emotionally distant Mike feels.

(someone talented please edit Elmike to Hamilton’s Burn or send an existing edit my way, thank you ♡)

His actions do not align to her expectations of love, not that it’s a good idea to let TV define romance for you, but you’re allowed to want/expect certain things in a relationship, and El isn’t getting that.

And let’s not act like Mike isn’t good at making people feel loved/cared for. Will is in love with him for a reason. El loves him for a reason.

(It was difficult to pick scenes for this because I’ve read arguments for how these aren’t really romantic at all, but from 12/13-year old, “fresh out the lab” Eleven, it’s as romantic as romance gets imo)

El has been trying to convince herself that their relationship is better than it is, because once she admits to herself that it’s not working, what does she do?

Her day-to-day life isn’t that great. Sure, she has her new family in the Byers, but her dad recently passed away and she’s being bullied at school. She has no friends outside of Will, and while I’m sure their relationship is great (wasn’t explored that much tbh), he can’t keep her from feeling isolated, and his own trauma with bullying keeps him from standing up for her.

One good, unchanging thing she has is her relationship with Mike. He’s the one who took her in and housed her, he taught her what it meant to be a friend, and… I’m having a bit of trouble here lol. I was going to say:

Never used her for her powers (not true lol)

When she was burnt out, he never expected more from her (not true LOL)

Never treated her differently for her powers (for this one, he found her awesome in an awestruck way rather than a Brenner “I’m gonna exploit this” way, but when he thought she lied about Will/hurt Lucas he was on her ass lmao)

My girl has those ‘first love’ blinders on. I keep having to ask myself what she sees in him besides ‘first person to accept me + we kissed’ like besides the latter, Dustin was right there. A lot of the parts of Mike I enjoy don’t reveal themselves around El outside S1 (barely S2). He’s shown as caring and protective, but he’s like that for all of his friends?? Especially when they’re in danger so idk what’s different. I’d have to peruse the milkvan tag to get a hint, but I’ll probably get a better idea watching Sleeping Beauty.

I’m a firm believer that Mike kept it ambiguous because he didn’t want to admit what the real problem was to Will.

“I couldn’t tell El that I love her.” - simple as that. Must be something about Will that has him holding his tongue because after S3 I doubt he’d have that much trouble telling Lucas.

Are you embarrassed? If you thought it wasn’t that serious you wouldn’t have told Will that it was something you “can’t come back from”. Is love serious to you, Mike? Because you can’t love El in the way she wants, do you think you’re incapable of it? Do you feel wrong? Do you not want Will to know?

Hit a little too close to home, huh.

(and let’s not get into the "team, friends, best friends" scene they had together like what was the point in having them make contact a SECOND time.

They already established a connection between them. Mike could’ve asked to be a team after the "guess it's gonna be up to us again," and Will could’ve taken the painting offscreen (the focus shot of Will grabbing the painting gets me so bad like WHY), but instead they wanted them to blush and giggle over each other AGAIN before they got to the van.

Make it make non-Byler sense I'm begging.)

You’d think that’d be good enough, but Mike still feels conflicted and has to make it Will’s problem (actually, Will kinda made it his problem. The way they shot the triple take makes it seem like Will dragged Mike away for another talk because of how spacey he was being. Who knows.)

Tf do you mean you didn’t know what to say? “Maybe if I said that thing” so you DO know? It’s painfully cut and dry if you take emotions out of it. El wants Mike to say that he loves her, so to fix this, to come back from that fight, Mike has to say he loves her.

Why is it such an internal battle for him? If I were to take it at face value, I’d chalk it up to what he said in the van scene.

So your solution is to push your relationship to a point that has El crying and throwing all the loveless letters you sent to the floor? To tell her that she’s incredible and a superhero and that she should know how you feel about her because, despite the tears streaming down her face and her DIRECTLY asking you if you still love her, she must know how amazing she is too?

NEWSFLASH, Queerler! She’s learning just how much she doesn’t need you right now, so I guess it’s time to face your fears!

This isn’t what I meant, but go off ig (don’t, actually, this is awful for everyone involved).

No way you expect El to buy this. You’ve expressed this fear of "losing El" to Will, I’ll give you that, but nothing you’ve done IN FRONT OF EL has conveyed this. Your letters weren’t helping, and you being there in person only made it worse.

Eagerly awaiting the day Michael Wheeler stops lying.

Well, I guess he doesn’t lie ALL the time.

[fishiefishiebride]

While I sip on my apple tea and eat my apple pie, let me tell you another my opinion of Calebs storyline.

Warning: Spoilers!

First of all, I was always a Caleb stan the moment I saw him and chapter 4 broke me back then. My worry was, how the devs will handle him in the story. It is hard writing a character who is suppose to be dead in MCs eyes.

His introduction was🥵 him in uniform and then using his evol against an assassin had me feel things and then the scene where the fleet landed and him in his sunglasses AHHHHHH!

The interrogation was also hot af! But that’s not my point, I could go on for days talking about how sexy Caleb is lol When they hugged you could actually feel the relief on both sides. Let me say this but MC in this story was better than before in my opinion.

And I know a lot are creep out by his possessiveness but knowing that he also lost his parents as a young child he probably was already traumatised and then MC came into his life, someone who gave him warmth, that little boy wanted to start protecting his sun so bad. In his anecdotes there is a hint that Caleb was already possessive like he is now. He almost lost his life too during his training as an aerospace pilot but the only thing that kept him fighting was the thought of MC. And now after the explosion he took the sacrifice to be an experiment so that MC won’t have to go through that. In his mind it’s better to be alive than letting MC fight on her own.

And that chip??? Every soldier seems to have in the fleet where they basically become cold and emotionless soldiers? Or when that kid was crying for his sister’s death and the chip realised an error? MC in his myth was implementing one into herself (Might be wrong but I think it is heavily implied) and the chip made her go crazy. She thought there is no tomorrow! Maybe that chip also makes Calebs fear even bigger and that’s why he’s like that now. And possessiveness might not be count as a “weak feeling” by the system.

His possessiveness throughout the main story makes more sense now if you keep that in mind. Am I still mad that he drugged us? Edit: A friend of mine told me that the english translation once again sucks ass. In Chinese it was just cold medicine and he just took the chance since MC was already sick to his advantage. Absolutely! But it shows me how easy it is for love turning into possession, the fear he feels makes him do things he normally wouldn’t act out. He wants to protect his sun so bad.

MC however wants to go back in time where everything was still alright. She sees that Caleb is in pain, that someone who had no secrets with her suddenly is not telling her everything. Unlike Zayne, who MC met again as basically “a stranger”, Caleb was constantly in her life and both of them didn’t want to be separated ever. It is understandable that she can’t grasp the “new Caleb” yet.

Both of them yearn for each other so badly and want whats best for the other one but they need to understand that none of them is the same as before. MC is not a child, she knows things about herself which she can’t ignore anymore and Caleb needs to accept that. MC on the other hand needs to accept that after the explosion, Caleb due to circumstances is not the Caleb she knew before.

I was so happy when the start of his myth told us that they found a way to coexist but you could feel that they don’t fully accept it 100%. Yet both of them are ready to die for each other.

And let’s not forget that MC is possessive herself. In his 4* where MC kisses his cheek, the story was about how MC thought he got a love letter and knowing how Caleb never accepted one before, she got curious. She vaguely asked Caleb in 3rd person and he thought she had a crush on someone. Both of them were restless and who tf gets restless not knowing your best friend crush?? UNLESS you yourself are possessive for that person. And the promise they both made at the end? “You promise to not ever get a girlfriend!” That is one cruel promise to make UNLESS again, you are possessive if each other and deep down you know you’ll end up together😂Crazy finds crazy😂

I really like how the devs wrote this story. It is exactly how I thought the vibe would be between those two and I can’t wait for the next story cards and main story.

What is your thought, dear reader?

[megpie71]

The first rule of government: it takes time. The second rule of government: if you're wanting to do it quickly, it's going to take even longer.

Even IF Trump could make his words into law immediately (he can't; it has to go through congress. Executive orders need to be administrative actions in order to be successful) it will take time for the administrative people to figure out how to implement things. This is why even when a law is passed, it doesn't go into effect right away - you need the administrative apparatus set up to handle it.

So: even for the few of Trump's executive orders which were purely administrative, they're not going to start being properly implemented until at least a month down the track; not going to be fully enforced for about three months; and the laws and legal frameworks around these things haven't altered in the least, so they're not going to be able to prosecute people for being in breach for well over a year at best, if not longer. This can't really be altered, because it's a matter of logistics - people need to be briefed, people need to have the new policy and how it affects their job explained to them, issues caused by this need to be dealt with and so on.

(Also, although they didn't realise it, the Trump administration have got rid of about 50% of their human resources staff - i.e. hiring and firing - by getting rid of the people in charge of diversity and equity staffing. So that's slowed down their hiring and firing by a massive amount, and I would fully expect to see cases lining up in the courts for inappropriate dismissal in no time flat).

Trump knows this, even if he doesn't accept it (he's a former CEO; he's too used to saying "jump" and having people ask "how high" on their way up). This is part of the reason they've thrown so very much into the first few days of their regime - they're creating panic and confusion, in an effort to cover up the fact that actually, they can't do much in the very short term. Nobody can. Not even the most efficient, knowledgeable and competent government can achieve much in the way of major changes before about three months into their first term.

(And of course, all of this is assuming a co-operative administrative apparatus, as well. Given Trump was outright aggressively disagreeable toward the US public service the last time he was in power, I strongly suspect at this point every single public service stalling tactic known to humanity has been quietly and irrevocably brought into use at every single level of federal government bureaucracy. You don't want the little people mad at you - there are a lot of them, and together they have more power than you'd think. Oh, and replacing them doesn't work, because you lose all the people who know how to do things like switching on the lights, disabling the alarm systems first thing in the morning, getting the coffee maker to work, switching on the heating and cooling and so on).

Listen to me. Listen very carefully:

They are trying to wear you out.

They are trying to wear you out, and they own most major social media now, along with many major media outlets. The disinformation machine is cranking along. You are going to have to slow the fuck down and read things before you help them wear out other people, too.

So you just saw a post about a real scary bill, hunh? Republicans want to make it a capital offense to pet dogs and repeal The Sky Is Blue Act of 1793, declaring the new official color of the sky to be squant? Damn, that sounds scary.

Let's go look up this fictitious "Make The Sky Squant Again Act" on GovTracker* & on the official legislative tracker on congress.gov!

Well, let's see... GovTracker estimates it has a 1% chance of even getting out of committee and a 0% chance of being enacted, while congress.gov says this bill has 2 cosponsors who have been in the House and combined total of less than a month. The bill doesn't have any actual text, and it was referred to 5 different committees.

That fictitious bill and a hundred others like it are quite literally not worth your time, and more than that, continuing to wring your hands about it and tell other people about the scary scary squant sky bill only does their work for them. It scares people, it makes them spend time and energy on it, and it wears them out. It is a legislative Gish Gallop, meant to throw so many things at people that we can't keep up.

Even calling or messaging your Rep in this case means their staffer has to waste time responding to you and letting you know that Representative Buttzonheads definitely won't support making petting dogs a capital offense, a thing that will never, ever happen regardless.

Staying engaged in this environment is going to require protecting your heart and protecting your energy, yes, but also protecting the energy of others. This is why WWII propaganda posters also included ones taking people to task for spreading panicky rumors and undermining morale.

Do you know why most observant Jews don't eat chicken and dairy together, even though the ban is on red meat and dairy together bc you're not supposed to cook the calf in the milk of its mother?** It's not because we think that chicken might secretly lactate or Just Because. It's because the rabbis decided that if I'm sitting out in public and eating turkey and cheese together, someone might glance at the turkey and mistake it for red meat and think, "oh, well, I know that Spider is a good Jew, there must have been a change, or maybe I can just justify it to myself that if Spider does it, it must be permissible to bend the rules just that much." And I would then be accidentally leading my fellow Jew astray. We are responsible for being even more careful for the sake of others than we are for ourselves.

It's the same principle here. We need to really be careful about the information we are spreading and check things past reading a news site. Is it true? Is it relevant? Is it meaningful? Is the news site one I recognize? Can I find meaningful independent corroboration on another site, which is to say, if I find an article about it on a second site, is it just quoting or rephrasing this site?

Yeah, that is a lot. But that's how we keep them from using us to lead our fellows astray.

*GovTracker is an independent site. They explain their methodology in their About section.

**I cannot say enough how I am not at this time interested in going on a Jewish Side Quest About Dietary Laws on this post. Usually, I love it, but hold off this time, please, y'all. Let's stay on target this once.

[imaroyalmess]

DPax first meeting

but from Jazz's POV

Wc: 853

Jazz knows D-16 on a technical level. The same as how he “knows” every clause to the evacuation code or how he “knows” transformation cogs—theoretically, if not a bit muddled, but never personally. They’ve exchanged short introductions, a nod of recognition as they pass one another, amicable small talk on the occasions they stand next to each other on the train.

More than anything, Jazz trusts D-16’s work ethic. That mech follows protocol with a precision that even Elita-1 hums in approval of and hey, the more energon they mine, the less the piss off the cogged supervisors, the better.

What can Jazz say? The bot’s a damn good miner and he respects that.

This particular solar cycle they’re rearranging their berths to accommodate the new crew and D-16 is, predictably, off to the side, eyeing potential placements for his Megatronus Prime decal. Jazz’s dermas quirks into a half smile and jogs over.

“Hey, need any help there?” Jazz slaps D-16’s shoulder plate and D-16 pivots so the tips of Jazz’s digits only scrape the area lightly.

“I’m fine,” D-16 insists, optics flickering to Jazz in a brief acknowledgement before returning to the decal in his servos. “Are you—?”

Jazz grins. “Checking on you? You could say that. Or I’m making sure you don’t eat the newbies spark first, does that sound better to you?”

D-16 shakes his helm, Jazz’s signal that he’s reached his socialization quota of the day. He points at the decal. “Tilt it a little that way. It’s a bit—yeah, that’s it! Now it’s perfect.”

Jazz automatically reaches out to tap D-16’s shoulder plate again—habit from all his other comrades.

“Don’t,” D-16 warns. “You just fixed it.”

“Yeah, yeah, I hear ya.” Jazz throws his servos up in surrender, smirking grin still in full effect. “I’m over here if ya need anything. And you’re welcome.”

D-16 grumbles low enough that it can’t reach Jazz’s audials—probably either a curse or a thank you, there’s no telling with that one. Jazz strides off to his own berth, plain save for a data pad full of comics stowed away in a side pocket. Perhaps his name would fit across the sides…he’ll have to swipe some cosmetic paints to make it happen but wouldn’t it be cool?

“—the coolest.”

Taken aback, Jazz whirls around only to find that the mech wasn’t addressing him at all. The blue and red newbie is grinning, the corners of his intake almost splitting his face plate wide open. Which, woah, that’s a lot, but what’s even more woah is how he’s speaking with D-16…and D-16 is smiling back? 

“No fraggin’ way,” Jazz’s vocal chip comes close to short circuiting.

“You know,” D-16 begins, verging on chipper, “Sentinel says that Megatronus was—”

“—the strongest Prime to ever live,” the two of them complete together. The newcomer chuckles, followed in suit by D-16, dear Primus, Jazz has to sit down. This cannot be real.

“Orion Pax,” the other bot says, extending a servo.

“D-16.” He accepts the shake.

One of Jazz’s friends attempts to interrupt. “Hey, Jazz—”

Jazz cannot miss one klik of what’s unfolding so he waves an arm out. “Not now, not now.”

“So, you ever mine energon before?” D-16 inquires and that’s— D-16? Asking a question with the intent of getting to know a mech? It’s about work, which Jazz notes to discuss with him later, but it’s progress. Jazz is in equal parts proud as he is insulted.

“No, you?” Orion Pax asks back. His optics, very blue optics Jazz can see even at this distance, turn to D-16, that all-too-easy smile softened and blinding.

D-16 is as struck as Jazz is. “...no.”

Scratch that. He’s much more struck than Jazz is. Jazz forces a shut down to his voice box before the cackle can ruin their moment. What in all of Primus’ glory is D-16 thinking?

“I hear it’s dangerous,” he tacks on.

D-16 must be glitched. There’s no way he isn’t when his rank is splayed clear across his chest plate. Jazz takes all his pride back, shoves it deep within his spark and bites down on his glossa instead of slamming his helm into his berth several times. 

Orion Pax truly must be new because his optics don’t process the ranking badge at all. “Well, how about this? You watch my back and I’ll watch yours?”

A servo stretches out in a loose fist, waiting for an answering bump. Good and honest, and Jazz crosses his spark that this happened, D-16 beams. “Yeah. Yeah, alright. Sounds good…Pax.”

The two of them tap their fists together—which delights Orion to no end by the looks of it. It’s touching, if it weren’t for the fact that D-16 is the worst flirt in all of Iacon. Oh, he’ll deny it once Jazz approaches him but Jazz has two working optics, a fully functional processor, and a propensity for intruding.

Jazz sets a reminder in his HUD to teach D-16 how to flirt with his little Orion. Properly. In a way that doesn’t involve lying. Maybe he’ll get a proper thanks from D-16 then.

(Probably not.)

based on this tweet i saw a few days ago and couldn't stop thinking about D-16 straight up LYING

[ruiniel]

Another Way - XII

Fandom: Castlevania series (2017-2021)

Summary: what if someone in the 21st century stumbled upon this stranger during a turbulent storm, narrowly avoiding running them over, and what’s more they can’t understand a word coming out of their mouth.

Pairing: Alucard x Reader

Rating: Mature / 18+ only

Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Explicit Language, References to Depression, First Meetings, character-meets-world, Near Death Experiences, References to loss, Grief/Mourning, Fantasy, POV Second Person, Language Barrier, Violence, Portal Fantasy, Isekai, Slow burn, References to canon, Rewriting show canon, Because why not, POV Alucard, POV original character, More tags to be added

Also on AO3

Part I

AN: been a while

XII.

He doesn’t like coffee.

This becomes quite apparent with the different flavor of mild disgust over his features after each sip.

“It’s an acquired taste for some,” you try saying with a straight face, because it is more amusing than you’d thought to see a grown man with a perfect jaw and bedroom hair seated at your small table, coming up with the most telling, candid expressions. 

After breakfast—during which he insists on turning the cooker on and off, ‘to learn’, and during which, once again, he eats little to nothing—you head over to your desk and obtain for him the work Adrian asked for. It’s not difficult to find, and happens to be the first book printed in the English language, in the 1400s. 

“Is… this it?”

His enthusiasm says ‘yes’ when seeing the title page, and you let him take your place and scroll through as you head to get ready for the adventure of helping him look less conspicuous. “All right, enjoy your courtly romance, I’ll be back in a bit.”

“All right.”

You pause, turning to stare but his eyes are feverish on the screen, attention absorbed by the text. Whatever works. You decided to stop wondering. 

Having made yourself presentable enough to be outside, you tap back into the room on bare feet. “Ready to g—...” you trail off at the sound. His voice. His voice, with that same mild inflection, but the words are oddly shaped to the ear.

He’s reading aloud from the online scan you fetched him, nodding, writing in the agenda.

“What’s… this?” You near him, narrowing your eyes at the screen. 

Adrian turns to you with an excitement you’d not seen or felt in a long, long while. Somehow, it’s endearing. This side feels like him too, a natural expression in contrast with all those confused, dour moods he’d been mired in. 

“I need…” He pauses, hand in his hair, eyebrows pinched together. 

“What… do you need?...” 

He points at the scan of the text, long fingers gliding along the little black rows of archaic words. “... from now.”

“From now?... Oh! A modern version, you mean? From our time?”

Adrian nods. “Possible?”

“Y-yeah. There might be one… wait…” As you search it for him, Adrian waits patiently with his arms crossed, rubbing at his chin. “I get it. You want to learn modern vocabulary equivalents, don't you?” You bring up the 1400s version of the work again. “Wait… you understand this one?” Not that it's impossible, shouldn’t be. But you didn't exactly take him for someone pursuing comparative historical linguistics.

“Yes,” comes the answer, leaving you bemused.

“You know what? I won't even ask. Go ham. Here, I found it.” 

As he nears and glues himself to the screen, you dare to gently pull on his sleeve.

“Remember…clothes?”

Adrian blinks in realization, then stares back at the screen with a sort of longing. You get it. He’s making a breakthrough here, or so he thinks, one that’ll be of help in wading through terrain unfamiliar to him. 

But the rare practical side of you insists. “You can pick this up when we get back, right?”

He meets your eyes, nodding in acceptance. “Right.”

~~

The bell rings as you open the door to the second hand shop you sometimes frequent, looking behind you to see Adrian entering with care, gazing about with mild interest. 

“Well, here we are,” you say as he meets your stare, before looking towards the shop attendant who’s sitting behind a desk, phone in hand, chewing on some gum and watching the both of you with piqued interest—no, rather, watching him.

You cough, “Hi, we’re looking for some—” 

“Men’s wear is over there,” she answers, not taking her eyes off Adrian.

“All right, thanks.” Starting to think this is a typical reaction. You make a gesture, urging him to follow. 

He has a befuddled look on his face, but walks after you as you reach the rows of clothing boasting jeans, t-shirts and jackets. 

“So, listen.” You turn, waving a hand around the space. “You look for something you like.” You pull at your own blouse, pants, and coat. “And there’s a cabin over there, where you can try stuff out, if you like.”

He seems to understand, nodding and tentatively following your lead as you rummage through the merch on display. You notice the way he feels the garments, looking at you with a question in his eyes.

“Take your time,” you offer, going over and taking a seat on a chair. 

It doesn’t take long, really. Soon enough he’s gathered a few items under his arm, a bundle of… mostly black, cream and white garments. “Want to try these on?” you ask when he nears, standing before you, uncertain.

When Adrian doesn’t reply but tilts his head in slight confusion, you rise and walk towards the cabin, drawing the curtain and showing him the space. “In you go, let me know if…” You pause as he pulls the worn shirt over his head without much ado, spinning around and drawing the curtain behind him. “... call if you need help,” you mumble, stiffly walking away.

Your heart beats strangely, faster as you meet the stare of the shop clerk, who apparently has less important things to do than follow your exchange. 

Whatever. You go and idly sift through the items of clothing, humming to yourself. 

“Your boyfriend’s out,” comes the clerk’s voice after a while, and you blink in confusion, head swiveling to stare at her.

 “Oh, he’s not my—” Before you can finish that thought, movement has you turning in time to see Adrian emerging from the cabin. 

“Right, uh, you look… they fit, don’t they?" Heat rises to your face, damn the air conditioning. 

Black faded jeans, tight. A simple, white fitted t-shirt—was he always this…slim? Fit? A dark blue coat, reaching to his knees. “They look like they fit,” you follow, scratching your head. 

“Oh yeah, they sure do,” comes the young shop attendant’s voice, and a niggling sensation you’ve been unfamiliar with pinches at your mood. 

Adrian seems to agree, looking at himself, then at you. “Good?” he says in English.

You nod. “Yeah, good. That’s one round. Things here are affordable, so uh…” you retrieve your phone, type it in, and translate. “Find another item of each, to have spare clothing.”

He’s surprisingly efficient after that, and it’s not long before you’re returning to your apartment block, Adrian following with a bag in each hand. 

“Okay, that was relatively painless,” you comment, turning to look over your shoulder at him, and—

“Adrian?...”

His expression is frozen, light-amber eyes wide and lips parted. It’s not out of fear as much as it is… consternation?

You turn back around, a different tremor running through your limbs at the person approaching.

A tall woman, wearing a flowing white dress suit, her red coat slung over one forearm. Her long, straight dark hair is done up in a ponytail, swinging languidly with each step taken on black pumps. She’s always had a distinct sense of style. Her attitude is the usual—one of those people carrying themselves like the world lies in wait at their feet. You never did know how to feel about her, nor do you know much about her. You do know this is but one of many businesses she has under her care. Well to do, in any case.

Guess it had to happen sooner or later. “Mrs. Hawke, hello.”

The landlady smiles in greeting, blue eyes alighting first on you, then focusing beyond your shoulder. She lands a hand on her hip, “How have you been, my dear?” 

The question was directed at you, but you’re perceptive enough—you like to think—to notice the unspoken query following the first. 

“Doing well, um. You know how it is…”

“Mm.” Her eyes are still on Adrian, but her gaze is different from that of the store clerk earlier. It holds no fascination, merely a calculating sort of curiosity that disappears the moment she stares back at you.

“I actually wanted to contact you, but didn’t get to until now. You see, Adrian here will be staying for a while, and I know that affects the rent, so…”

Mrs. Hawke tilts her chin. “That’s right, normally so—do you have an idea as to how long your additional tenant will be staying?...”

“Um. Well, I…” You feel an urge to turn and look at Adrian, but somehow her stare arrests you enough that you can’t.

Just then, she waves a hand. “You know, nevermind. I know you’ve had a difficult time lately. Consider no fee added to the rent, for now.”

The impossible has happened. Mrs. Hawke, being… lenient? Forgoing business? Not asking the ‘how’ and the ‘who’ and the ‘why’?

“Er… you mean it? Really?” Your jaw might be somewhere on the floor for all you know.

She nods. “I do. If the time of stay extends indefinitely, then that’s another matter, of course… but for now, we should be fine.”

“Thank… you…?”

She laughs, a light, glittering sound. “Oh don’t look at me like that. After all…” her gaze flicks back behind you, only briefly. “Life does seem to hold all manner of… surprises, doesn’t it?”

There’s something unusual in her tone, but, ah, the prospect of not having to scrounge up more money regularly is a godsend. “You can say that again…”

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to run!” And she does just that, without another glance, leaving the two of you alone in the hallway.

“Well, I’ll be…” you murmur, then remember Adrian. “What is it about you, seriously? It's either the worst of luck or the strangest change... Adrian?”

His stare is unfocused, like something blew a fuse behind his eyes. When you touch his arm, he snaps out of it with a start. “Let’s go up?... You wanted to continue reading, didn’t you?”

Shaking his head like someone having been splashed with ice-cold water, Adrian looks down at you. “... reading. Yes. Let’s…let’s go.”

Picking up fast, you think as he walks ahead of you towards the elevator. And maybe it’s just you, but his steps are more determined than before.

Part I - Part II - Part III - Part IV - Part V - Part VI - Part VII - Part VIII - Part IX - Part X - Part XI

Taglist: @hornyf0ckers @the-keep-under-gresit @pencildrawer12 (this is old, let me know if you want to be removed!)

Want to be added to the taglist for updates? Drop me an ask

MASTERLIST: CASTLEVANIA SERIES x READER

More of my work is on AO3 [many stories not on tumblr]

BLOG MASTERPOST (all you need to know)

Likes/comments/reblogs always and forever appreciated

AN:

Recuyell of the Historyes of Troye (1464) is a translation by William Caxton of a French courtly romance written by Raoul Lefèvre.

[dem0batz]

Curiosity Killed the Kitten

Sylus x MC // Love and Deepspace

Author's Note: First I was horny about Caleb's return, but catching up on the lore has me in my feelings. No smut, just emotional hurt/comfort with Sylus. All of my LADS fics take place in the same universe and is a connected story which means MC is romantically involved with ALL 5 love interests. This is just me trying to put the pieces together that we get in the game and applying it how I think makes sense in MC's situation.

Summary: After going to Skyhaven for an undercover mission and learning that Caleb is alive and well, as well as discovering some unsettling information about the Farspace Fleet and his role in it, MC returns home to Linkon City. All of the men in her life are concerned about her sudden unexpected vacation, but Sylus most of all does not accept the flimsy excuses of her brief disappearance. Content Warnings: Reverse Harem/Why Choose (MC is with all five love interests in my au), afab!MC, she/her!MC, tracking device without MC's consent, canon-typical Sylus stalking, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff Word Count: ~2600 words | Read on AO3 | Chapter List

Since returning to Linkon City after your extended “vacation” in Skyhaven, you have felt an uneasiness settling in your gut. You should be over the moon that your long-dead brother wasn’t dead after all but everything about Caleb seemed… off.

There were still traces of the boy you remember. He still doted on your every need. Was still over protective in the most annoying ways and still used humor and guilt to soften your irritation. He had never been straight forward with you, always willing to do whatever he needed to protect you even if it meant keeping you in the dark. So the fact that he deflected most of your suspicious questions concerning the practices of the Farspace Fleet was not a surprise, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that he had lied right to your face about many of the things he did answer, which was new.

He had always seemed a little haunted to you; like there were things he wasn’t saying or couldn’t say and that hadn’t changed, but the depth of it now seems insurmountable. What was it they said about gazing into the abyss? Well now, often times when Caleb looked at you, you felt the abyss gazing back. Like your caring brother was gone and the cold officer he had become was steering the wheel. You couldn’t decipher where Caleb began and the Colonel ended.

While in Skyhaven, you hadn’t received any of messages and had connectivity issues with the wifi. Initially, you had reasonably blamed the shoddy signal on the fact that you were in a city in the sky and that the near-constant storms were to blame, but after uncovering some suspicious information about Caleb’s new life, you were no longer convinced it was a mere accident. Which left you to believe either the Fleet had more of an influence on Skyhaven than anyone suspected, despite what their public policies claimed, or Caleb himself had intentionally isolated you. Both were concerning and likely had some truth to them, but the former was more painful to think about.

Your phone had been buzzing nearly non-stop since coming back to the city, updating with message after message. Messages from Xavier about hot pot and confusion about your sudden approved vacation days that you never mentioned taking; Rafayel feigning danger, saying he needed his bodyguard to come and check on him asap; Zayne concerned that he hadn’t heard a word from you after Mia’s unfortunate death and insisting you check in with him as soon as you are able.

They had been relatively easy to appease for now. You informed them all you had just returned home and would make sure to see them in the coming days— you just needed one day to sort through your thoughts and feelings about the Caleb situation. Besides, what were you supposed to say? I didn’t actually go on vacation because I went on a solo undercover mission for the Association connected to the explosion of my grandmother’s house just to find my long-dead brother/sort of ex-boyfriend is actually alive and well, and is now one of the top ranking leaders of the Farspace Fleet who may be involved in some unethical practices because I had one conversation with a little boy whom they had been searching for and he seemed to have a complete personality change in the two days after his sister’s death?

It wasn’t exactly something that could be explained in a text message.

Needless to say, your men were worried about you, but Sylus most of all. Though his messages where a lot more direct in their efforts to get to the bottom of your disappearance. They started off playful enough in their probing, but the longer you were gone, the more insistent they became.  

Mr. Crow: Mephisto reported that you packed a bag. A big one. Where are we going? 

Mr. Crow: Now he says you boarded a shuttle. Why would you do that when you have a helicopter in the N109 at your disposal?

Mr. Crow: Your return date is a week from now. Did you go on vacation without me, kitten? You never mentioned a work trip.

Mr. Crow: I know you’re a busy big time hunter but it’s unlike you to ignore my messages like this, sweetie.

Mr. Crow: Mephisto lost you. The twins can’t find you either.

Mr. Crow: Where are you?

Mr. Crow: You disappeared on me and I’m worried. This isn’t like you.

Mr. Crow: I’m very unhappy with you right now.

Mr. Crow: You can’t hide forever, kitten…

You knew without a shadow of a doubt that Sylus saw the moment you returned to the city because your mechanical bird companion was tailing you again. You hadn’t intentionally slipped his detail or left Sylus hanging during your leave. It was no secret that the Onichynus leader kept watch of you and it had actually become a welcome security over the months since you began seeing one another.

It should have struck you as odd that Sylus didn’t hunt you down during your two week stay in Skyhaven but the truth was you had been hit with near constant surprises in the floating city that you had no time to think about anything but what was happening in that moment. But now that you were away and had space to think, you were left to wonder why Sylus never came for you. Why you were able to be imprisoned on a military fleet ship against your will and your mighty crime boss didn’t track you down and bust you out.

Your phone buzzes again, shaking you from your thoughts.

Mr. Crow: Look who’s back in town.

Kitten: Will you meet me somewhere?

Mr. Crow: Turn around.

You lower your phone, eyebrows drawn together as you turn against the flow of pedestrian traffic. Your eyes flit through the decorated streets, colorful ribbons and lanterns decorating the way in preparation for the New Year. The crowd parts, making way for a hulking man in a leather jacket walking steadily toward you with danger flashing in his crimson eyes, his mouth set into a hard line. It never ceased to amaze you how Sylus was able to blend in with a crowd when he stood out to you so much. He towered over everyone and had a dangerous aura to him, yet no one batted an eye in his direction.

You gulp nervously, knowing he wouldn’t let you get away without an explanation. One you still weren’t even sure how to say. Anxiousness has your feet moving quickly as you duck into an alleyway to wait for him. You couldn’t do this with an audience. Though it’s still light out, the strings of decorations above has the alley appearing more dark than usual, allowing you to slink into the shadows and away from prying eyes. It doesn’t take Sylus long to catch up, his own shadow eating up whatever light remains as he draws closer until he’s towering above and caging you against the stone wall.

“Sylus—”

“Would you look at that? I caught myself a stray.”

His fingers curl under your chin, not-too-gently angling your face toward his. That simmering anger in his eyes softens at the sight of you, disappearing completely to be replaced with concern. He reads you entirely too well, even if he doesn’t know the cause.

“What’s wrong, sweetie?”

You let out a vulnerable sigh, lip wedging between your teeth to combat the sting in your eyes as the relief of this secret you’ve been holding onto is lifted off of your shoulders the slightest bit. You didn’t realize just how much you had been carrying since Caleb’s return, but if a single soft look and concerned question from one of your boyfriends was enough to make you feel like crumbling, it must be a lot.

You still hardly believed it yourself that Caleb was alive and well after all this time. Had seen him with your own eyes and yet you still felt the loss of grief from his death and the sting of betrayal at his return. A confusing whorl of emotion builds up inside your chest because along with the relief that he was alive, you felt an overwhelming sense of resentment toward him.

For so long, Caleb was the only one you saw, blinded by the tunnel vision of his affection. Then he went and died before you could navigate the complex secret relationship the two of you shared only to return from the death of a literal explosion to metaphorically blow up your life just when you had started learning how to live without him. Just when you had begun to find comfort and care with Sylus and the other men in your life. They had become your new foundation in the rubble of Caleb’s place and now he was returning from the dead to level it once again. The rebuilding process had been overbearing and painful and lonely and you didn’t know how much more you had in you to start over again.

As much as you loved Caleb, he never played well with others when it came to you. Sylus thought Zayne’s jealousy and reluctance to share your time had been a hurdle but your childhood friend was nothing compared to your brother’s jealous streak. In the handful of times you were shared between Caleb and Zayne in your youth, it was always at Caleb’s command. Nothing happened without his approval. What he said went and neither you nor Zayne ever dared cross that line to try to further explore your attraction to one another. Not until after the explosion, anyway.

A gentle thumb on your jaw brings your attention back to the present, sympathetic ruby eyes grounding you.

“Does it have to do with how much time you spent in Skyhaven recently?”

Surprise and panic flicker across your face at Sylus’s question.

So he did know where you had gone, after all.

“Please, sweetie. After all this time and you’re still surprised that I keep tabs on you?  Mephisto may well be glued to your side. And that’s not even taking the twins into consideration or counting the various tracking devices planted on you and in you.”

“Sylus!”

“What?” he feigns innocence.

“Mephisto following me is one thing but you can’t bug me! I’m an agent of the law. Not to mention, where the hell did you get plant devices that can evade government detection? And more importantly, how did you get one inside of me without me knowing?”

Sylus’s proud grin widens as a thick leather-covered arm wraps around you like a vine. He pulls you into a slow dance in the alley, no musical accompaniment or reason for it other than he wanted to and he missed you.

It soothed some of the warring emotions within you, making your irritation with his stalking tendencies dissipate. Truth be told, you were grateful that he cared so much about your safety. You know Sylus now and know that his only intentions are your safety and success. Though you wouldn’t ask it of him, he would burn the whole world down if you requested him to, for the mere purpose of pleasing you. You couldn’t same the same about Caleb, who only ever kept you in the dark about his intentions.

“You should know by now that nothing is out of my budget or reach, kitten,” he purrs.

His playful demeanor slips a fraction. To anyone else it would have been undetectable but having spent so much intimate time with the Onychinus leader, you have learned to read him nearly as well as he reads you.

“What is it?” you ask, cupping his jaw.

Sylus nuzzles into your palm, a heavy sigh puffing through his nostrils, reminding you of a mighty beast that had been tamed.

“Nothing is out of my reach,” he repeats, “except whenever you disappeared into Skyhaven. Mephisto managed to follow your shuttle all the way to the city gates but the moment he tried to cross the threshold he began to short out. He had no choice but to turn back. Once you crossed over, I also lost signal of every tracking device on your person, including this one,” his finger lightly trace a spot between your shoulder blades. So that’s where it is. “I lost the ability to track you. To keep you safe. That’s never happened before and naturally was a cause for concern.” He hesitates for a moment as if afraid to ask but does anyway. “Where did you go during your ‘vacation’?”

“I don’t know where to start,” you admit as the tightness in your chest starts to constrict to a painful degree. The cardiac event monitor on your watch begins to beep erratically, indicating a dangerous rise in your pulse oxygen levels.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” Sylus pulls you close to his chest, resting your head and hand against the steady rhythm of his own heartbeat.

He talks you through the attack, his calming voice like a balm to your ringing ears. After several long moments, you feel like you can breathe again and your watch finally goes quiet.

“Yes, I’m with her right now and she seems to be coming out of it,” Sylus’s voice drifts clearly to your ears once more. His voice tightens irritably at whatever the person on the other end says. “I wouldn’t put her in that kind of danger. I called you as soon as her symptoms began, didn’t I?”

He pauses again to listen to whatever was being said, giving you a reassuring smile though he still looks annoyed.

“I can drop her off at your office tomorrow morning. Or if you’re truly concerned and thinks she needs immediate medical attention, you’re welcome to meet me in the N109 Zone in an hour.”

Pause.

“That’s what I thought. I’ll continue to monitor her and if anything changes, you’ll be the first to know. Have a nice day, doctor.”

Sylus hangs up the phone and tucks the device back into his pocket. Hearing his side of the conversation, you have an idea of who he had been talking to.

“Dr. Zayne wants you to report to his office first thing in the morning. He said he won’t clear you to return to work until you do.”

This news comes as no surprise. Since an event was triggered, you would have to answer to Zayne about the cause, yet another conversation you weren’t ready to have. But he deserves to know Caleb is back. You just didn’t know how to tell him most of all. At least Sylus, Xavier, and Raf were a degree removed from the situation. Zayne would be almost as affected by the news as you, considering that Caleb was his best friend and the odd nature of the relationship the three of you previously shared.

“You could start from the beginning, sweetie,” Sylus murmurs against your hair, lips brushing your head in a loving kiss as he reminds you of what caused your heart rate to spike in the first place.

“I can’t,” your voice croaks. “Not now. Not here. It’s… too much.”

“Okay,” he relents. “But I’m taking you home with me regardless. After spending two weeks worrying about your safety and unable to reach you, I need you with me tonight. Then after a good meal and a lavender bath soak, if you feel like telling me what’s going on, I’ll be all ears.”

The sting returns to your eyes and you grip the back of his leather coat like an anchor. You were so grateful for your dragon and the way he kept you safe, even from yourself. That when you were spiraling down a vortex he would always catch you.

“I love you, Sylus,” you whisper, throat tight with emotion.

“I love you too, kitten.”

OpaLADS Taglist: @i-messed-up-big-time

[phossiii]

Would Monsters!Y/N ever learn about Phosphorus’s criminal background? I don’t just mean for relationship building and such, but also learning that damn Pimp get-up he wore at one point🤣🤣🤣 Just so Y/N could stare judgementally at Phosphorus, who may have been indulging in drugs at the time as well given Thorne also ran a drug business.

｡𖦹°‧⭑ melting

synopsis: phosphorus doesn't take kindly to disrespectful business partners... especially when they disrespect you.

cw: reader is a monster, mature themes, violence, profanity, innuendos, phosphorus is phosphorus, takes place within the monsters universe.

"I've got to say, Señor Fósforo," Esteban grinned, rakishly, as he surveyed the club, eyes gliding over girls and party-goers alike. "You certainly don't fail to disappoint. This is the best get-together I've been to in a long while."

Amused, Phosphorus out a hearty chuckle, using his thumb to light the end of his cigar.

Damn well better be...

The amount of money he shelled out for this little shindig was enough to make a duke sweat.

Most, if not all, of the big name players in Gotham's criminal underworld were there, dining on gourmet hors d'oeurvres and puffing on premium smokes.

All to get "re-acquainted".

"You flatter me, Esteban. Five years and nothing's changed," Phosphorus sighed, leaning back against the cushions of the booth as he released a smooth stream of smoke. "But now that we've got the pleasantries out the way, I think it's time we get down to business."

His light-hearted demeanor switched quickly, turning sharp and poignant.

"I take it my business in the East End is going well... given your solid gold watch, that eyesore you've got parked out front... and the blow you've got on your nose."

Eyes wide, Esteban quickly wiped away the evidence, swallowing thickly as he adjusted the collar of his dress shirt.

"Better than ever, Señor. B-But of course we are fully prepared for you to resume your position."

"On the contrary," Phosphorus sighed, looking down at his scotch. "I need you to continue running the East End."

Esteban raised a brow.

"Huh? But why?"

"Not that it's any of your business," Phosphorus reminded sharply, before allowing his eyes to drift over to your form on the dance floor. "But I need some more time on my hands... I've got... other things to tend to."

You flipped your hair over your shoulder with a carefree grin, laughing with a few of the other mobster girlfriends you met as you all danced like nobody was watching.

When, in fact. everybody was watching.

Phosphorus bit the inside of his cheek, fighting off an invisible grin at the sight of your happy expression.

You were thoroughly worried when he broke you both out of Belle Reve, afraid of the wrath of Batman more so for his sake than for yours.

But he assured you that everything would be fine, and encouraged you to have the time of your life—all on his dime, of course.

So, when he said you both had a party to go to that night, you accepted the little black card to his offshore account and went ham at the stores for the first time in your life.

Which brought you here, cutting a rug under the strobe lights of the club.

"Diablo Mami..." Esteban gasped, having finally noticed you through his fear-filled, coke-laced haze. "Qué hermosa!"

Your silvery laugh rang through the crowd as you swirled your hands around your body, your fire drawing intricate designs in the air.

Using your power, you outlined your hips in rhythm with the music, accentuating the curve of your dips in the tiny, black dress.

'Goddamn...'

Not a day went by without Phosphorus thanking his lucky stars you gave an asshole like him a chance.

An asshole... who just registered Esteban's words.

With a painful quickness, he snapped his head over to the Colombian drug lord, eyes sharpening like daggers.

"What was that?"

"La diablesa..." Esteban marveled, gaze raking over your every inch. "Horns... And a tail, too... I've never seen someone like her before... So sexy..."

Phosphorus's jaw ticked as he watched the man looked at you, his expression displaying his thoughts clearly as he practically undressed and fucked you with his eyes.

In an instant, the cigar hanging out the skeleton's mouth went up in flames, completely burning up right to the bud.

But Esteban was too enraptured in you to notice.

"I'm a little parched, Señor," the drug lord grinned, rising from his seat and adjusting his blazer. "I think I'm going to get a tall drink of wa—"

He wasn't even able to finish his sentence before an irradiated hand grabbed him harshly by the neck, hoisting him up in the air and completely knocking the table over in the process.

The shattering glasses of scotch grabbed the attention of everyone in the club, along with the screams of nearby women as Esteban choked and gurgled, blood slowly leeching from his every orifice as Phosphorus cooked him from the inside out.

"On second thought... your employment is no longer necessary."

Many watched with horror as he melted the man in his grasp, refusing to let go until Esteban's head was completely liquefied, leaving only his body intact.

From the dance floor, you watched with a tired sigh, crossing your arms over your chest with disapproval.

"This is what I get for leaving him alone," you huffed, pinching the bridge of your nose.

Leaving the terrified mob girls behind, you strutted off the dance floor, moving to go yank your boyfriend out of his mess.

"All right, nothing to see here," you barked, scanning over the room with a side-long glance. "He's a dead man. I'm sure we've all seen one before."

With a flippant puff of fire, you ignited the man's body with hellflame, cremating him in a matter of seconds.

"Let's keep this party goin', alright? Back to your business."

Murmurs of agreement rumbled throughout the room before the music cut back on and the attendants returned to their partying.

"As for you," your voice sharpened, brows furrowing as you grabbed Phosphorus by his tie. "We need to talk... Alone."

"Is this a talk or a talk talk? 'Cause I wouldn't be opposed to the former," he cooed, tenderly sliding his hand down your side to rest over the curve of your ass.

But the glare you fixed him with said otherwise.

"Ah... the latter."

"What did I tell you about the melting, my love?" you sang from your seat on Phosphorus's desk, softly caressing his jaw as you held him in between your legs by his tie.

Even though your words were sweet, they were not without an underlying, scolding tone.

"Only do it if absolutely necessary," he grumbled, as if he were a child.

"And was it absolutely necessary?"

"...Yes."

"Alex."

Your grip on his tie tightened, eyes glowing a faint yellow.

"It was! Honest!"

"Oh, yeah? What did he do?"

"He was eyeing something that belongs to me."

His voice dropped an octave, eyes gliding over your face with a possessive glint.

(You couldn't see them, but you'd become so perceptive with his body language that you might as well have)

"Yeah, well, that something's about two seconds from skipping town."

"What?!"

"I told you the moment we stepped into Gotham that we needed to keep a low profile. Parties are typical of the nightlife, but melting is not!" you sighed out of your nose, reigning in your volume just a tad. "If Batman catches wind that you're out, he will not hesitate to drag you back to Belle Reve and throw away the key. And then what am I supposed to do? "

You released him, your arms coming up to hug yourself as you looked away.

"With my record clean, they won't take me with you. And I'll never see you again..."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, doll, that's not gonna happen," Phosphorus quickly shifted, his hands quickly rising to cup your face and turn you toward him. "I assure you, I'm being careful. Everything's being delegated to my lieutenants. I'm as far removed from the business as possible."

Glancing up at him, you searched his face for insincerity.

"Promise?"

With a small smirk, he placed a soft peck on your lips, running his thumb over your cheek.

"Promise."

At that, you grinned, pulling him back in by his tie and pressing your lips into his neck, much to his amusement.

He'd have to make promises more often...

"If that's the case... whaddya say to a little more one-on-one time?" you softly whispered into his ear, punctuating with a little nip to his jaw.

The timbre of your voice sent a shiver down his spine, forcing the man's hands to reverently grasp at your hips.

"Whatever you want, doll... whatever you want..."

[seravphs]

sick in the head

Gojo and Geto try marriage counseling because the therapist is hot.

wc — 1.5k

tags — obviously this is not how therapy actually works, imagine clocking into work and these two supervillains show up I’d quit

“You need serious help,” Shoko says, somewhat kindly as she observes Gojo on the phone with his favorite criminal. He’s just started his twenty minute break from tracking his residuals all over the world, trying to minimize the harm he’s causing without actually being willing to kill him. 

She’s either joking or completely serious. It’s hard to tell with Shoko. Maybe a little bit of both? 

“Huh?” Gojo says, a little peeved she’s taking his attention away from Geto. 

“I said, you need serious help. The professional kind. I looked up a therapist for you.”

Gojo’s expression clears with understanding - then annoyance. “I told you I didn’t need a shrink. Nothing wrong with my brain, anyway.” 

Shoko loves her friends, she really does, but sometimes she walks a fine line between healing and the opposite of healing.

“Just try it,” she says. She’s smarter than to try and rationalize with him. “It’s a couple’s counselor. Maybe you could see Suguru more if you sell him on it.” 

Hook, line, sinker. It was so easy to get them to cooperate when it came to each other. They were so convinced that they were unreadable to anyone but themselves, but they always forgot Shoko had been there too. All three years she had been on the outside looking in, watching the glances they cast at each other. Sometimes, she felt like she understood them more than they understood each other. 

She had always been there, silently watching. Just because they didn’t realize it didn’t mean her presence was negligible. She loved them anyway, despite knowing she was a third, and thirds were always the leftovers tacked onto a pair. 

That was how love worked. It didn’t really matter whether or not Gojo would Geto over her, or vice versa. They were her friends. She’d watch out for them. 

“Here,” she says, handing Gojo a business card. “She’s a friend, so be nice, okay?”

Gojo whistled at the picture on the clean, embossed cardstock. “I can be better than nice.” 

Shoko squints at him. “You’re disgusting. You’re going to meet her with your boyfriend.”

“Yeah, and?” He smiled wolfishly, with teeth. “I know Suguru’s type.” 

Geto Suguru was in the middle of taking a bath when his best friend and mortal enemy appeared next to him, right when he blinked. Most people would’ve screamed. Geto was not most people. Most people were not that close to Gojo Satoru. 

“I’m showering,” he said mildly. “Get out or pass me the soap.” 

Gojo does neither of these things, because when has Gojo ever listened to anyone. “Look at this,” he said, flapping a tiny rectangle of paper on his face. 

Geto sighed and lifted pruney fingers to the offending object. It had been a long day of scamming non-sorcerers and wreaking general havoc, but of course Gojo couldn’t let him rest, on top of working overtime to undo his work. He only let the bitterness of going up against a natural prodigy consume for a moment before he remembered where he was. 

The epsom salts had been a gift from Mimiko and Nanako. No matter how irritated he was, they worked magic. His muscles could never stay tense while he soaked in the perfumed water, and he relaxed into the tub again. 

The card was nicely made. It was clearly expensive, crisp black ink of thick white paper. What caught his eye, however, was the portrait on the front. The smile was sweet, sincere. He checked the business card again. A marriage counselor - that made sense. 

“Why are you showing me this?” Geto frowned. “Is this a proposal? I’m not accepting this. You can do better.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Gojo says. “Isn’t she hot?”

Geto hums in agreement. “Yeah. Nice smile.” 

“Should we…?”

“I don’t have time for games, Satoru.” 

“Think about it,” he says. “It can be like the good old days. You and me, the dream team. When we worked together, no one ever said no to us.”

“She’s a marriage counselor. You shouldn’t be playing these types of games with her.”

“Don’t act like you’re such a goody two shoes,” Gojo said, rolling his eyes. “It’s just me. Drop the theatrics.”

Geto let a smile tug at his lips, feeling strangely pleased that he saw through him so easily. “Say I agree. Then what?”

They hadn’t worn suits in a long time, but Gojo insisted. He wanted to make a good impression and-

“Ladies love a man in a suit,” he said, unbuttoning his top two buttons. 

“Slut,” Geto said lovingly. He leaned over to press a light kiss to the collarbones that now peeked out of the gape of his shirt. 

Gojo flushed, the tips of his ears turning a pale pink. Geto reached up to tug lovingly at them, and then smooth down stray pale hairs. He was more relaxed than Gojo was about the situation, but he still wanted to look nice. 

It had been years since they had done this. There was a part of him that wanted to prove that he still had it. 

Gojo strode into the office like he owned. Geto followed after, trying his best to remember what it was like to look apologetic. There wasn’t much he was sorry for, nowadays. 

You look up, startled. Your patients were sometimes early, but never this early. It was almost enough to make you worry that you’d gotten the time wrong, but you were meticulous with new patients. They had picked a good time - you didn’t have any patients scheduled before them, otherwise you’d have to kick them out immediately. As it was, you were still considering it. 

“Mr. Gojo? Mr. Geto?”

The one with white hair shivered a little. A strange expression crossed his face, almost delighted, if there was anything to be delighted about while sitting on the opposite of a marriage counselor’s desk with your significant other. 

“Suguru is fine,” the dark haired one said. 

“Call me Satoru,” the one with white hair agreed. 

Suguru and Satoru. Even their names fit well together. You tried not to judge anything until you got the fuller picture, but you always tried to be optimistic unless you had reason to believe otherwise. People came to you to save their marriages after all. You hoped you could do the same for these two. 

Satoru sits down in the armchair across from you. He’s the showy one, with that bone white hair and piercing blue eyes. Accordingly, he picks the emerald green velvet, as brilliant as a peacock’s feathers. 

Suguru chooses the left hand chair, a little less eye grabbing. It’s a cool dove grey, the fabric soft to the touch. 

Sitting like this, they look good together. They seem comfortable too, coming in together smiling and laughing. You wonder what they’re here for. 

“There’s still twenty minutes until the session starts,” you tell them. 

“Oh, I know,” Satoru says. “But I thought it would be nice to get to know the woman that’s going to be picking apart our brains. Look, I even brought a peace offering.” 

He presses a box of expensive sweets in your direction. 

“I can’t accept gifts,” you tell him regretfully. “And I won’t be doing anything of the sort to your brains.” 

“I went through all this trouble to get them though!”

“Satoru, don’t be a baby,” Suguru says. “She clearly said no. I told you so, anyway. It’s not my fault you can’t listen.” 

Satoru bristles. “Oh yeah? Why don’t we-“

“Please don’t fight,” you cut in. “I can’t take gifts these expensive, but once we get to know each other better, it’s okay to be more comfortable with me. Is that alright?”

“Fine, fine,” Satoru says with an easy going smile, pleased as if he hadn’t been irate just seconds earlier. 

Suguru’s anger takes a moment to dispel, but the clouds clear from his face nearly as quickly. Scary. It seems like you have your work cut out for you. 

You can already tell they’re the kind of people that’ll be hard to direct, so you accept the extra twenty minutes they’ll get out of you. Satoru seems like a Karen, and you’re not in the mood to deal with a back and forth right now. You’ll just lock your doors next time and let them in when you’re ready. 

Against your will, you find yourself drawn into conversation with them. Satoru and Suguru play off each other so seamlessly it almost feels like they’re working as a team to disarm you, to make you feel at ease smiling and laughing along with them, but that can’t be true. They’re here for marriage counseling - surely they can’t be such a cohesive unit. 

The alarm rings. You sit straight up, startled, and try to ignore the way Satoru laughs like he thinks you’re the cutest thing in the world. 

This is going to be a long session. 

[cherbii]

short prompt coz I’m lazy 😛

warnings -> language, smut, mdni

little ramble but all I can think about is private tutor!Nanami Kento who is what seems to be a loving and doting husband AND dad to his extravagant wife and children, only to be having a mistress on the side!

You’re so much younger than him, and hell, he’s told you about his wife and two children, but it was all thrown out the window when you started to develop a little crush on him.

It was no help either when Nanami started falling for you to, and at first he excused it as not getting any intimate moments with his wife, but soon realised it was much more.

Loving husband and devoted father Nanami who started to ‘forget’ to wear his wedding ring when he’d have to tutor you, in fact you don’t even remember when he last wore it.

Then one day, he asked you if you wanted to go out with him to a bar ( said it’s because he knows you’re stressed with finals and thinks you can use a pick me up! ) and you happily accept.

Nanami who had to drag drunk you away from pathetic boys who wanted to sleep with you, back to his car, before gently scolding you to act responsible, all while he’s fuming about how a scum bag got to touch you all over!

Sweet loyal Nanami who gets a raging boner when you drunkly confessed you only did it to make him jealous, before rambling about how you found your tutor attractive and even had him in mind during late nights when you’re alone in your room, *wink wink*

Nanami who decides that he, even if he wants to show you how angry he is by taking you right there, should stop by a gas station shop and get you a bottle of water to sober you up.

Then drives you back to your flat and makes sure you’re inside before leaving, head filled with thoughts (of you, of course)

Nanami who begrudgingly asks you if you remembered anything that happened that night the next time he tutors you, and you say no!

Kidding…you admit you remembered what you said but told him to forget it because it’s improper and unprofessional.

Family man Nanami who decides he’s done with being proper and professional and admits to wanting to do those very things you want to!

Tutor Nanami who still tutors you, but gives you biiiig rewards if you do well after your lessons (he’s fucking you raw on the desk, or shoving his tongue up your cunt until your crying his name)

Nanami who has you ride his thighs while you try to answer, telling you if you want to cum, you need to get the answer right, but it’s just so hard!!

If you got an answer wrong, best believe you’re getting yourself bent over his lap, ass on display before he’s giving you toe-curling spanks until your ass cheeks are rosy and sore!

Perfect husband Nanami who goes home to his wife and children knowing he was plowing your sweet cunt for hours, planning on doing the same the very next session!!!

lol sorry, something 100% not real inspired me to write this and I had to get this thought out

[echo-riot]

Reader sending Ambessa drunk texts that make no sense along with funny photos of crazy stuff their doing

✞⛧ Drunk texting Ambessa (Drabble) ✞⛧

The soft glow of the fireplace in Ambessa’s study illuminated her sharp features as she reviewed the day’s reports. She was deep in thought, her focus unwavering, when the sharp ping of her communicator interrupted the silence.

Ambessa glanced at it, her brow furrowing as she saw your name pop up. Normally, you didn’t text her at this hour, especially not repeatedly. But tonight, the messages came in rapid succession.

You: “Ambesssaaaaa guess what???? 😍😍😍”

Ambessa raised an eyebrow but smiled softly at the sight of your overuse of emojis. She typed back a quick response.

Ambessa: “What is it, my love?”

Her communicator buzzed immediately with a photo.

You: (Attachment: a blurry photo of you crouching in what looks like a bush, holding a traffic cone like it’s a priceless treasure.)

You: “I found him. His name is Gerald. We’re best friends now.”

Ambessa stared at the image, her lips twitching as she fought back a laugh. You were clearly drunk.

You: “Babe, do you think I could fight a goose? Like… if I really tried?”

Ambessa: “I’d prefer you didn’t fight wildlife.”

You: “Too late. I challenged him. He accepted. Meet me at the park.”

Ambessa groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. She typed back quickly.

Ambessa: “You better not be serious. Where are you?”

Another photo came through, this one of you standing a little too close to an aggressive-looking goose, holding what appeared to be a baguette like a sword.

You: “It’s okay, I have a weapon.”

Ambessa muttered a curse under her breath, standing up and already reaching for her coat. But the texts didn’t stop.

You: “Do you think the moon is judging me? Be honest.”

You: (Attachment: a picture of you lying flat on the sidewalk, staring up at the sky.)

You: “I told her I don’t need her negativity but idk she’s still staring.”

By the time Ambessa reached the park, her communicator buzzed again.

You: “WAIT. IDEA. We should get a pet. Like a really big one. A bear or something. I could ride it into battle.”

Ambessa sighed, scanning the darkened park until she spotted you near a bench, holding what she could only describe as the saddest bouquet of weeds she’d ever seen.

You: “This is for you, my warrior queen. 🥀✨”

She approached quietly, watching as you squinted at your communicator and giggled to yourself. When you finally noticed her, your face lit up.

“Ambessaaaa!” you slurred, stumbling toward her. “You’re here! Did you see my texts? I’m a genius.”

Ambessa caught you easily, her strong hands steadying you. “I did see your texts,” she said, her voice calm but tinged with amusement. “And you’re lucky I love you.”

You grinned up at her, swaying slightly. “I love you too. Do you wanna meet Gerald?”

Ambessa shook her head, wrapping an arm around your waist to guide you home. “No more stealing traffic cones. Or fighting geese.”

“But babe,” you whined, pouting. “The goose started it.”

She chuckled, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Let’s get you to bed, troublemaker. We’ll deal with Gerald in the morning.”

As she led you away, you leaned heavily against her, mumbling something about how the moon really was judging you. Ambessa just smiled, knowing that as ridiculous as you could be, she wouldn’t trade you for anything.

[chleem]

not sure if you take requests! I just looove angst

could you write where reader really gets scared because of Drew? Maybe violence or drinking or he has a moment where his temper gets the better of him and he scares her. thinking about him comforting his teary girl 🥰

Also I adore your writing — just read all of your series & one shots and fell in love!

⋆.˚ Warnings: swearing, jealous bf!drew, assault, physical (w/stranger) + verbal fight (with reader), read at own caution

ִ ࣪𖤐 a/n: and yes, I do accept requests but its not promised i write it tho T_T also, thanks for checking out my other works! (ure my first request btw thx sm

hope this one lives up to your expectations, written just for u my babe <3 

word count: 2.5k

──── 𝜗𝜚 ─────

You and Drew had been out for a casual night, just the two of you, trying to get away from the stresses of everyday life. 

The dim lights, the clinking of glasses, the smell of whiskey and perfume—it was the perfect backdrop for a little escape. 

You weren’t the type to go out clubbing, preferring to stay home. But seeing the gloomy state Drew has been in all day, this might just be the thing he needs. 

The bar was busy, but you managed to secure a spot, both ordering your own drinks. 

He’d been drinking fast, between casual conversations, you could slowly see the consciousness slipping away, replaced with his lazy, a bit drunk self. 

“I gotta go to the bathroom real quick, alright?” 

Drew almost yells into your ear, his voice barely audible over the thumping music in the bar.

You nod, yet was a bit worried whether he could even see in front of him. Drew’s hand lingers on your waist to give it a quick, almost stiff pat before he pulls away.

The warmth of him disappears as he blends into the crowd of sweaty, wasted bodies, leaving you standing there alone, suddenly acutely aware of how unfamiliar the space feels without him beside you. 

The music pulses in your chest, but it’s no longer comforting—it feels loud, invasive, almost too much.

You’re reminded of why you hate clubs- or going out in general, because of the overwhelming energy it takes out of you. 

You shift on your feet, suddenly nervous in a way you weren’t before. Without him here, everything feels just a little too close. 

And then, a hand brushes around your waist.

He’s back.

But when you turn around, your smile falters.

It’s not him.

A stranger, grinning a little too widely, leans in close, his hand still secured around your waist. 

You step back instinctively, trying to create space between you and this guy. 

“Little lady, how ‘bout I buy you a drink?” He coos, signaling the bartender over. He’s got a nasty grin on his face, one that sends goosebumps all over you. 

“No- no thanks,” you immediately decline, glancing behind you for any signs of Drew. 

What’s taking him so long?

“Oh c’mon, Daddy’s treat,” his voice drips low, and he steps close to you again.

And when his hand grips your ass through your dress, you immediately let out scream, but it's’ drowned out by the busy bar. 

“Okay- um, I have a boyfriend,” you say, your voice trembling slightly, but you manage to shove his hand off your waist. It’s sharp, harsh, and you feel your pulse racing, your body tense with a mix of disgust and fear.

But he’s persistent. The smirk on his face widens even more, and you see the way his eyes flicker with annoyance at your rejection.

“What? So? That doesn’t mean you can’t have some fun,” he grins, his breath hitting your face, smelling of rotten eggs, “I’m just trying to show you a good time, sweetheart.”

Your skin crawls.

Panic spikes in your chest. Where the hell is Drew?

But just as the stranger’s hand moves to touch you again, someone else beats him to it.

An arm drapes over your shoulders, pulling you back with a firm grip, until your back hits the solid wall of Drew’s chest. The familiar warmth of him floods through you, that unmistakable scent of his cologne, mixed with the hint of whiskey.

For a second, you’re wrapped in his presence, the rush of his body against yours almost as much of a relief as it is a comfort.

It’s the feeling of being protected—that primal, safe feeling you always get when Drew’s near, and yet, there’s something else, too. Something more possessive in the way he’s holding you now.

“Made a new friend already?”

He chuckles lowly, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. 

The stranger hesitates for a moment, clearly thrown off by Drew’s sudden appearance, but his cocky grin doesn’t fade. Instead, he sizes Drew up, eyes darting to all aspects of him. 

Drew doesn’t flinch, but you can feel a shift in the air. His easy-going tone doesn’t match his body language. 

And the protective hold he has on you right now feels like a silent warning to the stranger.

You steal a glance over at Drew, and the look in his eyes sends a chill down your spine. There’s something colder in them now, but it’s not directed at you—it’s all focused on the guy standing in front of you. 

“You the boyfriend?” he asks, voice dripping with mockery.

Drew clenches his jaw, his lips twitching into a smile. “…and you…?”

“-gonna pound on your girl’s pussy in ways you can’t.”

The sudden comment causes your chest to tighten.

The room feels like it’s slowing down. You freeze, and for the first time, you can’t even hear the music—only the rush of your own heartbeat in your ears. 

The arm around your shoulders tightens.

For a long beat, Drew stays silent, his face a mask of cold anger. His jaw is clenched, the veins in his neck throbbing as he locks eyes with the stranger.

“What, what did just you say?” His voice is low—dangerously low—and it doesn’t sound like the Drew you know.

“I said,” the stranger sneers, “gonna pound on that pussy-“

Then, in the blink of an eye, everything shifts.

Drew steps forward, closing the space between him and the guy in one swift motion.

The arm around your shoulders drops as Drew pulls away from you, shoving the stranger. The force of the push sends the guy stumbling backward, his feet losing their balance for a split second, but he catches himself on the edge of the bar.

You watch in stunned silence, your breath caught in your throat.

You’ve never seen Drew like this, starting a fight- or in anything violent. The way his body shifts, tense and predatory, it’s as if a switch flipped inside him, and you’re suddenly faced with a side of him that feels… unfamiliar.

The stranger mumbles something under his breath, his face twisted in surprise, and he pushes back, hands flying out in a flurry of anger.

Drew stumbles, but not as hard as the stranger did. 

You raise a shaky hand toward him, fingers trembling. Your stomach twists in panic, but you have to do something—anything—to stop this from escalating further.

You try to call out, but your voice feels small against the sudden weight of the room. “Drew? Drew, stop-“

The words barely leave your mouth before the eyes of everyone in the bar land on the two of you. You feel the heat of their stares, the whispers circulating, but right now, you can’t focus on anyone else but him.

Drew however, focuses on the stranger in front of him. 

And before you could react, before anyone could react, his fist flies out, connecting with the stranger’s face with a loud thud. The man falls back, eyes wide with shock, a trickle of blood running from his lip.

The bar area of the club avert their attention to the fight that’s currently breaking out, their own conversations long forgotten. 

The stranger, dazed for a moment, recovers quickly and tries to throw a punch in return, but Drew is already steps ahead. He dodges effortlessly, before punching him again. And again. And again. 

You watch, wide-eyed, as Drew’s movements are smooth and precise. 

There’s no hesitation, no question of whether he’ll fight back. It’s like the anger just poured out of him in an instant, and you have no idea how to stop it.

You want to shout, to stop him, but your voice is stuck in your chest. You don’t recognize him like this. Drew’s usually calm, collected... but here, right now, he looks completely different.

Two security guards burst through the bar door, rushing toward the scene. One of them grabs Drew’s arm, pulling him away from the stranger. The other pushes the dazed man toward the door, guiding him out of the bar.

You stand there, still trembling, as Drew is escorted toward the exit. 

Your feet move before your mind can catch up. You need to make sure he’s okay.

You push through the crowd, eyes fixed on Drew’s back as he’s led toward the door.

Then you hear it—Drew’s voice, loud and sharp, cutting through the buzz of the bar, ”yeah- yeah, get the hell away!" 

He’s shouting at the stranger, still seething even as security ushers him out.

You can hear the anger in his voice, raw and unsettling, and it sends a fresh jolt of fear through you. You’ve never heard him like this before. Not even close.

You’re outside now, the cool air hitting your skin like a slap to your face, but it doesn't calm the nerves tightening in your chest.

The stranger must’ve run off by now—he's nowhere to be seen.

Drew’s standing a few feet away from you, his hands running through his hair, tugging at the strands in frustration. His back is to you, but you can see his shoulders rising and falling with each breath.

You hesitate, watching him for a moment, unsure of how to approach him after everything.

“Drew?” you call out softly, your voice catching a little as you step closer.

He doesn’t turn around immediately. There’s a beat of silence, just the sound of traffic in the distance and your uneven breathing. 

Then, finally, he lets out a heavy sigh and faces you, his expression blank.

But when his blue eyes land on your body, the way you’ve got your arms wrapped around yourself, slightly trembling, everything inside of him shifts.

His gaze softens almost immediately. 

You look so small, so fragile standing there, and it hits him harder than anything else. The sight of you like this, visibly shaken and scared, makes his chest tighten painfully.

“Hey—” His voice drops soft, a faint crack in it, as he takes a step toward you. “hey- babe, babe, look at me.”

His hand rises toward you, to cup your face, but he freezes for a second.

There’s droplets of blood on his knuckles. The realization hits you, and your breath catches in your throat.

Despite the fight he started, you worry, worry about him. 

“Drew… you’re hurt,” you whisper, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your own heartbeat. You look at him, your eyes flicking to the blood on his hand. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he insists, but the blood on his hand tells a different story.

“No, Drew,” you say, your voice sharper now, a little more firm, the concern for him creeping through your fear. “You shouldn’t have punched him. You could’ve gotten hurt-“

Drew’s brows furrow at your words. His eyes flash, and his jaw clenched as he steps closer. 

“What?” His voice rises slightly, the anger from earlier seeping back in.

Your heart races at the shift in his tone, and for a moment, you feel the same fear from earlier, but this time it’s mixed with confusion.

“He- he said those things, did you not-“

“I know, I know, but—”

“-hear what he said? It’s fucking-“

“-but you don’t have to go that far, Drew. You could’ve just told him to back off—”

“And he would’ve listened?” Drew interrupts, his voice tense, his gaze hardening again.

“I—” You try again, your voice trembling. 

You blink rapidly, trying to keep your tears from spilling, but it's hard to hide it. 

You don’t even know why you’ve got tears in your eyes.

“Fuck- you don’t- are you that fucking naive-“

Drew’s voice raises sharply, frustration and anger spilling over. 

When he raises his hand in a quick motion, your whole body tenses, and you instinctively flinch, pulling back just an inch.

But he was only going to run his hands through his hair, frustratingly pushing them back.

For a moment, you think he might—might—actually hurt you.

The guilt, the regret, floods his face, and his whole posture changes.

“Shit,” he mumbles under his breath. 

You don’t want to cry, don’t want to show him just how scared you are, but you can’t stop the way your body reacts.

Drew takes a hesitant step toward you, but his movements are careful, almost tentative, like he’s afraid you’ll pull away again.

“I’m sorry,”

when you hear the tenderness in it, the weight of everything hits you all at once.

You can’t stop the tears now. They flow freely down your face, your shoulders shaking, and you curse yourself for it, but it’s like all that fear, all the anxiety, is finally finding its way out.

Drew’s eyes widen when he sees your tears, his face falling. It’s like a punch to his gut.

Without thinking, he pulls you into his arms, enveloping you in his warmth.

For a second, you don’t know what to do. You don’t know how to react. 

The world outside feels so distant now, and all you can focus on is the steady rise and fall of Drew’s chest as he holds you. His heartbeat is like a slow, calming rhythm against your ear, grounding you in the chaos of everything that just happened.

Your tears keep coming, his hand gentle as it strokes your hair, a slow, soothing motion. 

“I’m sorry,” 

he whispers again, and this time, the words sound even smaller, quieter, as if they’re the only thing keeping him from falling apart too.

You inhale sharply, breathing in the familiar cologne with the alcohol, and strangely, it comforts you.

Even after everything that’s happened, Drew still smells like Drew—that safe, warm scent that’s so familiar, so tied to him in every way.

You pull away slightly, letting your hands rest on his chest. You look up at him, you see it the beautiful blue eyes of his, full of regret.

“I’m sorry,” 

The third time he apologizes, each word heavier than the last, and you can see how much it’s hurting him.

His hand comes up, and you feel the warmth of his touch before you even see it. His fingers gently cup your cheek, and despite the blood on his knuckles, you lean into his touch, finding comfort there. 

“I’m sorry too,” you softly say, which Drew immediately shakes his head at, the faintest smile tugging on his lips. 

“No- no, I’m sorry, I- I overreacted.”

Drew’s eyes soften even more, if that’s possible. “You’re right- should’ve just told him to fuck off.”

You don’t know why- but the sudden swearing gets you, and you let out a breathless chuckle.

Seeing you smile, Drew’s lips curl into a small, relieved grin. Without saying a word, he pulls you close, resting his chin gently on your forehead.

And for a moment, everything feels just a little more okay.

-------------------------------

p.s this low-key feel more like rafe cameron

other

[musicalmixed]

Somthing I will never stop thinking about is how that Athena probably never had any real relationships outside of Odysseus and Telemachus.

The gods are a fucked up family, and if you look through a more human lens, they are an extremely toxic environment that festers because most of them don’t know better or aren’t willing to leave. Athena is her father’s favorite, but she doesn’t seem to have any real relationship with her siblings, and her relationship with Zeus could be a post of its own, but I’ll just classify it as “Narcissistic Father and “Perfect” Daughter he projects on”.

Even subconsciously, she longs for companionship, but with no proper knowledge of friendship, she thinks she needs to mentor someone, teach them, and she needs to be respected by them the same way her father is respected.

Then, she comes along a hero who she gets close with, who she cares for in her own way, one who reaches out to her with friendship. Even though she wants the friendship, she has been pretty much conditioned to rely on no one, so she refuses to refer to him as such. Still, small trickles of love come through, and Athena gets comfortable enough to let her guard down slightly….

but then they have an argument and she feels something cracking inside her, and she leaves, his words ringing in her ears. She tries to convince herself she was right, but the longer she stays away and the more she observes mortals, Athena realizes she misses him. But he’s gone, and no one is able to find him-

Then, she meets her boy’s son. A kid who smiles softly and speaks with childish excitement, who is both a mirror of Odysseus and not him at all, a boy she held once as a baby.

His father is lost, and Athena defends the boy while remembering how Odysseus protected his friends(had been willing to protect her) and she lets her guard completely down for the first time, mourning and gloomy.

Then, the boy comforts her, calls her friend, and she is faced with the fact that history is repeating itself. This time, though, she accepts the title. She accepts her softness.

THIS is why she fought so hard for Odysseus to be freed! This is why she found the strength to continue even after the lightning struck her!

She had failed her friend once, pushing away the kindness in a way that mirrored her father.

She refused to fail him again, and refused to fail the little boy waiting for him at home.

[midnightsmusings]

-Kneel, Alpha- Pt. 2

I did it! This was harder than expected, getting the dynamics right with Ghost's reluctance to accept his submission. Nevertheless! Smut is here: (although I apologize I didn't mean for it to be this LONG I just had so much to say about these two)

This is WAY different than the wip I posted so enjoy that as a little peek into how my brain works I guess?

-CW: 18+ MDNI, handjob, top omega Soap, bottom alpha Ghost, Ghost's a little mean to himself

Ghost swallowed, groaning as Soap's hand squeezed. He was waiting for the laughter at the way an alpha was acting needy from an Omega snarling and shouting at him.

Yet when he glanced up after the silence became too agonizing he didn't find disgust. Instead Ghost watched as the realization on Soap's face quickly turned to pure want.

Ghost let out another sound, embarrassingly whinier than the last one as that dark gaze trailed down to his lap. Flushing under his mask Ghost squirmed knowing even through the humiliation and stress of this whole ordeal his pants were still tight. Straining up against the warm palm.

"I can't be anything like what an alphas supposed to be" Ghost muttered through a clenched jaw. Still trying to save face even with the omega's hand squeezing his clothed cock. His voice was tight as everything he'd been holding back was now out. Ghost felt flayed open and exposed now, seen as the sorry excuse for an alpha he was.

"You're everything I want in an alpha ye old fashioned git" Soap finally said, his own voice lowered and equally strained. This was how Ghost chose to explain? Make him feel up his bulge? God Soap was hopelessly in love with him.

Soap couldn't resist giving another squeeze, just to hear that low groan again, to see those eyes roll and feel Ghost's length twitch.

"Ye think..after a life of me being told to quiet down, to be more submissive I'd fall for a partner who would want ta' tell me the same thing?"

Soap sighs fondly, anger flooding out of him. He figured the man brushing him off was another part of that front he put up, gruff and unapproachable. Figured Ghost was wary of letting his guard down after the shit he's been through. Soap never guessed it was because the alpha would melt so easily at a sharp tone and a some rough handling. Would hate that side of himself.

Soap knew a talk needed to happen. The stubborn alpha wasn't in a place to voice his wants, probably wouldn't be without a lot of work.

So, he leaned back and lifted his hand off the cock that was just begging to be rubbed raw. Soap's own length hardening at the low pained whine Ghost let out from the full loss of touch.

"Och I know" he cooed sweet and teasing at the halfhearted glare sent his way before turning more serious, gaze sharpening and taking in each minuscule reaction.

"Now yer gonna go shut and lock that door" Soap said with a commanding tilt as he jerked his head towards the still wide open door of Ghost's office.

Ghost sat, mind whirling as he looked up at Soap, thinking of nothing but his ache for relief and the man's commanding tone. Eventually his mind cleared in understanding.

It was an out. Soap was giving him an out.

A subtle one, but one nonetheless.

Ghost stood and walked stiffly to the door, body tense warring with himself between using this option and walking out that door...or shutting it and accepting he was a soft and shite alpha.

Soap watched with bated breath as Ghost hesitated, gloved hand tight around the knob before the man finally shut the door and locked it with a loud click. Soap watches with a grin as he turned, looking surprisingly bashful.

"Good lad, come sit that pretty arse back down" Soap commanded kicking the chair out towards him with a smirk. His blood was thrumming and scent deepening with arousal at the sight of the large alpha following his orders so well, even if he was still putting up that bratty act.

Ghost let out a soft growl, irritated the way his cheeks heated up at that praise but stomped over. Sure he shut that door, signaled he wanted this but that didn't mean he could stomach acting like an obedient welp.

"Isn't that what you are though?" His mind helpfully supplied.

As soon as Ghost slumped back in the chair Soap reached his free hand up to grasp his angled jaw, tugging at the fabric of his mask.

Ghost felt the fabric sliding over his skin, only reacting with a snapping of teeth just shy of Soap's fingers but otherwise letting him tug it up.

He couldn't hide the flush deepening on his half exposed face at Soap's teasing chuckle from his halfhearted attempt.

"Bite me if ye want but I'm fuckn kissing ya" Soap said eyes dark and blood thrumming in his veins.

Ghost paused, cock throbbing as Soap leaned down. The words weren't a growl or a warning, they were said with a casual acceptance that had Ghost melting back into the chair and his scarred lips slipping open in answer.

Soap hummed as the man went pliant under him, soft pants escaping his mouth. Soap didn't actually worry about being bit the closer he got to the Alpha.

He would wear Ghost's teeth marks proudly and knew he was just struggling to accept Soap wanted this. Wanted him

"I'll bite you if you don't kiss me" Ghost grumbled pressing his teeth into Soap's thumb impatiently as the omega just looked.

Ghost was completely undone, aching and getting exactly what he's been missing for so long. At least he would if Soap hurried up.

With a narrowed yet fond gaze Soap finally sealed their lips together and twin groans of relief rang out. They moved together desperately, teeth clashing and desperate sounds being swallowed as Ghost shifted forward in the chair as far as he could. Soap smiled against his lips and pushed him back down, a warning squeeze to his cock as a silent command to stay still.

"Ye didn't think I was holdin back too?" Soap growls against Ghost's mouth once he finally pulls back. He bit at Ghost's notched upper lip before diving in for another sloppy kiss. Soap was more confident now that he's put it all together. Licking into the alphas mouth unashamedly while keeping his grip on Ghost's cock just shy of enough.

"I didn't-you never...fuckn hell" Ghost stumbled over his words, panting and reeling. His mind stuck on the hand torturously squeezing his cock and the tongue in his mouth. His head was blank, any hope of defending his choices going out the window under Soap's ability to make him feel so small.

The scent of the omega was saturated around him, it wasn't like the usual sickly sweet scent that made Ghost's stomach roll. No, Soap's scent was harsh and smoky, like a wildfire.

Soap just chuckled down at the man, delighted to see his walls crumbling.

Instead of going back for more, flooding the alphas mouth with the taste of him Soap stood back up. He stroked Ghost's spit slick lips his fingers. The touch reverent and savoring this moment despite the heat and need thrumming between them.

He felt the clenching of Ghost's jaw, saw the war of emotions in his eyes and decided to keep prodding. Knew it wouldn't end how it did last time based on the length under his palm only getting harder.

"Didnae not think I might be worried an alpha wouldn't want some hardheaded omega who wanted ta take control?"

Those words finally got through to Ghost, his squirming ceasing as he blinked up at the man dumbly for a moment. Soap wanted control?

Ghost groaned a low pained noise at the confirmation. There was still a tinge of irritation in Soap's scent but under that Ghost scented want and desire. His gloved hands clenched on the arm rests of his chair as he took a deep breath in, his hips immediately jerked up into Soap's hand, rocking with intent now.

"Shite-god Johnny" he panted out, eyes lidded as he looked up at Soap. None of his swirling thoughts would it past his clenched teeth.

"I'd give it to you, anything you asked for" he wanted to say, but the words were choked back by another rumbling moan leaving his lips.

Ghost's actions always spoke louder anyways.

Soap just clicked his tongue at the needy motions, his own cock throbbing at the sight the alpha made. Ghost's thighs clenching as he practically humped Soap's hand. While it took a lot of force to take his hand away when all he wanted to do was take, he had to teach a lesson here.

"Ah ah, greedy" he chided, humming at Ghost's irritated growl from the loss of stimulation. He caught Ghost's thick arm as it shot down to his lap, intending to finish what Soap stopped. Soap just shook his head with another click of his tongue.

"Cmon now Ghost, ye gotta start asking for what you want"

Ghost let out a drawn out groan, head dropping back as he keeps getting denied stimulation. He worked his jaw for a moment, fingers trailing up Soap's arm that held his own back from giving himself the relief the omega was drawing out.

"Fuckn 'ell it's been so long just do anything" Ghost got out finally, skin buzzing and flushed hoping desperately that was enough for the touch to resume. He would die before admitting his tone was begging.

"There's a good lad" Soap hummed far too pleased and smug as he pressed a smacking kiss to Ghost's lips.

"We'll work on mannners aye?" Soap chuckled tone full of promise as he tilted his head down at Simon, delighting in the alpha's clear desperation for him. It was heady, having the elusive Ghost groaning under him, hard and dripping.

"Been achin for it huh?" Soap rumbled, hand moving from his arm up to squeeze over his bicep and finally to his neck.

Ghost arched up, nodding desperately along to the man's words and wanting the touch on his neck to tighten, to claim.

However, what came out of his mouth was a shaky, barely convincing rebuttal.

"No, take care of m'self fine" Ghost grunted his head arching into the long fingers sliding under the mask at his nape.

"Oh aye that so?" Soap retorted with that damned teasing and knowing chuckle that had Ghost sure he was going to burst untouched in his pants.

"Go on then, show me how good ya take care of yerself" Soap ordered close to his ear, giving a silent tug to the bottom of his mask but otherwise leaving it alone.

Ghost didn't even hesitate before ripping the fabric off, body shivering at the command and almost completely coming out of his chair to rear up and claim Soap's mouth, silencing the words that had him crumbling too fast.

"Bloody hell stop teasing" Ghost growled and bared his teeth when Soap pulled away again after a lick to his lips, pressing down on his broad shoulders to settle him in the chair again.

"Shh cmon lemme look at ya" Soap huffed grinning at the low guttural whine that left the man's lips as his hand tangled in his blond hair and tugged. "There's my bonnie alpha" Soap cooed eyes raking over Ghost's face unabashedly, watching how the pretty flush over his cheeks highlighted the various scars cutting through the pale skin.

Soap wanted to lavish each deep mark on his body with a kiss. Ached to replace each memory of pain with the softness of his lips and gentle nips of his teeth as he left his own loving mark over them. Ghost shifted in his chair, growing impatient as his hips twitched up in need. He felt fuzzy at the way Soap was holding his chin tight, casually staring at him as long as he wanted.

Usually it would make Ghost's skin crawl but right now he just felt..adored. It was a feeling an alpha should balk at, should puff up at but instead it made Ghost melt a little. He yearned for this, to be lavished with attention and praise.

Ghost's gloved hands trailed mindlessly down to his lap, a gruff moan slipping past his parted lips as he finally pressed into the bulge there but didn't allow himself to go any further, instead looked up at Soap with wide, pleading eyes. He wouldn't, couldn't ask for permission but needed it all the same.

"There's a lad go on" Soap urged, drinking in that desperate and needy gaze. It took a lot of restraint to not wrap his own hand around the red and pulsing cock as Ghost finally undid his pants, both of them groaning as it was freed.

Even for an alpha Ghost was big, uncut and twitching. Ghost wrapped a gloved hand around the base, as he squeezed his head fell back against the chair. Eyes shutting tight with a choked off moan.

"Steamin' Jesus beautiful fuckn' thing look at you" Soap groaned stepping even closer into the alpha's space, forcing his thick thighs open and tightening his hold in his blond hair.

Soap's eyes were stuck on Ghost's cock, the way it leaked with each upstroke of his hand, still gloved and surly adding a rough texture that Ghost didn't seem to mind.

The prominent vein along the bottom just begging to be licked. Soap's mouth watered, he was transfixed and utterly gone.

Ghost was reduced to pants and moans, words gone to him as he kept his eyes squeezed shut, not wanting to acknowledge the omega standing over him, praising him, fuck guiding him through this.

His hips jerked up as Soap's words kept tumbling out of his lips, hand tugging his hair and forcing his head back up for a kiss that was all teeth.

Ghost knew he shouldn't like this. Shouldn't be leaking precum like an omega leaking slick at being under Soap's control but here he was, already on the edge after just a few strokes and growled commands.

"Soap fuck-I'm gonna" Ghost gasped, words cutting off with a choked moan as the omega slid from his wide open lips to his neck, harsh bites combined with soft kisses were making him dizzy and Ghost shuddered as his knot grew. Pulsing and an angry red.

"Tha's a good alpha, now cum for me" Soap said with a commanding growl. Ghost shook his head for a moment, a low hesitant whine leaving his lips as he struggled against the overwhelming rush of pleasure.

The second he spilled over this would become all too real. Soap stoked this side of him, the side he's been ignoring for decades and Ghost wasn't sure how to just let it happen.

"Be good and cum" Soap rumbled. He noticed Ghost getting lost in his head and that wouldn't do.

He reached down, wrapping his calloused hand around the alpha's pulsing knot and squeezed, relishing in the snarling moan Ghost let out.

Ghost's orgasm was wrenched from him as soon as Soap touched his cock. Their hands bumping as Ghost's worked furiously now, immediately responding to Soap's demand.

Ropes of cum landed on the front of Soap's pants embarrassingly fast. Ghost worked himself through it, panting heavily and open mouthed, the orgasm feeling like it lasted hours as cum steadily leaked out.

He'd never had such a satisfying release, his body slumping boneless in the chair and face nuzzling into the omegas neck after finally softening.

"Bonnie thing ye are, how copy?" Soap murmured tone soft as he guided his face out of his neck, gaze raking over him and taking in his lax posture. The alpha flushed and looking fucked out.

Soap felt pride surge through him, reducing Ghost to this with barely a touch had him clutching the man tighter. Determined to never let him go now.

Ghost couldn't get words out, simply pressed a tired kiss to Soap's wrist that was near his face, the omega's hand still holding his hair in a grounding grip.

Soap hummed, smile turning soft as he stroked the sweaty strands away from Ghost's forehead, leaning down and running his nose from cheek to neck and back, scent marking him greedily.

"Theres a good boy under all that growlin aye?" He teased softly before leaning back to gently tuck him back into his pants, shushing his overstimulated growls.

Ghost just watched with lidded eyes as Soap grabbed his hand and licked his glove clean of the cum. Ghost was sure if he didn't just have his soul drained out of him, he'd cum again from the sight.

"Shite I think love you I love you I-" Ghosts brain chanted like a broken record as he watched Soap's soft lips suck over his thumb, the leather shiny with spit now.

"Up ye get Ghost, we're gonna get clean 'n talk" Soap said after a moment of them basking in the silence and the scent of their combined desire. He pat Ghost's thigh expectantly.

Ghost quickly took his silent declaration of love back and narrowed his eyes up at the omega with a grumble, refusing to move and espically refusing to talk.

"No" he grunted simply sitting and admiring the sight of his cum staining Soap's own pants, the man would smell like him for a while now.

Soap let out a huff, hand tangling roughly in the back of his hair and forcing his gaze up at him.

"Yes or yer not cummin for a week" he retorted sternly with a raised eyebrow and well-

Ghost immediately stood up on shaky legs and followed.

Taglist <3 : @toons-boop-boop

[catgirlcalling]

Potential dialogue prompt:

"What did I do? Was i too much for you?"

"Oh god no Evan, it's me. I'm the one who's not enough, you're perfect."

We have a winner folks, you got me! Thank you so much for the prompt, because I just wrote my first little fanficlet since I was in the LOTR fandom back in 2004 😅 Here you go:

"What did I do? Was I too much for you?"

"Oh god no Evan, it's me. I'm the one who's not enough, you're perfect."

I’m not, is on the tip of Bucks’ tongue, and he knows Tommy can see it on his face when he presses on before the protest forms.

“The way you just accepted yourself, you agreed to a date with a man with no hesitation when you’d only realised it was an option a minute before,” a sad smile crosses Tommy’s face that Buck feels himself mirroring. “The way you didn’t question it until we ran into Eddie, and even then you were more worried you’d hurt me and lied to him than you were about coming out. You came out at your sisters’ wedding without a care in the world,”

Tommy pauses and looks up at the high ceiling of the loft. Buck watches his fingers clench and unclench in his lap as he tries to find the words, soot from the four alarm fire staining his nails still. Both the 118 and the 217 had been called to the warehouse fire and by luck, or serendipity or another damn curse they’d run into each other on site.

After an awkward minutes silence staring at each other between the firetrucks, something in Buck had finally snapped. He needed answers, but mostly he wanted…needed to talk to Tommy. But not here.

“Uhm, h-hi,” he stammers, then steels himself, tries to think what his therapist would tell him to do. “There’s a lot I want to say, a-and I think we need to talk, but we’re working. Call me, when we’re done?”

He swallows hard, and moves to walk past Tommy when he gets no answer after a beat. Before he makes it past the end of the truck, he hears Tommy’s voice, low and sad. “Yeah, ok.”

Which was how they ended up here, seated at the kitchen counter in Bucks loft, the deja vu from the last time they sat here not lost on either of them.

Tommy’s eyes finally fall and return to Buck’s, with a gentle sigh, “You said you admired me, and the way you talked about me…I don’t deserve any of that praise. I’m not perfect, Evan. I’ve done and said some awful things just to save my own skin, I was ashamed of who I am for so long, and I’m even a little jealous of you for how easily you accepted yourself and how you stood up for others. The way you see me, it’s amazing, it is…but it’s not me. And I won’t be able to take it the day you see me for the mess I really am. You deserve better than me, Evan. You’re perfect, and I’m so far from it. I didn’t do it just to protect my own heart, but yours too.”

Buck feels the tears sting his eyes as he stares Tommy down, weighing up his words. Then with a sniffle, and to Tommy’s surprise- a chuckle, he gives him a watery grin.

“The day you kissed me, what was I teasing you for?” Buck asked, making Tommy duck his head and give his own sniffly chuckle.

“You have the worst fake mouth static, and you’re a terrible liar- not as bad as Chim but you’re up there. Your taste in coffee is just weird, that amount of sugar is insane. You and my best friend made fun of me for believing in curses. I know you’re not perfect, Tommy. But I was an absolute brat the entire time I was cursed, whining and insecure and needy and too much and….” He pauses and takes a breath, leaning over and reaching for Tommy’s hand, hoping he doesn’t pull away.

“And you saw all of that, and looked after me anyway. You cared even when I was being my worst. Even when you dumped me, even right now I care about you. I know you’re not perfect Tommy…but I-I think you are perfect for me. We can work this out together. Please?”

Buck’s fingers brush against his across the kitchen bench, and they tangle together. Tommy doesn’t pull away.

X