#but that doesn't mean he can't move forward

[daddysfangirls-marvel]

Cereal

Bucky Barnes x Single Mom! Reader

The Boy looks upon the many shelves of cereal. Some are bland, some are sugary, and others are healthy. Some have cartoon characters on the box, and many have real-life heroes. With all these heroes, he still couldn't find his. The boy sighed, his lips quivering. He wipes his eyes before his tears even begin to slip.

"Honey?" his mother called for him.

"He's not here," His voice shakes and tears spilling over.

"What do you mean?" she asked as she gently moved him to the side out of the way of after customers.

"H-he doesn't have o-one." He points to the shelves as he begins to cry. She tucks his face into her stomach as she takes a look at the shelves for herself. And her boy was right, his hero was not amongst those on the shelve.

"I'm sorry," she tried to rub his back, providing some comfort. " We'll look at different stores. Don't worry."

"No," he cried. This was the third store in a week, and they still hadn't found it. He was tired, and he knew they weren't going to find it. Frustratedly, he snatched off his prosthetic arm and tossed it down the aisle. ( Moments like this made her grateful she bought plastic).

"Absolutely not. We don't throw things." The round of gasps and how quickly the aisle emptied told her all she needed to know. They would not be making any purchases here today.

Wiping his tears, she stood up to retrieve the arm, only to find a man holding it.

"Excuse me, that's my son's." He was a tall, big man in a baseball cap, thick coat, and leather gloves. And in those gloved hands was her son's prosthetic.

He hands it to her, and she gives him a small thanks.

"How'd he lose it? If- If you don't mind me asking?"

She took a deep breath. This was going to go one of two ways. The educational route and she'd possibly teach this man something new or bashing route, and this man would get disrespectful, and she'd probably have to call security or the police.

"He didn't lose it. He was born without." She moved to her son, tucking him into her side. His cries had stopped, but his tears were still streaming.

"I ....there was an accident and lost mine." The man said, massaging his left hand. She didn't understand why he was telling them this. But she did appreciate him sharing a piece of him. " Why is he crying?"

"He has a favorite hero. He's like him, and we were trying to find his cereal or his snack or... just anything with him on it. We can't seem to find him anywhere."

"May I?" the man asked, motioning to her son, asking permission to approach him. She granted it and watched as he kneeled in front of her son, who was still tucked into her side. His tears had dried, and he seemed to be in ...awe?

It wasn't until the man removed his gloves, then cap, that she realized who he was, and she felt like an idiot. She had been researching this man with every free moment she had ever since her son declared him to be his favorite and just like him. And she couldn't tell the difference between him on stage and him in a baseball cap.

Embarrassing.

"Hi, my name is Bucky, what's yours?"

Her son whispered his name as he blushed. " That's a cool arm you got their bud."

"I have another one that's cooler. It has space on it," he said as his mother kneeled, putting it back on his elbow.

"That does sound cooler. Mine doesn't really have anything on it." Bucky said, pulling up his sleeve to show off his metal appendage. The son gasped in amazement as he stepped forward, his little fingers reaching and tracing the gold and black plates. The man watched him carefully as he touched and stayed very still.

She would have corrected her son's rude behavior any other time, but right now, with the awe on his face and the smile on Mr. Barnes's face, she didn't want to interrupt. Plus, she was as in awe as the fluorescent lights made it shine—both the arm and his smile.

"A friend made it for me. It's made of a special metal called vibranum."

"Like your friend's shield?" He whispered as he pulled away.

"Exactly," he whispered in return as he stood up. She stood up as well.

"Thank you, Mr. Barnes. That was very kind of you, and we really appreciate it."

Bucky is fine, Mrs?" he said.

"(Y/n), (Y/n) (L/n). No, Mrs. No husband," she regretted the words as soon as they came out of her mouth. But that didn't shut her up. " There is no one else. Just me. Just us."

Bucky gave a soft smile and nodded. " I'm sorry to hear that." He didn't look or sound sorry. "Listen, Um, I volunteer at this rehab for kids, and they have a lot of programs there, so if your son wanted, he could come join." Bucky pulled out a flyer from his pocket, unfolded it, and handed it over to her. It looked to be a place for physically disabled children.

"This looks nice, actually. Thank you."

"Yeah, no problem. My number is on the back if you need any help with the program or stuff. or just ... Want to hang out ." Bucky cringed on how that came, but she just smiled and laughed. She turned the flyer over to see his number was indeed on the back.

"Oh"

"Hopefully, I'll see you two there."

"Definitely, I mean, yes. We'll be there, won't we, buddy."

"Will you be there?" The boy asked.

"As long as the world doesn't need saving, I'm there every other afternoon."

"Hopefully, the world doesn't need saving when we come by." she teased.

"Even if it did, I'm sure the others could handle it on their own. I wouldn't leave a doll like you waiting."

Doll.

Doll. She didn't know how, but with a single word, the man nearly put her on her knees. Suddenly, her heart had quickened, and her legs were shaky. And the way he bit his lips after and looked her up and down. Was he trying to devour her with such a stare? When did the atmosphere change?

A little squeak brought them both back to reality and reminded them of their little audience. No flirting in front of the babies.

"We'll be there, Mr. B...Bucky. We'll be there." Taking her son's hand, she turned to leave before stopping and saying, " I'll call."

"I'm looking forward to it."

"Bye-bye," the boy waved to his hero with a big grin on his face. As he watched them walk away. His cereal crisis was long forgotten.

[luvrgreyy]

LAMBS TO THE SLAUGHTER, iv.

leon kennedy x religious f!reader

word count: 4.1k summary: god hates what he can’t have. masterlist | taglist | wips

previous chapter

18+ MDNI. DEAD DOVE. themes of religion, manipulation, religious rationalization, age gap(reader is 19, leon is 27), leon being mean for like a split second, kissing, virginity loss, fingering, praise, unprotected sex. this is pretty self indulgent, sorry.

a/n: okay so this might be the last chapter of lambs to the slaughter… i really don’t know how i want to end it so yeah, and i’d rather just wrap this up now that i still like writing about it than force myself to continue with no interest whatsoever. but i do have alot of wips and a few ideas for new series that i look forward to sharing w you guys soon :) thanks so much for the support on ltts, love all of you sm, and hope you all have a great christmas <3

he doesn’t know how it happened or how you ended up here, on the couch, with your arms wrapped around his neck and his hands tangled all up in your hair.

its’s the middle of the week and you went over to his place, like you usually did when your parents were out for work, and now you’re here, your breath hot against his neck and your body pressed close so to his. and it’s all he can focus on. you. you’re all he wants.

the two of you had kissed before, the first time being roughly two weeks ago when you came to him crying, your eyes were red and puffy, and fresh tears were streaking down your cheeks.

the next thing he knew, he had already smothered you with his mouth. it was hard. rough. messy.

when he pulled away, you almost immediately started to complain to him that it was wrong, that the two of you would go to hell for kissing before marriage, and he had to shut you up with another deep kiss before having to talk you through the fact that it wasn’t a bad thing and that the two of you were not gonna go to hell for it, seeing the tears start to swell up in your eyes again.

the coffee mug now sat forgotten on the coffee table, the drink now cold and untouched.

the way your hair feels, tangled between his fingers, as he threads them through the strands.

when he finally pulls back, you're both breathless. your lips are swollen, your hair is mussed, and your clothes are rumpled.

"hey," he reaches up, gently brushing his fingers through the strands of your hair. his other hand slides down your lower back, pulling you flush against him. you're quiet, your eyes fixed on his throat as he speaks. your breathing's harsh, and your body's tense.

“what's wrong?" he asks, his voice soft. you don't answer. can't answer. the words are lodged in your throat, threatening to choke you. all you can do is shake your head.

he kisses you again, his mouth slanting over yours. he shifts you slightly on his lap, so that you're settled on one of his thighs, one leg on either side of it. this new position allows for even closer contact. your body molds against his, fitting together like two pieces of a puzzle. his hands slide up your waist, his fingers gliding over your back, leaving trails of warmth in their wake.

“leon,” you shiver at the contact, his name falling from your lips like a plea.

his hands tighten on your back, fingers digging in just enough to ground you. “hmm?" he asks, his voice soft, but with a hint of something else. his hands move, one cupping the back of your head, the other on your hip, rocking you softly against his thigh.

one of his hands moves to your knee, gently pushing it forward. the action forces you to spread your legs slightly. the other hand's still on your hip, holding you in place. the hand at your knee begins to drift upward and under your dress, fingers dancing on the skin of your inner thigh. you tremble at the touch, your body reacting before your mind has a chance to process what's happening.

"feel good?" he murmurs against your ear, his breath hot on your skin. the question is rhetorical, and he doesn't wait for an answer.

fingers slip further beneath the dress, fingers splaying across your lower back and creeping up towards your bra clasp.

you try to complain, to object, but all that comes out is a stuttering mess. words jumble in your head, and your mouth refuses to form the right sounds. it's almost as if you've lost the ability to speak, overcome by your body's reaction to his touch.

“what’s wrong, baby?”

his fingers reach the clasp of your bra, and he gently unsnaps it. your body betrays you, arching into his touch despite your protests. his fingers find the underside of your breasts, and you jolt at the sensation.

“leon,” you whisper, voice barely audible. “leon, please… don't want to do anything wrong,"

"baby, there's nothing wrong with this," he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. "do you trust me?” fingers slip under the waistband of your panties, and you tense, ready to push him away.

"please don't..." you shake your head, unable to find the right words to say. "what if... what if god doesn't understand?"

he pauses at your words, considering them for a long moment. "god gave us free will," he says finally, his voice soft but resolute. "and i think he'd be pretty damn disappointed if we didn't use it." his fingers continue probing into your clothed cunt, tracing the lace trim of your panties, his thumb rubbing slow circles on your clit through the fabric. you tremble at the contact, your hips shifting slightly of their own accord.

you arch into the touch, your back bowing, and your breath catches in your throat.

"doll," he whispers, the word is almost lost in the kiss he presses to the sensitive skin just behind your ear. "look at me."

you can't, can't bring yourself to do so. your eyes are screwed shut, and your face is flushed.

"c’mon, baby, open your eyes." he prompts again, his tone gentle. and when you refuse to comply, he stops moving his fingers altogether, leaving his thumb pressed to your clit through the lace of your panties.

the pressure is just enough to make you squirm, a constant stimulation that leaves you teetering on the edge.

he gently takes your chin in his hand and tilts your face up towards his. slowly, almost hesitantly, you crack your lids open, peeking through the slits.

"please," you whine, your voice high-pitched and desperate. failing to hide the need and desperation stirring within you. you can't form words, can't string together a coherent thought with his skilled fingers wreaking havoc on your senses. instead, you let out a feeble whimper, your head thrashing from side to side as pleasure mounts within you.

“there you go,” he coos, as if praising a small child for completing a task.

"see?" you search his face, seeking some sign of deception, but find only sincerity and unwavering devotion. "nothing bad is happening. it just feels good, that's all." your lashes flutter, struggling to obey. and yet, you yield. your body melting into his touch, and your head tilting back to rest against his shoulder. leon's hand slides up to cradle your face, his thumb caressing your cheek as he whispers reassurance against your hair.

"breathe for me, baby," he whispers, his lips brushing against your temple.

"it's alright," he soothes. "i've got you." your head starts to spin, and your heart pounds in your ears. your skin feels too tight, like it can barely contain the heat rising to the surface. his fingers finally find the edge of your panties, and with a swift motion, his thumb rubs against your clit, and you jolt, a strangled moan escaping your lips.

“leon,” you whine out, his name torn from your throat. his fingers continue their assault, rubbing and pressing against your cunt.

he chuckles low in his throat, the sound vibrates against your body. “yeah? you like that?”

you nod, unable to speak.

his tongue plunders your mouth, taking what he wants. you submit to the kiss, your body pliant against him.

you're sprawled across his lap, your legs draped over each other, your skirt riding up your thighs. his hands are everywhere at once, palming your breasts, teasing your nipples, rubbing your clit. you're panting, your breath coming in harsh gasps.

your skin's flushed, your cheeks burning, and your heartbeat's pounding in your ears. "fuck," he mutters, his eyes locked on yours.

two of his fingers swiftly push inside of you, and you cry out, your body bowing off his lap, nails digging into his thigh. he holds you steady, his other hand gripping your hip.

"relax, princess," he coos. "so tense."

you squeeze your eyes shut, your body trembling. his fingers move, sliding against the slick walls of your pussy.

you tremble and shake, your body trembling like a leaf in a hurricane. his fingers move, curling and straightening, rubbing against that one spot inside of you that makes you see stars. "lemme hear you, baby," he prompts. "make some noise for me."

you whimper, a broken, keening sound escaping your lips. he chuckles low in his throat, the vibrations of the sound seeming to reach down and press against your clit. "that's it, such a good little doll f’me. feels good, doesn’t it?"

he's right, it feels amazing. you've never felt anything like it before. his thumb is relentless against your clit, your hands fisting in his shirt. you're lost in a sea of sensation, his fingers and thumb working your cunt like it's the most important thing in the world.

“there you go, baby," he murmurs. "just a lil' more." you're not sure what he's asking for, not really. but you feel it in your bones, in the way your entire body is tightening up like a coil spring.

"lemme hear you," he prompts, his voice low and gravelly.

and then you do. you scream, the sound ripping from your throat as your body convulses and spasms. your vision goes white, and for a moment, you're weightless, floating in a sea of bliss. when you come back to yourself, you're slumped against him, your body limp and boneless. he's still rubbing your clit with his thumb, his fingers still curled inside of you, milking out every last wave of pleasure.

"so pretty when you cum," he breathes, his lips brushing against your temple. "so beautiful.”

you can't form a coherent response, not that you'd know what to say. your brain's gone mushy, and all you can do is sag against him. his fingers slowly withdraw, and you whimper, feeling the empty ache of your spent cunt.

“i wanna try somethin' else," he starts to maneuver you. "c'mon, baby, let’s get this off you," he says, pulling your dress up and off.

you don't protest, letting him strip you naked.

he helps you scoot further up the couch, until you're more reclined, your back pressed against the cushions. he settles between your spread thighs, his body looming over yours.

he positions himself at your entrance, the thick crown of his cock notched against your slit. he pushes forward, and you feel him start to penetrate, your body resisting his invasion.

"aah—“ you whimper, forehead creasing.

"n-no, don’t.." you try to protest, but it comes out as a moan. he chuckles softly, the vibration of his laughter sending shivers through your body.

"’m not doing anything wrong," he reminds you. "think you're forgetting that you’re the one who came to me."

his hands grip your knees, holding them back as he sinks more of himself inside of you. you whine, the sting of the stretch causing you to gasp. but it's a good stretch, like after waking up from a long nap. he sets a slow, deep pace, his hips rocking against yours. your hands reach out, grasping at his shoulders for balance.

"shh, 'm sorry, baby," he grimaces, his pace slowing. "gotta break you in real quick, ‘ts only gonna hurt a bit.”

you try to push against his chest, but he's too strong. he keeps pushing forward, forcing his way into your resisting body. the intrusion is painful, making you instinctively flinch and and jerk away.

"jesus, just fuckin— fucking relax, okay? you're only makin' it worse for yourself,"

he leans down, claiming your mouth in a deep, hungry kiss as he bottom's out, buried to the hilt inside of you. "mmpff—“ you mewl against his lips.

your cunt clenches around him, trying to coax him deeper. he groans into the kiss, the vibration of the sound sending tingles through your body.

he starts to move, his hips rocking against yours in a slow, deep grind. you're still sore, still stretching to accommodate his size, but with each passing moment, the pain fades, replaced by a growing sense of pleasure.

"feels good, doesn't it?" he asks, his voice a low rumble. "i know, dolly. i know,”

he nuzzles against your neck, his lips brushing against your skin as he sets a slow, easy pace. his hands slide up your legs, your thighs, your hips. one hand comes back up to hold your knees, pushing them down to spread you open.

"gonna take my time with you, princess," he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear. "work you open, nice and slow,”

he's huge, and it hurts, but there's something else, something that makes the pain worthwhile. pleasure, building at the base of your spine.

he sets a slow, deep pace, his hips rocking against yours. your hands reach out, grasping at his shoulders for balance. you take a shallow breath, and then another, your body starting to unclench. he starts to pull back, sliding out of you, and you whine in protest. but he's just switching it up, angling himself and pushing back inside. and this time, it doesn't hurt so much. in fact, it feels downright good.

"you gotta breathe, baby," he pants, forehead pressed against yours. "just f'get about it. breathe."

he kisses you again, the movements slow and languid, like he's savoring something delicious.

you're not sure how long he works you open. it could've been minutes or hours. time seems to blur together into nothingness. at some point, he tilts his hips, and you feel him nudging against a spot inside of you that makes your whole body jerk. he does it again, and again, until you're writhing beneath him, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

"yeah, baby, that's it," he groans, forehead pressed against yours. "show me how bad you want it." you try to speak, to tell him that you don't know what he's talking about, that this is all wrong. but the words won't come.

all that comes out is a keening moan, a sound that's equal parts pain and pleasure. he's still easing you open, stretching you in ways you never thought possible. but it's no longer painful, not in the way it was before.

it's... pleasant. yeah, that's the only way to describe it. pleasant and good and right.

"fuckin’ hell, look at you, baby. takin' it so good, you were made for this, doll. made to take my cock," he starts to speak, his words a stream of praise and nonsense, but you barely register what he's saying. the words are distant, a blur of noise as your focus narrows down to the sensations raging through your body.

his hips are moving in a blur now, slamming into you with a rhythmic intensity that's pushing you towards some unknown precipice. he's saying things, praising you, telling you how good you look, how perfect your cunt is wrapped around his cock.

the words are lost on you, drowned out by the escalating tide of pleasure.

“i knew you'd fit me so good," he pants, his hips snapping harder now, driving deeper. "every inch of you made just for me. so perfect ‘nd pretty. and this perfect fuckin’ cunt... fuck, baby... tightest pussy i’ve ever had…" his words are a blur, a stream-of-consciousness praise that washes over you in waves. you can't process them, not really. all that matters is the feeling of him inside of you, stretching you wide, hitting that spot that makes sparks fly behind your eyes.

your nails dig into his shoulders, your back arching off the couch as he pistons in and out of you, each thrust driving you closer to the edge. your inner muscles are fluttering, clenching around him like a vice, urging him on.

"s'not fuckin' fair," he grunts, his pace faltering for a moment as he fights for control. he's chasing something, you can tell. his movements become jerky, erratic, like he's on the verge of losing control.

"feels too fucking good." he regains his composure, redoubling his efforts until the room is filled with the sound of flesh slapping against flesh and your high-pitched moans.

the pleasure builds and builds, coiling tighter and tighter in your gut until you're sure you'll snap. he's hitting that spot inside of you again and again, and you're teetering on the brink — it's all too much, and yet, somehow, not enough.

"please," you whimper, not even sure what you're begging for.

"yeah, baby?" he prompts, his hips stilling deep inside of you. "whatcha need?" you can't form the words, not really. your voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper. all that manages to slip out is:

"more."

his hips flex, and he slams into you again, the force of his thrust sending you sprawling back against the cushions. you gasp, your eyes widening as he bottoms out once more, his cock buried to the hilt inside of you.

"so greedy," his hips start to move again, slowly at first, but picking up speed as he senses your desperation. "atta girl.”

each thrust jars you to your core, and you can only cling to him, your nails raking down his back as you're fucked into oblivion.

his fingers weave through your hair, holding your head still as his lips trail over your face. he kisses your eyelids, the bridge of your nose, your cheekbones. each press of his mouth against your skin is gentle, soothing, a contrast to the roughness of his lovemaking.

"easy, baby," he coos, his voice a low, rumbling vibration against your ear that seems to seep into your very bones.

his fingers tighten in your hair, holding you as he peppers you face with a series of gentle, soothing kisses. he's a paradox — the way he's caressing you, holding you, so gently, delicately. but the way he’s been fucking you is anything but.

you feel the change in him, a subtle shift in his movements, his breaths. he's close, you realize, and so are you. there’s that coil in your stomach, something that’s warm and fluttering, building towards something you can't quite reach yet.

“leon, leon— feel weird, again..” you stumble on your words.

"weird's good, doll. means you're gettin' there,” he assures. “just... f'get about it. breathe,”

at the same time, he picks up his pace, his hips slapping against yours with a rhythmic intensity that threatens to shake the couch apart.

"gonna cum soon," he warns, his words a guttural groan, his thrusts even more erratic. "when i do, i want you to let go for me, 'kay? just... just fall apart," he buries his face in the crook of your neck, his hot breath washing over your skin.

"gonna fill you up," he grunts, his voice strained. "make a mess of your perfect little cunt.”

and your body responds, as if driven by an outside force. your muscles lock, your back arching impossibly high. your cunt spasms around him, milking his cock for all it's worth as it finally rips through you. a blinding, white-hot rush.

his cock throbs inside you, his hips stuttering against yours as he finally reaches the same peak.

hot strings of cum paint the inside of your walls as he empties himself deep inside you. he stays buried inside of you for long moments after, and you’re not sure exactly how long. but when you finally come down from the high, you find yourself draped across his chest, his hands rubbing slow circles on your back, your sides, soothing you as the aftershocks slowly dissipate.

you're a puddle of warmth and satisfaction, your body splayed beneath his, his softening cock still buried deep inside of you.

you're still limp and pliant in his arms, your breath coming in soft pants against his chest.

he shifts slightly, easing his himself out of you with a soft squelch. you flinch at the sensation, and he notices, his grip on you tightening as he pulls you into his arms. he strokes your hair, your back, your sides, his touch gentle and soothing.

"stay a little longer, alright? just... a little bit more," he asks, his tone sweet and pleading. you blink slowly, trying to clear the haze from your mind. it's hard to think clearly when he's speaking to you like this, his words dripping with affection and adoration.

he's saying things, nice things, telling you how amazing you are, how perfect you are for him, how much he needs you. it's all a blur, a warm, fuzzy haze that surrounds you, envelops you. it makes you feel cherished, special, like you're the only person in the world.

and you feel like you'd do anything to please him, to make him happy.

your mind flits to the clock on the mantle, its numbers seeming to mock you. you should go home, you know that. your parents will be back soon, and you can't afford to be late again.

“leon… i can’t,”

“c’mon, baby," he whispers, his breath hot against your skin. "just a few more minutes,” you swallow hard, your pulse fluttering in your throat. it makes you weak in the knees, it takes everything in you not to give in to his request.

“but—“

his arms tighten around you, holding you impossibly close as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck. "please, doll," he murmurs in a low, honeyed tone that seeps into your very bones. "i need you. just a little more time, 'kay?" his words are a gentle persuasion, a tender plea that tugs at your heartstrings.

he's been so gentle with you, so caring. "i'll make it up to you," he promises, his lips brushing against your earlobe. "i'll take you out, wherever you want to go. just... stay with me a little longer, okay?”

the room feels smaller somehow, as though the world itself has shrunk to the space between his heartbeat and yours. your lips part, the beginnings of another protest forming, but the weight of his gaze stops you short. there’s something in his eyes —dark, pleading, a flicker of vulnerability that you can’t quite name.

“okay,” you whisper at last, the word barely audible, a ghost of sound that slips past your lips before you can think better of it.

his face softens instantly, relief washing over his features like a summer tide. “yeah?” he breathes, his smile curling slow and dangerous, like he knows he’s won.

you nod faintly, unsure of what exactly you’ve just agreed to, or why it feels both terrifying and impossible to resist. your thoughts churn, hazy and fragmented, but his fingers are already lacing through yours, grounding you, tethering you to this moment.

“that’s my girl,” he murmurs, his voice a low, velvet hum that sends shivers down your spine. “i knew you’d understand.”

you close your eyes, letting yourself sink further into his embrace. it’s too easy, the way his words coax you into letting go of the worries clawing at the edges of your mind. for now, it feels safe — his arms, his voice, the way he holds you as if you’re something precious, something he can’t bear to let slip away.

he pulls you closer, your head resting on his shoulder, your legs tucked up against him. you can feel his heartbeat against your cheek, steady and strong. "rest, baby," he soothes. "you had a long day.”

tags: @crowleyco @withonly-sweetheart @fanilkychae @clitorphosis

[aishangotome]

Azel Radwan: Chapter 6

Chapter 5

Thank you @shatcey for providing the video for this chapter!

♡———♡

Under the pressure of the Living God, Izzet quickly retreats.

I also feel the intimidating aura, as if we had incurred the wrath of the God—

To shake off the unfathomable fear I felt for a moment, I also set out for the town with the errand memo in hand.

-

(I… I can't move another step from here.)

The desert is dyed golden, and the light begins to weaken as the day draws to a close.

The setting sun peeking through the huge window is a breathtaking sight, one I could gaze at forever.

(I have to hurry back or I'll end up walking through the desert at night, and I need to push myself a little harder…)

(...I might be getting sleepy…)

(I'm too tired…)

Azel: You're in the way.

A merciless voice rains down on me as I doze off, sitting on the stairs.

Looking up, I see the God, devoid of any compassion, looking down at me.

Emma: …I'm sitting in the corner.

Azel: This isn't a resting place.

Emma: Is there any other room I'm allowed to enter?

Azel: No.

Emma: Then there's nothing I can do about it, is there?

Azel: There is. Get back to the castle quickly.

Azel: How can you even think of sleeping in someone's doorway?

Emma: That's how tired I am. Thanks to a certain God who overworks people.

(I made two round trips between the town and the temple today, so my legs are killing me.)

Azel: Poor you. I look forward to working with you tomorrow as well.

(This person… no, this God, doesn't know the meaning of kindness, does he?)

The Living God sits down one step above me and rests his chin on his knee.

His face, bathed in the setting sun, is irritatingly beautiful and divine, with no hint of the darkness within.

(...It's no wonder everyone is deceived.)

(I wonder what happened to turn him into such a merciless, evil God.)

Azel: … Sigh…

Emma: Why are you sighing?

Azel: I was thinking he came sooner than expected.

Azel: That crazy old geezer must be very interested in you.

(What's he talking about?)

Azel gestures toward the entrance with his chin.

I force my sleepy head to turn and see a person standing in the red sunset.

???: Living God, thank you for allowing me to enter this sacred domain.

My eyes, now accustomed to the light, see an elderly man.

A gentle smile graces his face, the kind that calms the heart of anyone he meets, and he exudes a kind and compassionate aura.

(He has the same atmosphere as Azel when he's playing the role of a God in public.)

Azel: I didn't allow it, but you have business with Emma?

(Could this be the High Priest!?)

As I hurriedly try to stand up, Azel grabs my shoulder and pushes me back down.

Azel: Please be brief. We're in the middle of something right now.

High Priest: My apologies for interrupting your conversation.

(There's a bit of a bite to his words… I wonder if Azel doesn't like the High Priest.)

The High Priest is unfazed by Azel's haughty attitude, and his compassionate gaze turns towards me.

High Priest: Lady Emma, it is a pleasure to meet you. I came to greet you after hearing the rumors.

High Priest: I am one of the God's messengers, bestowed with the important role of High Priest, and currently serve as the administrator of the sanctuary.

High Priest: It is my duty to spread the glory of the Living God throughout the country. I look forward to a long and prosperous relationship.

Emma: …Thank you for your greeting. Please forgive me for speaking to you in this position.

High Priest: Not at all. The Living God's wishes should be respected above all else. Please remain as you are.

(What is this feeling?)

(His words, attitude, and demeanor are all soft, yet it makes my heart uneasy…)

I sense an inexplicable discomfort within his gentle gaze, and I'm at a loss for words.

Azel: I said, "Be brief," didn't I?

But with Azel's interruption, I'm freed from the High Priest's entwining gaze, and I secretly let out a sigh of relief.

High Priest: Then, if you'll permit me, I'll get to the main point.

High Priest: Living God, in light of this recent matter, we are urgently preparing the harem.

(Harem… What!? )

High Priest: We can have Lady Emma move to her chambers immediately.

Azel: No, thank you. Please don't do anything unnecessary.

The highest authority in Tanzanite expresses his disapproval bluntly.

That was my only salvation.

Azel: I've said it many times, I don't need a harem. Didn't I give it to Enis?

High Priest: Enis is merely the administrator. Our country's harem originally belongs to the Living God.

High Priest: Recently, many false divinators have appeared in the city, causing concern among the people.

High Priest: The Living God's favor towards a woman could be a ray of hope to dispel the anxieties of the desert.

Azel: It couldn't. It's just a change of subject.

Azel: Instead of thinking about deceiving the people, why not investigate the cause of the increase in false oracles?

While letting out those barbed words, Azel twirls his fingers in my hair.

When our eyes meet, he gives me a chillingly affectionate smile. If someone who didn't know the situation saw us, they might really think I'm being favored.

(...I'm sure my face is stiff right now.)

This is not the face I want to show the High Priest, so I reluctantly meet Azel's gaze.

Azel: Oh, and also, I've decided that the God's favor will be bestowed on only one person.

Azel: Please don't send any other women my way. They're an eyesore.

The finger that slid from my hair to my cheek lightly presses my skin.

It feels like he's pressuring me to "act," but I don't think I can do anything about my stiff face.

High Priest: To think he favors you so much… I was inconsiderate. It is my fault.

(Oh no, my situation is getting worse and worse…)

High Priest: Lady Emma, may peace be with the Living God's heart.

High Priest: And I sincerely pray that the blessings of the moon be bestowed upon you.

Perhaps Azel's silent pressure of "Go away quickly" got through, as the High Priest bows his head politely and quickly leaves the temple without changing his calm expression.

Emma: What did he mean by the "blessings of the moon" at the end?

Azel: Who knows? Probably the ramblings of a senile old man.

The moment we're alone, the deceptive smile disappears, and Azel's face becomes weary.

(As always, his conman skills—no, his acting skills—are impressive.)

Azel removes his hand from me and looks up at the sky decorating the huge window.

Azel: …The worst way to end the day.

Emma: Do you dislike the High Priest that much?

Azel: It's not just dislike. I never want to see his face again.

Emma: Why…

Azel: Is there anyone who could like an old geezer who keeps sending women my way even though I refuse?

Emma: …That's true.

*flashback to earlier*

Enis: If the precious bloodline of the Living God is cut off, Tanzanite has no future.

Enis: The High Priest will not give up, even if he has to gather all the women in the country.

*flashback over*

(The High Priest is the one who protects the glory of the God, and he may not necessarily respect the Living God's will.)

(Even if they have faith, people don't always act according to the God's wishes.)

(...If even a God has troubles, what's the difference between them and humans?)

Azel: Don't betray me.

Emma: What kind of situation would be considered betrayal?

Azel: It's simple. Don't do anything I dislike.

Emma: I'll try my best.

Azel: That's a good answer.

Emma: I understand better than anyone the pain of being forced to do something I hate.

Emma: In order to build a friendly relationship with the Living God, I want to avoid "unconscious harassment."

As I declare this with a puffed-out chest, Azel, who has shifted his gaze back to me from the sunset, furrows his brow noticeably.

Azel: Build a friendship? I'm an evil God, you know.

Emma: That's true… but I have the experience and wisdom of Belle.

Emma: I know that a person's true nature isn't easily discerned.

During my stay at Rhodolite Castle, there were princes with all sorts of problems: the bloodthirsty prince, the misanthropic prince, the prankster prince, and the prince with a flamboyant love life.

But what I learned from facing them were the values and beliefs that weren't apparent on the surface.

Once I grasped those, the glamor surrounding those noble beasts peeled away, and I could see their true selves.

Based on my experience, the God in front of me must be the same.

The God I see is like a mirage, still far from his true essence.

Emma: Only after knowing their true nature can you see whether you "like" or "dislike" a person...

Emma: No matter how unreasonable the situation, I want to make an effort to understand the Living God.

Azel: …Is that so?

(He's been making a scary face this whole time.)

Emma: Did I say something unpleasant?

Azel: No? It's just that, unlike that idiot, I have no intention of getting along with you.

Azel: I just thought, "What a waste of effort."

He pinches my cheek with his fingers and pulls it.

Emma: I unnershtand you have no intenshun of gettin' along wiff me!

Azel: I have no idea what you're saying.

(I want to get along with him… but what's irritating is irritating!)

(I wonder if this will someday turn into a different emotion once I grasp his true nature.)

He releases my cheek, and I rub it with my hand to make sure it's not stretched out.

Azel: Anyway, if you intend to get along with me, don't side with the geezer.

Azel: If you can't even do something that simple, there's no point in talking.

Emma: Of course. It's a piece of cake.

-

The next day, after confidently making that declaration—Azel greets me with a terrifying look as I visit the temple again.

Azel: Hey… I told you not to betray me, didn't I?

Emma: …Yes.

Azel: You also said, "It's a piece of cake," didn't you?

Emma: …Yes.

Azel: Then let me ask you—

Azel: …What is that state you're in?

Emma: I'm the one who wants to ask that!

Azel looks down on me as I kneel on the ground, my breath hitching just from standing.

A sweet, heavy scent rising from my skin gradually increases my body heat. It's something different from the heat I felt when I was exhausted from running errands the other day, something that's eating away at my mind and body.

(I had a bad feeling about this ever since I was on my way here…)

*flashback*

Azel: Be careful with your belongings from tomorrow onwards. You never know where they might plant aphrodisiacs.

*back to present*

(...That's a harsh joke.)

Azel: Any ideas?

His star-filled eyes are cold enough to blow away the desert heat, and that in turn cools my head.

Emma: Come to think of it…

*earlier*

Aisha: Good morning, Lady Emma. How about this outfit for today?

Aisha: Since you're in Tanzanite, please enjoy our country's fashionable attire.

Nadia: And we've prepared this perfume for you today.

Nadia: It might be a bit too sweet at first, but the scent will mellow out over time.

Aisha & Nadia: "Now, let's get you ready."

*back to present*

Emma: Before I left… It might be the perfume the maids prepared for me.

(I had the same breakfast as Clavis and Luke, so it can't be that.)

Since I told the maids my schedule for the day, they must have known I was going to see Azel.

(I didn't feel anything immediately after it was applied, so maybe it was slow-acting… I didn't know such aphrodisiacs existed.)

Azel: Perfume is an aphrodisiac for beginners. Why do you fall for such an obvious trap?

Emma: …I didn't think they would actually put it in the perfume!

Emma: To begin with, I've never used or even seen an aphrodisiac, so I don't know what it's like…

Azel: Huh? You've never seen one in your life?

Emma: Of course not!

Azel: There are people like that?

(Is that something to be surprised about…?)

Azel looks genuinely surprised, not as if he's joking.

(I think anyone would be unfamiliar with aphrodisiacs if they live a normal life.)

(But maybe aphrodisiacs are something Azel is familiar with.)

(…Judging from his attitude, it doesn't seem like he uses them willingly…)

(I'm starting to feel sorry for him.)

Azel: Don't look at me like that, don't pity me, it makes me want to cry.

Emma: S-sorry…

Emma: Is there, like, an antidote for this?

Azel: No. We just have to wait for it to wear off.

Azel: But fortunately, it doesn't seem to be that strong.

Azel: It's rare to see a woman this unsexy even after being given an aphrodisiac.

Emma: That last part was unnecessary.

Azel: How honest.

(...Even if the effect is weak, my body feels strange.)

I don't know much about aphrodisiacs, but I do know what kind of effects they have.

The heat generated just from my clothes rubbing against my skin is enough to make me feel ashamed.

On top of that, the outfit the maids prepared for me, while covering my legs with a long skirt, is similar to a dancer's costume that boldly exposes my chest and stomach, which makes me want to cry even more.

(If I had known I was drugged, I wouldn't have come today…)

I'm not in any condition to walk back to the castle through the desert, so I grip my clothes tightly to hold back my tears.

Azel: …I do feel bad about this.

Emma: …? Did you just say—

Emma: Wait… What are you doing!?

Suddenly, Azel lifts me up roughly like a piece of luggage, throws me over his shoulder, and starts walking.

Azel: If this continues, you'll be attacked.

Emma: Huh!?

Azel: I'll teach you how to deal with being given an aphrodisiac… for a fee.

.

.

.

Chapter 7

If you’d like to support my translations, feel free to buy me a coffee here! :)

[thelaurenshippen]

in honor of Damien Gorham's 35th birthday (yep, you heard me, I'm not only celebrating a fictional character's birthday, but the birthday of my own character), I wanted to share my favorite Damien-related excerpt from Some Faraway Place.

it wasn't a conscious choice when I was first sketching out the three Bright Universe novels, but Damien is the only character from the podcast who appears in every book. he's a character I have such complicated feelings about (a feeling I think a lot of listeners/readers share), but with SFP being the last time we hear from him in the universe, I wanted to make sure we left him in a place where he finally was growing.

you don't always get the forgiveness you want from the people you hurt. but that doesn't mean you don't deserve forgiveness at all, or that you can't do better in the future. it's been six years since Damien sent this letter and, while I imagine he's still got a lot of work left to do, I like to think he's out there somewhere, doing better, letting himself love.

[ancha-aus]

RealAgeAU Drabble - Reminiscene

Hello everyone :3

You all know what time it is!! I think... It is time for another Dream drabble :3 @spotaus I know how much you like having dream be put through the ringer :33

First drabble Prev drabble Next drabble

Not much to say this time. You guys ready?

*-------------------------*

All things considered? Dream had been doing okay lately.

The worst part was that he wasn't sure if he felt good or bad about it.

At least Core didn't call him every 5 minutes anymore. Seems like the outcode child finally accepted that Dream had changed. That Dream had moved on.

Hah.

If only they knew how little he had actually moved on.

Dream stands in the greyed out forest. Waiting and listening. Not even a slight breeze. No sound.

A dead AU.

He used to blame Nightmare for that, for killing their AU.

Nowadays?

Dream figures it was just the end of their AU.

Dream leans against a tree and sighs. He tries to reach out but no sounds.

On his solo trips and, as Blue liked to call them, self discovery trips. Dream had learned he could speak to trees. Though maybe calling it speaking was a bit generous.

The trees didn't use words. Just sounds and whistles and whispers that could almost have been words. Dream had still been able to understand however. He just had to listen.

Seems like that was a theme for him. He just had to listen to be able to understand.

Even so, he takes a deep breath and leaves the forest and walks towards a familiar hill.

He kept returning here. Dream wants to say he doesn't know why and that it is just his home calling back for him.

He knows the truth.

He stops by the old cut down stump and focusses on the two familiar graves.

Seems like he hadn't been the only one visiting. There are once again fresh flowers. All beautifull yellows and orange coloured this time.

Dream smiles as he sits by the graves and gently touches the flowers. Part of his soul grieves at the two graves, once of which is meant for him. But another part of his soul sings in joy.

Because there is only one monster who could have made these graves and left these flowers.

Dream chuckles as he glances at the stump "Nighty came by... didn't he?"

No answer of course. Nim has died a long time ago. Even so Dream leans back against the stump as he keeps looking at the graves, most of his focus is on his own.

Dream keeps staring at the graves as he speaks "I know you won't answer me... with you being gone.. But... I want to at least think you are listening to me. Just this once."

Nim never listened to him. Neither to Nighty. They just had to listen to her.

Look at where that lead them.

Dream watches over the grey fields and the village in the distance. "Had you already decided near the start? Which one of us you would love and which one you wouldn't?"

No answer but Dream didn't mind. He watches the village in the distance. He can't help but wonder how often Nightmare would have had to do this alone. Keep watch alone.

"Or was it an in the moment decision? Had there been a moment were you held both of us and loved us both? Or had you decided the moment Nightmare formed that you would hate him?"

How often Dream would rush off, ignoring the quiet pleas to stay wiht Nightmare.

"I think you decided from the start. Why else would you give him the name you did? Say the only thing that matters about him is how he was different from me."

Would he have seen those angry people coming? With weapons? Had Nightmare been afraid? Wondering where Dream had been? Why Dream hadn't stopped them?

"It has to be the reason. Why else would you tell me to make friends with the villagers and help them? While telling Nightmare to stay put and send them away? You must have known. Known that by making me help them and by making Nightmare deny them that they would grow angry with him."

How often had Nightmare believed Dream had abandoned him? Only for him to end up mortally injured?

"You don't deserve the grave he made." Not that Dream thinks he truly deserves one himself. Even if he returns each time to see if new flowers are left for him.

Dream once again wonders if he should leave a message for the next time Nighty visits... Just something that he wishes to talk.

But then that ever present fear returns. What if it meant Nightmare wouldn't visit this place anymore instead of answering? What if he decided it was better to completely cut their past lose from him instead?

Dream hugs his legs as he tries to remember how colourful everything had been. How beautiful it had been.

But... Dream now realises that it had just been a prison of responsibility... For both him and his brother.

A golden cage... but still a cage.

Drema snorts as he nudges Nim's grave "Yet here you are! immortalised by a grave your son made you! You know. That same son you aparently never liekd or wanted? That son made you a grave and keeps said grave clean and brings you flowers. I bet you wouldn't even be thankful for it."

Dream knocks the stump with his fist "After all! How often did you tell me that I should focus on myself? How i should focus on making the villagers like me? How i shouldn't bother to wait for Nighty to return from the river?" Nim had been trying to seperate them from the start. A dream had never realised.

Dream sighs as he hugs his legs "We were children. Little babybones and you gave us adult responsibilities...." They should have just ran. the two of them should have just disappeared into the forest.

Nighty had asked him a few times if they couldn't just leave together.

Dream should have realised something was seriously wrong. Nighty had been the one who took their jobs so seriously.

But... Dream had just said he didn't want to leave his friends in the village behind.

"I wish i could turn back time... get a redo... I would stay by Nightmare's side. I would convince him that the job you gave us wasn't our job."

Dream wonders why Nightmare had been so set on doing their job so well... Dream has ideas but none of them are happy reasons.

"What... waht did you tell him? That made him desperate to do this job well?" Which lies had Nim told Nightmare in Dream's absence...?

Dream hugs his legs "Why did you never bother to tell me?" Dream grows angry as he huffs "Why did you never bother to tell me the same? Or tell me when Nighty was near? Or tell nighty when I was near? What was it you were trying so hard to protect?!"

A memory. from so long long ago. It had been raining and Nightmare hadn't been around. Ligthning had been flashing and Dream had been so afraid. His mother had help him within her branches. protected him. reassured him he would be safe. told him...

told him that Dream just had to protect himself. protect the hope he represented...

Dream laughs as he kicks the grave of his mother. glaring at it angerly "Was it worth it?! Was it worth killing one of your sons to protect the other?! Was it worth being the cause of all this pain and suffering we both had to go through?!" Dream shakes his skull as he gets up "Nevermind. You are never going to give me answers... and honestly. I am tired of you being a part of my life in anyway. I hope you rot whereever you are now." and he walks back to the forest.

It is silent and he prefers it like that. Things had been loud and hectic.

And well...

Maybe just maybe... He had done the same as Nightamre had done.

He gets to the forest lake and immediantly spots the tiny grave.

Well not grave. Dream shies away from that word. Nightmare is very much alive after all. It is more like a memorial... Wait those can be made for living people right? drema thinks so.

It was nice. It gave him a safe place to grieve and talk about everything. to imagine Nightmare across from him and listening to him. Like old times.

Dream figures that is why his own grave nad Nim's are still up. Dream knows Nightmare has to come by to take care of both graves and Dream snorts as he imagines Nightmare just telling the two graves in all the things they had been wrong in and all the stupid lies they believed.

For now he sits down and pulls out a few little knick-knacks he had collected form across the multiverse.

Dream keeps his voice quiet. Afraid someone will hear and come ruin it "Hey little brother..." he can't forget anymore that Nightmare had been his younger twin. Yet it had always been Nightmare who took care of him. "I am back..."

finally back.

Dream traces the stone and wood structure he had made. all still in perfect condition. With the AU being dead there was no more decay.

Dream organises everything he had left before sitting across from it "Sorry it took me a while. I had a.... I had an identity crisis." he snorts "I know. ironic isn't it? Everyone was always so quick to help and guide me to be what i should be yet it helped nothing. I still ended up unsure about who i was or what i had to do..."

he looks at the snowglobe he had put down "I was always jealous of how you just seemed to have it all figured out. How you were confident in what you did. Both before and after the apples. it felt like i was failing, and i guess in the end i did fail as everything i believed had been a lie..."

Dream sighs as he leans his cheek on his knee as he keeps looking at the structure "It is stupid... I had all the help in the world, and then even the multiverse. and yet still i didn't figure it out. I still didn't figure out i was a god of balance over positivity. I still didn't figure out i was doing more harm than good..."

Dream traces the grey grass under him "I was so against picking a domain Nighty... partly because i didn't want to pick something and get you stuck with something you would be hated for. Not again... but that wasn't all."

Dream hugs his legs and confesses what had been weighing him down "I was afraid of picking wrong. No, I am afraid of picking soemthing wrong. That i will pick something and once again not understand it... How did you do it Nightmare? How did you figure out what you were suposed to do? You didn't have help yet you understood...."

Drema chuckles and rubs his cheek "Not that it matters anymore. aparently i did already pick... Reaper confirmed it for me not too long ago... a god of progress. What the hell does that even mean? What does it mean i should do? I know i aparently helped blue by inspiring him to get out of that loop but still! That was on accident! what if i once again go to far?! what if i..." he hides his face "What if i mess up again?"

Guilt and Dream chuckles "Here i go again... whining about my trouble... I don't even know what my choice and pick do you... what is even the oposite of progress?! regression? Did i make it so you are stuck with like... reset stuff?!" he sighs as he rubs his cheek and rubs the tears away "This shit is so unfair... neither of us ever asked for this. We never wanted this and no one tried to help us before yet expected us to just know."

Dream stares at the memorial. no answers of course but he does feel better after speaking about his worries.

Dream chuckles as he pats the memorial gently "But.... that wasn't why i am here. As you know... today is a special day!" he turns to his pack and pulls out a bottle. it is champagne. and a few cupcakes. he lays the cupcakes between him and the structure before putting a candle on both cupcakes and lighting them.

Dream smiles as he opens the bottle and holds it up to the grave "It is our birthday!"

Dream rubs his neck "I know it must seem weird. after all! For the last i don't even know how many years i had so many people to celebrate with and so many powers and even before that it were the villagers but... well..."

his voice grows softer and softer "I miss when it was just us. After we collected berries and fresh fruits. when we would sneak off together and sit by the river to eat the fruits together and give each other small gifts..." he pulls a small wooden statue from his pack.

Dream looks at it and rubs the wood. He had spend weeks on it. an old familiar skill now unfamiliar and feeling alien in his hands. he managed to make a small owl at least. even if one eye was clearly bigger than the other and Dream now had more splinters in his hands then ever before, even more than he first started.

He places it carefully in front of the memorial "I know it... it isn't my best work... I am going to be honest, it is porbably my worst..." he just hadn't had time to try again. He tried so many times but none of them have looked right and as time went by it just kept getting worse and suddenly he didn't have time anymore.

Dream chuckles "It sucks that i.... i didn't keep up with the hobby... I hope you kept reading at least... that you had the chance to keep reading... your picture and castle seemed to reinforce this at least... there were so many books in there! and the picture of you reading..." he rubs his arm as he keeps sitting right there "I am sorry... that you felt like he had to leave and run from your home... again..." he glances down adn chuckles "look at me... rambling... lets blow out the candles okay? I will blow out both. Don't forget to make a wish."

Drema leans down and blows out the candles on both cupcakes before putting his hands together and making his wish.

A silent whisper in his mind.

please.

please.

Just give him the chance to meet Nightmare again.

To talk to him one more time.

If only once to tell him he is sorry and that Dream loves him.

Dream opens his sockets and smiles at the grave, ignoring the tears that are leaving his sockets "Did you make a wish nightmare? Remember. No telling! otherwise it wont come true!"

Dream takes the two cupcakes and eats both before opening the champagne bottle and drinking straight from it. He isn't a fan of stuff like this but champagne is suposed to be for celebrations and well... celebrating himself and his twin seems like a good reason.

He spends his afternoon like that. just being in his old AU thinking back.

Fitting. a god of progress... stuck thinking about the past.

Dream chuckles and sighs "Blue said it is fine you know? To take time and get used to everything... I just hope... that you are doing the same... taking your time to rest after everything. I can only imagine how exhausting it would ahve been to have to do everything you did while everyone was actively working against you..." he smiles up "Good news for that though! I managed to visit pretty much everyone who knew either of us personally or about us! And i managed to explain the situation! so.. hopefully... whever you are or are planning on going, people will let you be and do your thing..."

Dream smiles at the memorial with the raised bottle "to us. to the future... and... I miss you... I am sorry i didn't make it obvious how much you mean to me..."

That had to be the reason why Nightmare hadn't searched him out yet... because he beleived that Dream hated him.

And that is on Dream. On dream for not doing a good job as brother and making it obvious that he loved his twin.

Dream hums as he leans against the stone structure "I love you nighty. And I promise you, I will make it up to you once we meet again."

Maybe that is why he is the god of progress. Because he is willing to move forwards and make it up. progress towards a new future.

Dream blinks and laughs "I bet you would have heard my title and figured it out immediantly." he giggles as he leans against the stone "Happy birthday Nightmare."

Happy birthday to me.

Dream sips the expensive bottle and enjoys the peace and silence.

*-------------------------*

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[mc-critical]

1.06 / 2.09 (33)

[clochanamarch]

"you thought, what, exactly?! that you could give these children a happy childhood filled with love and kindness? how can you provide what you never had in the first place?!" "i had love!" "and look how that turned out." ajay the violence was deserved buT MISDIRECTED--

[longagoitwastuesday]

I actually like the last chapter. I think the ideas are very good. I have my qualms on how some things were managed, as I always do, but I think shonen authors get tangled in the expectations of a shonen to the point it jeopardises their writing, often even when they're not lacking in skills

[narzissenkreuz-ordo]

i ended up drafting an outline for a dan heng character analysis last night but i dont have to the time (yet) to actually write it. it was gonna be trauma/mental illness study but i think im gonna attempt to answer the one question that everyone keeps debating: are dan feng & dan heng different people?

"dan heng's whole character arc is him separating himself from dan feng" this "dan heng is still dan feng no matter how much he tries to create his own identity" that. you're both wrong and in this essay i will-

[ghostedbunnie]

thinking about how 141 men would take advantage of christmas or just a cold weather in general.

fem! reader, 18+ minors do not interact!!

johnny definitely takes some mistletoe and waits for the perfect opportunity to be like "oi look a' that bonnie, a tradition is a tradition." and he just swoops in on you to literally maul you. slobbers all over you like a dog, pants into your mouth and grabs handfuls of your ass unapologetically. honestly half of his brain shuts down as soon as he has his hands and mouth on you. also doesn't care about timing or privacy, he'd do this in front of a room full of people.

simon is a meanie. he loves coming back inside to your home, catching you unawares while you're singing some christmas songs and baking. it doesn't help that he can only be heard when he wants to so you really stand no chance. he walks up to you and shoves his cold ass hands under your sweater and holds on to you so you can't even move away. he would start by grabbing your hips and quickly moving forward to cup your boobs while you whine about the goosebumps. he definitely ends up grinding onto your ass and whispering into your ear about how he can warm you right up.

kyle lets you talk him into matching ugly sweaters mostly because he is too hot to look bad in anything. he loves seeing you happy so he will do anything. if you are celebrating with your family or friends he is literally the picture perfect boyfriend that gets everyone oohing and aahing. he helps you with the tree decorating when something is out of your reach (but he lets you try to do it yourself just to see the sweater ride up and show of your skin, he is still cheeky) and he always tastes your cooking telling you exactly what it is that you're missing and have been trying to figure out for the past 10 mins. but his mind is playing out scenarios in which he's gonna get to the lacy lingerie he saw you wearing underneath the sweater.

now john is more lowkey about christmas, if he was on his own he wouldn't even bother with a tree. he does end up getting one for you ofc (after mean mugging few part-timers that tried to flirt with you but every time you looked at him he didn't let anything show but the guys there started giving you a wide berth). he will bring you to a work christmas party that he was forced to go by laswell and when he sees people bring their kids and you interacting with them, his mind starts racing with some wild thoughts about how your christmas could look next year. when he corners you in the bathroom and locks the door the only response to your wide-eyed stare is that he is "gettin' into the christmas spirit, love. jus' like you wanted."

[whateveriwant]

Actually I'm not done talking about Mr. Simon Fucks-Himself-Stupid Riley just yet :(

I'm picturing a scenario where you, a civilian, are visiting your boyfriend at his base. Maybe you're there to deliver something, like a file he forgot at home or the lunch he said he didn't need. Either way, whatever your cover story for being there is, the end result is the same: you, on your back, knees up by your ears, sprawled across Simon's desk as he fucks you like his life depends on it.

Being a Lieutenant grants him the luxury of having a private office where he can engage in such extracurriculars, but that doesn't mean it's without some major risks – namely, prying ears that might be lurking in the hallway outside.

But being discreet shouldn't be an issue, should it? I mean, a man known infamously as “Ghost” should have no problem staying quiet, right?

Wrong.

Turns out, not only does that tight hole of yours reduce your boyfriend to a dumb, drooling mess, it makes him a dumb, drooling mess who can't keep his fucking mouth shut.

So while you have the wherewithal to clamp a hand over your lips to try muffling your lewd noises, Simon is out here moaning and groaning unabashedly like something sent forward in time from the Paleolithic. You could try asking him to cover his mouth, but it seems an impossible task; his hands are a little preoccupied with making sure he doesn't fuck you right over the edge of his desk.

While you don't want to stop, you also don't want to get caught, so you settle for urging him to keep it down. It's after a third softly gasped ‘N-Need to be qu-quiet, Si’ that your warning finally worms its way into his brain, and he acts in a way to appease you, just… not how you expect.

Swiftly, Simon removes his hold of your waist and brings one of his arms forward. He grabs for the center of his t-shirt, tugs the material up, and quickly stuffs the fabric into his mouth.

It only takes a split second for the action to happen, but immediately, you see how effective it is. The moment that standard, army-issued tee is captured between Simon's teeth, there's a drastic reduction of noise in the room.

Now, he can fuck into you with reckless abandon, and he snaps his hips forward with enough force to make your whole body ripple. Even as you pulse and constrict around him (sometimes inadvertently, sometimes not), the sounds that climb their way up Simon's throat are heavily dampened by his cotton gag.

It's as Simon begins the ascent to his peak that the cloth in his mouth really comes into play. As he pumps into you, he starts grunting lowly, gutturally, exhaling through his nostrils in quick, harsh bursts. It's a deep sound, animalistic in nature, like a bull huffing before it digs its heels into the dirt and charges.

His thrusts turn sloppier and sloppier the closer he nears his high, his hips propelled forward only by some basic hindbrain instinct. His lashes start to flutter, his eyes roll towards the back of their sockets, and when he cums, he throws his head back in a full-blown snarl.

Simon's a bit shaky on his feet after he climaxes in you, but he manages to pull out before he stumbles backwards, plopping down heavily into his chair. As you start cleaning yourself up, you see how he makes no attempt to move. He just sits there, completely brainless, pants around his ankles and t-shirt still tucked between his teeth. You have to walk over to him and purposefully tug on the shirt to get him to release it, and once it's freed, you see the damage that's been done.

In the center of Simon's shirt rests a big, blotchy wet spot, like he's tried to do his own slobbery take on the classic Rorschach test. The fabric's been wrinkled to all hell and there's a few imprints left behind from where his teeth had bitten down, and if you were to inspect the hem closely, you'd see where he popped a stitch or two in his ecstasy.

The sight of his mangled shirt has you tutting in disapproval. He can't walk out of his office looking like this, and he certainly can't forgo wearing a shirt altogether. What would the people around base say if they saw their normally put together Lieutenant looking so unkempt? You don't think he'd ever hear the end of it, nor would you for that matter.

In the meantime, as you wait for Simon's brains to un-liquify themselves, maybe you can scrounge up something else for him to wear. There's got to be something lying around here to help make him presentable once again. It's too bad as part of your cover you didn't think to bring an extra set of clothes to change into.

You'll have to remember for next time.

[tsaiko]

Okay. So I get on the subway right, and sit in an open seat. Across the aisle and one seat down is a man and a woman, mid to late twenties. They are having furious whispered conversation with each other. Like you can tell they are trying to be quiet but emotions are high. it's tense. Which I don't notice at first but quickly pick up on.

After being a nosy shit while pretending to play on my phone, I figure out what is going on. These two are talking about the future of their relationship. I mean, odd place to have that discussion on a subway during rush hour, but whatever. It's drama that doesn't involve me. He wants to move forward with their relationship, possible move or move into together, and she wants to slow down.

Suddenly, he breaks in with a story about how his mom hates the city but she moved to New York to stay with his dad and has lived there for twenty years now. Because relationships are about sacrifices. At which point girlfriend is like "Okay, what have you sacrificed for our relationship?"

And boyfriend's example involved the time he missed doing something - I couldn't hear what - with his friends to go with her to her sister's wedding. She was 100% not impressed with his answer and it showed on her face.

They go back to their whisper argument and I can't pick up what they are saying to each other. Then suddenly, clear as day, girlfriend asked him "Name one thing I am interested in."

Homeboy just froze. He had no answer. The lights were on and no one was home. You could hear the dial-tone noise coming from his brain. He couldn't name one single thing his girlfriend was interested in. Hell, he looked like he was totally confused as to why she was even asking him the question.

He tried to talk to her a few times after that, but she was just silent. And I mean angry silent. Train pulls up to the station and she gets up. "Babe, this isn't our stop." Her reply? "It's my stop now." Doors open and she just fucking walks off and leaves him on the train.

He stares at her for a few seconds and then scrambles off after her.

My dude, I don't think you are recovering from that.

[ekkothroughtime]

adrenaline | ekko x reader

Word Count: 2,500 Notes: 18+, MDNI, AFAB!Reader, no use of y/n. Unprotected sex, creampie, two short mentions of blood, vaguely described near-death situations, porn with vague plot, established relationships, post-sex banter. This is my first time writing for Ekko; please be gentle with me, haha 💙

"Easy, easy, easy," his burning breath tickles the back of your neck, firm hands squeezing your hips so tightly that you can hardly move. But the adrenaline firing through your nerves still has you wriggling in his grasp. Hopelessly so, as he pushes into you. Pussy fluttering around his cock. Not sure if you want to press into him or jump away from the stretch. 

"Ekko," the shape of his name is the only thing you know. Speech and language comprehension evaporating milliseconds before his pelvis meets your ass. 

And with it, you've lost all control over your own body. Already squirming back into him before you're even ready. Shit, but Ekko's still not moving, calloused fingers digging into your skin, so tight that you know it's going to leave bruises that he'll fuss about later. 

His hips swivel. Stars sparkle in your vision, backdropped by his half-muffled groan. His sweaty forehead falls onto your shoulder, breathing hard through his nose. Mutters something. Sounds like your name.

You think it's your name. Maybe it's not. You don't get time to linger on that because all of a sudden, he's drawing back, and you can't think of anything but the overwhelming emptiness that takes over. He stops just before his tip slips out of you. Lingers there for a second before—

"Ah!" You squeal. Jerking forward. His hips flush with your ass again. And he's already moving again, and fuck—

Alive. He's alive, and he's right here, curled around you. Pistoning into you like one of you might disappear if he doesn't. But you're here. Head resting against the concrete floor. Ass high. Clenching helplessly around his cock as it strikes a familiar bundle of nerves. 

You're here. He's here. Not down in the lanes. Not dodging bullets and throwing punches. Here. Heart pounding so heavy in your chest that it's in your ears. Masking the patter of the rain against the glass and the distant sound of your cries echoing through abandoned halls.  

"Ekko." Repeating again. Blindly pawing behind yourself, brushing his chest, then his lower belly, looking for—

He pins your wandering hand next to your head. Clammy fingers laced between yours. "I've got you, baby," his thrusts are so sharp that his own voice wavers with the motion. "I've got you." 

You don't know what you're doing. Pitchy little whimpers fall off your tongue, tilting your head to rest against his forearm. He's so deep, you don't know if you can even breathe, and oh, you don't know what changed, but his balls are smacking against your clit. Little sparks of heat jolt up your lower belly, exploding in the back of your head.

"Fuck, there you go," Ekko's hissing, "keep clenchin' around me like that." 

You couldn't stop even if you wanted to. Your poor little pussy involuntarily spasming around him, legs trying to close despite his body being wedged between them. Can't do anything short of kicking your foot, like that'll somehow ease the pleasure. 

The hand on your hip disappears. Instead, curling around your waist, cinching your bodies closer. He's so warm. Still smells like oil and something distinctly metallic, the scent of the workshop clinging to him like a bad memory, but a familiar warmth remains underneath. Gentle, like the kisses that pepper up the back of your neck and the hips that have begun to slow. 

"Wanna see your face." He must mean it as more of a warning than a request because you don't voluntarily flip over. You don't even move a muscle. That's all him. Spinning you onto your back, the frigid floor biting into your skin as he slips his cock back inside. You can see it this time. The obscene sight of his fat cock disappearing between your parted thighs, pussy lips practically hugging him. 

You reach for him, outstretched arms hanging in the air for mere milliseconds, before Ekko caves and falls into them. The ends of his hair brush against your forehead, just light enough for it to tickle, and it's only when you're this close that you can truly drink in how he lights up when you giggle. 

"'s my hair getting you again?" He whispers; you're so focused on the split in his bottom lip that you nearly miss it.

"Just a little bit," murmuring, letting your arms loop around his shoulders, broad and delicately chiseled. You think the gods were showing off when they sculpted him.

"Lil' bit?" He parrots in a feather-light tone, nuzzling your noses together. A kiss, all of their own. A perfect distraction for the lazy thrust that punches the air from your throat. 

You should have known he would do this. Too hungry for your expression to let you keep your back to him for long. Him and his swollen, bruised left eye and smeared paint, streaks of white decorating his cheeks and upper lip. That might be dried blood clinging to the side of his neck, and the sleeve of his shirt is mangled in such a way that you wonder how much of that fight was actually playing in his favor.

Thunder booms overhead, rattling the crumbling frame of this old building, swaying with the wind in such a way that you can feel your body tilting with it. You'd worry about it if not for the weight of Ekko's body on top of yours, his mouth wandering across the side of your jaw. Leaving little kisses in his wake, just in case he gets lost.

Your nails dip into the muscle of his shoulders. Legs curling around his waist the best that they can manage. Securing him to you in the only way you know how. 

"I'm not going anywhere," he's hiding a secret mind-reading device somewhere in one of those pockets. You know it. 

All of that effort to keep him from moving, and yet he still manages to lift himself a few inches. Breaking through your grasp with mesmerizing ease, his forearms bracing his weight on either side of your head, properly hovering over you now. Noses brush. His hair is bumping your forehead again. 

Electricity rockets up your spine. 

"There," gasping like a fish out of water, your eyes rolling back. "There, Ekko—mmh!"

There's a grin emerging onto his face, the corners of his lips twisting with that devilish glint that only comes about when he's just found a breakthrough. And oh, you shouldn't have told him because now he's repeating it. Maintaining that same torturous angle, the tiny pieces of scrap metal in his pocket clinking together as his fat tip kisses into those little nerves, over and over and over. 

It's so faint that you nearly question if you're making things up in your head.

The semblance of a moan, slipping through Ekko's parted lips like the beginnings of a melody. There and gone in the blink of an eye, the only indication it was ever there in the first place is the way he immediately forces his mouth closed. 

But one of your hands are traveling to his cheek, your thumb gently pressing on his bottom lip, urging it open again. And who has he ever been to deny you something as simple as this? 

Heat races up your lower belly. Twisting, spinning around like one of his damn hoverboards, rocketing through your veins. It's the kind of sensation that has your skin prickling, back arching off the cold ground and up into Ekko's big, warm body, your shivering legs clinging to his frame. The thump of your heartbeat rises into your ears, the strings holding you together winding tighter and tighter, breaking apart one by one until...

"Come on," Ekko hums; he picked up the signs long before you did, "give it to me."

The final string snaps.

Your vision blurs. Toes curling as your orgasm takes you by surprise, cumming around his cock without any further warning. And god, Ekko just keeps working you through it. Maintaining that same overwhelming pace, battering your poor, spasming walls, every brush of his length against your nerves pushing you higher and higher into the clouds above. 

And you must stay up there for a good minute. Drifting amongst bullets of rain and blinding sparks of lightning, completely and utterly weightless. Heaven, if only for a few fleeting moments.

"Keep going," you don't intend to be so quick about urging him on, but you can't help yourself. Not ready for the emptiness that comes with him pulling out.

Foreheads thunk together without the slightest hint of grace, and his biceps shudder with the effort of keeping his body up, gradually working back up to a choppy rhythm. Mouths clash. Not necessarily a kiss, but it's a touch of lips all the same, drinking in his heated panting as if it's the only thing keeping you alive.

You can't help the way your cunt clenches around his cock, walls almost too sensitive for those short, jerky thrusts. And he whines. Eyelashes fluttering, shivering so hard that you can feel it wracking through him. Fuck, and he's whimpering again. Long, low noises that grow pitchy at the ends.

 Close. He's so close.

Your palms curl around his cheeks, staining themselves in the remnants of white paint that clings to his handsome face. The color smears as your hands roam down his neck and across his shoulders. The tips of your nails gently glide against his skin, swirling indistinct shapes, drawing another shiver out of him.

"You gotta, your legs," Ekko sputters, his tongue flimsy in his mouth. "Baby, I can't pull—"

In an hour, you'll have to deal with the cleanup and regret ever saying this. But he's here, and he's alive, and you're alive, and god, life is too short to deny yourself of the simple pleasures. There's no point in stopping that simple, troublesome little phrase from leaving you.

"Cum in me." 

You think you can see the final spark exploding behind those sweet brown eyes of his. The final straw before it all comes crashing down, his face twisting as his orgasm washes over him and his motions screech to a sudden halt. Hopelessly burying his head into the crook of your neck, hot breath threatening to melt you away. 

Faintly, you're aware of the sensation of his cock twitching inside of you. Pumping rope after rope of hot cum into your sensitive pussy, painting you white. A sticky mess that you'll have to feel dripping out of you the whole way back. As if your post-sex waddle and his unusual displays of public affection aren't enough to tell everyone what you've been up to. 

God, he's gonna wait until you're reunited with everyone to lean over and ask if his cum is still in you, isn't he? Always too eager to see you flustered. 

...maybe you should flip the script and bring it up to him, first. Leave him the stuttering mess, for once. 

"I can hear the gears turning in your head," Ekko's lazy chuckle vibrates against your neck and up your spine, makes your head spin something fierce.

"You need to get your ears checked," but the fire in your half-assed reply is lost the moment he lifts himself up again.

Even now, with the embers of pleasure still twinging the corners of his eyes, his gaze still manages to collect a semblance of worry. His big, warm palms trace over your face, looking for something. Anything. A scratch. A bruise. A splash of blood. The slightest hint that you've been hurt. That he let something hurt you. 

And he finds it.

You knew he would. With Ekko, it's not a matter of if but of when. 

It's nothing but a minor cut. One that's your own fault, really. You hadn't seen the shard of glass sticking out until after you reached through the broken window, chasing your weapon before it could get out of your sight. A slice you didn't truly feel until now, so sore that it aches when he presses a kiss into it.

One of these days, he'll engineer a way to heal with kisses alone, just to prove a point. 

"I'm okay," repeatedly tapping him on the cheek, working a fleeting smile out of that stoic face. "I promise."

And then that smile turns upside down. "I still don't like seeing you hurt." 

For someone so strong, it sure is easy to pull him back down to you. All it takes is one little tug on the wrist for him to melt into you like ice on a sweltering day. Kissing him is like feeling the first drop of rain after the heatwave, the pressure of his lips enough to draw the tension from your shoulders and the worries from your head. 

"So how do you propose we get back home, hm? Mister 'I Can Fly Through Zaun With My Eyes Closed.'" Your smile is painfully evident in your voice, maybe a little too eager to bring up the very thing you overheard him muttering last week. 

His eyes roll, head shaking with it. But...

"There's an underground tunnel that will get us halfway there," he says it with such confidence that you don't need to wonder if he's thought this through or not. Knowing him, it's circled around his mind a dozen times now. "It'll at least get us past the chem-barons without being spotted. We should be good once we get past them."

"Should we start heading that way then?" You ask, letting your thumb trace over his cheekbone, stroking away the dirt that has long since smeared there. There's certainly more where that comes from, pooling around his collar and decorating the jacket he's discarded a few feet away, but it's the thought that counts. Right?

Ekko's eyelashes flutter. A thought flashes behind them. 

"Not yet," he starts, "let's just..." 

The sentence never finishes, left hanging like old laundry, but you've got a sneaking suspicion of what those final words were meant to be. There aren't many topics that steal the wind out of his sails quite like this, and almost all of them involve you. 

"Few more minutes?" You find yourself saying, after a moment.

He nods, eyes sparkling with his sudden, newfangled smile. "Just a few more minutes." 

Lie. From the moment he gets his head on your chest, he's a goner. 

He never lasts more than a minute once he's gotten settled, and his cock still being lodged inside of you doesn't really indicate that he's ready to move anytime soon. Still connected, in spite of the occasional oversensitive shocks and the overbearing danger of being caught like this. In the top floor of an abandoned building, with the chem-barons still warring with each other down the street. 

Only one of the hoverboards is working, and its motor has a horrible stutter that only comes about when it's about to die. You're low on options and high on your delusion of safety.

And yet, you're tracing shapes between his shoulder blades, watching as his eyes fall closed for longer and longer expanses of time until they don't open at all. Lulled to sleep by the beat of your heart, still alive and pounding away in your chest, just like his. 

Just a few more minutes. 

[amazinglyashy]

Hi! I was wondering if I could request a prompt where the reader is out at night with the LIs, wearing a pretty outfit, a man just approaches her and rudely asks “how much for a bj?” How would they react/protect her from such a creep?

(Sorry, for my English, I hope it made sense haha🤞🏼)

Very Minor N/SFW Warning!! This one really made me laugh because this has happened to me before, and the situation mostly pans out with my own partner having to yank me away to avoid having to post bail on me later in the evening. Remember to leash your dogs kids! Thank you for the request!! <3

LaDS men when you get catcalled/propositioned on the street

Xavier -

He's apologizing profusely to you because the ensuing bloodspray from how hard he punched the guy in the nose got on your dress and he genuinely feels awful about it.

There is not much to it, besides he acted embarrassingly quickly, to the point you wonder to yourself if he's just been silently waiting for this moment to come.

He's used to going out with you for drinks or evening dates- it's one of the more common ways for the two of you to hang out aside from spending the evening in one of your apartments with the other. Juggling work and clocking out with social activities would also mean walking late at night, to go to a movie or even on a snack run.

So needless to say, he has in fact, been mentally preparing himself for something like this to happen.

He can't help it.

He doesn't ever want to see you disrespected- he doesn't care the context. Work, family, friends-

And now, what, a stranger asking you for sexual favors?

You wait calmly with him while he speaks to the officers about what happened, trying to contain your giggles at how sheepishly he looks at the ground, his face still painted with the most adorable anger.

Zayne -

Quickly, he's pushed you behind himself and holding eye contact with the guy. It doesn't matter if he's drunk, or perfectly sober, Zayne won't excuse someone saying such a ridiculous thing to you.

He has his usual air of politeness and manners, but the bite in his voice is more than apparent, even to someone who doesn't know him. Dressed as nicely as he is with the air he carries around him, it's a weird experience for those who don't know how protective Zayne can get.

He will tell the man to give you an apology and back off, or there will be consequences.

You know what those consequences are, and despite feeling smug about how protective Zayne is, you're trying to grab his arm and stop him, to no avail.

If the creep tries to reach for you, Zayne will back up into you to force you back gently, and the man will quickly realize that he can't reach forward anymore-

Even as Zayne walks away with you, the ice is still creeping up the man's body. Slow enough, but still moving.

Hopefully an OTTO calls for help in time. Hypothermia at night would suck.

Rafayel -

He's immediately between you and the guy, hand long since dropped your own as he crosses his arms and stares the guy down.

If you hadn't known him so long, you would expect him to fire off a tirade of insults and comments at the guy- but you know Rafayel. You know him well.

He tells the guy to back off, in the most simple of terms as he glare is enough to set the man alight- and Rafayel's evol does just that when the guy doesn't seem to back down- lighting up the shoulders of his clothing and causing him to flay around screaming, as Rafayel pulls you to keep walking.

The amount of tasteful compliments on your attire rise, and you know he's doing it to keep you from internalizing the earlier interaction and stop dressing how you want.

He doesn't need some random freak to keep you from expressing yourself how you want to. Of course, he'll always find you attractive, and the little outfit you're wearing is doing numbers to him, but that's not his focus here at all.

He wants you to feel comfortable, confident-

And he'll do everything in his power to make sure you always do.

Sylus -

I am not entirely sure the man who's asking you has finished his sentence before he's slammed once against a nearby building and then released.

Sylus makes no motion to indicate that it was his doing, continuing to walk along with you to wherever the two of you had been going in the first place-

But you knew.

You had seen his stupid red mist envelope him.

For a second, you'd been scared that he was going to kill the guy- and while you knew someone who was comfortable saying such a thing to someone needed to be put in their place, 'murder' was not at all the same as 'putting someone in their place'.

No, he was just slightly- sort of- broken.

Just a bit.

Sylus won't react much, he may give a passing comment about the man, but otherwise, he's back to complimenting you or conversing with you about whatever subject you two had been discussing prior to the creep showing up.

"Sorry, sweetie. I know you don't like bugs. I tried to handle it as... efficiently, as possible."

[charliemwrites]

Hybrid AU with Ragdoll!Reader and Siberian-mix!Konig

Reader is a rescued cat hybrid that Laswell's sister in law has been taking care of for the last 3 months. When she meets this little ragdoll kitty, so bright and friendly and curious, she immediately thinks of the 141. Hybrids have a lot uses in the government. Sometimes combative, sometimes therapeutic. The 141 could use a companion animal, given the close call Soap recently had and the general trauma the whole squad has.

With the kitty's permission and cooperation, they assess her as a possible therapy placement. She tests so well and so high that Laswell (again, with consent) immediately starts paperwork to place her with the 141 before even bringing it up to Price.

He's a bit skeptical at first. Even without being a combat hybrid, their jobs are high stress, very dangerous, and not very stable. But Laswell convinces him to at least meet Ragdoll.

They do introductions at the sister-in-law's house, where the kitty will be most comfortable. Ragdoll takes one sniff of him and starts purring like a little engine. He's visibly surprised, and Laswell can barely hold back her grin as the kitty climbs into his lap. They spend the rest of the afternoon discussing arrangements while his new hybrid naps because obviously he can't say no now.

Price becomes her primary handler. They move her to his barrack and give her a week to settle in, but she's not a skittish thing by any means. Wants to follow him everywhere, curls up in his bed, meows sadly at the door when he leaves her alone. It becomes clear very quickly that the usual introduction manuals are too slow for her.

Kitty meets Kyle next. Again, instant purrs. She presses her cheek into his palms, then wriggles her way closer to brush up against his cheek. Lets out a little "mrrp!" when he stutters out a pleasantly surprised, "hello there." She nibbles at the brim of his hat and grins when he gently redirects her, chirping at this fun new friend.

Two for two, Price and Kyle decide to introduce her to Simon and Johnny. They let her explore the common room first, get comfortable, and then call the other two in. Kitty watches from behind Price as Simon and Johnny enter.

Johnny is a dog hybrid with Simon as his primary handler. Price has faith that his sergeant will behave well with the new kitty, but he's not sure of what her reaction will be. Johnny's obviously, visibly excited, tail wagging, but Simon gets him to sit and wait while she makes the first move.

It takes absolutely no time at all for her to pad out from behind Price and approach. Simon goes first, offering a hand. But she barely even sniffs him before cuddling up to him, pawing curiously at his mask. He lets her, clicking his tongue when she dislodges it a bit, but then he gently nudges her towards Johnny.

His ears are perked forwards, tail still swishing. Kitty's ears are twitching, eyes big and curious. But her tail is up and curved curiously, not even a little fluffed. She gets in real close to his face, sniffs, then bumps her forehead against his chin. Which is when he loses patience and licks a big stripe up her cheek. She mews indignantly, ears going airplane mode, but thankfully doesn't swat at him.

It literally couldn't go better. She's a perfect fit.

Over the next few months she settles in with them happily, an absolute dream of a hybrid. Not very verbal, at least through human speech, but perfectly communicative and incredibly friendly.

She chirps whenever one of the 141 enters a room, has a different tone for each of them. Purrs if one of them so much as looks at her, all slow blinks and little smiles. Chitters when she sees them running outside through the windows.

Even grooming is relatively easy. She lets them brush out her floofy tail without much fuss, only trying to retreat if they catch a tangle. Readily gives up her hands to trim her claws. Even opens her mouth for them to brush off her fangs after raw meals.

She curls up with Simon on bad days, warm and purring, breathing little puffs of air against his collarbone. Lounges with Kyle after hard missions, nuzzling against him while he pets her soft ears. She spends hours upon hours in Price's office, curled up on his lap while he does paperwork or talks over the phone, kneading biscuits into his stomach.

Her friendship with Johnny is maybe the most surprising. They play wrestle just about every night, rolling around on the rough carpets in the common room and nipping at each others ears. She'll pounce on him, little teeth flashing, but almost always get bodied by his larger stature. The others will let them play until one of them - usually Johnny - gets too excited and makes the other yelp. At that point, Price or Simon will usually scoop one of the hybrids up and tsk at them for getting rough.

She's the 141's precious kitty, sweet and friendly and outgoing. The whole base knows her, though she's never far from one of her boys. And they know what it means if Ragdoll doesn't like someone.

It's rare, which is why it raises neon red flags. The first time is a new recruit that reaches to pet her without introducing himself first. She twists around on him, but usually even that would be recoverable. Except when he keeps trying to touch her, she gets a whiff of him and hisses, scrambling away.

The guy doesn't last long.

It happens again a few weeks later with a nurse meant to be giving her checkup. She gets low to the table, tail poofing up, and growls low in her throat. When the nurse rolls her eyes and tells Price to just hold his hybrid still so they can get things over with, he knows instantly that his little ragdoll was right to react that way.

With that in mind, it's no surprise that no one trusts Philip Graves when he visits their base and she takes an instant dislike to him. He introduces himself correctly, but she still hard reverses away from him, nose scrunched up. Ears back, tail fluffing up, she slips behind Price and glares from around his arm.

Problem is, Graves is used to dog hybrids. He's great with them. Kitties... not so much, even with a manual. Ends his week at the base with a couple of proper bite marks and an itchy scratch on his hand.

Given her reaction, Simon and Johnny aren't too shocked when he betrays them in Las Almas.

When a team from KorTac is scheduled for a joint assignment, the 141 is bracing for a similar reaction. Especially because they have their own cat hybrid - some big mixed breed.

Kyle even suggests keeping Ragdoll inside for initial introductions on the tarmac, but they all know that's not actually viable. Their kitty wouldn't talk to them for the rest of the day if they left her out like that.

So Price double checks that her little bell-collar is on and brings her out to meet the KorTac team.

Their cat hybrid is even bigger than expected - no wonder he's a combat placement despite being a domestic breed. He keeps his face hidden behind a big black hood with cutouts for his ears, fluffy tail slightly tangled-looking.

Price hasn't even finished introductions with the KorTac team when she makes a rolling little chur noise, bright and curious. The bigger hybrid zeros in on her instantly, ears flicking. She pads out from behind the captain and slips away before he can catch her. Any calls for her to come back are fully ignored.

She trots right up to the Austrian and mrrps again, pausing mid-step, waiting for a response. The other hybrid doesn't respond - at least he doesn't seem to.

"Sorry, kitten, but he doesn't really do the cat noises," Declan tries to tell her. But he's also ignored, and no sooner has he spoken than she's getting into the other cat's space, continuously making little "brr" noises.

And then to everyone's shock, he's bending down to greet her in return, nuzzling her cheek and forehead through the hood. She starts to purr, pressing up close, tail swishing lazily. A noise erupts from him, deep and rough, rattling in his chest. Johnny jumps and snatches at her shirt, dragging her back to the safety of their team.

She mewls sadly, arms extended to reach for him.

"He's growling, Doll," Johnny corrects, arms curling around her middle. For the first time ever she starts to wriggle. "He's too big for you to mess with."

"I... wasn't growling," the Austrian pipes up. "I apologizes if I caused alarm."

Johnny shoots him an incredulous look.

"Then what was that?" Kyle asks, confused.

"I don't... often purr."

Price takes one look at their still-wiggly kitty and the Austrian leaning towards her, as if wanting to follow, and pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Shit."

[ddejavvu]

Mean! Logan loves wet pussy and loves how you get so leaky when he’s around. He loves to finger and spit on your pussy at random times, adding to the mess 🥺💜

Simple - Logan Howlett x Reader

send me mean!logan requests!

contents/warnings: smut, minors dni. mean!logan, spitting, vaginal fingering, don't like don't read.

god anon. 'mean!logan loves wet pussy' aaaand it's all over the screen ☝️ thank you for phrasing that so hot i wuv you

Logan's acute sense of smell can be a curse sometimes, but it's never more of a blessing than when he's around you. He can always smell your arousal- always. You're more cunt than brain around Logan, and he adores the way your pussy always starts leaking at the smallest of gestures by him. A smirk, a hand run through his hair, even a well-timed wink can have you wet in your panties, and Logan's always eager to sniff you out.

"You know this really is a problem," He hums, turning where you're cuddled close to his chest and murmuring over the movie playing in front of you.

"Hm?" You shift, your leg hiked further up over his thighs as you blink up at him, "Wha'ss'a problem?"

"You make a mess anytime you're with me." He laments, faux-disappointment clouding his voice, "S'a shame you ruin all your panties."

"What?" You ask, incredulous but not more than you are bashful as you try wriggling away from his grip. But Logan doesn't let you, and you're caught in his muscular grip as he drags you back towards him.

"Don't act like you don't know what I mean. Here, I'll prove it." Logan's hand slips deftly into the waistband of your sleep shorts, bypassing the hem of your panties just as skillfully. All of a sudden there's thick, rough fingers prodding at your pussy, and you cry out in shock as Logan swipes two of his fingers through your puffy slit.

"Look at this," He showcases his evidence, a copious amount of your slick arousal now smeared on his fingers, "All I've done is lay here with you- what is it, the way I smell? My hand on your back? That's all it takes to get you creaming?"

You can't offer up an adequate response in time, mortification sucking every coherent thought from your brain.

"I- no, that's not-!"

Logan chuckles deeply, like he'd predicted that, "Simple thing, aren't'cha? I like it. C'mere, open up for me, honey."

He pats once, twice against your thigh, rough enough to leave a stinging sensation in the wake of his large palm. You don't quite comprehend what 'open up' means until he's scooting you across the couch himself, placing your back up against the arm and spreading your legs to get a glimpse of what's between them.

Your sleep shorts and panties are easily moved out of Logan's way; he tucks two fingers into the waistbands of each and tugs them aside. He's revealed a look at your glistening cunt, now leaking from the way he'd jammed his fingers inside and let your arousal leak out.

"You're soaked." He notes, eyes roving over your drooling cunt, "And all I had to do was be around you."

"Logan, I-" You feel like you should apologize for being so- simple.

His jaw tightens and rolls slightly, but you're not expecting him to lean forwards and spit between your legs. The glob of his saliva lands directly on your already-sticky slit and mixes immediately with your slick, only furthering the obscenity between your thighs.

"There, even wetter." He grunts, taking a rough thumb and smearing his spit into your skin. He lacks grace as he rubs the pad of his thumb into your pussy, but that doesn't mean the sight of him carefully tucking his spit away into your cunt doesn't make you want to cum right then and there.

"Keep that in there," He instructs, as if you have a choice, and he's suddenly broken from his trance as he pulls his fingers away and turns back to the movie. He tucks them promptly into his mouth, eyes on the screen, humming at the taste as he methodically licks them clean, "And later, I'll finger it out of you. You can squirt it all over my face, yeah?"

He grins at you like he's expecting you to shake on it, but at your mortified squeal he scoffs fondly, "Alright, alright, pretend you wouldn't like that. But I will lick you clean, honey."