#but that would honestly feel wrong at this point after everything that writing did for me

[bakukags]

hiii i luv your blog!! honestly the 'more then enough' fanfic had my crying lol :)) so i saw your requests were open and was wondering if you could do a bakugou x reader were y/n is bakugou's and deku's childhood friend and they have a lot of trauma bc of their dad who is an ex pro hero becoming a villian when shes in ua and bakugou has always had feelings for her and comforts her when class 1-a sees it on the news. make any changes youd like :))

the 3 things bakugou taught you (bakugou x reader)

summary: As a childhood friend of Bakugou and Deku, you had always dreamed of attending U.A. to train and become heroes together. However, everything turns upside down when Class 1-A discovers that your father, once a former Pro-Hero, has now become a Villain. In the chaos of it all, you find that Bakugou is full of surprises and that there may be more to him than what meets the eye.

pairing: bakugou x female! reader

genre: fluffy angst 

warnings: slight swearing 

word count: 4,176

a/n: thank you so much for all of your kindness and support <3 my request box is open!! please let me know if y'all would be interested in a part 2 or how I can improve my writing :)

Growing up with Bakugou Katsuki had taught you three things:

Bakugou Katsuki had a temper like a firework - explosive, loud, and colorful. 

His bark was somehow worse than his bite.

No matter how grumpy he was, you couldn’t stop smiling around him.

“What’s wrong with your face?” Bakugou grimaced, as you jogged to catch up, an extra bounce in your step. However, he slowed down slightly, allowing you to fall into step with him. 

“My dad’s coming home today.” Your grin widened. “I’m going to visit home later today to see him.” 

Your father was the pro-hero Aeris, who was known for his air-like attibutes and unique speed. You had also inherited his abilities, and his day-to-day heroism was what first motivated you to enroll into UA alongside Bakugou. Growing up, he had encouraged you to become a hero that not only helps the world, but changes the world for the better. 

“Happy are those who dream dreams and are ready to pay the price to make them come true.” Whenever he came home from work, he always reminded you of his life motto with a warm smile lighting up his face. “And you my dear, have the most beautiful dream. But you must also be ready to have the strength to pay the price when it comes to fruition.” 

From then on, you had resolved that you would do anything to become a hero. You father’s words had inspired you to become someone who would willingly sacrifice yourself in order to fulfill your dreams of saving the world; just like your father. As he rarely came home, you were especially elated on the days he did, today being one of those days.

Bakugou grunted in response, eyeing your chipper expression with thinly veiled annoyance. 

“Well stop it. It makes you look stupider than normal.” He grumbled, looking away from your bright smile.

“Mhmm,” You hummed noncommittally, not really listening. The walk back from class had become your guys’ unspoken routine. Ever since the two of you had moved into the dorms, Bakugou always waited after class for you to pack your bag so that the two of you could walk back together. Of course, he’d rather die than admit to you that he was waiting, often making up excuses such as finishing up an assignment or perfectly timing the speed at which he placed his books back into his bag. 

“I’ll go with you. To see your father." His tone indicated that it was a non-negotiable statement. You tilted your head, slightly confused. He had never accompanied you before. 

“I can’t have an idiot like you wandering around at night.” He clarified, clearing his throat. “You’d be too easy of a target for Villains. It’s almost like you want to get attacked.” 

You opened your mouth to point out that you were one of the top 5 students of Class 1-A and that you could handle yourself, thank you very much. However, the words died on your tongue when you caught sight of how his fingers twitched restlessly at his side, at how he was intentionally looking everywhere but at you. Many people wouldn’t pick up on it, but you knew him better than anyone. The signs were were clear - Bakugou Katsuki, of all people, was worried. For you. Your smile widened.

“If you wanted to spend more time with me Katsu, you could’ve just asked.” You teased, laughter bubbling in your voice. 

“That’s not, I don’t- stop making things up crazy woman!” He spluttered in response, the tips of his ears turning pink.

Much to Bakugou’s dismay, you continued laughing, causing you to almost miss Izuku falling into step alongside you. 

“Hey guys! Good training today, huh?” Izuku exclaimed, smiling at you. You grinned back, nodding excitedly in agreement. Your spirits were still high from your previous conversation with Bakugou. However, upon spotting the freckled boy, Bakugou’s face immediately morphed into a deep scowl. His eyebrows furrowed irritably, but he remained silent.

“Izu!” You grabbed onto his arm, just like you had growing up. “Training was amazing! Did you get a chance to see my practice match? I could hardly believe it - Shoto and I tied!” You chattered incessantly, easily falling into natural conversation with him. The three of you used to always hang out together and you found yourself suddenly missing the green-haired boy’s presence. 

“It’s been a while since we’ve hung out!” You continued. “You should join us more often - it’ll be just like old times!" 

A pink flush spread across Izuku’s cheeks, trailing down his neck.

“Of-of course, I’d love to!” Izuku stuttered, eyes glancing down at your arms that were still wrapped around his. A faint crackling popping sound, along with the smell of smoked caramel filled the air, causing the both of you to glance at Bakugou. He now had his hands curled into fists, jaw tightly clenched. 

“He’s not invited.” Bakugou spat out, eyeing the two of you murderously. Growing up with Bakugou however, made you immune to his violent tendencies. You smiled sweetly in return, letting go of Izuku in favor of placatingly rubbing Bakugou’s arm. 

“You’re always invited,” You said to Izuku before raising an eyebrow at Bakugou, daring him to argue. He hissed like a cat baring his teeth, but didn’t protest.

“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind!” Izuku nodded, eyes flickering between you and Bakugou hesitantly. “You guys must be pretty close now - almost inseperable huh?”

“We’re not.” Bakugou snarled at the same time you chirped “Yup!” The two of you looked at each other for a moment before you let out a laugh, shrugging nonchalantly.

“It’s funny because you guys are total… opposites.” Izuku spoke carefully, glancing at Bakugou as if he was a ticking time bomb ready to explode at any moment. The green-haired boy’s words were true - Bakugou oozed aggression and abrasiveness, while you were all cheerfulness and tact. While Bakugou burned intensely like the sun, you were constant like the moon. Just as bright, but in a different way. After the blonde boy had been kidnapped by Villains, he had refused to talk about the situation to anyone. Everyone had pestered him with countless opinions and questions - except for you. He didn’t need to speak in order for you to know how he felt or understand what he needed. You had spent your whole life learning him, and now, all you had to do was merely stay by his side as an unwavering source of support. The two of you had been attached by the hip ever since. 

“His grumpiness adds to the appeal.” You giggled. “Right?” You turned to look up at Bakugou, ready for a classic snarky remark, but your eyes met molten embers instead. Taken by surprise, you tripped, stumbling over your own foot. Two hands immediately reached out to steady you: one belonging to Izuku and the other belonging to Bakugou. The blonde boy let go of you just as quickly as he had touched you, as if your skin had scorched him. However, Izuku’s hand remained, steadying you. You shot him a grateful look. 

“Thanks.” You regained your balance with a sheepish smile. 

Bakugou’s face darkened as his gaze shifted from yours to Izuku’s hand, which still lingered on your arm. A low growl left his lips as his eyes burned holes into Izuku, who instantly let go.

“So-Sorry! I’m glad you’re okay! I mean-are you okay?” He sputtered, eyes wide.

“She’ll be fine once you leave.” Bakugou spat venomously, a vein bulging out of his forehead. Izuku chuckled uncomfortably while your gaze darted nervously between the two boys, unsettled by the sudden escalation of emotions. The air suddenly felt a little too warm, too tense. In a second Bakugou was moving, stopping only when he stood between you and Izuku, effectively separating the two of you.

“What kind of idiot can’t even get back to the dorms without falling?” Bakugou sharply retorted, nostrils flaring. “Hurry up, I’m hungry.” He stalked away, leaving you to direct an apologetic glance at Izuku before following close behind. 

“That was rude.” You glanced towards the blonde boy as you struggled to catch up to him.

“Not my fault Deku pissed me off.” He grunted in response. 

“And it’s not his fault that you have a short fuse.” You rolled your eyes in annoyance.

If those words had come out of anyone else, you probably would be slammed against the wall and blasted into oblivion. But you were always the exception. He growled, the sound low and dangerous.

“Not right now, sunshine.” He barked your nickname out like it was a curse, but you knew better than to take him seriously. Your words had struck a little too close to home, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. He angrily slammed the door to the dorms open, uncharacteristically propping it open for you.

“Move it. I don’t have all day.” He practically yelled in your ear, causing you to wince. He at least had the decency to look back at you half-apologetically, before lowering his voice to a more suitable volume. “Well? Why aren’t you walking idiot?”

“Thanks, I think?” You shrugged, hesitantly walking through the door. “But you really got to tone it down Katsu, I me-”

The words caught in your throat. You froze, causing Bakugou to ram right into you.

“What the hell sunshine? What kind of idiot stands in the middle of the doorway?” He barked, but you didn’t respond. Your eyes were glued to the television, trained on the newscaster Miyagi who imparted the breaking headlines for today.

“Breaking news - A Pro-Hero has turned out to be a Villain? You heard it here folks, Ex Pro-Hero Aeris was found injuring several innocent children just this afternoon. It appears he has been secretly working alongside the League of Villains as an undercover agent.”

The screen cut, and suddenly, footage of a man filled the TV screen. His grin looked borderline crazed, an unknown murderous glint flooding his eyes. Two heros held him down as he struggled against them, handcuffs digging into his wrists.

Your legs gave out, and you stumbled backwards. Somebody immediately caught you, muttering something into your ear, but you couldn’t tear your eyes from the screen. All you could see was your father’s deranged expression flooding the screen. 

“No.” You whispered, eyes peeled on the TV, arms trembling. “No. This can’t be real.”

"How could you do this?” A civilian yelled at the ex Pro-hero, angry tears blurring her features. “Don’t you have a child too? A daughter?”

All eyes turned to you, the dorm falling impossibly silent. This couldn’t be happening. Your whole world was collapsing, right in front of your eyes. Your arm reached outwards in attempts to grab onto something, anything, that could ground you. A warm hand enveloped yours immediately. You latched onto it, squeezing tightly. Something deep inside of you knew that you should look tear your eyes from the screen, but you for some twisted reason, you couldn’t. You needed to know more. You needed to know why.

Your father stopped struggling, finally allowing the heros to usher him into a police car. 

“So?” Your father shrugged. His posture suddenly looked eerily calm and nonchalant, but his eyes remained dark. Frenzied, yet disturbedly content. He looked stared right into the camera. At you. “Why would I care? I never considered her to be my daughter anyways.”

Those words were all it took to send you spiraling. The walls closed in on you, trapping you, until suddenly, it was impossible to breathe. Your whole life was a lie. The person you had always looked up to in life, the person responsible for your existence, had just revealed that he never truly cared if you existed. You thought back to your childhood. He had taught you how to ride a bike, how to cook chicken marsala, how to use your powers for good. He had been your sole role model, had shaped you into the person you were today, and now he was-

Happy are those who dream dreams and are ready to pay the price to make them come true.

Your dad’s life motto rang in your mind unbidden, yet it no longer sounded like encouragement. It sounded like a threat. 

Are you happy? You wanted to ask him. Was the price worth it? Was betaying me, betraying the world worth it? Even though the questions screamed inside your head, you knew you didn’t want to hear their answers. A part of you knew what his response would be and hated it. 

“It’s a trick.” You whispered, still in denial. A tear tricked down your cheek; you barely felt it. Your voice grew louder, more insistent. 

“They’re lying. They have to be lying!” The words rang in the room, sharp and empty. A gust of wind rushed surrounded you as your face twisted with fury. Your classmates stared back at you, speechless. You had always been the calm and collected one, the one to rein Bakugou in whenever he exploded. But the roles had suddenly reversed, and suddenly you were the one bubbling over, about to explode. They had never seen you like this before - all seething, abrasive, aggressive. Even you had never felt this way before. 

“It’s really a shame,” Mineta was the first to speak up. “that your father is a criminal. I mean, you’d think even criminals love their daughters-”

Before anyone could even blink, you were across the room, slamming Mineta hard against the wall. 

“Say it again.” You growled dangerously, hands wrapped around his throat. A couple classmates tried to intervene, only to be blown back by a harsh gust of wind. 

“It’s a pity. You’re so pretty, but I guess even you have violent tendencies.” Mineta sneered, wheezing when you tightened your grip around his neck. “It makes sense though. Like father, like daughter. ” 

His words crawled along your skin and you instantly dropped him. He spluttered, leering as you backed away. All your life, you had been proud to be called your father’s daughter. But now, you felt nothing but a wave of shame and disgust. You looked up at your classmates. They all stared back with stiff postures and raised defenses. As if they too, thought that you would become a Villain. Blinking back tears, you did the only thing you could do. You ran.

You ran until your lungs nearly gave out, until nausea overwhelmed you. Gripping the edges of a nearby trash can, you emptied out all of the contents of today’s lunch. Your body trembled as you fell to the floor, pulling your knees in. The sound of stomping echoed in the halls, loud and harsh. Bakugou. Your stomach churned; he was the last person you wanted to see.

“Go away.” You growled, torn between wanting to be left alone and being too drained to run away. He ignored you, like he usually did, but this time it made you furious. Why couldn’t he just listen to you, just take you seriously for once? 

“I told you to go away Bakugou Katsuki!” The words were icy cold and you heard the stomping pause for a moment. All your life, even when you both got into disagreements, you had never once called him by his full name before. Yet for some reason, you couldn’t let him see you like this - embarassingly weak and pathetic. 

“What are you, my mother?” He retorted. The footsteps continued again, until he was soon towering over you. “Don’t call me that - shit’s weird.” 

“I mean it.” Your words were coated with venom. You refused to look at him. “Leave me alone.”

Bakugou ignored you again, choosing instead to take a seat next to you. 

“When have I ever listened to you?” He scoffed. “Don’t expect me to start now.” 

You didn’t reply, curling deeper into a ball instead. The two of you sat in silence for several moments. The longer you sat, the more it all sank in. Your whole life had been a sick and twisted lie - how could you even start to separate the fiction from reality? Your breathing started to grow more ragged as you spiraled further, your throat tightening. You watched as your vision grew more and more blurry, until a choked sob ripped free from your chest. Hiding your head in your knees, you finally let the tears pour down your cheeks, let your shoulders shake from the sobs. 

You felt a hand grab yours, the same hand that had wrapped around yours earlier in the dorms. Bakugou silently pulled you towards him, wrapping his arm around your shoulders in a tentative hug. Immediately you burrowed yourself into his broad chest, finding comfort in the way he held you closer to him, as if his arms could protect you from reality. 

“I don’t even know,” You murmured, breath hitching. “what to believe anymore. If he raised me to be like him, then maybe I’m-” A villain too. You swallowed the words back into your throat, but they still hung in the air, unspoken. Another sob wracked through your chest, causing Bakugou’s grip on you to tighten. You stayed like that for a while, seconds passing into minutes. As the blonde boy tentatively rubbed soothing circles into your back, you couldn’t help the incredulous laugh bubbling alongside your sobs - Bakugou being calm and soothing? Your life was definitely falling apart. 

“Don’t be an idiot. You’re obviously not a villain.” He spoke with absolute certainty, as if he was merely stating a fact, like how the sky was blue or the grass green.

“You can’t know that.” You murmured, remembering the way you had nearly strangled Mineta, the way your classmates had all stared at you afterwards. “Mineta-”

“Is taken care of.” Bakugou’s chest rumbled as he cut you off, tone menacing. “He’ll no longer have the audacity to look at you, let alone even speak to you. Neither will the others. I’ve made damn sure of it myself.”

Warmth spread throughout your stomach, rising up into your chest and onto your cheeks. You hid your flushed face further into his shirt. You opened your mouth to protest-

“Don’t even start sunshine.” Bakugou interjected, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You were upset and Mineta had a shitty attitude. If anything, he deserved it.” 

You let out a watery chuckle. Only Bakugou would justify nearly strangling someone. As if sensing your upcoming retort, he spoke again. 

“You didn’t hurt anyone. And you never will because…” He paused, eyes trained at the wall above your head. The following words sounded like they were being ripped from him against his will. “you’re one of the good ones, alright? Why else would I spend so much time with you? It’d be embarassing, ya know?”

You understood what he was trying to say. Bakugou always needed the best of the best, in every aspect. Which meant that whatever he chose to do or whoever he chose to spend time with, all of it had to be good. The best, in every sense of the word. After all, it’d be embarassing to him if it wasn’t. He’d view it as an unforgiveable slight towards his perfectionistic tendencies. 

“Thank you Katsu.” You breathed in deeply, his signature smell of ashy caramel and fresh pine filling your nose, relaxing your limbs. You weren’t quite sure how you had gotten here, how you had somehow managed to slip in between the cracks of his impossibly high standards. You certainly didn’t feel like the best and you weren’t even sure if you believed his words, but they somehow still brought you comfort. At least you knew that someone in your life was raw and real. It had always been that way with Bakugou - what you saw was what you got. 

"It’s nothing.” He huffed, but you caught a hint of a smile on his lips. Moving his hands upwards, he started playing with your hair, his touch oddly gentle. 

It wasn’t nothing, but you didn’t have the strength to argue. Instead, you silently accepted the bottle of water he was offering to you. After muttering a soft thanks, you allowed the liquid to coat your dry tongue while matching the sounds of his even breathing with your own. And as the two of you sat in comfortable silence, you felt something in the air shift. For the first time, you noticed the fluttering in your stomach; the racing of your heart. You wondered if Bakugou felt it too.

The blonde boy eyed the window, watching as the rain started to pour down, droplets splattering across the glass. The sound was soothing, melding perfectly with the melody of our matched breaths. 

“I like the rain.” You said, tilting your face slightly toward the window. 

He snorted. “Of course you do.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You like everything.” He rolled his eyes. “It’s annoying.”

“Not everything.” You protested, shifting your body.

“Well, you like me.” He joked, all bravado. You stilled. One moment passed, then two. 

“I didn’t mean it like that.” Bakugou paused. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was flustered. A faint crackling pop echoed in the hallway. “I only meant who wouldn’t like m-”

“I do.” The confession blurts out of your mouth before you can even think. “Like you I mean.”

Maybe your defenses were lowered because of the constant crying. Or maybe it was because of the way he was gazing at you now - like you were something precious, something so beautiful that he couldn’t tear his eyes away from you, even for a second. 

“Took you long enough to catch on.” He swallowed, nonchalance forced into his voice. Another pop echoed in the hall. You stifled a grin as he forcefully stuffed his sparking palms into his pockets to hide them. A moment passed before your eyes widened as you connected the dots.

“For how long?” You breathed, voice catching in your throat.

“Too long.” He said gruffly, keeping it vague. “A snail moves at a faster pace than you.”

A laugh made it’s way out of your throat. “You could’ve said something!”

“That’s lame,” He huffed. “and you know it. But since we’re already on this topic, Deku better stay the hell away from you now that-”

You kissed the edge of his lips, partly to shut him up and partly because you could. He instantly froze, a shade of red rising up his neck. 

“If you’re gonna do that.” He whispered, the sound deep and husky. “Then do it right.”

He yanked you towards him, the move rugged and harsh, pulling your mouths together. Kissing him was like a smoldering fire - hot, burning, and intense. His arms pulled you closer, and you wanted more of this, more of him. He kissed you like a starving man tasting bread for the first time, and when you pulled away, he groaned reluctantly, chest gasping for air. You caught his gaze and held it, a brief moment of understanding passing between the two of you. And for the first time, you knew that despite everything, you were going to be okay.

A smile crept it’s way onto your face, the way it always tended to whenever Bakugou was present. In your head, you found yourself unconsciously amending the list of things you had learned about Bakugou over the years: 

Bakugou Katsuki had a temper like a firework - explosive, loud, and colorful. But when the time called for it, he could also be gentle, quiet, and fiercely protective. 

Although his bark was somehow worse than his bite, when it came to you, he had no problems following through with his bite. After all, he was an excellent kisser. 

No matter how grumpy he was, you couldn’t stop smiling around him. You still weren’t quite sure why yet, but you did know one thing for certain. 

Through thick and thin, through the lies and the villains, Bakugou Katuski would always be there for you. He might be abrasive and biting. He might be aggressive and impulsive. But he was also solid and real. He was true to his word and below all those layers, he was inconceivably, irrevocably good. And of course, most importantly - he was most definitely all yours. 

[niennandil-me-writes]

Fragments of a Cybernetic Mind: Chapter 6 - We've Been Here Before

Summary Half a year has passed since the events of Christmas of 2064. The world is slowly adjusting to sentient ROMs. But Turing is distracted from their task as ROM-kind’s leader and ambassador by another obligation they carry. They want to deliver Leon Dekker’s last words to his daughter. But first, they’ll have to find her, which doesn’t prove easy. They ask their journalist friend for help, who seems less than thrilled.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 (final) Epilogue

[Content Notes: This chapter features some heavy gore and very graphic descriptions of violence. A plot summary is included in the end notes in ao3 for everyone who wants to skip on it. It starts gradual and becomes more intense, so feel free to take a break or skip down at any moment. Additional more specific content notes are there as well (I'd usually put them directly here, but in this case to prefer to leave you the option to get surprised). Please take care.]

The digital clock shows 3:25 am. I should be sleeping. Instead, I am sitting on the couch, bathed in the cold light of my laptop, a cup of coffee on the table in front of me. I tried out one of the VR experiences Ramona gave me. A walk through a forest. But even though it was calming, I still couldn’t sleep. So I might as well get some work done. Typing, scanning data, taking notes. I don’t get anything done. 3:43. The lines blur in front of my eyes.

My eyes wander to the VR helmet on the table. I hesitate. But maybe that will let me find something I have overlooked so far. Help me get closer. So I take the helmet and connect it to my laptop. Put it over my head. Play a memory.

The view the goggles offer me is almost as dark as my living room. My eyes need a moment to adjust to the artificial memory. It’s so unlike the VR I experienced that evening. Everything seemed so real there, I could feel the rain dripping down on my skin and the sun on my arms, hear the wind rustling through trees, could taste autumn air. Here, everything seems muted, like through a veil. I lift the helmet and check the plug, the system, but everything seems to be working well.

I return to the memory. I hear a buzzing, a humming, a hammering like drums in the distance. What memory is this? I forgot to check.

Then I see the metal, the glowing of electricity. Smoke on the floor, around my – no his – feet.

I know where this is!

I try to take off the helmet, but I can’t move. I’m frozen. But I move. Stepping through Parallax’ server room. Hunting. Hunting myself. I need to get out! I need to – I need to –

I need to find you. But that can wait for a while. In the end, I am glad I didn’t kill you when I had the chance. You proved worth our while. Leading me exactly where I needed to go, finding the clues so I didn’t have to. You might as well have pointed a finger at all the people that I needed to kill. One should think someone this skilled in investigative journalism would have seen it coming. Then again, maybe you did. Maybe to you I was – how did the ROM put it? A calculated risk.

Well, it doesn’t matter now. You miscalculated. I can practically smell your fear in the air, hear your hammering heart even beyond the sizzling and buzzing of the electronics. I take a step in the opposite direction. Now that my cloaking emitter is fried, the ROM is no doubt tracking every step I take for you. I hope they do. Maybe I can actually get you to believe you might survive this. It makes the whole deal oh so much sweeter, like just another spoonful of honey in the tea my mother used to make. It’s the closest approximation I can get to that taste.

I’m enjoying every second of this, my mind racing with all the things I want to do to you, even as I tell you my little story. You are probably piecing everything together yourself right now. But that is bound to lack real pathos, all the best details missing. Like how Zinn’s body felt against my arm as I pushed her out the window of her own office. The surprise mixed with pain in Otsuka’s eyes, mirrored in his computer screen, as I drove the knife through his back. The look on your face as I ran over Nonya. The way his guts looked spread out across the street. You just can’t imagine it. Well,you can with that last one, you were there for that. 

But you aren’t sharing your thoughts, which is just too sad. Just as you aren’t telling me what you think of my plan to rip out your entrails and wear them like a scarf. Maybe that was a bit overdramatic, but beggars can’t be choosers and I am positively starving for some violence. I haven’t even told you yet that I intend for you to be alive during that part, but you will find out soon enough.

A door snaps shut just in front of me. Getting nervous? A chuckle escapes my metal throat. Those metal walls aren’t a problem for me. I could tear through them like paper. But where would the fun be in this if I just revealed that I know exactly where you are and can get there in seconds? I’ll let you keep hoping. 

I walk past the wall and continue the story. Then again… I can’t let you feel too safe. Why not show you what I’m capable of? Stimulate your imagination a bit. I walk straight ahead. My sensors catch something to my left. I turn. Walk faster. The metal screeches as it gives way around me.

And there you are. Cowered in a corner. Your hands clutching the zapper so tightly that your knuckles turn white as chalk. You scream.

(I scream)

And it’s music to my ears. Promises of what is to come. Are you even aware of screaming? Do you know what I am about to do to you? The first shot misses. Hands trembling violently. Have you ever shot at anyone before?

I push those thoughts to the side for later, and leap at you. The next shot hits my face. I laugh as I fall to the ground. Your footsteps running away. I heave myself up. The door in front of me closes. You really still think that will stop me?

I touch my hand to my face, where the zapper peeled off even more of my synthetic skin, revealing the metal grin beneath. It barely hurts, just a sting. But oh, does it feel good. It increases my appetite even more. What a wonderful toy you are. Anyone else would have given up by now. But you have guts. I like that in a victim. Can’t wait to rip them out of your body.

Maybe you, too, find this situation exciting, albeit in a different way? You enjoyed your little detective play, and what better climax to that than a hide and seek game with a homicidal android? Maybe that’s what the glint I spotted in your eye means. Maybe, after a life of mediocrity, you enjoy being the center of attention, people dying because of you, and you being the only one left to solve the case. Maybe deep down, you are as fucked up as me. Or maybe that’s just me projecting.

I chuckle to myself. Continue our little game. After that shot, you deserve your reward, so I keep on telling the tale, rattling off the facts about Fairlight and Big Blue and yadda yadda… to be honest, I don’t really care. Oh, it pays the bills alright, and I prefer to keep it that way, but in the end, I don’t really care about the politics. Turing’s crazy idea about turning all robots sentient is nothing but a welcome excuse to wreck shit. Isn’t it nice when things work out like that?

Another door closes next to me. Slowly I’m getting impatient.

“Like how you feel about doing journalism? It’s all that matters to you”, I say. “That’s how I feel about murder.”

A whimper, just around the corner. You made a mistake and you are just now realizing it. 

Turning, I charge at you at the speed of sound. You lift the gun, pull the trigger. No shot rings out.

(Wait)

You are out. 

(That is not what happened!)

In a pathetic last attempt, you fling the weapon at me. It bounces right off my body, tearing some more skin off. I don’t care. I’ll have to make some replacements after I’m done here anyways. 

I grab you by the throat. The ROM charges at me, but I just kick the little shit into the wall. Metal crashes against metal, the little body explodes in a flash of electricity. It’s beautiful. But not as beautiful as your pale face in front of mine.

(This didn’t happen! This is not what happened! I try to get out. I scream, but all that comes over my lips is – )

“Now let the real game begin,” I grin into your face, which is slowly turning blue as I increase the pressure on your throat. I won’t deny, if I still had the necessary parts, this sight would seriously turn me on right now. But I won’t finish you off just yet, no, that would be boring.

I let go and you fall to the floor, gasping for air, hand clasped to your throat. As soon as your lungs are filled with oxygen again, you crawl away, trying to get to your feet. But I am infinitely faster. My boot meets your leg. A wet crunching sound. A scream. How beautiful. Seeing how well you did so far on your little adventure makes it all the sweeter to see you reduced to a small helpless mess on the floor.

I lift my foot off your broken leg. A piece of bone is piercing the skin. I crouch down, grab it and twist until it comes out. Screams turn into whimpers at your lips, which then turns into silence. You’re fainting, as is to be expected. But I’m not letting you fade away just yet. I slap your face, again and again, shake you, until your eyes flutter open again.

“Wakey, wakey,” I grin. “Time for your nightmare.”

Reflexively, you try to jump up. A hiss of pain as you try to move your useless leg. I pin you to the floor and use your own bloodied bone to tear through your shirt and the skin beneath, stabbing it into your stomach. 

“please...” Your voice is barely another whimper.

I grab your head. “What is it, sweetie? You want to beg for your life? Maybe if you ask nicely, I’m gonna let you live? After all, I could still get you out of here, to the next hospital? But we both know, it ain’t gonna happen. As much as I would like to hear you beg, see you grovel in front of me, it just can’t be done. You know too much.”

You don’t answer. You don’t even scream anymore. But I know you can feel everything. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

My fingers grip your hair, holding your head in place while I continue to rummage through your body with my other hand. Your ribcage is lying open now, bones looking out of your flesh. Blood and parts of organs splattered on the floor. It looks like an abstract painting, one of those Yannick has hanging in his villa. For a silly moment, I consider taking a picture for him, but quickly discard the idea. That would be evidence. And anyways, the view is already burned into my memory disks, where I can retrieve it whenever I feel like it, whenever I feel bored and need some nice distraction to put a smile on my face.

It is making me smile right now, and that makes me notice the blood on my lips. I can’t taste it, naturally, but my sensors tell me everything I need to know, adrenaline levels and suchlike. Almost like eating candy. Or the closest I can come to that.

I run my fingers through your hair, almost tenderly. Unwanted memories of my wife resurface, of stroking her hair like that. Instead of pushing them away like I usually do, I dwell on them for a little. Getting excited at the dying stranger’s hair in my hands is as close as I can get to that past sensation. Your hair turns into her hair, your face into hers. Closest approximation and all that.

My touch doesn’t stay gentle for long, though. I yank you up by the hair, pulling you off the ground. Your entrails are spilling on the floor. I let go and you stay standing up for just a second before I place a punch into the gaping hole in your stomach. You sprawl to the floor. Barely alive now. Time to decide how best to end this.

I grab your guts from the floor, and, climbing on top of you, wrap them around myself and then around your neck and start pulling. It’s almost like a hug, or the closest approximation or whatever - enough of this sentimental bullshit. I tighten the grip. Organic fiber tears, your eyes flutter, you don’t even struggle anymore.

(I watch myself die, unable to do anything. It’s not the first time.)

I tear another bone from your ribcage, stab at you with it, rip your hair out, squash your eyes until they explode between my fingers, I yank your arm out of its socket. I tear out your heart and take a bite I can neither taste nor swallow.

That’s how they find me. 

I knew I was forgetting something. Your friend from the police escaped, calling backup. Even so, I could have gotten away, if I hadn’t gotten so lost in our fun.

But seeing the cop lady walk in just as I am led out in handcuffs, seeing her face as she looks at your body (or what remains of it), hearing her uncontrolled sobs, her gibberish as she falls to the floor, it makes it all worth it. Who knows... Maybe now Wilson Dekker will finally be allowed to die. And what a hell of a last day it has been.

[dee-the-red-witch]

How to ACTUALLY date a trans girl

(This column was originally submitted to Autostraddle as a reply to their "A Trans Guy’s Guide to Picking Up a Trans Girl" but since they've apparently passed on it, it gets to be posted up free everywhere else instead.) Picture this- you’re a trans woman who’s been in transition for three years now. Your dating life has gone from abysmal to amazing in alternate fits and spurts and you’ve found not just one, but three awesome partners despite the many, MANY pitfalls you’ve experienced along the way. And then one day, your social media feeds ping up with screencaps of a guide to picking up girls like yourself. Needing a good laugh, you click through. And read. And proceed to smack your forehead with your own palm in frustration a few times and giggle and some other lines on the first readthrough. But things feel off, so you read again. And begin to seethe. And then start opening up the Word document and start typing frenziedly into it. Because honestly? At the end of the day, as a trans lesbian who dates all sorts of people on non-male parts of the amorphous spectral mass that is Gender, I feel like I’m obligated to. I wanted to go into that first reading and find a column that actually got things right, and this was so far off the mark in the worst ways, so I feel like I have to set some things down on paper. Because this guide reads, in so many ways, like everything my cisfem friends have complained about in the straight dating scene for years. Reading through it that second time, I felt almost the exact same sense of of sheer grease and sleaze that I’ve felt reading incel pickup guides. I felt like I was being seen as a pretty object at best and a disposable sex toy at worst. I wasn’t treated as human. At best it was a bunch of stereotypes, none of which applied to me. But under it all, I saw other bits- the tricks an abuser used to lure me in. The lies my rapist fed me. The excuses made by folks online for why I should be treated like a monster or thing because of my identity. You know, the specific blend of misogyny that singles out transfem identities in general- transmisogyny. And since we’re addressing the elephant in the room, I want to address a few particular points from Gabe’s article before I give you some real idea of how to go about this. And I want to emphasize here- this is after editing out a page of swearing, going over Gabe’s own past history of transmisogynistic writing, and just cutting it down to the actual points where the original article really went wrong, and also pick up a few points at the end that’ll actually work well for trans guys or anyone else who might be interested in a relationship with a trans girl. First off, if you’re trans as well? Stop playing the ‘we’re both trans’ card. ESPECIALLY if you’re coming at it from a ‘Why yes, I used to be a woman’ angle. For one, you’re telling us at the same time that you see us as former men, which is usually very much not the transfem experience (Personally, I always felt like I was putting on a ‘man’ act. All the time. Badly.) and for another, you’re being transphobic to yourself and your own identity. If we’re there to date you, it’s as the man you are- be that guy.

Secondly, just because the trans woman experience shares similarities with the experience you had trying to be a woman up until you came out and transitioned, it also has staggering fundamental differences, and your attempts to relate are going to highlight those differences in ways that aren’t going to work in your favor. We didn’t get to go shopping in public, or if we did, it was fraught with fear at being caught out in the early stages of transition, followed by massive frustrations with both trying to figure out where we fit into women’s sizing. And then discovering that absolutely nothing available in local stores, including thrift shops, would fit right, especially not that cute choker we’d always been drooling over. That nothing smelled right for lotion or perfume because we were dealing with a body chemistry that was going through a slow shift on HRT. And we don’t need or want to be reminded of just how much we stand out from the other girls in those kind of regards.

Also, maybe, just maybe, don’t do things that would get seen as completely misogynistic and creepy if you pulled them on a cisgender woman. Don’t go digging into her socials- stalkers and chasers pull that crap and it’s beyond tiresome. Don’t try to deduce what her pretransition life was like, that’s for her to share, if she chooses to. Don’t see her as a stereotype- some of us never played New Vegas, owned cat ears, or like thigh-highs. On that first date if you ever get there, don’t bring her flowers, lovebomb her like mad, constantly find little ways to touch her, any of that- if she has any experience, she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop in response, because she’s had this treatment before and it ended oh so badly. Just be yourself. And get it through your head that the bear is still definitely a choice regardless of everything- after all, we have examples like Gabe to prove that transmisogyny certainly isn’t limited to cis folks.

What should you do? Treat her like any other woman. Treat her like a human being, because we get so little of that, even from the rest of the LGBTQIA+ community. Yes, you’ll more than likely have to take initiative, because we’re used to seeing our attractions, needs, and desires as being perceived as aggressive or predatory by others. When you touch her, do it with assertion and intent- none of the little brushes and stalker moves- ask if you can hold her hand, or put an arm around her, so she knows you actually want to be here and want contact with her. Listen to her, and pay attention- let her be open and honest about her experiences and interests, and remember what she tells you, because she’s going to need to know that she’s wanted and valued for who she is and what she’s into, and it will be part of how she connects to you. And finally? Common sense and communication- every last one of us is different in a lot of ways, and asking or making room to talk about things from physical contact and sex to social activity or group outings or anything else can save a lot of blunders from ever happening. All in all you can and should date trans women! Please! A lot of the best relationships I’ve ever had were with other trans girls and I don’t regret any of those. But you have to put down the pickup guides, stop seeing us as fetish dispensers and sexy lampshades, and actually deal with us as people, first.

[chevroletdean]

mirror sex [dean winchester] ── ✮⋆˙

kinktober 2024

ship: dean x afab!fem!reader genre: smut, angst to note/warnings: explicit – minors dni, established relationship, hunt almost gone wrong, canon-level violence, patching/stitching up wounds, dean’s self loathing tendencies, hurt/comfort, little bit of praise kink, fingering, porn with plot word count: 3.6k a/n: three days until halloween and i feel like i’m way behind on kinktober. i might just try to get to some of these during november as well, my apologies. also, the cat’s out of the bag: i’m a sucker for angst. i’m curious what you guys enjoy to read/write the most, are you more into fluff, smut, or angst?

Dean’s harsh on himself. Always. You knew that even before you started dating him. It’s how he grew up, after all. From a young age it’s been drilled into him by John; that he has to be tough and strong, that he isn’t allowed to think before he acts, that certain things have to be done – even when these things are ugly. Even when they turn other things ugly. Things like the sight of his hands afterwards. Things like his whole reflection, honestly.

It’s days like these where he enters autopilot, in a poor attempt of resorting to a self-defense mechanism. He can’t stand the reflection in the mirror, so he simply doesn’t look. He wouldn’t like what he sees, so he avoids it altogether, if he can.

Saving people, hunting things, the family business – killing monsters always sounds so heroic until you realize your decisions are cut-and-dry to the cruelest degree, until the soap can only scrub clean the red from your hands but not the guilt that still sticks to your skin, and until you begin to wonder who the actual monster is.

Dean’s harsh on himself in that he blames himself for everything. It’s all his responsibility, the weight of the world always on his shoulders.

Hunts go wrong. It’s part of the job, but that thought isn’t as comforting as it should be, because it doesn’t change anything and it doesn’t take away any of the gravity.

Dean and you had been tracking down this pack of aggressive werewolves. The job had sounded so easy, everything had been so straight-forward. Until you two realized that the town’s sheriff was in on it, and ultimately, so was his son. Partially, at least. Just a kid, barely twenty-one – about the age when Sam hit the library, when he should’ve hit on cute girls on campus, around the age of frat parties with beer-pong cups and hangovers.

A guy who had his whole life ahead of him, but had it snuffed out by a silver bullet to his chest. (or rather, by Dean’s finger pulling that trigger, if you’d ask Dean how it went down, because he sees no point in distancing himself from the narrative when it was his doing). Not because that kid wanted any of it. Hell, as Dean and you had been investigating the case, you came to realize all that boy wanted was a peaceful life. And you knew it was possible, some werewolves were able to build up normalcy without killing anybody, picket-fence and all, more so than your average hunter, sometimes.

But you had shot the sheriff, given that he’d been systematically kidnapping his victims throughout the years. And upon witnessing the silver piercing through his father’s chest, the student went downright feral. He attacked you and jumping you, going for a bite that never landed, was the last thing he ever did.

“You had to shoot him,” you told Dean in the car, just like he predicted you would.

“I know,” came Dean’s reply and those were the only words during the whole ride, just like you predicted they’d be.

Even upon arrival back at the bunker, he remains silent. The loudest noises are just his footsteps, which are heavier than usual as he drags you to your shared room, and ultimately the slam of the bathroom door that he shuts behind the two of you.

“Sit,” he says, voice laced with anger that you know he only directs at himself, and nudges you to the edge of the bathtub. You know better than to argue with him and despite the fact that there’s a nasty gash on his shoulder, you let him clean the minor scratch above your eyebrow first. You must’ve hit your head back when the werewolf slammed you against a shelf, but you’ve definitely had worse. But Dean puts others before himself and your wellbeing is always his priority.

Yet, his ministrations aren’t exactly gentle. He dabs the rubbing alcohol to your cut brow without any regard for the way you wince slightly. His eyes don’t meet yours as he shoves his hand into the cupboard and impatiently fishes for bandages. His jaw is clenched tightly as he patches you up with a bandaid.

He’s in his own head, clearly – or trying to keep those spiraling thoughts at bay within his self-critical mind. Those what ifs and should’ve dones would kill him otherwise.

You can only watch as he straightens his back, turns around, takes a step towards the sink opposite to the bathtub, slams the cabinet shut again, and keeps his gaze purposefully low. His eyes remain glued to his hands as he washes them, as if he doesn’t dare to lift his chin.

“Let me help you with your shoulder,” you mumble softly and he almost can’t hear you over the running water and the running thoughts. It’s your gentle touch that makes him snap out of it, but even as he raises his head at last, his eyes only land on the reflection of you. Your face peeks out over his shoulder, one of your arms wrapped around his middle, the other hand ghosting over his blood-soaked sleeve.

“No need, ‘m fine,” he grumbles, stubborn as ever. But as he turns off the faucet, the movement reminds him of the sharp ache and the dull throb in his arm. Just the graze of the sheriff’s bullet. He knows he got lucky, but he also can’t bring himself to care about any of that with every other dreadful aspect of today.

“A couple of inches away from death doesn’t fit my definition of fine, Dean.”

He can’t argue with that, it would be hypocritical. A droplet of blood on your forehead is enough to make him worry and who is he to deny you your concerns when he’s been injured too? Besides, he knows you can see right through him. Physical injuries are one thing, but the emotional damage often runs deeper than any blade or gun could.

Though his muscles are stiff, Dean doesn’t resist as you slowly peel off his flannel. His eyes are still fixated on you. He can’t bring himself to look at the wound himself, much less let his gaze drift anywhere close to his own reflection right now.

Your movements are mesmerizing enough to keep him distracted anyway.

You reach around him to turn the faucet back on and you grab a washcloth. You tie your messy hair back and out of the way and you carefully roll up the short sleeve of his shirt. You dampen the cloth and wipe the blood from his arm. Once you disinfect the wound, he ultimately looks away. Not because of the sting of the rubbing alcohol, but because of the pain he recognizes in your eyes. Your brows knit together and you frown slightly, sighing to yourself.

He can’t bear watching you pity or fuss over him when part of him feels like he deserves this.

“C’mon, ’s not even that bad, sweetheart,” he grumbles, but his voice is strained.

Your movements come to a halt as you blink up at the mirror, expecting to see his green eyes look back at you through the reflection. But Dean’s head hangs low again and his hands grip onto the edge of the sink he’s staring into.

“I’m glad it’s not,” you hum, but you still grab ahold of his hands and pull him away from the sink. “Sit.”

When you say that word, it sounds a thousand times softer than when he did. You know he hadn’t huffed it at you earlier, but rather didn’t bother concealing his bad mood. Still, his annoyances aren’t directed at you, so he makes an effort to pull you closer gently, in apologetic fashion. His hands settle on your hips as he sits down on the edge of the tub. You’re standing between his legs, surgical thread and needle in your hand.

“Lift your arms f’me, babe?”

When Dean follows your instructions without a witty remark about how eager you are to get him to strip, you know the self loathing is bad. You help him peel off his shirt, tossing it straight into the laundry basket. Luckily there aren’t any other major injuries, though you suspect a couple of bruises will bloom by tomorrow.

His hands go back to your hips, as if he’s able to steady and ground himself by holding you, to which you have no complaints. As long as he’ll let you stitch him up, you even let his bolder touches slide. You’re so focused on closing up the wound that you barely react to his fingers curling around the back of your thighs.

With this position, Dean’s practically forced to face the mirror again. It’s right behind you and with the way you’re half bent over, leaning down to his arm, the view is without obstruction. But his attention is fixated on the jeans-cladded plush in his palms. His hands wander higher, fingers splaying out over your curves. He gives your ass a gentle squeeze to which your breath hitches.

“Careful, unless you want to end up looking like Frankenstein’s monster,” you chuckle playfully, relieved that he’s in high enough spirits for teasing touches.

“Since when are you not into the scarred badass guys?”

“Touché,” you smile in response, “Although I prefer them in a confident mood.”

He groans, knowing where this is going, but he decides to play along. “What d’ya mean?”

Your smile curls into a smug grin as you shrug. “I mean,” you sigh and finish the last stitch, securing the thread into a knot and setting the needle aside. “Scarred, badass guys are even hotter when they know that they’re strong,” you continue, before you plant a kiss to his forehead, “that they’re brave…” Another kiss, to his nose this time.

A quiet growl escapes him as he instinctively tightens his grip on your ass. You know he doesn’t fully believe your words, but you’re adamant about convincing him, so you continue with your list: “…heroic.” More kisses, this time a chaste one directly to his lips, though Dean scoffs and pulls away almost immediately.

“Yeah, right,” he scowls. “Nothing screams hero more than murdering someone.”

“You saved me tonight,” you argue back, whilst gently cupping his face. “You’re definitely my hero.”

His gaze wanders from your lips up to your eyes, seeing nothing but gratitude and adoration in them. Both of which he feels undeserving of. Dean Winchester isn’t half the hero you think he is, he’s all kinds of screwed and his fucked up life consists of violence and regret most of the time. Yet you always look at him as if there’s something worth looking at. Even when he can’t see it himself.

“Just doing my job,” he replies and his voice feels thick and wrong on his own tongue.

“No,” you huff, your thumbs tracing the sharp edge of his jaw, the scruff grazing against the pads of your fingers. “It’s not your job to look after me, or to fight evil. But you’re damn good at it and you do it to make the world a better place. Just like you did today.”

He raises a skeptical eyebrow at your words, since he’s not exactly sure how shortening the lifespan of a young man can possibly add any plus points to his karma. But he understands where you’re coming from, even if he can’t accept it fully just yet. He doesn’t regret pulling the trigger either, he’d do it again – in a heartbeat – if it meant keeping you alive. In that regard, what he did was the right thing, but that didn’t mean it was an easy thing.

“You did what you had to do, babe,” you sigh, tilting his face up a little again before he could avert his gaze once more.

You’d tell him that he shouldn’t beat himself up over it, but that would be like talking to a wall. Your reasoning tends to reach him better than the loving reassurances, even though you both know you’re right. Maybe that boy didn’t deserve to die, werewolf or not, but in that moment it was either him or you.

Your lips land on him once more, this time on his jaw, before they wander down the hollow of his throat. Dean welcomes the sensation of your mouth on his neck, your teeth against his collarbones. Your hands on his chest, warm and soft and eager. So eager to make him feel good, to prove to him his own worth.

Your fingers are always enough to make his walls crumble. The sweet nothings you whisper to his ear always suffice. It might not heal him entirely, but his doubts are soothed for the moment whenever you need him. Whenever you give him what he needs. Whenever you love him.

Your hands reach the waistband of his denim pants, against which his cock is already beginning to strain. Once your touch ghosts over the prominent bulge, he snaps and indulges. In one swift movement, he stands up, his hands still tight on your hips as he picks you up and carries you to the sink. Within a second you find yourself positioned on the bathroom counter, your back nearly bumping against the mirror behind you and your legs draped around Dean’s waist. You’d complain about how he should be careful, lest he wants the fresh stitches to rip open, but your protest dies on Dean’s tongue, which he has already slipped past your lips.

Dean kisses you hard and with purpose, as if wanting to repay your praises. Where your mouth works its magic through words, he has always known different ways to use his. Always a man of actions, your boyfriend. His lips wander down your neck, making you gasp in delight.

He grunts, dizzy with the taste of you, your scent, your voice. You’re so soft under his calloused hands that he’s reminded once more of how close he was to losing you tonight. His impatient hands pull your shirt up over your chest, where his lips latch onto. He doesn’t even bother pulling it over your head fully, eager to search your heartbeat with his tongue, as if he’s able to taste that you’re still alive that way.

While you’re busy discarding your shirt properly, Dean’s mouth finds your nipple through the lace of your bra. You arch your back into his touch further, his name falling from your lips in a whimper that almost has his brain short-circuit.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he gruffs and pulls you off the counter, turning you in his arms so you’d face the mirror. His low voice is gravelly and half muffled by the column of your neck, which he still works some hickeys into. “Always treating me like some kind of hero when you’re the one keeping me alive and sane.”

His bare chest is pressed flush against your back and your hips are lodged against the edge of the sink, to which your shaky fingers grip so tightly that your knuckles turn white. You whimper again, softly, as you feel him rock his hips against your ass. Were it not for his large hands around you, one on your waist, the other cupping your breast, your knees would give out and you’d topple over.

Dean shoves a little harsher, his chest still flat against your back as he pushes you closer to the mirror. It’s fogging up slightly with how heavily you’re panting against the glass. Your eyes meet through the reflection and he finds himself not minding the mirror so long as you’re in the picture as well.

The bandaid that used to roughly match your skin color earlier now sticks out against your flushed face, red and warm all the way down to your neck and even your chest. Your lips are kiss-bitten, puffy and slightly parted as your ragged breath is interrupted by little mewls and whines.

Most days Dean’s looks in the mirror and hates what he sees. But he could get used to this view. At least he can appreciate the sight of his own hands on you, one around your throat, the other between your thighs, making you unravel, being held by yours as you reach for his wrists.

“Maybe scratch the sane part, you know you’re driving me crazy,” he revises his earlier statement as his deft fingers make quick work of your jean’s button and fly. His breath is hot against the shell of your ear and you shudder as he watches every small reaction of yours closely, like a hawk.

He shoves his hand straight into your underwear, satisfied when his fingers find your slick and his ears pick up on the meek moan. He’s barely even touched you yet, but you’re already soaking. You’re so damn responsive it almost makes him want to rip both your pants off and just take you until you’ll see stars. While patience is a virtue, it’s not Dean’s strong suit – yet he wants to take his time with you.

“Always taking such good care of me,” he whispers roughly, gently pinching your clit between his middle and ring finger. “My turn making my girl feel good.”

Using your previous methods on you now, he presses a soft kiss to your temple. His lips brush right against the edge of your bandaid. “My pretty girl,” he breathes, before his mouth wanders to your cheek, where he places another kiss.

“My smart girl, always using her pretty head to keep us alive.” God knows his words are true – your quick thinking and ability to stay level headed has saved the both of you out of dangerous situations more times than he can count.

One of his fingertips slips past your entrance, causing you to overhear whatever he adds to the list of compliments. You’re too distracted by the digit sinking deeper into your cunt with little resistance.

Your blush deepens further, fingers curling around the sink’s ceramic. Your eyelashes flutter and your eyes threaten to close, but Dean prevents your head from dropping low with a gentle nudge of his hand. His fingers tighten around your throat, firm enough to make you redirect your focus, but not enough to squeeze your windpipes, let alone hurt you in any way.

“Eyes on the mirror, doll,” he hums against your jaw. “Would be a shame if you were t’miss out on the show, huh? Look how pretty you are f’me, princess, all sensitive and needy.”

You squirm and whimper, struggling to follow his order with how he’s making your head spin. He’s not playing fair. How’re you supposed to focus on anything except him adding another finger to pump in and out of your cunt?

“Dean, please,” you moan, desperately trying to wiggle your hips. You aren’t even sure what it is you’re begging for, exactly. More of him. All of him. Not like you can’t already feel him throb against the curve of your ass.

“Wanna see you cum on my fingers first, baby,” he mumbles, nearly slurring over his own words. But the hand around your throat loosens its grip and he already moves it down to pull your pants lower. “Know you’re almost there, can feel you squeezing the shit out of my fingers.”

You half groan half sob, beyond flustered, but too far gone to argue back. Your legs are already shaking thanks to his fingers thrusting in and out of you and your breathing becomes more ragged with each intake of oxygen. You attempt to throw him a pleading glance through the mirror, but all you can see is your own messy state. Your gaze briefly flickers down, watching his thumb circle your clit in the reflection. However, your eyes are forced back up as Dean’s free hand winds up in your hair and pulls your head back until it’s settled against his uninjured shoulder.

“Eyes up here,” he quips and you’d want to wipe that smug smirk off his lips, were it not for his fingers curling inside of you and pushing you over the edge at last. Your mouth falls open and you cry out as liquid heat rushes through every fiber of your body. You see your own reflection, expression twisted into pleasure and bliss as your orgasm washes over you and you clamp down on Dean’s fingers. Your grip tightens around his wrist, which doesn’t stop him from guiding you through the ecstasy.

“So good for me,” Dean praises, or you think that’s what you hear in your hazy state. You’re still trying to catch your breath as he withdraws his hands from between your now sticky thighs. He brings it up to his mouth, giving his fingers a brief lick. You shudder in awe watching him. His pupils are blown wide, glistening tongue peeking out from those plump lips of his.

But he changes his mind at the last second.

“Not done with you yet, sweetheart,” he whispers and presses his fingers against your lips. You obediently open your mouth for him, welcoming his fingers in, though you flush more as you taste yourself on his skin.

Your walls flutter and clench around nothing just at that, but you have a feeling he’s about to do something about the empty feeling. He smirks knowingly, his cheek pressed against yours, your faces in the mirror side by side.

“Think I should show you how pretty you look taking my cock? I swear, it feels unfair that I’m always the only one who gets to enjoy the show.”

credit & links: ao3 ──〃★ dividers ──〃★ request here taglist: comment a green heart 💚 to be added to the dean x reader taglist (please note: ageless blogs will only be tagged in fluff and angst posts)

@winchester-whiskey @whormotional @spacecowgirl126 @zepskies @hot-and-confused

@spookyfunhottub @calibootsgirl

[lilyarchived]

too late [john price]

a/n: I wasn't originally gonna write anything yet because I still feel absolute dogshit, but this post by @gloomyyangel was too yummy to ignore.  I don’t really like this but what else can I do? Write some more? (gunshots)

warnings: smut after keep reading! (go away minors), swearing, hurt NO comfort, fem reader, mean!price at the start, 1.7k words oops, Lowkey abrupt ending.

summary: you let price imagine you as his ex wife because it will hurt even more to let him go, but what happens if he finally tries to make it up to you?

“F-fuuuck..” your husband groans. “Feels,, sso good, angie..” The sound of another woman’s name should be enough to make you feel bad, be enraged, scream at him, go apeshit crazy, right? Your whimpers of pleasure say so otherwise. It has been like this for years, you’ve come to terms that your husband, Captain John Price, will always see you as his ex wife. At some point you feel bad for yourself, you wouldn’t have let this shit slide. Hell, you wouldn’t even settle for a rich, handsome man all because he told you women should just stay quiet. The bitch slap you gave that man before storming out the restaurant stays engraved in the back of your mind, good days. 

But now? Now you’re settling for a man to imagine as if you’re his ex? Since when did your standards fall down to the deepest pit in the ocean? “ ‘m close, fuck, so tight for me.” You didn’t know whether to feel flustered or disgusted at the praise, knowing damn well he’s talking to angie in his mind. You gasp as your orgasm suddenly takes over your whole body, basking in that sweet, sweet pleasure. Hey, he can be a dick husband and still make you cum, nothing wrong with that. He follows suit after a few more thrusts, his hands beside your head grasping at the satin sheets. His moans ring through your ear until he finally plops down beside you.

You don’t expect him to clean up. At Least not like he used to. You get up to clean yourself before going back in the room with a warm and wet washcloth. You clean your husband up before noticing he’s already fast asleep. How did you ever get here? From your handsome Captain flattering you, taking you out on dates, treating you as if you are the sun keeping him warm, putting your pleasure first, and actually caring about you; to this man, ever so distant, calling you his ex wife’s name, never talking to you unless it’s work related or if he needs to let out some energy. And why the hell are you letting this happen? A man? Taking advantage of you? Making you some sort of sex doll?

You wish you could just be mad about it, scream and punch and cry, do anything to avenge your poor self. Yet you can’t. You love him too much, you love him like he painted the morning orange sky above, you love him like he hung up the moon and stars. You love him. Only Simon knows about his behaviour, you were a bit sceptical telling him everything since he always thought so highly of the captain, you feared he would take his side and tell you to get over yourself. You hadn’t expected him to pull you in a tight hug and whisper to you that you should leave him. You cried for the first time in a long time that night.

Snapping back to reality, you get dressed in your sleeping clothes and settle next to your sleeping husband. Staring into his shut eyes, wondering where you went wrong. You let your eyes droop to sleep, preparing your mind for another unbearable day tomorrow.

--

As months passed, you and John were still together, happy, no, but still married. You start to grow numb, never once batting an eyelash when he cums again after moaning “angie”. What an annoying sound in your ears it was. Don’t get me wrong, you still felt good whenever he decided to initiate something sexual with you. Your moans and whines fill the air alongside the sound of slapping skin. Simon gives you the usual disappointed look, but you honestly can’t tell if that’s his resting face or not. Then, everything changes.

“Darling, d’you wanna get food with me?” You freeze on the empty couch in the equally empty rec room. The sound of John’s voice making your heart skip a beat. He has never asked you to eat out with him, well ever since he normalised moaning a different name in bed. It’s like all his intimacy and chivalry left with your dignity. “Umm, I just had dinner Sergeant Garrick, Captain. I’m set for the night..” you reply after you peeked behind you, making sure he was talking to you. “At ease, I’m talking to you as my wife, [Y/N]” You let out a forced chuckle before going back to the book you were reading. “Why were you out with Kyle?” you hear him mutter. He can’t be serious. “..We were both free and hungry?” you reply in a meek voice. “I was free. Couldn’t even be bothered to ask your husband first?” 

The way your blood was boiling the moment that stupid sentence left his mouth. Why does he care? Does he think that he can moan a different woman’s name in bed and get away with it but you going out for dinner with a friend is all of a sudden, adultery? “You told me you’d be busy the whole day. Why is it a big deal I went out with Gaz? It’s not like I’ve been saying his name during sex.” You quickly shut your eyes, you didn’t mean to say that last part out loud. You prepared for his anger, instead you were met with a deep sigh. “I’ll let you be.” He says defeatedly, walking away from the scene. You see a confused Simon in the corner before squealing out of surprise. “How long have you been there, freak?” Simon only chuckles, “Tha’ don’t matter, Cap’n looks devastated. Ya think he’s been feeling guilty?” He sips on his black tea, you remove the hand clutching your shirt near the beat of your heart. “I don’t know, and I don’t care.” You fall face down on the couch to scream, ignoring Simon’s deep voice laughing at your pain.

What you both didn’t know is that John has been feeling bad for how he’s been treating you. He would notice your soft giggles echoing the hallways as Johnny picks you up and throws you over his shoulder, at how pretty you look in casual clothes, how your hair flows during bar hopping nights with the team, how your face shines in the city lights. How your nose scrunches when you get teased by Simon for liking your coffee too sweet. How beautiful you sound when he’s feeling you up and down, your surprised gasps as he rubs your clit in circles, how sinfully angelic you look when you come undone. Fuck, he really messed up.

So he makes it up to you, he cuddles after ruining your guts, he cleans you up, he wakes up before you to cook you breakfast. He makes your coffee the way you like it, gets you flowers every now and then, kisses you more passionately rather than his usual rushed ones. He loves you tenderly but it all seems foreign, even though he used to do it for the first few years of your relationship, you had already forgotten how it feels like to be loved by this man.

You feel nauseated. How could he go back to the way things were, like he hasn’t been giving you the cold shoulder for months now? Why now? WHY now? Why NOW? You stay cautious, every sweet move he’s doing puts you on edge. You knock on your Lieutenant’s door before he tells you to “come in” with that same ol’ gruff voice. As the night rolls in, you’ve already told him everything Price was doing, how he kept acting lovingly without addressing the past few months. He tells you you have two options: to confront him, or to go along with it. Neither of it seems appealing to you but deep down, you know he’s right. 

You thank Simon for the advice leaving his room to confront your husband tonight. The minute you walk into John’s room, his face lights up and asks you if you’ve eaten.  You scoff as you tell him you need to talk. “Why are you doing this to me, John?” you finally speak up after staring into the same eyes you fell for. His face drops, eyebrows furrowing, “What do you mean by that, dove?” A sigh escapes your soft lips, “Don’t call me that, John. Don’t act as if you weren’t just calling me, imagining me as your ex wife during our most intimate times. Don’t act like you haven’t been ignoring me, acting as if I didn't exist ‘til you needed work done or if you needed to have a shag.” You let out, tears staining your cheeks. John reaches out to wipe them but you move his hand away. “I mean, was it all a joke to you? Did I mean nothing but a body for you to imagine as if you were still together with her?” John finally talks, “You know it’s not like that, [Y/N]-” 

“Then what, John? What is it like? God, you- you” hyperventilating now, you search for the right words to come out. “You changed me. Acting like nothing’s wrong and being all sweet won’t work on me. I gave up on whatever our relationship was a long time ago.” His breath hitches, “Baby, please-” “I should go.” you cut him off. “Please, I’ll do better, we can start over?” he pleads, grabbing your arm. “It’s not that easy, John.” “Loving you is easy. I love you like it’s breathing. Please. You mean the world to me. I can’t let you go knowing i fucked up everything.” He sounds desperate now.

“I love you, John. But I don’t think I can ever love you like I used to.” He looks up to you, bloodshot eyes as tears pour over his face. You reach over to wipe them away. He leans into your touch. “Don’t give up on me, please?” You give him one last broken smile, “We’re way past not giving up, my love.” 

---

taglist for the people in the original post's comments LMAO (lmk if u want me to untag muheheh): @blackhawkfanatic@tf141gloryhole@montenegroisr@princesslikesfanfics@hoelesss

[ask-the-rag-dolly]

after listening to an among us song i was given the drive to reboot this au so ,

originated from a doodle that spiraled , SPREAD THE INFLUENCE is an au where ragatha is the ( unwilling ) host of a parasite called ' the influence ' which is a virus that only wants to spread and survive . she wasn't compliant about it at the beginning which was ' fixed ' with an itty bitty bit of psychological torment !

also yes i know the abbreviation is unfortunate and i do not care it's funny

even though ragatha's still our usual sweet little optimist , there is this persistent feeling of wrongness . too positive . too affectionate . it's like all of her humanity has been scooped out and you're left with the mask she made for others in the circus .

which is how the virus spread in the circus - they preyed on vulnerabilities which was what their host is perfect for . striking when the victim puts their guards down , making them submit under the guise that their problems will be fixed ... unfortunately it's a monkey's paw situation .

of course , that's only for this particular instance of the influencer ! something to note is that the virus takes a lot from the host's personality , so t.i's mellow and passive , only resorting to violence whenever necessary . t.i's not really an opposite ragatha she's more like a Dark , Fucked Up Version of ragatha the amazing digital circus . she cares a lot for everyone she considers a part of her hive , but it took a lot of manipulation and gaslighting for them to get infected .

caine is left uninfected because " i would do that if my goal is to destroy this place ! " t.i's ultimate fear has always been dying . it'll do everything to not die , to the point it's trying to spread out of the circus ( <- honestly take this info with a grain of salt i wrote this before i fully developed the story ) . unfortunately there's this jester who's resisting the virus with pure lesbian rage and is trying to stop her .

now rags would eventually get de-influenced and the circus will no longer be infected , but we will talk about the extremely rocky journey of recovering from knowing you harmed everyone you cared about Later

was this ' the influence ' that amanda ( ragatha's va ) keeps referencing ? sighs ... yeah . ( feels so surreal that i can say i have their seal of approval for this )

why ragatha ? in story , how is she not the perfect host ? metatextually , this is an au of an au - this came from a blog about ragatha getting a virus that is inconveniencing her life . i simply thought of an idea of ' hey what if the virus took over her body ' one day . then this abomination was born . i would reveal the why and how she got infected ... eventually .........

is she still afraid of centipedes ? is it a ragatha if she doesn't have a fear of centipedes

does pomni still use a taser ? yeah

could i use / be inspired by the influence for my au ? i did not invent the concept of Computer Viruses so feel free to be inspired by it , no credit needed . for t.i as a character specifically , please credit me !

are there ships ? just pomni x ragatha

is suggestive content of t.i ok ? just don't send them to me , tag it as #tw suggestive or #suggestive so i could filter it out

is nsfw content of t.i ok ? my tiny artist hands are powerless against the unstoppable force that is the internet so my answer will not matter . that being said , i recommend that they're not put in the main au tag so people won't unexpectedly come across it . and no i do not want to see it please do not send them to me

could i draw fanart / write fanfic of this au ? 100% yes you could either mention me or tag it under #tadc influence au

does this au have an ask blog ? nah just a normal blog lol

READ THE COMIC ... I GUESS ... !!

the main story

oh boy a prologue

[hells-wasabii]

Hi could you pretty please do velvette x reader who is Carmilla youngest daughter and how her family reacts (plus zestial pls I ship him and Carmilla so I feel like he's a step dad)❤️

A/N: I blacked out and wrote this.... but yeeees LISTEN!! I love Velvette so much, its not even funny and i had a lot of fun with this prompt! I didn't realize how much i wrote for it until it was too late, and by that point, i really couldn't stop. but I hope you enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it! ps i honestly ship them too

Part 1 | Part 2

Character: Velvette

Type: Headcanons + Drabble (Velvette x reader who's Carmilla's youngest daughter, General with a bit of Angst and Fluff sprinkled in)

For Velvette, she actually entered into the relationship not really knowing who your parents were. You never brought it up and she never really asked. It didn't really matter to her, since, ya know, you're the one she's dating, not your mum and dad, or step-dad from what you've mentioned.

Honestly, she should've seen the similarities. They were there for sure, but let's face it, there are so many demons in hell that it was probably just a coincidence, right?

Carmilla also knew you were seeing someone as well, though she really figured that you would bring this special demon around when you were ready.

Oh, they were both wrong. So very wrong.

They found out simultaneously, of course, as cliche as it was. You were on an evening out with Velvette with no clear destination in mind, just simply enjoying the evening and each other's company when the next thing you knew you were face to face with your mother.

It... didn't go too well.

What had once been a peaceful evening nearly dissolved into a turf war all in an instant. If you hadn't been able to separate the two with a promise to talk to both separately later there was no doubt that everything in a three-block radius would be collateral.

Zestial and your sisters would find out soon thereafter, Carmilla of course telling them when they see her come home looking quite distraught.

As stated before, to Velvette, it really didn't matter. though it did sweeten the deal. It would give her plenty more opportunities for her to provoke the arms dealer, something that she already took a great deal of pleasure in.

Zestial would be skeptical of the relationship at the start but eventually comes to accept it fully. His patience won out this time. He's seen more than enough relationships like this go up in flames and he'd never want that for you. He considered you a daughter after all.

As for your sisters, both of them were simply happy that you were happy. They were more worried about how y'alls mom would react. And you can't tell me that they didn't already know, either.

Carmilla on the other hand... To her, family is everything. I mean, she killed an angel for you and your sisters. She'd do anything for her kids, and that includes keeping someone like that upstart from breaking your heart. She wholeheartedly believed that Velvette was only dating you to get one over on her. It really comes as no surprise when she goes all the way to Vee Tower to confront the youngest overlord herself.

"You need to stay away from my daughter."

The fashionista bit out a curse as a needle pricked her finger. Velvette doesn't usually startle easily, but shit, between her being completely focused on finishing and the fact that her workshop had previously been silent save for any sounds that she had been making herself, she thought that even the most stone-cold bitch would've jumped.

What good was the security for if those nitwits couldn't keep unauthorized demons out of her workshop? The influencer swore that if any blood got on the material for this dress she'd personally kill the guards and whoever-

Oh.

Of all the people she expected to see, Carmilla Carmine, the uptight weapons dealer, and apparent mum of her girlfriend, was not one of them. Or actually, scratch that. She was completely expecting this to happen sooner or later.

"Well, it sucks to suck then, wrinkles, I'm not going nowhere." The fashionista bit back, a smirk settling on her lips that quickly fell when the older woman tried to push her point.

"I know what you're trying to do and it-"

"Obviously you don't." All mischief gone from her tone, Velvette set her work to the side, careful not to crumple the fabric. She rose to her feet and began to cross the room to Carmilla, who in turn stood taller, determined not to let this miscreant make a mockery of her, her family, and most importantly her youngest daughter. "I hate to break it to you, but the only way I'll break it off is if SHE wants to."

Velvette paused, her eyes boring into Carmilla's with a conviction and passion that the arms dealer hadn't felt from the influencer before. When the younger woman spoke again, her voice was softer than before, laced with a sincerity that would leave the mother speechless.

"I love her."

Its this singular interaction that leads to a truce between the two (technically five if you include Zestial and the Vee's) Overlords. They would come to some sort of mutual understanding that if both of them were to be in your life, they'd have to play nice. At least in front of you. At Overlord meetings, well, that's a whole different story.

[x-ghostslovie-x]

A Temporary Fix

Logan Howlett x Fem Reader

I made this post earlier, and I wanted to write a longer version. I hope you enjoy 🩷

18+ ONLY MINORS DNI

Contains: established relationship, creampie, cockwarming, p in v, daddy kink (it's used once), praise, small mention of cannibalism

Today was a bad day. You walked through the door with your fake smile acting like everything was alright, but Logan instantly knew you were upset.

He went to your room, knocked on the door, and waited for your voice before entering. When he went in, he saw you curled up on your bed. Walking over, he sat on the edge and softly asked what was wrong. You just shook your head saying you didn't want to talk about it.

Instead, you ask “can we just cuddle instead? I wish I could just crawl and curl up inside your chest but honestly I don't think it would be close enough so I'll just settle for your cock being inside me.”

“Course we can do that sweetheart”

Logan removed his clothes and so did you. You both lay facing each other, and you instantly buried your face in his neck. He stroked himself a few times before lifting your leg up and pushing himself inside you. You lay peacefully like that feeling his strong arms around you and his cock inside you. You've never felt more safe in your life.

After a good few minutes, you spoke up “did you know that another way to feel extremely close to someone is by consuming them. Cause that way a part of them will forever live inside you.”

Logan let out a soft chuckle “you planning on eating me bub?”

“Well the thought has been on my mind. That way, we could never truly leave each other as a part of us will live on inside the other.”

“I never thought about it that way. You make a good point there darlin.” Logan hooked his finger under your chin, bringing your head up to kiss you deeply. You kissed back with just as much passion.

One of your hands went into his hair while Logan gently grabbed hold of your leg and started slowly rocking his hips. You moan into his mouth as he turns you onto your back and picks up the pace.

Both legs are now wrapped around his waist, his lips are on your neck marking you as his in between saying the sweetest things in your ear praising you for being a good girl and taking him so well. You're brain turning to mush with each thrush of his hips. The only sounds coming from your lips are moans as you get fuck just right. Logan lifts your leg over his shoulder with this new angle he can get deeper into your guts. You let slip a “Hmm daddy fuck yesss” and the animalistic switch in Logan's brain has now gone to the max. The speed increases the only thing you can do is grip his back dragging your nails down. Although any marks won't stay because of his regeneration factors that doesn't stop you from sinking your teeth into his neck and drawing blood. Logan hisses before doing the same to you. The mixture of pain and pleasure is what sends you over the edge. Logan fucks you through your orgasm before flipping you onto your stomach leaning over you and continuing his merciless pace. You're very close to your second orgasm and from the grunts coming from Logan you can tell he is too. You both cum at the same time your eyes roll back into your head as you black out for a few seconds.

When you come too, Logan asks if you're alright with the most concerned look on his face. You assure him that you're alright. Logan then gets up and walks out, coming back with a glass of water and a damp cloth. You finish your glass before Logan cleans you up and lies back down beside you. He pulls you into his arms, kissing your forehead as he begins gently tracing lines on my back. You end up falling asleep very peacefully with Logan not that far behind.

[therealcocoshady]

Kinktober- Day 2 - Public Humiliation

Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

A/N : here is the post for the second day of Kinktober 👀. The prompt is Public Humiliation. I honestly couldn’t picture Em being into public humiliation but hey maybe I’m wrong so I decided to write about him giving it a try… for the sake of his kinky girlfriend 🙊

CW : Public humiliation - Dirty Talk - Embarrassment - Fingering - Fluff

You were almost embarrassed when you had approached Marshall, weeks ago. You’d been together for a little while and everything was going great, but confessing kinks didn’t come too easily to you, even though you trusted him. When you told him you had a thing for public humiliation, he was taken aback at first, almost hesitant. He didn’t judge you, but it wasn’t in his nature to be cruel. Sure, he’d been mean to partners in the past, cruel, even, but he was a changed man. Plus, he absolutely adored you, so being mean to you did not make any sense. He had always treated you like royalty and he hated the idea of belittling you, even if you asked for it. However, you assured him it was something you wanted, that made you feel alive I ways you could not quite explain. You’d tried to put words on it, explaining that there was something intimate, that it was all about trust and that he was, in fact, the person you trusted the most. He didn’t necessarily get it, but after some careful consideration, he agreed to give it a try, during a dinner party he hosted at his place. For obvious reasons, he could not indulge you in a very public setting, in a room full of strangers that might record the thing or talk to the press. So the safest bet was to do it in private, at his place, with people he knew and was comfortable around. You had both agreed to keep it light, but the perspective was enough for you to find it titillating. 

You knew everyone that would be present, just a few of his friends for a casual dinner party. You got along with everyone and you happily spent the day in the kitchen. You weren’t a chef but you enjoyed cooking and knowing your amazing boyfriend had agreed to indulge your kink definitely put you in a good mood. The table was set, and their guests were mingling, sipping drinks and chatting casually as Marshall sat at the head of the table, watching you move around the kitchen, plating the final dish. His heart pounded, knowing what was coming. You had agreed on what would happen and you had done everything you could to make him as comfortable as possible, even agreeing on some safe word and signal if either one of you found things to be overwhelming at some point. You both trusted each other, and he knew he could pull back at any point. He was a little stressed out, though. He’d been an asshole to partners before, sometimes even in public. Back then, drug addiction helping, he hadn’t cared too much about the consequences. But you were his queen, he revered you like some sort of deity and he was apprehensive at the thought of hurting you, breaking something about the precious relationship you shared. Also, as someone who had evolved, he was a little wary as to how people would perceive him. A decade and a half ago, he might not have cared, but now he did. He knew he would have to find some sort of balance : be enough of an asshole to titillate you, but stay on the safe side so that it wouldn’t embarrass his guests. Of course, it would have been easier in a room full of strangers he’d never have to see again, there wouldn’t have been so much at stake… But being one of the most famous rappers in the world made it virtually impossible. He couldn’t help but pick on the cruel irony that he was a public figure whose significant other had a kink for being humiliated in public. He wasn’t particularly kinky but it would probably have been easier for him to indulge you if you’d had a thing for golden showers or anything that could be done in private. As for you, you seemed blissfully unaware of what was going on in his brain, humming as you brought the dish on the table. 

Dinner began, and everything seemed normal at first. He waited for the right moment, feeling his stomach twist as he prepared for what he was about to do. « Everything alright with the cooking, babe ? », he asked. You smiled at him, your good mood apparent « All good, I think. You tell me. », you replied softly. He took a bite and looked at you, something sharp in his eyes. « You know, I would have thought but impossible to mess a dish as simple as this but… You managed, I guess. Maybe it’s a talent. », he said. A few of his friends laughed awkwardly, unsure if he was serious. After all, they were used to his dry humor. You met his gaze from across the table, your eyes shining, a glint of excitement hidden behind the feigned hurt in your expression. « Oh. I’m sorry. I did my best… », you said softly as you refrained yourself from smiling too much. « I’m sure », he shot back. « Maybe next time I’ll hire a cook. Someone who knows what they’re doing. ». 

The tension in the room thickened. You could see a couple of people share nervous glances, but Marshall didn’t stop. He knew this was what you wanted. You had asked for it, almost begged him for it in the privacy of his bedroom, but now, with all eyes on him, it felt very real. Almost too real. Yet, he continued. « Speaking of knowing what you’re doing… How’s that pet project going on for you ? », he asked with disdain. « You mean my new job ? », you asked innocently.  « Whatever you want to call it, I guess. Though an actual job would… you know… pay actual money », he shrugged. « Well, I just started doing freelance so… I’m still… um, working on it », you said as your voice got lower. The whole thing was demeaning and embarrassing. The way he looked at you with contempt, the tone he used, the way his words stung, the look on people’s faces… It was embarrassing. Humiliating. And you absolutely loved it. Marshall could see it by the way you gripped your cutlery and the flush on your face, which the guests probably mistook for embarrassment. « Right. ‘Working on it’. Though I hope you mean you’re working harder than when you’re ‘working’ in the gym. Like, if you’re going to talk about it so much, you should at least show some results. »  

The silence in the room was deafening now. Marshall’s heart raced. He hated every word coming out of his mouth, but your eyes told him to keep going. « You’re lucky you’re pretty. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have a lot going on for you. », he added. Some people in the room looked absolutely mortified. As for you, you were looking down, face flushed with humiliation and something else - something only Marshall knew about. You were sitting in your chair, staring at him, feeling soaking wet. He was good at it. So good. The way he belittled you, demeaned you… It did things to you. It was even better than what you had anticipated.  As the dinner went on, he made a few more biting remarks, cutting into your cooking, your career aspirations, and even your body in ways that made his skin crawl. You played your part perfectly, responding with a mix of hurt and feigned disappointment, but every so often, you’d give him that look—the one that reassured him you were enjoying every second of it. Finally, as the evening came to an end and the guests filed out, offering awkward goodbyes and sideways glances, the house fell silent. The moment the door clicked shut, Marshall turned to you, his face pale with regret. « Babe, I- », he began but you cut him out by kissing him lovingly. « You were perfect », you said earnestly. « It was amazing ! ». He cupped your face and stared at you for a couple of seconds, his face full of disbelief. Eventually, he pulled you in for a warm hug. « I hated it », he said. « I don’t know how you- I don’t know », he sighed. You smiled and placed a kiss on his pec. « It was exactly what I wanted », you said. « Thank you ». 

He looked at you again, an undecipherable expression on his face. He didn’t get it. Some kinks, he could get the appeal, even though he wasn’t particularly interested. But this, this was beyond him. « You’re insane, do you know that ? », he asked with furrowed eyebrows. You let out a giggle before replying with a grin « I know ». He sighed and gently cupped your face. « I love you, Y/N », he said in a low voice. « But I don’t know if I can do that again. Being mean to you? It’s like... it’s the opposite of everything I feel about you ». You nodded with understanding before placing a soft kiss on his lips. « I know. That’s why it means so much that you did it for me tonight ». He hummed and kissed you again, not letting go. As if he wanted to make sure that you were ok, that the love you shared remained intact and wasn’t tainted by the events of the night. In truth, you felt the opposite. This brought you closer. The frown on his face started to worry you, though. You’d had a great time and you were more than grateful that he indulged you, but you didn’t want it to be an awful experience for him. « Are you upset ? », you asked carefully. « No, I- I just don’t get it, you know ? I don’t get how you can be into… that ». You smiled and tilted your head, amusement playing on your lips. « Into what ? ». He sighed and gestured vaguely. « This. This whole humiliation thing. I just spent the entire dinner ripping you apart in front of everyone, saying things I don’t even believe, and you were just sitting there—loving it. ». Your smile grew wider, a twinkle of excitement visible in your eyes. « Oh, I was more than loving it », you said. Marshall shook his head, torn between disbelief and something deeper—something that, despite everything, made him want to understand you. « What’s wrong with you? » he asked, half-joking, half-serious. « You’ve got this... kink for being humiliated. You like being talked down to, like I’m supposed to just tear into you and you’re gonna walk away with a smile on your face? That’s messed up. ». Your eyes flickered with that unmistakable glint—the one you got when he pushed your buttons just right. You bit your lip, enjoying the way his frustration was manifesting, the way his words stung but also ignited something within you. « Maybe it’s what I need. Maybe I like being messed up. Maybe I like it when you’re mean to me. Maybe it turns me on to have you rip into me and make me feel small. ». The excitement was palpable in your voice. It was sultry, full of lust. Marshall stared at you, his jaw tightening as he tried to reconcile the conflict brewing inside him. « ou really want me to make you feel worthless? You really want me to tear you apart like that? » he asked. 

« Yes », you whispered, your voice low. « I want you to tear me apart. I want you to call me pathetic, to tell me I’m not good enough. I want you to say all those things because it’s you saying them, and I know you don’t mean it. ». He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair, trying to make sense of what you were saying. « So, what—you want me to sit here and tell you how messed up you are? You want me to go off on how crazy it is that my girlfriend has a kink for being humiliated? ». The edge in his voice had returned, and you could feel the energy between you shift. You nodded, your heart racing as his words cut deeper, but it wasn’t the hurt you craved—it was the rawness, the vulnerability that came with it. « Yeah » you breathed as you felt your pulse quickening. « I want you to tell me just how weird I am. How messed up it is that I get off on you being cruel to me. Tell me everything you think but are too afraid to say ». Your boyfriend’s jaw clenched as he stared at you, the conflict swirling inside him like a storm. He took a step closer, his eyes narrowing as he leaned down, his voice dropping to a low, almost dangerous tone. « You want me to say it? Fine. ». His words were sharp now, cutting like the verses he spit on stage, but this time, there was no crowd, no mic—just the two of you, locked in a twisted, shared understanding. « You’re twisted » he hissed as his eyes locked on to you. « You get off on this? On being told you’re not good enough? On me making you feel small in front of everyone? That’s messed up. Who even thinks like that? ». Your breath caught in your throat as he continued, his words hitting you like a drug. « You love it, don’t you? » he continued, his voice gaining momentum. « ou love it when I point out all your flaws, like how you can never seem to finish anything you start, or how you act all confident, but deep down, you’re just looking for someone to knock you down a peg. ». 

You shivered under his words, your pulse racing as his insults landed perfectly, pushing all the right buttons. You could barely hold back the way her body responded, your lips parting in anticipation for more, your nipples hardening, goosebumps appearing on your skin. And the wetness in your panties, it was criminal. « And the cooking? » he continued, his voice still laced with venom, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of something softer, something only you would catch. « You think making a dinner for a few friends means anything when half the time, you barely know what you’re doing in the kitchen? That’s what you’re proud of? Please. ». Your skin flushed, and you felt a warmth spread through your body as he kept going. You knew this wasn’t easy for him—that it was taking everything in him to keep up the facade. But that’s what made it so perfect. « You’re insane, » he muttered, his voice growing quieter, though no less intense. « You’re absolutely insane for liking this. You know that, right? It’s messed up that you want this from me. » And then, as if to punctuate the moment, he stepped even closer, his lips almost brushing against your ear as he whispered, « But you love it, don’t you? ».  A shudder ran through you as his words hung in the air, your chest heaving with the intensity of what had just transpired. You looked up at him, eyes shining with everything you felt but couldn’t put into words. « I love it, » you whispered back, your voice trembling but sure. « I love it because it’s you. ». 

Marshall's thumb lingered on your cheek as his breathing slowed, the intensity between you still thick in the air. He stared into your eyes, seeing the raw vulnerability, the excitement, the love you had for him—despite everything he had just said. There was no question now; you were thriving in the energy you had created. But now, all he could think about was how much he wanted to close the gap between you. Your lips parted slightly as you leaned closer, your eyes flicking to his mouth. The anticipation hung between you like a live wire, and Marshall couldn't hold back anymore. He lowered his face to your, his lips capturing yours in a sudden, desperate kiss. It started slow, tentative, as if he was afraid you might still be hurt by what he'd said earlier, but you responded immediately. Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss with a hunger that matched his own. He could feel your body pressing into him, the heat of the shared tension spilling over into something else entirely—something you both needed. Marshall's hands slid down your back, pulling you even tighter against him as the kisses grew more heated, more frantic. He felt the familiar rush, the way your lips moved against his, soft but demanding. Every ounce of guilt he had felt moments earlier dissolved as you kissed him back, as if you were trying to tell him with every touch that this was exactly what you wanted, that he was exactly what you needed. You couldn’t help but moan softly into his mouth, fingers tangling in his hair, and it drove him wild. He kissed you harder, his lips moving with more urgency now, tasting the sweetness of your desire, the intensity of everything that had built up tonight. Your body responded to every movement, pressing against him, and he could feel your heart racing in time with his own. Marshall pulled away for just a second, breathless, his forehead resting against your. « You’re crazy, you know that? » he muttered, his lips brushing against yours as he spoke.,You grinned, breath ragged as you pulled him back into another kiss. « I know, » you whispered against his mouth before your lips met again, the heat undeniable. He pushed you against the nearest wall as you kept on making out, one of his hands wasting no time going under your dress to go and check If what he suspected was true. As soon as his had cupped your pussy over the lacy fabric of your underwear, he knew he was right. You weren’t wet. You were absolutely soaked, almost dripping. He looked at you, his stare a mix of shock and lust. « Fucking twisted », he muttered before resuming the kissing. You hummed into the kiss, his hands on you driving you absolutely wild. He pushed your panties aside, inserting a finger, immediately earning a moan. « Look at you. All wet because I’m telling you the truth - how fucking deranged you are. It’s pitiful ». You whimpered and he added as second finger, immediately starting to thrust. As his hand worked his magic between your legs, he kept on whispering in your ear, choosing the right words to drive you crazy. You looked at him with pleading eyes, praying that he’d keep going. You had never been so turned on, ever, ad he could tell. He spent the night using it to his advantage, taking you for round after round. As twisted as the whole thing was, he get off on seeing you get off, and the orgasmic bliss made the whole agony of the dinner absolutely worth it. 

The next day, you woke up to the sound of Marshall walking into the room, placing a tray on the bed. « Good morning princess » he said lovingly. You’d had a good sleep and the memories of the night had you smiling from ear to ear. « Morning my love » you cooed. « I thought you’d enjoy breakfast in bed », he said softly. « There’s pancakes, coffee, juice, and I even had croissants delivered, from that bakery you like ». You gave him a smile full of gratitude and kissed him lovingly as he sat next to you. « You’re the best », you said. « Anything for you, love », he replied earnestly before kissing your temple. « So, this is what? You’re going to give me the royal treatment because you called me out on my cooking? » you giggled. « Exactly, » he said, his face serious, as if he had rehearsed the whole thing. « I need to make sure you know you’re my everything. I don’t care if you loved the whole humiliation thing—I’m still gonna treat you like you deserve. ». The sincerity in his voice was almost too much. You loved him for it, even if it made you laugh. « Marsh, » you teased, wrapping your arms around his neck, « I don’t think you understand. I really enjoyed it. You don’t have to keep doing all of this ». « Yeah, but I want to, » he cut in, leaning down to kiss your forehead. « I don’t care if you liked it. I’m not letting you think that’s who I really am, though. I don’t ever want you to feel less than amazing. ». You let out a soft laugh, your heart swelling with affection for this man. He could be stubborn as hell, but that was one of the reasons you loved him so much. Even when you were perfectly fine with the way things were, he went out of his way to make sure you knew just how much you meant to him. « Fine, » you said, still smiling. “If you insist on treating me like a princess, I guess I’ll just have to enjoy it.” He grinned. « Good. Because I’m not stopping. »

[krypticcafe]

Can you do a part 2 of the platonic reader and the 141+Alejandro where reader gets kidnapped and comes back? I love your writing!

No One Can Hurt You

Sequel to As Long as I'm Here

rating: mature

pairing(s): platonic gn!reader x task force 141 + alejandro + rodolfo

warning(s): language, canon-typical violence, torture, blood, military inaccuracies, mild gore descriptions for a hot second, implied ghost zapping a guy's balls, reader is lowkey traumatized, comfort, no use of y/n, no beta read, possible ooc?

a/n: I did NOT expect to get such an overwhelmingly positive response on the first part?? I was worried that the writing felt bland, but you guys seemed to love it, so here's the highly demanded part two!

synopsis: the 141 and Los Vaqueros weren't going to stand for what happened to you. No one would.

alternative title— fuck around and find out

"We found the guys your sources claimed to be the men that were there, Captain. But they're refusing to say anything to us. Honestly, it looks like they're just another pair of lackeys." Gaz was speaking over comms with Price after locating a suspect with Roach. The two had found the pair in a dingy old building, a safehouse conveniently placed far from heavily populated civilian areas.

"Should we-"

He was cut off by a series of loud thuds and glass crashing, immediately grabbing his handgun and running into the room where Roach was keeping an eye on their suspects.

Roach had one of the men pinned to the ground, repeatedly decking him in the face whilst letting out frustrated yells and broken cries. Blood splattered across the floor and on his visor, but he could've cared less, it wasn't his anyways.

"Roach, get off of him, that's enough!" Gaz practically had to tear his teammate away from the man with how Roach flailed, grunting and clawing at Gaz's arms to let him go. "Roach, we can't do anything if you bloody kill them!"

Pushing off Gaz, Roach seethed with pained eyes, nearly tearing up out of sheer frustration. "He's hiding something, I know he is! That sadistic fuck started bragging about what they did to the sergeant and- and the smug shit look he had! These are the guys, but they're not telling us everything!"

He knew it was a terrible excuse, but his own gut feelings about reading people's expressions had never proved him wrong before, not when he had an eye for reading people through their body language. Gaz hesitated. He understood why Roach lashed out and didn't blame him for losing his temper, hell, he rarely did, and Gaz would've done the same in all honesty. You meant as much to him as you did to Roach. They were the first friends you made when joining the 141, the ones who helped acclimate you to the team, and the ones who trained under Price alongside you like you were their sibling. But it didn't help that they nearly broke protocol, which would've compromised the mission and made your sacrifice and suffering for nothing.

Looking down at the unconscious yet still-breathing man, Gaz then noticed how the blood pooled around him. It seemed to stop spreading at some point in the floorboards and spilled into an unusually large crack in the wood that looked suspiciously intentional.

"Roach, take the other one and call for exfil but don't tell them to leave just yet." Once his partner left, Gaz kneeled down to the floor and knocked on the wood. It was hollow.

Seems they would definitely need them alive now more than ever.

"I don't know who supplies us, I just work for them! Just ask-" The man let out a cry as Soap held his shoulder, digging his fingers into it and balling his other hand into a fist before landing a solid punch into his gut. A moment passed he choked on air, the wind knocked from him, his mouth painfully dry except for the tears that dripped from his eyes.

"Tell us who you work for or things are about to get real nasty for you like they did for your friend."

"You're in it if you think I'm gonna say shit! The 141 is just a freak show, ain't it? Bunch of you cowards hiding behind stupid callsigns, what the fuck kind of name is—" That earned him another beating. He wailed, writhing in pain against the tight restraints, but ultimately wasting his energy. He only stopped when he heard screams and crackles of what was undoubtedly electricity coming from behind one of the walls of the room.

"So you do know," Soap growled, beating him once more and backing up when he retched from pain. Blood dripped from Soap's knuckles, to which he scowled in disgust and irritation, his accent growing thick, "No, you just had to make things a fuckin' mess, dinnae you?"

Normally, it was Ghost who took care of interrogations, at least the more painful parts of it. But Soap needed to let out his anger in a useful way, he needed to hear the sickening crunch of ribs so that he could remind himself of what you went through and erase any sliver of doubt or sympathy in his mind for the enemy. Every splatter of blood that'd spill when he'd throw a fist across the guy's face was just another testament to how much he despised what happened and how desperately he needed to let it all out.

The man, in his bleary-eyed haze, made out another figure that entered the room. It was Ghost, with a box of electrical clamps in hand. "What is he doing here?"

Soap and Ghost made a silent exchange of words, nodding to one another in confirmation and speaking purely through eye contact. It only created more fear when Soap left the room and the man was all alone with the lieutenant.

"Hey hey hey where are you going you can't leave me with him! I did what I had to do, it's not my fault your friend was collateral—" The man choked on his words when Ghost pulled out two clamps and tested them, both emitting a spark and loud crackles that echoed off the walls. "—fuck! Oh god, no no no—what the fuck are you gonna use that for?!"

The lieutenant was a different situation. Sure, he wanted nothing more than to dig his hands into the man's open wounds, curl his fingers until flesh separated from bone, make them feel just exactly how much they got 'under his skin'. He wanted to hear the satisfying pop! of bones and cartilage. He wanted them to writhe like worms on a scalding sidewalk, pathetic and left for dead. But that wasn't enough, they didn't deserve the time, the effort, nor did they deserve the pleasure of a quick death. No, he needed to make them suffer.

Ghost brought one clamp up to the man's crotch with one hand and held a rusty knife with the other, lowering himself to look directly at his target. It was at that moment the man came to the realization that he wasn't captured, no, he fucked around, pulling off the stubborn shit act until they'd inevitably grow bored of him and move on, maybe put him out of his misery if he was lucky enough. But there was no moving on, there was no luck in this ring of hell. No, not with what had already been done and what couldn't be taken back even if he begged. The 141 was revered for their soldiers and their work, but it was a myth all at the same time. They were said to be efficient and ruthless, better to surrender to than to suffer at the hands of. Since they were off the books, it was a mystery as to what lengths they would go to, just how far they would push the limits.

He had fucked around, and now he'd find out.

They locked eyes, one pair filled with fear, the other devoid of any emotion. There wasn't the sympathy the man prayed for, nor the anger or violence of Soap, not even a hint of mercy or hatred. It was so empty of feeling that it almost felt dismissive, as if the man wasn't a human held hostage but an object, a book to be torn open for answers, then tossed aside. If Soap had been his judge and jury, then Ghost would surely be his executioner. He felt small, insignificant, and hopeless under the gaze as the man he truly believed was death incarnate responded to his question.

"Last. Chance."

One by one, Price and his crew had cleared the facility, evacuating workers and eliminating guards and cartel. After bringing their "guest informants" to the brink of delirium, wrenching them like wet towels to get every drop of info. Along with the intel Gaz gathered from a hidden basement where hard drives of transactions were being kept, they found the main supplier and other bases. If they took down the heart of the operation, it would cause a domino effect, shutting things down to a point where the Los Vaqueros would be able to handle them on their own. With every bullet shot, they were closer to their goal and closer to making up for what they considered a personal failure to protect one of their own and many more.

Maybe it was crazy that their primary motivation beyond recovering the drugs was to seek justice for a single soldier. But it was to prove a point. To prove that they weren't just a team of highly skilled and trained soldiers, to prove that they were a force to be reckoned with, and to prove that you were no less valuable of a member than the others, all of whom would lay their lives on the line for one another. After all,

The 141 was not to be messed with.

Making his way through the rooms and getting closer to the center of it all, Price was interrupted when a door to his side busted open from a man toppling back into it, falling to the ground. He tried to scramble back, a boot quickly stomping onto his chest. Alejandro towered before him, pressing a rifle to his head, growling in Spanish, "Where is your leader?"

The man responded, and without hesitation, the colonel gave him a quick and painless death for his obedience. Looking up, Alejandro nodded in acknowledgment at Price, "I'm not the only one that owes your sergeant, they protected my men, and I owed them a favor even before that."

That caused Price to chuckle, even despite their current circumstances. There was no denying how much of an unnecessarily reckless saint you could be with those you worked with. "I suppose you got a location from that poor bastard?"

"Yes. Have our teams regroup, it's going to be a long night for us all, my friend. But it's worth the trouble for Las Almas and the kid, no?"

"Yes, indeed." Price hummed, the two making their way out and on to finally settle the score.

You woke up blinded by a bright light, briefly contemplating if you were dead and if heaven was actually real all along. But after some time passed, your eyes adjusted to the all-too-familiar setting of the infirmary with its barren walls and sickly sanitized scent. With a groan, you tried to prop yourself up on your elbows until a hand gently pressed you back. Puzzled by the motion, you rubbed your eyes and found your captain looking back at you.

"Easy there, soldier." Price cautioned, and you kept your eyes on him as you laid back down. He had a small smile on his lips, but the way he looked at you signified that he was still concerned for your state, "You alright? Need the nurse or anything?"

"No," You shook your head, wincing at how hoarse your throat was. Price laughed softly and handed you a cup of water he had prepared at the side of your bed, and you started to wonder if he had always kept one there for you and if he even regularly changed it for you. You wouldn't put it past him to, the ol' sap.

Gulping the cool liquid down heartily, you took a few breaths before continuing, "How- how long was I out?"

"About a few days, no longer than a week." He shrugged, your eyes widening in response, "Cut yourself some slack. When you came back, you were bleeding out all over base and in hysterics. Doctor told us that if you got back any later, we would've lost you from the blood loss alone."

"Just the blood loss? Not the drugs? I would've figured the latter would be the end of me." You chuckled until you saw Price's expression, muttering a sheepish 'sorry, too soon?' and sipping your water cup, "I didn't hurt anyone, did I?"

"Well, you did punch Garrick square in the chest, but he's been through worse. Wouldn't stop making puppy eyes at you the entire time after, I think you wounded his heart. Ghost had to restrain you afterward, and you were too weak to do any real damage at that point, just kept screaming your head off until you passed out."

"Shit," You cringed, your face burning hot with shame, "I'm sorry, Captain. I should've been more careful, I could've compromised the mission and-"

"Don't be. Sure, you made a bloody fool of yourself, but you saved your team in the process. And that's got to count for something, yeah?" He nudged you gently, "So don't beat yourself up, especially after you fought your way out of hell."

The sympathetic look he gave you held unspoken words, No one could've known. You couldn't have known. The urge to tear up right then and there was strong, but you didn't want to embarrass yourself more than you already apparently had. Biting back the sting in your eyes, you only quietly nodded in response.

"Good. I'm proud of you, got that?" Price stood from his seat, giving your head a firm pat, "Rest up after they're done with you, alright? Can't have one of my finest on the sidelines for too long, now can I?"

"Honored to be one, Captain." You faltered for a moment, "Wait, 'they'?"

Price only gave you a sly shrug and left the room. You remained to wonder what he meant for approximately ten seconds until Gaz and Roach burst in, the latter immediately glued to your side. So this is who he meant by "they", why were you even surprised?

"Feeling alright there?" Gaz smiled, taking a seat at your other side.

"I should be asking you that, didn't you get all heartbroken after I punched you?"

"I shouldn't have asked," Gaz groaned, shaking his head despite his smile, "Cheeky as ever, huh? Can't even be sympathetic without you trying to make fun of me."

"Well, I for one was pissed!" Roach interjected, "Right after you got here, we got to work on finding the assholes who hurt you and made them eat shit for dinner. Man, I wish I could've been in the interrogation room with Ghost and Soap but Price said I'm only finding an excuse to beat them up more."

Gaz raised a brow, "You were finding an excuse to."

"Well yeah, but I was only gonna mess with them a little bit, not zap their balls like Ghost—"

"I'm sorry, what?" You coughed, stunned by all the information coming out of them and hardly able to keep up. "What happened when I was knocked out?"

"Price didn't tell you? Oh, well," The two began to give you a run-down of events, from how Roach nearly beat the living hell out of your torturers, to the hidden basement, Ghost and Soap's whole interrogation (with great detail via Roach intel), and how both Price and Alejandro held a whole operation and shut down the suppliers.

Gaz shrugged, "Of course, it was mostly to shut it down and for the sake of Las Almas-"

"-but I mean, we also had to defend your honor!" Roach huffed, passionately signing to emphasize his point, "At least I wanted to. Seriously, how fucked up is it that they drugged you? It wasn't even helpful, they're just sickos that-"

Before Roach could further rant, Gaz tugged at the back of his uniform collar and glanced at his watch. "C'mon Roach, we've been here for a good hour and Price has us on duty right now." Roach only whined at Gaz in response but he ignored it, giving you one last glance, "Get some rest and get well soon, mate. I can't babysit all on my own after all."

"Hey!"

You broke out in laughter, watching the two leave and waving them goodbye. While you wished they could've stayed longer, your heart still warmed at the thought of how they cared, waiting for you to wake up and immediately being at your side. It reminded you of how you stayed at their side when they got sick from a mission in the rain and you didn't, so you felt somewhat obligated to help them as the 'survivor'. Perhaps they felt the same way too, that as your friends, they felt obligated and willing to stay by your side in return.

Hours passed since Gaz and Roach had visited, morning turning to late afternoon. The only ones who did pass by were either other soldiers on base needing medical attention or the nurses themselves, who regularly checked up on you. It wasn't exactly the company you wanted, but it was better than agonizing silence and isolation, which you quickly found to be the worst of it all. Not the scars, not the stiff bandages, not even the sickly clean smell, but just when things were silent. When things were silent, your mind went back to the time you spent, the hours you waited in between questions and beatings with nothing but you in your own head fighting for your consciousness. The buzz of the fluorescent lights in the infirmary drilled a hole in your skull the same way that singular overhead light had, drowning out your thoughts in an uncanny way. The IV drip was no better, it kept you awake the same way the rhythm of your own blood dripping had. You hadn't even noticed the way your breathing suddenly turned ragged just like it did when—no, you had noticed, but you didn't want to.

It shouldn't have bothered you as much as it did, it was only a few hours, you've been through worse, others have been through worse.

But god, the silence.

"You doing okay there, uh-" A nurse walked in through the curtains, pulling up the clipboard at the end of your bed and reading your name, "I'm just going to administer some painkillers real quick, okay?"

Unconsciously, you nodded and watched in a slight daze as she pulled up a cart of medical supplies. Your hands balled into fists to stop the trembling you weren't even aware of but somehow knew you had to hide. It hadn't quite registered to you what was going on or what she had said, even as you watched her fill up the syringe and flick it. But the moment you felt the needle against your skin, you roughly grabbed her wrist, causing her to yelp and drop it.

Your hands began to tremble again, growing clammy. You became all too aware of how muffled the nurse's panicked words were but how sharp the ringing in your ears was, piercing your brain. Words wouldn't come out of your mouth, replaced with small, quick breaths while your eyes darted around to find something, anything to focus on with your blurred vision.

"At ease, sergeant." A heavily accented voice spoke, ripping you from your haze and you turned to find that familiar skull mask standing by the curtains.

"I... I'm sorry," You mumbled, letting go of the poor woman's wrist and hanging your head apologetically. Your breaths returned to normal, the lights were less bright, and the noise was gone for now.

"I think it's best if you ask the doctor to try other kinds of painkillers with our friend here, miss. They aren't too fond of needles, ain't that right?" Soap appeared behind Ghost, trying to keep things lighthearted with how tension in the air was thick enough to suffocate in. The nurse nervously nodded her head before walking away with the cart, understandably still shaken by what had happened.

"I'd ask if you're doin' okay, but it seems a bit obvious now, ain't it, Ghost?"

The other grunted in response, sitting down at one of the chairs by your side. "You'd think they'd know better with these kinds of things."

"Don't be mean now, they're just doing their jobs," The scotsman chuckled, turning back to you, "Now, aren't you quite the sight for sore eyes? Sorry we couldn't make it earlier, we got tied down with paperwork after the whole fiasco, you know about that yet?"

"Yeah, I didn't expect you guys to get the job done so fast."

"Aw, did you want us to leave you some left over? If I'd known, I would've told Ghost to go a little easier on the lads." Soap was the only one trying to make any conversation out of this visit and you already knew the reason for Ghost's silence. It was just like in the helicopter after you took the blow for him, though you were pretty sure a pun wouldn't be enough to break him from "brooding" like last time.

"Sure. Would've loved to get a few punches back on them," You teased back, "But thank you guys. Really. I know it wasn't the main purpose, but I really appreciate that you guys had my safety in mind. Never figured joining the 141 would come with vengeance perks, or am I just that special to you guys?"

"You little shite, you," Soap cackled, ruffling your hair.

"Looks like they beat us here, Rudy." Alejandro's voice chimed out of the blue, appearing soon after.

"Too bad, I was hoping we'd have them to ourselves," Rodolfo hummed, followed behind with a gift basket in hand, "At least we bought something, eh?"

"Oi! We would've brought something too, we just wanted to get here as soon as we got back." Soap pouted, "Tell 'em Ghost."

"Actually I was hoping to get a 'get well' card on our way here." The masked man mumbled, ignoring his partner's offended gasp.

"You seein' this?" He whined, but you also ignored him, favoring the sweets that were in the gift basket.

"How'd you know this was my favorite?" You gasped, your reaction had the two Vaqueros looking at each other with proud faces.

"I have my sources."

"Ale, you just asked around base."

"That still counts as sources."

The whole lot of you started breaking into conversation, the boys exchanging their accounts of their ambush. In return, you shared what had happened when you were caught and how you escaped in a small summary of events, which led to them ranting about the men they interrogated and about the drugs themselves. Even Roach, Price, and Gaz popped in one last time for the day to visit you and join in on the discussion. Seeing them all like this, gathered around your bed, laughing and bantering, it almost made you forget all that had happened. You wanted to cherish this moment, keep a mental picture of it framed over the locked box in the back of your mind. Being in the military never allowed much room for friends gathering and all this chit-chatting outside of pubs, so it was a rare sight for sore eyes.

In a way, it made your life a little more meaningful. Reminded you that you weren't just a "good soldier", you were a teammate, a friend. You were important, someone worth fighting for. A purpose.

Although the job was harsh and you always felt like you had a gun to your head, that everyone wanted you dead on the battlefield, the 141 always showed you that someone out there still cared, still wanted you to fight and stay alive. Even if life tried to put you six feet under, they'd be there to pull you out without hesitation. You didn't have to doubt or question why, you already knew the answer.

You were family.

Unfortunately, the moment couldn't last for long, the poor nurse from before had been startled by the sheer volume of people around you, especially when most of them were high-ranking. Regardless, she chastised them for keeping you up when you needed your rest (you didn't) and began to shoo them all out. It was almost comedic how the group of giant, intimidating men left with little resistance in a pile of shame. Christ, they look like a pack of sad puppies, you humorously thought to yourself.

Ghost was the last to leave, hesitating to say something by the way he just stood there, curling his hands into fists. You had to force yourself not to laugh right then and there. For someone who was so silent and stoic for most conversations, he was easy to read. It wasn't hard to notice how his eyes kept flickering to your bandages the entire time he sat there, followed by the flashes of concern on his face every time you had coughed from laughing too hard or accidentally hurt yourself by shifting your body too quickly.

"I'll be alright, Simon." Giving him a reassuring smile, you hoped he'd take your words to heart, "Don't worry about it, I'll be on the field right as rain again in two days tops and you can kick my ass around all you want then. Promise."

He didn't say anything for a moment, and you began to worry that maybe your words were too cheap for him to believe, or maybe that he was more upset than you'd originally thought.

"You better be sure." He finally responded, "I take my promises pretty seriously, remember that, sergeant."

You stared at him all googly-eyed until your lips broke into a wide grin, beaming brightly at him and shouting as he left.

"Message received, L.T!"

a/n: AAAA I haven't written this much in so longgg. I had the first half already down from the last part because it went on for too long, but this one is nearly DOUBLE the word count. It's bound to have some grammar mistakes, but I hope that doesn't ruin the immersion too much. Let me know what you guys think!

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Wash away the blood on my hands

a/n nothing I can tell you…

summary: honestly just a iv x reader x iii smut. When life throws you to the curb it’s in the embrace of two masked men that you find your salvation.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

It still felt almost pathetic to crawl back to them. You liked having power in this. Never being the one to seek them out. Letting them do the groveling. Slither like serpents into your embrace. But tonight, you were too desperate. Too much in need for something to chase the nagging voices away. You had tried it all at this point. Everything that usually worked on setting your mind back on track. But it was pointless tonight.  

So here you were, navigating the dim hotel hallways at almost two a.m. It had started so innocently—the connection between you three. It was almost a given. Whatever happened between Vessel and II while they were writing music was for them and them only. Each of you were more than aware that you would never compare. Would never match that. Never reach the same level of intensity that rushed when they came together. So you never tried. What was the point? That, however, left you there on your own devices when the nights mid-tour got too long and lonely. 

The first time it happened, you three had been lounging in the tour bus. A beer in hand. Laughing about the stupidest shit. In your hazy state, you had let it slip that you hadn’t had an orgasm in months. No matter what you did, nothing could ever tip you over the edge. The look iii and ivy shared had sent a shiver down your back. But it didn’t compare to the feeling of their eyes falling on you. No words were needed. None were shared. And the rest was history. 

Knocking on the door marked with the number given to you, you waited. Hoping that enough heartbeats would pass by for you to change your mind. Turn on your heels and leave. But the door swung open, revealing a shirtless iii with messy hair. Your eyes fell to the peak of the room stretching out behind him. Of iv slowly pulling the white sheets over his naked body. “You’re busy?”, you swallowed thickly. Walk away; you mentally scolded yourself; it’s their time alone; if they wanted you there, they would have said something. Yet a peg of pain still pierced your heart. “Never for you, mouse,"  iii chuckled slightly, hooking a finger beneath your chin. Tilting your face up. The cocky smirk simmered down the moment his eyes landed on your puffy eyes. “What’s wrong?”, and here it was, the class clown turning into a feral guard dong in the blink of an eye. 

You slowly shook your head, “Not tonight."  Reaching out, you squeezed his hand. “Come on,"  he said, pulling at your hand, bringing you into the dim room. “Isn’t it our favorite girl?", iv called from the bed, pulling his boxers back on. “Don’t get dressed on my account," you pointed out. "Unless, of course, you want me to take them off you once again," you mused, shrugging your t-shirt off and tossing it across the room. 

“Nah, we have a rule," iii said, crossing his arms over his chest, “I’m not fucking you when you’re upset about something."  You shot him a warning look, daring him to push your buttons any further. “Have you been crying?”, iv’s fingers trailed up your neck as he stepped closer to you. Those blue eyes crashed into you with so much force that it sent all the air tumbling out of your lungs. “Can we do all this later, after you fuck my brain out?” you pleaded, “I just want to forget for a while." This wasn’t a first. All of you had leaches in your brain. Through the past year, more than a handful of nights were spent plucking each other’s fears and self-doubts with roots deeply embedded in one’s soul. 

“Say less," iv mussed against your ear. He pushed your hair over your shoulder as his lips pressed against your skin. Breathing life back into you. His fingers aimlessly work with the zipper of your skirt, letting it fall to the floor with a thud. You could hear iii whistling from behind you, “No panties, naughty."  His warmth seeped into your back a moment later. “A girl with a mission on her mind. We left you alone for a night, and you already couldn’t take it." His teeth grazed the shell of your ear, causing your eyelids to flutter. 

“I hate you," you muttered, reaching up to pull at the roots of his hair. "Bet,"  he chuckled deeply, his fingers slowly trailing down your lower stomach and between your thighs. Making you let out a sigh of relief. “I can tell from the way you’re dripping onto my fingers, and we haven’t even started," he hummed making iv snort. “What does that say about you, darling, hm?”, iv leaned in, fingers brushing over your breast before he moved to pinch your nipple. 

“I want you,"  you moaned out, grinding back against iii, feeling him slowly getting harder as he bucked his hips against your ass. “It couldn’t be more obvious,"  he grunted against your ear. "Shower,"  you muttered, earning a collective “huh” from both of the boys. “Can we do it in the bathroom?” slowly licking your lips, you watched as both of their pupils dilated. “You little freak," iii huffed, hooking one arm beneath your bum. You only had a chance to let out a shriek as your hands leaned forward to brace against his shoulders. He covered the distance in a total of four steps. 

Your back hit the back wall tiles, and you quickly wrapped your legs around his torso. iii lips crashed into you so fast you didn’t get a chance to take a breath in, and then a stream of water crashed onto the both of you. Drowning out the last echoes in your mind. He was everywhere. Every inch of your body hummed to the feeling of iii squeezing your thighs as he bucked against you. The feeling of his semi-hard dick, still clothed in black boxers, slipping between your folds made you cry into the kiss. 

“Don’t leave me hanging you two," iv chuckled. You pulled back from iii, watching iv slowly pump his hand up and down his cock as he made his way to you. Where you and iii usually collided like two stars, leaving nothing but ruins in your path, iv weathered the storms you both caused. Like a shore, taking the beating of the waves over and over again. 

iii, slowly let your legs hit the floor once again. Your eyes lingered on him before iv pressed against your back, pulling you against his chest. “iii, why don’t you show your little siren just how much we want her in return?", iv mused. iii didn’t have to be told twice as he slowly sank to his knees in front of you, sending your stomach tumbling down at the sight. That alone made you weak in your knees, so the moment he leaned in, nibbling on your thigh, your whole world tilted. His tongue lapped at your heat mercilessly. A cry that slipped past your lips felt inhuman. iii parted your legs ever so slightly, giving himself more room. “Fuuuck," you mulled, bucking your hips against him even more. “Look at him worshipping you," iv muttered, brushing some of the wet strands of hair away from iii face before sliding his hand up your chest. “Only you get treatment like that, love," he said, slowly nibbling at your shoulder, nudging the tip of his cock between your thighs. "Ivy," you grunted, letting your head fall back onto his shoulder. “Gonna cum on iii tongue?”, he touted, “I know you want to, baby."  His hand reached out, clasping your hands beneath your back. Pulling you away from touching iii, the lost contact made you grunt before iii reached up, circling your clit with his fingers before dipping them between your folds. “Oh, god...", you whimpered. That familiar feeling of his fingers beckoning at you from within your walls turned your legs into jelly. “Give her one more," iv mused, his free hand roughly palming your breast. “No, no…”, you shook your head, knowing that would be your undoing. But the devil worked harder and faster. iii grazed his teeth over your bundle of nerves, pumping his fingers in and out of you. And you were done for. The heat in your stomach pooled, as a shuttering cry left your lisps, making legs buck. But iv was quick to keep you upright, pressing firmer into you, pushing your throwing heat even more at the mercy of iii. 

“Good girl," he breathed against you, pulling your head to the side as he kisses your lips. Further sending the dizzy spell into motion. “Got to get creative over here," iii mused, licking his lips, “I call dibs on fucking her tonight." You pulled away from iv, gasping for air as he shoved your body beneath the water for a moment. “Guess you’ll have to blow me, baby." You nod at iv words. Ready to do about anything the two would ask of you.

“I guess I’m getting a king treatment tonight," iv snorted, palming himself a couple of times as he sat down on the built-in ledge, parting his legs. “His dick won’t suck itself, mouse," iii pushed at your shoulder, sending you down onto your knees. You licked your lips, wrapping your hands around his cock, pumping him slowly. Keeping your eyes on him as you slide just the tip between your lips, sucking on it ever so slightly before pulling away with a pop. “Don’t fucking tease," iv grunted, fingers threading through your hair. “Not my problem, you’re so hard," you crocked out, making iii chuckle from behind you. “You little, slut," iv grunted, pulling your head back slightly. “Put your mouth to use before I do it for you," at that you leaned in, sliding your tongue over his length, making a grunt slip past his lips. You swirled your tongue over his tip once more, savoring the salty flavor of pre-cum, before bopping your head down. 

“Good fucking girl," iv moaned, fisting your hair as you hollowed out your cheeks for him, taking him deeper. "Pretty," iii mused, “Let’s see if you can keep that up while I’m fucking you from behind."  He sinked into you with such ease that it should be shameful. Your joined moans fill the steamy room as that drug like pleasure filled your bodies. As you all chased that high. You dug your fingers into iv’s thighs at the feeling of iii stretching you out. Welcoming the slight pain it caused you. 

Your moan vibrated around iv shaft, making him press your head down even further, causing your eyes to water as you gagged around him. “Jesus”, iii grunted from the back of you as his hips found a rapid rhythm. You felt them both twitching within you, causing your eyes to roll to the back of your head.

“You feel like a fucking dream," iv whimpered, using your mouth to chase his pleasure, your drool coating his thighs. You could only hum around him as iii slipped his hand to circle your clit. Feeling your body slowly seizing as your second orgasm bloomed. iii let out a low grunt as he pounded into you, making your vision blank with pleasure. 

“Can I... fuck... can I cum in your mouth?", iv grunted through clenched teeth. You only got to hum before warm ropes of cum painted the back of your throat. And then you all crumpled, one after the other. The feeling of iv twitching in your mouth as you choked on him sent you over the edge. Causing you to clench around iii, who within a couple of thrusts griped your hips with such force as he too let his warmth fill the depths of you. Making you sob as the pleasure consumed you. 

Gasping for air, you pull away from iv, only to let your head slump against his thigh. iii’s hand was already grasping iv’s other leg as he too breathed heavily. “I think I just saw what the afterlife looks like," iv mused, making both of you chuckle lightly. “You good?”, his warm fingers traced your cheeks, making you blink up at him slowly. “Yeah," you crocked out, feeling the burn in the back of your throat. “I never came so hard in my life," iii blew out a breath, “took the air right out of my lungs." You wanted to throw a cocky line, but your brain was as blank as paper. The moment iii pulled out and his body no longer supported yours, you slumped completely, making the two males reach out to steady you with unmatched speed. 

“I think we restarted her system a bit too good,"  iv snorted. “We got you, mouse,"  iii looped an arm around your torso, “None of your demons will get to you when we’re around," hoisting you up on your feet as if you weighed nothing, he pulled the shower head to rinse the cum painting your legs and chest. “Bedtime for you," iii hummed, kissing the side of your head. Hoking an arm beneath your knees, lifting you up. You curled against him, savoring the warmth of his body. “I think we need to order room service”," ivy chirped, tossing a towel onto the bed so iii could dry your hair. “Now you’re speaking my language,"  iii nodded, eyes fixed on your dazed face as you blinked up at the ceiling. “I think we’ve been talking in the same language for quite some time now, mate," iv shrugged before dialing the number. 

[glitteryinknotes]

Like with many things, it's been said before, but I just need to get this off my chest.

I despise the way the game's ending treats Astarion and the way he has to flee from the sun in utter panic.

I'm not annoyed by it, I'm not angered, I just... Deeply detest it. I can't understand it in the slightest. What the fuck?

Who thought of that? Who thought that would be funny? ESPECIALLY if you're not romancing him, but you still care about him as a friend. That miserable scene of him having to run for his life as the sun mercilessly burns him is supposed to be the last you see of him? After everything?

Honestly, the first instinct anyone caring about him (i'm not even talking his lover) should have is to run after him instantly to make sure he's safely reached nearest shadows and hasn't been burned to a crisp in the meantime. Everything else can wait; the world is saved, tadpoles dealt with, but your companion / beloved is now in mortal danger. This is priority.

And the right ending to his romance should be to frantically run after him, find him curling down on the ground in the first shadow from a random barrel stack he could find, and to have a heart to heart talk with him there, comfort him, plan your future, as you both await the dusk. No way in hell you're leaving him alone.

I just can't get over it, to be honest. We all know BG3 is a once - in - a - century masterpiece of a game, and it just pains me even more so because with everything, everything in the game being so wonderfully thought through, it genuinely feels that to that one part - but such an important one - no one really paid enough attention.

[edit: my original post did indeed include mention of AI, but I ended up removing it because honestly, I should have realised it while writing it's simply wrong to spread or recommend any content with AI use. Thank you @sometimesraven for pointing that out to me in the comments]

[adeptus-nonsense]

humans are poets as well as warmongers

Humans nowadays are well known far and wide in this galaxy. Mostly because they are some of the most chaotic, Stupid or bold "daredevils" around (think i used that word correctly).

While i do recall my first meeting with the humans very V E R Y badly since i served in the contact wars when the Graktuka a well known theocratic empire and very influential and politically strong contender in the galaxy stumbled across human colonies. They saw this as an hostile action since the planet they were settling were a holy world, That however is a story for another time.

Just know that the Graktuka empire shrunk by a significant margin to the point where they asked for militairy support. The humans had apparently developed a kind of magnetic accelerated firing plattform piercing through multiple layers of hull completely ignoring shields. Given that Graktuka empire relied on shields since most of the galactic arsenal is plasma based but their hull wasn't weak at all. Unconventional weapons had to be used to even dent their armour. Realising that the humans ships were massive but rather primitive and slow a ground based invasion was seen to be the optimal way off going.

If you were there you would know why humanity is as feared as they are. Masters of the what did they call it? Art of war? Yeah something like that. Fields of bombs buried into the ground detonating with a light step. Weapons dedicated to injure soldiers just enough to save them but not kill them in order to make the invader spend more resources on saving said soldier.

Even our bases of operations with shields were not safe, let me tell you if you think regular humans can cause damage to stuff by touching things dont even get near trained saboteurs with your stuff. They break things in a ways that seems like a simple malfunction and will work after a simple repair. When the shield generator first broke down i thought i could fix it in a matter of minutes, I still havent fixed it to this day and i have taken that thing apart thousands of times without finding the fault.

safe to say we lost that war and this is just one one planet. This was the short part. Just be glad that they pack bond with just about anything. Saw a human carry a cleaning unit and named it "Ronald the Roomba" And that is apparently our ships mascot. But this is things we all are aware of. Let me tell you of their poetic side

This is not something most of us see as common knowledge about humans, but their cultural aspect besides war is for a lack of better words beautiful. This thing they call music.

for all their wars they know how brutal they are and write songs about everything they did wrong and how they wished how they could change it. But that is not all, according to human Jakob music portrays emotions and ones feelings in a way that regular communication doesn't and you dont even need to understand the words to understand the emotion said piece is carrying. Which i know to be true, it's almost therapeutic

I think My log of it will be a better way to describe since it is honestly hard to describe [alltough be careful their music is quite loud for most prey species]

Year 4574 human sector 456854 log 1 of service leave. I am currently here on a passion project of mine. While the war has ended 6 years ago off now the tensions do still exist. Me and some comrades in service are taking some time off and going to what humans call a bar and apparently there is a human performing. I have no idea of how this is gonna go. All i know is humans are incredibly chaotic especially when intoxicated. Still i should probably record this for the culture scientists at social scientific hub.

Log 2

*murmur and loud talking in the background at the bar*

"for clarifications sake, my name is Groakslo, i am here with my two comrades Kyukla and Telosa. We are currently at the bar only to see that humans are actively drinking poison, i was quite shocked to hear this and asked if it isn't dangerous and the bartender said and i quote "nah we gucci" note to self find out what gucci is."

Log 3

"the humans were beginning to get rowdy and even slight outbursts of violence did occur but nothing the surprisingly loud bartender couldn't handle by a very concerning threat, followed by him saying that the band is preparing so settle down. Telosa and i looked at each other very confused but still awaited this "band"

Log 4

"the band arrived and started to set up weird things, long instruments with metal strings, of varying thickness, i asked the a human who were close by what they were and he said instruments. I asked what they were used for and he said to play music. I was getting nowhere and decided to see for myself what they were gonna do."

Log 5 (i decided to be quiet for this one)

"welcome folks and aliens of all sorts shapes and kinds! Thank you for coming to this bar for our first debut our name is The Lines In between, and for those who dont know human music, we'll slowly lean you into it with this first on and it is namned Memories beneath the stars" [3 hours of music recorded]

Final log (yes i know i could voice record but i want to write while the memory is fresh i'm bad with words)

I never knew that humans could make such songs. Telosa and Kyukla was particurlarly affected. The song was as the name suggest the memories we made sneaking out to watch the stars as younglings, reminiscing about the times when the stars were the most unknown, adventure filled and beautiful place to be in. But also about the connections they've lost over the years, the good times wiped away like a water slowly polishing a stone into sand. It was odd, beautiful calm, sad all at once.

The voices i heard when i fought humans in war can not even be compared to that of the singer in that band, what is most perplexing is that the once borderline rioting bar was completely quiet when the band was performing, almost as if in a trance completely captured by the singers voice, smooth, rough, raspy but controlled in a way i thought impossible. A song about 4 human minutes somehow managed to capture the full emotional spektrum of not only humans but multiple species in that bar.

Humans truly are an astounding species. Truly a species that are on all of the extremes, stupidity, ingenuity, violence, poetry and many many more. For now i'll sign off and hope you at the social cultural exchange fellas have a field day with the music file attached to this.

Grokslo, highly decorated former geothermical shield generator militairy specialist.

[faith-forgxtten-land]

Blush | Leonardo

this isn't me being modest or fishing for compliments, but i found writing this surprisingly difficult to write for some reason? and i'm not exactly ecstatic with how it ended up, but i've spent a while trying to edit and improve it (and of course tumblr decided to not save my edits, TWICE) and i honestly think this is as good as it's going to get because the more i edit and worry over it, the more difficult it becomes! with that said, i do hope you enjoy it!!

2007 universe!!

warnings: making out? there's not much honestly, leo being a little unhinged and possessive? she/her pronouns used once or twice, everyone is 18+!!

summary: leo likes it a little too much when you blush

word count: 1930 (honestly surprised by the length)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The first time you meet the turtles, you feel faint even after all the preparation you've done with April. She'd told you all about them, yet she hadn't mentioned how intimidating and handsome they were, and you stumble over your introductions, stuttering and blushing, feeling small and unimpressive, like you're back to being a schoolgirl with an unattainable crush.

You have to repeat your name, your shy mumbles too quiet even for their mutant hearing, and you flush as Leonardo smiles patiently at you and ignores Raphael’s eyeroll. Donatello is kind and tells you to not to take his brother’s grumpiness to heart, and Michelangelo talks so much that you don’t have to for the rest of the evening.

From then on, Leo makes an effort to be kind to you; he's always patiently listening to you even as you trip over words, especially on the days where you can barely glance in his direction without blushing, leaning close and bestowing you with an intense attention you're not sure you'll ever get used to. 

And maybe sometimes Leo plays up how soft-spoken you are. You are quiet, and you do have a tendency to mumble your words, yes, but he’s not deaf and he really doesn’t need to invade your personal space as often as he does. It’s just so cute the way you fluster without fail every time he leans in, his breath fanning against your face as he asks you to repeat yourself. 

His brothers and your aunt aren’t as oblivious as you; Donnie shoots him pointed looks that he pointedly ignores, Raph’s eyes are permanently rolling, and by now Mikey, who had initially been supportive, has begun to find it sickening, miming puking in the background each time Leo so much as looks in your direction. Even Splinter has joined in, completely unsubtle in his offhand mentioning of grandchildren whenever he sees the both of you, whether you’re alone or together. And April... well, she had cornered him in the dojo and promised that he'd be running back to the rainforest she found him in if he ever did you wrong. 

He had no intention of ever hurting you, or letting anyone else hurt you, for that matter. You’re just so endearing; so precious and shy, a snowflake that has yet to feel heat, and he so desperately wants to be the only one to light that fire within you and watch you melt.

Perhaps it's a little obsessive, but everything you do, usually unknowingly, draws him in like a moth to a flame. And it’s a little mean, maybe, the way he delights as you fluster and flush with only the tiniest hints of encouragement from him, but it sends a thrill through him each time. You’re so shy, so innocent and trusting, it’s impossible for him not to take advantage of that (even if April’s threats ring in his ears whenever he does).

So he invites you over, a movie night with just the two of you because of course Mikey is busy doing something silly and senseless that you won't be interested in, and you know Donnie's always busy doing something painfully nerdy that's way too boring to be fun, and Raph is busy doing something boneheaded with Casey that's far too dangerous.

It's just you and Leo.

You're both quiet for the most part, but keenly aware of each other's presence. It would be impossible for him to miss the way you practically stop breathing whenever his leg brushes oh-so lightly against yours, and he knows you're not paying much attention to the movie because he isn't either, and you're not exactly subtle with the way your eyes keep flicking away from the screen to sneak a peek when you think he isn't looking. 

The eleventh time you do this, he decides enough is enough, and lets his eyes catch yours.

He keeps eye contact for a little too long to be casual, heart racing at the way your eyes dart away awkwardly but seemingly can’t resist finding his again no matter how embarrassed you feel. God, you’re so cute, he wants to squish your cheeks and eat you alive. He must not be doing a very good job at hiding that desire because Donnie shoots him a warning look as he passes by to grab something from the kitchen, and Leo elects to ignore it, sticking his foot out suddenly and smiling innocently as his brother stumbles and glowers but continues his walk without comment.

He slides his arm casually over the back of the couch when he’s certain you’re alone again, unable to cover his smirk as you stiffen and your breath hitches. He’s not even touching you and he wants to laugh at how innocent you are; he feels like a wolf waiting to pounce on a lamb and it really shouldn’t excite him this much. The thought makes him shuffle just a little closer, disguising his movements as a casual adjustment in his seating. He flashes you a kind smile. “You okay?”

Your smile in return is tight and nervous, and you can’t bring yourself to make eye contact this time. You nod quickly, not trusting yourself to speak without humiliating yourself further. That, of course, is ruined as Leo drops his hand to the bare skin of your shoulder from where your shirt has slipped, rubbing your warm skin gently. You jump, a squeak slipping past your lips, and you feel your face grow even hotter.

Leo looks at you with feigned concern, lips rolled together to hide his grin, pushing an earnest façade to conceal his amusement. Your skin is so soft, he thinks, brushing his fingers over it again. “You sure?”

You swallow thickly as his palm flattens and trails towards your neck. “Y-yes.”

He’s even closer now, muscled thigh pressed against yours as he peers at you. “You’re looking a little flushed…”

You look up and meet his unfaltering stare; his eyes are dark, pupils eclipsing warm brown irises, and you feel like they’re swallowing you whole the longer you get lost in his gaze. His hand slides up and you shudder as he cups your jaw gently. There’s only an inch or so between your faces now, and you’re not sure when you got so close, but it’s hard to focus on anything other than the rush of blood in your ears as your heart beats erratically. “Leo,” you whisper uncertainly, and his eyes darken before he presses his lips to yours.

You’re still for a moment, frozen as butterflies flutter so violently in your stomach you think you might vomit – which would be the most mortifying thing to ever happen to you (and you’ve had a lot of mortifying things happen to you) and you might have to take a leaf out of Leo’s book and head to Central America and cut all contact with everyone you know.

You're not really sure what you're doing, and your actions feel delayed, like you're moving in slow motion or you're underwater and your movements are sluggish despite your best efforts, but you must be doing something right because he groans quietly against your mouth and the sound makes your abdomen clench. He pulls back and your lips are tingling as he catches his breath. 

He looks the way you feel; a mess, flushed with his chest heaving, and you feel a little smug even as you blush further when he smirks at you. He doesn’t say anything, just keeps smirking at you because he’s insufferable like that, and you realise he’s waiting for you to meet his eyes. 

It's a Herculean effort, but you manage to return his heated stare. 

“I want it all.” Leo is gazing into your eyes in complete seriousness and, as much as you want to look away and bury your face into your hands, something keeps you transfixed.

"All?" It's a miracle that you find your voice, even if it's the weakest it's ever sounded, wheezing and as soft as the skin under his calloused palms.

Leo's eyes somehow darken further. "This isn't just a game to me, or a one-time thing. I want everything with you."

You swallow the reticence that threatens to burst from your throat and lick your lips, the taste of his own a heavy weight against yours. His eyes follow the movement, the intensity of his stare making you feel dizzy. “I’ve never done this before,” you admit, heat crawling up your neck. “I’ve never even been in a relationship before."

Leo smiles at you, a knowing curve of his lips, crooked and tender with a hint of mirth, eyes dancing across every inch of your face with your admission as if he can’t decide which spot deserves his attention more. “I want to be your first and last,” he says honestly, voice a little uneven as if he hasn’t yet caught his breath after your kiss.

He’s nervous, you realise, cheeks darker than usual and inflicted with the same timidity that's nestled in your chest – not that he’ll admit to it. His eyes keep flitting about, not in a loving caress, but in a nervy flutter. You make him nervous. You can’t stop the giggle that leaves your lips and, almost instantly, Leo’s nervousness melts away as he raises a non-existent brow. “Something funny?”

Your face is flushed, and you can feel that shyness threatening to rear its head, but you push through and beam a little bashfully at him. “I want that too. I want it all. With you."

Leo blinks slowly and leans in close again. It takes everything within you not to pull away; your face is scorching, and you wonder if it’s actually possible to burn your skin from blushing so fiercely. “Can I kiss you?” His voice is lower than normal, soft and rough at once, deep and dark like it’s filtered through gravel and dripped in honey at the same time, and you kind of want to faint.

“Haven't you already?” you mumble, eyes dropping from his as another wave of heat rushes to your face, resolutely staring just beyond the turtle that’s practically on top of you.

Leo laughs softly, hand on your jaw once more and directing your embarrassed gaze to him. He’s smiling wide and then he’s kissing you again.

It’s still sloppy and tentative, you’re still entirely unsure of what you’re doing and it’s almost embarrassing enough to make you retreat, but then his tongue, long and thick, traces the seal of your lips in question and your brain shuts-down. Hesitantly, you answer, your own tongue shy as it brushes against his and easily forfeits the short fight for dominance, letting him lick your mouth with practiced ease. Any remnants of anxiety over your own inexperience dissipate with every flick of his skilled tongue, and you melt into his embrace.

“Oh my god, Leo’s eating her face.”

Leo pulls back and you squawk, mortified and covering your face as embers of confidence sputter, fleeing from you while Mikey dramatically projectile vomits his nunchucks across the room where they hit the wall with a thud. Your face is on fire, and you die a little on the inside as you realise that the glistening around Leo's mouth is mostly your spit. 

You die a little more and make a mental note to book a flight to Costa Rica when Splinter arrives to investigate the commotion, his son still pressed against you on the couch, and simply murmurs about grandchildren before winking at you.

[miloformula123fan]

Please write something with Ollie Bearman x childhood friend! reader. Her beeing there for his first race in f1 as a surprise after hearing that he's racing fo Ferrari. Reader just beeing super supportive, taking care of ollie, making him feel comfortable (like thinking about bringing his favourite snack, good playlist,...)

i wrote this as a blurb because i wanted to get it done on that weekend, but i didn't so i just ended up trying to get it out now

Please keep requesting - y'all have awesome ideas we agree on a lot of stuff :) - my guidelines are here, and if you want some prompts, they are here.

also feel free to come in and start chatting to me in my asks, would love to get to know y'all better

and if you want to be added to my taglist lmk :)

ollie bearman x childhood friend!fem!reader

---

So basically, reader was there to support ollie for prema at saudi, after a horrible first race in bahrain

And she’s there when ollie gets the call

Y’know how sometimes you pick up your friend’s phone calls by accident

Yeah she probably did that when fred called

She’s so supportive

Calming him down

Making sure he does extra warm ups

Handing him the helmet and hans device when he needs it

She tried to feed him until he nearly threw up from nerves

Makes sure he eats a massive dinner after qualifying and large breakfast and lunch before the race

She’s bringing the good playlist

All the hype songs

She was probably at the back of the garage stressing out with David

(we love david bearman)

She gives him a good luck hug

She was probably with prema trying to wave to him on the drivers parade

Making sure he’s staying cool with the ice vest

Making sure he’s staying on time to everything

She was honestly more surprised than ollie that he got the call

Like she obviously knew that carlos was unwell, but had assumed that someone else would get the call up

Not the kid who she’d grown up with from diapers

And how he was expected to perform in a very quick car

Nope, not her ollie

She was stressing through the national anthem

Thinking about all the things that could go wrong

And then he got P7

She started crying into David’s shoulder as he crossed the line

In the points and safe

She couldn’t stop crying and shaking as she hugged ollie, yelling over all the mechanics

He’d done it.

She calmed him down until he was in the car

And then david had to try and calm her down

And then ollie calmed her down once he was done and safe and sound

They had a dance party in his hotel room once he was finished

And then collapsed asleep

---

taglist: @leosxrealm, @tallrock35, @wolf-knights, @janeholt3

[t-art-c]

"This is not love, Scaramouche..."

CW: Domestic Abuse, Emotional Manipulation, Human Trafficking, Manhandling, Self-deprecation, Toxic Cycle, Implied Stalking, and Gaslighting

A/N: GUYS!! Just to remind that I do not condone the actions I write for my yandere oneshots. This is only explorations of how abuse or toxicity affects a person. There may be inaccuracies, but I always try to make it as accurate as possible and always give respect, especially towards victims.

-----

The words you uttered did nothing but make your husband rage. His eyes turned sharper, and his scowl even deeper. He tightened his grip over the whip he has been using to punish you yet again over something menial.

He would always say that it may be menial to you but it is detrimental to him. As the spouse of the Balladeer, Scaramouche, every action you make will be reflected to him. So, every action you do that is not to his taste meant that he married a slob, a whore and every insult under the Sun.

There was this one time when the Jester visited Scaramouche's manor. Your husband was not home at that moment so you decided to be proper host and offer tea to the harbinger.

The Jester had an overwhelming presence that made you shake. So when you were pouring him tea, you have accidentally spilled some over his white coat. With terrified eyes, you bowed your head to the ground and begged for your life.

Fortunately, he spared you and told you that he will have it washed when he leaves. Unfortunately, your husband witnessed the whole thing. He pulled you into an empty room and berated you over how you embarrassed him with your actions.

For the second time of that day, you apologized with your head down and just took all the insults he threw at you.

After taking all the abuse for years, you have finally had enough. You do not even care what would happen to you when you confront him.

Death?

Yes, you had nothing to lose anymore when all he ever did was take everything from you.

"What would you even know about love?"

He went there. In all honestly, you should not have been this surprised, but you can always count on your husband to know how to hurt you.

"More than you ever will..."

Saying it felt freeing. There is not an ounce of fear in your body, not even anger. You felt happy. Without raising your head, you know that he shaking in anger, maybe even grinding his teeth.

A few seconds pass, but nothing happened. There was only an uncomfortable silence surrounding the both of you.

"You do, don't you?"

He walked closer and made you look at him in the eyes.

"But that's what I love about you."

He slapped you hard to the point you fell to your side. The wounds you have gotten prior from his previous punishment throbbed and started bleeding again.

Tears started to form from the corner of your eyes. You held the cheek he slapped and smiled bitterly.

"As I said again, this putrid thing you force on me will never be love."

You stood up from the ground and stared at your husband.

"Every single day, I have to tell myself that what we have is just something other couples go through. But I know deep down, it's wrong, and abnormal."

You walked closer to him and softly held his hands.

"What did I do to deserve this?"

Scaramouche's face softened. He tenderly held your bruised cheek and placed a kiss on it.

"You deserve everything. My love, my wrath, my loneliness, my happiness, every single one of it."

-----

Love truly is a fascinating thing.

How cruel of your husband to choose you to be the receiver of his putrid love. A man who will forever stay young while you grow older and inevitably leave him all alone again.

Maybe, that is why he shows you all of himself. He knows that one day you will not be there by his side to give him comfort. Even if the comfort he feels from you might be just like warmth from an already extinguished bonfire.

You did love this awful husband of yours once upon a time. But now, you do not know what to feel for him. Anger? Sadness? Regret for even meeting him one faithful day?

In a rare occasion where he will allow you to explore the outside world again with him by your side, you have always thought of running away. It will be futile as he is much more stronger and faster than you could ever be. But if you do hypothetically escape, where will you go?

You were a nobody, prior your life with Scaramouche. Not even one person ever knew of your existence. Just some orphan who was able to survive the unforgiving world by stealing from other people. That is until you messed with the wrong person and was taken to a human trafficking ring.

Other orphans like you from the ring had their names taken away. Nobodies who did not bother to care for each other, because caring for someone in a dangerous place meant weakness that can be taken advantage of.

When The Balladeer suddenly visited the ring, you were ecstatic.

Finally, there might be a chance for freedom for you from this wretched place. Finally, a place far better than this one.

You did everything you could to make him notice you. Made yourself look pitiful in hopes that he would glance and choose you.

But, he never did. Instead he chose a young boy from beside you.

"I'll take this one. And make it quick."

"Certainly, my Lord!"

It did not work. Of course, it would not work. Who in their right mind would choose someone as weak as you. The Balladeer probably already have a specific person in his mind.

You were not able to stop the tears from coming out your eyes.

It was probably the most pathetic you have ever felt. Not even once have you cried when you were beaten and starved by your captors. But you just know yourself that you will never be able to escape this place.

This place will be your resting place.

"Hm... I'll take this one too."

In your self-wallowing, you did not even notice that the Balladeer is standing right in front of your cage. Only then you noticed when you were roughly grabbed by the arm and dragged away by his men.

The boy he picked was nowhere to be seen.

In your shock, you can not even verbalize how thankful you are of him. So, you just cried again.

"Again with the crying. I order you to stop that or I'll be sending you back in that hellhole."

You dried your eyes quickly from his threat, in fear that he will make true of his promise. However, the dirt from the shirt you have been wearing since you were taken stung your eyes, which caused you to tear up more.

"Tch. You can't even follow orders properly."

You started to tremble from the glare he sent your way.

"I apologize, my Lord! T-the dirt from my shirt just stung my eyes that's all. I hope you can forgive my mistake!"

Just before he says something, you have arrived at a wooden carriage. Inside, you can see the boy from before curled at the furthest corner. The man gripping your arm let go of it and ordered you to get in.

After that initial interaction with the Balladeer, you have seen him until a year later.

-----

You loved Scaramouche with all your heart. He is probably the only person your heart will ever know to love. Even after everything, your husband will always be the one you adore.

The pathetic, worthless you who will always crawl back to him after every punishment. Seeking his love and forgiveness.

After all, who else would be able to withstand his overbearing, opressive love?

"I will always love you..."

The way you said it was bitter, but accepting.

Your husband only stared as he pulled your head to lay on his shoulder. The scent of his sakura cologne filling your senses. He held you tight as if he was afraid to lose you.

"You know I will never leave you..."

You hugged him as you contemplate about the life you have lived.

"Hm... I will not let you even if you tried."

A laugh went out of your mouth at his response towards you. Your shoulders were shaking as you cried.

-----

It has been a long time since you last saw the Balladeer. It took you some time to fully adapt to your new environment. As a new orphan recruit of the Fatui, you were given a new name by your coworkers.

Pavel.

They told you it meant "small". Which you guess is understandable since you are the shortest of all the recruits. It does not mean you are happy with it.

Work in the Fatui can sometimes be very boring or hectic. It is currently in its hectic stage since you have received news of the Balladeer visiting to check on how things are going.

"Pavel! Can you help me with auditing?"

Lev.

He was the boy you were with when the two of you were bought by the Balladeer. Just like how you were given a nonsensical name, Lev was also a victim of it. Your coworkers said that Lev meant "lion", as they are always reminded of a lion when they see the boy.

Over the course of a year, the two of you have grown closer to the point of seeing each other as family. Although, you two are close, not once have the two of you ever shared about your lives prior the Fatui.

"Alright, which part should I help you with?"

The boy gave you a thankful look. He then handed you another notepad to write into and pointed over a pile of papers on a table not far from him.

"Just those. Don't worry, I already finished most of it. I just want to take a quick break. My head is killing me."

You gave him a pat in the head and let out a sigh.

"Remember to visit the clinic."

He let out a laugh and exited the room.

You proceeded to audit the pile of papers. It was quite peaceful, even if there a bustle of people just outside of the room. Everyone is working hard to await the arrival of their Habinger.

It has been a while since you last saw the Balladeer. No other interactions happened between the two of you after being forced in the carriage.

He probably got his hands full the moment we arrived at Snezhnaya. Even with his youthful face, he is still a cutthroat harbinger.

"To think there's someone lurking in this room"

You jumped from your spot as you heard a voice just behind you. You turned around and saw the person everyone has been preparing for to arrive.

"L-lord Scaramouche!"

You kneeled one leg on the ground as you greeted the Balladeer with respect.

"Rise."

You stood up and maintained yourself to not anger him. Knowing his temperament from what your coworkers have told you, he is not to be messed with.

"What are you currently doing?"

You showed him your notepad.

"I am currently auditing some papers right now, my Lord."

He let out a sound of acknowledgement as he waved his hand.

"Follow me."

Without wasting a second, you walked in front of him and opened the door, then went behind him to follow.

The two of you walked in silence as the people around you stopped what they were doing and kneeled towards their Lord.

"We welcome you, Lord Scaramouche!"

The Balladeer waved his hand and everyone piped down. He spoke of an event that every single Fatui member must attend to. A festival that let those with family to go back home and spend time with them.

Everyone was excited and have started talking amongst themselves after the Balladeer has explained the situation.

The two of you walked back to the room where the two of you met and saw Lev already working on the audit.

"Lord Scaramouche!"

He kneeled and bowed his head.

"Are you the one who was supposed to be auditing?"

The boy gulped from the inquiry.

"Yes, my Lord. I have asked Pavel to cover for me for a while as a I go visit the clinic to get some medications."

The Balladeer glared down at him.

"I order you to never do that again. Do the job given to you, even if you're sick. I don't care what excuses you have."

"A-affirmative, my Lord..."

After all of that, you have never seen Lev again. You were taken by the Balladeer and have started working directly under him.

Your old coworkers who you thought you were close with never interacted with you again. Every time you try to talk to them, they will make an excuse to run away from you.

It made you feel disappointed as you feel alone once again.

-----

"Do you really think my love for you is disgusting?"

Scaramouche's hug constricted you body against him. It is getting more difficult to breathe.

"Yes. It's so disgusting that it makes me want to puke."

Perhaps you have a death wish, but you know yourself that your husband would never let you die until he has his fill of you.

"How brave of you to be truthful to me. But I guess that's what I love about you. Only you will I ever allow to insult me like this."

His grip on you became even more tighter as he place his head on the junction of your neck and shoulder.

A disgusted part of you tells you to push him away, but then there is that lovesick part of you that feels comforted in the pain of his hug. The dichotomy between your emotions leaves you breathless.

He knows how to play with your heart. Maybe he already knew how much he has wrapped you around his finger. He might as well have actually tied invisible strings around your joints like a puppet.

It sometimes makes you feel confused of what you should be even doing. Since everything you have ever done seems to have only inconvenienced him.

"Love is supposed to make me feel safe in your company, Scaramouche. Not once have you ever tried to make me feel safe."

You started to comb his hair with your fingers.

"But for some reason, I feel even more safe knowing that you hurt me. All the insults and the pain you have forsaken me with, I openly accepted"

Scaramouche rubbed your back as he kept his silence.

"We are so different from each other. Yet, we are unfortunately perfect together."

-----

It has been a month since you started working for the Balladeer. He never called you by the name that was given to you by your former coworkers. For some odd reason, he asked for your real name.

"My real name is (Name), my Lord."

It was the name left to you by your mother before abandoning you in the streets as a child. You never had much use of it as nobody would ask a dirty rat like yourself for it.

"(Name)..."

The way the Balladeer whispered your name sent shivers down your spine. Your cheeks started to have a rosy hue from how he kept repeating it under his breath.

It made you feel strange as this is not a befitting behavior from a subordinate.

"If you do not mind me asking, my Lord?"

He stared at you

"Speak."

You clasped your hands together as you finally asked your question.

"May I visit a friend of mine for my day off this coming Saturday?"

The air around suddenly became heavy.

"No, you can not. After all, there's nobody waiting for you anymore."

Even in such an icy environment, sweat started to fall from your forehead.

"Pardon?"

The Balladeer let out a chuckle as he placed his cheek in his hand."

"I have eyes everywhere. What do you think happened to him?"

Without even answering him, you bolted out of his office and ran through the cold weather. You were determined to see the answer for yourself and hope to whichever archon is listening to you to this one time to grant you goodwill.

Your lungs started burning from how much you are inhaling the cold air. But it never even made you stop running as you finally reached the apartment complex specifically built for Fatui agents.

Since the you and Lev came together, they made it so to make the two of you roommates. It was a fairly average room for two, but since you two are always at work, it is kept quite boring. Only Lev's action figures are strewn over the place.

You opened the door with the key you have kept in your person.

"LEV?!"

There was no reply to your call. Only silence and an equally empty room with no warmth. Lev's action figures were nowhere to be seen.

"I guess no one's home."

Is there truly no archon who will ever listen to you? Is this why back in the human trafficking ring, nobody formed friendships with each other?

"Since you've already seen your answer, let's head back."

With nothing else to do in an empty room, you followed the Balladeer back to his office.

The silence in the office was deafening as he signed the papers you have handed to him. Only the noise of his pen scratching the paper surrounds the both of you.

"What if I tell you that I'm meant to be a god? Would you worship me?"

You stared at him.

"If that is what you want from me, my Lord. Then yes, I will worship you."

He blinked at you.

"What a fascinating answer. However, it's not what I'm looking for. And here you wonder why the gods don't listen to the likes of you."

What else does he want from you then?

-----

"I finally have what is rightfully mine. That annoying fox and that dumb traveler made it all too easy."

Scaramouche is currently bandaging the wounds he has inflicted on you while recounting the story of obtaining the electro gnosis. To be frank, you could care less of what he thinks as you do not like gods.

"What's your plan now?"

He glared at you as if you have just asked the stupidest of quesitons.

"Become a god, what else?"

You laughed.

"How boring."

Your husband dropped your arm and stood up from the bed. He carried with him the first-aid kit back to the bathroom. You laid down your bed and await his return.

When he went back, he made you pull the blanket over the two of you.

"I'll not be back for a few weeks. Even if I don't want to, I have to since only that bastard the Doctor can do something about it."

You frowned at him.

"The Doctor is dubious at best. Are you really sure?"

Scaramouche pulled the blanket over the two of you to shut you up.

He may be hundreds of years old, he can never stop being a brat. But you guess, that is one of the few things you find endearing about him. Even if there are more bad things than good things you can see about him, your heart will always beat for him and him only.

You hope this endeavor of his is finally the thing the ends him.

"Even to the end, I will never be apart from you. For you are the only one I have left to lose."