#even if mechanically they can’t or it wouldn’t make sense. they would if they could.

[twinstxrs]

idk if this is accurate but i’ve felt like in previous seasons riz & gorgug have been one of the inter-bad kids dynamics we’ve seen the least of & this season has been so great in that aspect. gorgug having helped make some of riz’s magic gear. riz helping gorgug with his studies. the shared birthday party. gorgug’s gift to riz being something he himself made to protect riz. riz’s gift to gorgug being something he illegally grabbed to protect gorgug. gorgug who utilizes rage to put his body on the line for his friends & riz who will take deep levels of mental stress for his friends. even though it was within the context of a joke, riz calling gorgug an “absolute sweetie.” like yea they might not be in a band together or both part of a presidential campaign team or owlbears teammates, but they’d go to war for each other, because they’re best friends.

[kisses4reid]

missed it | ·˚ ༘ spencer reid ,,

summary - you celebrate your birthday alone in tears, until someone knocks on your door.

genre - colleague!reid x fem!reader, angst, fluff

warnings - angst, crying, memories of neglect and favouritism

a/n - a little self indulgent. thank you for 450 followers!!!! taglist is open as always, sorry for the cliff hanger.

Crisscross applesauce on a wooden barstool in front of leftovers from the night before. Exactly how every Wednesday night is. It’s raining, you can smell petichor, and you had just finished a book your colleague had lended you two days prior.

There is nothing special about today.

Your day was full of paper work and coffee breaks. Exactly how every Wednesday is. It was overcast, you could smell petichor, and you had just handed in some classified paperwork to your boss.

There was nothing special about today.

You night will be sleepless, full of tears and terrible memories. Not like every Wednesday night. It will storm, you’ll smell dirt and mud, and you’ll show up the next day to pretend you’re as bubbly and smiley as every one thinks you are.

There is nothing ever special about today.

You gripped your fork and stuffed the last of the leftover rice into your cheeks, chewing as a coping mechanism for the ball gathering at the back of your throat.

Glancing at your phone every two minutes didn’t help the gathering tears either, especially when it was a black screen every time. It happens every year.

Maybe your little cousin will send some emojis and a love heart, but it’s been years since that last happened. Your brothers and sister would get posts on your mothers Facebook, and you got a happy birthday from a distant aunty you met once when you were 3.

Maybe this is why when you dry yourself and start your nighttime routine, you light the candle you bought yourself, and get changed into pyjamas you bought yourself, and you light a skinny colourful candle you bought yourself.

You don’t get the chance to blow it out before a tear extinguishes it.

A sob rakes through you. Even in these warm pyjamas surrounded by your favourite vanilla and citrus scent, you can’t seem to be happy with what you’ve got. That’s what your father would tell you every birthday until you were 11 - when the presents stopped rolling in.

Be grateful for the clothes you’ve already got, for the books you’ve already read, for the food you’ve already eaten.

Be grateful that your little sister can breathe to blow out your candles, that your brothers have hands to open your presents.

Be grateful.

You are grateful you got that part time job to move out so young, that you were accepted in the BAU and welcomed with open arms, that it gave you the financial stability to own your own apartment with windows to get rained on and bookshelves to fill.

The covers on your bed were darkening with every tear that dropped from your cheek. It was ruining your skincare.

A laugh escapes you, barely audible through your closing throat, before you hear a firm knock on your front door.

Slippers on, hair loose and messy, you opened the door with a frown. It was not the day nor time for any soliciting or girl scout cookies. But you stopped for a second and glanced at the time displayed on your oven. It was 11pm.

“Y/n? Are you awake?”

Your eyes widened at Spencer Reid’s voice, eyebrows furrowing and hand quick to twist the door knob.

“Spencer what are you-“

“Happy birthday?” A full teeth smile was plastered on his place, but you didn’t notice as his face was hidden by a vanilla cake and small bag with plastic casing over it.

Any other time Spencer would be welcome in, it would make sense today wouldn’t be any different. For gods sakes, he has a key to your front door - but when his smile fades and you feel the last tear drop catch on your socks, you rethink opening the door all together.

“Y/n… are you okay?”

You felt a pit of coal and ash stir in the bottom of your uneasy stomach. Your eyes flashed between his eyes and the cake, one last single tear dropping down your cheek.

Spencer caught it with his thumb, wiping it with a deep frown.

“I’m fine,” you stepped back to let him in, plastering an awkward smile on your face (something you hoped would say caught me!), “Sad movie, that’s all.”

“A sad movie on your birthday?” He set down the bag and cake on your kitchen countertop, concerned expression not lifting after your lie. You bit your lip as his eyes wandered the apartment.

He had been there a million times, but now he seemed to be profiling it.

There was an orange stained plate in the sink - probably your left overs, no indent on the couch nor movie playing on the TV. He peered into your bedroom to find a wrecked bed and slouched pillows, tissues splayed amongst the duvet.

You swallowed, feeling caught and trapped. There was no escaping this, Spencer was too good of a profiler.

“I’m sorry, Y/n.” His eyes were a deep brown, glossy against his matte chocolate hair. He wore those glasses you liked, even when he insisted he hated how he looked in them. What a beautiful sight in such a sad situation.

You brought your left hand to your right elbow and shook your head, “It’s okay-“

“No it’s not.”

“Spencer, I’ve dealt with this for over 12 years. You get used to it.”

Spencer stood a metre away from you, eyes scanning you like he was trying to scrap the skin off your bones, see what was really going on.

And at that point, in your den of lies and self-pity, you felt no more rotten truths could hurt you more than you had hurt yourself. Spencer wasn’t much taller than you, but looking at him for this long at an angle was beginning to hurt more than your heart.

You grabbed the cake off of your counter top and smiled as if nothing wrong was happening, “Cake! You brought me cake.”

Spencer followed you into your living room awkwardly, “Yeah. It’s vanilla- I brought it because we didn’t eat at work today, nobody…”

Said Happy Birthday.

You nodded to yourself, patting the space beside you for Spencer to sit. “I know, it’s okay. It was a very busy day, I don’t blame them.” You undid the lid of the cake - obviously store bought - and took in your hand a wine glass that had stood empty for around half an hour. “Thank you, my favourite flavour is vanilla.”

“I know.” The tall boy let out a small smile then, but it quickly disappeared. He hated how you shrugged off such a devastating situation, how it meant nothing to you, how you claimed it had been like this for 12 years and not broken down.

“Y/n-“ Your loud sigh cut him off, stabbing the wine glass into the cake and lifting it, taking a bite of cake that slide out of the cup. The couch softened under your sudden slouch, Spencer faced you with his legs spread like a man.

Your eyes felt tight, chest collapsed. Nothing could be worse than this.

“My birthday is a week after my older brothers, so even when we did celebrate my birthday, it was small. And then one of my uncles passed away a few days after, and celebrating my birthday was seen as inappropriate.” You took another bite and talked through the frosting, “Instead at Christmas they let me choose which presents were for my birthday, many months late. I was grateful, that was all that mattered.”

Spencer moved closer and whispered, “Being grateful for neglect isn’t healthy, Y/n.”

“But it helped me, as a kid. As a girl who wanted to be loved so badly. When your siblings blow out your candles, and your cake is your sisters favourite flavour, all you can be is spiteful. And when I was, I was reprimanded. Be grateful, Y/n. At least you have siblings who can breathe and eat.”

You laughed after some time, Spencer’s mind racing at a hundred miles per minute.

“So I never told anyone my birthday. That’s why I showed up at the door looking like this,” you point to yourself and giggle, “I didn’t think anyone knew.”

“You look gorgeous.” He whispered, thigh touching yours on the plush couch. His hand lifted and skimmed your face, thumb moving to wipe a dot of frosting off of your lips. His hand fell.

“What’s in the bag?” You ask.

“Open it and see.” He replies.

What’s inside surprises you more than his initial arrival. It a medium sized glass bottle of perfume, with simple rinestones and gorgeous patterns engraved in it, a baby pink ribbon around its neck. The words were in french, the only words in english reading vanilla & citrus, in cursive writing.

A breath escaped you, your fingers tracing each detail like you were to memorise it. Spencer gulped as your eyes were glued to the writing and the shiny glass, how the liquid inside sloshed only slightly at every move.

“It is… do you like it?” He asks, turning his body towards yours trying to scope out your expression.

“I love it.” You mumble in awe.

“What?”

“I love it, thank you. Spencer, this is…” A wide smile escaped you, an incredulous giggle accompanying it. He let out a held breath and wove his shaking fingers through his hair. He was still at a loss for words at your previous confessions, but at least he made you happy, laugh.

Your eyes held each other for a moment, the room getting so suddenly small and hot.

“I…” you try to finish your sentence before you notice his gaze flickering to your lips, causing a small smile to appear.

“Happy birthday, Y/n. I’m sorry your birthdays were overlooked, I promise they won’t be anymore.” Spencer whispered, leaning in.

taglist (open!!) : @jeffswh0re @reap3erslov3 @candyd1es

[fear-is-truth]

how do you think patrick will react when you try to break things off with him?

breaking up with patrick bateman .ᐟ.ᐟ

tw ; mentions of drug use, homicide

a/n: apologies for the word salad.. my brain is kinda fried from my classes. also he’s such a pretty crier

𝜗ϱ ┆ denial & gaslighting

his immediate reaction would likely be disbelief. the idea of someone rejecting him, particularly someone he views as an extension of his life, would be incomprehensible to him. this disbelief would manifest as condescension and dismissal, accompanied by gaslighting.

“you’re leaving me?” he’d say with a strained smile, eyes narrowing to slits. “that’s ridiculous. you don’t mean that.”

patrick wouldn’t process the emotional weight of your decision, instead assuming that you’re acting irrationally or that something external has influenced you. his need to maintain control would drive him to undermine your perspective, likely accusing you of being under the influence of drugs.

“have you been doing too much cocaine? or maybe those diet pills? you’re not thinking clearly, darling.”

this gaslighting would be less about convincing you and more about reinforcing his own denial. patrick lives in a world where his perception is reality, and your decision to leave disrupts that. denial is his first line of defense.

𝜗ϱ ┆ manipulation & desperation

as the conversation continues, patrick would pivot to emotional manipulation. while he lacks true empathy, he is an expert at imitating emotional responses to “fit in”. he’d beg you to reconsider, framing his argument that appeals to your sense of loyalty or guilt.

“think about everything i’ve done for you. everything we’ve had together. you can’t just walk away.”

if manipulation doesn’t work, his desperation would become more overt. while patrick is typically composed, cracks in his facade could begin to show. you might see a flash of raw panic in his eyes.

“you don’t know what you’re doing. you’re making a mistake.”

𝜗ϱ ┆ begging

patrick would eventually resort to begging, and this is where the irony comes in—remember the time he dumped evelyn with an air of theatrical superiority, telling her that she’s “simply not terribly important” to him.

“you can’t do this to me. please, don’t go. we can work this out—whatever this is, we can fix it. i’ll change.”

of course, he is incapable of real change, and his promises would ring hollow. but the desperation in his voice would feel oddly genuine.

𝜗ϱ ┆“i need to return some videotapes.”

when it becomes clear that he can’t sway you, patrick would retreat, unwilling to let you witness the full extent of his unraveling. maintaining appearances is critical, even in moments of personal crisis. with a curt, almost robotic tone, he’d excuse himself with his signature non sequitur:

“i need to return some videotapes.”

this statement, bizarre and out of place, serves two purposes. first, it allows him to escape the confrontation without completely breaking down in front of you. second, it reaffirms his facade of control.

𝜗ϱ ┆ private despair

once alone, patrick would no longer be able to hold himself together. the breakup would be a complete fracturing of his identity. while he outwardly projects confidence, his inner world is fragile and deeply insecure. your rejection would strip away the validation he relies on to maintain his ego. he’d cry—silent, bitter tears of frustration and humiliation.

𝜗ϱ ┆ homicide as a coping mechanism

but patrick is incapable of processing emotions in a healthy way, so the tears wouldn’t lead to introspection or change. instead, they’d fuel a darker spiral—he’d channel his feelings of loss into compulsive, destructive behaviour. violence is often an outlet for him, and your departure could serve as a catalyst for a spree of homicidal acts. (e.g killing homeless people)

[adragonprinceswhore]

Rumours

Aemond Targaryen x (Ex)Wife

Chapter VI: Storms 🎼 Masterlist

Summary: Aemond’s wife left him following an explosive fight last week, and he hasn’t been able to find rest since.

Warnings: 18+, AFAB reader, she/her pronouns, depictions of a toxic relationship, possessive Aemond, shitty and useless coping mechanisms, reference to violence and injuries

Word count: 2300

A/N: Thank you always sweet sweet Justine (@theoneeyedprince) for looking this over and giving me ideas 🤭 ILY! The lyrics are interwoven with the story in this chapter, hope it makes sense! As you can tell, this is set a week after his wife left him, and before he wrote his new songs for Rumours…

‘Every night that goes between, I feel a little less’

8 hours and 25 minutes.

That’s how much sleep he’d gotten in the last week.

Since the fight.

Fights. Plural.

It wasn’t the first time he’d gotten into a physical altercation with his brother. His childhood memories are tainted by endless disputes, especially after their father died, back when Aegon would sneak out to get drunk while their mother worried sick at home.

Why was his brother seemingly incapable of behaving well? Aemond saw how his mother worried herself sick over her oldest son, while also having to deal with grieving the loss of her husband, and navigate the internal political turmoil the death of such an influential man left behind. And Aegon couldn’t even spare her further heartache.

Fucking pathetic excuse of a man.

It was, however, the first time he had hurt his wife. Physically, that is. She’d told him he’d hurt her before, when his jealousy got the best of him.

He knows he’s crossed a line. As soon as he lost his temper and threw that plate against the wall. Dangerously close to where she was standing.

He regrets it all. Why did it even have to happen in the first place? If she had just cooperated with him; worked with him instead of against him. Instead of hiding things from him, talking with Tyland behind his back.

He always knew that she’d leave. One day.

He’d never leave her.

Frustrated, Aemond lets out a quiet sigh and gets up from the bed, moving to sit on the edge, slouching as he places his head in his hands. He suddenly notices how quiet the room is; the loud thoughts echoing in his mind momentarily disappear as he ponders what he could do instead of sleeping.

He moves quietly to not wake Alys next to him, whose heavy breathing provides the only real sounds in the room. It is almost eerily quiet now that he thinks about it; such a stark contrast to the insufferable buzzing of thoughts roaming around in his head.

Rest doesn’t come to him anymore. 

His mind can’t provide him with any repose. Not even for a second.

He closes the door to the bedroom with a quiet ‘click’ and exits, moving towards the balcony connected to the large, open-plan living room.

She had picked this apartment, together with him.

Our home.

The memories of going to look at cabinets for the kitchen together, choosing a sofa together, fucking on said sofa, overtake his mind before he can distract himself.

‘As you slowly go away from me’

When he realised that she’d left and wouldn’t come back, he tried to erase her from the space, shoving all of her belongings into one of the wardrobes in the spare bedroom.

He couldn’t bear to throw them out. He couldn’t bear to see them either. She’d left behind everything he’d ever given her; all gifts he’d carefully picked out for her. Seeing her wedding ring on top of the kitchen island, next to the divorce papers and the shattered plate on the floor had made his stomach turn when he came home from the hospital.

‘This is only another test’

He’d suffered much harsher trials than this.

When he lost his eye in a car crash at only 10 years old, he suffered through the most excruciating pain of his life. He had to relearn everything; how to focus his gaze, how to read and write without developing a headache, how to play his favourite sports without running into his opponents. 

He’d managed all that, yet this time he felt consumed by an aching sense of dread.

A hopelessness deep in his chest.

‘Every night you do not come’

It was all too late. No turning back.

‘Your softness fades away’

He knows that the aching dread is the longing he feels for her. The thought of never touching her again, never being close to her again. 

Never being in her embrace again.

He feels a chill run through his body as he settles on the armchair placed by the wall, overlooking the bright lights of King’s Landing.

Reaching for the pack of cigarettes on the nearby table, he takes one out and lights it before taking a long drag, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back to rest against the back of the chair.

She’d chosen the patio furniture as well.

He fucking resents himself in this moment. Why is his body, his mind, incapable of doing what he wants? Forget her. She sure as hell wants to forget him.

‘Did I ever really care that much’

‘Is there anything left to say’

When she left during the fight backstage last week, he had wanted to run after her. But then he threw one quick glance at his older brother, and could barely see his expression due to all the blood smeared over his face.

He called out to him, but Aegon didn’t answer, laying limply on the old leather sofa with one arm hanging from the side and his mouth open. That was when Jace had come back in, face turning white in an instance as he was confronted with the scene before him, pulling out his phone from his pocket with a shaky hand to call an ambulance.

Aemond went with his brother to hospital, waiting by his side until he regained consciousness while trying to calm his distressed mother and wide-eyed sister. They had looked at him in the same way she had; eyes filled with animosity. He could barely meet their gazes as shame left his cheeks scalding.

‘Every hour of fear I spend’

‘My body tries to cry’

All he could think of at that moment was coming home. Home to her. To her warmth.

‘Living through each empty night’

‘A deadly call inside’

He takes another drag of his cigarette. Not being able to sleep, to eat, to think clearly is so foreign to him. It’s like when he lost his eye; he has to relearn everything. How to fucking breath.

There’s this restlessness inside him that won’t disappear, no matter how hard he tries to exorcise it. He’d tried going for walks; his usual go-to when he needed to clear his mind.

On one of those walks he’d smoked an entire pack of cigarettes.

How much time had passed? How long had he been out? He could hardly remember where he’d gone, what he’d seen or what time of day it’d been.

He’s lucky to have grown up in the centre of King’s Landing, knowing every street by heart, intuition leading his steps as he eventually finds his way back home. To an empty flat, haunted only by the memory of her.

She haunts him worst internally though, through his own mind.

There, in the eye of his mind, he sees his greatest fear; her with another man.

Any time he closes his eyes, the same image greets him; her, naked in the arms of another, throwing her head back in bliss.

She sighs and moans, letting her new man know how good he’s making her feel. She tells him too; that he’s the best she’s ever had.

She runs her hand down his cheek, unmarred and smooth. No harshly red scar, no unpleasant raised skin. Someone pretty, like her.

‘I haven’t felt this way I feel’

‘Since many a years ago’

He tried drinking; Aegon’s lobotomy of choice.

After downing two bottles of the Dornish red he’d received from some business associate when he was still working with his grandfather, he found sleep for 1 hour and 12 minutes before waking up with a racing heart and body covered in a slick sheet of cold sweat.

He would have tried talking to someone, if the only person he wanted to speak to hadn’t blocked his number. He’d realised that after being connected directly to voicemail each time he called her. That didn’t stop him from leaving messages though. First, they were filled with apologies and promises of never losing his cool again, of being better for her, of reassurance that he loves her. But as he grew to understand that she wouldn’t come back, his frustrations got the best of him.

He called her just to scream at her, into the nothingness that was her disconnected voicemail.

“I always knew you’d leave me! You fucking liar”, he spat as he threw his phone against the same wall he’d smashed the plate against.

It doesn’t matter. She’ll never hear them anyway.

The tiny bit of relief he felt afterwards hadn’t made any significant difference. He still couldn’t sleep, couldn’t find even a moment of tranquillity.

He places the cigarette between his teeth as he reaches forward to grab the notebook on the patio table next to his seat.

There’s one thing he still hasn’t tried.

As he plucks the pencil from where it's hanging on the side of the hardcover, he begins writing without thinking too much of what’s coming out, letting his hand guide his thoughts as he brings his plagued mind down on the paper.

‘In those years and the lifetimes past’

‘I did not deal with you, I know’

‘Though the love has always been’

His most recent attempt at finding respite from his mind was sleeping in his bed.

Our bed, he corrects himself with a wince.

He’d met Alys Rivers, manager at Riverland Creative Agency, earlier that day when he stopped for a drink during his quotidian nightly walk. She recognised him instantly, swiftly approaching him to mask her true intentions with some saccharine small talk. He knew she wanted to inquire about his band’s management; if they were satisfied with Tyland or if they’d be persuaded into joining her instead.

But all he could focus on was her hand casually placed on his shoulder as she spoke, her large, green eyes locking with his as she playfully teased him about his stoicism.

The heat radiating from her palm alone lit a fire inside of him, but rather than lust, he felt something akin to longing.

Yearning.

For warmth.

He asked her if she’d like to have a drink at his house, and when she replied with a wink and a cheeky retort, he knew she’d give him what he craved.

‘So I search to find an answer there’

‘So I can truly win’

Alys didn’t feel like her. Didn’t set the fire within him ablaze. Nor did she extinguish it. He didn’t feel better; he felt the same.

Restless.

Uneasy.

Different.

Broken.

‘Every hour of fear I spend’

‘My body tries to cry’

‘Living through each empty night’

‘A deadly call inside’

His hand moves on its own accord, words pouring out from him without having a chance to pass through his consciousness.

‘So I try to say goodbye, my friend’

‘I’d like to leave you with something warm’

Maybe he never gave her comfort?

Maybe all he did was take?

No. He knows he’s been a dutiful husband. He’s always been by her side, supporting her no matter what.

Unlike his own father; a shitty husband who was more of a burden on his mother’s shoulders than a pillar to lean on. Aemond knows that he’s nothing like his father. He gave his marriage his all; he never neglected his wife. 

He gave her all of him.

‘But never have I been a blue calm sea’

‘I’ve always been a storm’

But she didn’t want his love. She didn’t appreciate all he’d done for her. She didn’t understand him, not really. If she did, she wouldn’t shut him out like this.

Fuck her selfishness.

When he left his grandfather's firm to pursue music full-time, Otto Hightower had threatened to disown him, telling him that he’d make sure all ties Aemond had to the Hightower name would be cut off.

All he knew was how to be a good son and grandson. How to please his grandfather and mother. But when he confided in her about his predicament, asking her for advice on how to handle his grandfather's wrath, she’d cupped his cheeks and gazed into his eyes as she reassured,

“I am your family now, Aemond. We’ll always have each other” 

Liar.

He feels bile rise in the back of his throat as he keeps writing, allowing the feelings he didn’t know how to express some outlet. The thought of her now makes him feel sick.

‘Always been a storm’

‘We were frail’

He feels stupid; blinded by the light of her love.

‘She said, “Every night he will break your heart”’

‘I should have known from the first, I’d be the broken hearted’

Being given such warmth from another person. That’s what made him addicted to her.

He’d never experienced that before, not even from his mother or sister. There was always this restraint; this rift between them, for as long as he could remember.

But she let him in with open arms; let him into her comfort without resistance.

And now she’d taken that away from him.

‘I loved you from the start’

Looking at the lyrics written down in front of him, he doesn’t feel better. His shoulders don’t feel lighter. His chest doesn’t feel less tight. All he knows is that she did this. She promised to be by his side forever and broke that vow.

He leans back in the chair, fiddling with his lighter in one hand as he reads over the text again. What would she say if she saw how much she hurt him?

Would she come back?

The fleeting thought makes a tight knot form in his throat and he swallows forcefully to make it go away.

She’ll never come back.

He picks up the paper, letting the fire from the lighter in his other hand grace over the bottom corner, and sets it alight.

A/N: No, this is not a song form Rumours 🤭 but technically he doesn’t record it, so I think it’s fair! Tysm for reading 🩵

[livelaughlovesubs]

Food for thought for sub Boothill: wireplay!

Mechanic reader who helps with repairs all up inside him and maybe an update has him tingle each time they touch his wires, or graze his ports, or the potential opportunities 🤤

I only did minor researches about cyborgs to have a basic understanding, so most of the things I write down will be purely fiction. Also sorry that it turned out as angst instead of NSFW :(

Feel free to ask for a second part to make up for it

Warning: (a little) angst, we are screwing around

Boothill had hinted at the fact that he can’t feel with his mechanical body parts for a while now. For him, who has been like this for so long, one would think he had gotten used to it. Yet that wasn’t the case. Were you to ask him if it bothered him, he’d answer no without an ounce of hesitation. This used to be the truth, until he fell for you. In other words, if you were to ask him the same question now, the response would be much more heartbreaking.

To get a simple comparison, it was as if your body didn’t belong to you. Despite him technically being able to do anything, it felt as if he couldn’t at the same time. Serving as an echo and reminder of his hopelessness prior to gaining this body. It was only a small price to pay considering the sin he committed by being the sole survivor, his path of revenge was fuelled with nothing but pure rage. A second life, filled with endless possibilities, at the loss of his own humanity, not the worst of his sacrifices.

The most regrettable change he had to undergo was the loss of sensation. Everyday, a numbness that wouldn’t vanish engulfed him from the bottom to his shoulders, pretty much mirroring his inner emotions. How losing the sense of touch could throw one into a deep abyss of endless emptiness was unimaginable. To think this would have such a huge consequence on his psyche was unpredictable, he believed it wouldn’t come this far, since he still could feel from his shoulders up to his head. He was horribly wrong.

Whenever you embraced him, some kind of guilt mixed with adoration would eat away at him. Boothill craved your touch, more than that he wanted to feel your warmth when he hugs you, not just the cold iron. At the same time he wished you’d find someone else. Staying by his side would only bring problems, considering the high bounty on his head. You deserved it, you deserved so much better than this icy, robotic body of his. Sometimes his true thoughts would slip out and he’d accidentally tell you how it’s a pity he can’t feel anything. Soon after he’d chuckle and tell you not to worry about it, as well as how he’s grateful for his current life, since he’ll be able to carry out revenge this way.

You have long figured out his concerns, and no matter how you showered his body with love and affection, he only seemed to condemn himself more. This wasn’t something you could just accept like that, seeing your lover being so down caused you nothing but grief. Especially with the thought in mind that you couldn’t help him- no. That’s not true. You could if you wanted to, it’s never too late to learn new things. Besides you had a basic understanding of mechanics and things related to it, since it is a part of your work. Even if you had never done something this high-tech, it doesn’t mean it’s impossible. Giving it a shot wouldn’t hurt no one, right?

After coming to such resolves, it got shaken again by your endless worries. You had no idea where to start, nor how a cyborg works. Besides the IPC is way more knowledgeable about this than you, so what’s the chance of success? How were you going to achieve that goal anyway? Uncountable amounts of questions flooded your mind, chasing away any traces of confidence you previously had. That’s when you reminded yourself as to why you wanted to do all of this in the first place. It’s all because of him, he wanted to feel, and who were you to refuse his request? Thus began your secret operation, to program a small device that works as a sensory aid. This took you so long that boothill also noticed you hiding something from him, yet he never asked, respecting your wish to keep it a secret.

One day, after you were sure that it was done and hundred precent safe, you mustered enough courage to present the idea to him. Your heart was in your hand while you explained it to him, on what exactly you would have to do as well as what this little piece of metal can do. With trembling hands, you held the small chip. It was only as big as a pingpong ball, yet it took you months to refine it to perfection. Suddenly breathing was like the most difficult task in the world, as well as speaking. Your breath was short and ragged as you stumbled over your words, trying your best to explain the situation. It was hard to believe you were suggesting the idea of doing modifications on your dear boyfriend.

Boothill was initially grinning, wondering what kind of present you got him. When he saw your nervous stutters and the gift in your hand, his expression loosened up a little, thus he was smiling meekly now. Without beating around the bush, he clasped his hand over yours, then said, “m’ mighty fine, ya’ do what ya’ want, no need to force it, aight?” His hand was cold like always, in contrary to you he didn’t quiver, simply because he couldn’t. Even so you knew this was very shocking to him, you noticed by the indescribable look on his face. There was his usual cheerful air, brave smirk and reassuring yet chaotic vibe. Though a hint of bitterness was hidden behind these layers.

Why? That’s what he wondered about. You spend all your free time on this, just for him, because he accidentally pitied it once or twice? Even though he appreciated the thoughts and efforts, he still felt bad. Yet there was something else too, scepticism. If this were to work, would things get better? Doubt, suspicion and most prominently fear engulfed him. What if it just doesn’t work? You must be so disappointed if that were the case. Or something might go wrong and he never gets the chance to hold you again, that would be way worse than his current fate. Frankly enough, he is already grateful to have a place to call home again, which is why he doesn’t want to be too greedy.

You nodded, then said, “I want to try, okay?” He saw your determination, so he had to reason to refuse you, giving you a smile as he replied, “don’t mess me up too much, darling.” After getting his consent, you made him lie down on the working bench. If he didn’t knew any better, it almost felt like you were a doctor. You started with removing his cover, using a cordless screwdriver to get rid of the metal plates on his torso. This way you can access his central parts and inner systems. Operating on a human being was stressing, especially because it was someone dear to you too. It took you a while until you properly understood his body and how everything worked, many wires were placed everywhere, so many that it confused you. There were also artificial bones to help stabilise and protect the wires as well as countless devices, similar to the task of real bones. Some kind of blue liquid was being pumped to his heart, keeping it alive. You found many chips for various purposes, yours in contrary looked like a joke. This was overwhelming at first, but after studying him for a bit, you came to understand most of it.

Behind his pelvis was his oil tank, with the energy conversion device being right next to it. It was connected to every single part of his body, since it was the machine delivering energy through every wire. There were also many other human-like parts; an artificial lung, an oxygen cylinder to store the air needed to keep the brain alive, an artificial stomach which was more like a storage for bullets. The department that you needed the most was behind his chest, where his motor for motion skills are. It was located alongside a few other big systems. If you could somehow connect the control system with your little chip there, then he might be able to turn on or off the sensor at free will. No doubt it was a bold gamble, but you were willing to try.

After hours of endless finger-work, to the point sweat was dripping down your chin, you finally managed to attach the device to the right place. A total of 52 tiny wires were needed to properly connect everything, the last thing you had to do was to reattach his covers. Before moving on to that part, you tapped your self made chip gently, wondering if he would be able to feel anything already. During the entire time you were working and basically experimenting on him, Boothill stayed quiet, not wanting to disrupt you. Though this time, he let out an irritated gasp, “huh.” It was strange, something wasn’t quite right. That means you did manage to make modifications to his body, the question is if it’s a good thing. “Boothill, are you alright?” You asked him immediately, worried that you made things worse. “Shucks cutie, m’fine, I’m not that frail.” Once again he retorted to his usual fun demeanour.

It wasn’t a lie, he was fine, but that doesn’t mean nothing happened. Though he didn’t know how to describe it neither. Somehow it felt like electricity was send to his brain, stimulating his nerves. The sensation he just experienced… it was weird yet familiar. Could it be whatever you did worked? Was that bizarre sensation the sense of touch? It’s been so long, he doesn’t know nor remember anymore. “I’m done, can you see if you can turn it on?” You said hesitantly, almost sounding as unsure as him. Boothill looked through his system, and there has indeed been a new feature unlocked. He downloaded it swiftly, a little on edge as he waited. 98%…99%… and done. “How do you feel?” The anticipation in your voice was as clear as day. This was the most intense part of your operation after all, it was if it bore fruition.

“I really don’t feel a difference.” He told you honestly, his brows furrowed. It seems he also kind of hoped for it to work, guess his expectations were too high. Your heart sank, all this work for nothing. In an instant, you grabbed his hand and brought it to your chest. With a disappointed and guilty tone, you spoke, “I’m sorry, I made you go through all that for nothing.” Then you held his iron hand tightly, as if to apologise to him. As soon as your skin made contact with him, his hand twitched and he pulled it back. A dumbfounded look was on your face along with the grief. When you stared at him, totally confused, you noticed his face heat up. “Boothill…?”

“Your hand’s warm.” He stated, lips slightly parted which revealed his sharp teeth. “What?” You didn’t quite catch the meaning behind his words, hence the question. Boothill sit up very abruptly and pointed a finger to his body, “touch m’ here.” Despite you not understanding the situation, you obliged anyway, tapping his torso with your index finger. “It worked!” The cyborg stated, blinking a few times in awe. “My forking goodness, this shirt works.” “You mean…?” Your own eyes widened, staring at him in disbelief. It worked? Your little amateur operation there? “It worked.” You had to repeat those words that seemed so unfamiliar in your mouth.

The realisation hit you, your hard work payed off and it wasn’t unnecessary. In an instand you pulled that man into a hug, wrapping your arms around his torso, holding him tightly. “Hey now, don’t squeeze me so suddenly mother-fudger, hahaha.” Boothill laughed, returning your embrace immediately. This feeling was what he subconsciously missed. For the first time in years, he could feel the warmth of another. He can feel it when something is touching him, when you are caressing him so gently.

Even though first and foremost he looks unbothered, only happy about this new function, he was deeply shaken by it. His bottom lip trembled due to the overwhelming emotions swirling around inside him. If he could cry, he would. Partly because he’s so grateful for your deeds, also because feeling so many stimulations when he literally couldn’t for years is a bit overwhelming. It wasn’t bad though, your hug felt so nice. To think the first thing he gets to feel after being senseless all these years is not anything fighting related, but the soft feeling of your tender embrace. How lucky he was. If he dared to be a little more selfish, then he’d wish this moment could last forever.

[nellasbookplanet]

In the wake of FCG' fate I've been thinking about death in ttrpgs, and how it kind of exists on three levels:

There’s the gameplay level, where it only makes sense for a combat-heavy, pc-based game to have a tool for resurrection because the characters are going to die a lot and players get attached to them and their plotlines.

Then there’s the narrative level, where you sort of need permanent death on occasion so as not to lose all tension and realism. On this level, sometimes the player will let their character remain dead because they find it more interesting despite there being options of resurrection, or maybe the dice simply won’t allow the resurrection to succeed.

Then, of course, there’s the in-universe level, which is the one that really twists my mind. This is a world where actual resurrection of the actual dead is entirely obtainable, often without any ill effects (I mean, they'll be traumatized, but unless you ask a necromancer to do the resurrection they won’t come back as a zombie or vampire or otherwise wrong). It’s so normal that many adventurers will have gone through it multiple times. Like, imagine actually living in a world where all that keeps you from getting a missing loved one back is the funds to buy a diamond and hire a cleric. As viewers we felt that of course Pike should bring Laudna, a complete stranger, back when asked, but how often does she get this question? How many parents have come and begged her to return their child to them? How many lovers lost but still within reach? When and how does she decide who she saves and who she doesn’t?

From this perspective, I feel like every other adventurer should have the motive/backstory of 'I lost a loved one and am working to obtain the level of power/wealth to get them back'. But of course this is a game, and resurrection is just a game mechanic meant to be practically useful.

Anyway. A story-based actual play kind of has to find a way to balance these three levels. From a narrative perspective letting FCG remain dead makes sense, respects their sacrifice, and ends their arc on a highlight. From a gameplay level it is possible to bring them back but a lot more complicated than a simple revivify. But on an in-universe level, when do you decide if you should let someone remain dead or not? Is the party selfish if they don’t choose to pursue his resurrection the way they did for Laudna? Do they even know, as characters, that it’s technically possible to save someone who's been blown to smithereens? Back in campaign 2, the moment the m9 gained access to higher level resurrection they went to get Molly back (and only failed because his body had been taken back by Lucien). At the end of c1, half the party were in denial about Vax and still looking for ways to save him, because they had always been able to before (and had the game continued longer it wouldn’t have surprised me had they found a way). Deanna was brought back decades after her death (and was kind of fucked up because of it). Bringing someone back could be saving them, showing them just how loved and appreciated they are. Or it could be saving you, forcing someone back from rest and peace into a world that's kept moving without them because you can’t handle the guilt of knowing you let them stay gone when you didn’t have to. How do you know? How would you ever know?

[sallyfisher1312]

Quality Time Headcanons

Bad Batch x reader

Masterlist

A/n: I've been really busy recently, sorry for disappearing. I wrote these in between my study breaks and was going to wait to proof read it later, but I don't know when I'll have the time for that so forgive me for any misspellings.

Warnings: None I think, let me know if there's any.

Characters: Hunter, Echo, Wrecker, Crosshair and Tech x reader.

Word Count: ~1.1k.

Hunter

As the Seargent of the Batch, consequently also being responsible for his brothers, he’s the busiest and can’t spend much time with his partner and brothers other than during long travels in the Marauder. But, whenever he can, he likes to hear you talk about anything you want, your voice blended with the soft hum of the ship’s engines is a natural remedy for his headaches. Even if you’re not talking directly to him, just to be in the same room while you and his brothers chatting, all while he looks lovingly at you, is already really soothing.

He would use training sessions as an excuse to spend more time with you, helping you lift heavy weights, stretch, whatever it is that you enjoy doing for exercising, he’ll be there close to you, guiding your body to assure you’re training correctly. But beware, when you’re least expecting it, he’ll latch on you, tickling you without mercy until you’re laughing and rolling on the floor.

When in shore leave, he’ll prefer calmer environments so you can enjoy each other peacefully for some time, but he certainly wouldn’t mind it if you wanted to get drinks and dance all night in a club.

Echo

It’s one of his strongest love languages. While doing any task he always unconsciously looks for you, being so used to having you with him. He could be fixing the Marauder, piloting the ship, strategizing your next mission, somehow, he’ll find something to talk about with you.

He’s the type to enjoy discussing. About anything, really, as long as it’s discussing with you. You usually start talking about the war, economics, politics, serious matters that end up turning into something else entirely, and when you realize you’re playfully arguing about loth cats, the most handsome clone in the army, who would win a dance battle. He makes conversation so dynamic, you often loose sense of time and forget about everything happening around you.

When you finally have shore leave, he’ll want to show you every place he used to visit with his brothers, unlike Hunter, he’d go first for the most chaotic places in town, you never know what to expect. Street food eating competition, mechanical bull, bumper cars, you name it he’ll take you there. But that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t plan some romantic dates. There are times he just wants to relax and a good dinner night followed by stargazing feels ideal to him, in these moments he actually stays quieter, just wanting to enjoy your company before you have to go back to the loud, never-ending war.

Wrecker

He loves spending time with you. He obviously is not the type to stay still doing calmer activities, so training and sparring with you is what he usually goes for. Obviously, he’ll go easy on you, in fact he’s being more playful with you than actually trying to exercise, but if you insist on training seriously, he’ll actually try. He’ll show off to you during this time too, making sure you’re watching him lift weights twice as heavy as himself, and if you let him, he’ll have you on his back while doing push-ups.

He's also a big fan of nature, even if he’s rarely had the opportunities the visit places like forests outside of his missions, so that means he’ll want to go camping with you. He’ll do everything, bring the food or even go fishing (he’d dedicate his catches to you), set up the tent, show you around the place, explore caverns and maybe even go hiking. You just have to be there; he would sincerely offer to carry you if you didn’t want to go.

Crosshair

He likes to spend time with you during quiet space travels, only the sounds of his rifle echoing through the ship as you sit besides him cleaning his equipment. You can join him if you’d like, he wouldn’t object and it might even seem like he doesn’t care, but depending on how much time you’ve spent with him you’ll eventually learn to read his body language, and by the way he glances at you from the corner of his eyes when he thinks you’re not looking or how he subtly scooches closer to you, you’ll know he’s enjoying your presence.

He’s not the most romantic of the bunch, but if he feels like it’s an important date, he’ll take you to somewhere in Coruscant to eat. He loves spicy food, but if it’s not your cut of tea he’ll try to find other places that match your tastes or if you’re feeling adventurous, he might drive you around the city in a motorcycle until you spot something interesting to visit (there’s no use asking where he finds that motorcycle to drive during shore leave, he gives you different answers all the time).

Tech

Tech could spend hours talking to you, the way he always ends up getting carried away and explaining how every system in the Marauder works, and yet, you keep paying attention, asking him questions, actually showing that you’re interested. He’ll try to reciprocate that, doing research about topics you like so he you two can talk about it nonstop… or until he falls asleep. You’re used to it by now, your “talking sessions”, as Tech calls them, usually start by him sitting across from you, as the conversation goes, he approaches you more and more to show you things on his data pad and when he realizes it, he’s almost leaning his head on your shoulder, his eyelids growing heavy as your soothing voice calms the constant need to think he feels. Then, when you notice it, you invite him to rest with you, sometimes he lays his head on your chest, sometimes it’s on your lap, regardless, it always ends with you two soundly asleep holding each other.

If you’re good with mechanics and programming he’d be so happy to create things with you. At some point it would become a game of who makes the most surprising invention to gift the other, it doesn’t exactly need to be super useful, maybe just a silly little robot that says “I love you” or something with your initials engravened on it, just the thought that it was you who made it for him is reason enough for him to love your little inventions. But if you ever offered to create with him? Like, at the same time, in the same place, side to side with you? Then you’ll have a blushing Tech who’s short circuiting every time he even looks at you.

______________________________________________________________

Reblogs, comments and feedback are appreciated. Let me know if there are any mistakes, English is not my first language. Thank you for reading! <3

Do not copy or translate!

[imaginedanvrs]

a galaxy stands between us

part 1 l masterlist

summary: five years ago, a monster from another world attacked. though it was entrapped and kept hidden from the world, a secret that dangerous can only be kept for so long before it finally gathers the attention from the avengers, but what they find is the last thing anyone could have expected

word count: 3.6k

warnings: imprisonment & confinement, unethical use of sedation, institutionalized abuse, shock collars, straight jackets, themes of schizophrenia, marvel canon violence

In, out. In… out. In, out. Your breathing had changed. It was different somehow, harder to pull the air into your lungs and expel it.

  The material that was somehow classed as a blanket scratched at the palm of your hands, every fibre catching on the flecks of skin that were almost as rough as the grey material beneath you. Even if you could speak, you wouldn’t complain because the alternative was having no barrier between you and the floor which became so impossibly cold at night. Besides, it was hardly the object of your main discomforts. 

  The chains weren’t so bad. Although they made your wrists and ankles raw until they bled only to be placed back on twelve hours later, they were still preferable to the straight jacket you would be placed back in once the morning came. You hated that. You hated the way it managed to confine every movement that you could possibly wish to make should you have the control to do so. It was unnecessary and humiliating even after all those years. You knew that. They knew that. Still, it was the collar that was the worst, the obnoxious bulky ring that they never turned off so at a moment’s notice you could be struck by those lightning bolts that came from within.

  The sound of mechanical movements, clicks and a long beep broke through the silence of the room and a sudden stream of light flooded the space just as swiftly. You winced, even though you were expecting it to happen any moment, having been interrupted from the blanket of darkness that you had been immersed under for an excessive amount of time. You blinked, registering the solid shadow that filled the orange glow on the wall you were facing, until it grew larger and its physical body reached your side. 

  “...if the blood pressure is too low we’ll have to stop…” you heard the shadow say. 

  “...stop it being a pain in the ass…” another voice joined. You recognised them both but didn’t think you could match their voices to a face. 

  “...keep it sedated…” they continued as you felt another thick material being wrapped around your arm. You realised it was the one that squeezed your arm uncomfortably though it was nothing compared to the way you were handled by the people. 

  “Claw their eyes out,” another voice joined, far clearer and instantly recognisable. If you let your eyes fall to the far corner of the room, you would see the bear man lurking. He always made his appearances at that time, just as you were being given more of the fluids that came in needles, and left once all of your senses dulled once more. Nothing lingered once that happened. You ignored him as you always did because he only lived in your head and that was the single most unreliable source there was. 

  “Those chains can’t hold you. Kill them and leave,” he continued to instruct, remaining still enough for you to make out the outline of the bear skin draping his body even from the corner of your eye. You weren’t quite sure where your mind had gotten its inspiration when it conjured his attire. “Stop them before they poison you further!” He demanded, apparently your subconscious was playing far closer attention to those beside you than you were. You didn’t have to, you knew what they were doing and that despite what the bear man said, you were powerless to it when they slipped the needle back into you. The contents were swiftly flushed through your system as the man you conjured up grew more enraged. You closed your eyes and ignored the flurry of demands that carried across the room to your ears alone. He would be gone soon. 

~

“We know that at the very least they have information about it but they won’t give us anything. Romanoff, you think you can do some digging?” Steve asked from the end of the conference room. 

  “I’ll see what I can find,” Natasha agreed, certainly intrigued by the matter she was tasked to pursue. Aliens on Earth certainly wouldn’t be a first, nor would an underground company keeping one be, but actually finding it before it was released? Now that would be new. 

  “You reckon this is something we should prepare for?” Wanda asked her girlfriend as the pair left the conference room together after the meeting. The rest of the team dispersed in other directions to carry out the tasks they had all been assigned by the captain.

  “Maybe. Five years without any signs doesn’t necessarily mean nothing is happening but it is strange,” Natasha considered. “If I had to guess, I’d say this company is waiting for the right moment to play the alien card.”

  “So you think they are keeping it?” Wanda continued, always curious to learn what dots the older hero connected to reach the conclusions she did. 

  “Any bio-company with that much money and that little recognition is something worth looking into, especially if they just so happen to have a fully armed swat team that they don’t want anyone knowing about,” Natasha explained as the pair arrived in the kitchen where Bruce was making himself a coffee. 

  “But you saw the photos of the scene after it was detained, how did a swat team manage to capture whatever was capable of all of that?” The Sokovian questioned. 

  “How did they manage to get to it before anyone else?” Natasha added. “These are the things I need to find out.”

  “Maybe they made it,” Bruce chimed, having heard half the conversation. Both women turned their heads to the scientist. “Or maybe they found it and it escaped so they captured it again,” he theorised. 

  “That would make sense,” Natasha considered. 

  “Either way, once you’ve got any information on it let me and Tony know so we can start preparing the right containment,” he requested. 

  “You want to keep it here?” Natasha and Wanda said at once. 

  “S.H.I.E.L.D is no more equipped to deal with aliens than we are, so why not?” It was something Natasha hadn’t even considered, though she had only heard about it half an hour ago, but she knew it made sense to keep the creature in the tower, even if it did unnerve her to think about. 

  “We don’t even know if this thing is still alive,” Natasha pointed out before she allowed any of them to get too carried away. “You heard Rogers, the only reason we’re looking into it now is because of rumours an agent heard on their undercover mission.” 

  Aside from the rumours that a creature was being kept by the lesser known bio-company, the photos of an aftermath from a gruesome attack were the only pieces of information the agent had been able to gather due to that not being the sole purpose of their mission. They were undercover in one of the major rising crime rings in the country and had found a connection to the bio-company. There was no concrete evidence for any of it, but even the chance of the intel being legitimate meant that it needed the Avenger’s attention. 

  “It might not even be real,” Natasha stated. Bruce and Wanda nodded, though all three knew it would be useful to prepare. 

  By that evening, the Russian redhead had gathered enough intel to work with. She hadn’t made any attempts to speak to the sketchy organisation regarding the alien they might be holding, understanding that there wouldn’t be any transparency on that topic, but she had found a location and a way in. There was only one holding base that they kept so far off of the records that the spy had to call around numerous contacts to even find the start of the trail until she followed it back. If they were keeping a creature from another world, it would be there. 

  The other issue the spy faced was entry. Sure, the team could storm the place, but on what grounds? What if they couldn’t find anything? What if she was wrong? The legal consequences would be endless and it would give the government more ammunition to attempt to take control over the Avengers as they were always searching to do. Instead, Natasha planned to play the ‘random inspection’ card and thought it would be a good chance to bring Wanda along so that the Sokovian could attain the undercover skills she had been asking for. 

  The spy finished up her paperwork, requested the necessary team and prepared for the following day, unsure of what exactly they would find. 

~

It was unusual for the bear man to appear when you were being handled. Apparently it meant your medication was being altered, according to him, and it allowed your mind to open more windows for him to slip through and cause problems. You despised how isolated you were in your room, and yet it somehow felt even more lonesome when he was there because you knew he was merely a figment of your desperate imagination. He was your mind’s attempt to ease the pain and in doing so only made you aware of how much of your sanity was falling through your grasp. 

  “How can you just sit there and let her do that?” The bear man said, watching on as your handler roughly manoeuvred your limbs into the white strapped jacket that clung to your frame. You didn’t have the strength, and hardly the feeling, to help her position your body right. None of them were ever gentle, as evident by the purple blemishes that littered your skin. 

  “Do something,” the man instructed. “Do something!” He yelled far too loud. You squeezed your eyes shut but that did nothing to block out the endless orders he barked at you. With your hands entrapped between your torso and jacket, you had no way of even attempting the dull the screaming that brutally crashed down on you.

  “Go ‘way,” you pleaded, just barely loud enough for the woman handling you to understand. 

  “What’d you say to me?” Your handler spat, giving you no chance to muster the strength for a response because she was shoving you forwards until your face collided with the unforgiving floor. She wasted no time in placing a heavy boot into the middle of your back to force you down until your body twisted unnaturally in the straightjacket. “You think I want to be in here with you, freak?” She continued in a way you had heard countless times before. “Little fucker,” she hissed, lifting her boot only to bring it straight back down on your head. Your body was numb enough to take the blunt of the force, but you still registered the sickening crack of your skull hitting the floor. 

  You were left more disorientated than you had been prior to your handler’s arrival, unsurprisingly. Still, you didn’t cry or scream or feel sorry for yourself, you just laid in the relief that the bear man was gone for the time being. 

~

“It’s just that we weren’t expecting anyone,” the manager muttered as he looked at the two heroes sceptically. 

  “Again, that’s the point,” Natasha said firmly, allowing herself to become irritated by the third person they were talking to in twenty minutes. “Now I can have my boss take time out of his busy schedule to phone your boss to ask why you’re still making us waste our time by standing out here, or you can let us do our job,” she continued with a glare that was enough to make the sweating man back down. 

  “Okay, okay,” he stumbled out of the way to let the pair in despite the security guard eyeing them with lingering (and well placed) suspicion. “Eugine here will give you the tour.” He shifted uncomfortably to stand behind his subordinates. “My apologies,” he added before scurrying away to let Eugine take over. 

  “Right this way,” he beckoned and wasted no time taking Natasha and Wanda through the first corridor, most likely with the intention of getting the tour over and done with as soon as possible. Neither complained when Eugine rushed them down one hallway and towards another, simply making notes that they had no use for and pretending to be interested in what little information they were given. It would all be recited again once they had access to the main database. 

  Once all three passed by an empty office, Natasha and Wanda exchanged a glance that wasn’t difficult to conceal with Eugine paying as little attention to them as possible. “If you could excuse me for a moment,” Natasha said politely as they passed by the women’s washroom. Their tour guide looked to the redhead irritably but she was already making her way inside. After checking that she was alone, Natasha opened up the vents above the sink and swiftly made her way inside to follow the lesser used route back to the office they had passed. It was still empty, but Natasha worked under the assumption that anyone could return at a moment’s notice. 

  “Bruce? You there?” The Russian asked as she withdrew the unique USB drive that would send any files straight back to the tower. 

  “Ready and waiting,” he spoke into her comns. 

  Given how paranoid the bio-company was, it took Natasha some time to gain access to their files while Wanda kept Eugine in place. He, of course, wasn’t happy to be kept waiting, but one subtle comment from Wanda about ‘that time of the month’ silenced any further complaints. She could always resort to her powers if necessary, however she knew there was some importance in learning to navigate missions without them. 

  “Got it!” Bruce called. Natasha made quick work of covering her tracks as she left the office the way she had come, though this time she didn’t return to the washroom and kept going as per Bruce’s instructions as he guided her through the building towards a room on the building map labelled ‘containment’. There was nowhere else in the building that held any similar labels and the pair agreed it was their best bet. Unfortunately, there wasn’t any vent leading directly into the room due to the obsessive security for it, something else Bruce was tasked with handling. 

  “A little overkill, don’t you think?” Natasha quipped in an effort to conceal her nerves. If she didn’t know any better, Natasha would have assumed the door in front of her was for a vault of some kind. It was made from what she could only assume was several layers of reinforced steel and a series of locks across the entire perimeter. Whatever was inside clearly wasn’t meant to get out and while it raised obvious concerns over why the bio-company was keeping such a beast, it was also a bad idea for Natasha to enter alone. 

  “I can’t access the camera footage inside. Nat, you can’t go in blind, we have no idea what’s in there,” the scientist warned. 

  “I handle you just fine, Banner,” she continued as she eyed the door. 

  “I’m serious, Nat.” 

  “So am I. Look, we have no solid proof that they’re keeping anything behind this door so we can’t call the team in for backup, just like we also can’t get Captain America or Iron Man to come undercover here next time. We deal with this now or we let it kick us in the ass later,” Natasha explained firmly, adamant on not leaving the building anytime soon. 

  “She’s right,” Wanda agreed though instead of her voice coming through the device in Natasha’s ear, the Sokovian appeared by her side with Eugine trailing behind her with a red glaze over his eyes. She looked at her partner sheepishly, knowing she was meant to be avoiding using her powers. “And if you could open this now before security comes,” she added. The pair heard Bruce sigh and grumble a defeated ‘yes’ as he worked on disabling the locks. 

  “You ready?” Natasha asked her partner as her widow bites began to emit a faint blue as she held them up once the locks began to unravel. 

  “Sure,” Wanda winced as she produced a swirling red sphere between her hands and stared straight ahead. “We’re long overdue for a fight with an alien.” 

  Several short bursts of steam escaped from the main locks on the left hand side of the door until an obnoxious ‘thud’ indicated Pandora's box was ready to be pried open. A red glow encapsulated the door as Wanda steadily pulled it open in its entirety, revealing the contents of which neither had expected to find. They shared a stunned glance momentarily and each lowered their respective weapons. 

  “Is that…?” Wanda trailed off as she assessed the sight of you slumped against the fall wall with only a trace of consciousness behind your eyes. 

  “Guys? What is it?” Bruce called out. 

  “It’s a kid,” Natasha stated. 

  “No,” Wanda said as she took the first step towards you. You didn’t seem to have registered their presence. “She might have come in as a kid, but she’s not anymore.” Wanda crouched down in front of you as Natasha stood back to observe and keep watch, snapping herself out of the initial shock and back to the mission at hand. “Hey,” the Sokovian greeted, eyeing the thick collar around your neck warrily. 

  “Wanda,” Natasha warned, unnerved by the whole ordeal that didn’t make any logical sense. 

  “It’s okay,” Wanda assured as she noted the straight jacket you were concealed in and raised a steady hand to your head where a red mist covered your eyes to simply peek at your condition. “She’s sedated,” Wanda stated. “Let’s get her out.” She didn’t leave any room for discussion as the red whisps fully enveloped your frame and lifted you off of the floor. Natasha didn’t object, dutifully leading the way as she pushed all questions to the back of her mind. They could wait. They had to, because they were about to meet the swat team responsible for your entrapment. 

  “I need the quinjet here, now!” Natasha ordered as she shot at the first few to clear the way all while Bruce tried to direct the trio as best he could. He had no idea which way the swat teams were coming from, he could only direct them to the quickest exit and unlock every door between them. 

  Wanda tried to aid in disarming and throwing those that followed them, but she needed to keep most of her attention on ensuring that you stayed safe and between them so that the entire mission wasn’t for nothing. Fortunately, Natasha had taken on more opponents than that before and shot anyone that came too close with a prision to they couldn’t rival until they made it through the nearest fire exit. The quinjet was hovering a few yards away with its loading door open, unable to land because of the rest of the swat team shooting wildly and not paying attention to the Avengers behind them. They went down in an instant and Wanda propelled all three of you off the ground and into the jet. 

  It was difficult for you to understand what exactly had just happened, but you were aware that you were no longer staring at the same four walls that you had been for… well you had no idea how long. With the drugs in your system, all voices and sounds seemed far away and muffled just as everything you could see was incredibly blurred beyond recognition. You had no idea where you currently sat, nor could you identify the figure that was pulling a seatbelt across you as the walls and ground began to shake. You didn’t allow yourself to be hopeful that what was to come would be any better, especially when the bulky collar around your neck woke up and sent an onslaught of electricity through your body. 

  If you weren’t so sedated, you would have screamed, begged, wailed at the intense pain that struck you. Instead, all you could do was silently cry though it was immediately clear what was happening to the two Avengers when the collar blinked red and your body convulse in response. You gasped, finding it suddenly impossible to breathe until the heavy device was ripped from your burning neck by Wanda’s powers on impulse. 

  “Shit, it must have been set off by us leaving,” Natasha theorised as the pair inspected the scarred and freshly burnt rings around your neck. 

  “You think there could be anything else under there?” Wanda asked as she motioned to the jacket covering your body. Natasha didn’t get the chance to answer before Steve’s voice cut in.

  “Once you get here we’ll take her to the hulk’s containment room,” Steve informed from the speakers on the jet. 

  “She’s going to medical,” Natasha corrected at once as she watched you slump in the seat helplessly. Your eyes were still half open, but she could tell you could make no sense of what was around you. 

  “We have to be careful,” Bruce added. “I of all people know that being locked up is intimidating, but it can also be the best solution.”

  “So you want to keep her the same way they did?” Wanda objected, not believing what she was hearing. 

  “Just until we can get some blood samples and understand-”

  “You saw what just happened,” Natasha snapped, glaring straight at the camera in the corner of the jet that she knew Steve was watching. “She’s in a straight jacket and collar while sedated. She’s going to medical,” she finalised. There was a heavy silence for several moments before Steve spoke again. 

  “Medical first, then the containment room,” he compromised. 

  “Look at her, she's barely conscious,” Wanda stated to the camera. “What are you so afraid of?” 

  “What happens when she is.”

[snail-day]

Gojos ideal type of partner? In canon verse…

probably a sorcerer who could understand his lifestyle and the dangers/sacrifices he has to make. I don’t think he cares about appearances. Thoughts?

Mmm, I think I’ve mentioned this before, but it’s one of those things I keep circling back to: Gojo’s love life, or, honestly, the lack of it. He probably died a virgin. It’s not even that he couldn’t get someone if he wanted to, he’s hot and knows it, but I just don’t think he ever had the time or space to be vulnerable like that. Between his overwhelming responsibilities, the expectations placed on him, and that constant looming sense of isolation… who would he even open up to? When would he have a moment to breathe, let alone touch himself? I think he was so chronically stressed, emotionally burnt out, and numb that even the idea of intimacy felt out of reach.

Now, ideally? I think his partner could fall into one of two categories.

If they were a sorcerer, they’d have to be strong. Like, stupidly strong. Not just powerful on paper, but resilient. Someone he doesn’t have to fear for every second of the day. He’s already carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders; he doesn’t have it in him to be constantly afraid that the person he loves is going to die on the job. I think he’d also prefer someone who isn’t tied to the toxic traditions of the clans. He’s seen firsthand how twisted that world is. He wouldn’t want to love someone who’s still tangled up in that, still dancing to the same tune he’s been trying to rebel against his whole life. He needs someone who reminds him that he can choose his own path, and that he's not just a cog in a system that never loved him back.

If his partner were a non-sorcerer, I think he’d find that kind of life intoxicating in a totally different way. He’d never tell them what he really does, just some vague story about teaching, maybe something about a “special school.” But he’d live for the normalcy. The soft, mundane things: grocery lists, shared meals, talking about annoying coworkers, hearing you ramble about the most boring office gossip like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world. He doesn’t get that in his world. He doesn’t get peace. So to come home to someone who isn’t covered in blood or trauma or responsibility? That would feel like heaven to him. He wouldn’t want to talk about himself. He’d just sit there and listen to you go on about your day like it was magic. Because to him, it is.

I really don’t think he cares about appearances. Like, at all. He’s seen so much horror and loss that looks don’t even register as something that matters anymore. What I do think is that he’s a sucker for comfort. For warmth. I genuinely believe he’s into older women, someone who feels stable, nurturing, someone who can see through his bullshit without him having to explain himself. He acts like a clown, sure, but that’s a defense mechanism. Deep down, he wants to be taken care of. Coddled, even. I will die on the hill that Gojo Satoru is a milf hunter. You can’t convince me otherwise. He wants someone who can pull him into their lap, run fingers through his hair, and make him feel small for once. Someone who isn’t intimidated by him. Someone who makes him feel safe.

[riddled-with-fear]

'Till Fear Do Us Part

I really hope I did this version of Jonathan justice, I made an exception for Nolan!Verse Jonathan as it was my first request! Also, I super appreciate your patience @stygianoir while I worked on this! I hope you enjoy! <3

Summary: It's yours and Jonathan's wedding night, and you accidentally uncover that Scarecrow is none other than your new husband.

WC: 725

CW: Suggestive content, no smut but MDNI anyways!, slight fear play if you squint.

Despite it being yours and Jonathan’s wedding night, he still brought his work briefcase with him. You furrowed your brows at the black leather briefcase sitting next to his suitcase. No matter what you did it seemed Johnathan’s work always took precedence over you. 

You glanced over towards the closed bathroom door of your hotel room, Jonathan still occupied the bathroom. You looked back to the briefcase, curiosity taking a hold of you tightly. What could be so important? And surely, being married now, Jonathan wouldn’t care if you stole a peek, would he? 

As quietly as possible, you flipped the silver latches that closed the case. You quickly opened the briefcase. The first thing you saw sitting inside was a crudely stitched burlap mask. You picked it up cautiously, and examined it closer, your stomach sinking. You were aware of the news and the hushed talk around Arkham Asylum, but that’s all you thought it was, just talk.

“My Dear- what are you doing?” 

You turned to face him, the mask still clutched tightly in your hand, “I can’t believe I never pieced it together… all your late nights at work, all the secretiveness, all the chemical equipment… you… you’re Scarecrow. John, why didn’t you tell me?” 

“Let me explain, my dear.” Jonathan reached for your hands. He looked away, “I… I couldn’t lose you. Put the mask down, I’ll talk to you, ok?”

You nodded, and in your haste to put his mask back, you triggered a mechanism inside the briefcase. A thick cloud of smoke hissed out and enveloped you instantly making you cough and gasp. 

Jonathan looked into your eyes and saw your pupils blown wide. He knew the toxin was having its effect on you, and he desperately wanted to know what you were seeing. He wanted to know exactly what you were feeling. 

“Tell me, my darling, what is it you’re feeling?” His tone was clinical. His tone was always clinical. 

“I… I don’t know. I feel… hot. I feel… light? I’m not sure.”

“What do you see?” He studied your reactions looking for even the smallest hint of fear. 

“Um, I see… I see you.. I see… shadows. Shadows moving around.” Every time you focused on one, it disappeared only to be just barely out of sight. 

“Good. Good.” Jonathan brushed your hair behind your ear, gently gripping your chin. “Keep telling me what you see.”

Jonathan placed soft kisses along your neck. His lips lingered on your pulse point as he felt your rapid pulse beneath your skin. 

“I… I don’t know.” You moaned at the feeling of him sucking at your neck.

“Are you frightened?” He stopped his affections.

“No… maybe? Should I be?” You tried looking at him but he quickly held your chin in place.

“Yes. You should be. That’s the point of the gas. If you’re not scared clearly I need to refine it.” His lips were on you again, peppering kisses along your jaw, slowly making their way down to your neck once more. 

“Wait! Wait, Put your mask on.” You begged. 

Jonathan wasted no time. He pulled the burlap mask over his head, “Feeling scared yet?”

His voice seemed distorted, his mask seemed to move. You stared wide-eyed.

“Jonathan?” Your voice wavered.

He quickly moved to lay you down on the bed, ridding you of your dress as quickly as he could, “Good. You should be scared. Maybe you’ll do your best to mind your own business from here on out, yes?”

You weren’t sure if it was the toxin disorienting your senses, but Jonathan didn’t seem like himself, and the fear of him only made you hot under the collar. You shouldn’t want this, but you do. You have never wanted anything so badly.

"Yes, yes Jonathan." You squeaked out.

He let out a dark chuckle, "Scarecrow. Jonathan isn't here right now."

"Yes, Scarecrow."

Of all scenarios that had played through your mind of consummating your marriage, this was not one of them. You definitely weren't complaining, in fact, it unlocked a new, darker part of you.

Whatever Jonathan had planned, you were going to be right beside him. After all, it was in your vows. You would be beside him no matter what he did or who he was becoming.

Even if that meant being an accomplice to Scarecrow.

[theartkid15]

CEN AND RIGEL MASTER POST?!! ROTT I’m so sorry this took so long i promise im alive i was just trying to think of good silly ideas for yer boys.

Anyway……. Let’s get on with it!

Cen- he bites as a defense mechanism and has sent scraps and lootbags alike to the ER. Now the doctors recognize his bite pattern on first glance.

Rigel- he doesn’t tap people on their shoulder or nudge people to get their attention, he pinches people instead. And not with his fingers, he pinches people with his knuckles which hurts 10x more . If that makes any sense.

Cen- normally he would steal from an art supply store or a stationery shop for his art supplies. But sometimes he needs to get a little creative if his resources run low. So it’s common to see him swiping the charred pieces of wood out of a dead fire to later use as charcoal. Or find various flowers and berries to later reduce to a decently pigmented watercolor. You can even make paint out of eggs. He uses that art supplies he created the most when he feels a creative burst.

Rigel- On really, really, really, slowly days of selling the newspaper, Rigel actually tries to read it and annotate it. Maybe even fix a few grammar or spelling mistakes he can catch right away. He can’t catch every mistake from the paper and some of the annotations can be wrong, but it kills time and makes him feel smart considering all his knowledge is self taught.

Cen- you know those caricature artists you find on the street during events or just in a more populated area? Yeah, Cen became a caricature artist for a day as a quick cash grab during a festival in Ramshackle. But he wasn’t one of those artists that pin pointed and accentuated your nicer/ cuter features. No, he pin pointed and made ur most ugly features you are probably the most insecure about the vocal point of the drawing. People were given crimson chins, buck teeth with food stuck between it, monumental foreheads, hairlines that recede back for miles and so much more. People left his booth either in tears or laughing so hard they couldn’t breathe.

Rigel- he is the reason both himself and Cen wear those fingerless gloves. Rigel would get a good flow of writing creativity and NEEDED to write down every idea in his mind before he would forget it all. So he would write nonstop for ideas for pomes or stories to write about later. But all that writing made his hands and writs hurt and cramp up. So he tried finding solutions from tape to bandages to making a makeshift ice pack. It provided temporary relief but it wasn’t a full proof fix. Until he was scavenging for food and food two pairs of compression gloves. He thought it was a dumb idea but he was desperate for a solution. After wearing the gloves for a few days without any pain, he kept both pairs, one to wear daily and the other as a backup. But he realized that Cen was experiencing the same thing with his art. So Rigel begrudgingly gave the second pair to Cen. Now if only one of them could find a knee brace for Cen’s jacked up knee……

Cen- on the topic of his jacked up knee, if he walks for an extended period of time his knee starts to click when he walks. Which wouldn’t be so bad if it wasn’t so audibly loud and annoying. It doesn’t hurt from when he first initially injured his knee but due to being broke and having insufficient funds, he can’t get a doctor so it never healed correctly for him. His knee also has an infinite popping glitch so Cen can pop his knee as many times as he wants with having to wait. So he pops it on purpose to gross people out. How did he injure his knee? He couldn’t tell you, either play fighting with his brother or running away from authorities, or just doing something incredibly stupid.

Cen and Rigel’s way of bonding is playing fighting. Like one will start in by throwing those fake air punches pretending to beat each other up. Before they actually start hitting each other. They keep a score board on how many wins they have over each other as a way to see who is the superior twin. Another way they bond is practicing different tricks on their homemade skate boards or practicing different parkour moves to be able to get around town faster or to evade the police. 9 times out of 10 they get bruised or earn themselves a new “battle scar” because they become a little too confident in their abilities.

Rigel- lowkey has one-sided beef with elderly people. I dunno, maybe it’s because of the sweater vest he wears but older people approach him because he is a little more nicely dressed than the average scrap. And he is sick and tired of having to repeat himself over and over again or having grandmas think it’s okay to pinch his cheeks.

Cen- he once convinced Rigel to cut his hair since it was grown out to the point he was getting confused as a girl. Cen would do it himself but he knew he would get impatient and cut off too much hair. So he made Rigel do it. But Cen kept moving too much and Rigel accidentally chopped off too much hair in the back. After a moment of silence followed by Rigel cackling at how chopped his brother looked, Cen promptly beat him up, mourned the loss of his hair, and then proceeded to find something to cover up the shame of the bald spot. Thus his signature cap, he decided to keep it even after his bald spot grew back hair because he thought he looked cool.( insert that one audio “ damn we messed up we gotta go bald”)

Rigel- he sometimes thinks about their parents. Why they left, why they abandoned them, where are they now. He gets in his own head a lot and will think for hours about it if you let him. He wonders what they would look like, if he inherited any defining traits or qualities, something. He wrote a poem about it once, about missing someone you never even met. He doesn’t show it to Cen but he keeps it tucked away somewhere safe. He is thankful he isn’t doing this whole surviving thing alone and he was given a built in best friend.

Cen- on his end, he harbors a lot of anger and resentment towards their parents. He feels extremely abandoned and just angry that his life has to be so hard. That everything would have been better if their parents just stayed. He convinced himself a long time ago that if they ever showed up he is walking the other way and he is taking Rigel with him. He had that mentality that he doesn’t need parents if he has survived this long without any help. His anger comes out in short violent bursts that he tries to keep contained and away from Rigel. The most healthy coping mechanism he has is trying to visualize and draw what their parents could look like before destroying the drawing because it doesn’t look right or it isn’t realistic. Only one drawing survived this treatment and it is kept tucked away where only Cen knows its whereabouts.

If they did have parents Rigel is a mamas boy, Cen is daddy’s boy.

Rigel- he wishes he was able to go to a school to get educated. He learns through instructions and structured lectures. But after overhearing Tre’s

Experience with private school and how long the school day is and the amounts of homework, projects, and tests he would need to do, he figures it’s better to keep that dream a dream and not a reality.

Cen - he learns better through visual modeling and being able to use his hands to figure out things on his own. That’s why art calls to him so much. He is able to use sensory input such as sight and touch into an activity. So using pencils or charcoal, or using paint brings happiness. And he was so excited when he found some natural clay on the outskirts of town and made little pottery pieces for himself and Rigel to use. Cen has a lot of dexterity and eventually able to use both hands with the same skills and technique that he is basically ambidextrous.

Dante is kinda the father figure/parental figure to all of the younger scraps in general. But Cen and Rigel are the only younger scraps brave (dumb) enough to break into his tavern/ bar when they are looking for something to eat or drink. In short both twins almost got their $hit rocked by the angry old man before he realized they just needed something and were willing to risk getting caught or hurt if they stole something. They made it out alive and still cause absolute havoc in his bar and thus earned themselves the loving nickname from Dante, Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb.

One time they switched spots for a day. So Rigel as Cen and Cen as Rigel they tried to not make it seem obvious of the switch but realized they didn’t have to when literally nobody in the entire town noticed the switch. And both twins were genuinely so offended because of it because they thought they had more defining traits than that. So after the switch they didn’t talk to anyone for a few days before they finally snapped and told everyone that they swapped places for a day and no one noticed.

Kay- this one might be a little out of character but listen. When Stone is having a really good day or a bad day, he pulls the some prank every so often. He either pays the twins or trades something with them for a favor. It’s simple. To find his sister Avrille, distract her, pickpocket her or even just annoy her, and the second she notices she is being robbed or messed with, to kick her cane out from under her to make her face plant onto the cobble stone. Cen, Rigel, and Stone get a kick outta it, but Stone tries to be more nonchalant about it. But Cen and Rigel are always willing to pull pranks or mess with people on other’s behalf, but for a price or fair trade.

To add onto that, they are kinda like everyone’s messenger boys. Mainly just scraps and the select few people they know from the working class( Maroon or Dante ). They mainly started this when Ditch and Vinnie first broke up and their turf got divided. They didn’t want to talk to each other nor even look at each other but they still needed to communicate for “business purposes “ on Ditch’s half. So they got recruited to send messages back and forth between Vinnie and Ditch. Things quickly escalated with the messages, going from “ Ditch says you need to give up five more feet of your turf” to Vinnie sending back her message of “ well then tell Ditch he is being a petty a$$ b!tčh”. Soon Cen and Rigel now knew the feeling of what it’s like being of a child of divorce.

Rigel and Cen do start unnecessary drama when they truly get bored. Like they pick out a person they know or someone random in a crowd and start making things up that are almost not believable but somehow still entertaining enough to be believable. That is how people now think Vinnie has fleas, Stone is faking his accent, Skipp’s scarf is alive, Ditch is naturally a ginger and files his teeth to look sharp, Tre is actually bald and wears a wig and so on. This has gotten them in trouble on multiple occasions in the times they have gone too far.

For a dollar extra they will sell you their “underground newspaper “. It’s just a Frankensteined newspaper with random scraps of paper taped onto it with petty drama that is going on in the scrap and lootbag world. They are professional ease droppers and will find out any gossip they can so they have dirt on people for blackmail.

Rigel- has unnaturally long and thick eyelashes. Cen taunts him by calling him pretty boy.

Cen- has unnaturally well kept and long fingernails. Rigel taunts him by asking him when he is gonna file down his talons.

They are honestly horrible gift givers, even to each other, not even on accident they just don’t know what to get people. Like Cen forgot everything Skipp likes ( PAPER APPLE?!) and literally picked up a cool rock and gave it to him as a gift. Skipp still loved it because in his words “at least you thought of me when you found this rock”, but later Cen stole a few apples from Skipp and drew him a couple pictures. Rigel didn’t know what to get Tre for Valentine’s Day ( POLICE REPORT?!) and Rigel could not be found for the entire day because he was doing side quests to figure out what to get Mr. Fancy pants Rich McGee. Later he handed Maroon a piece of paper and told her to give it to Tre when she can, the paper turned out to be a decently sweet love letter and poem.

Cen - when he started dating Skipp he didn’t act all lovey dovey at first but over time he just fell harder for that ginger. To the point he was mindlessly doodling him on the sides of the newspaper they were supposed to sell and when Skipp was brought up in conversation, he would talk about him for hours if you let him with a love struck look on his face. Which of course would cause Rigel to gag and tell his twin to save the sappy story for someone else who wants to listen.

Cen - convinced Skipp to switch hats for a day. It was honestly very cute if it wasn’t for the fact that they gave each other lice afterwards. But they still switch accessories every so often. Like they switch gloves or Cen takes Skipp’s scarf for a day.

Cen - the only time Cen is ever really quiet is when he is listening to his boo boo bear Skipp (kill me) play his mandolin. He just sits and watches for however long Skipp can play, violently shushing anyone that is coming between him and listening to the music that Skipp is making.

Rigel- he is happy for his twin that he found someone to have a stable relationship with. He doesn’t feel the need to be overly protective of Cen because he can handle himself. But he did pull Skipp aside and tell him that if the relationship goes down in flames, his mandolin, scarf, and Skipp himself will go up in flames. But Rigel doesn’t worry about Cen and that relationship too much, and is willing to give advice if asked, even if the advice that is given is just “ he is just a guy, run him over with a stolen car”.

( idk any popular ships with Rigel so i choose police report as the main ship ( Rigel x Tre))

Rigel - he jump scares Tre just to get attention and serve as a greeting to the wannabe cop. He chats with him for a few minutes, and of course convinces Tre to buy a newspaper off of him, maybe even flirts a bit before running off with Tre’s wallet in his hands.

Rigel- he admires Shakespeare and his works, and really wanted to go see at least one play of his in Ramshackle, he didn’t care which play it was, if it was McBeth, Hamlet, Romeo and Juliet he just wanted to see one live. And so that was his and Tre’s first date to go see Romeo and Juliet as corny as that sounds. Now while Tre is in musical theatre he can still tell when the acting is really bad but Rigel couldn’t care less because this was the first time he was witnessing a live performance.

Rigel - He does ask Tre a lot about schooling and just learning in general. Which gives Tre the idea of bringing some workbooks and literature pieces for Rigel to do and analyze. It’s their own way of bonding and keeping Rigel out of trouble for a few hours.

Rigel - if he ends up dating Tre, he and Cen included have an infinite get outta jail free card glitch. Because Tre is a weak softy and caves instantly when Rigel makes the least convincing puppy dog eyes that he was completely innocent of whatever he is accused of ( he isn’t, he knows full well what he did and will do it again)

Both Cen and Rigel are both kinda envious of each other and it kinda fuels some of their bigger arguments. Where Cen is much more confident, outgoing, and more brave to take risks, Rigel’s lacks some of those abilities. Where Rigel is able to analyze a situation, use cation, and more book smart, Cen falls short in those aspects.

At the end of the day if they admit it or not they still be each other and couldn’t function without the other. They are a package deal and where one goes the other is bound to follow. GRRRRR I LOVE THEM SO MUCH THEY NEED TO EXPLODE-

- anyway that is all, I literally wrote down all my ideas until I couldn’t write anymore. I hope you enjoy and if I mis-characterize anyone I apologize. Anyway @rottmeltson dinner is served hopefully you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed making it.-

See ya later- 💜✨🪻☀️💫🔮🌙⭐️🪐

[kittykattropicanna]

imagine mechanic!simon fixin’ your car with parts that worth thousands but he doesn’t want your money, he wants something else HEHEHEHEHEHE

HEHEHEHHEHEHEHEHEHEHHEHE right??????? Genius honestly. 

mechanic!Simon would do anything for you :( but only when you obey him, be an obedient and listen..... he was doing you a favour by fucking you on top of your broken down shit box while the lads were on their lunch break, he saw how worked up and stressed you were, and you had the audacity to disobey him??? You want to get your car fixed free of charge? well, now you get nothing and he gets to take you however he wants, your job is to stand there and shut up like the good girl his training you to be ;)

TW: low-key public sex, thigh-fucking, orgasms denial, Si degrades you for being a needy, disobedient girl :( kinda humiliation, mean!Simon, age gap insinuated, Si shoves a dirty rage covered in grease in your mouth bc you won't stfu :(

Mechanic!Simon masterlist

Regular masterlist

You really aren’t well off, the savings you did have are definitely not accessible at the moment. 

Your shitty ex had logged into your bank account the second he threw you out :( making sure you had nothing

He would always make you transfer him money for his crypto trading, he did it behind your back regularly meaning he new all of your information including your security passwords >:(

He had drained everything except £2.50 because “that’s all your worth” :(((((((( 

he was such a dick AHURGG >:(

Like Si promised, he checked out your car the next morning, taking you into the shop even though it was his day off. 

Of course Johnny jumped at the opportunity to introduce himself, taking your hand and kissing it softly, wicked smile flashing across his face when he didn’t see a boyfriend accompanying you to the shop. :((( 

An easy target in his eyes, you being with Si didn’t even cross his mind, a pretty, delicate thing like you wouldn’t be running around with a beast like Simon….it just didn’t make sense :( 

Si stepping in almost immediately when he saw the way Gaz winked at you and licked his teeth, eyeing you up and down like a piece of meat :(

You were HIS….HE found you, nobody else, and that’s how its gonna stay >:(

Maybe a bit of insecurity flared up as well….they were younger then him, more your age….

Johnny was a ball of energy, looked like he could be plastered on the front of some health and fitness magazine and Gaz had a certain charm to him, the type that could make even the most independent women fall to their knees. 

They couldn’t be more different to Si’s rough and grumpy demeanour :((((

But the second you clung to his side, quickly turning your face away from them, flushed red and overwhelmed, it all went away :3

His, he didn’t even have to tell you, you clung to him instinctively, ran to him for protection, looked for him when you needed safety ;)))  

He wanted nothing more then to take you right there, show them both how he could make you cum in ways they couldn’t, even if they had the best vibrater in the world on their side, they couldn’t give you the satisfaction he could :3

Watch the jealousy and envy in their faces as he praised you for being such a good girl, his good girl :)))

He didn’t have to look at your car to know that it was absolutely rooted, a first week apprentice could see that it would cost thousands of pounds to fix, even then, you wouldn’t be getting the best parts on the market meaning it was only a matter of time before it broke down again and became undriveable :(

Quickly slamming the hood he turns to you with a sympathetic look :(

“Listen lovie, its gonna be at least £2000, and that’s jus’ for ya’ engine alone, I don’ even wanna get inta the rest of it cuz fixin’ it is gonna cost more then the car itself”

With teary eyes you tell him you can’t afford to fix it, let alone buy a new car, its the only real possession you have to your name other then your phone and clothes :((((

You needed a car, you needed a way to get to work and its not like you can afford to take the bus!!!

But don’t worry sweet girl, Si’s gonna make it all better :((

Slowly he lifts you onto the hood and slides his hands up your thighs with a rough groan, that tiny little skirt that he picked out for you this morning was a really good idea ;)

Moving your panties to the side, he drags his thick finger through your folds, a low chuckle leaving his lips as he collects your juices :3

Your cheeks go red at how wet you are :((((( you’re so easy to get going, such a dirty, dirty girl >:(

“Don’ play dumb sweethear’, saw ya’ watchin’ me like a piece of meat, rubbin’ those thighs together like a whore, I know when ma’ girl needs some lovin’” 

Pushing his thick fingers into your heat, a small whimper leaving your mouth from the stretch :( 

“Quite love, don’t want em’ to hear us do ya’?” A chuckle falling from his lips as he opens you up more, spreading you open and preparing you for another one of his big rough fingers :(((((

Pumping in and out of your wet cunt at an agonisingly slow pace, holding your hips down so you can’t buck or move closer to him :(( try to take more then what his giving you :(

His the one in control, so don’t even THINK about it >:(

You let out a loud squeak when he forcefully pushes a second finger into your tight pussy :((( wet squelching sounds fill the room :(((

The same men staring at you like a piece of meat only moments ago, eating their lunch in the break room at the other end of the shop, completely unaware that Si was having his way with you :(((

Stimulating your clit with his left hand, he looks up at you with a wicked smile 

“Don’t ya’ make a noise love, old Johnny boy won’t have a problem watchin’ and im sure ya’ don’t want tha’” >:(

His such a tease :(((((

Begging him for his dick, moans and whimpers getting louder as you squirm with teary eyes :(((

But that’s your biggest mistake…..

You went against his orders, he told you not to make any noises, to keep it down, but because you’re a little brat, disrespectful after all his given you, food, a roof over your head, a warm bed, a man to protect you….you’re getting nothing >:(

“My cock Darlin’? Oh no, no, no, no. Ya’ see lovie, good girls get what they want, obedient girls get treated right, not selfish little sluts that can't do what they’re fuckin’ told”

Removing his fingers from you, he undoes his belt and takes out his stiff cock :(((((

Its so leaky, pre cum dripping down his shaft, Si pumps himself a couple times, a low groan falling from his lips as he forcefully turns you around slamming your body against the car 

“Imma tell ya’ what ya’ gettin, I’m gonna fuck your thighs for my pleasure, not yours, and ya’ gonna shut up and take it, no squirmin’ or moanin’, ya’ just gonna stand here and take it”

Taking a dirty rag out of his back pocket that he uses to wipe his greasy hands, he slaps your cheek signalling to open your mouth, shoving the dirty fabric inbetween your lips with a sadistic chuckle 

“There ya’ go petal, much better isn’t it? Finally listenin’”

His thrust between your thighs, the feeling of pre cum coating your pussy is satisfying, but it didn’t scratch the itch of what being filled by his girthy cock did :((((

Your moans fall silent against the dirty rag he shoved in your mouth, the only sound filling the shop being his low grunts and skin slapping against skin :((

His hard cock rubbing against your clit giving you little satisfaction, Si was so mean sometimes, but he was right, his always right :((((

He did so much for you and the very least you could do was follow his orders, you got to comfortable :((( trying to take charge and disobey him when he knows best, he always knows best >:(

You can tell his getting closer, his thrusts get sloppier and his quite grunts tern more strained :3

After a few more deep thrust between your wet and sloppy thighs the feeling of his hot ropes cover your pussy and drip down your inner thighs :(((

He didn’t even try and make you cum :( greedy girls don’t get pleasure, they’re used as fuck toys, walking fleashlights that don’t deserve orgasms :((

And you know his just doing what’s best for you, teaching you the hard way, the only way you would properly learn :((

He makes you walk past the break room and out of the shop with his sperm running down your legs, wet thighs sticking together making you uncomfortable as you take each step, hot, flushed and unsatisfied :(

Once you get back into his car he makes a call to a friend that owns a car dealership. Si has done so much for his mate, the least he can do is hand over a car, and that’s exactly what he does :3

Whatever his angel wants, his angel gets, unless she misbehaves :((((

Your orgasm is just going to have to wait till another time…..and don’t you even think about touching yourself……remember, obedient girls get to cum, not dirty, dirty sluts that don’t follow the rules <3

The thing about mechanic!Simon is that his not taking your shit, he has no time for your attitude and will put you in your place immediately :( his training you to be his pretty little house wife after all :3

Request are open for Mechanic!Simon, I would love to hear your thoughts so feel free send them through and add to the AU.

!Disclaimer! - Above is NSFW content - MDNI - If you follow my blog without your age in your bio, you will be blocked - If you are under the age of 18, you are not welcome here, otherwise, enjoy :)

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[girlfromflor]

56 DAYS (sjy) | PART ONE

pairing: enemie!jake x fem!reader | read the prequel

summary: after your best friend jay made you share an apartment with jake – “the guy you don’t like” –, you have to decide whether you should or not give into the feelings he makes you experience, something possibly pleasant and definitely memorable.

genre: "enemies" (reader is in denial) to lovers, accidental roommates, summer love, also has a bit of angst

warnings: swear words but other than that, none really (i suggest you read the prequel otherwise this will make little to no sense)

wc: 1317 | playlist: 56 days.

a/n: i decided to post this first, the second part will be the final part ♡ | taglist: @manuosorioh

as you tried to recover from your first college party experience, your brain did what it always does when your peace is threatened: refused to accept whatever happened, as a coping mechanism. it was not like it would work though, since jay didn’t seem like he would let you hear the end of it any soon. you pretty much denied any possibility of understanding between you and jake and did your best to pretend you didn’t even acknowledge his existence – which you did, very much so.

after those special seven minutes in paradise that felt like total hell to recall, you haven’t had any other friendly interactions with jake, always avoiding him with all you had. if you happened to meet, you were always quite cold and sometimes even a bit rude. all things that didn’t faze the boy whatsoever, who kept on getting on your nerves and even risked poorly made plans with jay so that you two would be alone again.

turns out that jay took it to another level and planned out – and very well – a long-term blind date, so to speak. at some point of the semester, jay mentioned a colleague moving out of the apartment he was living in and complained about how hard it would be to get someone else to live with him and share expenses. you, in an act of kindness, offered yourself to move in so you two could pay the bills together. he didn’t think twice before accepting it and, when the time came, in less than two weeks of organizing and moving out of your old place you were moving in with the man you call best friend since elementary school.

you were carrying the last item to your new apartment and everything was perfectly fine, until you came across jake lying on the couch, completely sweaty and untying the laces of his work out shoes, looking very fucking comfortable – almost like he was in his own home, you would dare say. you were in complete shock and a bit disoriented, for a moment you wondered how he was still attractive even though he was so clearly tired, but you soon ignored that thought to try and understand what the hell he was doing there in the first place. because you remembered very well having agreed with jay that you wouldn’t need help moving, there were few things you owned anyway. caught in the possibilities of what could be actually happening, you only realized that you had been standing at the entrance to the living room for a few awkward seconds, holding a box destined for your room, when jay lightly nudged your shoulder.

“what are you doing, standing there?” he asked, grimacing as if he wanted to make fun of you, but opted for a friendly approach.

“what... is he doing here?” it was your turn to ask, pointing – as best as you could while still holding the box in your arms – to jake, who was now paying attention to the two of you and, upon hearing the words that left your mouth, couldn’t help but let a smile form on his face.

“hello to you too, princess,” he said and before you could retort, he kept going, “i thought you’d have more manners with your roommate, but i guess i can’t be optimistic when it comes to you.” his eyebrows wiggle suggestively, his smile widening slightly and his tongue peeked between his teeth only adding to the image of perversion you had of him. because it wouldn’t be possible to associate him to anything other than obscenity, especially with that cocky smile that never seemed to leave his face. 

“excuse me?” you turned to talk to jay, but he was already on the other side of the room, going through the hallway that led to the bedrooms. “hey! jay, come back here. now.” you dropped the box on the floor, your arms crossed and your eyes burned holes into jay while waiting for him to come closer. “what does that mean? may i know?”

your best friend just laughed awkwardly and replied, “well... i thought you knew he lived here too.”

“how–” you stopped, sighed and straightened your posture. when you spoke again your voice was much more controlled, “how am i supposed to know if you never said that to me before?” your anger was still noticeable, but wrapped in a false cordiality that made jake strangle a laugh. this whole thing would be infinitely more fun than he initially thought.

after making everything clear – in the smallest details – with jay and for what seemed like an eternity of putting everything in its rightful place you finally went to your room, took a shower and got ready to sleep. the clean bed sheets that smelled of fabric softener and the fluffy duvet were a warm welcome after such a tiring day. you couldn’t control the thoughts that took you to a not-so-distant jake, who was now only separated from you by a room and, as you felt your eyes grow heavy and your body surrender to the much-needed sleep, you wondered what future reserved for the next few months you’ll be sharing your precious routine with the nuisance that was jake’s presence – ‘but at least i’ll have jay by side’, you thought right before falling asleep.

—☆—

“are you serious?” your voice comes out exasperated in an impulse that startled both you and jay, who was talking calmly to you while leaning on the kitchen counter – wearing his signature Seattle Mariners shirt, which you questioned if he’d ever stop wearing. it was currently 7am and you were having a rather upsetting talk with your best friend. it has been really nice to live with him, even though jake is together almost every time you two do something nice. but after a few days of it, jay seems ready to part ways. in an attempt to redeem your posture and sound a little calmer and more controlled, you say “are you going to travel?” 

and, despite you being his best friend for years, jay doesn’t even try to comfort you like you think you deserve. “it’s only for a few days, i promise you won’t even notice,” he replies. 

but you wouldn’t have that. “it’s not just a few days, jay, you’ll be gone for a month.” your whiny voice softens jay, who hugs you warmly. in the end, he knew you would miss him. “i had made so many plans for us, you know...” 

and with that, jake decides to leave where he was in the living room, walking towards where you were sharing the hug. when he gets to you, he nudges your waist. “don’t worry, princess. i’ll do anything you had planned to do with jay.” his slightly husky voice due to it being early in the morning makes your face heat up along with your body, but you blame the intense sun that shines through the window. then, he winks at you and you wonder if being arrested for murder would be as bad as they say. why doesn’t he just give up?

“tell me you’re not going to leave me alone with this idiot for a whole month,” you say, pretending that jake wasn't even in the room and jay laughs, a laugh that almost makes you forget why you were angry in the first place, but once again he decides to destroy all your optimism. “how silly, girl. of course i'm not going to leave you alone with him for a whole month, i'm going to be away for the whole summer break.”

that’s enough for you to pull out of his embrace, facing jay with all the disgust you could muster, which meant very little – very little indeed. 

and jake's voice is right there to further add to your stress, “it will be exactly 56 days with me, angel.”

[velvetures]

Heya I absolutely adore your writing and I would looove to request something like the “vulnerable” fic you wrote about ghost, but for könig instead. So much fluff and so many praises for our pretty boy, since I feel like he would show us his face but he’d be really anxious and self conscious about it. Feel free to decide if u wanna add nsfw content or not, I’m happy with whatever :))

Touch starved, intimacy craving cod boys will be the death of me 😔

Thank you in advance c:

Defenseless

a/n: so sorry I'm answering this so late, but i hope you enjoy nonetheless 🩶 this isn't the most in-depth... but I really tried to get the feels of it. summary: The Colonel has been stated as having something up his ass for nearly a week. no tw's that i know of...

The Colonel had been unusually insufferable for over a week at this point.

Barking demands, snarling at everyone in his path, making a total bloodbath out of the one mission assigned to him, and practically punishing all of his men during the two training sessions he’d deemed mandatory. He was on a tirade unlike anything you’d been witness to before, and there was hardly a place to escape from him. That only place being the garage which you had not-so-coincidentally been holed-up in after receiving a vehicle that was for less of better description… utterly fucked. But budget apparently didn’t allow for a replacement, so you’d been sent out to fix the helpless machine.

You didn’t necessarily consider yourself “co-workers” in the normal sense. You didn’t share office memos, or even work in office cubicles that shared a flimsy divider. The majority of your work with him came down to managing the transport to and from the base to their mission insertions. Be it helo or armor-truck, you were licensed and proficient. It gave you one of the most important jobs on base… Transporting the most dangerous men that KORTAC could throw at an enemy. And their massive, intimidating, hooded Colonel was included.

“I heard him chewing into a private’s ass for standing in front of his office door while he was sitting inside… with the door shut.” You overheard one of the mechanics chuckling from underneath of an LUV that had a leaking brake line.

A couple of the other guys joined in the conversation, ignoring your presence for all intensive purposes. You could only imagine that they were doing so simple because of how well attached you were to König in a more personal relationship. It had been nothing but professional and regulatory, but the sight of you lingering around the Colonel for more than absolutely necessary raised plenty of eyebrows around base. It just worked out that you had your entire top half of your body twisted in the engine bay of an MMPV that had taken enough IED damage to need a lot of maintenance and replacements. A pain in the ass you had been fussing over for hours just today; not even thinking about the fact that you’d been engrossed in the job for nearly a week.

“What’d you think Major?” One of the men calling out to you brought your attention away from a replacement coil-on-plug system sitting in a box, not touched yet on the wheel well to your right.

“About what?” You feign interest, not wanting to be caught listening in on conversation.

“The Colonel,” He clarified. “You seen whatever it is that has a stick up his ass sideways?”

You roll your eyes. “I don’t make a habit of checking the Colonel’s asshole…” If it’s not clear in your tone that you’re quite finished with the conversation, he doesn’t take notice.

“You’re pretty close with him aren’t you? Can’t you put in a good word for everyone on base… he’s practically frothing at the mouth!”

“I’m not a damn veterinarian either, Johns.” You warn, losing a bit of your patience.

It was one thing for König to swing his weight around like they were suggesting… it was another for him to have been struggling with something far more stressful than normal. Hell, it wouldn’t be the first time a soldier took out frustration of the job on his fellow officers. Especially if he got a reality check that displayed just how fragile the system really was in times of actual strain. Not that you’d even had the chance to see him since this “tirade” began, but you could only imagine that something more than the obvious was going on behind that bleach-stained hood over his head.

Girly gossip from the small group of mechanics went on long into the evening. Theories stretching from a mission gone bad to some kind of personal insult from a superior. While the solutions to his “problem” oftentimes resulted in some kind of reference to his sex life being dry, or outright nonexistent. It all sounded ridiculous to you between cranks of your socket wrench or the occasional shrill of an impact drill.

Thankfully you could shut out the sounds for the most part, but by the time you’d found a decent stopping place, the sky outside the hangar had blackened for the night and the temperature dropped far enough that your breath misted in front of your face. It was plenty late enough to head back to your quarters and get enough sleep before being right back under the hood at first light without feeling totally miserable. You didn’t expect to run into the Colonel on your way back to your room.

From the way he walked alone, you could tell that he was exhausted. The toes of his boots skimming the ground a little more than normal, as well as the slight hunch is his typically unforgiving posture. König looked like he’d had his ass kicked before being asked to dig his own grave and crawl out of it. Hearing everyone complaining about his sour mood made even more sense than before, and you couldn’t blame him for sharing around the misery. Besides, he was one of the highest-ranking people on base… it was his reluctant responsibility to deal with people almost every second of the day.

He deserved a damn break…

“Hey! Colonel!” You called out just loud enough to make him stop. Begin careful enough to not just call him by his first time in the case that someone was listening in. His head snapped in your direction and he stiffened for a moment before recognizing you in the dark shadows of the night and parking lot lamps.

“Major…”

Chills rose on your skin hearing his roughened voice rolling your title off his tongue. He wasn’t the slightest aggressive, and you couldn’t quite decide if he was just sparing you his anger, or just worn himself down too much to care. You jog the distance between you, feeling some tension in your lower back from being bent over that damn truck all day. Hopefully it wouldn’t make König’s notice… he was always very particular about injuries or overuse with his direct-connection officers.

“Wie war dein Tag?” His eyes crinkle at the corners like he’s smiling under his hood.

At least that’s what you imagine he’s doing.

“It was alright,” You nod giving him a smile. “Working on your MMPV. It’s in a hell of a state, and I’m not sure I can fix her.” You mutter a bit quieter, mind drifting to the vehicle and the limited amount of actual repairs you could do without needing some additional parts or funding allotted for the repairs. König seemed to pick up on it for a moment, but he also ended up having half of his mind somewhere else for the time being.

“I understand…” You couldn’t be sure if he meant simple exhaustion or a shared feeling of being much in the same state as your armored car. “I’m certain with your attention, it will do more than survive the blow.”

You giggle softly, resting your hands on your hips and digging your thumbs into your lower back as nonchalantly as possible to hide the way your digits pressed and rubbed at the immense pressure building right above your hipbones. Your shared mental and physical abuse wasn’t the slightest bit new. It always felt like when you got to see König for any respectable amount of time something was wrong with one or both of you. Normally, it made for plenty of good jokes and light teasing. A good one didn’t come to mind, and the Colonel didn’t appear in the mood for banter either. Really, his voice didn’t even sound like it wanted to be present. Fading in and out of gravelly and growled tones between German-accented syllables.

“Are you retiring for the night?” His blonde eyebrow raised up above the ripped eyehole of his mask. You spared a glance at the roof which shielded your quarters from the elements. Damn near two-hundred yards away, as well. You hated thinking about the walk.

“Yeah, I figure I should head that way. It’ll take me fifteen minutes to get there if I don’t drag myself across the concrete like I want to.”

König chuckles lowly, bringing another smile to your face. You hoped it was a decent relief from what was bothering him so badly to make base feel like a war zone. The thought of being his first sign of something positive in days only intensified your joy of the thought. He takes his own glance in the direction of your rooms and then looks back to you with something of an appraising edge. Even scanning the immediate area for good measure before visibly losing some of the façade hiding his exhaustion.

“Drill in the morning?” He asks quieter, nodding his head for you to follow alongside him.

“No. Just working on that damn truck…” He chuckles again, giving you a softer look out of the corner of his eye.

“You can always stay with me,” He says quite a bit more offhanded than the offer really was.

There was no fucking way regulation would stand for it even if it was nothing more than a platonic pajama party. The mere thought of “the Major” and “the Colonel” being spotted leaving the same bedroom after a night alone would have them both court-martialed and discharged. Yet König handed out the offer easier than he could hand out candy to small children on Halloween. It spun you for a loop. Resulting in your feet welding themselves to the ground and your eyes widening as you turn to look up at him in question as to if you’d actually heard him correctly.

“Stay with you… stay… like, overnight?” The sentence alone felt so forbidden yet enticing in your mouth. König shrugs. A little more of his tension developing in his shoulders as you visibly see himself second-guessing such an intimate thing quite randomly.

“It was just an offer, Major.” He clarifies. “My quarters are much closer to your garage… and I’ve got everything you might need for one night away from your own bed.” He added with a soothing kind of tone.

But it left you just as anticipatory. He wasn’t this forward. At least, not in such a personal way. He didn’t phrase things this… domestic, directly and he sure as hell hadn’t ever thought to try it on you above all others. There was something more to this, and it wasn’t just due to the distance to your own quarters compared to his. A benefit for him lingered somewhere just below the surface of truth he’d been willing to speak about. Naturally, you weren’t about to take the first step in pushing him. So instead, you took the choice of playing the long game and allowing him to take the lead.

He is your superior officer, after all.

“You know… I might just take you up on those amenities, Colonel.”

His eyes crinkle again, giving you a second opportunity to wonder what his pretty mouth must look like when he smiles.

“If you stay, my rank stays outside. I don’t prefer answering to a title in my own home.” His low voice rumbles with an affectionate tone. One that makes you nod your head automatically, like he’d whispered some spell over you.

“Of course, sir.”

His quarters weren’t what you expected.

Instead of the typical grey walls and standard furniture, he’d went about the process of either collecting some more personal things or brought them from wherever he’d lived before now. The bed was actually massive, swallowing your position that a king size bed was more than large enough. The four posts around it had been stained a dark, ash kind of color over heavily grained wood. A desk sat over against the wall underneath of the one window in the room and while it was stained the same color, carved designs on the drawers and feet were different from the bed frame style. The walls were void of any pictures or art, bit there was enough personal touches scattered around that it pieced together a bit more of the mystery behind the Colonel’s personal life.

“It’s really nice,” Your compliment falls into the room softly, almost like you’re attempting to keep the atmosphere untouched by your presence. “Where’d you get all of your things from?” It wasn’t until after asking that you realized it might be too personal of a question considering his attitude.

He looked around and shrugged. “Antique stores,” He ran a gloved hand over the top of a nightstand next to him. “I liked the idea of fixing things… and I had the knowledge of how to do it.” Your insides twisted in interest at the idea of König being well-versed in woodworking. Images of the massive man knelt down with sandpaper and reaching the smallest nooks in the carved wood. Meticulous. Unwilling to take a shortcut… it made more sense the longer you thought about it. He walked up behind you and rested his hands on your shoulders gently, letting out a deep breath.

“I didn’t… invite you here just for convenience.” He admitted a bit shyly, fingers twitching to squeeze your shoulders just a little harder.

Ah, there it is…

“What did you let me in for?” You reply, turning to look over your shoulder and up at him with a friendly little smile. “Because I know it wasn’t for chocolates on the pillows and breakfast in bed when I wake up.”

Those big, dark, eyes glittered a little. Framing just a small bit of humor in an otherwise dark, painted and highly guarded expression in a well-defended man. It was one of the things that had drawn you to him in the first place. Hs ability to find some softness in an otherwise harsh and cruel world of voluntary service to country. A damn shame he’d found this world instead of another one that would be more welcoming… less bloody… but then again. You’d also found this world too, even if it was your pathway to simple drive into warzones instead of running into them with a rifle and a desire to be the last man standing.

“I need some… help.” He could see the question and concern on your face, but instead of even uttering a single word, he just moves away from you and sits down on the edge of his bed. His eyes polarize away from you and down to the gloves that he began struggling to get off with slightly trembling hands.

You debated. Tossing around so many ideas in your head that you began dropping them. Juggling too many problems and possible solutions all at once. Hoping that he would speak up, or give you some sort of help. König wasn’t the best talker. Never had been really, but often he’d give away something that let you in on the issues in his mind. He was a stone wall tonight. Sitting like a marble statue with nothing more than softened eyes looking away from you with a palpable desire for help; yet no ability within himself to say how. The first thing you didn’t like was that he still had on all of that gear. Between the flak jacket with all of his spare mags, the helmet, steel-toed boots, multiple holsters and a slew of other things, there was far too much on him for you to get close enough to finding a crack in that armor.

“Can I?” Stepping closer, and pointing towards his helmet you ask gently, testing his comfort. He just nods, not even willing to look up at you to check what you were even wanting to do.

You unbuckle it carefully, not wanting to tug on his hood and sit it down next to him on the bed. But right as you sit it down, you see him reach up and tug the material off to drop it down inside the helmet. His blonde hair is a mess. A bit sweaty and matted down from a days work, it falls over his forehead and down to his nose. It softens the stark color of black face paint smeared over the whole top half of his face. The process of breaking down the soldier piece-by-piece takes less than five minutes, and that even included a small fight over whether or not you should be allowed to take off his boots due to how “demeaning” he felt it would look to have you kneel down in front of him like that. Thoughtful as you found the idea, you still pointed out he was your superior officer and it only made sense that you take care of the “unimportant” tasks for him. What you really didn’t know what that he watched you unlace his boots with every intention of letting you know that it felt even more intimate than letting you be one of the few people who could see his face in typical circumstances.

“That’s better… right?” You murmur, running your fingers through his hair to try and unstick the hair stuck together with sweat.

He nods. “Ja, viel besser.”

You smile at his German, sitting down next to him close enough that your thigh presses against his and your shoulder rests tightly next to him. “How about you take shower? I think washing off the day might help out a bit.”

König shakes his head no and quickly decides on a better idea. One that ends up with you laying flat on your back and a 6’10 man laying with his head on your stomach and his body nestled between your legs. His arms stay bent by his sides, resting weight on his elbows to resist laying his entire weight on you but his hands palm both sides of your ribs intentionally. His fingertips pressing between the dips of your ribs and the warm exhale of his breaths fanning against your stomach. It feels uncommonly desperate. Sensing the undeniable behavior of a man needing touch. Closeness from another human instead of the victory of a battle alone, or the knowledge that he’d lived another day without dying a horrible death. That thought alone has you wrapping your arms around his head and holding him tightly. Cradling him as well as you can to make him feel safe and protected even though his feet are hanging off the bed. Your heart pinches in regret that you’d not thought of coming to see him sooner. At least defending him in front of the others who’d been hellbent on making him out to be an asshole for having such a rough week.

Fuck.

He’d almost groveled like a puppy on its belly for you to touch him.

“You smell like cinnamon,” He mutters with his mouth slurred in the extra fabric of your shirt. “I like that… reminds me of my mother’s cinnamon rolls.” The memory is audible; softening his words and making that German accent thicker with exhaustion and comfort of being wrapped up in your arms.

You giggle very softly, pushing his hair off his face. “I’m surprised I don’t smell like grease.”

“Nein… du riechst wie zu hause.” His reply is gravelly and warm.

You close your eyes and settle back against the bed. “You know I don’t know German well enough to understand that…” He laughed softly, squeezing your sides with his massive hands.

“Do you think I’m not aware?” A laugh escaped you and as a retaliation you tapped the top of his head in a small, soft, shun. “I like saying things to you in German… it makes saying the truth easier sometimes.”

When his hands slid further under your body to fully encompass your waist, he buried his nose into your stomach and took a deep, relaxed breath. Nuzzling tighter into you and rubbing his face into your shirt like he was attempting to rub his scent and face paint off on your shirt. Neither option sounded the least bit bad. Wishing that he would fully immerse himself in you if it would make him feel better. Ease that misery festering in the back of his mind. Beginning to settle in, you started running your fingertips up and down his back. Smoothing out the wrinkles in his shirt as you went, and tracing out the defined lines on his shoulder blades and rippled lats stretching over his ribs. Each pass either smoothing the pads of your fingertips, or giving him a slight scratch with blunted nails. Earning some German mutters and contented grumbles vibrating against your stomach.

“Du kilngst… wie ein… bär.” Your German feels quite juvenile, but König’s short huff of amusement gives you enough satisfaction that the lighthearted jab had reached him. He nips at your hip with his teeth, making you jump in surprise and giggle nervously.

“Isn’t there a saying… ‘don’t poke the bear?’.”

“I thought you were a King, not a bear?”

He shakes his head, a little slow on a comeback. “Either way, I’ll prove my dominance.”

You chuckle softly. “Don’t bother, I’m more than content to stay just like this.” You hum, returning to the smooth up and down movement of your hands on his wide expanse of a back.

“I’m happy to stay like this as well,” He mutters, stretching out a bit more. “However, I don’t like where you are.” Suddenly a bit nervous that you’d not been playing this situation properly, you freeze for a moment.

“I can move if you’d like?”

Suddenly a bit nervous that you’d not been playing this situation properly. He shifts a bit, putting more weight back onto his knees with a small grunt before snatching you up far enough to roll you onto your side and settle himself behind you as if you weren’t any bigger than a teddy bear meant for pure comfort and warmth. A muscled and tattooed arm vicegrips your chest and the other arm slides under your head to prop up your head. Instantly turning the role of comfort you’d been happy to provide into a much different situation.

“Can’t do much laying like this.” You protest a bit, attempting to turn over to face him so you can at least return to touching him.

“No, you fit right… shaped to me.” He slurs; tightened his grip and shook his head, resting his nose right in the crook of your neck. One hand slides under your shirt and reaches up far enough to rest his forearm against your chest and make a half-collar around your neck with his hand. He feels hot to the touch, and while you would’ve shied away from any other man touching you in such a way, König doing it felt right. As if there was something connecting you to him other than a simple recognition of the desire for a human connection that wasn’t painful. A different kind of dominance, creating a safe place for himself, but also for you in the way the curve of his hand fit right at the base of your throat.

“Touching you like this… it makes me feel more powerful than any firefight I’ve won.” He states, further resting his upper body against your back. “Like all of the mistakes i’ve made were worth making; just so I could have a moment to feel invincible laying in my own bed.”

It’s deep. Touching. Reaching right down into the bottom of your soul and wrenching it with an iron-grip so warm that you feel a heat rise in your throat.

“That sounds like something you should tell a woman you love, not just me.” You whisper, sliding your own hand under your shirt to hold his hand.

As if he could, he attempts to pull you tighter against him.

“I just did.”

reblogs & comments are appreciated <3

[gilverrwrites]

belphegor possesses jacks body, reader who is grieving jacks death finds comfort in belphegor? maybe a bit of a crush..

Close As Strangers

Belphegor/GN!Reader

Author note: I tried to keep the exact nature of Jack/Readers relationship ambiguous, so you can fill in the blank as you please. Similar with Bel/Reader, but it has very much enemies to friends/lovers vibes.

Rating: Teen +

Genre: Hurt/comfort, angst

Words: 1624

TW: Grief, arguing, manipulation, crying, very minor mentions of gore, mentions of death, unhealthy coping mechanisms.

Please remember: You are allowed to make a big deal out of things that are really big to you.

“See something you like?” Your heart feels hollow as you watch him wiggle his Jack's brows at you. Blackened, bloody skin peeks out from the top of his sunglasses. His words, his movements, the whole thing made you feel sick.

“No.” You respond curtly, intending to stop there. You can’t help the bitter word vomit that continues. “Just you, defiling the body of someone I love.”

Belphegor inhales through his teeth in mock pain. Not a hint of sympathy or remorse. When he alters his stride to walk closer to you and drapes an arm over your shoulders, you’re too shocked by his audacity to pull away.

“You know, babe, I think I know a way to help you feel better about all this.” He says, offering you a smile that is too sharp, too smug for Jack's face.

“What?” You ask, your eyes darting back and forth between his face and his unwelcome arm.

With a gesture to his Jack's body, he answers, “You could love me.”

You scoff, ready to respond with something harsh and mean, but when you look at his face again, his expression has changed. His head tilted back, chin pointed out, mouth closed and stretched into a familiar smile. There’s that empty feeling again. You know that’s not Jack, but that’s his face, his smile, and at that moment, you couldn’t snap at him like that.

Before you can think of a response, you’re both distracted by the sound of a shotgun being cocked. Dean, who had been walking a few paces behind, presses the barrel of his gun between Belphegor’s shoulder blades.

“Get your arm off them and keep walking.” It’s an empty threat, and all three of you know it.

Dean wouldn’t shoot Jacks's body any more than you could insult it. Even if he did, it wouldn’t do anything.

Regardless, Belphegor, with a smirk, releases you and picks up his pace, but not without raising those scorched brows at you one last time. “I like it when he’s bossy.”

“If we’re all gonna work together, you’ve got to shut up.” You call after him, slowing your footsteps until you fall in line with Dean.

“Awwwh, I’m starting to have an effect on you.” He calls back, refusing to give you the last word, and you concede, crossing your arms over your chest and walking in silence.

"Are you thinking about me?” The sound of Belphegor’s Jack's voice so close to your ear, the feel of his unnatural breath against your skin makes you almost jump out of your skin, makes your body tingle in a way it definitely shouldn’t have. “Is that why you're so unfocused?"

"You wish.” You retort, snapping your head to face him. Admittedly, you had been slacking off, unable to keep your mind off the chaos that had been the last few days. Particularly Jack.

Belphegor doesn’t appear offended by your response. Hands in pockets he offers you a casual shrug before stepping back and leaning against the nearest wall. The two of you were alone, guarding the back entrance of the High School. There had been a lot of debate about who would be ‘left with’ who and for what purposes. It seemed nobody wanted to leave you alone with Belphegor, but nobody else wanted to be stuck with him either.

“What were you thinking about then?” He asks.

Without processing, without thinking clearly, you reply. “You. No, I mean Jack. I was thinking about Jack.”

“Am I sensing a little Freudian slip?” That smile is back, the one that’s too much for Jack. But for a moment, you think to yourself that it actually looks attractive in a roguish sort of way.

Feeling flushed and guilty at your laps of judgement you look away. Hiding your expression. “No. It’s just… I don’t know.”

“It’s just hard to differentiate us sometimes?” He offers, in a tone much softer than you’d come to expect. You know he has self-awareness, but you’re surprised he’s showing it. When you nod your confirmation, he continues; “It must be hard. I mean, I’ve seen loads of people die, probably millions, killed most of ‘em. But no one that I ever cared about. At least, not for a loooooooong time. I don’t really remember it.”

When you hear his feet against the concrete you watch him from the corner of your eye. It only takes a few steps before he’s in your personal space again, but he’s slow and calm. His face is solemn as he gently places a hand on your shoulder. You think he’s trying to comfort you, maybe? But it all feels wrong.

“I’m just saying, I can tell the two of you had some kind of connection. If you want to talk about it, I-”

“Stop.” You shrug his hand off and turn your back to him completely.

“Stop what?” You don’t know if he’s faking it to play with you or not, but the confusion and the hint of worry in his voice, Jack's voice stings.

“Stop being nice to me.”

“Fine, maybe you didn’t care about him all that much.” The softness and uncertainty is gone in an instant, replaced with pure venom.

You’re grateful your back is to him. It takes everything in you not to spin around and go off on him. A part of you knows you’d likely lose your resolve the moment you look at him anyway; you’re inches away from the brink of tears already.

“Oh, blow me!” Is all you can muster.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Malice, all malice. It sounds so wrong.

“I’m gonna sweep the building.” This is too much, and you can’t cope. You need to clear your head. “Don’t follow me. In fact, just don’t move.”

You don’t turn to look at him as you leave, if he says anything, you don’t listen. 

You hadn’t told the Winchesters or Castiel about your spat the night before. So here you were, patrolling quarantine with Belphegor. Alone. Again. You’re certain any one of them would swap with you if you asked, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to do it. They were hurting too. Besides, you figured after last night that Belphegor and you needed some kind of conflict resolution; you were just surprised when he broached it first.

“You haven’t insulted me all morning.” Belphegor nudges your shoulder with his own, and you can’t help the quiet chuckle that escapes you. “What’s up?”

“No… Yeah.” You’re not really sure what to say, so you offer him the only thing you know for sure. “My head is a mess right now.”

“I know.” He gives you that relaxed shrug you’ve begun to associate with him. There’s no way of knowing how earnest he’s being, but he seems surprisingly understanding, for a demon at least. “This whole situation is a mess, and you’re grieving. Can’t blame you.”

“Thanks. And thank you for helping us.” You smile at him, it’s a weak smile, but he smiles back and that tingle from last night returns. “I’m sorry I snapped at you.”

“I know one way you can make it up to me.” You hold your breath in apprehension. Certain he was about to spoil the moment. “You can talk to me.”

Still tense from your moment of dread, you respond immediately and defensively, “We are talking.”

Clearly unbothered by your cautious reply, Belphegor goes on, “You can talk to me about Jack. It's not good to keep it all bottled up.”

You feel bad for assuming the worst. You’ve felt bad for a long time. How good would it feel to get some of that off your chest? How easy would it be to talk to Jack about it? Only, this isn’t Jack. This is Belphegor, who, for all his apparent kindness, is still a stranger. A dangerous stranger.

“I really don’t think I can do that.” The tingle on your skin is gone, replaced by the ever-lingering emptiness.

“Why?” The familiar venom creeps back into his tone.

“Because y-” As much as you want to tell him it’s because you can’t trust him, you don’t. You can't afford to lose his assistance right now. “Why do you want me to?”

“Oh what? Because I’m a demon I can’t care about you? Is that it? I find that offensive.” There’s a tinge of humour in his voice, but you’re still shocked by how accurately he hit the hammer on the nail. So shocked, in fact, that your only response is to stare at him slack-jawed. “You don’t have to be strong and good all the time, you know? Let me help you. I’m begging you to let me help you.”

He stops his strides, forcing you to halt with him and turns to look at you straight on, jaw clenched as he impatiently waits for you to say something. Anything.

In that moment, with explicit permission to be vulnerable, the tears you’d held back last night, the tears you’d been holding back for a long time, finally come out. It starts slow, a tear rolls down each cheek, and you sniff to try and hold them back. You press your jacket sleeve to your eyes, but for every tear you soak up, another falls, until you’re heart-pounding, blurry-eyed sobbing.

When you feel Belphegor’s cold hands on you, you don’t pull away. You let him come close, you let him cup your face and use his thumb to wipe your tears, you let him guide you until you're chest-to-chest, your face cradled in the crook of his neck, you let him caress your neck and rub your back. You let him Jack lean down to whisper in your ear. “It’s okay. I’m here, don’t worry.”

[manias-wordcount]

View of Paradise (Satoru Gojo x Reader) PART TWENTY-ONE

[𝘾𝙃𝘼𝙍𝙇𝙄𝙀 𝘼𝙉𝘿 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝘾𝙃𝙊𝘾𝙊𝙇𝘼𝙏𝙀 𝙁𝘼𝘾𝙏𝙊𝙍𝙔 𝘼𝙐]

𝗔/𝗡: 𝗦𝗼𝗿𝗿𝘆 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗱𝗲𝗹𝗮𝘆! 𝗪𝗮𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝗴𝗲𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝘆𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗱𝗮𝘆 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝗜'𝘃𝗲 𝗯𝗲𝗲𝗻 𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆 𝗯𝘂𝘀𝘆 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘀𝗹𝗲𝗲𝗽𝘆 𝘀𝗶𝗻𝗰𝗲 𝗺𝘆 𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗱𝘂𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝘀𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝗯𝗲𝗲𝗻 𝘀𝗹𝗼𝘄. 𝗕𝘂𝘁 𝗜 𝗵𝗼𝗽𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗲𝗻𝗷𝗼𝘆 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘂𝗽𝗱𝗮𝘁𝗲 𝘄𝗵𝗶𝗹𝗲 𝗜 𝗳𝗶𝗴𝘂𝗿𝗲 𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝘄𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗵𝗲𝗹𝗹 𝗜'𝗺 𝗴𝗼𝗻𝗻𝗮 𝗱𝗼 𝗮𝗯𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗺𝘂𝘀𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗹 𝗻𝘂𝗺𝗯𝗲𝗿𝘀 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘀𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗲𝘀. 𝗪𝗶𝘀𝗵 𝗺𝗲 𝗹𝘂𝗰𝗸 𝗪𝗛𝗔𝗛𝗔𝗛𝗔

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𝘁𝗮𝗴𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁: @ky0mybeloved @moonchhu @moonlithavensworld

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? ⇒ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙟𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧?

𝙗𝙪𝙮 𝙢𝙚 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚?

The pipe moves fast. Faster than you would have expected. Not that that’s a bad thing, of course.

It took a minute or so after Mr. Gojo informed you all of the plan before it appeared. But soon enough, a large, square panel from the ceiling had opened up not too far from where you all were standing. It went. Then a few seconds later, out came a large, straight, see-through tube. One that almost vaguely resembled the slides at the old playground you used to frequent back when you had enough time to join Yuuta for a bit of playtime after school.

But it only extends out for a just a good couple feet. Maybe three yards or so? You can’t exactly tell due to the ceiling being so high and everything being so far away. Either way, it’s nowhere near where it’s supposed to be to save Ui Ui. Luckily enough, it doesn’t seem to be done moving. Not by a long shot.

Because just as soon as the pipe stops extending, more square panels disappear from the ceiling- creating a path that leads closer and closer and closer to where all of you are before finally stopping just above where Ui Ui is currently still thrashing about in the river. Then, with a mechanical wirr, the pipe begins to move. It follows the path of the disappeared square panels with speed you wouldn’t quite expect from something so…automated (robotic? Mechanical? You don’t recall the lessons you’ve had on the industrial process very well after all these years). It’s certainly not winning any races like this, but as you watch the pipe continue as if it senses purpose- as if it senses urgency, you can’t help but feel a little hopeful.

For a moment, your eyes slide over to Ui Ui’s figure, fighting to stay afloat in the river. He’s holding out. He’s going strong. He’s tired- exhausted, really. That’s clear. But it’s also clear that his survival instincts have kicked in and he’s doing everything in his power and more to keep going. Still, it’s hard for you to watch. It’s hard for you to just stand here, listening to the boy’s cries while doing nothing but appreciating the fact that it’s not your family who is in danger right now. Even if this is your best course of action, every second like this makes your heart ache. But things are better off like this. At least, you hope things are better off like this. Because that’s all you can tell yourself as you finally decide to pry your eyes away from Ui Ui and look back at the pipe Mr. Gojo called. 

Now that it’s starting to creep a little closer, you do feel that heaviness start to lift a little more on your chest. All Ui Ui has to do is hold out for a little longer. It’ll be hard, but he’s found for so long that you know he could do it. He has to do it. It’s the only way. But, if worse comes to worse, someone always could try to-

“Is it that pipe?” 

It’s Momo’s voice that breaks the silence that the group had settled in once the pipe Mr. Gojo called had suddenly appeared. You blinked in surprise at the sudden interruption as the girl’s matter-of-fact and almost (though quite very) snooty tone of voice managed to pull you from your thoughts. Though knowing what you know about the girl, it’s really not surprising at all.

Instinctively, you find yourself and just about everyone moving their gaze from the pipe to Momo as she looked at Mr. Gojo expectantly while polishing off the last little bit of her pile of candy flowers. This time, instead of just moving your eyes, you opt to stop craning your neck upwards and move your head to face her. Your muscles creak in protest as your neck moves, but it’s ultimately better for you. This much you know.

Because not only does it allow your neck the chance to relax, but it also gives you the perfect view of Mr. Gojo’s expression as he answers what seems to like, at least to you, the most obvious question in the world.

“What? I-” The man sputters for a moment, clearly caught off guard by the question. After all, the question is more than a bit unnecessary considering that everyone managed to shut up and watch it come in from the ceiling and slowly make its way over to where all of you are huddled around. But as Momo continues to look at Mr. Gojo expectantly, he begins to pull a not-so-pretty face at her while he absently fiddles with the cane he has in his grip. One that doesn’t look too unpleasant given the fact that his eyes are still covered by those sunglasses (though you can only imagine the stink eye he was giving her underneath them). As if sensing the look, Mr. Kusakabe does look a bit exasperated with his daughter and just about ready to step in. Though Mr. Gojo just shuts that down by holding a hand up in the other man’s direction and pausing his movements with just a simple show of his palm. And then with a deep, slow breath, he opens his mouth and answers the question.“Yes. Yes, that’s the pipe. And more…questions?”

You could have sworn you heard something that wasn’t particularly appropriate be muttered under Mr. Gojo’s breath in between the words ‘more’ and ‘questions.’ But you spare him any of your comments in favor of sending him a withering, narrowed-eye look. One that he catches quite quickly and throws a wink back in response before facing the Momo again with the expression that tells you he’s a little more ready to receive questions at the moment. But this time, it isn’t Momo who speaks up. It’s Yuki:

“Do you really think he’ll fit in that?” She pipes up from her place next to her father. Just about half of the giant cloud of cotton candy you saw her rushing over to this spot has disappeared- which is surprising considering just about how large it was. But the girl just keeps chewing and chewing and popping more and more in her mouth. Even as she waits for a response to her question. That said, Mr. Gojo seems a bit less caught off guard by this question. Though he didn’t exactly seem thrilled about speaking to the girl as she spoke to him while chewing.

“Well, you see-”

“He won’t fit,” Junpei suddenly cuts in flatly, cutting Mr. Gojo clean off. The candymaker’s face twists up in surprise at Junpei’s interjection and Ms. Nagi is quick to try to jump between apologizing for her son’s rudeness and murmuring words of discipline to her son. But the words seemed to fall deaf upon the boy’s ears because he just kept going as he turned a pointed, dead-eyed glare in Yuki’s direction. “Are you stupid or something? Don’t you see the size of the pipe? He’s too fat.”

For a second, things get so silent that you swear you could hear a pin drop. 

Ms. Nagi's face has gone as pale as a ghost as she now shoots Ms. Mei (who has yet to drop the amused smile from her face once during this interaction) an apologetic look for her son’s harsh words. Mr. Todo looks about ready to jump in a pummel the little boy. Mr. Gojo still looks a bit out of sorts, almost as if he’s unsure if cutting in at the moment is worth it, And Junpei looks very, very proud of the silence his smart-aleck response earned him. All the while Yuki’s face is starting to look redder and angrier and more furious until-

“I’m not stupid! You’re stupid!!” 

Until she bursts. 

“And you don’t know if he’ll fit or not!” She fires off, her hands on her hips as she leans into Junpei’s face with a furious expression. Behind her, Mr. Todo looks smug about the fact that his daughter (who is surprisingly a bit more intimidating than a normal girl her age should ever be) is holding her own and holding it well. At the same time, you can still hear Ms. Nagi cursing her son’s behavior all the while both Momo and her father shake their heads in exasperation as if to call everyone involved idiots just as your brother tries to weakly pipe in something about how it’s unproductive to fight. Either way, both Yuki and Junpei pay it no mind as the girl continues to go off on the boy for insulting her and speaking out of turn. “Did you build this place?! No! You didn’t! This is Mr. Gojo’s place, not yours! So only he knows if Ui Ui is going to fit or not.”

At this point, you can’t help but let your eyes shift between the two kids and while wondering if they even knew why they were fighting. Junpei seemed like the type of kid who enjoyed being a contrarian as long as it didn’t cause too much trouble for him. And Yuki just seemed like the type of girl who was argumentative by nature. She just didn’t seem to like to back down from a challenge, even if it did seem pointless. 

Jeez, who knew other kids could be such a handful? How on earth you got stuck with a brother as well-behaved as Yuuta, you’ll never know. But at times like these, you’re way more than thankful that these were the cards you’ve been dealt. Way more than thankful.

Junpei’s eyes just narrow at the girl for a moment, before he turns his gaze back to the pipe that’s now traveling just above the group’s heads. You had no idea it had gotten so close between now and the time you last looked at it. But Junpei wasn’t exactly interested in its placement. Instead, he was eyeing it very carefully for a few seconds, scanning the shape of the pipe as it passed. 

Until finally, he turned his head back to Yuki and spoke up with a smirk: “Five dollars says he won’t.”

“...” The girl narrowed her eyes at him but ultimately decided to look up at the pipe too before making her respond. Almost comedically, she turned her attention back to Junpei just a couple seconds later and spoke to him with a straight face and a flat tone, “I don’t take bets designed to lose.”

“Children!” It’s at that moment that Mr. Gojo decides to cut in with a clap of his hands for emphasis. Instantly, all eyes turn towards him- including all the non-children. Currently, there’s a tense smile tugging at his lips as he looks around long enough to ensure that all the attention is back on him. At the point that he seems satisfied, he turns his eyes back to Junpei and Yuki and points at the pipe still moving behind him. Only now, it has finally settled just about where Ui Ui is and is starting to sink down, down, down- just mere feet away from the river with a distance that’s closing rapidly. “He’s not supposed to go up the pipe. It’s just supposed to drain this part of the river enough to make it easier for us to get to him.”

At his words, almost everyone seems to relent with absent nods of understanding. Admittedly, you’re not sure how exactly this is supposed to work. Like how does this make things easier to reach Ui Ui? But for the sake of not embarrassing yourself with a potentially stupid question, you opt for silence as you nod along with the others and pretend to fully get how this situation is supposed to play out. Though you can tell by the raised eyebrows of both Junpei and Ms. Mei that they’re both skeptical. Probably a lot more skeptical than you are confused. Still, the two of them choose not to stay anything.

Because before they could even open their mouth, the pipe had entered the river. And the chocolate had begun to shoot up.

While it wasn’t much of a show, you still found yourself entranced by the sight of the thick, gooey chocolate being vacuumed up through the clear pipe with surprising speed. Whatever was powering that thing must have been strong- that much you knew. The chocolate right around the pipe was beginning to sink in and swirl around in a funnel-like shape. Just like water doing down a full sink or a bathtub. And before you knew it, you swear you could see the water line (err, chocolate line)  start to go down around the river bank. It was only a little bit at first. You could see. You all could. 

Thus, sensing that the danger was starting to pass- you hesitantly took a step forward, standing a little bit closer than you initially would have before. The others did too, with the children scrambling to get the best view that they could except for your ever so timid brother, who decided to linger from a more safe distance. The other chaperones decided to stand behind their children, no doubt taking Ui Ui’s still thrashing figure as a cautionary tale while Ms. Mei decided to observe things from her original position, arms crossed over her chest and face as neutral as can be.

And so, the ten of you looked on in silence, waiting for things to get better. It was a tense few moments, even with the quiet bickering of Junpei and Yuki with Momo’s occasional unhelpful interjections. At some point, you realized that Mr. Gojo had made his way just next to you. Despite how conflicted you’re starting to feel about the man, you do appreciate his presence. It’s safe to say that you feel like he would at the very least try to catch you if you were to accidentally fall in the river. Though you were only able to spare him a quick glance and a weak smile before you trained your gaze back onto Ui Ui and the pipe. 

Though now that your attention was back on the situation at hand, you noticed something that seemed a bit…concerning. 

The good news was that the river was definitely starting to drain. The vacuum sucking the chocolate up the pipe was making sure of that. But this was a big river. And although you’re not the best at estimating the size of things from far away, you can clearly see that this was a big pipe. And well? It was working all right. But in your opinion, it might be working a little too well. Because the chocolate line of the river was now clearly visibly lower than it was before.

And Ui Ui was getting pulled closer and closer to the pipe with every second that passed.

Your lips parted, and you hoped to use your voice to speak up. But the words fell flat in your throat as you watched the boy’s figure creep closer and closer to the pipe. Was this alright? Ui Ui was still fighting. Although his struggle was now at the most obvious it’s ever been for the boy, you could still see he had enough fight left in him to keep his head from going back under the chocolate, even if his movements were significantly slower. But still…

He was getting dangerously close to the machinery. Mr. Gojo said he wasn’t supposed to go up the pipe, but what would happen if he did? None of you except Mr. Gojo knows what goes happens beyond what you can all see. None of you know where it even leads to. Not to mention, it’s a literal piece of machinery- vacuuming up chocolate. Could he even breathe if he was sent up that tube? You don’t know. Your stomach flips and turns inside out and you just don’t know. 

But either way, Ui Ui is only just a couple feet away from it all. Still thrashing, still screaming. Still being brought closer and closer with no warning of what is to come. But should you shout to him? Should you tell him to swim forward? To swim away from the very pipe that was sent to save him? Or should you ask Mr. Gojo to turn the pipe off before it gets too close? But will that help? Will that make things worse? You don’t know. That makes you worried. Everything makes you worried about this situation. But somehow, this? This makes everything feel a whole lot worse.

But as you looked to Mr. Gojo to once again try voicing your concerns, you saw him wince.

“No…no…that isn’t…” You heard him murmur. Despite the dark tint of his glasses, you could swear you could see his eyes darting back and forth beneath them as his eyebrows furrowed. Once again, you feel that sick-feeling return to your stomach at full force and you feel yourself grimacing as you look between Ui Ui and Mr. Gojo. But the man must have caught wind of your expression- at least for a moment. Before you could even register his movement, you felt one of his arms shoot out in front of you and push you into taking a few steps back from the shoreline as he continued to mumble just loud enough for you to hear. “...stay back, sweetheart.”

Shamefully, your heart beats just a little faster as you hear him call you sweetheart once again. Even in the face of what seems to be a growing issue, he continues to show you affection. Again, there’s a growing issue happening in front of all of you. And everyone is more than tuned in now.  

“Mr. Gojo, if it’s not supposed to suck him up then why is he getting sucked up?” You hear Momo’s voice question Mr. Gojo first. She’s definitely not the first to speak out in this moment. But it is her voice that rises louder than all the other noise of slow-growing panic, a river of chocolate being drained, and Ui Ui’s cries of terror. And she’s brutal with her observations, but the rest of the tour group can’t help but agree with her as they offer muttered and nods of assentment. The candymaker did say this wasn’t supposed to happen, after all. “Hmmm?”

“It’s not ideal.” He admits after a few seconds of silence. His tone is full of honesty, but his words hold onto secrets. Something Ms. Mei, naturally, doesn’t appreciate.

“But…?” The Ui Ui’s guardian presses, an unamused look now twitching at the normally nonchalant woman’s lips. 

“It was a joke at first, but this… this wasn’t unexpected,” He reigns finally, before looking past you to peer over at Ms. Mei who just standing a couple feet away from the two of you now. Now, his lips are set in a firm line. And despite the frustration you know he feels, the concern in his voice and his figure are starting to roll off of him in waves. He doesn’t look scared- something you’re opting to take to take as a good sign. At least for now. But he does look upset. Defeated, almost. And surprisingly enough, it doesn’t seem to be directed at the kids this time.“So let’s just hope my workers really do intercept him before he gets to the Fudge Room.”

Rather, it’s the situation that has gotten him down. 

That said, it does make sense. Even if the misbehavior from the children had gotten on his last nerves, no one in their right mind would have wanted it to get this far. This was supposed to be a nice, fun tour after all. This was supposed to be his first time opening up his factory- his pride and joy for the five lucky children to enjoy. Who could have imagined it would have all gone so wrong? Especially so soon?

Your only hope is that things start to improve and Ui Ui gets out of this safe and sound. But now, you’re just not so sure.

“What…?” You decide to finally voice, tugging on the same arm that he used to push you away from the shoreline to bring his attention back to you. You don’t know how you don’t melt the second he turns his intense stare back onto you. You just know that there’s more to life than swooning over some strange man. Especially since there’s a child’s life at stake and he’s the most equipped. “What happens at the Fudge Room?”

“I-” Mr. Gojo says the moment he turns to you to talk, licking his lips as soon as the first sound comes from his mouth. But before he can get any further, something strange happens. 

It’s faint at first. But it’s noticeable. You don’t know how you were able to pick up so clearly and so quickly, but for a second you swear you could hear…voices? Other voices. Ones that don’t belong to Ui Ui or Mr. Gojo or your brother or just about anyone else who is supposed to be involved in the tour group. Ones that sound too low and too melodic and too…odd? Too different to be anyone you’ve ever heard before.

But that’s the thing. It’s not just someone you haven’t heard before. It’s multiple people you haven’t heard before. All chanting. Chanting…something. You can’t make it out, but the words are being spoken in unison. And they sound like they’re starting to get louder- perhaps even closer. Your face twists up in confusion at the thought. You’re just so confused. 

You turned your head away from Mr. Gojo the moment you heard them, but you quickly realized you had to swivel your head around one, two, three, four times because you just don’t know where it was coming from. Over the hill? The other side of the river bank? Underneath you? In that tree? From the sky? You don’t know. You can’t really tell. And is that…is that the sound of drums? 

At that, you hear a soft chuckle come from Mr. Gojo, causing you to whip your head around to peer back at him- just in time to see his expression change. Suddenly, the grim look on his face changes into something a little more wry and amused. Instantly the situation feels a little lighter, but you still feel very, very confused. You all do. 

The pipe is still sucking up chocolate at a rapid speed. Ui Ui is still fighting to stay above the surface while being sucked ever so closer. Mr. Gojo’s concern magically transformed into laughter. And the music you’re hearing? It’s definitely getting closer. And are those…?

…what are those…shapes coming over the horizon? Are those…are those the workers?

“They can tell you.” The candymaker finally announces to the group with a playful smirk and flourish of his hands as he gestures to the vague shapes you can make out over the horizon. The ones creeping ever so closer. “In fact, I think they’ve prepared a special song for you all to do just that!”

Just what on earth did you and Yuuta agree to?