#fuck me man give me the damn game so I can write it my damn self

[billthedrake]

LINEAGE (PART SIX)

We hit a rough patch. I guess it happens in every marriage. Braden and I made sure not to fight in front of the boys, but we were arguing more. Some of the usual stuff, about me being a workaholic and not doing enough parenting duties for our youngest, Evan and Keith. It was like me and my eldest son's earlier dynamic was coming back in a different way.

But behind it all was Brade still wasn't pregnant. He and I had decided to have a fourth son, and it just wasn't taking. We'd come back from our belated honeymoon fucking like bunnies, but after a year, the sexual intensity had faded. We still had sex once a week, but maybe that wasn't enough.

I'd talked to the younger Dr. Fiedler about it, and Todd said that fertility starts to decline in a man's mid-30s. He said he could write a script for some fertility pills, if Braden and I wanted to try them. But I figured I'd hold off on that. I didn't want Braden to feel I was putting pressure on him to conceive. For all we knew, my swimmers weren't doing the job.

Todd Fiedler was the one man who I could unload my problems to and I knew he'd keep them private. I suspect one part of the marital issues was that Braden didn't have a close confidante when it came to incest marriage. And my husband was starting to resent the Saturday tee times with my golf buddy.

Still, I wasn't going to give them up. Junior had taken to golfing, in a big way, and at 14 was pretty damn good. It helped that the Fiedlers had a son Junior's age, Sam, so we became a regular foursome.

"He's gonna beat you today, Bill," Todd said with a grin as he slid his club into the bag. The boys were walking ahead of us.

"Seems that way," I said. "Guess my game is off."

Todd patted my shoulder. He could be flirty with me, in an understated way though Brade and I never fooled around with the Fiedlers like with did with the Connors men. "Maybe. But your son's a natural." He got a playful look in his eye. "Took Adam a lot longer to beat me." Adam is the oldest Fiedler son, just then starting college. "But I'll tell ya, the sex was fuckin incredible that day."

Todd's eyes fixed on me as he dropped that bombshell.

"You mean...?" I asked.

He nodded. "I figure I can tell you and Braden. But yeah, that's developed and it's pretty incredible."

I was trying my best not to get hard in my golf shorts, but it was probably going to be a losing battle. "Jesus, Todd... we're gonna have to talk more about this."

He smiled. "You got it. Dad and I still have to pinch ourselves that it's happening." I sort of resented we didn't have the time or full privacy for him to share the full story.

We walked along. "I've been meaning to bring this up, Bill... but a friend of mine is doing a study of incest families... it's all confidential... I told him I'd see if you were interested in being part of it, too."

"What kind of study?" I asked. From anyone else the request would have seemed far-fetched but I trusted the Fiedlers.

"Psychology, mostly interviews with me, Dad, and our sons. I'll just say Mark is, um, sympathetic to our kind of families."

I chuckled. "Is that right? It's funny how I spent years thinking Brade and I were the only ones, and gradually we find more sympathetic family men."

"Besides the Connors?" Todd asked.

I had never told him about the Newcombs, the father and son we'd met in the Caribbean. I'd half forgotten about them myself. Only..

"Braden and I met these guys on our honeymoon. We drew them out of their shell a bit.""

"Yeah?" Todd's eyes gleamed. He knew Braden and I were open to playing with the Connors and suspected that was the case here.

I didn't spell it out though. "They kind of freaked out on us, but I just got a LinkedIn message from the dad."

Todd was listening with rapt attention.

"It was all coded, but basically he was thanking me," I continued.

"Seems like we both have some stuff to talk about," Fiedler said. We were now catching up to the where the boys were already setting up their tees on the next hole.

Sam hit a good shot, but Junior's was the incredible drive right down the fairway. Yep, my son was gonna beat me that day, for sure.

***

The next couple of weeks were busy. That's why the news came out of the blue for me.

"Dad... can you come in here?" I heard from the master bathroom one morning. It was a weekend, and I was putting away folded laundry.

"What is is, buddy?" I asked, stepping into the bathroom. Braden was still in his pyjama pants and a worn T-shirt that hugged his ex-Marine muscle body. If we hadn't had sex first thing that morning, I would have been initiating something right then.

He had a nervous look. "Shut the door... " he said softly. "I just have this feeling, call it a daddy's intuition."

I'd barely shut it, when my son pulled down the flannel pants and hauled out his soft dong. He grabbed the stick of the pregnancy test and let his piss stream hit it for a few seconds.

"You mean...?" I asked excitedly.

Braden looked at me with nervous hopefulness. I realized then how much he really wanted this. Wanted to be impregnated with our fourth.

I was getting hard just waiting for the result, and I could see Brade chub up. I stepped up close and placed my hand on his shoulder as we both watched in anticipation. Then, clear as day, a plus appeared on the stick.

"God, Dad..." Braden said. He was 38 years old now, but he had almost the innocent enthusiasm he showed when he was 18.

We kissed. I'd missed this romantic connection, but it was like riding a bike. Braden was the best kisser I'd ever known, and his tongue dancing against my own, sucking me into his mouth before nudging back, was driving me wild.

"I need you inside me, Dad," he hissed. Already he was pushing those pyjama pants down.

"The boys..." I warned. We had to be restrained with even a quickie during these weekends.

"The door's shut," Brade hissed. He was turning away and leaning over the bathroom vanity slightly. Ready to be taken.

The lube was in the bedroom, but I opened the medicine cabinet and found the petroleum jelly, which we'd used a couple of times before. I smeared my breeder cock and got into position.

"Ooff!" Braden grunted at the sudden penetration. Then, "fuck me, Dad." He braced his hands on the sink ledge. "Fuck your son."

"My oldest son," I hissed. While Braden and I had kept up at least some regular sex life, it had been WAY too long since we'd indulged the verbal.

"Oldest of four... now five... oh fuck!"

I was thrusting now, and Braden was opening up for me. Our eyes locked on the mirror. At the vision of me mounting and fucking his newly pregnant muscle body.

"I love fucking breeding you, Brade... knocking you up."

"My hot fucking dad. Fucking stud patriarch."

God, Braden was gonna get me off quick. That and the pregnancy news.

"My hot fucking pregnant son." My hips were piledriving harder. We might not be able to get this hard later in Braden's pregnancy so I felt an urgency to take him like this while I could.

"Gonna keep barefoot and pregnant, Dad?"

Fuck, I was cumming, my hips locking and my dick spurting a heavy load inside Braden. His eyes watched my O face in the mirror as he stroked off to a heavy cum himself.

I gave my son a playful pat to his muscle ass when I withdrew and we kissed softly once more. "If you wanna clean up, Son, I'll go check on the boys."

"Yeah. Thanks, Dad."

"For what?" I laughed.

He laughed back. "For being my father. For giving me another kid. For that fuck. I don't know."

We kissed again then Brade started the shower.

I made myself presentable and went to the family room. There was inevitably the emotional whiplash of going from sex and romance time with Braden back to parenting mode. I had an intuition and sure enough Evan and Keith were fighting over the iPad.

"Dad! Keith is hogging it" The two brothers were just a year and a half apart in age. That meant they could get along famously one minute and be at each other's throat the next.

I had to play stern dad. "I'll take away both your screen time, fellas. Don't think I won't."

Junior's attention was on his phone but even in my peripheral vision I saw him smirk.

***

We did that study. Or at least we started. Fiedler's psychologist friend Mark said it was a long term study, though we could drop out any time. He assured us he'd only ask the boys general questions, whereas Brade and I would each be asked more probing questions.

It felt freeing to talk about my sex life and what incest meant to me in the privacy of his office. I had to hide my boner, but then realized it probably didn't matter.

"Do you feel normal?" the man finally asked me.

I had to think. "I know I'm not the norm," I said. "But deep down, what I have with Brade, our family, feels normal to me."

"What's been the hardest part for you?"

I didn't have to think, I knew right away. "The secrecy. Pretending I'm a coparent rather than Braden's husband."

The shrink wrote in his pad, then set it down. "That should be enough, Bill. I really appreciate you taking the time and opening up about your family."

It was weird being studied this way, but I liked the doctor's nonjudgmental approach. Reading between the lines of what Todd Fiedler told me, I wondered if Mark had an incest history of his own, or if it was something that turned him on. I almost asked.

Braden seemed in a quiet mood when I got home. But we enjoyed family time, watching a movie until it was time for Evan and Keith to go to bed. I'd had to lay down the law about a reasonable bedtime, and I could see Braden amused as I dealt with their pleading to stay up late this time.

But finally they went to brush their teeth and get ready for bed. I checked on them and when I came back, Braden was talking to Junior about starting up high school in a couple of weeks. It was the most animated I'd seen our eldest be in a while.

"I just know homework will get harder," he said.

"You're a good student, Junior," Braden said.

Our son smiled at the compliment. I didn't even have to get on his case, Junior was diligent when it came to school. "I just worry about balancing school and golf, you know?"

Already Junior was anticipating joining the golf team.

"You'll do fine," I said. "It's the dating life which might suffer," I teased.

Junior blushed but tried to be part of the grown-up conversation.

"I guess that's another good thing about high school, huh?" he said.

"It was for your dads," Braden said, leaning into my arm as we sat on the couch. I could tell he was feeling far more relaxed talking about these things with Junior.

Our son took that in and with hesitation asked. "Dad.... Daddy... how did you first start dating?"

Braden looked at me in a "should we tell him?" way.

I figured our son was old enough. I wouldn't give all the details, but I could start.

"Well, your Daddy was attracted to me, and deep down I was attracted to him, but I had to be a father first, you know. But when he was a senior, we let it happen. And pretty quickly, we knew it was serious."

"That's cool," Junior said. "I hope I find someone special like you two have."

"You will," Braden said.

Junior paused. "Dads... I haven't told you, but I'm pretty sure I'm gay."

"Pretty sure?" Braden asked.

Junior chuckled. "Well, completely sure."

I don't know why the news surprised me, but it did. "I'm proud of you, buddy... for realizing who you are. It took me a long time."

"Gosh," Junior said. Then thoughtfully, he added. "You know, I guess I worry what people with think. Having two dads, and if you made me gay."

Braden chimed in. "If your Dad and I cared what people think we wouldn't be happy."

That made Junior smile. He'd been lectured on the need of secrecy and the taboo about incest since he was young. "I guess not."

We made some more talk, mostly general stuff about dating, then Brade and I said it was time for bed.

As my husband and I got ready and stripped down, the conversation weighed heavily on us. "He's gonna be trouble," Braden said.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know," my son replied. "He's a good looking kid... smart, maybe too smart." He snuggled up to me. "I wouldn't be surprised he if ends up a teen father like you."

Maybe it was the warm feel of Braden next to me, but I won't lie, my cock went rigid. Rock hard against my son's softly furred abs. That got a chuckle out of Braden.

"You like that idea," he said.

"Come on, Brade," I objected. It was an idle fantasy, not reality.

Braden didn't press me on, it though. Nor were we amping up to sex quickly. Instead my son kissed me softly. He was in a romancing mood, and I did my best to respond.

"Sorry if I was moody earlier," he said. "It was that interview with Mark."

My protective streak kicked in. "We don't have to participate, Brade," I said.

He nodded. "It's fine... only... did he make the moves on you?"

"No. Why?" Did Mark hit on Brade?

"He and I talked. The dude has SO many daddy issues. Jerks off to pictures of his dad each day. Only goes for guys who are older as a substitute."

"We didn't get personal, not like that," I said. I reflected. "Maybe it's common."

"I'm sure it is," Braden said, relieved. "I'm lucky as hell I have my actual father."

We kissed more intensely then Braden pushed me on my back. "Lie there, Dad," he said and reached over for the lube. "It's been a while since I've ridden that dad cock."

I placed my hands behind my head and grinned. "Pregnancy hormones kicking in?" We'd had sex that morning and usually didn't find time for twice in a day.

Braden smiled. "In a big way, Dad. Maybe that's why I got turned on hearing the doc talk about his father."

"Incest is really hot, isn't it?"

Braden slicked up my hardon and straddled me. "God yes." He settled back into place. I thought back to those homecoming fucks when Brade was in the Marines, coming back on leave, or home from deployment. And after our conversation with Junior, I realized how much Brade and I had almost forgotten about that phase of feeling each other out, trying to decide how much was physical transgression between father and son and how much was true love.

My dick penetrated him. Brade's hands were on my chest, feeling me up as he lowered down. "I love your cock, Dad. So much."

"I love your ass, buddy. Can't ever get enough."

"I wish more people could see us, Dad. See how a father and son mate." He settled further down. Lost in his sexual fantasy but also very much in the moment.

"Like Doug and Eric Newcomb?"

His eyes went wide. "You hear from those guys again?" I'd told Braden about

"From Doug, yeah. He and his boy want to visit sometime."

"God, I want you to fuck me in front of them... with my big pregnant gut..." OK, Brade wasn't kidding about the pregnancy hormones. His voice was getting louder.

I held onto his hips and pumped gently as we got deeper into the sex talk. But this was mostly Brade's fuck, his hips driving it like he wanted. He fucked himself on my dick to a hands-free cum. The very sight pushed me over the edge. The post-fuck kiss was amazing and we took our time to uncouple.

***

The next morning Junior had a knowing look on his face when I came into the kitchen to pour my coffee. We had one of those coffee makers with an automatic time. It took me a second to realize the pot was a little short.

"You drinking coffee?" I asked Junior.

"That's OK, Dad, right?" he asked, a combination of innocence and challenging me. Junior was a good kid but Braden was on to something. He was going to be a challenging teen to raise in his own way.

"Yeah, buddy, it's OK," I said. Pouring my own cup.

"Dad..." Junior said.

"Yeah?"

He stood up from the counter and dropped his voice to a whisper. "No disrespect. But you and Daddy might want to be quieter. I could hear you guys..."

I gulped, while trying not to act like things were out of the normal. Brade and I kept our sex life private, but we never wanted our boys to see anything unhealthy about our relationship. "Sorry, kiddo," I said. Trying to give a conspiratorial smile. "Though I guess you have something to tell that shrink next time."

At least that made Junior laugh. "Don't worry, Dad, I can keep a secret." He passed me and put his mug in the dishwasher. And he walked out to get ready for school.

***

I almost didn't make Braden's obstetrician appointment, and I was five minutes late. Everything seemed routine, until after a few tests when Doc Kennedy called us into his office.

"Braden... Bill... it turns out Braden's carrying twins."

I looked over at my son, who was stunned by the news. I, meanwhile, couldn't hide the big smile. Doc could tell and he chuckled at watching both of us.

"It'll make for a more physically exhausting pregnancy, Braden, but many men bear twins each year and have healthy young babies. Particularly since you're in your 30s still. We'll set up extra appointments to check in, and I'll give you some websites to read."

It was sinking in. "Wow, twins... " The smile was forming on Braden's face as he looked at me.

"Not the news you expected," Dr. Kennedy said with a chuckle.

"No, sir," Brade said.

The doctor explained, "It often happens when men take fertility pills."

"No fertility pills, Doctor," I said. "Just the old fashioned way."

He shrugged. "Like I say, it happens."

Braden and I couldn't wait to get home. I was supposed to go back to the office for a meeting, but I called out instead. My son and I had about forty minutes before we had to go pick up Evan and Keith from school.

"Goddamn, Dad," Braden said, excitement building in his voice as we stepped into the house. "We went right for number five, didn't stop at four sons."

"I'll be my fifth and sixth," I reminded Brade. I adjusted the hardon in my suit trousers.

"Guess I wasn't kidding about the barefoot and pregnant thing."

Brade and I kissed, hard. Our bodies connecting through our clothes, then the impatience as we stripped each other.

"Brade... Sport... I want you to go off the pills."

He didn't get it. "I'm already pregnant dad. Knocked up with twins."

I tugged his arm to guide him back to the bedroom. "I mean, once they're born. I want us to fuck unprotected from here on out... let the chips fall where they may."

"Jesus, Dad!" Brade really liked that idea.

"Your natural womb giving us a son whenever it happens."

"Yes, sir," Brade growled.

I wish I could say we consummated the news with a nice long romantic mating, but it was maybe three hot minutes of missionary sex. Brade's way. Legs wrapped around my waist, us kissing deep. Envisioning the two sons that were gonna grow inside Braden. And the future ones we gonna make.

It was hands-free for Braden, which seemed to happen more and more during his pregnancy, and I was three strokes behind, loading up my son-husband deep.

"I can't believe I'm getting two more grandkids," I said as I lay in the afterglow, stroking Braden's chest. Even those pecs would get full again, and I'd be able to milk feed from my son's bosom.

"Gonna need a bigger SUV, Dad. And we only have one car seat."

I mussed Braden's hair. "I thought I was supposed to be the practical one, Sport."

Braden laughed. "I guess you're rubbing off on me, old man." He leaned up and checked his watch. "Time for pick up duty."

"I got this, Brade," I said, sliding out of bed. I dug into my drawers and found clean underwear and a casual T shirt. "Why don't we go out as a family tonight, to celebrate? We can tell the boys the great news."

[burningcheese-merchant]

Ok fuck it. Fuck it I need to rant. I'm disappointed to the high heavens. This just looks like X and Y again. It just looks like they finally bothered to get off their asses and make Pokémon Z like everyone begged for 10+ years ago and they're trying to relabel it as a Legends game. You know what the word "legend" means? It means OLD!!! It's a fantastical tale of days long past! PAST! NOT FUTURE! Why are we in the future!!! There are no legends about the damn future, only the past!!!

How cool would it have been if we were in the Pokémon equivalent of Napoleonic France? If the protagonist was from a lower-middle-class family (maybe even lower, a genuinely struggling protagonist would be interesting, especially within this time period), who set out with their Pokémon to earn money to help out, only to end up caught in the middle of a nationwide shitstorm? What if you ventured throughout the region, through the beaches and mountains and beautiful French/Kalosian countryside, all the way to Paris/Lumiose, where the societal rot is at its most obvious and damning? What if the "evil team" wasn't evil at first, just a band of revolutionaries with their hearts in the right place, seeking change and justice for the broke and starving public against the laziness and corruption of the self-absorbed elite? What if the villain was the king at first, because he and the other royals really are as awful as they're stated to be? What if there were (optional, because not everyone was against the French monarchy) side quests to help spread revolutionary propaganda or help the rebels earn money, gather resources, toughen up their Pokémon in preparation for future battles against the royals? Hell, what if there was a rival group of royalists who acted as the rebels' foil, whom you can also help and hinder as much or as little as you liked?

What if there was an honest-to-God violent coup where people and Pokémon stormed the royal palace and destroy everything in sight (and you could be there, battling guards or something)? What if the king was challenged to a battle and lost miserably, proving once and for all how weak and pathetic he is, and thus overthrown and exiled (can't execute him, this franchise is too cowardly to evolve past being milquetoast kiddie shit)? What if the rebel leader, with his dear Empoleon beside him, took his place and crowned himself emperor right then and there, to the overwhelming joy of his followers and sympathizers, dismay of his opponents, and whatever it is the player chooses to feel, because there should be a genuine undercurrent of historical, political and philosophical discussion about all of this throughout the story that encourages us to form our own thoughts and opinions about the situation?

Only for the rebel leader, the Napoleon figure, to turn out worse than the king ever was, and his close subordinates immediately going mad with their newfound power and practically destroying the country. Then they really ARE the evil team for real this time, because they became the tyrants they sought to destroy, and depending on the player's past actions, it might partially be their fault that they succeeded. Imagine the Pokémon equivalent of the fucking Reign of Terror. People and Pokémon being attacked, imprisoned, exiled (again, they're too chickenshit to kill people. Tens of thousands died during the REAL Reign of Terror). Imagine your new mission going from trying to flee Lumiose and go home (only to fail, because they won't let anyone leave outside of being formally exiled out of fear/paranoia about uncontrolled dissidents) to taking an active role against the new regime, battling police to bust innocents out of jail, reuniting families and friends torn apart by fear and force? Imagine a heated battle against the stand-in for Maximilien Robespierre to help put an end to the madness!!! What if you went to libraries and picked up newspapers and listened to the telegraph and discovered everything has been censored in some way? What if you went into houses and found depressed wives and mothers and sisters and daughters, and opened letters from the men in their families (and their Pokémon, too) who were conscripted into the Kalosian army because the Emperor is trying to wage wars against neighboring regions to fulfill territorial ambitions (which actually did happen, Napoleon's France was constantly at war, which majorly tanked the economy because all the men were sent off to die or be horrifically injured. Remember when they tried to invade Russia? Over half a million troops went, barely 1/6 of them came back)? The climax of the story + defeat of the Emperor in battle can be a nod to the Battle of Waterloo!!! The post-game can have the player looking for runaway rebels like how you hunted for the Sages in post-game Black and White! What if there was a limited time mystery gift event where you could win a ferry ticket to the island the former Emperor is imprisoned on, JUST LIKE THE ACTUAL NAPOLEON, and there was a final cutscene between you and him where you discuss everything that happened and he asserts that he did what he had to and he still believes that he was acting in Kalos's best interest!!! Because many of the revolutionaries really did think that way, they believed they were doing right by France!!! Even when they jailed and murdered thousands of innocent people!!!

But no, we don't get cool shit like that, we get AZ running a fucking inn for whatever reason and an "urban redevelopment plan" that's literally just "let the Pokémon trash half the city with zero repercussions or any consideration for the homes and businesses in the areas they overrun". What the fuck man

[yuujispinkhair]

Hockey player! Sukuna headcanons

Inspired by this lovely ask by @subarusuguru. You made my head spin with the idea of hockey player Sukuna!! Thank you so much for sharing your thoughts with me! I had to write a little something 💗

Pairing: Hockey player!Sukuna x Reader (female) Genre: fluff + smut Word Count: 700 Warnings: 18+, smut, mentions of injuries, but nothing bad. All characters are of age. Divider by @/benkeibear

Hockey player!Sukuna, who is a devil on the ice. The rival teams always know they will have several injured players after each match against Sukuna. He has a very aggressive playstyle, and his speed and strength, combined with his quick mind, make him unstoppable.

Hockey player!Sukuna, whose maroon eyes always find you when he enters the ice. He winks at you and makes a kissy face, laughing when you blow him a kiss back. The whole hockey arena can know that you are his, and he is yours. And anyone who dares make a rude comment about him being so soft for his girl will receive a brutal body check that sends them facefirst onto the ice or into the boards.

Hockey player!Sukuna, who has a mad glint in his eyes during the whole match. He is ambitious and confident, and he always plays to win. He loves being an asshole and taunt his opponents, laughing when he can get under their skin with his snide comments. But no matter how much Sukuna riles them up, they still aren't able to stop him because he always puts his whole anger and strength into his game.

Hockey player!Sukuna, who is a completely different man when he goes on the ice with his princess. Treating you with so much care and being such a gentleman. He holds your hand to make sure you don't fall when he teaches you how to ice skate. And once he can see you are ready for the next step, he lets go of you and tells you to skate toward him to get a kiss.

Hockey player!Sukuna, who has so much fun when showing you how to play hockey. Your time on the ice is filled with playful fights and good-natured teasing comments that are so flirty that you get butterflies the whole time. His laugh sounds different too, happy and free, and he only uses his strength to pick you up and pin you against the boards so he can kiss you until you are breathless.

Hockey player!Sukuna, who grins that charming grin when he lets you score and praises you for being such a natural talent, even though you know you suck. Of course, Sukuna also has to show off a little in front of his girl, and he steals the puck from you easily, making you gasp at his speed and watch with wide eyes and a smitten expression on your face as your boyfriend skates across the ice and shoots the puck into the goal with so much force it almost rips the net.

Hockey player!Sukuna, who feels a proud buzz running through his veins anytime he sees you in his jersey. Somehow it drives him crazy to see you walking around with his last name on your back. It spurs him on to play even better and show you that he is worthy to be your man. Maybe he should buy a ring and give you his last name on your ID too, and not just on a jersey.

Hockey player!Sukuna, who loves to fuck you in the locker room after every match when his teammates have left. A victory fuck to celebrate when he is still pumped full of adrenaline and euphoria, pulling you onto his lap and bouncing you on his thick cock while groaning in your ear and telling you that it is all thanks to your love and support that makes him play so damn good. Or an angry fuck after a loss to make him feel ok again, lifting you up and slamming you against the shower wall, snapping his hips fast, fucking you hard and deep, growling your name when he cums in you and finds sweet relief in your warm cunt.

Hockey player!Sukuna, who can't stop smiling when you dote on him when he is injured after a rough match. He has a high pain tolerance and doesn't really worry all that much about the injuries, but he loves it when you take care of him and look at him with so much worry in your eyes. It makes him feel so warm, and so he happily plays along and lets you change his bandages, pet his hair, and cuddle him.

Hockey player!Sukuna, who loves to win, but who thinks his biggest victory was winning your heart.

I am so in love with him!! Thank you so much for sending me that prompt!! I hope you liked my little headcanons ;)

Comments and reblogs would be very sweet 💗

[ilikeevilblondes]

World’s Worst Chauffeur

18+ MDNI!

Summary: Joel Miller, your dad's best friend, ends up getting roped into picking you up from a party. Without the key to unlock your house or anybody to let you inside, Joel offers to let you sleep at his place for the night. Needless to say, the both of you don't do a lot of sleeping.

TL;DR: You convince old man Joel to dick you down.

W.C: ~6.2k

Warnings: dbf!Joel, unprotected p-in-v sex, praise AND degradation (whoops), big fat age gap (Joel is around 50, reader is 21), daddy kink for a sec soz, aftercare, slight size kink, cunnilingus through panties, cunnilingus, dry-humping, couch sex (no outbreak!)

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62586064

Note: hey y'all, trying my hand at joel miller smut because i saw an edit of pedro pascal and literally licked the fucking screen protector, so i guess that's god's sign of telling me to write filthy shit. anyway, hope you enjoy! wrote this instead of a politics essay #yolo

“C’mon, Joel.” Your dad sighed, meeting his best friend’s eyes with a pleading gaze.

“Look, I—”

“Just this once. Please. I really can’t get out of this meeting, the board would kill me. Especially with the damn FTC breathing down our necks.”

You were visiting your hometown for Spring Break. Tomorrow night, there was going to be a party in a town fifteen minutes away from your own—one that you had been invited to. Your dad was supposed to give you a ride home, but as always, there was some last-minute work emergency. So, Joel was his solution.

The aforementioned solution frowned, crossing his large arms over his plaid torso.

“I got better things to do than chauffeur your little girl.” Joel shrugged.

That was, in fact, horribly untrue. His agenda for that night consisted of re-watching one of the Die Hard’s and drinking a nice, cold Coors.

“I’ll owe you one.” Your dad insisted.

“Desperate ain’t a good look on you, buddy.” Joel cracked a small smile.

Your dad ignored this jab.

“Joel, we’ve been friends for almost two decades. You’ve let me borrow your car, helped me paint my house more times than I can count, and even bailed me out of jail when I sped down the interstate.” He counted the feats off his fingers. “But picking my kid up is where you draw the line? Come on.”

Joel inhaled through his teeth.

The real reason he maintained his firm stance on not giving you a lift home was, really, a bundle of three smaller reasons.

One, ever since you turned eighteen you’ve made it painstakingly and increasingly clear you wanted to get in his pants.

Two, you were a huge flirt.

Three, he wasn’t so sure he could keep on resisting. But he had to. For god’s sake, what kind of a friend would bone his friend’s daughter?

Hopefully, not him.

“I–” Joel began but was shortly interrupted.

"I’m not taking ‘no’ for an answer. You’re picking up my kid. She has no one else, and I don’t trust her friends to be sober enough to get her home without getting in some kind of drunk-driving accident."

He levelled Joel with a firm look.

"So, are you picking her up, or should I expect to see her name in tomorrow’s obituary because one of her little buddies got behind the wheel after doin’ a keg stand, or a gazillion games of beer pong or I don’t know—fuckin’ ‘Cheers to the Governor’?”

Your dad stared him down with an expectant look.

Joel took a second to process this.

He rubbed a hand over his face, squeezed his eyes shut, and then met his friend’s stare with a sigh.

“Fine.” Came through gritted teeth.

Your dad patted him firmly on the shoulder. “Thank you.” He chirped happily.

———

And so, there Joel was.

Leaning against his old Chevrolet, idly spinning his keys around his finger, and staring at the front door of the party.

Several kids filtered out; stumbling into worn Honda Civics with disgruntled parents waiting in the driver’s seats, or with their arms interlocked and their sides almost melded together, giggling off to god-knows-where.

When you came out, you were part of the latter group.

Some blonde-haired boy—tall, but not too tall—was holding you close to him with a stupid smile on his reddened face. You mirrored it with a stupider smile of your own.

He whispered something into your ear that made you laugh and was promptly leading you in the opposite direction of Joel. But Joel was both keen and quick to intervene.

“Goin’ somewhere?” Joel called out, crossing his arms.

You froze and turned your head to lock eyes with none other than Joel Miller. Your neighbour, your dad’s best friend, and more importantly, your long-time crush.

“What are you doing here?” You arched a brow, slipping away from your friend and nearing him and his truck.

Your friend followed after you and settled by your side, resting an arm that hung a little too comfortably around your shoulder.

“Evenin’ to you, too, sweetheart. And to answer your question, I’m pickin’ you up.” Joel stated simply, then tossed a quick surveying look to the guy next to you. “Who’s blondie over here?”

“Daniel.” Blondie blinked and stuck out his free hand, glancing at you. Under his breath, he muttered, “you told me your dad couldn’t give you a ride.”

“He’s not my–” You started, but were immediately cut off by Joel.

“Get your hand off the girl, will you, Derek?” Joel narrowed his eyes at him, a dangerous look underlying his seemingly casual tone.

Daniel immediately did so, going so far as to step a pace back from you.

“It’s Daniel.” He coughed awkwardly. Then added, “sir.”

Joel ignored him—or, at least, didn’t show any sign that he had heard his correction—and turned around.

“Time to go home, young lady.” Joel said lowly. He opened the front passenger door, and upon finding you in the same spot as you were standing before he had turned his back, continued with, “that wasn’t a suggestion.”

You mumbled a quick ‘goodbye’ to Daniel and hopped inside the truck.

“Good girl.” Joel sighed, closed the door with a bit too much force and walked around the front of the car. He spared a few seconds to glare at your friend before sliding into the driver’s seat.

Suddenly, the engine thrummed to life and the two of you were headed down quiet suburban streets in the late hours of the night, leaving what's-his-name in the dust.

The air had been thick with a tension neither of you could describe and was further blanketed by a heavy silence broken only by the hum of the engine, the faint skid of tyres against asphalt, and your own rapid heartbeat pounding insistently in your ears.

Not five minutes had passed before Joel spoke up.

“Who was he?” Joel asked casually, his eyes still focused on the dimly-lit road ahead.

You sank further into the cracked leather of the front passenger seat.

“A friend.” You shrugged, not looking over at him.

Joel hummed a non-committal noise as he carefully took a turn into a side street, the truck slowly crunching over loose gravel. His grip on the wheel remained firm, but his eyes flickered over to you.

“Your daddy let you out of the house like that?”

You huffed out a short laugh and looked down at your choice of partywear; a low-cut top and some tight-fitting jeans. Not necessarily the most vulgar apparel, in your humble opinion.

“No, actually, he called the cops on me for indecent exposure, but I managed to escape.” You spat out sarcastically.

Joel didn’t find your comment funny. Or rather, there was no indication on his unwavering poker face that he had found it funny. Or was experiencing any emotion at all other than slightly tired.

The two of you sank into yet another silence.

“I’m not a kid, Joel.” You said after a minute or two.

“Like hell, you ain’t.” Joel scoffed.

“I’m in college, I can dress how I like.”

“Is ‘how you like’ a prostitute?”

You turned to face him fully, your arms crossed and your brows furrowed.

“That’s both slightly misogynistic and completely off-base, don’t you think?” You snorted, then smiled smugly to yourself. “Plus. Admit it, you like it.”

That threw him off-guard.

For the first time that evening, Joel showed a sliver of emotion. His eyes widened slightly as he opened his mouth, quickly closing it, and then opening it again to say, “what the fuck are you going on about, kid?”

“You were definitely staring at my tits.”

Joel was even more taken aback. First, by your absolute gall, and second, by your accuracy. He may have snuck a peek at your cleavage, but in his head, it was very discreet. But, fuck, did they sit perfectly.

“You’re drunk.” Joel shook his head.

“You didn’t deny it.” Your smile grew. “But yes, I am a little tipsy. Not drunk, though.”

“I noticed.”

“Just say the word, Miller, and I’ll flash you the twins anytime you like.” You leaned over the control arm, your eyes travelling along his tensing frame.

“Fucking Christ.” Joel breathed. He kept his eyes fixed on the road but released a hand from the steering wheel to rub the lower half of his face.

This. This was why he didn’t want to do this favour for your father. You were already a handful while sober. And you had been a handful ever since you started college—making throwaway yet entirely flirtatious comments, pressing your tits against his chest a bit too much while you lingered after a hug, and wearing the tightest clothes known to man.

And now drunk? You were literally throwing yourself at him.

The worst part was that he couldn’t control his body’s reaction to you. In fact, his jeans felt a little tighter the closer you got.

Fuck, he was more than twice your age and here he was getting a hard-on—

Joel was suddenly violently snatched from his internal monologue when he felt your hand ghost over his lap.

“That’s ‘cause of me, isn’t it…? I can help with that.” You whispered, your tone almost pleading as your fingers gently traced over the front zipper of his jeans.

“Honey, sit back down.” Joel said slowly. His eyes remained intently glued onto the road.

Jesus Christ, he was fucked.

“Joel,” You practically whined.

Jesus Christ, he was so fucked.

“You’re drunk,” Joel said, more to himself than you as some sort of ill-justified dismissal.

“Tipsy.” You corrected helpfully, yet not retreating back to your seat. “But not really.”

Before he knew it, Joel was pulling up in front of your driveway, his grip on the steering wheel deathly tight.

Joel sighed. “You’re home.”

You glanced out the window disappointedly.

“No shit, Sherlock.” You replied.

Joel muttered something to himself under his breath and got out of the car, quickly appearing by your side and opening the door for you.

“C’mon, sweetheart.” He nodded toward your house.

You got to your feet indignantly and marched up to your porch. Joel followed after you, leaning against one of the support beams of your front awning as he watched you dig through your purse.

After a few moments of your struggle, Joel cleared his throat.

“What?”

“Can’t find my key.” You frowned.

“I’ll call your dad.”

“Not home. And won’t be, ‘till tomorrow morning. He’s in the city for some work emergency, remember?”

Joel ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair, visibly mulling something over, judging by the crease in his forehead.

“And you don’t got a spare key lying around somewhere? Under a flower pot or a welcome mat or shit like that?”

You shook your head.

If Joel were a better man, he’d have caught the glimmer of an ulterior motive dancing in your mischievous eyes. He would’ve brought up the spare key given to him for emergencies—this would’ve constituted as such. And he certainly wouldn’t have said what he had next.

“You can stay the night at mine.”

You blinked up at him, your hand frozen in the opening of your purse.

Joel straightened up, taking his weight off the support beam.

“Or you can sleep outside. Up to you.”

“I’ll take option number one.”

A few minutes and a trip across the road later, Joel had wriggled his key through the entrance lock and opened the door, inviting you inside.

Joel’s two-story craftsman was cosy and lived-in. The leather couch facing a moderately-sized flat-inch was slightly worn, the coffee table was cluttered with magazines and empty cans, and standing by its lonesome in a forgotten far corner of the living room was an acoustic guitar. More importantly, his house smelled like him; like warmth and vetiver and wood.

You had been a guest at his house on several occasions, but such instances had always been with the company of your dad.

That evening you found yourself free of his presence and, coincidentally, free of a conscience.

However fortunate your moral freedom was, it was only partially incited by your father’s absence. The four lukewarm cans of Lone Star you had chugged at the party may have had more of an influence on your risqué behaviour, because you sure as hell weren’t pushing Joel down on his leather sofa and straddling his lap with complete sobriety.

Joel let you take control, placing his big hands on your waist like they were always meant to be there while you moulded yourself against him, and met your lips with equal fervour when you smashed your mouth against his.

He sighed into the kiss and gripped your waist tighter as you slipped your tongue past his lips, ignoring the slight scruff of his greying stubble rubbing against your jaw.

But it was when you began slowly rocking your hips against the tenting figure in his jeans did he suddenly remember himself and wrench his face away from yours.

“Shit.” He panted, his pupils dilated and his chest heaving as he zeroed in on your kiss-swollen lips and your half-lidded, desperate eyes.

Why the fuck did he just do that? ‘That’ being the act of letting you kiss him, but he was just as equally angered with himself for stopping.

“We shouldn’t.” He shook his head, but his eyes were focused on your pretty, slightly parted lips.

“Why not?” You sighed, leaning closer.

Joel took your chin in his hand and held you at a safe distance.

“You know fucking well why.” Joel’s voice rumbled deep with frustration.

“Give me a reason.”

“I’ll give you three: you’re drunk, you’re barely eighteen, and your father is my best friend.”

You huffed out a noise of annoyance.

“I’m a little tipsy at worst, I’m twenty-one, thank you, and my father doesn’t have to know.”

Joel’s lip twitched. You were very persistent. He didn’t even know why he was arguing with you, he just knew he had to resist whatever fucking temptation this was.

“I’m old enough to be your father, too.” Joel frowned.

“But you’re not.”

“You should want someone your own age.”

“But I don’t.”

Joel inhaled through his teeth, subconsciously nearing your face once more. “This is so wrong.”

“Just once, Joel.” You pleaded, your eyes flooded with need.

“Fuck,” Joel shook his head, his brows furrowed as he once again lost himself in how pretty your lips looked; all puffy and raw. All because of him. “Honey–”

“Just this once.” You whined prettily.

At the sound, Joel unconsciously rocked up into you. Your hands immediately went to grab his shoulders to steady yourself; feeling a little lightheaded from the mere singular action.

Joel’s grip on your waist tightened.

“Fuck.” He said again, breathing slowly.

Being as old as he was, Joel never expected to relive the days of his brazen youth when his only major problem in life was cumming in his pants after a pretty girl had barely touched him.

His dark eyes finally met yours.

You held your breath.

“Just this once?” He said.

“Just this once.” You confirmed.

“You won’t … you won’t try anything again?” Joel’s eyes dropped back down to your mouth and his thumb gently traced your bottom lip. His other hand slipped from your waist to the bare small of your back from underneath your blouse.

You didn’t trust yourself to speak, but you shakily nodded your head.

Joel didn’t believe you.

But, fuck it, he captured your mouth in another hungry kiss anyway, closing his eyes and holdiing you against him.

He was definitely going to hell, but he would gladly do so just knowing he had felt heaven against his lips.

And, fuck, was that an unforgettable taste.

Joel gently trailed his chapped lips down your jaw, your neck, and lingered on your pulse point, all while one hand held you by your nape and the other against the skin of your lower back, idly caressing the base of your spine with his thumb.

Instead of the white-hot passion that had initially been the catalyst for this heated night, this moment was charged with an underlying tenderness. And all you could do was throw your head back and accept his tentative indulgence.

Though by the way Joel unintentionally bucked his growing bulge against your clothed mound as he peppered the crook of your neck with open-mouthed kisses, you could tell his delicacy was largely imbued by whatever ounce of restraint he inexplicably retained and was, by no means, a testament to his true nature.

He was holding back.

“Joel?” You whispered, carding your hand through his hair.

“Mmm?” He hummed into your skin, his eyes closed in bliss.

“I want…” You began, the words dying in your throat.

What did you want?

Well, his cock, definitely. More specifically, inside of you, but you’d cross that bridge when you came to it.

“Words, baby.” He pressed a final kiss onto your neck and pulled away the slightest distance to meet your gaze. His eyes were wrecked with lust; half-lidded and almost entirely swallowed by his dilated pupils. He softly took your face in the hand that was formerly resting against your nape. And when he spoke, his voice was low and rich with that sweeter-than-molasses Southern drawl. “Try that again. What do you want, honey?”

“You.”

“And you have me, don't you?” Joel said distractedly, his thumb lightly tracing your lower lip. His soft, umber eyes momentarily dipped down to your mouth as if he was debating on kissing you again.

And he was. Fuck, those lips of yours.

“No, I…” You breathed, your hand coming down in between your two bodies and palming his rock-hard erection through his denim. Joel hissed. “Can I suck you off?”

Joel’s eyes widened. You certainly held no room for subtlety.

“Fuck, honey.” He huffed. “Really know how to get to the point, don’t you?”

“Can I?”

Joel hummed.

“Can I be perfectly candid, sweetheart?”

“You have my blessing.” You arched a brow.

“If you so much as breathed on my dick right now, I think this night would come to a quick and rather … anticlimactic finish.” Joel sighed, breaking into a small smile. In true dad fashion, he then added, “pun not intended.”

You granted him the reward of a snicker for his antics. Then, you leaned close to his ear, letting your breath tickle his skin.

“If I had known that all I’d get from you was a dry-humping makeout sesh, I’d have stuck with Daniel.” You sighed, as casually as you could.

Without even looking at him, you saw the jealousy morph onto his aged face.

“Get on your fucking back.” He said, his voice measured, yet somehow equally unhinged.

You stilled, not expecting that much of a reaction from him.

“I said,” Joel met your gaze, his eyes holding a dangerous promise. “Get on your fucking back, young lady.”

And that was how you found yourself lying against the arm of a sofa older than the Great Depression with your jeans discarded in a wrinkled pile somewhere and your legs spread around the owner of said ancient sofa.

Joel crouched down in front of you, with one of your legs perched on his shoulder. He pushed your shirt up past your belly button and kissed a path down to the waistband of your panties.

His hand slid up your knee, then your thigh, and then stopped right against a particularly damp spot in your underwear.

“This for me or Daniel?” Joel hummed against your lower stomach, his stare flickering up to your face.

You bit your lower lip.

“You.” You said softly.

And then Joel lowered his head and kissed the patch of arousal. And then he kissed it again and again, basically frenching your cunt through your underwear. You could feel the pressure of his tongue against your swollen clit, sliding, only by a small margin as restricted by your godforsaken panties, in between your folds—

“Say that again for me, honey? Didn’t quite hear you.”

“Fuck–” You gasped at the feeling. “You, Joel!”

“That’s what I thought.”

To your displeasure, Joel stopped whatever the fuck he was doing and his eyes found yours once more.

“Need me to eat your pussy now, sweetie?”

Yes, fucking please.

You might’ve said that out loud, judging from the pleased chuckle Joel let out.

Before you knew it, Joel slid your panties off your legs (pocketing them secretly—only to wash them on your behalf, of course, nothing dirty at all on his part) and then consequently salivated at the sight of your bare cunt.

Fucking gorgeous.

“Oh, honey.” Joel sighed, barely hiding his eagerness.

“It hurts…!” You breathed, your eyes flickering down to your pulsating core; dripping wet and throbbing in anticipation of him.

“Aw, it hurts, does it? I’ll kiss it better, hm? Is that what my pretty girl wants?” Joel cooed in a falsely-sweet tone.

He then held you still by the firm grip on your waist and leaned down right in front of your slick seam.

Joel tutted as he took in your desperate scent.

“So wet for me.” He mumbled, more to himself than you.

Without warning, much less another word, Joel dipped his head down to plant a kiss directly on your swollen clit, lapping at the swelling bud.

You gasped and a hand flung down to grasp his salt-and-pepper curls.

Joel smiled against your cunt and moved further down, his tongue lazily sliding through your folds and flicking inside your velvety walls.

In response, your grip on his hair tightened and you whispered something close to his name. Or God’s. Or anyone’s, really, you were teetering on the edge of unconsciousness from the sheer intensity of the situation, you could’ve been reciting the Pledge of Allegiance, for all you knew.

“Mmm... fuck, you taste good, baby.” He mumbled against your heat.

Suddenly, Joel pulled away with a wet ‘pop’ and his eyes met yours. Upon seeing your lust-blown face, he smiled through his scruff—a slight shine evident around his mouth from your slick.

“Good?” Joel mused, his thumbs tracing gentle circles on your hips.

You nodded deliriously and pulled him back up by the collar of his shirt—why the fuck was he still fully dressed—to taste yourself on him.

His lips moved hungrily against yours as he licked into your mouth. You were so consumed in the kiss, you barely noticed the sound of his belt unbuckling or his zipper sliding down.

It wasn’t until you felt the tip of his cock nudge against your seam that you noticed you were, very possibly, actually going to fuck your dad’s best friend.

Or rather, he’d fuck you. As long as you were fucked, you were fucking happy.

Your eyes flickered down to his length.

“Shit.” You gasped.

You always knew Joel to be a big guy; from his broad shoulders to his massive hands—no doubt incredibly useful in his line of work as a contractor. But seeing his fucking cock? You were still somehow surprised.

“Joel, I…” You blinked. “You’re so…”

Big. He was so big.

“Oh, c’mon baby, I know you can take it,” Joel said against your lips, his breath warm against your skin. “We’ll go slow at first. That sound good?”

You nodded.

In hindsight, he should’ve worked you with his fingers first. That would’ve been the first thing he’d done after tasting your delicious fucking pussy, but he got lost in how good you felt against his mouth, he was too excited to feel how you’d stretch around him.

“That’s my good girl.” Joel hummed, satisfied. “I’ve got condoms upstairs, if–”

“I have an IUD.”

The four little magic words which really meant, please Joel, fuck me raw.

Being ever the gentleman, Joel planned on doing exactly that.

“Then eyes down, sweetheart. Want you to watch how I fuck you.”

Obediently, your eyes dragged down to the sinful sight of Joel taking his cock and slapping it a few times on your pussy, before just barely sliding inside. His weeping tip easily disappeared inside you, along with an inch or two, aided by the arousal coating your entrance.

He wasn’t even halfway in, but the thickness of his cock was unlike any other you’ve felt before. And, possibly, too much for you to take.

“Too big.” You whined.

Above you, a wicked smile grew on Joel’s face.

“Too big? D’you just say it’s too big? Well, tough luck, sweetheart, ‘cause I ain’t stoppin’.”

Joel continued to push forward, thrusting shallowly in, retreating, and then feeding you a little more of his length at a relaxed pace.

“My good girl can take it, can’t she?” He murmured, kissing the corner of your mouth. He mumbled indifferently in between tasting your sweet skin, “after all, you were the one begging me so sweetly to fuck you a little while ago. Would be a damn shame if you couldn’t follow through with your own request…”

“I can.” You affirmed, squeezing your eyes shut from the overbearing sensation of being filled by him.

“Attagirl.”

And then, to test your claim, Joel finally buried himself all the way to the hilt, his balls slapping obscenely against your ass from the movement.

“Daddy–!” You gasped, your nails digging into his back.

Joel’s lip quirked upward in a small, amused smile.

“‘Daddy’, huh? Should’ve figured.” He tutted, gently caressing your cheek with his thumb. “You want daddy to stop?”

“N-No!”

“Then take it—” Joel thrust into you, his tip deliciously kissing your cervix. “—like a good girl.”

And then he began a steady pace. Not too slow, but fuck, did he hit deep.

You could’ve sworn you were seeing little cartoon stars dancing around your vision from the plane of pleasure you found yourself on; otherwise known as being dicked down by Joel Miller, apparently.

“Fuck, you’re tight.” Joel winced, his hips stuttering.

He really should’ve stretched you out with his fingers first, but there was no way in fucking hell he was going to pull out now. Not with how perfectly your cunt was wrapping and crying around him.

In fact, you felt so good, Joel was starting to feel a familiar sensation in his lower stomach that alerted him of how close he was to prematurely spilling inside you. Turns out, his unintentional celibacy (circa the fucking creation of MySpace) had a bigger impact on him than he would’ve liked.

“Yeah? Do I feel good, daddy?”

Fuck.

Joel’s dick twitched.

If this really was going to happen ‘just once’, Joel was damned set on, firstly, fucking your brains out without coming early, and secondly, making you reach your end before he reached his. Ladies and gentlemen, chivalry was alive and well in the twenty-first century.

Thinking intently about the starting lineup for the Cowboys game that Sunday, Joel began to pick up the pace, reaching places you’ve never been aware of until that precise moment.

Mesmerised by both the slight outline of his dick in your stomach and the sheer sensation of his heavy length, you took it upon yourself to encourage a quicker speed and moved your hips in time with him.

“Mmm,” Joel inhaled sharply, locking eyes with you. “Look at you, prettly little slut. Tryna fuck me back too, huh?”

Your walls clenched around him at his words. Mean as they were, his tone was still as sweet as honey.

“‘S okay. You take what you need, babygirl.” Joel dipped his head down to suck at your pulse point as he continued sawing into your drooling cunt.

“Need more. Please.” You all but whimpered.

“My baby needs more, hm?” Joel muttered against your neck, nipping at a freshly-made hickey. You yelped in response, but Joel only grinned as he muttered to himself, “she’ll get more. Filthy fucking whore.”

And then Joel sped up his thrusts, going in and out, in and out, at a brutal pace. Salacious, wet sounds filled his living room every time he shoved his fat cock inside you. That, combined with the unabashed moans spilling from your mouth, made the whole affair seem borderline pornographic.

Not that Joel was complaining, because you sounded pretty as a peach.

“Joel!”

“Fuck, that’s it, Joel!”

“Oh, Joel, you’re fucking me so well!”

Your moans came in tandem with every stab of his cock, blabbering desperate words of praise as your walls fluttered around him.

Joel sucked in a breath.

“Yeah, that’s it, baby, scream for me. Let the neighbours hear who’s fucking you so well, hm?” Joel lazily kissed your jaw. “You close, pretty girl?”

Unable to sound anything other than nonsensical syllables or his name or ‘daddy’ upon nearing your climax, you simply shook your head in an eager nod.

So Joel kept on mentally listing the fifty states to keep from joining you, and maintained his rapid pace.

“Go on, sweet girl, come on my cock. Let go, honey, I’ll catch you. ‘M right here.” Joel murmured sweetly, caressing your flushed cheeks. A total juxtaposition to the ruthless pace his hips were setting.

In and out. In and out.

In. And. Out.

And then his hand trailed down your bare stomach, lightly spidering over the faint outline of his dick jutting in and out of you, and settling on your very sensitive swollen bundle of nerves. His hand then began generously swiping at your clit as whispered sweet words of praise into your ear.

You clutched his bicep with an iron grip as you felt your high approach.

“Joel, I’m…!”

“Yeah, come on daddy’s cock. You’re so close, baby, just let go.”

And so you did. With a scream that reached God in the high heavens above, your walls clenched around him and you were nearly knocked out from the overbearing sensation of your intense orgasm.

Joel fucked you through it, unrelenting in his devoted momentum, his tip finding your cervix with every other thrust. And he continued fucking you through it, even after the last waves of your high, letting out low groans of pleasure.

When he saw your eyes refocusing, he slowed down for a moment, as reciting the ABC’s backwards was hardly working to calm his hard length.

“Don’t stop…” You mumbled, a bit sadly.

“Baby, I got no plans of stopping anytime soon, don’t you worry.”

And to prove his point, Joel kissed your right ankle and hitched your other leg over his shoulder, practically splitting you in half as he reached deeper inside you.

If he was gonna come, so were you. If the last thing he’d get to do on this godforsaken planet was send the pretty girl bent in half underneath him into two soul-shattering orgasms, he’d die a satisfied man.

Did he also want to show off and possibly ruin you for all men? Maybe.

Fuck, yes, he did.

He wanted you to be fucking addicted to the way his cock stretched your velvety walls, because he sure as hell was.

Screw the ‘just this once’ bullshit. He was gonna fuck you every damn night from now on, if you’d let him.

“Feels so good, Joel…” You whined pathetically.

Joel hummed in a self-satisfied sort of way and began pushing up your shirt to reveal your bouncing tits and leaned down to take a pebbled nipple in his mouth, licking and sucking at the nub, and nipping at the surrounding sensitive skin.

“Oh!” You gasped, jerking your head back.

Joel took it as a sign to continue, showing the exact same attention to your other nipple and maintaining his deep and rapid thrusts, causing the springs of the couch to whine in protest with every jut of his hips.

You let out a strangled moan.

“Joel—! Joel, it’s so…!” You panted, tears collecting in your eyes from the overstimulation.

“Shh, it’s okay. Almost there. Almost there, baby.” Joel tutted, gently swiping away your tears with his thumb as he continued to fuck you like he was an interior designer from the way he strived to rearrange your guts. “You gonna be good and come around daddy’s cock a second time?”

Your walls tightened in response and you let out a breathy whimper.

“Good girl.” He smashed his mouth against yours and swallowed your moans, his lips moving in time with his hips. “Where do you want me to…?” He mumbled against your lips, his breath mingling with your own.

“Inside.”

“Fuck, babygirl, you sure?”

“Miller, I said, inside.” You made a point to fuck yourself onto him with deep movements of your hips, displaying your intent.

“Yes ma’am.” Joel smirked, absolutely fucking pussydrunk.

With that, Joel caught your lips in another searingly intense kiss, licking into your mouth as his thrusts continued to ram into your cervix while you held onto the couch for dear life.

And if that wasn’t enough sweet torture to your poor body, Joel moved one hand above you, gently laced his fingers with yours, and brought it back down to lay flat against your clit.

“Play with that pretty pussy, baby.” He whispered against your skin, his hand moving yours encouragingly. “Need you to give me another.”

With a shaky nod, you acquiesced, toying with your clit like you had a million nights before.

Except this time, instead of imagining it, you really had Joel fucking Miller in between your legs, sawing into your cunt like he wanted to break it.

“That’s my good girl,” Joel’s mouth twitched into a slightly proud smile against your skin.

It took Joel half a dozen more stabs into your slick mound before his hips began to stutter.

And then it took three more before he buried himself completely inside, and, with a gasp of your name accompanied by an appropriate expletive, painted your walls with hot ropes of his come.

“Fuck, daddy!” You moaned, your back arching off the sofa.

At the same time, for the second time that night, no less, you felt yourself reach another mind-blowing orgasm, your walls greedily sucking him in further and shaking around his thick length.

He continued to fuck his come into you with a few more slow, but deliciously deep rolls of his hips, before he stilled inside you and fell on top of your heaving chest, letting your legs fall back onto the beaten old couch, too.

It took a few moments for both of you to steady your breaths.

“Was that … okay?” Joel breathed, staring at you with furrowed brows, and gently tucking a stray strand of your hair behind your ear.

“I think I blacked out for a second there.” You smiled.

Joel laughed and kissed the corner of your mouth. Smug as ever, he muttered, “I take tips.”

“That’s funny, since I just took yours.”

You almost felt Joel roll his eyes.

Joel slowly sat up, gazing down upon the absolute fucking mess the two of you made; both your arousals leaking out of your mound and coating your thighs in a light sheen.

Tenderly, he began to pull out, wincing from both the feeling of leaving your warmth as well as the sight of your come and his collecting around his cock in a shiny ring.

“Sit tight, baby, I’ll get you something to clean you up.” Joel pressed a kiss to your collarbone, tucked himself haphazardly back in his jeans, and disappeared off into another room.

If he had stayed a second longer, you would’ve said something that testified to how hard he had fucked you, since you weren’t sure you could move anyway.

Joel returned a minute or two later with a damp towel and began to softly wipe away the remnants of your dalliance, delicately caressing your hip with his other hand.

“What a gentleman.” You purred, watching him with a stupid grin on your fucked-out face.

Joel threw the towel aside.

“You think so, sweetheart?” He hummed, leaning down to give you a quick, affectionate kiss.

“Never had this level of aftercare.” You admitted, laughing slightly.

Joel gently manoeuvered the two of you so you laid on your sides facing each other on his surprisingly roomy sofa.

“Still regret not goin’ with that Daniel boy?” He smirked, taking your chin in between his fingers and tilting your face toward his.

You swung your bare leg over his hip and pulled him closer. “Not at all.”

“‘S what I thought.” Joel hummed happily, bumping his nose against yours.

“And … y’know what I said about this being a one-time thing?”

“Mhm?”

“We’re definitely doing this more than once.”

“Thank fucking God.”

[ilovethanosdick]

Choi Su-bong/Thanos (Squid Game) x fem! reader HCS

IM OBSESSED WITH THIS MAN!!!!!

also first ever post?! it’s a little short, but hope ya enjoy!!

SFW:

• he ADORES physical touch

• touching u at every chance he gets, like even simple hand holding, leaning against u

• HE LOVES IT ESPECIALLY WHEN IT COMES FROM U!!

• casually grabs u by ur ass in public, or give u a lil slap. when u confront him about it, he acts like he dont know what are u talking about, then giggle

• using ur breast like fidget toy, when he’s stressed

• squeezing it, when he feels like it

• shoving his head between ur boobs, bro can stay like that for a good 10 minutes until he calms down

• if u ask him if he would still love u as a worm, he would tell u that he’s not a zoophile

• pet names!! baby, babe, princess are his favs!

• he’s not so good with commitment and stuff like that, would prefer an open relationship (one sided tho, he's so possesive of u)

• have huge jealousy issues when it comes to u

• a male species near u??? he goes into rage mode, getting aggressively touchy to claim u! show everyone that u are his!!

• would apologise to u with rap songs

“Y/N” he screamed outside your house. throwing rocks at the window to wake u up.

“what the fuck…” u muttered to yourself, as u walked over to the window to check what this idiot come up with this time.

as soon as he saw your face, he screamed again, his hands clutching onto his chest “SEÑORITA!!! I WANT TO APOLOGISE TO U!”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!! U DO REALISE THAT ITS 3 AM RIGHT NOW???” u screamed back at him, slightly leaning forward through window.

“I LOVE U!!!!!” he get on his knees.

“ARE U HIGH?????” u asked, clearly pissed at his presence.

“HI!!!!!” he said as he waved his hands to u, enthusiastically with a goofy grin.

even after this response, u can’t tell if he’s high. that’s pretty much how he’s acting regardless if he’s on drugs or not.

he turn on boombox, a cliche beat hit your ears. he stands up and cleared his throat.

“Yo, I messed up, I admit it, I’m a clown,

Flirting like a fool when you weren’t around.

But I swear, it was harmless, just a slip of the tongue,

Now I’m here confessing where I went wrong.

I told her, "Hey, nice shoes," and that’s all I meant,

But now I’m in the doghouse, paying the rent.

Baby, you’re the star, the queen of my heart,

And that other conversation? A throwaway part.

She laughed at my joke, yeah, I felt kinda cool,

But now I see, I was the class clown fool.

I’d never trade you for some silly chat,

You’re the boss, the CEO, I’m just the doormat.

I’ll buy you flowers, write your name in the sky,

Sing off-key if it’ll dry your eyes.

I’ll even quit drugs if you need me to,

Just don’t leave me hangin’, I’m a mess without you.

So baby, I’m here, on my knees with this beat,

Admitting my crimes, can’t handle defeat.

Let’s laugh this off, put it in the past,

‘Cause you and me, girl, we’re built to last.”

he end up the song showing a small heart formed with his thumb and index finger.

u sighed “all right, come inside”

“YAYY!!!” he did a happy jump and clapped his feet in midair.

• tbh he’s so silly

• steals flowers from a random garden for u

• night visits, but uses a window instead of a door to enter ur place, literally like some kind of teenager

• even if u gave him the keys to ur apartment, he will use the window no matter what

it was dark outside, about 11 pm. u were coming back from work. damn how exhausted u felt. some arguments with clients, boss yelling at u. it was not ur best day for sure.

u checked ur phone. still no text from Thanos. why he was ghosting u? probably he don’t want to deal with ur complains about how bad ur day went.

u opened the apartment door. u don't give a damn about anything. you plan to go to bed right away, you don't have the strength to change your clothes, wash yourself or eat something.

you threw everything aside and went to the bedroom. when you turn on the light in the room, you see your boyfriend lying on his side, resting his head on his hand, rose in his teeth.

“U WANT TO GIVE ME A HEART ATTACK???” u flinched. u can’t get used to Thanos randomly spawning in ur house.

“and i missed u too, princess” he grinned, standing up and then theatrically hand over the rose to u.

“i brought ur fav burgers and lotta beer” he said, pointing out at ur kitchen.

“thanks” u smiled softly at him. u can’t help but melt inside at his behaviour. he’a an asshole, but what a cute asshole.

“no problem, babe” he leaned to u, giving u a tight hug. burying his face in the crook of ur neck.

• avoids deep emotional conversation

• would tell that he loves u, but he don’t put much weight into that

• he’s saying it casually like it’s common sense that he loves u

• painting each others nails!!!!

NSFW:

• pansexual king, but he wouldn’t label himself

• he don’t care about gender, he fucks who he consider as cute and that’s it!!

• when u ride him, he would comment something like: WROOM WROOM!! or YEEHAW!!!

• A TOTAL FREAK….

• piss kink (y’all can’t prove me wrong)

• HE LIKES IT DIRTY!!!!

• public sex

• like fingering u in a club or on a party, sometimes anal when he's high

• claiming u like that in front of other people?? IT TURNS HIM ON SO BADD

• never a sub, it would hurt his ego

• bro don’t know what gentle sex is

• always rough and aggressive

• smokes weed/cigarettes during sex, blowing smoke in your face

• talking about himself in third person "yeah, babe. the great Thanos will make u feel so good”

“u like that slut? u like Thanos’s dick that much??”

• he’s not into after care. usually he just rolls down on bed, doesn't even bother putting on clothes, hug u tightly and fall asleep like that

[cybrasigilism]

Hi!! I’ve been reading a few of your works and I love your writing sm!! I’ve never done a request to a writer before, so I hope I’m not too vague or ambiguous (but I’m thinking what I’m about to ask could be TOO specific 💀), but I wanted to request an NSFW writing of Choi Su-Bong (Thanos) as a sub (and if you can, could you add a thing or two about edging him and/or overstimming him?). Personally, I’d preferably have them written as headcanons BUT whatever works best for you is most important, so I won’t mind whatever you decide to do :)

And if you’re uncomfortable with the request, ofc feel free to ignore! I appreciate it in advance if you do decide to write it, and I do hope you have a lovely day ❤️❤️

you won’t ever catch me turning down a thanos request, not while i live and breathe 😈🙏

TYSM FOR YOUR KIND WORDS BTW!! hopefully i did your vision justice :>

Submissive Headcanons! (Thanos/Choi Su-Bong/Player 230)

warning: smut and all things of the like (if you’re not used to seeing this warning on my page idk what to tell you) | not proofread | lowercase intended | sub!thanos | overstimulation | edging | begging | mommy kink if you squint | these are my headcanons for this character, please be respectful even if my opinions on the character differ from your own

character: thanos/choi su-bong (player 230)

A/N: we as a squid game society need more sub!thanos content, i’m happy to contribute my fair share. idk if this is ooc or not, because honestly i can see this guy being a total switch, but do with that what you will! enjoy :3 (lowkey running out of gifs for these stinkabutts) PS this may not be a read for you if mommy kink stuff makes you uncomfortable! i have many other thanos works that don’t contain that bc i know its not everyone’s cup of tea, i just thought it fit for these specific headcanons

MDNI! 18+ content under the cut, readers discretion is advised

  ———‿‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿‿———

➤ thanos did not strike you as the submissive type, the absolute 180 that his personality made from the public eye to the bedroom was so drastic you could have gotten whiplash

➤ he will for sure be on his knees for you, both literally and figuratively. this man will do anything you ask of him, just as long as it means he gets to please you.

➤ he’s definitely the type to beg. he’ll give you the puppy dog eyes and go the whole nine yards if you agree to let him between your legs

➤ makes the most whorish sounds when you fuck him, especially when you praise him, even if its the smallest thing. even if you say something as simple as “right there, fuck yeah” he’ll be all over that shit, thanking you for letting him please you like that

➤ speaking of his moans, he gets quite high pitched when you guys get into it. i’m not talking anything crazy, just a lot higher than what you could have been expecting.

➤ some of the things you may expect thanos to say while you guys fuck can include:

“oh god, please keep fucking my cock, just like that”

“am i making you feel good, mommy? yeah?”

will straight up just call you mommy through his whimpers and whines if he’s too far gone

➤ goes crazy when you give him hickeys or bite his neck at any point that you can, whether it be before you guys have even stripped, as your jerking him off or while your actively grinding on his dick, he can’t get enough of it

➤ cries during rough sex, no further questions

➤ needs you to be touching him at all points of the sexual journey, loves when you rest your hands on his shoulders/chest as you ride him

➤ likes getting whipped THAT DAMN WIND AGAIN—

➤ goes ballistic when you pull his hair, the slutty sounds really show up then

➤ acts like he doesn’t like being edged, but he’s a sucker for it.

“fuck please…mommy just let me cum, oh fuck”

“i’ll do anything, i just need it so bad, i wan’ it p-lease”

➤ loves when you restrain him, it can be with anything. handcuffs, rope, your own two hands, ANYTHING

➤ choke him when he’s close, better yet, choke him while you edge him.

➤ he will cry when being overstimulated (trust you guys have a safeword set in place for overstimulating, as can be said for any other experimenting)

➤ loves physical touch during aftercare, it doesn’t have to be straight up cuddling, but just you touching/caressing him in any way at all

———‿‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿‿———

thanks so much for reading! as per usual, any advice/constructive criticism on how i can improve my writing is appreciated and requested!

have a fantastic night/day lovelies 💌

tags: @gongyoosgf @kvstjwonnie @pink-apples001 @fiicalapsiholoaga

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

You're my favorite writer, and König is my favorite aussie man, so OF COURSE im making you write for him, hal, BEAR W ME !

Alright, what do you think about König with the “You’re here late.” prompt? The reader is part of KorTac and always worked alongside König, since they both entered about the same time, because of the readers personality, they are always fighting, one of these fights are specifically bad, leading the reader to go on a mission with another KorTac member, to help out somewhere else and take their mind off things, when the reader face a problem on the mission and ends up arriving late, König is furious.

Moths Hit the Window

PAIRING: König x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Fights with König were always loud, but this time his comments went a bit too far.

WORD COUNT: 5.9k

WARNINGS: Verbal fighting, angst, high tension, blood & stitches, wounds, canon typical violence, guns/weapons, death, suggestive near the end, fluff, hurt/comfort, etc.

A/N: Huge thanks to @idocarealot for the German translations!! Also, König's wearing the arachnid skin in this because I love it sm - enjoy, Anon!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You seethe. If eyes could turn red yous would be a beautiful shade of crimson—bloody knives ripping out of the cornea to strike whoever happened to get too close. It was as if the very air boiled with the force of a raging tsunami as you stomped down the local military base’s hallways, covered in blood and guts. Never had you reconsidered working for KorTac more than at this very moment. 

Maybe I should just become a mercenary, you rip at the torn-apart gloves over your hands and jerk your arm out. Passerbyers quickly avert their eyes as you shove them into a garbage can and continue on with a growl. No shitty rules, no regulations—no fucking partners.

If people happened to slide past without noticing the steam coming out of your ears, they would have immediately locked eyes on the pure elephant of a man trailing fast behind. König’s eyes were goring into the back of your neck, gray and tan garb swaying as the packs and flash grenades on his combat vest bounced with every step. Accents of red do nothing in comparison to his visible flesh—the section of his eyes uncovered by his mask and head rig alight around his obsidian gaze. 

 König was muttering to himself far under his breath, curses and harsh comments all in German that he wouldn’t say to your face. At least not right now in view of others. 

“I can hear you, you dimwit,” you hiss over your shoulder, grinding your teeth as you both make your way to the armory, “curse me out quieter!” 

“You are making a scene!” The beast grunts, that heavily accented English striking your eardrums with its harsh dialect. 

“Oh, jeez!” You raise your voice even higher, turning back forward and clenching your hands into fists as blood and guts drip off your gear—none of it yours. “I’m just so damn embarrassed, König! I’m making such a large and obnoxious display. Whatever will I do?!” Sarcasm like a valuable drug is injected into the waves of your voice. People from open doorways look out with shock, brows pulled up. 

Everyone quickly darts back away when you snap your head in their direction and send them a scathing glare.

No one was surprised to find you and the Austrian going at it again but knew well enough to stay out of the crossfire. Lest someone get roped into it.

“Fuck off!” You spit the last curse into the burning air and shove past a soldier ahead of you.

König’s dark eyes flash dangerously, lips under his mask twisting into a sneer. The man’s shoulders seem to dig in even farther, spine curling over as if a brooding child. 

This had all started the second you’d joined up with KorTac. Fresh out of the military and eager to get back into the game after a good vacation the PMC group had been at the top of your list. But if you’d known you’d be paired up with this damn mountain every chance there was just because he’d got into the game at nearly the same time as you, you’d have put in your luck with SpecGru. 

“I do not see how this is appropriate behavior,” König follows as you place your palms on the black metal of the armory door, pressing with your shoulders. “I did what I was tasked to do—”

The masked man is cut off as you whirl on your heels, the door slamming shut as his body is shoved into it with strong arms. Dark eyes go wide in surprise, feeling the dig of your nails on his abdomen as your form presses into him and the chill of the door on his spine. You feel his skin bunch under his thick shirt and even if you want to stare him down that’s just not an option. Your warm figures shuffle together with panting breaths and dangerous glints in your eyes. 

“Bull,” you drag out the word, growling it right up into his neck; sniper hood caressing your chin. König’s breath hitches with shakes of swirling emotions. “Shit.”

Shoving once more so he gets the point, you push off of him and stalk away like a feral wolf, already unclipping grenades and medical packs from your vest. 

“You’re the damn reason the target got away!” Gear is thrown haphazardly to the long table in the center of the room. The Austrian watches with predatory eyes, hands clenched so hard that they quiver. He stays still, watching, as you send scathing glances. “The reason we’re going to be here for ten times longer than we’re supposed to be!” 

“It is not my fault you failed to properly check the perimeter before you rushed in like a fool.” Volatile couldn’t be used to describe this…this was nothing short of volcanic. It was as if there were two sides of a scale filled with bullets and gunpowder—fire in the middle that was equally heating both piles as they raised and lowered erratically. König’s voice grates over the air, “I did what I could to fix your scheiße plan!”

“Don’t you shit on my plan!” You point, voice bouncing off the weapon racks as you rip the rifle strap from over your chest, chucking it away. 

“I will shit on it—it was…it was…!”  König’s voice cuts out and he can’t find the words. The Austrian descends into visceral German ramblings. “Es war so ziemlich der schlechteste Plan, den ich je gehört hab. Welcher halbwegs vernünftige Mensch geht in eine heiße Zone ohne vorher alle Zielobjekte richtig zu markieren?! Ich kann dich und deine Rücksichtslosigkeit nicht mehr leiden — du bringst mich um meinen Verstand! Hast du überhaupt ein Gehirn in deinem Schädel?”

You shake your head to yourself, heart pounding. “You’re still the one that was supposed to focus on the HVT. I rushed so he would flush out, but, no,” taking out the magazine of the rifle you hold it in your hands like an accusatory ruler that a teacher would hold. König shoves off the door and stands to his full height; arms tensed and straining before they coil around his chest in a soothing gesture. 

He hated the fighting—the constant strain between the two of you. But when you were together it could never amount to anything else. The room felt like it was a million degrees.

Your eyes stab at him, “No! You had to go and focus on me! I hate to break this to you,  König,” feet come forward and you once again find yourself close to him—breathing the same air and taking in the scent of gunpowder and blood. You point the tip of the magazine into his chest. His unseen lips pull; jaw clenching with held-back fire. “But I am not your damn mutt to keep on a leash. I had it under control.”

It’s as if you don’t realize the Austrian could snap you in half with a single kick of his leg, as if the sheer size of König had slipped your mind as a whole. His hands could snap your neck in an instant, but that was only if he got ahold of you. 

But that was a line the both of you were never planning to cross. Words were one thing in this profession, actions another. If you ever got into a physical fight, you’d both kill each other, no doubt. 

You’d like to think you’re a bit above that, but perhaps not.

König’s chest rises and falls deeply, taking in calming breaths as he tries to get his temper under control. “You didn’t,” he jeers out, “I saved your life, you Heißluftgebläse. And if you wanted to be treated less than a dog,” he grunts to you, head pulling down close to your face, harshly whispering out, “You could have simply asked me, yes?”

You both snarl at each other's throats like rabid animals, the world disappearing all around the obsidian eyes that match with yours; for a moment you get lost in the shining bits of silver in his iris that seem to burn with chilled iron. What little skin you can see is flushed and tight—hawk nose nearly poking out your eye as you’re leaned over like a giraffe near a bush.

Body vibrating, you sharply breathe, “I’m not even going to ask what that fucking means, you tool.”

“Good.” The words are bitten and fast, “because I am not telling you.”

“Great!”

“Perfekt!” You both were arguing like children. Hot faces and unwilling to let the other have the last word. If you got along it might have been funny. 

“I’m going to dump all of your Einspänner out on the tarmac.” Your sure voice echoes with a definitive promise to the tone. 

Pale lids widen in horror at the threat to the Austrian's favorite beverage, comfortably sitting in the Base’s fridge. 

“You would not,” König’s tone is deathly serious and you smirk, eyes dancing. “You…” a guttural growl meets the air, mind translating words and giving meanings, “beast of a woman!”

“Oh, is that the best you can fucking do?!” You yell, splaying your hands out widely and moving away from him. “Now that’s really a show stopper, König, I’m shaking in my damn boots.” 

“Ich komm mit dir nicht mehr klar.” König yells, moving back and placing both of his hands atop his head, knuckles white. “You’re rude—you do not even try to get along. You are loud and disrespectful; how do you live like this?!”

Your eyes slightly widen, watching the Austrian.

“Don’t try?” You echo, scoffing loudly. “What do you mean don’t try? I was the one to try and smooth things out between us in the beginning.”

“When?!” König spreads his hands out, knees slightly bent. “Because I have no recollection of such events.”

“Well of course you wouldn’t!” The heat was meeting a breaking point—words were getting more personal, sharper. Like a blade being honed for the kill slowly; being sharpened by rocks and whetstones of conviction. 

König points a finger at you, voice going low and thin, “I’ve had enough of you, yes?” His sniper hood moves rapidly with his fast ricochets of breath. “Just about enough. Would you have wanted me to let you die?”

“I had it,” your lips spit, nose scrunched, and forehead tight. The man’s chest vibrates with a mute growl. 

In all actuality, you’d never seen him this worked up before. König wasn’t above giving your quips back even if he obviously disliked it—most of that was due to the strange familiarity between the two of you. In large crowds, the man preferred to stay silent. This only added to his almost deadly aura with others, though you knew the muteness was because of social anxiety and not some built silence. He wasn’t shy per se, just afraid he’d say something wrong; mess up the conversation. You did most of the talking in meetings and you never minded it. Added him in when the topic was something he knew a lot about.

Your mind had addled it up to thinking it was cute, actually. How his feet would shuffle; his half-lidded gaze and his intense eye contact to let them know he was still listening. When he’d have to remind himself to look away with a pinch to his thigh because it was starting to seem threatening. It was endearing, even.

But around people König knew, well, he was going to speak his mind. No matter how long it takes his brain to catch up with his lips.

The only thing the two of you were good at was being moths—hitting the metaphorical window over and over on the same topics and tension points. Slamming heads and flapping wings. You were at the end of your rope just as he was.

“I should have never taken you as a partner!” He calls, feet splayed. “Should have gotten out of this the second you were assigned with me. Gott, ich hab wirklich versucht, dich zu verstehen — Ich hätte gleich aufgeben sollen.” Your lips thin, lungs stalling as all the air vacates the room. You stand still and listen to what he really thinks, fingers shaking.

König’s large form towers over all, great sparks of electricity flying out. His gear shakes as he moves, thigh straps pushing fabric to shift and conform to his body. Your blood pumps with brewing hesitance. 

Maybe this had gone too far. I’ve never seen him like this.

“I can’t stand you any longer! Pathetic squabbles that mean nothing, absolutely ludicrous plans that make little headway.” Your head bursts with aggression and what little warning signs you have are squashed. “I can’t keep saving you because you can’t do your job correctly!”

“You don’t have to save me at all!” You scream. “You can’t keep your damn eyes off of me for five seconds, König.” Feet move away quickly from the armory door as if someone had come to put away their stuff but thought better of it. The next words burst from you before you can think of the contents. “It’s like you fucking love me or something!”

König doesn’t miss a beat, but for months afterward, he wishes he had.

“Oh, do not make me laugh—” he scoffs ferally, adrenaline making him talk, “as if anyone could ever love a woman like you in the first place.” 

Twin eyes widen and both parties immediately fall silent. A sharp inhale.

Too far.

Under the hood, König’s face goes an embarrassing shade of red all the way down to his chest. Fingers freeze. Jaw slackens.

You feel like your heart was just grasped in his grip and ripped out of your ribs with one violent motion—one sentence out of all the others enough to knock down the rebuttal that had formed on the tip of your tongue. Your throat closes up as you blink in shock.

“I-I…” König stutters, mind blanking as he struggles for words. But anger was easier than pain.

Numb fingers rip off the last of your weapons and belongings as you let them hit the floor with defining thuds as warm shame floods your cheeks. Shaky puffs of breath like a panting dog. Dark eyes watch with regretful panic, heart jumping and eyes flinching. The adrenaline it…it made him forget himself on occasion—how to properly act when not on the battlefield. It was like that with everyone but…but he hadn’t meant that.

Shame that it’s already too late.

Your fisted hand slams into his chest, brutal and unforgiving. König lets off a grunt but does nothing as you slither past, hissing into his ear, “Find yourself a new punching bag.”

His hand snaps to his breast where you had slammed your KorTac patch right into his heart, catching it. It’s many moments before he can think enough through the alarm; form words.

“I…I didn’t…oh, du blöde Kuh!” 

By the time the man composed himself, panicked tears burning in his eyes, the door had already slammed shut. His feet squeaked over the tile to an empty audience. 

—

Private Military Companies don’t have ranks. There are no Sergeants, Lieutenants, Generals or Colonels. Just people. Beyond the orders you’d been hired on, there was nothing keeping you in line with König on this mission. And those orders were loose at best.

Adhere to policy and listen to the Base’s COs. Shut up and get the job done. 

The Austrian and you weren’t due out for another week because of rotations. Since you’d failed to capture or kill the HVT that you were assigned, another group had picked up the tracks in the meantime. Like an oiled machine, the gears of this operation kept whirling. 

Evolve, or die. 

“Lieutenant!” You call to the geared-up man on the tarmac—the one heading that very same group. It had been only a few hours since the incident in the armory. You needed a distraction; blood was still running high and brain pounding for release. There were only so many times you could bruise your fists and legs on a punching bag before people started giving you nervous looks. “Need an extra hand?”

Your voice sounds strained, even to you. The man looks you over once and narrows his eyes. Nods not moments later. 

“Get tired of your big friend? Okay, how fast can you be ready for me?” You feel your shoulders loosen, a relieved sigh exiting your lips.

“Three minutes.”

“...get to it then. We move in five.” 

So that was how you found yourself backed into a corner five hours into the op from hell—bloody knife held tightly in your grip and mouth open in ragged pants. 

“Fuck,” your vest is torn and riddled with bullets; your entire chest must be bruised by now because it surely aches like it is. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

You really are reckless, just like König had said you were. Maybe you’d just never realized it because he always seemed to watch your six. This…this was really bad. The comms were awash with screaming orders and panic, ringing out across the abandoned mining factory that exploded with light from gunfire and the sounds that accompanied it. You knew for a fact three soldiers were down; two KIA. 

The Lieutenant is one of them. 

Your hand snaps to the radio strapped to your chest, one eye squinted in pain at the ragged slice across your left brow line. At your feet, two heavily armed men lay dead. 

“Pull back! They knew we were coming!” But your word didn’t carry weight here. Your face twists between pain and rage. König’s comment still rings in your ears as the onset of tinnitus does, as if anyone could ever love a woman like you in the first place. It wasn’t ideal to be thinking about this now—it was detrimental that you didn’t. 

But König and the things he did often stained your brain. No matter how much you tried to distance yourself from that fact. 

Snapping the knife in your grasp down in an arch to dispel the blood from the blade, you take a steel-laced inhale and shove off the wall. Limping, but moving. Sprained ankle. Nothing you hadn’t dealt with before.

The concrete under you is splattered with crimson viscera and you stumble over spasming bodies riddled with bullets. With a subdued shink you slip your knife into its thigh sheath, grabbing the FTac Recon strapped around your chest after slamming a fresh mag into it. With a numb calm overcoming you, you slip your forefinger into the trigger guard, poised over the easy press of the trigger itself. 

The long shadows spread over you; your head illuminated by the dull sheen of the moon as you pass under a stretch of open sky to slink into the building across the empty street. Feral yells still bounce off the air and you go to them readily, purpose settling in your veins. 

Pain flies to the back of your mind, displaced by adrenaline and the rabid puffs of breath that fall like grinding thunder from your lips.  

You wonder what König’s thinking right now—he’d without a doubt noticed that you were gone. He’d even probably gone to your barracks room to try and apologize and found it empty. That was just how he was. 

Would he be happy? You wondered. Relieved to see you out of his life? You’d both done nothing but fight, but there were moments of peace. Understanding. 

Shared meals and comfortable, yet sarcastic, comments; soft glances when the other wasn’t looking. Heat in your face and obviously shown on his when shy hands brushed. 

Your hold tightens on your gun, brows dripping with sweat as it dribbles down along with the blood. Gunfire flashes. 

Closer now.

Shadows scream on top of a raised walkway attached to an in-mountain compound, targets with trigger fingers firing on your fellows who take cover behind crumbling walls. Pinned down. You watch, unseen, from a broken window as dust and moths collide. 

Your eyes lock on the closest hostile and you raise your weapon slowly, barrel resting on the frame between shattered glass. You clock the distance and adjust accordingly; breaths falling steady. 

The small insect that keeps hitting the window plays in your mind over and over—drowning out the yells; the fire. 

Just a moth readily willing to smash into that barrier until it dies. You hum under your breath and rest the gun into the crook of your shoulder, cheek to stock. 

Your finger slams into the trigger. 

—

You stumble out of the loud infirmary with a bloody rag pressed deeply into your forehead, medical pouch under one arm. You hear rushing feet and barked orders from nurses and doctors just before the door closes, cutting off as you stake out on your own.

Limping, you reason there were others with more severe wounds than your own; as blood drips from your flooded rag, your feet take you deep into the base one broken step at a time. You’d figure it out yourself. 

Plus, the silence would give you time to think. Think about König. 

You just gritted your teeth and decided that was better than taking up space in the infirmary. 

In times like these, the Austrian would fix your wounds for you, just as you did his. While you had your disagreements and heated fights, he’d never made it as personal as he had hours beforehand. Never made it hurt. 

“Jesus,” you mutter, rubbing your other crusty hand over the mud along your chin. Everything ached and you don’t know if that’s a good or a bad thing. 

Flinching along like a downed bird, you shove through into the last door into the barracks; thoughts now stuck on finding a chair to sit down on before your legs gave out. The darkness of the common area was deep—staining your eyelids as you grunt, bumping into the back of the couch. 

It’s almost funny the way the lamp flicked on mere moments later. 

You hiss, eyes snapping shut as the rays attack your sight, rendering you blind for a moment. The shaking hand on your dripping rag tightens before the spark of pain makes you lighten the pressure. 

There’s a dark grunt just as you open your eyes back up.

“You are late.” König. 

He sits in one of the chairs—sniper hood still over his head yet only clothed in a large compression shirt and casual camo pants. Like a disappointed parent, the Austrian’s arms were crossed over his chest; feet resting out and crossed at the ankles. With such a big stature the look could strike fear into anyone. 

Anyone but you, that is. 

König’s dark eyes rove over you, stopping immediately on the fabric you keep to your forehead. The previous, furious, tone stops and the flash of very real concern takes precedence. His hands tighten on his biceps, thighs tensing over the cushion; spine just a little bit straighter. 

You watch and say nothing—dead-faced. 

Your heart suddenly skips beats, stuck into the framework of the man’s eyes. König’s brows peel back and a timid stutter stays in your breast.

“...Vögelchen?” Lids blink rapidly, and before you can register anything because of your blood loss and fatigue, you’re being dragged to the couch and forced to sit down. 

Strong hands encompass your shoulders and small breaths flutter in front of your face as König peels back to kneel in front of you; spying the medical pouch in your under-arm. 

“What is this?” He mutters to you, vision flinching along your body but always dragging back to the bloody rag on your face. “What did you do to yourself?” 

Scarred hands raise before pausing, obsidian eyes staring deeply into yours as if in frantic question. Your own gaze keeps him close, spying on his veiled fear at the sight of your blood and your disappearance. He’d heard about the mission, then, that much was upfront because of his earlier comment. 

The humvee had been late arriving back. Half an hour. 

“Fuck off,” you utter, shoving off the couch before you’re captured in an unyielding press again, shoved down. Your anger spikes along with your unease, “König! I don’t have the patience—”

“I’m sorry.” The fight leaves you. 

Fingers squeeze your biceps, hold lightly shaking with nerves. “I did not mean it.” Obsidian pierces you, “Please, Vögelchen, I am sorry. Utterly. I speak so fast I misplace words—get far more,” words fail as you stare so intently at him, a strange feeling swirling in your gut. König’s face was going crimson again, though not from anger. His tone was deep and honest, accent becoming more whole with emotion. The hands on your skin stay. “Rude than I intend. It is not an excuse, but…”

In the horizontal oval of his hood, you spy the dots of tiny freckles; the whispers of auburn hair. That hawk nose still points violently from behind the fabric. König never finishes his sentence, just takes a large breath and looks to the side after a moment of silence. 

Then he steals the medical pack from your grip and opens the zipper with firm fingers, taking out gloves and gauze. Needle and sutures. It’s all placed on the side table as the bear of an Austrian stays on his knees for you—bending and shifting as the bottom of his shirt rides up. 

It’s a tense affair of touching skin; warmth and hissed curses. Gentle shushing. But you say nothing through it. Until he’s up in your face trying off stitches with forceps and a needle holder, breath making his hood lightly caress your bloodless face. His fingers are large and firm, never second-guessing or stuttering over the course of directing tools that dig a needling and thread into your flesh. 

He’s warm and every motion elicits shivers. You see his form from the side of your eye; his face’s outline as the lamp light illuminates the hood’s fabric. Shadowy silhouette of König’s strong jaw that shifts with every other breath from his wide chest. 

“You’re an asshole for saying that to me, y’know.” you slip your gaze away just as he snaps over. “Adrenaline or not.” 

The needle pauses and a swift nod is given. 

“I…I know it was. No amount of apologizing can explain how very horrible I feel. It was like I was so…so…” An annoyed grunt was leveled at himself.

“Pissed off?” You offer quietly. 

“Yes! Pissed off.” Amused glances were shared, the air slowly smoothing out between the two of you. Dark eyes quickly look away from yours and König clears his throat terse-like. But softer, steadier, “I…could not bear it if I were to see you in harm and be unable to assist you. That…is why I was watching. Why I do watch you.”

Inside of you, it was like there was a pot of water on the stove, steadily boiling under the heat. Your eyes are delicately wide when the man’s hands leave your face; kneeling body still tall enough to stare into you.

“You are…” König pauses, but not to find the words. To ready himself. He takes a long breath. “You are special to me, my Vögelchen. I can not see you hurt,” a gesture to your forehead and creased eyes. As if your pain was his own. “Not like this.”

“What are you saying, König?” You whisper, face twisted with hurt and confusion. Apprehension. “You’re giving me mixed signals. We always fight with each other. I’m not saying I’m blameless, but…c’mon, now. Look at us.” 

“Not…always.” He grumbled like a child, tools placed away and hands dripping blood before he slips the gloves off. They meet the side table with a tiny toss. The Austrian leans back onto his ankles, butt to heel. He begins to look at your forehead and you can practically hear his heart break. “I do not like arguing with you, you know that, yes?” 

“Me neither,” you whisper, fingers fiddling as a sheen of anxiousness sets in. “You just,” you pause, “confuse me.”

 König blinks in surprise, head tilting and large eyes shimmering. Your mind flashes to a curious cat and you try to explain with a burning face and fast lips.

“You say we’re partners but you never act like it,” he stares and listens. When had you both had a conversation like this before? “You make it seem like you can’t trust me to do the simplest task. I’m not,” your voice betrays you, cracking, “I’m not that useless, am I?” 

He freezes, muscles going taunt. 

“U-Useless? Nutzlos? No, no,” A hand comes to capture your chin and you let him move you where he wishes. Creased eyes lock on yours. “That is not right. You’re not useless to me—how could you be?” Pained brows move in, “did I make you think like this? Like I did not appreciate your skills?” 

Your eyes burn, and the aches from your wounds mix with the pure fatigue in your flesh to leave your emotions running between sanity and sadness. A moment later you’re turning your head away. 

König recaptures it, hands finding both sides of your cheeks. He looks shaky; desperate. 

“No, please, Vögelchen, please. I need you to look at me.”

“König, I don’t—” You close your mouth before you let out the beginnings of a sob. “I can’t keep fighting with you.”

“I know, oh, I know,” his hands are so grounding it’s like you’re the inner pages of a book, and his grip the thick leather cover—leather laced with shared scars and the same that had stitched you up countless times. This push and pull had to end. “I cannot fight with you either—it tears me apart. Oh, du weißt gar nicht, wie sehr es mich schmerzt, dein wunderschönes Gesicht anzuschreien. Mit dir zu streiten bedeutet, meinen Verstand und mein Herz gleichzeitig zu brechen.” König’s thumbs run up and down your skin, still bloody with dried flakes falling to the ground. He seems not to care a bit. 

“What can I do to fix this? Anything. Anything to get us to stop doing this to each other.” You stare into his eyes, both creased and glazed over. 

There’s a brief moment where you wonder if anyone truly even knew you as well as König did—there was no one else that you shared such a deep connection with. Years upon years of being stuck at his side. 

And someone else’s hands had never felt as good as his. They were hard and callused over but cupped your face as gently as one would cup water from a rippling stream. His eyes were stars; visible skin like porcelain, his breath raised a large and wide chest with a fast-paced heart. You could sense his throat trapping air. 

König kneeled to you and bared himself. 

Anything, he had said, to fix what he had said. To stop this. 

There was one way you could think to stop this—it might not have been smart, certainly not, but…hmm…You gradually raised your hand raised from your lap and slipped it under the front of König’s hood. 

Slowly, with all the delicateness of a glass dragonfly, your fingers strayed to the side of his neck to press into tight flesh. A rapid pulse.

The man goes to stone. It’s like you’ve stolen his nervous system. Dark eyes stay locked onto yours as you gaze back, hand dragging nails up with a light pressure near to the speed of a slug. 

König whispers your name into the empty space and the oxygen seems to dry up. Warm light from the lamp cast phantoms on walls and over skin in a small moment of foreign discoveries. The Austrian swallows saliva and you feel his neck flex. You don’t answer him, just watch and feel his own hands tighten on your cheeks in warning. 

But you never listen, do you? Reckless you were called. And König had been right.

You were reckless.

Your hand had now explored like a map the indents of hidden facial scars; long and short over jaw and lips. The hand that was doing this had hiked the sniper’s hood up around your wrist so that the man’s lashes were twitching as the fabric got too close to his eyes. And you watched. And so did he. 

A twin pair of moths hitting a glass window, staring from opposite sides at one another until they realized the break in the frame. 

“Anything?” You ask in a loose tone, barely heard above the flood in both of your ears. 

König was breathing heavily but didn’t pull away. Pupils wide and body heavy to your touch. His spine briefly straightened, until he realized he had moved back slightly and immediately hunched again if only to keep your hands on him. 

“I…” he grunts, “A…anything.” Fingers touch his nose, they spread under the hood to trace the bumps and marks he keeps hidden like buried treasure. Your vision takes in the otherworldly hue on his visible skin; the glaze of rapture in his eyes yet still that ingrained heat. 

Your body shivers at the gravel in his accented English. 

Fingers stall over his lips, hood showing you the pale being of König’s strong chin and jaw. You shift your touch to the side and find chapped lips revealed to you, a small palate scar that had healed to nothing more than a line up to his nostril. 

You spare it nothing more than a glance before you look back into obsidian. Dark ether and dead galaxies devoid of stars. Swallowed in a sea of pasts and futures. You look for hesitation; for disgust. 

You find none. 

“You said that no one could ever love someone like me,” your head leans in, and your breath mingles together with an intimacy that had never been shared between this type of partners. König, as if broken from a spell, takes down a swift inhale of air into his stiff lungs. He stares with far back lids. Flashes of unidentified emotions. “Why did you say that?”

A moment of silence and of rabid hearts. The man’s lips twitch over yours as he answers slowly, not breaking eye contact for a moment. As if he did he’d be turned to rock. As if he’d miss something amazing from happening. 

He speaks with a whispered confession.

“Because if they did—I would have to kill them. Because no other than I would be able to love you more.” Your world slows and your ears strain with the breathy words. 

Face burning your lips part with shock and awe. Violent to any other, but to you this was a confession from a man that could meet you blow for blow—calm you and infuriate you all in one. Challenge you, but knew when he’d gone too far and how to properly apologize. 

He’d waited in that chair for you all night, you’d realized. 

For you to come back to him. His partner. 

You press your lips to his and hear his pitiful sounds of gasped reassurance. Slipping your tongue into his mouth, you let saliva drip off of your chins to splatter onto bent knees and shaking thighs.

König’s arms cage you; capture your waist and draw you closer, lips breaking apart before you both share a wide-eyed look of momentary pause. There was no room to breathe; to think. Chests hit together and fingers tighten to a tendon-visible hold.

The man's growing smile is wide from where you still hold his hood up by his nose, and with a lick of his red and wet lips, he reconnects your awaiting mouths. 

This time, you’re the one to gasp.

“Lass mich zeigen, wie leid es mir tut, Vögelchen.”

NEW TAGLIST SIGN-UP: Here

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n

[airybcby]

you left your typewriter at my apartment

( sae itoshi x fem! reader )

♡ a/n — woke up and was thinking of this song so yk i had to write. not proofread !!

♡ content — all characters 18+ !!, fem! reader, nsfw description but no actual smut, angst, goes back and forth between current time to memories, established relationship (1 year), spoilers for the U-20 game, nicknames like 'love' and 'doll' used, some cussing, girlboss reader tbh, probably ooc sae, lmk if i missed anything!

♡ synopsis — packing had never been a big deal to you, but when you're putting all of your exes stuff in a box to give to him? all the memories come back to you and you're not sure you can handle it.

⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆ ' and who's gonna hold you like me ? ' ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

sae itoshi was many things.

the best midfielder of current soccer history, an icy older brother, stoic, and downright vicious on the soccer field.

but what sae itoshi was not?

a relationship man.

looking back on it, you should've realized the signs earlier, but how could you when those teal eyes washed away every worry you had?

your belief that sae would be the man you'd marry led you to this moment right now; sweating as you scoured your house to rid it of anything even related to the itoshi name.

you'd already had quite a few items in the box you were curating his belongings in, seeing as you'd gone through every room in your house besides your bedroom. you knew your room held all the memories, worst for last you assumed. for the short year that you and sae were together, he enveloped every part of your life.

you bent down to see under your bed, phone flashlight shining on the parts that the sunlight didn't reach. you sighed as you grabbed a pair of his cleats that he brought over after his game against the bluelock 11 team.

" sae? why didn't you change? " you asked, looking at his form standing in your bed room door frame. you looked over at your phone, the time reading 11:00 at night.

your boyfriend of five months had played his game against the bluelock team, and to the dismay of him and many others in the world — they lost. " four fucking three... " sae breathed out. you knew this game meant more to him than he was willing to admit. everytime you asked , though, you always got the same answer.

" they asked me to play. i'm gonna play. " as if this wouldn't be his first time seeing his brother in years. as if the japan soccer league didn't have high stakes on him winning.

what else could you say? you watched the game, you saw how hard he worked. even if no one else could tell, you knew this defeat stung more than he was willing to admit.

" 'm gonna go shower. " he said to what seemed like no one, even if you were in the room. " want me to come with you? i can—"

" i'd rather shower alone. " sae scoffed out, throwing his cleats in the general direction of your bed, where he usually kept his shoes.

you didn't mind, it was a hard night.

so you let him walk down the hallway to your bathroom, his cleats sitting there abandoned.

you didn't even question why he left instead of spending the night.

rough night. that was all.

the memory flooded into your head before you could stop it. now you realized how stupid you were, even then sae couldn't be bothered to even lay in the bed you'd been waiting for him in.

he couldn't be bothered to take his cleats from under your bed, instead opting to buy new ones.

the thought was funny now, how someone so young could have the money to throw away every time he wanted something. while you kept the damn cleats in a safe space for seven more months, like the idiot you were.

you threw the shoes in the box, moving onto your dresser next. he had his own drawer at your house, a sign he was always welcome. although, he did make sure to take most of those when he broke up with you, but you wanted to double check.

you couldn't clear your home of itoshi sae fast enough.

you pulled open the drawer, staring at the clavin klein boxers that sat so perfectly in the quite empty drawer. almost as if they were mocking you.

you grabbed them quickly, squeezing them in your hand before catching the scent of his laundry detergent.

" wanna take 'em off, love? " he'd asked you, staring up at you as he laid on your bed, clad in nothing but his tight boxers. this was the first time sae had let you be the one on top, his usually demanding presence now one that was completely and utterly yours.

" but you look so good in them, it's not fair. " you sighed, straddling his lap as you messed with the elastic of the waistband.

if anyone were to see the two of you, they wouldn't feel lust— they'd feel nothing but love.

" you're taking too long. " he sighed, easily flipping the positions you'd been in. you now under him as you stared up at him, his teal eyes swimming with raw emotion.

" hey! you said—" " i'll make it up to you, doll. promise. " and that was the last thing you heard before he disappeared between your legs.

you remembered that night well, the promises made...ones of a future— a future of children and marriage and him showing you off like his prize trophy.

yeah right. he couldn't even be bothered to attend the balls held in honor of his team, let alone get you all dolled up and go with you.

maybe you should cut a hole in the crotch, you'd thought. show him he's no better than any other man, you could still be the ex that ruined his stuff to get back at him.

but what did it matter when he could simply buy more to replace it?

nothing could be simple when it came to itoshi sae. not even when your broken up.

you stuffed the boxers under some more stuff before moving to lay on your bed.

you'd already looked through every spot in your room you thought he'd left pieces of himself behind in.

the closet, the dresser, under the bed...what else was there?

you set the box down beside you, rolling over on your side to stare at yourself in the full length mirror that was on the adjacent wall. you looked like a mess.

you caught yourself wondering what sae was doing. was he the same old sae? was he laying in his bed thinking about you? did he look as much of a mess as you did?

you doubted it.

within your daze, your eyes moved toward a polaroid picture you'd stuck in the frame of the mirror, a picture of you and sae at a halloween party just a month ago.

you were excited, like...really excited. this was the first time sae was going to bring you out to hang out with his friends. in the 11 months you two were together, you usually went on private dates to fancy restaurants when he could spend time with you.

you'd never been to an actual party with him though!

you smiled as you sat on sae's lap on shidou's couch, the rather vulgar soccer player convinced sae to not only come to the party, but also bring you. " i've never met the girl before ! why not introduce her to us? "

" you're so boring, sae! you're supposed to be my angel! " you whined to him. " i dressed up enough, love. " your boyfriend said quite monotonously. bull crap, he was just in a white tee shirt and pants, nothing that he had to actually go out and buy.

while the red corset and miniskirt you had dyed yourself made you feel like if you breathed wrong it would all come bursting at the seams.

" you could have at least tried harder. " you offered, maybe with a bit of attitude. the two of you had been having more arguments than usual, but doesn't every relationship hit rough patches? " you're lucky we even came— " " yo sae! get with your girl and smile! " shidou popped up in front of the two of you with a polaroid camera.

so you two shut your mouths as sae's hand slipped over your waist, your head finding his shoulder, and you mustered the cutest smile you could.

...while sae gave a blank face to the camera.

looking back on it, that night was the downfall of your relationship. after that night, sae stopped coming by as much, but you just assumed he got busy with soccer season.

the next time he came by he grabbed everything of his and walked out.

you didn't know what to do. sae said he was going to come by, but you didn't know that meant he'd be taking all of his things out of your house.

" sae, wait! what's wrong baby? did i do something? " you asked an embarrassing amount of times.

" no. just taking my stuff. " he said, not even bothering to look at you.

last week was your one year, but he had a game. you'd gotten in a little fight over him not even bothering to text you a happy anniversary, but surely that wasn't what led to this?

" if it's about the anniversary, i'm sorry! i know you're busy, and i don't care when we celebrate ! " you gasped out, trying to cling to any reason for why he'd be doing this.

" we're not celebrating at all. " he slammed the dresser drawer shut, the only indicator that he was annoyed by you. when sae turned around to face you, " we're done y/n. "

he said it so simply, so clearly that you couldn't even move to stop him from leaving out the door.

the look in his eyes...that wasn't your sae.

that was over a week ago now, and the memory made you want to cry. you wouldn't, tears were made to be shed on people who care about you, not foolish men who couldn't talk about their feelings.

you got up from your bed, walking over to the wall and taking the polaroid off your mirror before taking it to the box.

you stared at the picture, the love in your eyes is something that would haunt you for a lifetime. it could haunt sae too.

you threw it in the box, picking it up before setting it outside your front door.

you pulled out your phone, clicking on the contact, ' s. itoshi ' and typing a message

you: the rest of your stuff is outside when you wanna come get it.

for a year, sae itoshi enveloped every aspect of your life.

you refused to let him consume you even after he was gone.

⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆ ' and who's gonna know you, if not me ? ' ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

i really wanted to try writing for sae, so i hope yall liked it!

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

[lowkeyrobin]

hi pookie can I get an mcyt with reader that bakes?? Like they'll just come in on stream and give mcyts a fucking platter of baked goods lol

-🎀 anon

oooo yes omg!! thank you 🎀 anon! <3 got the whole gang in here for this one LOL

MCYT ; "in my baker era"

includes ; tommyinnit, ranboo, badlinu, nihachu, quackity, foolish gamers, slimecicle, & cellbit

warnings ; language, mentions of drugs

masterlist

TOMMYINNIT

"Hi y/n- oh, thank you, darling!'

literally has the widest smile on his face

shows off the goods to the stream

"do these have any drugs in them? me n charlie are trying to sell drugs, y/n. we need more stock"

you hear charlie screaming through tommys headphones, "we need the grain, y/n! we need THE GRAIN"

bro is munching away on those cookies holy shit

he feeds chat as well dw

RANBOO

"Hey babe! Oh, thank you!"

does a whole 360 of the plate for chat 💀💀💀💀

"Oh my God, these are so fucking good"

"guys, y/ns in their baking era. can you write an album about that? please become Taylor swift for us"

"BAHHAHAHAH"

literally takes a picture as per usual and posts it to Twitter LMAO

he gets some fans to send you recipes you should try for a serious baking stream LMAO

BADLINU

"Hey love- oh, hi!"

all smiles and shit, he swears you have a sixth sense to know when people are hungry

"guys, y/n made me some bisexuality cake!" He giggles, showing off the tri-colored cake on the plate

he was making a video with harry, tubbo & tommy so everyone had their facecams on

it was like a three tier cake you made and cut out a slice for him

the inside was just the bi flag and the outside was plain white with some fun icing piper testing

he tries it and it's SO MOIST AND SOFT IT IS PERFECT.

there's just 5 raw minutes of him telling you how amazing this fucking cake is LMAO

QUACKITY

"Hey, I'm streaming ba- ohmyfuckinggodthankyou!!"

does a 360 of the plate for the camera

"Holy shit these look so fucking good, thank you so much, y/n"

he's literally just streaming on the qsmp with roeir and fit and he like games and eats the damn cookies at the same time LMFAO

"Dude I feel like I'm high, these are so good, what's in this shit?"

"cocaine"

"WHAT!? DID YOU JUST DRUG ME? GUYS, MY PARTNER DRUGGED ME, HELP"

you're just playing into the bit dw

best red velvet cookies he's ever eaten

CELLBIT

"Hey darling, what's up?"

you hand him the little strawberry shortcake and he just looks at you like 😍😍

turns to his stream and shoves the plate up to the camera all happy like "Oh my God look what they made for me!"

he eats the entirety of it on stream and asks you a bunch of questions

like how you made it, where you found the recipe, etc

he shares it with you too 💔🫶

NIHACHU

"Hi honey! Ooo, what's this called?"

"Chocolate mousse. it's a little thick because it's my first time making it but let me know if it's good"

she holds that little glass like it's her child

she tries it with a tiny spoon you gave her and she's like "oh my God this is amazing, y/n/n"

shows it off to the friends she's streaming with too

"send them more recipes guys, I wanna be spoiled with sweets!"

"thank you nikis viewers!! love you all"

FOOLISH GAMERS

when I tell you this man's face LIGHTS UP.

"you made me fudge? oh my God! I love you"

literally spends the next 15 minutes talking to you and gobbling the fudge down

"since when do you make fudge??"

"since I wanted to try" you shrug

"you should totally make some more... when you're not busy and if you want to!"

"Thank you y/n! everyone say thank you!"

SLIMECICLE

"Oh, hi y/n! thank you so much"

does a 360 for stream

"when did you find time to make this? I thought you were at work????"

"special treat" you shrug

you watch him run across the qsmp and go to ems bakery to sit inside and eat it 😭

he keeps you on stream for a while cause chat loves you n stuff 🫶🫶

[babydollmarauders]

WHO’S AFRAID OF LITTLE OLD ME? — JACK HUGHES

jack hughes x fem!reader

summary: in which jack hughes should be afraid of what y/n can do to his reputation

notes: yeah, idk what this is either; there’s not much plot.

september 16th, 2023

deuxmoi

24,107 likes

deuxmoi pop sensation, y/n, is seen hands on with new boy toy?

if anyone has any information on who this man is, do come forward! we’d love to know who america’s queen of heartbreak anthems is with now!

view all 549 comments

user82 the hand placement?! HELLO?!

user3 oh great, new music where she makes herself some sad victim again

user55 a new love album next?! maybe?!

user09 let’s not get ahead of ourselves, it’s some low grade pap photos posted on a gossip blog. it could’ve been a first date for all we know

user45 @/user09 with the way they are in these pics? absolutely NOT a first date. y/n has famously said she doesn’t get “frisky” early on because of her ex. most definitely a bf

user92 oh her next song is gonna HIT

user06 that guy kinda looks…. where were these taken and when?

deuxmoi all the sender said was that they saw them in michigan last night! know something?

user06 hmm the tl matches! that looks like it could be @/jackhughes , a hockey player for the New Jersey Devils!

user98 OH MY GOD, YOU’RE RIGHT!

user67 those hands?! girlie better never let him go!

september 27th, 2023

y/nofficial

liked by sabrinacarpenter and 4,628,961 others

y/nofficial every dead end street led you straight to me 🤍

view all 7,923 comments

user72 SOFT LAUNCH OH MY GOD

user5 oh he’s got her using emojis?! she’s down BAD

user29 i’m so happy for her, she deserves so much love and happiness and it seems like he gives that to her 🫶

user6 MOTHER?!

user01 what poor boy did she sink her claws into this time?

user9 if you don’t like her, why are you on her post? obsessed much?

sabrinacarpenter he scored 😉

y/nofficial sab!! nah, i think i did!

user92 he better be treating her damn good! it’s what she deserves after ‘he who shall not be named’!

user76 i know who you meant but also started giggling at the idea of her writing an album about voldemort 😭

y/nofficial @/user76 gasp! don’t you know who lover is about?! the dark lord and i just couldn’t make it work :(

october 10th, 2023

jackhughes

liked by y/nofficial, nicohischier, and 815,736 others

jackhughes as a wise woman once said: “i was enchanted to meet you”

tagged y/nofficial

view all 2,865 comments

y/nofficial my sweet boy 🤍

jackhughes my pretty girl

user76 A HARD LAUNCH

user94 THEY’RE SO SICKENINGLY CUTE 😭 SHE DESERVES THIS

user36 JACK IS DATING Y/N?! OH THE SONGS THAT WILL COME OUT OF THIS

user8 he could do so much better

lhughes_06 about damn time

trevorzegras JACK WHAT THE FUCK YOU’RE JOKING

user02 oh they’re so cute 🥹

dawson1417 did you just… hard launch with the biggest singer in america rn?

jackhughes y/n says “what? like it’s hard?” idk what that means

user16 can we talk about how happy she looks?! and i know her hockey loving self is giggling and kicking her feet over her landing a hockey player! too cute!!

john.marino97 if her next RED-like album is about you, i’m requesting a trade. can’t believe i’m gonna have to listen to songs about YOU

january 1st, 2024

y/nofficial

liked by jackhughes and 5,827,025 others

y/nofficial thank you 2023, you brought so much love and laughter 🤍 can’t wait to see what 2024 brings!

tagged jackhughes

view all 7,503 comments

user86 oh she’s so down bad she was taking pics of him at his game 😭

user9 one tour pic and three pics regarding to jack? she’s so in love

jackhughes here’s to another year with you, my talented girl

y/nofficial i can’t wait for another year with you, my love 🤍

user55 i can’t wait to see you in KC this year!!

user7 she’s truly living her best life and i’m obsessed!!

user21 i hope 2024 is just as good to you as 2023 was!

january 26th, 2024

deuxmoi

36,592 likes

deuxmoi fan submission: trouble in paradise?

pop sensation, y/n, and her boyfriend, hockey player Jack Hughes, were seen out by a fan last night. the fan claims that they overheard y/n consoling Jack about his recent injury that has left him unable to play. in the video (on our site), you can hear y/n telling Jack “i know not playing is hard, i know it’s sad-”. Jack is heard cutting her off and snapping “you don’t get to tell me about sad. you don’t get it, so stop acting like you do.”according to the fan, y/n left the date alone and in tears.

what do you guys think, is this couple over?

view all 1,251 comments

user29 wow what an asshole, she was just trying to be comforting

user4 wtf?

user07 yeah, can’t say i didn’t expect them to end soon enough

user99 she was trying to comfort him and he snapped at her? yeah, i’d hope they’re over

user20 she deserves better

user19 it’s just an argument, everyone is being so overdramatic

user3 do i think they’re over? no. if we know anything about y/n, it’s that she’s forgiving, sometimes to a fault.

user67 i don’t think they’re broken up but if she was leaving alone and crying, i hope they will be soon enough

user82 has anyone thought that maybe he didn’t need comforting?

user13 umm, obviously he did if he snapped at her

user98 idk about everyone else, but i do think they’re broken up if she left alone and was visibly upset

user23 oh i can’t wait to hear what she writes about him. i’ve known he seemed too good to be true

february 14th, 2024

y/nofficial

liked by oliviarodrigo and 7,431,846 others

y/nofficial happy valentines to my favorite boy 🤍

the most kind-hearted, respectful, and loving man i’ve ever had the pleasure of being able to call mine. nobody is perfect, but i think you’re pretty close to it. i’m so eternally grateful to have you in my life 🤍

tagged jackhughes

view all 278 comments

user6 oh, she’s still with him

user02 y/n, baby, please come to your senses

user14 i don’t like him at all after last month

jackhughes happy valentines, beautiful girl ❤️

user65 “nobody is perfect” oh, mother is telling us rn

comments on this post are now limited

march 23rd, 2024

deuxmoi

29,783 likes

deuxmoi looks like y/n and her hockey beau have called it quits! eagle eyed fans spotted last night that they’ve unfollowed each other on instagram and y/n deleted all photos of him.

previously, y/n ONLY followed jack, now she’s back down to 0, which fans seem to read as a finality to their relationship.

view all 1,736 comments

user95 about time! after that spat in january, i feel like everyone was waiting for this

user72 EVERYONE MOVE! EVERYONE REJOICE! MOTHER IS FREE!

user24 GOOD RIDDANCE!!

user61 can’t wait to hear who the catalyst was, him or her?

user3 obviously she’ll make herself out to be the victim

user61 @/user3 tell me you’ve never actually listened to y/n without telling me you’ve never actually listened to y/n 🙄 she doesn’t shy away from admitting if she was the one who ruined a relationship, she admits she has problems and that sometimes she gets in her own head

user8 it was obviously him after that video in january

user23 everyone is celebrating but have we stopped for a second to realize that she’s probably really heart broken right now?

user70 fr! like, she seemed so in love with him and i feel so bad for her. she seemed to love him a lot more than her exes and we all know she’s a hopeless romantic at heart, so she was probably imagining marriage and babies with him and then he showed his true colors

april 1st, 2024

y/nofficial

liked by tatemcrae and 14,698,276 others

y/nofficial there’s always a fool, but i guess all’s fair in love and poetry… new album THE TORTURED POETS DEPARTMENT. out May 14 🩶

but surprise! the first and only single, Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me? comes out April 19 🩶

view all 3,279 comments

user18 MOTHER DOES NOT PLAY!!! AHHH

user63 may 14th 💀 she said “i’m not fucking around, y’all WILL know who this is about.”

user9 significance of may 14th?

user63 @/user9 it’s jack’s birthday 💀

user00 OH SHE MUST REALLY HAVE SOME SHIT TO SAY IF SHE’S ACTUALLY DROPPING A SINGLE BEFORE THE ALBUM

user78 i wonder if jack feels stupid yet

user12 new y/n album before GTA6

user93 the vibes??? mother didn’t write an album, she wrote a EULOGY

april 19th, 2024

y/nofficial

liked by john.marino97 and 9,726,820 others

y/nofficial at this hearing, i stand before my fellow members of The Tortured Poets Department with a summary of my findings.

Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me? out now.

view all 2,738 comments

user72 i’m speechless

user2 “you don’t get to tell me about sad” SHE REALLY FUCKING DID THAT

user33 I AM IN SHOCK!

user94 MOTHER CALLED HIM OUT

user78 once again i ask, @/jackhughes do you feel stupid yet?

user61 dude just got surgery and she still came for his neck 😭

user09 i mean, not like she was gonna change the release date just because of that but it’s still so 😭

user22 “the scandal was contained….. at all costs keep your good name” she really spoke on the january spat, didn’t she?

user12 “WHO’S AFRAID OF LITTLE OLD ME?”

user77 @/jackhughes you should be

john.marino97 🩶🩶

user82 oh he’s MESSY! i love it 💀

user50 tbh, i look at this single like a warning. it sounds like jack didn’t think it through before he broke her heart and didn’t think she would speak on him, but she’s warning him right now that he should be scared because she has a lot to say about him and their relationship

user31 she’s so— i love her

february 8th, 2025

y/nofficial posted on their story

february 10th, 2025

y/nofficial

liked by john.marino97 and 11,762,936 others

y/nofficial brand new, full throttle <3

view all 3,627 comments

user93 i- did she just inadvertently tell us we’ve all been wrong about who So High School is about?

user77 this is the fastest she’s ever gotten into a new relationship and you know that means she has to be in LOVE

user04 AHHHHH Y/N AND JOHN MARINO

user82 how do you know it’s him? she didn’t even tag anyone and you can’t see his face

user04 @/user82 she posted john on her story a couple days ago! they’re on vacation together while he’s on bye-week!

user23 i don’t wanna get ahead of myself but,,, they met through jack, did they not? and now they’re dating? mother is messy

user51 is it messy? yeah, maybe- but people have already looked back through old interviews of his, and she’s been his celeb crush for a WHILE now. and i mean, hey, she’s dating someone only a couple years older than her now, one can only assume he’s more mature than j*ck

user92 the way she clings onto him 🥹

user88 she deserves happiness, i really hope he gives that to her 🫶

john.marino97 i knew what i wanted and i got her ♥️

[notyourhetloki]

Can I request Wade and Logan/reader breeding kink? 👉👈 both of them too excited about it and competitive? (Can you make reader gender neutral (he/him or they/them or trans ftm (he/him), you can use any terms for genitals and stuff it's ok)

into it (Logan x Reader x Wade)

Reader: he/him (ftm)

/NSFW Logan x Reader x Wade/

A/N: Fuuck I had so much fun writing this, anon! It's a bit short but it's pure porn so I hope you still end up satisfied lol (also sorry about the random gif, I couldn't find a more suiting one lmao). Anyway, hope you like it! xoxo

Tags: ftm reader (reader has a vagina), breeding kink, creampie, they both fuck you, Wade being a fucking joke, Logan is not having it, piv sex (unprotected), porn without plot.

Word Count: 908

—

As soon as you walked through the front door, they were all up in your personal space. Wade and Logan promptly started to take your clothes off, not exactly caring about being gentle.

"Boys! Calm down, there's plenty of me for the both of you!" You tried appeasing, but to no avail.

"And yet is nearly not enough." Groaned Logan, ripping your underwear off with his bare hands. You gasped as his fingers immediately found your sex, rubbing your clit while Wade kissed your neck.

"Sorry about that, doll. We'll buy you another one." Wade whispered into your ear, taking you by the hand and convincing Logan to continue things in the bedroom.

You were basically thrown onto the bed, naked and vulnerable and super turned on. You could already see their hard bulges before they started to take their own clothes off.

"On all fours for us." Ordered Logan, and you gladly obliged. "Attaboy..."

After all their clothes were out, Logan started positioning himself behind you until you heard Wade complain.

"Wait a minute, mutton chops! Why do you think you get to go first?" Wade pointed out.

"Because I can and I will." Logan retorted impatiently, giving your ass a light squeeze.

"Nuh-uh! That ain't fair! I propose a rock-paper-scissors to sort things out, nothing fairer than that." Said Wade holding a closed fist out.

"Fucking hell, fine!" Logan agreed and quickly started the game. They finished the round and Logan played scissors, while Wade played paper.

"Best out of three?" Begged Wade, but the other man didn't care for it.

"Fuck off." Logan pushed Wade aside and started positioning himself again, putting the tip of his cock at your entrance.

You were really wet, so it didn't hurt when he slammed into you. You were full, stuffed to the brim, and you thought it couldn't get any better than that... until Logan began thrusting into you, hitting a sweet spot inside that made you cry out in pleasure.

"Let us hear those sweet sounds you make, boy." Logan said while fucking you. He breathed loudly, grunting and grabbing you at the hips with enough force to bruise. The sounds you made together were obscene, and that turned Wade on even more.

"Gosh... fuck him silly, Wolvie." Wade was jacking himself off, looking closely at Logan's dick in and out of you. "Cum inside him..."

Logan groaned again, more urgent than before. A sudden thought took over him, and he needed to let it out. "I'm gonna breed you, (y/n). I'm gonna fill you up so good... fuck, fill you up with my seed."

"Goddamn!" Said a surprised Wade, not expecting the other man to be so earnest. "That's so fucking dirty... I love it."

"Ah, yes! Please..." You moaned, feeling energy and heat through your whole body. You were being used by him, your body only an object... it turned you on so damn much.

Logan's thrusts began to get even more rough, he was fucking you hard and the sounds he made were animalistic. Soon he turned erratic, his hips faltering in the rhythm he had set. You knew he was close.

He came with a loud grunt, holding you for dear life. Breathing deeply through his gritted teeth, Logan recovered and slowly took his member out of you. A bit of cum dripped from your entrance, and Wade observed everything with a delighted expression.

"I bet I can cum even more in his pussy..." He whispered mostly to himself, but you both heard him.

"You wanna bet, bub?" Said Logan with a satisfied smile on his face. What doesn't a good fuck does to one man's humor?

"Hell yeah, peanut." Wade soon replaced the other man's position and unlike Logan, asked for your approval. "You alright, gorgeous?"

"Y-Yeah... please, give it to me." You moaned as you felt his cock entering you, stuffing you up again.

Wade was a bit gentler with his hands, grabbing you thoughtfully at the places you weren't bruised. But his rhythm... he was still a beast.

"Fuuuck, you feel so good, pretty boy." He moaned, not stopping for a second.

"Hmm, Wade... Logan... ah!" You couldn't stop making noises and calling out for them, dumb with the feeling of being full.

"Good job, sugar... you're being so good for us." Said Logan while standing beside you, watching as Wade pounded into you with great enthusiasm.

"Shit, I'm close... I'll cum inside your pretty cunt, (y/n)." Wade gripped you even harder and finally slammed his hips into you, his climax followed by a deep moan.

He took a few breaths and slowly came back to earth, removing himself from you with a pop. Even more cum oozed from inside you, a beautiful and sexy sight for the both of them.

"As my partner here mentioned earlier... consider yourself 'bred'." Wade taunted, giving a final slap on your ass and retreating himself to put an arm over Logan's shoulder. "Sooo... about that bet, what is my prize?"

You laughed as you laid on your back to watch them both, exhausted but completely satisfied.

Logan suddenly grabbed Wade by his balls, looking him in the eyes. "You get to keep all of your blood inside your body today, sounds good?"

Wade responded in a higher octave, nodding his head and still holding Logan's shoulders. "Ouchie! So rough!" Logan let him go, but Wade only got closer. "You're lucky I'm into it."

—

[capesch-arts]

Death

(In which Arthur Lester writes his final letter. Scroll until below).

"I am going to die. That is for certain.

As I write this I can feel my mind stretched thin and my consciousness fading as fatigue takes me over. I know that when I sleep this night, I may never wake up.

Before my mind is taken and broken apart to dust, I wanted to leave this behind. For anyone that follows me, whether it be friend or foe. I know why you all pursue me, and you will receive what you wish to seek. But, allow me to share my thoughts.

I've been running for nearly 10 years, killing cultists and evading creatures that would drive men mad. It's been a long time since I've slept with peace in mind. So much blood has washed upon my hands that I still feel it under my nails.

Am I the same person anymore? I wonder.

'Was it all worth it?' I often ask myself.

I'm not a good man. Especially before my encounter with The King. An unfit husband. A coward. An alcoholic. A poor father. I am all these things. And perhaps, whatever is waiting for me when I shut my eyes will be deserved. At least I'll find peace in that.

My only regret is leaving you. Alone. I wish I hadn't found that book. I wish I wouldn't have done all this to keep you away from its curse. I wish- I wish. I wish we had more time together. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

This path I've taken is dark and dreary, and it will only end in tragedy. So if you still wish to walk it, so be it.

That damned book has not been in my possession for years. A new friend has helped me hide it somewhere I don't know. I thought that after all this game of cat and mouse, HIS eyes would not stop following me. Those damned golden eyes would be so fixated to me that none of his followers noticed when it slipped from my hands and a decoy was in its stead.

If you are one who walked this path to protect humanity from darkness, then I'm sorry. It was too much of a risk for it to fall unto another person. But, if you're HIS, well... Fuck you. Good luck. I'm sure your King would be satisfied knowing how well you've accomplished your mission.

I can feel it. Pulling. Music, unfamiliar, filling my head. A vision of a city, unnatural, with impossible angles, whenever I close my eyes. The twin suns above Lake Hali and the tattered cloak of The King in Yellow...

Death is at my doorstep, and I fucking welcome it. I will not squirm. I will not beg. You want me to drown in despair as you come and harvest me. I'm not giving you the satisfaction.

I am the master of my own fate,

I am the captain of my soul

- Arthur Lester"

[studiogrimm810]

Spackle

pairings/characters: (pining)dean winchester x gn!reader, sam is also there

summary: in a desperate attempt to back burner his feelings for you, dean tries to fill the void with pointless sex. and goddamn does that hurt

warnings: miscommunication and clarification, not too much, ANGSTY THO and happy ending ^.^

word count: 3,265

A/N: this is a request!!! i had a blast writing this one, love me some pining winchesters heheh. to get added to my tag list just send me an ask!! <3

(p.s. i realize this story set up isn’t exactly how it was worded in the request and i’m so sorry i’m just now noticing this T.T,, if you want a redo, pls lmk and i’ll correct my ways. okay ily)

———————

Light conversation murmurs over a steady 80s country song selected on the jukebox of this oddly cozy dive bar. Another successful hunt, with the help of your beloved Winchesters, lead the trio to celebrate amongst a round of drinks. The past few weeks, you’ve been tagging along for hunt after hunt and have really enjoyed the time with the boys. However, the closer proximity to the older brother only worsens the ache in your chest.

You watch him now as he throws back an amber shot of burning whiskey. His face hardens in a subtle growl at the sting as he slams the empty glass down. You follow his lead, letting the pungent liquid scrape down your throat and settle into your stomach, already warming with alcohol.

“Damn, they’ve got some cheap whiskey,” Dean blows out air through tight lips, cringing at the lingering singe of the alcohol. You nod, eyes scrunched in disgust.

“Whiskey is all pain, next time it’s vodka,” you declare, shaking off the burn and taking a swig of your less threatening house ale.

“Vodka is a young man’s game. Weak,” Dean mocks, taking a few fries from the communal basket in the middle.

“Are you so insecure that you have to validate your drunkenness with the more painful whiskey? Vodka drunk is where it’s at, I’m sick of pretending it’s not,” you shrug, taking a few fries as well.

Sam just chuckles at your bickering, tapping his fingers with the beat for the song. After back-to-back cases like this, you’ve noticed Sam is more inclined to let loose and relax with you and Dean.

The waitress comes back to the table and your body tenses as Dean's eyes trace her curves, landing on her face.

“Hey, sweetheart, can we get another round?” Dean holds up his empty shot glass. You force your gaze away, trying to ignore the sizzling discomfort under your skin.

There’s a few lines exchanged between the two and you have to bite your tongue to keep your emotion off your face.

Soft footsteps echo away and you look up to see Dean's eyes lingering for a beat too long. You try to ignore the ache in your chest, it’s not your place to feel so strongly for Dean. He’s not yours to call you own and you have no right to feel as blindingly jealous as you do when he throws his fucking googly eyes at a girl you couldn’t beat in a lineup.

It doesn’t stop the way the pain halts your lungs though because you’re still forced to watch the man you love ogle the most beautiful woman in the room.

“God, I could use a night to just unwind,” Dean hints into his beer, taking a sip and setting it back down with a refreshed hiss.

You don’t respond, instead taking a deep gulp of your ale, trying to drown the words so close to crawling out of your throat. Part of the burnout you’re starting to experience has fallen victim to Dean and his goddamn charm. He can’t help but flirt with anything shiny, it’s his nature, but you wished he thought you were someone worth flirting with.

And unfortunately, what you didn’t know was that it killed Dean to have you around like this. The pent up tension of having you so close makes him itch. He wants so desperately to give into the pull he feels between you two but he’s scared. Actually scared of making you uncomfortable or messing it up. So instead he deflects all of his affection he pleads to shower you with and points at whoever else is in his line of sight. It barely keeps him contained.

Another hour or so passes and you’re drunk enough to feel the absence of pain for the man next to you. Dean is drunk enough to pretend the pretty waitress can spackle the crevasse you’ve cracked into his sternum.

As Dean bids a goodnight and charms the waitress into an early cut, you chug the rest of your ale and turn to Sam.

“Are you present enough to drive us back to the motel?” You ask, fluttering a toothpick between your fingers.

“You got it,” Sam sits up, pulling out a wad of cash and planting it on the table, taking one last swig of his water and- well, you don’t remember him ordering a water- leading you out the front door that Dean and the mystery woman disappeared through just a few minutes ago.

You toss Sam your keys, Dean having taken the Impala, and climb into your passenger seat, letting the soft hum of the radio melt your mind.

Sam helps you into the motel, you may have drunk past your feelings tonight. You claim Dean's bed as your own since he won’t be here tonight, it’s the least he owes you- soberly though, you knew that’s not true.

“You good, can I get you anything?” Sam asks, untying his shoes and loosening his flannel.

“Nah, ‘M good,” you shake your head, sitting up and taking off your uncomfortable layers. You successfully get down to your undershirt and jeans, stretching your sore muscles.

“You can always talk to me, yaknow,” Sam says passively as he digs in his duffle, pretending to look for something. He knows you, and he knows that you aren’t openly ready to ever share your deeper feelings so he tries not to make a big deal out of it but he wants to offer his support regardless.

“You’re too kind, Sam,” your breathy voice flows out as you settle in the bed. “Just a little frustrated. Don’t worry about it,” you say, settling into the cushion. Sam wants to press but leaves it be. He cares for you and he recognizes how stupid his brother is being, but unfortunately there isn’t anything else he can do other than offer his moral support.

With lack of overthinking anxieties for the bright green eyes that stain your lids, sleep takes you easy.

———

The next morning, god is kind as she doesn’t punish you with a hangover but instead a dry mouth and the need to piss like a racehorse. With such a quick dash to the bathroom, you don’t notice Dean passed out on the couch.

Handling your business, you follow up with brushing your hair, teeth, and washing your hands and face- readying yourself for the day.

You trudge to the kitchenette sink and go through two glasses of water before slowing down and turning to finally notice Dean on the couch and Sam’s absence. Your heart nearly stops at the unexpected placement of bodies in the room and lack thereof. Dean is snoring peacefully and you don’t remember hearing him stumble back in this morning.

Last night. Ugh, you don’t want to think about whatever Dean got up to last night after leaving the bar.

It’s almost 10 am at this point and if you wanna make good time, you should probably leave soon. You hope Sam will be back in time for you to say goodbye, but you need space, bad, and don’t think you can hold out much longer.

You set the glass in the sink and head over to pack up your items. The rustling wakes up Dean.

“What time is it?” He asks with a groan, rubbing his eyes. You look over your shoulder at him, his sleepy voice rubbing you like kindling, filling you up quickly with haze smoke. You shake your head, trying to exhale the heat.

“9:54am to be exact,” you clear your throat, stacking some books of yours you had shown Sam yesterday morning sometime.

“God, this couch sucks,” he complains, sitting up with a grunt. Your lips, against your will, curl in amusement at his inconvenience.

“I’m sure your hot date had a bed comfortable enough,” the words feel like poison on your tongue. Your comment is meant to be lighthearted and ‘wing-man’-y but the silence indicates that it didn’t land.

“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t know,” he grumbles and you feel sick, thinking of how else they made it work. The Impala? A different motel? Hell, maybe the bar bathroom. Your thoughts full-circle back to the Impala and you’re bombarded with intrusive thoughts of how many men or women he’s taken in the back of his precious possession. In the same seats you’ve traveled in.

You start to miss the warm wave of alcohol in your belly. You need to be far from this man.

You don’t entertain the comment.

“What’re you doing?” He asks, looking lazily at your items as they’re shoved loosely in your duffle that’s on its last leg.

“Thinkin’ of heading west, maybe hit the strip, try and rack up some cash,” you say, trying to remain casual.

“Sammy’s got another lead,” Dean says, confused like you had forgotten about the suspicious deaths across state.

“And you two are more than capable, I believe in you,” you look over your shoulder and scrunch your nose in a joking manner. He’s not amused.

“You can’t just ditch us,” he stands, crossing his arms over his chest. That caught you off guard.

“Ditch you?” You scoff, turning to face him. “I’m not ditching you, I just have other matters to attend to,” you argue, tilting your head in anger.

“Oh what, betting your $200 and busting? We both know you suck at gambling. You’d be better off taking a handful out a damn wishing well,” he rolls his eyes, shaking his head.

“Oh shut up, I’m entitled to time for myself,” you defend, attitude spitting off of you in waves.

“‘Entitled’- that’s one word I’d use,” he squints, seething in anger. You drop your jaw and spin around, slamming items into your bag with impressive speed.

The air is thick and if your own anger wasn’t buzzing so loud in your chest you’d be able to sense his regret. You zip the bag, avoiding him on your way to the bathroom to retrieve your toiletries bag.

He calls your name as you pass him but your feet don’t react like your stuttering heart does.

“I’m sorry,” he sighs, annoyed with his own burst of anger.

“Whatever, Dean,” you deadpan, grabbing your smaller bag and walking around Dean again, his eyes stay on you like a sunflower in the presence of the sun.

“Just- slow down,” he practically begs, “what is up with you?” He asks, face softened and eyes warm as he tries to figure you out.

“Nothing of your concern,” you state simply, hooking the bag on your arm and slinging the other on your back. You turn to head to the door but Dean sidesteps your track and you bump into his chest. He hands land on your biceps, steadying you. His face is mere inches from yours and you can practically taste that half handful of mints Dean chowed on on his way back to the motel- whenever that was.

“Talk to me,” it’s more of a demand, but his voice is so sweet when he says it- he practically lures it out of you.

“I can’t stand it,” your voice betrays you. Fucking betrays you as it spills out your stupid little thoughts. You snap your jaw shut and turn away, trying not to let the pebbling goosebumps from his radiating heat take over your skin. As if you could even stop them if you tried.

His head tilts and his sparkling eyes search yours. They’re like green apple Jolly Ranchers. So crystal and so sweet. You’re in it now.

“Can’t stand what?” His first concern is that he’s made you uncomfortable in some way and it makes his hold on you loosen as his confidence drains in that fear. He’s tried so unbelievably hard to make sure his feelings for you weren’t overwhelmingly obvious. He had never felt for someone like he felt for you. He didn’t want to woo you and make you melt with a simple smirk- he couldn’t, as far as he could tell. Just like he couldn’t use his charm to cover his cavern of self-loathing from your view, and he couldn’t put on the façade that he would for any other interest of his. Maybe it was respect, maybe it was fear, he just hoped it wasn’t love.

“You,” the word takes an entire lungful of breath to get out, deflating you like an exhausted pufferfish, sick of pretending to be some big-bad to deter prying eyes. Especially the emerald ones that make you salivate.

Your single word hurts him. His grip on you vanished like he was stung from the touch and he took a step back. He’s wounded.

“I just need some space,” it’s still a lungful of breath but at least this puff is more efficient than the former. He’s speechless, he doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t want to argue- he can’t. He knows the burden he is on others and for you, of all people, to outwardly admit it really puts him in his place.

Your eyes hold so much obvious raw emotion that if anyone else but Dean could see, they’d knock him upside the head for how dense and self obsessed he’s being.

His eyes hold so much pain at the unnoticed miscommunication on your end that someone should do the same to you. If you could both get your heads out your asses and just accept the heat- this spark between you- all would settle like sand in a calm lake.

Unfortunately, it’s hurricane season and you bypass him without a second glance as you get in your car and drive until your tears cloud your vision.

———

“And then they just left,” Dean sighs, rubbing a hand down his face. He sat on a squeaky chair supplied in the kitchenette of the generously rated 2-star motel.

“Did they say why?” Sam asked, arms crossed but one lifted to gesture as he spoke.

“It’s my fault,” Dean can’t keep the pain at bay, not even to hold up the big-brother-that-can’t- be-stung persona. He’s too distraught over your words. Well, word.

“Why? What did you do?” Sam says, his shoulders slumping with a sigh of grievance. Almost like he had expected this to be Dean's fault.

He’s quiet, shuffling through his memories, trying to pinpoint when exactly he had hurt you in such a way to cause the outburst. Was it his own words?

“Just said they couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t stand me,” Dean leans back, looking up at the ceiling. Sam’s eyes squint, a thoughtful look clouding his eyes. Once he seems to piece it together, his arms fall and he rolls his eyes.

“Dean, you’re so dense,” Sam pinched the bridge of his nose.

“No need to hammer it in,” Dean shrugs with both his arms and a scoff.

“No, you-. Dean, think about it,” Sam presses, shifting on his feet. “Remember the officer you were talking up to get info for last week's case? How agitated they got? And what about last night- that waitress you took home. Dean, they care about you,” Sam lays it all out, hoping that Dean will actually take it how it's presented to him.

Dean just stared at Sam, not wanting to believe that all this time he’s been shoving down his feelings for you that have actually been mutual this whole time. That he had a chance and how he may have just ruined it.

Suddenly, he doesn’t seem to give his fear another thought. He needs to see you.

Dean doesn’t spare Sam an answer, jumping to his feet and darting out to the Impala, snatching the keys along with his jacket. He roars Baby to life and whips out his phone to check your location. Something the brothers made close friends agree to in case anything ever happened. Of course, this isn’t what was initially in mind when they implemented the rule.

Surprisingly, you’re only a 20 minute drive by now- some diner in the next town. He wasted no time.

Oh, by the way, one of the great skills in Dean Winchester's self-proclaimed ‘Ego Arsenal’? Cutting drives down by at least 20% in desperate situations, sometimes 30% if traffic is forgiving.

He sees your car on the far end of the lot. You’re rustling through the trunk and you look sporadic. Screeching tires alert you to the fresh presence of the Impala and your stomach flips.

“Dean?” You ask, straightening up from your trunk and hoping to seem calm and collected- as if you didn’t just get done crying your eyes out for a love that will never be in your hands.

“I’m an idiot,” Dean stumbles out of the barely parked car, not bothering with latching the door. “I didn’t sleep with her,” he’s breathing heavily but that doesn’t stop him from coming right up to you.

“What?” You ask, completely lost.

“The waitress- I couldn’t,” he shakes his head, breath hitting your face. Damn, he got close.

“Why would-?”

“I couldn’t- because of you,” his sentences are patchy but it almost seems like it’s because his thoughts are so disorganized and not due to the panting breaths.

You’re silenced. Is he blaming you? Is he upset with you? You did nothing- that you recall- that would’ve gotten in the way of him and her. You open your mouth to argue but he’s quick to eat your words as his lips crash into yours, holding you still with both hands on your face. His palms practically suffocate you with how much ground they cover but you couldn’t think enough to care.

He steps as close as he can, pressing his body into yours. His arms are at a more awkward angle for how he’s still holding you but he doesn’t seem to care. Almost afraid that if he lets go then you’ll melt through his abandoned hold and disappear from his life forever. He can’t risk it.

He kisses you until he’s breathless again, pulling away in time for his vision to not threaten giving out on him.

He plants his forehead against yours, breath dusting your face as he just takes in the way your skin ignites his own.

“Where the hell did that come from?” You finally ask, your legs a little weak and thanking god that he’s got a hold on you.

“I couldn’t take it anymore,” he scoffs a simple laugh with a smirk, his eyes still closed. “Just couldn’t stand it,” he teases, eyes still closed. Maybe if he doesn’t open them he won’t have to risk this being a dream.

You press your lips into his again, a sweeter kiss of adoration for his simple joke, as if you two already have your own bit.

“I’m sorry. I never even realized that-,” he sighs, finally opening his eyes and pulling away enough to fully appreciate your face. “I never realized what I felt for you was what it is.” He likes being close enough to admire the blemishes of your skin- freckles, hints of wrinkles, a scar along your temple.

“And what’s that?” You ask, face splayed with a teasing smirk but on the inside you feel like a preteen watching the bouncing bubbles that proceed a romantic text you were bold enough to send.

“Infatuation,” you’re almost convinced he invented the word on the spot with how much emotion he fit into a few syllables.

And although the look he’s dawning is pure and adorning, a neon spark behind his mossy glass shows a devious excitement. God, you’re really in it now.

———————

thank you so much for reading!! <3

>pictures are not my own, i have the originals linked here (pinterest)

>>check out my other works here

>tags: @blossomingorchids @areswasneverhere

[carn4g3]

Creepypasta Relationship HCs (2)

Characters - BEN Drowned, Tim Wright (Masky), Brian Thomas (Hoodie), Kagekao

Summary - A few more glimpses into how these creeps are as partners (w/ 50% more possessiveness !)

TWs - Descriptions of yandere behavior, cheating, stalking, possessiveness/jealousy and overall unhealthy relationships, mentions of kidnapping and violence, & very brief mentions of sex and smoking

Word Count - 3.5k (~700 to 900 each)

A/N: Thank you for all the love on the first part <33 I know a few people requested these characters alongside some other new ones in the time it took me to write this. Just know that I'll have ones for any additional characters out sometime soon if you happened to leave a request along those lines :)

Part 1

BEN Drowned

Before I get to anything else, BEN is perpetually in his early 20s in my characterization of him.

He arguably has the most contact with people outside of Slender's influence simply by being an ipad kid. Because of that, he's most likely to form a relationship with someone if they are from the normal world. BEN doesn't necessary hate his colleagues or Slender, but they're all just so fucked up. Someone with even half the emotional baggage of a killer would be much better.

Now, it's pretty obvious that BEN isn't exactly the most palatable to the average human being. He has a million alternate accounts, all of which assume false identities, but he does have a select few that are more personal. On those accounts, he spends his time in various forums or chats where he can discuss his favorite games and other media. You two would probably connect on one of those shared interests, maybe even several, and he would be hooked from there.

BEN isn't the most patient person, but it would take more than a few months of talking before he truly built a connection with you. He'd prefer you reciprocate his feelings after that point, but it wouldn't deter him if you didn't. He's self aware enough to know that he needs to give you time to adjust to the fact that he's not the human man you thought you were talking to and that he crawled out of your very own computer screen. Though, back to his impatience, it's probably not nearly enough time.

The topic of monogamy with BEN would be a variable subject. He's well aware of the litany of ways partners define themselves given the somewhat questionable time he spends online. Ideally, BEN would see himself as unconstrained by a relationship, and, therefore, you should have an open end as well. Though, the less mature part of him sees you as something of a prize that should be reserved for him alone, and that's the side that takes over.

BEN wouldn't allow you to have romantic or sexual relationships with anyone other than himself. Meanwhile, the unspoken rule is that he could... if he wanted to. Does that mean he actually has other partners? No, not at all. It was a miracle you wanted to enter a relationship with him willingly, if you even did. There's no way in hell he's going to replicate that easily.

Despite all of that, he's not very outwardly possessive. He carries himself with a certain arrogance, it shouldn't be a shock that extends to his relationships. If you seem close to someone else, he still thinks you'll choose him in the end. At the same time, he's your most avid stalker. There are cameras damn near everywhere nowadays, and he doesn't even need to break a sweat to access their footage. In the situation that you're cooperative enough that he doesn't need to force you into his living space, he watches where you go. Even if you can't leave his side, he still tracks you one way or another. Nothing happens between you and another person that doesn't go unseen by him, and, if someone is too close, he'll pay them a "friendly" visit.

He shows affection the best through quality time and gift giving. Admittedly, his definition of quality time is almost exclusively reserved for playing games or showing you something on his plethora of devices. On occasion, he can suck it up and do something that you like: going outside is in his skillset... albeit reluctantly. As for gift giving, BEN is surprisingly good at getting things you like even though it seems like he's never listening. You might want to avoid asking how he got the money for such things, though. He won't give you a straight answer anyway.

Physical affection with BEN would be a bit strange. He's not entirely an apparition, but his form isn't totally corporeal either. Objects he's holding can phase through his grip at times without warning, though it's not quite to the point where he can pass through walls. When he lingers close enough to you, it feels almost like there's a faint, electrical buzzing on your skin. He can still touch you despite that, though your hair may start standing after a while. It's only when he lingers near you for too long that there's an issue. The static electricity building between you becomes pretty potent, resulting in an actual electric shock once he does make contact. BEN can be a little sadistic, but he's not particularly interested in hurting you. So, he tends to avoid touching you much or, if he does, it'll be pretty quick.

While BEN has a bit of a reason for falling short on physical affection, he has no good excuse for his lackluster words of affection. He thrives in making lewd comments on your body and that's it. The only way to get him to say he loves you is by saying it yourself. Even then, his response is pretty lacking, but it's not out of a genuine dislike for you. The way his ears turn a light pink, burning most red at their pointy ends, indicates he's at least a little fond of you.

Masky

Quick note because I can see this becoming confusing, I tend to refer to Slender as the Operator when writing for Marble Hornets characters because I think that's what they would call him. It's still the same old Slendy tho :)

Being in this fandom for so long, I can see the development of my frontal lobe in the form of my hcs of this man.

Tim is well into his 40s. He thinks a dating life is far beyond him, and, even if it weren't, he hardly knows what it's like to be a "normal" person anymore after 20 years as a proxy. While I say all that, if he were to find love, it would likely not be among the Operator's ranks. Tim despises the creature and everything it stands for, but he knows he's not strong enough to evade it. He finds respite in the areas outside of its power and is mostly likely to let go of his inhibitions for someone in that mental space.

He is not 100% ready to embrace a relationship, romantic or otherwise. The Operator isn't clueless to Tim's resent; it's why newer proxies like Kate and Toby are much more infatuated with the creature. To keep the less conditioned ones around, it has to extend its control a bit more uniquely. Tim knows that you're at risk of the Operator doing something to you, and he can't handle that. Because of that, his presence in your life isn't consistent. He's trying to prove to himself that he doesn't need you and, to the Operator, that you don't get in the way of his work. Though, Tim has never been the most strong willed. He comes crawling back to you every time.

While most of the others are willing to kidnap the person of their affections, I don't think Tim would quite get to that point. He prefers that you have your own separate life away from him. It makes him feel like you two are a normal couple, but he's certainly not a saint. Mentally stable people do not become proxies of the Operator, so Tim is riddled with some less than ideal possessive and controlling tendencies. He wants you to be dedicated to him and only him. Any other romantic or sexual relationships are completely out of the question for you, in his mind.

Does he quite monitor if you keep up your end of the bargain on that? No. When he disappears for months at a time, he does anything he can to erase you from his mind. Gaining an almost iron will, he won't even stalk you until he gets especially desperate, and that's usually the point when he shows up again.

When he is around, though, he expresses issues with your other relationships quite readily: platonic or even familial. Tim is very deeply insecure in himself. Who wouldn't be after finding out their existence alone has led to the deaths of many? He's buried all of that so deep at this point that even he hardly knows it though, so he calls himself a "traditional" man instead. He prefers your deepest affections to be saved for him, is that so wrong?

Even though his lifestyle is far from anything traditional, he sees himself as the provider. Regardless of your gender, you're the caretaker or the homebody. Like I said earlier, he's fine with you having a separate life-- it's the modern age after all, the least of his worries should be whether or not you work. But, he expects you to see him as a dominant figure that should be listened to, and he will follow through on that.

Anger management? Who the hell is that? Tim's job grates on him, physically and mentally. That's part of the reason he smokes a pack a day, and why he's with you as well. He tends to be at his most vulnerable and volatile when he turns to you, and those emotions are usually hardly a result of your actions. When Tim is angry, though, any little thing can set him off and make that anger entirely your fault. He'll tend to distance himself before things get physical, but verbal arguments are far from uncommon. One of these arguments is usually what prompts him to disappear back to the depths of the woods. But, if he's feeling a little less sorry for himself, he'll come back to you and give a begrudging apology. He does truly feel bad when he snaps at you and wishes it wouldn't happen. At the same time, he has a completely self-pitying and helpless approach to fixing that issue.

Surprisingly, he's big on physical affection. If he's with you, you're likely a little secret of his, so he can only get his time in after completing his daily tasks. He's tired as hell by that point, so he'll just sprawl out wherever you are. In bed? He's right behind you. Watching a movie? Your couch is comfy enough to sleep on. You're busy doing things? He can fall asleep standing if need be. He prefers if you go about initiating certain things like hugs and cuddles, but he can handle initiating a kiss or more.

When it comes to words of affection, on the other hand, just be happy with the few affectionate gestures you can get. It takes a war in his brain to so much as utter the words "sorry," you'd be shit out of luck to hear "I love you" or anything deeper than that. If he's feeling especially sappy, he might leave you a handwritten note. His handwriting is absolutely atrocious, worse than a doctor's script, and takes some analysis to decipher. Once you get it, that will be the closest glimpse at Tim's true feelings towards you.

Hoodie

I would like to think Brian is similarly still in touch with parts of his humanity as Tim is. But, that would be wishful thinking, wouldn't it?

Brian is a stalker first and a lover second. While normal people might unwind by watching TV or even reading a book, Brian takes similar joy in simply watching you from a far. He would find people outside of the Operator's control most interesting to watch, but it wouldn't matter at the end of the day. If you capture his interests, he'll watch-- maybe even take videos.

I imagine his main tasks under the Operator involve intel collection. He's highly skilled in slinking around in the shadows and not being caught, unless of course he wants to instill some unease in the mind of his victim. As a result, it's very unlikely you would notice him lurking. He's not there to unsettle you necessarily, but he might if he finds himself feeling a certain way. You're his most convenient entertainment at the end of the day, so it's not really in his desire to encourage you to get others involved or even move somewhere less convenient.

If you do happen to notice his presence, he's almost a little impressed at your perceptiveness. Not to mention, it makes the second phase of his plan a little easier. Brian may be content to watch endlessly, but he doesn't stop himself from exploring his curiosity to be included in your life. For him, he feels like he's known you forever. For you, he's crafted your interactions across the span of several weeks or even months to get you interested. With the added weight of a secret stalker on your psyche, it only draws you closer to his "welcoming" arms.

Brian isn't quite to the point where he sees himself as a sole provider. Once again, it's more interesting for him if you have at least a few interests beyond him. Like a beach episode in an anime, Brian sees your endeavors outside of your home as a welcomed (but temporary) change in setting. Not nearly enough people acknowledge that the Marble Hornets guys are from Alabama, in my opinion. It's not exactly the most progressive state, and Brian likely holds some toxic masculine values. He thinks of himself as a sort of "man of the house." You should listen to him, and he expects you to dedicate a lot of time to your relationship. In his mind, he dedicates a lot of time to you, even if most of that dedication is unknown to you.

Before he even went forward with inserting himself into your narrative, he was already interfering with the others in your life. He tries to act all stoic, but he is still very possessive at the end of the day. I've explained that some of the other characters find their possessiveness and jealousy rooted in their insecurities. Brian is certainly not immune to those feelings, but I think his issues stem from what I can best describe as an objectification of others. He views you almost like a hobby, something that he puts his free time into. He feels an almost bitter jealousy when others try to catch your attention with less than half of the pristine planning and attention to detail he executed. Just as he can stalk you, he can stalk others. He will make his watchful presence much more malicious and well known to the people he wants out of your life.

His go to forms of affection are acts of service and quality time. Ignoring that he sees stalking you as a form of quality time, he likes taking you on dates. His appearance isn't something too noteworthy to most people, so he can easily ditch the mask (if you even know he has one) and hit the town. He's a big fan of dinner and a movie or a little nature hike if you're interested in more outdoorsy activities like him. If you're more into stay-home dates, he'll happily watch a movie from the comfort of your couch and help you cook a dinner for two.

As for acts of service, he takes pride in the fact that he's a bit of a handyman. It's not like you can exactly get the usual help when you live secretly in the woods as a proxy of an immortal eldritch being. If you so much as breathe a word of issue about something in your home, he's on it. Carrying something heavy? He'll get it for you. It doesn't matter if you can do it yourself, he's going to do it now. Weaponized incompetence fears him. Asking Brian to do a task for you almost always ensures it will get done within the day.

He doesn't honestly care too much for physical affection. As I've already established, he's happy to do damn near anything you ask of him. If you want attention that way, simply ask. In general, he asks for very little in return. Although, when he does get around to asking for more, there's no guarantee he won't push your boundaries a little uncomfortably.

On the topic of communication, he's not very talkative and prefers to listen to you instead. Words of affection are few and far between, but he does have some quirks. It won't take an army for him to tell you he loves you, and he has a sleeve full of endearing nicknames to call you ("love" is his favorite).

Kagekao

Where do I even start with Kage.

He doesn't have any specific preference if you're a worker of Slender just like him or not. If asked why he does anything for the creature, he'll say it's simply because it's the "best" arrangement in this modern age. On the surface, that's a pretty reasonable explanation given that demons aren't exactly common or readily accepted members of society. However, the real reason is that Slender gets what it wants and is a hell lot more powerful than Kage. The demon begrudgingly does what he has to and tries to spend the rest of his time getting the fun he would prefer.

While some of the others might begin their interests by watching from afar, Kage pops into your life right off the bat. He finds entertainment in watching, but it's so much more interesting to have those interactions up close. Especially if you're not as familiar with inhuman entities, Kage takes pleasure in eliciting those responses of perplexion from you.

Living in a world largely populated by what he perceives as "weak humans," he's gained quite the ego. If you're not a demonic entity, he most certainly considers himself superior to you in all ways. Even if you are a demonic entity, he has a very specific criteria for what he considers to be a "real" demon and would still likely see himself as better. On the other hand, his underestimation of you tends to lead to interesting reactions in the case that you can pack a bit of a punch against the demon. (*cough* he's into it *cough*)

Like Tim, a relationship with Kagekao wouldn't ever really get a chance to be defined because he likes to bounce in and out of your life on a dime. Although, he certainly doesn't feel any guilt or even apprehension to pursue his interests in you. He recognizes you could get targeted by some less favorable attention (Slender being the worst), but he's interested in seeing how you'd react.

He is absolutely with other people in addition to you. I can't imagine he has many relationships that are too far past friends with benefits (everyone wants to fuck a demon, this app proves it), but I wouldn't put it past him. For that reason, he tends to turn a blind eye to your escapades. That being said, if your relationship with him borders on something more romantic, he expects you to have no other romantic partners.

Because he's not too consistently involved in your life, Kage isn't the most possessive on the list. On occasion, he'll express his opinions on the other people you spend your time with, but they're usually empty threats. If they really upset him, he'll eliminate them from your life. Does that mean death? Or simply scaring them off? You don't really want to know.

Like many of these guys, Kage isn't big on clear demonstrations of love like physical affection or words. His best show of affection is gift giving. He's not quite a kleptomaniac, but he does have what can only be described as a dragon's hoard of shiny trinkets. If asked, he won't say any of them are particularly special. Though, he does have a lengthy story for how he acquired each one, and he won't just readily give them out... except for you. Especially if he has matching sets of something, he'll tend to gift you one of the halves. You might not necessarily want or even like all the trinkets Kage gifts you, but you'll have to keep and display them. If not, Kage will do a bit of redecorating for you

Gotta let the brain worms speak on this one, he likes to offer you help, but he is not actually helpful. Kage thinks he can do practically anything. He's a demon in a human's world, after all. But can he actually follow through? No. Not at all. He gives up on tasks pretty easily when they stop being interesting. Even in the case that he goes through with completing the whole thing, you might have preferred to just do it yourself.

Don't get me wrong, his affections aren't all bad. He tends to think he's too good for physical affection, but he can be surprisingly sweet and comforting. Additionally, while he won't say it out loud, you might find that one of his gifts has an oddly romantic inscription etched on it. Trust, Kage makes up for his shortcomings.

[amnestria-the-elf]

So we're all just supposed to be fucking grateful that Larian gave us "new Wyll content" (evil ending for a man who is canonically incorruptible, what the fuck) and simultaneously broke him again (giving low approval greetings to a romanced PC, what the fuck).

I... I just... the simultaneous feelings of rage and utter hopelessness are overwhelming.

Listen, if you've read any of my posts you know I have a pretty clear "Don't yuck anyone's yum" policy. If you think an evil Wyll ending is interesting, fine. But here's why it falls flat for me.

First, like I said above, Wyll is canonically incorruptible. It's literally the entire basis of his character. He is a man who was coerced into making an infernal contract to save a city and had to pay a horrible price for doing so, then spent seven fucking years alone in the wilderness doing his damned best to protect the people of the Sword Coast, while all along telling his horrible, abusive patron to just fuck off already.

Now, could you argue that during the events of the game, Wyll develops a taste for evil? Sure. There are plenty of opportunities for his villain origin story to unfold. But they never do. His moral compass never wavers. Turned into a devil? He feels shame, because it's an outward sign that he was doing things for Mizora that were morally wrong, and he didn't see it before. His approval rating for the PC shoots through the roof if you save Karlach, a sure indicator of his true moral compass. His father kidnapped? Fuck that noise, we're gonna save him. Rescue Zariel's "asset"? Ugh, fine, but don't get distracted from the real reason we're here. His father gets tadpoled? Oh hells no, we're gonna take down these assholes and save the godsdamned world. His father accuses him of being an agent of a devil and is super pissy about it? "Everything I did, I did for the people of the Sword Coast."

For fuck's sake, he will leave the party if the PC gets too evil, even knowing it means he'll probably turn into a mindflayer immediately. Even if he's romancing the PC. Unwavering moral compass. So giving him an evil ending without also going back and changing everything about his character just feels like lazy writing to me.

Which brings me to the second reason all of this rubs the wrong way. Wyll deserves so much more content. More romanced greetings, more reactions to other characters' choices, a final boss battle that is actually about him, a default ending that actually makes fucking sense (I have another post cooking about the Avernus ending, so I will leave it for now.)

And please, spare me your "But Wyll was rewritten after early access" bullshit. That's Larian's problem. They chose to listen to feedback and do a late-stage rewrite. They then chose to implement it poorly and never fucking fix it. Other characters, who already have far more content than Wyll, have had even more added over the course of the seven released patches. Wyll, on the other hand, has been sitting around completely ignored until now when we get this evil ending.

Many have rightfully pointed out the inherent racism steeped in all of this. I want Larian to be better. But as Maya Angelou said, "When someone shows you who they are, believe them." I already didn't have much hope about Patch 7 for Wyll, but this... honestly, this is worse than him just being ignored again.

The thing that kills me the most is that this is just going to be more fodder for the fandom to completely mischaracterize Wyll, for those who already haven't bothered to think critically about his character at all to just be like, oh, cool, Wyll is evil now. Nope. You've completely missed the point.

I'm just... so tired. I've worked very hard to put this little bubble of Wyll enthusiasts around me (hi friends I love you all!) so that I can hold on to some shred of sanity in this fandom. The world needs heroes of color. Just let Wyll be the hero in peace.

[lemon-shark-kat]

The Genshin Impact fandom is fascinating to me when it comes to fanfics, because I feel like I struggle to find any fics that really *get* the characterization of certain characters and I'm loathed to write my own because dammit I just want to read the specific itch I crave without resorting to creating it. Give me three more months and I'll cave in.

For example, Diluc is one of my favorites and I find his backstory fascinating in terms of his father Crepus possibly being more morally ambiguous than most fans are willing to admit and how little we know of Diluc's murder spree in Snezhnaya.

For example which Harbinger(s) did he have a run-in with? Will we find out more about the secret intelligence network that took him in, that he apparently had a high position in? Did he ever find the answers he was searching for? The list goes on.

It's hard for me to find the specific characterization of him I crave for in fics because I think his platonic relationship with Kaeya is incredibly nuanced and complex but I feel like his character often gets assassinated for Kaeya angst but like, the man had the worst birthday ever?

Imagine being Diluc, living through a literal worst nightmare. Your dad is dead after you failed to protect him yourself. Not only is your dad dead but he died after wielding a delusion--you dont even know what a delusion is but its clearly bad news. Why the fuck did your father have it and how?

On top of this, the Favonius Knights--the organization you proudly served and the very organization that your father heavily encouraged you to serve--insists on covering up the truth because it makes them look bad. The Favonius Knights, who are supposed to be honorable and uphold integrity, are anything but that.

Then your adoptive brother, who you've known for years and trust with your life, shows up and tells you he's been spying for a foreign nation since you were kids with the intent of harming Mondstadt and everything about your relationship is possibly all one big lie and well--how do you not snap??

Now, I'm also incredibly fond of Kaeya and he was just as traumatized by Crepus's death. He was wracked with guilt for *feeling* relieved that he didn't have to worry about betraying his birth father for his adoptive father since Crepus was dead. He anticipated Diluc's anger and felt like their duel was a punishment for his lies.

To me, it hints that Kaeya probably didn't reveal the truth expecting Diluc's understanding, but rather he knew how he would react and perhaps he wanted Diluc to strike him down in that duel. Or at the very least, he wanted to distance himself from Diluc and cut off ties in order to avoid emotional attachment stopping him from his mission.

I personally head-canon that Diluc withdrew upon seeing Kaeya's vision because well--why would the gods bless Kaeya with a vision if he truly had the intent to harm Mondstadt? So in spite of what Kaeya revealed, he isn't a threat. But there's still a lot of hurt there to navigate through.

I think it's fascinating seeing where they stand in present game because Kaeya obviously has the ideology of working the system from within. He stayed in the knights (even taking over his brother's position) and with Jean rooted out the Inspector and his cronies.

Meanwhile Diluc just isn't that type of person. He doesn't settle, he refuses to work in a system he views corrupt, he rather accomplish what he can outside of it. Curiously, he doesn't challenge the status quo beyond being vocal of his distaste of the Knights.

This is head-canon fantasyland, but I like to envision Kaeya and Diluc do use a lot of the same informants and collaborate on intel relating to the safety of Mondstadt (especially since Diluc can move in ways against the Fatui that the Knights can't due to political reasons) but they struggle to have the same connection as before.

For example, Diluc's story quest--Kaeya was essentially giving Diluc an alibi with the Knights. Even if Jean damn well knows who it is, they still have to have official documentation stating otherwise.

Kaeya is good at reading people, he has to be given how he was raised to be a child spy. But I like to think he struggles to read Diluc like before. Diluc is much more jaded, pessimistic, quieter than before. He prefers to work on his own as much as possible. From Kaeya's pov, the only person he's seen Diluc willing to fully trust enough to work alongside with is the Traveler, and he states as much.

The opposite is true of Diluc. Kaeya was his shadow, a quiet but inquisitive, witty observer. Cavalry Captain Kaeya is much more outgoing and friendly, his charm on full display. Did he ever really truly know Kaeya or did he only show Diluc what he wanted him to see? Is Kaeya happier this way?

Fanon often depicts Kaeya as essentially being barred from the dawn winery from the duel by Diluc himself, but I don't think that's quite the case. Much rather, given the reason he told Diluc that night, I think he views himself as undeserving due to unresolved guilt.

Canon seems to hint at all of this through his hangout and Hidden Strife, the latter of which is unfortunately a time-limited event that occurred before I even played (hoyo please stop having heavy lore drops occur in time limited events).

I think the two want to trust each other again, but both are afraid of destroying the tentative truce they have so they leave all of it unaddressed. Kaeya refuses to be completely truthful ever again and Diluc acknowledges the past but refuses to discuss it. The tragedy in their relationship that neither is at fault for what happened--it's a twisted emotional mess of grief and heartbreak.

The last point I'd like to touch on is the parallels between Kaeya and Diluc both being essentially child soldiers for their fathers' causes.

For Kaeya, being abandoned in Mondstadt to be a child spy is the most overt. For Diluc? Despite Crepus's strong ambition to be a Favonius Knight and to have a vision--neither happened for him. In Diluc's vision story, it states that he views his vision being a result of their "shared" ambition, hinting that his vision was granted after Diluc's strong resolve to achieve his father's dreams for him.

We know Crepus heavily encouraged Diluc down this path at very young age, given Diluc received his vision at age 10 and became the youngest Captain at age 14. In some ways, I'm sure Kaeya was a bit jealous of Diluc for having a loving father present in his life that was overtly proud of him.

I am not saying Crepus wasn't a good father, I think he cared immensely for Kaeya and Diluc both, but I do think he did some morally grey shit.

Diluc abandoning his vision is fascinating and it's almost never explored in fics. He is the only vision holder we know of (aside from the Inazumauns whose visions were taken by force) that had their ambition for their vision shaken in such a way that they voluntarily discarded their vision for a time and only took it back after reigniting a new ambition to have it (and as far we know the only allogene that faced no negative setbacks from using a delusion long-term without their vision present).

I don't know where to end all of this, except if you have ragbros fic recommendations that you believe cover it in a more nuanced way, let me know!