#fuck you master of masters fuck you so much

[d-z20]

Neighbourly Care part 2 (NSFW)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary: You try to forget the night with your neighbours by going on dates, but it doesn't go as planned. It goes better ;)

-OR-

Your hot MILF neighbours see you on a date and get jealous so they fuck you again

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, switch mommy Agatha, top daddy Rio, both are possessive, strap-ons, oral, double penetration, marking, degredation & praise kink, spanking, choking, orgasm denial, good bit of aftercare at the end

Words: 5.5k

A/N: If you thought it couldn't get any hornier you are very very mistaken. It is so much filthier than part 1

AO3 | Part 1 | Master List

Not For Sharing

Warmth envelops you as consciousness seeps back into your mind. A subtle, sweet scent lingers in the air—a mix of flowers and something distinctly comforting. You stir, the remnants of your dream still vivid: your impossibly hot neighbours had swept you off your feet, indulging in a passionate embrace and fucking you so good you’re pretty sure you died. The nights you dream of them are always that little bit better. Smiling, you let out a satisfied sigh, tugging the soft, firm thing in your arms closer. Must be a pillow, you think lazily, nuzzling into its warmth.

"Good morning, sweetheart," a familiar voice chuckles.

Your eyes snap open.

Agatha.

Not a pillow.

Not a dream...

You’re curled against her side, your head resting snugly on her stomach. She’s propped up slightly, her body warm and soft beneath you. An arm is draped around you, her hand brushing soothing strokes up and down your back as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. In her other hand, she holds a book, but as you blink up at her, she smiles and gently closes it, setting it aside.

"Mornin'," you mumble, your voice thick with sleep. You barely resist the urge to bury your face back into her, your cheeks burning as the realisation of last night fully dawns on you.

Agatha leans down and kisses the top of your head. The simple gesture sends warmth flooding through you. She tilts your chin up gently, her eyes twinkling with something unreadable. "Your clothes from yesterday have been washed and dried," she says, her voice soft and matter-of-fact. "And Rio’s in the kitchen making breakfast for us."

Before you can respond, Rio strides into the room, three mugs of coffee balanced expertly in her hands. She hands one to Agatha with a quick peck on her lips, then holds another out to you.

"Morning, sleepyhead," she says with a teasing grin, her tone impossibly warm.

"Thanks," you mumble, taking the coffee. She slides onto the bed beside you, lifting an arm and raising an expectant brow.

"Shift over," Rio says, wiggling her fingers invitingly.

"Hey! I was enjoying the warmth," Agatha protests, mock-affronted.

"Yeah, well, you’ve been enjoying it for the past couple hours," Rio shoots back.

"Hours?!" you exclaim, heat rising to your cheeks again as you sit up, coffee clutched between your hands.

"Well, yes," Agatha says lightly. "You were clearly very tired." She doesn’t elaborate, her smile mysterious, and Rio just hums in agreement, leaning back against the headboard as she pulls you snugly against her side.

—

The three of you share a leisurely breakfast in the kitchen—pancakes, eggs, and endless cups of coffee. Agatha and Rio exchange easy, affectionate banter, occasionally roping you into the conversation. They’re warm and welcoming, making you feel at home despite the lingering butterflies in your stomach.

"We were thinking of taking you out today," Agatha says as you finish the last of your coffee. "Just something casual. Then we’ll drop you off at the train station later."

Rio nods. "Sound good?"

You blink, momentarily startled by their kindness. "Yeah," you say softly. "Thanks."

They wave it off, smiling, and you excuse yourself to get changed into your freshly laundered clothes.

—

The day unfolds with relaxed simplicity. First, they take you to a cosy bookshop tucked into a quiet side street. Rio pulls a ridiculous rom-com novel off the shelf and insists on reading the blurb aloud, much to Agatha’s exasperation. Next, you stroll through a park, the crisp air filling your lungs as you wander past street performers and families enjoying their weekend. They buy you a coffee from a nearby cart, Agatha teasing you when you nearly spill it on yourself.

Afterward, they take you to a charming little boutique, where Agatha insists you try on a scarf that matches your eyes. “Perfect,” she declares, adjusting it around your neck with a soft smile.

By lunchtime, they lead you to a small, bustling restaurant with mismatched chairs and walls covered in framed photographs. The food is delicious—warm and filling—and the conversation flows easily. It feels surreal, sitting across from the two of them as if you’ve known them forever.

As the meal winds down, Agatha pulls your phone out of your hand. "We’re putting our numbers in," she announces, typing quickly, before sliding the phone to Rio, who does the same.

"We already have yours," Rio says, her voice warm. "If you ever need anything—anything at all—just give us a call or shoot us a text."

You nod, touched, and tuck the phone back into your pocket.

—

The drive to the train station feels bittersweet. They both walk you to the platform, hugging you when the train approaches.

"Thank you," you say again, your voice earnest as you meet their gazes.

Agatha’s smile is soft, her eyes lingering on you. "Take care, sweetheart."

"Don’t be a stranger," Rio adds, nudging your arm.

You wave goodbye as you board the train, watching them until they disappear from view. The train begins to move, and you sink into your seat, warmth blooming in your chest. You’re not sure what last night meant—or if you’ll ever fully understand it—but you know one thing for certain: you’ll never forget it.

—

It’s been five weeks since that weekend, and they still occupy your every thought. The scent of them in the air, the warmth of their arms, the gentle cadence of their laughter—it all plays on a loop in your mind. You’ve gone on a few dates with other people since then, trying to distract yourself, but nothing compares. Nothing satisfies.

A few nights ago, things hit a new low. In the midst of a heated hookup, as your date left a mark on your neck, you’d moaned Rio’s name. Somehow, you managed to laugh it off and keep going, but minutes later, when Agatha’s name slipped out, the whole thing came to an abrupt halt. You were left flustered, wet, and unsatisfied—wanting Rio and Agatha with a desperate ache you couldn’t shake.

You’ve thought about texting them. A thousand messages drafted and then deleted. What would you even say? They haven’t messaged you, either, you think. Were they waiting for you? Or was that weekend nothing more than a fun, fleeting indulgence for them—a way to “mix things up,” as Agatha had casually put it?

Tonight, you’re determined to move on. 

As you finish getting ready, you remind yourself to put them out of your mind. Your new date seems funny enough, and meeting them at a trendy bar feels like a step in the right direction. You’re going to have fun tonight. You’re going to be present.

—

The bar is loud and bustling, neon lights reflecting off polished surfaces. You try to focus on your date, but within minutes, it’s clear they’re not who you hoped they’d be. Their jokes are flat, their smile forced, and they’ve been unreasonably rude to the waitstaff. You make a mental note to leave as soon as politeness allows.

Then you see Agatha and Rio walk in, commanding the room without even trying. They’re magnetic, glowing under the low lighting, and your heart stumbles in your chest. What are they doing here? You’ve never seen them around before; okay, yes, they only live a few hours drive away, but their sudden appearance feels like a sign, though you’re unsure of what.

Agatha’s gaze sweeps across the room and lands on you. Her brows lift slightly, and a smirk tugs at her lips. Rio follows her line of sight, her expression shifting to something warmer—though there’s a flicker of irritation when her eyes land on your date. They exchange a look, and then both of them start making their way over.

Your date notices your distraction and huffs. “You gonna stop staring and pay attention to me, or...” Their tone is sharp, and they snap their fingers in your face.

Before you can reply, Agatha and Rio arrive at your table, flanking you on either side.

"Well, hello there," Agatha purrs, her voice warm but laced with something sharper. She leans in slightly, brushing her fingers lightly over your shoulder. "Fancy seeing you here."

Rio crosses her arms, her gaze fixed on your date. “Interesting company you’re keeping tonight,” she says, her tone neutral but her eyes anything but.

Your date bristles, clearly annoyed. “Who the hell are you two?”

Agatha straightens, her smile cool. “Friends. Good friends.” Her hand lingers on the back of your chair, fingers drumming casually but possessively.

Rio, meanwhile, focuses on you, her brow furrowed in faint concern. “You okay here?”

Your date scoffs. “We were just fine until you two showed up.”

Agatha chuckles, the sound low and dangerous. “Is that so?” Her gaze shifts to you, her expression softening just slightly. “Doesn’t look that way to me.”

Caught between them, you feel a mix of relief and embarrassment. You start to protest, trying to play it cool. “Guys, it’s fine. I—”

Agatha cuts you off, her voice firm but not unkind. “Sweetheart, we could see you weren’t enjoying yourself from across the room.”

Rio nods, her hand brushing against your arm. “You’re more than welcome to join us instead.”

Your date mutters something under their breath that sounds suspiciously like “fucking bitches," but Agatha and Rio ignore them entirely, their focus solely on you. The weight of their attention is overwhelming, and before you can fully process it, Agatha has her arm around your shoulder, guiding you out of your seat. Rio follows closely, her presence solid and reassuring.

—

They take you to an upscale restaurant, one far fancier than anywhere you’d normally go. You hesitate at the entrance, your protests spilling out in a rush. “This is too much—I can’t afford—”

“Our treat,” Agatha interrupts smoothly, holding the door open with a smile as Rio guides you forward, her hand firmly pushing on the small of your back.

The staff greets them by name—clearly they are regulars—and they lead the three of you to a cosy corner table. The atmosphere is intimate, the low lighting casting a golden glow. Over starters and mains, the tension between you shifts. What started as awkwardness melts into something electric.

Agatha and Rio tease you gently, their words laced with warmth and playful innuendo. Rio brushes her hand over yours when she reaches for the salt, and Agatha’s gaze lingers on your lips when you speak. The air between you crackles, the chemistry undeniable.

By the time dessert rolls around, you’re scratching absently at your neck, pulling the collar of your top aside. You don’t notice their gazes locking on the faint hickey, but you do feel the subtle shift in the room’s energy. Rio’s hand tightens on her wife’s thigh, and Agatha’s smile takes on a sharper edge.

Their questions come fast and pointed. “So, you’ve clearly been busy making friends since we last saw you?” Agatha asks, her tone deceptively casual.

Rio leans in, her eyes piercing. “What made you pick tonight’s winner?”

You stammer through answers, feeling their scrutiny like a physical touch. The intensity of their attention is both unnerving and thrilling.

Excusing yourself to the restroom, you take a moment to breathe. But as you wash your hands, the door opens, and Agatha steps inside. She leans against the counter beside you, her gaze heavy.

“Rio’s paying the bill,” she says, her voice low. Then her eyes drop to your neckline. “What’s this?” She tugs lightly at your collar, revealing the faint mark.

Heat floods your cheeks. “I—it’s nothing.”

She doesn’t respond, just steps closer, her hand brushing your arm. “We told you,” she murmurs, her voice dropping, “if you needed anything, you should call us.”

“I thought you meant a ride or—”

Her lips cut off your protest, the kiss firm and possessive. When she pulls back, her hand lingers on your arm, her eyes dark with intent. "Come,” she insists.

The air is thick with tension as Agatha’s hand wraps firmly around your bicep, her grip unyielding but not harsh. She leads you out of the bathroom without a word, and the sight of Rio waiting outside sends a fresh wave of heat through your body. Rio’s dark, smouldering gaze meets yours, and without hesitation, she steps forward, flanking you as Agatha moves to the other side.

The three of you walk in silence, their presence commanding, leaving no room for anything but anticipation. They don’t speak, and neither do you; trailing just behind them, your mind races. The click of their shoes on the pavement echoes in your ears, their hands brushing your arms or back every so often, steadying you, anchoring you.

—

When you reach a hotel, the atmosphere shifts. They lead you through the grand entrance, past a curious concierge, and into the waiting elevator. The doors close, and the small space amplifies everything—Agatha’s scent, Rio’s presence, the sheer weight of their eyes on you.

Agatha moves first, her hands gripping your waist as she pulls you to her. “We told you to call us,” she murmurs against your ear, her voice low and commanding, her fingers digging into your sides just enough to make you shiver.

Rio joins in, her hand finding its way to the back of your neck. “Yet, there you were, clinging to some asshole,” she growls, her tone laced with irritation and something much darker. Her fingers tighten, forcing you to meet her gaze.

The elevator dings, the sound barely registering as they usher you out, their hands firm and guiding. They walk you down the plushly carpeted hallway, their pace unrelenting, and when they reach the room, Agatha pulls out the key card with practiced ease. The door swings open, and you’re all but pushed inside.

The air in the room feels charged, the door clicking shut behind you like the finality of a lock. You barely have a moment to take in your surroundings before they close in on you.

“You were supposed to ask us,” Agatha says, her voice sharp as she steps closer, her eyes blazing. “For anything. For everything.”

Rio crosses her arms, her jaw set tight. “Instead, we find that you’ve been busy making friends,” she demands, her tone snearing at the final word.

You stumble over your words, your pulse racing. “I—I wasn’t trying to— It’s just, I couldn’t stop thinking about you, and I thought maybe—”

“Maybe what?” Agatha snaps, cutting you off. “That you could distract yourself by throwing yourself at the first person who looked at you?”

“Yes! Wait, no!” You stammer. “All of the dates were just distractions, but none of them could get you guys out of my head.” You knew instantly you had messed up.

Rio’s eyes narrow. “All of the dates?” She repeats, her voice artificially soft.

“Uhhh… yeah, there’s been more than who you saw tonight,” you admit weakly, instantly regretting it when Agatha’s eyes flash with something dangerous.

“Clearly,” Rio hisses, stepping closer. Her hand shoots out, gripping your face firmly and tilting your head up so you can’t escape her gaze. “You are nothing but a common whore. I mean, just look at your neck.”

Agatha’s voice joins in, smooth and biting. “You’re ours. Don’t you get it? Ours. Not theirs, not anyone else’s.”

Your breath hitches, and you nod as best you can with Rio’s hand still holding your face. “Yes,” you whisper.

“Yes, what?” Rio prompts, her tone sharp.

“Y-yes, Mommy,” you manage, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.

The effect is immediate. Rio’s lips crash against yours, the kiss claiming and consuming. Her fingers dig into your jaw, holding you in place as her tongue sweeps over yours, leaving you dizzy and breathless. 

Then Agatha’s voice fills the space, low and possessive.

“We’re not sharing you with anyone else,” she declares, her presence suddenly behind you. Her hands snake around your waist, pulling you flush against her as her mouth finds the mark on your neck. She bites down, hard enough to make you gasp into Rio’s mouth, and then she soothes the sting with her tongue before sucking hard, ensuring her mark overlays the one already there.

Her hands begin to roam, firm and deliberate. They slide under your top, her nails raking lightly over your skin, leaving tingling trails in their wake. One hand moves upward, cupping your breast, while the other drifts downward, deftly undoing the buttons of your pants.

“You’re ours,” Agatha murmurs against your skin, her voice like a promise and a warning all at once. Her hand slips into your underwear, her touch confident and unapologetic, as her mouth continues its path along your neck.

Rio finally breaks the kiss. “Is that understood?” She asks, her tone brooking no argument as she watches you with hooded eyes, her fingers brushing the edge of your jaw.

“Yes, Daddy,” you whisper, voice catching as Agatha’s fingers ghost over your clit. The words hang in the air, heavy with intent. 

It was a stab in the dark to use the term for Rio; you have no clue if she likes it or not. However, judging by the look on her face and the way she bit down on her own lip, it was a good choice.

Agatha chuckles against your neck, her teeth grazing your skin. “Good,” she murmurs, her hand moving with purpose. “Now let’s remind you exactly who you belong to.”

Rio starts kissing you again; it’s needy, like she’s trying to consume you. Meanwhile, both of Agatha’s hands find their way back to your waist, her fingers hooking under the waistband of your pants, tugging them down with a firm motion. You feel her sink to her knees and bite your ass cheek as she helps you step out of your pants, and you let out a small yelp.

You feel Rio smile against your lips before pulling back and spinning you to face Agatha. She playfully nips at the shell of your ear before trailing her mouth lower, sucking and biting at your jaw and the sensetive spot behind your ear. Just as she licks a stripe up your neck, Agatha’s open mouth presses against your core.

“Oh, fuck,” you whimper, shuddering slightly.

“You’re so pathetic,” Agatha breathes, “you’ve ruined your underwear, like the slut you really are.” She drags her tongue over you slowly, tasting your arousal through the fabric. Not wanting to miss out, Rio’s hand lightly bats away Agatha’s head so she can cup you through your underwear, and you feel her exhale shakily against your ear from how wet you are. 

Your head drops backwards in pleasure, but Rio’s other hand is there in an instant, forcing your gaze down to Agatha. “Don’t forget, you need to look at Mommy, baby.”

From this angle, you can see straight down the front of Agatha’s sleek black halterneck dress. It’s plunging neckline had offered you a tantalising view at dinner, but this was something else entirely.

“Thank you, my love; you can get ready now,” Agatha states, coming up to stand next to you. She grasps your hair and roughly drags you to the bed, shoving your face down so you’re bent over the mattress. She clasps your wrists behind your back, securing them with makeshift cuffs made from a belt. 

Just as you’re wondering exactly where she got the belt from, you feel her lean down, pressing into your back. “If you’re going to act like a harlot, then we’ll treat you as such,” she whispers in your ear. 

She places a hand between your thighs and starts rubbing gently, and despite her calm demeanour, you can hear her breathing get more ragged. She pulls the fabric of your underwear to the side and starts ghosting her fingers over your clit. “We’re going to make sure you never ever forget who you belong to,” she whispers before thrusting two fingers inside you. 

You gasp slightly at the feeling, but your arousal soon coats her fingers, and the movements become smooth as you adjust to her. Even though it had been on your mind since you woke up in her bed, you had forgotten just how good sex with Agatha felt. You can feel her grinding into you as she’s fucking you, clearly desperate for some friction herself.

Suddenly she stops and climbs off you; you’re about to protest when your underwear gets ripped off. 

“Well, they were already ruined, and they’re just going to get in the way,” you hear Rio’s voice chuckle behind you. 

You’re expecting them to start touching you, but instead you hear sucking, and maybe... was that the sound of a gag? You crane your head back trying to see what’s happening, and the sight causes an involuntary moan to escape your lips: Agatha was kneeling in front of a naked Rio, her head bobbing back and forth. You can see a part of the dildo not in Agatha’s mouth, but you don’t see a harness.

“Is that a..."

“Yes, baby, I’m going to feel every thrust just as much as you; Agatha’s just getting this end ready for you," Rio answers. You actually feel yourself start to drip, and watch as Rio takes a sharp inhale as it trickles down your thigh. “I think they’re more than ready for me now, my love,” she adds, tugging softly at Agatha’s hair.

Agatha releases the strap but pushes down on it slightly, making Rio’s hips jolt as the other end shifts inside her. 

Regaining her composure, Rio strides over to you and grabs a fistful of your hair, yanking you up so you’re arched into her. You feel the strap glide over your heat, and you can’t help but grind into it, moaning at the smallest bit of pressure against your clit. Rio lines up with your entrance and pushes the tip in before quickly withdrawing.

“Who do you belong to?” she groans, thrusting into you. But before you can adjust, she pulls out, leaving you feeling empty. All you can do is whine.

You hear a loud smack as Rio’s open palm hits your bare ass. “I asked you a question.”

It stings, but the pain blurs into pleasure as you feel another brief thrust in and out. 

“You,” you moan, wanting to get fucked properly.

There’s fresh pain as Rio smacks you again.

“Daddy. I belong to you, Daddy.” It comes out as a sob, far more desperate than you’ve ever heard yourself.

“Mhmm, that’s it, sweetheart. Now I’m going to tell you exactly how Mommy likes to be eaten out, and you’re going to be a good pet and do exactly what I say, okay?” She presses a soft kiss to your cheek.

“Yes, Daddy.”

With your agreement, Rio releases you from your restraints and starts fucking you, her movements rough and deep. Agatha lies down in front of you, her legs spread, and you can see just how wet she is.

“I’d say you need to start by warming her up, but by the looks of it, she already is,” Rio says greadily. Then it was her turn to moan as your body jerks back into her from a particularly deep thrust.

“Well, since you decided to disobey us, watching Daddy teach you a lesson has really got me going," Agatha teases, “but I still need to feel your mouth on me, pet.”

You obey and bring your mouth close to Agatha’s pussy; you’re about to begin when you feel Rio smack you again between her thrusts. “I haven’t told you to do anything yet,” she snarls. “Start with broad licks up and down; you’ll need to pin her hips as Mommy’s rather sensitive and tends to squirm around.”

“Rio,” Agatha warns, giving you the impression she still has control over the woman behind you.

You do as you’re told and begin licking firm but broad. Rio was right; Agatha was very sensitive, and she bucks her hips every time you get near her clit. She buries her hands in your hair and pushes you into her. “Yes. Fuck, baby, that feels so good.”

Rio’s nails bite into your hip where she’s holding you, and she starts to thrust even harder. Her moans are loud and gutteral. “Okay, now start to circle her clit with the tip of your tongue.” Her voice is breathy. “Fuck, okay, fuck, I’m getting close,” she pants. “And every so often you should put your lips around it and suck a little.”

Once again you do as you’re told, and once again Agatha starts to writhe beneath you, grinding against your face. Rio wraps an arm around your waist, her fingers stroking your clit, and you moan at the added stimulation, so close to climaxing. 

The vibrations push Agatha even closer to her own orgasm as she gasps, "Mmm, I love what you’re doing, but I swear to fuck, if you don’t put your fingers inside me right now, pet, I will RUIN you.”

You’re torn. On the one hand, you want to make Agatha cum, but on the other, Rio hasn’t told you to do that yet, and you don’t want to find out what happens if you disobey her.

A hand wraps around your neck, squeezing just a bit, and Rio pulls you up; she stills her hips, but her fingers keep going. “Mommy gave you an order, sweetheart.” With no further warning, she pulls out and shoves you down next to Agatha. “Now you don’t get to cum until she has.”

You whine at the empty feeling, but it soon turns into a whimper as you watch Rio push the strap into Agatha, not even bothering to wipe it clean. 

Your eyes flutter closed as you start to fuck yourself when all of a sudden Rio’s hand is back around your throat. “Uh uh, bad pets don’t get to touch themselves.” She turns her head, looking at her wife. “I’m sorry, darling. You’re going to have to touch yourself since this slut can’t keep their hands to themselves.”

“I mean, technically, I was keeping them to myself. You know since I was touching myself and not either of you.” You’re smiling, proud of the loophole you found, until you spot how both women are glaring at you, realising the magnitude of your mistake.

“Oh no. Oh no no no,” Agatha scolds. “You will keep your mouth shut, your hands on the headboard, and your face to the wall until we say otherwise.”

You get up, crawling to the top of the bed, head drooping at the realisation that you won’t even get to watch them cum.

The room is quickly filled with moans and gasps as Rio and Agatha help each other through their orgasms, but it doesn’t stop, and you’re pretty sure that they go for rounds two and three. Pressing your thighs together, you grit your teeth, determined not to disobey them again. 

It feels like it’s been an eternity, but finally you hear Agatha call you back, and when you turn around to look at them, they are a complete mess with red bite marks scattered across both of their chests. Rio turns, grabbing something from her bag, and you see the large scratch marks Agatha has left all down her back. 

“Thank you, my love.” Agatha says, taking whatever it was Rio had grabbed. "Now, pet, you are going to ride Daddy’s cock, and I will join you in a minute.”

You nod, excited to hopefully get some reprieve from the ache of having your orgasm denied. “Yes, Mommy,” you add quickly, trying to avoid another punishment.

Rio lies down on her back, pulling you into a quick kiss. “Clean it first.” 

Humming with excitement, you lower your head and take the strap in your mouth; it’s still warm from being inside Agatha, and you groan at the taste of her on it. 

You only get a few seconds before Rio pulls you away, guiding your hips so you’re straddling her, hovering over the strap. “You look so perfect like this,” her voice is soft and encouraging. You lower yourself down and let out a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding. “So perfect,” she repeats.

“You feel so good,” you moan, starting to roll your hips.

Her hands grip your waist, helping you up and down, but it’s not enough, and she starts thrusting up into you. You stutter and fall forward into Rio, all your strength sapped from your muscles as she hits the perfect spot.

Agatha comes up behind you, her hand stroking your back. “Do you think you can take more, sweetheart?”

"Mhmm” is all you can manage before burying your head in Rio’s neck.

You were expecting some stimulation on your clit or maybe Agatha replacing Rio with something bigger. What you weren't expecting, however, was Agatha to push her own strap in as well. It stretches you at first, making you feel wonderfully full. 

“Oh fuck,” you mewl, biting down on Rio’s neck to suppress your moans

Agatha starts to move, causing you to cry out in pleasure. The sound encourages her, and she starts to bare down harder. “You’re taking us so well, baby.” 

Rio hums in agreement. The force of Agatha’s thrusts sending fresh waves of pleasure through her. She drags her nails up your back, digging in with every jolt of your hips. “Don’t you ever forget who you belong to again,” she whispers, starting to mark your neck and shoulders with her mouth, and you feel your stomach start to knot.

Desperate for just that little bit more, you start begging. “Please, please, I need more.” 

You grab Agatha’s hand and shove it between your legs. Chuckling softly, she gives you what you need, and your orgasm comes crashing over you. 

It takes a few minutes, but both of them pull out when your legs finally stop shaking. Rio lets you lie on her chest, her arms wrapped tightly around you. “You did so good for us,” she purrs, pressing kisses to your temple and running her fingers through your hair.

You hear Agatha turn on the shower as she cleans up the toys, returning to the bed when she’s done. “Sweetheart, do you need anything?”

You shake your head weakly at Agatha’s question, your body still tingling from the intensity of your orgasm. Rio strokes your hair gently, her fingers trailing soothing patterns down your back. “You sure, baby?” Agatha presses, leaning down to run a hand along your calf, her touch grounding and warm. “Water? A snack? Anything at all?”

You finally manage to whisper, “Water, maybe.”

Agatha nods, a small, reassuring smile tugging at her lips. “I’ll be right back.” She kisses your knee softly before disappearing into the adjoining room. Rio continues her ministrations, cradling you as if you might drift away. “Just breathe, love,” she murmurs, her lips brushing your hairline. “We’ve got you.”

Agatha returns moments later with a glass of water and a cool, damp cloth. She perches beside you on the bed, offering the water with one hand while using the cloth to dab tenderly at your flushed face and neck. “There you go,” she coos, her voice soft and melodic. “Nice and slow.”

You sip the water, feeling the cool liquid revive you slightly. Agatha takes the glass once you’ve had your fill and sets it on the bedside table before tucking the blanket around you more snugly. “You did so well, sweetheart,” she murmurs, her fingers brushing lightly over your arm. “We’re so proud of you.”

After a while, Agatha glances at Rio and tilts her head toward the bathroom. “Let’s clean up, darling,” she says softly, giving your leg a reassuring squeeze. “You’ll feel even better after a warm shower.”

Rio carefully helps you sit up, her arms still supporting you as your legs wobble slightly. She and Agatha guide you to the bathroom, where the steam from the shower has already fogged up the mirror. The warmth of the room wraps around you as Agatha steps into the shower first, adjusting the water temperature before holding out a hand to you. “Come here, love.”

You step in with their help, the hot water cascading over you instantly soothing your sore muscles. Agatha stands behind you, massaging your shoulders and neck, while Rio lathers up a soft washcloth, gently cleansing your skin. Their touches are tender, unhurried, and filled with care. Agatha presses a kiss to your damp shoulder as she rinses you off, while Rio keeps her gaze locked on yours, a soft smile playing on her lips.

When they’re satisfied that you’re fully relaxed and clean, they wrap you in a fluffy towel and guide you back to the bed. The sheets have been straightened, and the pillows fluffed, creating a cosy nest that feels like heaven when you crawl back in. Rio slides in beside you, pulling you against her chest once more, while Agatha climbs in on your other side, her arm draping protectively over both of you.

“Better now?” Agatha asks, her voice a quiet hum as she brushes a strand of hair from your face.

You nod, a content sigh escaping your lips. “Much better. Thank you.”

Rio chuckles softly, pressing another kiss to your temple. “Anything for our pet.”

-----

As always, please like and reblog if you enjoyed :)

I have a few ideas for more chapters if people want??

Edit: Comment if you want to be added to the taglist for future chapters :))

[burningfudge]

Part of the reason the tech industry is so fucked for entry level roles at the moment is because of AI. I’m aware this is very hypocritical because I’m currently studying for a master’s degree in Data Science & Artificial Intelligence. I wasn’t even going to focus on AI that much when I first started my degree (which was just Data Science in the beginning) but so much of the industry focus has shifted to ML/AI that I had to.

I’m also a TA for undergrad classes and it’s very obvious to know who is using ChatGPT and who isn’t.

However, my Machine Learning professor encorporates AI within the class because, well, 85% of the class is already using ChatGPT so why not make it a part of the syllabus. ML is a subset of AI anyway.

There’s obviously useful aspects of AI and the uses of LLMs is genuinely fascinating, but I do believe AI should compliment your work, not replace it. I don’t see the harm in asking ChatGPT to summarize lecture notes as long as you’re learning the material. You can actually be more productive that way. However, I don’t see the point in asking ChatGPT to create an entire ML project for a class because you’re not doing the work. What I’m speaking about is also very tech oriented, AI should have absolutely no place in areas like humanities and art.

Also, one of the very first things I was taught is that AI can make mistakes due to biases in the data. There’s literally a term for it - AI hallucination. So if you’re blindly relying on ChatGPT to do your assignments, know that ChatGPT uses the internet as its training data, so it also picks up the internet’s biases.

I just started grad school this fall after a few years away from school and man I did not realize how dire the AI/LLM situation is in universities now. In the past few weeks:

I chatted with a classmate about how it was going to be a tight timeline on a project for a programming class. He responded "Yeah, at least if we run short on time, we can just ask chatGPT to finish it for us"

One of my professors pulled up chatGPT on the screen to show us how it can sometimes do our homework problems for us and showed how she thanks it after asking it questions "in case it takes over some day."

I asked one of my TAs in a math class to explain how a piece of code he had written worked in an assignment. He looked at it for about 15 seconds then went "I don't know, ask chatGPT"

A student in my math group insisted he was right on an answer to a problem. When I asked where he got that info, he sent me a screenshot of Google gemini giving just blatantly wrong info. He still insisted he was right when I pointed this out and refused to click into any of the actual web pages.

A different student in my math class told me he pays $20 per month for the "computational" version of chatGPT, which he uses for all of his classes and PhD research. The computational version is worth it, he says, because it is wrong "less often". He uses chatGPT for all his homework and can't figure out why he's struggling on exams.

There's a lot more, but it's really making me feel crazy. Even if it was right 100% of the time, why are you paying thousands of dollars to go to school and learn if you're just going to plug everything into a computer whenever you're asked to think??

[yung-notorious]

ALWAYS SOME NEW SHIT, AIN’T NEVER THE USUAL! I FUCK YOU SO GOOD TILL I HAVE YOU DELUSIONAL! - ♡

— your roommates are gone, the apartment is yours, and you're laid up in bed with somethin' dangerous. all you need is him, his hands, and a little time to make the most of it. — feat. satoru gojo

+18 MDI. WARNINGS. baddie!reader x college!gojo, excerpt from never lose my chapter 8, porn with plot, situationship, morning sex, that good 'ol sunday dick, protected sex, dirty talk, body worship, sub/dom undertones, trust & boundaries, slight cum play, squirting, riding, fingering, voice kink, gojo kink(?), edging & milking, overstimulation, gojo’s character may be questionable but his stroke game is A1. notes. word count 5.8K, apart of a larger body of work but can stand alone as a one-shot. you can read the full chapter here: A03 & master post. title: lick me - sexyy red ft. lil baby

You knew Satoru was bullshitting when he said he’d be on the phone for a few more minutes. He’s been chatting away for an extra thirty, and you’ve already gone through your entire Instagram feeds stories and now the Tiktok burnout is starting to set in.

Exhausted from doom scrolling, you chuck your phone somewhere across the bed to snuggle deeper into his embrace, resting your head against his chest. You don’t have a single fucking clue what’s being said anymore with his ear now pressed against the phone, but whatever it is definitely isn't related to earlier’s conversation. You think you catch mention of the school’s football team and the names of people you don’t recognize, but at this point, you’re too out of the loop to care. He’s lucky you actually like being around him, because had this been anyone else you’d probably kick them out telling them to go the fuck home.

What’s even more surprising is that despite being bored out of your mind, chilling with him in bed while he talks on the phone is strangely confronting. You’ve had your share of intimate moments at your young age, but you’ve never simply laid up like this with a guy before. It’s domestic as hell— whatever the girls online call it— but you’re not pushing it away. 

Resting your head on his chest as he rubs your shoulder, you let the rhythm of his voice wrap around you like a warm blanket. There’s this cool boyish charm that comes through as he talks— a side of him you’ve caught glimpses of only a few times when he’s speaking to his friends. He’s more commanding and animated, yet somehow still a relaxed version of himself all together, nearly a polar opposite of how he is with you.

And you know what? That’s exactly how it should be, you’re not the one to be treated like a homie. And even though his friends do annoy the hell out of you when they’re together, seeing him be himself with them is undeniably attractive and lowkey turning you on. 

Shifting over onto your stomach, you tuck an arm behind his neck, hooking a leg around his waist, letting your free hand slowly trail down his body feeling him up. Stopping to rest your hand on the inside of his thigh, you look up, waiting for a reaction. 

When you don’t get one— he’s still chatting away— you decide to take it a step further, slowly creeping your hand up to cup his balls, palming his bulge. 

It only takes a couple good rubs for you to feel his dick harden beneath you. Feeling bold, you wrap a tight fist around his length stroking him through his briefs. All it takes is a couple tight ones for his thighs to widen up and you take that as permission to go further. 

Slipping a hand under his waistband to squeeze his dick, you watch him bite his lip, still ignoring you as he lazily stares up at the ceiling. He can try to act all cool and unbothered all he wants, but you know exactly how to melt his ice.

Taking charge, you rub your thumb carefully around his slit, your acrylic nail getting caught in the fabric of his briefs with each pressing circle. It doesn't take much effort before you’re feeling the wetness of his pre sticking to the pad of your thumb as you. Pausing to collect up what you can to wet his shaft, you grip your hand back around his length giving him more quick strokes.

Feeling more daring, you connect your lips to his neck, slowly peppering soft, wet kisses along his skin as you continue working your hand around his dick and balls. You’re finding some sort of fun in all this really, feeling him up in every which way you please while he lays beside you trying to act like he’s not bricked the hell up. 

You can hear every grunt that gets stuck in his throat and cracking of his toes each time you press against the underside of his tip. It’s kind of funny how you’re unsure who’s more of a slut now: you for daring to do this, or him for letting it happen while he’s on a call. Y’all are both some trouble! 

Just as you’re about to go for a gentle bite on his ear you feel the deep bass of his voice against your lips. 

“Choso— Choso…bro I’ma let you go…I’ll try to be over there later tonight. Alright, I'll talk to you later. Bye.” He ends the call to lean over— your hand still tightly wrapped around his dick— to drop his phone onto the nightside with a loud thud.

Unfortunately for him, no matter how hard he tries to maintain his composure, it’ll be his own body that will betray him every single time. Men, they’re so fucking weak. You probably could rob him with a fleshlight.

Falling back onto the mattress, he turns to give you a look before opening his mouth, and of all the things you expect him to say, it definitely isn’t, “Why’d you interrupt my phone call?”

“Because you talk too much.” You say smart, releasing him to wipe your hand clean on his briefs along the side of his hip. Sitting up on your elbow to rest your cheek in your hand, you hover above his face to stare down at him challengingly, awaiting his response. This could go one or two ways, but you know for sure either way ends with you getting fucked. 

"All I needed was a few minutes.” He murmurs, his hand glides up your chest stopping just below your neck before gently tracing your jawline with his thumb. 

“I gave you that, now I want your attention.” You cock your head. “Did you forget where you were at?”

"You have it— so now what’s up?" He asks, his tone still soft, eyes locked on yours as he tilts your chin up just as your hand slides over to squeeze his thigh.

“You know what I want…” You breathe, inching closer to his bulge. 

“Yeah?” He lets go of your chin, trailing his hand down your chest. “You don’t have to ask me— could have just pulled it out.” Eyes still locked on yours as you slip a hand under his waistband.  

Letting you go, he gives you space to slip under the covers, lifting his hips to help you tug off his briefs. The second they're gone, your hand is around him, leaning over to take him between your lips. You know exactly how he likes it— your mouth and hand wrapped tight around the tip, teasing him with just the right amount of pressure that’ll make his toes curl.

You know you're doing a good job when his hand resting at the back of your neck tightens, turning into a firm grip that keeps you exactly where he wants you. Not wanting to try your luck deep throating him just yet, you brace yourself with a hand on his thigh for balance, but soon find yourself running your hand along the muscle instead, grabbing on wherever please, feeling out their solid weight and smoothness. Even though his dick is the main event— hot, thick, and heavy in your hands each time you pull off to catch your breath— it’s his thighs that have your full attention. Maybe next time you'll leave a trail of bites and hickeys along them, marking him up good just because you can.

“Get in between my legs...” He throws the covers back making room for you. Without a second thought, you crawl between his thighs, and just as you’re about to shift down the bed to lay on your stomach, his voice interrupts.

“Uh-uh, sit up...” He whispers, and despite it being nothing more than a gentle correction, it still finds a way to make your stomach tingle. You can’t even lie, that bossy shit turns you up. Glancing up at him, you slowly prop yourself up on your elbows to part your knees just enough, arching yourself down low, nice and sexy in a way you know he’ll like. 

Bobbing your head up and down his dick, you lose track of every grunt and curse you pull past his lips. The wet, squishy sounds from each tight squeeze, paired with the clacking of your pretty nails around his dick, become a rhythm you get lost in until the growing dampness in your panties pulls you back in. Fuck, you’re going to have to speed this up because you really want to fuck now.

“Sloppy, baby. Make it—” His voice breaks off, caught in his throat as you pull off to throw a nasty wad of spit on his dick, watching as it drips down his length. “There you go…” He murmurs, a grin tugging at his lips. You don’t even need to look up to know he’s smiling. Anything for him, right?

“Gotta get the sides too. All of it. Just how I taught you...” His words make your stomach tighten. Glancing up through your lashes, you latch onto his shaft, tongue tracing long, slow licks along his length. The salty taste of him mixing with the slick of your spit as you pump the head of his dick with a tight fist.

“Sloppier…spit on it some more…get that shit wet for me…” He murmurs, bringing his hands down into your hair to gently pull back to keep out of your face. Taking a moment to lick his pre-cum and drool off your lips, you teasingly slap his dick against your tongue, testing its weight. Spitting down onto him again, you let it drip slow and messy before taking him back into your mouth, your lips wrapping tight around him. As you glance up, you catch him smiling down at you, and you can’t help but sheepishly smile back. You used to hate giving head, but for him— talking to you like this— you’ll keep going till he busts in your mouth twice. 

You swear everytime he looks at you like that, something inside you loosens up. You never thought sex could be like this— fun, messy, and so damn freeing. That it’s not just about getting him off; but letting yourself enjoy it too. 

Remembering the times he’s whispered for you to drop your innocence and open up awakens those butterflies in your stomach. It’s a mystery how in such a short time of knowing him, he’s managed to create a safe space for you to let go and push past the boundaries you once clung to— all without a hint of judgment. 

But no matter how amazing everything feels with him, there’s this nagging thing that won’t leave you alone—a constant reminder of how off this all this really is. No matter how hard you try to push it aside, the truth is starting to feel impossible to shake, and the longer you avoid the elephant in the room, the harder it becomes to hold it all together. It’s doubt that creeps in at the end of every night, makes you wonder if any of this is even real. But fuck it, you don’t have the time to make any sense of it right now. You can talk it out with Tink later, you have to get this nut in. 

"Ahmp!" You bite back a moan, caught off guard as his hand slaps your ass right when he shifts to sit up.

“Come up here…” He says, and without a second thought, you slide your soaked panties off to straddle his lap. Once fully seated, you wrap your hand around his dick, stroking him from behind your back, while your other hand rests against his shoulder for support. You can feel your wetness sticking against him, and it’s taking every ounce of willpower not to be a horny bunny and grind your sloppy wet pussy against his chest.

“You know where that condom at?” The question catches you off guard, making you pause— again, definitely not what you expected to hear. Someone’s full of surprises today, huh?

“Yeah, why?” You give him a confused look.

“It’s early, and I’m still kinda tired…I don’t wanna have to worry about pulling out. It be in the back of my mind when we fuck...” He says, warm hands smoothing along your stomach then up around your ribs.

Okay, cool, good to know at least one of you is trying to be responsible. Condom? Sure. Not a problem!

“I think it’s in here.” You lean over, trying to search in the top drawer of your nightstand without tipping over. “Hold me.” You warn, feeling yourself about to topple over. His hands quickly find your waist steadying you. 

“I got it.” You find it stuck beneath a pile of clutter you've been meaning to sort out.

Handing him the gold foil, you scoot back a bit, giving him space to do his thing. As much as you love the feeling of raw sex, there’s something seriously hot about watching him work a tight fist along his length, struggling to stretch the latex over his girth. And as if that wasn’t enough, the damage your sanity takes from his dick snapping back against his abdomen when he lets go is downright disrespectful. 

“Come on— ready?” He grabs you at your ribs, pulling you forward towards him, your breath hitches at his sudden eagerness. “You don’t need this…” He tugs at your shirt, and the second it’s off he’s grabbing hold of your boobs, squeezing them and sucking on your nipples like a baby. Never too tired to suck titties, huh!?

Taking your hand to guide his dick to your entrance, you carefully sink down onto the tip. Yet, no matter how many times you’ve done this, the feeling of just the head pushing through is one that’ll never get easier even with time. 

It’s harder this time around— his dick— no pun intended. After nearly a week of constant sex, you have no choice but to take him slow, inch by inch, feeling yourself clench around him as you sink down.

“Gimme a second…” You plead, pressing your hand against his chest to keep him from bucking his hips up. On a good day you could take all of him, but with the way he’s bricked up, you’re not trying to bite off more than you can chew. See, this is that early morning dick, It’ll be a lot more than hurtful words flying out of your mouth if he so much as attempts to push you down. 

“Take your time…” He teases, bringing both his hands to rub soothing circles along your jawline, fingers combing through your tresses around your nap. “Too much?”

“It’s enough— you’re not little.” You laugh, bouncing slowly on his length, giving your wetness a chance to moisten the condom as you try to fully take him in. It’s painstakingly slow working your sore pussy down his stiff dick, but guess this is the price you pay for letting him fuck you like a dog all week. 

“My bad…” He chuckles. “Here, come lay on my chest— hmm.” He pulls you into his arms. Slanging one around your back, he scoots the both of you further down the bed gripping a handful of your ass to help guide you down his length.

“It’s too dry…” You come back up, the friction of the condom becoming unbearable as you feel yourself drying up from frustration. This isn’t working.  

“I got you…” He brings two fingers to his mouth to wet them. Pulling out, he uses those same fingers to stroke your pussy, rubbing tight circles on and around your clit. Burying your face in his neck to stifle your moans, you feel yourself grow wetter as he whispers filthy praises in your ear, urging you on. 

“This better?” He lips brush against the shell of your ear. Your thighs quiver with each teasing stroke to your clit, the oversensitivity heightening your arousal. And like a slut you can’t do much but moan against his neck when you feel those same two fingers sink into your heat. Curling deep, giving himself a feel around your velvety walls.

“Mhm…” You nod, slowly rolling your hips down to ride his hand. The exploratory movements of his fingers driving deep, stroking your g-spot. “Right there…fuck…right there…” 

“I got you baby…I got you...” His palm presses against your clit as he drives his fingers even faster making sure to hit that sweet spot over and over, he’s so damn deep he could poke your cervix if he pleased. “…you’re squeezing baby, relax for me…there you go…how that feel, good?”

“Toru…I’ma fucking squirt…” You warn, already feeling yourself start to leak. Shit feels so fucking good he needs to publish a wikiHow on finger stroking pussy.

“Show me— go ‘head baby…you know I got you…” He exhales heavily, his other hand running through your hair to hold you close to him as he bullies your pussy like a pro, digging your coochie out so good, leaving her sorer than when you started. It’s a good soreness though, a sweet discomfort that’s nothing more than a reminder of how throughly he’s fucked you the past week. 

“Fuck— hmmmm!” You grip his hair tight, trying your damn hardest to hold back the moan that’s fighting to erupt from you, but it’s no use because all it takes is one final stroke to your g-spot and you're cumming harder than a bull.

“Oh my god!” You cry out, clenching down on his fingers so tight he has to pull them out. Taking his hands to strum your pussy to keep you squirting, your thighs shake with such a force you have no choice but to cling onto him for dear life. A wave of pleasure hits you so intense your entire body electrifies like static off an old box TV across your chest and shoulders. His fingers are pruney once he lets go, all gooed up and coated with sticky globs of your cum.

Wiping his fingers clean on your thigh, he effortlessly guides your soaked pussy all the way down his dick, and a sweet moan comes up your throat once you’re fully seated. You’re so damn wet you can’t even feel the condom anymore, if it was any darker in here you wouldn’t even be able to tell he had one on.

“Bet that rose can’t do it like me, huh?” He teases, two hands at your waist rocking you forward. “I got you making a mess. Wetting the bed all up...”

“Heh— please shut up…” You laugh, catching your breath. Because of course he’d make a joke eight inches deep in your pussy. No matter how good his dick is it’ll never take away from how corny he can be sometimes.

Regaining your strength, your hands find his shoulders again to steady yourself as you begin a slow pace bouncing on his dick. It starts off a lot sweeter this time, nothing like your usual. No creaking bed or pounding headboard, just the quiet sound of your soft moans and his low grunts filling the room. 

You’re fully lost in the moment when his hips start to move in perfect sync with yours, the delicious drag of his dick massaging your walls coaxes the softest, neediest whimpers past your lips. You’re so in love with his dick, you’re serious when you say you’ll fuck him up if you ever find out he’s sharing, because this shit right here makes no sense. It’s too damn good!

“More…right there…” You whine, needing to feel him deeper. Gripping your ass in response he presses his heels into the mattress, pulling your hips closer towards him to fuck up into you so well you have to put a hand to his chest to hold him back. 

You totally get the need for the condom now— thankful for it even— because with the way he’s fucking you this damn good you don’t think he could push you off quick enough before he’s busting his load. And as bad as you want it, you’d hate to dip into that hundred dollars he gave you to spend half of it on a Plan B. 

“Toru...Toru...Toru.." His name spills from your lips over and over as your brain goes fuzzy, slipping into a dizzy, dick drunken state. He's gripping you up just so right, and every stroke to your g-spot has you coming further undone, scattering every thought in your head until there's nothing left but his voice and touch occupying your mind. 

“You’re so fucking pretty baby…didn’t I say I’d fuck you everyday? Hmm?” His voice rings. 

“Thursday…Friday…Saturday…Sunday…” He murmurs, each day punctuated by a slow, deliberate thrust in sync with the roll of your hips. “You love this dick, don’t you?” He breathes, his hand coming down heavy giving a sharp slap against your ass. 

“I do…” You whine, almost like a declaration, as you pull his hands off your waist to guide them up your chest to cup your boobs, lacing your fingers through his to show him how to squeeze them just right. 

You feel so incredibly fucking sexy bouncing on his dick, riding him like it’s been a while and you miss him. You’re trying your hardest to keep it classy for him, but with one more slap to your ass, you’ll be begging him to take the safety off and hit your pussy raw from the side till it goes numb. You hope he’s loving this shit, because you’re not letting him get up in you for at least a week after this one. Your coochie needs a break!

“I wanna cum…” You whine, searching his face for permission, but he doesn’t hear you, too focused on working his own nut out.  

“I wanna cum…” You whine again, your hands come down to press against his chest to grind your pussy down hard on his dick. You got him buried so deep inside you the weight of your hips are holding down his. 

“You tryna be done already?” His hips still, falling flat as he watches you chase your orgasm all on your own.  

“No. Just don’t move…” You plead, trying to keep him from messing up your rhythm as you hit that sweet spot like a drum. It doesn’t take long for that familiar heat to rise up your body, making your face flush hot and your heart rate pick up. You’re almost there! 

“Don’t move— don't move— I’m close…fuck…ahh” You babble out, toes curling. Almost there, you’re almost there!

“Damn boo…” The pet name rolls off his tongue effortlessly, bringing you into focus, your eyes meeting his right as he wraps a firm hand around your neck holding you in place. You got him pussy drunk acting rough and nasty just how you like it.  “When you start taking dick like this? You showing off for me today?” 

“Mmmm— fuck me after I cum…” You say through a smile, his thumb brushing gently underneath your chin. The look in your eyes clear— you’re trying to get broken off like a Kit-Kat. You want it rough, and you know he’ll deliver. He’s got you. 

“Say that again?” He asks as if he can’t understand a word you’re saying. There’s no denying that your voice turns him on. But it’s cool, you have no problem spelling it out for him. 

“I said I want you to fuck the shit out of me after I c— ahmp!” You yelp, a wave of giddy pleasure washing over you from the sting of his heavy hand landing across your ass again.  

“One more time for me?” He pulls you forward, a devilish look in his eyes waiting for you to soften into submission in his hands. 

“I want you to fuck me so bad.” You whine, voice dripping with so much need. You don't give a fuck how you sound right now, his dick drilling your pussy deep, it’s thick head messaging against your puffy walls. “I wanna feel all of it— oowww— mmmm— Fuck! You feel so fuckin— ahh good!—” You moan out, each and every one of his deep strokes punching the words from out of your chest.   

“You don’t want it.” He taunts, a smirk tugging at his lips daring you to prove him wrong— to show him just how badly you want it— to beg. The sudden shift in dominance sends your heart racing, and you find yourself rocking your hips even faster.

It’s this dynamic that you love the most: how one minute he’s soft and tender, talking you through with the filthiest yet gentlest whispers, and the next, commanding and rude, giving you the space to surrender completely and embrace your submissive side. It’s the perfect balance of give and take, and with him talking in your ear nasty like this, you’re more than willing to give it all up and let him lead. 

“Yes I do— fuck…fuck…” You moan breathlessly, lost in the wave of pleasure taking you under. “Make me cum…” You look down at him with those needy doll eyes, the kind that silently beg for more, even as you roll your hips slow and deliberate like the little minx you are, teasing him just enough that you know will drive him wild. 

Every move is a silent challenge, a tease, a true test of his strength and you’re doing it because you know exactly what he wants, and he’s already right there ready to meet you. His hands find your waist again, gripping you firmly, and that awaiting spark of dominance lights up his eyes as he pulls you in close.

No one but him can bring this side out of you, the one that craves to be taken, to be pushed to the edge. You know he’s been holding back, waiting for you to push him there, and now, you’ve done it. His hand then tightens around your frame, the tension in his body radiating through every inch of him, and that tells you everything you need to know; you’ve got him right where you want him, you can let go. 

“You not gonna run?” He presses, but you know your answer is meaningless. He wouldn’t let you even if you tried. 

“No—” You whine, the sound barely escaping your throat as you bounce, the strain in your knees starting to intensify with each movement as you chase your orgasm. 

“No, what?”  Another good grab to your ass, this time with two hands and enough grip to bounce you on his dick himself, fucking up into with a force that causes you to fall forward, nails digging into his shoulders as you cling onto him. “Tell me baby…go ‘head.”

“Fuck…Gojo— Go— AHMP!” Another heavy slap to your ass before you can catch your breath to repeat it. “I’m not gonna run Gojo— I'm not gonna run—”

“You know I love hearing you say it…” He beathes heavy, one hand now threading through your hair to grip your tresses tight, the other fucking you down his dick. “You gonna cum on this dick? Yeah?”

“Yes! Fuck— Fuck— Gojo! Gojo!” You choke out, orgasm fully taking over each and every one of your senses. 

“Again baby…come on…this your dick right…” He breathes, voice low and hot in your ear, hips bucking up fast as another heavy slap comes down to your ass. “Don't run from it…don’t run from it.”

“Fucckkkk— Oh my godddddd! Keep going! Keep going! Don’t stop! Yes! Yes!” You cry out, your pussy clenching so tightly around him that you can feel the rim of the condom scratching against your entrance. The intensity of your grip threatens to pull it loose as it’s already slipped off some. 

“Mmmmm— there you gooo~“ He coos, sensing you reached your climax seeing the way your jaw goes slack and your grip around him tightens. 

“Fuck me! Fuck me! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Don’t stop! Don’t stop!” You’re begging like slut now throwing your arms around him to tuck behind his neck. Feeling you lose yourself, you take your fingers to work them up to brush along his undercut, anything to try and keep you grounded.

“Kiss on my neck…yeah…just like that for me— “ He moans, as you press your lips against his skin, licking hungry, wet, and sloppy. “Just like that…”

“Where you want me to nut?” His question meets your ear with urgency, the pace of his thrusts quickening in such a way that you can tell he’s close to cumming.

“Anywhere…I don’t care—” You gasp, words spilling, your body trembling with anticipation. Stupidest fucking question he could ask right now. He can bust it on your tits, ass, pussy, or even your face. You don’t care as long as his hot cum drips off your body, ready for him to scoop up and feed to you like you’re Suki.

“Shit!— Get up! Get up!” He groans, lifting you up just enough to pull off the condom to jerk his dick. 

“Gimme your hand…” He takes yours to grab his length, wrapping his large hand around yours, guiding you as you both help work his nut out. Both of your bodies are hot and sweaty, and his heavy breathing is perfectly in sync with yours. Your thighs coming down from a trembling mess.

“Like that baby….mmmm…you gonna kiss it when you're done?” He hums through a smile, head thrown back in pure bliss. It doesn’t take more than a few tight strokes for you to feel his dick pulsate, his hot cum spills out running down both your knuckles sticking your fingers together. 

“Oowww— it's so much!” You giggle, endorphins still having you feeling like you're on cloud nine as you watch amazed by the amount of cum he’s spilling, feeling a warm milky streak run sticky down the back of your hand. 

“Fuck—” He exhales, chest heaving as he starts to come down from his climax. His arms drop limply to his sides, but you stay right where you’re sitting on his chest, reaching back as you keep working the cum out of his still hard dick. 

You can feel him twitch with every pull as you coax the last drops of cum from him. There’s just something so sexy about the way his breath stutters and his toes crack as they curl with each slow tug…like you’re draining him of every ounce of cum he has left.

“That’s it…baby…that’s it…alright that’s it…stop…” He warns, voice strained and his face balling up, eyes shut tight as he tries to fight back a guttural moan. You feel his abs tense up underneath you, throwing off your balance but you take a hand to his chest— now flushed red and glistening with sweat— to hold him steady, fist tightening around his dick to jerk him quicker. 

“Uh-uh, there’s more, look…lemme get it all out for you.” You tease with a playful laugh, tightening your hold around him. “Just relax, it doesn’t hurt.” You purr, your voice dropping low and sweet. More cum spilling with every pull. 

“Oh my g— Yooooo! Stop! Stop! Stop! Bro! Stop!” He gasps, body jerking involuntarily from not being used to the overstimulation. His hips shake under your grip as if trying to escape, but he’s trapped under the weight you’re pressing down on him.

“Bro!? I’m not your bro!” You scoff with a laugh, shaking your head in disbelief at the fucking nerve to address you by anything other than something ladylike! Goofy ass, now you’re really not letting up. He must have you confused for someone else. 

“I swear to god,  if you make me nut again— Fuck!” He growls, head tipping back as he wraps a tight hand around your wrist trying to stop you.

“Satoru, you don’t scare me— let go!” You mock, your hand steadily working his dick, grip unwavering even as his strength weakens less and less from every stroke.

“What happened to all that shit you were talking, hmm?” You pause, watching him closely. “Bet that hand can’t do it like mine?” 

“I’ma fuck you up after this…I’m so serious…watch.” He breathes out, a shaky laugh breaking through, his grip on your wrist loosens completely as he gives in, letting you milk him for everything he’s got. He’s probably dead serious too, but the way his fine ass is squirming under you is too entertaining to give a damn. And to be honest, that just sounds like a promise for round two and that’s not striking fear in your heart— or pussy. Ain't no fun when the rabbits got the gun now is it? We can go till the fucking bed breaks boo, y’all got all the time in the world today!

“Schhhhhoooowwww— oh my god!” He groans, his plump lips parting with a low, desperate growl. “Alright c’mon, chill! Stop!” 

“Keep lying telling people I snore, and I’ma tell your friends you moan like a bitch." You taunt, leaning closer. Pressing more of your weight down on him, your strokes turn into slow teasing massages around the tip of his dick with your palm. 

“You still mad over that?” His eyes open meeting yours as his hands grip the sheets in an attempt to hold back from cumming. He can try to look intimidating with those blue eyes all he wants, but they aren’t moving you.

“I don’t get mad, I get even.” You bite back with a whole lot of sass, letting his dick go the moment you feel your hand start to cramp up. He jerks slightly, caught off guard by your sudden release. “Told you to stop trying me.”

“Clean yourself up~” You shoot him a look, wiping your cum-sticky hand off his chest as you ease yourself off his body and slide off the bed.

“Fuck you…” You hear him mumble under his breath with a laugh as you search the sheets for your phone, panties, and top before making your way to the bathroom to pee.

“What!?” You give him a look back, the fakest mean scowl you can muster up right now. 

“Nothing— Fuck…” The back of his head hits the pillow again as he exhales deeply. 

"Oh, okay! Like I won’t sit my ass on your chest and kill you. Talk to me nice." You fire back playfully, slipping on your top after giving up on the search for your panties— probably somewhere tangled up in the sheets.

Finding your footing, you cross the room to unplug the diffuser you left on throughout the night. With a gentle click, its light shuts off. You take a moment to gather yourself before stepping out and closing the door firmly behind you, leaving him to figure out what the hell just happened. You too are going to need a few minutes alone to yourself after this one. 

[shizunitis]

How do you think Shen Qingqiu would be affected if he had Xin Mo?

holy fuck i've been thinking about this for months and now that i've been asked i'm kind of lost. anon i love you prepare for a whole lotta yapping

the question is vague enough to both give me room to fuck around and to not know what to focus on. so i'll go with trying to figure out what the chain of events would be, mostly. i'm very sleepy though. that should be taken into consideration.

xin mo uses its masters' trauma and psychological issues against them. which means we just have to take shen qingqiu's issues and ramp them up enough to see what that would do to him. how that change would present itself is highly dependent on how he comes upon xin mo, as well.

first off, what does he want? shen qingqiu wants, in no particular order: to survive, to have luo binghe by his side and safe, and to protect his sect from a wrathful luo binghe.

he dislikes violence but doesn't shy away from it when it's expected of him to be unmoved by it. he's a deeply curious person and likes theorising, cultivation, and feeling powerful and respected. he thinks of himself as a "faker" but is proud of his moral stances, especially when they differ from the original goods'.

his biggest frustration throughout the novel is the fact that he cannot protect luo binghe from the plot and all the suffering that would bring him, and that he is under the control of something so opposed to his own goals as the system.

let's say shen qingqiu were to fall into the abyss and find xin mo himself, and therefore the system's control of him would be weakened, as it was when binghe was down there. this would mean he didn't betray binghe, maybe even took his place. this has to happen because he figures out the system is his biggest obstacle, before he gets to xin mo, or else my whole thing falls apart. maybe shang qinghua plays a part in this, maybe not.

it doesn't matter much how, but if he doesn't come to this realisation at some point, he would not place his target on the system, nor would he get the courage to try to change things according to his own wishes.

so. abyss -> revenge on the system -> find xin mo -> cultivate with it -> get out of the abyss.

first off, the sect wouldn't stand for him using a clearly harmful (to both himself and the world around him) demonic sword, or any sort of demonic cultivation at all, so he'd have to hide it if he were to make his way back. paranoia and fear would probably change him into an overprotective person, someone who slowly becomes less careful about what he has to do in order to protect his people, especially when we factor in how he'd had to, for years, live under the control and supervision of the system.

there is also the problem of getting close to the protagonist again. if he were to make contact, the system would re-activate, and his attempt to kill it would be useless.

he'd draw himself away from the people he cares about so he could watch over them. he would study and try to use the sword to change things in his favour, with the right incentive. the harm brought to his cultivation by the sword would probably force him to become more secretive so he isn't discovered.

he would probably seclude himself away from cang qiong, binghe and most of the world. whether he goes into the demon realm or not doesn't matter. he would rely on only himself, unless he can get shang qinghua involved in his plans. i imagine shang qinghua would be opposed to it, not only because the system would be against it, but because shen qingqiu's death or pain would spell his own destruction (by luo binghe's hand) if he didn't try to stop it.

the threat of huan hua palace and people discovering binghe's true nature would probably allow for the sword to take advantage of him more and more as he uses it to fight against them. i don't think the opm would not go after luo binghe, especially with shen qingqiu out of the picture, so i'm imagining the old fuck would offer luo binghe some sort of help just to get him close. shen qingqiu wouldn't stand for it, and we know that as he gets more desperate, shen qingqiu tends toward pragmatism. he would do what needs to get done, i guess.

"stuck between a rock and a hard place" pretty much describes shen qingqiu in svsss. having that not be the system's fault, for once, would probably push him to the edge enough that he does something extremely stupid and turns the entire cultivation world against him in an attempt to protect binghe from the opm's influence.

i don't think he would go too far, outwardly. he would probably bring more harm unto himself with xin mo than binghe had, and would probably suffer more than anyone else involved. him being so tight-lipped about his own motivations would get him scorned and named a traitor to the human realm. he'd have shen jiu's reputation post-trial, maybe. he would become colder, lifeless, honed-in on his goals.

this was an extremely long-winded way of saying that shen yuan, corrupted by xin mo, would become a husk of his former self. i imagine a moment where he tries to be warm again, that whole fond teacher shtick, and would find himself horrified at how much of an act that is now, rather than acting cold and heartless. i think he'd have turned his caring into caring too much to the point of leaving himself behind.

i had a wip of shen yuan transmigrating into luo binghe and having to lean into xin mo's influence so that he could get luo binghe reinstated into his own body that i put on the shelf at some point. he ended up baiting people into trying to assassinate him, and used their sacrifice as a way to power some sort of revival technique.

shen yuan needs plausible deniability for every action he does, especially ones he sees as morally reprehensible. so. add that to the whole thing above and that's the bulk of it, i think. maybe. god please tell me i make sense i need a shizun headpat

[amoebab22]

I completely agree with this. I feel like this is one of the worst parts about Veilguard. My Inky is in the South, and while I firmly believe Orlais is the devil, it's very weird that Tevinter is just super chill about my elf Rook when my elf Inky had constant micro-aggressions as well as just out and out slurs hurled at her. Also I'm going on a rant about Mythal.

SPOILERS BELOW

Bellara also seems to just...kind of ignore that I'm an elf? Davrin makes more sense. He left his clan and joined the Wardens because he just didn't really vibe with the Dalish. He'd think of himself as a Warden first, I think. Wardens don't seem to give much of a shit about your race or religion or sexuality or whatever. In The Calling, they canonically don't give a fuck about the gay couple in their little group, or that Fiona is a mage and an elf. Absolutely irrelevant. So Davrin could start to fall into that mindset because frankly, it's a nice way to live. It's just not real outside the Wardens.

So when Bellara is like oh my god our gods are evil and Davrin is like eh, fuck 'em, that's actually about the most realistic reaction we've got re: elves. Davrin is just out here like yo I'm a little busy saving the world fuck them gods. Love Davrin.

Also, in Inquisition, there's concern that knowing Corypheus's artifact is Elvhen will cause violence against elves. So knowing it's the Elvhen gods causing all of this? The consequences of that, even if an elf Rook saves the world, should be looming for a Shadow Dragon in particular. Clearly Inquisitor Ameridan's race did nothing for the elves of Orlais. It was covered up over time. His sacrifice meant nothing to the humans. This should make Solas's plans to restore the elves much, much more tempting.

The way the Crows were presented REALLY bothered me as well as someone who romanced Zev. The Crows *tortured* him, sexually assaulted him, made him feel worthless, because it was seen as necessary. Sure, Lucanis being blood family might give him a very different perspective and experience, but Jacobus is just allowed to be a Crow and start his own house when he wouldn't kill? I mean, I totally agree that prolonged, public shaming and imprisonment is worse for this individual, but like.... That's not how the Crows work. They kill stuff for money. Sure, they run Antiva and would be pretty pissed off about the Antaam taking their territory I'm sure, and they might work with Rook since Rook helped Lucanis and he's a big deal to the First Talon. But like... It should be a hard choice to work with them for Shadow Dragon Rook, because SLAVERY.

I feel like the pullback on slavery is to make Solas's actions seem more ambiguous, and to make it seem like there was some equal power between him and Mythal. But I have a very hard time believing he was never Mythal's slave. Also, a spirit of BENEVOLENCE? Get ABSOLUTELY fucked. She was fine with SLAVERY. Thought she could just slowly phase it out, maybe. Yeah, no .

Because here's the thing: slavery is evil. Whatever you have to do to stop slavery, short of participating or killing slaves, is pretty easy to justify. Maybe I'm just John Brown-pilled from living in Kansas a good chunk of my life, but killing slavers and slave owners and freeing slaves is MORALLY CORRECT. FULL STOP. A "kind" master is still a master. Sure, you can give them a chance to free their slaves and make reparations first, but waiting to vote slavery out didn't work. The US had to go to war. Haiti had to rebel (and give basically all its GDP to France for like two hundred years. Fuck Orlais AND France).

The only reason my Inky was able to befriend Dorian, at first, was their shared trauma in going to the future. That changes people (that whole quest fucked me up the first time I did it) and I think my elf Inky was looking for reasons to trust Dorian and ignore the system he participated in. She didn't have to see it so it seemed less real. He's an altus so he doesn't own the estate. He seems open to other opinions! And some part of him knows it's wrong, or he wouldn't be so awkward upon talking to Inky the first time.

But Solas's inherent and never fully overcome distrust of Dorian isn't wrong. Solas needs to see action; words aren't enough. I don't blame him.

This is the same softening we saw of the Templars in DA2 and Inquisition, but if you read The Stolen Throne and The Calling and play DAO, it's very clear that mages are oppressed by the Chantry and live in horrible conditions. The ones in Lake Calenhad are described as pale and kinda sickly looking (or something like that) because they don't get any fucking sunlight. Fiona is happy to go to the circle at first because she was a SLAVE in Orlais (Honestly Loghain's hatred of Orlais is justified even though his actions aren't). If you decide to allow the right of annulment or whatever in DAO, Zevran calls it genocide. Zevran isn't one to mince words. He doesn't pretend he isn't a killer or that he wasn't tortured.

My Inky and my Rook are both 'no gods no masters' types, which is why I think clan Lavellan sent their First on a risky mission supposedly by herself (got real sick of her shit lol). As a result, she heavily sympathizes with Solas's cause, and would have happily joined him in bringing down the Veil if he'd just agreed to spend time making sure as few people died as possible, particularly after she meets the Avvar and sees how spirits really are. She knows Solas better than anyone, and even without a full explanation, she'd know that his reasons for doing this were morally right. He freed her people. He never meant to hurt them. He can't live with his guilt. Inky (who in my game was more like 30 because I don't think she could have made decisions or led on her own at 20, nor would she have been a studied enough mage) wants freedom for everyone. She's chaotic good.

Rook is a Shadow Dragon who killed slavers a little too hard for an organization dedicated to killing slavers (based Rook). They're also chaotic good, and a bit of an idiot, bless them, who kinda sees everything as a nail because they have a hammer. They see slavery, they fight it. Fuck the consequences. Solas did the same.

So why is Rook not bringing up slavery a lot? Why is Rook only finding out that Solas freed slaves on the regular at the beginning of the game? Did Varric just decide that wasn't worth bringing up to a person whose entire life revolves around ending slavery? Why is Rook not having an existential crisis after talking to Solas and finding out the truth of his past in his memories?

Look, all I'm saying is that I don't understand why more people aren't angry with Mythal and why no one is talking about slavery and racism. The whole point of fantasy and sci-fi, and the point of Dragon Age, is to critique modern society through thinly veiled references. That's why people get so passionate about Star Trek. And yeah, yes, it's necessarily going to make a piece of media more niche, or people are going to bitch about it (especially gamer bros my dude calm down, sorry something is very briefly not about you), but it makes a game *good* and lasting

BG3 did a good job of exploring the themes of trauma and power imbalance, and while some characters I think needed more fleshing out (Wyll my beloved, I owe you a lengthy fanfic for the injustice done to you), it was particularly powerful in Astarion. The people are ready for real exploration of real issues. We always have been. Backing off was a mistake.

ANYWAY I have feelings and none of my friends share my special interest. Here you go.

Why Fenris could Never Cameo in Dragon Age: The Veilguard

In the run up to Dragon age: The Veilguard, I was almost certain that Fenris would be our main legacy character from previous games. Not only has he been central in the comics released between DAI and DATV, he is an escaped Tevinter slave who's plot revolved around magisters, magic and the structural prejudices surrounding elves in Thedas. Not only that, but he's canonically in Tevinter killing slavers currently so he's geographically in the right place for us to meet him.

About halfway through the game though, it was clear to me: Fenris could never cameo in The Veilguard. Because he'd break it.

How the Veilguard treats Thedas is...odd to me, to say the least. I will be writing another post about how much I adored the expanded big lore in this game (the titans, ancient elves were spirits, where the blight came from etc.) and yet while these large lore expansions worked for me, the actual culture of modern Thedas is entirely softened, its sharp edges filed down until it's a sanitised fantasy world devoid of what made the franchise so vibrant and compelling in the first place.

So let's start with Fenris and slavery. In all three games, the reality of slavery is pushing at the corners of the world. In DAO Loghain allows Tevinter Magisters to enslave elves in order to raise money for his war effort. In DA2 Fenris is fighting to be free from slavers who will not leave him be, let alone the reminders that the city was built by slaves which are everywhere. In DAI one of the two possible mini-bosses is Calpurnia who was a slave, and characters such as Gatt and Dorian both show us how much slavery is tied into Tevinters culture and success.

But DATV the first game actually set in Tevinter where we get to see the famed Minrathous...it's like the game purposefully wants to avoid the issue. I can feel it tilting the camera away to not allow me to see. Slavery is mentioned, but never talked about in depth or as a specifically ELVEN problem in Tevinter. This might have been done to be less problematic, it feels ignored.

We are in DOCK TOWN. We are at the DOCKS. You would think that slaves from all over Thedas who are being smuggled and bought by various groups would be everywhere. You would think that the injustice in dock town would be partly built on the back of ships we've seen in the comics crammed with elves in chains. This is the world Dragon age set up for us. And yet...nothing. zilch. A tiny easily skippable side quest where we free a couple of venatori slaves, but only one of whom is an elf.

None of our Tevinter characters seem to have been influenced by their culture even a little bit when it comes to how they view elves; there is no moment when Neve fucks up and says something prejudiced, no moment when Bellara or Davrin are distrustful of her for being a Tevinter mage.

The same goes for Zevran; a character who epitomised the issues with the crows. The crows have consistently been characterised as very morally dubious assassins who kill for the highest bidder and who buy children on the slave market and torture them as they grow in order to assure that they reach maturity able to withstand torture without giving away a client's name. Zevran is very explicit about the fact that if you fail a contract your life is forefit.

Nobody responds particularly to you if you're an elf. Nobody trusts rook less for it in Tevinter. Nobody treats Rook any differently. Even DAI had better mechanics for this; with nobles in Orlais less likely to trust you as an elf.

Considering one of the main plot points of this game and what makes Solas sympathetic is the fact that he was fighting against the slavery of ancient elves...you'd think the game might want to mirror that in modern Thedas. It might want to show us how characters fighting to end slavery in Tevinter are similar to Solas and how the society Solas fought against was similar to the one that characters we love such as Fenris have fought against in modern Thedas. Maybe we'd want to explore how in a world of slavery like this, how could the answer NOT be to tear it all down? Maybe we should have that option at the end of the game so it really can chose whether we agree with Solas and his plans or not.

Adding Fenris to this game would entirely break the game because Fenris refuses to allow you to look away from this horror. He is a sympathetic character who had to learn to trust mages again because of course he didn't trust them. Of course he didn't. Fenris wouldn't allow the camera to shift focus because he's literally covered in the lyrium scars that show how slaves are used as experiments in Tevinter. Fenris WOULD question Neve on how she feels about elves and slaves. Fenris WOULD have things to say about Lucanis and the crows (let alone the fact Lucanis is an abomonation). So he could never be in this game; he'd drop a bomb on it's carefully constructed blinders to the very society its supposed to be set in.

And yet, in DATV, the crows are presented as...a found family of misfits and orphans? The politician who opposes the crows having absolute power in Antiva is framed as a comically evil idiot who doesn't understand that the crows are ontologically good. Yet...they're NOT. Crows in this game act more like a secret rebel group than an assassin organisation. We see no crow taking contracts with the VERY RICH venatori magisters despite being hired killers. We see crows just refuse to kill people despite having a contract because 'its crueler to leave them alive'. The crows don't feel like the crows here, they feel like a softened version of a cool assassin group who are cool because they wear black and purple.

Our pirate group are also sanitised; the Lords of Fortune are good pirates who only steal treasure that's not culturally significant. Theyve clearly read the modern critiques of the British Museum and have decided to explicitly stop anyone levelling similar critiques at them. There is no faction of the Lords of Fortune who aren't like this, no internal arguments about it. Everyone just. Agrees. And is able to accurately tell what a cultural artifact is vs. what treasure that you can have yourself is. Rather than showing us why a pirate stealing cultural artifacts might be bad (like in da2 where such a situation literally causes a coup and a war) it just tells us it's bad. But also pirates are cool so we still want them in our world.

This issue seaps into Thedas and drains it of any of the interesting complexity and ability to SAY anything that this franchise had before this game. It becomes a game about telling and not showing rather than the other way around. The games have ALWAYS asked questions about oppressive structural systems and their interplay with society, religion and culture and how these things can affect even the most well meaning character. Dragon age at its best IS a game about society and how society functions both for and against it's characters and what happens to societies built on cruelty and indifference. The best bad guys dragon age has given us are those who are bad because they embody these systems or have been shaped by them. Our main characters have had to wrestle with questions surrounding how to exist in these systems, fight against them, learn and grow.

Yet every group you come across in DATV is sanitised and cleaned up to the point of being as non problematic as humanly possible. None of our cast of characters have to wrestle with where they came from or the world that shaped them. None of them have to confront their own biases. They start the game perfectly non-problematic and end it that way too.

And this just...isn't what Dragon Age has been in the past. It isn't why I love the franchise. The whole game just felt, in a way, hollow. And this was a CHOICE and it is why the legacy characters are few and far between. Too many dragon age characters are just too...angry and complex for this game. You can feel them pulling their punches on this one. I have to imagine they did this because they didn't want to be criticised or have too much controversy? But I think it honestly goes far too much in the other direction and just makes it bland.

I can't imagine what I say here will be unique, but it is the basis for a LOT of my other thoughts on this game so I wanted to get it out of the way first. The softened Thedas and characters make this game by far the weakest in the franchise.

[kingdomaddiction]

So what if when SQH arrived to PIDW he was fragmented into three different people?

1. He wakes up after he thinks is the end. He’s a young, beautiful woman. And apparently she’s a cultivator? Su Xiyan, they call her. She realizes she’s in her damn story playing the role of a character that’s meant to die. She hates it and tries really hard to change history but it’s useless. No matter how hard she tries she can’t get the palace master off her ass. Really, that dude is a creep.

She tries to run away but here’s something invisible keeping her there, spoiling all of her plans. It’s infuriating. So, she decides just not to play along. Ignore the plot.

Suddenly she meets a demon. They fall in love and it’s inevitable.

It’s doom. She knows what will happen to her, to him (her silly, lovely demon Lord, it’s hard not to love him— she never stood a chance), to her unborn child.

She cries and begs and screams but she’s imprisoned. Punished for loving the “wrong” man.

It’s hard to remember but she manages to scape. Her last memories are Luo Binghe’s cries. It’s cold, oh so cold, and she hates herself for writing something so sad and depressing.

2. He’s a child again. Not sure how that’s possible, but he’s living and breathing. Shang Lei is pretty sure he died in a very pathetic and pitiful way.

For a long time he thinks it’s just a dream. But the hunger and pain feel real.

Shang Lei finds out he’s living in the PIDW universe when a cultivator visits the town talking about the recruitment for Cang Qiong Sect. He wants to laugh and cry and run the other way but then a blue screen pops up scaring the shit out of him.

A system, he has a system. Now he understands this second life is not for him to enjoy, but to fix his own story (excuse you??? Fix???).

He’s forced to join the sect, to join An Ding, and it takes an embarrassing amount of time to realice he’s Shang Qinghua, the cannon fodder.

It’s depressing and anxiety inducing but he has no other option but to obey the cruel system.

He meets Mobei and he swears it’s love at first sight. Obviously he promises to follow him forever —the system intervention is not needed.

Years passes, he becomes head disciple. It’s hard, unpleasant work. He hates it with all his gut. But the system needs him to be a Peak Lord, so Shang Lei becomes Shang Qinghua.

He’s nervous, Binghe’s birth is near. He knows it, he has been keeping track.

And one day… it happens.

His head feels like it’s been split open. He screams and everything turns black.

When he wakes up he’s at Qian Cao infirmary. Mu Qingfang is trying to talk to him, her?, but he’s overwhelmed by the memories flashing in front of him.

It hurst so much, physically and emotionally.

The system is apologizing to him (a first, really,) talking about a glitch and diving his soul. Qinghua is not listening, he can barely breathe. All he can think of is his baby and her darling husband now imprisoned under a mountain.

Before he can think of running of there and look for Luo Binghe (he’s just baby— he needs me! ) the system warns him.

He’s not allowed to find him. He’s not allowed to save him.

Mu Qingfang witnesses the worst second case of Qi deviation he has ever seen in his life.

3.

He wakes up. She’s a woman, an old woman. Her body hurts from hunger, cold, and age.

It must be a dream, she thinks. But when she wakes up the next day, and the next, and she’s here. Shang Lei has to accept his reality.

He died, and instead of just… dissolving or some shit, now he’s an old woman (really, what the fuck?) with no name, no family, and no money in a xianxia universe.

It’s shitty, really shitty.

She tries to… adjust. It’s not easy and the people of this town is extremely cruel. She still manages to find a job as a washerwoman. It’s hard on her because of her age and the seemingly eternal cold of this cursed town, but it gives her enough to buy food so she tries not to complain much.

The loneliness is the issue. Sometimes is too much to handle. She cries and begs the gods to send her someone, anyone, just to stop feeling so lonely.

And then it happens.

A cold morning, a river, a child.

She jumps into the water ignoring the freezing temperature and fights against the current. She almost drowns but it’s worth it. Because now she’s holding in her arms the most beautiful and adorable baby boy she has ever seen in her life.

Her heart feels so full. A child, her child.

There’s no doubt in her heart. This child is hers.

“Luo Binghe,” she says and laughs. It’s silly, her own little private joke to name her child like her protagonist, but isn’t it a nice coincidence?

He, like her protagonist, was floating down the river in the coldest day of the year and was found by a washerwoman.

A washerwoman just like her.

A washwoman…

A baby…

A river…

.

.

.

Huh.

… no matter, she raises Binghe. He’s such a polite, lovely child. Her perfect little gentleman. She tries to teach him about love and kindness, even when the townspeople are cruel and mean Binghe needs to be good!

He’s so smart and grows so fast it makes her proud. But she’s afraid, she can feel her body becoming weaker and weaker with each passing day.

It’s just her and Binghe, no one else. If she dies he’ll be alone.

Her sweet boy tries to help, and when she inevitably falls ill he works hard to put food on the table for both of them.

Sometimes he arrives dirty, his eyes filled with tears and bruises on his face. He always gives her a warm, big smile when he sees her and her heart aches.

Her time is coming, she knows. And she begs him to be good, to be kind even when it’s pointless. She no longer tries to deny it, Shang Lei is aware in which universe they are living.

The last thing she sees are the eyes of her beautiful child filled with tears begging her not to leave him.

4. SQH wakes up in QC again. He’s numb and Mu-shidi looks alarmed, he seems discussing his state with the sect leader (what is he doing here?)

The memories of Luo Binghe’s mother, his/hers, fills him with both warmth and sadness.

She raised him, she managed to raise her son. Even if she didn’t know she birthed him, she loved Luo Binghe as her own and did her best to give him a home.

But now he’s alone… and Shang Qinghua can’t reach him. Because the system is stopping him, threatening to hurt him or his son if he dares not to follow the script.

It’s so unfair and twisted, he wants to cry. But he can’t fight so he’s forced to watch his son grow from far away… Abused, beaten, and punished.

He despises SQQ and plans on killing him. But then he has a Qi deviation so strong his whole personality changes and suddenly his son is finally treated with respect and love and Binghe seems to adore his new Shizun (maybe a little too much??? Young man! That man is way too old for you!!!!)

Life is good, for a while.

Binghe is thrown into the abyss, he finds out SQQ is a transmigrator (but unlike him he wasn’t split), they form and alliance and so much shit happens that his story is no longer his.

It’s different, good. Binghe is happy, his old lover is free (still as handsome as the day they met), Mobei has promised to threat him better (i love you, do you love me, my king?) and he has no system to worry about anymore.

… But he stares at Binghe sometimes. Yearning for him. To hold him and kiss his forehead and she used to do when he was a child.

Unfortunately it’s not possible. Binghe hates him (please I beg you, the system forced me, —) and sees him as nothing more than a rat.

He tries his best to pretend it doesn’t hurt, but whenever LBG insults him he locks himself up in his rooms and cries. He could tell him the truth since the system seems to be gone but Shang Qinhua is paralyzed with fear. He knows he wont be able to survive Binghe’s rejection. So, SQH lowers his head and takes it no matter how vicious Binghe’s comments get when his cucumber-bro is not around.

.

// ran out of ideas—

I haven’t decided how but ???? Maybe one day SQH talks with Tianlang-Jun and the demon is reminded of a beautiful cultivator of his past and is instantly captivated. He follows him around much to Mobei and all the other demons dismay. It makes Binghe uncomfortable because that man is his father, why is acting like with SQH of all people?

(Mobei and Tianlang-jun fighting for SQH’s attention— him earning a reputation for having the former emperor and the second strongest demon in all the realm after him. SQH remains oblivious to it, thinking they are just being nice)

(SQQ: airplane this is so fucking dumb what kind of extras are these????)

(Binghe gets… suspicious. Tries to get closer to SQH to investigate— is this a plot to usurp the throne? What’s so special about him?

SQH is just glad his son is paying positive attention to him! No insults, no mean comments! Is he doing something right? He wont question it—

• SQQ jealous shenanigans.

• SQH slipping and using his other life knowledge to spoil LBG.

LBG: ????? Wtf???? How does he know i like this? Why— how? Is he stalking me?

SQH: I made this dish for Jungshang—

//tastes just like his mother’s cooking.//

LBG: *cries*

• TLJ and MBJ temporary truce. They can’t lose SQH to LBG.

• SQQ still losing his shit: wtf you hack author this is my husband!

• SQH and Binghe bonding, very wholesome, very cutesy. Binghe is really conflicted but this… it feels familiar. And… Shang-shishu smells like his mother???? Oh, he’s crying again.

Yeah, that the idea I hve so far idk feel free to use it or add anything I’ll go have breakfast now 👍🏽

[lizhly-writes]

for some reason, i felt like writing this. we are now talking about shang qinghua's master, the prior an ding peak lord.

It was commonly said that his master's engagement was extremely well-arranged. Indeed, the interactions between An Ding and Bai Zhan were the most harmonious out of any pair of peaks in the current generation.

As to why, their disciples had come up with a set of reasons. This set of reasons revolved around the idea that obviously this pair of honorable and dignified shixiong and shidi were fucking.

Did they treat each other as good friends? Brothers? Why consider those options at all when you could go for the much more dramatic route of star-crossed love, a beautifully-married couple who were forced to live apart (you know, on separate mountains) for the sake of duty? How romantic!

There were various stories going around just An Ding alone. They got even more absurd once they reached Bai Zhan. Shang Qinghua had been making a collection of them just so he could marvel at the creativity of it.

After all, Shizun and Shishu didn't seem to do much in public. They got along well, and favored each other, but certainly there was no candlelit dinner alone or courtship gifts being thrown around. Stumbling into a wife plot wasn't entirely out of the question -- Shang Qinghua really shouldn't have come up with this number of aphrodisiac plants, holy fuck -- but surely Shizun hadn't actually made a declaration of love to the Bai Zhan Peak Lord against the setting sun, flower petals blowing softly around his face as two crystalline tears dripped from his... stunning sea-blue orbs.

Shang Qinghua frankly had a hard time imagining Shizun could ever be so sentimental. If you didn't actually know him, he supposed it made a reasonable and pretty enough picture. Shizun, like all Peak Lords, was an incomparably beautiful and ageless cultivator. But somehow, even with perfect skin and a distinct lack of eyebags... he really gave off the aura of an ordinary old manager working 996.

Did Shizun fuck? Maybe! Logically, he must have! Possibly during his disciplehood! Again, Shizun was a beautiful and ageless cultivator, he must have had admirers! But in his heart, Shang Qinghua felt the answer was no. For some reason, the idea of it was weirdly discomfiting.

This was why he was incredibly surprised when, upon arriving back at Shizun's Leisure House with a tray of tea and tea snacks, he found the Bai Zhan Peak Lord there.

They weren't doing anything illicit. Shishu was standing next to Shizun at his desk. If the distance between them was a bit close -- if the Shishu's head was bent a little lower than necessary --

"Shizun," Shang Qinghua said, somehow feeling as if he had seen something he shouldn't have.

Shishu took a step back. Shang Qinghua also took a step back. Shizun did not take a step back, as he was still seated at his desk and scribbling something down.

"Qinghua is back," Shizun said, eventually looking up. He turned to Shishu. "Did you wish to stay for tea?"

"Unnecessary," Shishu said, and promptly said his goodbyes. If these goodbyes were a little fast --

Ah, well, whatever. "Did Shishu come to talk about something important?" Shang Qinghua said.

Shizun tilted his head at Shang Qinghua. He looked the same as he always did, which was, of course, very tired and very annoyed. Truly, Shizun had an unfortunate resting face. Shang Qinghua had learned to get vibes off of it, though, and the vibe he was getting today was -- okay, still tired, but also distinctly amused.

"Qinghua can see for himself," Shizun said, and tapped the paper he was writing on.

It was, as it turned out, an incredibly lurid story about Shizun and Shishu.

"Shizun???"

"The rumors going around are certainly interesting," Shizun said. He was still writing. On closer inspection, he was busily annotating it in red ink. Notes like "this didn't happen" and "combination of 5c and 18a from year of XX" and "is this based off our incident as disciples?"

What incident as disciples???

"Does Qinghua have any thoughts?"

"Shizun?????"

"On the rumors," Shizun clarified, as if that was the problem.

"I have a collection of over fifty stories," Shang Qinghua didn't say.

"This disciple wouldn't dare comment!" Shang Qinghua said.

"That is notably not the same as not having thoughts," Shizun said, and set his brush down, folding his hands neatly on his desk. "Does Qinghua believe the rumors are true?"

This was not a question Shang Qinghua felt like answering!

"Shizun has brown eyes!" Shang Qinghua blurted out.

"...Yes," Shizun said, eyebrows furrowing at this true non-answer.

Shang Qinghua tapped the line about Shizun weeping prettily with sea-blue orbs (who wrote this???). Shizun looked enlightened. "I see. And that is... the only part of this you believe isn't true?"

"Shizun is very close to Shishu," Shang Qinghua hedged. "This disciple wouldn't dare speculate!"

"Qinghua."

Shang Qinghua threw up his hands. "I don't know! What do you want to hear from me? Why are you asking me about your sex life? Are you fucking Shishu?"

There was a long pause. Shang Qinghua vaguely wondered if he was in trouble. Shizun liked him, but holy shit, not that much.

"Audacious," Shizun said, which, okay. Yeah. But! But!!! Sure, it wasn't a great thing to say, but ask shitty questions, get a shitty answer!

"That's not a no," Shang Qinghua said.

It was at this point that Shizun revealed an incredibly wry and incredibly rare smile. "This master," he said, "believes that Qinghua can figure out this matter for himself."

"What the fuck does that mean???" Shang Qinghua cried.

Shizun did not answer this. Instead, he saddled Shang Qinghua with another pile of paperwork.

[imblueeforyuu]

Yandere naga x janitor reader 

You were broke, living in a car and constantly having to take odd jobs was the norm. It wasn’t that bad actually, living in a car means you can pack up and leave whatever city you're staying in anytime. But recently you’ve gotten a job offer no one can refuse. 1000 a week to clean some snakes' cage for some billionaire. And that’s the only description  you got for the job. But damn you’d be a fool to refuse. So of course you took the job, and now you were at this gigantic mansion. 

You felt out of place. Everyone had their own uniform with the name embedded into it. And you were stuck in your cheap ass clothes. Looking at the walls you notice way too many paintings of mythical creatures. Like one or two is already a creepy amount, but this person had hallways on hallways of art of such creatures. There were none of the billionaires, which was odd, aren’t rich people supposed to be super egotistical and have one to many art of themselves? A butler led you to A fancy door, was the reptile in there? 

“The master is just in there ready to ask you some questions,” the butler said blankly. Oh, an interview, right. Dang you're not ready for an interrogation. Sigh. You walked into the room to see a very burly woman and a big ass glass wall which seemed to have the enclosure of the snake behind it. 

“Oh, you're the new piece of meat.” She smirked. What an odd way to describe you. But for 1000 a week you’ll take any abuse. The woman got up and started to examine you. You froze, you don’t really like people in your personal space especially like this. 

“Hm, you're perfect,” the lady said. So does that mean you got the job? Yaya!

she handed you a broom and sent you on your way into the enclosure. When you stepped in it was like transporting into the deep jungle. The sky was eerily realistic, there were little animals and bugs scuttling around. But no snake yet, not that you minded you’d prefer to do the job silently and quickly. Unfortunately your boss said no phone, so you couldn’t listen to music. 

Your job went as quickly as it could. You didn’t run into the snake at all which was strange because you thought it would be pretty big but apparently not. Whatever, you walk out of the cage and into the office room. Seeing your phone grabbing it and walking out of the office, the harsh reality of the never ending hallways hit you as soon as you walked out of the room. Thankfully there was another butler looking dude, dusting. You walk over towards him. He seemed shocked to see you. But got over it as soon as you asked for directions. Now you finally get to relax. The next day was pretty much the same thing. There was no snake and you just gotta chill, you convinced your boss to let you listen to music.

A month passed and you were 4000 dollars richer! And with the added bonus of free food you were finally closing a deal on a real house, well apartment. You’ve also done your job too many times. It takes like an hour max to fully clean the cage. Which is perfect because you’ve taken on a new hobby called sleeping in the cage. How could you not? It was so peaceful the sound of crickets chirping always lulled you to sleep. But one day your peaceful sleep was interrupted by an overgrown snake. 

   “Stupid human falling asleep in my presence, does he know who I am?” I said. Hating humans was always a part of who I was. Taken from my home when I was just a child and sold off towards a crazy old woman who I’m pretty sure wants to fuck me pretty much solidified that hatred. but gosh I couldn’t kill it, it was kinda cute. I slithered towards the human who was taking a nap. 

Towering over it I pause, I’ve been having trouble killing this exact human.  Normally I would eat them whenever they turned their back. But this one was different. Like there was a force pulling me closer to him. so I’ve just taken to staring at him. He’s so interesting looking, I reach my hand out and touch his hair. The human twitches slightly, I quickly pull my hand back and before I was able to hide back into the bushes he noticed me. 

Your eyes widened, why the fuck is there a 8ft snake monster just staring at you. Backing up quickly, the snake comes closer to you glaring. It looked like it wanted to murder you, and it probably did. The snake man lunged towards your neck and bit it. You scream and try to push him off. But it didn’t work. He was just a wall of mussels. Now you are a pretty strong guy. You go to the gym every other day! But this guy was on a whole different planet! You still try and push him off of course but whatever he bit you with was starting to make you sluggish and you fall back asleep. 

You wake up in a cold sweat, you try to stretch and move but something is squeezing you. Thrashing around as soon as the dread of being touched all over set in, you hated when people were too close but touching is on another planet of hate. 

“Stop struggling human,” a voice hissed out. quickly you turn your head to see whatever was holding you so close. It was the snake man. 

“There’s no point,” he continued, stretching his arms. “You're stuck with me forever,” he smirked.

 Oh well guess this is your life now, stuck with a ginormous snake man who hasn’t quite figured out the concept of personal space. 

[torturedtypewritersdept]

proclivity - pt. five - I know the end

✯ pairing:

ex!bff!rafe cameron x diabetic!kook!fem!reader

✯ summary:

at one point in time rafe was your best friend. can summer romance erase all the damage he's done?

✯ warnings:

mature themes, mentions of anxiety, nostalgia, heartbreak, diabetes lingo, injury, ghosting, fluff and fear, domestic violence (not rafe), mean!ex!jj etc.

✯ a/n:

nothing!! please don't engage if you have a hard time with any of these topics <3 this was origianlly posted on my old blog @/illicitfixations, @/lovelornanonymity and i have rewritten + reshared it here :) trying out a new format with this post, hope you like it!

You didn’t talk to Rafe until Wednesday when he texted you before your shift. 

R: can’t wait to see you, pretty girl :) 

Y: me too <3

You wanted to tell him everything so badly, about JJ showing up and everything you went through with him, but you couldn’t do that over the phone. There was no telling what he'd do when he found out. So you waited. You got to the Club before him on Wednesday, clocking in and tending to your tables, which were already full. It was going to be a busy night and usually you would welcome that, it helped pass the time. But, not today. Today, all you wanted was to talk to Rafael. 

You were busy with one of your tables when he walked in. He admired the black cocktail uniform that clung to your body and the way your hair hung in its low ponytail. He felt lucky to know you, to get to watch as you interacted with your regular customers, always kind, no matter the circumstances. You didn’t do it because you had to, you did it because that’s just who you were. You flirted with your eyes as you spotted him and he returned it, a small smile lacing his features. It was thirty minutes before you could get away from your tables due to the dinner rush, but Rafe made a point to stay at the bar until he got a chance to speak to you. Even though looking at you was always enough, he wanted to hear your sweet voice in his ears. 

“Rafael.” 

You whispered into his ear, blowing in it, as you came up behind him. It sent shivers down his spine. 

“Hey, pretty girl.” 

He replied with a smile on his face, finally hearing that voice, that sound he had been craving. You slowly made your way behind the bar so you could stand in front of him and look at his handsome face. Rafe and handsome have always been synonymous words in your brain, but he didn’t need to know that. You quickly got to work, making a drink. A Tequila sunrise. It was your favorite to make, mostly because of how pretty the hues of orange and pink were, hence its name. You sat it in front of Rafe. 

“I didn’t order this-”

“It’s on the house.” 

You replied, winking at him. 

“Well what is it? It looks girly.” 

He chuckled. 

“It’s my favorite. Just try it.” 

You giggled at him and he sipped it slowly. His face shriveled up as the familiar taste of way too much tequila hit his lips. 

“Jesus, Y/n, who taught you how to mix drinks? This is awful.” 

His comment made you chuckle heartily. 

“That would be you, Rafael.” 

He grinned cheekily as he recalled the first time he asked you to make him a margarita, which you failed miserably at, prompting him to teach you how. You had never really mastered the skill of mixing drinks, but he pretended you were okay at it to appease you. Rafe was brought out of his thoughts as he watched your body tense up. He wondered if he had said or did the wrong thing and then he followed your eyes, as they landed on JJ who was across the room with Kiara, sitting in your section. 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding.”

You whispered, hoping Rafe wouldn’t hear you. He reached out, grazing your hand with his fingertips as you vigorously wiped down the wood of the bar. 

“You want me to beat him up, again?” 

Rafe questioned innocently and you chuckled. 

“No, he’s not worth it.” 

“He is if you’re upset.” 

Rafe stated, matter-of-factly.

“It’s not that, it’s just he knows this is my section and he sat in it on purpose. They just want to torture me like it’s not bad enough he slept with my best friend.”

The sadness that laced your voice made Rafe’s chest tight. 

“Go take care of your tables and I’ll be right here the whole time. You just put your hand behind your back and ball up a fist if you need me, okay?” 

You nodded, thankful Rafe chose today of all days to be here. You slowly but surely made your way from behind the bar and headed to the Carrera’s table. 

“Hey guys! How are you?” 

The Carerra’s faces lit up at seeing you. They had no idea why you hadn’t been coming around or the way their daughter had betrayed you. It wasn’t their fault she was a bitch and you weren’t going to punish them for it. 

“Hey, sweet girl! We miss you. Where have you been?” 

Kiara’s mom asked. She was an angel and always had been and you loved her. 

“Just working.”

You gave your ex-best friend’s parents a tight lipped smile. Kiara’s eyes were apologetic even though she had never said she was sorry for what she had done. 

“Well, we miss you. You should come see us soon!” 

Mr. Carerra spoke up. 

“I will. So what can I get you guys?” 

“JJ and I will have two bacon cheeseburgers and a basket of fries to share.” 

Kiara spoke with a cheeky smile, flaunting the consolation prize of her betrayal, a piece of shit pogue boy who is going nowhere. You had never had a problem with the Pogues until you had become one and they all betrayed you by covering up JJ’s infidelity. The Pogues were poison, just like Rafe had warned you all those years ago. 

“I’m gonna hit the head.” 

JJ muttered, surely feeling awkward about Kiara’s incessant need to be a show off. She wasn’t always this awful and you weren’t sure when she had taken a turn for the worst. 

“What about you, Mike?”

You questioned Mr. Carerra. 

“I’ll take the 15 oz ribeye. Medium rare with potatoes and green beans.” 

“Yes, sir. That sounds amazing!” 

You reply with faux enthusiasm.

“You’ll have to pull up a chair with us and grab a bite to eat.” 

He spoke, his kind gesture making your heart melt. 

“I definitely will if I can go on my break soon.” 

You smiled at him. 

“And for you, Anna?” 

You questioned Kiara’s mother. 

“I’ll do the chef salad with ranch, dear. I’d also love a small side of the mac and cheese.” 

She smiled softly, you missed the warmth that you felt when she smiled at you.

“You got it, I’ll be right back with the food. Can I get you guys anything to drink?” 

You asked.

“Just make sweet tea for all of us, sweetheart.” 

Anna spoke kindly and you nodded. 

Rafe watched as you made your way back to the kitchen to make their drinks and put the order in. After a few minutes he began to get a little worried, his radar for you always on high alert. For some reason it was taking you a long time to come back to him and he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why. That’s when he saw it, JJ Maybank had you cornered in the hallway of the dining room. He stayed back though, knowing you’d give him your signal if you needed help. Rafe was always very protective of you but he always tried to let you fight your own battles. Mostly because once when he defended you in the third grade by beating up the boy who was teasing you, you kicked him in the balls and let him know that you were your own hero. That was the day he realized he loved you. He smiled at the memory of your pigtails and the redness of your cheeks. Then, suddenly, Rafe was brought out of his thoughts at hearing bits and pieces of the venomous words JJ was speaking to you and he sprung into action as he saw your fist balled up behind your back. He made his way over to you, half-running, his protective nature overcoming his logical thinking. 

“Hey, sweetheart. You okay?” 

He watched you as you visibly relaxed under his presence, knowing there was no way JJ could hurt you in Rafe’s presence. 

“Hey, Rafey-” 

You were cut off by JJ’s sneer. 

“Everything was perfectly fine until you fucking interrupted our conversation.” 

JJ spat in Rafe's direction.

“I clearly wasn’t asking you douchebag, I was asking her.” 

Rafe responded nonchalantly. You could feel the anger emanating from him, his chest warm on your back, but he was holding back. You knew he was doing it for you. If that didn't prove he wasn't the same rafe you used to know, you didn't know what did.

“Right and here I was thinking you were calling me sweetheart.” 

JJ spoke sarcastically. His sarcasm you used to find endearing, charming even, and now, it just made him more of a dick.

“What a shame JJ. Are you regretting losing my girl, that’s why you got her cornered in a dark hallway. Is Kie not enough for you?” 

And - there it was. Rafe’s tone was laced with danger and he willed JJ to use his words correctly before he killed him with his bare hands. 

“Your girl?! I’m not regretting anything if you must fucking know.” 

JJ spat, almost unable to control his emotions.

“I mean, no judgment at all dude, she’s easily the best girl on this island.” 

Rafe gave him a wink. He was a cocky little bastard when he wanted to be.

“Oh, you’d know, wouldn’t you? Haven’t you had every girl on the island?” 

JJ questioned. He was a real asshole when he wanted to be.

“Could say the same to you, you know since you're passing your dick around like it’s the community pool.” 

Rafe spit back.

“Rafael-”

You spoke softly, feeling the vibration of your glucose monitor go off. You didn’t feel right, something was wrong. You placed your hand limply around his bicep, urging him to back off and call it a day. 

“Rafael? Who the fuck is Rafael and why are you touching him like that?” 

JJ questioned, confusedly. 

“That would be me, big guy.” 

Rafe muttered, raising his two fingers like attendance was being taken in homeroom. 

“I-”

“You know what, if you must know, it’s none of your business how she touches me or how often she uses a nickname with me or how many times she’s kissed me.” 

Rafe growled.

“How many times she what-” 

The hurt and jealousy that laced JJ’s eyes was something you’d never seen before.

“Joseph-” 

You whispered Rafe’s middle name, which got his attention. You never called him Joseph, ever, and when he looked into your eyes he knew something was wrong. It clicked in his brain too late, as he felt you loosen your grip from his arm and he watched in horror as you hit the ground. Your head bounced off the carpet and you started convulsing violently. 

“Angel! No! No, no, no, no, no.” 

Rafe’s panicked voice echoed through the club as he yelled. 

“Turn her on her side! She’s having a diabetic seizure!” 

JJ interjected, yelling as he got down rolling you onto your side while Rafe stabilized your head. 

“JJ, call 911!” 

Rafe screeched.

“I’m on it!” 

He yelled as he ran to grab his phone from the table, meeting Kiara’s eyes as he ran quickly back to you and Rafe. 

“It’s okay, sweet, baby girl. You’re gonna be okay. I’m right here.” 

Rafe whispered as he counted the seconds until your body stopped convulsing. He was careful with your head, scared he’d hurt you or that you would have brain damage when you woke up. Kiara had followed JJ back to Rafe, curious as to why her boyfriend was so distressed. 

“J-”

Her voice faltered as she caught your unconscious form on the carpet of the country club. 

“What the fuck is this? Why are you helping her?!” 

She yelled in JJ’s direction, confusion and hurt, lacing her tone. 

“Kie-, please tell me you’re not so insecure that you care that he’s trying to help me save your best friend from dying right now.” 

Rafe growled in her direction and she made her way back to the table in tears. The ambulance got there quickly and immediately administered insulin and oxygen, which seemed to bring your vitals up. Rafe hopped in the back with you, not caring about leaving his truck at the club. He’d uber to get it later, once he knew you were okay. 

-

When you started to stir, the first thing you noticed was the smell of sterilization and the weight of something pricking the hand of your skin. You were in the hospital. Shit. Willing yourself to pry your eyes open, you slowly blinked, taking in a tall figure, reading a book beside you, one of his hands in yours. You coughed, your throat and mouth extremely dry. His blue eyes met yours and you registered who it was. Rafael. 

He stood up, making his way closer to you, standing over your head, in your line of vision. Rafe’s hands cupped your cheeks and he placed a kiss on your forehead before he spoke. 

“Hey, pretty girl. How are you feeling?” 

You tried to speak but your mouth was dry and then it dawned on you, your dad was going to kill you. You tried to sit up, which was a huge mistake as the movement shook your head a little too hard. Rafe pushed you back down by your shoulders. 

“Easy, Tiger.” 

He spoke softly, bringing a cup of water with a straw up to your lips, as he sat in front of you on the bed. You swallowed vigorously, like it was the first cup of water you’d had in ten years. 

“Slow down, baby.” 

He whispered in a sweet tone. You made eye contact with him after you decided you had enough of the beverage. 

“Rafe, what happened?” 

You questioned, confusedly.

“Your pump stopped working and you had a seizure from not getting your insulin.” 

You nodded your head in response, shock rittling your senses at his words. It shouldn’t have surprised you after how many times it had happened, but it did and it hurt your feelings every single one. 

“Will you lay with me?” 

You asked, as sweet as could be and he couldn't deny you.

“Of course, sweet girl.” 

Rafe crawled into the bed next to you, letting you cuddle into him and lay your head on his chest. His heartbeat brought you solace. He stroked your hair gently, his fingertips barely grazing the strands, and placed a kiss on your bandaged forehead. You had a concussion and some stitches from where you hit your head on the floor and he was as careful as possible when he placed the kiss, scared he’d hurt you. 

“Rafael, thank you for taking care of me and for being here.” 

You praised.

“Anything for you, baby. I’m always going to be here. You can count on that.” 

He smiled into your hairline, continuing to stroke it and you felt immense peace. You couldn’t tell what had changed or why, but you believed him with every fiber of your being. 

-

The next time you woke up, you were in Rafe’s arms, his soft snores infiltrating your ears and the aroma of the hospital room making its way into your nostrils. He had been at your beck and call for the last three days and he was tired, he needed the rest. You shifted your body, though careful not to move too quickly, afraid you’d wake him. Looking up at his sweet face, you traced your fingers down the bridge of his nose. How could one person be this perfect? You pondered. It was more than his chiseled jaw that you had always admired or his tan skin, he had begun to show you that he was a good man and that’s something you hadn’t seen in him in a long time, maybe ever. It made you love him in a way that you never had. A soft knock on the door took you out of your thoughts and you were praying to God that whoever it was wouldn’t wake up the giant man sleeping soundly next to you. Then, you saw brown hair with highlights peek through the crack of the door and you realized it was Topper. He peeked his head all the way through the door, and a bright smile littered his face. Kelce followed his lead, as he knocked softly again, making sure it was okay to come through the threshold of the hospital room. 

“Knock, knock.” 

He whispered and was surprised when he was met with your eyes instead of Rafe’s. 

“Shh.” 

You spoke, motioning your pointer finger to your lips in an attempt to keep him quiet. Seeing Rafe so still and soft, in an almost childlike state while sleeping was enough to make you swoon and you wanted him to stay this way as long as possible. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be the one resting?” 

Topper teased as he brought a balloon that read “it’s a girl!” to your bedside. It made you giggle. 

“Sorry, they ran out of “Sorry you have diabetes” balloons.” 

Kelce quipped. Your giggle was now a full-fledged belly laugh. "These two idiots!", you thought. As your laugh erupted from your stomach, Rafe began to stir, shifting his weight in the small bed. You lifted your hand, running your fingertips softly through the hair that was now hanging in his face. He nestled his face into your shoulder, curling his long legs into his stomach. There’s no way he’s comfortable, you thought. But you also didn’t have the heart to wake him. 

“I want him to sleep as long as possible, he’s been up for days worrying about me.” 

You spoke flatly and the boys understood the sentiment of your words. They cared deeply for both of you. 

“When are they saying you’ll be able to go home?” 

Kelce probed, wanting you to feel as normal as possible as soon as possible. 

“This afternoon, I think.” 

He placed his hand on your shoulder. 

“That’s good, pretty girl. You know he’s not going to leave your side, right?” 

You playfully rolled your eyes. 

“Yeah, the same way you two were the last time.” 

You joked.

“The last time you almost died. This isn’t that.” 

Topper’s tone was cold and he didn’t mean it to be, but he didn’t understand your calm, cool, and collected nature when it came to such traumatic events with your health. The room grew eerily silent and you were the first to break it. 

“Let’s not talk about that in front of Rafe, okay?” 

Both boys simply nodded their heads in response, understanding of your wishes. Topper and Kelce stayed for about an hour before deciding to go. Rafe stirred awake not long after they had departed from the room.

“Pretty girl. What time is it?” 

He asked, his eyes fluttering open to see yours staring up at him. His voice was gruff and sexy like only boys can be when they’ve first woken up.

“Well, good morning handsome. It’s 1pm.” 

You responded with a light chuckle.

“Gosh, How long have I been asleep?” 

“Since last night around 11.” 

He nodded his head, his still sleepy response was noted by you. 

“Did someone come to visit or did I dream about that?” 

You giggled, placing your hand on his cheek softly, rubbing your thumb back and forth underneath his eye. 

“It wasn't a dream, Topper and Kelce were here this morning.” 

You whispered sweetly, bringing your hands up to his hair, stroking lightly. 

“Why didn’t you wake me?” 

His eyebrows furrowed as he asked the question.

“You needed the sleep, Rafael. You’ve been awake, worrying about me for the last three days and that won’t do either of us any good.” 

He brought your chin up with his thumb and pointer finger, wanting your eyes to meet his, and placed a kiss on your forehead. 

“It’s my job to worry about you.” 

-

You were discharged from the hospital not long after Rafe had woken up, which you kind of despised, you wished he would’ve stayed asleep and gotten as much rest as he needed. The past few days had taken a toll on him and they would have taken a toll on anybody. No one wakes up and expects the girl they love to have a seizure and be put in the hospital. He had never seen you this fragile and that thought alone ate him alive. He hated that he couldn’t do anything to protect you from this. This wasn’t some mouthy pogue or a handsy touron he could punch out and call it a day, nestling you safely into his arms after disposing of the threat. This was an illness, a disease, that no one had control over, that no one could predict and even the best safety measures couldn’t protect you from a failing insulin pump. That part of it destroyed him. But the part of it that didn’t was seeing you be strong through all of it. You made jokes at your own expense, which was how you coped. You had done that for years with a lot of things. You did it the day you got your braces on when you were afraid of how Rafe would perceive your new appearance. Spoiler alert: he thought you were beautiful. You did it when your grandma died and when your parents fought and even when JJ cheated on you. The only thing you had never done it about was Rafe. His absence was the only thing that hurt too bad to joke about. He admired the fact that you could joke about your illness and how annoyed you got when he fussed over you, especially today, as he was driving you to his house from the hospital. When they had wheeled you out of the front doors of the hospital, Rafe gently lifted your body with his strong arms and placed you into the passenger seat of his truck. He made sure you were comfortable before lacing his hands through the seatbelt, stretching it across your body and buckling you in, the familiar click as the extender and the buckle met filtering through the car.  

“Rafe, I can buckle myself. My arms are in perfect working condition.” 

You scoffed, his incessant need to take care of you getting on your nerves. 

“I know you can. Just let me dote on you today, okay?” 

His voice was almost pleading. You gave him a reassuring nod, knowing that this is what he needed at the moment, even if you didn’t. You smiled, you loved this soft side of him, but eventually, it'd have to stop. Diabetes was something you’d been dealing with on your own for years. You didn’t need the hovering or the constant worry from your brown-haired, blue-eyed lover. You needed him to know you were strong and capable, not this weak damsel in distress he thought you were. You decided you would give it a day and have a conversation with him if it hadn’t stopped by the end of the week. As he made sure you were okay, he made his way to the driver’s side and started the truck, heading for Tannyhill. Your parents were in Thailand for business and couldn’t get back in time for you to be discharged, which you were thankful for. You didn’t need the wrath of your father right now, your brain and body still too tired from the trauma they endured. Rafe had told your mother you could stay at Tannyhill until they got home, which would be a week from today and he couldn’t help but be excited at having you this close for this long. You fell asleep on the ride home to Rafe’s, the slinging of gravel under his tires making you stir, as he pulled to the front of the house. He quickly got out and made his way to your side of the car, opening your door and unbuckling you, before lifting you in his arms once more and carrying you inside. The shift in your surroundings made you groan. 

“Mmmm.” 

You grunted out, Rafe’s lips turned up in a smile. 

“Hey, sweet girl, you’re okay. We’re home. I’m gonna take you to bed.” 

He whispered in your ear. 

“Mmmm, Rafey.” 

You said it like his name was the yummiest thing your tongue had ever tasted, a sleepy smile plastered on your face. As he opened the door, you felt yourself wanting to fight, wanting to prove to him you could do it yourself, but your body was too tired to try and argue with the comforting embrace of the boy you loved. You took in the smell of him as you heard him telling his family not to talk above a whisper while making his way through the living room. He smelled like sea salt, whiskey, and expensive cologne - a familiar smell for many reasons, it reminded you of home, the island, the stupid pretentious parties, and the ocean you’d grown to love the sight of. However, it reminded you of home because he was stitched in every memory of you being in these places, in this atmosphere. The smell was bliss, the smell was Rafe. 

“Please if you talk to her or around her, talk in a whisper. She’s got a concussion and ten stitches on her forehead. If she’s in a room, the lights need to be off, at least until tomorrow.” 

Rafe whisper-yelled over your half-asleep form, to his family before walking up the stairs. 

“Don’t worry, son. We got it. We’ve dealt with a concussion before.” 

Ward giggled because his son had had six concussions in his football career, they knew very well how to take care of one, but Rafe’s protective nature shined through and allowed him to forget that. He loved that his son cared this deeply for another person, there was a time when he wondered if he ever would. 

Rafe slowly but surely carried you up the stairs to his bedroom, laying you down in his usual resting place, which was the comfiest place on the mattress. He wanted you to be as comfortable as possible. Luckily, you were dressed in cozy clothes so he didn’t have to wake you. Instead, he brought the blankets under your chin and slid in next to you, falling asleep fast as he clung to your small frame. 

-

When you woke the next morning, Rafe was no longer next to you, which made you curious, so you made your way out of bed and slowly peered down the hallway. There was no sign of him in the bathroom or any of the bedrooms upstairs. You peered eerily over the edge of the staircase banister, looking for any sign of him. 

“Rafael” 

You called out and he came barreling up the stairs from around the corner in the kitchen. You admired him in his domestic form, basketball shorts, t-shirt, and messy hair. A still sleepy smile danced across his face as he took in the sight of you. He hadn’t been awake very long. 

“Pretty girl, good morning.” 

He spoke with a smile, making his way up to you, and placing a kiss on your hairline. 

“What are you doing out of bed?” 

He questioned.

“I couldn’t find you” 

You brought your lips to a pout and it sent a shiver down his spine. He loved that you wanted to be so close to him. You were enamored by everything that he was and you couldn’t get enough. 

“You want some coffee? I made your favorite.” 

You were confused. How could he possibly know what your favorite coffee is? You had been not speaking for the last two years, there was no way he had made you the right thing.

“Which would be what?” 

You questioned, confusion lacing your face. 

“White chocolate mocha with ½ and ½ instead of milk and an extra shot of white chocolate.” 

“Rafe, how did you know?” 

“I’ve just paid attention and it helps that you’ve had the same coffee order since we were 13.” 

He joked and you gushed internally, your core became warm at his sentiment, leaving you flustered and on edge. 

“Rafael, that’s so sweet, thank you.” 

You whispered as you pulled him in for a tight hug. 

“Let’s go downstairs and get you that coffee.” 

He spoke sweetly and you followed him down the staircase. When you had made it to the kitchen, you noted that Rafe had all kinds of coffee and syrups lining the island, where he was topping your cup off with whipped cream. It was a surprise that Rafe was an actual coffee drinker, not a poser who orders the closest thing to a milkshake he can find at every coffee shop. Rafe pulled a barstool out for you to sit on from underneath the island and helped you onto it before sliding it close to the edge of the countertop. 

“Rafael, when did you become such a coffee whore?” 

You asked innocently, not realizing how funny the remark was. Rafe let out a belly laugh. 

“Uh, my mom got me into drinking it right before she passed. It was something I clung to when she died. The warmth of a good cup of coffee reminds me of her hugs.” 

He spoke with a smile. 

“Well, now I feel like an asshole.” 

You muttered, a grimace on your face. 

“What do you mean? Why?” 

 “I thought you were going to have some douchey frat boy response. Like, you started drinking it to get a girl’s attention or something.” 

Rafe chuckled at you being so taken aback by him. 

“No, I’m not that guy anymore.” 

“Yeah, I’m starting to see that.” 

You mumbled what you thought was quietly, but evidently not quiet enough, as Rafe’s eyes went wide at your confession. 

“Let me take you on a date today.” 

He spoke softly, timidness dancing across his body language. You smiled at him brightly and when he looked at his feet, waiting for you to tell him no, you lifted his chin with your thumb and pointer finger. 

“Hey, don’t do that.” 

“Sorry-”

“No, I mean, don’t go to the bad place in your head. Everything’s fine, baby. I thought you’d never ask.” 

He smiled as widely as he could. 

“Okay, well let’s get some food in your stomach and then we’ll get ready and make a day out of it. Do you feel okay enough for that?” 

“Yeah, I feel fine. But, what do you mean? Where are you taking me?” 

You looked confused. You had never really been on a real date, JJ didn’t have very much money, which was never an issue for you. You didn’t mind paying for whatever the two of you did. But, even still he lacked romance and creativity. There was never a movie date or a day at the beach, just the two of you. It was all about the Pogues all the time and that was one of the many reasons you didn’t miss him. 

“That I cannot reveal yet, sweetheart.” 

He smiled cheekily and it made your heart warm. You were excited and you knew Rafe wasn’t going to disappoint. Rafe Cameron wasn’t known for romance, yet you believed he had something special up his sleeves. He made eggs, bacon, and toast with jelly, which was your favorite kind of breakfast. You appreciated how thoughtful he was. After you finished eating, he asked you to go get dressed and pack a bag. 

“Did you get enough to eat, sweetheart?” 

He questioned, always aware of the sugar demon that lived inside your bloodstream now. Apart from worrying about your sugar, he just wanted to make sure you were full, which you appreciated. 

“Yes, Rafael. I’m full.” 

You smiled in his direction, before hopping off the barstool and heading upstairs to take a shower, wanting to look your best for your date with him. 

“Do you mind picking out my clothes since I’m not allowed to know what we’re doing?” 

You questioned, turning around as you reached the bottom of the staircase, meeting his blue eyes that were boring into the back of your head already. 

“Absolutely, sweetheart. I’d love to.” 

He gave you a reassuring nod as you turned around and made your way up the staircase, smiling like an idiot over the fact that you caught him staring at you. As you reached the top of the stairs, you realized you were already winded and tired, an after effect of your recent health scare. You made your way into Rafe’s room, which had a connecting bathroom. You quickly grabbed your insulin and bath supplies, knowing you’d need to change your pump when you got out and made your way into the bathroom, where you stripped yourself of your clothes and turned on the water. You liked the water scalding hot, you always joked that you like to feel like you’re in the pits of hell until your shower is over and the cool air of the bathroom brushes up against your naked skin. You removed the old insulin pump, discarding it into the trash, and hopped in the shower. You didn’t waste much time, but you did let the hot water soothe your muscles for a bit before you washed your hair and body and it felt so good. When you were done, you exited the shower, grabbing Rafe’s towel from the drying rack and wrapping it around your body. You made your way into the bedroom, where you found a beautiful, white lace sundress with a note attached to it. 

A beautiful dress for a beautiful girl. Saw this downtown last week and it reminded me of you. What a perfect day to wear it, yeah? I packed your bag with all the necessary snacks and medicine and put a bathing suit in there for you too. The white one-piece you wore on the druthers, it’s my favorite.

X, 

Rafael

You audibly gasped at how thoughtful Rafe had been and there you were, smiling like an idiot in the middle of his bedroom. You put on your bra and underwear and called his name, wanting him to come to help you with applying a new insulin pump. Today was as good a day as any for him to learn how to do it. 

“Rafael!” 

You bellowed out his name and he came up the stairs quickly, you could hear his feet hitting each mahogany panel. He knocked softly, not wanting to disturb you if you weren’t decent. You slowly slid the dress up your legs, so he could only see your bra. 

“You can come in, I need your help.” 

He swung the door open at that, afraid you were sick or in trouble in some other way. His eyes landed on you, sitting on his bed, with the dress he had bought you covering your bottom half, nothing but your bra covering your top. 

“Woah.” 

He whispered, a smirk tracing his lips. 

“Easy, tiger. I need help with my pump. There’s no fire anywhere.” 

You giggled softly at him. He looked so afraid when he swung the door open.

“Okay, pretty girl, tell me what to do.” 

“I have everything ready. I just need you to plunge it into my skin, somewhere it won’t show in this dress.” 

“Is your stomach okay?” 

He questioned you, watching as you inserted the insulin into the pump and let it prime. As much as you wanted to tell him, no, to run, to scream, to hide - you couldn’t. Your stomach was the best place for the pump, but it was also a place you didn’t want Rafe to look at. Over the last two years, your stomach had become littered with scars from failed pump sites and it made you insecure about your body. This is why you stuck to one-piece bathing suits. 

“U-uh, yeah.” 

Rafe noticed the shift in your behavior and he didn’t take it lightly. 

“Hey, pretty girl, what’s the matter?” 

You stared down at him, as he was now rocking on the balls of his feet and squatted in front of you. 

“It’s just, my stomach, it isn’t pretty anymore, okay?”

“What do you mean? Everything about you is pretty.” 

“I have a lot of scars from my pump on my stomach. It’s probably better if I show you.” 

He nodded gingerly and you delicately pushed the dress down to your hips, revealing the fullness of your tiny waist and belly. The scars that littered it were discolored, some black, and brown, and the oldest ones were white. Some were longer and larger than the others. You swallowed thickly as you watched Rafe’s blue eyes take in the tattered skin and you let a tear fall from your eye. You hoped he didn’t notice, but he did. 

“Hey, this doesn’t change anything. Everybody has scars. It’s okay, baby.” 

“I’m ugly, Rafe.” 

“Believe me, darling, you are the furthest thing there ever was from ugly and a few scars won’t change my mind. I have scars too.” 

“Y-you do?” 

“Yeah, look, this is from that time you pushed me off my bike when we were seven. Remember I had all those stitches?” 

He asked, pointing to his face, which he had landed on when he fell. You chuckled to yourself. He had pissed you off so bad that day when he wouldn’t let you play with his spiderman action figures. 

“Yeah, I remember. Sorry, I was a bitch.” 

You laughed and Rafe wiped some of the tears off your face. 

“You’ve never been a bitch. I promise.” 

You sniffled and smiled at him, thankful for his kind words. 

“Everybody has scars, sweet girl. They make us who we are, they’re proof we’ve lived. You’ve just lived a lot of life.” 

You hugged him tightly, his fingers tracing the skin of your bare back. 

“Okay, pick a spot on my belly and stick it there.” 

“How’s here?” 

He asked, placing the pump close to your naval. 

“That’s great. Just hold it there until you hear the click.” 

He did as he was told, holding it until he heard the audible click of the needle going into your fragile skin. You grimaced. 

“Are you alright, sweetheart?” 

His brows furrowed in concern. 

“I’m okay, Rafael. It’s just the needle.” 

Your response seemed to soothe him enough because the next thing you knew his hands had traveled to your hips and he began helping you pull the dress up over your middle and placed the straps securely on your shoulders. He turned you around to look in the mirror. 

“How’s that, pretty girl? Do you like it?” 

“I love it, Rafe. Thank you so much.” 

-

Shortly after your bedroom excursion, you and Rafe were ready to go, you still clueless as to where he was taking you or what your date entailed. He led you outside to his truck, grabbing the bag he had packed for you and placing it on the backseat floorboard. When he opened the back passenger door, you noticed there was a picnic basket with pink tulips hanging out the side of it. They were your favorite flower, which Rafe definitely knew. You smirked at this small detail. So far he was blowing your expectations out of the water, which you had no doubt he would. He helped you into the passenger seat, buckling you yet again. You were starting to think this had less to do with your fragility and more to do with the fact that he just liked doing it. 

You and Rafe quickly arrived downtown, walking around all your favorite boutiques and shops. As you walked down the cobblestone streets of Kildare, Rafe reached for your hand, interlocking his fingers with yours. You could’ve sworn you had died and gone to heaven. You had loved this boy as long as you could remember and even your wildest of fantasies would’ve never given you the idea he’d ever want you like this. You watched the ground as you walked, eyes on your feet and you felt his eyes boring a hole into the side of your head. 

“It’s rude to stare, you know?” 

You spoke freely, letting out a giggle and Rafe rolled his eyes playfully. 

“I just wanted to look at you.” 

He spoke softly. 

“Why?” 

“Cause you’re beautiful.” 

He spoke with more fire this time, saying the words boldly, with purpose. He wasn’t trying to make a move, or get you to sleep with him, he just needed you to know and you sensed that he meant it. 

“You make me feel good, Rafe.” 

“Well, that’s kinda the whole point of this. If I’m ever not making you feel good, then that’s when we should reevaluate what we’re doing.” 

You smiled at him and nodded, knowing he needed you to understand what he was saying, that’d you tell him if ever wasn’t making you feel good. 

“You want some ice cream, beautiful?” 

Your face lit up and Rafe giggled. You were always in the mood for ice cream, something he noted when you were thirteen. Every time he has ever asked if you wanted ice cream, your answer has been yes. 

“You know I do.” 

You snorted at his knowledge of you, at his ability to read you like a book. He nodded and you made your way into the ice cream shop. Rafe made you sit at a table while he ordered and when he brought you the ice cream you beamed up at him. 

“Mint chocolate chip, you remembered!” 

You exclaimed. It was like Rafe’s thoughts were consumed by you, it seemed he knew everything there was to know about you. 

“I remember everything about you, honey.” 

You blushed at his remark. You were thankful for this day with him. It was simple and domestic and freeing and you were just thankful. 

“This has been fun, Rafael. Thank you.” 

You smiled sweetly, meeting his blue eyes with yours, blushing again. 

“You’re welcome, pretty girl. But, it’s not over yet. I have one more surprise for you.” 

“What else could you possibly have up your sleeve?” 

You questioned him with a belly laugh, thinking this sweet boy had already gone above and beyond for you. You both finished off your ice cream and Rafe led you back to the truck, following his routine of buckling you in before he made his way inside. He definitely liked doing it, no if’s, and’s, or but’s about it. 

The ride was quiet and after fifteen minutes, he pulled into the public beach parking lot. He helped you out of the vehicle once again, grabbing the picnic basket, along with your bag of necessities, and placing it on his shoulders. He carried that bag as if his life depended on it. Once you made it down to the sand, he laid out the white knitted blanket he had brought with him and instructed you to sit down, while he unpacked the picnic basket. 

“These are for you. I know they’re your favorite.” 

Rafe spoke matter-of-factly, pulling the pink tulips out of the basket and handing them to you. Your smile was giddy and you couldn’t contain yourself. You’d jump his bones right here if you knew you wouldn’t get arrested. 

“Rafe, these are so beautiful!” 

You exclaimed, joy written on your features. He loved that look on you. The joy. 

“I’m glad you like them.” 

He giggled and put his arm around you, placing his hand on the other side of your hip in the sand. 

“You just seem to know all my favorite things.” 

Blush infiltrated the pores of your cheeks. 

“It’s not hard if you pay attention.” 

His words meant more to you than anyone’s ever had before, but the truth of them stung. This is what love is supposed to feel like, to be like and now you know why you didn’t miss JJ. Because he wasn’t the one and Rafe was. Rafe’s next line of questioning brought you out of your head. 

“Are you hungry, sweet girl?” 

He questioned with soft eyes. 

“I could eat.” 

You replied, a soft smile on your lips. 

“PB & J or Turkey and Mayo?” 

He asked, pulling two sandwiches out of the basket. 

“PB & J.” 

You replied. 

He ever so slowly plated the sandwiches and put apple slices with caramel sauce beside them. 

“Here you go, m’lady.” 

“Rafe, this is so sweet.” 

You gushed, heart almost bursting at the seams for the effort he put into this. 

“Water or champagne?” 

His line of questioning continued.

“Depends, what are we celebrating?” 

“Just me, being here, with you.” 

“Champagne it is then.” 

Rafe took the two glasses out of the picnic basket, handing you yours to hold while he poured it. He looked up at your face, golden hour making the hues of orange, yellow, and pink dance across your face. He noticed something on your cheek, right near your lip - a scar, medium size, white in color, in a jagged line. His fingers traced over it as he finished pouring your beverage. You shied away from his touch. 

“I’m sorry, angel.” 

He looked defeated, afraid he had done the wrong thing. This perfect day, did he just fuck it up? He wondered. 

“It’s okay. No worries.” 

You smiled at him and leaned into him, placing your head on his shoulder. 

“Can you tell me what that’s from?” 

He asked. He needed to know at some point, you knew that. But, that didn’t mean the conversation would be easy or that he wouldn’t get angry. 

“Trust me, you don’t want to know, Rafe.” 

He was taken aback, what was so bad that you thought he wouldn’t want to know. He wanted to know about every scar that littered your body. 

“Believe me when I say this, I most certainly do.” 

You huffed, loudly.

“You promise you won’t get mad?” 

“I promise, angel.” 

Your vision clouded with unshed tears, you had never had to explain to him the abuse you face from JJ and it would never be easy to talk about. 

“I-it’s from JJ.” 

You let the words sit in the thick air between you and Rafe. 

“What do you mean it’s from JJ?” 

Rafe’s eyes were laced with bewilderment and confusion. 

“F-from the first t-time.” 

Your voice became shaky, weak. 

“The first time for what, y/n?” 

“The f-first time he punched me in the f-face.”

“What the fuck did you just say?! He punched you in the face?!” 

Rafe questioned, a fire in his eyes that you’d never seen before. 

“Y-you said you wouldn’t get mad.” 

Rafe looked up at you, tears falling freely down your face. 

“Hey, hey, I’m not mad, baby. Come here.” 

He reached out for you and lunged for him, clinging as tightly as you could to his middle, crying into his button-down. 

“Tell me what happened, angel. It’s okay. I’m right here. I’d never hurt you. I’d never dream of putting my hands on you, of hurting you.” 

He rocked you back and forth, peppering kisses into your hairline. Waiting until your breathing had become normal before he stopped, just sitting with his chin on top of your head. 

“He abused me the entire year we were together. It started when I told him I wasn’t ready to lose my virginity, that I was saving it for the right person.” 

“I’m so sorry, baby.” 

“The first time he hit me, I still had braces on my teeth. Cut right through my cheek, that’s what the scar is from. I had to get 7 stitches.” 

He didn’t say anything, mostly because he knew that there was nothing he could say to make it better. He just squeezed you tighter and wondered how the fuck he was going to kill JJ Maybank. 

“Listen, angel, I don’t want you working at the club with him.” 

Rafe’s tone revealed how uneasy he truly was.” 

“I know. The first day you came to see me at work, he showed up that night. Told me to remember who I belonged to. I haven’t felt safe without you there, ever since.” 

“Baby, let me talk to dad and see how serious he is about wanting you to come work for him.” 

“You’d do that?” 

You looked up at him, shocked he would help you find work elsewhere when he didn’t have to. It wasn’t his responsibility. 

“You have no idea the things I’d do for you, sweet girl.” 

The words were heavy and somehow you knew he meant every single one. 

taglist:

@maybankslover @inthelibrarybtw @luvrcndy @silkylovey @yagirlwrites @obxbabygirl @rafeecameronsbitch @klutzy-kay24 @roseczbalt

[theywantedplayer]

Master list

PromptList

AN-this is longer than what I usually do I hope yall fuck with it since I haven't been writing lots bc I got exams in 2 weeks fm

You started noticing Nico acting differently—not just on the ice but also when it was just the two of you at home. He always had a nurturing attitude, which his teammates liked to tease him about by calling him "Mother Nico." He was always a caring and intuitive guy, picking up around the apartment even though you knew he had a stressful schedule during the NHL season.

He handled it all well, balancing everything quite skillfully. You’d often hear stories from your friends who were dating other players on the team about how their boyfriends always prioritized hockey, but Nico wasn’t like that.

Then, around the winter months, things started to change. He seemed slower, quieter, and less talkative like a dark cloud constantly hung over him. The Devils weren’t performing as well in the standings as usual, and Nico took it personally as the captain. He acted like the team’s struggles were entirely his fault, carrying the weight of it on his shoulders.

Nico had always been your rock. He let you talk to him about anything that was bothering you, offering a listening ear and unwavering support. But as the winter months set in, you started to realize that the dynamic only seemed to go one way. You could sense something was troubling him, but he never opened up about it.

Little things began to slip. He forgot whose turn it was to make dinner, skipped doing the laundry, or left the dishes undone—things he’d always been on top of. At first, you didn’t mind picking up the extra load, understanding how stressful the season must have been for him. But as October came, you decided it was time to bring it up. You never expected his reaction.

"I’ve noticed you’ve been off, and I’m worried about you," you finally said, folding laundry on the dining room table. Your voice was calm but firm, wanting to make your concern seen.

"What makes you say that?" he replied, his gaze fixed on the TV.

Your eyes flickered between him and the screen. He was watching SportsCenter, listening to reporters make critical and unsupportive remarks about the Devils' performance. It was clear their words had struck a nerve

“Well, you haven’t been picking up around the house lately, and you’ve just been quieter. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay,” you said as you folded his t-shirts.

Truthfully, you didn’t mind picking up more around the house. You’d always told Nico he didn’t need to do as much as he did, but he always insisted. Still, as you tried to talk to him, it felt like walking on landmines. He was so quiet, and you were afraid he might explode at any moment.

“Seriously?” he said coldly, finally turning his head toward you.

“You know I don’t have a problem with you not doing housework. You just haven’t been yourself lately,” you said, trying to keep your tone gentle. “You know you can talk to me, right?”

“If you don’t have a fucking problem with it, then why are you bringing it up?” he snapped, his tone ice-cold.

A heavy sigh escaped your lips. You could feel where this conversation was headed. Setting down the hoodie you’d been folding, you rested your hands on the table and turned to look at him. His expression was unreadable, and that familiar resting bitch face of his—the one that intimidated people who didn’t know him—made you hesitate for just a moment. You knew it wasn’t truly who Nico was, but even now, it unsettled you just a little. Seeing someone who was always the sweetest and more caring one in the room suddenly has the face of one who at first glance didn't seem like it was a shock, but you always knew your boyfriend and knew that wasn't true.

“Nico, I’m not trying to start anything,” you said softly. “I just know something’s wrong, and you won’t even fucking talk to me about it.” you regretted the swear as soon as it left your mouth knowing it seemed like a push to him.

“Because I don’t need to,” he stated flatly.

You sighed again, frustration and worry bubbling inside you. Nico was the guy who always told everyone else they could talk to him, but he never talked to anyone about his stuff even rarely at times with you.

“Well, I think you do,” you said, your voice firmer this time as you locked eyes with him. You weren’t trying to start a fight, but you couldn’t let this slide. “I think talking about it would really help. You’ve been so quick to anger lately, so quiet, and I’m worried about you. You can talk to me. Why do you feel like you can’t?”

You noticed the slight clench of his jaw before he responded. “I have a lot of shit going on. I’m sorry if I’m not picking up around the house anymore. Just leave it alone,” he said, his tone laced with annoyance. “Just leave me alone.”

With that, he turned his body and full attention back to the TV. You opened your mouth to speak again, but he turned up the volume at the same time. Whether it was intentional or not, it sent a clear message: he wasn’t continuing this conversation. And as much as you knew it needed to happen, you didn’t have the energy to force it either.

About a month later, near the end of November, you could tell things had only gotten worse. The Devils were in the middle of a six-game losing streak, and it was eating at Nico. The frustration came to a head after a particularly brutal loss—shut out by Vegas, 5–0.

The walk back to the car was painfully silent. The only words Nico said as he handed you the keys were, “You drive.”

You nodded wordlessly, slipping into the driver’s seat and starting the car. The drive home, which should’ve been 20 minutes, stretched to nearly 45 because of post-game traffic. Normally, after a tough game like this, Nico would vent to you—sharing ideas for new plays or strategies to motivate the team. But tonight, he sat in the passenger seat, staring blankly at the sea of brake lights in front of you.

At every red light, you glanced over at him, silently checking in. He didn’t say a word, but you could see the storm brewing in his mind. This wasn’t just a bad game or a bad week; it was months of mounting pressure. He wasn’t himself anymore, and you knew he was close to breaking.

When you finally pulled into the parking garage of your apartment building, you turned off the car and opened your door. “Come on, Nic, let’s just go to bed,” you said gently, stepping out.

You expected to hear the passenger door open, but instead, there was silence. Turning back, you saw him still sitting there, unmoving. His hand hadn’t even reached for the door handle. It was like he hadn’t even heard you.

You walked around to the passenger side and opened the door, crouching down slightly to meet his eye line. “Nico,” you said softly, your voice laced with concern. “Let’s go inside.”

You could see it—the weight of everything he’d been bottling up for months. The pressure, the expectations, the emotions he refused to show. He was on the verge of breaking, and you just wanted to help him before he shattered completely.

He was too prideful.

But still, you were met with silence. You reached out and softly grabbed one of his hands resting in his lap, giving it a gentle squeeze. You tried to pull him out of the car, but he pulled his hand back, holding yours tightly in both of his. He stared down at your hands, his thumbs brushing softly over your skin. You sat there, unsure of what to say, just trying to comfort him in the smallest way possible. In two years of dating, you’d only ever seen Nico shut down like this once before—after the Devils' playoff run in 2023.

Finally, he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. “What the fuck is going on?”

You couldn’t tell if he was talking to you, to himself, or to no one at all. His voice wavered, trying to hide the emotion threatening to break through. It pained you—he’d seen you cry countless times, about everything from stress to happiness, but he still couldn’t bring himself to let you see him like this.

“I know it’s tough,” you said softly, squeezing his hand again.

“It’s more than just fucking tough,” he said, his voice rising with frustration. “We’ve been playing like shit, and there’s nothing I can do. The reporters are tearing us apart, and I have no idea how to fix it. I don’t know how to fix them. I don’t know what the fuck to do!”

His voice cracked, but he kept going, the dam finally breaking.

“In the locker room, on the ice—everyone looks at me like I have all the answers. Like I’m supposed to solve all our fucking problems. But I don’t. What kind of captain can’t even fix his team?”

“It’s not your job to fix your team,” you said plainly, your voice steady.

For the first time since the game, he looked up at you, and your heart broke at the sight. His big brown eyes glistened, tears pooling just at the edge, threatening to spill over.

“I’m the captain, Y/N,” he said, his voice shaking. “It is my job. It’s my responsibility to keep the team together, to make sure we don’t fall into shit like this.” His eyebrows knitted together in frustration, and he shook his head, as if rejecting your words outright.

“You’re putting too much pressure on yourself,” you said gently. “You’ve been doing that for years.”

“Pressure?” he scoffed bitterly. “If it’s not me putting it on, it’s everyone else.”

Your expression softened, and you brought your other hand up to run your fingers through his damp hair. “If you’re the one putting it on yourself, then you can also take it off,” you said quietly. “I’m right here, Nico. I’ve been telling you that since the day we met. If you’re feeling anything—everything—you can talk to me.”

He shook his head again, looking up at you with so much guilt it made your chest ache. “I can’t do that to you. You’ve got enough going on with school and exams. I can’t be one more thing.”

“That’s bullshit,” you said, sighing. “I love you. Nothing is more important to me than you. Keeping all this bottled up is only making it worse, Nico. You need to let it out. Talk to me.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, but his eyes softened as you wiped away a single tear that slipped down his cheek.

“But I’m the captain. People are supposed to look up to me and lean on me. It’s my job to take care of everyone else,” he said weakly.

“Yeah, and it’s my job to take care of you,” you said firmly. “I knew what I was signing up for when we got together. Dating a pro athlete comes with challenges that most people don’t face, and I knew it’d be hard sometimes. But Nico, you make it so easy to love you. The only thing that makes this hard is that you don’t talk to me when you’re struggling. I want to be your rock, too. I want you to come to me, vent for hours if you need to, cry if you need to. I just want to help you.”

A shaky sigh escaped his lips, and his voice cracked as he said, “I feel like I have to hold it together all the time. Half the time, I’m not. If we’re losing, I feel like it’s my fault. If I can’t lead us to a win, what kind of captain does that make me?”

“You’re playing fucking hockey, Nico,” you said bluntly. “You’ve been doing this your whole life. You know what you’re doing, and you know what your team needs. But it’s not your job to fix everything. They’re grown men with their own shit going on. The best thing you can do is be there for them, support them. But you can’t carry the whole team on your back.”

A bitter laugh left his lips. “Everyone thinks we’re a shit team right now. We’re getting blown out almost every game.”

You smiled softly, glad to see the tension beginning to leave his shoulders as he let everything out. “Don’t you think Quinn felt like that, too?” you asked.

His brows furrowed in surprise at the mention of his friend's brother.

“He’s captain of the Canucks. They were a mess for years but look at them now. They’ve turned it around. People respect them because they fought through it. You will, too. You’re not the only one who’s ever felt like this. Why don't you try and talk to him about this, Quinn's a really helpful guy he's helping me so much, growing up he was the first person I'd go to"

Nico knew your history with the Hughes you guys grew up together and spent nights at the lake house together, even though Nico didn't know Quinn as well as he knew his energetic little brother, Jack,  he could tell from the few times that they've met that he was a great guy to go to for advice.  He honestly really liked Quinn,  one time during the summer during the off-season the Hughes family invited you and Nico to spend a couple weeks at the lake house with the original group. Being Cole, Trevor the Hughes brothers, and some other buddies from Michigan, Nico was a little nervous about going since he only really knew Jack, Luke and You but Quinn and Nico honestly gravitated towards each other and got along quite well, he introduced Nico to the rest of the group and everyone hit it off from there on.

and during one of those nights at the lake house he and the eldest brother were sitting out by the fire when everyone was inside they ended up having generally deep talk and confided in each other about being captains of a team at a very young age. At the time Nico barely knew Quinn this was really the first time he was actually able to sit down and fully get to know the young defenseman but still he talked to him knowing they shared the same worries and since then they've always kept in contact.

Everyone always loved it when New Jersey played Vancouver because they called it the "Hughe's Bowl" since the three brothers were playing on the same ice against each other for the first time in a long time. Nico always looked forward to that since usually after those games if Vancouver wasn't heading back that night Nico and the three brothers would go out and always get a beer together. 

 Nico could slightly feel his face heat up with embarrassment. not about opening up but about not doing it sooner.  he loved you and he knew you always wanted the best for him so he just felt stupid for not realizing that sooner and trusting someone with his problems but it wasn't just somebody it was you 

He was quiet for a moment, processing your words. Then, unexpectedly, he let out a deep laugh. You blinked in surprise at the sudden shift, squeezing his shoulder gently.

“What’s so funny?”

“I’m an idiot,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “I’ve been sitting on this for months, and after less than ten minutes of talking to you, I already feel better. No wonder you were pushing me to open up.”

You laughed with him, relief washing over you as he climbed out of the car and pulled you into a tight hug. He buried his face in your neck, his arms wrapping securely around you.

“Thank you,” he murmured into your skin, holding you close.

You hugged him just as tightly, feeling the warmth radiating from his body after the game. “I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you too, Nico. And I need you to know you can always talk to me about anything.”

He pulled back slightly to look into your eyes, his own still glistening but now softer. He just saw you prove that too. him but he really needed to hear you say it. He kissed you gently, then rested his chin on your head, pressing a kiss to your hairline.

“Let’s go to bed,” he said with a soft laugh. “I’m fucking tired.”

[im4rmy]

his favourite part of your body - OT7 (idol AU)

☄. *. ⋆ Mark

• your lips: you have pretty plumped lips and you usually wear lip gloss. you often catch him staring at your mouth while you talk.

• "sorry what were you saying baby?"

• he often gift you new lips products. you don't buy them anymore since you met him💀

• "that's the new lip gloss, isn't it?"

• he wants to kiss you 24/7.

• "plaese, baby, just a peck"

• you make sure to put on some lip gloss before getting on your knees and giving him head.

• "god, baby. you know me so well"

☄. *. ⋆ Renjun

• your hands: you have soft and slim hands, you like to wear gold jewellery. he likes to play with your hands when you're talking, they're just addictive.

• once he got turned on by how you were turning the pages of your book.

• he gift you new rings every now and then.

• "i like this new hand cream. is it peach scented?"

• lots of kisses on your knuckles.

• there's a reason if he loves to interwine your hands together before you two climax in bed...

• you're much smaller than him and seeing your little hands on his body makes him go feral.

• "look at you... c'mon, honey, use your pretty hands on me"

☄. *. ⋆ Jeno

• your whole body: you're not super skinny and he fell in love with your curves instantly.

• he loves to just rest his hands on your belly and he loves your thick thighs.

• "tonight i dreamed about dying suffocated between your thighs. i woke up with the worst boner ever"

• he asks you to sit on his face at least once a month.

• you're not insecure about your body and he finds that even sexier.

• you sometimes steal his credit card to buy new coordinated lingerie and he thanks you every time.

• your ass cheeks are his favourite anti-stress. he prefers the right one, for some reason.

• "they fit perfectly in my hands, it's crazy"

☄. *. ⋆ Haechan

• your neck: you have a pretty long neck and you never forget to wear your signature scent... and he happens to be in love with it.

• he loves to fall asleep with his face buried in your neck while you lazily run your fingers in his hair.

• "i would gladly die here, like this"

• you became a master in the art of covering hickeys.

• he loves how you always wear your silver necklace, it compliments your skin so well. it's just the cherry on top.

• "i just want to crawl inside your skin. this close is not enough"

• lots of kisses starting from your collarbones all the way up to your jawline.

• "so fucking sweet. you're something else, istg"

☄. *. ⋆ Jaemin

• your back: he fell in love with you at first sight seeing you in a fancy black dress that left your back uncovered. since then, that's his favourite thing in the world.

• he gives you back massages to turn you on but in the end you fall asleep and he's the one hornier than ever.

• he has plenty of pics of your bare back in his phone gallery.

• "look! look how perfect you are"

• you picked up the habit of laying on your belly on the bed, so when he comes in he excitedly lays on your back and hugs you. you can't move anymore.

• kisses. kisses. kisses. bites. other kisses.

• your back is the reason he loves to take you doggy style.

• "god, you're so beautiful from here, princess"

☄. *. ⋆ Chenle

• your legs: you're a volleyball player so you have pretty muscolar legs. there's a reason he loves to watch you play in those scandalous shorts.

• "are those even legal?"

• he gives you rubs from your ankles all the way up to your thighs, he just loves to touch them in every way possible.

• you once apologized because you didn't have time to shave properly and he looked at you like you were crazy.

• "what are you talking about? i love this, you're so hot"

• he loves to bring your legs over his shoulders while he's on top of you.

• when he's on tour he often asks for some pictures.

• "you know what i want, (y/n). take off those pants for me"

☄. *. ⋆ Jisung

• your butt: he'll never admit it but he literally drools over your ass.

• he literally can't watch you play volleyball because what if he get caught staring at your ass by chenle? That's a no.

• you got him the first boner just by sitting on his legs.

• "i'm not obsessed over it... i like it, of course i do... it's you"

• he loves to hug you from behind for a reason.

• he always asks for your permission to touch it and would never do it in front of other people.

• you once sat on his dick turning you back at him and he came in that exact moment.

�� "fuck- what was that? do it again"

[faorism]

im feeling real the call is coming from within the house vibes rn, so im going to be kinda nasty for a hot minute because you actually were the reason i came across this post in the first place. my friend and i were so aghast at your racializations of hardison in a fic, that they had to see who the fuck you are. and your own ignorance highlights why this response is kinda bullshit.

incorporating race is absolutely something that fandom needs to be better about doing. absolutely. but up your attempts at doing so show how stomach churning poor follow through can be, where i would have preferred you not give an attempt at all. because in the fic in question, you use the wildly outdated term "ebonics" to refer to hardisons exaggerated speech that he codeswitches into occasionally. my friend and i spent fifteen minutes trying to decipher your implications in the line: "He’s young, or maybe (hopefully) just black, is the first thing."

i did not read your evil!hardison fic, because i didnt trust your ability to write an entire fic focused on him. that said, i felt like a got enough out of this hc post:

so! i think there's some good points here (perhaps!) about what hardison would look like with a possessive god complex, as opposed to him being a thoughtful provider building homes for the people he loves. and yes, "ownership" is a very contentous topic in the Black community, given how white supremacy has subjugated Black capital. but whatever analysis i would give you credit for—and any brownie points you could get from naming the racialized aspect—is immediately wiped when you fucking compare hardison to a goddamn overseer. you know, like an enslaver overseeing enslaved people? you imply here hardison, a Black man, would be a kind master to his employees. which is just so vile to be casual about.

attempts were made, i can say about your posting and writing. but i don't at all respect it, because you still have so much to really pull together to not be offensive about things.

which gets back to this post. you say your saw weirdness. why the fuck didn't you name it? no, really. did you actually see it or are you trying to save face now? you're not welcome for the labor i (nonblack latinx) and my friend (Black) had to go through to process this post. don't rely on others to do the work of naming racism and antiblackness; do the work yourself, or just don't reblog if you can't give commentary.

and, because i have been nasty and might as well be petty: honestly, there's just so much more work you need to do if you want me to trust you with handling race in fandom when you out here posting shit like this:

you're the fucking issue here too.

Well, a realization just hit me. Don't know if this is true of not, I don't remember the timing.

Eliot said he didn't hit cops in the OG show. Well now that makes sense. His dad is Black. What do Black parents teach their kids when it comes to dealing with the cops? Part of The Talk. Just do as they say, not that that always work.

He would have at least heard that talk with other foster kids, or teammates, if not given it himself.

And why would he stick to that? Because his dad was upset with him and he was still trying to be a Good Boy in one way.

[pickyourpoisonandevolve]

Hello, have you also been struck with an inane desire to kiss the CoD boys? Did the brainrot demon whisper in your ear “go fuck the masked man, the mustache man, and the Scottish man?” Well you’re in luck. My sleep deprivation vomited this out last night, I did not check for errors and I have NOT played MW. Sorry to all the Gaz fans out there, I genuinely forgot to include him. Sometimes you just gotta purge the fic poltergeists in your brain. I’m sorry. John up next when the demon returns.

All for One, One for All

Part 2 here

TW: NSFW, MDNI, fem reader. I’m bad at tags, sorry.

Down time with the 141 was always a grab bag. If a mission went well it was celebratory, others were solemn. Either way, the group was comfortable enough to have a … physical connection with each other. Hugs and words of comfort common after missions. Hands through hair as you all shared stresses together. But while everyone had a baseline comfortability, as the newbie, you lost out on some of the camaraderie, some of the closeness. It drove you fucking insane.

That’s why you were barely holding it together as Soap and you were close on the couch in the break room, legs tangled as you talked about everything and nothing. The recent mission, what they were doing on leave, cute new recruits. He was always the easiest to talk to, decompress with. Quick to anxieties with, as well as who you both had … predilections to. A master of weaseling his way into talking about your respective secret desires. Like how he had been spending spare time with Ghost on off days. How you couldn’t keep eye contact with your Captain.

Missions were different, there were tasks at hand and jobs to do. But with Price, his hands comforting, ready to protect seemed to linger between you and him, longer than others. Yet you couldn’t keep conversations longer than a few minutes when you debriefed in meetings. Too much perception, you felt like dissolving when his attention was on you too long. You kept the intensity of how much you wanted your Captain to yourself though. You wonder how Soap did it with your Lieutenant. You picked at your hangnails, seemed like you could even smell them nearby, cigarette and cigar smoke lingering in your olfactory memory.

A longing, you told Soap, with your head in your hands, avoiding the embarrassment of eye contact. Stuttering through it, you described the longing, the need for belonging. “You all made it look so easy, it WAS so easy,” You lament. You got here too late, missed the boat on inclusion in the 141. No more room at the inn. They meant everything to you, they were your whole world. And the sneaking ache that you could die tomorrow and they’d move on clawed at your ribcage endlessly. You just… wanted to feel like you meant something to to them, to someone. Wanted someone to steal all the silence in your mind and fill it with warmth. With touch. With lov—

“To someone? Or to him?” You heard, through the static in your ears. The tears you’ve been fighting finally make an appearance.

“Bonnie, hey, darl’,” Soap whispered to you, bringing his lips to your forehead, fingers through your temples. Shh, shh, shh, everything was okay and that the team was here for you. He was here for you. Quieting your mind, his hands ran through your hair and lingered to your neck. You closed your eyes, trying not to feel overwhelmed. “I should have kept my mouth shut you don’t have to pity me.” You said, gently trying to push Soap back.

“Who the fuck said anything about pity.” A different, deeper voice in your ear this time. Panic floods your body as you feel a second pair of hands slide around your shoulders. “No, no, no Ghost, please don’t I’m sorry I shouldn’t—,” you stammer out, fight and flight winning simultaneously as you push immovable bodies and try to pull yourself away. Why you thought that was possible with these two men was beyond you.

Vice grips pull you back down, holding you close to both men’s chests. “Breathe, sergeant.” Delivered as a command. That part of your brain still seemed to function as you took deep breaths, not noticing how Ghost positioned himself on the couch. Leaning back at an angle, he pulled you in his lap, back against his chest and arms around your waist. Feeling his breath against the nape of your neck, steadying, matching his breathing. The smell of cigarettes, pine and sweat fill your senses. Soap slotted himself between both of your legs, into your lap, eyes keeping your focus. Knowing looking at Ghost would throw you completely askew. Ever the team, those two, you thought briefly.

Minutes went by in silence as your breathing slowed, heartbeat returned to normal. Ghost gave you one of his hands to fuss with as you calmed, testing the waters, getting used to him. His other hand carded through Soaps hair, lying in your lap. His nose nuzzled your neck as he broke the silence. “I’m, we’re, sorry for making you feel like the odd man out, sweetheart. Should have done a better job as your lieutenant to make you feel a part of the team.” He took the hand lying in yours and brought it to your stomach, bringing you closer into his chest, rubbing lazy circles. “This is… a lot to some. Who we are as a team. As much as we wanted to bring you in, we didn’t want to scare you away neither.”

“But for what it’s worth, ever since you got here,” Ghost growls, pinky grabbing the edge of your shirt, pulling upwards. “You’ve been ours.”

Everything seemed to move at once. Ghosts hands now on your body properly, exploring your curves and pulling you into him deeper. Soap chuckled lightly, his hands now caressing your hips and breathing into your waistline, peering up at you with big beautiful eyes. “Ours in the royal sense, LT. She’s been called f—“ his words cut off as a rough hand at the back of his head pressed him into your pussy. “Hmm, he’s a lot cuter when he’s down there, huh?” Ghost chuckles into your shoulder. Your heart feels like it’s in your throat, your hands come up and try to meet his, unsure of if you’re trying to push him away or pull him closer. His arms come around and lock yours in place as Soap is released and fingers start to play with the button on your pants. “Let us make up for some lost time, sweetheart,” he growls into your shoulder.

Sheer panic, or disassociation, you’re not sure what gets you through the next moment. But either way it feels like an eternity, watching Soap pull down your pants and panties, feeling Ghost caress the valley between your tits, ambiently trying to steady your heart. Mumbling both to you and himself, he repositions you ever so slightly in his lap, bringing your ass tighter into his hips and spreading your thighs across his, giving Soap better access. “Have no fucking idea how bad we’ve needed you, bird. Been dreaming about your fucking body, how you smell, what you taste like.” You feel his hardness start, pushing up against your ass. Your deep breaths start turning into soft moans, and both men groan into you. Soap kisses you gently on your thighs, leading a trail to your core, nipping you along the way. You feel like glass, any sudden movement and you’ll shatter into Ghosts arms, heart too raw, wants too real. Ghost feels your tension and wraps one arm around your waist as the other brings your shirt above your tits, exposing them to the cold room. His free hand teasing a nipple as he whispered “Stay with me, baby.”

A strangled sound left your throat as you felt Soap’s tongue separate your lips and meet your clit. “Johnny, please, oh God.” Feeling his tongue work you open, you can only focus on your breathing so you don’t float away. Ghost adjusts something behind you as you feel two fingers slide in gently. Broken moans and pleas leave your mouth as you feel lips against your neck, kissing, biting. “Tell me how he feels bird.” Ghost murmurs. Fingers moving faster, faster as Soap attacks your clit. You chance a look down as you meet his eyes, his mouth breaking out into the biggest smile as he lifts his face briefly. A man this pretty should be illegal, you think. “Tell me, bonnie. Tell me what you want.” A sound you’d be downright ashamed of leaves your mouth, clenching around his fingers. “Fuck Soap, I want you, I want—“ His fingers start working your g-spot faster as he teases, “Use your words, bon. I wanna hear you say it.”

“I wanna, I wanna cum Johnny, please” you say in barely a whisper as he coaxes it out of you. All you feel is the cord in your stomach break as every muscle in your body tenses. Soap laughing into your clit, Ghost licking and moaning in your ear, that you belong to us, all of us. A distant part of you wonders why things sound so wet as you look down to Soaps eyes, crinkled as he makes you watch yourself squirt into his mouth.

“Oh my god, oh my god,” you chant as Soap sucks your clit, bringing you down. Everything feels wet, you can feel it at your knees. This couch is gonna have to be burned. Soap gives one last suck to your clit, coming off with a pop. Ghosts breath comes out in short bursts as you feel him grind hard into your ass, grunting in your ear. Soap comes up and grabs you tenderly by your face, kissing you gently, deeply, making you taste. Bringing his forehead to yours, he looks at you, so tender it makes your heart stop. “Told ya we’re here. Cannae do it without ya, sweet.”

Hands gently lay you down on the couch as you remember what your limbs are supposed to feel like. A kiss from each on your forehead as Ghost says “You did so good, sweetheart. I’m gonna take care of our boy here, you stay put, yeah?” Your breathing starts to return to normal, letting feelings flood back slowly. “Oh, okay.” You whisper out, taking a deep breath and sitting up slightly. The big feelings start to creep back in, but a little less heavy. Tears start to flow, not from sadness but something else. You sniff away some of the emotions. “Are we, are we okay, is, oh my god what is Price, what—“ Soap is quick to take a knee next to you, kissing your tears away and cooing shhhh’s in your ear. You’ve been so distracted by this attention that you finally notice the smell in the room, stronger than earlier. Cloves, a sweetness, cigar smoke.

Your head snaps back to the chair across from you all, and your breath dies in your throat. Blue eyes locked into yours, like he’s never looked at anything else. He crushes the last of his cigar into the ashtray beside him and leans forward, hands gripping his knees tightly. “You broken, sweetheart?”

[shinjisdone]

So....I am thinking about Alucard (again) but his Vlad version....oh, his Vlad version. hits different, different vibe, really good. Unfortunately, just because he changes his appereance, Alucard himself is still the same we know in the show, no matter what form he takes. Him appearing as his former self wouldn't be much of a difference so...

Vlad!Alucard Who Has Amnesia And Still Thinks He Is The Leader Of Wallachia - But His Obsession With You Still Remains...

HEAVILY based on my other ramblings, the detailed one as well as small headcanons here.

TW: HEAVY MENTIONS OF RELIGION, VLAD BEING INSANE AND USING RELIGION TO COMMIT MURDER, SEEING YOU AS AN ANGEL SENT FROM THE HEAVENS FOR HIM, RACISM(? He hates the Ottomen? He's like...from the old times ya know) MYSOGINY (his boss is a woman???), OBSESSION, MURDER COMMITTED FOR YOU, WORSHIP THAT IS ALSO DEGRADING, HE IS NOT OKAY AND NEITHER WILL YOU BE

None...none of this was supposed to happen.

Seras was just in time to block the finishing blow as Integra stared at this creature...the monster Alucard.

Yet, something was wrong, terribly wrong. The form he took on was that of his old and foolish human self and his eyes were nothing of the bloodlust and glee she remembered.

It was pure anger. Pure and cold rage as he gazed about anything in the room.

The long, tattered cloak, the heavy armor he refused to get off and that sword he clung to as if it was the only thing he had. Where are his guns? Where are the glasses she gave him? Where is that smarmy grin, the snicker, the mocking humor, where was Alucard?

Seras' begs of her master reached deaf ears. He was barely listening to her, as if he wasn't even in the same realm as they were, somewhere else entirely. Spacing out but still getting angry at the young vampire's resistance.

The insistence that Integra was his master seemed to displease him as well. He spoke in a thick accent, spatting out that he only has one master and it is no woman.

This wasn't him, she feared. He returned so fast after consuming Schrödinger, but this never could be her Alucard. The one she freed from her father's shackles.

No...he was shackled to something else now.

Shackled to his curse that was you. Chained to his willfull obsession, to his fantasy, his twisted form of love. Integra should have seen it coming that this Alucard would drop his weapon instantly the moment you entered her chambers. His blood-red eyes widening as his breath was caught in throat. Seemingly he had forgotten everyone else there as she watched the man stumble towards you in awe. His hands shook as he kept himself together from touching your radiance and committing sin. Like a puppet on a stage, he fell to his knees, bowing his head to you, dark locks falling in front of his gentle face.

"...Forgive my intrudence, holy angel. Giveth to me the message of God as I offer my prayers."

Fucking hell. It truly was Alucard.

The Bird Of Hermes Is My Name...

It was laughable how quickly this thing was putty in your hands.

Integra sighed, at the end of her wits, but was relieved that this monster was able to be tamed by you. This was no other than Alucard for sure. It was sickening to see him still cling onto that part of himself when it came to you.

As confused as you and Seras may be, she ordered for you to look after him for now. Do not act surprised. Did you think she wouldn't ask that of you?

Both she and you know how Alucard is. And it pains you, terrifies you - because even as he cannot seem to remember himself as the Nosferatu he is - the Dracula Hellsing took prisoner, the one true vampire walking this earth as an immortal being - he is and always will be your monster.

Now he calls himself Vlad the Impaler. The ruler of Wallachia but you do not have the heart nor patience to explain this time and place to him. That his kingdom is no more.

He speaks differently. Voice the same but heavy with a thick accent and speaking in the most polite but proud way you've seen.

You tell him that this place harbors no enemies. There are no Ottomen, no traitors of Wallachia. He believes without a second thought and kneels once again before you. "I thank thee for the sanctuary, o angel." You can cringe as much as you like but he will not stop.

Additionally, Alucard seemed to have forgotten his powers and immortality or perhaps, has not yet regained them. He thinks himself as human and expects an accomodation for one. You offer him a room and though the modernity and the fact he feels no hunger are a novelty to him, he spares these things no thought.

Again, he bows and thanks you once again. "For what reason haseth God brought me here? What message will thy bring me?"

What a load of bullshit. This could not be the Alucard you know (and fear). He may look like him, sound like him but he would never utter such words. With a frown, you step forward and he immediately straightened his pose. As you observe his form, he stares back in awe at the mere short distance of the two of you. A mere servant in the presence of such goodness, such holiness. "Is it really you?" You mutter and gingerly reach for his face. A shudder runs through him as you cup his face and a sigh escaped him. "The touch of an angel..." For a moment, he closed his eyes to memorize and bask in the feeling before gawking back down to you. "I art Count Vlad, thy humble servant. I shall bring death to all thy enemies and have them be a sacrifice."

Your frown deepened and you retracted your hands. "I am no angel. I am...a human. That is all." Alucard's eyes widened and he immediately but gently shook his head. It was like he was hearing blasphemy. "Thou must be. How else could there be such radiance and grace?" He put a hand to his chest, "How else could my heart feel twisted and touched by thy presence? How else could I be so full of veneration at the sight of thy beauty and holiness? Why else..."

Alucard seemed to struggle for words as his breath got caught and his eyes narrowed. You could feel your heart pounding as well but out of fear.

"...does my very existence stop at what I ought to do and be at the sight of thee? Why else had God sent thee to me? Let me be thy vassal, the one who shall shed blood and keep thy hand clean and pure. Let me know, o angel."

Eating My Own Wings...

He was more terrifying than you thought possible.

You almost wished for the old Alucard to be back. This one is a senile, insane warlord who believes each little lie he tells himself. The lies of his kingdom, his faith, that you are an angel sent to him.

It was revoulting.

In the past he wouldn't keep his eyes off of you and never wiped that stupid grin off his face. But now, he bows his head, not daring to stare at you directly or for too long as if he was worthy of your beautiful sight. He showers you in compliments and even prayers. To him, you are a prayer, a benelovence that blesses him. Each word that leaves your mouth and each touch he so eagerly awaits even as he pretends to be humble, are a blessing. To even be in the same realm as you, as you obviously landed from above to see him, is nothing short of a blessing that must be met with gratitude.

Even as he speaks of gratitude and unworthiness, you can clearly and quickly notice that he seeks you out contanstly. The heavy stomps of his armor are hard to ignore. He stalks you without any intention to hide and his face remains blank but soft. The unruly nature of this form of his makes him look so...wild and unkempt with his disheveled hair and the messy mustache...but this form seemed the most non-hostile.

Although he stalks you, he barely lets out a word - aside from begging for your message from God, thanking you again and again for blessing him and imploring for an order, any order to do good in your name. For you. For you to notice him and validate his actions as a warlord.

He must be doing good. The bloodshed and the battles are his prayers and they must reach you, so please, please, tell him he is doing everything right by striking down his enemies.

No matter how many times you tell him you are no benelovent creature, he refuses to believe you. You must hide your identity for men are greedy and will cut off your wings. No one else can see you for what you really are aside from him, of course. It's a way to stroke his ego. Only he can understand and see you for he is God's most humble, most powerful, most blessed servant. He will be rewarded for all he has done and endured, so of course only he knows you are an angel! Everyone else is a blind fool.

As much as he sings your praises, Alucard is too much in awe to touch you. You are a holy being and he cannot ever have the audacity to simply touch you. But, as hypocritical as it is, he reveres in the willing touches he receives from you. Each a prayer, each a blessing. An angel caressing him and showing him...love. True love he has never known. He was always a monster on the battlefield and the common men were traitors and wrongdoers. Only a holy being could hold the essence of true and unconditional love - only you. Only you can love him.

Alucard has lost the wit, the mockery, the giddiness of battle. The only emotions you can make out on his face are reverance and a gentleness that you dared describe as obsession.

No matter what he could ever go through...he was still your sick monster.

The same monster that hesitates to touch you. The monster that won't leave you alone. The same monster that watches you sleep with bated breath, mesmerized by your peaceful figure and the undying wish to craddle you, to share the same peace you feel just once in his life. But he cannot. The only thing left for him is to adore you from afar with a lovesick expression.

...To Keep Me Tame.

The enemy draws closer and so he draws out his sword. He needs no army to protect you and devote the next sacrifice for you. Before every battle, he kneels and lets out an incantation. Promising you glory and the enemy's head all in your name.

"I shan't have any filth taint thy radiance, o angel. The enemy shall lose their pitiful life for daring to approach thee."

His vow is commandable but the way he eagerly turns around and swings his blade with such rage at the danger to absolutely maul them before they can scream out their regrets and begs for mercy. You can't tell if he simply is enraged at the sight of any enemy of the Count Vlad, for wanting to hurt and mock you, or if there is still this bloodlust hidden deep in his dead heart. You do not know. He doesn't squeal in glee when he strikes them down, does not talk down to them. Alucard is as silent as ever as Vlad but the ferocity is still the same.

He returns, reeking and spilled with blood, as he offers you their head. Fearing he will take it the wrong way if you reject it - after all, all he does is for his faith - you try to gently tell him that it's enough, that he doesn't need to fight any more. It works, for he believes his angel.

Still, the look of anticipation in his eyes make you sick. Perhaps one day, you cannot take it anymore. He does his job as Hellsing's hound well unwittingly but the way he seeks you out and looks at you is more than enough. You tell him you are no angel, may be kind to him, may show him humanity, love, but you are not a holy being. That he shouldn't see you as something you are not!

So...stop with the devotion. The sacrifice. This obsession that isn't love.

A monster cannot love. He should know. He is the one who told you!

"...Then what...am I here for?" He told you one day, defeated and disheartened. The desperation on his face was almost shocking.

"...Why am I here in this world if not to serve thee? Why did any of this happen? Why would I march and fight again and again through this wasteland of my own kingdom if...if I cannot have thee?"

You step back. Alucard genuinely sounded heartbroken.

"Each of these non-believing monsters hunting me...I have to kill them, do I not? None of them have the same strength that I have, the will to pray and serve God the way I have! I have swallowed my own armies, my own land just to keep moving on. I kept moving on into this strange, confusing place...all to reach thee, no? That is why I kept on killing, to meet thee, did I not? Is it not what I am here for?"

Alucard stomps towards you, not bowing his head once. He holds onto your arms first with his metal glove, before placing one gently against your face. His eyes are wide and red.

"No one else marched on as I. No one else could ever imagine thy form. Only I can, only I am worthy enough to see thee, to meet and reach thee. To serve thee. My angel."

[cursedwithwords]

Guys I am soooo excited to show you the art I got from @vita-divata of the members from No One of Consequence 😭

They all look so fucking good I can hardly handle it UGH!!! Vita captured their personalities through their facial expressions PERFECTLY! It's crazy tbh, everyone needs to check out their work because everything they do is stunning!

If you wanna learn more about the band I made a master list for them ❤️ you can read it here 🙂‍↕️❤️

Let me know who your favorite is! Cuz I genuinely can't choose, they all look amazing and it makes me love them all even more. I mean Mason look so friendly, he totally looks like the kind of guy I'd wanna be friends with. Imamu has a sort of smug air to him, but he's sooooo handsome (and he knows it, damn). Ugh, I just fucking love all of them.

Thank you so much @vita-divata for accepting my commission and bringing all of these OCs to life!

[ts-janus-rp-blog]

Janus stared, he was giving Roman this look like he had never occurred to him that...Roman would care if he gets hurt. He just never thought about it. He never thought that...anyone would care if he got hurt or not. He knows for certain that Remus doesn't care... "... It...is...?" He whispered out, but he leaned into the pets. "I just never thought... You'd care if I got hurt or not... I thought you think like master, and master never cared. I'm sorry...I was making you sad... Why... Why do you care about me so much?" His ears went down slightly. "That's okay, if it protects you I'd do anything... Or at least I thought that. Now...I'm not so sure..." Janus frowned, "Well, if he tries to save me but leaves you behind I won't go with him! I won't leave you behind! I'll do whatever it takes to make sure master saves you too!"

"Ah... Smart..." Remus chuckled, "I just hide it in Janus boxers. No feds will think to look inside of a hybrids underwear!" Remus grinned ear to ear. "Fuck yeah I wanna do it! I'll put some of the drugs in some juice and give it to him." He chuckled again, "Let's both fuck him at the same time on camera. Won't that be hot as fuck? Then we'll fall asleep and leave him in his own puddle of cum." Remus winked, "You know exactly what I like, rems."

Patton knocked desperately at the strangers door, praying someone, anyone was home. His heart beat as fast and loud as the rain thundering against the sidewalk. He was sure he was being followed, they were going to catch him. They were going to drag him back. He wasn't sure if whoever lived here might be worse, but he was willing to risk it at this point. Anything to escape.

{@moralpuppylover2}

Janus didn't know who would be at the door. It was late, but his master won't surely be home at this time. He normally doesn't get home until the sun starts to come up.

So, as the dog hybrid walked up to the door and opened it, he wondered who it could be. And if he should open it at all... Who knows, he may get in trouble with his master for opening the door. But, his curiosity was getting the better of him-

He stopped when he saw the soaking wet cat standing at the doorway. He could tell that this cat needed help almost immediately. Well, if his poor state of clothes were anything to go by. His eyes flickered up and down the sidewalk before he grabbed pattons arm and pulled him inside.

"are you alright?" Janus nervously asked as he grabbed a towel from the mud room. "Well, that's a stupid question, of course you're not alright! Are you...running away from your owners?" As Janus walked, the collar around his neck would jingle loudly. And even though it was cold outside and even in the house, he only had a pair of boxers on. Because of that, Patton would be able to see the numerous large scars that covered his body...and the countless amounts of fresh bruises.

@moralpuppylover2