#goes against the aims of the band

[project-sekai-facts]

You were right! It's Ichi Saki and Len. And it will be ichika's backstory and first miku contact

Shiho is the anniversary card then! Also I'm happy this event will expand on the Ichika iPad kid lore bc I personally find it really funny.

[abslvr111]

police officer wife!abby anderson

cw. wlw (men dni), smut, nipple sucking, bondage (cuffs), riding abby’s strap, no outbreak au, (slight) size kink, this comes from my love of hot female police officers 💀 also haven’t posted in a bit sry sry gotta new kitten so i’ve been busy <33 + maybe a tiny bit cringe ngl 🥱

sum. riding cop abby’s strap while she’s cuffed and you’re wearing a slutty police outfit 😖

wc. 842 (wc goes up when it abby y’all 🤞)

you meet abby at a minor traffic stop, pure muscle under her police uniform as she walks up to your car window, you look at her in awe (expecting her to be some middle-aged dick officer— not eye candy), until you start to get bashful: remembering your pulled over by her.

you forgot to turn on your signal, she’s smirking by the time she heads back to her cruiser to run your information, and she writes you a warning— as well as her number. you can’t help but smile when you read the paper, happy to text her once you got home.

your first date goes perfectly and by the second one she has you laid out on her bed, you can remember your first time with her like it was yesterday— your memories stay vivid when abby’s in them.

you fall into a nice routine with her, waking up to her big arms around your waist, hugging you close from behind, warm lips pressing soft kisses to your neck as you blink sleep from your eyes.

you’ll watch her get ready as you slowly wake up, eyeing her as she puts on her blue uniform, smirking at the cuffs on her belt, you eventually get up to start your morning routine with her.

she teaches you how to shoot a gun, her front pressed up against your back as she holds your smaller hands in her bigger ones, she helps you aim the firearm, and your fingers touch, wedding bands clashing together, abby loves every second of your shared target practice.

abby thinks it’s cute, this is the first time you’ve put on a costume for her, lingerie, sure. but not this, you’re dressed in a slutty cop uniform— if you could even call it that (the only cop aspect being your blue hat), dark blue bra showing off your tits matching lace thong clinging to your hips, and showing off your figure nicely. black fishnets go up your legs, they look good against your thighs she thinks, sharp heels ready to be kicked off are on your feet, and a pair of fuzzy black handcuffs in your right grasp complete your outfit.

she’s used cuffs on you before, but never have you used them on her, she can’t help but smirk from her place on the bed, amused by what you have planned.

“is something funny ma'am?” you say, tone authoritative as you make your way to her.

“not at all officer,” she says teasingly, playing along with your game.

“are you sure? because i think you need to be cuffed.” you’re holding the fuzzy cuffs up to her eye level now, you continue, “and punished.” your stance is almost dominant but abby’s still almost taller than you even sitting on the bed, it’s adorable in her eyes.

she puts her hands out in front of her, complacent as you slip the soft loops around her wrists. when you’re done she lets her hands drop to her lap, making herself comfortable sitting at the edge of the bed.

you’re smiling cheekily as you begin to unzip her pants pulling her pants off, needy as ever you’re already straddling her lap, inches away from grinding on the strap below her boxers.

abby’s hands come up to bring both cups of your bar down, revealing your tits to her greedy eyes, her lips immediately begin sucking at your nipple, earning a whimper from you, she’s squeezing your other breast with her hand. now you’re sitting properly on her lap, grinding yourself across her cock, your fingers weave through the back of her scalp, putting minimal pressure on the back of her head.

you pull the band of her boxers down just enough for her strap to spring free, you rub your pussy over the silicon coating it with your slick, slowly, you bring the tip to your entrance, easing yourself down onto till you hit the base, moaning as you do.

abby draws away from your chest, her lips and tongue on yours as you begin bouncing yourself on her, setting a steady pace for yourself. her fingers pinch at your nipples, it makes you whine moving yourself faster on her lap, you drag your fingers to over your clit rubbing fast circles.

abby parted from your kiss, you looked so pretty above her, she felt herself get wetter by the second while she watched you, she might have to let you do this more often, watching you get yourself off on her after she gets off a long shift was nice.

she felt your thighs start to get wobbly, your orgasm approaching, the little blue hat on your head tilts to the side as your pace increases and gets rougher.

you’re grinding down on her as you cum, leaning on her as you do, you’re flipped to your back before you can catch your breath, a snap rattles in your ears as abby breaks the cheap fluffy cuffs, she’s smirking down at you, and you know you’re in for a long night.

[beansprean]

You can see now that this was all written well before s5 lmao.

My Familiar’s Ghost part 64

Masterpost

See new pages on Patreon!

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1a. Close up on Nandor newly dressed in his leather buckled tunic and fur stole as he pops his head into Guillermo's room beneath the stairs. With a polite but cautious expression, he calls out, 'Guillermo?' 1b. Zoom out to full body, Nandor standing in the entry in the background and twiddling his hands together. Guillermo, redressed in a cardigan and chinos, is kneeling on the ground in front of his bed, fumbling around with something beneath it. The nightstand behind him is cleared out, lamp on top unplugged, and a cardboard box filled with random crap sits on the bed. Nandor glances around at this with sudden anxiety and asks, 'You are...moving?' Guillermo replies instantly, 'Just upstairs! I'm a vampire now, so I should get my own room, right?' Nandor responds woodenly, 'Oh. Yes. That is the protocol.' 1c. Repeat, wider shot. We can now see Guillermo's desk against the left wall, cleared off but for a plastic milk crate with a small lamp, the Nandor and Guillermo dolls, and the glitter portrait nestled carefully inside. Nandor notices them and leans over to get a closer look, a pleased little smile crossing his face. In the foreground, Guillermo sits up slightly and holds up an empty box of band aids, squinting inside of it with a frown. He says, 'Also it turns out I do still need glasses. No idea where they ended up, but I have an old pair in here somewhere. I think.'

2a. Bust of Nandor as he straightens and turns his head back toward Guillermo, brow furrowed. He asks, 'You mean...your vision has been impaired this entire time?' Offscreen, Guillermo replies 'Oh yeah, I can barely see my own nose right now.' 2b. Repeat. A dazed look comes over Nandor's face, gaze aimed at the ground, unfocused. His cheeks flush with color and he fidgets, flustered, as memories of their fight in Panera flash behind his head: Guillermo throwing stakes at him and missing by a hair, blocking his sneak attack, charging at him with a growl. Nandor thinks to himself, impressed and more than a little turned on, '...Wow...' Offscreen, Guillermo crows, 'Aha! Here they are!'

3a. Medium shot of Guillermo from behind, Nandor's POV, as he stands up from his kneel and places a pair of glasses on his face. He says, 'Oh, wow, that's so much better.' Behind him, the countless tally marks on the wall are still visible, but the drawings and photos and mask have been taken down, leaving it strangely bare. 3b. Close up of Guillermo from Nandor's POV as he turns to face him, the background blooming into peach bokeh lights. Guillermo smiles a little cautiously, fangs on full display, hand hovering around the rim of the glasses as they slip down his nose. The glasses are oval shaped and wire rimmed - the glasses he wore when he first became a familiar. When they first met over 13 years ago. He looks up at Nandor over the lenses and asks, 'It's not too different, right?' 3b. Reverse shot of Nandor on the same peachy background, staring at Guillermo with wide eyes, lips pressed together. He says nothing for a moment as, behind him, memories of Guillermo from their first meeting flash past warmly. 3d. Waist up of them both in profile, the background of the room beneath the stairs fading back in. We can now see a second box on Guillermo's bed - a large Top Ramen box - full of the items that were once tacked on the wall. A few notebooks are scattered on the mattress along with an open glasses case. In the foreground, Nandor takes a step closer to Guillermo with a fond smile and reaches out one finger to push the glasses back up his nose. Nandor says, 'They are not very flattering, but I like them.' Guillermo goes cross-eyed watching his hand, grinning bit confusedly, and replies 'Ohhhkay.' /end ID

[impval]

somewhere only we know

Victoria Neuman x Fem!Reader Warnings: death, blood, s4 spoilers.

Just human.

Unlike her with her powers. It was you who was stronger than any Supe. You'd been there for Victoria through it all, from the dirty politics and bloody secrets. Victoria cherished how you were made for comfort, for soft laughter that echoed in home, and for peace.

Those countless hours spent working and campaigning, missing out on time she could have spent with her family, suddenly seemed insignificant. The laughter of her daughter, the sight of you peacefully asleep in the morning, and the carefree evenings watching cartoons together. All the intimate late-night whispers.

The trade-off was clear: information and aid in the fight against Homelander in exchange for her family safety. Wife and daughter. Her own safety was not a concern for Victoria, but she'd paint the whole world red to make certain you and Zoe were protected from harm.

How ironic.

In a matter of seconds, everything goes to hell.

The world tilts sideways for a moment as you are thrown backwards, landing on the ground in a heap of limbs and carpet. The pain feels like an afterthought as the adrenaline courses through your veins.

Zoe, too, is sent flying, hitting the wall next to the door with a loud thud. You scramble to your feet, eyes wide as you take in the sight of Butcher, who now a fucking Lovecraft abomination.

Victoria screams at him, but her words are lost, caught up in the thick tentacles that surround her face. Furious, because she has to survive, for the sake of her family, and scared, because she doesn't know if she can.

You were just mere human. But today you were human with a gun. It was Victoria's idea — and even though you had resisted at first, she had stood her ground. Now you so grateful for it.

Victoria buried her face into the crook of your neck, inhaling. There laid your pulse, the sound of your heartbeats and the temptation of your blood flow. It was an symphony, a song only she could hear. “I won't always be nearby to protect you,” she had warned you. “And people know who you are. So you need to know how to fight back if they come for you.”

You'd like to think your aim has gotten better. You've been training, after all. The weapon is heavy in your hands, cold, but it feels right.

And you could buy Victoria the time she needs to see Butcher. Just a moment, you know, will be enough.

All sound seems to go quiet for a moment when the first bullet leaves the barrel. But your aim is true. Go fuck yourself, Butcher. The bullets tear through the flesh of the tentacles, leaving behind a trail of black blood, thick and viscous as tar.

"Bloody…"

One of the tentacles whips sideways, hitting you. The impact sends you flying backwards once more, pain exploding across your shoulder as you collide with a wall. The gun drops from your hand, clattering against the floor just out of your reach.

The world is a haze outside of the sight of Victoria’s face, her eyes now completely white. She is the most beautiful terrifying sight you’ve ever seen, like some divine, wrathful creature that has finally descended.

And she paints a fucking room red.

You blink, and the room is a mess — walls covered in blood. And the ceiling and the carpet are covered in gore. And, oh, is this... liver? The thick tentacles go limp around Victoria, finally releasing her.

The room quickly begins to fill with a chorus of gasps and exclamations of disbelief and shock as the horror of the situation finally has time to sink in.

The whiteness of her eyes bleeds away, replaced with the pretty brown shade she usually has. Her gaze slides over the carnage she inflicted. Hughie and his band are alive, useless morons, for now.

Her mind goes quiet in an instant in face of her daughter, her child. She all but lunges for Zoe, yanking girl close in a protective embrace. Victoria wraps her arms around her daughter, gently taking hold of her shoulders and searching for any injuries. Zoe is fine, thank God.

And then finally, finally, she registers your presence. Victoria takes a step in your direction almost mindlessly. Pale skin and blood-stained clothes. You look too still on the floor, so small and fragile, and her heart skips a beat. And, god, your shoulder, a bone...

“Darling… darling, look at me.“ Victoria swallows the panic.

“Mom!“

Your daughter appears in your hazy sight, her face streaked with tears and her eyes filled with fear. Zoe was knelt down next to you, small hands fluttering over your wounded shoulder, terrified of causing you more pain and yet desperate to help.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

Victoria can taste bile in the back of her throat— the sharp, acidic tang of horror.

You’re fine, you’ll be fine...

“Get someone here! Now!” She barks, eyes ablaze.

The room erupts into chaos as Victoria’s voice carries over the commotion. She barks orders, demanding that a medic be brought here now, or everyone will suffer.

Victoria’s power is the only thing keeping you alive. The amount of blood you’ve lost should’ve been enough to kill you twice over, but Victoria has been holding onto the last of it, until medics arrive.

Your wife keeps a vigil by your bedside, her gaze fixed on your unconscious form. Zoe often sits with her, resting her head on Victoria’s shoulder. They watch you together, silently counting the minutes. Each hour brings new fears— what if you never wake up, or what if you do but there are complications? And what about physical therapy after you’ve healed, and, and, and..

Despite the severity of your injury, you fight like hell to stay alive. The doctors are constantly baffled by your resilience, but Victoria knows it’s typical behaviour. So fucking stubborn. Unwilling to go down without a fight.

She loves you for it. Her darling wife.

The first few days you spend conscious in a hospital bed are fuzzy and confusing.

Everything hurts— your shoulder is a dull, throbbing ache, and your head is hazy from the medication you’ve been on. But above the pain and the haze, you gradually become aware of a constant presence at your bedside.

They never leave.

Either Zoe or Victoria — or both — will be by your side whenever you are lucid enough to register their presence. Your daughter’s face is pale, and there are dark bags under her eyes — she clearly hasn’t slept much since you were brought here.

But even with your hand in hers, she still looks like a terrified little kid. She is a little kid. It breaks your heart to see her this way and you hate it and despise it. You wish you could go back in time and stop all this from happening.

Victoria interrogates the doctors, gathering every bit of information about your treatment plan and options for therapy. She tries to keep it all together, this is how she copes— control and order.

Hughie tries to see you once, guilt written clearly on his face, but before you can even speak a word Victoria chases him out, white-eyed and seething. Whatever friendship they once had is gone.

Victoria has always known how important you are to her. As her wife and the mother of her daughter, you stood by her side through her darkest moments, accepting all her secrets and actions.

But now?

Victoria’s by your side every step of the way. She watches the doctors change bandages and sit by your side after each operation, determined to learn everything there is to know about caring for you. She studies up on physical therapy and rehabilitation, determined to do everything she can to help you recover.

After time, Victoria relaxes, allowing herself to just be. You joke around and tell stories about your youth, sharing memories that make Zoe giggle and roll her eyes.

After being discharged from the hospital, you all head straight to your safe house — a quiet house in the middle of nowhere. The deal Victoria had made still stands, providing the safety and privacy you've always dreamed of but never dared told her about. And, well, Zoe can now finally fulfill her dream of having a mini zoo.

Your little house is idyllic, small and cozy, just like in the movies that Victoria used to watch with envy, daydreaming of the family life she always wanted. And the little things— trips to the store, indulging in some junk food for dinner, going for walks, admiring the autumn leaves crunching under your feet— these are the things that make life worth living. Even more so since you're now able to fully enjoy them.

There's a strange sort of irony in this situation.

Because of your injured shoulder, you couldn't do much to help. But you often forget that Victoria was raised in an orphanage, she knows how to get things done. The food, supplies, cleaning. It's almost amusing how she becomes the epitome of the perfect housewife without hesitation.

Deep down, you've always longed for a quiet, ordinary life, away from the spotlight, but you had given that up for Victoria, never regretting this choice. And now, all of this feels so surreal.

Your shoulder may never heal back to how it was before, but you manage with bandages, therapy and medication. Life has fallen into a routine. Morning meals, a lot more of family time, a new school for Zoe and remote work for you.

But..there is always a but.

Zoe is plagued by nightmares now, so you stay up with her during the night, literally ordering Victoria to go to bed. Your little girl clings to you whenever possible, afraid to let go. Zoe constantly worries about your health, your wellbeing — always watching over you like a protective little bird.

You knew your wife. Victoria's fear is a quieter one, she keeps her true emotions locked behind iron walls. But you know her well enough to see past that. You feel the tension in her body, the way she holds her breath. You can see the fear in her eyes.

Some things can never truly be fixed, and perhaps you all will be broken in some way forever. But it doesn't matter —

Because Zoe is happy, truly happy, as she pets and plays with her puppy, Frodo, free from the burden of her mother's political status.

Victoria is less exhausted now, and the obscene amounts of coffee she used to consume have been reduced to just one cup a day. She's content to live a simple, peaceful life.

— because you're alive. Your girls are okay. And nothing else matters.

[hell-drabbles]

Lucifer 3

Summary: You’re curious about Lucifer’s mouth. So, you ask him to open up. Eventually, you two cuddle.

(More Embittered Companion and Lucifer because he has not exited my mind. Casual intimacy is something I really like.)

Lucifer comes and goes as he pleases, but he always makes sure to knock before coming into your room. It’s become a routine by this point, for Lucifer to come by in the middle of the night, crawl into your bed, and sleep until the morning comes.

It’s pretty much become a thing that brings you comfort. There’s something nice about having someone you actually trust dreaming in the same bed as you. Reminded you of all the times you, Minhyeok and Ra-on would share the same tent back when all of you used to camp every other month or so.

But, that was another routine lost, and one you’re rather sure that you’re not going to get that back.

And here you both are, you sitting up against the bed frame as Lucifer lazily lifted himself up on his elbows. He yawned, jaws wide and tongue flicking over the points of his teeth.

“Can you open your mouth for me?”

You’ve seen his teeth poking past his lips many a time, but you’ve been meaning to take a look at them up close.

Lucifer raised an eyebrow, and you expected him to ask why, but instead he rose, leaned his head forward, and let his jaw go slack. He’s more agreeable in the morning, huh?

“Thanks,” you said, tilting his head back with a finger under his chin.

Sharp thing, all of them. Looking ready to sink into delicate flesh all for the purpose of ripping and tearing. His fangs looked eternally dyed in that red color, as though he spent the night feasting on something bloody. But no, he was here with you the entire time.

You tucked strands of his hair behind his ear, and Lucifer lolled his tongue out.

“Put your tongue back in,” you laughed out, lightly flicking the muscle. “I just want to look at your teeth.”

Lucifer blinked at you, almost lovingly as he swirled his tongue once over your nail, then pulled it back in. You think you’re putting him in a mood. His breathing is starting to lean more into panting.

You tilted his chin down, coaxing him to lower his jaw to get a better view of his bottom teeth. You tapped a nail against the front most tooth. The sharp point of it accidentally slipped under, and you flinched when it almost went too far in.

“Ow.” It didn’t hurt, but you couldn’t help the instinct.

Lucifer’s eyes widened and his hands immediately cradle your wrist. He didn’t say anything as he closely examined each of your finger for even a single hint of a cut. He furrowed his brow as his mouth clicked closed.

“I’m not hurt, I just poked your tooth weirdly. Slipped under the nail for a second.” You didn’t stop him from smoothing his palm against your own, as though committing the feeling of your skin to memory. You slipped your fingers between his own, pulled back, and pushed in again. A small habit. It always brings a softer light in Lucifer’s eyes. Something about your hands always gets to him. “Mind if I look again?”

You haven’t even gotten to the red-tipped fangs.

Lucifer had an almost drunk air around him, heavily leaning against his other arm, thoughts probably slow to connect to one another as he focused entirely on you. He crawled forward and pressed a gentle kiss on your inner wrist. His half-lidded eyes practically glowed.

“Well?” You asked with a half-smile. Lucifer lips nipped at your forearm, aiming higher and higher until his face was fully in your shoulder. His body pressed against yours. “I guess that answers that, huh?”

“Mm-hmm.” Lucifer was slowly laying his weight upon you, his legs parting to fully seat himself on your lap.

You snapped the band of his underwear and laughed when he jumped.

“Alright, alright,” you said, brushing away the curling strands of his hair just to get a better look at the flush on his cheeks. He fully buried himself in your neck, arms loosely wrapping around you. “Guess we’re cuddling.”

“Mm-hmm.”

Shame. You were hoping to have a walk in the early morning, when there wasn’t a crowd of devils gathering in the park you found.

“Want to use my leg to take care of that morning wood of yours?”

He snuggled deeper into your body. “Mm-hmm. In a bit.”

He really doesn’t understand how cute he is.

[ryssbelle]

The Brozone Misconception

(This picture is more a joke don't take it too seriously)

This is a kind of long analysis, deep dive, and discussion about certain fandom misconceptions. I am 100 percent open for discussion but I would ask that you read the whole thing first before reaching out, and please be respectful!

A link to the og google doc with images as tumblr image limit killed part of the essay XD

Essay under the cut

There is a common misconception in a small subset of the trolls fandom about the character of Brozone. That is their reaction and treatment of Branch, their overall purpose in the story, and whether or not Branch should have forgiven them. Whether or not their trauma born toxic traits which they aim to grow out of should be forgiven or not.

Let’s begin with an analysis of the beginning, middle, and end of their arc progression more or less.

We start with our favorite problem child, Jonathan Dorian, mounting the pressure of tonight's show, building expectations, and showing us, the audience, a bit of what goes on every time these guys perform: 

Making Bruce do 100 more push ups in the time before showtime (1 minute) 

Pressuring Clay to wear the funderdrawers even tho he clearly doesn’t want to 

Rebuffing floyds attempts to calm himself down

And his worst crime

Making Baby Branch Nervous

Now you could see all of these and think “Evil! Evil John Dory! Jail for John DOry for 1000 years!!” because he is being oh so toxic. Now JD’s main motivation for pushing his brothers so hard in this moment has to do with the “Perfect Family Harmony” which according to baby Branch no one has ever hit before

And you can see the strain it puts on the other brothers not just through the scenes i showed before but Clay literally tells us

John Dory not only sees it as a great achievement, but he is putting his own and his families self worth all on whether or not they accomplish the perfect family harmony

(ignore the crappy cropping image limits)

And when they fail he blames it on them not following his lead 

He still believes after all of that that they can successfully complete the Perfect Family harmony 

This looks to be about the first time the brothers air their grievances out to their older brother about how they actually feel about not only completing the harmony, but the direction of the band itself.

All of this happens within the heat of the moment, and only continues to get worse as when confronted with all of this Negativity JD decides to leave. You can see by his facial expressions in the above screenshots he was already feeling terrible about the situation as a whole. Animation is very show don’t tell just as much as live action is, it’s very important for storytelling as a whole. A character should not have to SAY they are remorseful for you to be able to see it.

So JD leaves leading his other brothers to leave as well. Ironically they are following his lead badum dum dum. 

Now we can assume this is probably par for the course for these guys, cuz Grandma is right there, and she just lets them leave, you say plot convenience I say subtle story telling/ It is implied they do this all the time and will eventually come back. (they don’t)

(Also ignore this image its also a silly and not serious XD)

Now you may be thinking, Ricky, you say that Brozone is not toxic, yet you show us the worst examples of their character. Listen dear reader, this is only the beginning, what I’ve shown you is merely the establishment of the eventual conflict that will be part of the driving force behind character growth and the story itself. 

Let’s move on to adulthood. The main arguments against Brozone happen here, other than the initial abandonment of Branch, which, I should remind you, happened when the oldest among them was still a teenager (teenagers are dumb). 

In this section I also have to mention another movie, and another character, as he is usually brought up in these discussions 

Creek

Creek is usually used as a comparison to the Brozone bros in the argument that Brozone is EVIL AND TOXIC AND UNFORGIVABLE and Creek by comparison should be seen in a better light and not deserve the hate. To be honest I have never seen the level of hate that has been given to Brozone leveled at Creek in the slightest. He is canonically a toxic character, and one who is incredibly self serving which a majority of the fandom recognize and vibe with. Creeks admittedly rancid personality is a massive factor in his appeal (at least for me), and that is kind of the point of his character: To be awful and unforgivable. Creek wasn’t made as your average side character, Creek was specifically made to be an antagonist, to be a contrast to one of our main protagonists, Branch. That is why they are always at odds with each other within both 3D media and 2D media. 

Taken from the trolls wiki

Creek has also shown disregard for Branch’s hobbies in the main show, tossing his puzzle into the fire. This was during Haircuffed, when Creek didn’t want to do Branch’s puzzle

Which you think not so bad, its just a puzzle! Well…

Puzzle’s have incredible significance to Branch, a comfort object if you will, and another way to feel connected to his Grandma. Now you might cry “Creek didn’t know it was significant! He can’t be held responsible for that!” HE SHOULDN’T HAVE TO KNOW THE TRAUMA BEHIND THE PUZZLE TO NOT DESTROY THE PUZZLE.

Conversely let's look at the Brothers:

Throughout the course of the film they are a bit rude to Branch and dismissive of him:

JD:

Bruce:

Clay:

(You could argue the face grabbing is just a troll thing cuz)

But anyway

These scenes are minor things that add up during the course of the film for the purpose of showing off the traits they will put aside and grow out of for the sake of each other.

(brb reading xmen)

Lets talk about Xmen, you think JD is bad well watch this

Bam!

Anyway

Before we tackle the entire argument scene let’s first tackle the individual character of each of the bros, Specifically: John Dory, and Bruce, who are most criticized for their actions.

John Dory is one of the first brothers we see return in the film, and his first and foremost objective is to collect Branch so that they can go get their other brothers to rescue Floyd. Some have called John Dory uncaring for his younger brothers, but if that were the case why start the rescue mission at all? An uncaring brother would just ignore the letter and go on with his life, but John Dory literally drops everything just to go rescue his little brother. The letter even specified getting the other brothers first, but John Dory goes alone to get Floyd out of danger as fast as possible only retrieving the other bros when he fails (and cuz he didnt know where they were, can’t waste time when you got a brother to save)

A brother who didn’t care about his family wouldn’t go through all this effort. Some would say he’s only doing it for appearances sake, but for whom? Him and his brothers have been out of the limelight for 20 years, JD especially has been isolated in the neverglades, who is he trying to impress with this? No one, he’s just a good brother.

Also a reminder! When thinking about breaking Floyd out he is not the first to bring up the harmony! Floyd is, John Dory had a much more clever idea

So it's not just to complete the harmony either.

He’s also held on to all the merch from their Brozone days, mementos of his family, it shows how he cares, but also the flaw he aims to overcome: his desperate attempt to cling to the past, the better days.

Now let's go to Bruce, easily the most scrutinized of the brothers (because of the baby comment) 

When he first sees his brothers again this is his reaction: 

(Another point for JD, got ignored but is more happy to see his bros getting along)

Bruce is excited to introduce them to his family, excited to reconnect.

(Note: At this point tumblr stopped allowing images so i will be giving descriptions along with a link to the original google doc for reference purposes these are screenshots from the movie)

Cut image: Bruce introducing his wife to his brothers "These are my brothers, unexpectedly"

(Still excited and immediately introduces them to his wife despite them being “unexpected”)

Cut Image: Brandy saying "It's so nice to finally meet you"

“It’s so nice to finally meet you” Implies that he’s talked about them at length and the possibility of them meeting up with one another.

Also all of his kids completely ignore their mom, just to ask their father something, or tell on their sibling, or ask for his help as seen in this entire clip

With the ketchup kid he assures his kid he will handle it (and yes Brandy had to handle it but um rescue mission?) and that he loves them he just needs a bit of time to address, um who was it again? His brothers, right…

Bruce is argued as being incredibly selfish, I had seen a meme once that had suggested Bruce would let his own children die before he would give up his own life, which is horrendous and blatantly untrue. Bruce only tries to turn away his brothers when John Dory brings up the perfect family harmony and that’s before he knows it's for Floyd, once he finds out it’s for Floyd he is immediately on board! His biggest concern about the harmony at this time is how they’re going to do it. 

As for “abandoning his family again” Bruce is going on a rescue mission, which he asks his wife before hand if it is alright

Which she approves, he also agrees to cover for a WHOLE MONTH for the yoga retreat (Also seen in the clip above)

He spends the majority of the journey caring for Tiny Diamond as well, he lets Tiny into his hair, carries him around in a baby sling he’s a dad to any kid who needs him.

Clay doesn’t get as much scrutiny as either of the older bros, most likely due to his inability to leave the golf course and the fact he apologizes to Branch at the end. There are many things that mimic the same in the ending scene but let’s address the points brought up within the argument that people use to claim the evilness of Brozone. 

Also fun reminder, Clay is the one to start the fight, Not John Dory, not Bruce, Clay just a fun note (he is a lil problematic and argumentative and thats why i love him)

Clay brings up John Dory being bossy which sets everyone off into a tangent about the past, past actions that they think are resurfacing

Cut image, the beginning of the argument:

Clay: No. No, dude. You’re forcin' us to be perfect, just like you always have, so we can hit the perfect family harmony.

John Dory: Yeah. For Floyd.

Bruce: Is it? Or is this all just so you can tell people what to do again?

John Dory: Wha What?

_

Bruce: This isn’t gonna work if you keep on bein' the same old John Dory.

We all know John Dory’s reason for being “bossy” ; his reason for his perfection, once done out of an effort to impress, is now one out of necessity. They need to be perfect because now someone can die, and the others can’t see that due to their own trauma at the hands of JD’s perfectionism. 

As shown way at the beginning of the essay, all of the brothers suffered at the hands of JD’s past obsession, Bruce had to look a certain way pushing his body past its limits, Clay had to act a certain way disregarding his own happiness to keep up an image, Floyd was ignored and his advice pushed aside, and Branch was pushed to be perfect when he was only about 2 years old (or a month old if you go by the brozone blog). JD also suffered, pushing himself to make song after song, mentally exhausting himself and inadvertently hurting his brothers in the process of doing what he thinks is right for them. 

JD also had the responsibility (as a teen) to parent all of his younger brothers:

Cut Image:

John Dory: Well, I’m not allowed to change. I’m the oldest. I had to be the leader.

John Dory: Why do you think I moved to the middle of nowhere? So I didn’t have to be in charge of anyone. Four little brothers is a lot of responsibility.

You could argue it's his responsibility as the oldest but Grandma was right there, they shouldn’t be his sole responsibility. 

When most of them left it was done out of self preservation, to protect their sanity and to finally find happiness outside of a place that was no longer bringing it to them. They were kind of acting how most would want Branch to act, they cut out the toxic family for their own safety. 

Bruce:

Cut image:

Bruce: [stammers] Why do you think I left? So no one would treat me like you did.

Clay: 

Cut Image:

Clay: I’m gonna find trolls who take me seriously. Next to Clay is a picture of himself in a graduation cap

(Also that is Clays graduation photo, they are all around teen years in  the prologue which means this is either a middle school graduation photo or he graduated early and is still not taken seriously, which as someone who also faces that [only being seen one way despite your achievements] is incredibly discouraging and soul destroying) 

They most likely didn’t return due to the fact they didn’t want to be faced with this kind of treatment again (golf course entrapment aside) 

(Now you’re probably wondering about Floyd and he’s a whole other post, this is mostly focusing on the brothers who receive the most criticism due to misrepresentation)

During the argument they talk about going their separate ways, it is admittedly harsh they way they talk about leaving again, but they never say they’re leaving forever. Bruce has to return to his wife and kids, Clay left the golf course without one of its leaders, JD has his own life and routine, of course they’d go back to it once it was over, but that doesn’t mean visiting is off the table, and that they’d never see each other again. 

Cut Image: John Dory: What? The mission’s the mission. [chuckles] You didn’t think we’d all live together when this was all over, did you? Singin' songs and roastin' marshmallows?

Again i recognize JD is being an asshole here, but he is only knocking the idea of living together off the table, which kind of understandable they’re all adults with their own lives they don’t need to live together, I don’t get mad at my sister for going back to her house when shes done visiting. But again it is more how they say it then what they’re saying

Cut Image:

Branch: [scoffs] Oh, I’m sorry. Is that funny to you? That I might want us to actually be a family again? Tiny Diamond, pull over. Now.

Seen is JD's look of regret

You can see on his face that he regrets what he said when Branch says this, when he gets angry at him, he didn’t mean it like that. Thats when the don’t be a baby comment comes in, they still don’t actually understand why he’s upset, they think he’s acting childish, they don’t recognize he’s changed yet

Cut Image: The bros reaction upon hearing of grandmas death

These are their faces when they hear what Branch has been through, they obviously are upset, they’re hurt on his behalf, they are remorseful, this and their future actions signify the shift from who they were (hurt kids turned hurt adults, fighting over their past trauma) 

After Branch leaves, they, on their own accord, continue the mission to save Floyd, which is how they get caught, and during the final climax control freak JD relinquishes control, having changed and lets Branch take the lead. This is after Branch reminds them they don’t have to be perfect to be in harmony, just to be as they are together which they AGREE

Cut Image:

JD: We'll follow your lead, Branch

Once they save Floyd we are brought to Bruce’s restaurant, he brings them there to host their reunion, there is where branch gets encouragement from JD, where Clay apologizes, where Floyd reminisces and you can see JD engaging with his brothers more than just encouraging Branch he has joined Clays sad book club

Cut Image: JD reading a sad book behind Branch and Clay talking about said book club

This isn’t the end of their reconnection, this is only the beginning. They still have lots of time to grow, and to become closer as family. 

Now lets head back to Creek for a moment before we close this off:

We have brought up the puzzle destruction and his purpose as an antagonist. The main argument most people use is that Creek had no other choice but to sell out his entire race to be eaten and killed to save himself. He had a choice, Branch would’ve let himself get eaten if it meant protecting all of troll village as noticed when he protects poppy in twt (though he might’ve actually found another way out), Poppy would’ve as well. In tbt Floyd begs each of his brothers who meets him before the climax to let him die so they don’t face the same fate, these are all selfless acts. Creek reacts selfishly, eat everyone else but don’t eat me, then he smugly confronts Poppy, obnoxiously laments about how he has to live with his actions when if he were a truly good and selfless character wouldn't have been an issue. He smiles smugly, shrugs his shoulders, and lets himself be carried to safety when his people look at his betrayal with disbelief and sadness. 

Creeks actions in the 1st movie are awful, they’re supposed to be, they’re meant to be unforgivable crimes, and that is why he is killed in the 3D canon, legit he is dead in the 3D canon. 2D and 3D are different continuities, which is part of why I find them (Brozone and Creek) to be mostly incomparable.

Brozone’s arc only affects Branch and each other and in the end they grow stronger, and into better people. Creeks arc/actions affect an entire species and their survival, within the 2D continuity his actions only continue to be self serving, and rather toxic (more for funsies but you know) he should not have been forgiven, but he was. His actions were deplorable yet forgiven which then begs the question why aren’t Brozones? Creek also wrote the apology song solely to humiliate Branch in front of his friends which is not cool bro, Branch did not deserve the treatment he got in the episode from anyone. 

To conclude my thoughts are that Creek and Brozones actions are incomparable, Creek’s actions are not meant to be taken in a positive or sympathetic light, he is a villain cut and dry, that is who he was made to be and he does it wonderfully. I don’t hate Creek, I love his character, he is awful and that is great! Love toxic awful characters! Brozone are a representation of a broken family coming together again, they are toxic, and then they grow, they are meant to do so, the villains of that movie are Velvet, Veneer, and familial trauma all of which get mended by the end of the film. It’s not perfect but its there, and the ignorance of it is what causes these major misconceptions. 

TL;DR Learn media literacy please

[zvaigzdelasas]

The head of an Iraqi militia participating in a coalition of groups that have waged attacks against U.S. troops and Israel has told Newsweek that his forces are prepared to escalate their campaign significantly if President Joe Biden does not meet their demands.

According to Sheikh Mohammed al-Tamimi, secretary-general of Faylaq al-Waad al-Sadiq, all they are asking for is the complete withdrawal of U.S. forces from their country.

The group, whose name translates to the "True Promise Corps," is one of several factions that have banded together as part of the "Islamic Resistance in Iraq," which launched a campaign of near-daily rocket and drone attacks against U.S. forces stationed in Iraq and Syria in October, shortly after the war between Israel and Hamas erupted in the Gaza Strip.

The offensive took a deadly turn in January when three U.S. soldiers were killed on the border of Jordan and Syria.

As unrest worsened with Biden ordering intensive airstrikes and the killing of a high-level militia commander last month, the Iraqi government began to harden its calls for a timely exit of U.S. forces. The Pentagon soon commenced talks with Iraqi counterparts over a "transition" in the U.S. military presence, which is officially limited to battling the remnants of the Islamic State militant group (ISIS).

With these assurances, a number of Islamic Resistance in Iraq militias largely paused their campaign, instead turning their sights on Israel itself. But as weeks pass with little sign of progress and reports of new attacks on U.S. positions, Tamimi has warned U.S. troops will be met with an offensive that goes far beyond even Hamas' devastating October 7, 2023, attack on Israel should "the reckless, senile" Biden ultimately fail to withdraw U.S. soldiers from the country.

"If the agreement is not achieved, we will expel the Americans in their coffins from Iraq, and we will humiliate the 'Black House' administration," Tamimi told Newsweek. "And they will see who the resistance is and what the capabilities of the resistance are, especially now that we have drones and long-range smart missiles."[...]

Iranian officials[...] have denied exerting command and control over such groups, which they argue are involved in legitimate defensive maneuvers.

"The military actions undertaken by the resistance front against the Israeli regime are defensive measures aimed at exerting pressure on the occupying regime, with the goal of halting its crimes in Gaza," the Iranian Mission to the United Nations told Newsweek in response to Hagari's comments.

"The Islamic Republic of Iran staunchly supports such resistance," the Mission added. "However, given the Israeli regime's inability to effectively counter the resistance, it seeks to portray Iran as the occupying force in the countries comprising the resistance front."

Tamimi, too, rejected the notion that he led a state-sponsored group. But he attested to a growing level of coordination among allied international factions of the Axis of Resistance.

"Faylaq al-Waad al-Sadiq is Iraqi, and the mujahideen of the corps are Iraqis," Tamimi said. "We have coordination with the resistance factions in Lebanon, Yemen, or Gaza. We do not have coordination with any country, only with the resistance. We are with the unity of the resistance."[...]

"The Iraqi resistance now stands with the Palestinian people, and our duty now is to stand with them and support them against the crime and genocide against them by the Zionist entity supported by the American government, Britain, and Europe," Tamimi said.

"The change in strategies in the Iraqi resistance was clear, especially after the American deal with the Iraqi government, which was urgently asking us to stop the jihadi operations in Iraq," he added. "In return, there will be immediate withdrawal from Iraq, non-interference in the Iraqi situation, and Iraqi money will be handed over."

Once again, he warned that a failure to meet these conditions would result in all-out escalation against U.S. troops, who he warned would meet their end in Iraq.

"We respect the right of peoples to live in peace, and it is our right to have peace in our country without American military forces on the land of Iraq. The Iraqi people respect all peoples but reject the military presence on the land of Iraq," Tamimi said. "If these forces do not withdraw, they will be sent with coffins, and we will destroy the American bases."

"And we are able to carry out more operations than the Hamas movement in its storming of the bases of the Zionist entity," he said. "We are able to shatter these bases."

Already, reports shared by Faylaq al-Waad al-Sadiq's media channel reported a new attack late Tuesday on a U.S. position near the Conoco gas field in eastern Syria's Deir Ezzor province, the site of yet unattributed explosions apparently targeting the militia presence there just a day earlier.

Meanwhile, a high-level Iraqi delegation visited Washington this week ahead of a scheduled trip by Prime Minister Mohammed Shia al-Sudani next month for talks in which the future of the U.S. military presence is likely to be a central topic.

But Tamimi, in a direct appeal to the U.S. people, affirmed that the wrath of the resistance was reserved only for perceived occupiers, and not civilians.

"We wish peace for everyone, and we want to live in peace in our country," Tamimi said. "We ask you to withdraw your children from our country, Iraq, and let us live in security, prosperity and peace. We welcome the American people to visit our country for a tourist or commercial visit, but we reject their military presence, and they must know that we do not need them."

27 Mar 24

[brights-place]

Valorant Agent Headcannons

Pairings: None <33

Warnings: Fluff, Sillies, Headcannons,

A/N: My friend and I were rambling and writing stupid headcannons after playing a comp match so here we are \(･◡･)/

-Yoru is double jointed -Sage is heavily questioning her sexuality

-Omen is heavily questioning his mental insanity -Phoenix has a sneaker collection -Raze and KJ wake everyone up with there bots

-Chamber when he gets mad he starts speaking french sassily -Kay/0 has a file that's filled with comfort shows for the agents -Kay/0 knows how to make pancakes and makes them for everyone -Skye drags every new agent into a run in the morning -Omen once made every agent a knitted sweater for christmas… Ugly sweaters for life <33 -Breach makes good swedish sweets for everyone -Wingman would make beaded bracelets to agents he likes -Gekko bought a bead set for wingman so he could make more bracelets -When Kay/0 feels petty at an agent he will translate their mother tongue into english for the others to hear ESPECIALLY when someone talks shit (reyna) -Neon knows how to play Bass -All the young agents have tried to make a band together -Sage likes to gossip with Iso over tea and boba -When Clove’s pissed they make fanfics of the other agents >:D -Fade plays with her haunts like yarn (CANNON) -Astra collects seashells for Harbor -Sova has once had a snow globe obsession. He would bring them back to show his grandmother and place it on a shelf -Gekko has called older agents slang names -Viper is obviously a coffee woman and Reyna is a tea woman -Jett has tried to make Skyes birds move faster SHE WAS NOT HAPPY -Deadlock & Sova sometimes have a snowman building contest -KJ likes anime but also phoenix who hides it -Yoru and KJ know phoenix like anime Yoru found out by seeing Phoenix dance to anime songs -Yoru would bring back trinkets for them but denies he thought about them (LIAR)

-Reyna wants to take up crocheting

-Astra is really good at the drums

-Gekko has gotten curious on how his little friends taste he made a list

-Deadlock braids hair, and helps breach braid his

-Iso is really good at cooking and cooks with Jett in his spare time.

-Similarly, Jett and Iso have cook offs and get the other agents to vote

-Clove sneakily puts pride flag toothpicks in everyone's food

-Raze sneaks love letters in everyones lockersand watches with breach and laughs

-Harbour has a bath bomb addiction and collects them like an insane person

-Brimstone has reading glasses

-Cypher gets gifts from everyone on fathers day and also mothers day

-Kj likes making forts

-Chamber corrects the waiters pronunciation at french restaurants

-Reyna plays basketball with Gekko and helps him aim

-Phoenix is trying to learn how to sew so he can make better jackets due to Jett trying to take them

-Clove has an etsy and the only people that buy are breach and gekko

-Neon VS Gekko in any sports (NEON WINS PINOY PRIDE MFS) -Deadlock is scared of dogs

-When Neon gets sick every agent fears for their lives. Her sneezes are BIG (Zoomies) - Neon and Jett get the zoomies if they have energy drinks or coffee -Brim is a BBQ dad he makes good burgers -Imagine Fade looking into Deadlock's nightmares and seeing Cub instead of the bear -Cypher has tinkered with Chamber,Raze, and KJ’s is tech for funsies -Cypher will use people’s fetishes against them -Sova wears one of omens knitted scarves when he goes hunting -Omen gets overwhelmed by crowds sometimes so he likes to hide somewhere quietly -Jett would GRIND on Wuthering Waves and Honkai Star Rail

-Sova has different variations of prosthetic eyes and sometimes he gets gifted weirder or cooler looking ones for fun -Sova as a party trick has taken his prosthetic eye out and some younger agents who haven’t known scream like a banshee -Phoenix is a mama’s boy (I BELIEVE HE HAS TWO MUMS)

-Sage has binged Avatar The Last Airbender many times and takes inspiration from Katara

-Jett has a hidey hole full of other agents' belongings. Yoru’s knives, Phoenix’s shoes, Cyphers hat (sometimes)

-Yoru has tried time travelling, Phoenix jokes about it all the time

-When someone has a bad day, cypher watches over them over the camera to make sure they aren't doing anything bad to themself

-Yoru gives haircuts and is actually good, but he keeps yapping while using his different knives

-Gekko sings creep by radiohead in the shower when he's sad and Neon films from outside the door and jokes about it

-Omen gets too much candy due to being treated as a trick or treater

reblogs + comments are appreciated ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

©brights-place 2023 — do not repost on another platform, copy, translate or edit my works! if you fit my DNI list please don't interact!

[kaleidoscopewritings19]

Title: Sleepless Wildflowers

Warning(s) mentions of sexual abuse/rape. Strong language, violence. If things triggering to you in any way, please do not interact. MDNI. No smut, but strong topic.

Characters: Joel Miller, F!Reader, Ellie, David and his band of cannibals.

Dialogue prompt is used at the very end, it’s in bold. Credit goes to @ elixir-prompts

Flashbacks are italicized!

Jackson, Wyoming. New home, new people, new environment. A community filled with happiness and hope, despite the coldness, the grayness, and the current state of the world. Joel was happy. He was finally happy.

The nightmares still kept him awake at night. He laid on his side facing you; you were underneath the warmth of the quilt sound asleep.

Joel couldn’t help but to watch you— your hair was splayed against the pillow and you were sleeping in a near fetal position. Back then, scholars had said if you slept in a fetal position, you body was responding to stress or that you were protecting yourself.

The first time you and Joel had slept in the same bed, you slept in a full fetal position. Your knees were up against your chest, your back was arched, and you slept with your hands close to your body. But now that Joel was here, you had felt safe, and he felt needed.

Seeing you finally sleep peacefully was something he was proud of. It was finally something good he was doing— his presence made you feel safe.

Your face was still bruised, and a dark hand print on your neck made Joel angry. A strand of hair was stuck to your face and he brought his fingers to your cheek. He gently pushed the strand behind your ear, careful to not put any pressure on the bruised skin.

Then Joel was lost in memory of what caused those bruises and the hand print.

You had insisted on going with him to take Ellie to Salt Lake. However, he insisted on you staying put in Jackson, but you were headstrong.

“Joel, you need someone to have your back.” You stated, and Joel shook his head. “No, you need to stay here. You’ll be safe. I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you.”

This was the first time he ever seen you tear up, you were a force to be reckoned with. You were mentally strong despite everything life had put you through. Physically you were tough as a nail.

But this was the first time you were ever vulnerable with him. “Joel, I can’t… I can’t be away from you.”

He pulled you into his body, and he didn’t make you stay, but he wished to God he did. After the three of you had left Jackson, bad luck was instant and inevitable.

Joel had gotten stabbed at Eastern Colorado University, and you and Ellie had to care for him. He was dying, he knew that. The pain in his stomach was severe, the fever and infection was taking over his body. Joel could’ve sworn he felt his soul left his body more than once, but he couldn’t let go.

How could he just die when the two of you were in danger? Sure you could hold and aim a gun, and Ellie was more than capable of fighting, but mentally, it would’ve destroyed the two of you.

Especially you. He heard your sobs, pleads, and prayers. But you only broke down when Ellie wasn’t around. She had went to tend to the horse, and you held Joel’s hand in yours.

“Joel, please… open your eyes.” Your hand rested on his clammy forehead, pushing his hair back. He couldn’t open his eyes, but he heard your voice. Your hand started to shake, and then the rest of your body followed in suit.

Sobs broke from your lips, and your hand pulled away from his. “God, please not him. Not Joel.” You choked on your sobs. “Joel, please, I need you. I can’t—I can’t leave you. You can’t leave me. Damnit you can’t leave me or El.” You whispered through your tears.

“I….” You paused as you wiped your tears away, and tried to regain your composure. “Joel, I love you. I don’t think I can go on without you.”

Another string of sobs left your lips, and you laid down next to him on the cold concrete floor. “I feel safe with you. Ellie needs you. I need you.” You nestled your face into his neck, and he leaned his head against yours.

• • •

He didn’t know how long the three of you were in that basement living off scraps. Joel heard bits and pieces of conversations- until one day it got silent. Which was odd, because you and Ellie were arguing the night before about penicillin and men. But he couldn’t do or say anything; he was lucky enough to open his eyes for five seconds.

Footsteps pounded against the creaky old staircase, and Ellie was in a clear state of panic. He heard you cock your gun, “Ellie, you stay here with Joel. I will lead them away from you two, okay?” You said- he could tell you were hiding the shakiness in your voice.

“You can’t go alone!” Ellie cried out. Joel said we shouldn’t separate from one another.” Wow. Ellie did in fact hear Joel’s words.

“I’ll go with you! It’s our best shot to lead them away from Joel.”

It was silent and Joel heard you fumble with a pocket full of bullets. “You listen to me, if shit hits the fan you go! I don’t care what you see or what you hear. I’ll distract them for as long as I can.” You said and through his blurred vision, he seen you walk up to Ellie and hold her face in between your hands. “No matter what, you keep going. Do you understand?”

Ellie clutched onto you. “Yes. I understand.” She complied. You let go of her and loaded her small pistol, and Ellie forced a knife in Joel’s hand. She patted his face,

“Okay… okay, look at me. There are men coming, okay? I’m gonna lead them away from you, but if anybody makes it down here, you fucking kill them. You got it?” Ellie snapped her fingers, “Joel. Joel, do not fall asleep!” She said before looking at you.

You ran over and pressed a kiss to Joel’s head. “I love you.” Your hand cupped his face and your thumb traced over his skin. With a final kiss to his lips, you and Ellie bounded up the stairs.

He couldn’t protest, his eyes were so tired, but Ellie’s words played again and again in his mind; distorted words.

“Do not fall asleep!”

“Joel!”

“Fucking kill them!”

“Joel, I love you.”

“God, please not Joel.”

Then there you were— right in front of him, running through a field of wildflowers. He chased after you as the sun wrapped around you like a blanket.

Your hair bounced as you ran and you looked back at him, “C’mon Joel!”

He listened to you laugh as he chased you, “I’m so tired, Y/N.” Joel stopped and bent over to catch his breath.

In slow motion, you turned to him. Your hair had finally found rest on your shoulders, and you were still smiling.

“You have to keep going, Joel. Or else we’ll die.” The words were grim, and Joel looked you in the eyes. He was confused, what the hell were you saying?

Your face that was bright and full of life just a few moments ago, was grey and dark circles took place under your eyes.

“What?” It was all he could manage to get out and you pointed over his shoulder. In whatever the fuck this was- a dream, a nightmare, a fever dream? He couldn’t turn his head fast enough, but behind him stood a soldier dressed in black, and a gun in his hands.

Joel had seen this before, and his heart completely stopped. “Y/N, GET DOWN!” He screamed bloody murder and you didn’t move, you just stood there, staring at him.

The sound of a bullet exiting the barrel of the gun got Joel’s frozen feet to race over to you, but it was too late. It hit you in the stomach, and Joel grabbed your body before you hit the ground.

He cradled you closely to him, “No! Fuck, Y/N!” Joel lifted your shirt and blood started to spill from the open wound. His hands shook violently as he tried to apply pressure- terrified to hurt you.

Your face was still and empty, no expression, just dead eyes staring into his, “Fucking kill them!” You said and Joel was confused, “Baby- stop moving you’ll bl..bleed out faster.”

“Fucking kill them, Joel.” You said again, and then your face had contorted into Ellie’s. Joel was staring down at the girl he was supposed to protect; someone who had a far greater purpose than either of you. “FUCKING KILL THEM, JOEL! DON’T FALL ASLEEP!” The words screamed in his ear.

Whatever trance Joel was stuck in, he was pulled back to reality. A gasp allowed air to rush back into his lungs- it burned until he laid there and forced himself to breathe in and out.

The handle of the knife Ellie pressed into Joel’s hand was still there. The loud sound of footsteps above him jerked his eyes opened. Something was kicked over.

The footsteps were far to heavy to be Ellie’s or yours. Then he could hear the cabinet you and Ellie had pushed in front of the door, being moved against the old creaking floor board.

Joel forced himself to get up. Quietly, he hid and took a deep breath as whoever it was, slowly came down the stairs. The pain made Joel want to hurl- he clutched the knife until his knuckles turned white. When he had finally caught a glimpse of the intruder, he grimaced. The man was breathing heavily- he was scared. Good.

Without a second thought, Joel came up behind the man and shoved the blade deep into his neck, and had him in a choke hold. He had to keep the intruder quiet; he didn’t know how many men would follow, or how many were searching for you and Ellie.

He was exhausted- he fell with the man to the floor, and pain shot through Joel’s entire body. With a choke and blood began spewing from the man’s mouth, he took his last breath. Joel took a deep breath. He was pissed. Angry. Angry at himself for getting stabbed in the first place. Joel pushed himself up off the ground and picked up his rifle and pack; his footsteps were wobbly and he had to lean on the railing to get back up the stairs.

With every step, his body cried out in pain, but he ignored it. He had to find Ellie. He had to find you.

• • •

Everything happened so fast, it was a blur, and all he knew is now he was punching a man over and over again. He was exhausting himself out, but he continued, “Leave him alone.” The man in the back said, and Joel said in a calm voice, “You’re next.”

With a lift of the knife, he plunged it into the mans knee. “Jesus!” The man in the back cried out as he watched Joel beat the shit out of buddy. “He can’t help you. You focus right here, or I’ll pop your fuckin’ knee cap off.” Joel held the man’s head up by his hair.

“She’s alive.” The man cried out and Joel pushed his head back. “Which one? I want to know where they both are.” He said as he twisted the knife.

“The small one- she’s in town but I, I don’t know where the woman is… David didn’t want her. He let the other men decide. They might have taken her to town too, but I swear— I SWEAR I don’t know!”

“What town!?

“It’s not a town, it’s a resort!”

Joel shoved the handle of the knife in the man’s mouth and made him point to where Ellie was, then he stabbed him in the chest. The guy in the back screamed, “Why the fuck did you do that? He told you what you wanted!”

Anger filled every ounce of Joel’s being, and he picked up a pipe off a chair and walked towards the man that was screaming. “Fuck you! I ain’t telling you shit!”

With a shaky breath Joel stood over the man, “It’s okay. I believe him.” His voice remained calm and he too, killed that man. Truly, it was a blood bath. The thing Joel was most ashamed of, was helpful. He dropped the pipe to the ground, and tried his best to race out the front door. Joel knew where to find Ellie, but where the hell were you?

There was a blood in the middle of the road, and something was dragged from in front of the house all the way into the road. Horse tracks went the opposite direction, and knowing you, you made Ellie get on the horse. So he followed the drag marks into a house that was two streets over from where he was.

Screams alerted Joel and his heart raced. His eyes frantically scanned for any sign of you, and the sound of a gun made him race towards the entrance of the house. Quietly and slowly, he opened the wooden door and he could hear someone choking.

On the floor next to the entryway, a body was bleeding out from a gunshot wound to the head. “You stupid bitch. All you had to do what lay there and take it.”

His hand was wrapped around your throat, and you kicked your legs up at him. But the man positioned himself on top of your body; your flannel was unbuttoned and your shirt was above your belly button.

Pants were unbuttoned and unzipped, and a long cut above your navel oozed blood. Your face was bruised, and you laid there, the color drained from your face.

Rage overtook Joel’s body, and your eyes caught a glimpse of him. Just by seeing Joel, your body relaxed, “See? That’s all you had to do sweetheart. I’m gonna take you back to the village, and you’ll be my wife. David can have the little girl, and I’ll take you.” He whispered as he pressed a kiss to your trembling, blue lips.

His hand was still wrapped around your throat, and when he released it, Joel slammed the end of his rifle into the man’s head.

The man rolled off your body and screamed, “You motherfucker!”

You desperately tried to gasp for air, and Joel was on top of the man in a matter of seconds. His fists were slamming into the guys face, and then he ended the man’s life by slamming the end of rifle into his head.

Joel’s hands were covered in blood, and he looked over at you. You began to sob, and Joel pulled you into his body. He cradled you close, and pulled down your shirt. His fingers shakily worked on zipping and buttoning up your pants. “I got you doll. It’s gonna be okay.” He said and he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I love you. I’m here. It’s gonna be okay.”

“I thought you were dead. And then they— they tried to—” it was like your tears had dried up almost instantly, and you wiped your face. But then realization washed over your face, “Ellie! We need to find her before that monster does something to her!”

Despite the cut on your stomach, you stood up and picked up the shotgun the man had with him. Joel had never seen this side of you, you were always calm, but anger overtook you just as it did him. “Let’s go get our girl.” You said and Joel pulled himself off the floor and followed you.

• • •

By the time the three of you had gotten back to Jackson, Joel made you swear to not tell Ellie was had actually happened at the hospital.

You kept his secret, but now you knew the side Joel had tried desperately to hide- the part of him the was dangerous and deadly. The side of him he was ashamed of.

Regardless, you loved him, because that day too, you fought alongside Joel. To this day, the memories plagued Joel’s mind.

Tears ran down his face and hit the pillow as he laid there watching you. You began to stir in your sleep, and he quickly wiped the tears from his face.

When your eyes fluttered open and landed on Joel, you instantly smiled at him. “What were ya dreaming about?” He asked and you yawned, “You.” You replied quietly and he gave you a small smile.

“There must be better things to dream of than me.” He said and you moved closer to Joel’s body. Instinctively, he wrapped his arms around you.

“If I had to dream of one thing for the rest of my life, it would be you, Joel Miller.” You whispered and Joel’s heart skipped a beat. “My life would be perfect, because I’d see you when I wake up, and again when I fall asleep. I’d never feel scared… I’d feel protected.”

Words were failing to come out of his mouth, so instead, he pressed his lips against yours. Your noses brushed together, and he deepened the kiss- he couldn’t show you enough how much he loved you.

Words always failed him, but in his actions he would prove he was capable of loving another. You were now sitting on top of him, pressing a loving kiss to his lips, and when you pulled away, words did not fail him this time.

“I love you, Y/N.”

Your eyes lit up at his words; it wasn’t the first time he told them to you, but anytime he said them, you would beam with joy.

“I love you too.” You responded, and his hand cupped your head, combing through your hair. “Marry me.” Joel stated and your eyebrows furrowed, “What?”

“Y/N, I want to marry you. But do you- would you want to marry me?” He asked, and a big smile broke out across your face.

“You want to marry me?” You asked as tears brimmed your eyes.

“If you married me, my life would be perfect. I’d wake up next to you in the mornin’, go to sleep with you every night. I’d be able to live out the rest of my days with someone I love, and I can’t live without you.” He said as he cupped your cheek. “You say you feel protected when I’m with you. Well, when I’m around you I feel loved. I don’t feel judged for all the bad shit I’ve done. You don’t make me feel like a monster.” Now tears brimmed his eyes, and you pressed a kiss to his lips.

“Then let’s get married, Joel.” You said against his lips, and he flipped you down on the mattress. His heart was overjoyed, and he could finally live a happy life.

————-

I hope you guys enjoyed this one! ❤️ reblog, comments, and likes are always appreciated!

Xoxo

[liveontelevision]

Little Lucifer x Reader blurb that's been sitting in my drafts for like 2 weeks my bad yall

♡♡♡

"You know, it's a little embarrassing, I actually had a crush on you when I first came to the hotel." You try to laugh it off, giggling between the lines of a ludicrous thought.

A crush?

On the King of Hell?

I mean, come on.

Oh, but he had to bite his tongue. Hard. He needed to play it off just like you were. By the time he had processed the information, your back was facing him, already engaged in some other conversation with Angel Dust.

You treated it like just a passing thought, a little qwip to make your friends laugh. But that's not what really bugged Lucifer. No, it was the past tense of it all. What could've turned your feelings rotten? Were you so sure that nothing could happen? That it wasn't even a possibility? Why did those feelings vanish?

What did I do wrong?

"You're gonna catch a fly, your majesty!" An accent accompanies the phrase that finally snaps him out of his fog. Angel Dust sends you and the bartender into a little fit of snickers.

He was in fact sitting mouth open, eyes wide. He was hoping he could play it off by simply not mentioning it allowed, but his body betrayed him. He let his thoughts run over the arrogance he should've been feeling- as the sin of pride- so he goes with that.

"Of course, you had a crush on me! I'm The King of Hell, I'm sure all that power can be quite alluring. And my smile, obviously." His daring smirk he holds slowly fades when he hears a scoff passing your lips.

"Yeah, obviously." You roll your eyes at his words, leaning against the counter. Your nonchalant demeanor seems to make Lucifer shrink. "But, no, really.. it was, uh... your sense of humor, and how flustered you'd get around Alastor- you'd get so red in the face," you're still laughing through your words, not noticing the shine in Lucifer's eyes just from the sound of it.

"And just.. you care so much, you know? About Charlie and the hotel, even those little ducks.. You put your heart into everything, and it shows." Lucifer swears the room had disapated around the two of you. With a flushed face, mostly due to the drinks - you'd never be so bold while sober - you're smiling at him so sweetly, he could get lost in just the way your lips curl. How your eyes squint and how your cheeks puff just a little when you fully grin.

A snort snaps both of you out of it.

"So, you like how he's a dad, huh? Is that it? Got a thing for dilfs-" You immediately push Angel from his stool as he starts yapping about some modern lingo Lucifer doesn't quite understand.

"What's that now?" Lucifer cocks his head to the side, watching you scramble and wrestle your hand over Angel's mouth.

"Nothing!" You blurt out quickly.

Moving on!

"B-But yeah, it's not a big deal, It was just a little crush. Besides, you're like a 10,000 year old angel, a king. Plus, I saw your ring-" Damn it. He finds himself placing his right hand overtop his left. "-and that kind of helped me get over it faster.. no harm, no foul!" You finish quickly.

"Well, we're not exactly together anymore." He said those words so fast that it brings everyone's attention to him. The thought of some newfound gossip drew Angel in, but the idea that Lucifer might be correcting you? That he's trying to argue the reasoning you gave as to why you can't like him? You feel your breath start to shallow.

"No shit! Got some marital problems with queenie? Give us the deets, your highness!" Angel is leaning on the back of his hands, eagerly awaiting the beans that Lucifer was apparently meant to spill. He looks around the lobby before sighing and tapping his finger absentmindedly. His claw against the metal wedding band makes a quiet tick-tick-ticking.

"O-Oh jeez.. uh..." before he can fret any further, the sensation of a warm palm overtop his fidgeting hands brings him a sense of dread and relief.

"You don't have to talk about it, if you don't want to." You speak softly, aiming to sooth and also give a little privacy from the nosy guest behind you. And while he appreciates your sincerity, he needs you to understand.

"No no, I brought it up in the first place. But, uh.. you know, we've been together since Eden and 10,000 years is a long time. So.. we just drifted apart.. and sometimes..." Lucifer's eyes drop with his hesitant words. You weren't sure if he was reminiscing of fond times or regretting them with the face he was making. But then, his eyes come up to meet yours.

"Sometimes, people change."

[acewritesfics]

Did you just call me Honey? | TOMMY SHELBY (18+ ONLY)

⚠️ THIS IS A REPOST FROM MY MAIN BLOG @/DLMLUFICS. UNFORTUNATELY, I HAVE TO DO IT THIS WAY. MORE INFO IN MY PINNED POST. ⚠️

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Request: No. Was sort of inspired by the song A Little Wicked by Valerie Broussard.  

Fic Type: Imagine.

Warnings: Poorly written smut. Murder. Swearing.

Word Count: 1,368

TOMMY SHELBY MASTERLIST

Hands red, hands red   Just like you said I am, I am   A little wicked   No one calls you honey, when you're sitting on a throne   No one calls you honey, when you're sitting on a throne 

Y/N's head is rested on Tommy shoulder, a hand on his knee as he drives home from the races. The newly married couple had been enjoying their day, but she got the feeling something was about to go wrong. Her feeling was proven right as Tommy pulled over to the side of the road.  

"Is everything all right?" she asks as he stalls the car. 

Before he can answer her, a man with a gun is stood on Tommy's side.  

"Both of you get out 'ere now," the man orders them.  

"We better do as the man says," Tommy says looking at her, silently asking if she's got her gun on her.  

"Of course," she says, climbing out of the car, holding her hands up in the air to make him think she has no weapon. 

"Stand right there," the man orders again, his gun on Tommy. 

Y/N goes to follow her husband but the gunman stops her. "Boss only ordered for Thomas Shelby to be done away. He said nothing about Mrs Shelby." 

"What is your boss paying you?" she asks. "I'm sure we can double it if you let Thomas live." 

"Honey, I suggest you shut your mouth or I won't hesitate putting a bullet through your head too," the gunman shouts at her as she tries to reason with him.  

"Did you just call me Honey?" she glares at him as his attention falls back on Tommy, ignoring her. It was as if hearing the word 'Honey' triggered something within her. She hated that nickname her father had given her. He was an awful man and she didn't want to be reminded of him. 

Slowly and carefully she pulls she starts hiking up her skirt, her eyes not leaving the scene in front of her. Tommy's eyes meet hers. She gives him a subtle nod of her head, her signal for him to distract the man currently holding them hostage. 

Y/N reaches under her skirt for the gun she keeps there for protection. Being Tommy's wife came with a target on her back but she was willing to live with it if it meant she got to be with him.  

Pulling the gun out, she aims it at the gunman's head and pulls the trigger. Neither Y/N nor Tommy flinched as a gunshot rang through the air and the gunman collapsed to the ground. Crouching down, Tommy takes the gun from the gunman's hand and places it in the waist band of his trousers.  

"And that's why no one calls me, Honey," Y/N says as Tommy makes his way over to her. "Are you alright?"  

"I'm better now," he replies and places a quick kiss to her lips. "Let's get home before someone else arrives." 

She nods her head and follows him back to the car. 

Tommy's lips were on Y/N's as soon as they walked through the door of their home. With one hand on the back of her neck and the other resting on her hip, he holds her close. Her arms move around his waist, and she pulls the gun out from the waist band of his trousers  

Breaking the kiss, she sets the gun aside before lifting her skirt to remove her gun that she had hidden there. "Wouldn't want those to accidentally go off on us," she chuckles as she places her gun next to the one that they took from the man who tried to kill Tommy.  

Tommy moves behind her, his fingers pulling the zip of her skirt down before undoing the button and letting the silk garment drop to the floor.   

He moves her hair to the side and starts trailing kisses from her shoulder to her earlobe. She bites her lip to suppress her moan, loving the feeling of his lips against her skin. His arm wraps around her waist. One hand moves under her blouse, the other moving to the waistband of her underwear. His fingers toy with the hem before he moves his hand inside them.  

A breathy moan escapes her lips as two of his fingers ran over her most sensitive part. He strokes her bud a few times and gathers some of her wetness that was already pooling inside her underwear before he buries his fingers inside her.  

Moaning, she clutches on to his arms, her nails digging into his skin as his fingers start moving faster and he starts using his thumb to rub her bud again. His arm around her waist held her tighter against him, keeping her steady as she became overwhelmed with pleasure. Tommy always knew how to work his hands and have her begging for more.  

“I’m almost there,” she moans feeling her getting close to hitting her peak.  

But before she can get there, Tommy removes his hand from her underwear and turns her around. She looks at him with a bewildered look, wondering why he stopped.   

He just smirked as his hands moved to her blouse and started undoing the buttons. In a flurry of movement, clothes are removed, and Tommy is hovering over her on the sofa.  

“I want to pleasure you,” she smiles seductively at him as she reaches down to stroke his erection.  

“You can make it up to me later,” he tells her before crushing his lips to hers again, stopping her from arguing with him about it. He pulls away a moment later, moving his kisses to her chin, ear and neck.   

“I love you so fucking much,” Tommy whispers into her ear, nudging his knees between her thighs. His lips meet hers again before she can say 'I love you' back. One of his hands moved from beside her head to her thigh. “I want to be inside you right now.”  

“Fuck me, Tom, please, fuck me,” she moans as he slides his cock between her folds to coat it in her wetness  

Kissing her softly, he grips her thigh, and holds it against his hip as he slides himself inside her. Y/N’s breath hitches, her lips ripping from his and a low moan leaves her throat as pleasure ran through her body. His free hand cups her head and turns it to the side to get better access to her neck as he trails kisses up her neck as he moves his hips, pushing himself further inside her with each thrust.  

His thrusts are fast, deep, and hard making her breath catch in her throat. She wraps her legs around him pulling him as close to her as she can. Her body was tingling from his touch and the way his body moved with hers. She loved that he could always make her feel things she never felt before, even after the amount of time they’d been together.   

“Tom,” she gasps as her arms move around him, one hand running through his hair and the other digging nails into the skin on his back. “Oh, fuck,” She breaths, one hand moving to his ass, groping and urging him on. “I love you too. Fuck, I love you so much.”  

His grip on her thigh tightens as he moves his lips back to hers, kissing her more passionately. Picking up his pace, he takes one of her hands in his and entwines their fingers together and squeezes her hand.  

She can feel herself starting to come undone again as her walls started to tighten around him. He pumped in and out of her a few more times before she reached her peak, her toes curling as she comes all over him  

Tommy hits his peak after a few more thrusts, spilling his seed inside her before he collapses on top of her.  

Catching their breath, Tommy lifts his head and moves some of her hair out of her face and kisses her lazily, "You're my wicked queen. Thank you for saving me back there."  

"You're my wicked king," she smiles, keeping him close to her. "And I'll always be there to save you." 

CREDIT: support and mdni dividers made by @/cafekitsune. Razorblade dividers made by me .

[firewalkzwit]

submission // hobie brown x reader (one-shot)

reader is a messy rockstars gf vibe groupie that goes to see hobie's band and catches a ride with them hihi :> also in this story hobie lives in a musty apartment instead of his boat just for the 70s punk appeal

warnings: 18+, everyone in this fic is gross, blood and violence, mentions of drugs, smut, hints of dom reader??

word count: 1.9k

AO3

Pushing and tackling your way into the front row was something you had learnt to do as an experienced band follower. Nothing gave you more rush than finally reaching the artists by inches, merely separed by the height of the stage. You were a sucker for the dopamine rush whenever they would crouch and offer their microphones so you could sing with them, or when they would gift you a smile or a wink.

It was one of those days, your friends had invited you to see an emergent band playing downtown, in a nasty cramped pub just like you liked it, as the best and noisiest bands always came from those.

Their performance was loud, chaotic and frenzic, the pogoing pushing you and your friends in and out of different circles and strategically taking advantage of the agitation, you pushed and jumped your way to the front row.

You'd watch perplexed as you yelled incomprehended words trying to follow their choruses, hyped holding your hand up in frantic gestures. Your eye makeup had smudged all around your face, and the sweat glistened on your forehead as the lights illuminated you.

Despite the mess in your face, you couldn't care less, your focus nailed on the piercing gaze of one of the members. Your eyes had paced around the band as if picking an objective, they were all pretty fit as your friends would describe them, motivated to make your way backstage or catch a ride from the crew.

His fingers swiftly pressed and slid on the guitar's chords syncing their movement in inconsistent coordination. His head would ocasionally tilt down to look at his instrument, and whenever he'd look up, his gaze would point over to you.

Neglecting his guitar and falling out of tune, he distracted himself gifting her a wink and sticking his tongue out at her. The band would often insult and provoke the audience, jumping and name-calling, exhacerbating the agitation in the crowd. The public was naturally growing violent, pogo was agitating further and people were tossing and breaking things. A particularly upset individual triggered by the guitarist's slowed pace aimed a smashed bottle at him, hitting hard against his face.

He snarled a muffled curse as he laughed erratically, wobbling in his place clearly under the influence. Blood gushed down his cut lip and nose, to which he'd spit and rub his face on his shoulder, smearing the gory scene on his face.

He'd play faster and would often fall out of tune, just to spite the growing anger in the audience. You on the other hand thought the show to be incredibly amusing. The agitation and adrenaline inducing rise in conflict and the music morphing into sheer noise as you observed from both perspectives in the front row enlivened you.

His blood dripped drawing a trail down his sharp chin and through his neck, drops splattering the stage and his limbs whenever he'd shake his head. Although bloody, sweaty and on drugs, to you he could not possibly look more attractive, and he had long noticed you staring, gifting you a smile with red teeth as the blood filtered into his mouth.

Once the show was done, you got dragged out by your friends before you could do anything to try making it backstage. The police were likely to soon show up given the disturbances and attacks, but as you walked away, a strange arm wrapped around your shoulder and pressed you tightly against an unknown torso.

To your surprise, one of the band members was holding you and one of your friends on each of his sides, looking back and forth between you and her with a grin.

"You ladies need a ride? Where are you from?"

Being honest, from around. Responding to your objectives, from out of town. You exchanged looks of conviction with your friend before lying.

"We're from out of town." Your friend responded with a grin.

"Ah I see, 'got a place to stay? We got plenty of room to accomodate you girls if you fancy a place yea?"

And before you could even catch a taxi back home, you and your friends were in the back of a black van carried between instruments and cramped against other band members. They would chat small talk lively with your friends, but you remained quiet, exchanging looks with the bleeding gutiarrist who grazed his hand over his bloody nose as it kept spurting down.

He smiled, and asked for your name in a deep voice with a cockney accent, before continuing to silently wipe his nose and resting his blood-stained hand on his thigh, legs spread occupying precious space as he leaned against the surface of the van.

Making a sudden stop, the band members hopped down from the vehicle agitating eachother to get down as the driver scolded them off. Your friends looked back at you and waved as they were guided across the street with the rest of the band, leaving you and the guitarist completely alone in a dark street.

He stared at you for a long second, seemingly zoned out before his bloody hand gripped your wrist, taking you into his apartment in silence. You walked behind him, dusty untied boots stomping as you struggled to clumsily follow his pace. His trembly hand erratically unlocked the door before letting her in to a messy scene.

He kicked cans and trash out of the way and crouched to clear up the mattress on the floor, apologizing for the mess you couldn't care less about. As he stood back up, he turned to find you shockinlgy close to him, your warm hands sliding underneath his tee and caressing his bare torso.

Goosebumps rushed up his arms without you noticing, indecisively wrapping them around your waist to pull you closer, hips colliding against his spinky belts and his groin. Your thumb traced down his cheekbone before pulling him in for a kiss, the iron smell and salty taste of his drying blood on your lips inviting you to clean him up with your damp kisses.

Your heated bodies followed eachother lumbering towards the mattress, as he fell on his butt with your thighs wrapping around his hips, sitting on his lap. He pulled out from his pocket a capsule with pills, popping one into his mouth.

As his hand offered you one, you looked around and at who was in front of you, realizing as anecdotic the situation would be for the future, you couldn't do this as sober as you were. He placed the pill on his tongue before pulling you in for another kiss, the pill wobbling in and out of eachother's mouths before you swallowed it.

You quickly noticed his inside lip also had a cut and often bled inside his mouth, mixing with your saliva as your tongue tangled with his in an uncoordinated make out session, his lip ring pressing against your lips everytime you kissed and sucked.

As you made out, you rocked your hips slightly on his lap, feeling him grow under you in excitement as you provoked him with your graze.

"Stand up." You whispered into his ear as your hand caressed his face, his kisses softly staining you with blood on your cheek and neck. He questioned nothing, getting up as he held your hips, looking at you up and down with temptation.

You bent down on your knees as you released his tight pants from his belts and gifting him a smirk as you unbuttoned and pulled down the zipper with a tempting slow pace. His hands fidgetted on their place and his gaze switched between you and his surroundings; he was nervous.

"You've ever done this before?" You interrogated with intrigue.

"Do what?"

"You know..." Your hands holding his hips traced down to his pelvic area, stroking his cock underneath the boxers. He gasped slightly as he twitched, you rapidly caught on to what you were handling.

"Oh my God.. You're a virign." You teased with a smirk, to which he chuckled lightly as a grin drew on the side of his face awkwardly. You were obviously more experienced than he was, contrary to what you would expect given the musicians you had slept with before were usually very gifted in the art of fucking.

Contrary from turning you off, it flattered you to be the first to him, knowing you'd signify an important stage of his life. Pulling his boxers down to reveal his hard cock pulsating in desire, you smiled in temptation. Although an inexperienced virgin, he was still hungry for you.

Your lips wrapped around his fat dick, the sheer contact of your warm mouth against his member making him sigh off a muffled moan. He tried to keep to himself the noises he wanted to make as he felt the pleasure of your damp mouth suck on him, gripping his hips.

His body twitched, and eventually he stopped trying to contain his moans, huffing in satisfaction. Suddenly and to his surprise, you stopped. Getting up, you begun to pull your shorts down and rid yourself from your boots, pulling him down to you and inviting his hands to free your chest from your tight top.

As he helped you naked, revealing your breasts, you wrapped your arm around his neck as you layed down with him on top, heated kissing as your other hand accomodated his salivated cock into your wet pussy.

The first feeling of your tightness tightly wrap around his dick sent him into a spiral, his hands gripping her hair instinctively in a rush of excitement. He felt so good, and the lewd noise that came out of your mouth when he entered you caused him a frenzy. He pulled in and out slowly and trying to get ahold of the rhythm, speeding up progressively as your cunt stretched to fit him.

"Fuck-" He murmured under his breath, feeling the warmth of your breath right under his ear. He ocasionally leaned to lower his head and kiss your neck, twitching as he felt he was about to come.

He moaned progressively louder, trying to ram you as best as he could to please you, your thighs wrapped around his waist. Before he could dump his load in you, your legs let go of him and you pulled away, his cock sliding out of you as he incorporated himself in confusion.

"Not in me." You sat up and pushed him up, himself kneeling up to receive your mouth again. This time was only faster than the first one, quickly re-setting the climax that allowed him to finally cum. His warm sticky load filling your mouth.

As you backed up and got up to spit, he rested on the bed naked as he watched your figure walk into the small bathroom. It was his very first time, and although guided completely by you, his experience had been orgasmic, pleasured by the range of balmy sensations experienced through the different parts of your body.

As he watched you approach and sit beside him, he leaned his head on your shoulder as his arm rested on your torso, feeling you grab his hand and rest it on your chest.

"You think you'll write a song about me? This being your first shag and all..." You teased as his hand massaged the fullness of your breast.

"I just might."

i’d like to believe hobie wrote a song like submission after his experience w y/n

[psychicwavementality]

re: endosaku fic prompts... what do you think about a takiishi-sakura age swap? endo doesn't meet takiishi when he does in canon, because takiishi is doing whatever he was doing when he was 3 years younger instead of what put him in endo's path, and sakura's not in town yet so endo just stays in his dull life without getting obsessed with anyone. until sakura shows up at furin aiming for the top of the school at the same time as endo starts his first year. furin's not unified yet, so sakura doesn't get immediately accepted and softened up by everyone he meets, and endo is wide open to fall in love at first sight with a pre-friends, "i fight to validate my existence" sakura. and with endo's "i just want my beloved to be happy" vibe, of course he'd help sakura fight his way to the top... would this be a worst case scenario for umemiya, since noroshi wouldn't just voluntarily leave, but actively try to overthrow him? or would it be better than canon for everyone, with sakura getting converted to umemiya's side, noroshi becoming part of bofurin, takiishi arriving at furin and immediately being swept up into the shonen vibes like canon!sakura, and endo following sakura into a more positive relationship and environment than he had with takiishi?

So i've been thinking about this for a solid while now and I probably won't write a fic for it due to not knowing how to fully structure and end it- but boy is this AU fun

Endo's going to trip heads over heels even harder for Sakua—considering he's never started worshipping Takiishi, this means he'll continue with his people-pleasing/masking tendencies.

I'd say he got into the thrill of fighting to chase adrenaline, hence why he's going to Furin.

Endo first meets Sakura inside Cafe Pothos by chance—instead of getting punched, Endo strikes up a conversation with Sakura with his face full of smiles, not knowing the trajectory of his life is about to change.

After some prodding from Endo, Sakura announces why he's coming to Furin, and [cue the EndoShock.png + cherry blossoms + romantic music + wedding bells + random gust of wind]

Sakura is initially extremely confused and flustered at Endo tailing after him like a lost but devoted puppy. Endo drags Sakura around Makochi and basically does what Nirei would've in the normal timeline. Eventually, Endo basically cuddling up and sticking to Sakura to get him to become the top fighter at Furin leads him to witness Sakura's fighting early-on firsthand—either versus a band of ruffians or a few Furin students thinking they're easy pickings on the first day.

It's then Endo has his revelation, that he won't follow anyone or accept anyone else but Sakura as his 'god'.

So! Since Endo has sunk into the pit of infatuation, Sakura starts internally panicking at all the attention Endo is giving him. He's always been hated and scorned, so why is this random man who heard about him aiming to fight to the top so obsessed with him??? Sakura slowly opens his heart fragment by fragment as Endo professes again and again that no, he will never leave Sakura and that they were 'fated to meet'. (Where is Takiishi? We don't know lol he's just Vibing)

Regarding Noroshi: since Sakura pays attention and treats Endo as his closest friend in Furin, Endo doesn't need to look for Takiishi in other people to sate his repressed desire to be noticed by his original 'god'. So TBH Noroshi existing wouldn't be needed. I still think it would be cute for them to be friends despite the circumstances! They gather around Endo and Sakura for both being so strong and together, they act as Sakura's new friends to propel him to the top of Furin.

I still think that despite it all, Sakura will find a weird sense of comfort and (mildly?) displaced belonging with Endo and Noroshi as they claw to the top. I think Ume will still be the one to unify Furin, though—during their final stand-off, Noroshi goes against Ume's group, and Ume challenges Sakura with the statement: "And what will you do once you've reached the summit?"

Sakura has never considered about what comes after achieving the highest status in Furin. This factor makes him withdraw the fight but not Furin entirely—I don't think Sakura and Ume would ever feud, they're both kind souls who had seen the worst in their world and needed a second chance/created a second chance to shine. So, Ume tells Sakura his vision of the future, and Sakura realizes he doesn't know what he wants to do in Furin, deep down.

Endo sees Sakura's internal struggle and also wonders about his own role—once Sakura achieved his dream, would he still be needed? Would Sakura still want him around? Their relationship is was forged on the basis of aiming to get Sakura to the top, after all.

Ultimately, Sakura throws in the towel and admits his defeat. But Ume tells him and Endo that once the two of them figure out the true meaning of "fighting to the top" and what they want to do when they've reached it, they're free to challenge him again.

Regarding Class 1-1: I'm unsure if they should be swapped along with Sakura, or if Sakura should meet them when he's a third year and they're newbies. With the former, Noroshi and Sakura's original friend group are most likely to grow close at the same time, but the timeline might be weird because people like Nirei and Anzai only chose to join Furin after being saved post-reform. Ofc their reasons for joining could be tweaked a little, where Nirei was saved by a passing Furin member and he tells Nirei, "You should learn how to fight to defend yourself."

Whereas if we go with the 3rd Year EndoSakus route, I'd imagine Sakura would be further softened up by his OG friend group (he'd probably be the one to monitor their class). Endo can have his own little character arc moment where he doubts if Sakura wants him around anymore. His relationship is different with Sakura, because Takiishi in the OG has never expressed wanting to remove or keep Endo, leading him to tag along no matter what; meanwhile Sakura acknowledges Endo and isn't purposely ignoring him. This means that the thought of Sakura abandoning him is something Endo desperately doesn't want because he still wants to see Sakura shine in every way possible.

3rd Year Sakura also means that Takiishi will be added into the OG friend group!!! POOR BOY HE'S GONNA GET TEASED BY SUO SO HARD... Imagine Tsuge going "WHAT'S YOUR VIRTUE?!!!" to 15/16 year old Takiishi helpfjsjjddj

I think that 3rd Year Sakura wouldn't be "top" of the school like Ume, but he's also a top dog in the school and leads his own little dispatch group with Endo and Noroshi. People with incredible fighting potential and/or people who need to learn better fighting and/or problem children probably get directed to their unit for supervision.

Sakura def mellows out by the 3rd Year compared to his 1st, but he is still very keen on becoming the top of the school in his own definition. He's still thinking about what he'd do, but he's getting closer and closer to the answer when his OG friend group's year joins him as his disciples/juniors/friends.

If we go the "Bad AU" route, Sakura would probably turn out a bit like Beta Sakura's design. Bad AU!Endo would end up unconsciously distancing Sakura from other Furin students to ensure he'll be able to stay by his side forever. He might convince Sakura on accident to leave Furin and seek a higher position elsewhere. Who knows... I feel bad thinking about this route!!!

I might add more to this little idea pile about Shishitoren and Co. later once I decide wtf I do with Takiishi 🤣 I need to give him more personality... The moment he steps foot into Furin and meets Sakura's OG group + is roped into their mess = Takiishi explodes from too much social lololol

[softspeirs]

all in: ron speirs/OC

Author's Note: This is an excerpt from chapter sixteen of my longfic Barren Soul which you can read in full on AO3! This was the first piece of writing I ever did for Band of Brothers, so I wanted to give it a moment on its own - this fic has been ongoing for four years, and has been a total labor of love. Although this is part of a longfic, I also think this is a good standalone and you don't need much prior knowledge of Ron and Kat to read. I hope you enjoy!

Speirs watches from the treeline as the disaster of an attack carries on. He hates himself for it, but he can’t take his eyes off the slim form of Kat Gray, barricaded against a building, Johnny Martin at her back.

His heart is in his throat, pulse loud in his ears. The little radio chatter — more like screaming at this point — he can hear has fury roiling in his gut.

He can’t get her face out of his mind.

And now he has to watch as Easy gets picked off one by one. Lipton is their only saving grace, and Speirs has to force his mind to focus, to listen for orders and trust that she is going to survive this.

“Speirs!” Winters hollers, his voice angrier than Ron has ever heard it, and it spurs him into action. “Get out there, relieve Dike, and take that attack on in!”

He doesn’t hesitate. He has no thought for the bullets zipping by as he runs, he has no thought for the sounds of screaming around him as he falls to one knee by Lipton, Luz, and Dike.

“Lieutenant, what are we doing?” Lipton asks, bordering on panic.

“I’m taking over.” He replies, and a deep breath later, he’s coming up with a plan.

The battle seems to go in slow motion. His heart pumping, he runs and runs and somehow through all the bullets whizzing about and the steady thump of German artillery, it all goes quiet in his mind.

All he can think about is their objective, and getting everyone out of there. Without this accomplished, they’re sitting ducks, and he refuses to be another bad leader for this company.

By the time it’s over, he’s drenched in sweat, covered in dirt, and has a bullet graze to his left shoulder that he’ll need to get looked at eventually. He barely has time to catch his breath before a sniper takes aim, and his heart goes to his throat as he watches Lipton shove Kat to the ground and near an overturned truck.

Before he can call out any commands, Lipton takes charge and within another minute, Shifty Powers fires another shot, and quiet settles back over the town again.

When the rest of the company filters in, it feels natural to start giving orders to check and clear buildings, and find a suitable place for the CP.

“Speirs.” Sink finds him quickly, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Hell of a job. Goes without saying that promotion is yours.”

Speirs blinks. “Thank you, sir.”

“It’s well earned, son. We’ll deal with bars and stripes after we see what damage was done here. Talk to Winters and Nixon and figure out next moves.”

“Yes, sir.”

He feels a little blindsided, though he supposes he took the rank of captain the second he was called over by Winters to lead the attack. It still feels like it all happened to someone else.

He finds himself searching for Kat in the milling crowd, and is relieved when he spots her calling out to Roe, Spina, and a few other soldiers about getting an aid station up and running. It’ll be a day before the hospital catches up with them, and Speirs just hopes that this is the end of this truly terrible stretch.

Later, after he’s gone over the meager company roster again and again and made himself as useful as he can, Speirs finds Kat in the church. His steps falter when he sees her, leaning half against the pew, half against George Luz, her eyes drooping. It’s clear she’s exhausted.

He’s still wired on adrenaline, a combination of the thrill of taking command and nearly getting himself killed. He needs to do this now, before he loses his nerve.

“Gray,” he calls for her gently, not wanting to startle her. Luz nudges her when she doesn’t respond right away, and she snaps to alertness, looking around wildly. Trying to find another injury, he thinks grimly. “Can I speak to you for a moment?”

Kat looks wary. He doesn’t blame her. The last time they spoke he was so angry with her he could barely see straight. The only thing he could see in his mind’s eye was the look on Joe Liebgott’s face when he raced into the CP days beforehand, saying that they needed a jeep to get Kat Gray to the aid station.

He heard “during the shelling” and “wounded, unconscious” and nearly felt the world tilt on its axis. Dog and Easy were hit hard in the Bois Jacques and he, morbidly, was getting used to reporting on wounded and KIAs nearly every day, but he never, ever imagined that it could have been her he had to tell someone about.

When he saw her later, alive and well, he couldn’t help but snap at her, even though the last thing he wanted to do was make her feel like he was talking down to her or doubting her abilities. God knows the Battalion would be a lot worse off if not for her and the other medics.

Now, as he tears himself out of his thoughts, they find a quiet alcove, away from prying eyes. Up close he has the opportunity to look at her face and memorize every detail of it, including the new scrapes and bruises that have appeared.

“Sir?” She asks. She looks nervous, and he hates it. He doesn’t want her to be afraid of him.

He forces himself to be steady. Taking a deep breath, he begins with the confession that will either send him sinking or soaring. “I told you I had something I needed to say to you.”

She nods.

Suddenly, he feels lost for words. How does he put into words the way he feels when she’s around him? The way he constantly seeks her out like a beacon? It’s terrifying, so he decides to go with the truth. “You scare me.” He tells her, an admonition and confession all in one.

She blinks, taken aback. “Don’t be ridiculous–”

He can’t help but smile softly, her lack of awareness about how magnetic she can be one of the things that keeps drawing him back in. “You scare me because you’re a distraction, even if I’m not near you. You’ve caught me completely off guard, and it’s infuriating. You have absolutely no regard for your own safety, you continue to throw yourself in front of every goddamn bullet you see…” He stops himself, breathing hard. “You almost died, and I can’t let this war go on without you knowing that I--”

Her hand gentle on the side of his face puts a stop to whatever he was going to say next. Her touch is cool, and his heart stutters. Their faces are mere inches apart, both of them holding fast to the last vestiges of their self control.

Her face twists like she’s going to cry. “No one has ever said anything like that to me in my life.” She whispers, swallowing hard, and Ron feels his heart splinter into pieces at the look on her face. His face falls when he realizes she’s about to cry.

“Stop.” He says firmly but gently, his hand finding her cheek, a mirror of the way she’s touching him. “Look at me.” Her eyes are watery. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“But I want--” She cuts herself off, seeming frustrated. Whether at herself, or the situation, or that she can’t find the words, he’s not sure. But she hasn’t run from him, hasn’t slapped him across the face, so he lets himself feel a bit of hope. “If we were any other people at any other time…”

“I know.” There’s no confession of love, no romantic overtures, but it’s more than he expected. “You have to stay alive.” He whispers.

Feeling emboldened by the way she still hasn’t stopped touching him, her slim hands currently fiddling with the pins on his lapels, he leans into her a little more. His heart still galloping, he forces himself to take two steps back from her. “You should go first.”

She locks her gaze with his one more time, a long moment shared between the two of them. “Get back to your men, Captain.”

“Yes ma’am.” He murmurs. He wants to kiss the smile off her face.

She’s gone like she wasn’t there in the first place, leaving him to sag against the wall at his back. He wipes his hand over his face, shaking his head in disbelief, before forcing himself to return to the person the men need him to be right now.

.

The first few days with Speirs as CO are like a breath of fresh air. They have supplies, they have hot meals, and best of all, they finally have someone in charge that knows what they’re doing.

There’s still a heavy dose of suspicion going around, Kat notices. Whether it’s from all the rumors flying around about Speirs or because they’re still trying to figure him out, she’s not sure.

Her personal biases aside, she knows she’d trust him with her life and the lives of her friends. His actions in Foy speak for themselves, and she knows Lipton, Luz, Martin, and most of the other NCOs think the same.

She’s still struggling to comprehend what happened between the two of them after the assault on Foy. It felt inevitable, but they haven’t spoken about it since, and it’s starting to feel like they never will.

Maybe that’s for the best, she thinks, not naive to the real world consequences of getting involved with a superior officer.

She and Spina are packing up whatever supplies they have left from their makeshift aid station, getting ready to load the trucks that will hopefully take them as far from Foy and Bastogne as humanly possible.

Approaching footsteps have them looking up, and Kat fights the widening of her eyes when she sees Captains Speirs, Winters, and Nixon.

“Evening,” Nixon says when he gets close, coming around to stand on Kat’s other side. “You’re always working.”

“Someone has to.” She fires back, grinning at him when he rolls his eyes.

“We’re almost finished,” Spina says, glancing at the clipboard in his hand. “We’re still low on most supplies, but with the hospital closer than it’s been in months, we can send the worst cases there where they’re better stocked than we are.”

Winters nods. Speirs hasn’t said a word, but Kat feels his eyes on the side of her faze boring a hole into her.

“We’ll probably get orders tomorrow morning,” Winters says, “And we’re hoping to resupply when we get to the next town. Make sure anyone who’s sick knows we’ll have real beds and showers soon.”

Relief floods Kat’s body at the thought of sleeping indoors, and she’s sure it’s showing on her face.

“Don’t spend too long out here.” Winters adds, looking at both of them in turn. “Especially you, Kat. I want you to give that arm a break and get some rest.”

“Yes, sir.”

They leave, with the exception of their new CO, and a look passes over Spina’s face. “I, uh– I’ll head in and make sure we’ve got somewhere to bed for the night.”

Kat and Speirs watch him go, and Kat is shaking her head before he can say anything. “This isn’t a good idea, he’s going to think–”

“I just wanted to check in with you.”

Kat swallows hard, feeling so out of her depth she doesn’t know what to do with herself, but also reveling in having his attention so fully on her. It’s a heady feeling. “We just need to be careful.”

He nods slowly. “Let me see your arm.” He says, gesturing for her to put her hand in his.

It’s this, strangely, that feels like a turning point for Kat. He has never touched her before, not like this, not so caring. She has never let anyone, really, do this for her.

“It’s fine.”

“You keep saying that.”

She holds out her arm, and he takes her hand gently, lifting her sleeve with his other hand until he can see the dirtied bandage underneath. She watches his face, and his jaw ticks when he sees how extensive the damage was.

“We’re out of bandages.” She says, needlessly, because they have been for weeks. “I’ll change it when we get resupplied.”

“How many stitches?”

“No one told me. Haven’t had time to count,” She says lightly.

He meets her eyes, one eyebrow raised. “Been busy?”

“A little.” She shrugs.

This is new. The banter. It’s– it’s the same feeling she had when they talked one on one in Paris, and again, she realizes how young he looks.

“I know we need to talk about… this.” He says, hand still gentle on her arm.

Kat nods slowly. “I don’t really know how.”

He smiles, a small, quick upturn of his lips. “I don’t either.”

“We need to be careful.” Kat looks up at him. “I want–” She stops herself, eyes closing briefly, trying to find the right words. “I have these feelings for you that I shouldn’t have, but I do. And I don’t know what that means or how we do anything about it. I thought it was just me–”

“It’s not just you.” His gruff voice cuts her off. “And the way I feel… Kat, there’s nothing casual about it. Not for me.”

Her heart thuds in her chest, and she doesn’t know how long they stand like that, but an understanding passes between them and without words, it becomes so clear between them.

They could die any day. Either of them. They’re not guaranteed to come home. And if this is the only chance she has to feel some happiness, to feel cared for and to feel those butterflies that up until now she’s only read about… she’s going to take it. She’s going to be careful with her heart, but she’s going to let it lead her this time.

The sparkle in his warm eyes makes it clear he’s going to do the same thing. And the knowledge that she’s the only one getting to see him like this, getting to see this look on his face… it only makes it clearer that she’s making the right decision.

So with two feet, she jumps. All in.

[xxlemon-chanxx]

How's Philip/Belos with cock? Can he give good head? Can he give a good handy? Can he ride it like a cowboy? And most importantly, does he spit or swallow?

⚠️NSFW HEADCANONS UNDER THE CUT!!⚠️

Philip:

Beardo Philip I headcanon as being bisexual or even pan, but having to sadly repress his “urges” from a young age because of the society he was raised into. So, if he meets a person he loves who has male anatomy like he does—prepare for a whole lot of unpredictable behavior as Philip’s moods constantly swing between “warm and overall sweet and attentive.” to “abusive prick who constantly shoves his partner away physically and emotionally because he's so debilitatingly terrified of the fiery inferno.”

That being said, needless to say, the freakier Philip gets in the sheets, the more brutal the mental lashing that follows will be.

He's surprisingly good at giving. The scratchiness of his beard makes it borderline painful whenever he goes down on you, but it always stays juuuust shy of actually causing pain, so it's just another strong sensation on top of the pleasure he's already giving you.

If his hair is down, you can see the greasy, unkempt strands sticking to his forehead as he focuses on what's in his mouth. His head bobs ever so slightly and his brows knit in concentration. There's a trail of frothy drool dribbling down his beard that you swear is getting bigger every time he comes up for air. He holds your thighs apart, shooting you warning glances if you even dare think about trying to squeeze him with your legs. He refuses to swallow. He has to be in a very submissive headspace to let you cum inside of him, and he's only ever that desperate to please in a handful of scenarios, and your cock in his mouth is not one of them. He won't even let you cum in his mouth. You might claim it unfair, considering how much he likes to face-fuck you with so much vigor it's like he's trying to breed your throat, but he simply jerks you off to completion and has you spill where it either lands on the floor, or he aims your cock back towards you so it hits you on the stomach/chest.

If he starts off with giving you a handy, then most likely it's when you two are huddled in your bedrolls side-by-side, with hushed whispers being spoken between you two, so close that you're practically recycling each other’s breaths. Philip’s hand wanders to your waistband, his fingers, so cold you wonder how the hell he can write so much without proper circulation, hesitantly slide under the band of your trousers to gently cup the bulge between your legs, his thumb lightly pressing into it. The starkness of his chilled hands against your notably warmer flesh makes your appendage perk up faster. He groans and presses his face into your neck. His free hand reaches and grips your wrists, trying to ensure that you don't touch him until he's done exploring. He’ll whisper words to you that are so quiet you don't understand them, or maybe the feeling of his calloused, cold hands against your sensitive bits is so pleasurable that it renders you incapable of understanding basic English, who knows?

Belos

He’ll suck you off in the same manner as everything else he does: he savors you. Holds you in his mouth just to feel the weight of you on his tongue. He enjoys the taste of you on his tongue. After you release, he’ll even take the time to wipe the corners of his mouth and lick whatever he collects off his fingers. Then, he’ll unhurriedly climb on top of you and slowly begin lowering himself…

This old man is the best at riding you until you see stars. Hands placed on your chest, hips rolling against yours, and that devilish twinkle in his eye that he gets whenever he knows he's in control. He’ll encourage you to put your hands on his hips. He thinks it's cute that you believe that you have any say in how fast he rocks against you. He enjoys the sensuality of the gentle rolling of his hips, barely even enough to make him groan. Who needs roughness? Rough sex is for a man much younger than he is now. Let this old man love you the way he wants to.

[nathandrakeisabottom]

Imprisoned, Impressioned: Nathan Drake x Reader

Summary: As a Panamanian prison guard, you signed on the dotted line that you'd never take bribes, never bring prisoners off grounds, and never beat on/off inmates. But for one, you just might make an exception. So long as he stays in his cage. Notes: Explicit. Gender neutral reader. B0ndage, fem/male-dom, r*mming. Cause that's his bussy, folks, don't get it twisted. (Get it plunged.)

“God, you’re such a fucking brat.” 

Nate snorts in a wavering smirk in reaction, stabilizing a cocky grin as best he possibly can. 

But his best seems to be quickly deteriorating in quality. 

“I distinctly remember telling you we’d only keep this up if you stayed out of trouble.” Your busy tongue shapes words around a threatening tone, fingers drifting mindlessly where you spread him open, but Nate’s quick to wiggle his hips— cute, and fucking irresistible— to coax you back in. 

“Really? Because what you actually do kinda seems to imply the opposite.”

And he’s right. 

You rove and search memory, only to find no occurrence where he wasn’t sporting a newly-earned bruise, a flinching face from a black eye, blood still speckled where his lip had been split from a particularly well-aimed punch. And he’s right. you only gave him this when he misbehaved. 

Punishment, you convince yourself. 

Comfort, your better mind argues.

Like a band-aid you administer, a kiss where it hurts. Maybe you only offered such a thing in the aftermath of cruelty. Defend from the bullies when he claims he needs no defense. 

Even though he does.

“Do you mind taking these off? Wrists starting to ache a bit—”

And he sounds so earnest when he says it that you almost move, relinquish to give him what he asks for. But you’re no idiot. He may be cute— you won’t lie and say you don’t feel some sort of affection for him, no matter how tart and mistrustful— but you’re grounded enough in your conviction to know he always has an ulterior motive. 

“Good. It’ll build some strength. You’ll want this position again. you can tell.”

You learned quickly not to play coy with Nathan. He liked blunt. He liked vulgar. He liked when you told him to shut up after a quip and called him ‘pretty boy’ with a sharp, teasing tone and forced him as deep as his legs could possibly go, ignoring when he’d grunt discomfortedly. He liked it when you called him out on his bullshit. He liked it when you knew what he wanted before he did.

And just like you expected it would, his cock jumps with an excited, anticipatory twitch. Of course he’ll want this again. He likes being held open. He likes being held down. 

But before he can hop in with some sort of pathetic, half-hearted joke, you pry his legs wide and delve back inside. Tongue lapping pink and untethered between his thighs, where his hole puckers sweet, wet, and where he has no choice but to sigh in pleasure. you kiss him there like you’re kissing him— because we’ve never kissed before and frankly have no reason to— and this is a lovely consolation prize. He tastes tangy, stings of soap after-tasting between your lips because he always keeps himself nice and clean for you. You could only be so lucky to one day watch for yourself as he props one foot up on the shower bar, examines himself in the fogging mirror, razor in hand, and fantasizes about what you’d prefer, what you’d desire, what you’d want best against your tongue. What would make you bring him back sooner next time.

Maybe one day you can convince the Lieutenant to transfer your post to the male showers so you can watch for yourself. 

“So good…” His groan rumbles deep and dark down his belly, breath desperate, gasping uneven at a pleasure soaked in only on barren grasses on the outer perimeter, where they forget to water it because no one ever, ever goes out that far. Your passion exists in secret, exists only in handcuffs and lies you hold better than any truth when you tell the other guards you’re only planning to rough him up a bit. When you feel like treating yourself, pushing past the boundaries of where your waning shyness crumbles, you allow your palm to brush past denim— old bloodstains aged to a grainy brown— to squeeze his naked chest between your claws. He’s fit, he’s young, he’s nimble, he’s beautiful. And whatever he’ll let you hold, whatever he’ll let you touch, you will. 

Your tongue dips deeper, pushes past pucker with little resistance— you always wonder if he preps himself for you first, skin stinging freezing cold against the steel toilet bowl and leg hiked high over the toilet paper rack, how many cigarettes must he trade for olive oil, lotion, vaseline, fucking anything— and he croons sounds just as impassioned as his daily fist fights. 

Fights you sometimes let go just a hair too long to enjoy the sounds he makes: pained and giving pain near identical. Though the pained ones have always been a personal favorite. 

Again— he likes being held down.

And the wispy laugh that bubbles past his lips when the fight is finally broken up never suggests anything different.

This can never go on long enough for you— suspicion is born quickly in the likes of a Panamanian jail— so you always need to draw things to a close far, far sooner than you’d like. Your fingers reluctantly reach up to grasp his cock between them, stroke him just how you know he likes, be quick about it because he always either comes way too fast or takes just a little too long, and you always have to split the difference.

He groans delicious at your mercy, nails digging contradictorily merciless into the skin you long to taste, but never have the time to. One day you’ll leave him hard from foreplay and nothing else, abandon him aching and more desperate for next time. And next time, maybe you’ll make him eat you out. The image of his sweet, strikingly blue eyes gazing up at you from between your legs imprints in your weak-willed mind and steers the rhythm of your fist faster. How fucking adorable he is, how scrappy, how witty, how bratty, how you love the sounds he makes, how you love his skin pinching pink between your fingers, how the thought of one day marking him even deeper drives you wild. 

Your tongue points, swallows, and savors for one final taste, before skating further along to foreign territories. And you distract him with quicker speeds, tightened grip, because you’re the same: 

You always have an ulterior motive.

“Fuck—” His moans transcend into higher octaves, just like they do when he’s close, and his feet scramble for purchase, legs bending and stretching and flailing until you have to force them back up into position. Be good, babyboy. Stay where you want you. A gasp suddenly squeezes from his overworked lungs, a product likely of his precarious positioning, and there’s one second where you almost fear you’ll drop him. But your chest is quick to push forward and prop him back upright, keep him vertical, give him support until he comes in your arms. He breaks out into a wistful wisp of moan at the movement.

Yeah. Yeah, you’re definitely gonna want this position again.

And when he finally does come, you squeeze his thighs between your arms just before he can tip over— even though the sick satisfaction of a ruined orgasm, the sight of him falling hard and fast and unfair into the dirt below, always sounds like a fun idea on paper. Your own brand of cruelty is usually more playful than sadistic. But eh, watching him come uninterrupted isn’t so bad, either. 

You drive your pace fast and consistent, and don’t stop even when you feel him coast languidly down your wrist. He always keeps bucking into your fist— hedonistic and somewhat masochistic— even when it must start to edge on the side of pain. Nate chases his pleasure because it’ll run out far too soon, it’s always far too soon, and something tells you he wants to impress. Prove to you a stamina that prolongs, even when you always deny his request to let him inside. Or maybe even a volume, to prove just how much he’s willing to give, how much his body will supply for your tongue to swallow up later— salty and warm and satisfactory because you earned it fair and square. 

He comes a lot— but maybe he’s just trying to beat a personal record.

His final wail gives way to heaving pants, stomach tightening and relenting and tensing and back again, and his pleasure is so thorough that he drops limp in your hands. Little death, indeed. Nate dies in your arms as you gift him one last kiss there in a sweet finality, remind him of what he’ll receive in a couple days if you’re feeling nice, a couple weeks, a couple months if you’re feeling cruel. Taste him again because you love the thought of being inside him-– and the feeling of him around your tongue will be enough masturbation fodder to last you the better part of a week. Until next time. Until he gives you something even better to imagine.

“Woof…” Nate smiles doey-eyed and serene, and you can’t help the cocky, self-satisfied smirk that eases itself across your face. He looks fucking adorable— all blissed-out and rosy red and still slightly throbbing between your fingers with an overeager abandon. 

Yeah… maybe you’ll be nicer this time around. Because you already know how violently you’re going to miss the sight of him like this. 

“Crap, that felt so fucking good.” 

Your teeth clamp teasingly into his thigh, flirty in a way you almost never allow, and he giggles. He fucking giggles. And you want to slap yourself for how quick your heart squeezes around such a delicious sound. you want to hold it longer. Wring it out of him faster. And against all reasoning, you want more of it. 

But there’s no time. There’s no trust. You can never let on such a feeling. 

This can only last so long as you keep control, so long as you keep distance.

But as soon as you lay his legs back to rest— he grunts when his body makes such an abrupt transfer of weight— Nate presses out into the unknown, and asks the only thing that would bridge the distance before you can push it back apart. Just as you finish lifting his slacks back up around his hips, zipping him closed (a common courtesy that may even be too tender by your standards), he sighs relieved and sweet before you can grapple him back to standing:

“...What? Not even a goodbye kiss?”

Oh god.

The freedom awarded by ecstasy has made him dumb. He has no idea what he’s even asking for. And for the fifteen additional seconds of bravery he has left, before his orgasm leaves him in a cold sweat and he begs you to not take him back, he’ll convince himself that this is a good idea. 

He’ll convince himself that his joke is hilarious and he’s a better actor than he actually is. Because, even if you actively tried to ignore it, his wavering breath sticks out like a sore thumb. He can’t make the words sound natural, casual, suave in the way he must want them to. There’s something overzealous about it. And your stomach clenches at how your initial reaction to this isn’t repulsion.

But also, in the now ten seconds of bravery he has left, he’ll convince himself that a kiss will only make the sex better. That it won’t ruin it and he won’t mind the taste of himself on your tongue and the idea of adding feelings to the mix will be a good idea. Because, yes, oh my god, Nate, how fucking brilliant of you, yes, let’s add feelings to the mix. You know, I always thought prison bathrooms were so romantic. What a lovely getaway. Why not retire and raise kids in the handicapped stall while we’re at it?!

But his lips look so soft. Unbearably so. One corner is slightly chapped, skin peeling from a still-healing cut, and the instinct to kiss it better overwhelms, dizzy and sickening in just how badly you want to pursue it into reality. The idea of wanting him nauseates, terrifies. But the desire to give in, to taste for yourself the tantalizing beauty that always hovers just a little too far out of reach, is stronger.

When you two meet, it’s terrible and you hate it. 

Because it’s fucking electric. 

…

Shit. 

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.

You break away before you can dwell on it, praying you’ve satisfied him enough to never ask again, but the residue stings clear across your lips. 

It was good. It was a good kiss. 

Nate’s eyes flutter back open just a second too late— and his lungs die on an inhale he must’ve thought he wouldn’t be privy to so soon. But the reaction is evident, etched along his face. It was a good kiss. 

And he fucking noticed.

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.

His lips curl with a dazed sort of satisfaction, just in the way you feared they would. But his eyebrows jump, too, confusion just as much as pleasure, eyes reading you for something more. Clearly something has to be said, and you pray you're the one to say it first. ‘Okay, up and at ‘em.’ ‘Nice try, but never again.’ ‘Take a picture, it’ll last longer.’ ‘You’re a rat and you hate you, asswipe.’ ‘This can never, ever, ever happen again. And fuck you for even trying, Nathan Drake, if that even is your real name—’

But you’re too slow, and Nate’s chest rises in an abrupt inhale that signals he’s beat you to the punch.

Oh god. Don’t say anything. Don’t say anything. 

But he does. Of course, he does. Even with a sock in his mouth, rope, tape, palm, he’ll find some way to talk (and trust, every single one— and then some— has already been tried). 

“...One more?”

You just didn’t think that was going to be his answer.

There is one moment of absolute terror. The split second of doubt on the deep end diving board. He must know this is a terrible idea. He has to know. There’s no way his orgasm was so good that he completely lost touch with reality. The silence stretches endless and icey. And you can tell the feeling is mutual.

But then, all of a sudden, his fallen face splits, smiles uplifting into something familiar. Cheeky. Safe.

“I’m just messing with you.”

And a laugh escapes before you can even register exactly what you’re feeling. 

The feeling is relief. 

Yeah, that’s it. Relief trickles in and cools your blood back down to sanity. Fucking asshole gave you a goddamn heart attack. You deliver him a curt punch to the shoulder to release the remaining tension, but he laughs it off as soon as it lands. And how sweet his laughter is only makes you want to punch him harder. 

Little brat is much cuter with his mouth closed. And far, far away from yours.

You grab hold onto his handcuffs and wrestle him back to standing— a motion he leans into far more reluctantly than usual— his throat still fluttering with an excess giggle.

“Come on, champ, let’s get you back home. Nobody’s gonna be missing me, but they sure as hell are gonna be missing you.”

“Aww, don’t say that…”

His facetiously tender tone dribbles like slow caramel down your back as he twists his neck to face you, and he drops a bomb that almost makes you die at his feet. 

“I know I will.”

…Fucking brat. 

Yeah, you’ll make sure to bring him back sooner this time. Fucking definitely. Give him a spank or two for good measure. Let him kiss you again— and this time bite his lip til’ it bleeds. Give him a wound of your own. A mark of your own.

But then again, none of that would really be punishment for either of you, would it?

And just before you can shove him back into the courtyard, he tilts down to whisper in your ear:

“Please don’t make me wait so long next time… ma’am.”

Oh.

Oh god.

Oh, don’t worry your pretty little head, Nathan. 

…

I won’t.

⭑⭑⭑

The metallic walls sting matte and clouded with a heavy steam, lungs thick and breath difficult. Lust and peace lie reclined in humidity. After a startlingly quick release down the shower drain, a simple purpose rather than a prolonged pleasure— he tries not to think too hard about why he always curses himself for finishing so soon, or what reasons he has to prefer saving such a deeper pleasure for later— Nate points his focus back to the basics. He never bothered with anything fancy. The money Sully wired them was only ever used for band-aids, Tylenol, and whatever shitty coffee the commissary kept stocked (“None of these rats are ever gonna catch me sleeping,” Sam would say with a suspicious side-eye), which meant nice shampoo was off the table. But suddenly Nate was rethinking it. 

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if he started making sure he smelled good. Looked good, too. 

…But for who? 

A pestering question he always ignored the answer to.

He scrubs up his chest generously, barely even notices when he catches the tail end of a peeling scab, absent-minded and letting his thoughts run to nothing and nowhere. This was his only time of peace and solitude— why waste it with thinking? Why waste it when the next black eye, cut knee, broken rib was probably already outside waiting for him?

But as his hands drift downward, reaching to clean between his legs, he abruptly flinches. 

…Huh. 

That’s weird.

Now, Nate was no stranger to violent wounds he didn’t notice till later on— he could almost consider them a friendly confidant, a toxic sort of lover— but this one was especially disconcerting. A dull, tingling pain on his inner thigh. A strange place to not notice getting wounded. 

He shakes his head and tries to ignore it— maybe he had just scratched himself during a particularly vivid nightmare— but when his palm moves low, he winces even harder. 

…What the fuck?

It’s bigger than he thought. A lot bigger. And the ache is sharp enough to make him completely drop his soap when he touches it. 

Okay, seriously, what the fuck?!

Nate abandons all motivation, turns tail out of the stall, and leaves his bar of soap to linger lonely on the shower floor. He has to know what’s going on. Allergic reaction? A sneak attack while he slept? Fucking STDS?

But when he reaches the bathroom mirror, levees his leg up to catch the culprit, his stomach drops. 

And his cock twitches in unexpected interest.

Because there, stained across the inner side of his left thigh— drawn across his skin in lovingly littered hickies— is the unmistakable, pink-purple bruised shape of the first letter of your name. A brand. A claim.

A mark of your own.

“ ...Shit.”

⭑⭑⭑