#good grief they could've ended it at that

[sinandguilt]

𝐆𝐔𝐍𝐒, 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃, 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐘.

remmick x male reader

summary: you're a vampire hunter tasked with the challenge of killing a generational curse that's plagued your family for decades. only when you look death in the face do you realize how out of your league you really are.

tags: oneshot, dead dove, blood and violence, angst, dubcon, pwp (porn with plot), foreshadowing, manipulation, afro-latino!reader (tejano), hurt/comfort(?), references of grief, death, kissing of a shotgun (i have no explanation for this), needytop!remmick, frottage, oral sex, biting, turning, whatever the vampire-equivalent of a feeding kink would be, pain kink if you squint, semi-public sex, oral fixation, slight dumbification (both parties but reader is fighting it HARD), dacryphilia, spit/drool kink if you squint a bit, hive mind, anal sex, blood works as an aphrodisiac for vampires, chain dangling used as honorable mention, remmick goes dumb when he fucks it's kinda scary, author is a firm believer in pathetic!remmick

wc: 7.7k

a/n: i had a lot of fun when i started writing, but i honestly hate writing endings. i contemplated how to end it for a long time before i settled for this. i think it keeps it light enough. i kept seeing lots of remmick x vampirehunter!reader which is great and all, but i kinda felt like it was boring, so i put my own spin on it. i honestly like it a lot better, but i feel like i could've done more w it. idk, lmk if you guys like it, enjoy. (also this was a bitch to edit so if you see any mistakes or gaps, please ignore it. i will avoid reading this like the plague out of sheer embarrassment. likes, follows or comments/asks are encouraged.)

⸄࿆࿆⸅ྃ⸄࿆⸅⸄῁̟࿆⸅ྃ⸄῁࿆⸅⸄῁̟࿆⸅ྃ⸄῁࿆⸅⸄῁̟࿆⸅ྃ⸄῁࿆⸅⸄῁̟࿆ ⸅𓊆†𓊇⸄῁࿆⸅⸄῁̟࿆⸅ྃ⸄῁࿆⸅⸄῁̟࿆⸅⸄῁࿆⸅⸄῁̟࿆⸅ྃ⸄῁࿆⸅⸄῁̟࿆⸅ྃ⸄࿆⸅⸄࿆࿆⸅ྃ

The pads of your fingertips grazed over the last page of your calendar. September 28th. Today is the day– your day. Your chest tightened, nerves getting the better of you, like always. You were certain of how it'd go– that silver, crested shotgun in your hand, an emptied flask of holy water tucked in your belt, and the devil on his knees. Every decade, the devil would come wandering from shadows to take his pick of the litter to feed off of in Greenwood. And every decade, your family stood their ground– boots docked in dirt, gun in hand. Your grandmother would tell you stories of it as a child. About how there was a white devil pretty as sin that lurked in the shadows within the edge of the darkened woods, waiting. How he liked a challenge– liked it better when you fought back. Makes the blood sweeter, apparently. “Why can't we just call someone for help?” you'd ask her. “Those white men got good guns and trucks, I seen ‘em!” Naive, ignorant. Nostalgia tickled the back of your mind, the fond smell of her perfume flooded your nose. Like you were still there. Roses. She gently held your hands within her own, wrinkled with age. “Oh darlin',” she cooed, smile saddened as she spoke. “They know.”

Your mouth grew sour at the bitter memory. It sickened you. Ironically, those same men never failed to show up a month early when the time came to pay your dues, white-knuckling their trigger guards. Families watched anxiously from their cracked windows as they strode into town. They knew we didn't have enough each time, but they left each time with full pockets and bloodied knuckles soiled from whoever couldn't pay up. The next day, there'd be a house for sale. Since then, you knew better than to ever expect the kindness of a white man– knew better than to rely on one after they'd sent the devil to your door.

The distant muffle of conversation lures you out of your room, the wood creaking as you shuffled through the gloomy hallway. Hushed whispers slowed your footsteps, approaching the edge of the kitchen quietly. You peered into the small kitchen. “I can't,” Mami folded her arms. Her cardigan fell loose over her frame, disheveled as it draped her form. Her knuckles masked her lips as she bit away at her nails, pulling them away from her teeth forcibly. “I won't.” Nana's lips set into a thin line. “Do you really want to spend this morning being stubborn?” she asked, fingers interlocked. Her hands splayed neatly over her lap. “Today?”

Mami looked unsure, slowly shaking her head as she turned her back to Nana. “Dios nos va a proteger, (God will protect us.)” she assured. Mami didn't seem too convinced. You stepped forward out of the darkness, catching their eyes. Mami looked saddened, guilty for some reason. Nana gave a small smile, patting her lap softly. You roll your eyes, playful. “I'm too big, nana. I’ll end up breaking your hip.” She rests her arms against the chair's own. “You'll break my heart faster if you don't come here.” You sigh, long and drawn out. Too long to be taken seriously with that dopey smile on your face as you scuffle toward her. She pulls your hips down onto her lap, as if you don't weigh a thing– as if you were still that little kid playing with your wood-carved figures.

Mami doesn't bother facing you, not when you try to meet her eyes. She rests her hands on the cutting board, the blade of the knife resting at the edge of her palm. Your eyes linger over the the potted plant, wilting and withered. “You should give those some water and leave it by the window for a bit,” you suggested, voice lithe in hope to turn this into a good morning. For both your sakes. “It'll die out,” Nana nods. “There's nothing we can do, hijo.” Her words settle onto your skin wrong, for reasons you can't explain. You crane your neck to look at her. “There's always something we can do,” you insisted. “Just give it a bit of water—” Mami storms out of the kitchen, the sound of her door slamming shaking the walls. The silence after lays on thick, and Nana bows her head with a heavy sigh. “Don't worry about your mother, papi. She's just having a hard time.” she explained. You tilt your head slightly in confusion. “With what?”

“Saying goodbye.”

She tapped at your hip, not insistent, but enough for you to move off of her lap. You watched as she slowly stood, pushing off of the arms of the chair to anchor her weight and shuffle past you into the hallway. You could hear the soft knock on your Mami's door, and then waited. One second past, then two. Nana wouldn't knock again, only waited. There was a creak, a sliver of light and then darkness again as the door shut with a click. You don't know how long the two had talked, but long enough for the window to be idle as the blue morning sky faded into a warm yellow. There was a bang at the door— not of knuckles, just palm and brute force— one neither your Nana nor your Mami had hurried to answer. You stood from your chair, the seat left warm in your absence. Twisting the lock and pulling open the door, you're greeted with the sight of your tío you hadn't seen since your cousin's last birthday.

He looked tired, yet eager to see you once again. “Hey, kid. Long time, no see?” he chuckled. You pulled the door open further, smile giving faux annoyance away. “Seen enough, thank you.” He strode past you and into the house. You hadn't realized until the door opened how bright it was outside compared to the inside– dark and dreary. “Where's your mother?” You nodded toward her door, “She's been in there all morning talking to Nana. Is it...dad again?” You watched as his jaw set, his hand rising to his hat, like he considered taking it off. He hesitates, opting for scratching at his neck instead, the movement awkward and stiff. Mami said it was something he'd do often, a bad habit she hated— but a habit for what–? “Sure– yeah, of course. I'm sure she's upset about that.” he nodded, dismissive, walking past you. “Just sit tight, sobriño. We'll leave at dusk– gotta wait for the boys.”

You pushed the door shut, snuffing the daybreak's light from the room out like a dampened fire. You could hear heavy boots dragging down the hallway, the light peeking from the room. Small conversations are mumbled too low for you to hear. Your eyes distract you from distant chatter, flitting to the crested shotgun bolted to the wall behind glass. Markings had been carved into the silver of the receiver, some of flowers, some of crosses. Your legs tugged you closer, ducking your head beneath the glass to see more markings under the loading port. No, letters. No— initials. Your hand blankets your chest and over your necklace, gripping the cross Nana gave you tight in your palm. Pops' cross.

There was a drag of feet that thumped toward you, then stopped. Idle, like it'd been waiting for you to notice. You turn, meeting your tío's eyes once again. He looked exhausted. The same look he'd give to Pops whenever it came down to the nitty gritty of protecting this town— scraping together coins to get by. “You ready to carve yours there?” he asked, slicking back dark curls that fell short at his nape. He'd grown his hair out since Pops passed, stray hairs growing silver and out of place. You gave a slowed nod, nervous in ways you can't explain. Your chest felt tight again. It took him a bit to pull the thing down, nails stubborn to unhook from the wall. You watched as he struggled, unease never settling for what was to come. Finally, he pulled it free, nodding over at the dining room table. You settled back into your chair as he took his place beside you, placing the shotgun in front of you. Mami hated guns on the table. Your eyes slide over to her door, still shut and locked tight. “Eyes up, nephew.” he sniffed, brushing scarred knuckles against his nose.

His hands graced yours as you held the shotgun. Rough, worn. Your fingers trace the silver, over the carvings of flowers and leaves, down to your father's markings. His initials. M.N. — Malachi Narváez. You part your lips to a sigh without meaning to, tracing the patterns of his memory. You hadn't noticed the lingering eyes on you until your tío slapped his palm against your back, thumb brushing over your shoulder blade solemnly. “Let's put yours under his, yeah?” You nodded, gracefully accepting when he hands you a small chisel— a pinprick, really. He watches as you work at the metal, insistent. The sound of a door creaking open doesn't deter your focus, carving into the silver barrel. You lean back, proud, turning your head to meet— your mother's own. Her lips curve into the smallest smile, not meant for anyone else to see but you. Her eyes her bleary, swollen. She'd been adorned in her favorite blanket. The one you never thought would see the light of day. The one that lounged over Pops' chair. “Get ready, it's almost time.”

You nodded, pushing from your chair to grab your mudded boots by the door. “I'll check to make sure you loaded it properly.” he offered. You nod half-heartedly, distracted, shuffling into your boots. “Shouldn't I grab some more ammo?” you called out, fiddling with the laces and pulling them tight against your ankles. No answer. You could hear the pop of shell clank against the table, rolling against the wood. Your eyes linger over your tío's frame, half of it covered by the wall beside him from the distance. He whips his head around to meet your eyes with a small smile— forced, you note. “Just checkin' to make sure everything goes right.” he assured you. A lingering uncertainty swirled within your chest, but you ignored it with a wordless nod. “Shouldn't I grab some more ammo?” you asked again. He raised his head, meeting your eyes as he spoke. “Youdon't need to be loaded up on ammo,” he explained. “One shot is all it'd take.” There was a knock at the door, quiet, polite. Two shadows stood before the blurred, patterned glass, just on the other side of the door. Most likely your Pops and tíos' old friends. You sucked in a breath. Here goes everything.

Worn boots trudged into darkened woods, only led by the lantern that the ground beneath you basked in. Not even moonlight reached through the branches. Silence filled the air, the only sound echoing through the woods being footsteps overlapping. Your uncle and a few of your Pops' friends walked behind you, measured. It was tradition. No words would soothe the nerves of the hunter chosen, so no words were spoken. No songs would dull the fear in your bones— so no melody reached your ears. Minutes stretched on, silence dragging on even longer. Your breathing fell soft, blowing cold as you reached deeper and deeper. You hadn't even noticed the laterns behind you dimming with distance as you carried on. Your fingers clutched your gun, itching, waiting. Your eyes snap to the trees, to the flutter of something in the dark— an owl, you're sure. Maybe. You continued on, pace stuttering slightly. This is what you trained for. You opted for checking your gun again, every ounce of blood in your body screaming for you to— but you refuse. It's just nerves, you tell yourself.

You barely register it when you see it— a stretch of darkness stood still. Waiting. Just like they said he'd be. You halted, finger pressed against the trigger guard. The creature hadn't moved yet, didn't need to. He just stood there, as if he was waiting on you. You spoke first, voice loud as it echoed into the clearing. “You him?” you asked, and when the question fell short with silence, you spoke again. “Are you the devil?” Nothing. Not at first. Then, the figure stepped forward from beyond the shadows, languid. He said nothing, not at first, so you continued. “My Nana told me stories of a devil pretty as sin,” you noted. “You must be him.” She wasn't wrong. The man was handsome— defiantly so. The way curls settled over his forehead, the shadows hidden from moonlight cast under his brows and highlighting bright, flecks of red in his eyes that anyone could mistake for shine. Anyone other than you. His collar was loose, haint blue, in fact. He adorned a gold chain draped over his collarbone tucked beneath his wifebeater. His smile held false charm, wearing a lop-sided grin across his face, inviting. It was so... unsettling. Like staring at a wolf in sheep's clothing. He seemed entertained, cocking his head slightly. “That so?” his voice a honeyed rasp.

Your eyes fall over those fangs of his, glinting sharp in the light. “No reason we have to do this,” he reasoned, stepping even closer, his movements betraying his words. They way he approached you was downright predatory. “I mean— I don't even know yer name, darlin'.” You hesitated. Normally, you wouldn't have settled for so much small talk– you weren't here for that. But you couldn't help but feel for the man. He seemed...nice. Nice isn't the name of the man who killed your family. Nice isn't why Pops isn't here anymore. Your brows furrow.“You don't need to know my name,” you grit, bitter, angry. “You know why I'm here.” And that's all he needed. Your hands tightened over your gun. “Well, alright then.” he conceded, holding his palms up in mock-surrender. It felt...too easy. You were sure there'd be more fight. Nana said he liked when you fought back, so why isn't he? “I thought you liked a lil' challenge. You just gonna give it to me?” you asked. His grin grows, like a weed. “Just tryin' t'make it easier for you, sweetheart.” You shake away the sickness pooling in your stomach from the nickname. Right, sickness. Focus, you admonished. Your finger slipped into the guard, holding the pad of your index over the trigger. Your palm clutched the forestock, tight. Breathe in, breathe out, brace and...

Click.

The sound was hollow, barren with silence following after. The man stood in the same place as before, with that same cheshire grin. What? You pulled again, harder this time. Click. Click, click, click. You froze, as still as a deer in headlights. No. God, please no. Don't tell me... Your heart sank, blood running cold as a chill washes over you. It was loaded, right? Right? You racked. You remember doing it. You even checked after. Double-checked. Your tío had even offered to check after you. Wait. You didn't bother glancing back up at those fiery, red eyes on you. Like danger was an afterthought. Right now, your sanity was being tested. You couldn't put it together. Why would he have needed to check after you anyway...? He knew you knew how to load a shotgun, he'd help you practice cleaning it after. Your ears buzzed, his words rang in your head, “Just checkin' to make sure everything goes right.” he assured you. You knew it had to be loaded, because you could hear the clack of the shell popping from the action onto the dining table. Oh. Oh no. No, he'd never... You press-check, desperate fingers slide over the loading port.

“Pretty, huh?” his voice drawls, dipped low in molasses— thick, suffocating. Like he'd been eager to make himself known again. He strides forward, every step languid, savored. His eyes raked over your body, like sin. Your finger fumbles, hands clumsy as you desperately search your hips for ammo. Your uncle's voice whispered through your terror. “One shot is all it'd take.” And all at once, it clicked. Why his lingering eyes hovered too long. Why he was quick to hush conversation. Oh god. Oh god. Tears flooded your eyes, face wet as you sobbed, open and broken. They set you up. Your own family— your own kin. Mami's face flashed in your mind. Her swollen, reddened eyes. Her words. “I can't,” Her voice– strained. “I won't.” Nana's words— saddened, downcast, guilt-ridden. She wouldn't dare to look at you. “Saying goodbye.” Realization sank into your bones, your skin running cold from the air's chill. It hit harder than a truck. No, this was worse. Not a single bone twisted or broken, not a single scratch or scrape of skin. Just heartbreak. Betrayal. Your legs caved, dropping into the dirt— your mind was at war with itself.

“They didn't tell you, did they?” The man rumbled, and you stopped, your cries deafened. You paused, eyes slowly traveling back up to meet the man in front of you. Whatever was in your eyes was enough of an answer for him. He shook his head in some sort of mock-sympathy, “They never do. I can't lie— the look on yer faces is worth it every damn time.” He chuckles, the sound wry— like he'd been stripped of any sense of normalcy of conversation. He steps forward, measured, like he'd been approaching a scared animal. “Tell me what? Who?” you asked, defensive. You didn't miss the way he ate up the distance between you, clutching the flask of holy water at your hip like a vice. He slows, eyes flitting to the flask in your hand. His hands fall easy at his side.

“A couple decades ago, I found this town o' yers. Less people than when I first came.” he nods to himself. “Yeah...I was gon' kill every last one of ya.” he mutters to himself, eerily casual— like he was talking about the weather. Your heart sinks as he steps forward, arms folded behind himself, restrained. “But yer great-great-so-many-fuckin'-greats grandaddy convinced me to only kill one of ya every good couple of years or so. Said it'd be bad if the livestock up n' died before they could carry on multiplyin'.” What? His voice carried through the emptied clearing, nothing but you, him and a prayer between you. A hope you wouldn't die slow. Or at all. We can't all be so lucky. “Yer ancestors made a deal with me— a pact. One that's been carried on for longer than you've been alive. One that keeps me fed, and keep most of you alive.” Your mouth fell open, and he pretends his eyes didn't linger when it did. “No, that— they'd never,” you averred. “And yet here you are.” he attests. You could feel bile rise to your throat. Livestock? Like you were nothing but sheep and cattle? “Course they still had to keep up appearances n' all. Paintin' it out to be some heroic effort. Strange how you ain't even question why all them men lined up to fire, and yet you were the last to be handed that gun o' yers.” He jabbed his finger at the shotgun in your hand. A hand-me-down. Your eyes pool with tears again, sniffles growing louder, having purpose. How stupid of you— feeling purpose in a meaningless death.

You could hear your daddy's voice screaming into your blood. Get up. Did he know? The man's pace didn't slow, didn't need to. You clearly weren't going anywhere. Get up. Did they send him off to his death too? Your eyes fall over the list of initials carved into the shotgun in your hand. Oh god– all those names. You choked back bile, sobbing harder. You held a graveyard in your hand. Get up. Was it here? Did your father die here? Blood smeared over his face, unrecognizable— his chest caved in? Did he rasp your name with his last breath? Your chest heaved for air, desperate. You felt sick. Get up. Now. You shook your head slowly, eyes blurred with tears. Your body trembled, weakened. What was even the point of fighting? Stronger men had been standing in this very dirt. Stronger men had their initials left behind on the same shotgun in your hand. What was there left for you to do? The earth had shattered all around you, your resolve crumpled beneath your knees.

“Aw, don't cry darlin'. S'alright, I promise,” he cooed, kneeling before you— mirroring you. His fingers felt light, gracing the gun in your hand before his grip around it's neck tightens. You can't pull away, frozen. You watch almost helplessly as he points the gun toward his lips, pressing a light kiss over the barrel. You could hear a brief sizzle. You ignore the way your chest flutters from it. He doesn't. “Each time I stood right here— staring down a man in the face, I offered him a choice not to fear death— but to be loved by it. Yer father, and his father's father, and every man that stood where you are right now met the same fate not because they'd been damned by me— but because they wanted to— because they refused my gift to them.” His hand rests over your cheek, careful claws guided away from dredging into your skin. He lifted your chin to meet his gaze— those pools of red light washing over your skin. “You don't need t'bury yourself in death's arms unless you crave for its kiss, sweetness.” Your mind swam, all reason holding on by a thread as your head throbbing. You had cried yourself dry, and he had let you. And now here was, picking up the pieces. A question dug at your mind, recalling something your Nana said. Was the devil pretty because he was kind, or because he was tempting?

He rested his head against your own— not fearing what you'd been owed to do to him, but what you'd do to yourself if no one had been there to do so. “If you give yerself t'me, completely— I'll cherish you in ways your lil' heart isn't capable of fathomin'.” You hadn't even processed the shift in position until your back pressed against something soft, until you'd already been sinking down into the dirt, his hand cradling your head— practiced. Like baptism. You couldn't speak, didn't need to. The whisper of words you beckoned to leave your lips were answered by his own without needing you to. “I ain't gon' kill you, sweet thing,” he spoke, his voice low and honeyed. “I'm gon' turn you int'a something new,” He avowed, nuzzling against your cheek. You feel his lips brushing against your neck— featherlight, before he pulls away— like he punished himself for closing the distance between the two of you. “Only if y'want it.” he adds under his breath, The sound of his voice felt like deliverance. “Tell me you want it.” he whispers. “I– I can't,” You stammered, the words fall so easily from your lips before you could even think. Your arms scrambled for ground beneath you. You can't? Not ‘you don't want to’— can't? “My– my family said you were—”

“Your family let you live a lie,” he interjects, sharp-tongued and vehement. As if he shared your anger like a secret— like a burden. He persists, and you let him. “You fought for a lie— lived for a lie.” Your eyes zero in on the pointed claw before you, his jaw clenched. "Y'know, I– I'd lie to you and say I didn't enjoy killin' some of those men,” he granted, “But you've had enough of that, now, haven't you?” Your mouth opened and shut, wordless. He took your silence as permission to continue, “I can't say I regret what I've done– That I regret feeling their ribs crack and cave beneath my palm— regret their blood, warm as it soaked my lips or the way my teeth sank beneath their skin int'a somethin' real– somethin' raw. 'Cause deep down I knew it'd lead me to you— to my salvation.” His eyes were honest, reverent. “You will be my greatest creation.”

He settled over you, thighs bracketing your waist. Gold dangled over your face— what felt like a glimmering virtue swung above you. His claws trailed over your sweat-soaked shirt, lithe as they popped your buttons with ease. His palm mapped over your skin, supple under his touch. He shuddered, lips parting with need. He was drooling, saliva thick dribbling down over his chin. “Let me be your liberation,” A soft plea as eyes flit to your open throat. “Please.” he pleaded, broken open. You nodded, acquiescent. What else could you do? You'd been playing into some fantasy, self-assured and righteous. The ending had already been picked out for you and you just sat there and took it— hands held out for more. His hands to slip over your wrists, firm. He places a kiss to your forehead, devout. He guides his lips down, down, down over the call of your pulse. Your blood thrummed beneath your skin for him as you squirmed. You felt bare, vulnerable. Messing around with boys behind the church was one thing, but this...this was something else entirely.

“I can smell you,” he rasped, nosing under the soft of your jaw. “'Can smell the fear in your nerves— your hesitance.” He lapped at the skin, desperate. “In case you ain't notice yet, darlin', yer body ain't fightin' back.” Then you feel it. A pinch at first, the point of his fangs slipping beneath your skin before the burn grows, your skin stretching to make space for him. You writhe beneath him at the bite, his teeth clamping down. Your lips were useless, babbling sweet cries and sobs for him. “No, no, hurts, I can't do this, I can't—” He doesn't shush you, only holds onto you tighter, thumb rubbing soothing circles into your shoulder. “You can, sweetness, I know you can,” he murmurs, voice muffled. “What's mine will forever be yours.” And then, cold rushes over your wound, accompanied by the crawl of something wet. Then, quiet, his body growing rigid. “Oh, hell...”

He inhales, deep. Like a shark smelling blood in water. A shudder follows silence. And then you feel it— feel him, anchored to your neck something desperate, filthy. He suckles and god, it's so good. You whimper, soft. He groans, the sound reverberating against your skin. He pulls away, eyes rolled back in ecstasy, blood dripped from his lips like molasses. “Fuck, so good—” Your ears buzzed, almost drowning out the sound of blood squelching, pulsing from your wound. Almost. “Like heaven on my tongue.” He wasted little time opening you up beneath him, suckling, biting and lapping at your neck. “More, more, please–” he begs, dragging his mouth from your neck as he ruts against you.

“Been— shit— needin' this,” He pushes your thighs aside, crowding into the space between them like he owned it. And he did. “Starved of it like you wouldn't believe.” he chuckles, chest heaving, panting like he'd been out of breath— like he couldn't breathe without being buried in the soft of your neck. Your face contorted, twisting in agony from the ache, the burn sinking deeper into your skin— searing. You couldn't even focus on the pain alone without his filthy, needy sounds flooding your head. Was he...getting off to this? Were you? Something thick pushed eagerly against your inner thigh, deprived, heavy. Heat pooled in your stomach at the thought, something dark — hidden being pulled to the surface. Fuck. You hadn't even realized you'd been rocking your hips against him. Shame buried itself beneath your skin, face flushed.

You gasped as he fucked his hips into you—once, twice, three times— bucking into the tent of your pants. You didn't want this. There's no you did— no way you were seriously getting off to this man— no, this devil above you rutting into like desperate, heat-seeking mutt. The same devil you'd been sent to kill— the same devil haunting your bloodline for years, like cold sinking deep beneath your bones. You prayed it'd at least go unnoticed, but with the slightest drag of his hips, a moan falls from your lips like a vice— and there he is to catch it.

“Ah-ha? What's all this?” He rolled his hips again experimentally, flush against your own, eliciting a sound you didn't even know you were capable of, buried deep. You felt caged beneath him, his hands dug delved into the dirt as he relished in the sight of you— no doubt a mess. Your curls mussed, sticking with sweat against your brows, shirts raked up and pulled apart. “Knew you needed it just as bad—” he keened. “Fuck—tryin' to hide it from me, huh, sweet thing?” he tuts, tugging your slacks down from your hips, claws dragging against your skin. His demeanor changes almost completely, no longer some desperate thing ducked between your thighs, no. Something colder, certain. He yanked away the last barrier between the two of you with a hiss, impatient.

“I can me show you what sanctuary could be,” he vows, truth waiting beyond what patience could hold. “With me.” Nothing but shredded cotton surrounds your naked hips. Nothing but his lips, soaked, bathing in your skin. Blood drips from his lips— your blood as his spits onto your hole— filthy. You groan, craning your neck to watch. His eyes flit to meet yours, pupils blown into black watching you, fervent. A claw— no— two push past your lips, open, pushing onto your tongue. Your moan is muffled, drool pooling under the muscle. His attention on you, rapt as he nods— drunk on the sight alone. “Yes, yes— so good,” he praises, candid. “So, so good. Savor it.” Your lips enveloped the taste of his fingers, salt coating your tongue. Your eyes flutter shut, suckling on deft fingers, thick in your mouth. He pushes them in deeper, relishing in the way you gag— gasping for breath.

“Fuck, can't wait,” he pants. “Gotta do it now— gotta make it good for you.” He's drooling like a dog and it's filthy. You couldn't even ask what he meant before he returns to your neck, like home. His jaws shut over the expanse of your throat, over the bite he where he marked you as his. You clawed at his back, desperation eating away at you, but to no avail. He hadn't even budged. You couldn't even scream, cold rushing over you as your strength waned. You gurgled, only able to listen to the flesh tearing from your throat— to the sound of teeth gnashing flayed flesh, blood squelching, gluttonous. Your vision began to white out, and then, you felt it— something pressing into you, between your thighs— slow, purposeful.

“So fuckin' sweet for me,” he growled against your neck, hips flush against your ass. Memories flood your mind, desperate— defiant. Mami, her soft eyes as spun, Pops there to catch her, high on an old melody. Nana watching, her eyes crinkled into crescents with a small chuckle. Your tío, taking a swill from a bottle nearing empty, grounding as he kept his eyes on your little cousins, jumping to the music, giggles filling the air. You choke, eyes rolling to meet moonlight above you. You could barely stifle the sob that'd been punched out of you. This is what your life had come to— ended. A hand angles your head, baring your neck more, saliva slicking your throat— well, what was left of it. Your vision swims in darkness, and then... Nothing.

Nothing but cold. Nothing but dark. Nothing until— you gasp, lunging forward. Once again, he's there to catch you, shushing your sweet sleep-drunkened cries softly. He cups your cheeks, soothing you back down. “S'alright, 'm here, darlin'. I'm here.” Your chest heaved...needlessly. You could feel it somehow — a shift. A shaky hand travels over to the wound— to where he bit you. The flesh had still been torn open, but you felt...nothing. Nothing but hunger— raw, a primal need to sink your teeth into something. Anything to pacify the itch in your gums. Your eyes travel up to meet his, an image floods your mind of you— you staring back at him. Him staring back at you. Letters flood your thoughts, persistent. Like it was determined to be carved in your very consciousness. A name falls from your lips, the only one that matters, “Remmick.” you whisper. “Yes, yes– that's right,” He nods, pleased, his smile stretching over blood-soaking lips. “Let me feed ya, sweet thing. Y'must be starved.”

And you were. Your stomach felt hollow, empty. Go on. It ushers, the voice in your head not your own— not even your father's. His. He pushes his wrist before you, and your eyes fall over the skin, pale in moonlight. You move before you can even blink, teeth piercing his skin. He groans, within bliss. “Fuck— yes, bite down, darlin', let me feel those pretty lil' fangs o' yers.” Warmth rushes past your lips and you slurp, natural— needed. You moan, the taste fading from copper into something sweet. God it's good, so fucking good. Your hands wrapped his arm, firm, grounding. You couldn't stop, not that you wanted to. It felt so relieving. So—

Good. The voice filled, his own. “Go on. Drink me down, darlin'. Don't stop.” He watched, enamoured by your need, by your hunger. You could feel him twitch, pulsing between your thighs— to where the two of you connected. He'd been so patient, waiting until you woke to fuck into you, nice and slow— buried to the hilt. Your eyes flutter as he sinks into you, rolling back. You could drown in this feeling. He groaned— no, you— no, the both of you did in unison. So this is what he meant. A gift, born from death. Sanctuary. His eyes trailed over your lips, pressed insistently against his wrist. He moaned, and in turn, so did you.

The feeling was freeing, a lustful haze clouding all judgement and reason. “Fuckin' beautiful.” he breathed out, hips pistoning into you once again. He filled you completely— mind and body, blood and soul. You could see where you two connected, a bulge in your stomach. “Oh god—” you mewled, head dipping back with blood-slickened lips. He shook his head, amused. “Not god, sweetness, just me.” You groaned into his wrist, not wasting a single drop more. Your cheeks hollowed as you sucked, paced. He mirrored your tempo to the buck of his hips, feeling you fill him and him, you. You clenched around him, testing, and a ghost of something tight and wet enveloped your cock. Oh fuck. You could feel him fucking you, and you fucking him— sharing sweet, melodic pain as it sings into you both. He'd memorized your name, reciting it. Like a poem. He hovers over you, mouth dripping with your blood like honey falls from his lips and onto yours. And it's so good. Why is it so good?

A shared thought between you before you can catch yourself. Intrusive, you tell yourself. But a call to him nonetheless. Move faster. He indulges. He eases you back to his wrist, to where pain hums your name, but you shake your head— full, in every sense of the word. He pushes his wrist into your mouth, uncaring. He loved it. The sight of you drinking him dry—the insistent feel of his cock nudging against that gummy spot ruthlessly, your hole squeezing his cock like a lifeline— like he'd leave. Not going anywhere. He filled, never. You sob and he moans, reverent, pleased. He doesn't wipe the tears staining your cheeks. Of course not. You don't smudge a painting if you see a stray scrape of off-color. You embrace it. “Fuckin' love it when you cry for me,” he rasps. “Can feel you gettin' tighter each time.” You could see yourself in the slivers of moonlight within his eyes, sobbing and blood-slickened beneath him. Beautiful.

You lift your hips on instinct, allowing his thighs to slip beneath your ass. The movement practiced, synced. His hands fell over your hips, claws biting into your skin. He held his palm over the bump under your navel, over him. “Told ya I could make it good,” he chuckled, breathy. “All you needed, all you could ever want—” he groaned. He picked up the pace, hips snapping forward with grit and little grace. You swallow him whole, opening yourself up to take him impossibly deeper. Your voice drowns out all reason, sweet little moans and whimpers fall short from your lips. Delectable. He droned. You felt dizzy, the sky and stars spinning above you with heavy-lidded eyes. You mumbled pretty little nothings, thighs twitching and hips jerking to meet his own. You both moaned in tandem. Everything felt clearer— every memory of his overlapped your own, feelings and thoughts so clear— they felt like your own. You could see everything, and he let you. Bared. Faces, names, some you'd never meet and others— others you'd...

You'd known. Your hips slowed, stuttered. His hadn't, pressing into you like salt into a wound. Your grandfather's face flashed in your mind, smothered in dirt and blood. His hands were withered— wrinkled. He spat into the grass below, charging with nothing but an empty shotgun. Same as your father— his face was bruised and bloodied. You felt sick. If Remmick noticed, he never slowed, cock still pumping in and out of you without falter. Your legs kicked out faster than your brain could process what you were doing. “Wait—” He growled, pushing your thighs further apart muttering something incomprehensible— something ancient, something dangerous. Your consciousness slipped the words into your head like a note beneath a door. “Feum ort...dh'fheumadh mi. Chrath thu— (Need you...needed me. Craved you—)” They were muttered to himself, but shared nonetheless, like a prayer— like a ritual.

“Rem– Remmick stop it—” you gasped, feeling yourself teetering on the edge. Memories of your father's ragged breathing flood your ears. The haze had begun to fade, disgust festering in your stomach. You didn't want to see that. You didn't want to remember what he was. And that's exactly what he wanted— to give you a taste of what he is— what he's capable of. Remmick leaned down, nipping at your ear. “So sweet, god, it's killin' me.” he groaned. He licked at the shell of it, tempting, distracting. Heat pooled in your stomach, a flickering flame. “Remmick, fucking stop, you're doing it on purpose—”

The voice continued it's incantation, etching itself like a sigil in your mind. He tilts his head, empty, not quite there. Like he wasn't even aware of what he was doing— saying. “You don't want me to.” he states— not cocky, but assured. “I told you darlin,” his tongue darts between his lips, slow. Languid. “What's mine, will forever be yours.” You choke, a moan spilling from your lips as you swallow. “Fuck, wait I'm gonna- I have to—” You struggled against him, attempting to stave off your impending orgasm, pushing it down. It didn't matter. He'd fuck you through it, thrusts growing sloppy— thoughtless. “I waited long enough, darlin'.”Look at me. His voice chanted into your mind— into your soul. Look at me, he commanded again. His hips slowed, granting you focus on anything other than searing pleasure ripping through your body. Your eyes met his– his never straying from yours, pearls swallowed in black so far, you couldn't see a shred of light in them— cold.

You could see yourself through him, your lips sullied in blood and sin. Only then did he pick up his pace, fucking into you. One word kept ringing in your head— mine. You didn't look away—couldn't—his eyes compelled you to meet his own. “So pretty like this,” he rasped. “Please,” you whispered, soft pleas falling on deaf ears. “I don't want your memories—” you sobbed. A flash of hurt washed over his face, his head tilting to the side with knit brows. “Without his eyes even needing to stray from yours, his fingers laced over your cock, thumb smearing the long-neglected dribble of precum over the tip. Mine. Your cock twitched, needy. Remmick's tongue darted past his lip, slowly withdrawing back into his mouth. Mine. He could feel it— how close you were, didn't allow you to shy from him. You belonged to him. The thought was overwhelming. You tried to fight against it, uselessly.

Thick spurts of white coat the expanse of your stomach and you whine softly— but that hadn't stopped him. “Attaboy,” he murmured. Your stomach flutters, squeezing tight around his cock. He stroked you through your orgasm, unrelenting, pushing you into overstimulation. “Fuck, wait–” Your back bowed, shaky hands pushing against his chest. “Please,” you whimpered. He leans down, his body blanketing your own, so much closer— deeper than before. You could feel yourself clench around him, like the feeling was your own. You moaned, lips parting. “Remmick, please—” Mine. He was long gone, completely fuckdrunk. “Takin' it so good, just like I knew y'would,” he slurred. Only when he comes— slamming so hard into you, your sure it'll leave bruises over your ass does he come to. His come spills into you— hips bucking once, twice to make sure it stays. All mine. He doesn't even register that he came, fixated on you entirely— on the way your chest rises and falls, the way your thighs twitch when he rakes his nails over soft skin, the way your voice had fell quiet right as you came— it was addicting. You could feel it, the way he looked at you. Everything of his was yours now.

He pulls away, cock softening between your thighs. The sound he makes as his nose dips into your neck is ruinous. He groans openly, the sound broken— pathetic, lonely noises finally having an audience. “Waited so long—” he keened, voice wrecked in every sense of the word. “All I needed, n' here you are. A prayer in my arms.” He cradled you tight against his chest. Soft, careful. Like you were made of glass— easy to break. He could feel your mind stirring, small thoughts bubbling to the surface, boiling. He knew exactly what you were thinking. Still, he spoke, low and sweet— “Tell me,” Not commanding, but authoritative. “My family,” you whispered. “They...they left me to die. They knew, they all knew and—” you cut yourself off, swallowing thickly. He could hear your heartbeat, a loud, rhythmic thrumming within your chest. A melody he'd commit to memory.

“You're supposed to be dead. Or I am. Whichever doesn't matter anymore I suppose, since we both are.” There was no lithe to your words, hanging heavy in silence. You could feel him shift, reddened flecks of light drawn to you like moths to a flame. A claw dents your skin, not enough to scratch as he cups your jaw. Gentle, reverent. “For years I've grown bitter from seeing what man has done unto man,” he rumbles, a small shift in his voice. A mix of spite and something unheard of. He continues, eyes flitting away from you and to the darkness.“And for years, I've let it fester. Let myself fall privy to man's sin— to their greed, their selfishness.” A soft stroke of his thumb to your cheek. “Until I realized what man fears most—”Silence lingered as you waited for him to fill it, tilting your head slightly. His gaze was trapped, sunk into the darkness as it stared back at him. “Judgement.” he filled. “A firm hand to guide them, not of righteousness, but of cynicism.” his voice shifted into something lower, foreign. His eyes flit to you, devout. “You will be that hand, darlin'. They fear regret— fear emanation. Consequence.”

“So be their mirror, and stare them in the face.”

With every drag of your body, your strength threatened to wane. You limped forward, the lace of your boots strung out, your shirt carved open— blood sunk into the cotton. Mudded soles thump against the wood of the porch. Your hand twisted at the knob, unsurprised to find it stiff. There's a brief moment of silence, of waiting. You could see the stars swimming above you in fading darkness through the patterned glass. Then, a click. The door creaked open, unsure. You were greeted by the sight of your family, your tío with his hand on the door while Mami and Nana sat at the dining room table, peering from behind the wall. You could imagine how you looked— blood-soaked mouth, dried at your neck. It did little to cover the gaping wound. Your collar pulled loose, drenched in darkened blood. Yours, his— did it matter? You waited, eyeing the threshold. Your eyes met your uncle's, lingering. His hand jerked without it meaning to, habitual.

The door pulled back, away from you, welcoming. You strode in, feet dragging against the hardwood. Mami would've said something about the mud, about leaving your shoes at the door. Mami was quiet, her eyes wide, fearful. Your curls were mussed, humidity caught up to them all the same. You still clung the shotgun in your hand, this time careful to avoid the silver-lined carvings. You let it hang at your leg, almost dangled. You didn't bother turning your head, walking straight for the table— to where you'd first heard the clank of a shell. Your tío didn't stop you, just held the door open in fear, like the devil's shadow would follow after you. A revered guest. In a way, he was. Your eyes don't meet Mami's, never bothering to glance at her terror-stricken face. Your nails rake down over the table, until they meet the silver shotgun shells. You hesitate, feeling the heat of them before they even reached your fingertips. You scoop them into your hands, the sizzle in your hands agonizing. Mami and Nana watch in horror, understanding washing over their face. You muttered, under your breath but loud and clear enough for them to hear, the silence surrounding it deafening.

“Forgot these.”

[10underoot2]

I was really detached in the last 20 mins so I didn't register too many things but I think I'll cry when I watch the end again. I don't understand this delayed response too much lol.

Also like that baby is so smoll and the two of them are going to be incredibly sweet adorable parents. I have so many head canons of them being the most adorable, power couple parents I can't. Seeing the BTS of that scene also has me in the feel.

Edit: I think one of the reasons some of the scenes didn't impact me as deeply was because of the constant switch between comical to sad/profound. I think that messed me up a little. Will defo need to rewatch!

[makorragal-312]

I need to talk about talk about the kitchen fight scene for a bit because holy shit.

The choice of having the camera work be so shaky and occasionally follow either Buck or Eddie as they walked around the kitchen made the scene feel so much more intense than it would have if the camera was still.

It really helped convey how raw and emotional Buck and Eddie were respectively; Buck with his repression and grappling with Bobby's death and how he feels everyone is moving on and walking on eggshells with him and Eddie with his anger and hurt towards Buck and his behavior post-funeral and his own pain and grief about learning about Bobby the way he did.

So when Eddie got up in Buck's face or whenever the two got close up with each other, not only did it make me anxious and on bated breath wondering what was gonna be said or done next, but it made me wonder just how far either of them were gonna go.

And the contrast of the steady camera work from when they showed Eddie's reaction to Bobby's passing in El Paso to the camera's shakiness when it panned back to Eddie breaking down in the kitchen?

An absolute masterpiece.

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

Oh, Caitlyn-Ambessa-Mel dynamic, what you could have been...

[earl-grey-crow]

okay lads what did we think of that

[yappacadaver]

you know they were about to go so hard on emmy's personal quest. they didnt. but at least someone in that writing room wanted to give us that good good

[outer-andromeda]

Usually I try to better clean up and color these... But I REALLY wanted to share 'em as soon as possible cuz I really like how they look already, sue me :')))

Some story time under the cut for those of you who want context >:000

((EDIT - Small TWs for some negative talk and mentions of grief. Also spoilers for the ending on Chapter 4 :00)

As mentioned in a previous post, Gabby and Doey's relationship is... Very strained after the events of the fourth chapter.

Doey joined the group (Gabby, Kissy and Ava) eventually while they were venturing as subtly as possible to avoid running into Huggy. It was a surprise, obviously - they all thought he was six feet underground since the aftermath of him crashing down. They were all relieved to know he was still alive, but something was different. He wasn't as jovial as his usual self was... He was just... Off. Quiet. Monotone.

(Which is understandable since the guy is literally GRIEVING the loss of the kids of the Safe Haven y'know- and he feels immense guilt for what happened)

At some point, they get separated - Kissy and Ava stick together, while Doey and Gabby venture on their own way, both groups hoping to join each other again eventually. Doey and Gabby still have that quiet dynamic going on, because the human guy doesn't want to make things any worse than they already are. So he tries to be the cheerful one. For both his and Doey's sakes. He tries as hard as he can. But it falls flat. And Gabby, despite himself, grows more and more irritated by Doey's unusual calmness. Something's obviously going on and he won't say anything about it.

Something happens that puts them in a dangerous situation, and everything spills out. Gabby wants to talk, he wants answers. Doey is trying to ignore it, but he's being pushed. And suddenly his anger blooms back out. And he lashes out on Gabby. Shouts all the words he hadn't gotten out. How he was never any good for the kids. How he could've done so much more. How if it wasn't for him, "they'd still be breathing and standing right now". How Gabby can't understand. And Gabby... Takes it. He stands there, listening to every single thing he says. Silently.

He's not afraid. And Doey notices. It's unnerving. It catches him completely off guard. It's like something is starting to break inside of him. Something he's not sure he wants to let shatter much more...

And then Gabby hugs him. And the thing in Doey's core is completely obliterated. And the tears are finally, finally let loose. And his shoulders finally relax to wrap themselves around the short man.

They talk after some VERY good comforting words from Gabby. They find Kissy and Ava after some searching, and they're back on track.

And from then on, their relationship changes back slowly to the small friendship they had formed in the past, plus more. They both understand and trust each other, and Doey feels relief from having someone he can confide in and let himself relax with. And just... Be a kid. Even if just for a bit. All three kids need that so badly, and Gabby tries his best to give that to them. To Doey. Because he, out of anyone, deserves a break the most.

[sleepymothafterhours]

Torture to Love You, Can't Live Without You

Zayne x Reader angst

Reader is not MC, MC Dies so I guess you could call it major character death? Angst with kind of no ending?

---> Part two here <3

Fic warnings: Death, grief descriptions, unhappy marriage but they're literally just grieving,

This fic is not beta read, and has been edited to the best of my ability,

Word Count: 4,000

Divider credit in my pinned post <3

Full fic under the cut, I have a part two planned out if this fic does well,

At the end of the day there was always you and her. You'd never be her but you were content with that, in school she was a good rival and maybe at first it used to irk you how special everyone seemed to think she was but as you got closer you realized she never asked to be treated that way. Tara had introduced you, such a social butterfly that girl. On missions you fought well, you worked together with ease often getting paired up on more dangerous outings. The day she died it was like part of you went missing. You could only imagine how it was for her close friend.

The day she died haunted you like a ghost. It would've been you, i could've been you. She didn't have to do that for you.

She didn't have to do that for you.

You sat in front of Jenna's office with a letter in your hand. You'd been on leave for months, stuck with office work to do at home to ensure you at least got paid so you could live while you were recovering. The time was fast approaching for you to either go back to the field or pick something else. Everyone you knew expected you to go back. In a lot of ways it felt like a dishonor to your dear friend not to. But you just couldn't. No amount of therapy took away the nightmares and so far no amount of meds was taking away the pain in your body from your own injuries. No doctor could clear you for the field with the level of pain you were still experiencing. You didn't want to go back anyway, you were scared. You waited outside her office for her other meeting to finish.

What you hadn't expected was for Dr.Zayne to walk out of that room. Too busy staring at him and wondering why he was here you entirely missed what he was saying to you. "Are you alright?" He asked kneeling down to your level, he held a cup of water out for you. You took it gratefully, "I'm alright. Thank you, Dr.Zayne." You two only spoke in passing, even out with your mutual friends. "I trust you've been well? Since.." He trailed off like it pained him to talk about the accident, you nodded. "As well as I can. That's why I'm here. I'm leaving the field." You said, a hint of regret in your voice. Zayne nodded, by the time his mouth opened to say something the doors to Jenna's office were open, and you were already on the way inside.

---------

That was all you saw of him for a year and a half. You didn't keep up with him, and it wasn't like he actively sought you out. It was probably a miracle you even found each other again. He found you in your favorite coffee shop of all places, after you'd finished teaching your classes. Teaching exhausted you, but it kept food on your table, and in the words of others, ensured you could still honor your friend. Regardless, you sat in your corner of the building sipping hot chocolate and working on a research paper about protocores. You'd written a few things on wanderers, architecture in Linkon, whatever seemed to catch your interest for the moment. You spotted Zayne first, though you almost didn't recognize his face. It was strange how someone could change so much after just 18 months.

Had you changed that much?

Or did you still look the same as you had that day.

The thought of it made your skin crawl and you focused on your computer to get it out of your mind. You didn't notice his approach.

"Do you make a habit to tune out everything around you?" His voice brought you out of it, closing a tab as you looked up at him.

"Doctor, what a pleasant surprise." You said moving your computer to invite him to sit down. "I don't mean to ignore you. I was just focused, I do a lot of work here. Do you come here a lot as well Doctor?"

Zayne gives you a slight smile and you can't help but cheer internally at the gesture, "Please, just call me Zayne." He says, his gaze lingers on you as you slip your computer into your bag. "Don't let me interrupt your work. I should be off anyway." He says moving to stand again, you still don't know why you stopped him.

"No. No trouble at all. You can only read so many articles about the rise of protocore modifications before your head starts to spin. Sit with me? Please?" You don't know why you keep talking and Zayne doesn't know why he's sitting, he really ought to be heading back to the hospital.

Maybe you were both drowning and maybe it was just easier to sink together.

Maybe that was why things happened the way they did.

The two of you talked for hours. It was refreshing the way he didn't bring the accident up. The way he didn't bring up losing her. You suspected it was as much for your benefit as it was for him. After a year and a half of pulling yourself through the trenches you finally found yourself talking to someone who made you feel, normal, it was like coming up for air after being trapped in a lake.

"I am happy to see you well after everything." Zayne says after a moment. "Is teaching future hunters as fulfilling as you found hunting to be?"

The truth? It nowhere close. But you don't hate it.

"It has its moments. I do enjoy what I do. And after everything I.." You trail off, struggling to find the right words. "I'm happy I could find a way to stay in this career. Regardless of what I'm doing." It was the most roundabout way you've ever told someone no, and you can tell that Zayne sees right through it. You wished you could have stayed.

He nods, "Maybe fate will take you back." He said giving you an almost soft look.

"You've written quite a bit about your research on Protocore syndrome right?" You ask, the silence that had drawn between the two of you becoming too much to bear. He nods, "Are you going to the gala in a couple weeks? They're celebrating some of the works that recently came out. I thought I saw you on the list they sent out."

He nods again, "I admit I was hoping to see you there." His ears redden as he says this and you can't help the smile that comes to your face.

"i was hoping the same. Everyone else is some old far or some posh snob who's never actually seen what its like out here, Ya know?" You take a sip of your drink, now long cold, "It'd be nice to have someone there that I know." Zayne nods his agreement to this and the conversation moves on for another hour, until you have to leave.

You thank him for sitting with you for so long, picking up your bag and discarding your drink. He stops you again before you can leave the table.

"Do you wanna go to the Gala with me?" his words make your heart skip and you find yourself nodding before you can even really put thought into it.

---------

Zayne came crashing into your life similarly to the way a snowstorm did, expected but sudden. He was always there in a lot of ways during your time as a hunter, you had enough mutual friends to at least know of him. The transition from acquaintance to friend was so subtle you didn't notice, you met weekly for coffee at the cafe when you could, or he'd find you there after work.

Then suddenly you knew his coffee order, and were taking him coffee and dinner during late nights in his office.

There were nights you would talk, and the two of you would have dinner in his office, you'd never been around someone who was so easy to talk to, Zayne just understood.

At one point you'd stayed to talk so long that you ended up eating dinner together, it was dark by the time you went to leave, and Zayne had insisted on taking you home.

He'd kissed you that night. After months of you thinking he was uninterested in anything more than simply colleagues.

You both got so busy that after you could do hardly more than text each other, it took a month of wondering if he'd meant to do it or not, a month for him to ask you out.

He proposed after four years, conveniently the night before another gala much like the one you'd gone to together before you got close.

Once again you were both being recognized for a lot of your work and researches, him, a deeper dive into protocore syndrome, you, a paper on how Evols affect personality traits and how that can be managed for people with more explosive evols and personalities. You used your relationship with Zayne a lot in that paper, with two completely clashing evols it was hard sometimes to get by.

Fire and ice,

maybe that was a sign you should've thought about before.

---------

You looked like the perfect couple. For awhile you felt like it too. You couldn't tell what happened. The two of you were doing better finally. You honored her every year on the day, holding each other and helping each other get through your grief everyday. You knew he loved you. You knew he loved her and you respected that. You understood as well as you could.

After your honeymoon you fell back into your routine, teach in the day, take Zayne lunch during your time to plan, go home and grade papers until he gives you a call that he should be home within the hour. You made dinner and the two of you spent time together until you fell asleep on the couch. Zayne would carry you to bed despite the countless times that you told him to wake you.

You couldn't pin point the day it all started going down hill. But you knew that it had something to do with the mission that dragged you back into hunting, the intercom ringing in your ears and the voice of an OTTO bot calling for every trained hunter in the building. Every student was to go back to their dorm. You tried, to leave with the students, with a soft spoken, "I don't do that anymore." said mostly to yourself as you followed students out to the dorms.

That was until you heard the cry. A little girl trapped under a building, you ran before your feet could keep up with you, the grace you learned in your training never left you, a hunter caught up with you, a student from a few years back. He helped you lift the bean that had trapped the girl and looked to you for direction. "Get her to safety and meet me a few blocks up." You ran the other way the minute he nodded right towards danger, right where you weren't supposed to be going.

Right where you wanted to be.

After the fight you assisted with cleanup, carefully avoiding the eyes of your old boss as you helped a little boy step into an ambulance. Zayne found you shortly after, sitting on a stump and bandaging your arm, people had begun to go home but the cut was pretty bad and you wanted to take care of it before you left.

"You're hurt." He said kneeling down to take the bandages out of your hands, "This is too tight, let me help?" His voice was soft, you couldn't tell if he was worried, angry or both. You nodded and carefully he unwrapped the bandage and began to clean it. "Sorry I broke routine tonight." you blurted, you weren't really thinking when you said, wrapped up in the crackling of a fire somewhere near you, and his laugh filling your ears. A laugh?

"My love. You're bleeding, but you're sorry for..breaking routine?" He looked up at you befuddled, his hands stopping their work on your injury. You shrugged, "You never cease to amaze me." He said after a moment. "We're going home. And we're ordering whatever you want for dinner and you are going to rest." His voice was more firm than normal and when your boss came over to you finally he seemed to stand slightly in front of you as if to keep her from taking you from him too.

She joked about you coming back, you told her you were just following instruction. The announcement called for all hunters. You politely declined her offer and stiffened when she joked about how you could make more if you came back. Zayne brushed her off for you, saying something about getting you home to ensure your arm healed.

The silence in the car home was almost unbearable. "She's right ya know." You said softly, "I'd make a lot more back in the field." Zayne kept his focus on the road but you could tell the words bothered him.

"We don't really need it. You and I are doing just fine." You slumped back in your seat at his words. "You never did it for the money anyway. Do you want to go back?" He asks and you can't answer right away. The answer used to be no, you used to be too scared but somewhere down the line you missed the danger, you missed the fire you had within you that had dimmed after the accident. Your evol felt suppressed from only being used to heat the forgotten teas you took to work or occasionally to light a gas stove.

You'd smothered your fire as best you could all these years but yet it still seemed to roar within, and consume you with every passing day. The answer should have been no but you couldn't bear lie to the man next to you.

"No." You waited too long to say anything,

"You've always been bad at lying." He's stopped at a light and turns to you to move a piece of your hair, you can see he almost looks defeated when you say nothing in response to this.

--------

If you could have pinpointed the minute, maybe even the second that he had started being distant from you, colder even, maybe you could have prevented it, but it was so hard to realize it was happening when he acted the exact same in public as he had before. He followed his routines almost to a T but he spent more and more time at work. Often coming home to you asleep on the couch waiting for him, until eventually he found you already in bed when he got there, always careful not to wake you when he climbed into bed. You could pinpoint the night he stopped holding you by the way your heart began to ache for it immediately.

It took 3 months to transition back into your old job and ever since it was like you lived with a ghost. He was gone when you woke for work, he was gone when you came home but there was always a dish in the drying rack and a paper on the counter that he had left behind to prove his existence. At least you could be sure he hadn't moved into his office even though every other piece of evidence told you otherwise. The times he was home with you it was like he was on another planet, that was if you could get him out of his office at the house for more than two seconds. His affection had a cold bite to it that made you stop seeking it and when he looked in your eyes it was almost clear all he saw in them was her. His coldness did nothing but make you more persistent at first. But after so long you just grew tired, you loved him with everything in you couldn't he understand that?

You liked to imagine that there was another life where you both weren't so different. But maybe in another life he ends up with her in the end, maybe there's a universe where she isn't a wedge in your relationship maybe you won't be together in this life, not the way you want but in the next... Maybe you just have to wait. What a cursed thin g love was.

He stood in front of you now for the first time in months, Tara had invited you both for drinks after work, a nice little place just a block away from your house, you were gonna walk together.

"You look lovely." He says and there's a flicker of something in his eyes that gives you hope that maybe he's looking at you for real this time, but then its gone. He's looking right through you.

Your response is as calm as you could manage to be, "I'm surprised you noticed."

The two of you left, making the walk there in a comfortable silence. Zayne played the dutiful husband role well. He held your hand, he held open the door for you, took your coat, pulled out your chair. To anyone else he looked so smitten with you, and you him. You shook your thoughts out of your mind, you were here tonight to have fun.

You didn't drink often, nor did you drink much. You figured offering him a sip of your drink would be fine, and he must've too because he took it. The way he scrunched his face in disgust made you giggle, he took a bigger drink than you thought he would. "Here, have some water, are you okay?" You ask pushing a glass of ice water to him. He waves you away, takes the glass and drinks but tells you to focus on your friends.

You forgot how much of a lightweight he was. One drink was enough to get him at least tipsy? It would have been funny, if you weren't concerned.

You'd been talking to Tara. who gushed over the two of you whenever she saw you. "Really i don't know how you two do it. You looks so happy all the time." She's smiling as she speaks, the only time you've seen her without a smile on her face was just after incident, it used to annoy you how one person could be so happy but you found yourself unable to frown whenever she's around now.

"Trust me Tara I don't know how we do it either sometimes." She doesn't know how much truth there is to your words. How this is the first time in almost a year that Zayne has been so close to you. How this is the first time in months you've seen or talked to him for more than five minutes. That this is the first time he's wanted to be around you since you became a hunter again.

+++

Zayne only seems to get drunker as the night progressed despite the fact that he hadn't had anything else but water.

"I think I should get him home." You said giving your friends a smile, you'd paid for your drink, the one you hadn't finished, too busy making sure your husband doesn't fall out of his seat. You help him up, he's not exactly hard to move but the man is stubborn. "Baby c'mon, lets home, I'm tired." He concedes finally at your words and you walk home. He's leaning on you for support the whole way out of the bar, even as you nod to your friends and wish them a good night.

You have to stop for a little while, sitting him down, the air is cold. You try not to shiver. "How'd this even happen huh?" You tease him softly, holding his face in your hands. It feels normal for once.

"I'm sorry my love." his words are slurred and he notices your failed attempts to hide your shivering, wrapping his coat around you clumsily. "I love you." He's looking straight through you again through unfocused eyes.

"Do you." Its not a question. You two walk leaning on each other until you reach the house. You drop your keys trying to unlock the door. When he hands them to you, you hear it. A mistake. A slip of the tongue. Maybe he could claim he was drunk but it was clear.

He'd called you by her name.

You didn't say anything. He tried covering his mistake, you said nothing. Pushing past him into the medicine cabinet in your kitchen you grabbed water and ibuprofen and took some. You slid past his attempts to be close to you guiding him to your room.

He's distraught, you feel like you're falling to pieces. "Lie down." You instruct. "You're not gonna feel good in the mor-" He interrupts you as you're trying to cover him in a blanket.

"Talk to me. Please." He's pleading, his voice breaking, it used to hurt your heart to hear it, maybe it still does but you can't feel anything right now other than anger, you feel like your on fire.

"You're drunk."

"Talk to me." There are tears in his eyes.

"What is there to say, Zayne. You called me, by your dead best friends name." You sit at the edge of the bed. "I can't b angry I know you loved her. I know you want her. I just wish you wanted me the same way." You get up and go to make your way out of the room. You need to calm down, maybe you'll go for a walk, or have some tea.

Flicking the light off you hear it. A quiet sob, and a small "I'm sorry."

You can't help the words that leave your mouth. "Don't bother."

The light is off and the door is shut and you the minute you sit down on a stool in your kitchen island you break down. You felt like two puzzle pieces that fit together just fine but were from two separate puzzles. You took time to put yourself back together, eventually getting up to go to your room, apologize if he was still awake and go to bed hoping to fix whatever rift has been growing in your relationship. Your hand is on the door, you just need to open it.

Your phone rings.

You can see the light come on from your hunter watch in the bedroom.

Ignore it. Go to sleep. Fix this. That's what you're telling yourself.

You answer it before you can stop yourself.

"Hello?" Your voice cracks from your breakdown.

"Hey." Its a newer hunter, you'd been working with her for months. You were too scared to get closer to her but for now you didn't mind mentoring her. "Got a mission. You're on the way can I come get you?"

Her words are so scarily similar to what you told your best friend that night. You turn away from the door. "Let's go then."

How strange the universe was in the way it worked. How strange the parallel was. You put on your uniform in silence. Zayne had fallen asleep as far as you knew. You stopped by his side before you left, kissing his head softly. You don't say anything else as you leave.

Unbeknownst to you. He wasn't asleep, he heard the whole thing. He too noticed the parallels. He wouldn't sleep that night. Or the night after.

He was losing you and he didn't know how to stop it.

You were losing him and it felt like someone was carving your heart from your chest.

Sleepy moths after thoughts: Everytime i went to work on this fic I either got called into work, or my friends wanted to hang out, thats why it took so fuckin long. Hopefully the wait was worth it, Thanks for reading and thank you everyone who supported this fic <3

Taglist: @theink-stainedfolk , @alfredosaws , @sylv-1a , @cordidy , @leighsartworks216 , @midiplier , @melonssoup , @sw3etfawn111 , @dhunhdchrih , @i-messed-up-big-time , @fandomenbylover , @notisekais

@theophxbia cus i know pookie probably wants to read it (ILY BESTIE)

[asce-of-hearts]

Good Grief

Contents: When Toji got hired to kill a seemingly innocent woman, he didn't expect cupid to shoot him in the heart instead.

more Toji content here

TAG LIST

WC: 6.3k

WARNINGS: TOJI WANTS TO KILL YOU FOR A WHILE (ITS HIS JOB), TOJI BEING DOWN BAD, INTRUSIVE THOUGHTS FROM TOJIS BEHALF WRITTEN LIKE THIS, SMUT!!!!!! SMUT SMUT SMUT SMUT, STRANGERS TO LOVERS!!! PENETRATIVE SEX, DOGGY STYLE, MATING PRESSES, AGAINST THE WALL, ORAL (RECIEVING), FINGERING, SQUIRTING, PRAISE, RAW SEX, BREEDING KINK.

Toji expected an easy job when he got this call.

How hard could it be? You were young, you didn't expect it. You were a woman who had the bad luck of having a bitter ex who put a target on your head. It wasn't your fault, really, but there was so much Toji could do when he had already accepted the cash and spent it all in horse races. It would be swift, it would be quick, it would be dealt with in the blink of an eye. You would stop breathing, and your funeral would be held a few days after, probably.

The street was crowded, providing a nice camouflage for him. He only needed to pretend to bump into you, and he would shoot in that second. You wouldn't even feel it. He tries to find you in the ocean of people, eyes scanning for faces amongst faces. And then, he sees you, completely oblivious to what's about to happen. Shit, you have such a pretty face.

It's not your fault that you're completely his type. It's not your fault he's about to put a bullet through your abdomen.

He walks closer, taking his time. Not knowing why guilt is bubbling inside his stomach. He has done this countless times before, he has killed people much younger and much older. And yet, this time, he feels like he shouldn't be. How idiotic.

His plan falls into action before anyone can react. Your bodies touch in an "accidental bump" because he pretends he can't see you. His fingers reach for the trigger, and the gun gets stuck. He curses under his breath as you take a step back. You're about to give him a mouthful, for sure.

"Hey!" You gasp, looking at his shirt, and he swallows, hiding the gun as best as he can while unsticking the trigger. He really needs this job, he really, really does. "We like the same band." Your words hit him like a truck going a thousand miles per hour. His breath hitches, and he stops toying with the trigger. His brows furrow, just a little, completely out of his control.

"They're shit." He spits out, curt. And you give him a grin, eyes crinkling at the corners. He prevents the blush from rising to his ears as he clenches his knuckles inside his pockets until they're white.

"That's why I like them." Oh, he could marry you right there. He could kneel and propose with that same bullet he was about to put through your pretty skull. He could, he could, he could. But he won't, instead, an enigmatic smile plays on his lips, even if it ends up looking more like a grimace because of his scar. You offer him a much kinder look, much less sharp than he could ever aspire to look at anyone. "I'm ___." You stick your hand out, an awkward gesture. He feels about to faint, his hand strangely clammy as he takes yours. He completely engulfs your little fingers, he could break them if he wanted to.

"Toji." Only his name manages to slip out of his lips. He doesn't know, he really doesn't know how or why or when, but he feels so uneasy next to you, so small. He doesn't know you, he doesn't have to know you, he could end this quickly and disappear from your life, even if your ghost would haunt him in the corners of the room he slept in at night. But he finds himself unable to. You're a vision, you're a blessing, you're everything he could've asked for. Or at least he thinks so, at least his heart tells him that. Does he even have a heart? He doesn't know, he can feel it pounding inside his ribcage, taunting him, making fun of his lack of self-control. Since when has he become like this? Women have never been a problem for him. So why? Why are you?

And when did he ask for your number? And when did he get your number? And when did he agree to walk with you towards God knows where? He doesn't know. And to be honest, he doesn't quite care.

The fact that you're capable to talk and talk and talk and not have him register even half the words should be studied. He should be studied. He can only stare.

You're pretty, too pretty actually. The way you style your hair, the way your body moves, the way you talk with your hands while talking with your mouth. Yeah, you're enticing. He can't help it when his eyes dart downwards, at the pair of perfect tits that bounce a little every time you jump excitedly while recalling something.

And he's great at pretending. Really, he is awesome at pretending he's listening. Just a few "yeah's" and "what else, doll?" are able to have you rambling for another eternity. Your voice is a nice background noise, manages to keep his darkest thoughts at bay. And also, distracts him from the fact that he can't kill you at this little cafe, and that he's probably going to have to intimidate the cashier into letting you both go for free, because... he doesn't have a penny to his name in that moment. Or better yet...

"Hey— Sorry for interruptin'," His voice is a little gruff in that moment. You nod, as if forgiving him. How pious. "You ever had a drink and run?" He asks, giving you a lazy grin as he pushes his chair a little. You give him a puzzled look.

"A... A what? Is that like a special drink or—?" He lets out a dry chuckle, then takes your hand.

"You take a drink," He pushes your almost empty cup closer to you, his eyes scanning the cafe until he finds a viable route. You take a sip, cocking a brow as you put the cup down. Then, he lifts you up from your chair with ease, you choke a gasp. "And then we run."

You don't even register the moment in which your feet have left the ground, or when you're blocks away from that cafe. Your eyes are very wide, and then he sets you back down on the floor once you're inside an alley way. It seems to have happened in mere seconds, in the blink of an eye. He wears that same lazy smile, leaning against a wall as he crosses his arms.

"Guess... guess that was my first." You mumble, suddenly red in the face as Toji cackles at your reaction, peeking through the corner to see that nobody has followed you both. Nobody has, which is relieving. "Great first impresion, Toji. But you could've asked me to pay."

The playful tone of your words makes him feel something strange, and get hard underneath his pants. He clears his throat, taking advantage of the darkness of the night to subtly hide his problem. He shrughs.

"Thought you girls hated that," He says, wrapping an arm around your waist as he pulls you out of the alley way. "Now, in my... chilvarious pursuit. I intend to walk you home." Your giggle is enough of an answer for him to continue walking alongside you, guided by your little form, until you stop on your tracks, eyes very wide.

"I forgot my purse in there."

Well, shit.

Using his... abilities to help you break into your own home has Toji now granting you two favors in a day. Getting you home safe and not killing you. Two more than he has ever granted anyone else.

It's funny, really. How you have escaped death today. In another time, another place, another universe you're dead, bleeding out on the ground, and haunt him with your lifeless eyes whenever he closes his. Fortunately or not, that didn't happen. But it could, it should.

Your apartment is small, cozy. There's not much to see, nothing particularly valuable to steal, but it's yours, and that makes it certainly special, even if he would never admit it.

"Please, take a seat. I'll bring you a glass of water." You say, kicking off your shoes as running to the kitchen to pour two glasses of water. You gulp down yours quickly, as if you were agitated or short of breath. He's more languid in his actions, slowly surveying the place, looking for threats or weapons, for someone to pounce at him and cut his throat. He finds none, the only disturbing thing being a scale figure of a little dog with eyes that are too big for it's head. Staring at him, defying him, taunting him to finish the job he started. Your figure plopping down next to him over the sofa the only thing that pulls him out of his disturbing thoughts and menacing whispers.

"Thanks." His voice is gruff, and those words roll out of his tongue unnaturaly. He feels strange, out of place. But he takes the cup you've given him with gentle hands. "You don't mind me staying for a while, do you?" He gives you a tired smile with half lidded eyes. Maybe in that time he'll be able to muster enough courage to finally end you. Mercifully, maybe he'll choke you to death, crushing your windpipe will certainly be easy, quick and swift. You'll be dead before he even finishes that glass of water.

Then again, the cup is already half empty when he sets it down. And you're still breathing, chatting at him about something he didn't entirely listen to.

"Let me kiss you," Your words take him by susprise, tensing. You chuckle at this, hands coming to cop a feeling at his muscles. You had wanted to do this for a while. "You took me on a date and took me home as well. You clearly deserve a reward." You tilt your head to the side, like a puppy. Cute.

"Kissing s'my reward?" He grins, dark thoughts buried for now. "Thought I deserved more than that. Guess I better be on my best behavior if I want anything else next time." He purrs, leaning closer. You cup his face with his hands, feeling the sharpness of his jawline. And press a soft, open mouthed kiss. Barely a peck. You both let out an airy laugh, eyes closed, deepening the kiss.

"Well... you haven't taken me out for dinner yet..." You murmur, and his hands trap your waist, rubbing soft circles over the clothes skin with his thumbs.

"You want us to leave without paying once more, princess?" He croons, slowly setting you down over the sofa. Your pretty form sprawled out for him. Legs spread, threathening to wrap around his waist, and face a little flushed. He takes a good moment to look at you, really look at you. The prettiest thing he's ever laid eyes on. His eyes flash with something strange, regret, almost anger. And he shakes his head. "No. Sorry. I shouldn't have-"

"I want you to do it, Toji." You say firmly, taking your shirt off. Breasts exposed, falling to the side as you set yourself back on the sofa. "Please. I- I won't mind..." You avert your gaze, biting your finger. And he takes a deep breath. Rough, calloused hands come to rest over the swell of your breasts. He gives them a little squeeze, smiling to himself when he hears the smallest gasp leave your lips. "Stop teasing." You whisper, and he finally takes his shirt off.

"Sorry, doll. Didn't mean to keep you waiting," He sighs, slowly pulling down your pants, you lift your hips to make it easier for him to do so. Your panties already wet with slick, a little stain making itself visible. He grins, showing that row of perfectly aligned sharp teeth in the faintest yellowish color. He sticks his tongue out, and liiiiiiicks at your clothed cunt, sucking at where he thinks your clit is. Earning himself a moan of his name, and his hair getting pulled with roughness. "Eager for me, mama?"

"I told you to stop playing." You hiss, and he tears your underwear this time. Shreds of cloth falling all over the place as he places both of your thighs parallel to his ears.

"M'not, and I ain't fucking you today," Another looooong lick all over the expanse of your slick. You shudder. "But I'll make you cum. After all... I promised to be on my best behavior. Didn't I?" His words are slurred, whispered against your heat. And he dives in, arms perfectly securing his grip on your legs. You can see the muscle flex every time you try and jerk back from his expert touches, keeping you in place. He sucks at your clit, eating you out like a man starved. It starts slow at first, allowing you to ride his face comfortably, grind all over that perfectly straight nose. And then, it becomes sloppy, animalistic. He spits at your hole, a thick glob of translucid saliva that travels downwards until it lands on your other winking hole, his tongue invades your insides. The muscle fucking you with expert presition, knowing exactly where to aim. Your g-spot getting grazed and teased in a maddening way. Your eyes have rolled back, your fingers digging into his scalp as you moan and whrite under Toji's embrace.

He goes back to your clit, making out with it even more eagerly than he did with you. Kissing and smooching and puckering his lips so he won't ever let go of that precious little skin pearl. Your head is spinning, circles in your eyes as Toji completely devours your pretty pussy.

"Cum for me, ma. Think I can make you- hah-" He smiles when he seas your chest heaving as you try and catch your breath in that brief second of respite he has given you. "Think you can squirt all over my face?" He doesn't let you answer, two fingers driving themselves inside your gummy walls, not asking for permission. You howl, throwing your head back and lifting your hips as he starts to finger fuck you roughly. "Whatever. I'll see for myself." He hisses, spitting over your clit again. Fingers fucking you, tongue suctioning. His pace is relentless, completely ruthless. He's aching for the complete destruction of any thought that could form that isn't related to him or his ministrations. And finally, you feel the know in your stomach unraveling quickly, without warning.

"Cummingcummingcumming!" You repeat like a mantra, squirting all over Toji's face. He opens his mouth wide, catching as much of it as he can inside his mouth. Once satisfied, he licks his lips, and cleans his mouth with his arm while shooting you a lusty glare.

"Think we can make that two, doll?"

"I didn't kill her," He plants himself in front of the man who put a target on your back. Like a child about to be scolded, even if he could break that fuckers neck if he wanted to. For now, he has self restraint. "It didn't work."

"Well, make it work!" He barks, and Toji feels his self restraint slipping further and further away. "Get inside her house and kill her. Just don't fuck her. You hear me, Toji? Do not, fuck her."

"Alright." He murmurs, walking away with a cloudy mind.

Now he really has to fuck you.

"You scared me. For a moment I thought you just wanted a quick fuck and then you would ghost me."

Well, you were half right. He had tried to ghost you. To forget about you and your beautiful face and your heavenly cunt. But he couldn't, he ended up tossing and turning thinking and thinking and thinking about how your stupid ex could have gotten another assassin, another pawn to get rid of you. In that same moment, you could be dead. Someone stabbed you, shot in the head, in the stomach, holes piercing through your skin like it's soft, melted butter. He can't stop thinking about it and he ends up calling, just to hear you, to make sure you're still breathing.

"Nah. I'm not that type of guy." He flashes you a lazy grin, crouching a little so he won't hit himself in the head as he enters your little place. He takes a good look at you. You're wearing a worn out shirt of a stupid band he also likes, your hair is a little messy, you're only wearing some shorts that barely fit and your tiny toes are exposed to the cold floor. He wants to groan. You're exactly his type.

Instead, his large hands meet your face, cupping it gently. And he presses a soft smooch to your forehead. Barely there, enough for him to smell your shampoo and feel the softness of your skin. So different from him, so perfect in his arms, so everything he has ever desired. The knife, poisoned and sharpened, forgotten somewhere inside his pockets. And he sighs, defeated, resigned. He isn't killing you. He has decided.

"I'm gonna fuck you so hard tonight." He says with all the seriousness in the world, green irises digging holes in your head from how intense his gaze is. And your eyes widen, appalled, flustered. A dumb, shy smile appearing on your face.

"Ah-... Alright then." You muster, closing the door as you guide him to your room.

"Just stick it in, Toji. I'll be fine." You have been pleading for him to hurry up ever since you entered the bedroom. And he has refused, because he knows that his size is... considerable, to say the least. "You act like I'm a virgin who has never, you know. I'll be fine, I swear."

"___," He tries to be patient, forcing a smile. "You might as well be one, because trust me, you haven't seen a cock like mine."

You pout, glaring at him. Cute.

"Is it a meter long or something?"

"It is," He deadpans, and for a moment you short circuit at the curtness of his words. Then his gaze softens again. "No, but its big. And it'll hurt if I stick it in right away. So, you'll quit insisting, and you'll let me get you ready to take all of me like a good girl. We clear?"

Your pride would never let you admit that being called that stroke a chord it shouldn't have. And you fold, immediately, with a loud sigh.

"Fiiiiiine," You pull down your shorts, giving him full access to your cunt. Already slick, just making out with him gets you all wet, how embarrasing. He would never tell you that his boxers are exactly in the same state, embarrasingly flooded in pre. "Can you still hurry up?" You whine, and his face meets your pussy in that instant. Mouth delving into his favorite meal without any other care in the world. He's warm and he's strong, and you're lost in the sensation of having his mouth sucking at your clit, toying with his tongue in the process. Multitasking, how quaint.

Your legs over his shoulders has become his favorite thing, specially since it involves you crushing his head with your thighs. He doesn't care about the lack of air, at how his lungs burn as you pull him deeper and deeper and never let go of his hair as he continues to eat you out, tongue delving inside your little hole. He alternates between long, languid licks all over the expanse of your slick and tongue-fucking you like he was born with that exact purpose. His hips hump the mattress, aching for some sort of relief inside his trousers, underwear completely ruined right now by how much he's leaking from the angry, red tip of his clothed cock. He grunts and groans as he continues, his job isn't done until you cum at least twice inside his mouth, or over his face. His eyes closed, concentrating as you continue to pull at his raven locks. And finally he feels it, or rather hears you scream his name louder than before. Tensing, his ministrations stop, but his hands come to rest over your hips, steading you as you ride your first orgasm.

You breathe heavily, eyes wide and seeing stars as you recover from the intense sensation. Your grip on his hair loosens, and then tightens once more as his fingers enter the equation this time. The slick sounds of your wet cunt recieving his digits with all the joy in the world almost make you cringe, a reminder of what you are doing, and with who.

"W-Wait— I— S'too—" He hushes you, his fingers pumping in and out of you quicker, his tongue circling your clit as he wears the dirtiest grin.

"Shh, easy there. Can't you see she's enjoyin' this too much? Wouldn't want her to miss out on another biiiiig o," His words are slurred as he talks to your cunt in the most pussy-drunk way possible, spitting at your hole before curling his fingers, making you throw your head back and arch your back. "See? You're enjoying this soooo much, dirty girl. You don't want me to stop, ever." He growls, lips meeting your clit once more, and sucking. The combination of his thick fingers fucking you like he hates you and his tongue sucking the soul out of you through your clit makes your head spin, you almost feel dizzy, almost feel out of it, almost feel like you're about to have a heart attack. But you don't, instead, you squirt again. All over his face, coating his upper body with your precious slick. And Toji recieves it gladly, opening his mouth and sticking his tongue out like a whore, drinking you.

This time he allows you to catch your breath. Two orgasms in a row aren't an easy task, even for him. He won't admit it but his hand is just a little tired, and his cock aches like never before. But he has to wait, he must—

"Toji," Your voice comes out in a wheeze, out of breath. But somehow, in some way, you sound angry. "If you don't fuck me right now I will ride you until you're cumming blood." You hiss, and he grins.

"Don't treathen me with a good time." He whispers, stading up and pulling you towards the end of your bed. He flips you over, making you yelp and he spanks your ass, once. "And don't talk to me like that," He spits at your pussy, a little gaped now, ready to accomodate him and what he described as his 'considerable manhood'. You wonder if its really that big, maybe he just has a big ego. So you turn your head to the side, just enough to get a good view of him taking his pants off. Belt falling to the ground with a loud clank, and then he kicks off his pants. You're met with a bulge, a tent, and you suck air through your teeth as his cock is freed from its confinements. Big? Big is an understatement, that thing is monstrous. Menacing and tall, slapping against his washboard abs once as it bobs up and down, threathening to rearrange your insides.

Oh, you can't wait.

He pumps it twice, as if it could get any bigger, any harder. And spreads your hole open with his free hand, spitting again, you can feel his spit traveling all the way down. He aligns his cock head with your entrance, making you tense.

"Easy there, I already told you..." He murmurs, hands steadying your hips, or rather trapping you in place. "It won't hurt if you relax. Come on, be strong for me, ma. Didn't come all the way here just for you to dip out at the last second."

"Hold me." You can only murmur, only plead. And his gaze softens, his body bending until it falls over you like a protective blanket. His abs against your back, his breathing behind your ear. A shaky breath escapes your lips as the head smooooooches the wet entrance to your cunt, and slooooowly pushes in. The sensation is foreign, but not unpleasant, he stays there for a while. Because if Toji moved further, he would've cum on the spot.

"Heh, s'like I'm mountin' you..." He murmurs, one hand traveling to rub the expanse of your stomach in a soothing motion. A part of your brain is relieved, the other wishes it would travel further downwards to toy with your abused clit. "We... We have two options, mama. I can thrust it in quickly, in one move, or I could take it slow, let you get used to it. The one you feel most comfortable with, don't want you to end up with a punctured lung or something because I did the wrong thing." You know it is physically impossible for his cock to pierce in that deep, but oh, does it feel like it could in that moment. You try and think, try and form a coherent sentence, organize any thought that could appear in your mind aside from Toji mounting you like a bitch in heat.

"Please," You whimper. "Just fuck me, Toji. Just fuck me." You plead, and if he's something, that is obedient. So, with a lick to the shell of your ear, he thrusts it all the way inside. The motion is quick, forceful, it passes all the restraints your pretty, tight pussy could've had. His cock now nestled deep inside, hugged by your warm walls. He feels like he's in heaven, no pussy should feel this good. But then again, you're exactly his type.

The second thrust is slower, languid, testing the waters.

"Look, she doesn't wanna let go," He can feel your walls gripping him so tight it almost hurts, not wanting him to pull out. He goes back to standing as he keeps you bent over your bed, legs shaking as he presses your lower back against the mattress, keeping your in place. He pulls back until only the tip remains inside, and then he thrusts it back inside. You moan loudly, and he grunts when your insides tighten even more. He has lost any and all restraints, mental and physical. He is now fucking you, mounting you like a dog mounts a bitch. His hands are busy roaming over your body, finally one settling around your waist to have an anchor, something to help him fuck you harder, faster, better, and the other trapping both your wrists with ease. His head is spinning, little hearts in his pupils as he blows your back out like nobody has ever done before. Completely enamoured by the way your ass recoils and ripples every time his pelvis meets the soft expanse of skin. He's a man possessed, possessed by carnal thoughts and desires, and for a strange ache in his heart he decides to ignore in that moment. There's more thing's to take care of right now, like seeing how hard he can make you orgasm, and how many rounds he can go until he's cumming blood.

Lots of things to figure out.

You lay there, next to him, naked and spent. Your breathing slow, your skin littered with bruises and bite marks. Your legs haven't stopped shaking, even while asleep. Your back faces him as he props himself on one elbow. Rough, calloused hands coming to caress your naked skin, eliciting little goose-bumps. He smiles to himself.

He could kill you in that moment, actually. It wouldn't be hard. You're so small, so weak. He could really just... press a little too hard on your chest and break a rib, puncture a lung, watch it as you gasp for air, plead for him to help you, only for him to not do it. To just... look at you like nothing is wrong. But he won't, he can't.

Fuck. He really wants to see your face when you orgasm now.

Toji tosses the cash right at the feet of your ex.

"I'm not doing it."

"What?"

"I'm not killing her." He deadpans, standing tall. Eyes cold as he stares at the man who almost made him miss out on the best sex of his life, with the woman who he wants to spend the rest of his miserable nights with.

"You can't do this," Your ex hisses, your ex, how did he fumble so hard? How could he ever loose a woman like you? Stupid motherfucker. "You can't do this! I want her to die! If I can't have her then nobody can! Go and kill her in this instant!"

"Well, too bad," He shrugs. "Already had her for quite a while." He grins, looking away as he rememorates all the times he made you scream and moan under him. At how you were crying when he was finished with you, and maybe he was too, cock oversensitive from how good it felt to be fucking your warm walls.

"You did not," He screams at Toji's words. "You did not! I'll kill that whore myself. I'll ki—" The words are cut by a gunshot, right between that man's brows. And Toji crouches down, retrieving the money.... and stealing some more from his wallet, because he can. Finally, he tucks the gun away, and pulls out his phone, dialing someone.

"Remember you said you wanted me to take you out for dinner?" He says, trying to remember any nice place he knows.

"I... I guess so. Why?" Your voice distorts through the line, making you sound like a little squeaking mouse.

"Well, get changed. I'll be there in a while."

"I thought we were leaving without paying again."

"Nah, I had the cash this time." His hand finds the small of your back, guiding you outside the restaurant. Nothing fancy, just a good sushi place he knew. It feels like the first official date, intended to be romantic, to be a moment for the two of you. How many weeks has it really been since you two met? Since Toji decided not to kill you. Well, too late for worrying about that, his stomach is full, you're both a little drunk, and your apartment is quiet. In what seems like seconds you're already in your room, making out as he spreads your legs over the bed. Your dress lifted until the skirt is only hanging around your waist, and Toji's hands grope at your breasts over the fabric, making you moan and gasp between sloppy kisses and tongues dancing against each other. He peppers wet kisses all over your jaw and neck, biting over your collarbone, peppering little marks that'll stay there for a while. How he wishes it could be forever.

He pulls the dress down, looking up at you with lusty eyes as he lowers his body, his mouth quickly finding your nipple and giving it a looooong lick all over the aureola, then sucking, just barely, enjoying how the other hardens between his fingers. He keeps licking and sucking at your tits, alternating between lewd slurps of your skin to full on suckling. His hand travels downwards, rubbing your clit over your panties. Useless pieces of fabric that get in the way of his favorite little pussy. He would rip them apart, but he's trying to play nice this time. After all he promised to be on his best behavior. He tugs at the hem, as if asking for permission to tug them down. You only give him a shaky gasp in response, and so his hand is finally able to find its designated place. Fingers that rub slow circles over your clit, then flick it gently, you throw your head back, and Toji uses your hair as leverage to pull your head upwards once more.

"Wanna see your face, ma. Want you to look me in the eye when you cum," He smiles. "You'll forgive me for not eating you out today? I just can't think of anythin' other that splitting you open on my cock. Making you squirt all over me again." He says with a ragged breath, as if he was agitated just thinking about it. His fingers pump in and out of your hole at a steady pace, then remain inside, pressing and taunting at your sweet spots as they curl against your g-spot. You nod, mouth agape as sweet moans continue to pour out of your lips, music to his ears.

When he feels like he has spread your pussy enough, he pulls his fingers out. Licking them clean with the lewdest grin.

"Y'know, I kept thinking about fucking you in missionary, but I didn't want you to think I'm boring this early in our relationship," You squeak when he lifts you up, easily manhandling you. Your body hairs stand when the cold wall presses against your back, making you shiver. He keeps looking at you with that intense stare he has, as if he wanted to devour you whole just with a look. His hands steady you by grabbing your ass, your legs hanging uselessly against either one of his shoulders. And you're aware just of how obscene the situation really is. Your legs will be disgustingly sore by the morning, you're sure of that. But its no use worrying about that right now, not when Toji's cock is pressing incessantly against your folds, rubbing himself over them to coat it with your slick, which drips out of your cunt like a leaking faucet, little droplets pooling at the floor. You feel like a slut, so wet just from getting a little manhandled by this absolute mountain of a man. Your mouth falls into a little 'o' once the tip tries to push past the resistance of your little hole, easily due to the amount of slick you're producing. It slides inside in a swift motion, half way. And you already feel knocked out, like he really has punctured a lung or another internal organ. And he, oh, he feels like his heart is about to jump out of his chest and crack through his ribs with just how pretty you look all fucked out on his cock.

"You're tearing me apart." You whine, mewling as he thrusts forward, burying his cock all the way inside. He looks downwards for just a moment, seeing the little bulge that protrudes from inside. He's there, buried to the hilt, and a manic grin appears over his handsome features, scar widening as he does so.

"Oh, I am," You feel like the hole apartment building shakes from how hard he's thrusting, veins popping up from the sheer strenght of his grip on you. "And you're looooving it. Aren't you, sweet girl?" You feel like your head is spinning at his words, squirting again in what feels like a split second just from how deep he's reaching. Your eyes wide, mouth agape and brows furrowed. This is what he wanted to see, that gorgeous expression when he made you come undone under him, when you were starting to get fucking stupid just from recieving his generous twenty-eight centimeters inside your aching hole. You're over the moon, he's over the moon. And your cunt? Your cunt is overstuffed, overjoyed, overeverything as he fucks the orgasm out of you, completely drenched in your essence.

"Is it too early to tell you I've always wanted the first one to be a girl?" He says, hips moving at a steady pace, red imprints of his fingers left all over your thighs and ass cheeks. You feel like the air is being knocked out of your longs, until all you can breathe in is the masculine scent of sweat and cheap cologne that comes from his body. "You will give me one, right, ___?" He asks, practically whimpering at the idea of knocking you up, of making you his. And you nod, breaking him completely.

The wall is forgotten as you hit the mattress. He spits at your hole, hands on the underside of your thighs as he folds you in half, like a pretzel, and slides himself inside you once more.

"Yes, Toji! I- I love you!" You whine, and he cums inside. Raw, unfiltered, moaning as he pours all of him inside. But it's not enough, clearly not enough, when his cock still stands tall and proud, aching to make sure you don't leave this bed if you aren't pregnant.

"I love you, I love you, I love you," He repeats like a mantra, lost in his thoughts. "I'm gonna make you pregnant, I'm gonna take your last name and our children. Oh, our children," His voice breaks as his mouth falls agape, practically drooling as he sees the overstuffed results of his ministrations. His cum overflowing from your cunt, and he still needs more, needs to pump you full of his kids. "With my eyes, and your nose, and your everything." Another load escapes him, how pathetic, how silly, he's cumming so fast and so much just from thinking about your future together. He's a man possessed, a man in love.

The bump is small, barely noticeable. If you wear one of his shirts it almost seems like you aren't pregnant. But he insists on rubbing it every chance he gets.

The last couple months of domestic bliss have tamed him, made him gain a few pounds as well. He's like a big cat, an enormous black panther that curls to your side every chance it gets. And you couldn't ask for anything more. Standing next to the kitchen counter, snacking on whatever craving your body decided it needed this time, and his hands leave your body for a moment.

"Would you look at this," He starts, and you turn around to find him with a ring in hand. A golden band with a small gemstone in the color of his eyes. And you almost jump from the surprise, stumbling backwards. He chuckles. "Jesus, woman. You're acting like I'm pointing a gun at you."

Your face heats up, brows furrowing.

"Can't you be normal for once?" You say, tears already pooling at the corners of your eyes, and he sighs. Nodding as he gets in one knee.

"___, will you marry m—" You're jumping over him before he can finish the sentence. Answering with a tender kiss pressed over his lips as he slides the band over your ring finger.

siiiiiiiigh, my first longfic in a while. hope you enjoyed this c:

have a great day/night

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[sssapplebottomjeans]

i know the point of rapunzel putting on the crown at the end of the series was that she was finally comfortable in it, and i know that it was the only possible ending for her but it never fails to make me unbelievably sad she was doomed before she was even born, she was doomed because she was born. the darkness of the black rocks was already unleashed because she was saved. after she was kidnapped, there were no other heirs, why? infertility, plot reasons, grief? and she comes back from 18 years of being fucked in the head by gothel, she comes back as a myth, "the lost princess of the sun kingdom" even more so when she sneaks out before her coronation and suddenly the mark of this stupid cosmic mistake, the mark of her trauma is latched onto her in 70 feet worth of unbreakable blonde hair and there's these expectations that come with being this myth, this lost princess from the tower. instead of having 18 years of learning things normally, it all gets shoved on her in six months. probably not six months after that, her parents leave for two days, leaving her in charge, and of course it all goes wrong. and of course she blames herself for it. and of course the fairly reasonable decision at the time to prioritize an entire kingdom over this one kid she barely knows lands her in deep shit, gets her mom kidnapped and her loved ones almost killed (i honestly don't even blame her for not visiting varian after the storm. she knew he was mad at her and she knew something was wrong. she was scared and didn't want to face what the possibilities could be because, i don't know, that's what she'd been taught to do for eighteen years of her life?) then all the things with cass's betrayal which is a post in of itself, coming home just to be made temporary queen and knowing it all rides on you. "you're not alone" "maybe it would be better if i were" NO ONE talks about this line holy shit so she's doomed to be royalty and doomed to be this mythical figure either way that has to save the kingdom and her friends from destruction because her father decided to save her. even if she'd somehow ran off with eugene in the movie (+cut her hair) instead of realizing her heritage, the rocks still would've been a problem. in all honesty, i think in all timelines she still would've been curious about them and touched them. she probably still would've been found out and made crown princess she should've had the chance to live a normal life after the tower and be as wild as she wanted with no global consequences but no she gets this. it's not like she even makes a particularly good "savior-figure" OR princess/queen anyway (and then i think about arianna being so similar to rapunzel and mellowing out when she became queen and i fear rapunzel would turn out the same way eventually, i fear she's still trapped but it was the only ending she ever could've gotten so i mean at least she's making the best of it) hhrhgnjfd thinking about her

[johanna-swann]

The thing is that the reasoning behind Eddie picking this fight doesn't even make sense at all.

First of all Eddie and Hen talk about Buck and how he almost obsessively worries about his friends which makes Eddie worry about Buck. So originally Eddie is concerned for his best friend because Buck is paying so much attention to other people.

In that same convo they also mention that Buck was trying to figure out how Eddie is handling his grief, so they have talked about Eddie's grief. Maybe Buck didn't go about it in the most sensitive way, but he genuinely wanted to know how Eddie is doing and asked a ton of questions.

But apparently Buck is still selfish because he didn't specifically ask: "Hey, what was it like for you getting that phone call?" As if that's a normal question to ask. As if you can just casually pepper that into a conversation. You can ask: "How are you holding up?" or "Are you okay?" and then you let the other person talk about whatever detail bugs them most. Which Buck did! They did have conversations about Eddie's grief.

And Eddie has been talking to everyone who will listen how he's "sorry I wasn't there" and "I feel guilty I wasn't there" and "maybe I could've done something". It's not like Eddie has been bottling these things up, he already expressed that feeling to Ravi and talked about it more with Hen and Karen.

Then they have a conversation where Buck reveals he knows about the job offer and is slightly miffed he didn't hear about it from Eddie himself, but still congratulates him and this just sets Eddie off in such a way he does a complete 180? Suddenly Buck is making everything about himself again and being selfish and doesn't care that Eddie is grieving too? If Eddie had got annoyed that Buck is still somewhat passive aggressive about the moving to El Paso thing - okay, kinda makes sense at least. But Eddie is the one who suddenly makes this about Bobby and his grief while completely ignoring that Buck basically just lost his surrogate dad. Eddie and Bobby were friends, good friends, but he was not Eddie's father figure. And he just keeps yelling and yelling and even gets physical with Buck.

As previously established - Buck did care about Eddie's grief. He did ask questions. Eddie is choosing to ignore that and verbally attack his best friend instead. And that's not even the end of it.

The next morning, not in the heat of the moment, but after Eddie had a whole night's sleep to cool off and after Buck has already apologised Eddie apparently still feels like he should mess with Buck's feelings further. Why? What kind of purpose does this action serve except hurt Buck? Eddie already confronted Buck, already said his piece, already got an apology. What the hell else does he want?

I wish the show would for once frame this behaviour in a way that clarifies Eddie isn't in the right. Because somehow these fights always end with Buck apologising and Eddie doing nothing, but they're besties again anyway. To me this signals that Eddie is right, Buck is childish and selfish, yelling at your friends is okay (you don't even need to apologise) and Buck deserves this treatment. I don't think this is what the show wants to say, but it's what comes across.

[butterflywordsmith]

That Dragon AU by @frownyalfred really has me thinking because if the Waynes horde people and Dragon!Bruce did in fact have this massive reaction to Jason’s death then I imagine the confrontation between Batman and Red Hood would have a context of total misunderstanding. I'm referring to when Jason confronts Bruce for not killing the Joker and the line of

"Because he took me from you"

For Jason, as part of Bruce’s dragon horde- especially if, like some of the anon discussions said, Jason was also turned into a Dragon post resurrection- this would be a huge betrayal. Because it means Jason wasn't precious enough to Bruce OR his Dragon. It isn't about the vengeance. It's about Jason's value in Bruce's horde as one of his "people". And Jason would be valid for this even if he misinterprets Bruce entirely. He's allowed to feel that way.

But for Bruce? He can't blame the Joker for something that is ultimately Bruce's failure- at least in Bruce’s eyes. Because I could very well picture a Dragon!Bruce blow up in which he confesses that

"You were mine. Mine! My son. He didn't take you. I'm the one who didn't keep you safe. I let you die."

And I feel like, as suicidal as that could've made Bruce, living without Jason was the worst time of his life. This self-flagellating man won't even off himself to end his grief. He has an entire city he can't and won't leave unprotected and he can't stop himself from hording more people even if he fears for them always and wishes he could just stop.

So yeah, I picture Bruce as considering himself solely responsible for the safety and well-being of his horde and that while anyone who fucks with that is on his shitlist, he blames himself first.

I also wonder, if to add to the conflict inside of Bruce that perhaps others in his adoptive family dont suffer from- since Bruce more than likely considers the whole of Gotham his horde (hence, no metas in Gotham) it may contribute to why he may not want to kill. And that would extend to the Joker as a Gothamite.

So, basically, he sees everyone in Gotham as "his" whether theyre good, bad, utterly evil, etc. And he'd rather keep putting them in Arkham than end them. Like if he was constantly at war with himself. Bruce the man vs Bruce the Dragon. And neither can ever truly overcome the other because he won't allow it.

[akanemnon]

Okay, taking a break from divorce, it’s fun to see Frisk using another soul mode! Will you be including your interpretations of unused modes like bravery or patience in the comics? (If not, how would you adapt them?)

Typing out this ask also made me remember how much I love your designs of the rest of the fallen children. I can at least take comfort in the fact that versions of them are probably alive in the Light World!

So, incorporating the whole soul mode """"""magic"""""" in this story required some... workarounds.

The soul modes we see in Undertale are designed to change the gameplay. Either for limiting your movement or performing certain actions.

For the yellow, blue, green, and purple mode, Frisk is DIRECTLY affected. Translating the yellow soul mode was simple enough because it's 1 to 1 what we see in the game. Blue and green affect your movement, which I translated into Frisk specifically using to aid what they're doing. Blue allows them to jump good and green keeps them steadfast. Purple ALSO limits their movement in the game, but what I will do with it is a little different, so bear with me when it comes to that one.

Now, cyan and orange are different from the other soul modes because they don't affect Frisk's soul directly. They're attacks or obstacles you have to move through a certain way. That's something that caused me a lot of grief because I didn't know how to translate that. I could've either included a way to make them invulnerable for a very short time frame, depending on the enemy's movements or attacks. OR I could've simply made them able to perform blue and orange attacks.

What I ended up going for is simply not including them.

[khattikeri]

i actually admire lan wangji's character development a lot more when i acknowledge that prior to wei wuxian's death, he isn't actually as "righteous".

teenage lan wangji is regarded highly because he is upper class, has strong cultivation, and obeys his family and society's strict expectations. his rigidity and responsibility are more guided by the idea that his duty (the "right thing") is rule-following rather than doing actual good, even against those rules.

he's not a perfect stickler for the rules. he can be stubborn and petty, but even the few times he does transgress (e.x. kneeling before the gentian house) he doesn't get very far.

anyway... even with all his manpain struggling-- maybe even because of it, and because of his own lack of political power compared to people like lan xichen or lan qiren-- young adult lan wangji was honestly pretty entitled, even with his genuinely good intentions towards wei wuxian.

instead of doing the more difficult (yet right) thing of speaking up against those persecuting wei wuxian-- calling out his elders and the other clans as wrong, unjust, unrighteous, and acting against them (see jiang clan motto "do the impossible", which wei wuxian embodied very well)-- lan wangji was constantly trying to get wei wuxian to change himself and fall in line with society's expectations to avoid dying.

true, he eventually fights 33 of his family members... but by the time nightless city even happens, once jiang yanli dies, it's far too late.

yes, resentful energy is dangerous, and yes guidao is deeply misunderstood, and yes lan wangji didn't know about the golden core transfer. but even without knowing wei wuxian has no alternative, lan wangji knew that others were incorrectly labeling wei wuxian as evil. he knew the major clans kept attacking and provoking him, and while harder to realize, he could've reasonably seen how wei wuxian's actions are always twisted to demean him as a servant's son.

lan wangji wanted wei wuxian to come back to gusu so he could keep him safe, lock him up. but what would that have even helped in the end? love is a sympathetic cause, but locking up the one you love and never truly addressing why they're in danger is a selfish sort of love that doesn't reach the heart of the issues at hand.

only after wei wuxian's death is lan wangji able to let go of that. wei wuxian owed him nothing, not even change. lan wangji intentionally, purposefully chose each and every single day for thirteen years to remember wei wuxian by embodying what the man stood for, and acting accordingly. despite his grief and pain, he truly does become a good and righteous person.

contrast that with jiang cheng's reaction after wei wuxian's death. of clinging to everything he felt wei wuxian owed him. of vocally, violently demanding retribution after wei wuxian comes back to life. how dare you, why did you, you should've, you must... cattily justifying his aggression with equal parts resentful indignation and unhealthy "love" of their imbalance, of what they used to be.

lan wangji does none of that. by the time we reach the present day storyline, lan wangji, like wei wuxian, lets the past stay past and chooses to do good. even if that means going against the grain of society and expectations. he's a phenomenal person and character. i love him so much

[numberonetribble]

For a guy who talks a lot, he sure did a good job keeping this one a secret.

Once Piston is discovered, everyone assumes it's just some kid B-127 found out while on a scouting mission. Until one day Piston slips up and calls B-127 "carry" in front Wheeljack. Everybody starts placing bets, Hound being the number one suspect due to the green but it's not him. Piston was sparked right before Breakdown was conscripted into the Decepticons as a Stunticon, B-127 never had the chance to tell him.

B-127 never tells anybody, not even Piston. He just smiles. No one asks this of them, but growing up in the Autobot base, surrounded by suffering and war, Piston naturally wants to be apart of the fight. They develop an unhealthy hatred towards Decepticons, especially after what happens between B-127 and Megatron. Piston is utterly consumed by grief watching Cybertron crumble around them.

[Piston is in a crate as everybody knows to look for B-127 in Sublevel-50 so he can't keep them there. He visits often to let them out. They don't like the crate.]

Okay! So I've been thinking about writing a pregnancy journey fic of Earthspark Bumblebee and it got me thinking about how different B-127's would be. ES!Bumblebee is surrounded by people who love him and take care of him while he goes through the most excruciating thing in his life, yet he's worried non-stop. The whole fic is about his stress, the secret stress everyone else is feeling as there's several complications. Relationship stress, new parent stress, Piston is placed in a maturation tube, Bumblebee's body shuts down, etc, etc, but everything works out! Piston grows up in a positive environment, they know they're loved and are a goofy lamb. Despite everything that will happen to them, they get forgiven for their actions.

In TF One, B-127 is entirely alone. He can't tell anybody and due to Piston growing so quickly, he has to figure it out. B-127 finds a small cave to crawl in and removes Piston himself. But the two have to remain hooked up connected together, B-127 using himself as a battery. He's dying in slow motion, watching his Sparkling slowly come to life. The whole fic no words are said, everything is B-127's train of thought while this is happening. We'd follow him as he finds the cave, sets up what he needs, make decisions on what parts of himself to put in low power mode, think up a lie to tell base why he disappeared for a week. Ultimately ending up stuck in an odd position on the ground trying to will himself awake long enough to see Piston come online.

(As promised by Alpha Trion, there was the T-cog, nestled perfectly in their chest. It was the most beautiful thing B-127 had ever seen. If he wasn't so weak he could've cried. "We really were, " he thought, "You really are. ")

The imagery of B-127 laying on the cave floor like a broken toy, chest plating removed and spark chamber exposed to the world with all these cables running out of him into Piston, oh it knocked me out. Piston is a nervous lamb who gets battled hardened and can not be forgiven despite how hard they try.

[mamawasatesttube]

obviously i don't want timkon canon in any way shape or form now, but sometimes i think about what could've been without flashpoint/n52 and all the rebooting. like, at the end of postcrisis continuity, they were both very close and had no major actual other love interests (given that tim just burnt bridges with tam and i don't really count lynx ii as an actual character given how little screen time she got). there was the oyl costume. there was tim's grief in such obvious parallel to cassie and to mallah and the brain. there was tim being kon's confidant both before and after his death. i believe in the postcrisis slow melt. in an alternate timeline where they actually got to have a few years post kon's resurrection to get a good slow burn going, they could've had a beautiful debut as a couple with a duo book in like idk 2018, as supernova/rook (or supernova/blackbird or whatever). they could have had matching costumes. can u imagine