#he gets to vent his problems more and as such he ends up a better nobler person
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Wanted to reflect some more (re: this post and my tags) on the simple genius of NGE's characters.
Many characters are unrealistically one-note because the writers assume a 1:1 correlation between "how this person acts" and "how this person feels". A lot of people believe this about other people in general, and it seeps into their writing. If a person acts angrily, it's because they're An Angry Person. If a person cries a lot, they're Melancholic and tend to Turn Their Emotions Inward. If a person is quiet and unassuming, they must not have much of an inner life.
And maybe that's true of non-traumatised people (if such a thing can be said to exist - I'm sceptical). Maybe some people just... always act as they've felt, and never had to hide or crush a part of themselves.
But I think - and this is just anecdotal and personal experience - but I think that childhood trauma often begins when a child realises that "being myself isn't safe". Whatever their natural inclination is, acting on it will put them at risk of parental mistreatment. And so they form a brittle shell of fake personhood around themselves, based on what they think will help them survive. They might even convince themselves that they really feel this way, and that they've always been this way. Accepting the truth would be too risky.
Jung would have called this buried self the shadow self, and while it's not directly named in NGE afaik, its weight is very present.
So we have Rei. Rei is fairly straightforward, and we see her nature from the very beginning, when she slaps Shinji for insulting his father. Rei is not passive or meek; she has Opinions. She is emphatically not a doll, as per her own words. She is constantly trying to figure out herself and the world and find herself a place from which she can act with agency, and she eventually does. (She's not quite as Anthy Himemiya as Anthy Himemiya, but there are parallels.)
Of course, that's not what Gendo wants. Gendo wants - needs - Rei to be passive, submissive to his plans. And so she tries to live this life, because despite being Lilith she is also still a young girl seeking approval. Throughout the course of the series, she sheds this persona as she reconnects with who she actually is, and gains agency over her abusive father figure. The irony is that because Gendo doesn't expect this rebellion, he is broadsided by it and ultimately loses (much like Akio. We love a complacent manipulative fuckwit meeting a poetic downfall in this house).
Shinji is not a natural wimp. He, like Rei, buckles to Gendo, who uses emotional manipulation to make him pilot the Eva. But note that he starts out the show angry and critical towards Gendo, for abandoning him as a child and only calling on him when he needs something. Refusing to get in the Eva is selfish (and an understandable kind of selfish - he has no training, he doesn't want to die!), but it isn't cowardly. He's sticking up for himself!
Arguably, it's when he capitulates to Gendo and agrees to pilot that he's being most cowardly; he's scared that if he doesn't, Rei will suffer or even die. He's not doing it because he wants to, or even because he believes in NERV's stated goals of saving humanity. He's doing it because he believes the easiest way out of this situation is through the path of least resistance. He can't fight his father (though in the manga he tries!), nor can he make the Angels stop being a threat by ignoring them (though he tries that too a few times). He gives up and lets himself be used.
But Shinji isn't a natural pushover, and over time, this bitter resentment he has towards his father - and everyone else, but mostly his father - leaks out in his actions. And rather than being strictly self-loathing and feeling worthless, he's actually quite the opposite. He knows he's being *treated* as worthless and disposable, and boy is he mad because he believes he deserves a lot. He believes the people around him, especially women and girls, should want to make him happy. He believes he is entitled to their sexual and emotional favours. He's not uniquely horrible; he believes a lot of things that boys in shitty societies with shitty role models tend to believe, because it's convenient and emotionally insulating for them to believe it. But he's not the uwu softboy that he purports to be, either. The irony is that because everyone believed he was a wimp, no one thought they needed to protect Asuka from him, assuming the situation was the other way around.
And Asuka. Where Shinji's shadow self is resentment and anger and Rei's is the desire to be an active participant in life, Asuka's is that she wants to be able to depend on someone. Which, of course, she is loath to do, because the last time she was dependent on someone they killed themselves and tried to kill her too!
So she tries desperately to become independent, to not need anyone ever again - which of course doesn't work since she's a tiny child when this happens. She's incredibly lonely, starved for love, and deep down just wants someone to hold her and tell her it's ok - but she can't say that directly because that would expose her weakness, and allow her to be hurt again. The irony is that she projects such an acerbic sort of strength that it works too well, and no one thinks she might need support until it's too late - and that she could *not* depend on anyone, least of all Shinji, who claims to care for her and want her but makes the fact that she's in a coma all about him when she needs him the most.
Anyway, this is not a particularly deep reading of NGE! This is more or less just *there*, for you to read into. But viewers, like the characters themselves, fall for the lie because it's easier to believe, because it lets them cheer for the protagonist and boo the arrogant girl. And then they argue that EoE is tonal whiplash or character assassination - when it's certainly darker, but it is, in my opinion, a perfectly logical outcome to expect from these children.
They are still children, after all.
#pastel lexus rude awakening#neon genesis evangelion#asuka langley soryu#rei ayanami#do read the eva manga if you haven't#it gives us a much more vocally opinionated shinji and it's interesting to see how that changes things#i actually like manga shinji As A Person a lot better#he gets to vent his problems more and as such he ends up a better nobler person
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by popular request: how to write an email
a disclaimer that this is the specific kind of email you send when people are absolutely smiting you and you know a phone call or an in person meeting is not possible/will not help. like youre 12 emails deep in an email chain and going in circles. youve been re routed to 13 offices 4 separate times. those kind of emails.
credentials: ive taken something like 13 semesters of college (dont ask) and every single semester have had to fight at least 3 offices for varying reasons in order to take classes. (including one time where i was shorted 5k in financial aid. i ended up getting 200 more dollars than i needed in the end) also my dad taught me everything he knows about emails (hes a tradesman turned corporate man and most of his job consists of telling people (nicely) that what theyre doing sucks and makes absolutely no sense)
Step 1: figure out who the email needs to go go
there is nothing wrong with emailing 11 million people if it gets the job done. if someone isnt helping you and you Know that they Should Be feel free to start to copy their boss on the email. copy your boss on an email. (or advisor or whoever). even if you think the person might only be like Vaguely helpful, sometimes people know people.
also theres nothing wrong with emailing the same email to several departments. sometimes you have to make a lot of noise to get something done (again. as like a last resort. dont email 11 million people right out of the gate)
Step 2: remember to be Polite
a very tempting step to ignore especially when you are 13 thousand emails deep in problems. but! if you are not nice to them! they will probably continue to smite you in the future! you want to make friends! not foes! so no matter how much people are smiting you, try to resist the urge to be an utter dipshit because it will not get the job done. vent to a friend or a coworker and send your polite and nice email
Step 3: articulate the problem Clearly.
a very important step. especially if you are adding more people to your email chain. dont assume they know your exact problem. they probably are dealing with other problems. articulate Clearly what is happening, no matter how long the email may be. its far better to get a long and detailed email rather than a non helpful short one. that will only prolong the process of how long it takes the problem to get solved.
Step 4: cite your reciepts.
wildly important. send your screenshots your attachments your whatever the fucking fuck youve got. its always good to have a paper trail. this is also where you would state any previously attempts to have the problem Sorted (ie i reached out to x person on x y and z days about x problem and it is still not resolved). you would not believe how many people dont scroll down in an email, especially a forwarded/replied one. so summarize whats Down There in your most recent email
Step 5: use the appropriate lingo
you dont have to be Overly Formal but there are a few good Buzz Sentences that usually get the job done. for example:
As Per My Last Email: a great line. emphasizes that youve already mentioned this. and this is not the first time youre mentioning this point. also emphasizes that the Thing has yet to be solved
See Attached/See Below: under utilized. again. people do not open attachments and they do not scroll down. almost had a friend once fail a class because a professor gas lit them in an email chain saying they didnt receive the final paper when the paper itself was attached earlier in the email chain. be Painfully Literal. it pays off.
Help Me To Understand: this is one of my dad's favorite lines. it really shows that you have no fucking idea what the person youre emailing is getting at and youre offering them the opportunity to spell out their nonsense for you. so that you can then be like. well. clearly This is where the miscommunication lies. its a great line. has saved my ass many times. because it is not accusing it is just offering someone to understand. it does not attack. it just is.
Step 6: give a polite sign off.
something along the lines of "thank you in advance for any help" or "i look forward to hearing from you" does the job. something that sends the message you are not pissed to shit at them even if you are.
Step 7: follow up and follow up often.
polite email response time is 48 business hours/2 business days. if it has been longer than that you have every right to email back and say hi x person just following up on this email, have you had the chance to review it yet? again. keep it polite. you actually want them to help you. and if they still dont respond well then maybe its time to loop in a boss or a supervisor or whoever the hell else. dont be afraid to go above them if you need to. nothing wrong with getting shit done when it needs to get done.
and really, if all that fails, as my dad says, a little office bribe in the form of cookies has never hurt anyone :)
so an email. should be formatted something like this:
Greetings/Good Morning (Afternoon) (Person)
I hope this email finds you well (or something similar for a greeting). I am reaching out regarding X incident/problem/whatever the fuck it is. I have previously reached out to X person on X dates and (summary of whatever they did or didnt do). See below/attached emails/pdf/screenshot/document (if applicable)
(explanation of the problem in as simple and detailed terms as possible. have someone re read it to make sure that it cannot be misconstrued)
(explanation of what you are looking for as a solution)
Please help me to understand why this (solution) has not been able to be reached. (explain you are on x timeline if the situation is urgent)
Kind regards/Thank you for any help in advance/I look forward to hearing from you etc,
email signature
go forth and conquer your emails. remember, sometimes you have to be a squeaky wheel. and in my million cases of email sending, it has ALWAYS paid off and i have gotten the problems solved. dont be afraid of the emails they can help you.
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Assistance Needed | assistant!reader
based on this request (thank you anon! hope you enjoy!)
Summary: Harry finds himself in an awkward position when you walk in on him in his office just as he's in the middle of something quite improper.
Word Count: 3,053
Warning: smut (oral sex), inappropriate relationship, power imbalance (boss/assistant)
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. . .
How could you not know the lacy edge of your bra was peeking out from your lovely white silk top? Eyeglasses pushed up on your head while you leaned over the table and held the pencil between your teeth as you pointed to the paragraph in the document that you felt didn’t belong.
Harry stared down at the contract as you pulled the pencil from your lips to speak, “This looks like it doesn’t belong here. I feel like it was accidentally copied from a different contract altogether but we need to remove it.”
He looked up at your pretty eyes, already on his, and stood with a curt nod, “Yes. I think you’re right, Y/n. Once that’s done, print out enough copies for all the partners and we’ll sign them before the end of the day.”
You smiled at him and he felt his face warm. That’s all it took. Your smile.
But that was a problem because he was your boss. He paid your salary. You worked your ass off and you were the best assistant he’d ever had. You were even catching mistakes his administrative assistants didn’t. Sometimes he felt like you knew him better than his mom did. But that didn’t mean he was allowed to pine after you the way he was.
After closing the door to his office when you walked out he sat in his cushy leather chair and ran his hands into his hair. He couldn’t keep this up. His imagination would get the best of him at times but it’d been too frequent as of late. But part of him wondered why you had started wearing the things you were suddenly.
When you first started on, just over a year ago you always dressed professionally but very conservatively. There was no hint of anything particularly sexy or flirty. So Harry had never really looked at you like he had more recently. He always thought you were cute and smart and he was often surprised by how well you listened.
But then it turned into something like a friendship. He would seek you out for advice or to just chat, maybe even vent when the mood was right. He’d text you randomly midweek in the evening, then eventually he’d find himself shooting you a text on a Saturday afternoon, then a Saturday evening. And one day, when he was thinking about you while he was grocery shopping he realized he didn’t just find you refreshing to be around. Nor was he just simply happy to see you and enjoyed your company. No. He liked you. Liked you, liked you.
It really all blew up in his face, though, when you walked into the office one morning a couple of months ago wearing this dress that had his heart stopping and his tongue sliding out of his mouth (yes, just like a cartoon). He felt like a creep. He already knew he was developing feelings for you on some level but when he got a glimpse of you in something slightly more revealing it was like he was 16 again. It was embarrassing when he had to hide the front of his pants because all it took for you to make him hard was to wear a high heel or a dress that was on the shorter side.
Or wearing a thin white silk shirt tucked into a well-fitted pencil skirt and the tiniest peek of lace.
And he decided to do something he’d never done in his life. It’d be fast. No one would ever know and Harry could talk to you with a clear head and it would keep his boner at bay, at least until he left the office.
Scooting in closer to his desk he unzipped his pants and opened up his drawer to pull out tissues before spitting into his palm and smoothing it down his shaft. The relief was instant. He was swollen and already throbbing in his hand, which is why he knew it’d be fast. He could take his time later on at home, but in that moment, he needed to get off before you walked back into his office with the updated documents.
His breaths got deeper as he dropped his mouth open and closed his eyes and thought about your laugh and the curve of your bottom, your lips…
Pumping himself faster he laid one hand flat on his desk as he softly grunted the closer he got to this end. Another glob of saliva over himself made the glide of his big palm even better and he sighed when he felt his balls tighten and imagined your pretty lips wrapped around him, big, soft eyes looking up at him, the front of your shirt fully unbuttoned so he could get a proper look at the pretty bra he knew you were wearing underneath.
He was almost there when he heard a single knock at his door before it opened. You walked in with a folder and a smile on your face before closing the door behind you.
“I printed out copies for everyone. Michelle confirmed that the paragraph was transferred over from the Cota documents.”
Harry scooted himself into the desk and tried to catch his breath and act normal, hoping you wouldn’t see what he was doing or notice anything was off but he’d been right at the edge and his tip was already leaking as you laid the papers down on his desk. So far, it seemed as though you had no idea.
“Everything okay, Mr. Styles?” You suddenly paused and looked at his face. He seemed on edge.
“Yes. Fine. Thank you. I’ll sign these in a few minutes. Just, uh finishing something here.”
You squinted at him and noticed how flushed he was. How wide his pupils were. How dark his pink lips were. And his erratic behavior was a little odd.
“Are you sure? Is there something I can help you with?”
He looked up at you from his spot in his cushy chair and noticed the flirty grin on your face (was it flirty or was he just losing his mind?). The edge of your mouth quirked up as you slid your gaze downward to the space where the bottom half of his torso was just hidden underneath his desk.
“I don’t think that’s…” he inhaled, trying to calm his ragged breaths and will his erection away.
But instead of you stepping back and heading to his door to leave you cocked your head and sauntered to the side of his desk as if you already knew what he’d been doing and were determined to catch him in the act.
See, you’d been aware of his growing interest in you. And when the texts he’d send you on the weekends turned into flirtatious banter well into the evenings you decided to test out your theory. The first time you wore a dress that was just slightly shorter and tighter than normal with high heels that showed off your legs you realized he was checking you out.
So you did it again and again until you were positive it wasn’t just in your head. He was attracted to you. And it was so wrong of you to feed into it the way you did but it was hard not to enjoy the attention because Harry Styles was quite the specimen. Handsome and tall and witty… he was sexy, you’d always thought so.
And it was quite bold of you to assume anything but that day, you were feeling bold. Everything had been working for you since you woke up. Your outfit was banging (if you did say so yourself), your lipstick was staying put, you’d gotten the perfect amount of sleep, and your coffee order had been exactly to your preference. But what had you feeling extra confident was the double take Harry did when you stepped into his office that morning with his coffee.
“Mr. Styles,” you placed your hand on the edge of his desk and leaned down closer, “Tell me what you need.”
He blinked in surprise and swallowed, “I… what?”
Sliding your hand closer to the edge of the desk where he was you bit your lip as your shirt draped open slightly and you saw his pupils drag over your lacy bra.
You looked down at your cleavage and back up at him, “What? Do you like it?”
You watched him swallow again, a thick lump bobbing in his throat, “Do I like it?” He furrowed his brow and looked from your bra to your eyes, “It’s pretty.”
A grin took over your expression as you looked back down at your shirt, “Want to see more? I don’t mind.”
“I can’t. I’m…” he inhaled a shaky breath and looked down at his lap before pinning his eyes back to yours, “I’m your boss. This is inappropriate.”
You shrugged and pushed yourself back up, “I understand,” and turned to walk out. If he didn’t want to take it further you’d certainly not push it. But you knew he was up to something under his desk and you had a feeling what it was.
“Y/n wait a moment, please.”
You looked back at him and placed your arms over your chest with a soft smile, waiting for him to continue.
“Are you serious that you don’t mind?”
Shaking your head you released your arms, letting them fall to your sides, “I mean… this is embarrassing but I sort of wore this on purpose. Thought you might like it. So if you wanted to see more, well it’s for you anyway.”
“For me…” he repeated your words quietly as he considered his next steps.
“Yes. I’ve been dressing for you. I know I shouldn’t because, like you said, you’re my boss but… I don’t know.”
“I am your boss. But that doesn’t mean I haven’t been thinking about you in ways I shouldn’t be.”
“Like you were doing just before I walked in?”
His jaw clenched and he looked back down at his lap with a nod before turning his gaze back to yours, “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m not. I think about you too, you know.”
“Probably not like this.”
“Like what? Were you… Mr. Styles, were you touching yourself under your desk?”
He was like a deer caught in headlights. Eyes wide and scanning as he shifted uncomfortably, “I was. I apologize, I…”
Stepping forward you shook your head, “Don’t apologize. When I asked you if you needed something I hoped you’d let me, you know…” you breathed out a laugh and shrugged.
“You wanted to… help me? Like…” his brows scrunched together as if he couldn’t believe where the conversation was headed.
“Yes. If you wanted. We can pretend nothing happened and I’ll leave right now but I would love to– assist.”
He swallowed again, the gulp sounding in the quiet of his office, “Fuck,” he cursed and looked down at his length. He felt like such a pervert but here you were offering your assistance. When he looked back up at you, you’d already made your way back to his desk, eyes wide and hopeful.
“I can’t ask you to do that, Y/n. I don’t want to take advantage of you in that way.”
“You wouldn’t be taking advantage of me. If anything I’d be taking advantage of you. I’ve been hoping it’d come to this and that you’d need me to help you. Whatever you want. My hand, my mouth…”
Harry couldn’t believe his ears. His pretty assistant was standing there waiting for the word. You wanted it. He knew it would be a big mistake but he nodded despite his better judgment, “Okay. I’m already hard and I was pretty close when you walked in so it won’t take long. I’m not gonna make you use your mouth but if you wanted–“
“I would like to use my mouth if you’re okay with it,” you placed your glasses down and began to round the desk to be closer to him when he moved his chair back and you saw it. Ruddy tip, thick from root to crown, precum pearled at his slit and slowly dripping down the impressive length. It looked heavy. His cock was almost as gorgeous as he was.
“You poor thing,” you knelt down next to his chair and slid your hands up his thighs, “I want to make you feel good, Mr. Styles. Is it okay if I suck you off or would you rather me just use my hand?”
He closed his eyes and leaned his head back into his chair, “Fuck… fuck…” his cock twitched as you moved in, perching yourself between his thighs and waiting for his answer.
“If you want you can use your mouth. It’s up to you. I’m not in the position to be picky really, am I?” He laughed his green eyes on yours again.
You smiled back at him and let your nails scrape over the material of his pants before you allowed yourself the indulgence of wrapping your palm around him and he hissed, his head falling into the back of the chair again, but this time he kept his eyes opened as he watched you.
You licked your lips and smeared his precome down his shaft before fixing yourself on your knees and spitting over his head, “You can come in my mouth too,” you added before dipping down and tonguing at his slit for a taste of what was to come. He smelled clean and neutral. The precome was only slightly salty and bitter.
But the moment you took him in your mouth, lips stretching over his crown he gurgled a moan and placed his palm on the back of your head.
Smooth strokes of your mouth up and down, your tongue cradling the underside of his cock as you sucked and hollowed your cheeks. He was quite girthy and long. You clenched your thighs as you took him deeper, wondering what he’d feel like tucked into your cunt, pressing through your already clenching, slick walls.
“Oh fuck… Y/n… shit…” he let curses fall from his mouth as you lightly gagged around him, your drool starting to make a bit of a mess on his pants, “Fuck me… such a good girl. Oh my god…”
He was delirious. It was just what you wanted; to have him mumbling nonsense and praise and to have him shivering… soon he’d be pouring into your throat.
You bobbed over him, his chair squeaking as he tensed his thighs to keep the bottom from swiveling and you felt pressure on your head as he instinctually attempted to keep you in place with his hand. Your sinuses burned as he rutted up into your mouth, a gagged moan coming from the back of your throat as he throbbed and fucked his tip further back, “My god, Y/n… holy shit, such a good fucking assistant, aren’t you? Gonna take my come down your throat? Yeah?”
You moaned and let your blurry eyes slide up to his face and he groaned when he made eye contact with you. It was dirty and sexy, and completely improper for him to be balls-deep in his assistant's mouth. But fuck it was pretty. You were pretty but with your lips wrapped around him, drool slipping from your mouth and down your chin, and watery eyes blinking up at him, the scene was lewd.
He pulled you up so you could gasp for air, strings of saliva connected to his cock and your lips as you heaved in a breath and he wrapped his palm around your neck and pulled you in, his lips pressing against yours.
You were already slick in your panties but now this was making you dizzy. You moaned and pumped his cock slowly before he whispered against your lips, “You okay still?”
“Yes. So good. Let me finish you off.”
So he released your neck and you immediately encased his cock with your warm mouth again, sucking and bobbing and moaning wetly until he was quivering and thrusting his hips, hand pressed over your head once again as he began to pump hot, sticky cum into your mouth. You gulped him down and curved your tongue along his length as he let out a hoarse groan.
It was sloppy. You’d drooled a lot and you were sure your mascara was running down your cheeks, but you didn’t care. You’d risk being a bit of a mess if you could have him like this. You’d take what you could get of your handsome boss.
Harry moved his hand away from your head and you swallowed the last of him down as you pulled up, letting your tongue lick any missed cum, suckling at his tip before sitting back and looking up at him with a smile.
He was breathing hard as he reached for your face, “Thank you.”
“My pleasure,” you laughed softly and pushed yourself to stand. “Think I need to clean up a little before I step out of here.”
Harry tucked himself back into his pants and laughed, “A little. I like the raccoon look, though.”
You opened up the cabinet next to his desk, the door had a mirror on the inside as you dapped tissues at your eyes, “You only like it because of what it represents,” you grinned. “Anyone else would be confused and worried about me if they saw me like this.”
Harry watched as you cleaned up and noticed you kept squeezing your thighs together, “What about you, Y/n? Need anything?”
You huffed a laugh, still feeling flustered and on the edge of crazy for doing what you just did, “Nothing I can’t take care of myself. Besides, there’s no time right now. You’ve got a conference call in a few minutes and I need to run these documents to the other guys before they leave.”
He stood up, following you to the door and stopping you before you could step out, “Will you come find me before you leave today?”
You bit your lip and nodded, “I always do, don’t I?”
Harry pushed a laugh out through his nose and nodded, “You’re right. You do. See you in a while then?”
You opened the door and smiled at him, “Of course, Mr. Styles.”
. . .
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hii can I request blue lock boys comforting their s/o thats on her period? (if your uncomfy w this than jst ignore it)
Thank you! 💕💕
YOU'RE MY COMFORT!
·˚ ༘ ꒱ summary when they comfort their s/o who's on her period
·˚ ༘ ꒱ characters isagi yoichi , bachira meguru , itoshi rin , nagi seishiro , mikage reo , chigiri hyoma , hiori yo , shidou ryusei , itoshi sae , michael kaiser , alexis ness
·˚ ༘ ꒱ warning fem!reader implied , lowercase intended
·˚ ༘ ꒱ a/n eeeek i took a kinda long hiatus after exams so sorry this was late- TT
·˚ ༘ ꒱ isagi yoichi
isagi would be so sweettttt. like he’s 100% the type to google how to make your girlfriend feel better on her period and then go overboard. he shows up at your door with snacks, a hot water bottle, and a look of absolute determination.
“babe, i got chocolate, tea, and this random teddy bear i found. will that help??”
he also tries to distract you with soccer highlights and ends up ranting about strategy while you just cuddle into him. lwk adorable.
"yoichi, i don’t need all this, i’m fine—"
"nope. it’s my job to make sure you’re 100% okay!"
"…you’re too much."
"too much in love with you? absolutely."
·˚ ༘ ꒱ bachira meguru
bachira treats your period like it’s an adventure. he calls it “battle week” and declares himself your knight in shining armor. he’s running around like a maniac, making you laugh so hard you forget the pain.
he also makes you random art to cheer you up. one time, he drew a stick figure comic of you fighting a “period dragon” with a sword made of chocolate. you almost cried laughing.
"meguru, what is this??"
"you slaying your period. literally."
"you’re so dumb… but i love it."
"mission accomplished!!!!! >:D "
·˚ ༘ ꒱ itoshi rin
rin is… awkward. but he triessss. when you first tell him, he just blinks and goes, "okay. what do you need?" and when you say “nothing,” he goes into silent problem-solving mode.
he might not say much, but he’ll keep you company, bring you your favorite drinks, and make sure you’re comfortable. he’s like a walking checklist. it’s so sweet how seriously he takes it.
"rin, you don’t have to—"
"you said you have a headache, so i’m staying until it stops."
"you’re so stubborn-"
"you’re welcome."
·˚ ༘ ꒱ nagi seishiro
nagi is… so chill. you tell him you’re on your period, and he’s like, "oh. okay. do you wanna nap?" because in his mind, that fixes everything.
but the second you actually need something? he’s ( surprisingly ) up and moving faster than you thought possible. he’ll even let you steal his hoodie and hog all the blankets.
"sei, can you pass me the—"
"already got it. now come back to bed."
"why are you so good at this???"
"because i'm used to this by now."
·˚ ༘ ꒱ mikage reo
reo treats it like a high-stakes situation. he buys you EVERYTHING—snacks, heating pads, your favorite drinks, and even a blanket that looks like a giant burrito.
“what else do you need? should i call a doctor? a masseuse? build you a pillow fort?”
he’s over the top ( *cough* more than usual *cough* ), but it’s so sweet you can’t even be mad.
"reo, you don’t need to do all this—"
"yes, i do. you’re in pain, and i don’t like it."
"you’re insane."
"insanely in love with you, yep."
·˚ ༘ ꒱ chigiri hyoma
chigiri is so calm and collected about it. he’s like, “i got this.” he makes you tea, rubs your back, and lets you vent about how annoying it all is.
he also takes you on peaceful walks or sits with you by the window, brushing your hair and talking about random things to keep your mind off the cramps. it’s giving romance movie vibes.
"hyoma, you’re like… weirdly good at this."
"i have a sister. i’ve trained for this moment."
"oh my god, of course you have."
·˚ ༘ ꒱ hiori yo
hiori is the gentlest bean. he’s like, “do you need anything? want me to get you soup? should we watch your favorite movie?” he’s so soft and accommodating, it’s almost ridiculous.
he also writes you little notes to cheer you up, like: “you’re stronger than cramps 💪 i believe in you!!”
"hiori, this note is so cheesy—"
"but did it make you smile?"
"…yeah, it did."
"then it worked. :D "
·˚ ༘ ꒱ shidou ryusei
shidou is chaotic as ever, but surprisingly… thoughtful? he shows up with junk food, a heating pad, and an attitude like, “let’s beat this period’s ass together.”
he’s also the type to jokingly pick a fight with your u t e r u s ( you read that right ), yelling things like: “how dare you hurt my girl?! square up, you coward!” it’s dumb, but it works.
"ryu, stop yelling at my uterus—"
"not until it apologizes."
"you’re so stupid."
"but you’re laughing, so i win."
·˚ ༘ ꒱ itoshi sae
sae is quietly attentive. he doesn’t say much, but he notices everything—like the way you hold your stomach or wince when you move. suddenly, you’ve got a hot water bottle and your favorite drink in your hand, no explanation needed.
he’ll sit with you in comfortable silence, scrolling on his phone until you’re ready to talk. it’s subtle, but you feel so cared for.
"sae, you didn’t have to get all this—"
"you’re in pain. of course i did."
"…thanks."
"don’t mention it."
·˚ ༘ ꒱ michael kaiser
kaiser is so dramatic about it. the second you tell him, he’s like, “mein gott, my poor love! what can i do?!” he acts like you're about to be taken from him.
but honestly? he’s surprisingly good at making you laugh and keeping your spirits up. he’ll even let you boss him around for the day.
"michael, stop being so dramatic—"
"i can’t help it! your pain is my pain!"
"you’re ridiculous."
"and you love me for it."
·˚ ༘ ꒱ alexis ness
ness is the sweetest little bean. he immediately offers to make you tea and snuggle on the couch with your favorite blanket. he’s like a human heater—so warm and comforting.
he also sends you texts like, “you’re doing amazing, sweetheart 💖 cramps don’t stand a chance against you!” pure angel.
"ness, you’re being so extra—"
"only because you deserve it!"
"you’re such a dork."
"your dork 🥰."
© txrully
copy/translate/plagiarize/repost my works in any way and i will be under your bed 🥰
likes + reblogs always appreciated <3
#isagi x reader#isagi yoichi#bachira x reader#bachira meguru#itoshi rin x reader#rin itoshi x reader#nagi seishiro x reader#nagi seishiro#reo mikage x reader#reo mikage#chigiri x reader#chigiri hyoma#hiori yo#hiori x reader#shidou x reader#shidou ryusei#itoshi sae#sae x reader#michael kaiser#kaiser x reader#alexis ness#ness x reader#💌 ⸝⸝ anon's ask ‹𝟹#🌷 ⸝⸝ sisi's inbox ‹𝟹#🌻 ⸝⸝ sisi's asks ‹𝟹#🩷⸝⸝ ʙʟʟᴋ ᴛʀᴇᴇ#bllk x reader#headcanon
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More Lucanis rambles because I’m still thinking about it and got nothing better to do :P
I am not here to tell anyone how to feel but putting words into peoples mouths who criticize the Lucanis romance (or Lucanis in general) for being unsatisfactory by saying;
“You don’t know what a slow burn is/ it’s because you expected zevran / you don’t get it he’s traumatized/ you just wanted something spicy and didn’t get it so now you’re mad” etc.
Is completely disregarding the fact that his lack of reactions and lack of content actually led people to believe he is bugged. Most DA fans didn’t expect spice or steam or whatever but they did expect an effective story, one they didn’t get.
This is at the end of the day a visual storytelling medium and implication will only get you so far, if i have to start thinking up entire plotlines in my head to make sense of the story or relationship progression then they failed at good storytelling. If i have to write paragraphs of explanations that the game doesn’t even remotely touch on then that isn’t a slow burn, it’s just a lack of content and poor pacing.
If he is traumatized and reluctant because of it you have to give me a scene where i can actually read that. If he is awkward and doesn’t know how to react to flirting you have to exaggerate to an extent for people to tell. If there is longing and angst give me banter that reflects it.
A romance in a game should give me some kind of deeper personal insight into a character and if i have to do the writers job and in my head think up those insights then the actual romance is mostly moot. I’m not saying give me all the details i’m saying at the very least give me a jumping point, some info buried in the game i won’t get otherwise. His romance fails at this.
Mary Kirby was fired yes and it’s awful what happened but unfortunately the product still remains and it leaves a lot to be desired for a big amount of people. When players are straight up going back on saves to romance someone else it’s a real problem. For me, it soured my first playthrough, especially later when i saw how Davrin and Emmrich had content, convos, specific romance outings and at the bare minimum actually had a noticeable reaction to flirting dialogue.
Again I’m not telling anyone how to feel, if it works for you that’s awesome, but to disregard his obvious lack of content by calling other fans basically stupid is incredibly disingenuous.
I love his character, loved it since The Wigmakers Job and he is still my favorite after my first playthrough. I think the beginning of his romance was very promising and the end is great but everything else is missing I’m sorry. His romance was not well executed and i honestly don’t think his character really was either. (But i won’t vent about that right now)
I know what a slow burn is, i was not expecting Zevran, i did not want a steamy romance. I wanted a well executed story and i didn’t get one. I am critical because i think it could’ve been great, i still love the game and i am not shitting on it, his character or other fans i just hate wasted potential.
#I STILL REALLY LIKE THE GAME#i promise i am not hating just to hate#datv spoilers#dragon age the veilguard spoilers#datv critical#dragon age#lucanis dellamorte#lucanis dragon age#lucanis#lucanis romance#rookanis#wolfs lucanis tag#wolfs DA rambles
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toji fushiguro x crybaby!fem!reader cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, daddy kink, dacryphilia a/n: i'll probably write the mating press one at some point too i just felt like doing this instead today
Thinking of Toji Fushiguro with his sweet, sensitive girlfriend who's had a bad day.
He's lounging on the couch when you get home. His head rests on the cushion with one of his thick arms tucked behind his head. His meaty thighs are spread wide open, almost calling for someone to sit on his lap.
The second you come through the front door, he knows something’s up. You don’t have a pretty smile for him or chirpy hello. You just brush by and head straight to the bedroom. He doesn’t have to ask the obligatory ‘how was your day?’ to know his baby is overworked and overtired.
When you return to his vicinity, your clothes from going out are gone, swapped in favor of soft pants and a thin camisole. You answer the call his thighs put out and take up the spot on his lap, landing on one of his legs and curling your own to rest your feet on the other.
"s'wrong, baby?" he murmurs with a small peck to your temple. His fingers trail up and down your spine in a soothing rhythm.
You sniffle before answering and tilt your head back. Another couple tells. “Just tired n’ stuff,” you answer weakly.
“Yeah? That all?” he asks while using his arms to squish your body closer to his. His lips lay feather-light kisses across your cheekbone and down to the skin beneath your jawline.
You tilt your cranium for him, giving him more room to lavish affection on you. The rest of your body melts in his direction, eager for him to soothe more of your problems away with his presence.
He covers one side of your throat with his lips while his fingers tend to the other. They stroke back and forth in little stripes. When you don’t answer his last question, he tries a different one.
“Just a bad day?” he mumbles.
To that, you nod.
He hums knowingly. His hand on your neck slides down over your breast to your waist. He knows what you need. You don’t want to actually talk about what’s wrong. Don’t want advice or a place to vent. You just want Toji to make it better in the best way he knows how.
“Why’s everyone so hard on my girl, hm?” he murmurs. His lips drift the opposite direction of his palm, finding your cheek again and working over to your lips.
“I dunno,” you answer before his lips swallow the sound of your voice.
Soft, wet noises from kisses replace actual words. You melt against his chest, letting him support you in the embrace. One set of your digits lazily plays with the smooth ends of his obsidian locks that sit at the nape of his neck. You can feel the frayed skin of his scar as your mouth moves on his own.
The first time this happened, Toji felt like he was doing something wrong. Beforehand, he thought you’d want to feel listened to when you were sad. That you’d expect him to provide words of alleviation. Maybe you’d wanna watch some of your favorite movies or order takeout from that place you like. Instead, all you wanted was the most base form of physical comfort. And there was no way he was gonna complain about that.
His fingertips pet your waist while his other hand slides down between your legs. He cups your sex before actually administering any touches.
“My baby just needs to relax a little,” he whispers, his breath ghosting over your saliva coated lips.
You nod and brush your nose against the tip of his. “Need you.”
He hears another tiny sniff in your voice. His teeth scrape over your bottom lip before he kisses the corner of your mouth.
“I know,” he coos, voice low and smooth, “Need daddy to just rub all those worries right out.”
A whimper spills from you - both a reaction to the words and his thick fingers that were beginning to stroke your cunt over your soft bottoms. The sensation is too dull to provide any real pleasure, but it’s enough to stoke the sparks of anticipation into flames.
You lean back and angle your hips upward, giving him more access to your center. He pushes down with slightly more pressure. A puff of air leaves you both in sync as you each fall into the rhythm of this dance.
He doesn’t play with you through two layers for too long. When he does slide his hand under the waist band of your pants, he also bypasses your panties. His digits delve right between your folds, seeking out the tender wetness that lies there.
His middle finger finds your clit with learned precision. It gives the swollen bud a few swipes, relishing the mewl you let out.
Your body loosens up as his finger begins to work at you more. His shoulder catches your head when it falls back. Moments later, your legs spread a little wider across his lap to make this all easier for him.
“There you go, that’s it,” he praises.
Like always, he rubs you dumb. Toji’s skilled fingers get you all floaty and mindless in the span of five minutes. Your eyelids droop while your pupils find his face. You see him smirk, visibly amused by your look of love.
“Looks like you’re gonna start droolin’ for me,” he teases and swipes at the edge of your lip with his free thumb.
You don’t know what makes him so good at this, what gives him the ability to crack you like a safe, but he does it time and time again. Your head begins to fill with clouds as tears mist over your water line. It’s as if he reduces you down to your most base instincts.
He can see the extra shimmer in your eyes. “Such a good girl,” he croons.
His scar splits with a grin. More arousal begins to leak from you, slicking up your cunt and his fingers. He drags his digit over your entrance. He doesn’t dip it in, only uses enough pressure to tease.
When you sniffle for the third time and turn your face into the warmth of his neck, he knows you’re ready for more.
His hand glistens with your nectar when he frees it from your panties. He gives you a little boost and tugs down the garments before sitting you back on his lap bare. He was already semi-hard from watching you get worked up. Palming at his bulge, he gets it to fill out some more and then pushes his own bottoms down.
As much as he loved making you ride, you were in no mood to right now. He tilts you back against his chest, kissing at your neck while jerking his cock a few more times.
You get your legs back up into his lap, which works out for the position he wants you in. One of his hands grips your hips, guiding you up so he can slot his swollen tip at your hole. He presses at it gently, popping into you and letting you adjust to the first part of him. Whining in satisfaction, you squirm against him.
“Hold still for me, baby. Daddy’s gonna take care of it,” he breathes.
His hands cup behind your knees, folding you up against him. Lifting his hips, he slides the rest of his thick shaft into you. That’s what breaks you open and beckons those waiting tears to roll down your cheeks.
He soothes you through it. You’re not in pain, and he knows that. You need this release. He's just more than happy to give it to you.
You’re so used to the satisfying stretch of Toji’s cock. It stills draws these tears from you, but the best kind. And this is the way you like to get it. Held up in his strong arms while he pumps his hips up and down.
His heavy balls sway with the movements of his pelvis. The prickle of his hair down there meets your ass every few seconds. He nestles his own face against your skin, muffling his grunts with your skin.
“This making you feel better, sweetheart?” he coos, his voice more strained than before. Your cunt was just so tight and warm. Each thrust enveloped his dick with feelings straight from heaven.
“Uh huh,” you choke out. It’s impossible for you not to clench around Toji. He just fills you so well.
His tip prods at your interior sweet spots. You arch your back, breasts heaving from the slow stream of pleasure filling your veins. His pace is nice and slow for now; designed to settle your emotions. He could speed up and drive you to more tears in a few minutes.
“Fuck,” you sniffle simply, your hand rising to wipe your tears away.
“It’s ok. You let it allllll out,” he says from behind you, voice laced with the pleasure of knowing he handled you just how you needed.
“T-thank you, daddy,” you whimper.
“s’what I’m here for.”
Once that pace becomes too comfortable, he starts speeding up. Your pussy squelches with the increased fervor of his efforts and another cry leaks from your throat.
He groans against your neck, dick throbbing at the noise. His hips rock up and down, up and down. He can feel the simmer of release beginning to sizzle in his belly, and he knows you’re probably feeling the same. It only makes him work harder.
The muscles in his legs go taut as he uses them for leverage and prepares to feel the rush of euphoria.
“Almost ready for me, babydoll?” he mutters in your ear.
You nod. Your own legs quiver while your hips buck. Your breaths come out in pants, measured despite their ragged quality.
One of your hands slithers down to rub at your clit to give yourself that extra edge as you hurtle towards the finish line. The combination of the two sensations gets you there. A whimper tangled with a long whine bursts from you and your pelvis bucks sharply as if you’re the one thrusting.
“Oh-ho. There it is,” Toji coos. His hand slithers forward, draping your leg over his forearm insstead of holding it. His fingers wrap around your throat, keeping you as close as possible while he fucks you through the high.
A sob tumbles from your mouth as the rest of your features scrunch up. Twitching and writhing, you ride out the wave of euphoria. You’re so far entrenched in the bliss of release, you nearly miss the feeling of Toji reaching his peak and flooding your pussy with a strong eruption of cum.
His hips falter when the feeling crashes into him, but he manages to stay steady as the pleasure rolls through him. His hips pump each rope deep inside you.
You’re through with it first, but he’s not far behind you. You come down together. Your body sits boneless on his lap while he stays nestled inside you.
Slowly, his arms dislodge your legs from their folded up position. He uses the freedom to bring his thumb to your cheek and wipe away any remaining tears. You nuzzle at his throat in appreciation.
No words are needed between you two, but you offer one anyways.
“Thanks,” you say with a small smile. Your face looks at him genuinely but with a simultaneous desire to not get so serious.
He pats your waist. “Don’t mention it. There are worse ways you could need my help,” he says. That scar you love so much thins as he gives you an expression similar to yours.
#toji fushiguro x reader#toji fushiguro smut#toji fushiguro x you#toji x reader#jjk x reader#jjk smut#jujustu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen smut#this was self indulgent can you tell 🤩#ch: toji fushiguro 💌
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𝑰 𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖. // 𝑾𝑪: 2.2𝑲
— feat. disassembly drone N x worker drone reader
synopsis. Since disassembly drones need oil to keep from overheating they kill other drones to consume it. But.. ever since the alliance between Disassembly and Worker Drones its been a bit difficult to acquire..It’s not a problem for V to randomly kill someone off but it’s a different situation for N now that his views have changed. AKA…reader supplies him with oil :DD
— content warning. Nothing 18+ just a few kisses, neck biting and N being in pain.. gulp?
— authors note. I fear this x reader is a bit..cringe then again that might just be me overthinking it..ANYWAYS tried my best for this, and still have no idea how to write for a robot. (N might be a little mischaracterized I’m not ENTIRELY sure)
At the end of science class, just when everyone was packing up to leave, you noticed N fidgeting more than normal at his desk.
"Is everything okay, N?" you asked.
He laughed nervously. "Who, me? Pshaw, never better!" But when he spoke, he looked anywhere but at you and the others.
Thad snickered. "Maybe his circuits are loose again." Lizzy giggled. "Lmao, he probably fried something.” Just as V was about to comment on his behavior..
N got up from his chair abruptly; he swayed unsteadily before catching himself upon another classroom desk.
By the time you registered what was going on, N had already ducked out of the classroom door, stumbling down the hall. "N, wait!" you called after him, hurrying to catch up. N was unsteady on his feet, swerving from side to side as he tried to put distance between the both of you.
His limbs shook with every step he took.
"G-Gotta...g-get a-away..." he muttered, though you weren't sure if he was even aware you could hear him. His eyes flickered erratically, barely being able to focus straight ahead as he tried to get away.
You picked up your pace, power walking down the corridor after him. "Slow down!!" you yelled out, but N was quicker, and before you knew it, when you reached the next corner, you lost him completely.
Your concern for N grew by the minute, so you started tracking him down since something was clearly wrong, beyond a normal glitch.
An hour had already passed since you last saw N, yet here he was in the maintenance unit stumbling blindly, crashing into something every few steps.
"S-sorry!" he slurred after bumping into a support beam for the third time. An unnatural static fuzzed the edges of his voice. Stubbornly, he scrambled back on his feet and lurched forward without seeing where he went.
Was he malfunctioning? But his murder drone programming should have kept him sharp, no?? Seeing him this disoriented was alarming.
You trailed him at a distance, hiding behind a variety of things as he walked on ahead. Where was he heading in such a panic? His vents were roaring torrents by now, and visible condensation soaked his frame.
Finally, he collapsed behind a supply crate, crawling the last few feet. Had he sensed you following? No, his optics were unfocused, so he couldn't have had.
Gingerly, you peeked around the crate to see N weakly clawing at his chest clearly in pain.
If you didn't act fast, he would shut down permanently. Steeling your nerves, you crawled to his side.
"N? Hey..hey! It's me, Y/N. Are you okay??”
When you gently called his name, N got startled so badly that his claws scraped sparks from the metal flooring he sat upon. His optics flashed wildly before settling on your face with a look of panic. "Y-Y-Y/N! S-sorry, but I don’t think you should be near me right now…”
N let out an alarmed wheeze that trailed off into a pained whine. It took visible effort for his optics to focus on you. You could tell he was losing some sort of control over his strength, but why??
"You don’t look so good..”
N broke into a hacking series of rushed laughter that ended in a groan. "Me? Pssh, n-no way! I'm t-totally fine, like I said earlier. Now please just leave me, yeah?” He waved dismissively, or at least tried to, but his attempt ended up flailing limply.
He knew he wasn't doing a great job at reassuring you when you glared at him.
"N-nothing to worry that pretty l-little processor of yours over, really.”
N's dismissive act was crumbling faster than his resolve. Another hacking laugh turned into a groan as his eyes started to flicker erratically once again.
"N, please. You're clearly not alright." You took his flailing claw gently in your hands. His plating was so hot it almost burned to the touch.
A whine slipped, “Crap..crap. It h-hurts,
Y/N. M-My core, it h-hurts so F̵̬̏́̏͆̀͝ų̸͙͋̿̃̌͋́̈́̆͑̕͠c̶̜̜̼̥͓̚k̷̫̺̝̈́̀̿̇͐̐͑ḭ̸̧̻̞̻͚̳̘̩̣͋̀̃́̔̊̋̚ň̵̞̪̯̼̟̗̩͈̖́g̸̩̤̩̼̘̪̀́͊͗̋͐́̇ much."
You've never seen N this vulnerable before…
"What can I do to help? There must be something." N trembled, fighting some inner battle. Finally, he met your gaze, his optics showing an agony of want behind the discomfort.
"T-there is s-something, b-but I shouldn't..." Strangely, another sound intermingled with the strain in his voice now.
Was that...hunger?
Stroking his plating gently, hoping to soothe, you pressed, "Please, tell me what you need." His vents hitched wildly. Then, in a strained whisper, he cracked.
"Y-your oil...I ne-need…it."
A shiver visibly ran through his frame. His optics darkened as they focused intently on your physic, more so your neck and wrist.
"I..." he began weakly, then stopped to swallow. His claws clenched tightly as if fighting the urge. You waited patiently for him to continue, showing concern but no sense of alarm.
After a long pause, N dragged his gaze with an effort to meet your face once more.
“T-tell me to stop," he whispered, his fangs peeking out as he talked.
"I so badly n-need it, but I don't w-want to hurt you.” His claws lifted toward your face but stopped only by his wavering will. You knew this would be the only way for him to cool down.
You looked deeply into N's eyes, past the haze of glitches that overtook his screen.
"I trust you," you said calmly without fear. His breathing became more ragged at your words.
In a flash, his restraint broke—but instead of lunging at your throat as you'd expected, his claws tangled in the fabric of your shirt, yanking you flush against his overheated frame. You gasped at the contact, feeling the waves of heat pouring off of him.
N buried his face in the crook of your neck, fangs tantalizingly. "P-please..." he stammered once more, sounding close to genuine tears. Raising a hand, you gently clasped the back of his head, threading your fingers through his silver hair.
"Take what you need," you told him firmly yet tenderly..After yet another hesitant pause, his screen displayed an X. Then, with a grunt of gratification, his fangs smoothly penetrated the sensitive wiring of your neck.
Your breath became unsteady as N's fangs pierced you. It didn’t hurt as much as you thought it would—just a little bit of a pinch. His hands gripped your shoulders for support as he drank deeply, allowing the oily fluid to course through his system.
For several moments the only sounds were his gulping intakes and your own measured breaths; you kept still so as not to disturb him. You watched as the pained lines on his face slowly eased, his eyes returning to normal. His plating, which was boiling hot only moments ago, cooled down to a much safer temperature against you.
N withdrew his fangs from your neck, making a small trickle of oil leak from your wound.
He leaned back in hastily, swiping his tongue along the twin marks. You shuddered at the foreign yet not unpleasant sensation. But N paused, a flushed look appearing on his screen. “Ah g-geez, is this w-weird?”
He glanced away, clearly embarrassed "What I mean to say is, um, my saliva can help the wounds close up faster? If, uh, you're okay with my germy mouth touching the injury I c-caused? No funny business, I swear! J-just bros being bros, p-patching each other…um up.”
N winced, realizing how that sounded. "N-not that we're actually b-bros, unless you want to be? Biscuits. Just—just let me do this, kay?”
With your consenting nod, N gave a short awkward chuckle and leaned back in. His tongue swiping over the wound. It began to tingle as the mark he had left slowly began to close up.
"It's strange to think your spit has healing properties," you remarked softly, not wanting to break the intimacy of the moment. N hummed in agreement, laving one last swipe across the bite mark before drawing back to assess his handiwork. His optics flicked up to meet yours, searching for any sign of discomfort.
"How does it feel? Are you in any pain?" he asked, his tone laced with concern despite his own drained state. You shifted experimentally. "Stop worrying. Just a slight tingling.“
N searched your face anxiously. "Are you sure? Nothing else? No dizziness or discomfort?" His optics roved your features, taking in every subtle reaction. When you reassured him again that all was well, the tension melted from his shoulders—only to be replaced with guilt.
"Y/N, I could have seriously hurt you," he said quietly, horror creeping into his tone. "My systems went haywire; I had no control. If I had bitten down any harder..." He shuddered, unable to complete the thought.
"But you didn't," you said firmly. "You fought off the urge just enough to get the help you needed. I trusted you, N." He shook his head sadly. "Your trust may be misplaced in me. The overheating....what if next time I can't—can’t stop.”
N shuddered again at the dark thought. Seeking to ease his distress, you shot him a playful smile. "Well, if it happens again, we're in this together. At least now I have a cool vampire drone friend!! The whole sucking my oil thing was pretty vampirish.”
He cracked a hesitant chuckle. "Yeah, maybe I'll sparkle in the sun too." Feeling bold, you leaned in with a faux-dramatic voice, "I vant to suck your coolant..."
N actually snickered at that. You beamed, glad to lift his spirit, even if it was only for a brief moment. His smile faded as reality set back in.
"But seriously, what if next time I really hurt someone?” On impulse, you threw your arms around him in a hug.
N's eyes widened as you suddenly hugged him close. For a moment he sat stiffly, caught off guard. Then slowly, oh so carefully, his arms came up to return the embrace.
"Y/N...if anything happened to you because of me, I don't know what I'd do," he said quietly against your shoulder. You squeezed him tighter for reassurance. "Hey, it'll take a lot more than some murder instinct to take me out. Have a little more faith in me, will you? Stop being so edgy.”
“Edgy?" N scoffed, "Sorry, nearly ripping your throat out put me in a gloomy mood."
"Ripping my throat out?” You echoed with a wry grin. "Well, luckily that didn’t happen, did it?”
N huffed, “Maybe. But what if next time I lose it?"
You opened your mouth to respond, but he quickly shushed you.
“You just leaped right in like it was nothing. Do you have any idea how badly this could've ended?" He gestured vaguely to the drying wound on your neck.
"You drones are so..so fragile. One wrong move and I could've—" He cut off, unable to say the word. His arms flexed unconsciously, as if longing to wrap around something and squeeze. To protect, or destroy? Even he wasn't sure.
"You'd never hurt me, N. I believe in-"
Your words halted as he glanced up, his eyes searching yours with raw, wavering emotion. An urge welled within you, sprung from compassion more than reason. You leaned in to press your lips to his in a soft kiss.
"Mmmph?!" N made a muffled sound of surprise, his body locking up stiffly. Your tongue briefly caught the tang of the lingering oil before you pulled back with a slight grimace.
His faceplate shone a distressed yellow blush. "I-I'm so sorry, I should have wiped my mouth better!“ he stammered.
But you simply smiled and leaned in again, pressing your lips gently to his once more. Then, slowly, he began to relax into the kiss.
His screen switched to a loading screen. In that moment, all his train of thought derailed off a cliff. N's screen flickered back online, and one of his hands floated up to gently touch his mouth, eyes wide and staring blankly.
"Bwuh-wha...you...kissem—I mean, I kissem-no, we...kissed?" he sputtered
"We k-kissed. You k-kissed me," he whispered, his optics shrinking to pinpoints before dilating wide again. A nervous giggling burst out of him.
"Oh biscuits, what d-does this mean? Are we like..” his tone lowered to a soft whisper.
“Dating n-now?”
"Well, uh, I guess you could say we're kind of sort of datingish now," you replied bashfully. "If-if you want to be my boyfriend, that is."
N's entire face lit up. "Boyfriend..Awhh Y/N!! Id love that." He hugged you tightly, lifting you off the ground and spinning you around in excitement.
"N set you down gently, his optics still shining with unbridled joy. However, a hint of seriousness crept into his expression as he looked at you intently.
"This doesn't mean I'm not mad at you for what you did," he said, his voice low and eyes narrowed slightly. "You could have been seriously hurt, or worse. You really scared me back there."
You sighed and nodded. "Yeah, yeah, I get it. Next time, I'll call V or someone else—I won't try to handle things on my own and potentially get myself killed." You paused, then added with a wry smile, "I promise."
N's stern look softened, and he hummed contentedly. "Good!" Reaching out, he took your hand in his larger one and gave it a gentle squeeze.
© yammpi3 2024. All work belongs to @yammpi3. You can repost if you want to support my blog/writing! Please don't modify, translate, or plagiarize in any way on ANY platform.
#࣪𝒀𝑨𝑴𝑰 𝑾𝑹𝑰𝑻𝑬𝑺.ᐟ⟡˖࣪#murderdrones fanfic#vampire#serial designation n md#md#md n#md uzi#md v#n x you#n x reader#murder drones x reader#murderdrones#murder drones#x reader#serial designation v murder drones#serial designation n#fanfiction#tumblr writers#cute robot#oil sucking HELP??#murder drones n#uzi x n#worker drone#disassembly drone#worker drone reader#fanfics#silly little guy#why did this take so long to write like WHAT?
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A Lifeless Ordinary
IDW Scavengers x Reader
• “Found a thing.” Well, that’s not concerning at all, especially with the amount of screeching coming from whatever it is dangling from Spinister’s servos. Lifting his head, Krok vents because what even is that thing? “It’s loud,” Spinister adds in a tone that makes it hard to tell what if anything the big mech thinks about that, lifting it higher as it kicks tiny legs. Some kind of organic unlike anything he’s ever seen before and loud really is an understatement. Pity making him sit up straighter, because whatever it was to begin with, the poor thing’s life expectancy just dropped significantly in Spinister’s less than capable servos.
• Everything hurts, sliding into a confused nightmare that just won’t end. The facts just keep slipping through your fingers. You’d been at work, pain sudden and sharp, a feeling of being pulled apart. And then waking up on giant, metal monster world. Trying to run from a giant abomination, getting caught and then screaming yourself hoarse in its bruising grip. Struggling because you can barely breathe as you’re held up like the monster that caught you is showing you off to his giant buddies. There’s five of them? Six? It’s hard to tell when he’s swinging you around. You think they’re speaking, but none of it makes any sense, strange alien gibberish that terrifies you even more, because you can’t even reason with them. If you can’t understand them, they probably can’t understand you.
• “What is that noise?” Misfire asks and Krok swallows back a groan, because getting the thing away from Spinister likely just went from being difficult, to impossible as the rest of the Scavengers gather around, drawn by the sound. “This,” Spinister proudly lifts the little organic higher and its screaming breaks off into frantic sounds as Krok just shakes his head. “Thought about stepping on it,” Spinister adds.
• Maybe big and scary will drop you if you hurl on him, because if he keeps swinging you around to keep the other one from grabbing you, it’s happening. You’ll probably break your neck from the fall, but that might be marginally better than getting pulled in two by them fighting over you like a shiny, new toy. The rest are just watching, talking to each in that weird, alien language. Maybe taking bets on how long you’ll survive. Or on who gets to murder you. Sobbing, you struggle against the huge hand gripping you.
• “Let it go,” Krok tries as Misfire reaches for it to make Spinister growl a warning. And he knows Spinister well enough to know that if Misfire wants it, the other’s going to double down on keeping it. Shooting the tiny organic a pitying look, he gives up. It’s not like it has that long a life expectancy out here in this wasteland to begin with, but between Misfire and Spinister? It’s not going to last a rotation, but he tried. The little thing is still jabbering nonsense and struggling, nearly getting dropped and then caught again with a shriek. Oh, it’s definitely not going to survive and it’s not his problem. At all. Even telling himself that, he can’t help but watch it finally slump against Spinster’s servos, big eyes darting around at them as if looking for help. Meeting his optics with uncanny intelligence as its wide eyes start leaking. Frag him.
Next
#transformers x reader#idw scavengers#IDW scavengers x reader#idw misfire#IDW spinister#idw krok#IDW crankcase#idw fulcrum
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To Be Alive In Summer
PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader
SYNOPSIS: Betrayal had never been in your cards, and you definitely didn't see yourself being the one responsible for the act. When having to go undercover, first comes the problem of staging your death.
WORDCOUNT: 8.3k
WARNINGS: Angst, betrayal, intense gore, violence, death, allusions to intimacy, weapons, vulgar language, recovery, torture, happy ending, etc.
A/N: The final request is finished, hope you enjoy it @l-inkage! Onto the AUs next.
*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*
You didn’t want to do it, but in this job, comfort was always an option and never a guarantee. It needed to be done. And that meant sacrifices had to be made to the dark altar of your contract with One-Four-One.
But this one just might break you in the process.
“Are you sure that,” you pause and think over the instructions that Price had just given you—straight from the top of the line. “Are you sure that this is the best way, Sir?”
The man’s lips are flat, eyes narrowed, he doesn’t like this either—especially if you don’t. John’s a Captain, he tallies out orders and expects people to listen without hesitation; doesn’t express his worry about their safety because that isn’t what this is about at the end of the day. It’s about keeping the good people outside of bases like these alive and breathing.
And right now that hinged on you being dead.
“Berto needs mercenaries,” Price grunts, “and any record of you needs to be wiped before we send you in.”
Vito Berto—head of a crime family that had been picking up traction in recent years, so much so that One-Four-One had to be put on it for covert reconnaissance before any more people ended up dead.
You would be sent in under the cover of an experienced mercenary; one among the ranks that Berto would need for a hostile takeover planned in three months on the Palace of Westminster in London. The House of Parliament.
Vito was one cocky son of a bitch if he expected no one to get word of this.
Your job was to uncover the exact date, time, and the mission plan before getting out as quickly as possible. In order to do that, the soldier holding your name needed to be dead so nothing could be traced back to you, your task force, or your loved ones.
And people needed to believe it.
“Can’t the records just be forged, Sir?” You ask, the meeting room dark and pulsing with the cold air from the vents. “What about Gaz and Soap?” Your throat closes for a moment and you speak slightly lower. “Simon?”
Price sighs and crosses his arms, fixing the stance of his feet.
“They’ll deal with it.” Inside of your pockets, your hands twitch.
He won't. Not inwardly.
“I…” your jaw clenched.
Your relationship with Ghost was…strange. You’d both had your fun, of course, and you had a casual air about that sort of thing—it had happened, but nothing more could ever come of it. There was a modicum of soft care with you two; an acknowledgment of partnership in the field and out of it.
You didn’t have to explain to people that Ghost was closer to you than others. You’d seen his face; that says enough.
“It needs to look real,” Price explains, tilting his head down to you. “Not only for Laswell's state of mind but yours. I won’t be putting you in without giving you the best chance.”
“You can’t tell them?”
“Negative. Security measure.” You frown, biting at your lip.
John closes his eyes and shakes his head. A second later a hand is set on your shoulder and the man leans in slightly to reassure you like a relative. You look up into your Captain’s gruff face, seeing the small amount of care he levels into his cerulean irises for you.
He squeezes your flesh, watching hard.
“We need you for this, Trick.” The nickname was exactly why you were the only one who could do this.
You were the first choice. No one was better at undercover work.
“How long would I be gone, Price?” Shifting out of the hold, you cross your arms and level him with a dead stare. “How long do they have to live with this lie?”
John grunts. “Less than three months, yeah? But all of it’s up to how long it takes to gather intel. Full black.”
“Exfil point?”
“Town five miles from Berto’s estate. Cafe with a red door near the bookstore. Woman inside’ll be your handler.” You turn away to glare at the far wall, hesitant even when you know you shouldn't be. This was your job.
Brown eyes keep flashing behind your eyes—a skeletal mask that stares with stained glistening blood, blood you yourself feel reflected on your own visage. A shared damning of two people who would never see those great halls of the afterlife. Neither of you are good.
Simon had to understand.
The Captain sees the shift in your expression.
“You in?” He asks you with a blank look.
You take a deep breath, chest heavy and heart hurting. “I don’t like it,” your voice is low, monotone. “But, yeah, Sir, I’m in.”
“Good,” the man nods, hooking his thumbs into his belt. “It’ll happen in three days. Be ready.”
You watch him walk out of the room, patting you on the shoulder one last time before the door shuts behind him with a click of finality that pierces your lungs. You clear your throat and swallow down saliva, turning your face away as if ashamed.
It’s the quiet that gets to you in that moment—the encompassing nothingness. So often you would have moments like these with Simon. Just sitting; not taking. But this silence was so different.
This was betrayal.
After you steady the slight tremor in your hands, you scoff and shake your head backing up a step before leaving the room; turning off the lights.
You walk down the long hallway, feet heavy as your mind runs, and overhead the lights buzz like flies. Eyes stuck to the floor, your shoulders are hunched in with thought and your lids half-closed in a display of obvious inner turmoil.
The shadow that waits for you, leaning against the wall, you walk past entirely—missing it and not hearing the confused call of your name behind you because of it.
“Trick!” Your hand comes up to itch at your chin, fingers pushing into your flesh. The aggressive Manchester accent slides off of you until large fingers curl into the back collar of your vest rig.
You breathe in sharply, blinking in surprise as your feet get pulled back a step or two, pace halting as Ghost curls around your body, staring down at you. His brows are narrowed, that mask still on and the bottom fabric twisted in the obvious downward press of his lips.
“Bloody hell is wrong with you, then?”
Sighing, you scowl and shake him off of you, moving back to allow yourself some air. Did he really have to show up now? Why was he even here, you had to ask yourself. Was he…waiting for you?
“Nothing,” you don’t look at him, speaking low. “Distracted, is all.”
Ghost crosses his arms slowly, his brows flinching briefly as he makes a sound in the back of his throat. “Meeting go well?”
“Fine.” He can tell something’s wrong; you know he can—he’s the best at interrogations for a reason. Ghost knows when someone is lying to him.
You glance at his chest before you begin to open your mouth.
What could telling him hurt? Just a hint. He’d get it—I know he would. Berto had the nickname ‘The Tanner,’ given to him by his men. When he found out anyone had double-crossed him, he’d take a large breaking knife and separate the thin layers of skin from his victims. Intel suggests he keeps them awake for all of it, stopping when they pass out only to start again when they wake back up.
If there was any leak in this base…any at all…you wouldn’t be coming back.
You wouldn’t be coming back to him.
Simon’s thighs shift.
“Talk to me.” He always speaks like he doesn’t care about the answer, but you’d be a fool this far into your… relationship? To believe that he didn’t. You’d seen Simon panic over your injured body before—it told you enough.
The easy moments and the side-eyed looks when he thought you didn’t notice or weren’t doing the same to him.
Your fingers twitch, forcing a smirk that didn’t convince even you. Your heart was telling you to explain it to him, but your brain was firmly set behind iron doors; tongue held back by iron tongs.
“Personal matters, Simon. Nothing you need to worry about, Big Guy.” He doesn’t look away from your eyes. Brows set in a line and that mask jeering at you; almost mocking.
The Lieutenant doesn’t answer and your heart is visible from under your gear.
“J-just,” you stutter, face getting hot as you look away. “It’s not that I don’t want to tell you, it’s…”
Trailing off, you rub at the back of your head in a self-soothing motion.
Simon blinks slowly and you hear a large chest-rattling sigh. He shrugs in that way only he can—a fast jerk of shoulders that looks more like he’s trying to push off a bug than simply trying to move past what you’re saying to him.
“Doesn’t make a difference,” it does. “Garrick and MacTavish are waitin’ down at the firing range. Best get down there ‘fore one comes looking like a kicked dog.” You can still feel him digging into you. Knives and the suspicion in his tone.
You don’t want to do this to him. Not after all that you’ve gone through together.
“Right.” Your feet are moving before he is, planted into the floor and pushing off through the small pinches of electricity in the nerves. Pushing out a hard laugh, you try to send him a light smile. “Did you tell them to be ready to get their arses beat?”
Simon looks down at you as he walks beside your form in large steps; arms swinging. “Haven’t seen ‘em yet. Waiting for you.”
If it were possible to shrivel up from guilt, you’d be nothing but bones.
“O-oh,” you huff, but it sounds like all of the air has been expelled from your lungs. “You didn’t have to do that, y’know.”
Simon grunts, accent grating as he stares ahead. “Wanted to.”
“Good. That’s nice.” You feel like screaming. “Thank you.”
It’s nearly instantaneous how fast his eyes go dark with concern. “You sure that head of yours is on straight, Trick?”
You push open the doors outside and wonder if you even have the ability to answer him; out of everyone, you can’t lie to Simon.
“No,” your lips admit quietly, self-degrading in its own right.
A hand grabs you by the wrist and before you can slip out, you’re being pulled back into the building and pushed into a side room.
“Hey!” You shout, eyes flashing as the door is shut behind you. You’re released and the light is immediately turned on. “Simon, what the hell are you doing?”
“Enough,” he levels, and your arms are clasped so you’re facing his chest, looking up into his serious and hard gaze. “Fuckin’ speak to me.”
You’re surprised at how insistent he is about this.
“I’m not telling you anything,” you speak through stutters and he growls in his throat. His hands are like motel lava even under his gloves and above your skin—burning like a brand.
“What happened in that meeting room, Trick?”
“It’s classified,” you say, harder than intended, spitting the words with a hint of desperation. If not for your own safety, then for his, but you know that if he keeps asking then you’ll tell him the truth.
They were going to stage your death, and they won’t be making it pretty.
“Fuck classified,” he leans in closer, curling over you. “You’re acting like someone’s bloody taking you hostage.”
“Simon! It’s not—”
“Cut the bullshit!” You growl and try to shove away from him, struggling with glaring eyes that go sharp with the onset of tears. “Somethings got you worried and I wanna know what it is.”
Simon wasn’t the greatest at articulation, but neither were you.
You knew he was trying to tell you he was concerned. The man was holding you tight, but not hurting you; his face close and his shoulders wide. Along your face his eyes were darting, as if he could peel back your skin and make you explain what Price had told you.
The Captain had given the Lieutenant a look as he’d seen him waiting for you but had said nothing. That alone had tipped Ghost off to something being wrong.
But you weren’t having it.
Yanking out of Simon’s hands, you shake your head and put on your worst glare—meeting muddy brown and huffing.
“Mind your own business, Riley. It’s for your own good.” The man blinks in mute shock, fingers in the air twitching before they fall to his sides.
You speed-walk out of the room before he can speak, lips slightly parted at your strange behavior.
For his own good? What in the hell did that mean?
Simon’s jaw clenches, a grunt in his chest as he aggressively rolls his wrist. He turns to follow after. The both of you don’t talk for the rest of the day.
—
Your body shakes along with the helo as it takes off, carrying you away from the scene of gunfire down below. In your earpiece, you hear the loud calls and yelling from your friends. Gaz is calling out to Price to give him permission to move up; the Captain too busy grappling Soap to the ground.
Ghost is taking cover behind a wall, but he’s not quiet.
“Trick’s in the damn building!”
No, I’m not, you want to flick on the line and tell him. Over the three days before this operation you'd barely spoken—in fact, you’d been avoiding all of them fervently by the mass amount of guilt in your stomach.
In the nights, you hadn’t even slept, and now you’re sure it’ll take even longer too.
Their forms become tinier, and you grasp the roof’s handle as the helo rises farther and farther.
“Price!” Simon barks. “We have to get her—”
“There’s no time!” John responds, grunting and forcing Johnny down as he spits curses and tries to call your name over the comms. You flinch violently, looking away for a moment. “We’re surrounded!”
“I can get through!” Bullets wiz through the comms, and you can nearly imagine you are down there—trapped in the house down the way after being shot and injured by hosties. But you’d never been in that house. Never been alone down the way for recon.
You’d been at the second exfil point. Price knew it. Laswell knew it.
But Simon had not.
“Negative, Ghost! Keep where you are, we can get to her later. We need to—” The building you were supposed to be in explodes in a fiery wreck; a great bloom cloud going into the air as the helo shakes from the after-blast.
You have to turn your face away, shielding your eyes. The pilot calls to see if you’re alright, but you don’t answer. All you can hear is the screams.
“Trick!”
“Simon, get back into bloody cover!”
“Fucking Hell! Trick, answer me!” It gets too much—the bareness of his panic for you. The panting breath; the running stomp of feet.
You rip the connection from the radio on your vest and place a hand over your mouth, breathing as if you had really been in an inferno like a piece of fodder.
Simon had already been through so much in his life, and doing this to him as well as the task force was the definition of betrayal of the loyalty you’d cultivated.
Of the love.
Because you did love him—even if you’d never say it to each other. If he found out about what you did, which he would eventually, in one way or another, he’d hate you for the rest of his life. So perhaps you were mourning, as you stare below as the helicopter takes you higher and higher up. Farther away from him. You were mourning what you had, because you knew it would never be the same.
Simon Riley would never trust you again, and all you had to blame was yourself.
The tiny tears dribble out of you and fall all the way down to the ground, where the man still screams for you to answer him; John barks orders with a sheen of panic in his eyes from the bare-bones ferality of the Lieutenant. Brown eyes blazed and cities burned in his pupils.
John had underestimated the bond that the two of you shared.
And he just might pay the price for it.
—
Getting through selection was far easier than getting through SAS training, Vito Berto seemed to only want mercenaries that had the faintest hint of the ability to hold a smuggled weapon. It made sense because if the people he was planning to send in were well-trained, it would be easier to trace to him—ability equaled a higher level of intelligence. Planning. Resources.
To fit in, you made sure to miss a few of your shots, even if it made your instinctual perfectionism rise. John would have torn you a new one if you’d missed this many during your selection all those years back. Probably would have asked how a Muppet like you had gotten this far with shite aim like that.
But Berto ate it up like Sunday dinner. Gave you the nickname Cross, actually. Like the crosshair of a scope.
It was safe to say you despised him.
But the days grew longer and the nights short with all of your running around. You’d found out that your Captain’s timeline was incorrect—the attack wasn’t in three months, it was in two. And while Berto was cocky, he wasn’t reckless.
He somehow knew there was a breach in the ranks; you could see it by how he looked over the squads in the underground bunker, all of you hidden under rock and stone like prisoners. The man would sneer, eyes filtering back and forth from the perch.
Sometimes you had to stop yourself from simply taking the shot presented in front of you and deal with the consequences afterward.
Price had been clear: all of the people gathered here needed to be taken care of quickly and quietly—if you snapped, the rest would disappear like roaches. Alive and biding time.
During those two months, the thoughts of Simon wouldn’t leave you.
Moments that seeped in behind closed eyelids after you’d slunk back into bed, the USBs full of vital intel stashed into the lining of your uniform in a small hidden pocket. His twitching smile and those deep scars along his face; the ones that would never go away.
In those moments you wondered what it would be like if you had told him how much you cared for his quiet company or his dark humor. The way he would level a hand on the small of your back off duty at the bars as a way to silently shield you from the stares from patrons.
You’d never be able to tell him now.
Vito “The Tanner” Berto knew of a leak, and when you came back to the bunker after sending out the multiple USB sticks, the physical files, and the first-hand accounts of what was going on—eager for just a little more to make this betrayal worth it…he was waiting.
You could only fight off so many others, no matter how subpar the training on their part, before sheer mass overtook ability. Like a house of cards with a bowling ball, you were shoved to the ground surrounded by multiple dead bodies of those you’d taken down with you—writhing and hissing as if a feral animal.
Restraints were leveled with your wrists; your head pulled back so your nose faced the ceiling. You only stopped struggling when the chilled barrel of a pistol was set under your chin.
Breath stilling, it was hard to understand how, even then, all that was in the front of your mind was Simon. Simon and his brown eyes. Simon and his screams when that building went up in fire and smoke.
“Trick!”
You could still hear the exact pitch and rhythm like it was yesterday.
“Cross,” Berto mutters, gun heavy as it digs into your flesh. Men pant and grapple to keep you back as you sneer and jerk your arms. “I should have known it would be you.”
“Well,” you growl, teeth bared, “obviously you didn’t.”
A slow smirk runs on his lips.
“No, but I’ll have to rectify this. I can’t have you getting in the way.” You can only hope that the intel gets out before the end of the second month—if not, then all of this was for nothing.
Why couldn’t you have left when you had the chance?
“Fucking Hell! Trick, answer me!”
He was why.
Simon—the source of all of your problems and the only person who could fix them besides yourself. It’s a sick joke really.
Vito grabs your chin and you huff out a swift breath, heart skipping beats as he burrows his digits tightly into your skin; hard enough to leave marks. He sighs and clicks his tongue and you have to keep back a whimper as his nails create crescents along your jaw.
“You won’t tell me anything, will you, then?”
“Negative,” you spit, heated.
He scoffs. “Of course.”
Berto throws your head back as you try to snap out and bite at his hand, rabid, but the man’s already gone and the mercenaries behind you yank you back like a dog on a leash. Your knees slide along the floor and you rage trying to turn around before the others are forced to shove your face into the ground. There is a distinctive snapping in your nose bridge as the concrete comes up to meet you; the tears come instinctually after—unable to be stopped as you yell in pain.
Blood floods your nostrils and mouth, making you cough as Vito’s voice echoes in your ringing ears.
“Let me get my knives.”
—
They had you chained in some damp back room, the corners riddled with mold spores and the air heavy with condensation. You were tied to the ceiling—feet dangling uselessly below you and the tips of your boots dragging across the floor with a quiet scrape and a creak of metal.
Above you, on the hook, the chains were tied so ruthlessly that you’d lost circulation to your arms entirely, nothing but an electric buzzing far inside of your bones. Akin to the static of a TV screen in between connections. Your clothes had been shredded by blades—long sections of your flesh underneath, cut away.
Blood stains most, if not all, of the floor. It drips from your nose; it falls like rain to pool at your feet in rippling crimson.
Simon had been your partner during required interrogation training and he was far better at it than you. The man could go for hours through the mental strain that was leveled out by other soldiers on him; stoic and silent. It was the way his eyes would blank that told you he could live through far worse—that he already had. You’d had your fair share as well, but never before had you felt as hopeless as this.
There was a slim chance that anyone would come for you here. Laswell and Price would carry the guilt of it, but you didn’t want them to.
The blood slips over your lips, and the taste of copper makes you gag; spitting out saliva from your lips.
It was half your choice, after all.
You try to slip into a happy memory as the lights fade in and out, the footsteps and mutterings outside the door of little interest anymore.
ironic, that the man with the mask of a dead person brought you comfort when so little could.
You never got to tell him how much you loved him. A thin smile comes across your lips.
“Shouldn’t be out here this late,” the man utters as you lay out in the field, arms and legs splayed and twitching when the long grass brushes against them. “Past curfew.”
“Like you aren't out here with me?” You raise an eyebrow, looking up at the stars now that the large base lights have been dimmed. The air is cold, and the breeze makes you shudder through a chill. But you don’t wipe that smile from your lips. “Bit hypocritical, Simon.”
You hear a low grunt.
“Out ‘ere because you weren’t answering your damn door.” A shadow slips to your side, and the man settles down with a huff on his lips. Simon retired his combat mask for a simple balaclava instead, and he sighed long as he settled his arm on the bent form of his right leg.
You blink over at him, raising a brow.
“Looking for me, Ghosty?”
“Bloody hell, Trick.” You chuckle, shifting your arms to rest on your chest as you look back at the stars far above.
“Oh, it’s alright, Big Guy.” The man shakes his head. “I won’t tell anyone you’re going soft for me.”
“I’m not.”
“You definitely are.”
“Trick, I’m tellin’ you to—”
“Shh!” You wave a hand in his direction, silencing him and making him blink at you in deep annoyance and confusion. Ghost’s eyes were narrowed, the black of his face paint gone and smelling like standard issue body wash.
He must have gotten out of the shower and come to see if you were still awake before making his way outside when you never answered the door. Funny how he knew where you would be.
“Fucking what, then?” He growls, shoulders wide.
You place a finger to your ear, shifting so you’re sitting up on one elbow and facing Simon. On your face, a wide smile lingers, but on his, the dark brows narrow with knowledge of a deceitful event incoming. “Listen.”
A silence falls, Simon’s ears twitching for something in the long grass or across the field. Nothing. Nothing but the breeze and the way your face glowed as you watched him, eyes glinting with amusement.
After a long minute or two, he looks at you with utter bewilderment. You lean in closer, poking a finger into his bicep.
“Can you hear it, Simon?” You’re one of the few he lets call him that, though never in public.
He glares. “No.”
You flutter your digits in the air, giggles trapped in your mouth. A whisper hits the Lieutenant’s ears. “Silence.”
“Bugger off,” he hisses as you reel back and belt out laughter, holding your sides and lightly curling into yourself. “You’re worse than Johnny. Jesus.”
“Aww, c’mon!” You let your laughter die down to chuckles, sanctity of night broken, but not so between the two individuals who look at each other with brimming affection none will name.
“You’re the one that came to find me, remember?” Your tease makes Ghost roll his eyes, looking away across the open area with its wave-like grasses.
“You’re right, then, I did,” Simon grunts, his hand coming up to rub his neck. “Mistake on my part.”
“Jerk,” a soft slap is leveled to his arm and he chuckles deeply. “But you can’t fool me, Ghosty. I know you’ll always come lookin’ for me—I’m too important to you to lose.”
“Keep kiddin’ yourself, Trickster.” He doesn’t say how he would agree with the statement, it was true after all. “I won’t be dragged into your bloody messes.”
He wouldn’t leave you behind to drown in them, even if it was as simple as you sneaking out of your bunk to watch the stars.
You’d both known each other too long for that.
You smile over at him as he sighs before slipping off his mask, itching at his stubble with hard fingers. The air settles. No comment about it entering in on the see-through waves—there didn’t need to be one.
“Mhm,” you hum, beaming. “You keep thinking that, Big Guy.”
“Trick!” Your memory shifts, and you sit up immediately. You’d thought you’d just heard…
Eyes dart out over the field, jumping back and forth rapidly. You look to the side, but Simon is gone entirely.
“Simon?” Heart beating, you stand fully up and turn in a fast circle, confusion and fear infecting your mind.
“Trick!” Pain sparks in your body, and you hiss and grab at your clothes. You blink so fast that you half-believe the world is ending.
“S-Simon?!” What was happening? What was hurting so bad? Where did Simon go?
“Trick, fucking wake up!”
Your eyes snap open and you instantaneously feel the burning pain inside of your ribs.
The ground is underneath you, hard and wet from your own blood as you yowl and cough, air entering your lungs in quick bursts.
Hands encase your cheeks, shaking your head—keeping you present.
A skeletal mask littered with droplets of human fluid stares down at you, and behind it, panicked brown eyes slash through your psyche in the small moment between agony and confusion.
Simon?
“Holy hell.” It’s that same Manchester accent. The same scrape of vocal cords. “Alright, Sweetheart. Keep those eyes open—keep ‘em on me, yeah?”
What was going on? You try to open your mouth to say something but all of it is lead. Were your ribs broken? How? And why was Simon’s bottom covering pushed up to his nose; his lips stained with blood?
The man frantically goes to press into his radio.
“This is Bravo 0-7,” he breathes, and you whimper as your throat gets clogged with congealed saliva and blood. You cough violently, gagging, and Ghost quickly turns you on your side to help you expel it. His hand is hard on your shoulder.
“I say again, this is Bravo 0-7!” Those browns never leave you, shocked and serious. “Price, I’ve got ‘er. It’s not good; had to revive but I don’t know how long she’s got.”
Revive? You’re spacing in and out, limp, and trying to breathe.
Simon tears open his medical pouch and begins wrapping tourniquets—packing the wounds with gauze until you can get proper medical treatment on the helo back to base.
“Bloody…” he trails, Price barking an order over the connection to bring you out; the firefight was moving to the East to give him an opening to sneak back out. “C’mon, Trick.”
Everything swims; you want to go back to that field—those stars.
Simon was here? Truly? The thought was hard to understand in your state.
“S-Sim—” Your voice gurgles, and you can’t feel your legs. You had to tell him. Tell him the good and the bad; all of it.
“Don’t talk,” he growls, moving you as your body seizes in a state of static shock. “I’m getting you out of ‘ere.” You’re lifted up in one grand movement, Simon grunting as he shifts you carefully into a bridal hold. “Then you’re going to explain this to me when you’re squared. Won’t take no for an answer.”
You could feel the anger sizzling off of him even half-conscious. The mixing emotions that convulsed into a mess of adrenaline and desperation. Forcing your eyes to stay open, you blink up at him as he glances down at you at the same time, just before he exits the door he had broken down.
The visible skin of his lips and chin tighten; going down with the twitch of with a serious frown. Something flutters behind his eyes as he stares before glancing away and clearing his throat.
“Eyes on me, Trickster. Don’t you dare close ‘em.” You grimace as he begins jogging, heavy boots echoing along the empty corridor as the sounds of gunfire and pandemonium sound off from the other side of the bunker.
It was hard to push back the black at the sides of your vision; already it was seeping back in. Ghost holds you tight, unwilling to even let you slip an inch from his grip as the lights above swirl, brightening and dimming.
“Oi!” You’re jostled, and you snap back to it, tensing as your wounds flex and pull. Simon glares. “What’d I just say?”
Your weakly poisoned grimace makes his lips twitch up.
“Good.”
There’s the sudden flick of a safety being clicked off, and the Lieutenant halts in a jerking of feet and a ruffle of canvas.
“I’ve heard about a Ghost making his rounds, hm?” Berto stands at the end of the hall, pistol held in front of him. “I saw an apparition disappearing to find one of its own. No worries. She’ll be a ghost, too, soon enough. Perhaps I’ll have to put you both to rest together.”
The voice makes you go panicked, remembering the tear of flesh and the sharp blades slicing your skin away, chunks that peeled, and the long stripes of flexible tendons. Your lungs fight for breath, your head weakly slapping into Simon’s neck after an attempt to move your body. Limbs shake and battle nerves; the fabric of your brain.
Your blood stains the man’s gear all the way down the front. It’s dripping to the floor, down his arms and off his elbows. You’re bathing him in it—a full-body baptism of betrayal.
“Berto,” Ghost says, accent casual despite the gun leveled at him. The name is drawn out. “Apologies, but I’m taking back what’s mine.” He tilts his head. “Scratch that, I’m not apologizing for getting back on a Bastard like you, eh? Pity I can’t hang you up like a hog, I’m proper good with a blade too, but as you can see, I’m on a crunch.”
Vito’s face goes confused, skin scrunching. “What—”
The bang of a bullet being discharged echoes down the way. The clatter of a great expulsion of air from lungs. Stumbling. Gargles.
The slam of a body to the ground.
Smoke spreads up from under the clutch of your knees, where Ghost holds the abyssal body of an M19 forward, his finger lightly on the trigger before he shifts it back in well-practiced discipline.
“Slag,” he spits.
Simon hikes you farther into him, lending over his available body heat as you shiver. He presses his face into the top of your head, sighing in relief before starting his pace again. The man’s lips brush your flesh as your lids flutter.
“Still with me?” You whine into his neck, fingers twitching. “I know it hurts, Love. I know. Easy with it.”
It didn’t just hurt, it burned. Buried like the nine layers of Hell.
He keeps whispering to you, slinking around corners and stepping into shadows. By the time he makes it outside with you, the chill of the air on the bottom of his face he didn’t even bother to re-cover, you’re tapering on the edge of oblivion again.
Teetering like a porcelain doll on the end of the high shelf.
“Bravo 0-6, leaving the bunker now, I need that MedEvac prepped and ready to go,” Simon speaks quickly, not wasting a single instant.
John’s voice wafts through. “Copy, 0-7. Helo is comin’ in, be ready it’s going to get hot!”
“Affirm. Keep it frosty down ‘ere.” There’s a low chuckle and the swift wizz of bullets.
“Get our Trickster back in one piece, Ghost.” Simon hears the buzzing of helicopter blades in the night, a slick form descending from the dark clouds not moments later. He turns away from the flurry of air, walking hurriedly backward so the air doesn’t aggravate you.
“Trick,” Ghost calls to you above the noise, hearing the hurried feet of medics coming out to take you from him. Your face is scrunched and you burrow into him. “I’m handing you over!”
You try to open your eyes enough to convey your unease at that. You have to tell him. You have to explain why you had to do it. The guilt is eating you; gnawing with red teeth and gripping with devil’s claws. You have to explain that you love him even if he hates you now.
Medics grapple you away, and you are in pain, lips peeling back to gasp sharply, thrashing.
No!
“Fuck,” Ghost growls, pulling you away from the men as they ask him what in the bloody hell he’s doing. He doesn’t even know—all he knows is that he’s pissed at you for what you did, but never in a million years did that mean he wanted to see you in pain.
Simon can’t lie, when he was told you were alive, the universe had held its breath. A miracle. A ruse. But alive. Alive and trapped.
“Stop it!” He yells, caging you into him. “I’m here! I’m right here, Trickster!”
You’re already too gone for it, not recognizing the metal of the helo as you’re settled on your back, the loud slam of the door. Fingers pull and prob as you hiss and snap, suffocating.
Ghost holds down your shoulders, his eyes right above yours—but you’re not looking. The helo takes off
“Bloody hell,” Simon yells. “Look at me!”
You don’t know what compels you to do so, but your eyes open just the slightest bit wider. Brown melts into your pupils, taking you in and reminding you of chilled summer nights. Simon. You pant but stop struggling.
The medics jump into action, ripping away the remains of your shirt and pants so they can get to the wounds; assess the damage done.
“That’s it,” Simon sighs long, swallowing. “That’s a girl. There we go, Sunshine.”
You blink, face peeled as everything swirls far more aggressively this time.
“Listen to me, Trick. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere, you understand. You said I’d always find you, yeah?” Hands grab your cheeks. “Well, I fucking did, eh? I found you. We’re gonna fix you up, Sweetheart. It’ll all be gone by morning.” You stutter down a breath, ragged throat stretching.
“Let ‘em fix you up—”
“I love you.”
It all fades to black, but all you remember is the sweep of horror that spreads behind the man’s eyes.
—
“You went back,” Price’s arms are crossed, and he stares at you as your fingers play with the sheets of the hospital bed. “Why?”
You sigh and rub at your face.
“Trick.”
“I felt like I needed to,” you give away, twitching your fingers out in an expression of nonchalantness. “I felt…” Your voice trailed off into a growl. “Bad.”
“Feelings aren’t a part of this, Trickster, you bloody know that,” John hisses, leaning his head closer as you glare silently. “If you’d left when you could, none of this would have fucking happened.”
“I feel bad, Price!” You break, snapping. “I fucking know! But I-I thought if I just got a bit more intel, then this would have been worth it.” Taking a deep breath you shake your head and rub at your face, all of the bandages and stitches pulling tight. “It’s eating at me. I can’t…I can’t just act like what I lied about can be forgotten.”
You shrug as the man listens silently, monitors beeping and the small buzz of the overhead lights.
“Soap barely looks at me—Gaz gave me that fucking pity smile and it makes me want to scream.”
“They’ll get over it.” The Captain repeats what he said months prior firmly. “They know the Op was top priority, they’ll grow up and be back to fucking around in days.”
You scoff, muttering in a dejected tone. “He won’t.”
John is still, fixing his feet from under him as he rolls his nose and looks away slowly.
Simon hadn’t come to visit once in the time you’d been here in the ward—four days. That fact alone makes you restless. You don’t remember what you said to him, if you said anything. But you knew that he wasn’t going to be going out of his way to be near you anymore.
You’d taken a grenade to the relationship you’d built. Toy building blocks are scattered.
“Simon’s…Simon,” Price ends on. You groan and itch at the IV in your hand. “He cares about you more than anyone, yeah? He just needs time. Wasn’t himself after the set-up.”
“I’ve been told,” Gaz had informed you about the Lieutenant's self-isolation after your ‘death’. The snappy orders—deathly glares. He’d gone back to the ruthless man he was in the field and instead of being directed at his enemies, it was directed at them.
Kyle explained how he’d argued with Price about how he could have gotten to you, before abruptly falling silent and stalking away as if a flip had been switched. Snake eyes and clenched fists.
They’d heard him in the gym late at night, reaming on the punching bags. They didn’t think he slept more than three hours per day if the red lines in his eyes were anything to go by.
And then they were told that you were alive but captured, and he’d gotten worse.
You’d nearly started sobbing when the Sergeant had told you all of that.
“I betrayed his trust, Price,” you level. “I…I never wanted to do that to him. Ever. Not Simon.”
A shadow passes by the door just as the Captain grunts. “That’s the job.”
“That’s not the job I signed up for when I got into this. We don’t lie to our own.”
“‘We get dirty, the world—’” You cut him off.
“Yeah, yeah, ‘stays clean’.” Your eyes level with his. “I can do the dirty work, John, you know that. Infiltration and undercover work is what I’m good at.” The man nods slightly. “But if you ask me to betray One-Four-One’s trust again, I’m out.”
Blue eyes blink in shock, but you don’t let him speak.
“Find someone else to get fake blown up in a building. I can’t get his fucking screams out of my head.” John watches you silently, eyes narrowed.
You meet that gaze head-on, not backing down from this.
The Captain shakes his head a minute later. “Bloody made for each other,” he mutters under his breath, grunting. Another shadow slips past going the opposite direction, probably a nurse.
Without another word John turns and exits the room, tossing a hand behind his head casually in a way to say goodbye.
You huff and roll your eyes, heat on your cheeks.
The day wains, and you let the nurses come in to do their checkups and replace the IV. As the curtains are pulled back into place, supper sits heavy in your stomach.
You wanted to see Simon.
You knew it wouldn’t go well, and wouldn’t be the goody-goody outcome you prayed for…but you felt wrong without apologizing in person. It went against your morals, and already those were incredibly skewed. Maybe he’d yell, or even ignore you as if you weren’t there.
Simon wasn’t above not speaking to people he didn’t like.
You had to try.
When all was dark, you shuffled out of the hospital bed and fought the weakness of your legs. Shaking like a leaf, you walked around with only your tied gown, unapologetic of the slit down the back showing flashes of your bra and underwear.
It wouldn’t be anything the Lieutenant hadn’t seen before.
Walking through the silence, you sigh and stand outside of his door; dread in your heart and seeping from the pulled stitches of your wounds. Your bare feet on the tile make you shiver.
Lifting up a fist, you hesitate.
Your hand hovers over the wood, sliding forward before you pull it back to you. Closing your eyes tight, you clench your jaw once and take a deep breath.
Knock-knock-knock. Knock-knock.
The sequence was your call sign. If you knocked like that, he would know it was you—whereas Simon's own was just a single slam of the side of his fist.
The only real problem now was that he wasn’t answering.
You stare dumbly at the barrier, blinking like a fool. It takes you longer than you’d like to admit to understand the realization that he wasn’t ignoring you—he just wasn’t in his room.
Taking a step back, you rub the back of your neck in exasperation and hurry to the nearest exit.
“Of course,” you breathe. You know exactly where he is at a time like this.
The field holds a standing shadow, a ghost of issued fatigues with a thick jacket against the chill that leaves you shivering. Simon stares out over the training grounds with his hands in his pockets, balaclava pulled all the way down to hide him from you.
You come to a slow halt behind him and stare.
It’s not long before the man gunts, turning his head back from over his shoulder to look at you blankly. He knew you were there.
The eye contact stays for a long, long while—until you’re hypnotized in the shades of brown and amber and the large build that seems to broaden because of your appearance.
“I’m here to apologize.” You say it breathlessly. “I’m not asking you to hear me out, but I have to let you know I regret doing it. Price said that it was time-sensitive and I—”
Stopping yourself, you look away. It sounded too much like an excuse, you hissed to yourself. At the end of the day, it was still your acceptance that pushed the pawn forward.
“I’m sorry, Simon,” you breathe. “I betrayed your trust.”
His eyes are piercing you, but you still can’t look at him. The man slightly turns your way. His voice was monotone and grunting out like a dog.
“You think I couldn’t handle it?” Your heart starts, and you’re shaking your head instantly.
“No.” You explain quickly—honestly. “It’s that…I didn’t want you to.”
You hear his lips take in a quiet breath. Simon rolls his shoulders before looking away from you. Nothing could have prepared you for what came next.
“You said you loved me.” Your body freezes, jaw going slack as your face drops. You don’t speak, mute as if the air in your lungs has been stolen.
You had done…what?
All of your tricks couldn’t get you out of this one.
“I,” you force a fake laugh, hands beginning to shake. “I, what? No, I’m sure that’s not what I said. A-are you sure it wasn’t, like, an ‘I appreciate you’ or maybe a…a,” your voice catches. “A whole ‘I’m fond of you’ sort of thing…? Hm?”
Simon takes a step forward and you take one back. This was worse than torture, you decided. The pain in your pulling stitches and re-set nose was welcome here.
“Trick,” Ghost utters, and you stare hard at his neck, humming. “Stop talking.”
“Copy,” you whisper quickly, shoulders falling.
He’s so close you can feel his body heat melting into you, and you want nothing more than to touch him. Simon’s hand comes up to your chin, and he angles it up as you stop breathing, lips parted.
“I heard you in the med ward talkin’ to Price. Was outside the door the ‘ole time.” The shadow.
He tilts your head to the side to stare at the medical tape over the slashes in your skin. The scars won’t bother you—you had plenty of others to show as well. But Simon was…studying you. Assessing.
His eyes blink slowly with those long pale lashes, and they slide up to you as he leans in close to your ear. Still, you stand comatose.
“You put me through a fucking heap ‘o hurt, Love.” You stare over his shoulder, not speaking, not moving.
Simon leans back and lets go of your chin, brushing a finger over your nose and the puffy skin there.
“Never do that again.” It’s final, how he says it. But the layers of depth are plain to hear. Simon speaks low and even—gaze trapping yours like a curse.
You know he won’t talk about the things you’ve heard. The aggression or the late-night gym trips. You’ve known him for years, and know his brain like the back of your hand.
Shivering, you nod once, content with not answering verbally to break the sanctity of the moment. Seeing Simon like this made you ease your fears. You clear your throat to push back the stuffiness.
“Thought you held grudges, Big Guy?” Nearly not heard, you mutter and pick at where the IV needle is supposed to be.
A hand catches yours and stops you from making it bleed.
“Do,” Ghost grumbles, turning your hand over and moving his face closer until you feel his breath. “Just not with my Bird.”
His balaclava is suddenly up to his nose, and those lips that had been covered in your blood previously situated themselves perfectly to yours.
You gasp, arm outstretched beside you in shock.
You’d kissed him before, but this felt different. More intimate. Simon’s arms slip around your waist, and you retaliate by locking your shaking arms behind his back, feeling the gentle passes of his lips.
Mouth to mouth, you breathe each other in as if grasping for the other’s soul in desperation. A desperation that tells you how much the beast of a man around you was terrified of your death and the body he had to carry into the helo—of the lengths he would go to stave death from touching your tender flesh.
No, only he was allowed to do that, and he was a reaper in his own right.
A small death that infected you at every breath puffing into your mouth, every whine and whimper he could draw like water to swallow down as ambrosia. Nectar of the Gods, and it was right there in his arms. Back. Alive.
To be alive in the summer field of this old military base was to accept that death, and into it, hope that the few moments you had together truly made a difference.
Simon would hold you there—and when that was done, wrap you in his jacket and carry your battered body back inside; watching your swollen lips and the wide eyes as they gaze back at him.
Because he could hate you all he wanted for this, for the lies, for the way you made him care…but the both of you would still be alive to do so.
He guessed that was all that mattered.
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Hyewwo, if you don't mind.. 👉👈
I, U, and X for Lighter? 🥺 Thank you so much for what you do!
main event page - event masterlist
I: Injury - how do they act when you get hurt? No matter the severity of the injury, Lighter worries about you. Something bad happenning to you is like his worst nightmare, so his eyes instinctively fly to you in a panic every time you make any sound of pain, even if it's just a papercut or stubbed toe. If you get seriously injured, though, he's an absolute wreck. He wants so badly to protect you and make sure you're okay, but seeing you in so much pain and covered in your own blood has him losing it, the closest he's getting to helping is half-begging half-threatening anyone with medical training to Do Something. He hates hospitals, but he won't leave your side until you're okay, even if you end up in one. Won't even let himself sleep until your condition is stable. And as your recovering and sent home, you'll have a 24/7 assistant and guard until you're back to tiptop shape, that brief taste of losing you has him extra protective, even permanently.
U: Upset - how would they comfort you if you're upset? Lighter is a practical man - he's great if you're frustrated about something and need to vent since he'll analyse all the details with you, picking apart the situation and helping you to decide the next course of action. But that's not the most helpful response when the feelings are more fresh, and he understands that. He doesn't really know what to do with himself if you cry in front of him - he hates to see you so upset and he rarely knows what to say to make you feel better. Instead, he'll opt to just hold you, pressing soft kisses into your hair and mutter soft reassurances, little "I'm here"s and "you're okay"s. As you start recovering, his mission becomes to make you laugh, whether it takes a corny joke or a tickle attack with kisses pressed all over your face, distracting you until you're ready to talk through whatever upset you.
X: X-Ray - how easily can they read their partner? how easy are they to read? Lighter is really perceptive - he's really good at reading people in general, so he sees through you so easily with how much time you spend together. He can always tell if there's something bothering you, or if you're particularly attracted to something he does. The first he uses for good, coaxing you to talk about it or getting you a treat to cheer you up before you even tell him something's wrong. He'll find solutions you didn't know existed to problems you barely have, and all you have to do is make one slightly frustrated sigh. The latter he uses for pure evil, he's an absolute menace, showing off the things he knows you like. No matter how cool you try to play it, he can Tell he's affecting you, its lowkey infuriating how proud of himself he looks. When it comes to reading him, its a bit tougher. He's pretty good at hiding and repressing his thoughts when he wants to, not letting them show on his face. Besides, his sunglasses make it a bit harder to read his expressions. But with you, he doesn't hide his thoughts that often, especially in private, and you can pretty easily tell exactly what he's feeling just from his face. Between that and how easily he reads you, you can probably have whole conversations with him just using facial expressions
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SWANSEA AND DAISUKE
Au where they survived.
There was only one conversation they’d have where Daisuke would open up a little, after the incident leaving him unable to work for himself and now in constant care by his mother it left Daisuke feeling useless and his worry of being worthless was not helping with this. the constant anxiety he felt and embarrassment, he should’ve been in college or have a job that would give him minimum wage. better than whatever state he is in right now, Daisuke never blamed Swansea for what he did to him. He only felt guilty for having been so much trouble, Jimmy had convinced him to go into the vents when directly told of the consequences of what would happen. so why did he do it? Swansea felt as if he had no other choice is what Daisuke would tell himself. He was in the way and caused problems, Daisuke felt even more ashamed after finally knowing what happened to Swansea.
Swansea wouldn’t have felt the need to hurt Jimmy if Daisuke just stayed away from the vents, but he never listened.
Daisuke just wanted the crew to believe he was worthy to be onboard with them, did they really think he wouldn’t notice the weird looks and shifts in attitude whenever he was around? He didn’t ask to be there yet they made him feel like he was just a bother. Everything he ever did was to get their validation.
Swansea only felt disappointed and slightly sympathetic to the younger male, he could understand how he felt on some level. Swansea was always a working man and put himself to work, thats why he was constantly coming back to the pony express. without work Swansea would only be reminded of how limited his talents are, he could fix things and he was knowledgeable about mechanics and such but would that get him anywhere with all of his issues? Swansea relied on the bottle to cope, theres no way a job would let him in. he felt guilty too, he had a wife and kids which should’ve made him feel better but bad habits die hard.
He never wanted Daisuke to end up like him, only putting himself deeper into trouble but Swansea was responsible for why Daisuke was like this. He wasn’t numb to his own emotions, it’s not like the thought of him potentially ruining Daisukes life didn’t haunt him constantly, Swansea had told Daisuke to never end up like him but it seemed that he was only going down one narrow path where it seemed hopeless. no amount of support nor love could ever pull either of them out of this hole they both feel stuck inside of.
They were merely parallels of each-other in a way.
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Request: you know the episode 4.19 where Sam and Dean get a call from their supposed half brother and their rightfully suspicious and it ends up being a hunt for them? What about instead of Sam getting tied down and bled it’s their baby sister? She’s small and young and definitely shouldn’t be losing this much blood, she can’t even lift herself up after Sam and Dean manage to free her. Pls and thank you!
Request: I have a request on s4 e19 when Sam gets tortured by the ghouls. Can you reverse the roles with Winchester sister? No rush do whenever you want. Just remember to take breaks and drink water! Bye! :)
Sam and Dean Winchester x Sister!Reader
Warnings: Extreme Blood Loss
A/N: Please let me know if you like this because it helps motivate me to write more lol! Requests are open and if I haven’t gotten to yours yet feel free to request again because I have over 200 requests and I’m working on a bunch. You can request anything and everything I don’t care and I will never get annoyed!!
“Okay we’ve closed off every other way into the house.” You said to Adam, looking at the last tunnel in the house that wasn’t closed off. “If this thing is coming, it’s coming through here.” You finished at the same time as a door creaked through the house. Your attention immediately snapped towards the noise.
“You were saying?” Adam asked and you looked back towards him.
“Adam!” You heard from the other room and your heart sank.
“Adam!” It cried again, but before you could make your next move Adam was already calling back out.
“Mom?” Adam yelled, ready to run.
“No!” You tried to stop him, but he didn’t listen.
“Mom!” He yelled out and pushed past you.
“Adam!” You shouted after him, getting your gun ready. You ran down the steps after him trying to get him to stop.
“Mom?” You heard him sigh in relief.
“Adam no wait!” You cried out and rounded the corner to see Adam and the monster.
“It took me, but I got away.” It cried as Adam embraced her.
“Adam, step away from it.” You screamed with your gun pointed.
“Y/N, what the hell?” He shouted at you, confused.
“It’s not your mother!” You tried to reason with him.
“Adam, who—what is going on?” The monster cried.
“Get away from him!” You yelled at it starting to feel hopeless.
“What is going on?” It cried.
“You listen to me. It’s really her, okay?” Adam said, pushing it behind him.
“There was too much blood, your mother’s dead. There was too much blood in the vents!” You yelled trying to quickly explain before he snatched the gun out of your hand.
“Adam!” It cried.
“Shoot it!” You screamed, now terrified of the predicament you were both in.
“He’s crazy, it’s me!” It yelled in protest of the gun being pointed at it and immediately Adam pointed the gun back at you.
“Look—Adam!” You cried.
“It’s me!” It said.
“That’s not your mother!” You screamed trying to save the both of you and make him understand that his mother was not his mother and in fact the monster they were hunting. He flipped the gun back on the monster.
“Shoot it! It’s not human!” You yelled, trying to get through to him.
“I know.” He smirked, turning to face you. You had no time to be confused with what the hell was happening before he hit you with the butt of the gun and everything went black.
——-
You woke up to humming and noticed you were tied down to a table. You started struggling to get yourself out, but to no avail.
“Silver. No need none of the tests worked. You’re not shapeshifters. You’re ghouls.” You sneered, staring at Adam’s fake mom.
“You know, I find that term racist.” She replied with a knife in her hand.
“Huh.” You said with attitude, rolling your eyes. You tried to free yourself once more when she came to you sniffing you and biting your ear.
“Ew! Get away you weirdo freak!” You yelled. You had quite a bad problem with bad mouthing monsters and it always ended up biting you in the butt.
“Fresh meat. So much better than what we’re used to.” She grinned.
“Oh I should’ve known. It was the fresh kills that threw me. Ghouls don’t usually go after the living because you’re all just disgusting, filthy, nasty, trash pickers, taking form of the last corpse you choke down like a scavenger.” You sneered, again with the name calling. She was lucky you had to get to the point because you were just going to go on and on with all the negative words in the dictionary.
“And their thoughts, and their memories. Like Adam for instance.” Fake Adam said, walking into the room.
“Yeah well we are what we eat.” She chuckled.
“You’re pathetic monsters.” You said with disgust. Fake Adam sliced your one arm open and you let out a groan. His fake mom immediately went to licking the blood.
“That was for calling us pathetic.” Adam said.
“Yeah I’d call you a lot more than that. Do you have time?” You asked sarcastically, still struggling to get away.
“You know you use that word a lot, Y/N. Monsters.” Fake Adam said and brought the knife down on the table missing you by just an inch.
“But I don’t think you know what it means.” He finished as his fake mom continued to lick the blood pouring out of your arm.
“Her blood—it tastes different.” She said in confusion.
“Our father was a monster? Why? Because of what he ate? He never hurt anyone, Y/N. Living anyway.” Fake Adam smirked and grabbed the knife.
“No he was no monster. But the thing that killed him was. A monster named John Winchester.” Adam’s fake mom said trickling the knife up and down your body. Fake Adam stuck his fingers into the wound on your side and you cried out in pain.
“Thanks to your daddy, my brother and I, grew up on our own.” She explained as he twisted his finger deeper into your side and you let out a scream.
“At least we had each other.” She finished. He took his finger out of your wound and licked the blood off of it.
“Like you and your brothers— inseparable.” He said.
“Actually it was very hard to get you on your own. Your brothers are almost always keeping you out of harms way. Awww how protective.” She said sarcastically.
“So we figured instead of killing all of you, why not just kill you? They would suffer way more knowing that their wittle baby sister is dead.” He said in a fake sad voice.
“Go to hell.” You managed to get out.
“Like you said, Y/N, the only thing you can count on is family.” He said as she sucked more blood out of your arm.
“And for 20 years, we lived like rats. Graveyard after graveyard, all that stinking flesh. And then we thought hey why not move up to the fresher game?” She said.
“And we knew just where to start.” He smirked and started carving on your other arm. You cried out in pain and felt the world fading around you.
“Revenge— it’s never over, is it, Y/N?” He asked, still carving around your arm.
“First, it was John’s cop friend, and then his slut and then his son.” She said twirling her knife around.
“Then I called John, but the son of a bitch was already dead.” Adam sighed, disappointed.
“So I guess you will have to do instead.” She said, petting the side of your face.
“And they won’t interrupt us this time. We’re gonna feed on you nice and slow— like we did with Adam.” He said.
“Oh and by the way, he really was your brother. You should know that.” She grinned. You struggled against the ropes that tied you down, trying anything to escape.
“He was still alive when we took our first bites.” He smiled.
“And he was a screamer!” She said before she sliced your entire forearm. Fake Adam followed after her and sliced your arm again. You screamed in pain and thrashed. You could feel the blood pooling out of your body and you could hear it dripping into the bowls. The way it flowed like a waterfall made you feel absolutely sick. You knew you were going to bleed out and that you didn’t have much time left.
“Y/N, the more you struggle, the faster you’re going to bleed out. So you might as well lie back and relax.” Adam said as you whined and whimpered, trying to stay awake.
“Hey!” You heard Dean scream and a shot ring out.
“Dean, they’re ghouls-“ You tried screaming, but you were so weak it came out as a whisper. You knew Dean heard you though because another shot rung out.
“Which means headshot.” He said as Sam came stumbling into the room.
“Y/N!” He yelled before he was taken down by fake Adam and thrown through the glass doors. Dean immediately followed suit as you groaned and cried out. Your breaths were becoming rapid and shorter. You didn’t have enough energy to pick up your head to see the fight going down. It felt like forever before you saw blurry figure walk back into the room. Not knowing who it was, you tried to get your body to move. You felt like you had a fifty pound weight holding your body down.
“No!” You whimpered weakly, knowing you had no fight left in you.
“Hey, hey, hey, hey, it’s Sam, sweetheart. I got you, you’re safe.” You heard Sam and felt him cup your cheeks to get your attention.
“S‘mmy.” You slurred.
“Yeah, hey bug, it’s me, I got you.” Sam said softly trying to comfort you, knowing that it was bad.
“Dean, she’s freezing cold.” Sam cried out trying to stay calm.
“Shit.” Dean said panicking. You felt the rope being cut off of your one wrist and you groaned out in pain.
“I know kid, I know. Hang in there for me okay?” Dean said, knowing that it was painful, but it had to be done. He started cutting the other one on your wrist while Sam started on your ankles. You felt your heart racing, your body sweating and your skin clammy. You could barely hang on to consciousness and your body felt weighed down by a million weights.
“Mmm scared.” You slurred looking into the blurriness of your brothers.
“You’re going to be okay sweetheart alright? You’re going to be fine. Just keep talking to us okay?” Sam asked, now full on panicking, but trying to keep you calm. You knew that something wasn’t right. This was too much blood and you weren’t sure if you were going to be okay. You let a few tears slide down your cheeks as you struggled to catch your breath.
“No, no, no. You’re going to be okay, alright? I won’t let anything happen to you.” Dean said noticing your tears. He quickly placed rags on your forearms and held them tight to stop the bleeding. You cried out in pain and tried to pull away when you felt him putting pressure on them.
“I know kid, I know. I’m sorry.” Dean said clenching his jaw. Sam made his next move by helping you sit up, but your body felt like jelly. You couldn’t lift yourself up as your head lobbed to the side of you. This feeling absolutely terrified you and left your body trembling in fear. The impending doom was taking over and it was paralyzing you. As your brothers scrambled around you trying to support your body, they urgently discussed their next steps in helping you when you interrupted.
“Mm I going to die?” You whispered weakly, blinking away the dots that clouded your vision. Scared that if you closed them, you wouldn’t open them again.
“HEY, HEY!” Dean yelled and tapped your face. Your eyes snapped wide open and your body trembled uncontrollably as you whimpered in fear.
“You’re not going to die. Do you hear me? Just keep those eyes open for me, alright?” Dean asked with fear in his own eyes, but when he looked into yours he was met with confusion.
“Wh-what?” You started. In an instant, you were confused. Where were you? What happened?
“De?” You called out for your eldest brother, the one who took care of you your entire life. The one who was always there for you when you called.
“Yeah I’m here baby, I’m here.” He said. Baby? He only called you that when something serious was happening. You finally took in your surroundings and saw yourself covered in blood as your brothers worked around you.
“What happened!” You cried out, completely confused and dazed.
“Relax sweetheart, you’re going to be okay, alright? You’re going to be okay.” You heard Sam say as he lifted your body off of the table. You grunted in pain, but your body only grew heavier.
“There’s too much blood!” Dean cried.
“I know, I know!” Sam yelled in frustration.
It felt like time was skipping because the next thing you knew, you were in the impala. You glanced to your right and noticed your dad.
“Dad?” You asked, fuzzily. Dean immediately looked towards Sam who glanced down towards you.
“She’s hallucinating Dean, she’s lost too much blood.” Sam said stealing a concerned glance towards his brother. Dean gripped the steering wheel tight and cursed silently, speeding faster.
“Dad, I missed you.” You cried, which caused Dean to completely break.
“Hey baby, no, dad’s not here, alright? Dad’s not here.” He said weakly, completely terrified of his sister’s state.
“Mmm t’red.” You said weakly, the heaviness and the blood loss making their last round on you.
“Hey, hey, hey, hey, sweetheart, you’ve gotta stay awake.” Sam said urgently, but you didn’t listen and closed your eyes in exhaustion.
“Keep your eyes open please!” Sam cried out and tapped your face. It had no effect on you as you slipped into unconsciousness.
———
You jumped awake to a beeping noise in a complete panic. You were in a daze and physically couldn’t lift yourself up which made you panic more.
“Hey, you’re okay, you’re okay.” You heard Dean say, but the beeping noise only got faster. You were in total confusion and couldn’t make out where you were.
“Relax for me kid, you’re alright.” You heard Dean again and this time felt a hand placed on you. You groggily looked around and saw that you were in a hospital room. You immediately went into an intense shiver unsure if it was from how cold you were or if it was from the nerves that just overcame you. Dean cupped the side of your face, no doubt feeling your body tremor.
“You’re okay.” He said softly, giving you a reassuring nod.
“So cold.” You made out and he sent you a sad look.
“Alright, let me go find a nurse and get you some more blankets.” He replied hesitantly unsure if he wanted to leave you alone when Sam walked into the room with coffee. Sam’s immediate sigh of relief when he saw you awake and his glance towards Dean made you realize how serious whatever happened to you was. Dean left the room and Sam walked towards you.
“Hey sweetheart.” He said softly, sitting in front of you.
“Sammy.” You smiled weakly and tried to reach out to him. He immediately got the hint and took your hands into his.
“I’m here.” He said gently and rubbed his fingers on your hand.
“I’m so weak.” You mumbled, trying to understand why your body felt so heavy.
“What happened?” You whispered, not remembering anything that took place. Sam’s face fell and his eyes filled with sorrow.
“The ghouls had you bleeding out and when we got to you it was almost too late. You were so pale and you were ice cold. You were so cold bug, it terrified me.” Sam said, looking away and trying to collect himself.
“There was blood everywhere, we weren’t even sure how you were alive at that point. Then you started hallucinating and went unconscious. We thought we lost you, God we were so scared.” He said, shedding a tear and quickly wiping it before it could drop.
“We rushed you to the hospital, not knowing if you were even alive and waited around for hours not hearing anything. Then the doctor came out and told us you were stabilized, but lost 35% of your blood. He said you should’ve died and that it was nothing less of a miracle.” He said as his voice cracked.
“You were in a coma for two weeks.” He explained quietly, knowing this was going to freak you out.
“I’ve been out for two weeks?!” You asked, hysterically.
“They said it could’ve been up to a couple months, we just weren’t sure when you’d wake up.” He said as you just stared blankly at him.
“We were so terrified to lose you. Dean even prayed a few times.” He finished. You both knew that Dean never prayed and he never believed that there was a God out there so the fact that it got to the point where Dean was praying, made you extremely emotional. The tears started streaming down your face.
“I’m so sorry Sammy, I should’ve known it was a trap.” You cried, feeling terrible and guilty that your brothers had to be put through something so traumatic because of your own mistake.
“Sweetheart, no, it’s not your fault. Me and Dean should’ve never left you alone with Adam. We weren’t thinking and it almost cost you your life.” Sam said, staring into your eyes and wiping your tears. Before you could say something back, the door opened. Dean, a few nurses and a doctor walked in. They checked your vitals and explained that you were going to be very weak for about a month. You had iron deficiency anemia due to the blood loss and it would take a long time for you to start feeling normal again. They left the room and Dean put the extra blankets that they brought in on top of you. The weight and coziness of the blankets made you immediately feel tired. Your brothers took notice and Dean kissed the side of your head.
“Get some rest kid, we’ll be here.” Dean reassured.
“Thank you for saving me.” You smiled softly looking between your brothers.
“Always.” Dean said as Sam grabbed your hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.
#dean winchester#dean winchester x sister!reader#spn#spn imagine#supernatural#supernatural imagine#dean winchester imagine#dean x reader#sam winchester#sam winchester x sister!reader#sam x reader#sam winchester imagine#sam winchester sisfic#sam and dean#sam winchester x sister#sam winchester x sister reader#dean winchester sisfic#dean winchester x sister reader#dean winchester x sister#dean x sister reader#spnfandom#spn sister imagine#spn sister#spn fanfic#winchester sisfic#winchester sister
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Bathing
Masterlist
Featuring TFA! Optimus Prime, Smut/fluff/humor, CW: The reader wants the robot, kissing, indecent thoughts, use of lube/fluid, painful stretch, penetration, and mass displacement, mention of off comments about xenophobia (it's the Animated universe), Optimus is a prudent lover, get yourself someone that looks at you like Optimus does.
Cold cleansing fluid over an exhausted frame is always a pleasure, a way to wind out stress over his depleted circuits, a moment of peace or a good place hidden from the others to let out his frustration in more than one way, be it screaming or just standing there in complete silence, overthinking on his judgment and what he can do to better himself.
Cold fluid doesn't go well with you, what is a nice cold for him is a frostbite inducing juice for you, and you could get cooked by warm fluid, took a moment to finally adapt.
You’re nothing but adaptable, and Optimus has problems following your lead when your idea to use his washing room first appears, your patience is a prominent factor in the whole process.
“Is it okay for me to-?”
Your words would hardly keep at bay the need in them while holding his hips flush to yours, feeling the plush give of your skin, the warmth of your welcoming arms as they hold his back strut, still bigger than you, but in this size, it so much easier to left the drain closed, let it flood the closed compartment, you catch his interest with the way your fingers drag nails over his plating, sending tremors down his frame as you pull him down and your tiptoes do what they can to put you closer, Optimus has kissed you before, many times, and he still can't get enough, you're so brave but also so greedy, he is reminded of such when your tongue makes contact with his derma, making him vent hot steam and soon welcoming your intrusion, holding your hips over, letting himself be greedy, be passionate in other ways as his leg strut helps you to be near, your legs don't hold onto his hips as the fluid is already so helpful to let you float if only a bit, gives you free rein to show your greedy affection, one that shines bright for the both of you when he still struggles to let you know of his more openly outside a little tease that only earns him a kiss as a “you tried”.
Cybertronians are very closed of mind when it comes to a lot of things like tastes or preferences, but if you could condense it to a more basic point, it would be that Autobots can't show their very own selves, pressured under way too many rules, such scrutiny since the moment they get forged, you're no stranger or could oversee how they handle themselves or one another, while the first guys are way more open with how they are you get to learn that such factors of theirs are what got them in so much trouble in the first place when Sentinel and even the very one autobot leader arrived, well, they put down just what they thought of organics while also making some off comments about the bots under their rank.
Bumblebee is an exception to that, being his very own dorky self, and also being the first one to end up in a dead-end worker group, Bulkhead got out of his shell too, with time, being a variant since heavy worker frames shouldn't invest their time in fine arts, Prowl is never quiet about his love for organic life and Jazz seems to learn a thing or two about it if the way he greets you now if anything to go by, Ratchet is, as always, unapologetic in what he thinks, experience and life itself making him see what is import above species, ages or even beliefs.
Optimus was the harder to crack open, but almost dying not once but twice makes him see that, yeah, the autobot code isn't absolute for everything, and once he does doesn't take much for him to finally make a double take and, okay, maybe he does like you in some way that isn't becoming of an autobot, no matter how lower is the rank.
Still, not even the fact of almost dying two times makes it any easier to leave behind what he has always been taught since the time in the academy or the very same cycle he was forged, Optimus struggles with the bare minimum of open affection, hand holding is hard as it is since he is way bigger than you, he is holding his gaze down or shielding you with his frame when a poisonous gaze over you or whoever that is composed of meat and not metal, but Optimus is kind, he is sweet, he just struggles with tenderness between different species just as normally as anyone should, you also have problems with it as both are in the same boat.
Optimus is tenderness impersonated, but he is also the embodiment of awkwardness, especially when there is a moment you want to be intimate, trying to appear collected, the voice of reason, the first one to say “It won't fit” when he is still way taller than you while mass displaced, and yes, he is the one to push you away a bit even when his face can't be more flushed by energon as his servos press against you, but you let it go, because he has a point, it won't fit just like that.
Thus, is your explanation on why you had dragged him back to a bathing house in the next town, a place big enough for him to move around, once inside the underground parking lot, no prying optics to see in such an old place, Optimus is still amazed by the rudimentary environment, too familiar with Detroit and the futuristic lifestyle, it was shocking for him to see that not everyone has a robot maid or a talking Roomba, even more when he notices that the bathhouse is so old that they still used powder soap that he can trace in the walls, engraved by years of use and natural chemicals in an abstract gallery in the forgotten paint.
A glimpse into the old ways of humanity and Optimus looks at you with sincere appreciation, the place has been abandoned for years, but the water is still running, hot and natural, at first he is weirded out by your suggestion, being the voice of reason against your horny self that knew almost no boundaries since the moment your greedy hands got into private, confidential information when he didn't notice you walking into his berthroom.
“What about an infection?”
“What about your dick in my-?”, he never lets you finish, a servo soon over your mouth, but you bet it is more due to making him feel strained against his panels than real prudence if the colorful blue of his is anything to go by. He is sweet, the most kind you've ever dated, with his helm well placed over his shoulders to think first about your overall wellness over the pleasure, but that precious part of him is only adding fire to the growing hell fire in your pants because there is nothing more precious and hot than such a gentlemech that really likes you, what's more, letting yourself hope he loves you. If he does love you, then the minimum thing you could do is at least try to suck his intake until he is begging for mercy or grunting over your ear to the point of losing yourself only for him to take back together in his arms.
The answer, hidden in plain sight in front of you, comes when you take some time with him inside his berthroom, Optimus cycles his optics once, then twice when you seem to find bountiful heaven in his private washroom, eyes bright and mouth covered by your hands, almost like you were soon to fall to your knees by some kind of miracle, “anything important there?”. Optimus realizes, soon enough, that that shiny twinkle in your eyes is anything but a promise of your deviant wishes.
One request got an answer, a very heated one, and before he could say anything beyond the “Are you sure?” you were soon getting your underwear out, leg propped up against the wall.
Turns out, the desire humans could show was really beyond the understanding of a cybertronian, or Optimus was truly out of his element while you tried if the cleaning fluid would do any harm to you once he checked the chemical components twice, only heated it a tad bit more and you were ready to go.
Optimus has half the processor to repent for his lack of loving gestures toward you, is anything, he has hardly some time to do so much as your hand reaches around the seams of his modesty panel, letting go of his dermas to let him feel the drops of fluid falling to his face plate as you delve deeper into his frame, he embraces you in the right way, holding and finally showing his version of unbound passion as his derma kisses softly over your exposed neck, trying to see once again what he is keeping away from you, a hard squeeze down there has his denta barely scratching over your skin as he gives you the most reverent and hot gaze he has ever shot at your direction, “can you show me again, big guy?”
The washing room isn't the only thing flooding if the pinkish fluid streaming out of his panel is something to lead yourself, at first as a question, but of course, with an alien lover comes more than one interesting detail about his anatomy that you're eager to learn about, Optimus can hardly hold his mind together when you hold him for the first time, dragging the tip of his spike over your entrance, teasing, and he has to bite down a nasty comment, but he is sure a steaming “you're fragging hot” is way too bland for you, no matter as it seems as you laugh breathlessly, hardly reaching the button to stop the fluid from falling over you, it doesn't stop you, your fingers doing quick work to use it as extra moisture, all he can say, or do, is a sound between a wheeze and a laugh by the way you clamp down on him, there are no words above a function glitch when you keep down and down. Servos dragging over your exposed skin, he fears you could fall from his hold, your hands pushing at his shoulder armor, only to realize your wandering and lustful gaze when your bodies connect, he also follows your eyes, looking how he is almost all inside, your body almost freefalls again, his servos hold on your midsection, one soon flying to protect your head from any impact against the wall, must be fear, must be the way he reached inside in a different angle, almost sure he poked a bone or something else, so little, so sweet, you drag him in, kissing him senseless as he seems to have done a right move if the lovely sound you drown on his dermas and the squeeze that almost makes him bluescreen.
“See that?”, your hips move, undulating, the fluids drenching you from head to toe, drops falling slowly over your curves, over that little rise of your skin where he is sure the tip of his spike is teasing against your flesh, “it did fit”.
.
Optimus with a gremlin-like partner is something I love dearly, not sure who asked for the prompt with TFA Optimus but it was a delight, dear.
@tf-kinktober2024
#transformers#reader insert#x reader#tf mtmte#transformers x reader#transformers x human reader#tf optimus prime#tfa optimus prime#optimus prime x reader#optimus prime transformers#tf kinktober 2024
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do you write for chenle? if so could i request angry sex with chenle? and plotwise/anything else can be up to you, you always make such creative works 😍
desert island | zcl
boyfriend!chenle x fem!reader (18+ mdni)
summary: a stupid little game seems to be enough to make you speak with recklessness and throw reason out of the window in the heat of the moment. but since you were unwilling to be so easily placated, chenle was decided to talk some sense into you.
a/n: sorry for being so late, anon 😭! ofc i write for chenle, how could i not?! thank you for the kind words, i hope you like it!! 😚
cw: smut, use of 'whore' (only once), hair pulling, slighty spanking, begging, reader is DRAMATIC, chenle is kinda mean, petnames.
honestly, you can't think of a better partner than chenle. he's always so sweet, caring, and considerate, and you could talk for days about every single thing you love about him because you really love him a lot.
the same applies to chenle, who thinks you're so perfect for him. every time he wakes up and looks at you beside him in bed, he can't help but think how lucky he is to have someone like you by his side.
arguments in your relationship were rare, but not non-existent. like any kind of relationship between two people, disagreements occasionally arose.
you generally handle them with a mature conversation about the issue once the dust has settled, addressing the problem and coming to a mutually-agreed solution. however, sometimes, you both seem to be unable to agree on a resolution to the problem at hand. that was the case now.
it was a real stupid argument. you were released from work early and figured it would be a good idea to stop by the studio to see chenle and head home with him. as it turns out, it was a surprise when you showed up without prior warning, but he was happy to see you and it made your visit all the more meaningful.
during chenle's break time, the dreamies were engaged in a light and silly conversation about "who would you take to a deserted island." it was an innocent little game to pass the time and have some fun. when it was chenle's turn to answer, he surprised you by not choosing you, but one of his staff’s. this simple and seemingly harmless choice was the root of your trivial fight.
you didn't react immediately, simply laughed it off as if it was nothing but chenle could tell that something was off the moment you both got into the car. the car ride was unusually silent on your end, and chenle began to brace himself as he realized you were upset about something. he mentally prepared himself for whatever he felt was about to come as you walked through the front door.
"so..." he began in a gentle but careful tone, sensing there was an underlying issue you weren't being open about.
"nothing," you casually responded with a shrug, walking off and towards the bedroom. "it's nothing," you repeated again, but he wasn't fooled by your tone.
following close behind you, he asked another question, "is it me? did i do something to upset you?" he raised his eyebrows at you expectantly, wanting to get to the bottom of the problem.
"no" was all the response you gave him, short and sharp just like before. as you continued into the bedroom and began to tidy up the already clean room, he leaned casually against the doorframe and observed you closely. he didn't say a word because he knew he would just have to wait until the "you know what's funny?" and there it was, your signature phrase for when you're in a bad mood, spoken in a slightly annoyed tone. he knew this would be coming.
"no," he said calmly and crossed his arms, looking directly at you and watching you make some futile attempts to find anything out of place in the already immaculate room. "please, enlighten me," his gaze intent as he awaited the inevitable moment of venting that always ensued after that phrase.
"of course you wouldn't," you replied back, feigning innocent ignorance and even rolling your eyes as you dramatically shook your head and sighed. "i didn't expect you to have kept a list of all the female entertainers you would consider taking to a desert island. so why don't you enlighten me on your priorities?”
for a moment, chenle's eyebrows were raised in a mix of confusion and slight surprise as he heard your words, genuinely believing that you were joking or being sarcastic. then came his soft laugh, as he was almost incredulous that you kept up this attitude with your arms crossed and a serious expression. "baby," he spoke gently but firm as a warning, "you can't be serious right now. it was an innocent little game that you shouldn't take so seriously.”
"oh really?” your words laced with mockery. “an innocent little game? then it shouldn't bother you to explain to me why i wasn't even on your radar. it was a stupid game but your answers just proved to me that i'm an afterthought, even in your fantasies. at least in your fantasy of the women you'd be willing to take to a godforsaken place with no hope for escape. so am i so insignificant that i didn't even make the cut for you?”
chenle pauses for a second to process the situation and your words, running his hand through his hair in an almost unconscious gesture of self-soothing. if he didn't know you better, he would've thought you were crazy, but after that incident with the stupid "worm" question, he knows that you're just dramatic.
he approaches you, cupping your face in his warm hands as he gazes at you.
"baby, please," he pleads, the affection evident in his voice as he tries to reason with you. "look at me," he says softly, using his palms to gently guide your eyes to focus on him. once your eyes meet, the intensity of his gaze deepens as his expression softens and his voice grows more gentle. "this was just an innocent game and you're blowing it out of proportion. please don't be like this. i love you and you know it. there's no other woman that compares to the love i have for you, not in a thousand lifetimes would i ever take anyone else over you. you're mine and always will be.”
even though you could sense the sincerity and love behind his words, you maintained a guarded demeanor, refusing to give in to it until you were completely satisfied with his explanation.
you know, you had a sharp tongue and an even sharper intelligence than some could imagine when you chose to use it. unfortunately, this was a time where the first worked, but the second didn't.
“well, it seems that you just have to be on a desert island to fool around with someone else, right? you just want to enjoy some fun and pleasure while away from the world,” your tone became sarcastic as you continued challenging his words and reasoning. “so who are you going to enjoy it with?”
your thoughtless words brought you to this moment. one of chenle's hands was intertwined between the strands of your hair in a tight grip, pushing your head against the softness of the mattress, forcing you to stay with you ass up. your eyes slightly red, your face puffy and wet, both from sweat and crying.
“fucking. stubborn. whore,” he spit out, each of his words was accompanied by sharp thrusts that made your bones shake and you gasp, the sound of skin against skin filling the room. “can't listen to what i say for not even a damn minute,” he slapped your ass hard, making you whine and your eyes water again.
you lost track of time during this torment. it felt like torturous hours, where he kept teasing, edging you, not even letting you touch him, your ass was already marked by his hands, you felt the sting of each spank he gave, saying that brats like you don't deserve to feel good.
chenle knows you with the palm of his hands, he knows what you like, what makes you melt and he would definitely use it against you. his slow but powerful thrusts hit all the right spots that make you see stars behind your eyelids, his hand slipping between your legs to rub your clit in equally slow circles.
“…. ase…” your tiny, teary voice echoed through his ears. “oh?” he scoffs, pulling you by your hair until you were close enough for him to whisper in your ear. “i can't hear you, say it again,” his warm tongue sliding through your neck, sending you goosebumps.
“p-please…” you raised your tone slightly. “i'm so, so sorry, chenle,” the desperation and pleading in your voice is obvious, as is the remorse that you felt for your actions. “please, please, let me cum, please, just once, please,” the need seeping through every word, begging for relief and satisfaction.
a smug grin crept up his face when he heard your desperate tone. he loved how hopeless you sounded. he loosened his grip on your hair, pulling you into a kiss as he stopped his thrusts to savor the moment. his hand moved away from your clit to held your cheek as his tongue invaded your mouth, completely taking over the kiss.
your emotional state was so volatile right now that you honestly felt like crying. chenle knew that you loved kissing him, and by constantly pushing you away, he knew it was torturing you. your attempts at kissing him were met with a painful slap to your cunt, almost as punishment for trying to force yourself on him.
this simple yet deeply cherished kiss was enough to make you melt completely. you were yearning to feel this level of affection again after he kept pushing you away from him, it was all you were craving since he pushed you down onto the bed and shoved his cock inside your pussy.
as he pulled away from your lips, leaving you desperate for more, he let out a short, breath laugh at your reaction. he found it amusing how you chased after him to continue the kiss, but he was quick to remind you who was in control here by just pulling on your hair to keep you in place, making you whine pathetically.
"well," he purred against your ear, moving his hand caressingly over your body. he made lazy circles on your soft skin, lingering on your belly, you suddenly felt him be a lot more gentle. "since you asked so nicely, should i give you what you want, baby?" he raised an eyebrow teasingly as he waited for a response from you and all you could do was nod fiercely, letting small pleas of "yes, please" roll off your tongue as you awaited his move.
chenle hummed, feigning deep thought as he observed your face. He worked hard to maintain his composure and keep from showing his mischievous, devilish smile as he saw the light of hope that your expression lit up. "okay," he said finally, "i think you seemed remorseful enough,” his words were enough to bring a jolt of excitement to your system, you felt a rush of adrenaline course through your veins and every single muscle in your body tensed up, waiting intently for him to give you what you wanted.
with a light kiss on your lips, he turned you over and positioned you so you were laying on your back. hands that had recently been mistreating you were now caressing your body delicately, as if you were the most delicate thing ever made. his kisses traced your jawline before moving to your neck and breasts, making you think that the wait had been worth it. the punishment had ended here and he made you believe that the only thing you deserved now was his gentle touch and loving kisses.
he straightened his back, the movement causing his hands to move from your sides to the back of your thighs. in one swift motion, he lifted your legs and pressed your knees against your chest, and the sharp sob that escaped your lips was all the confirmation he needed that he has you right where he wanted you.
you felt his tip teasing your clit and your entrance, your pussy glistening from how wet you already were, his hard cock sliding inside you without any difficulty, your warm, gummy walls welcoming him as he filled any remaining space in your pussy.
“you feel so good, don't you?” his eyes fluttered shut in pleasure, and a low grunt slipped past his lips as he threw his head back slightly in a gesture of complete relaxation. he would never tire of this feeling that was almost overwhelming at this point. this applied to you as well, your hands gripping the sheets tightly as you moaned softly, feeling just how deep inside of you he was.
“you feel so damn good,” he whispered in a low, husky tone as he begins to thrust into you relentlessly, his tip kissing your cervix every time his hips slammed back into you, your eyes rolling to the back of your head at the feeling.
he increased the pace, leaning closer towards you. the full weight of his body was now pressing onto you, keeping you down and pinned to the bed but there's no resistance from you as you are simply overwhelmed by his size and intensity.
he had been playing with you for such a long time that it didn't take very much effort at all to push you over the edge. your moaning and whimpering got louder, your body tense and your breathing more shallow. your voice was coming out in a pitch that was nearly unrecognizable, with a few "thank you's" and some other incoherent words escaping your lips, your pussy clenching around him—he recognized this as the ultimate sign that you were approaching your orgasm.
“are you close, baby?” he asked even though he already knew the answer. “y-ye—” you were interrupted again by another hard thrust that made you let out a soft yelp. he grunted as he felt your muscles clenching around him once more, gripping him tightly. “c-chenle,” you mewled his name, “i-i’m gonna c-cu—”
before you could finish your sentence, he was quick to pull out of you, releasing the grip on your legs, making you let out a soft whine in disbelief when he pulled out without letting you finish, and all you could do was lie there as a deep emptiness washed over your body, your walls now clenching around nothing. you look at him with wide, teary eyes and trembling lips.
chenle’s grin widens when he watched your expression, a look of disappointment on your face as you realized you didn't get to cum as he made you think. he was satisfied in the knowledge that he had denied you the satisfaction you wanted and was pleased with how desperate and frustrated you were looking at him.
"aww, is my baby about cry? " he mocked you, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he reached out to wipe away the tear-filled eyes that now betrayed you. his hand lightly traced the curve of your face, moving slowly and tauntingly, as if he was enjoying your helpless reaction far too much. “that’s what you get for acting like a spoiled little brat,” his voice filled with condescension as watched how your emotional state seemed to sink lower and lower as a result of his words.
"you thought i would just let you have it your way?” he scoffed and shook his head at your naivety. "i thought you would know better by now, baby," his voice taking on a false empathetic edge as he leaned in closer. his voice became softer, his lips pressing lovingly against yours for a quick peek. "aww, no, no, don't cry," he echoed the soothing words with another kiss, teasingly brushing away the tears with his finger. "if you beg good enough, i might give you what you want."
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Hello! I just found your blog and I just started reading everything I saw 😅. Can I request 141 + König + Alejandro with a pregnant reader? They don't know yet and when the reader will break the news they are really stressed with work and end up taking it out on the reader, they end up getting into an argument and saying they hate the reader and that their life would be so much better without the reader in it (😈). The reader takes this seriously and leaves when they are asleep... Months later they meet again when the reader is on her way to the hospital to give birth (😈). Angst to fluff pls. If you don't feel good about writing or it's too big, that's fine. Have a nice day and thank you so much for all the time you spend writing to us.
The Things We Say // 141 Drabble
Summary: You're expecting, but it's not good news. To him, at least. Your relationship takes a hit, but once he meets your child, he's swallowed with regret for how he treated you.
Warning(s): angst to fluff, hurt/comfort, pregnancy, childbirth, mentions of premature birth/complications, mild injury/blood, strong language, established relationship, fem!Reader, no use of y/n
A/N: I was hurting my own feelings---but, there's fluff after the angst, so don't get too upset besties<3 Hope you don't mind anon, I took some creative liberty because I didn't want them all to have the same plotline. | Word Count: 5.9k
꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ 141 MASTERLIST // have a request? ⋆ ⚘ 🕊 ˚✧ ₊˚ʚ ao3 ver.
SYNOPSIS; he had been in the thick of it lately, sometimes more overwrought when at home with you than in active combat, it seemed. Conversations were either abrupt, crude, or nonexistent—often just building on top of the tension building between the two of you. Relationships were supposed to be fifty-fifty, but you felt you were carrying the burden of the whole percentage. That’s why the news couldn’t have come at a worse time—you, staring at the two lines instead of one. No matter how long you stared, double-checked the diagram, the answer was the same. Pregnant. So, now you knew two things for certain, you were expecting, and most heartbreaking—the other one responsible was at his worst. To break the news to him, it took every fiber of your being.
⋘ » ☆ « ⋙
AFTERMATH; nine months of hell. That’s how you would answer if someone asked. Few people did though, even at work or out on the street. There was the occasional boy or girl, how are you feeling. But they were being polite, or taking pity on the pregnant woman without a ring on her finger. The pregnant woman with bags under her eyes, the one who winces with each step because she’s ready to pop. None of it meant anything to you, because the other half of this responsibility had been left in the dark, and not for much longer. You weren’t raising this child alone, no matter how irate he was going to be when you contacted him.
Price
One of John’s many talents; stewing on his feelings, keeping them suppressed for an unnatural amount of time.
Often so long that he forgot about the source of his anger once he had time to catch up to them. That is… Until his work was involved. Then he was an entirely different man, often spending his time deep in a bottle and with a nose deep in paperwork, with little regard for anyone else around him.
His control, it was typically so consistent, that he knew not to bring his professional problems home. But lately? It’s been anything but typical. He wasn’t what you would call mean, but there was definitely a negative word to describe it. Cold? Apathetic? Perhaps even unwelcoming?
The bickering, if you could call it that, had droned on for several minutes now. Though, it was mostly you venting your frustrations to an uninterested Price. ❝I know it’s not good timing, John. Why the fuck do you think I’m in here trying to reason with you? Are we just supposed to ignore this until we can’t anymore?❞ You hissed, tempted to rip the paperwork from his grip to get him to pay attention.
He always wanted children, but not right now. Naturally, that’s when it happened. He felt like he was drowning, at first only professionally, but now personally too. The funds weren’t a problem, the kid had two parents, but… you and him—nothing was working.
❝Sweetheart, I’m in the thick of it right now. Please.❞ He didn’t need to raise his voice for you to see how irritated he was. Perhaps at the baby, you, himself, or all the above. ❝I have a meeting.❞ He stood up from his workspace, steaming coffee in hand.
John walked away from you like you were a pestering soldier, not the mother of his child. Enough was enough.
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He thought he was slick, only giving you physical checks to see your face, to ensure that you were indeed alright. It was often the coffee shop within equal walking distance of your two separate homes. John would always slide the amount you needed across the table, a look of remorse on his face. Each monthly meeting, your stomach would grow in size, as did your drained expression.
But you wouldn’t talk to him. You would only text him the amount, nod when he asked questions. It was the worst torture you could put a man like John through—one that needed the approval of his loved ones. It just couldn’t happen, not yet. The wounds of how he treated you, they were too fresh, even after nine months of this routine.
To be truthful, you debated on even calling him when you went into labor. You could do it alone, right? With just the support of the delivery nurses, and most of all your baby girl as the reward? Perhaps you could wait until after, give him the respect to at least meet his daughter. For someone not carrying a child, he looked just as beat; sunken eyes, less tidy facial hair than usual, and somehow even more tobacco on his breath.
John was clawing himself from the inside out, begging for something other than a “yes” or “no” from your lips.
—
❝I can’t do this,❞ you repeated it about fifty times, tears streaming down your cheeks from both the pain and the distraught feelings. That plan you had to not call him, it was falling through quite quickly. This level of agony? You needed someone other than a doctor. You needed the father, as much as it pained you to admit.
❝Yes, you can dear, women have babies everyday.❞ Bless the nurse, she was trying her best to keep you calm, but it didn’t work.
What if something went wrong? If somehow you didn’t make it but your baby girl did, she would be alone until he got here… That couldn’t, no—wouldn’t happen. He needed to be there, right beside this bed to hold her in case you couldn’t.
In between your pained grunts, you finally spit out what you’d been trying to tell her, finding a split second of sensibility during all this distress. ❝Call… John. Please, call him!❞
—
The doors swung open faster than any of the personnel, his gaze softening when he saw you breathing in a patterned fashion. The nurse beside you gave him a nod, freeing your hand for him to take her place. John wasn’t going to miss this, and frankly, he was irked that he almost did. But he wasn’t irked at you; he was irked at himself for taking this for granted.
His soothing voice talks you through each contraction, a soothing hand dabbing away the sweat and tears streaming down your face.
❝I got you, sweetheart. You’re almost done pushing.❞ Though he looked gruff on the outside, inside he was distraught. You had maintained the cold shoulder throughout the pregnancy, but you still called him here? You were more than he deserved in his eyes.
The last round of pushing, and they were close together now. You had about thirty seconds to say this, before you were screaming again.❝I’m glad you’re here.❞ Despite all the pain you were in, you gave his hand a squeeze, staring at him with a glossy expression.
His eyes nearly watered; the first sentence you had uttered to him in months, and it was clear you meant every bit of it. You needed him and so did your daughter, right here right now. He pressed a kiss to your temple, a soothing massaging your shoulder.
John kept his tone firm on purpose, to emphasize how deeply he cared for you right now. ❝I’ll always be here for you, love. Always.❞
Simon
Simon loved deep; hated even deeper.
It was one of the features that drew you to him in the first place, how blunt he could be, how his broodiness contrasted your personality in more ways than one. His cynical behavior could be humorous, could be reassuring, but most of all—bitter. To add stress to the equation, to bring it home? He was an explosive disaster waiting to happen.
❝Simon,❞ you approached from behind, holding the test in your hands, because you knew the first question he would ask when you told him; is if you took one. Well, if he wasn’t actively cursing under his breath, he would’ve.
Instead, he merely flicked his eyes over for a brief moment, as if you were a stranger on the street that said excuse me. ❝Simon.❞ Your tone grew firmer, clutching the stick with more apprehension.
❝Bloody Christ, what?❞ He shifted in his seat, bloodshot and hooded eyes that only twisted the knife further. You couldn’t tell him now, not with the pressure of being on the spot. The right words just wouldn’t come out, prompting you to put the stick behind your back. ❝Goddamn nuisance.❞ He muttered under his breath as if it was only supposed to be an internal thought.
Though, he didn’t look all that remorseful about it—at least on the outside.
He had never said anything like that before, at least not to your face. It seemed, all the weeks of tension and cold shoulder, it was enough. You were done and out the door the second he’d dozed.
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Simon made a few futile attempts to reach out, but his own stubbornness prevented him from ever being face-to-face. He beat himself up so badly, and from his side of things—he’d only lost one person, not two.
It pained you to ask the delivery nurse to call him. You wanted to shove the crowning newborn right back inside and hold off, to go find him yourself and smack sense into him for putting you through this agony. But you couldn’t. Quite literally couldn’t get up, and didn’t want to. Resulting in pettiness and venom would make you worse than him because you would be using this child as a pawn.
He said nothing, but his eyes said enough. The nurses put a sterile drape over his shoulders, but he paid them no mind. His amber eyes remained on you; a bulging belly and an expression of pure agony. Had he missed something, a crucial chapter of your new life post-breakup? Most of all, why did you call him?
❝Hold my hand.❞ Simon found the side of your bed, allowing you to dig your fingernails into his forearm until there were imprints. He had few words, but the countenance of concern and guilt said it all. If this wasn’t his… you would’ve done this alone, or the father would be here. Then it dawned on him; it was his.
—
Hours passed, and he still hadn’t mentioned the obvious. Nine months without his support—financial or moral. You needed rest, as did the baby girl—so you were getting it, first and foremost. The adult matters would be better talked about when you weren’t still freshly recovering.
Simon tapped his foot against the tile, sitting in the chair beside the bed. He was unsure of who to keep an eye on more; the newborn swaddled in her own crib, or you, exhaustedly sleeping in your hospital bed. Though he’d held the girl, it felt forbidden, like he was only a placeholder until your body recovered enough to do it yourself. It was shock preventing him from feeling, not cruelty.
You stirred awake, a sigh of contempt when you laid eyes on him. The labor was a blur your mind had already shut out, and you truly didn’t recall the nurses contacting him. Your eyes were glossy with dark circles underneath them. ❝I’m…❞ It was like the night you tried to tell him but couldn’t, the words wouldn’t come out.
Simon saw that look in your eyes; the fear that he would explode, or storm out and leave you with the child forever—but he wasn’t. All the years of trying to not relieve the same mistakes his own father made, it would be useless if he did that. And he couldn’t, seeing that look of desperation on your face, how you looked as if you were going to burst into tears at the sight of him. That look, it was the same one that gnawed at him during those months apart, how he found you and your belongings gone.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. ❝Shh… Don’t apologize. Ever.❞ He was hovering now, a kiss pressed to your forehead. Whatever you decided when you were healed enough, he would take it like a man, because he had the audacity to speak to you like a man who wronged him.
Soap
Soap was… a complicated man to say the least. Usually, he was sweet, charming, with the right amount of cockiness. His ability to make you laugh drew you into him in the first place. But it was dwindling—at least during the past few weeks. Now, all that remained was smugness and bitter mutters under the breath.
❝Don’t be a child about this, we’ll figure it out,❞ He says, slamming his car door behind you. The first time you two had been out to dinner together in weeks, spoiled because you finally broke the news to him. You teared up in the restaurant because his reaction was anything but accepting, and frankly, he found it embarrassing.
He hadn’t meant it that way—that’s just how it came out.
He truly did want to figure this baby thing out, but it was the worst possible timing; an all-time high of stress at work, bickering with you constantly. And now, a third added to the dynamic with only months to prepare? It was too much. ❝Oh, I’m acting like a child?❞ You walked into the house, taking off the jewelry you had on to look nice for him.
The bickering that ensued—it was nothing nice, nothing you’d care to remember.
❝I don’t want you to go, lass. Don’t do this.❞ You had already made up your mind. Perhaps it was your emotions clouding your judgment, that instinct you felt being a few weeks along… It didn’t matter, you couldn’t be here. Not with him, not right now.
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You were about to pop, literally any day now. You knew that meant you would have to talk to the father, and interact with him for about eighteen years—at least be civil. But the rationality of it, how you would have to co-parent with him, didn’t ease your anxieties. Of course, he was adamant about checking up on you and being more of a parasite than the fetus taking half your energy.
You closed the car door with your hip, a slow waddle up the pavement. Where the hell your keys were, that was another story—something you would deal with once you rolled yourself up to the door.
❝What the hell are you doin’?❞ The voice nearly made you drop all the grocery bags in your grasp, a jumpy shriek coming out. When you whipped around, it was Soap, a look of upset on his very expressive face.
Once you started to recover from the scare of a lifetime, an unintentional one at that, a scowl formed on your face. It was like he had a sense of the absolute worst time to show up and annoy you, especially now that you were swollen and extra agitated. ❝A phone call would’ve worked, Johnny. Or, I don’t know, maybe a ‘hey I’m right behind you, lady’!❞ You attempted to mock his accent out of pure frustration, but he didn’t find the humor in it, at least not right away.
He yanked the bags out of your grip, stomping up the steps of your porch. ❝You shouldn’t be carryin’ these.❞ You really should not be doing that, he was right, but the thought of him being your grocery boy—showing up even more? ❝Keys.❞ He held out his free hand, the other one swimming in bags. It was ridiculous, apparently, you weren’t allowed to twist a key now, either.
You shove past him once he’s turned the key, squeezing past and joining him in the kitchen. Without a word, he starts putting away anything and everything you bought. Some are nutritious, others purely to feed your cravings. ❝Don’t start.❞ You pointed a finger at him when he picked up a family-sized bag of candy, a smart-ass comment daring to escape his lips.
❝God, I can’t believe you, Johnny. Sneaking up on me like that, I could’ve fallen.❞ You put an instinctive hand on your stomach, still irked by his presence.
❝No, you would’ve fallen carrying all those bags yourself. I have a right to be worried, it’s my bloody kid too.❞ He retorts, a hand on his hip. He’s done all he’s obligated to now; carrying and putting away your groceries.
You tighten your lips into a line, fighting the urge to start a full-blown argument. ❝Yeah, you remind me every day, so thanks for tha— Shit.❞ It seemed, raising your voice counted as exerting yourself because there was a sudden cramp in your stomach, a trickle down your pant leg.
Soap’s eyes widened, seeing you go from scolding him to hunched over and holding your stomach. You had forced yourself into labor, now standing on knees about to buckle. ❝I’ve got you, now get going woman, before I put you over my shoulder.❞ He felt he had never moved faster, a tight fist around your forearm to keep you standing as he led you through the door you had just walked in.
—
It seemed there was little time between being admitted to actively pushing. This kid wanted out, and right this second. You let out a shriek as the back of your head slammed against the pillow, sweat trickling down your brow as you cursed and wailed. ❝I know it hurts, love, but you got this.❞ He allowed you to clamp down on his hand, to dig your fingertips until they drew blood.
❝Oh, you know do you?!❞ You snapped at him, finding it hard to be nice when you felt like you were being ripped in half.
❝If I wasn’t,❞ you grunted in between words, face scrunched and labored breathing, ❝stuck in this damn bed, I would so… hurt you right now, Johnny.❞ He fought the urge to snicker just a little bit, masking it with his concern for you. Seeing you in agony, even when you were actively snapping at him, it didn’t please him one bit.
Well, you were arguing with him, so he knew you weren’t actively dying.
If you used enough of that anger, it would help you literally push through the pain, just like how it caused the kid to want to come out right this second. For once, his pestering and sarcasm were actually helping.
With one final wave of it, your back arched off the bed and finally, the loud cry of an infant filled the white-walled room. Soap nearly fainted, if he was being honest—he was awfully squeamish for someone who dealt with blood daily. But it was your blood and… fluids, things that made him shiver when he pictured how painful that could’ve been.
The doctors were speedy, cleaning off and checking vitals. All he could do was stare at the newborn—his baby boy. And then he looked at you, choked up and stared in awe at the baby set on your chest. ❝Jesus…❞ he leaned down, placing a gentle hand on yours as it held the child’s head.
All the fighting, all the bickering, even the late-night candy runs—they were well worth it. He had a second chance now, to make things right with you, and to be a decent father.
Gaz
Gaz could be hotheaded, sometimes downright blunt, especially when he’s passionate about something to do with his work. The night you were going to break the news, nothing was going right. He came home in a huff, not bothering to take off his boots before plopping on the sofa. Kyle had a right to be stressed; look at what he does all day. But he didn’t have a right to be cruel to you because of it.
You took a seat beside him and set the positive test down on his thigh. A silence followed by a scowl, and then he finally spoke. ❝You can’t be serious.❞ It nearly gutted you right then and there. His leg began to bounce anxiously the longer he glanced at the life-changing test results.
❝Kyle, I—❞ you weren’t even sure what you were trying to say either, not that he gave you a chance. ❝I don’t have time for this, babe. I really can’t do this right now.❞ He put his head in his hands, a flustered groan escaping his lips.
❝Are you saying you don’t want this? That we shouldn’t have done this?❞ You were suddenly standing, eyes wide and watering. You felt like you had just been dumped on the street, despite his unclear tone.
He peered up, lips in a blunt line. ❝Maybe we shouldn’t have.❞ You could’ve crawled into a hole and died right then and there, but you merely nodded. Nodded and then left the room, leaving him to his moodiness. No, it wasn’t the best timing, but that didn’t give him the right to brush you off, to treat you like a distasteful afterthought.
It wasn’t just you anymore, it was you and the baby.
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It was one of his few days off—though he wasn’t feeling much relaxation. You were still hot and cold with him, now about halfway through your third trimester; thirty-two weeks to be exact. It was nearing that point, where he had prepared a spare room for the baby, began coordinating plans for labor, etc…
But he still didn’t feel ready, or like he deserved you after how cruel he was that night. Kyle was only helping you to help you and the baby.
His phone buzzed, right when he had begun relaxing for the evening. 10:32 PM; and it was your number. The second he heard the voice of a nurse on the other line, not yours, his feet were halfway out the front door.
—
❝I’m fine, Kyle. I’m fine…❞ It seemed no matter how many times you repeated it, he didn’t seem to believe it. From the minute he entered your hospital room to now, he had at least one hand on you, a thumb grazing the cuts and bruises on your body. You had been in a car accident—mild for you, life-threatening for a preemie. ❝You’re not fine.❞ he said firmly, eyes darting towards your clothes bagged in the corner—bloodied and with windshield pieces still embedded.
Kyle was more worried about you at first, but you were solely concerned about your baby—left alone in the NICU being poked and prodded by personnel. You had to be induced, otherwise he wouldn’t have made it past the front doors. Now, he was too weak to be visited, too small and vulnerable to be held by his own mother yet. It was gut-wrenching; hours without a solid answer, because his chances depended solely on him making it through the night.
Now, there was nothing to do but wait, perhaps see your baby through a glass box if you got lucky.
—
❝He’s perfect,❞ Kyle peered down at the preemie in his hands, a baggy blue cap on his head. There were small babies, and he was somehow smaller. What once was the scare of a lifetime, it was now a passing memory to remind Gaz of what he could’ve lost. He would never make the mistake of talking to you like that again, even if the two events didn’t correlate.
What if the night you left, you got into an accident then, and it was much worse? He wouldn’t be able to live with himself, plain and simple. ❝It’s cheesy but, he does have your eyes.❞ You whispered from the nursing chair you were sitting in, still healing and fatigued from the ordeal. The picture in front of you; Kyle looking at your son with such love—it was irreplaceable and forever stuck in your memories.
❝Correct. But he has your scowl, babe.❞ Gaz flicked his eyes upwards, feeling you gently nudge his shin at the sound of the comment.
It didn’t matter the things he said months ago, as long as he cherished this new life with you as much as you planned to.
Alejandro
Alejandro always had passion for the things he cherished; you and his work, nothing else mattered more. Passion led to intense feelings, intense feelings turned into misplaced bitterness. It wasn’t your fault that you were expecting, no more than it was his, at least. He knew that and had he just taken a breath and thought more carefully about his phrasing, this whole mess could’ve been avoided.
❝Do you think I wanted to interrupt you, Alejandro?❞ You hissed, standing in the doorway of his office with the positive test in your hands. He had just looked at you with such distaste as if you were the root cause of his stress and not his work.
What better way to stir the pot, than to match his wrath? Well, it certainly did that, though seeing him rage was the last sight you wanted to see. Alejandro always had trouble with his anger, often finding himself with all these feelings he had no clue how to control.
❝You always do what you want!❞ There it was, him blowing his fuse. He’d thrown his hands in the air, face tightened into a scowl. He couldn’t leave it at that, either, not when his rage came in such intense waves. ❝You’ll do what you always do—bleed me dry!❞
You couldn’t speak, despite how vicious you felt only seconds before. It seemed too truthful for your liking like he had been waiting for an excuse to spill his guts. ❝As long as you have enough to amuse yourself, I’m nothing to you, right?❞ He wasn’t yelling anymore, but his mocking tone was enough to tear at your heartstrings.
Had he seriously played that card with you—the man always insistent on taking care of you, financially, physically, emotionally? Now, of all times? The argument ended with you slamming the front door behind you, something he would’ve done.
➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶
You spent weeks ignoring him, and throughout the pregnancy, it was dry texts or brief calls. His only sign that you were even alive was the notification that you had used his account to purchase necessities. The irony of it made Alejandro nauseous, how awful he made it sound that you were doing what he told you to; to let him take care of you. The fact that you didn’t drain the funds, only bought what you needed, spoke volumes.
❝I’m not upset at you, amor—I wasn’t upset with you.❞
Alejandro reached a hand across the picnic table, a firm but loving grip on your forearm. You looked beat; hair a different length than before, exhausted eyes that were brimming with tears, and most of all a growing stomach. It was all his fault; the reason you didn’t want to face him like this, in fear that he would cut you and the baby off for good. Only, he was there to see your face, not for confrontation or another spat.
It didn’t matter what you said, if you screamed at him right now, or said nothing. Alejandro had made up his mind the night you left. ❝I’ll come to every appointment, parenting class, anything.❞
—
Of all the nights for you to be in labor, it had to be during a wicked storm. You had gone over to his house to make civil conversation over dinner, to at least attempt at repairing things. He had slaved over the stove, cooking his favorite for you. For most of the meal, things were… surprisingly tranquil; even romantic.
You were heavily pregnant, were you supposed to refuse a warm meal? Not a chance. You were too full, too swollen to get up out of the dining chair once the meal finished. And looking out the window? There was no way in hell Alejandro was going to let you drive home in this; droplets whipped down, trees and waste bins flew away from the force of it, and the rain was icy. Well, you were exhausted, and he had a bed he was willing to give up. Your back and feet practically sighed in relief when you laid back in his bed, the one you two once shared. It was a nice feeling, being there again and knowing Alejandro was trying his hardest to plead forgiveness.
About an hour into your much needed-slumber, you felt a pool in the sheets. Instinctually, you figured it was the fetus pressing on your bladder—a downright embarrassing thing you’d have to wake up and explain to him. But… it was clear it wasn’t that. You were in labor and stuck here.
The shriek you let out when you got a violent contraction; Alejandro dashed quicker than he ever did when dodging bullets. His fumbling fingers dialed 911, yanking the comforter off the bed to get a better view of your dilation. Fortunately, he was trained on how to deliver a baby when stranded, or in a country without medical support. But this was his baby and your life was in his hands. If he didn’t do this correctly, if something went wrong, he would never forgive himself.
The ambulance wouldn’t be there for an hour—you didn’t have an hour to spare, this baby was coming now. ❝You can do this, amor, we’re doing this together.❞ One hand clenched yours, the other kept an eye on the crowning baby. Just how you hadn’t woken up sooner, neither of you knew. Perhaps you had gotten so used to cramps and pains, that you thought it was just another sleepless night courtesy of the little one.
—
The moment your wails went silent as his baby girl finally came, Alejandro felt his heart drop. He had to make the worst decision; focusing on the newborn first. He wrapped her in one of his shirts, wiping the fluid and blood from her small face. As he cradled her, a quick hand fingered for a pulse, a loud sigh escaping his lips when he felt one. You had only passed out from the pain—probably doing you a service, considering he didn’t have the proper medication to numb your pain.
Your eyes fluttered open at the sound of the wailing child, still with gritted teeth. But your baby was there—and her lungs were very clearly working. Alejandro set her down on your chest, allowing you to hold your daughter for the first time. ❝You did so well, cariño. Look at her.❞ He was merely distracting you with the baby on your chest, to not divert your attention towards the state your body was in as he cleaned you up.
Somehow, he had pulled this off with both his girls safe, soon to be checked out properly at a hospital. When you first broke the news, he thought he knew the meaning of being so suddenly thrust into fatherhood, but that took on a whole new meaning after tonight.
König
There had once been a line he didn’t cross, but he did that night. König never yelled at you. He saved that stern side of him for his work because it was acceptable there. But in the weeks that his work had bled onto you, spoiling the relationship, his values seemed to loosen. Though he was a complicated man, a man uncertain of himself and his appearance, he maintained a hardness about him. Ruthless in the field and immensely protective of anyone that had come to love him.
You approached him as he worked, placing the test on the desk he was sitting at. ❝König, I need to tell you something.❞
With his head facing the paperwork, he merely shrugged at you. Until he saw what you’d placed there, his eyes going wide. But it wasn’t shock or excitement; it was disdain for the fact that this baby was just another interruption—you were just another interruption. ❝I have no time for this, Schatz, you know that.❞
He didn’t need to raise his voice for his words to sting, his bitter tone was more than enough. But he surely hadn’t meant it like that, right? He’d meant he didn’t have time for this right now… right?
❝Why don’t you go rest, then?❞ He asks, picking up the folder that he was reading previously. It wasn’t a request made out of concern, König was patronizing you. His glare was typically enough to make a soldier scramble, but you just stood there for a few seconds, biting back the urge to choke.
How you left that night, it wasn’t dramatic or emotional, it was dry. König tells you to think clearly about this, to sleep on it. But you couldn’t—and you weren’t going to be a verbal punching bag.
➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶
König only called you weekly for appointment updates, or to let you know he had sent you a check. Other than that, words dripped with tension and the urge to say so much more. But you were too stubborn for your own good, and so was he. You were more concerned with hosting life than playing games with a father who treated you like a wimp.
He’d only seen you once, during the second trimester when he showed up at your apartment. You protested, but he showed up anyway, saying he needed “proof” that you and the fetus were safe. The voice on the phone wasn’t enough, in his eyes.
Of course, when you needed him most, screaming and keeling over in the kitchen, he wasn’t there. It was a neighbor that called an ambulance for you because they knew they had a pregnant tenant next door. In fact, it was such a close call, you nearly didn’t make it to the delivery room before the newborn came out wailing.
The only plus side? While the paramedics were deterring you from pushing, you’d sent a text—probably unintelligible—but a text, nonetheless. He knew your due date, how today was only a few days off, and he was in his car before he could grasp the severity of this new life stage.
—
❝I’m here, schätzchen. I’m not going to hurt you again, or him.❞ He hunched over the bed, eyes in a perpetual state of disbelief as he watched you soothe the whining newborn. Clarity hit him like a truck when he heard your screams during delivery, and then he was all in. Not that he had a choice, this was his doing too.
He had given you the financial support to get proper nutrition for you and the baby, to pay for the appointments, but that wasn’t enough—not in König’s eyes. He needed to snap out of his self-pity and be a support system. Whether you wanted to co-parent or work on repairing the relationship, you were not under any circumstances taking care of this newborn alone, at your apartment.
He placed a hand in your hair, threading his fingers through the strands. ❝We can clear out the spare room, hm? There’s more than enough room for the two of you.❞ He was already picturing it, how he was going to pull an all-nighter and get to work on the room, going to your apartment and moving the baby supplies from yours to his.
König didn’t need to state the obvious, that you weren’t bound to any type of relationship besides the one concerning the child. Whether you wanted to move out once the baby hit a certain age or not, he was going to keep an eye on the two of you.
Two of you, not just the newborn you were rocking. It was either both of you, or neither, and he was intent on it being the first option.
If you made it this far - THANK YOU!
#mw2#mw2 fanfic#call of duty#simon riley#task force 141#simon riley x reader#ghost mw2#task force 141 x reader#simon riley fluff#alejandro vargas#alejandro vargas x reader#captain john price#john price#kyle gaz garrick#gaz x reader#konig x you#soap mactavish#soap mactavish x reader#task force 141 x y/n
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Ok y’all imma need you to listen to me on this and not take me the wrong way, i am just venting yet again. I need to get shit out of my system and yapping with others is the way i do it.
I love neve, she’s such a dope character, adore her to bits. Don’t be weird about her.
But every time i see scenes and lines of dialogue that Lucanis/ Neve get that 100% should’ve been there for Rook too i get pissed off. I can’t help it.
To be entirely clear on this, it’s not that i have a problem at all with them getting together if neither aren’t romanced it’s that the writing for their relationship highlights the glaring oversight Lucanis/Rook get.
Even the banter around them has more depth than what rook gets. His lock in scene is just a refurbished Neve one, one that’s again, more fulfilling if Neve is the one he romances. It’s just insane to me that someone looked at this and said “yeah players won’t have a problem with this”.
I am not one of those people that thinks Lucanis is just settling for Rook or he cares more about Neve than them, i think that’s too doomery and untrue narratively. But they fucked up the writing for Rookanis so bad that i completely get where that is coming from.
I have a shit ton of hcs to make his whole romance arc better but then i see something from the Neve/Lucanis one and i am reminded that they really didn’t give a shit in the actual game. Again it's the quality and quantity of the writing that i am getting angry at by comparison, not the general concept of them being together. I can't stress that enough.
If Mary Kirby managed to write (or cowrite) the whole thing with Neve and those scenes/dialogue i really don’t understand why Rook barely exists in theirs until the very end of the game.
Ok i am done, vent over. Again please don’t say weird shit about Neve and be hateful. I don’t want another fem character getting an absurd amount of hate for something writers did.
#i only speak for the lucanis romance here not for the neve one or any others#dragon age#dragon age the veilguard#datv#da#dragon age the veilguard spoilers#datv spoilers#lucanis dellamorte#lucanis#rook x lucanis#rookanis#wolfs lucanis tag#wolfs DA rambles
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