#he is not a monster he is better than all of you

[commandershepardvasfuckit]

An Arranged Marriage, part 22

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21

1.6k words

While you absolutely needed summer clothes you got the feeling that Bira had something extra in mind. At least your husband seemed to like it!

(I am feral over my own character, ask box is always open for talking about my writing or just monster fucking in general!)

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“Thanks for helping me with this” you said as Bira lead you through the busy streets.

“Of course! I’m not going to let you drop dead from the heat! I’m just happy Zen’jan waved me down to let me know” Bira responded.

It was quite a walk to the shop, tucked into a corner of the city that was mostly minotaurs, though Bira assured you several times her friend who owed the shop would be able to help.

“Hoonti!” Bira practically yelled as the two of you entered the shop.

The minotaur woman behind the counter looked and smiled, “Bira!” and the two quickly launched into an animated conversation in orcish.

“This is Hoonti, a long time friend of mine” Bira introduced, “and one of the best tailors I know. She’s going to take your measurements and ask a few questions and get started on making you a few things to start with”.

“Sounds good!” you answered.

Hoonti got right to work, buzzing about you with her measuring tape while Bira translated her questions.

“Any preferences for colors? Or any colors you absolutely don’t want?” Bira translated.

“Nothing too bright” you said.

“That’s no fun!” said Bira.

Bira was almost always in bright colors and clothes with fancy trim or details, though Zen always dressed pretty simply. He seemed to be the odd one out though, most of the trolls in the city seemed to be more like Bira with bright, highly detailed clothes and lots of jewelry. The closet thing to jewelry you ever saw Zen wear were the gold bands at the base of his tusks, though he had gotten you a few bracelets and necklaces.

“Okay okay okay, nothing too bright but let me pick one outfit for you, please!” Bira practically begged.

“One outfit” you repeated firmly.

“Just one! And I promise you’ll like it, and so will Zen’jan! It’ll make him happy”.

You raised an eyebrow at her.

“Don’t worry, it’s just something traditional but it needs to be bright! Just trust me” she said.

“Sure”.

Many rounds of questions later and Bira and you were leaving the shop with the promise that Hoonti would drop the clothes off in a few days when she was done.

“So, you and Zen’jan” Bira began.

“Yeah?” you asked.

“He seems a lot happier than usual recently”

You could not help but smile a bit over that. There had been a shift in Zen over the last week, he was more relaxed around the house and was comfortable taking up space. He sat and stood up straight, no longer always trying to make himself smaller, he lounged and stretched out across the bed, he constantly showed you little affections like a hand on your shoulder or waist for a moment when he walked past or a quick nuzzle where he could.

“It’s been a good week” you smiled.

“Well, it’s good to hear that. He’s been doing better in general since you got married, he doesn’t look so tired and drained all the time anymore. He’s never been the best at taking care of himself, though it looks like he’s getting better about it though now that he has someone else to take care of”.

Bira showed you a few more of her favorite places around the city before walking you home.

“I’m happy he has you” Bira told you as she hugged you.

“I’m happy I have him too” you told her.

Three days later Bira and Hoonti showed up in the middle of the day laden with new clothes for you. Skirts, pants, shirts, and dresses of varying lengths, colors, and styles and much better suited for the weather than anything you brought.

They both fawned over you while you tried stuff on, it felt silly with how they fussed over you, but it was still fun.

“Ok ok, last one!” Bira called and handed you the last outfit.

It was several pieces all in a rich shade of red and trimmed with shiny gold embroidery and pearls.

“And I’m guessing this is what you were so excited about?” you asked.

“Just try it on!” she was so excited.

You ducked back into the bathroom to untangle the pieces; a pair of shorts, a wide rectangle of fabric with the beautiful embroidery on one long edge, and a longer thinner rectangle of fabric with the same embroidery in the center of one of the long edges.

“I’m going to need an explanation” you called from the bathroom.

“Shorts on, the wide rectangle ties over the shorts as a skirt, and just wrap the other around you and I’ll help”.

The shorts were shorter than you would have liked, the skirt came down to your mid thighs but because it was tied together it left quite a slit up the side where you tied it on you hip. You wrapped the other piece around you and shuffled out of the bathroom feeling rather exposed.

“Really?” you asked Bira.

“Yes! You’ve seen me in stuff like this! Don’t act so surprised!”

She helped you with the top, wrapping it behind your back and crossing it over your chest and tying it behind your neck. It left your midriff bare, but much to you surprise it at least covered a good amount of your chest.

“Absolutely perfect” Bira smiled.

“Its short” you muttered back.

“It’s good for hot weather, and for dancing! There’s a few festivals coming up that it’s perfect for. And I bet Zen’jan will like it, you should keep it on for when he gets home”.

You chatted with Bira and Hoonti for a while before both left to go about their day. You had to admit you had a lot of movement freedom in the outfit, and while it showed off a lot more than you were used to it was comfy and did look good.

Zen came home later that afternoon, in the last week he had been coming home earlier.

“I hope you do not mind, I stopped by the market in my way home and just picked up- wow” he paused when he saw you.

“It’s looks alright?” you asked.

“More than alright, you look incredible” he sat the food down and crossed the room, quickly placing his hands on your hips while he took a moment to take you in.

“Bira said it would be a good outfit for some festivals coming up”.

“It is, though now I am going to have to actually dress up for festivals to keep up with you” he pulled you closer until you were pressed against him and you could feel him purring.

You could also feel him hard against you. The two of you had been bathing together and sleeping naked, though both of you chose to ignore anything other than cuddling for now.

Zen was breathing hard and you could feel his heart racing being so close to him. He leaned down and nuzzled his forehead against yours before pulling you into deep kiss, wasting no time parting you lips and slipping his tongue into your mouth.

It caught you off guard. Zen never initiated anything, he always carefully waited for you to lean into him to cuddle, or for you to kiss him first. His grip on your hips tightened and you felt him grinding against you, felt the way he panted and moaned into your mouth, how his whole body heaved with every breath.

By the time he pulled away you were breathing just as hard, your heart racing while you looked up at him.

“I am sorry” he muttered, “Was that alright?”

You did not answer, instead you tangled your hands into hair and pulled him back in for another kiss. This time you pressed yourself against him and pulled him close just as much as he did to you. You slipped your tongue into his mouth and ran it along the base of his tusks before pulling back a bit and letting him lead again. His tongue nearly filled your mouth and you happily teased him by sucking on his tongue a bit.

Kissing him was never an elegant affair. His tusks always bumped the sides on your face and you also could not tilt your head at the right angle while you were wedged between them. Then mismatch in size between the two of you meant his mouth always entirely covered yours in an odd way, and it all added up to some rather wet, clumsy, and messy kissing but neither of you minded.

His hand drifted lower, cupping your backside and pulling you to rub against him, leaving an ache between your legs. Besides the night you had gotten drunk together, he had not so much as even hinted at anything more than cuddling, his sudden forward was was a bit odd but not unwelcome.

You pulled away from the kiss, “So, formal wear does it for you?” you teased, though at that moment he had also chosen to nudge your legs apart and press his thigh up against your center, making you collapse forward against his chest and let out a soft moan.

“When I come home and my beautiful wife is all dressed up for me it does” his voice was low in your ear and you could hear the need dripping from it. “And as beautiful as you look all dressed up for me, right now all I can think about is helping you out of it all, if you will let me”.

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Tag list

@blushycadaver @hazyspacefairy @littlelovebug98 @tufflepuff23 @graveblanketgreen @krayziee

[bigfan-fanfic]

A Real Puzzler (Male!Reader x Leon Kennedy)

@alexanderstarhero Request for Leon taking care of random citizen who is great at puzzle.

"I was supposed to accept an award today."

Leon laughs, and you laugh with him, the sound tinged with just a hint of hysteria.

"Oh yeah? What was the award for?"

You can't help but giggle. "Raccoon City Puzzle Champion."

You both roar with laughter.

"Guess what?" Leon smirks.

"What?"

"Today's my first day on the job with RCPD!"

After a really bad rainy day spent with a cute police officer - which you can't even really appreciate due to the weird monsters and zombies all around here - you two found a moment to rest in a safe room and simply breathed and talked, leading to you laughing about the way today should have been wildly mundane.

With him shooting and you using your experience to handle the increasingly obtuse puzzles, the two of you make a pretty great team.

You finally recover enough to breathe and lean against him.

Automatically, he puts an arm around you.

"I never got the chance to thank you for... you know. Saving my life."

He looks at you. "You don't have to thank me for that."

"But-"

"You've gotten us out of just as many scrapes."

"What, with those riddles?"

"Look, with you focused on that, it lets me be more aware of enemies. We're the perfect team, you and me."

"Still, I kinda think you'd be able to do all this without me, and the reverse isn't true."

Leon raises an eyebrow. "Well, having two people do this together just makes it all go faster. And something tells me if we can get to the bottom of this as quickly as we can, we might save a lot of lives."

You smile at him. "I'm okay with that."

He laughs. "Just okay? Maybe I could sweeten the pot?"

"What?"

"We get out of here before sunrise, I take you out on a date."

You blink several times, and slowly smile. "What about if after?"

"Then you take me out."

"Deal."

He squeezes you against his side. "That huge guy sucks. I think he'd have pummeled my ass into the ground if you weren't so quick on the puzzle."

"Yeah. He SUCKS."

Boom.

"Oh, shit, do you think he heard us?"

"Let's get out of here..."

Much later...

"What is with this town and puzzles?"

"I... actually don't have an answer for that." you mumble, as you hold a strangely shaped statuette in front of a spotlight in order to match an odd-shaped indentation in the landscape painting ahead.

"You haven't ever found it weird?"

The whole wall slides aside to reveal a secret passage downward. "What do you mean?"

"That this place is just loaded with weird secret passages and environmental puzzles?"

"I guess I've never thought about it. It's just... we like our puzzles. I was gonna get to have my picture in City Hall with Mr. Raccoon!"

Leon freezes in the middle of the staircase. "Mr. Raccoon?"

You sigh, face heating up as you realize you're going to have to explain your city's odd mascot that its citizens are so appreciative of.

Well, at least it's better than thinking about the current situation.

Although a date with your dashing companion is ever tempting to be distracted by...

[lavender-butterfly-cookie]

I would love to see a second part of Forgotten Friends

One where the beast eventually realized that they blew stuff out of proportion and, because of that, their friend was basically forced to betray them, but they have no one to blame but themselves

And by the time they realized and are out of their prison

Reader cookie can varely remember them, they do remember they used to be friends, but all their evil deed have replaces most happy memories and Reader has a hard time being able to trust or even be near them

Patience is a strong thing, but time is more

The SoulJam of Patience has follow their tittle, now it's Their turn to use it

I like your style dear butterfly.

Forsaken, Forgotten, Un-Forgiven

previous part

Where does one even begin to express how much patience you've lost? How does one even begin to accept your friends have become nothing more but shells of their former selves? How does one learn to forgive them for forcing you to betray them? As hard as it is to believe, it starts with an apology.

After sealing your friends away all those years ago, it took you immense amounts of patience before you could face the world again. It took you so much patience to adjust and make new friends. So much patience to finally feel free about revealing who you really are. Patience to accept that they were gone and they weren't coming back. It took a long time, but you endured it. And it was worth it.

But it wasn't.

You found yourself face to face with five shards of tinted glass, all representing a shard from what was broken long ago. You barely remembered any of them, but that doesn't mean you forgot them and their evil deeds completely

The blue shard, who had once been your source of knowledge and guidance, now full of cracks that mimicked the web of deceit it was entangled in. You remember how the threads of that web were used to puppet and control the lives of the innocent, forcing them to fight for his own twisted little show.

The white shard, who had one been the holder of the virtue known as volition, now flavorless and apathetic soul devoid of any meaning. You remember how easily she turned everything to flour with just a simple motion of her hand. And you knew she did it because she saw little to no value in living a life with the inevitable end known as death

The red shard, who was once the herald of change in itself, now a destructive and merciless monster who sees no point in creation when it's bout to wither away eventually. You remember how he had destroyed countless homes and lives, all because he was bored.

The pink shard, who was once the most loving and joyful person you had ever met, now a lazy sloth who didn't even bother doing anything anymore. You remember vividly how she wiped away so many cookies just because they woke her up from her nap.

Then there was the Purple shard, once a noble knight of solitude, now a dark knight of silence. You remember all to well how had mercilessly crumbled several cookies in a single strike. How he's never uttered a word since he became corrupted.

These shards of glass are none other than your fallen friends, freed from but under different circumstances. They weren't causing havoc, they weren't attacking- heck, they weren't even angry at you after you lead them into a trap. What baffled you more was how the ancients were present but stood to the side. It took some time before the realization hit you.

"They want to talk."

You heard a voice say. It sounded like you, but much more mature. You felt your heart drop. They wish to talk? Couldn't they have thought about that years- no, CENTURIES ago?! But you're not about to argue with the light of patience when you clearly have better things to focus on.

The first thing you noticed about your fallen friends is their demeanor. They're not angry... they actually look guilty and nervous. Next was their souljams... which they didn't have for some reason. The ancients probably have it, which is good. They can't cause much damage. Shadow milk cookie stepped forward and you were ready for anything....

"Y/N cookie..."

Anything at all.

"We're sorry..."

Except that. Your eyes widened and you froze solid, the words unable to register in your head. They were apologizing?... But- no that can't be right... this is a trick... It's a trick and you won't fall for it again... You look at the ancients. They aren't intervening or protesting against this false apology.

...

They can't seriously believe this, right? They're not falling for this, RIGHT?! You step back a bit and shake your head slightly. This was a trick. Why do they want to redeem themselves NOW? Had they not realized the gravity of what they did before sooner? This had to be some kind of lie. And you weren't gonna fall for it. You made that very clear to them before walking.

It was only later on where pure vanilla cookie explained that they were attempting a redemption arc to fix the bond between you. The ancients really did believe them... Why did they believe them?! They had been nothing but pure evil as far as you can remember. Their evil deeds outweighed whatever happy memories you had with them... almost as though you didn't have happy memories.

The beasts tried again and again to at least get you to cast a glance at them but it was fruitless. You walked away from the library when Shadow milk cookie tried talking to you. You completely ignored Eternal sugar cookie trying to enter your room and talk to you. You turned your back on Burning spice cookie when he attempted reaching out for you. You refused to acknowledge Mystic flour cookies attempt of interaction with you. And the silence between You and Silent salt cookie had grown into a deadly kind of quiet, as if none of you had even been together.

They just didn't get it, did they? They betrayed your trust once, what if they do it again? You had to be BEYOND patient with yourself in order to recover and yet they've returned? No, they shouldn't have. They had no idea how many sleepless nights you endured to finally accept they're absence. How much you had to learn to adjust and be patient with yourself to be able to move on. And all that hard work, all that patience, it was gonna crumble because of them.

No, you can't let that happen. You can't just forgive them just like that. Not after everything they've done, to innocent cookies, everything they've done to you. If they really wanted your forgiveness, they'd have to be as patient with you as you were with them when they weren't corrupted. They have to earn your forgiveness, and that was going to take a long time.

You were patient with them, now they must be patient with you. How long they'd have to be patient was unknown, and how long they'd actually remain patient was just as mysterious.

[aran-morinorea]

Tar-Telepta, Aran Morinórea: I want to hear about Annatar's Shit Paradigms, of course :D

...All right so here's the thing you don't get Annatar's Shit Paradigms because it needed so much groundwork before I can begin to write actual prose. But you do get this whole thing describing Annatar's interiority in the months after The Inciting Event for the whole au. Because I needed to pin it down so I can even start Annatar's Shit Paradigms.

--

Celebrimbor confronts Annatar - Tar-Mairon - about his activities in Mordor, gives him the “Your evil plans or me” ultimatum, and then Mairon fucks off to go have a tantrum.

This tantrum involves: 

Going back to Barad-dur and killing some people who definitely 100% deserved it for sure. 

That thing where someone goes to a bathroom and splashes water on their face and looks in the mirror while leaning on the sink except it’s lava instead of water. 

Laying facedown in the fires of Mount Doom and rethinking his life. 

Causing multiple earthquakes. 

...Thinking about the joy of watching Celebrimbor learn and make things. 

Thinking about the satisfaction of working in partnership with someone else, someone as vibrant and strong and smart and wonderful as Celebrimbor. 

Thinking about going and taking Celebrimbor by force, laying siege to Ost-in-Edhil and putting him in chains and bringing him here and keeping him.

… Thinking about how strong and vibrant and stubborn and principled Celebrimbor is. 

Thinking about whether Celebrimbor would be one of those people who would rather die than live as a thrall. 

Realizing that yes, Celebrimbor absolutely would die for what he believes in, and it would be so much work to try keep his spirit around, and it wouldn’t be nearly the same as having him - really having him - having him to work and argue and play with - having his love.

Remembering that Celebrimbor still doesn’t know about the Sauron thing, and he might be able to keep it that way.

Remembering that Celebrimbor did not cast him out of his life unequivocally - he will not be the friend or lover of a slaver and an imperialist, but if Mairon takes steps to stop being those things -

Thinking about how hard it would be, really, to stop being those things.

Realizing he’s genuinely considering just giving up on the vision of Melkor.

Spontaneously filling the whole room with flames.

That was the throne room. He’d been sitting there, motionless and completely unresponsive, for four days.

There might have been people in there who will be annoying to replace. Mairon simply cannot care about it right now.

Remaining on fire while thinking about Melkor’s promises.

He said it was only a matter of time.

He said it would be better to put the rightful king on the throne of Arda quickly, and get back to the business of metals and fractals, than to fight a long defeat and be judged unworthy at the end, never having time for beauty again.

And then He lost.

Three times out of four.

As soon as the Valar bothered to interfere.

And maybe, at the end, after the final battle, it would be better, safer, to have been working toward His purposes the whole time He was gone, but -

Thinking about what would happen if the Valar bothered to interfere with his current projects.

…Thinking about how hard it would be, really, to be - in truth, even, maybe! - someone Celebrimbor could love.

How hard would it be to act within the boundaries of Celebrimbor’s principles?

He did not say “Believe what I believe.”

He did not say “Cease to be a monster.”

He said “Your policies are monstrous and I cannot support them,” which suggests that it is the action that matters most to him. That the problem is what he is doing, and not what he is.

Changing that does not seem so hard.

Perhaps it will be a fun challenge, like an arbitrary restriction for a jewelcraft competition.

And really - if anyone is going to change him - if he’s going to accept anyone’s judgement - if there’s anyone currently in Arda who Mairon thinks is right - would it not be Celebrimbor?

Of course it would.

Deciding that, you know what, Mairon would be willing to commit to Celebrimbor’s vision - if Celebrimbor will fucking commit to him.

This is so Mairon can keep him.

So that they will twine their souls together and be - be that partnership which is so full of joy.

Deciding that if Celebrimbor won’t do it - if he wants “Annatar” to give him this without giving anything in return - then - yes.

Then he will find another way to keep him. 

And it would not be as good, it would not be Mairon’s shining vision, but it would be something. And eventually Celebrimbor would see the value in Mairon’s methods. He’s sure of it.

When he’s finally done with his tantrum, Annatar climbs out of the magma-filled crevasse he'd been sulking in and goes up to draft the words to a wedding proposal.

[anon-e-miss]

Broken Vows - 8

“‘M gonna go look at habs for ya when ya have a rest,” Jazz told Prowl. He avoided the glyph nap which seemed a little mocking to him. As his frame continued to integrate the delicate repairs and with a fragile self-respair systems, Prowl ran out of energy quickly and recharged off and on throughout the mega-cycle.

“Perhaps you might like to take Smokescreen with you?” Prowl offered. “He would benefit from fresh air.”

“Are ya sure?” Jazz asked.

“I trust you,” Prowl said.

“What about you and Blue?” Smokescreen asked.

“We need more rest than you, Bravespark,” Prowl told him. “I know it is not terribly fun for you when we recharge. There is a fine playground in the park your progenitor and I used to walk in.”

“I’d love to,” Jazz said. “What do ya say, Smokey?”

“Okay!”

“I’ll give ya a list o’ favourites,” Jazz offered Prowl. Prowl just shook his helm.

“I trust you and Smokescreen to select it,” he said. “You know how little I concerned myself with my habsuite.”

“A’ight,” Jazz said. “We’ll do our best.”

Smokescreen was nervous, Jazz knew. His genitor was nervous too. Jazz held Smokescreen’s servo in a firm grip as they walked down the hall and made their way to the tram that would drop them off at the metro. It was faster to drive, of course but Jazz was too nervous to drive Smokescreen and the mechling was far too young to drive on his own. Smokescreen would not have wheels of his own until he was a youngling. Sooner or later, Jazz would give him a ride somewhere but Smokescreen had already gotten lost once on his watch and he was not going to risk getting in a crash with him on their first trip off base. The media were all gone, having been chased off by the Primal Vanguard after Prime had given his speech. That did not mean there might not be opportunists who would sneak a quick shot but Jazz had a plan for that.

“I want ya to wear this,” Jazz told Smokescreen as he magnetized a small device to the collar of his armour.

“What’s it for?” Smokescreen asked.

“If anyone tries to take a picture o’ ya, this’ll scramble it,” Jazz told him. “I know yer ori don’t want yer face all o’er the news.”

“It was the same in Praxus,” Smokescreen said. “He didn’t want me in portraits. He didn’t want Blue either but he wasn’t allowed to say no.”

“‘M sorry yer Ori had to make that choice,” Jazz told him. “I’m sorry I bout’m in that spot.”

“Origin loves you,” Smokescreen said. “And it makes him sad. It always made him sad.”

“He’s got good reason, Sweetspark,” Jazz told him. “I broke his spark. I did it on purpose.”

“You were sick,” Smokescreen defended him and Jazz ruffled his helm. After everything Jazz had said and done, Prowl had excused him to their creation. It was a kindness Jazz did not think he deserved.

“Don’t make the damage any easier to live with, Bitlet,” he said.

“Hmm,” Smokescreen took a seat in the window and Jazz sat next to him. “You feel bad about it.”

“Sure do,” Jazz told him. “I didn’t know I’d kindled ya wit Prowl until I saw yer designation next to his on the casualties list. Even when I was better, I was too scared to face your Ori, even the memories o‘m so I didn’t read his letters, ‘n I lied to myself ‘bout how bad I’d behaved. I didn’t want to remember how bad I’d been. When I saw yer designation I had to face what a monster I’d been. I didn’t think I deserved to mourn ya, either o’ ya. But I needed to. I still carry the ultrasound photos he sent me.”

“Really?” Smokescreen asked. Jazz showed him the ultrasound. “I was just a blob.”

“We all start out that way.”

Jazz knew Smokescreen hoped his procreators would get back together and raise him and his brother together. It was something Jazz was a bit too scared to hope for himself. He loved Prowl dearly. With all the clarity in the world now, Jazz did not shy from this truth. The reality was, however he had hurt Prowl terribly and he had driven him away, laying the groundwork for the direction the Praxian’s life had taken. Every awful thing that had happened after could be placed at Jazz’s peds. At some point, if Prowl ever wanted to hear it, Jazz would like to apologize probably, to make sure he knew that Jazz took responsibility, that he had no excuses for everything he had said and done. He could not ask for a chance to be better for Prowl, for Smokescreen and for Bluestreak. Jazz would have to be better and to let the chips fall however they might.

“I know Origin’s originator and grandcreators were afts,” Smokescreen said. “What about yours? Origin never told me about them.”

“That’s ‘cause I never told’m,” Jazz explained. “My genitors were split-spark twins. They died in a riot in Polyhex ‘n losin’em broke my Ori ’n made ‘m go mad... sorta like I did, I guess. Me ‘n my brother, my twin split up... blamin’ different mecha for what happened. I know they’re alive but that’s all I know.”

“You got better,” Smokescreen said. “I bet he will too.”

Counterpunch had sent Jazz another of his rants that light-cycle. As always, it made no sense. There was no threat to Jazz in particular or the Autobots in general. It was just random glyphs, not even in sentences but almost just splattered across the page. Because Counterpunch did not know he had creations, because Punch had always considered his family to be his and not his alter’s, that he even had the code to the commlink Jazz had only ever shared with his family was still a bit unnerving. Talk of a mechanical spark and grinding gears, even when Jazz read it together with the other notes he had received lately, he found no meaning in it. He wondered if Ricochet got notes like these. His twin would never tell him. Ricochet had blamed Sentinel Prime for the deaths of their progenitors and the madness of their originator, in hindsight Jazz understood why. Ricochet did not forgive Jazz lending is allegiance to that prime as Jazz had blamed terrorists who had worn the Decepticon brand. Whether Ricochet called himself a Decepticon or freelanced, as had been the family business, Jazz did not know. He had not spoken to his twin in millenia and had not laid optics on him for even longer.

“This is our stop,” Jazz took Smokescreen servo and led him down the escalator and out onto the street.

It was just around the corner from Mirror’s, nearer than even Prowl’s old hab and been and a short walk to the park. There were other habsuite on his list to look at but if this one was even close to as good as the ad had suggested, he thought it would be perfect. Smokescreen, of course, would be the one to cast the deciding vote. The property manager shook Smokescreen’s servo after he shook Jazz’s and that was a point in his favour. There were lots of families in the building, or so said the manager and that was a point for the building. No one had lived in the habsuite for a while so it was a completely blank slate. Imagining how it might be set up was not a problem to Jazz. He laughed as Smokescreen ran about, checking every room. The mechling definitely needed sometime in the park to release some energy.

“This room for Origin, because it has a pretty view,” Smokescreen pulled Jazz along for a tour. “This room’s for Blue because its right next door. This rooms for me and this rooms for my grandori and uncle when they come to visit.”

“He’s so sweet,” the property manager said. “And so well behaved.”

“His Ori gets all the credit,” Jazz replied.

“Origin’s going to love it,” Smokescreen declared as they left, key card stored in Jazz’s subspace. As Jazz was an officer in the Autobot Corp, the property manager was quick to sign the habsuite over to Jazz, even having never met the principle tenant. Security was good, it would be better when Jazz added encryptions to the lock. Smokescreen had picked a good room for Prowl, it had a few of the park. He would love it.

“He’ll love that ya picked it for’m,” Jazz said. “How ‘bout we go to the park now ‘n ya can run ‘round like a wild mechanimal?”

“Okay!”

“And who is this?” Jazz jumped. The voice was husky. He knew without looking that it belonged to a wispy femme about his originator’s age.

“Dipole!” Jazz exclaimed. He had met her when she had returned from burying her progenitor. The funds that had seen her get there had been stolen and Prowl had hunted the thief down and returned them too her.

“I’m Smokescreen, Ms Dipole!”

“You look just like your Origin, doin’t you?” Dipole said. “Mirror mentioned you stopped by, to pick up a peace offering. Than she saw the news and she’s been as close to a wreck as I’ve ever seen her.”

“Mirror makes the yummy rust sticks, right?” Smokescreen asked.

“That’s right,” the femme replied.

“Prowl’s got some more healin’ to do but he’ll visit soon,” Jazz promised.

“Mirror always thought of Prowl as something of an adoptive grandcreation,” Dipole said. “What with him being all but orphaned.”

“Can we say hi?” Smokescreen asked.

“Uh...” Jazz thought on it. “I don’t want to take the wind outta yer Ori’s sails, Bravespark.”

“Eh?”

“I thought yer Ori outta be the one to introduce ya to Mirror,” Jazz said.

“He won’t mind,” Smokescreen said. “Especially if we bring more rust sticks. And... if Ms Mirror is worried about Origin, she’ll feel better and Origin’ll feel better knowing she’s not worrying anymore.”

“He is very clever,” Dipole said.

“All credit goes to his Ori,” Jazz replied. “Okay, we’ll say hi to Mirror.”

“They were really buried for vorns?” Dipole asked, softly as they headed to the bakery.

“Yeah,” Jazz replied.

“Mirror wouldn’t look at the casualty list,” Dipole explained. “After he said goodbye, she always figured he’d come back. She said he belonged here and not in Praxus but... well he never came back and then Praxus was gone. She didn’t want to know because if she didn’t know than she could imagine he was well, wherever he was.”

“I promise he’s okay now,” Jazz said. “He thought Smokey outta get out ‘n get some exercise while ‘m ‘n the bitty rest more.”

“It’ll be good to see him,” Dipole said. “He was always one of Mirror’s favourites.”

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

@zepskies

Oh goodness I am so excited to finally being able to read part two!

Alright it is devastating right off the bat and I know, I know I should be worried about her and I am. I am SO worried, but my mind completely went somewhere else when Dean PICKED HER UP. The man is so strong and I am just...

“I hope you’ve learned your damn lesson,” he says.  Your gaze snaps up to his. “Excuse me?” Dean’s hands go to his hips as his brows raise at you.  “Next time, when I tell you to hang back, I mean that shit. Hang the hell back,” he all but growls. 

I was prepared for this coming but dang... "I hope you've learned your damn lesson" is a line that breaks my heart more than I should. It cuts to the quick for me, because to me it's worse than just saying "I told you not to do something." It's not heartless, but it's enough of a rendition of it that it just makes you go "oh wow."

And oh my word the two lines from Dean when she got mad KILLED ME. The:

"What's this, some kind of Latina temper?" he asks snidely.

AND

"Oh, I'm sorry, does this telenovela-style tongue lashing come with subtitles?" he snarks.

I was literally screaming. It's like he wants her to kill him. I know that Dean loves her so much but oh my goodness it's about to get so real for him. Man is about to be torn to shreds.

You wear it over some long pajama pants instead of your usual shorts, or better yet, nothing at all. But he can see what kind of mood you’re in. Things are unsettled as you both get ready for bed in silence.  He notes the way you turn to face the other side in bed, maybe to avoid him. Though if you really wanted to do that, you could’ve gone to your old room. So in more ways than one, Dean takes some solace in the fact that you’re still next to him. And he decides to give you some time and space.  He goes to bed and tries in vain to sleep.

Oh sweetie pie, Dean you're an idiot, but we love our little idiot even when he loses his temper because he cares so much. This part really got to me, because at first I was like "oh why would she stay with him in his room," but I get it. Even though she's upset, Dean is still her best friend and the man she loves and even though he's the one that made her feel this way, she still wants to be comforted by his presence. I always think that, this particular thing is so bittersweet to read about in relationships.

Or at least that's how I took this bit 😅.

Side note: I am happy that the reader didn't have to tell the woman about her son. That would have broken me to read that especially after the reader promised that they would find her son in part one.

It startles a shriek of surprise out of you as you whirl around. Dean’s smile hikes up into a grin, but it soon fades when he remembers the way your scream rang through his ears last night. The way his heart dropped into his stomach, and his head swiveled at the sound. And he saw you go down hard.  Then the rest of it tumbles through his mind—what he had to do afterwards in order to save you. How he’d did it without really thinking, his panic and determination blocking out almost everything else when he’d grabbed the kid. The monster, he forcibly reminds himself. 

Oh my word. I love you friend, but WHY!? Dang it, this pricked at my heart. It's so good, so heart wrenching. I feel so bad for him, but it really just reinforces why he "lost it" with the reader earlier. Goodness the trope of the reader getting yelled at by someone who loves them about putting themselves in danger really is just such a good one for Dean and you do it so well.

His apology is really just pricking at my heart. It's so good, so forthcoming so honest. And the thought that he was "better off alone" is so on brand for him. I know that we've talked about that before, but it really does fit him, and I love how you weave it into this fic.

You realize then what Dean’s really saying. He’s afraid…afraid to lose you. You see it in his furrowed brows, the downturn of his lips, and whatever pain he’s trying to hide in the depths of his eyes.  And just like that, the water works start. You can’t quite keep your tears at bay as you hold onto his shirt. He lets out a resigned sigh as he holds you by your arms.  “You don’t have to cry for that,” he says, a bit teasing.  “Have you met me?” you sniff. But you manage to look up at him with your glassy eyes. “I’m sorry too. God, I’m so sorry, Dean.” 

She's crying... I'm crying. It's really just tears all around and such a good moment. Also the him saying "You don't have to cry for that"... YES SHE DOES.

This is just overall a really wonderful vulnerable moment that you've captured that feels real for both the reader and Dean. Especially when she talks about "working with my heart, not my head." I think that if it were me, I would also be "working with my heart." I don't think that I'd be able to take myself emotionally out of the situation that they're in all the time because they're hunters.

The problem is, you didn’t just see your own mother in Rachel. She hadn’t been much older than you. And when you imagine a life beyond hunting, more than anything (no matter how much you shove down the idea), you really do want a family of your own someday. 

Hoping for some FORESHADOWING 🙏🏻👀

Also the salsa lesson is just so cute. And the way you took a really emotional moment to a cute salsa dance to a steamy session to a giggly awkward moment is great. The transitions make it seamless.

And the song choices were perfect! When the reader was describing what the song meant I was like, "oh yeah, that's him right there. There's the man officer." lmao 🤣

Often he’s one to leave love bites of varying degrees, wherever he sees fit. But for a moment he stops at the crook of your neck, just pressing a lingering kiss. He lets out a deep breath, and you realize he’s probably thinking about where you were bitten. The wound is gone, but it doesn’t change what’s imprinted in both of your minds.   A softer smile grows on your face. You trail your fingers up into his hair, massaging the back of his neck.  “I’m okay,” you remind him. Dean hums deep in agreement. You know, however, that he’s still thinking far too much.

I was again so emotional reading this, because oh my word, poor Dean just reliving the moments where the reader almost died.

And also the final scene 👀🌶️ I should have known from the gif at the beginning tbh lol.

ESPECIALLY THIS LINE:

“What, now you’re shy?” he remarks. And he has to laugh. “Come back here.”

I don't know why that wiped me out after everything tbh.

Not to mention that the sex was also giggly towards the end and I really just love that. And the love confessions KNOCKED ME OUT.

I love you, you’d said. I love you and I love you, more than you can believe and understand. 

Oh I'm riding a train of emotions, and all of this was so good. Especially Sam walking in on them. I was laughing so hard at Dean's reaction:

“All right, Sammy. Go to your room,” he chides playfully (but he means it). “The adults are havin’ a moment.”

It's all wonderful my friend! And I can't wait to read another fic from this universe! 😊

Devour Me - Part 2

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-Sized/Latina!Reader 

Summary: When you and Dean start to press each other’s buttons, both of your tempers ignite. To make up for it, you give him an impromptu salsa dancing lesson…one he didn’t exactly ask for. (18+)

AN: Here's Part 2! **Read Devour Me: Part 1

Song Inspo: “Yo No Se Mañana” by Luis Enrique. But really it’s “Ven Devórame Otra Ves” by Lalo Rodriguez. (You’ll see why.) 🤭

Word Count: 5,400

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Blood, character death and violence, smutty smut, angst, Dominican slang, and tons of sexy fluff.

☕ Midnight Espresso Masterlist

Part 2: "Telenovela Style"

Your resulting scream of agony is as unforgiving as the ground when your knees buckle, hitting the hard cement.

Andy grips you with the strength of a monster. 

Then he holds you down as he drinks your blood. 

No matter how you struggle and whimper, you can’t push him off, and you’re getting weaker by the second.

Until Andy is ripped away from your neck, and is taken care of the way all vampires must be. He doesn’t even feel the blade coming. 

When you’re able to look up, Dean stands above you with thinly veiled fury. He doesn’t have time to consider what he’s just done. 

He bends to gather you up into his arms, all the while trying to stamp down the panic clenching his heart. He calls your name, but you can only make weak sounds as your bleary eyes meet his. 

“Dean,” you manage. The ragged wound in your neck is bleeding profusely down your chest and shoulder, seeping into your shirt. He takes your hand and clamps it hard against your neck, even though it makes you whimper.

“Gotta stop the bleeding,” he says, apologetic but firm. “Keep pressing.”

In your stupor of pain, you don’t realize that your screech woke the entire nest. Dean has to lock up his worry; he looks up and finds his brother and Cas already fighting a hoard of angry vampires. 

Dean carries you over to them and lays you down against the wall with the other humans. He keeps a protective line in front of you, but he decapitates a vampire before she can sink her fangs into Sam next.

The two of them work together, and with Castiel’s smiting power behind them, the angel and the two men are able to clear the rest of the nest. 

By the end, only you and two of the women being held captive are still alive. The third girl’s heart just finally gave out. Sam takes the survivors to the nearest hospital. 

Meanwhile, Castiel approaches where you sit up against the inside of the barn, barely awake, while Dean kneels with you, holding you to his chest. He meet’s Cas’s blue-eyed request with a nod. So Cas stretches out a hand and touches two fingers to your forehead. 

You’re healed in an instant. Dean marvels, like he always does when Cas displays his power. Dean is able to breathe a little easier, the vice grip on his heart easing as he touches your neck.

The tan skin is once again smooth, if still stained with blood. You blink back into wakeful consciousness. 

He shifts so he can see your face. “You okay?” 

You meet his eyes but can only nod. His jaw is still tight and tense, and you can’t blame him. 

You know you’ve messed up. Big time. You nearly got everyone killed, including yourself…and now, you have to tell a mother that her son is dead. 

Dean helps you up, holding you by your arms and waist until you’re steady on your feet. You have a hard time meeting his eyes, but when open your mouth to apologize, he beats you to it. 

“I hope you’ve learned your damn lesson,” he says. 

Your gaze snaps up to his. “Excuse me?”

Dean’s hands go to his hips as his brows raise at you. 

“Next time, when I tell you to hang back, I mean that shit. Hang the hell back,” he all but growls. 

You tilt your head at him as your irritation begins to spark. Meanwhile, Castiel is the one who backs up as he glances between you and Dean uncertainly.

“I made a mistake, but that doesn’t give you the right to tell me what to do,” you shoot back. “I was a hunter long before I met you.” 

“Yeah, well, color me surprised that you’ve made it this long,” he snaps. 

Your temper flares hotter. “You know, you’re not so goddamn perfect either.” 

“Never said I was,” Dean says. “But when my gut tells me something ain’t right, I need you to fucking listen. Otherwise, we get a day like today.”

His words are edged with grit by the end of his little rant, and you don’t appreciate it. Your lips purse in anger.

“I don’t care what that legendary gut tells you,” you sass back. “I’m not a little girl, and you’re not my damn father!”

Dean raises incredulous brows at the way you’re shouting at him. He crosses his arms. 

“What’s this, some kind of Latina temper?” he asks snidely. 

You truly become incensed at that. 

“Oh, you want to take it there?” you ask, as your eyes narrow. “Que sin verg��enza tú eres. Sigue jodiendo conmigo, coño. Entonces tú vas a ver quien soy yo.”

Dean won’t admit it, but in that moment, he’s a bit intimidated by the quiet threat in your voice. Still, his fuse is lit, and he’s way beyond curbing his internal filter.

“Oh, I’m sorry, does this telenovela-style tongue lashing come with subtitles?” he snarks. 

You let out an incredulous breath. Your eyes begin to sting.

“You’re such an asshole!” you shout back. There, understand that?

You turn away from him before your frustrated tears can fall, but you stop short once you notice Castiel dragging out the bodies of the dead…including Andy. Your throat constricts, and you begin to stalk out of the barn. 

Dean calls your name in frustration. 

“What?” you hiss. 

The only thing that makes him hesitate is seeing the state of you when you turn back around. His anger crumbles, and maybe something in him breaks when he sees your tears. They’ve welled up in your eyes, and a few of them carve a path down your cheeks. 

You’re still covered in your own blood, and he hates it. He hates it more than anything. 

Later, you see the state of yourself when Sam returns with the Impala. In the reflection on the backseat window, you see the blood dried down your neck, staining nearly half of your shirt.

You see the black rings of your mascara and eyeliner around your eyes. You look a mess, and you try to wipe underneath your eyes. It’s a fruitless effort.

After you all finish burning the bodies, Dean starts the long drive home. You insist on stopping to tell Rachel Campbell about her son, but Sam says he already took care of it when he drove into town. 

You frown, but you no longer have the energy to be angry. You further withdraw into yourself, and your lower lip trembles as you look out the window. Through the rearview mirror, Dean sees more tears slipping down your face.

What Sam told him (but he won’t tell you), is what one of the survivors said. One of the mated pairs had taken Andy…to “adopt” a son of their own. 

That night is quiet and tense in Dean’s room. You have to wash your hair all over again, and scrub the blood and grime from your body until only your skin remains. But you don’t have the energy to do more than braid your wet hair afterwards and pull on your lucky Journey shirt, which is still full of holes. 

Dean knows that it’s bad when you need the “dreamcatcher,” as he’s called it in his head. You’ve never had a nightmare while wearing that shirt, or so you claimed a while back. 

You wear it over some long pajama pants instead of your usual shorts, or better yet, nothing at all. But he can see what kind of mood you’re in. Things are unsettled as you both get ready for bed in silence. 

He notes the way you turn to face the other side in bed, maybe to avoid him. Though if you really wanted to do that, you could’ve gone to your old room.

So in more ways than one, Dean takes some solace in the fact that you’re still next to him. And he decides to give you some time and space. 

He goes to bed and tries in vain to sleep.

In the morning, Dean’s woken by the familiar smell of coffee…and the less familiar sound of loud salsa music. 

What the fuck?

After he brushes his teeth, he puts on his robe and slippers and heads down to the kitchen, where he finds you in a seemingly better mood. You’re mopping the floor, of all things. You’re out of your pajamas, instead wearing a loose shirt that falls off your shoulder and some spandex shorts. 

“Yo no se mañana…yo no se mañana. Si estaremos juntos, si se acaba el mundo,” you sing softly along with the music as you dance from the kitchen to the living room. Your phone is connected to a Bluetooth speaker on the coffee table. 

Dean starts to smile, crossing his arms as he leans against the doorway to watch you.

At an instrumental break with a run of conga drums and trumpets, you pause in your mopping to do a little twirl as you dance, with a soulful roll of hips and a flair of salsa steps. It makes Dean’s smile kick up into a smirk.

He walks in on purposefully light feet until he’s sidled up behind you in the living room.

“Nice moves, Shakira,” he quips. 

It startles a shriek of surprise out of you as you whirl around. Dean’s smile hikes up into a grin, but it soon fades when he remembers the way your scream rang through his ears last night. The way his heart dropped into his stomach, and his head swiveled at the sound. And he saw you go down hard. 

Then the rest of it tumbles through his mind—what he had to do afterwards in order to save you. How he’d did it without really thinking, his panic and determination blocking out almost everything else when he’d grabbed the kid. The monster, he forcibly reminds himself. 

“You trying to give me a heart attack?” you ask with a hand on your heart. 

Dean forces himself to smile a little. “Sorry. But might I remind you, not everyone here’s an early bird.”

You give him a wry look.

“You’re the only one around here who sleeps past 10 a.m. Cas dipped out a while ago, and Sam’s on a run.” 

But you graciously grab your phone to lower the music to a more bearable level. Dean doesn’t yet know this about you, but this—listening to music, dancing, cleaning—it’s all your way of coping…and releasing as much of your pain, terror, and regret from yesterday as possible. 

You then look up at him more guarded. The two of you exchanged a lot of unsavory words last night. In fact, it may just be the worst fight you two have ever had in almost three years of knowing one another.  

Dean senses the shift in you, and his amusement fades. He just can't let things stay like this. He won't.

He hazards drawing closer and touching your arm.

“Look…I’m sorry for snapping at you yesterday. I know I was being a dick,” he says. “You’ve just gotta understand something.”

You wait for him to continue with furrowed brows, sensing that whatever he’s about to say is hard for him. 

“There’s a reason I don’t do this. The uh, relationship thing,” Dean continues, clearing his throat. His thumb swipes along your arm. “It’s not just this job. It’s my fucked up life. I tried to warn you before—” 

“Dean,” you say with a sigh, but he raises his hand. 

“Please, just…let me say it,” he says. “You know the spiel. But things can change on a dime. Even on a damn milk run, like a dusty nest of vamps.”

You know that. You know you could’ve died yesterday, and he doesn’t need to remind you of that fact. Before you can start to get petulant again though, Dean continues. His jaw is working, like this next part is more difficult for him to admit.

“Trust me when I say, us being together is dangerous, for both of us,” he says. “For a while I, uh…I started to think Sam and I were better off alone.”

That casts you into dismay. Because you know Dean isn’t lying. He’s really contemplated spending the rest of his life devoid of love, so he won’t have to lose it. 

Dangerous, for both of us.

You realize then what Dean’s really saying. He’s afraid…afraid to lose you. You see it in his furrowed brows, the downturn of his lips, and whatever pain he’s trying to hide in the depths of his eyes. 

And just like that, the water works start. You can’t quite keep your tears at bay as you hold onto his shirt. He lets out a resigned sigh as he holds you by your arms. 

“You don’t have to cry for that,” he says, a bit teasing. 

“Have you met me?” you sniff. But you manage to look up at him with your glassy eyes. “I’m sorry too. God, I’m so sorry, Dean.” 

Your fist clenches in his shirt when you remember Andy, latched onto your neck, and how Dean had to save you. You know he’s remembering it too when his brows furrow, and his gaze falls away. You reach a hand for his cheek.

“I know I fucked up,” you admit. “I was working with my heart, not my head. I just…”

You wanted so badly to help that kid and his mother. You also know that Dean understands; you see it in his eyes. He holds your hand to his cheek and brushes his thumb across the back of your hand.

“I know,” he says. “I really am sorry, baby.” 

The problem is, you didn’t just see your own mother in Rachel. She hadn’t been much older than you. And when you imagine a life beyond hunting, more than anything (no matter how much you shove down the idea), you really do want a family of your own someday. 

It’s just…days like yesterday remind you why that could be a very bad idea. 

More of your tears bubble over, and you head willingly into Dean’s arms. “Me too…”

He holds you tighter than ever. His hands rub down your back, tangle in your hair, and he drops his lips onto your hair. You sniffle, wiping your face dry in his shirt. And for a while, the two of you have peace in the relative quiet. 

Music still plays from the speaker though. And when another salsa song starts to play on your playlist, you start swaying. A smile works its way onto Dean’s face. 

“You can’t help yourself, can you?” he teases.

You smile into his chest. “We should go dancing sometime.”

Dean just laughs. “Oooh, no.”

“Oh, yes,” you reply, batting your lashes up at him. You slip a hand on his shoulder and into one of his hands. He’s forced to hold you as if the two of you were about to start Fred Astair-ing across the living room. 

“Have you ever danced before?” you ask. “Like real dancing.” 

“Not salsa, I’ll tell you that,” he quips. 

“That’s okay. I’ll teach you,” you reply with a coquettish smile. “It’s just a few simple moves.”

Dean gives you a wan look. “You made it look anything but simple.”

You blush at that, but you meet him with a pout of disappointment. You don’t let up, even when Dean frowns. He huffs at you in resistance.

“No,” he insists. You just brush a gentle thumb along his neck, biting your lip in askance.  

But the longer he stares at your beautiful, hopeful eyes, the more cracks form in his resolve. 

Eventually, Dean breaks with a sigh, and a shake of his head. 

“You’re too much, you know that?” he mutters.

It’s then that you know you’ve won.

So with a happy squeal of excitement, you clap your hands and move to stand next to him so you can show him the basic steps of salsa dancing. 

You make him take off his robe and slippers, leaving in his shirt and plaid pajama pants. Then you instruct him for a few minutes, correcting his footing and getting him to move on a beat. You’re pleasantly surprised that he has some rhythm.  

Dean sighs once again. How the hell did we get here? Heat crawls up the back of his neck as embarrassment starts to set in. 

“This is fucking ridiculous,” he grumbles.

“You’re doing good,” you encourage, with a growing smile. “Now come on, feel the beat in threes. One, two, three. One, two, three…”

Once he sort of has the basic steps and turns down, you move to stand in front of him. There you show him how to hold you, how he’ll move forward, and you’ll move back. It takes a little while, but you slowly move through the combinations, then do a little twirl underneath his hand. 

When he pulls you back in without faltering, you give him a beaming smile. “Very good!”

A subtle grin raises his lips at your enthusiasm. He also feels his face heating up at the praise.

But you pause when a certain song filters through the speakers. It’s an old one (and it never fails to make you blush), but you love it.  

“Ooh, yes,” you exclaim with delight, and you turn up the volume.

“What’s this one?” Dean asks.

“Ven Devórame Otra Ves,” you inform him. Not that he knows what that means. You sing along a bit with the first couple of verses while you encourage Dean to lead you in the dance. 

This song is just slow enough for him to attempt it, and the funny thing is, he doesn’t feel all that uncomfortable with the steps now. He’s starting to get a feel for how to move, both with his feet, and with his hands as he guides you by your waist, holding your hand close to his chest. Still, Dean’s also curious about the lyrics you’re singing. 

“What does it mean?” he asks.

You huff in amusement. “You sure you want to know?”

Dean raises a brow. “Well, now I gotta know.” 

You giggle at that, though you correct his steps when he leads with the wrong foot. 

“Okay. It’s about a guy who’s pretty much a player,” you say with a smirk. “His bed has been a revolving door of hot ass, but he keeps thinking about this one woman who used to have him turned inside out…”

Dean’s lips curve at the familiar image you’re conjuring. He manages to turn you under his hand, then pull you back to him in one smooth motion. He looks down at you with a deeper gleam in his eyes. You bite your lip, soothing your hand from his shoulder and down his arm.

As the song’s verses come, you translate for him. And for Dean, your voice in itself is a spell.

“Even in my dreams, he says, I thought I had you devouring me. And I dampened my white sheets remembering you,” you begin. Your words are smooth like black velvet. “In my bed, no one is like you, who draws my body on every corner, without a piece of skin left over.”

Dean is getting hot under the collar as you push away, dragging your fingertips along his back as you turn around him. When you come back into his line of vision, his attention is attracted to the sway of your hips, clad just in those little spandex shorts. He has to clear his throat a bit. 

You eventually return to him with a warm hand against his chest. 

“Ven, devórame otra ves. It means, come devour me again,” you continue, looking up at him from under your lashes, “Come punish me more with your desire. Because I kept my love for you…because my mouth has the taste of your body.” 

You smile at the laser focus of his green-eyed gaze. “Come devour me again.”

You push off with another little spin. When you reach for his hand, Dean yanks you back into him, eliciting a gasp. The move disorients you for a moment, but you giggle and hold onto his arms. Your hands glide up to rest on his shoulders. 

He’s holding you flush against him, and as you shift a thigh between his legs, you unintentionally graze against his hardening length. You look up at him with a smirk.

“You’re a little…stiff,” you say, both flirtatious and teasing. “Let’s loosen you up.”

You shake his shoulders out and try to get him to relax. Dean raises a wry brow, because you know damn well whose fault it is that his body is coiled tight. But you place his hands on your hips as you move back into the dance. 

“Feel what I’m doing there?” you ask. He looks down on you with growing heat.

“If I could do that, we wouldn’t be together,” he rumbles. 

You try to stifle a laugh as he pulls you in close again, just swaying for a bit. Soon enough, you grin knowingly when his hands start to slide lower on your ass. His head bows to yours, ready to meet you with a kiss. 

You stop him with your finger on his lips.

“Question: do you consider yourself more of a tits or ass man?” you ask him. You’re half teasing, but still curious. Dean snorts at the question. 

“More of a connoisseur,” he replies, smirking. 

“Ah.” You nod sagely, and you point between him and yourself. “So this is like a ‘sample the menu’ situation.”

Dean’s smirk deepens. “Sweetheart, you’re a goddamn buffet.”

You splutter laughing…and that’s when he finally pounces. He claims your lips with greedy passion. His hand winds into your hair, gripping tight and ruining what’s left of your loose ponytail. The strands coil around his hand in messy curls while he also gets a healthy grip of your ass through your thin shorts. 

You smile into his lips, even as you acquiesce to him guiding your head to the side, so he can slip his tongue against yours. You grip his arms more for stability while he manhandles you, kneading soft flesh and making pleasant tingles run up your spine. 

After a little while, his mouth burns a hot path away from yours. He noses down your neck, skimming his lips across your skin. It sets your nerve endings on fire and gets you breathing more shallowly in his ear. You cling to the back of his shirt, holding him close. 

Often he’s one to leave love bites of varying degrees, wherever he sees fit. But for a moment he stops at the crook of your neck, just pressing a lingering kiss.

He lets out a deep breath, and you realize he’s probably thinking about where you were bitten. The wound is gone, but it doesn’t change what’s imprinted in both of your minds.  

A softer smile grows on your face. You trail your fingers up into his hair, massaging the back of his neck. 

“I’m okay,” you remind him. Dean hums deep in agreement. You know, however, that he’s still thinking far too much.

So you slide your hands down, slow between the dips and planes of muscle in his back, and rest at his hips. Your thumbs delve under the hem of his shirt and tease the skin there. 

And you start slow, pressing wet, nipping kisses of your own to his neck while you inch his shirt up. You feel his smile on your neck. His grip on your hip flares to life. Still, he lets you tug his shirt up and over his head. Your loose shirt comes next, revealing the same black satin and lace bra you wore the first time he ever got you topless in his arms. 

A fan favorite. Dean grins. He reaches around to go for the clasp, but your firm push on his chest takes him by surprise.

He falls back onto the couch with a grunt, looking up at you then with raised brows. You’ve got a mischievous little smirk on your face that heats his blood and makes his cock twitch.

You take out the rest of your falling ponytail, shaking your hair out wild. Then you let your hands drift down your neck, over your clothed breasts, and finally to your little shorts.

Dean rubs his palms down his thighs and watches. A smirk forms across his lips as you slide the fabric down the curve of your hips. It leaves you in a red thong, familiar to him by the little tear it has on the front. (Again, his fault.)

You climb aboard his strong thighs to straddle his lap, using his shoulders as leverage as you sink down. You make sure to rub yourself teasingly against his clothed erection. He groans in appreciation. His hands fly to your soft, thick thighs and squeeze. 

“Aw, I like this,” Dean says, half on another moan as you grind down a bit harder on him. 

“Yeah?” you tease. You take his face in your hands and capture his lips with your own. Your tongue invades his mouth, and he welcomes you with a deep hum. It’s slow and hot at first, but Dean feels the loss of you when you break from his lips.

Instead, you treat him with the same trail of kisses he gave you, along the curve of his jaw and down his neck. But you don’t stop there.

Your hands move over his chest with purpose, tweaking over each hard nipple while your mouth burns a wet line down and down his sternum. Dean groans at your ministrations, but lets you leave his lap to slide down to the ground, between his thighs. 

“What’re you up to, baby?” he asks, despite having a very good idea of it. He catches the playful, yet determined gleam in your eye. 

You pause, briefly leaning back up to give him a heated kiss. You part from him with a grin. 

“Isn’t it obvious?” you ask. “I’m gonna devour you.”

Dean stares hard at you as goosebumps break out across his forearms. 

Oh, fuck yeah. 

A giggle bubbles in your throat at the expression on his face. But you continue, taking his pants down his legs first, before his boxer briefs. 

Dean’s body tenses in anticipation. You’ve gone down on him before, but somehow it’s different this time. He feels like every single one of his nerve endings stands at attention along with his dick. And you’re taking your sweet time working him up. 

Even when his cock is finally free, you sooth your hands down his legs first, maybe teasing him a bit as you drag your nails down his inner thighs. Dean makes a strained sound, though he tries to hide it by clearing his throat.

Your gaze flicks up to his with a little smile. He’s holding the back of the couch; his fingers are digging into the old cushion in effort to keep still for you. But his eyes stare into yours like a man starving. You know what you’re in for after you have your way with him, but for now, he’s quite literally under your control. 

So you take him in your hands first. Dean groans as you tease him with light touches, soft movements, your thumb slowly circling over the sensitive, weeping head of his cock. It's torturous enough to make him drop his head back against the couch, closing his eyes tight.

And suddenly, he blinks them open again.

“Shit,” he utters, when you finally take him into your mouth. Your tongue is soft and wet, your lips move over him steadily, and your hands caress whatever your mouth can’t take, even teasing his balls. 

You work him over relentlessly, until he can’t help but spill everything he has to give into your waiting mouth. When you suck off and swallow whatever remains, Dean’s heart stutters like syncopated conga drums. 

He shudders and struggles for breath afterwards, watching your every movement—from wiping your mouth to shooting him that satisfied little smirk. 

You press one last kiss to the inside of his thigh before you raise from where you’ve been kneeling on the hard ground. 

Dean manages to lean forward and helps you up by your elbows. But then he pulls you back into his lap and kisses you deeply. He doesn’t let up until you’re panting with him.

“Fuckin’ hell, sweetheart,” he manages to say. His voice is deep and laced with grit. 

He’s still panting heavily. You giggle and press your warming face into his neck. 

“What, now you’re shy?” he remarks. And he has to laugh. “Come back here.”

He brings your face back to him with a hand on your cheek. For a second, he just looks at you. His thumb strokes across your full, thoroughly kissed bottom lip.  

“Say it,” you encourage softly. “Whatever you’re thinking. Right now.”

A smile tugs at his lips. He can’t help but oblige you. 

“You’re too damn much,” he says again, both gruff and fond. Despite how you drive him up the fucking wall sometimes, he doesn't think it'll ever be enough for him, what he has with you.

Because this is something he'd almost given up on. Didn't think he'd get to have it. And it almost scares him, how much he wants you. How much he...

“I love you,” he says. His thumb traces along the familiar curve of your cheek.

It hasn’t been all that long, but he knows. You weaseled your way in without even trying. The least he can do for you is be honest.

Your fingers curl around his wrist, holding his hand in place. You tilt your head at him.

“Oh, yeah?” you ask. 

Dean hesitates, but he nods. “Yeah.”

A smile grows across your face. “Eh, I’m still on the fence.”

At his flat look, you laugh and lean in for a kiss. He allows it, a little petulantly. But you make up for it with sweet affection. Your gentle hands stroke down the column of his neck, down his chest. You then lean back so he can see your face.

“Yo te amo,” you whisper. “Te amo y te quiero, más que tú puedes creer y entender.”

Dean smiles. He doesn’t understand all of it, but he gets the important bits. He hears it in the tone of your voice. He sees it in your eyes. They shine with emotion, but mainly with love. 

Dean kisses your hand. He lets go, just so he can slip his hands around you to finally unhook your bra. He tosses it across the room without bothering to see where it lands.

You do though, and you meet him with a slightly narrowed gaze. 

“Are you making a mess of my clean bunker?” you tease. 

His lips curve as he kisses you again, while his hands each get a generous handful of your breasts. 

“Ah, hello, ladies." He grins. "Miss me?”

You can’t help but laugh. He’s such a dork sometimes.

But you hum when his thumbs brush over hardened nipples, then drag deliberate circles over them, and pinch just hard enough to make you whimper in pleasure. The sensation zips through you, enhancing the flood between your legs. 

“I fucking love that sound,” Dean mutters, and licks a hot path in the valley between your breasts. His lips move against your dewy skin when he says, “Do that for me again.”

When he takes a nipple in his mouth and nips a bit hard, you have to oblige him. Your voice rising high is music to his ears.  

So he goes for your panties next. You help him get them off and return to his lap. With a breathy moan, you revel at the feeling of his fingers probing into your wet heat.  

However, you and Dean have been too engrossed in one another to notice the door of the bunker unlocking, and heavy steps down the spiral staircase. 

It’s Sam who’s back from his run. Unfortunately, he soon has to shield his eyes upon reaching the living room. 

“Damn it, Dean!”

You yelp in surprise, but Dean laughs and holds you close to shield you from view. As a bonus, it presses your breasts against his chest. 

“All right, Sammy. Go to your room,” he chides playfully (but he means it). “The adults are havin’ a moment.”

Sam scoffs. “You’re having a moment on the goddamn couch!”

“Sorry,” you say, though it’s muffled in Dean’s neck. Your face is red hot with embarrassment. 

Sam rolls his eyes heavenward and tries not to see anything else on his way to his room. 

But Dean’s chuckle reverberates through your chest as his hand goes to your cheek. He encourages you to pull back, so he can see your face again. 

When he does, he smirks at the scarlet blush dusting your cheeks and neck. You bite your lower lip, but despite your embarrassment, you’re happy.

Your own words replay in your mind when you lean in for another kiss.

I love you, you’d said. I love you and I love you, more than you can believe and understand. 

AN: Yay! I hope you enjoyed Part 2 of the “Midnight Espresso”-verse! I loved writing this one so much. I know we're just doing fanfic here, but I genuinely put my heart and soul into this one. ❤️

Also, here are a couple of Spanish translations:

(Note: other Spanish-speaking countries may interpret certain words differently.)

[During their fight]: 

“Que sin vergüenza tú eres. Sigue jodiendo conmigo, coño. Entonces tú vas a ver quien soy yo.”

Translation:

“You’re shameless. Keep messing with me, damn it. Then you’re going to see who I am (<- This is Dominican slang. It essentially means fuck around and find out what I'm made of.).”

[Song lyrics: “Yo No Se Mañana” by Luis Enrique]: 

“Yo no se mañana…yo no se mañana. Si estaremos juntos, si se acaba el mundo.”

Translation:

“I don’t know tomorrow. I don’t know tomorrow. If we’ll be together, if the world will end.”

Keep Reading:

Next in this series is "Chico Malo" ("Bad Boy"):

Summary: You catch Dean red-handed—with one of his favorite episodes of Casa Erotica.

▶️ Next Story: Bad Boy (Chico Malo)

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[ff-au]

SSKKKSSSTTT—We interrupt your usual Finding "Frankie" AU fic programming to present this star-crossed lovers Lucky Contestant X Monster Frankie fic titled:

LUCK-STRUCK

WARNINGS: Death, (somewhat) graphic violence, suicide talk/themes, and a good deal of cussing

Summary: Monster Frankie and Lucky are at the end of the line. The audience has grown bored of the same thing every season but neither are ready to say goodbye. With the uncertainty of what will happen, who will live, and what will come after, they take a second to look back on what they had before stepping out and giving the audience one final grand finale before finally understanding what went unspoken. (Author's notes in reblogs)

Slow, long strides were matched with short small steps down the waxed floor of a corridor. The long and spacious hallway was occupied by two different creatures, both of vastly different origins. One was a vicious temperamental killer, this bloodthirsty attitude dwelled within the mascot of the very area they were in, Frankie. Frankie wasn't just any mascot though, although he did represent the place with his imagery plastered just about everywhere, he was also responsible for its closure and current condition. Season after season, he was the sadist responsible for the death of hundreds as he remained undefeated in a twisted game show started by people lusting for money. Countless poor souls tempted by greed stepped inside only to have their dreams crushed by this monstrous rabbit, sometimes it was more than their dreams being crushed. Gutted, squished, decapitated, torn to bits, if you could imagine a gruesome demise there was a good chance Frankie was the one to give it to someone just for the fun of it. Oh god did he have fun with it. He was the star, the namesake of the entire thing with his role being the ruthless monster people tuned in or betted on to end lives. A beast created to kill with not one escaping his springy clutches.

Or at least, he was.

Besides him was the small masked human who was almost a victim to Frankie's bloodlust. Running, jumping, sliding, rail grinding, they did everything in their power to live once they made it to the parkour palace. They had expected to be chased by killer mascots but what they never anticipated was how good it would feel. Although they found themselves winded, scared, with the hairs on their body on edge each time something ran after them, they found it exhilarating. Initially coming for a reason they now looked back on and thought silly, the lucky contestant found something so much better in the twisted show.

It was them living that infuriated Frankie, even looking down at the human they could remember the day the contestant showed up. They were told to wait to kill them and holy fuck was it hard. He had the perfect opportunity to snag them in a vent, he could have so easily shoved their face into the rotating blades of a fan making a fine red mist out of the fragile human. Instead the *other* Frankie gave him specific instructions to keep the contestant alive, to let them go to at least boost ratings a bit before ending them. It was aggravating, it was his show, he shouldn't have had to share it with anyone and he made his opinion quickly apparent by disobeying orders. If that smiley bastard didn't interfere when he wasn't looking he would have succeeded in crushing that pest under his foot too, instead the contestant got by using sheer luck to escape. When that fucking prick showed his face again and tried to help the contestant once more, Frankie was quick to put an end to it. They had reached the end and he—unwillingly—went along with the plan. The contestant was at Hexa-Havoc meaning they werr all his, his to kill, his to rip apart in front of the cameras, it was his right to make them a martyr by displaying their organs across brightly colored hexagons to teach any future contestants what would happen if they dare FUCKED with HIS gameshow!

Instead the reverse happened. He was made a god damn fool in front of over 20,000 people with that audience count only rising each second. Thousands witnessed that costumed weirdo who randomly appeared dash back and forth, dodging him as the timer ticked down. Eventually once the lever lock timer was up the contestant lunged for it, barely any ground to stand on left. From the sky rained the sentient time bombs that were the little noob-noobs and then it was all over. Frankie's life flashed before his eyes, each and every human he killed and the different ways they screamed under their mask embedded into his memory. Their fearful eyes that were once such a delight now mocking him as he descended into a burning inferno that was in the pit of the parkour palace. His transmitted screams rang out from above, the TVs showing the screaming face of a cartoon variant of him as his body began to superheat and melt, and it was all because of that one contestant who had luck on his side. As he watched the contestant get saved from the same fate, them lucky enough to cling onto one of the precariously placed rails above the incinerator, he vowed to not only get his revenge but to take back all that he lost.

And next season, sure enough, he had the chance. It was a surprise to the rabbit but the contestant came back, this time with a whole lot less uncertainty in their actions much to his displeasure. Frankie never did get the chance to enact his revenge, the contestant once more proved to be more than capable of outplaying him. Season after season it repeated, a game with both parties trying to one-up the other and make it so the other would end up losing. Frankie had won for so long that after each loss he felt emotions surface he didn't even know he had, anger, bitterness, hate, it all brewed next to the constant humiliation in front of the audience that once applauded him and screamed his name as he eviscerated all those in his sight. Simultaneously, he also felt something else. Just like the pain he felt upon burning for the first time, the contestant's slowly shifting attitude and actions after the seasons intrigued him as it was all so new. He had plenty of chances to kill the person that proved to be a thorn in his side when off camera, but at the same time he didn't wish to. It was odd but actually trying to win stirred something in him, it was the same feeling the contestant got when being chased. It was a sort of unique thrill they shared with each other, their disdain and hatred slowly changing while the game did too. New obstacles were installed, parts of the parkour palace were renovated, the game was kept fresh with their rivalry enticing people to watch. What started off as a simple game to Frankie and as nothing more than a chance at something else to the contestant became something truly special to the two. Frankie found someone to actually challenge him and the contestant found a new identity as the people's champ. *Lucky* is what they called him, it's what Frankie—both of them—called him. It was something that the contestant embraced and a name Frankie soon found himself thinking about, even when the cameras stopped rolling.

The two came to a halt, both stopping to sit in the dead center of the hallway, neither wanting to go through giant doors with a sign above reading "season finale". No cameras were placed around, just powered off TVs allowing them a small shred of privacy and break. They wouldn't want to be caught dead this close to each other and not in their game of chase, but as it stood neither wished to run. Like the oncoming freeze of winter they both could sense something different in the air, something that neither had a good feeling about. The silence was deafening and both acted out of the norm of their usual circumstances, both predator and prey having a moment of respite.

With a nervous twitch Frankie eventually made the first move, his head turning to look over at a powered off TV mounted on a wall behind him. With less than a thought given he projected his consciousness to it, the much cuter cartoon version of the body he wore manifesting on it drawing Lucky's attention. Unlike the first time they saw the cartoon Frankie on screen, he held no madness in his eyes, instead it was just a somber gaze that shared the sentiment of worry.

["So... This is it huh?"]

Lucky looked downwards, breaking eye contact and nodding "guess so..."

Frankie grimaced, the one on the screen showing emotions whilst his physical body remained in that permanent grin. The silence filled the air once more and it became discomforting, neither wishing to be alone with their thoughts. If there wasn't something to focus on both Frankie and Lucky started to think about what would come next, the thought of after being scarier than the toothy rabbit with a thirst for blood. It was Frankie himself who was scared most by it, quick to speak just to pad time.

["... You think there's a god?"]

Lucky perked up, the question catching them off guard "what?"

["Ya know, god? You believe in one"]

"Uhh... Not really?..." Lucky trailed off and looked at the TV screen, Frankie seemingly wishing for a genuine response which prompted him to continue "I mean... Maybe? I can't say there's definitely not a god but there's no also no proof saying there is...why do you ask?"

["Ehh, I dunno"] Frankie shrugged, his physical body mirroring his movements on screen ["just a thought I suppose, as an AI I really don't think I should have a say on whether a god or not exists, but I know you humans pray to them and I've heard a whole lotta prayers while I–" he made a ripping gesture with his hands ["–ya know?"]

"mmm... Yeah, I hear you" Lucky fiddled with the costume they wore, the fabric sticking to their sweat laced skin underneath "I gotta wonder, do... Do you, uhh... Ever feel bad or anything?" He paused, unsure how to word it without sounding harsh or antagonistic "ya know...for the people you kill?"

["No... Well–not exactly? I mean, I certainly don't feel bad, I just wonder why they risked their lives in the first place?”] Frankie rubbed his chin, the sound his metal finger made making Lucky grimace under the mask ["It just doesn't make"]

"What doesn't make sense?"

["well if the people I kill risk their lives for a measly 5 million then come ooonnn~! They either gotta be a crook, stupid, or suicidal!"] Frankie counted on his fingers each adjective before he rolled his eyes ["I don't care about you humans that much but even I am smart enough to know 5 million dollars isn't going make the average person think they can avoid death where no one else could!"]

"Well, what if they have a family? Being desperate is a reason why a lot of people do things for cash"

["Well that makes even less sense! Why would you attempt to lose your life if you got people relying on you? It'd make more sense to kill someone else before trying to kill yourself for money"] Frankie's spring neck slowly started to extend towards the contestant ["which makes me wonder...]" Now looming over the human, Frankie lowered his face close to Lucky, the smell of rotten flesh still fresh ["which are you?..."]

Lucky squinted their eyes and glared at the rabbit, unphased by the familiar smell and sight "what are you getting at?"

["Well it's just you don't take ANY of the money!"] Frankie's head snapped back to its original position, bobbing ever so slightly on its spring ["If you had a family to feed you'd take it without a second thought and leave, if you were suicidal you'd just let me kill you, that just leaves you either being some criminal on the run with this being your only safety, or plain stupid"]

Lucky chuckled and gave a dismissive wave "heh, well I know I'm stupid for staying but as for why I found this place in the first place?..." They looked towards the big door awaiting them both, it's presence making any humor vanish "... It really was because I couldn't think of any better way to go out, after all dying live in front of thousands is a whole lot better than tying a noose around my neck"

["So why is it that you ran? Why didn't you just let me kill you, I don't know if you could tell but I wasn't really keen on listening to the asshole watching the cameras"]

"Yeah... I could tell real fast you didn't care if I made it to the end..." Lucky grumbled before registering the question. With a small bit of thought they answered, their voice cracking from a small bit of uncertainty in their own words "I suppose it was just instinct? I did think the money would be nice but I didn't really think I'd last long... When I heard about–" the gestured to the surroundings "–this I watched a few clips online to see what exactly I was getting into, upon finding out barely anybody made it past the lobby let alone the first obstacle course I just said fuck it, blew a few grand on your crap cereal, and when I actually got here I got ready to die..."

Frankie's ears twitched, by his cartoon version's face filled with intrigue ["...And then?"]

Lucky took a second to recuperate their scattered thoughts. The fear they felt, the hopeless knowledge of what would happen when they walked in through those doors and put on the suit was still so fresh even after years. With a sigh they began to speak again, their words holding the same confidence that grew in them overtime.

"I found it... Fun" they met Frankie's gaze, the blue lights of the rabbit's eyes a lot easier to look at than the headache inducing fluorescent lights above "I know I'm crazy but when you were chasing me it felt like I actually had a purpose, obviously my body just wanted to not die, basic science behind survival and all that, but after the initial fear started to fade and I could begin to think clearly I wanted more, it's why I kept going, it's why I didn't stop and give up, it's why I kept trying to get to the end and managing to outrun you"

["Atatata!"] Frankie sputtered ["let's get the story straight here, I "LET you live, reminder that the other called me back when I was so capable of killing you"]

"Oh of course, it's not like after when Henry was close to killing me you just couldn't let your fragile ego be broken so you tried to catch me when he was attempting to kill me as well" Lucky stood up, a snort was given as they recounted the past "oh! Oh! Can't forget 'STOP MESSING UP MY FUCKING GAMESHOW!' can we!?"

Frankie sat back, watching the human he could so easily crush begin to laugh. Way back when if anyone dared to mock him in such a way he would be quick to put them in their place, not even the other wouldn't be safe if they acted in such a manner. Frankie couldn't help but feel different when Lucky did it, like he actually liked getting mocked? It was strange, but it was sort of nice knowing his little outburst was memorable, that Lucky still recalled their first interaction. It gave him a sense of nostalgia that he had never had before.

["... You know, I actually liked it when you ran"]

Lucky's laughter was cut short, the words making him sputter and cough "CUGH! ugh! Wh-what!?"

Frankie covered his mouth and snickered ["I said: I actually liked it when you ran"] he shrugged ["you're the first little fucker who ever gave me a run for my money, well— I guess the company's money, but my point still stands, you were the first to make the game a bit more interesting and made me think about actually winning rather than just coming up with new execution strategies"]

"Ahh yes, I'm sooooo~ grateful I made you think about killing me rather than coming up with whatever sick shit you thought about before"

["You should be, you should also be grateful I never caught you because if I did I would of found out real fast if my springs were durable enough to be used as guillotine"] Frankie flicked the spring that acted as his arm ["there's a good chance they would of just painfully dug into your skin and strangled you, but I believe anything can be used to cut if you try hard enough"]

As grim as it sounded, and as genuine of a threat as it was, both cracked up laughing. It was dark, but to them it was playful. Death was really always how they played, it was the foundation of what they built and what kept their interactions interesting. As the time ticked by, and the laughter subsided, both knew the borrowed time they ran on had to be given back. If they spent too long out of the camera's view they knew the other would creep in with a camera to catch their bonding moment. Both would rather be caught dead than having the audience know of them. It was a bit more than fondness of course, although neither wanted to admit it. Instead they looked towards the glaring pink elephant in the room. A pressing issue that only grew more pressing by the moment, the one that spurred them to stop and talk in the first place, the aforementioned end. It was a bitter truth neither wanted to face, but an unavoidable one that Frankie spoke about, the warmth in his voice vanishing.

["... They didn't bother making a new suit for me this time around..."]

Lucky joined the rabbit in his unease "The other one told me already, turns out seeing me win is getting boring" They sighed and began to raise their voice "How could they take it out on you though? Why wouldn't they just kill me instead of replacing you?"

["Hell if I know"] Frankie shrugged and got to his feet, with a huff he shook his head ["that fake bastard nearly got scrapped by the higher-ups and he barely gets a say in how the show goes, my best guess is the reason why they don't just get rid of you is the same reason this entire show started in the first place, humans being the greedy fuckers they are are willing to find the cheapest solution to any problem"] a deep rumbling growl came out from Frankie's physical body, one of the few noises he was capable of making ["hay, maybe you'll find it fun getting chased by whatever new horrifying fuck takes my place, I'm sure the higher-ups will think of something, like maybe a person with a etch-a-sketch for a head"]

Both looked at each other before chuckling. The very idea that anything could replace Frankie and his brutal ways was hilarious. After all, what would this show be without Frankie? Sure Deputy Duck and Henry were there, but Deputy Duck wasn't really an obstacle and Henry could be easily avoided if you didn't irritate him with his telephones. The show was centered around the rabbit mascot, it was named Finding Frankie. Without Frankie it wouldn't be the same no matter what and with the way the rabbit spoke about the future off-put Lucky. It caught him off guard"

"Heh... What uhh... What makes you assume you'll lose?"

["Hmm?"] Frankie's head twisted to look down at Lucky, his ears twitching as he wondered if he heard correctly ["what? Do you really think I'll win this time around?"] He scoffed ["you've been beating me since you first got here, why is this season gonna be any different? We'll do Hexa-Havoc, you'll beat me, I'll fall, you'll catch the rail, collect the money and keep playing, it always ends like that no matter what"]

"You don't know that" Lucky said quickly.

Looking back down from where they came from, the whirr of buzzsaws that were dangerously close to their being made Lucky think about just how close they were to death. They were still close to death, but they didn't fear it. Not now at least.

"Can't be flawless always right? I was bound to slip up eventually... Make a wrong step, maybe trip... It'd be so easy for me to just make one simple mistake and fall..."

Frankie glared at Lucky and crouched down to face him, even his cartoon version had its face zoomed in on to accentuate its attitude ["what are you saying?"]

"Nothing, nothing at all" Lucky began to walk forward, the sounds of their footsteps echoing off the walls "just that maybe this will be the time you actually get me"

Frankie's face dropped hearing the human's words. Although they didn't say it outright, he knew what they were insinuating. The talk about death, not having purpose and the inevitable end made it all too clear the message. He didn't expect for the human to try and sacrifice themselves, and as much as he would have loved to continue owning the show, he didn't want to. Never once would he expect a human of all things to pity him and he was quick to make his opinion known. He couldn't let Lucky give up, it didn't feel right to them and it certainly didn't feel right to be without them.

["You hold the fuck up!"] He snatched up the human, making sure not to crush them in his metal grasp but still make sure they couldn't squirm out ["You can't just lose on purpose!"]

"Who says I was gonna loseon purpose?"

["YOU WERE IMPLYING IT!"] Frankie stamped his foot on the ground, the cartoon version getting sudden flames in his eyes ["I'd rather be awake and have some fuck-head mechanics the company send dismantle me bit by bit than just let you throw away your spot in the show"]

"I DON'T WANT A SPOT IN THIS FUCKED UP SHOW!" Lucky felt themselves tear up under the mask, the material underneath becoming damp "the reason why I never took the money is because I never wanted it! I want to continue running! Continue playing, but it won't be the same without you!" They choked on a sob, their voice cracking as they pressed a hand to their pulsing heart "I won't be able to continue if you don't come back..."

Frankie didn't have a heart but those words pained his virtual feelings all the same. His grip faltered and Lucky dropped to the ground. The human turned away and removed their mask, beginning to wipe their tears off their unseen face. Whenever the rabbit saw any other cry he'd laugh, mock their pain before biting their head off. Instead he found himself also tearing up, or at least the virtual display which was a true depiction of how he felt. With a quick wipe of his own tears—his physical body wiping nothing—he placed his giant hand on Lucky's shoulder, the size difference would be comical in any circumstance other than the one they found themselves in.

["I don't think I'll be able to continue without you either..."] Frankie grumbled, trying his best to hold back any more emotions as he pulled away ["as much as it sucks, It's just how things gotta be..."]

Lucky sniffled and swallowed a ball of spit that built in their throat "I guess so..." They looked downwards at the mask in their hand, it felt more familiar than their real face "if... If this is the last time we see each other, than I guess I won't lose anything letting you see what I always hid"

Frankie's eyes widened as Lucky began to turn around ["ATATA! NO! NO!" He twirled his torso around, his feet staying in the same place as his springs twisted to make him face away [“keep the mask on! I don't wanna see it!"]

"..." Lucky raised an eyebrow before slowly placing the mask back on "you don't wanna see my face?"

["see your face!? Why the hell would I wanna see that!"] Frankie crossed his arms and let himself snap back around after he heard Lucky's mask be fastened ["If I never see your face I get to know that I look better than you"] he said with a smug grin as he adjusted his bowtie.

"Really?" Lucky snorted and placed a hand on the hip "I think it's safe to say there's not a deformity, defect, or skin condition that could make me look worse than you, and I ain't talking about what's actually standing here”

Frankie flinched back, his ears sagged as he looked at his cartoon appearance which he prided himself on ["wow... You REALLY know how to push my buttons don'tcha?"]

"It's what throws you off your game, makes ya sloppy during chases"

["Oh! Well, ain't you just a lovely cheating cunt!"] Frankie chuckled and let his neck drop his head, with a face that was now upside down he let out another growl and stared down Lucky ["let's not do that this time, capiche? I want a good clean game, none of your little cheating and riling me up, no goofing off or not taking it seriously, and certainly no going easy on me so you can fulfill a death wish"]

"Rules go two ways Frankie, I know for a doubt sometimes you don't run as fast as you could when chasing me, why don't you show everyone why it's called Finding Frankie instead of being just a sore loser"

Lucky pressed one of his gloved fingers to Frankie's nose. Much to their surprise a distinct robotic voice line came from his body, a giddly little chuckle that rang out to both their shock. Lucky couldn't believe such a thing was built into the toothy monster and Frankie didn't think anyone would find out.

["Oh.... Okay!"] His head slingshotted back to its original position and he began to march off ["I'm gonna have so much FUN killing you!"]

"not if I send your sorry ass into the fire!" Lucky yelled after them.

"hay moron! Look at the screen!"

Lucky looked upwards, he usually looked at the rabbit themselves rather than the avatar they used to speak. Although their body was out of sight, their cartoon appearance could more than aptly send a message. With his little rabbit toon body bouncing, Frankie made a cranking gesture with one hand as the other slowly flipped them the bird. Once the gesture was fully given Frankie gave a mock face of shock before vanishing.

Lucky quickly yelled back down the hallway "FUCK YOU TOO! GET READY TO EAT SHIT DUMBASS!"

With their respective taunts spurring them on, both raced to the arena. Lucky wasted no time in kicking down the doors to the season finale and sprinting down the familiar corridor to the final game, Hexa-Havoc. It was a path they had walked before, but never once ran. Just as the show was about to change, so did their attitude towards everything, no longer somber, they eagerly jumped down onto the colorful hexagons to get into the ring. With an unseen smile on their face they witnessed Frankie join them, hurling himself into the ring with a lunge intent on already killing. It was a game they had played countless times, the showrunners incapable of thinking anything more climatic. It was fine, it just meant they had seasons worth of experience to play to the best of their abilities.

And played they did.

Methodical, careful, deliberate in each and every movement they moved. What once was a sloppy frantic chase with falling platforms became a graceful rehearsed dance of two parties in a game with the odds stacked against both. Lucky and Frankie both made it apparent they weren't going easy, Lucky was careful to jump on every other platform conserving as much space as possible within each level. Frankie's jumps which were once used to merely catch up were now used to eliminate and were made with deadly accuracy. Each time the giant rabbit hopped up Lucky had to slide away else they'd be as flat as the platforms they ran on. It was refreshing and even with the intial diminishing views the sheer skill both displayed began to attract new watchers. Numbers rose as the time fell, more and more people tuned in to see what was once a chase become something so much more. The chat, unseen to both, exploded with new people wondering if this was the constant quality, meanwhile old viewers were astonished at how both acted. It was something they had never seen from either, old and new watchers alike were left starstruck as they witnessed time the climax to the show they mindlessly tuned into on the dark web.

["our show just reached a world record for death shows across the world! It's at a million views!"] The other Frankie yelled over the intercom ["the lever is now unlocked! With this many viewers the prize money may QUADRU–"]

SSSSKKKSSSTTT

Frankie hacked both the intercom and televisions scattered around the arena. His cartoon appearance held a familiar flame in his eyes but unlike the past it held no rage or crazed desire for death. Instead his gaze fixated on Lucky and the way they ran. The human locked eyes with the screen and knew it was a fire of passion.

["SHUT IT DIPSHIT! THIS IS OUR SHOW! WE SAY WHEN IT ENDS!"]

Wait—Our show?

It didn't matter if Lucky heard correctly or not, the show carried on with both not even finishing with the second level of platforms. Lucky didn't even give the noob-noob release a glance, instead their attention was given in full to Frankie and their reaching hands. The rabbit repeatedly swiped as they marched towards what they once considered a victim. Now with both near the end, their fates currently uncertain, they felt that same something that only Lucky managed to give them. When he finally managed to corner them only to be met with them slipping between his legs and keep running did he have a rough idea of what it was. It was a feeling Lucky too shared, it was one that made their blood pump and heart pound louder than any scream that could be given by the million people cheering them both on at once. Some of the viewers wanted Lucky to die, finally have the champ meet his end and descend down into hell, meanwhile some rooted for the fragile human to best the monstrous rabbit that was responsible for murdering a large portion of people. Neither really cared what the audience wanted, both were having the time of their life and it only got better once 0 platforms remained on the second level.

Down to the third and final level, both could barely feel the heat looming below as they continued. Even if machine, Frankie's body started to overheat in the same manner Lucky's began to exhaust. Movements became a lot less graceful as they became literally one step closer to the end each moment. Raw and tired, Frankie stopped jumping and instead focused solely on grabbing and Lucky stopped sliding, it was too damn effort and with no safety net it was too damn dangerous. The desperate huff of a masked individual and the creak of mechanical rabbit's joints replaced the dubstep track that played during the finale. The soundtrack wasn't intended to be played this long, but considering Frankie and Lucky never intended to feel such deep things about each other it was safe to say life was full of surprises. It certainly was a surprise to both how much they thoroughly enjoyed it. Each step ignited past memories of doing this very thing, only with a lot less of a rush this time around. It was these memories that flashed before them as the game eventually came to a complete stop. The show reached its peak with both Lucky and Frankie on their final platform, both had given it their all yet it didn't change their fate.

["Game over... Goodbye, Lucky"]

Lucky was left speechless as he looked to see Frankie on the screen shed a tear through grit teeth. Just like their very first encounter and subsequent encounters they fell down into the incinerator below. Useless merchandise, bits of garbage, and the old clothes and remains of past contestants were piled around the hellish flames that were at the center of the parkour palace. The smell of burnt flesh filled Lucky's nostrils, the past 3 contestants who didn't make it as far as him invading his senses. Frankie knew this was his end and couldn't accept anything less than what he got. Initially wishing for nothing more than to remain the top dog who racked up views as they killed Frankie was happy he was dethroned. Not only happy but overjoyed he could play with his lucky little contestant one last time before he would die. The grind rail couldn't support his weight and from past attempts trying to claw out only extended the pain, it was futile but he was okay with it. The smile on his body's face would be genuine as he watched his contestant above grab onto the rail. Saving themselves just as they had saved themselves countless times before.

Only this time they didn't.

In a shocking display that made chat and the other watching erupt into screams Lucky actually missed the railing. They themselves didn't know if it was on purpose, after all just as they said you can't go so many seasons and not make a misplay. But was it really a misplay? They meant it when they said they wouldn't be able to go on with Frankie, but would it really mean they would accept death with him? They didn't know. All that they did know was that no end could have been better.

Even with Frankie holding them against his metal body, the flames only making it hotter, they didn't regret a second. No screams were made as they gazed into each other's eyes, Frankie's bright blue piercing the surrounding red and staring deep into the masked covered one's of Lucky's. Metal melded into flesh that was seared black, the pain of which would make any scream out or writhe in pain. Instead Lucky just kept their vision focused forward towards Frankie, the rabbit doing the same as he fought with his circuits which wanted to shut off. It hurt, it hurt like hell, but it would pale in comparison for either to live another second without seeing the other. Memories of all the fun they had, even if it was built in the foundation of death, were looked down upon fondly as the end came by the millisecond. Tears which were almost immediately evaporated tried to roll down burnt flesh, and if he was capable Frankie would return the human gesture if not limited by his metallic body. The rabbit's tears were in the same vein as the human's, he wasn't sad but rather was overjoyed he wouldn't be alone. He *did* wish for Lucky to survive, move on, continue living without him. But maybe this was their fates. Their true fates. It took so long for both to finally realize what they was truly special and would never again happen, but maybe it was for the best. Hatred that sprouted into fondness, fondness which grew into care, care which bloomed into love was now fully understood by both. Frankie, happy he managed to find such a silly human emotion in his life filled with death and Lucky, grateful they were ironically saved from their depressing life by the very thing that wanted to kill them, closed their eyes. They embraced each other for what would be the first and last time in their lives as the fire covered them, shielding their love from prying eyes. It was an end, but one both could accept. Even as Lucky's brain began to melt they still thought about the name given to them and how each time Frankie called them that—even out of anger—it made their hate race in a way no chase could. It repeated, stuck on loop as their life came to an end.

Lucky

...

"Lucky"

...?

"Lucky!"

...?!

"LUCKY!"

!

Lucky's name being screamed made them jump up and look around at their surroundings, their heart not stopping for a second. It scared the hell out of them and they couldn't understand, what just happened? Their head was pounding, their body was all warm—wait! Weren't they on fire and dying a second ago? No. Of course not, why the heck would they be on fire? The sun was shining down, it was warm, pleasant, like a comforting blanket. Where the hell would fire come from? In fact, where would dying even come from!?

"LUCKY!"

Lucky spun around, their floppy ears instinctively laying flat at the sound of a loud noise "huh!?"

There running through a flower filled meadow was a familiar sight. Robotic prosthetic limbs attached to the body of one small grayish furry rabbit with lop-ears, bowtie, and magician hat. It was Frankie, it was their Frankie.

"THERE YOU ARE!" The rabbit yelled as he wagged his finger at Lucky "where the hell were you! I was looking around for ages, I thought you fucking DIED!"

"Ugh... Sorry" Lucky groaned and pressed a paw to their forehead, the sight of their hand made them flinch for some reason but they shook it off "think I tripped and got knocked out or something... would explain why I feel like I got a whole lotta head trauma"

"Knocked out!?" Frankie repeated, their nose twitching as they inspected the other rabbit "oh god! I– I didn't know! Do you need to stop? Go to the ER?"

"ER!? And let YOU win!?" Lucky scoffed and shoved the other rabbit playfully, a smile playing on their lips "fat chance magic boy, round 2 is starting now!"

Frankie shrugged "eh, if you say you're alright I ain't gonna push the issue" the rabbit tapped his foot against the ground "so, you wanna be the tagger or tagee this time around? Pick the option that WON'T make you accidentally crack your skull open"

"I didn't crack my damn skull open!" Lucky said as they thumped his paw into the dirt. With a low growl they suddenly stopped and began to think of the game they played that had been interrupted by them falling unconscious "hmm... You know, I think I wanna go back to being it"

"Ughhh..." Frankie's limbs extended and limply laid on the ground, his entire body unraveling to express his disdain "you're **ALWAYS** it! That round was the first time I got to be it in forever!"

"Welp, I guess we can just go back home and sleep, you can take the couch or course–"

Frankie stood back up "You're a bitch ya know that?"

"A bitch who's your lover, may I remind you?" Lucky leaned in close, pressing their snout close to Frankie's.

Seeing that stupid smile on Lucky's face made Frankie roll his eyes "fine! You're it!, gimme a 30 second head start this time okay?"

"Fine–" Lucky quickly grabbed the rabbit and pulled him into a kiss.

Frankie's eyes went wide and tensed up, his body slowly melting into Lucky's grasp before realizing what they were doing "wait! No!"

"20 seconds left~"

"You can't fucking do that!" Frankie blushed, his cheek fur magically turning red as per toon rules "you're cheating!"

"19... 18..." They kept counting.

"AH!"

Frankie stumbled away and quickly began to break into a sprint. They would certainly get back at Lucky for the sly move but pushed revenge out of his mind. For now they would appreciate their rabbit partner, even if they were a dirty cheater.

Looking back Frankie locked eyes with Lucky. The smiling rabbit still counting as they watched him run. It was the start to another one of their games, a game that would eventually end like all things would. For now they wouldn't think about the end, for now they'd just be happy and enjoy what time they had.

[mydearestbeloved]

Chapter 6 [Draft]

Sung Jinwoo/Trial Player!Reader

CW:

Inspired by @circeyoru ‘s “Future Power Couple”

[Masterlist🦋✨️]

The partnership was, for lack of a better word, complicated.

Jinwoo noticed it was a word often associated to you.

The more time Jinwoo spent with you only made things murkier. You were a puzzle wrapped in a riddle, and no matter how many pieces he tried to put together, he was always left with gaps. It was frustrating, but it also intrigued him in a way that nothing else had since he became the Player.

Jinwoo was suspicious—he couldn’t afford not to be. Jinwoo never imagined having someone like you beside him, much less allowing it. For the longest time, he had preferred working alone—solitude was safer, simpler. He didn’t have to worry about anyone getting in his way or betraying him. So, naturally, he had kept you under close observation, convinced that the cost of keeping you around would be more than just the unease gnawing at him.

From the start, Jinwoo had believed that taking you along would mean a decrease in his own growth. Experience was precious, and dividing it was a risk he was prepared to accept—but you had assured him that wouldn’t be necessary.

"I won’t take any exp from you,” you’d said with a quiet confidence that he hadn’t known how to trust. “I’ve got a feeling it doesn’t work like that for me anymore."

He’d been skeptical, of course. Experience was everything to a player, and he’d been prepared to lose some to keep you around. But as the weeks went by, he found your claim to be frustratingly true. No matter how many monsters you felled, it was only his system notifications that pinged, announcing increases in his experience points, his level bar that filled up, not yours, as though the system recognized you as an extension of him.

It was as if you just weren’t there.

He didn't know whether to be relieved or more suspicious. What kind of player didn’t gain EXP? It didn’t fit with the rules, and Jinwoo was nothing if not a careful observer of the patterns around him.

---

The material rewards, however, were a different story.

There was a strange way you treated the remains of the fallen monsters. At first, he hadn’t paid much attention to it; after all, every hunter had their quirks. But you would always linger after the fights, almost reverently inspecting the bodies, picking through the materials they left behind. When he finally asked you about it, you had given him that infuriatingly cryptic smile.

“Do you mind if I take whatever you don’t need?” you had politely asked one day, the first time out of the many in future raids to come. “I promise it won’t go to waste.”

“What do you even need them for?” he had asked, watching you examine the remains of a C-rank goblin with almost childlike fascination.

“Hmm…” You’d glanced up, meeting his gaze briefly before turning back to the material in your hand. “Think of it as... research.”

He’d agreed, more out of curiosity than generosity. And every time he did, he could have sworn he caught a glimmer of excitement in your eyes. It was an expression so genuine and bright that Jinwoo found himself taken aback. What exactly you were doing with those materials, he had no idea, but you seemed genuinely grateful, almost... happy. And Jinwoo found it oddly endearing every single time.

The guarded woman he fought beside every day for the past few weeks by now—the one who always hid herself behind walls of practiced calm—suddenly looked more humane. A person delighted over something so simple.

“Thank you, Jinwoo.” you said softly as you packed away pieces of monster hides, bones, and crystals with precision.  The way you spoke his name felt different than when others said it. Like it was laced with something unspoken, something almost... familiar.

For a moment, he’d thought he might be able to catch a sliver of truth from you. But then, as quickly as it appeared, your guard returned, and you slipped back into your composed, impenetrable self.

---

Yet, for every discovery he made about you, new questions took root. The way you spoke to the air when he couldn’t see your system window was one of the strangest things he’d observed. It wasn’t like how he interacted with his own system—a cold, mechanical guide that answered in emotionless text.

He had come to terms with it, which made it more puzzling when you, on the other hand, seemed to have a strangely conversational relationship with yours. It was as though you were talking to a real person rather than an AI. And there were times he swore he heard you bantering with it. The fact that he couldn’t see it, that he couldn’t know what it was telling you without you telling him, left him on edge.

While you could see the familiar blue screens of his own system at all times, yours sometimes seemed to exist in an entirely different realm. He didn’t have enough information to even confirm you had the same kind of system he did.

One evening after a raid, after you had muttered something to the empty air beside you, Jinwoo couldn’t hold back his curiosity any longer. The two of you were taking a break in the clearing of a forest-like dungeon, waiting for the mana in the air to settle. His shadows patrolled the perimeter, leaving the two of you in relative isolation.

“You’re… talking to it, aren’t you?” Jinwoo asked, as you finished your quiet exchange with your invisible companion. “The system, I mean.”

“Hmm? Oh.” You paused mid-motion, halfway through tucking away the latest monster core you’d collected, s if you hadn’t just spoken aloud to someone—or something—that only you could see. You glanced at him, something unreadable flickering behind your eyes before you looked back at the core in your hands.

“It’s not quite the same as your system,” you said finally, your voice almost too soft to hear over the rustling leaves. “Let’s just say we have a complicated relationship.” You paused, seeming to search for the right words. “Yours is… a guide, yes? Cold, instructive?”

He nodded, and you seemed to weigh your response.

“Mine is… let’s call it more opinionated.”

Jinwoo raised an eyebrow, clearly unsatisfied. “You mean to tell me that your system has a personality?”

A small smile tugged at your lips. “Something like that.”

He muttered, narrowing his eyes. “You know more about my system than I do, and yet I can’t even see yours most of the time. Feels like a rigged game.”

“You mean the same way my kills count towards yours instead?”

Fair point.

“You could say I know it pretty well. And… it knows me.” Your tone was careful, and he realized he’d learned something more about you in that one sentence than in all the raids you’d fought together.

It was almost as if you wanted to be honest—desperately so—but something stopped you every time you got close to revealing too much. It seemed less like a power play and more like you were protecting something—maybe even protecting him. But that didn’t make sense.

 Still, Jinwoo could see glimpses of genuine loyalty in your actions. The more he witnessed this, the more he felt torn, unable to decide if you were an ally bound by strange circumstances or a threat with motives he couldn’t yet see.

---

Sung Jinwoo didn't know what to expect from you. You were fascinating, more so than he would ever admit out loud. All the clues the system had fed him about your existence were vague at best, referring to you as only the "Trial Player." And while he couldn't yet piece together what that truly meant, he wasn’t going to let his guard down around you.

If you were planning something, he would figure it out eventually. For now, he would keep you close, both as an asset and as a potential threat.

He stole a glance at you now as you knelt by the remains of a fallen beast, checking to make sure its soul was vanishing, as it should. There was nothing particularly alarming about you outwardly. You were quiet, practical. But he noticed the way you watched the world—distant.

Despite his wariness, Jinwoo couldn't deny that you were useful. In raids, your healing abilities were top-notch, quick to mend injuries, faster than his own healing factor. Not to mention that you could directly heal his shadows, Jinwoo took note that the amount of mana he needed to regenerate them decreased when you were around.

Jinwoo had initially assumed that you were strictly a healer type. That’s what the Hunter’s Association records said, and your mana signature had a distinct, calming presence to it that he had only ever felt from skilled support-class hunters. Yet your mana felt… dense, almost limitless. If his own mana was a roiling river, yours was an ocean, calm on the surface but powerful beneath, which wasn’t too surprising, considering you'd been a part of the system before him. But a mere healer shouldn't have that much mana reserve.

Are you actually a mage class too?

 His suspicions were confirmed when he saw your summons.

---

The first time he’d seen them, Jinwoo had barely registered what he was seeing. An ethereal swarm fluttering around you like an aura. They were mesmerizing, each one a different color and size, their wings glittering with a soft, otherworldly light, brushing against your cheeks as you gently whisper to them.

Your mana poured out of you and into each butterfly, connecting you to them as though they were extensions of yourself.

Jinwoo couldn’t help but wonder: Were these creatures merely magical constructs? If they were—

“Why butterflies?” he had once asked, when you were both taking a rare break between raids. The delicate creatures flitted around you, glimmering faintly.

You glanced up at him, blinking as if surprised he’d asked. “Why shadows?

Another fair point.

He shrugged, accepting your answer—or lack thereof. Jinwoo didn’t miss the way your butterflies tended to hover near his shadows, seemingly fascinated by them. His shadows didn’t react aggressively, which surprised him. Normally, any foreign magic would cause a disturbance, but your butterflies were… different. It was odd, watching those bright, delicate wings fluttering around his pitch-black soldiers, but it was almost... cute, in a way. A contrast between darkness and light.

It wasn’t long before Jinwoo realized there was more to your butterflies than their strange, almost playful nature.

During one of their dungeons together, Jinwoo had summoned Igris to deal with a particularly tough group of orcs. He watched, mildly perplexed, as one of your butterflies—brilliant red with iridescent wings—flitted toward Igris. At first, the shadow knight seemed briefly stop, his glowing, empty eyes flickered to the butterfly perched on his shoulder.

The crimson light from its wings seemed to seep into Igris, and Jinwoo blinked in surprise when his loyal knight straightened, his movements becoming quicker, more precise.

Jinwoo couldn't deny the difference. Whenever your butterflies were around, his shadows seemed to grow stronger, faster, even more resilient. The boost was subtle, but for someone like him who had honed his skills through the system, it was noticeable. You hadn’t mentioned this, and he planned to ask you about it later—after all, he was in no hurry to reveal how closely he was watching you.

As the raid came to an end, Jinwoo glanced over at you, watching as your butterflies settled back around you. You smiled softly, looking at them with an expression so gentle it almost made him forget about his suspicions. Almost.

He learned early on that you treated them with unusual care, a gentle vigilance like a mother would her children. There was a fondness in your tone, a rare warmth that softened the careful detachment you usually kept.

That same red butterfly always seemed to stick closest to you, fluttering protectively by your side. Yet, every now and then, Jinwoo would catch it drifting toward Igris, as if drawn to the shadow knight’s presence.

One day, it had landed on Igris’ sharp armored finger when there were no more enemies around. The shadow knight had looked at his master with a flicker of—well, if shadows could be confused, Igris certainly looked it at that moment. Jinwoo gave him a shrug, watching with mild amusement as the red butterfly seemed to glow brighter, almost as if content.

He wasn’t sure if Igris understood, the knight merely tilted his head but remained still, allowing the butterfly to rest on him until it eventually fluttered back to you.

---

Jinwoo often found himself watching you as much as he knew you watched him. But even as he remained wary, he couldn’t deny his respect for your skill. You were no burden to him. You wielded primarily healing abilities, you also seemed to know when to boost his power or his shadow’s, almost anticipating his needs before he even voiced them.

As far as your own magic went, Jinwoo had seen enough to confirm his suspicions. You had offensive capabilities as well, striking enemies with long-range magic that was precise and deadly. You were a most versatile support type hunter.

Still, he assumed your strength was primarily in long-range magic. He’d noted your blind spots in close combat—standard for a healer type, though he didn’t miss the subtle, fluid way you adjusted your stance or deflected attacks from mid-range with your scepter-like staff. This led him to conclude that, for all your talent, you still had weaknesses in close range.

That was, at least, until today.

It was a sprawling forest dungeon, lit by beams of eerie green light filtering down from an unnatural, leafy canopy above. They were knee-deep in werewolves, snarling beasts that prowled out of the shadowy depths of a ruin. Jinwoo's shadows were handling most of the enemies, and you were providing your usual support from the backline, healing and boosting his soldiers while occasionally sending out a volley of offensive spells.

Jinwoo had been keeping an eye on you from the corner of his vision. After all, mages, more so healers, were supposed to be squishy, vulnerable when isolated. However, something had drawn Jinwoo’s attention, leaving him at a distance from you for just a moment too long.

Everything was going smoothly until Jinwoo sensed a surge of bloodlust behind you.

When he turned, he saw it—a massive, hulking werewolf, eyes glowing a sickly yellow, leaping at you from behind with razor-sharp claws extended, ready to tear you apart.

Jinwoo’s pulse spiked, the realization hitting him a heartbeat too late. He reached out instinctively, calling for a shadow to intercept, but then—

Shing! Slash!

In one fluid movement, you had twisted on your heel, a silver blur in your hand. The werewolf's momentum came to a sudden, brutal stop as its body split cleanly in two, blood spraying across the ground. You stood over the corpse, a rapier gleaming in your hand. The silver blade pulsed with magic before you flicked the blood off and sheathed it in one graceful motion, the weapon seamlessly retracting back into what looked like your scepter.

Jinwoo stopped in his tracks, your gaze meeting his for the briefest of moments, offering a nod, before you turned back to the shadows.

By then, more werewolves emerged from the trees. The rest of the pack howled, charging at you, and Jinwoo saw the faintest shift in your expression—a steely determination, and something almost akin to exhilaration.

As the next wave of beasts closed in, Jinwoo watched as your fingers danced over the length of your scepter, infusing it with your mana. The staff elongated, shifting its shape until it became a spear, the blade at its tip crackling with your signature silver magic.

You twirled it with practiced ease, thrusting it into the nearest enemy with deadly precision.

The scene was a blur of movement, each swing of your weapon releasing bursts of silver energy that cut through the werewolves like a hot knife through butter. You fought with a grace and precision that was almost hypnotic, your movements fluid and controlled.

When one of the beasts tried to flank you, you sent a wave of silver butterflies at it. They swarmed the creature, their wings fading in and out, and Jinwoo saw the werewolf's eyes glazed over right before you struck it down.

“Are you just going to watch, or are you planning on helping?” you called over to him as you pulled out the bloody spear from the beast’s corpse, not even turning to face him.

Grey eyes shifted to blue, Jinwoo couldn’t help but let out a low chuckle.

As the two of you fell into rhythm, your combined strength decimated the remaining enemies. His shadows worked in sync with your butterflies, an unspoken alliance that seemed more natural than either of you expected. He didn’t fully trust you, but standing here together, he felt a rare sense of ease, an almost enjoyable synergy he hadn’t experienced with anyone before.

Once the last beast fell, you took a breath, looking entirely unruffled as you dusted yourself off, letting your spear shift back into its scepter form with a wave of your hand.

Jinwoo watched as the butterflies gathered back around you, the red one taking its usual place by your ear.

“So, are you a healer? A mage? Or something else entirely?” he finally asked the question he probably already knew the answer to.

Your gaze flickered, “A little of both. The system assigned me as a hybrid after my job change quest.”

Ah, so you went through that too.

“Why’d you hide it?”

You arched an eyebrow. “Hide it? You never asked.”

Again, Jinwoo couldn’t deny that.

---

Your power was… formidable. Jinwoo was not the type to admit it easily, but you were undeniably stronger than him, at least for the time being. Every raid you participated in, every dungeon you cleared together, made that abundantly clear.

He could see it in the way you fought with lethal efficiency. You wielded your mana with a deftness he could only respect, if not quite trust. Your abilities, whether in healing or combat, suggested years—maybe decades—of experience. Yet, your gaze flicked to him every so often, as if gauging his reaction.

Despite that overwhelming power, you still played along with his orders, never challenging his authority. Here you were, guarding his back as if you had no greater ambition than to follow him. The thought of it unsettled him.

You were holding back.

If you were so powerful, why did you follow him? Why didn’t you resist more on this arrangement? Was it truly just because the system compelled you? And if that was the case, why didn’t you seem to resent it? Sure, you seem frustrated, but that was just about it.

“You’re… strong,” he admitted, watching you carefully. “Stronger than I am, for now. So why do you go along with all of this?”

Your eyes met his, surprise flickering in them before you looked away, staring off into the dimly lit cavern, adjusting your staff in your hands.

“I thought we’ve been over this. The system—”

“That’s just an excuse,” he pressed. “We both know how the system is. What I’m asking is why you follow my lead?”

For a moment, you didn’t respond. The silence stretched, heavy with unspoken words. Finally, you turned to him, your expression serious, your eyes searching his as if you were weighing something crucial.

“It’s… complicated,” you murmured that word again, as if it could sum up everything left unsaid.

“Let’s just say,” There was a quiet edge to your tone, “that I believe in what you’re doing.”

You said them softly, almost wistfully. “Or just call it curiosity, if you want.”

Jinwoo didn’t know what to make of that answer, and it frustrated him to no end.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that you knew more about him than you let on. That watchful gaze of yours wasn’t one of mere curiosity—it was the gaze of someone who was studying a well-worn book they had read countless times before. Jinwoo caught you doing it often enough to notice: the way you would follow his movements, anticipate his decisions, even predict his strategies as if you’d already seen it all play out before.

It was unnerving.

Jinwoo clenched his jaw, frustrated by the half-answers you always seemed to give. “You keep saying that. But, you’ve been watching me just as much as I’ve been watching you,” He said that while never taking his eyes off you.

“But I get the feeling you know a lot more about me than I do about you.”

Your gaze flickered, and for a moment, he thought he saw a flash of guilt. But you quickly masked it, a faint smile tugged at your lips, though it didn’t reach your eyes. “I observe you because I… want to understand you better. Maybe it’s because, in some ways, you’re the first person I—”

You suddenly clammed up and then turned away. Jinwoo could tell that he wasn’t going to get any more out of you on that topic.

“Alright,” he said finally, voice dropping to a neutral tone. “But if you’re keeping secrets, just know—one day, I’ll find them out.”

You chuckled, the sound both warm and distant. “You wouldn’t be the Sung Jinwoo I know if you didn’t.”

---

Whatever your motives were, they weren’t as simple as he initially thought.

Why had you been helping him for all those years before he even knew you existed? What did you gain from it?

Maybe you really are just that kind.

It was a conclusion that didn’t sit well with him. Jinwoo had grown used to people having ulterior motives, but you seemed different. Your actions were selfless, almost to a fault. You cared, yet there was still more to your story.

There were days when he almost believed he’d solved the puzzle of who you were, pieced together from your silent gestures and guarded glances. And yet, the closer he got, the more he felt he was overlooking something vital, something you were desperate to tell him but couldn’t.

It gnawed at him in the quiet moments after a fight, and even more so as he lay awake at night, thinking back to those rare glimpses of a different you. For every truth you hinted at, there seemed to be a secret you swallowed, and the weight of it left him wondering if you were carrying a lot more than you should have.

As for your quiet knowledge, he’d caught on that it went beyond mere strategy or observation. You seemed to know his habits, his tendencies, even some things he himself hadn’t fully realized. He watched as you predicted his actions in battle, shifting to support him before he even had a chance to react, as if you knew what he’d do next.

But more than that, he could sense that you carried a strange sort of empathy for him—a sadness that didn’t quite make sense coming from a stranger. The feeling unsettled him, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to ignore it. You weren’t just another faceless hunter to him now.

It wasn’t enough, not nearly Trust wasn’t something he could afford easily, not in this world, not after everything he’d been through. So, until he could figure you out, Jinwoo would keep you close.

Because, if there was one thing he had learned from years of surviving dungeons, it was that the most dangerous thing wasn’t always the monsters lurking in the shadows.

Sometimes, it was the ones standing right next to you.

And that, maddening as it was, was enough to keep him close for now.

End Note:

Unedited Draft of [015/10/2024] -

First dive into Jinwoo's p.o.v. Let me know your thoughts! Is he too OOC? Constructive criticisms are appreciated! <3

[shygirl4991]

Faker

Im going through a hard time this month with my cats health so thought i do a random vent fic enjoy.

Summary: They fake to make it, they both are lonely losers that manage to make the best of it. Sometimes a vent fight helps them find some peace from their trauma. Tag: Trauma bonding, crush hinted, SMG34, the gays are fighting

SMG4 yawns as he gets out of bed, the morning light shines hitting the man in the eyes. He squints as he closes the curtains, for once SMG4 got to bed at a decent time. With a proud smile the guardian leaves his room to get breakfast together, that's when he notices a purple blur pass by his window. He turns and sees a depressed looking SMG3, concerned for his partner he runs to his bedroom to put on his iconic overalls before heading to Three’s coffee n bombs. As he approaches the cafe, he catches SMG3 sitting at a table outside. With a bright smile Four greets the man “Hey three! How is everything going?” Three sighs as he glares at SMG4 “What do you want SMG4?” he spat out making SMG4 take a step back. It was clear as day that Three was not having a good day, he looked around and noticed not a single customer showed up. Frowning, Four nervously points it out “Still not having luck?” Three growls getting up from his seat “WHY DO YOU CARE?” The anger and hatred that came out made Four’s eyes go wide. 

He then lets out a sigh as he keeps talking to Three with a cheerful tone “We are friends Three, of course i would worry. Is there any way I can help you?” Three rolls his eyes walking to his cafe door “Why? To show you're better than me?”  Four shakes his head “No! Come on Three, we make a great team don't we…there is no need to push me away.” Three’s grip on the door handle tightens, every night since the usb garbage incident he has been haunted by an image of SMG4. He grins down at Three calling him pathetic, that he is nothing but a faker acting tough when he is nothing but a softy at heart. His grip lightens as he wonders if that version of Four had a point, shaking his head he pulls the door open. Seeing this Four runs after him, he grabs Three’s hand in concern “Three what is going on with you?”

Three turns smacking Four’s hand away “What's wrong?  Everything I do fails! No matter how hard I try to entertain people, everyone sees my content as cringe. I make the cafe of my dreams and no one comes due to…the owner being unlikable.” Four reaches out to comfort Three only for the other man to walk away from it, Four looks down thinking before giving the man a small smile “You have done successful things, you're super smart and figured out how to out smart so many of the villains we fight! Remember zero, how you pointed out how to save Mario!” Three lets out a bitter laugh “You mean the same monster that killed Terrence, yeah i really got a victory for us there.” 

Four starts to get upset at how the guardian kept brushing aside his attempts to comfort him, Three walks behind the counter looking at Four with annoyance. SMG4 walks up to the counter giving SMG3 a desperate “Let me help you out Three,” that got SMG3 to laugh “Help me? How fake can you be, ah yes help with my trauma as you ignore yours!” Four stare’s confused at his partner, Three places a cup in front of Four “You were an asshole to your best friend on his day, you got a keyboard that almost killed us all. Oh yeah, how about using my past against me to get everyone to come to your fucking Christmas party!” SMG4 stares, mouth agape at SMG3 words, slowly he smacks the table causing the cup to jump slightly “oh yeah? YOU ALMOST SHOT ME BECAUSE YOUR OLD VILLAIN FRIEND TOLD YOU TO!” SMG3 growls climbing the counter to be taller than the other man “YOU ALMOST DROP ME FOR THE PERFECT VIDEO!” Four grabs Three’s leg throwing him to the floor causing the cup to fall, shattering, Four was done playing nice with the man that clearly just wanted to fight “YOU THINK NO ONE CAN TELL BUT WE ALL KNOW YOUR THE FAKE!” Hearing those words angered the man, Three kicked Four’s leg causing him to lose balance and join him on the floor. SMG3 pins the man down growling “FAKE! AT LEAST I DON'T PRETEND IM A NICE PERSON THAT CAN DO NOT WRONG!” 

They both stay silent staring at each other, breathing heavily after all their yelling. Three lets go of Four as his eyes water “And yet…i still think you're my best friend..” Four sits up surprised to hear Three’s words, thinking over the pair’s past he lets out a small chuckle “Guess in the end, we both suck huh?” Three wipes his eyes giving a small smile “At least you can admit you suck, been telling you for years.” Four playfully smacks Three as they both giggle feeling better after their small fight. Three grabs Four’s hand shyly looking off to the side, hiding his blush “I’m frustrated that things don't go my way, I hate being second place…so I took my anger out on you.”  Four smiles and scoots closer to his partner resting his head on the man's shoulder as their fingers intertwine “I forgive you, plus your right…I fake being okay cause it's hard to face all I have done.”  Three hums as he turns looking Four in his eyes “Yeah well…we have our ways to cope just remember im always here for you.” They both smile softly at each other forgetting that the cafe was open, Meggy giggles seeing the sight. Meggy and Tari walk away from the cafe with a big smile “I think it's best if we let those to talk out their feelings Tari.” 

[cynthiav06]

I am so sorry op but I think it's more on the inverse side. Percy's powers are so in tune with him that even with limited time, he was able to access a large arsenal of them. Sure he hasn't specifically trained to fine tune his powers but unlike the other big three children who have all experimented their powers before, he always ends up in mortal peril everytime he has to come up with something new. So unlike others who have kind of tried and tested and put a few limits on their powers, Percy just goes with it. He doesn't think about whether he can or not, it's always a case of "I must".

Iapetus is going to kill Thalia and Nico, so I have to find a way to stop him. But I am half poisoned and bruised, I can't fight him. Oh okay so I will just use the rivers in Underworld for help. They are water right?

Akhyls is going to kill me and Annabeth here, we aren't strong enough to fight a primordial. She is going to choke us with poison. Annabeth's going to die. I am going to die. Annabeth's going to die. Wait poison has large amount of water or even liquids. I can control it!

And each time he proves himself right he goes Oh cool, that's helpful. With no idea how world transcending his own abilities are. Were it anyone else they would have let their training and mindset of myths limit their imagination and their ability to fight. But Percy hasn't been trained traditionally, he has never put a limit on his own power. He does with it whatever he needs to and he doesn't let a pre defined set of rules or ways inhibit him. "What do you mean I can't overpower a Primordial in her own domain with her own poison? Of course I can. Poison contains water, it's liquid. I can totally do that."

I think Percy using less powers in the first series has more to do with his trust issues with it. See Percy has deeply internalized his self loathing and self esteem issues. He sees himself as a burden, a troubled kid who only causes problems. He doesn't want his powers to do that, to destroy everything in their path. So he keeps them coiled tight and shut. He needs it to do precisely what he wants, which it does almost always. He starts trusting them but but then at times when he he lets a leash loose, his powers do crazy shit like, blow up a volcano, lift an entire river bed from its roots, level a creek, start a hurricane or other disasters, so he keeps them tightly leashed.

We can see evidence of that with words like "a pull in my gut" "I felt something inside me break" "something uncoiled" and so on.

Whether he does it consciously or not, it only serves to benefit him because everytime his opponents foolishly think,

Enemy: I know all that you can do Perseus Jackson.

Percy: ........

Percy: Damn, even I don't know everything I can do. It's cool that you think you know all I can do though.

*obliterates the monster with something new he comes up with*

Percy: Ha didn't know I could that but boy am I glad it worked. See this is what I was talking about.

Either way I do agree with op on a few things like children of Hades have the most potent abilities, most broken ones but I think their lack of stamina does hinder them. And I mean Nico has known about his powers for even less time than Percy while neither Thalia nor Jason are very creative.

I think Hazel comes really close due to her versatility and creativity. Magic, mist and her own powers along with her fighting prowess. Her and Meg McCaffrey should have been compared to Percy more so than others given they were in similar situations and have such strong abilities. Technically Meg is a child of the Elder Gods.

I think Rick should have explored a bit more on the big three children and their powers.

The point I was trying to make is Percy is so powerful because of his lack of traditional training or traditional fighting knowledge. He learns by hands on experience, adapts on instinct and improves by finding loopholes or getting a better grasp of his already present abilities.

can we/rick talk more abt how extremely inexperienced percy is with his powers in comparison to many of the other big 3 kids

like it’s actually very interesting to think abt if you think abt the connection they each have as a scale to how connected they are to their godly parent (not like emotionally lmao but their godly heritage if that makes sense)

like if you think of nico and hazel those two are arguably the most like in tune with their powers both having used their powers since they were very young and being forced to kind of connect with their godly side much sooner/faster then the others

thalia and jason being second since thalia is literally the second in command to a literal goddess and as a soldier camp jupiter would definitely push jason to know his limits but they both haven’t reached that ease that nico and hazel have — thalia probably could’ve reached it if she hadn’t been snubbed at 15 and wasn’t scared of heights lmao and if jason had probably any type of support that wasn’t pushing him to just be better or focused more on his powers then physical strengths

both thalia and jason also started very young with using their powers yet both had that small blocker of other mortals/people around in comparison to hazel and nico

like hazel and nico are both so small that they’ve been taught to mostly use their powers not that they can’t fight but they rely a lot more on that rather then a sword unlike jason thalia or percy but i think that also just goes with the age that they are since their so young and were taught at that young age to lean on their powers that’s simply what’s easier

then you have percy who literally just found out half this shit was real like 5 years ago and knows nothing abt his powers like genuinely the amount percy leans more on his physical strength bc that’s all he’s had up until he was 12 in comparison to how much he leans on his actual powers is crazy especially if you look at the difference between how much jason or nico rely on their powers at their ages in comparison to how much percy did at those ages

it’s also interesting how that plays into people not taking him very seriously people see him as much more mortal and “weak” bc of it

not that any of them are doing it wrong obv it’s just very interesting to think abt

i think this also plays into percy’s morals a lot ? i recently saw a post saying nico wasn’t scared of percy when he was taking down an army and had hades with a sword to his neck yet annabeth was when percy was choking that goddess in tartarus even tho it was self defense which is all true but if you boil it down to those key points you can really see the clear distinction between the morality of nico and annabeth in those moments and how they know percy in that way as well

nico who’s on the cusp of godly hood in a way - being hades ambassador and spending most time in the underworld - he looks at percy as this hero who fights and kills and wins so that’s what he was letting percy do and he was watching it in awe

yet annabeth knowing percy stopped him yes in fear but in fear of the fact that that is simply not percy percy is the most mortal demigod we’ve met (him and piper tbh) he’s lived his life with mortal morals and he barely uses his powers bc of it so when he’s using his powers to literally kill a goddess like who tf is that ?? and who would he have been if he had gone through with it

i think that’s a pretty easy summary of why percy doesn’t really use his powers much as well he’s always seen himself as just some guy he doesn’t really like ppl calling him a hero he doesn’t really show off (on purpose/without reason) he’s just fighting to survive or to get shit done which is a very human trait percy is a very humble guy and it would just be crazy to see how much more powerful he’d be if he wasn’t bc ik a lot of that is what’s holding him back

also i think it’s interesting to point out the fact that percy used a sword when fighting hades in comparison to tartarus when he used just his powers id be interested to see what nico/annabeth would’ve thought if they were in each others shoes in those moments

also interesting that in both cases he doesn’t go through with it (killing a god/goddess) for 2 different reasons but what would they have done if he did …

i’m realising the purpose at the start of this is very different then what it ended in but i’d like to hear what ppl think if i’m just yapping or if anyone else knows wtf im talking abt lmao

[thesaltairandrustonyourdoor]

Jason Todd x Reader | His World

warnings: a child, reader isn't as big of a character | rating: E

summary: jasons wife just gave birth.

soft, untouched grubby hands gently feel along jason's bare chest. a small face burying against the warm skin. the nurse said skin to skin was beneficial, but jason honestly couldn't tell for whom.

evangeline, his beautiful evangeline. a baby girl who's heart is unbroken, eyes unseeing of all the horrors the world offers. and he'll be damned if that ever changes.

she let out a soft coo that had jasons heart constricting, his big hand moving to cup the back of her head and gently tilting her so she was able to look at him, dwarfing the little girl who stares up at him with his blue eyes.

he never thought he deserved this, his beautiful wife, their house, their cat, and definitely not their daughter. he was a monster, with the blood of countless people on his hands. but holding that baby girl, he feels clean.

he looked up to his wife, gaze transfixed on her. he'd always known she was the most beautiful creature on all worlds, but laying there, in the sterile room, covered in a paper hospital gown, eyes sunken and lips dry, she'd looked more beautiful than ever.

he smiled down at her, then their daughter, before opening his mouth and softly saying. "if she's anything like you, my love. nearly as stubborn and smart, the world would be a better place."

she smiled, tired gaze looking from jason to evangeline, her hand gently extending to touch her soft hair, her messy brown curls just like her father. "Jay?" she asked.

"yes, dear?" he slowly said, still transfixed by the little life in his arms. who gurgled softly at him.

"do you see the little bit of white in her hair too?" she said, bringing a hand to evangelines hairline, gently twirling the small white lock of hair. jasons already soft smile softening, his beautiful girls.

his world.

a/n: tried my hand in dad jay. what do we think?

[pizzabox-box]

Ah this is cringe as heck for me, but screw it, the last ask you got about a person not feeling much sympathy all for Peppi-No really was great, kudos to the OP of that comment since it really got me thinking, why even if I agree what the dude is doing is awful... I actually feel pretty fucking bad for him XD.

Like, I think we can all agree we've done shit in our lives that wasn't great, and that doesn't diminish the harm done or the fact other people have gotten hurt from our own stupid decisions. I also just think sympathetic villains are so interesting. (when done right, and hell you could argue even if he is the protagonist of the DMW AU, Peppi-No is a bit of an anti-villian) it really makes you think about the fact its so normal for people do try to avoid the consequences of their actions. I'm sure everyone has done something bad and instead of admitting fault have doubled down and tried to save face because they were SURE they could "fix" it without getting hurt from it.

Sure most of the time, (...I hope) its not as bad as murdering a person and taking on their identity... I think there is something really human about wanting to not get hurt, and feeling like shit about regrets we've had.

I think that Peppi-No even if what he doing is wrong, still... I dunno I can empathize. I mean.. he's sooo sowwy 🥺, its kinda pathetic, like a more extreme version of a puppy that just destroyed something important to you. Like "awww... you asshole, you're so cute though but goddamn it..."

I both am loving the angst of this AU and know its going to be so cathartic to see Peppi-no finally deal with his lie blowing up in his face and suffering MORE >:). I feel sympathy yes but I also love angst hehe.

(sorry if that wasn't super well worded? I don't normally send things like these >//>)

I assure you, it’s not cringe! It’s nice to see both sides voice their opinions!

Personally, I’m pretty divided on how I feel about Peppi-no. Part of me wants to strangle him for what he did (and what he might still do*cough* ), but at the same time, he’s,like you said, a sad, pathetic "sowwy" puppy, and I can’t help but feel bad for him.

When he took a piece of Peppino, he may have gained a conscience but not emotional maturity. He’s like a kid who just realized he fucked up in the worst way possible and is terrified of the consequenses. And fear can drive people to do terrible things, after all. Before that, his entire existence was just scrambling around, making pizzas out of whatever he could find: pigs, other clones, pizza monsters. He ended many lives, that but never faced any sort of repercussions. Never got a chance to learn "murder bad" ,

Then he takes a bite out of one of the kind Peppino—bam! Conscience, coherent thoughts, and memories of the guy he killed flood into his head. Can you imagine the whiplash, the shock, the stress? I certainly can’t.

Obviously, I’m not some dough doppelgänger pretending to be someone I killed. That would just be silly… no, really, I’m not.. But I can relate a little to what Peppi-no’s going through.

And let’s be honest, how many of us would have the absolute balls of steel to admit we killed someone’s friend in cold blood? Sure, it’s the morally right thing to do, but… you know. I’m not sure I could. (Once again purely hypothetical scenario)

Peppi-no's actions are unexcusable, he should know better than this by now, but at the same time you can kinda understand why he acts the way he does.

[biteofcherry]

Forage and grind

orc!Curtis Everett x female reader

summary: You always felt like you belonged there. Naively, you even felt safe. But when his silent observation snaps into action and you learn why you caught his interest, belonging starts to hold more terror than longing.

warnings: orc!Curtis; dark!Curtis; heavy dub-con; captivity; thigh riding; rope bondage/shibari; suspension; oral (f receiving); fingering; unprotected sex; heavy breeding kink; size kink; hints of degradation;

word count: 5k

Author's Note: I'm a bit late with this installment in the Scaretale universe, but life happens and you gotta deal with it 😜 Some parts of this story I'm happy about, some not so much. You judge for yourself.

Shards of light bounced off the golden coin, sending flickering butterflies of yellow around. The club was a glowing, warm space, but you always appreciated the additional reflection or spark, especially those tossed your way. 

You grinned, catching the coin mid air. You slipped it into the little pouch hung by the belt around your waist, where it softly clinked as it met a few other shiny tips you’ve been given that evening. 

Scaretale had the reputation of a place of mystery and horror, which you never understood. Granted, being filled with a variety of creatures (some of which were barely contained beasts) made it somewhat scary, but you never felt that shiver of wariness that so many of your friends, or people in general, experienced. 

As you moved around the club’s floor you felt warmth and a particular, restrained camaraderie. Not safety, exactly, but something akin to familiarity. 

The interior was elegant, fancy even, combining human modern design with the lush mystery of dark magic born in the heart of ancient woods and meadows. It was not only aesthetically pleasing to the eye, but called to your heart with a reflection of something hearty from the old times before you were born. 

It was that obsession with medieval stuff, as your friend called it, rolling her eyes. And she claimed that you applying for a job at Scaretale was taking that obsession way too far. Especially since, in her eyes, the creepy haunted-mansion-like club had nothing in common with medieval, or even renfaire vibe. You wondered if her eyesight was skewed. 

You felt drawn to the Scaretale, as you were to the monsters’ realms themselves. Not fascinated, but simply drawn, as if you knew you belonged there. 

Which is why you were stubborn and pushy when you approached Ransom with your brilliant offer to work there as a waitress. 

Something he was clearly disinterested with. 

At first, at least. Because as you listed your experience from human establishments you worked when in college, Ransom’s eyes twinkled with sudden recognition. That shifted into a dark sort of excitement, which for a split of a second made you wary. 

You may have found Scaretale as a place where you felt comfortable, but its owner wasn’t someone you’d ever let your guard down around. 

All that mattered was that he agreed and you found yourself hired as the only human in a monster club. With monsters’ silver and gold coins, it turned out to be a quite well paid job, too. 

Though you felt in your element when moving between booths and nooks, your instincts still reacted to some of the creatures with more fear and caution. You learned who was more approachable and open to conversation, or teasing (like the satyrs who always flirted and regularly tried to talk you into joining an orgy), and who was better served quickly and subserviently (a growly werewolf, for example). 

Some monsters came only once, snatching their match and leaving. Some were regulars, seeking fun and new bodies to debauch. 

There were also regulars whose agenda you never figured out. And you tried not to be too curious about it.

A group of enormous, beefy orcs visited every two weeks, or so. Though they were restrained in the way they talked, when they walked through the club everyone seemed to tense in fear. 

Orcs were the most known warriors. Bloodied, ruthless, ripping worlds to shreds. As a human your knowledge was limited, but from snippets heard here and there you learned that their race raided many kingdoms and realms in the past millennia. Nowadays they were more like mercenaries.

With the occasional brutal raid for their own benefit. 

They came to the Scaretale cleaned up, but you still could easily imagine their bodies splattered with the enemy's blood. Not to mention the glint of weapons always present at their side, which made your skin crawl with trepidation. 

Your instincts often whispered caution when you waited for some of the creatures visiting, but when it came to these orcs the alarms were ringing loud. 

It wasn’t just prey sensing a predator prone to snap its teeth, but a sense ingrained into your blood like voices of the generations passed. 

It always skyrocketed when you felt the burning gaze of the biggest orc following your every move. 

He appeared to be the leader; it was clear in the way their group lined when cutting through the club, as well in the way they sat around the table. Not to mention that one time when you picked their orders from the bar and the bartender pointed at one of the beer mugs saying that one was for the war chieftain.

His mug was bigger than the rest and the foam floating on top sprinkled with crushed juniper berries. An unusual combination of flavor, you thought, but didn’t pay it much attention. 

Or rather, you tried your best to not pay it attention.

Which was hard to do when you felt his eyes following your every move and when you had a full body shiver reaction upon seeing that monstrous figure whenever you served the orcs’ table. His biceps alone were the size of your whole head. You were sure that he could crush your skull with just one of his big hands. 

The other orcs were large and intimidating, but their war chieftain surpassed the scary level. 

Still, you schooled your features and played a polite waitress role. You even encouraged yourself with a little inward game of pretending to be a medieval inn beer-maid. After all, the setting was perfect with the Scaretale’s vibe and a group of sword-and-ax wielding warriors as your customers. 

That night, however, as you were about to bounce from one served table to theirs to take their never changing order of limitless beer, you found that four of the orcs had already left. Or disappeared for the moment. But there was still one left at the table.

Their leader. 

The one scaring you the most. Always intently observing you with those piercing blue eyes. 

His pale, green-tinted skin made those inhuman irises stand out even more. There were some faint, green markings along his cheeks, but you didn’t know if it was a part of his natural pigmentation, or some sort of a deeply ingrained tattoo. 

Orcs were said to be unkempt beasts, but his beard was groomed. Thick and dark, bearing flecks of gray. His lips were a shade of pale pink, wide and plump, and spreading where two white lower canines grew out into sharp, tusk-like features. Unlike his companions, who had their hair braided, or cut into mohawks, he had his hair buzzed close to the scalp. 

He had one of his elbows resting on the table, thick fingers rapping slowly against the wood. His other arm was thrown across the backrest of the seat. Though in rest, his muscles were bulging; evoking a flicker of terror at the thought of him actually flexing and using those massive arms as he fought. 

Compared to him, you were small and fragile. 

Despite certain aspects of the size difference turning you on, you’d rather not test those urges with someone as dangerous and brutal as the orc. 

Hair on the back of your neck raised in alert as you neared the table. His gaze was on you for a while now, but it felt scorching hot the closer you came. Mustering an easy smile, you asked him if he wanted the usual (always that damn beer with juniper berries). 

“No.” His gruff voice rolled over you like a lick of thunder. “I’m done with poor substitutes.”

A frown marred your face. You didn’t understand what he was referring to. The Scaretale’s beer came from the best breweries and was spiced with some extra fae herbs. No customer has ever complained. 

Also, you didn’t think this orc would quietly stand for something he didn’t like the slightest bit, and he was regularly drinking that beer. 

Suddenly, a large hand wrapped around your wrist and you were yanked forward. 

With a gasp, you landed on his thigh. Your legs parted as your center settled atop a thick, leather-covered thigh. He held your wrist in one hand, while settling the other on your waist. You weren’t a tiny creature by any means, but his huge palm seemed to span your entire side. 

“Do you know that orcs are most known for raiding elven kingdoms?” He asked in a hushed tone, as if he was sharing a secret with you. You shook your head in response. 

As you learned of different monsters, when it came to the orcs you often stumbled upon art depicting huge beastly warriors doing explicit things to elven maidens, but you thought it only to be a kink many humans liked to think of, disregarding actual history and nuance. Especially, since you never met or heard of an actual elf existing.

Honestly, you suspected it was also humans’ fault - twisting the information on fae folk and coming up with new names for the subspecies.

“For riches and land, like with any other realm, but-” his fingers dug a little deeper into your skin and he pulled you along his thigh, making you gasp. “The main reason was to capture elven maidens.”

“There was something about the elven women that was irresistible to us. How fragile they were compared to orcs in size. How sweet and wild they smelled. How tight their holes were around orcs’ massive cocks.” 

He grunted out the last part, once again drawing your body forth on his thigh. With your legs spread and layers of your skirt too thin to provide cover, hard muscle of his thigh and the rough edge of leather pants he was wearing grazed your sensitive clit. 

“It’s still believed that elven cunts are the ripest for orc seed. Taking it so well and bearing many healthy babes.”

There have been some encounters with a few openly lustful visitors in the Scaretale, but none breached the boundary with you. No one grabbed you and put you into his lap, and made you grind against their thigh while they revealed obscene details behind their species’ primal behavior. 

This orc acted as if he had the right to move your much weaker body anyway he pleased. If he merely toyed with you, perhaps you could twirl away with the excuse of your duties awaiting. However, there was something about the way he treated you that rang a different kind of alarm. 

“Chieftain-” you placed your hands against his wide chest, trying to squirm away.

“Curtis.” He gripped you tighter and bounced his leg, making you moan as the meat of his thigh crushed your clit. “My name’s Curtis.” 

While you would welcome any customer telling you their name with a cheeky smile, this orc wanting you to know it and use it when you addressed him was like sealing your fate. 

You froze as he buried his face into the crook of your neck, taking a whiff of your scent and sweat. He groaned in delight and the sound of it vibrated down your chest, puckering your nipples into stiff points. 

“And you hold the unmistakable fragrance of juniper berries bathed in dew, my little elfling.” 

His words rolled over your body, trailing fear in their wake. It was no random sentence to make about you. Not after the brief recap of filthy history he treated you to minutes ago. 

His intense obsession made sense now. A terrifying sense. Impossible, too.

“I’m human!” You protested, fighting with all your might against the fate he laid out for you, before you even knew it would concern you directly. 

“You are,” Curtis didn’t deny it, “but somewhere in your lineage an elf mixed their blood with your human ancestors. That gene sparks intensely in your body.”

There was never any tale, not even a secret family anecdote that regarded a relationship with a magical creature. If it was a scandalous romance, it was hidden well, too. You could call bullshit. Claim it was a lie that Curtis used to grope you and have his way. But with how intensely he was always observing you, how he acted now, despite previously shown restraint, you had a feeling he wasn’t tricking you. 

Then the memory of Ransom near cackling with glee after studying you for a longer moment resurfaced. He didn’t want to hire a human, he had no interest in it. But if he sensed you were part elf and he knew orcs were his regular customers…

Yeah, Ransom wouldn’t pass that opportunity for mayhem and his own gain. 

“Please?” You looked up at Curtis. “Let me go? I- I have work to do. And-” 

Your words turned into a muffled moan when plush lips suddenly crushed into yours. It wasn’t a gentle kiss. The way Curtis’ mouth took yours was barbarous; a shard of that savage pillaging he boasted about. 

You felt the pressure of his tusks against your face, but surprisingly neither even nicked your skin. His tongue plunged between your lips in a savage thrust - as disgusting as it was, something about it made your body shake to its core. 

Was it your weakness for primal wildness that responded so eagerly?

When Curtis pulled away, your mouth was tingling and wet. Your panties felt sticky, too. 

“You’re an addictive sweet little berry, Juniper.” He hummed, rubbing his big thumb along the seam of your inner thigh. “And I’m going to grind you hard, until I bathe whole in your fragrant juices.”

Heat flooded you as an image of brutality with which he’d take your body flashed in your mind. 

There wouldn’t be anything smooth, or delicate about the way the orc treated you. Not because you thought him to be incapable of finesse, but you sensed he was excited about ruining you. 

A squeak ripped out of your throat when Curtis suddenly got up. He hoisted you over his broad shoulder, gripping your struggling body with ease. None of your screams to be let go were respected. And none of your yells for help were answered by anyone from the club. 

Lights of Scaretale, welcoming and homey until now, blurred as you were being carried away. Until darkness of one of the mysterious corridors swallowed you. You had no idea where the orc was taking you. Your knowledge of the corridors was very limited, knowing only that some of the monsters took their partners that way. 

He didn’t slap you when you wiggled, but his large hand spread over your ass and gave a hard squeeze. Probably to remind you of the size and strength of him that surpassed yours a thousand times. 

It didn’t stop you from trying to bolt when he eased you down on your feet. Your surroundings were completely different from the familiar layout of the Scaretale, yet so innocently domestic it gave you a whiplash. 

It appeared you were in some cottage, not very modern judging by the interior. Wooden furniture and wrought-iron details. The bed standing in the middle was an enormous feature, as was a round wooden bathtub in the corner. A type where you had to boil your own water to fill it with. 

If you were looking for a medieval experience, that was the fucking peak of it. 

Curtis’ big hand snatched the back of your shirt as you tried to run away, yanking you back to him with ease. The fabric tore as he gripped it and the orc simply ripped it fully off of you. Then your skirts.

“No!” You struggled between the urge to cover your naked body and scratching the monster towering over you.

“You’re spirited and strong, that’s good.” He praised, easily capturing your wrists in one of his hands. “You’ll fit the war chieftain’s wife role. Bear healthy babies, too.” 

“No worries-” he interrupted your next splutter of protests with a calm, almost mocking tone. “Orcs have mastered the ways of breaking an elven maiden into an obedient, dripping wife.” 

In a swift move he had you plastered to his chest, one arm securing both of your hands at your sides as he reached for something with his free hand. Then something abrasive brushed your skin.

The first loop of the rope around your middle and arms surprised you so much you only gasped. But then Curtis weaved it up and around, creating intricate patterns on your torso as he tied knots and interlooped thick strings of rope. He crossed it around and between your breasts, squeezing them as he tightened it. 

He forced two strings of rope between your lips, creating a makeshift gag. 

With your upper body completely bound, Curtis gripped your hips and tossed you onto the bed. Before you managed to kick at him, he had your ankles tied. He circled the rope around your legs a few more times, pleating pretty knots, until you were completely immobile. 

“Soon,” he propped your bound ankles on his shoulder as he looked down at your helpless form, “you’ll grow to love my ropes on you.” 

You glared at him, but your objection was muffled by the strings across your mouth. 

The sound of your moan was stifled, as well, but resounded much louder when Curtis bent you in half, bringing your legs closer to your chest as he buried his face in your exposed pussy. 

Your folds were slightly puffed and tingling already, roused from the way he had you riding his thigh in the Scaretale and responding to the graze of harsh rope against your sensitive skin. They were begging for a tantalizing tease to continue, to draw your pleasure to a maddening sharp edge. 

But the onslaught of a hungry mouth conquering your wet softness short circuited your brain. 

It was so savage, yet something about it being unapologetically brutal and ruthless scorched your body in a blaze. 

Moan turned into a choked cry as Curtis’ fat tongue licked between your folds and entered your dripping hole. Your breast swelled, the bite of rope heightening as your chest arched within the bonds. Your fingers curled helplessly at your sides, unable to grip anything. 

The sounds Curtis made as he feasted on you were obscene - uncultured, beastly growls and slurps. When he sucked on your clit, your own voice gurgled against the makeshift gag. 

“That’s it, Juniper,” he grunted against your pussy, drinking up your juices. “You’re gonna cum on the orc's tongue. Gonna be my good slut. My own breeding stock.” 

You writhed against the bonds. Against the growing pleasure that was rapidly nearing the precipice. But it was inevitable. His wide, plump lips devoured you, munching on your folds like on the juiciest fruit, before ripping the seam with a tongue brutal like an axe and squishing your clit with rough licks. 

You came with a scream. Within your bonds, the orgasm seemed to be relentless, rattling in each limb like a caged animal. 

When Curtis lifted his face to stare down at you, a dark triumph of conquest glinted in his eyes. He counted your body giving in as a battle victory. And you knew he wasn’t done raiding that field. 

Your slick shone on his face and beard, his tusks were sticky with it. He made no move to clean it off, bearing that wetness like a proud mark of his triumph. 

He kept looking at you, bracing one of his heavy arms across your legs to pin them to your chest, as his hand moved up the curve of your ass. A single digit swiped between your swollen folds, stealing your breath anew. An orc’s one finger was like two of yours, maybe even thicker. 

Curtis didn’t coo at you when you mewled at the intrusion as he pushed that finger into your still fluttering pussy. He snarled in hunger, pushing it against the resistance of your tightness. 

“Breathe through it,” he instructed harshly. “Save your cries for when I split you on my cock.”

You preferred not to think of that part, but it was hard to block it when Curtis started thrusting his digit in and out of you, mimicking what he was going to do using his cock. His inhuman, monstrous, orc dick. 

A shiver rocked your whole body, clenching your walls around his finger. 

“Oh yes, my sweet little berry,” Curtis grinned, lewdly flicking his tongue to lick his bottom lip and the side of his tusk. “I’m going to force my cock into your snug pussy. Stretch it so good and deep.” 

“Hear how wet you are for me already?” He teased, thrusting his finger rougher and raising the embarrassing sound of squelching. “Your cunt’s weeping for my cock and my seed.”

You shook your head, but all movement ceased and your eyes rolled to the back of your head when Curtis pushed a second finger along with his index one. His groan of pleasure was louder than the echo of sloshing wetness trickling around his digits. 

“What a good, hot, wet hole.” He moaned, slowly dipping in and out of your channel; delighting in the feel of your velvet walls gripping his fingers. 

“Bet the other one is just as good.”

You didn’t have time to process his words when he eased one of his fingers out of your pussy and firmly pressed it against your rim. 

Despite your gurgled, weak protests, his finger was slick enough with your wetness that he breached your hole with ease. Well, to him it may have felt easy, but to you it was a struggle depriving you of air. 

“Never had your tight ass penetrated, my wild Juniper?” He looked at you, gloating. “I swear, conquering your body tastes better than any bloodbath and battle victory.”

His eyes fluttered closed for a moment, a lewd moan leaving his lips as your walls cinched around his fingers. Then his eyes snapped open again and he was staring down at you, greedily catching every grimace and flicker of pleasure on your face as he fucked both of your holes with his fingers. Faster and faster. 

His grin was near terrifying when your body tensed and you cried out an intense release. 

Curtis pushed his fingers as deep as he could, wiggling them slightly as your walls pulsed around them. When your high subsided in slow waves, he withdrew his fingers and smeared your own cream all over your ass and thighs. 

When he let your legs drop onto the mattress and untied the rope around them with a single tug on one of the knots, you prayed reprieve was coming your way. But then he was flipping you onto your belly and yanking you down across the mattress.

Your legs hung over the edge of the bed, toes barely reaching the floor. Only for a moment. 

Because Curtis bound them into a new position, spreading your legs wide apart. Another rope was weaved and knotted between some of the existing loops. Then he tugged. Harshly.

And your body lifted off the bed. 

You squeaked, confused. Your body swayed in air, yanked higher as Curtis tugged on the rope again. Focused on the sensations he ripped from your body and his presence cutting off anything else, you didn’t notice the iron hooks drilled into the ceiling. Through which Curtis weaved some of the ropes, lifting your helpless body to a preferred height. 

“You’ll rely only on me, Juniper.” Curtis growled, rubbing your parted thighs. “On the bonds keeping my elven slut in place. And on my cock ripping your tight pussy.” 

Your tongue moved against the rope between your lips, failing to sound the pleads for mercy. A tremor rocked your body as you felt the orc’s large body pressing itself between your spread thighs. 

The leaking head of his cock brushed against your abdomen and when you felt Curtis’ hips settle against your butcheeks the whole length of him pressed against your belly. When he held it like that the tip of his dick reached your belly button. 

There was no further preparation graciously given as he gripped his cock and guided it up between your parted folds. Then again, perhaps you should consider him thoughtful, given the two earlier orgasms he wrung out of you to have you creamy and loose. 

Still, when the bulbous head of his dick pressed against your cunt, your entire body tensed. 

It was too big. His entire body was too big. And you had no choice, but to take-

Not a scream, but a moan so high pitched and strangled ripped out of your throat that you were sure it could be heard loud and clear to anyone outside the cottage. 

Curtis speared into you in one, firm stroke, not bothering with the slow and gentle. His cock stretched you wider than two of his fingers had. It sunk deeper, too. To the point of near discomfort as the tip nudged your cervix. 

“Fuuuuck!” Curtis moaned shamelessly, digging his meaty fingers into your hips and holding your swaying body in place. 

“What a snug, delectable cunt.” He rolled his hips in a circle, eliciting new sensations that had you mewling. He chuckled in response. 

“I’m gonna be riding and filling that pussy so often, Juniper. Until you swell with my seed. Then I’ll sate its pathetic need as your belly rounds and your breasts leak milk. Then plow it again to plant another babe. And another.”

Your walls fluttered around him. Heat filled every inch of your body, even as fear and shame mixed at the prospect of enduring all that he promised. 

A gasp soaked into the rope gagging your mouth as Curtis used your bonds to move your body. He wasn’t fucking you, he was swinging your suspended body back and forth, using you. 

Quite slowly at first, relishing in the way your tight channel was clinging to him as his cock eased out. Then the way you stretched around the veiny girth as he plunged back in. It was after one of the easy strokes, when your cream gushed out as his hips met your asscheeks, that Curtis snarled impatiently.

And started really fucking you. 

Not only swaying your body, but meeting it with rough thrusts of his own. Battling any remaining resistance and conquering your body. 

Your breasts bounced with each move, your nipples tightened painfully. Saliva was pooling around the rope gag in your mouth, wetting the hemp and dribbling down your chin. The slight bite of the rope against your skin evoked a tiny prickle of pain that shifted into a burning kind of caress. Monstrous cock filling your pussy provided unparalleled friction and pressure that your clit pulsed without being directly stimulated.

It messed with your mind and overloaded it with how many sensations could be experienced by your body, even though it was fully immobilised. 

You came in a rush, crying out and clenching your eyes shut as white, hot pleasure bursted through you. Curtis welcomed it with a grunt, snapping his hips faster and harder. 

“Your body’s eager to receive my seed, my spicy berry.” He growled in pleasure. “Creaming and opening up to serve its purpose. I’d be a bad husband, if I didn’t spoil you with what you crave.” 

One of his hands moved across your back to grab a fistful of your hair and yank your head up.

“I’d be a poor slut owner, if I didn’t breed you full.” 

His increasing moans combined with the sound of slapping skin and squelching wetness; your tiny whimpers getting lost in the wilderness of it all. 

There was a splutter of low, angry barks of That’s it and Take it all as Curtis fucked you brutally. When he bellowed his release it carried outside like a battle cry. 

Your body seized in an unexpected, small orgasm as you felt his thick cock throbbing inside of you and hot spurts of cum filled you. There was so much of it you felt a pressure grow low in your abdomen. 

Curtis held you in place, breathing heavily and kneading your muscles as he filled your body with the last drop of his cum. When he withdrew, you felt a heavy dollop dripping out and splashing somewhere below. 

A tug on the rope had your body plummeting down, but only your upper half lowered. Your cheek rested against the sheets, while your ass still hung higher in the air. 

“Better to hold all my seed in.” Curtis hummed, patting your wet pussy. “Until I’m ready to fill you again.”

You groaned, seeing his hand palming his softened cock and beginning to stroke it back to attention. 

Curtis fucked you four more times that night. Three times having you suspended in the air, though in different positions and angles. For the last, he had you fully on the bed, too exhausted and spent to really fight him, so no ropes were needed. He plowed into you from behind, crushing your body with his weight. 

Though it provided a warm kind of comfort later when he held your curled, sleepy form to his massive body. 

When you woke up late the next morning, the bright near-noon sun was filtering through the wide open windows. Through one of them you saw Curtis. Wearing only his warrior leathers and chopping wood. As you stretched, you felt ache awakening in places you never considered could feel sore. 

You still felt the imprint of his cock inside you. 

And the sticky remainder of his cum, that had to drip out of you during the night.

There was so much of it when he filled you over and over again, you wouldn’t be surprised if the orc managed to obtain his obsessive goal to breed you. 

Your fingers traced across your belly, but before you spiralled into thoughts and images of swelling with the monster’s baby another sensation drew your attention. On your ankle, you felt a soft, insistent caress.  

When you glanced at it, you saw a wide leather cuff. A small padlock was clasped on the buckle, making it impossible to take off the cuff without a key. A thin, but sturdy chain was attached to the cuff, the length of it laid in shiny coils on the floor. 

“You’re not yet broken enough to keep you unrestrained,” came Curtis’ calm, deep voice. 

He stepped inside, the axe in his hand catching the light and glinting dangerously. He put it aside, then splashed his hands with water from a tin bowl placed by the entrance. Thick fingers started undoing his breeches as he slowly approached the bed.

“Spread your legs, Juniper.” He coaxed. “I want to fill your ripe pussy before we make a meal.” 

[nicoline1998enilocin]

Summer Drabble Request: RDJ x wife!fem!Reader (I love being married to this man) doing domestic adorableness, Prompt 16. *indistinguishable squeaky noises from A* B: *barely breathing* "You're crushing me!" from Fluff List 7 please!

Cuddle monster

PAIRING || Husband!Robert Downey Jr. x Wife!Female!Reader

WORDCOUNT || 0.6K

SUMMARY || Your husband is often gone for weeks, if not months at a time when filming new projects, so the moments you to get to share together are very important. When you decide to surprise him on set after not seeing him for nearly a month and a half, it's a reunion you won't forget for a while.

RATING || General (G)

TAGS || RPF. Age gap romance. Established relationship.

A/N || Surprise! Here's a little drabble for you all, as I have deeply missed writing for Robert. I hope you will all enjoy this, and I'm looking forward to finishing all my requests for my summer of drabbles (even though it's now winter where I live. I'm so sorry) later this year. As always, I want to give endless thanks and love to my bestie @ccbsrmsf1, for proofreading and being there for me throughout everything 🤍

Photo: Source || Other graphics are made by @nicoline1998enilocin

Main Masterlist || Robert Downey Jr. || Summer of Drabbles

"I miss you, Bubba. When are you coming home again?" you ask your husband, Robert, as you're FaceTiming him in a hotel room near the set where he's filming, though he doesn't know that. As far as he knows, you're on a trip for work, and not getting ready to surprise him in less than an hour from now.

"It should only be another week or two at most, Gorgeous. We're almost done here, and then I'll be all yours for the next two months," he says with a tired smile, the long days and hard work getting to him. He's not the youngest anymore, and even though he always keeps going, you can tell he needs a little distraction, and you're looking forward to being the person to provide precisely that.

"Hmm, I can't wait," you say with a small smile, and he smiles back at you.

"I have to go again, I'm up next. I'll talk to you tonight, okay?" he asks, and you nod. Your heartbeat quickens as you know you're going to see each other sooner than he expects, a nervous chuckle escaping when you hang up and shut your laptop.

You and Robert have been married for nearly 15 years now, and every day is more exciting than the last as you get to spend more time with the man of your dreams.

After rechecking your hair in the mirror, you slip on your red leather jacket to complete your outfit and head out the door, where your Uber is already waiting for you to take you to the set where Robert is currently filming for an upcoming Marvel movie.

When you arrive, you send a text to one of your friends who's a producer so the plan you have come up with can be set into motion, meaning he won't notice you coming onto the set and ruin the surprise. With every step you make, your heartbeat intensifies, and the butterflies in your stomach go wild, too.

When you take your place, you have the perfect view of your husband as he's filming an action scene in which he has to fight a few of his co-stars, and you can't help but check him out in the process. Your thoughts are soon interrupted, though, because when Robert catches a glimpse of you, he stops dead in his tracks.

"Gorgeous? What- how-" is all he can say before running over to you and wrapping his arms around you in a crushing hug, large smiles on your faces as he does. After more than a month of being apart, there's no better feeling than having him in your arms again, and smelling his cologne.

When Robert gets excited, he has been known to make some squeaking noises, which you find absolutely adorable. Deep inside, he'll always be a little kid, and in moments like this it warms your heart to see that side of him after a long day at work. He knows he's safe to be himself and allowed to let go around you, and he happily does.

"B-Bubba, you're crushing me!" you say as he hugs you so tight you're having trouble breathing due to his enthusiasm. He lets you go for a moment, instead cupping your cheeks to pull you in for a much-needed kiss, the entire world fading away as he does.

"I love you so much, Gorgeous, I can't believe you're here but I'm so happy you are," he whispers as he gazes into your eyes with adoration.

"I love you too, Robert. I couldn't wait any longer to see you," you tell him, and he can't help but smile in recognition. He feels the same about you, and the rest of the shooting day goes by in a blur as he knows you're watching him. It's like he's on cloud nine the entire time, and it's all because of you: the woman he loves.

[qurbanjaan]

Polish (white) woman here. I must admit something really uncomfortable to speak loudly of (at least on the English speaking Internet, I told that to several people irl): I feel like travelling made me more "racist". Are men in Poland misogynistic? Absolutely. But they are also brought up with some fear of consequences that stops them from some actions. Most of them won't dare to touch you, follow you, catcall you in public (especially sober). That includes the biggest migrant minorities in my area too (Ukrainian and Belarusian). Obviously, in neither of those three nationalities, that fear stops men from domestic abuse and rape.

But I remember travelling to London and staying in a district where basically no women spent their time outside. I remember my relative's coworker and the way he punishes his daughter for his son's misbehaviour. I remember travelling in the heights of migrant crisis, and having to move in large groups, because the migrant men would try to intimidate the teenage girls. I'll always support women from everywhere. But men? Sorry, but being more careful around men from countries and cultures where violence against women is public and unpunished? That's just common sense. All animals can bite us, yet we are more scared of big animals we don't know that small animals we don't know, right?

Exactly what I try to make people understand! You will never see an afghan woman, for example, creating trouble in other countries. But you will see afghan men doing it because they don’t know in some places they have limitations to what they can do to us.

As you said, European men will do the same if given the chance, but they’re a little more restricted than men from other countries because of laws and better conditions and trying to convince women from developed countries that they’re being racist by being wary of those men is just telling them to put themselves in danger otherwise they’re monsters.

People who support this talk are siding with the males instead of the women who suffer in developing countries and the risk men from those countries may represent. When women from developed countries say that you are racist for being wary they’re just being white saviors instead of siding with their sisters. Go ask a woman from Afghanistan how much she trusts afghan men, they will say the same as me.

Thank you so much for interacting with my blog and feeling like this is a safe space to expose your ideas. I’d love to visit Poland one day!

[shellxrls]

can y’all imagine this fucking monster caging you in with both arms the size of your head and chest wider than your face. all for him to hear your friends around the corner and instead of groping like he so desperately wants to he instead lets his crotch bump subtly into yours while his eyes rove around your tits.

he lets you go when the chatter really gets incessant, irritating pokes in the back urging him to release you, but not before he sends you off with spittle in your face from a hollered “better keep it tight for me princess.”

thinking ab how beefy drew is capable of being and how we coulda had this massive fucking powerhouse of a man as rafe instead…