#he's the only one that has *more* to do and more room to grow as the story goes on instead of less

[sheepispink]

Relief

supersoldier!reader x lt ghost technicallly the 141 too but he’s the main culprit (part 4)

One Two Three

cw: Reaper is reader’s callsign (backstory and meaning will be given at the bottom and thanks to @pythonmoth to help me with this :) ), nightmares, slight derealisation

————

“Lord, Ghost! Why do you think they don’t want to speak up? Look at their face!”

Soap raises his voice, louder than you’ve ever heard a sergeant before. Yet despite that, you watch in horror as Ghost shoves him out of his way, stalking even closer to you. The anger in his eyes is nothing short of fury, making fear spike in your heart and so the machines start beeping loudly, screaming in your ears. They’re not supposed to do that; your heart rate is supposed to keep steady outside of battle and serious situations—you’re breaking.

Wetness coats your cheeks as you scramble backwards, watching the terrifying skull mask grow closer and closer. You suppose you’ve taken it for granted that you never had to worry about the rumours surrounding the mask, but now you understand what every enemy had felt when they came across him, worrying that if you even so blink he’d have your heart in his hands the second your eyes opened.

You suppose he’s talking, likely yelling more curses and insults at you but you can't hear any of it, nor Soap’s voice as he reaches for you, everything swirling into an incomprehensible blur. You have to blink, your vision blurry and the next second you open your eyes his hand is around your throat, forcing your eyes to blow wide and your own breath to clog in your throat. Everything is freezing; the walls are closing in and your entire body feels strange, like the world around you has tipped entirely. “You devil—”

“Reaper!“

Your hands clench at nothing but the cold flooring of the medical room you’re in, having fallen off of the bed altogether. The heart monitor beeps loudly, having been detached when you fell, also causing the iv drip to rip off, and leaving your bare arms feeling naked and raw. Gaz crouches before you, his hands like a furnace against your frozen body, trying to ease you. “What happened? Are you alright?” You do your best to nod quickly in response, a hiccup replacing the yes choked in your throat. He’s still soothing you when heavy footsteps approach, though you know well enough that it isnt the ones you fear—well, not that kind of fear anyway.

The Captain stands in the doorway, watching as Gaz pats your back and says reassuring words to your horror stricken face, the hot tears still curving over your cheeks and thawing the ice your hands feel like. It’s not like you were afraid of him like you were with Ghost, no it was more of a… professional intimidation.

The first time you spoke to him was the day you first arrived at base, having been picked up by Ghost and then taken to meet the Captain. He didn’t do much than tell you how to contact him, and a few words about the things you’d take part in whilst you worked alongside Ghost. Even so, you had figured immediately from the getgo that he wasn’t a man to mess with, and so you avoided him as best you could. In your head, talking to him only occured when something went wrong and well, nothing should be going wrong with a weapon like you.

“I’ll take it from here, Garrick.” His voice is low, but not harsh, and Gaz slowly stands, looking back at you one more time before he steps back. The Captain moves towards where you are on the ground, your back pressed against the small cupboard and your hands flat against the cold tiles. “I’m sorry i didnt come earlier.” It’s the first thing he says, and he takes his hat off, making him look strange and yet nothing like the stern authority he represents, especially when his brows are furrowed.

“Captain— I-” Despite that, you still didnt want to be seen as weak before him. All you had done for the past three months would be for a waste if something as menial as the events of the past day caused you to crumble to pieces. You wish you could explain everything to him, beg him to believe you when you say this was all nothing. All you need is for him to walk away now, pretend he didn’t see the visible distress in your face. Then maybe, just maybe, you’d be able to move past all of this and live your life as the weapon his team would wield proudly. “It’s- I’m just—“

“No.”

The word is short, simple and stern and yet somehow it has you stilling, every nerve frozen as you stare at him.

You should’ve known that weapons don't get second chances, that the damaged soldier doesn’t survive the battlefield. You should’ve known he wouldn’t care for some weak straggler, someone who broke apart from a few threats on their stupid birthday. Even if you had led each of his missions to a swift victory. Even if his days had been spent lighter, with more free time because there were just less things to worry about when you were the equivalent to ten soldiers. Even if he had written star reports about you, even going as far as to someday wish to permanently add you to the team. Even if you held every mission you went on by it’s strings and you kept them taut— never letting go, not even for a second.

“Why’d you always call me Captain, hm? You can call me John, you know.” His voice is relatively calmer, even if it’s the same tone he’s always used for you. He crouches and easily slips a hand behind your back, nudging you forward enough to allow him to pick you up and place you back onto the military bed.

“John…” You test the word on your lips and he nods, your shaken up state not disregarded as his eyes rake over your trembling form. He quickly pulls them away to reattach the iv drip and the heart monitor before his hand carefully brushes through your hair from the front to the back of your head. “See? Slides right off your tongue.”

You realise now that you still had been breathing quite heavily, with your hand gripping the front of your shirt. Everything just felt so tight, everything around was completely fake. You’re used to having reservations about this, used to pulling away from any physical contact, or just staying blank faced. A defense mechanism perhaps, especially after you had been through torture training and they tried their best to prey on any possible weaknesses. The thought of that day makes you shiver, but still, you were too lost in it to care that you were breaking your own rules aswell now.

You look up as his thumb rubs absentmindedly at the soft skin of your cheek. It’s one of the few places untouched by the horrors of experiments and severe training, still somehow retaining that childhood chubbiness, even if you had been trying to rid that for a long time. His lips have pulled into a small smile as he looks down at you, one that seems so fond you’re almost sure that perhaps he’s laughing at you since it couldn’t nearly be possible. Then you see the guilt in his eyes, the way they flicker down every now and then, and when his hand grazes your bandaged arm, for the first time, you flinch.

“Why—no— Did..you ever want to tell me, at all?”

You nod quietly, and his breath returns, letting out in the form of a long exhale as he just nods quietly, nudging you up so he can sit on the edge of the small hospital bed. “What..made you choose not to?”

“I.. I didn't think it was that serious.. It seemed like a stupid threat.” You murmur out and despite how angry he is about the whole situation, he can't get mad at your mindset. It really isn’t your fault.

“You were scared though.” He points out, and you nod in response, his hand still rubbing your head gently. “If it’s enough to cause you of all people fear, I think it’s pretty serious, kid.”

You swallow sharply, and he notices, letting out another sigh as his eyes fill with even more guilt. “I’m sorry..about your party. I should’ve been there; Me and Ghost, and I should've bought all your things for you too.” Never in your life has anyone looked at you with guilt, especially not directed at you. “It’s fine.. I didn’t really care for the party.” You mumble out, wiping the remaining tears that had coated your cheeks.“No— kid, i mean it. I’ll make it up to you; we can have that party—“

”It was a lie- I.. I’ve never celebrated my birthday.” You finally admit, the words blurting out as you stare down at your hands, fiddling with the blankets. “I just.. I thought if one of you came then they wouldn’t have dared to try and harm me.”

John stills, staring at you so hard and his hands have frozen on your shoulder, the air growing silent. “I.. You just wanted us to protect you.”

There’s one thing you haven't been letting yourself think about. Maybe it was the fact you were so terrified by all the threats you received, maybe it was the fact that you wanted to believe you could be the one in control— maybe you just thought that after everything you’d been through you were allowed to feel that confident. Now that everything’s over, your mind can no longer push the undoubted facts out.

You’re a weapon, that’s something you’ve always known about yourself. But just like with a weapon, it can't fire on its own—it needs someone to wield it. Ghost, for example; he’d give you commands on the battlefield, whether vague or specific. Those experiments ensured you listened to him, years of brainwashing forcing you into submission only to who was your commander. And so, despite everything you convinced yourself of the last few days, you weren’t exactly all that feared, not by your comrades. Those who understood the nature of you knew you couldn’t lay a hand against them, no matter how bad it got. You were powerless without a handler, as useless as a gun with no bullets.

Understanding lays heavy in Price’s eyes, seeing the emotions that pass through you with every twitch of your hand and flicker of your lashes. You were just a kid damnit. Sure, you were well of age, but you never knew anything past military life. You were everything he fought against and yet you were still here, under his team’s command. You don't argue when he wraps his arms around your back, pulling you in tight, and he doesn't argue when your face is pushed against his shoulder, wetting his thin shirt. “I’m sorry.” He murmurs, whispering it in your ear again and again, making sure you dont only know it, but you believe it. You believe he didn’t mean it, and you believe he’ll do everything to fix this.

—————————-

10:23 pm, 3 days earlier

The tension in the room lays thick, the silence eating away at the two men sat infront of each other . Ghost was tense, muscles bulging as his fists clench at his lap, his eyes fixed onto the patterns on Price’s wooden desk. Meanwhile, the latter sat with his hands clasped, both of them with heavy hearts. “Reaper is in the infirmary; their arm took the brunt of the damage when she was protecting the fox.” He breathes out the words, suddenly wishing he has a cigar to fill the empty nausea in his throat.

Meanwhile, Ghost is only growing more furious, standing up way too fast before walking towards the cabinets. “They could’ve got killed, Capt.” His voice is stern, filled with fury that Price cant discern if placed on you or the soldiers at hand. Even so, there’s not much he can do, just sighing heavily.

“The higher ups are furious; we can’t afford for a failure in this program, and this sets us back months of research.” The glass sits in front of him, the golden liquid still inside and glowing in the low lamplight. Price steadies his words, watching as Ghost begins to pace back and forth. “They want to send Reaper back to the Scientists, brainwash any leftover fear out of their head.”

Brainwash

That word alone makes him snap, slamming his hands on the deep mahogany. “You cant be serious— We are not agreeing to that—!”

“I dont want to, Ghost.” Price reaches his hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, his elbows digging into the table as he tries to still the migraine that threatens to form.”But I can't deny them when we have nothing to disprove that Reaper’s state will only grow worse. We have to find out what happened, why they never told us about the threat—“

“So we have to coax it out of them? What, wait for them to feel all comfortable to tell us why they didn’t open their bloody mouths?!” He knows it’s more than that, he knows if it was that easy this never would’ve even happened because if you only functioned by orders, you wouldn't even be a person in the first place. Yet still he argues, because he knows this is all his fault. He chose to disregard the signs, he chose to hate you, he chose to push you to limits you didn’t even know you had. It’s his fault and he can't handle it.

He just couldn’t understand, why were you the one the team needed? It started off just testing if you’d handle the role you were destined for, a path you didn't know you were chosen to take once the time grew right. But then it grew deeper, a need to strain your limits, see if you could survive the cruelties he did. An abnormal urge and yet never too far, never over the edge. Just sheer of it.

Now look at what he’s done.

————————

4am. 5 days after the incident.

Another nightmare. You breathe heavily; for once no one is rushing to your room to check on your condition. Weirdly enough, Price had moved you to his barracks whilst he used a mattress hastily put together on the floor. Sure you had your own room, but with how frequent you managed to fall off of the bed because of recurring nightmares it was better to keep you here. Besides, this was far more comfortable than any sterile white hospital room which the rest of the 141 quickly realised hit a bad nerve with you. Your chest is tight, but it doesn't hurt, your lungs just feel pressured and yet you’re not short of oxygen either. It’s a strange feeling to say the least, and you just feel so, so exhausted.

Slowly you creep out of the bed, the bandage still tight around your upper arm and for once you’re wearing pajamas rather than the uniform you usually end up sleeping in to stop wasting time on changing. Disgusting perhaps, efficient regardless. Your feet creep into soft slippers Gaz brought you, hand sinking into your signature fox plush that Soap made sure to tuck in beside you. Quietly you slip out of Price’s room, the man snoring quietly on the mattress as you head down the corridor to the common room. They’ve let you use it now, like it’s actually yours too and that you belong there. Even if you know you dont.

It’s at the end of the hall, and you have to pass all their rooms to reach it. Gaz’s first, quiet inside, then Soap’s where you can hear a soft rustle— likely him rolling over. Your eyes linger on Ghost’s, the door shut and deadly silent. Ironically enough, he was sent on deployment the day after all the chaos went down, leaving radio silence on his part. It was strange, knowing your handler was around without you, going on a mission you would’ve probably been on too. All because you hadnt spoken up.

But would things really have changed?

You break your gaze away from his door, slipping into the common room to pour yourself a glass of water. “Hm? What ye doing up?” Soap is clearly tired, yawning all the way as he follows you over to the counter, pouring himself a glass of water aswell. “Thirsty..” You mumble, deciding to not let the idea of the nightmare linger much longer. Although, it seems like Soap’s already figured you all out, an arm lazily around your shoulder as he chugs his glass. “Nightmare, hm?”

You nod in response, and he lets out a small sigh, looking at you with softer eyes than usual. “Did ye tell Price?” He watches you shake your head, making him chuckle in response, a smile growing on his face as he lifts a hand up, ruffling your hair. “ ‘Course ye didn't, rascal.” It’s one of the few times anyone has been playfully mad with you before, the first being a nurse which accidentally just further reinforced your fear of medical staff. You never let that show though; it only came to light because of the trauma of the day. Soap and Gaz had been teaching you a lot of things, first of them being actually having a normal breakfast. You’ve joined them every morning now, well at least when they can make it, and it feels great but strange. They had immediately denounced your notions of “earning your breakfast” too, letting you have access to the actual food that was given at the normal breakfast times.

“Yknow, me and Gaz were thinking..” He hums, one hand still carding through your hair whilst he looks curiously at your arm for any sign of further damage. “You never celebrated in the end, did ya?” He watched you shake your head, teeth grazing your lips.

“No, i didn’t. I never wanted to though, i’m sure Price told you it was only a fib.” You respond, trying to downplay the situation. It’s not like you’d take much joy in celebrating now, even after all these years it felt better to just let the notion of it die in the trenches with your innocence.

“I know, I know.” He sighs, taking both your glasses and placing them near the sink for later. “Maybe we could do something small? Bit of cake, a movie. Nothin’ more.” You just shrug and nod, not sure what people even really do for their birthdays, and he gives you a smile, a hand on your back to lead you down the hall again.

You’re almost at the room when he stops you, his eyes almost locked onto you like he’s searching for something. “Do you wanna.. talk about the nightmare? It helps, I promise. You dont have to go in detail, but it’ll be good to know what you keep dreaming about.”

You debate his offer, staring back at him just as curiously. He wouldn't be mad if you didn't, even though you’re pretty sure the entire team is just anxiously waiting for you to speak. For someone whose silenced most of the time, it sure is weird.

“It was.. Ghost. I dream of when he yelled at me, except in my dreams he doesn't stop, he pushes you to the side and grabs me by my neck..” It’s straightforward and to the point. Well, maybe a little too much because Soap’s eyes have widened, pity swirling deep in his pupils. “He didnt— He was just angry that day, you know he wouldn’t do that.. right?”

There’s a rustle inside the room behind you, Price having woken up by your talking outside. You step towards the door, unsure what to respond to Soap’s question. “I…I know, .”

You disappear back into the room again, the door quietly shutting behind you again, leaving him standing outside and very worried.

——————

10am, the next day.

Gaz walks alongside you as you step through the forest, the morning air biting at your cheeks as he complains to you about whatever paperwork he had to finish last night. You’ve been at this for a while, the frosted leaves crunching beneath your boots and you dont feel the cold much thanks to his gloves.

“Through here.” You know the way and yet you follow him through the forestry, down the path, and towards the cabin up ahead. The floor is trampled, tire marks from when you were rushed back with blood trailing down your arm. Even Gaz looks a little tense at the small splotches on the ground but chooses not to comment on it, taking your hand as the ground becomes a little more uneven.

“Inside.”

He hums, unlocking the cabin door which has been tightly secured since the incident. You walk past him, stepping inside to hear an excited yip, the fox bundling towards you with joy. For once you smile out of relief, crouching down to pet the excitable creature that nips affectionately at your trousers. “Good to see you too.” You hum, hand running down his head and ears. Now that you can see it in the light, you realise they’ve cleaned it up properly, bandaged its dodgy leg and it looks noticeably happier.

The fox licks at your hands as you sit on the small bench, feeding it the occasional dried meat strips which it takes happily, tail swishing from side to side. Gaz sits beside you, one hand on the back of the bench and his arm grazing your shoulders.

“We called the wildlife centre for him. They’ll take him in the next few days, keep him safe and put him with some other foxes. He’ll be happier.”

Would you be happier though? When you look at the scrawny thing, all you really see is yourself. A known predator, a hated species, and yet just trying to survive like everyone else on this damn world.

“You’re right, it’d be better for him.”

—————————

Sleeping is increasingly difficult for once; usually you’re knocked out in seconds but today it’s like the concept of rest refuses you altogether. The reason behind it is Ghost’s return; you had heard the soft whispers between Soap and Gaz, the awkward tension as the day grew nearer. So you had resigned yourself to your room, left alone with your thoughts for the remainder of the day. However, now you were restless, unable to sit still with the threat looming down every corridor and through the vents. Your nails claw at the sheets– they feel sterile and uncomfortable no matter where you sleep– and so you slide off the bed, forcing one foot in front of the other. You need a break.

Somehow they had left you without surveillance tonight, which isn't surprising since you had promised you wouldn’t go out on your own. Oh well, you know two men who broke a promise to you. The air is cold as it blows on your face, slowly less frosty as winter begins to fade, and you walk past the track, planning to just walk through the other entrance and return to your room again. You wouldn’t dare go back the way you came– not when Ghost is around now.

It’s a rush of warmth when you reenter the building, the change making your fingertips tingle and your lashes flitter, mouth threatening to yawn. Thankfully, the hallways were clear, unlike your hazed mind. It was like swimming underwater, every thought swirling around and voices muffled by the water above—wait, voices? You pause infront of a door, immediately stilling when you recognise a voice too familiar.

“I’ve been gone for two weeks– how are they not stable by now?” You swallow, the roughness of the voice enough to make your teeth scrape against eachother nervously. It’s him.

“Reaper’s not doing well, it’s obvious—“

”So what? We’re just going to send them back? To those stupid scientists-”

You don't hear the rest, those words enough to make something in your brain snap. All this time you’ve worked tirelessly, day and night, after every mission and every near death experience. All to be sent back where you came from, like what, some broken toy? The thought of it makes anger brim in your chest, a fury that tips the scales enough to make you actually want to break something. Your feet stumble and for some reason you're running, somewhere, anywhere. It wouldn’t necessarily be a bad idea, a tempting one even— to actually lash out. What’s the point in anything if your life will be a full circle?

What is the point of all the pain if you’ll only relive it again?

Change has to come, even if you grapple with the chains at your neck and leave rope burns on your ankles.

You’ll die trying either way.

“No; we wont. Reaper isn’t going anywhere, ever again.” Gaz speaks up, having just closed the door after seeing a glimpse of someone walking past. They really shouldn't leave any doors open for anyone to hear their conversation. “Their performance outweighs the struggles. We have the time to make things right.”

Ghost’s expression hardens, listening to the words of his teams. Of course he knows what that means— he’s the one who has to make this right.

***************************************

buy me a coffee!

CALL SIGN: REAPER— Grim reapers dont choose who dies, they’re told. The victims time has come, similar to how reader has never killed someone of her own accord, only through the orders another has given. They’re merely a tool.

Taglist:

@mellohimmku94 @rafaelacallinybbay @fasoaurore @starfish-sandwich @arael-asuka @pinkpickle @toxicgutz69 @pythonmoth @harmonycricket @sneezypandu @ctrlofurheart @ssc7514 @terrifiedanimegirl @rayrayyio @silas-aeiou @uhhevie @enfppuff @sirbonesly @nobodycanknoww @bitchyzombienacho @justdamnpeachy @harley101399 @w1theredr0se @whoisnthere @lexi2005 @nnsissys @el-salt @ttznlettt @thebumbqueen @thriving-n-jiving @fluffysmiko @vioxsoo @alex1011sdzfgh @honestlymassivetrash @defronix @eclipsedcherry @thatpersonnamedrook @mortem-writes @2bdamnedmadnesscombat @harley101399 @princessiris147 @taylorrrig

[muqingslover]

[ Pushing my virgin Caleb agenda again yippieeeee. God he's such a loser I love him. Thinking about making a masterlist but im a full-time procrastinator lmfao ]

Virgin!Caleb who has zero sexual experience but is the textbook definition of sexual frustration. This man is about to snap in more ways than one.

Virgin!Caleb who during his teen years had to deal with his raging hormones and finally caved and searched for porn one night. He couldn't care less about the content itself only that the person MUST look like you, bonus point if their voice sounded similar to yours.

Virgin!Caleb who feels incredibly guilty each time he cums using your clothes but he can't stop himself from burying his nose into the soft fabric of your coat as his other hand quickly moves up and down his dripping cock— By the gods, you just smell so fucking heavenly.

Virgin!Caleb who wants to try everything at least once (as long as it doesn't hurt you) because he simply can't get enough of you and your body. Of all the LIs I think he's the most open to pegging but that's a topic for another day muehehehe

Virgin!Caleb who watches you sleep like a creep and notices your shirt riding up while you laid comfortably on your stomach. His eyes trail down to your exposed skin, body growing uncomfortably hot and causing him to shift the way he's sitting on the edge of the bed. He wonders...Would you squirm if he brushed his fingertips down your back? Would you tell him to stop? Or would you let him move lower? Would you let him slip his hands under the waistband of your shorts to feel your soft thighs and press against the thin fabric of your underwear, that would surely be wet by now— ....Yep, he definitely needs an extra cold shower tonight.

Virgin!Caleb who gets nosebleeds every freaking time you do or say something his dirty, loser mind considers as too much to handle. I will die on this hill if I have to listen to mE HE GETS NOSEBLEEDS AND IT'S SO HOT BELIEVE ME ! !

Virgin!Caleb who tries to keep his composure after he accidentally caught you grinding into a pillow and whining so good. He knows he should leave, that this is beyond immoral, but his body won't listen and honestly it's not like he really tried all that much.

Virgin!Caleb who is now leaning against the wall next to your door as he ignored his throbbing boner straining against his tight pants, trying to imagine that your pretty moans were because of him instead. How he wished he could just walk in there and taste you. To mark you as his so no one else would even dare to look at you. To keep you locked in his room, safe and healthy, while he spent his day buried into your soft little hole until either of you were unable to form a coherent thought.

Virgin!Caleb who had to cover his mouth to prevent your name from spilling out when his climax hit him and he made a mess in his own pants without even touching himself, sliding down the wall after his shaky knees gave out. Oh yeah, he's in biiiig trouble.

[pige0ns]

i love how much the current season of severance is characterized by interpenetration. the first season was cold and isolated. severed. the innies and the outies were separate, and the leaks between them mostly only ominous hints. a tissue in mark's pocket. a dream of black goo. a blue band aid. an orange book. a recording from the break room. of course a reintegrated petey could not survive in season 1. in a severed world, it is the person trying to become whole who is the doomed, ill-suited freak. willing lobotomy should be grotesque, but when it is sanitized by corporate and scientific aesthetics, it can seem like the civilized thing, and anti-lobotomy that is grotesque. anti-lobotomy that is homeless, unshaven, and dripping blood.

this is why the we we are is so successful as a conclusion to season 1. it is a shocking violation of the boundary that existed all season. it is not just an ominous hint, but a total, almost violent obtrusion. as transgressive as the act of cutting, but in the opposite direction. and it makes the violence of the original cutting more salient in retrospect. (it's in the name, too--"we" instead of "you"; a coming together instead of a separation)

and now, in season 2, in the aftermath of that boundary violation, the boundaries start breaking down even further. helena on the severed floor. mark's reintegration visions. gemma being herself, even deep inside lumon's bowels. milchick visiting their houses. gretchen visiting dylan. mark in the birthing cabin. the innies outside at the ortbo. burt and irving being influenced by their innie connection. mark and helena meeting in the restaurant. the literal sex and romance and infidelity, involving not just innies or outies, but innies and outies. representatives of the inside and outside physically, bodily, commingling.

and it's against this backdrop that the characters in season 2 have begun to confront the boundaries within themselves. they've begun to ask how different and how separate they really are. do innies and outies have different souls? is infidelity with yourself really infidelity? it's almost cliche at this point, but really: does love transcend severance? clear narrative roles of hero and villain are decaying. former antagonists like milchick and cobel are now something murkier. meanwhile helly and helena, once seemingly so distinct, have increasingly revealed their commonalities. both trapped, both drawn to mark, repeating lines like "she's not your wife." the emphasis on helena this season is key. helly and helena embody self-division, given their initially divergent characters, goals, and narrative roles--one a hero, the other a villain. so for their differences to erode, for helena to get closer to the screentime that helly got last season, signals that this is a story in which self-division itself is growing suspect, unstable, untenable.

and then there's mark's reintegration. if of course petey couldn't survive reintegration in season 1, then of course mark can't complete his reintegration in season 2. season 2 is not a story of completion, it is a story of transition. it is messy, ambiguous, ambivalent adolescence. mark might want his innie's memories, but he has given no indication that he wants or identifies with his innie's self. as protagonist and deuteragonist, mark and helly are natural foils, and mark's forced and unsuccessful reintegration process is in contrast with helena's unexpected inching towards "natural reintegration", to use britt lower's phrase. in "attila" we see helena with her hair and manners loose, however awkwardly, playing at aspects of helly in a way that mark scout, as of "the after hours" (when this is written), would not consider doing with mark s. metaphorically, mark cannot yet reintegrate because his halves are not aligned. but they're not separate any more either. they're overlapping. they're at odds. but what will make them align? i assume that is what the finale and next season are for.

[mihanisms]

the art of submission.

— while you usually indulge your fish boyfriend's antics, calling you a pain in the ass was...too much. you decide to show him just how much of a pain in the ass you can be.

— so um...4.6k words of pegging, bottom rafayel in subspace, you manhandling him and being mean, overstimulation & dumbification, degradation / slutty brat raf......fluff and aftercare at the end of pure devastating filth. might be a bit ooc idk i was writing with my dick

"You are such a pain in the ass," Rafayel whines. "My ass, specifically. My cheeks are red and sore from how much I have to deal with you being away from me, cutie. Think about that — Rafayel, master painter and artist, unable to create because he can't sit down for 5 seconds without his butt hurting because of how much his girlfriend pains it by not being by his side! Think about i-"

Before he can continue his tirade, your finger presses against his lips, effectively shutting him up. His face reddens at the gesture, and his eyes go wide as he reaches for your arm to pull it away. Much to his dismay, he only gets as far as wrapping his fingers around your wrist before you swoop down and hook your arm behind his knees, successfully flipping him over and holding him half-upside-down as you make your way from the entrance of his house to his living room.

As expected, Rafayel immediately flails, his protests getting louder and more vigorous, his arms flailing as he holds onto your torso for dear life. "Hey-! Hey cutie, baby, sweetheart I'mgoingtodiefisharen'tmeantobeheldlike-"

His protests get cut off with your exasperated sigh as you toss him onto the couch. He lands with a small 'oomph!', looking up at you with a flustered expression as he attempts to regain his bearings.

"You- You- You-" His head turns away from you in frustration, his voice breathless and indignant.

This is your chance.

You slide on top of him, your hands trailing down his sides, resting on his waist. The touch sends a shiver throughout his body, his words caught in his mouth.

You look him up and down idly, another sigh leaving your lips as your gaze focuses on his slightly unbuttoned shirt. "Pain in the ass, Rafayel? Who's the one who called me all day, begging me to finish up work so that he could- What? Whine about me doing exactly what he wanted?"

He only flushes darker, gulping down his growing anxiety while he stumbles over his words. "L-Look, look! Can you get mad at me? I just w-wanted to see my beautiful gorgeous amazing kind girlfriend really bad and-" He attempts to compose himself, flaring red as he pouts and tries to calm down, only to look like a fish out of water. "I...I didn’t mean...to...hurt you, baby...no...that’s not what I meant to say...I just…" 

You raise an eyebrow, silencing him as your gaze grows stern. "Did you forget that this beautiful, gorgeous, amazing and kind girlfriend has work? Despite that, I do my best to come home earlier....and you call me a pain in the ass? Do you know how unfair that is, Raf?"

A soft huff escapes him at your cutting tone, and as your hand rests on his chest, he finds himself losing resistance for anything else you had to say — or do.

"I'm- I'm sorry, baby...." His eyes flick to the pressure of your hand on him, feeling the weight of your frustration....and something else. Something that would only bring him to ruin.

He tries to speak again, knowing how futile it'd be. "I didn't mean-"

"Rafayel?" The look in your eyes is sharp, cutting, and hungry.

He gulps again, feeling like he's losing air. His pulse quickens as his cheeks flush even deeper, his voice small yet underlined with need."...Yes, Miss?"

You finally let a small smile pull up at your lips, though the command in your next words is palpable. "Get the strap."

His entire world seems to freeze for a moment.

Rafayel stares at you, stunned, his breath catching in his throat. His cheeks are positively burning, his body now humming with anticipation. For a moment, neither of you move. Then slowly, he swallows, his wide eyes darting around as if searching for an escape that doesn't exist. 

"Do I need to tell you twice?" Your voice is quieter now, but the command is still there. His hesitation thickens the air between you both, as he knows exactly what will happen if he doesn’t comply. He lingers, just a second longer—before stumbling off the couch, clearing his throat in a poor attempt to mask his flustered state. His legs feel like jelly as he heads toward the bedroom.

A few minutes later, he returns, holding the box in his arms. His fingers tighten around the corners and his eyes flit around the room, searching for anything to focus on but you. His lips press into a thin line, embarrassment coloring his features—but the way he shifts, the way his fingers twitch? That betrays the real story.

Unfortunately for him, he knew exactly what he was getting himself into the moment those words left his mouth.

You don’t say anything at first, simply lifting two fingers and gesturing him forward. Your eyes flick to the empty space beside you, silent and expectant.

He hesitates. Then, reluctantly, he steps closer, lowering himself onto the couch with stiff, uncertain movements. Still, he avoids your gaze, fumbling with the lid of the box as if stalling would change his fate.

First comes out a sleek, white harness. Next is a thick, pink dildo. He exhales shakily—looking at it makes him feel so full, and you haven’t even touched him yet.

"You know what to do, baby." Your voice is low, an intoxicating purr that slides down his spine like silk, wrapping around him and tightening.

"Stop fumbling like this is your first time, okay?"

He stiffens, feeling his heart beating in his throat. Maybe—just maybe, he was starting to regret greeting you with so much attitude. Good, you’ll fuck the rest of it out of his system.

Obediently, borderline mechanically, he pulls the harness from the box, setting it between the two of you. The lube comes next. Finally, the dildo. All three items are resting between the two of you, a tense silence filled with the weight of anticipation.

You stare, silent and unmoving, your eyes never wavering from him. It's an unspoken command, one that wordlessly strips away the last of his defenses. He's exposed, raw—even more so as his fingers slip beneath the hem of his sweater, pulling it over his head.

His pale, toned skin is revealed inch by inch, and you let out a soft, approving hum that has his cock twitching beneath his clothes. You don’t even have to say a word. The way your eyes drink him in, slow and deliberate, is enough.

His breaths are now shallow, erratic. He forces himself to sit still, but it’s impossible to ignore how his arousal strains against his pants, how his body betrays every inch of himself with the burning desire to be under your command.

Rafayel bites his cheek, trying, trying so hard to keep the whimper locked down his throat. His chest rises and falls erratically as your fingers work their way down his body, tracing each curve and ridge of his muscles. He bites down on his lip to stifle a moan, but you see the way his body trembles beneath your hand, a silent admission of his growing need.

Soon enough, Rafayel finds himself bare, his cock drooling onto his stomach as your fingers work him open. He grips on the cushions below him, knuckles white with how tightly he's holding on. Each slow, deliberate movement of your fingers pulls a reaction from him—a shuddering gasp, a breathless moan, a whine so sweet you can feel the heat pooling between your legs.

By the time he's prepped and ready for you, his cock is stiff against his stomach, the tip red and needy, slick smeared across his skin. His mind is hazy with pleasure and anticipation as you take the bottle of lube, coating the strap with methodical, practiced movements. The wet sounds alone have him mewling, his thighs twitching as he struggles to keep still. His sounds catch in his throat when he finally meets your gaze, amusement glinting in your eyes as a lazy smirk tugs at your lips.

"...Look at you." Your voice is oozing with fake sympathy and thick with hunger that threatened to devour him whole. "You’ve taken barely anything, yet you’re already shaking."

Rafayel tries—and fails—to stifle himself with a bite to his lip, the muffled sound escaping anyway, somehow even filthier for the effort. His hips cant in search of friction, his voice wrecked with want. "Miss, please- I-I need-"

"Need what, baby?" Your fingers trail down his chest, pressing against the planes of his body to still his squirming. His breathing stutters under your touch, his skin burning hot like a fever. "Mm....you know, I think you've forgotten something already."

He whines, louder this time, brows furrowing in confusion as his scrambled, desire-fogged mind struggles to process what you might possibly be talking about. What could you possibly mean when everything you wanted from him was right in front of you—right?

"M-Miss wha-" His sentence cuts off in a strangled moan as you align yourself with him and thrust forward, filling him in one smooth motion. His back arches off the cushions, his mouth falling open in a wrecked gasp, a whimpering mix of surprise and pleasure spilling from his lips. "Miss- oh fuck- Baby, ah- ahh- Wha-What did I- hngh do?!"

"Oh no. You've already gone dumb on me?" You sigh and tut at the pitiful, confused sight below you. You draw yourself out achingly slow, before snapping your hips forward, burying yourself to the hilt again. He cries out, hands gripping the cushions, his body jolting at the force of your thrust. Words tumble from his lips, barely coherent, lost between moans and gasps.

"So desperate," you murmur, letting your nails trace his sides and smirking at how he shivers. "I bet this is what you wanted all along. Running that mouth, acting up—just so I'd fuck you stupid. Now you get to feel just how much of a pain in the ass I can be."

Your fingers slide up his trembling thighs, moving them to rest against your shoulders as you set a punishing pace, pulling out of him halfway only to slam back in. With each thrust, he quivers, the impact leading his cock to bounce helplessly against his stomach. "Look at you," you hum, voice syrup-sweet, yet laced with something cruel. "Already shaking. What happened to all that attitude, hm?"

Desperate sounds wrenched from his throat are his only answer, his fingers holding onto the cushions for dear life. His lips part, trying, but no words follow. His mind is too fogged, too lost in the rhythm of your hips and the way you fuck him just right, keeping him on the edge.

You chuckle, your grip tightening. "Nothing to say now? Or did I fuck the fight out of you already?" You lean in, lips brushing against the shell of his ear, voice dripping with amusement. "You'll take what I give you. And you'll be thankful for it."

All he manages is a choked sob in response. Rafayel's mind is completely fuzzy as you keep repeating your actions, pulling out halfway only to slam yourself all the way back in. The constant stretch has him shaking, lips parting in loud moans as his hole constantly squeezes around your strap, sucking you in deeper.

"Miiiss….!" He slurs out, his hands letting go of the cushions to cover his face. Too embarrassing, too vulnerable, his brain screams—but you grab his wrists, pinning them down above his head and his eyes roll back, fully overwhelmed by the moment. Sensing that maybe he was going to break too quickly, you slow down your movements, pacing it out to be more slow, more deliberate.

Your lover whimpers at the change, his lashes fluttering as he blinks up at you, completely at your mercy. His breath comes in tiny stutters as he catches it, arms twitching as you hold them down. "Miiss…please- please I can’t- ‘s all too much-"

You slow down even more, letting the tip grind into him, sending little shocks of pleasure throughout him. "You seem-" you punctuate your words by gripping his wrists tighter, "perfectly pretty and fucked. Besides, I told you to take what I give you. I’m even being a little nice, nicer than a little slut like you deserves right now."

Rafayel sobs at your words, his body tensing beneath your touch. He squirms beneath you, wrists testing against your grip, but you don’t let up. You watch the way his flushed chest rises and falls, his breaths shaky, needy, completely wrecked.

You continue, voice slow and teasing, "But, since you’re already falling apart…" You lift your hips ever so slightly, the tip of your strap barely pressing inside him before sinking back in agonizingly slow. His body clenches around you instinctively, and you feel him shudder as his cock twitches. "Maybe I should really give you something to cry about."

A confused, broken sound is all that’s able to fall from his lips before you slam back into him, resuming your punishing pace. His body shakes yet arches into every thrust, pleasure coursing through him until all he can do is take it—take you.

"Miss-! Ahh, Miss, I-It’s-!" His voice cracks, his head tilting back as his eyes lose focus, mouth falling open in a soundless moan before another cry escapes. His cock is leaking, neglected and weeping onto his stomach, each thrust making his mind delve further into the blinding haze of pleasure.

"You're what, baby?" You coo, letting your nails drag lightly down his arms, making him shiver. "Losing your mind? Coming already? Just from getting fucked like this?"

He mewls frantically, but you tsk, slowing your movements again, enough to force him to plead with you desperately. "N-no, no, no- Miss, please!" He cries, his hips trying to chase your thrusts, but your grip keeps him in place. "Please no, I want to- I need it, Need you pleasepleaseplease—"

You smirk, taking pity on him—for now—as he unravels beneath you. "So greedy," you murmur, and with one sharp thrust, you make sure to grind deep, right against that perfect spot inside him, and the scream that rips from his throat is downright filthy.

"But that was nice." Your voice drips with satisfaction, nearly manifesting as a low purr. "Now, be a dear and come for me."

Rafayel screams—and all he sees is white as thick spurts of cum shoot out of his completely untouched cock, painting his stomach and even his chest. Your name flows from his mouth like a waterfall, praises and ‘thank yous’ slurred in between all the loud moans and desperate gasps for air.

While he experiences his high, you start stroking his cock, coaxing out any leftover seed from him. He whimpers at the slight overstimulation, but what you have planned for him is much worse. Sliding your fingers down, you grip the base of his length, and his response is immediate—even in his half-delirious state, he jolts in surprise, a high-pitched whine catching in his throat as his body spasms beneath you, his sensitivity cranked to the max. His thighs are trying to clamp shut around your waist, but you let go of your other hand that was holding his wrists, instead forcing his legs open for you.

Rafayel tries to protest—again, hasn’t he learned his lesson? Yet you only croon, your grip on his cock firm as you squeeze just enough to send another jolt of sensation through him. "Shh, baby. You can take more. You wouldn’t want to….disappoint me now, would you?"

He sobs, his head shaking weakly, but his body betrays him. He twitches in your hold, already starting to get hard again despite the oversensitivity wrecking him. His body knows it belongs to you, even when his mind is too far gone to process it.

You answer for him, a smirk curling on your lips as you loosen your grip just enough to stroke him again, slow, teasing. "You can. And you will."

He chokes out a sound somewhere between a cry and a moan, legs shaking beneath your hold as his nails dig into the palm of his hand. His flushed, tear-streaked face is a sight to behold—his lips are parted, his eyes are glassy, and he’s completely at your mercy.

"I c-can't-!" he hics, his breath ragged, but his body is already proving him a liar. Every nerve in his body is alight, each stroke only winding him tighter, pushing him further into the pleasure he claims he can’t take. His cock twitches, standing rigid in your palm, glistening with need despite his desperate pleas. The contradiction is almost adorable.

"Mm, but look at you." You roll your hips again, grinding into his oversensitive hole, and his back arches beautifully. "Hard again already. Such a good little thing for me."

At the same time, your hand resumes its pace along his slick length, stroking him in time with your thrusts. The dual sensation has Rafayel outright wailing, trembling violently as he tries to escape both the pleasure and the overwhelming stimulation—but there’s nowhere to go. Every grind of your hips presses against that spot inside him that makes him see stars, and your fingers work him mercilessly, coaxing more from him even as he shudders from the aftershocks of his last orgasm.

His nails dig into the cushions, his body trembling like he might shatter apart at any moment. "No, Miss, it's- it's t-too much-"  

You chuckle, briefly letting go of his cock to smear the mess he made across his flushed skin before you return to stroking him, your hand now wet and sticky from his release. "Too much?" You tilt your head, feigning innocence as you give a particularly sharp thrust, making him cry out. "Or too good?"  

"Oh fuck, fuckfuckfuckfuckfuc- Miss please, I can'tIcan'tIreallyca-" His rambles get cut off by a thrust directly to his prostate, his eyes rolling back in bliss as thick streams of cum erupt from his cock again, painting his stomach in hot bursts. His voice reaches a pitch that seems almost impossible, a desperate cry that echoes in the room, pure ecstasy spilling from his lips as he completely loses himself to pleasure.

Each pulse of his release sends another jolt through him, and he’s overwhelmed, breathless, and utterly defenseless. Spurred on by his sensitivity and mindless babbles, you only move your hips faster, slamming your hips against his ass and relishing in every sob that left his mouth. All his protests were slurred together, words that he didn't really mean — and at some point, they turn into cockdrunk praises.

"Miss please, 's-sho good i hngh- ah! M-Miss, I...I..." His voice is cracked, tears running down his face as he struggles to form coherent thoughts, lost in the haze of pleasure you’ve crafted for him. His body trembles beneath you, every thrust sending ripples of sensation coursing through him, igniting every nerve ending.

He shudders, the mix of shame and pleasure swirling within him, but there’s no denying the truth behind his moans—especially not after he’s been fucked like this. "I want more, I want-" His words dissolve into another sob, your relentless pace making it impossible to keep his thoughts straight.

"There we go, that’s the Rafayel I know. Always so needy, begging for more even after being broken." Each thrust of yours is deliberate and deep as you pick up the tempo, aiming for that sweet spot inside him that makes him see white. With every powerful slam of your hips, he feels himself unraveling all over again, drowning in a sea of bliss.

"M-Miss! A-Again, I'm gonna-!" he cries out, desperate for release yet still teetering on the edge. You can see his muscles tensing, his walls pulsing as he gets close again. 

"Good boy," you murmur, leaning down to capture his lips in a heated kiss, your tongue sweeping against his as your hips drive harder, faster. With one hand gripping his hip to steady him, your other hand wraps around his cock, stroking him in time with your thrusts.

"I want you to come for me one last time, Rafayel. Let go."

With that command, his body succumbs to the overwhelming pleasure. Complete and utter bliss crashes over him, his voice rising to a desperate pitch as he comes once more, thick ropes of cum spilling from him, slicking his stomach and chest. You feel his cock throb in your hand as you continue to stroke him through his release, coaxing every last drop from him, relishing the way he trembles and writhes beneath you, utterly lost in the moment. 

His cries echo in the room, a symphony of need and satisfaction, and you can’t help but smirk into his lips. You can feel his entire body quaking beneath you, the sheer intensity of his release leaving him breathless and utterly spent. His sobs mellow out as you slow down, letting him ride out the last remnants of his high and making sure he feels every last bit of it.

"You did so well, baby," you murmur, voice soft as you pull away from his lips—your dominant, commanding disposition now fades, only leaving behind a warm smile on your face as you kiss his forehead. The contrast of your touch, gentle on his trembling body, makes him shudder, and he’s so far gone that even your whisper feels like a balm against the ache. "I know it’s overwhelming. But you took it, didn’t you? All for me."

Your words are soft, your fingers gently threading through his hair and offering him a sanctuary to recover in. He whimpers quietly, his body still shaking from the aftershocks of his release, but he melts into your embrace, his breathing slow and steadying as you comfort him.

You hold him close, the warmth of your bodies grounding you both as the frantic rhythm fades, and all that’s left behind is the quiet hum of your breaths mingling, the steady rise and fall of your chests pressed together. The world outside feels distant, inconsequential—right now, it’s just the two of you, wrapped in each other, basking in the afterglow.

His eyes flutter shut at your actions, a mix of tears and pleasure glistening in his gaze, overwhelmed by everything he’s just experienced. As his breathing begins to slow, you lean in and place soft kisses along his neck, sending shivers down his spine, his body so sensitive that even your softest touch makes him gasp.

He’s lost in the sweet daze of exhaustion, and with a final soft sigh, his body relaxes beneath yours. The tension leaves his limbs in waves, his pulse slowly beginning to stabilize. You hold him close, the heat of his body against yours comforting, grounding, as everything slows down.

As you feel the last shivers of pleasure fade from his body, you press one final kiss to his temple before carefully shifting your weight. “Easy, baby,” you murmur, your voice low and soothing as you place a hand on his side. Slowly, you begin to pull out, mindful of his sensitivity.

The moment you do, Rafayel whimpers, his body shuddering at the loss of fullness. His thighs twitch, and his breath hitches as the overwhelming emptiness sets in. A soft gasp escapes his lips, and he instinctively clenches around nothing, his oversensitive body quivering with every move.

You soothe him with quiet murmurs, pressing soft kisses to his damp skin as you run your fingers through his damp hair. He barely reacts beyond a faint, contented sigh, his limbs loose and pliant in your hold. His exhaustion is evident, his body sinking deeper into the mattress, boneless and spent.

“Mine,” he mumbles sleepily, his fingers curling around your wrist, holding you in place.

You smile and press another lingering kiss to his forehead. “Yours,” you promise, your voices a quiet vow in the peaceful stillness of the room.

- - -

The soft sound of your breaths mingling drift throughout the bedroom, both of you settled in the quiet aftermath, where nothing exists but the closeness between you. You carefully pull Rafayel closer, your hand lingering on his skin for a moment as you reach out to gently brush a strand of hair from his forehead. "Did I…push you too far?"

Rafayel blinks up at you, still drowsy, his expression tender and vulnerable. He exhales slowly, his fingers lazily tracing idle patterns against your hip. “No,” he murmurs, voice thick with exhaustion.

You only chuckle in response, pressing a kiss to his temple. "I see." You shift closer, pulling the blanket over the both of you. "Then…." you continue with a teasing glint in your eye, "Why were you being such a brat earlier, huh? Calling me a pain in the ass?"

Rafayel shifts in your arms, his gaze avoiding yours as if debating whether to argue. His body tenses for just a moment, but then he exhales, shoulders slumping as he gives in. ".…I just wanted your attention," he mutters, pouting slightly. His admission is quiet and laced with embarrassment and sincerity. "I meant it when I said I missed you."

"Huh. Well, you definitely got it…" You start off, softening at his hesitation and press a gentle kiss to his forehead. "Y'know, Raf, next time, you can just be nice. Then we can have slow, sweet make-up sex, and your ass won’t be the one suffering for it."

He groans and buries his face into your shoulder, inhaling your scent and muffling his voice. “No promises.”

You chuckle and raise an eyebrow, running a soothing hand down his back. “But I know your ass liked it, anyways.”

That causes him to huff indignantly, his grip on you tightening as you feel his lips pulling down into a deeper pout. He can’t deny it, however, and merely leaves a few tender bites on your neck in protest.

"Oh, come on," you tsk, amusement lacing your tone despite the feigned irritation. You smirk, tilting your head just enough to grant him better access. "Resorting to biting, now? Not exactly the best way to say you're upset."

Rafayel just grumbles against your skin, his warm breath sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. "M'not upset," he admits, though his sulky tone says otherwise.

You hum, running your fingers lazily through his hair. "Mhm. So, what I'm hearing is...you loved every second of it, and you're just being a sore loser."

His head snaps out of your neck, his eyes narrowing at you. "I didn’t say anything,” he whines, looking a lot like a cat denied a treat.

You grin, poking at his cheek. "Didn't have to. Your body gave you away."

His groan is muffled once more as he flops onto your chest dramatically, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he settles closer, letting out a soft sigh as his fingers trace idle patterns on your skin. "You're insufferable."

"Says you," you counter, pressing another kiss to the top of his head.

Rafayel doesn’t argue this time, just grumbles something unintelligible against your chest, his fingers still lazily tracing patterns on your skin. The weight of him, the warmth he radiates, feels grounding—a stark contrast to the teasing moments before. Slowly, the playful energy between you begins to settle into something softer, something quieter. You feel the way his body melts against yours, his breathing evening out, the tension from earlier fading entirely.

As the quiet stretches between you, the world outside your little bubble feels obscure. There's only the sound of your breathing, the comfort of his body in your arms, and the quiet satisfaction of knowing you're both right where you need to be.

a/n: a bribe for my friend to get her to play yttd; she suffered but gets 4.6k words of her fave being pegged in the ass instead 😋 local I hope u love this

[hottiesforhockey]

" it's my thigh or nothing. i'm not helping you get off. " WITH JACK HUGHES PLS IM BEGGING OH GOD

The dim hotel room is thick with tension, the kind that curls low in your stomach and spreads like fire through your veins. Jack is watching you with that smug expression, his lips curled in amusement, but his eyes—those tell an entirely different story.

He’s barely holding on.

“It’s my thigh or nothing,” he repeats, voice low, teasing, daring. “I’m not helping you get off.”

You swallow hard, your pride battling against the growing need twisting inside you. You could leave. You could roll your eyes, mutter something about how he’s an ass, and pretend this little game of his doesn’t affect you.

But it does.

And he knows it.

Jack is lounging against the headboard, one leg stretched out, the other bent just enough to offer you exactly what you need. His sweats hang low on his hips, the thin fabric doing nothing to hide the sharp definition of his thighs.

He pats his leg, smirking.

Your face burns, but the heat between your thighs is worse. You shift on your knees at the foot of the bed, hesitating for a moment longer before crawling toward him.

Jack’s smirk deepens. “That’s my girl.”

Your pulse jumps.

Settling over his thigh, you place your hands on his chest for balance. His body is warm beneath your palms, the steady rise and fall of his breathing betraying just how composed he’s pretending to be.

The first roll of your hips is hesitant, testing. The friction is subtle but enough to make you exhale sharply. Jack doesn’t react, at least not outwardly, but the way his fingers twitch against the bed doesn’t go unnoticed.

So you do it again.

A slow, deliberate grind.

Jack’s jaw tightens. His smirk falters for half a second before he tilts his head back against the headboard, his hands resting behind his head in a show of complete control. “Gotta work for it, baby,” he murmurs. “I’m not doing a damn thing.”

Your stomach clenches at the challenge.

Fine.

You move again, this time with more purpose. The friction against your clothed core sends a shiver up your spine, heat pooling low in your stomach. Jack watches you with hooded eyes, his breath just the slightest bit uneven now.

But still, he refuses to touch you.

The pressure between your legs builds with every roll of your hips, a slow, torturous burn that has you biting your lip to keep from whimpering. You can feel the muscles in Jack’s thigh flex beneath you, solid and unyielding, making every movement even more intense.

And he knows it.

“Fuck,” you whisper, gripping his shoulders for support.

Jack chuckles, but there’s a roughness to it now, a slight rasp that tells you he’s slipping. “Told you,” he mutters, his voice darker. “You wanna get off? Ride my thigh.”

A whimper escapes before you can stop it.

His hands twitch again, fingers curling into the sheets at his sides. You know he wants to grab you, to take control, to make you fall apart in his hands.

But he doesn’t.

Not yet.

You rock against him harder, dragging yourself along the firm muscle, each movement sending sparks of pleasure through your body. Your breathing turns uneven, little gasps slipping past your lips, and Jack—Jack is eating it up.

His pupils are blown wide now, his smirk gone, replaced with something darker, hungrier. His hands flex against the mattress, like he’s physically restraining himself from touching you.

“You’re fucking soaked,” he mutters, eyes locked on the way your hips move. “Can feel you through my sweats.”

Your stomach clenches.

Heat floods your cheeks, but it only makes you more desperate. You grind down harder, faster, chasing the friction, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

Jack hisses through his teeth, his head tilting back against the headboard, exposing the sharp line of his jaw.

“Shit,” he breathes. “Look at you.”

You’re trembling now, the pleasure winding tighter and tighter, a coil in your stomach threatening to snap. Your thighs burn from the effort, but the pressure building between them is all that matters.

Jack watches, his breathing uneven, his resolve slipping further with every desperate roll of your hips. His hands finally—finally—leave the mattress, sliding up your waist, his grip firm, possessive.

“I thought you weren’t gonna help,” you tease, your voice breathless, strained.

Jack’s eyes darken.

“Don’t push me,” he mutters.

But you want to push him. You need to.

You grind down harder, chasing the high teetering just out of reach, your grip tightening on his shoulders.

Jack lets out a low groan, fingers digging into your waist. “Fuck, baby,” he breathes. “You’re gonna come just like this, huh? So desperate you don’t even need me to touch you.”

His words send a jolt of heat straight to your core. You’re so close, the pressure unbearable, the pleasure so intense it’s almost too much.

Jack smirks, his grip on your waist tightening as he suddenly flexes his thigh beneath you.

A strangled moan rips from your throat.

“Oh, you like that,” he murmurs, his voice pure sin. “That’s it, baby—keep going. Take what you need.”

His words, his voice, the way he looks at you—it’s too much.

Your body tenses, pleasure crashing over you in waves as you cry out his name. Jack groans, his grip bruising, his thigh flexing again to draw out your high as you tremble against him.

“Fuck, that’s so hot,” he mutters, his voice rough, strained.

Your body slumps against him, boneless, breathless, your forehead resting against his shoulder. Jack’s hands stroke your back lazily, his breathing still uneven.

After a moment, he chuckles, pressing a kiss against your temple. “Told you,” he murmurs.

You let out a shaky breath, a small smile pulling at your lips. “Asshole.”

Jack grins, leaning closer until his lips brush your ear.

“You love it.”

And you do.

[rdng1230]

In the movies, everything grows quiet when you see the love of your life across the room. Not this time.

Seeing Tommy tilting his head at another man just makes everything louder, drowning out hope, conversation, reason.

And whatever residual sense he had from the first glance is utterly demolished when the stranger leans forward and pats, no caresses Tommy's face.

Suddenly there's another shot glass in his hand and Ravi's clinking it with his own. "Umm, Buck you know you're staring right?" The sound barely reaches him over the din.

"Right?" Ravi calls again, and this time it's accompanied by enough of a shoulder nudge to snap him back into the bar. "Shit." He stares down at his own feet and clears the walkway he's probably been blocking for at least a minute.

Back in their booth, Buck leans onto the table to keep himself upright. Ravi is better company than he would've thought, keeping him pleasantly distracted and filling him in on all the war stories from his transfer over at the 122. Their gangling probies, crafty paramedics, and the gruff, but solid Captain keeping them (mostly) out of trouble.

It's a funny thing, to hear about other houses and see how they tick. Firefighting is Buck's calling, but his life could've gone so differently had he been assigned elsewhere.

"Speak of the devil!" Ravi calls, hauled out of his chair by none other than Tommy's... ok admittedly handsome stranger. "Panikkar, you don't call you don't write??" They exchange a handshake and a pat on the back and Ravi sits back down, scooting his chair in so the man can stand closer without blocking everything.

"Buck, this is Captain Deluca of the 122. Cap, this is Evan Buckley of the 118." Ravi waves his arms in between them and Buck has to fight biting off his own tongue when the Captain extends his hand. "Sal is fine, heard a lot about you golden boy."

"Wish I could say the same." He fires back, a little more forceful than he means to. "Well that answers that question." Sal says under his breath, taking the seat next to Ravi without being invited. Maybe that's this guy's deal, taking other people's.... everything. Without asking.

"Do I need to guard my ankles?" Sal laughs and the familiarity turns Buck's stomach. Is that what he is to Tommy now? A joke to tell his new flings? Only the way Sal caught Tommy's cheek earlier, he doubts that their relationship stops there.

"Easy, easy Buckley, we've got T minus 3 minutes before my boy over there realizes that his boy is over here. So let me be very blunt."

"All due respect Captain, I don't think you have another setting." Ravi giggles into his shot glass before tossing it back. Sal rolls his eyes at his former employee before continuing.

"He fucked up. He knows it. I know it. You know it. And this is the furthest thing from fair and you're well within your rights to tell me to fuck off, but I swear I can't handle his sad little kicked puppy face anymore especially when he's the one who did the kicking."

Buck's jaw falls open, leaning in closer to Sal like he's afraid he's misheard. "So here's what's gonna happen hotshot. I'm gonna grab the next round, and then flyboy is gonna handle the one after that. I suggest it be you he bumps into and not some rando. Up to you though."

He stands up and claps their mutual lightweight friend on the shoulder. "Good seeing you Ravi." Sal turns his eyes towards Buck and smiles, and he's happy to see the malice in Sal's smile isn't there at all, it's amusement, and maybe just a dash of commiseration. "Don't let him go kid." The graying captain joins the fray on drunkards, tossing a "Trust me." over his shoulder.

"You gonna take his advice?" Ravi finally asks once he realizes Buck has completely stopped paying attention to the story he had been in the middle of when Sal arrived. Buck feels glued to the vinyl seat, his head on a swivel waiting for Tommy to be in sight. "He-he dumped me." Buck finally gets out.

Ravi's shoulders slump like he's disappointed with the answer. "But you miss him?" He prods again, staring at him with kind and inquisitive eyes.

Words are entirely insufficient for the answer, so instead Buck just nods. Ravi points his finger onto the table, drawing his case to a close. "Well Tommy clearly misses you. Cap can be an asshole, but the upside is the man doesn't lie. Tact and him are like oil and water."

Ravi sucks his teeth and takes another shot. "Hey man it's your choice."

Buck tosses back a shot himself for luck. "I think I need another drink." He gets up awkwardly, positioning himself to be just a little too bump-into-able. It's not long until a familiar form collides with his shoulder.

"Tommy." He breathes out, a thousand pounds instantly lifted off his shoulder.

"Evan." His ex breathes out without thinking, not daring to pull away from the hand that's taken his.

[dangerpronebuddie]

Eddie takes the picture from the fridge and smiles at the grin on Chris' face. It soothes the bone deep ache that had set in the moment he watched his son walk out, at the same time acting like another bolt to his heart.

Footsteps thunk on the wood floor and Eddie places the photo back beside the one of his niece. He looks up and gives an awkward half smile to his dad, the only one who had been home when Eddie knocked a few minutes ago.

"Hard to believe he's grown so much," Ramon comments as he takes a mug from the cabinet. He holds it up with a raise of his eyebrows and Eddie nods.

"Hard to believe I missed so much of it," Eddie adds. He falls into a chair at the kitchen table. It squeaks like it always has. It doesn't break the sudden heaviness in the room.

Ramon pours two cups of coffee, spoons sugar into both. It takes Eddie a little by surprise that his dad knows how he likes his coffee.

"You were serving your country, Edmundo," Ramon points out as he sits down across from him, sliding the pristine yellow mug towards Eddie.

Eddie scoffs. Nods his thanks as he lifts his coffee to his lips. The sip burns all the way down. It feels better than the hollowness he's been carrying around lately. "And four months ago?"

Ramon takes a deep breath, folds his arms on the table as he raises his eyebrows. "I can't answer that one, Eddie."

Eddie mirrors his position and sighs. He hasn't tried to answer it himself either. Was too ashamed to look at it. His goal has been to get back to his son. Beyond that? He has no idea.

"I... just wanted more time with her," Eddie admits, staring at the steam rising from his cup rather than the no doubt judgement on his father's face.

"Eddie." Ramon shifts in his seat, drawing Eddie's attention back. There's no judgement. Instead, there's something forlorn in the downturn of his mouth. Something pained in his eyes, but clear. "If you spend the rest of your life wishing for more time, you will never have any."

Eddie's eyes burn. He sips his coffee, hopes it will dislodge the emotion in his throat. It doesn't.

"I spent your childhood providing for this family," Ramon continues. "I can't get that time back-" he reaches across the table and squeezes Eddie's wrist- "but I'm not going to waste what I do have left, wishing I could fix it."

Eddie lets out a shaky exhale, clears his throat. "I'm not sure I have more time, Pop."

"Eddie, the boy has spent the last four months talking about you. About his life in LA," Ramon says. "All he wants is time with you. He just needed space to understand that."

Eddie bites back the impulsive response on his tongue. That he was giving Christopher space. That his parents didn't need to swoop in and take over. But he knows, at least on his father's part, the intention was good.

"I don't want to miss out on anymore of my son's life," he says instead, an echo of a talk in this very kitchen a few years ago, and in his own when Buck discovered his plan.

"For what it's worth," Ramon adds, his eyes shining with tears and something akin to pride, "you've done good with him."

Eddie swallows thickly. Bites the inside of his lower lip to stop the tremble. He can't get the words out to thank his father- instead simply squeezes his wrist.

Ramon nods once with a tight lipped smile. "I'm sorry you've had to do it all on your own."

This time, Eddie doesn't stop the retort that springs to mind. It's the truth. One he'd only realized when his best friend took on his house- carried his weight so easily. "I don't think I've really been on my own for a while."

Ramon's smile grows, knowing and fond. "I'm glad you have him."

"Yeah," Eddie says with a smile Hen deemed Buck-specific, "me too."

The front door opens, the sound of crutches tapping on hardwood following after it. Eddie holds his breath.

Ramon squeezes his wrist once more before letting go with a nod of encouragement.

When Christopher beams and barrels into Eddie's chest for a hug, Eddie finally, finally feels like he's not wishing for more time.

[Also on ao3]

[lumieresdreams]

‼️ caleb is mad mad and you're facing the consequences ‼️

cw: smut drabble, smut with barely any plot, heavy on the dirty talking, degradation, clothed sex (caleb), toxic relationship (two-way), mention of spanking, very jealous and mad caleb, barely any mercy, orgasm denial

a/n: it's 4am and i have silly dirty thoughts about this man, none of this is proof-read either and i'm not editing this anymore as a funny reminder of my sleepy thoughts LMAO

you hate him, you hate him so much. he's such a pain in the ass ever since you two reunited together. you hate that he knows where you are and who you're with almost all of the time, there's barely any wiggle room. so why is it that you found yourself attempting to hookup with a cute guy from your workplace just to specifically spite caleb, then act surprised when literal hell came down upon you?

this isn't the first time and, in a sick and twisted way, it surely won't be the last either. you tell yourself that you hate the man that now bares the title colonel with every fiber of your being, yet your mind finds creative ways to be dragged back into caleb's possessive grasp instead of just asking to spend time with him.

maybe you really are fucked up in the head.

you find yourself trapped back in the colonel's lonely house, now occupied by none other than you and its owner. there's a trail of clothes and knocked over furniture that lead towards the bedroom where gasps and whines could be heart through a half open door. you put up quite the fight this time, hurling items at the man you so dearly loved growing up, yelling and screaming profanities at each other, it'd all eventually get to a boiling point and caleb finally snapped.

you were now pinned down underneath the colonel, his clothed hip pressed flush against your bare one as he growled and scolds you from above. his hands has your legs bent and pressed down into a mating press, keeping you in place with no room to escape, it's not like you had any plans to do so, although a part of you wished you did as the man above you hasn't stopped grinding into you for 2 hours straight, not letting you get that sweet, sweet release.

"you're such a fucking slut, y'know that?" caleb hissed through gritted teeth, his tone heavy with venom despite the slight shakiness to it as he pulls himself in and out of you at an agonizingly slow pace, each time bottoming out into your sobbing cunt that ached for friction.

"i'm gonna teach you a lesson and thus time-...." he pauses as he groans loudly above you, his eyes closing momentarily out of pleasure as he bottoms out inside you, forcing a mix of a whine and sob out of you. "this time, you will remember to fucking behave 'cause tonight, i won't stop until you're on your knees for me-"

a gasp followed by a moan would escape you as caleb pulls out halfway only to slam back inside you. hard. "fuck....!" he says under his breath, he's starting to lose patience, like hell is he gonna let you win again and walk away with a slap on the wrist, not this time.

"i'm gonna force you on your knees... use my evol to keep you on all your fours like the animal you are, you're a literal bitch in heat...!" he snarls, locking eyes with you with that unfaltering intensity in his eyes. you're disgusting. you loved this side of him.

"going after other boys behind my back, you're deousional if you think you even had the option to choose anyone else but me." this is dangerous, you're whining out half-assed apologies as you try to wriggle into a more comfortable positiin, but the colonel's grip on your legs doesn't allow it in the first place. "i'm not gonna stop until you're groveling by my feet... sobbing, begging, kissing my goddamn boots..!"

he emphasizes each and every point with a hard thrust, the friction your hungry body has been aching for being given one after another in a short burst has your eyes rolling towards the back of your head, rocking your body and making the bed creak underneath you with each movement.

"you don't.. you don't even deserve this, you don't deserve me fucking you dumb, you don't deserve my cock filling you up like this 'cause you're so goddamn ungrateful" caleb continues, one of his hands letting go of your legs, then a loud SMACK! resounds around the room and your bottom stung not a second later. fuck, he's started spanking you.

the childhoid best friend turned cold stranger slows the movement of his hips back to how it was before. you aren't getting what you want out of this interaction, not anytime soon until you've learned to only want caleb and he's got all night to do so.

[sugurusladyknightt]

gojo x gn!reader

you finally make it through the front door of your home, your expression drops, with a deep exhale through your mouth, you flop onto the the carpet covered ground.

you're just so tired.

simply opting on laying there, you didn't get to make it that far into your home. the ache in your body and heaviness in your mind leaving you unable to do much else but enjoy the view at your home from the new perspective; worms are living the life man. you know, it's important to expand ones horizons by experiencing life from different perspectives.

you're not quite sure how long you've been laying there, or when the heavy of your eyes started fluttering shut, taking over mind as it's blissfully teleported to the land of some dream you likely won't remember by the time you wake.

it's soft. you're home. the gruel of the day left behind you now becoming only a fading memory of the agony you had survived. it's difficult not to be thankful to satoru for his lavish over spending on home furnishings in moments like these. the soft carpet brushing against your face, welcoming you into its embrace with a saccharine sweetness you never thought possible for a floor covering.

~~

you find yourself waking to the feeling of fingertips softly brushing over your features. with your eyes still closed and somehow fully aware of your surroundings. a small grey space between reality and senseless images the mind can devise — it's difficult to tell whether your still dreaming or not.

tracing the column of your neck, the shape of your face, your hairline, and the arch of your ears.

the sensation a comfortable ticklish sort.

along your brow bone, down the bridge of your nose, and against the curve of your cheek. the lines your lips, the round of your chin, and back up to count the lashes that protect your slumbering eyes.

your woken up by the gentle feeling. your on a cloud, floating through the sky. or maybe it's a little boat, drifting further away guided only by the tide. your eyes once again begin fluttering; a butterfly's wings preparing for flight. your adjusting to the glowing lights that come through the windows, a pinkish orange hue.

slowly your sight is regained, eyes droopy though trying to focus. you can see the image of a man laying next to you, hands tucked gingerly below his neck. soft white locks splayed over the carpeted floor, crystalline blue eyes gazing softly upon your own, faded summertime freckles that can only be seen if you're this close (hardly anyone else is ever this close), and a soft smile playing on the lips; replacing the usually smug, boyish grin.

and you smile back, mouth dry from your nap and evidence of the now-dry drool that has collected in its corners. but you smile back anyway. you don't think you could ever do otherwise.

his smile grows, revealing the pearly white hidden by his pink lips as he greets you in a cheery whisper.

"well, hello there sleepy."

softer than the tone you'd have approaching a stray cat, soft and welcoming. carried with an air of happiness you think only satoru could ever manage to mean genuinely.

a hand comes back up to pet your head, fingers moving to play with the ends of your hair,

"tired?"

the lights coming through the window dancing along the white of his hair and his enviously long eyelashes. there's a halo around his head. the pink and orange glow making it so his eyes glow in the dimmed natural light collected in the room.

your only reply is a nod. you can't speak, not before such divinity. you wouldn't dare.

his thoughtful tone followed by a more serious one.

"hmmm, shit day?"

pfft. there's nothing to be so nervous about. after all, this is your boy. your perfect blue-eyed boy. your lover boy. your silly man. yours. because he wants to be.

there's your gentle laughter and the soft smile playing on his lips grows. newton's third law of motion.

what a lovely sound, he thinks.

"no, not especially so. 'm just tired"

"mmh"

it's rare that he's so quiet. well, it's rarer to others than it is you, but nonetheless rare. you're somewhere between missing the loud of his voice and enjoying the quietness of understanding.

it's not difficult to understand one another without the use of trivial things like the spoken word. satorus eyes, reminiscent of the endless depths of the seas, they will tell you everything you could ever want to know.

your own hand moves to play with his hair, eyes as razor focused on the piece you've got between your thumb and index finger as can be, before the whole of your hand gently rakes through his soft hair.

the silence is so comfortable, you really are on a cloud. or a little boat. you don't wanna share it with anyone else. you wonder if you could feel this way with anyone else, and the answer is so easily available to you.

no.

possibly being the quickest you'll ever answer a question.

your eyes drift back to his before you say,

"toru, what are your thoughts on snacks and a movie in bed in place of dinner. just tonight. .... though i don't think we've got any right now." you think out loud. voice coming out a little raspy but you pay it little mind.

you're pulled closer by the strong hand at your hip, the muscles under his skin, shifting with the movement and you can't help being mesmerized.

he smells clean. the fresh scent of aloe clinging to his skin, your hands curl around the pale blue button up he wears. it's instinctual. newton's third law of motion.

"i like that idea. although, we both know that it's very obviously very clearly been stolen from me. y if you will. robbed from my countless thoughtful recommendations that have always remain ignored. dismissed. without a second thought" he says matter of factly and in the most dramatic tone imaginable ending it with a little hmph. acting as if all the lights are in him as he presents his dramatic little soliloquy. the cherry on top? satoru is trying to make his voice sound a little posh to really drive his performance home.

(he doesn't have to try too hard)

he's trying to make you laugh. again. to hear that lovely sound. satoru accomplishes his goal but is it what it seems to be?

his own success? or are you only indulging?

divider by @saradika-graphics

[concretejunglefm]

had an insane thought about coaxing sub!Noah through his vocal warm-ups with a wand. ya know really testing his range of moans

- @somebodyels3

CW: smut including mentions of using a toy, overstimulation, slight orgasm denial, men whimpering, and moaning.

Smut below the cut 🔞 Minors DNI.

When you watch how effortlessly he falls to his knees on stage, it always takes you back to the moments before this, to when you had him alone in the greenroom for his warmup act. There is nothing that Noah loves more than performing for you in various ways, and naturally, you take full advantage of that.

“Come on, baby, I know you can do better than that.” You purr, watching the sweat glisten across his creased brow. Noah has been incredibly good to you up until now, producing the most beautiful sounds, but you’re aware that he possesses more that are higher pitched or primal sounding, if pulled from him right. All it takes is your encouragement and the delicate pink travel wand you brought along with you for this very purpose.

“I-I don’t…” He begins before the words falter into a whimper as he feels the wand’s pressure, his thighs trembling as the vibrations travel down his shaft and spread towards his already leaking tip.

You sit straddling him, shuffling back just far enough to peer down between you. You watch as his stomach muscles tremble and clench, knowing he’s fighting hard to hold on because you haven’t given him permission yet.

“Please…” he pleads with you, and your gaze meets his, instantly melting at the sight of him blissfully intoxicated by your relentless teasing.

Leaning forward, you trail your mouth along his jawline, gently grazing the shell of his ear with your teeth as you whisper, “I know you can be louder for me, my sweet boy.” You want to coax him, to hear him let go completely. Noah understands exactly what you’re seeking, however, unlike in your hotel room where he’d happily fall apart, uncaring about the thin walls, here he’s far too conscious of being overheard.

Shifting closer, you gradually raise the wand higher, pressing it against his tip. With each shift of your hips, you feel the other side of the wand pressing against your covered cunt, the fabric of your panties already soaked through as you sit there in only them, on his lap.

“Come on, baby, for me?” Your own moans start to escape your lips, and in response, Noah follows, encouraged by your sounds

“Fuck, that feels so good, doesn’t it?” He hums in agreement, and you intensify the vibrations, hearing the throaty growl he lets out in return.

With your free hand, you gently slide your fingers up into his hair, tugging at it roughly as you force him to look at you from beneath his hooded lids. “Don’t hold back on me, or I’ll stop.” A mischievous glint flashes in your eyes, conveying your seriousness.

You’ll stop and send him up on stage, half-hard and unsatisfied if necessary.

“Now, let’s try this again.” You purr against his ear and trail your tongue slowly down the side of his neck as he begins to release the sounds you know he’s been holding back, each one becoming more whiny and high-pitched than the last.

“Please, please, please… I need to cum. I’m so close, please.” Noah’s voice falters, and you can’t help but smirk, knowing just how close he is.

Your hips start to rock, grinding against the wand as you keep it firmly on his tip. The motion of you is another incentive, another thing he can feel but not fully experience. It’s no secret that you enjoy tormenting him even in the slightest ways. His hands are free to explore you, and they do, but you know he’s desperate to be inside you.

“Remember what I said? You can cum inside me after the show. Be a good boy, and I’ll let you remind me that I’m yours.” Your fingers tighten in his hair, and he lets out a grunt, a hint of frustration escaping that quickly fades into a moan with the growing intensity of the wand.

You can hear the rising sounds in his voice, you’ve always known he could create the most beautiful sounds, both through singing and in the bedroom, but right now, he sounds more pulled apart than you’ve ever experienced.

As you release his hair and watch his head fall back, he finally succumbs to the overwhelming pleasure that drives him closer and closer to the edge until he spills over him, you and the toy. The warmth of his cum coats his stomach and the front of your panties, and you feel the combination of your own wetness seeping through the fabric, causing them to melt into one.

You don’t stop, even when you look between you both to see him twitching and throbbing, the tip red and angry from being beyond overstimulation, and prolonging his release.

His sounds continue to come, pleas falling between the combination of moans and whimpers. But it’s his moans that seem to grow, becoming louder and choked as you watch a second climax erupt from him. The sound practically blends into a cry, and it’s beautiful, watching him fall apart to this extent.

As you lift your gaze, you reveal in it, enjoying the way his body trembles beneath you. He paints himself once more, being milked with every contract of his stomach muscles and the toy you keep pressed to him, his face completely washed with ecstasy.

You watch him, feeling proud of the extent to which you’ve pushed him, knowing that he’ll be thinking about this as he takes the stage, especially during the moments when he falls to his knees so effortlessly, just like he always does for you.

tagged: @fadingangelwisp @deathblacksmoke  @geminigirlfromfinland @fuck1ng-queen @xxkittenkissesxx @lacy1986 @ami--gami @floodflameschosen @dominuslunae @tosoundlessdarkistare @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @lonelydragonlady @th4t-em0-k1d @amelia-acero @dollieomens @I-love-the-smell-of-you-blood @sitkowski @athenexe @trvshdxddy @collapsedglasshouses @overmydeadbodysblog @xmads-omensx @ajordan2020 @astronoids @courta13 @death-ofpeace-ofmind @ichoosetenderomens @chey-h @blade-dressed-in-red @bloody-spades @concretenoah @bluehairpunklol

[caramelarrowswife]

DARK CACAO COOKIE AS YOUR FATHER!

─── ∘°❉°∘ ───

Because this old man needs a child to cheer him up <3

Father!Dark Cacao Cookie x GN!Child!Reader

─── ∘°❉°∘ ───

Needless to say, Dark Cacao gets EXTREMELY protective of you. He lost his son, he will not lose his remaining child.

You got a partner? Oh, that’s cute. Are they prepared for his 275-question interrogation? What do they do for a living? What’s their mayor? Are they trained in any type of martial art? What do they love most about you? Are they prepared for the consequences of breaking your heart? Would they throw themselves in front of a bullet for you?

He’s not very up-to-date with the norms of the current age. He’ll accept and love you if you’re gay or trans, but he might need Caramel Arrow or Crunchy Chip’s help with new terms.

Extremely old-fashioned. You do not get to sleep in the same room as your partner before you get married.

Dark Cacao will call you by your name in public, but has nicknames for you at home. ‘My little knight’, ‘Aegiya’ (Korean for ‘baby’), ‘my dear’.

He finds cooking a very important skill, so you grew up watching him cook something every night. He almost cried when you were in your cooking-ramen-every-night-phase.

You best believe he is not leaving your side after a failed assassination. He would rather host a meeting digitally (or, God forbid, host the meeting in your room) than leave you alone.

You have to play at least one sport, one instrument and one martial art. He loves playing the piano along with your instrument of choice or training with you in his free time.

He has to meet your friends at least seven times before you’re allowed to meet up with them without constantly being under a bodyguard’s careful watch.

You’ve decided to marry someone of an extremely low rank? Good for you! If you look closely, you can see Dark Cacao banging his head against the wall in the background. Don’t worry, he’ll come around… eventually.

Dark Cacao’s not a big fan of E-cigarettes. If he catches you vaping, he’ll sigh and tell you to smoke a cigarette like a normal person. Maybe he’ll realise he told you to smoke later in the night, which will result in a complete clearance of any type of cigarette in your room.

He was so proud of you when you killed your first rabid animal, most likely a Dire Creamwolf. His advisors were more than a little concerned.

The other Ancient Heroes absolutely adore you. Hollyberry Cookie fed you alcohol when you were nine (she was banished from the Kingdom for three months), Golden Cheese Cookie liked to fly really high up with you when you were a baby (Dark Cacao had a panic attack on the ground), White Lily Cookie will work in the royal garden with you and Pure Vanilla Cookie will do fun things with you and teach you a little bit of healing magic.

Dark Cacao is a big fan of classical music, especially Bach’s Goldberg Variations. He lies awake at night when you’re in a phase and blast B.A.D 4 music all day and night.

While Dark Cacao doesn’t always know how to show it, your opinion is extremely important to him. He already lost Dark Choco because he didn’t listen well enough (at least, so he thinks) he tries to be a better father for you.

Hollyberry got him drunk (on ‘accident’) the day you left for college. He called you, moping because his only child had ‘left him’.

He would literally pass through fire for you, but to eat the sweet things you consume religiously..? Most certainly not.

You convinced him to come with you to one of your favourite bands once. It ended up being something his therapist would hear about.

Dark Cacao likes musicals a lot better than movies, so you’ll be growing up with a lot of Lin Manual Miranda.

[dimicul]

it’s weird, i think, if you had broken up with the almightest, strongest, god given One.

it starts of small. you cry here and there, you feel that pit in your stomach when you stare at the flowers he got you from across the room. you remember how starry eyed he was passing them to you, the ever so gentle hug he gave you when you told him nobody had ever gotten you flowers before. you play songs on repeat and sob into your pillow, the sheets white like the hair you would thread your fingers through. and the smell, god the smell, of his cologne that will haunt you in public places, at a restaurant, at a cafe.

then it hits you when you see him in person. and it’s so scary how you had envisioned a life on a farm with the lanky blue eyed man, watching him interact with the other students. you wonder if he’s upset. you grow angry, even. you drop the files you were supposed to give to Yaga on the desk and storm out.

it’s only when you’ve walked out, his shoulders slump. once you were his girl, once upon a time you would creep up on him and throw your arms around his neck, and now? you didn’t want to be in the same room as him?

the anger eats you up. you throw away the flowers, you curse the King of Curses for bringing you this fate. you hate wearing the same clothes you know he’s cuddled you in, you hate looking in the corner of your bed because you know the plushie he bought for you after a rough mission is glaring at you. taunting you. reminding you of the what if? reminding you that no matter how hard you try fight it, he slipped from your fingers. he seems fine.

you catch glimpse of his grin when you look up. he’s talking to Yuji, theatrical as ever, laughing at the boy heartily. Shoko will look at you with almost slight pity. you hate it. you don’t want pity. you want the almighty back, to rewind the tapes of your journey together, to savour every moment.

when you look back down at the keyboard, he’s already staring at you. and his grin fades. he’s got a sixth sense for this, you see? your guilt and sorrow keeps him up at night.

he doesn’t sleep anymore. doesn’t visit the cafe you both lingered at. he can’t cry any more tears than he has to. he’s already lost so many people on a mission and he has to come back to an empty bed, flashes of your hair spread out on the pillow, your toothy grin, all gone. gojo wonders how he can mourn someone who is already alive. but that’s the thing, that not a lot of people knew about gojo, apart from you; was that he was scared shitless. invincible, but still scared. still that little boy inside of him pleading for you to look his way.

when you finally do, months later, you actually smile. your hair is different. it’s curled, you don’t wear the same brand of mascara anymore, you’ve changed your perfume. gojo is witnessing it happen before his very eyes - you’re changing, and it’s beautiful. but you’re not… his anymore. even now when you’re making small talk with him, putting on the bravest front he’s seen in months, all he can think about is how badly your absence sits in his stomach like a rock in water.

“hey? you okay?”

“yeah, sweet thing. pass the files.”

it doesn’t really hit him the same way it hit you until a week passes. until you’re bright eyed and laughing at something Nanami is saying. he hates it. god, he was being childish, but how was this fair? he thought being himself, pretending like nothing was wrong would bring you back, show you he’s changing, show that he’s a strong man and he can be that one for you. He knows it.

drunk calls, drunk texts. you’re spammed one night and the train wreck in your stomach bursts all over again, the wound fresh and bleeding once more.

“I miss you— I miss you, I just don’t understand why—“

“Satoru, it’s for the best. I’m so sorry.”

just as imperceptibly as you arrived to him, you leave. you’re gone, and he’s never going to have you back. Gojo always thought he was the strongest, but, you proved him wrong. like you always teased him about.

he rolls onto his bed and stares at the ceiling. he let you go and yet.. if you’re happy, he’s the happiest man alive.

[leyavo]

You ever watch the movie Red? It's a good movie, general description retired CIA agents get hunted down to be shut up, anyways, they get marked R.E.D. Retired Extremely Dangerous. All i can think about is RED Simon

I did but ages ago 😂 but I would love to see the retired 141 guys trying to get back into the game. Think Simon and Kyle would easily slip back into their roles, whereas Price just wants to relax in his old age and Johnny’s just trying to survive and likes the adrenaline (remember the good old days L.T?) [Masterlist]

Sigh, all Simon wanted to do was fix the sodding breaks on his classic car and take it for its weekly run.

But, no. Price had called like bloody Charlie’s angels and warned him that he was next on whatever assassins list was out to get them. Thankfully he was able to store his car in a private garage, praying that his baby would be safe.

The garage just happened to be another stash for weapons. His fingers ache as he loads the ammo, not as fluid and in tune with his mind anymore. The skull mask discarded in the lockbox, a little snug and the tactical vest too tight that he lets it drape from his broad shoulders instead of strapping it up.

Johnny’s already on the run, looks like Simon isn’t as far up on the list as he thought. A little disheartening for him, if he’s being honest.

Kyle’s the smart one, going dark and getting his family to a safe house before Simon can even ring the doorbell of his house. He’s glad he doesn’t have to see Kyle’s missus, she’d just blame him for bringing an assassin on their doorstep. When it’s clearly Price’s fault.

The assassins more than half his age, Simon could be his dad. The only thing going against him is his lack of youth, but his mind is still alert and he manages to escape the assassin. The worse part, they called him grandpa whilst they were fighting.

Does need to find the guys though…might even have to reach out to Laswell in order to do so. Can definitely see Simon and Johnny on a phone call whilst their sneaking around trying to find info (like in the game when soaps goes it alone and he has to find ghost).

Kyles probably already with Laswell building a file on the assassin, it’s personal now his families involved. He’s already undercover at an agency said to be paying the assassin too. Survived because he has a safe room in his house and an escape route for safety. Always prepared.

Laswell’s offered up you to help Simon with the nitty gritty stuff as the new technology he had no idea how to use. You’re in his ear advising him on how to dodge all the cameras on the streets that weren’t there before. Angel on his shoulder he calls you.

Price is cursing that he’s been brought back into the game when he could be back on his farm and feeding the chickens. He has definitely got fully kitted out surveillance system covering his land and home (he says it’s to catch the foxes before they get to the chickens, but who’s he kidding).

Johnny’s glad he kept to his fitness routine and can still kick it with the youths. Keeps reminiscing about the good old days with the 141. Shaves a Mohawk after a decade of growing it out, thinks it brings him luck and swears to never grow it out again.

What would be funny though…is the assassin not knowing Ghost’s true identity and trying to lure him out by taking the TF141 guys. Of course Simon’s going to rescue his mates.

Assassin’s fucked if they do anything to Simon’s car though.

And the reason they want to shut the TF141 up is because John commented on a Facebook post complaining about the government 😂

[inkshadow]

"it shouldn't because that's kind of their fucking job but what can you do?" clearly just shut up and put up with it if este and jesper are good enough examples. if these are the cards they've been dealt with and, especially as children, they didn't have great alternatives, the best hope is to grow up strong enough to overcome the adversary eventually... right? if only he still didn't seek their fucking approval even now; that's the one thing este seems to have a much better grasp on. with este's turn to open up, jesper takes the time to casually sip on his drink and locks his attention on hers. her path to growth was quite different, more painful in his opinion. "is it okay for me to also say, in the nicest way possible, that your family sucks ass? from what you've told me, you've kinda been a prodigy since you were really little... and they didn't think to nurture that? nurture you? get the fuck outta here..." obviously murmured to himself and not at her, words muffled by the rim of the mug that juts out of his mouth. as a child, there should have been no room for doubt that she was an important member of their family. that support and encouragement is a given, not a right. "i figured you would, at least to some degree. i know that doesn't make it any less palatable though, especially since most of the stuff has already passed." her question takes him off-guard and he lowers the mug as if it made thinking on it any easier. "to be honest, that's just because i can be a bit of a neat freak in my own home. i guess in the event that they swing by unexpectedly, i want things in order... but i also realize that i don't have much of a personality. not one that's conducive to decorating homes, anyway."

she stays quiet for the next few minutes and lets jesper have the floor while he explains, only giving the occasional nod here and there to assure him that she’s still listening. she’s not sure how often he gets to speak about this — or how much he even wants to — but in the event that this could be the first time in a long while that he’s been able to take the weight off his shoulders, she wouldn’t dare interrupt. “it shouldn’t be cliché though, right? parents abandoning or ignoring their kids… i mean, what are the chances that both of us would be casualties of that?” he’s right that their situations aren’t an exact one to one, but the result is the same in the end; two children left alone to pick up the pieces and figure out how to carry on without what should’ve been their main pillar of support. what are you supposed to do when the only root you have doesn’t feed you? “i used to think the stuff with my family was my fault somehow, that i’d become a disappointment to them or an inconvenience, but i now know that how they treat me says a lot more about their character than it does about me... that includes all the shit i get from my sister. i’d say the same thing for you and your parents. in the nicest way possible, they sound like fucking idiots, so... don’t worry, i don’t pity you, jesper. i just understand you.” taking a small sip of her own tea, este briefly casts her eyes around the room before continuing. she trusts that he’ll tell her if she ever steps over the line. “if this used to be their place, is that why some of the rooms are so… clinical? have you never wanted to make it more your own?”

[th3-new-rom4ntics]

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ valentine's (teen) marauders dr

rosalind zachariah is the spunky, upbeat editor at the hogwarts herald; the youngest in the herald's history at only 16. always with a smile on her face and a nice thing to say, she's the girl next door; the betty to your crush's veronica.

bio:

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 house: ravenclaw

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 blood status: muggleborn

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 wand: 16", golden shower wood, karkadaan core

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 patronus: dog

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 favourite subject: history of magic and charms + spells

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 friends: marlene mckinnon (ravenclaw), alice fortescue (hufflepuff), carlos ollivander (slytherin), fatimah shafiq (ravenclaw)

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 siblings: benedik zachariah (slytherin), viola zachariah (gryffindor)

ᯓ✦ miss mystery

a muggleborn born in cochin with a midwife for a mother and a history teacher for a father. grew up lower middle-class in lancashire, the child of two hardworking but loving parents. i'm a proud older sister, though my sister viola likes to call me smothering-- i prefer loving.

magic was a mere fairytale for me up until the day i came to hogwarts, where the world seemed to grow just a bit more colourful and bright. and why wouldn't? the portraits talk! the chocolate jump around! the stairs can move!

eventually, this became my reality. going to hogwarts was the same as any other school, and i learned to love it, with a little less enthusiasm; though i'm still professor flitwick's favourite and a frequent at dumbledore's office, talking to him about most everything. life is a rollercoaster; and i'm always on the ride, with my friend marlene by my side-- alice, fatimah and carlos are behind us, of course. as the editor-in-chief of the hogwarts herald and the anonymous writer of the advice column (under the name miss mystery), i am always looking for the new scoop. the newspaper reports on everything; politics, sports, gossip, fashion, lifestyle. its big business, and its even read outside of the school, which makes my job even harder. lucky for me, its my passion; just as much of a passion as teaching. i tutor younger students and i love it. it's not all sunshine and roses, however. blood purity is a hot topic at the school, and muggleborns like me have become enemy number one. even my very own brother benedik has been radicalised, much to my dismay. i avoid the slytherin common room like the plague. viola does as well; she most stays at the hufflepuff common room with her friend pandora fawley. i can typically be seen in the library, trying to find a good book, or taking photos at hogsmeade. i actually do a small side gig of taking photos, which is actually pretty profitable. not everyone can work a magicam, after all. oh, and i'm often caught bickering with sirius black, who has made it his life's mission to try and win my affections.

ᯓ✦ padfoot

sirius cygnus black III has been my admirer since day one, much to my confusion and occasional irritation. what's there to say about him? he's the hogwarts dream boat. tall, dark, handsome. or at least, he would be, if he actually bothered to get into any romantic relationships. nope, he only has two loves; freedom and..me, for some reason. the story he tells is that he saw me in a dream, the night before his first day. i was his ideal girl; pretty, smart, funny and kind. he thought it was just a dream..until he saw me in the flesh, in the hogwarts express. ever since then, his eyes have been set on me. if you thought that james potter and lily evans were bad, with james' totally obvious heart eyes that evans is completely oblivious to, you have not seen me and sirius interact. ever. he makes it business to open my doors, give me flowers, confess his undying love and propose marriage. is his affection true? i'm pretty sure it is. but i'm still somewhat scared..what if he doesn't like me, really? what if i'm just another way for him to rebel against his stuck-up pureblood family? and anyways, he's so immature. always pushing the slytherins around (even death eater wannabes like rabastan lestrange, arthur mulciber or severus snape don't deserve to be hexed) and pulling pranks. but, i can't help but care for him. worry about him. love him. could i be with him? i'm not sure. for now, the status quo is comfortable. for the most part.

༄.° valentine's notes:

this dr is basically my better cr. my teenage years but happy. whilst my other drs are all me at least 20+, this is my only dr where i'm a teenager, so its very comforting to me. :3 i hope you guys enjoyed reading this post!! feel free to ask about this dr as much as you like. i have soo much to yap about lol.

[vossprime]

20 Questions: Writing Edition

Tagged by the Inquisition herself ( @inquisitornocturn ), thank you, this looks so fun!

How many works do you have on ao3?

23!

What’s your total ao3 word count?

102,210

What are your top five fics by kudos?

Mechanical; Medicinal (Rogue Trader)

Absolute / Obedience (BG3)

Systematical; Sacrificial (Rogue Trader)

I don't know where to put my hands (Metro 2033)

Blood in the Water (WH40K)

What fandoms do you write for?

WH40K, broadly speaking.

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes! I try to respond to all of them simply because they spark an endless well of joy in me and most often inspire me to say something in return. Also whenever I comment I love replies as well, so I try to keep that going.

What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Once I fucking sit down and continue Blackwater Days you will all see-

From my recent ones, on the principle of want (RT, Achilleas x Heinrix) comes to mind. Not for the plot, necessarily, which is more sorrowful than angsty, but the last line:

For a moment Heinrix wants to kiss him awake, kiss him goodbye.  The Interrogator breathes once, twice, then turns on his heel and leaves the room.

It was a deliberate choice to contrast Heinrix with his title here, that was my special little treat to myself. I gain another health bar anytime someone points it out.

What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Ironic, given the title, but Bellicose Hearts (Horus Heresy). It was written as a gift and a challenge for @mortallyperfecttimemachine and the theme was humor and fluff, so it ended on a nice note. A photo together. The remembrancers are happy. Keeler is there. Karkasy is alive. Isstvan is far away.

Do you get hate on fics?

Not directly! My comments are locked to registered accounts only, that seems to dissuade the obvious bots and trolls. Always fond of the ask I got that was just a "👎" tho.

Do you write smut?

In theory yes, in practice I have been told my smut is just character studies in disguise. My most popular fics stay the ones that were exclusively written with my [redacted] though.

Do you write crossovers?

Not really - most often they don't hold any appeal for me.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Nope!

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope!

Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

No, but I'm already being vagued /j - SOON.

What’s your all time favourite ship?

You're asking someone who has a brain like a sieve and triple-wields ships until polyamory is the only sensible solution :D

What’s the wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

None. I plan to see everything through. If it takes 10 years, it takes 10 years. Farseer grindset.

What are your writing strengths?

Prose, poetry, evocative imagery.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Dialogue. Who came up with this. Is it not enough to communicate through 4-6 intricately crafted metaphors and call it a day? Hell world.

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in a fic?

Provided I am writing in English, I provide translation in the footnotes and try not to have it drag on for too long. I do enjoy some language variety in fic, though. Dirty Talk in another language? Elite. Sadly I come from the language the absolute least suited for writing this.

First fandom you wrote for?

The first one I published for was Metro 2033, the book. The first one I wrote was for a mobile game called The Arcana. Don't judge me, a bitch saw tarot themes and a pointy-toothed nonbinary vivisection freak and decided he just might. A true freak from day one - you can tell why I like Tervantias.

Favourite fic you’ve ever written?

I'm going to level with you. It will always be the last one. I grow and evolve with each piece and whatever I have last put out will be my pride and joy at that very moment. However, Blackwater Days (which I still plan to bring past chapter 1, it's just sitting in my drafts all disjointed and none of like 5 chapters empty but none ready either) will always be close to my heart for how much planning, fantasizing and worldbuilding happened around it. Those three hour discussions with my roommate on military strategy are sacred.

Tagging: Let me gather my irl squad for a second: @definitely-not-iorveth @mortallyperfecttimemachine , @goofgoofdildo , @ineadhyn , I'd be really interested to hear if you feel like it!